. Walt Mason : his book. ng up the little town, and all the localsages said that he would never die in when he found himself in soak, he said:The sporting lifes no joke; heres whereI cut it out and strive to show the worldthat Im alive. And in that dark and dis-mal den he sat, with paper, ink and pen,and wrote the book that people hold as be-ing worth its weight in gold. The job washard; in cells beneath, they heard the grind-ing of his teeth; w^heneer he wrote a sen-tence wise, he had to stop and swat the flies;the grub was poor, the water foul, the jailersombre as an owl; the jail wa
. Walt Mason : his book. ng up the little town, and all the localsages said that he would never die in when he found himself in soak, he said:The sporting lifes no joke; heres whereI cut it out and strive to show the worldthat Im alive. And in that dark and dis-mal den he sat, with paper, ink and pen,and wrote the book that people hold as be-ing worth its weight in gold. The job washard; in cells beneath, they heard the grind-ing of his teeth; w^heneer he wrote a sen-tence wise, he had to stop and swat the flies;the grub was poor, the water foul, the jailersombre as an owl; the jail was full of dirtand dust, the chains he wore were brownwith rust. Yet through it all, by hook orcrook, he toiled and wrote his matchlessbook! O, authors of the present day, whosebooks are dry as bales of hay, who grindbest sellers by the ton, which last fromrise till set of sun, who roll in comfort andice cream, dictating stories by the ream, tryBunyans plan—it may avail—and write amasterpiece in jaiLl JohnBunyan [119]. My country, hear my nuordl you are ahumming bird, also a peach. Walt Mason MY country, beauteous land! Ill sing,if you will stand, a song to thee!My harp is rather coarse, my voiceis somewhat hoarse, yet will I try to forcesome melody. Fair land that saw my birth,gem of the whole blamed earth, hark to myscreeds! Tell me, O tell me why priceshave soared so high that man can scarcelybuy things that he needs. Things that aman must eat—lemons and prunes andmeat—cost like Sam Hill; carpets and rugsand mats, neckties and shoes and hats, shirt-ing to hide his slats, empty his till. Allthrough the w^eek I work, like an unlaun-dered Turk, for a few bucks; no odds howhard I try, of wealth Im always shy, andwhen I travel I ride on the trucks. Theysay that half a plunk bought more andbetter junk, in the old days, than will twobones or more, in the big modern store,since prices learned to soar, five hundredways. My country, hear my word! Youare a hummingbird, also a pe
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