'S 3523 
 E495 
 5 
 
 921 
 opy 1 
 
 What's The Fare To 
 Argyleville 
 
 7 
 
 By Arthur G. Leisman 
 
What's The Fare To 
 Argyleville 
 
 7 
 
 By Arthur G. Leisman 
 
 Illustrations by Author 
 
 (Privately Printed Edition) 
 

 (Copyright 1921, by Arthur G. Leisman.) 
 
 ©CI.A611155 
 Merrill Daily Herald Press Merrill, Wisconsin 
 
 mn I / 192! 
 
 ^v^iO 1 
 
<T 
 
 fjj 
 
 W^h batik t0 b&mgig h^Mtateh to 
 
 (Haven't decided yet. — Author) 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 Every time I begin to write I feel plumb tired 
 and out of peptimism, so I waited until tonight 
 before answering your Epistle No. 2023 or there- 
 abouts. It was so good I didn^t need my dinner 
 that day but ate it just the same. 
 
 I am laboring under the opinion that the Torrid 
 Zone has been extended to up here by the Parcels 
 Post Department — it is so sizzlingly hot the grease 
 melts from me like lava from a volcano's side. I 
 could eat a whole iceberg if any was for sale. I 
 camped near the Brown ice house one evening but 
 had to evacuate the next morning on account of 
 the flood caused by my presence. So betimes I am 
 using patent hair restorers for their cooling effect. 
 
 My flivver ran away the other day. I don't 
 know what got into its head, but seems like it was 
 out for a spree by itself. I couldn't stop it; if I 
 tried to, it would balk and back up, and if I put 
 on the brakes it would give the shivers, kick up 
 its heels and then head for San Francisco at light- 
 ning speed. A kind, sympathetic telephone pole 
 saved the day. I simply turned it over, dusted its 
 
2 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 pants, adjusted its spectacles, and after righting the 
 whole hunk of cheese it behaved enough to haul me 
 home. What funny things we have to endure ! But 
 this gasoline buggy sure can come across with the 
 goods any other time. All I lost was a cuff link, 
 one-fourth of my cheerful disposition, a nut, and a 
 bag of caramels that the grocer gave me for pay- 
 ing the bill. 
 
 Say, I heard from that abbreviated gentleman, 
 Johnny, not long ago. He bought a book on eti- 
 quette, is unmarried, works in Sparta, and writes 
 Greek as usual. It takes a Yerkes' Observatory 
 astronomer to make eyes, nose and mouth out of his 
 scribbling. Maybe it's because he's a human col- 
 lapsible telescope — knew that your own tin lizzie 
 was a back number and at the same time refrains 
 from comment. Also heard from Mr. Crouch of 
 chanticleer fame. Seems to be a bright fellow and 
 very economical. Instead of perfuming his letter, 
 he substituted hair tonic. 
 
 Of course, Guy, I plan on coming to see you 
 next week. But what I said before was that this 
 visit can't cut much ice in July. I admit that my 
 continued trips to Walnut Hollow to see Bess has 
 just about put the kibosh on my pocketbook, but 
 you ought to reason that to hitch your wagon to 
 the Star of Success you're got to have a girl on top 
 of it. Going to Argyleville to see you is a differ- 
 
WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 3 
 
 ent proposition. It results in no signal develop- 
 ments in one^s heart. But if all's well on the Pot- 
 omac, I might hit the trail anyway Tuesday. So 
 look for me, Guy, on the 6:45, and if I ain't there, 
 you know I ain't there, but if I am there, it is 
 I am. 
 
 What's the fare to Argyleville, please? I went 
 to the soda fountain store this noon and asked the 
 deaf-in-one-ear druggist, ^'I say, what is the fare 
 to Argyleville?" "What?" says he. "The fare to 
 Argyleville?" I repeats in pipe-organ tones. "Oh," 
 says he, hfting his eyebrows, owl-wise, "You mean 
 gargle oil for your flivvette? Has she got the hic- 
 coughs or a twisted appendix, huh?" "No!" I re- 
 turns, indignant, "You'd best invest in an acoustic 
 if you want your ear-drums to behave. I said, 
 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE?!!!!!" 
 "You're a fine bunch of gratitude," he rears up. 
 'T've taken the time to hsten to your phonograph, 
 trying to distinguish the human voice from the 
 metallic sounds, and here you — git!" 
 
 Of course, Guy, I had to lit out, for besides be- 
 ing assistant depot agent, this druggist has a cousin 
 whose grand uncle's step-son is deputy sheriff some- 
 v/here in the Klondikes. Some people don't appre- 
 ciate things. When you buy a nickel's worth of 
 taffy from them, they are all smiles and act taffy, 
 but when you come to them to have a sliver taken 
 
4 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 out of your hand, you find nobody at home. 
 
 I can't think of much to say. News is as scarce 
 as hair on a frog's back, and this here typewriter 
 squeaks and palpitates painfully under the heat. It 
 is so hot you have to brush the brine from your 
 lamps before you can see to write. And the chair 
 I am sitting on waxes sarcastic. I discovers just 
 now that my Sunday pants sticks to it like it was 
 a sheet of fly-paper. Consarn the weatherman! 
 
 Well, it's time to hit the hay, anyway, but I 
 don't know how I can ever submit to the embraces 
 of Morpheus. The mercury is making it lively at 
 400 degrees F., and I generate enough steam even 
 at sitting position to run a donkey engine, and ly- 
 ing down between adhesive cotton sheets might 
 mean a process of evaporation from which no sea- 
 farer returns. 
 
 Yours till I return. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 I have been guilty of first degree neglect in 
 writing you, but I will wager the evidence is strong 
 enough for a plea of pardon. The grounds sub- 
 mitted are that since I emigrated to your home and 
 railroaded it back to Merrill, I have been kept as 
 busy as the propellor of a biplane, and that as a 
 consequence I now feel tired enough to take a Rip 
 Van Winkle nap. 
 
 I enjoyed the visit hugely. You seem to have 
 enough of hard work on the farm for the likes of 
 me — that is, I like to see you at it. Of course, I 
 had to sidetrack at Walnut Hollow on my way home 
 to show Bess this here coat of tan. Maybe it con- 
 vinced her that her future looked safe and sound, 
 but I don't think the stable smell on me made a hit. 
 Every time I edged up close to her, she would get 
 up and say the garden needed sprinkling, or else 
 go to the door to let the cat in. There is a fellow 
 across the street that is stuck on her. I didn't 
 know there was a secondary consideration until I 
 springs a surprise on Bess by coming to Walnut 
 Hollow unannounced and unheralded, and I finds 
 
6 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 her in a drug store with that fellow eating ice cream. 
 She never batted an eye when I looked at one and 
 then at the other, and when I afterwards asks who 
 that son of a gun was she just coughs a little, looks 
 at her wrist watch, and says, **0h, he's on the six 
 o'clock shift." I didn't ask more but I said if some- 
 thing needed an airing I was quite up to snuff on 
 that job. She just tee-heed. I don't know what 
 she means by "six o'clock shift," Guy, but I ain't 
 mad at her. Only, som^ething seems to need a Con- 
 gressional investigation. I ain't figured on how to 
 begin and where, but you can bank on it if that fel- 
 low is a Bolshevik in my affairs I'll steami ahead 
 with the throttle wide open. 
 
 Well, Guy, how's your flivver? It isn't much 
 compared with mine, I observe. I remember riding 
 in that old push-cart twice and it was enough, tho' 
 I never told you so. It tore up the road alright — 
 it made a mess of the splendid roads down there. 
 We have a couple of rain barrel hoops that you can 
 have for a song. And they won't give you any TNT 
 explosions or cause wicked words to emit from your 
 vocal centers. In English language, they are punk- 
 ture-proof. 
 
 Three things I don't like down there in Argyle- 
 ville. Everything is fair except the bill of fare 
 and the fare to Argyleville. Besides, fishing is on 
 the blink. I couldn't induce the finny tribe to take 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 7 
 
 dinner with me. They seem to know what's up my 
 sleeve — they are too college-educated. When yoa 
 push the hook through an angleworm, spit on it, and 
 let down the line and bimeby you get a school of 
 them around the hook, and you could swear on your 
 very wishbone that it means a haul or two, along 
 comes some inspector who sniffs at the worm and 
 takes a chemical analysis of the surroundings, and 
 before you know it the latest ''Extra" is off the 
 press and all the fish have backed away from you. 
 
 Seems strange to be alone again, after such a 
 visit. It put the knockout blow on my $$$$$ but 
 it was a humdinger, wasn't it, Guy? 'Member that 
 time we had to borrow a she-horse to haul your 
 sardine-can-on-four-wheels through mud and rain. 
 I knew all the while your tinhorn junk of lead wasn't 
 worth a crawl, but I don't blame you any. Men are 
 apt to make misbargains when attracted by gold- 
 fish. 
 
 But I must apply the brakes right here and put 
 the typewriter to bed. Write again, sing-song kitty, 
 and don't forget to put in enough gasoline when 
 going up a hill. 
 
 Your tooter-tutor. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 I take pen in hand, etc. The telephone is out 
 of order or maybe I am suffering from an ailment 
 that is a cross between Jumping Jupiters and ultra- 
 laziness. Whatever it is, I shipped back the type- 
 writer last week. It worked fine but the free trial 
 ran out. 
 
 Well, I just scratch the top of my hayfield dome 
 and kill a flea or two (consarn the pen) and up 
 bobs a spicy specimen of ingenious intellectual at- 
 tainments, to quote my diploma, and in another 
 wink of your eye-dimmers you have the dope com- 
 monly called the **body of a letter." 
 
 Things have happened in a grape-cluster style 
 since I last dispatched you a letter. First, let me 
 introduce yours truly as Efficiency Expert in the 
 Cauliflower Potash & Canning Company (branch). 
 The boss elevated me one step when he remarked 
 how well I could keep the dust off his private rev- 
 olving office chair before work time. He didn't ex- 
 actly say Efficiency Expert, Guy. He just said I 
 didn't have to come to the office early any more 
 but that it was eight o'clock for me like the rest 
 
 8 
 
WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 9 
 
 of the help — I mean staff — so he could personally 
 see me attending to my work. That's what I call 
 Efficiency Expert. Of course, you can't get the drift 
 of it, Guy, but it is the same as waiting upon His 
 Excellency, ready to point out suggestions and leak- 
 age of the heart at an instant's notice. Only, you 
 still have to sweep the floor, etc., and the boss him- 
 self keeps an eye on you, not you on him. 
 
 I took a "leave of absence" one day last week 
 and went blueberrying. My jitney was at the gar- 
 age being half-soled, so I borrowed my brother's 
 ante-bellum bicycle. It carried its load pretty well, 
 and the berries in the pail sure did pile up at the 
 rate of sixty miles an hour, until by accident I 
 bumped unadmitted into a colony of hornets. Seems 
 like no "Danger" sign had been put up in red paint, 
 or maybe the gentlemen — I mean the gentle hornets 
 — were too busy over the wet-and-dry question of 
 their own world. Anyway, my intrusion was prompt- 
 "^ ly resented and just as promptly disposed of by the 
 sergeant-at-arms, who planted a red hot one into 
 my system. Then the embattled stingers forgot the 
 eighteenth amendment, adjourned sine die and 
 started to gird themselves for immediate ruthless 
 warfare. Fortunately, they were not quick enough 
 for my Apollonic legs. Half of my berries suffered 
 a hasty retreat in this second Battle of Bull Run. 
 
 But this does not end the cruel tragedy. Hardly 
 
10 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 had I got out of the woods and mounted the wheel, 
 headed for the home stretch, when I was seized with 
 a shivering illusion that in all probability the enemy- 
 was still pursuing me. I worked the pedals up to 
 their zenith power and av/ay I did fly. The pail I 
 had in hand swung back and forth with rhyth- 
 mical regularity until it missed a syllable and col- 
 lided forcibly with my left knee — that is, my knee 
 working up and down shot at the bottom of the pail, 
 swerving the wheel sharply to the right, and I went 
 sailing into the dust and took the count. When I 
 had picked myself up slowly like a jointed carpen- 
 ter's rule it seemed as if East was West and North 
 was South. I took the wheel by the scruff of its 
 neck, started to legomobile it home, and discovers 
 all of a sudden that the rest of the berries in the 
 pail had gone over to the debit side of the ledger. 
 So I had a berry-less supper. I still nurse the grouch 
 like it was some be-ribboned poodle-dog led about 
 on a string by some society fuss. But my promo- 
 tion at the office soothes me as much as axle-grease 
 on a flivver's sore throat. 
 
 There are other things to tell you and others 
 that should be kept under guard of a safety-valve. 
 Once in a while I start working myself up to six- 
 teen-cylinder velocity, but tonight I find my pep 
 strapped down to the last belt-hole. So I will call 
 a hitch to this letter. 
 
WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 11 
 
 Yours Efficiently, 
 Bud. 
 P. S. When you write be sure to put a postage 
 stamp on the envelope. The last one didn't have 
 any and the envelope flap was open — that made the 
 letter awfully dry. A little moisture with a kick 
 in it, please. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 And so help me Hanner, it was a whale of a 
 letter that you wrote. I didn't know you could dish 
 out kingly stuff on a silver platter in seven reels 
 complete, war tax paid. You are a cracker jack 
 when it comes to chasing the blue clouds away. 
 Some folks only possess peanut hulls. And their 
 "am well and happy" and weather talk is about as 
 worn out and straggled as a tomato-can-on-four- 
 wheels that has seen service forty times over the 
 Rocky Mts. Of course, I am not saying that you 
 copied the stuff from "Cream 0' Harvest" and 
 Punch magazines, but your edition de luxe sure did 
 read like it had passed through the sausage machine 
 of a staff of editors and come out immortalized. I 
 guess it made my flivver laugh. It gave the shivers 
 when I rolled the letter up and poked it through 
 the gasoline tank to see if it needed filling. 
 
 It seems a shame the way Maggie doesn't give 
 a fig for your presence at her home. She's a queer 
 old duckling who doesn't appreciate a fellow's ef- 
 forts to sing his heart out. You should remember, 
 however, that you can't depend on everybody for 
 
 12 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 13 
 
 your dinner. Perhaps she isn't the one that would 
 hitch up right with you. But ''faint heart," etc. 
 So why not show the dash of Sir Lancelot and the 
 speed of the steed of that immortal Ichabod Crane. 
 Don't heed the ancient creed against onions. Eat 
 'em — she knows you will eat 'em anyway after you 
 have paid the minister the customary fee. But I 
 am not qualified to preach. Bess isn't fully won yet. 
 It hasn't come up to the high water mark. I wrote 
 her about that fellow again. She said if I doubted, 
 the books were open for inspection. She said the 
 fellow was a Sunday school friend of hers. But 
 what gets my three-year-old goat is the "six o'clock 
 shift." I looked up Webster's Unabridged Diction- 
 ary but it wasn't there. I guess Noah never had 
 a girl. 
 
 Went to the movies last night with myself. It 
 costs too much to take somebody along. I am glad 
 in a way that Bess lives two hundred miles away. 
 
 There was a party of the Epworth League the 
 other night. We had to dig up twenty-five cents 
 each for the weiner-roast. I did amicable justice 
 to five sandwiches and thus squared up the account. 
 The girls looked askance at me and one fellow with 
 a tut-nose wanted to know if I knew some of the 
 twenty-five cents was meant to go to missionary 
 work in China. I guessed at once he was joking, 
 Guy, and I said he'd better think of a harder nut 
 
14 WHAT'S THE FAKE TO ARGYLEVILLE ? 
 
 to crack. Then he got mad. Some folks don't ap- 
 preciate bouquets, eh, Guy? 
 
 Well, I must switch off and take down the fiddle 
 and twang a tune or two to Bess. Sometimes I 
 think my love letters ought to be bound into book 
 form, copyrighted, and registered. Every time I 
 read them over before sealing, I seem to detect a 
 genius. 
 
 I smell potato pancakes, so must evacuate now. 
 Wish I could be at your farm this evening, though. 
 Yours till the cows come home, 
 
 Bud, 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 I thought you had burned the wind for New 
 York and won't write till your wanderlust had run 
 out of storage battery, but I see you are safely 
 tucked away under cover at home with your pet 
 sub-automobile and promiscuous Adam's apple. The 
 delay was something like waiting three hours for a 
 train at a junction city, but you sure can spill the 
 ink when you write. You seem to reel off your 
 yarns smooth as a river that slips by and no one 
 can tell whether you are deaf or a Walt Mason v/ith 
 his 9,851 kinds of patent medicine for rheumatiz. 
 It makes small diff so long as you can crank up 
 your mental steam roller and set it a-humming. But 
 I must cut short my chautauqua eloquence, else 
 your chest measurements increase too soon. 
 
 Gee whiz, Guy, you ought to hear from our good 
 old Johnny these days. He sent me a piece of his 
 well-known cake Monday and I remember having a 
 stomach-ache shortly after reading same. I guess 
 it is because he chases his own shadow at home, 
 waiting, waiting for some one to cross it. So I'm 
 going to send him a prescription — an advertisement 
 
 15 
 
16 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 from a stray, unsophisticated magazine: 
 
 MARRY RICH 
 
 Hundreds of men and women want early marriages. 
 You can marry rich. Three months' trial for 25 cents. 
 Money back if not satisfied. 
 
 Gee, but this sure is some ad. Only twenty-five 
 cents a throw, and if you don't hit the bull's eye 
 the quarter goes back to you! Can you beat it? 
 
 I wish you could see my tinboat now, Guy. It 
 had never taken a bath until I went fishing yester- 
 day with a fellow that runs the telegraph office at 
 Henfruit Junction. The lake we went to was a big 
 one and you had to go way around it to get to the 
 other side. But my flivver sure can mix anything 
 from Nut Sunday to Ash Wednesday. It swam 
 clear across and never turned around to see if Sodom 
 was burning. When we got off and shook a leg, 
 we hired a boat and went fishing. All day long the 
 sun blazed upon us with tropical intensity. All day 
 long our seats grew harder and harder and still not 
 one of the creatures of the sea w^ould nibble at the 
 hook. Finally we threw a plug of tobacco into the 
 water and when the fish came up to spit we hit 
 them over the head with the oars. 
 
 Andy (that was the fellow's name) and I had 
 seventy big ones together and I guess we've had 
 enough of it until doomsday. I feel fishy and smell 
 after fish and wherever I go I seem to see fish, fish, 
 
WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 17 
 
 fish, and when I lay me down to sleep even the bed 
 sheets smell like they've been slept on by the fish. 
 Phew ! 
 
 Say, I am thinking of going to Alaska. Want 
 to come along? Life here at the office isn't what 
 it was cracked up to be. It means work, work, 
 sweep, sweep, dust, dust, every day with no variety 
 to break the monotony except when you step upon 
 a wad of gum near the stenographer's desk. And 
 besides, I ain't sure about Bess. Why not league 
 together and form a committee of ways and means 
 to make life livelier. Suppose you and I write poetry 
 and make it pay our way up to the Arctic regions. 
 Tell you what, Guy, I will start the ball a-rolling. 
 Here's No. 1, and when we have quite a collection 
 it ought to make Tennyson rise from his grave and 
 take notice: 
 
 Save all your praise 
 
 For Hiram Sliwer; 
 He invented 
 
 The greaseless flivver. 
 
 I'm figuring we ought to strike it rich up there 
 and then when we come sailing back with bells on, 
 Bess and Maggie will regret their hesitancy, cry a 
 lot and beg to be forgiven. But I'd hold my head 
 high, turn my back to Bess, and after pretending 
 to think seriously, I'd turn to her, lift her up from 
 her knees and say gentle-like, 'Turn off the hy- 
 drant. Thy sins are forgiven," and marry her like 
 
IS WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 they do in the movies. It ought to make double 
 column, front-page news matter. Of course, I am 
 not counting chicks before they are out of the shell ; 
 I haven't any setting hen around here. 
 
 Hope you are getting along fine with your spin- 
 ning top. I suppose it has grown enough by now to 
 wear long trousers and begin to shave. I shouldn't 
 wonder if it snorts, scuffles, and kicks in this fall 
 weather. Every time you harness this invertebrate 
 piece of cheese, see if it has whooping cough or the 
 bee-hives. It wasn't very healthy-looking last time 
 I was there. What it needs is love and attention. 
 Look these up in the dictionary. 
 
 Yours flivverly, 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 I see where you don't care a hick about writing 
 to me, so I will make this letter as brief as possible 
 and as interesting as an epitaph in a Chinese grave- 
 yard. The last one blew in from you quite a while 
 ago and all I could milk out of it was unconven- 
 tional questions and a weather forecast. I suppose 
 that if I were to make a plaster cast of your letter 
 it would feel on the surface like the relief map of 
 the Rocky Mts. with no green turfs and trees, but 
 just plain, dull putty color. You used to bang out 
 fireworks coupled with an ambulance wagon race in 
 your epistles, but now I feel no more wind. I may 
 be too liberal with hints as to what the nut fac- 
 tories need to swell their roll of honor, or else you 
 are busy dusting your shoes and straightening your 
 four-in-hand every time you feel a flutter in your 
 left side. Whatever it is, it looks like business is 
 dull between us. 
 
 I am at home now, convalescing from a done- 
 in-red operation. You remember the growth just 
 above my left eye on my forehead that felt more 
 like the back of a mushroom? Well, I had the doc 
 yank it out, and he did. I thought I could stand it 
 
 19 
 
20 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 without the apphcation of chloroform, and I guess 
 it tested my soul and chances of being a martyr. 
 They had two nurses to hold my arms and two to 
 keep down the lower extremities of my body while 
 the M. D. ripped, riveted, massacred, steam rollered 
 and played the pick axe freely upon my temple. I 
 thought every bit of my innards was going to come 
 out with the haul — he had to rest both his feet on 
 my body and pull for all he was worth. I could only 
 feel the siz-zag pains and hear the harper and see 
 the Jordan river looming up to me, but they tell 
 me afterwards that when the doc got this whatyou- 
 callit out of my system he dusted the floor with his^ 
 white pants. I was pretty sick for a while as can 
 be testified by the fact that Bess sent me a box of 
 smoked sausage, but now I feel like sawing wood. 
 
 Well, the plan to go to Alaska is called off 'cause 
 you seem to hitch the whole affair to a garbage can 
 the way you skipped this subject-of-import in your 
 letter. It makes me as much peeved as a wet hen, 
 still I guess it is for the best after all, as Bess has 
 patronized the parcels post department, and the box 
 wouldn't have come if I had "flown the coop" for 
 Alaska, would it? 
 
 I must put up the receiver now and call it a 
 day. You don't write often enough to make lem- 
 onade out of, so here goes. 
 
 Relentlessly yours. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 Your letter drifted in just now and I see where 
 you got off at the wrong station. You have swal- 
 lowed the bait, angleworm, hook and all, when it 
 was meant for the Eastern publishers and not for 
 you. I didn't mean to be so relentless as that, and 
 I never dreamed you would take my ''Relentlessly 
 yours" as an ultimatum and roll up your sleeves and 
 draw a ''dare you" line across the dirt. Do I hand 
 you a slap-on- the-f ace just because I imagine your 
 letters were worthless junk? Have I the heart to 
 dish out gaff where the shoe would pinch enough 
 to make you feel like a duck in a thunderstorm? 
 Fiddle-de-dee ! pish ! pho ! in the name of the Prophet 
 — figs! 
 
 But if you want to make the dust fly, come on 
 in, the water's fine. My warring flivver and I are 
 incorporated ready to mete out justice where justice 
 is due your pony-cart with flexible gears and short- 
 winded garden hose tires. You big piece of cheese, 
 can't you take a joke? Can't you see which is black 
 and which is white? If I tell you of a maniac that 
 escaped from an asylum, stole a car, took two China- 
 
 21 
 
22 WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 men out for a ride, and this car got stalled on a 
 railroad crossing with the usual consequences, would 
 you understand what I mean when I tell you that 
 when the train crew went back to the crossing to 
 see what was left, all they could find was a nut 
 and two washers, huh? You haven't got enough 
 rhyme or reason to be sliced up and distributed 
 among the sampling judges at the Annual County 
 Fair. And your little coo-coo tinhorn of a choo- 
 choo boat is a slot machine sort of an affair — you 
 put a few plunks into the slit, ring the telephone, 
 and out it tumbles into your lap ! Oh, I could think - 
 up new-fangled things that would make your pink 
 toes blush with shame, but I will take the lenient 
 side of the duel, if any. It is as ticklish a job to 
 knock the chip off your shoulder as to let the cat 
 out of the bag on who the girl was that went with 
 the boss in his car last night. Can't you, for the 
 love of Johnny-get-your-gun, see that the editors 
 might reject my materials if they get to be dyed 
 red ? But I guess you've calmed down by this time, 
 as it is the wind that makes the windmills go, not 
 the windmills. And it isn't breezy all the time. 
 
 I hope you'll take back the piece of your mind 
 you offered me, and keep it for yourself. It might 
 disable you for life otherwise, as one cannot think 
 clearly without all the engine parts functioning 
 perfectly. 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 23 
 
 Well, I got to quit now as this is about as long 
 as yours was. And I need the rest for fish-line. 
 
 Reservedly yours, 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 Yours to hand. Contents digested, etc. It was 
 a dish-rag proposition alright. 
 
 Well, if you insist on your negotiations for some- 
 thing dire to the peace, prosperity and happiness of 
 both parties to the contract, ship back all my Xmas 
 presents to you, f.o.b., and call the game. Or else, 
 as you suggested, come up and we will lay the cards 
 face up on the table and show which is a spade and 
 which is not. Personally I think you'd better hike 
 this way in and sign peace treaty terms, 'cause I 
 don't want to cut off this end of the corresponding- 
 line. You see the publishers are keeping an eye on 
 this like it was a stock exchange ticker, and for all 
 of me they might invest in my works if I keep 
 above batting average. 
 
 I shall nip this letter in the bud and look for 
 you. Hunting is fine hereabouts now, so don't be 
 a wild cat. 
 
 Till then, **Clang battle-ax, flash brand." 
 
 Bud. 
 
 24 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 Well, now that you are back home to papa and 
 mama and your pet mechanical-toy-on-four-wheels, 
 and can look back to the visit here as something of 
 a ninety days' wonder with all trimmings, footnotes 
 and references, and dwell on the phony deer chase, 
 the Versailles home-made treaty, the Hudson car 
 we pushed over to the ditch with my flivver, ain't 
 it something to reckon about as to how after the 
 storm comes sunshine? 
 
 But what is ice cream to me is the fact (tee, 
 hee!) that you brought your shot gun up and went 
 home without so much as having made the fur fly! 
 The rabbits probably had read of your arrival in 
 The Daily Herald and had turned tail and headed 
 for the four compasses of this sphere long afore you 
 came to the scene. Seems like your eyesight needs 
 a new pair of Eastman Kodak lens, or else your pop- 
 gun was a counterfeit, guaranteed to take back and 
 swallow its own medicine. Anyway all you could 
 poke a musket-ball into was a tame red squirrel that 
 came out of its nest to see what the rumpus was 
 about. 
 
 25 
 
26 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 I didn't take you out deer hunting 'cause I knew 
 you'd be arrested for disturbing the peace of hun- 
 ters' paradise. I would advise you to practice your 
 cannonading in the back yard with the hen coop as 
 the target. You could probably borrow ma's dish 
 towel and put it over the wall so that the bullets 
 V70uldn't make holes in it. 
 
 I'm glad you see things as they are and that a 
 joke is a joke for a' that. I missed you the mom- 
 ent you went away with the train, but when I got 
 to thinking of Bess, why, I wondered what I was 
 mooning around for. 
 
 This is an awful dull day. Nothin' doin', 'cept 
 sittin' down and listenin' to the heart-beat of me. 
 
 Bess wants me to spend Xmas with her, so I'm 
 beginning to wash my ears again. Wonder what 
 you and Maggie will do that day. I observe you 
 both are nearer the goal than I am, but he who 
 waits gets the best. 
 
 Can't keep the thinkum sifter going. The next 
 door neighbor is tickling the piano keys to the tune 
 of "When Adam Beat the Parlor Rugs for Eve." I 
 thought at first it was a cat mewing. 
 
 It snowed today and made me think of my poor 
 Lizzie. But she can climb Pike's Peak, crawl under 
 the canvas of a circus tent, or plow a path through 
 the snow for her cousins to follow up. No wonder 
 you have to stay south with your consumptive- 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 27 
 
 looking hand-organ. 
 
 Well, it's time for curfew, so here's Scotch 
 Cocktails toast to the idol of Rabbitland, the cham- 
 peen I ever knowed. 
 
 Yours till they take your picture. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 I wonder if you think I am as dead as the poem 
 I sent to the editor of Munsey's magazine and which 
 is still unaccounted for. Honest, Guy, I've wanted 
 to call Central and connect up with you, but I've 
 been so doggone lazy and when I wasn't lazy I was 
 taking electric treatments and some liniment ap- 
 plication that has got Pete Bengard's pete skunk 
 beaten all hollow. My rheumatiz-infected knee feels 
 like it was a string of telegraph wires swaying in 
 a thunder-and-lightning storm. Gosh, how it does 
 hurt, but to have a semi-trained nurse for my mama 
 and to reside pro tempore in Bess' home as a con- 
 sequence is going to be as good as a hundred mud- 
 baths in Hogwallow Town. 
 
 I had a right merry Xmas just the same. The 
 folks propped me up in a Morris chair near the 
 Xmas tree and, believe me, I felt like I was the lost 
 heir to the crown at this home. Old Santa surely 
 had my name in his note-book long before it came 
 time for the roll call. He gave me everything from 
 Genesis to Revelations. Got the Dr. Quake's Kid- 
 ney Remedy calendar with your best wishes from 
 
 28 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 29 
 
 you. Thanx. It isn't much compared with the ticket 
 I sent you to the lecture on *'Nuts and Where They 
 Come From," by Professor Himself one at the audi- 
 torium at Milwaukee. It set me back twenty-five 
 cents, or one-quarter of a dollar. I don't think you 
 have the right Xmas spirit, but I ain't blaming you 
 any. Men are apt to look into their selfish needs 
 first. Bess gave me her first kiss, a pair of artificial 
 silk socks and lots of other things that belong to 
 the department store ads, not here. 
 
 It seems Old Sol has been flirting considerably 
 with King Winter so the thermometer was quite 
 able to be up and do as he pleased without being 
 called down. Yesterday it snowed seven feet deep 
 but today the water wagon was out sprinkling the 
 streets. 
 
 Friday night Bess' ma and pa — or, in other 
 words, my future parents-in-law — made home-made 
 sausage. Real, old-fashioned kind. I tumbled into 
 bed just before the town clock tolled "Twelve o'clock 
 and all's well." All's well for the poor little piggy. 
 His inner self is jazzing it somewhere beyond the 
 clouds to the strains of *T love the cows and the 
 chickens, but this is the life — oh, this is the life!" 
 And they don't serve any rheumatiz pains on a tray 
 up there, either! 
 
 Bess' ma — or, in other words, my future ma-in- 
 law — woke me up one morning with interjections of 
 
30 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 alarm that made me think as if the old world had 
 blown up and got stalled on the road. There was 
 a live, ferocious, man-eating mouse in the pantry, I 
 am informed. So I jumps out of the bed, dives into 
 my blue serge hand-me-downs, and limps to the 
 three by seven room with a rev — no, with a pine 
 slab — and a flashlight whose battery had spent half 
 of its life-time already yet. No sooner was the door 
 closed and I was alone with the creature and som^e 
 kitchen ware, cold chicken meat and pastry goods 
 than the battle royal begins. I strikes out at every 
 count here and there, rattling the dish pans, and 
 sending the mouse on the circuit like a self-winding 
 Xmas toy that keeps up uniform speed. I slams 
 the floor and bangs the bread pans and sends the 
 roller-pin rolling down, and the pine slab keeps get- 
 ting its sides full of fur, but Mr. Mouse is there 
 on deck. There is a ripping of pants and a hunk of 
 flesh comes out from the palm of my hand before 
 I lands a telling blow and the movie thriller is over. 
 Bess said I was going to be a brave man some day. 
 I asked her if I wasn't brave already, and she s; yz 
 no, I was only as brave as Miles Standish in a way. 
 I don't get the drift of it, though, but I laughed 
 just the same and said I knew what she meant* 
 Diplomatic, that's me, eh Guy? 
 
 Will go home as soon as I can think of going. 
 In the meantime, Happy New Year, Guy, and don't 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 31 
 
 forget your keg-of-herring-on-four-wheels needs oil 
 of sardines so it can keep up time. 
 
 Yours till the next nut crop, 
 
 Bud. 
 P. S. I just found from Bess that "six o'clock shift" 
 means in case of my death that fellow across the 
 street is the next one on the waiting list for her. 
 Otherwise I'm as good as won. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 I am still laid up in bed at Bess' home with what 
 the doc says is lumbago but which I figure is some- 
 thing dished out by the weather sharp to put me 
 under it. Just now I am enclosed in flannels, slug- 
 gishness and axle grease, but a week in bed has 
 "suttinly" tuned me up to a point where Dempsey 
 might as well cast his eye hitherward. I feel like 
 a cow just out on the first green grass of spring, 
 except that my appetite runs short of equal measure. 
 
 I received your two ''improved with modern con- 
 veniences" letters, one while I was shooting sky- 
 rockets at their best in bed. Makes a fellow feel 
 good to hear from you when he has to warm the 
 bed instead of keeping the cash register on the go. 
 
 Speaking of snow, I haven't been out yet, and 
 so don't know whether the white spread yonder is 
 a splash from Wm. Pahl's paint brush or the real 
 article. As soon as I gets up and hits the breeze 
 from the Polar regions, will wire you, collect, war 
 tax extra. 
 
 I have had good care all the way through ex- 
 cept that the undertaker forgot to lift the latch-key 
 
 32 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 33 
 
 and so I went minus a vision of Kingdom Come. 
 You know, Guy, I had it figured out that if this 
 country has run amuck over the ouija board and 
 is sitting up nights with ghosts in the attic, I might 
 as well write a book on such lofty thoughts instead 
 of this epistle, but I now see I must be patient 
 with this second rater and take castor oil by the 
 quart, 
 
 I read four Sherlock Holmes detective stories 
 yesterday before I knocked off for the night, and 
 you couldn't have had for the life of me spent a 
 more miserable night. I dreamed of bloodhounds, 
 of guns, of dangerous explosives, of thick-necked 
 thugs, of steeple-jacks and a chase in the cran- 
 berry swamps where Miss So-and-so of multi-mil- 
 lionaire parentage was held for a ransom. It was 
 fierce dope mixed with lumbago pains and liniment 
 fumes, and the worst part of it was when I got 
 shot in the head three successive times — bing-bing- 
 bing — and then I woke up in a pool of sweat. Hon- 
 est, the stuff the doc feeds you with is guaran- 
 teed to make you perspire as much as is necessary 
 to wash the bed blankets with. It takes a game 
 heart to live through these assorted phases of life. 
 No wonder I have to mop my brow a lot. 
 
 I'm sorry you've decided to cut out giving birth- 
 day presents, but if it is for the good of yourself, 
 your Maggie, and your coffee-grinder-on-four-feet, 
 
34 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 it is all the same to me. Because — well, I ain't fig- 
 uring on the future on a bet. You never know which 
 way the wind blows. I have read over the almanac 
 you gave me Xmas seven times and I find it as in- 
 teresting as the age-old problem of whether the 
 moon is made of porous cheese. Consequently 
 
 When I was down to your farm I tried to im- 
 press upon you the importance of giving something 
 for Xmas, etc., in a way that would make the giver 
 feel he was part of the gift where it meant dig- 
 ging deep into the pockets for the shillings, but 
 such suggestion, I see, never cut much grass any- 
 way. It was about as effective as the burrowing 
 into the hole of that gopher we trailed and had 
 your dog do the rest, last summer. We sure had 
 a whoop of a time, didn't we, Guy, and to see that 
 shepherd dog ploughing up whole trenches before 
 the gopher finally hoisted the white flag has got the 
 movies beaten all hollow. 
 
 Bess and I are having lots of private conferences 
 together. I said PRIVATE, so save your ink and 
 don't get too inquisitive. I think she is ready to 
 say "I will" any time, by the looks of things, but 
 I will not make the proposal formal or official until 
 Miss Spring comes drifting in. Then, if ever, the 
 world is going to knock off work one hour to pay 
 tribute. I ain't figured on you doing likewise 'cause 
 I don't expect news of you and Maggie getting mar- 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 35 
 
 ried going into anywhere but the last wedged-in 
 column of the Argyleville Bi-Weekly Lemon, rates 
 6 lines 15 cents, ten cents down, balance on terms 
 to suit editor. What's the fare to Argyleville? 
 
 But I must quiet myself and take it easy as 
 it is a Hercules job to write with one hand — Bess 
 is holding the other and feeding me (censored). 
 Yours till my birthday comes. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 Well, I'm back to my old bimk at Merrill, and 
 that infernal lumbago has just about packed up and 
 vamoosed. But the cold in my dome still sticks to 
 it like a tom-cat to a tree when you attempt to 
 shove it off with a fish-pole. I think the office will 
 be relieved of anxiety tomorrow when I report for 
 duty again. I have a logical theory that my pres- 
 ence there as Efficiency Expert is as essential as 
 gunpowder is v^hen you want to pump lead into 
 tame red squirrels. 
 
 Day before yesterday I made twenty-five home 
 runs in my life, and my batting average is still 
 above .300. The birthday dinner Bess' ma — or, in 
 other words, my future ma-in-law— gave me was a 
 farewell meal too. It was an affair that has got 
 the Hotel Astor banquets trimmed to a neat T. You 
 may fancy well the tons of sauerkraut, weiners, dill 
 pickles, smoked sausage, mashed potatoes, and what 
 not, together with the birthday cakes necessary to 
 feed the whole family. There were seven covers, 
 but they say I was good for four that day. After 
 dinner Bess and I played hero and heroine by our- 
 
 36 
 
WHAT'S THE FAEE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 37 
 
 selves, with Cupid as a go-between. The number 
 of arrows discharged, flown, delivered, fired, was 
 legion, and Bess said she was sure the flu would 
 have to seek new customers after this. You know 
 when you are in love you get the grip; when you 
 are not, you get the flu with all its frills and em- 
 broidered edges, without charge, tax paid. I had 
 to leave at 2 o'clock despite the fact that I felt al- 
 most incapable of motion — the dinner had its effect 
 as far south as Dallas, Tex. The sidewalk toward 
 the depot was so slippery that I once got a vision 
 of Jupiter in all its glory and the contents of my 
 grip had such a shake-up that they all hurried away 
 to seek shelter. Bess collected them together, res- 
 cued my cap, and laughed for all she was worth. I 
 thought maybe I had two or three broken ribs, so 
 as I could stay with her longer, but since I knew 
 my boss needed his Efficiency Expert I decided bus- 
 iness comes first. 
 
 The ride back home was like pulling a loaded 
 sled up hill — you feel heavy-hearted as distance in- 
 creases between you and your Paradise Found. 
 Nothing broke the monotony of the trip save a 
 few stops at a few silly towns and the intermittent 
 shouts of the brakeman who must have been born 
 with a factory whistle in his mouth. 
 
 Bess gave me a kiss or maybe two and said that 
 was all she could afford to give for my birthday. 
 
38 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 I said, philosophic-like, that it was alright and that 
 when we get hitched up some day I would give 
 her the necessary fund with which to buy me some- 
 thing substantial. It was a case of postponing the 
 birthday present, Guy, which is better than you 
 gave me, which amounted to as much as 0. I some- 
 times feel myself drifting away from you, Guy. I 
 think only sapheads don't know any etiquettes on 
 remembering a fellow-being on his birthday. Of 
 course, I ain't calling you one, Guy; I'm only solilo- 
 quizing. That's a big word; if you don't know what 
 it means, never mind. Not everyone is born with 
 the same sum total of knowledge. I suppose you 
 are jealous because Bess seems a better bargain 
 than Maggie, but — avaunt with your hand-organ 
 and imitation nurse-bottle rubber tires! 
 
 Well, I must close up shop as my club awaits 
 me (Yes, James, you may drive up to the front 
 with the electrically lighted super-six) and they say 
 that a new debutante is to make her bow in society 
 tonight. I got to see her, Guy, so tarry a while 
 ere I light my Havana and put on my dress shirt 
 and silk lid and Prince Albert cut-outs. Well, here 
 I am, dolled up — ^but only to bid you adieu. Sorry 
 I can't take you along. Our members belong to ex- 
 clusive society and we don't want any farm-reared 
 guys with green eyes and lop ears to heave their 
 frames in view and crush the tender toes of No. 2 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 39 
 
 feet ladies. 
 
 So long. Hope you will be a good little boy and 
 go to sleep before the sandman calls and dream of 
 far-off isles where lemons grow on vines, where 
 kings raise sideboards and queens dip their hands 
 in yeast foam, where nuts are plentiful the year 
 round and flivvers sell at sacrifice prices. 
 
 Yours as long as I am at a safe distance. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 What! I thought you would kick the bucket and 
 throw seven kinds of fits, and here you say my last 
 letter was a silver medal trophy and worth more 
 than a caramel. That's right, Guy. Take things 
 with a grin and don't be a dead dinghumbob push- 
 ing up daisies from beneath the sod. Come-pretty- 
 pussy stuif is alright for short-winded, weak- 
 hearted, thin, ghastly-looking gasoline buggies. But 
 you — why, man, haven't you something stronger in 
 your gastric region? And isn't it true, after sum- 
 ming up calculations, footnotes, and Sunday Supple- 
 mental reviews, that the publishers are keeping an 
 eye on these Articles to the Constitution of Fun? 
 I see where daylight is beginning to find new abode 
 in your out-of-style, two-by-four, eight-hour clock 
 works, and I am glad for that, Guy, as I am itch- 
 ing for a sofie-pillow job on the magazines. You 
 don't want to be a fidgety old maid and spoil the 
 plans and specifications of yours truly, do you? Of 
 course not. When I play the fiddle, can't you dance 
 in tune? The magazine editors can handle the fin- 
 ances of the floor themselves. And the gate receipts 
 
 40 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 41 
 
 ought to put the Wall Street trade mark on our 
 backs in less time than it takes your tin hammock 
 to start getting- warmed up. 
 
 Say, I am figuring on hiring myself out as ad- 
 vertising manager. I see where the dailies they 
 turn out haven't much to attract even lukewarm at- 
 tention. All the ads seem stale and trite, and I 
 reckon I can contribute something valuable to the 
 kingdom of newspapers. The idea, Guy, of ads is 
 to attract. If I keep this in mind, I ought to beat 
 the Chicago Tribune in the final relays. It is only 
 an embryo idea just now. But see if I am not 
 bang up to snuff: 
 
 WANTED — Donkey or goat. Must be reasonable. 
 
 WANTED — Young Scotch girl wants position as 
 general. 
 
 FOR SALE CHEAP — Horse, good for garden work 
 if taken at once. 
 
 IF YOU are looking for something that will satis- 
 fy your appetite, try our baked goods. We still have 
 All-Leather shoes at reasonable prices. 
 
 LADY WANTED — Young, acquainted with dental 
 supplies and to pick teeth. Dr. Hoof. 
 
 LOST — A half poodle dog. Reward if returned to 
 Mrs. Lofsim, opposite Quality Meat Market. 
 
 FOR SALE — Pair of broncho horses. Good weight, 
 sound, broken. Owner in hospital. Address L. B. Schell. 
 
 FOR SALE — Pedigreed white Angora female cat, 
 8 months old. Just brought from Elm City, Montana. 
 Selling on account of baby in family. Can't take care 
 of both. 
 My boss says I am too good for the office as it 
 
 costs a lot to run me, and it makes me want to 
 
42 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 pat my own back and say to myself "Hear that, old 
 scout! Opportunity higher up calls." And so I'm 
 looking around for advertising manager work. I 
 think it is rare to receive such compliments — being 
 so good an employe as to be too good to be kept 
 in a dingy office. 
 
 You write about cold weather. Can't you for 
 the lovamike take some of ours? We've enough of 
 it up here and are shipping surplus stock down south 
 to save our necks. The sidewalks are so slippery 
 here that one sees in general free exhibitions of 
 modernized Fiji dances. 
 
 I am beginning to think that my bachelor days 
 will soon be on the blink and married life will soon 
 hatch. It may be out of the shell when June-Buds 
 beckon. I think Bess will accept my proposal with- 
 out reservations by the looks of her letters. I ex- 
 pect to bee-line it for Walnut Hollow again next 
 week and get definite and conclusive, written-in-ink 
 decisions. 
 
 Well, I have run out of yarn now, so will close 
 and give your digestive organs a rest. 
 
 Yours as far as it goes. 
 
 Bud. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 Yours, dated 23 B. C, arrived at last. It was 
 so antiquated and moth-eaten that I could masticate 
 only parts and fractions of parts with relish. The 
 rest I think I will send to the Curiosity Department 
 of the Museum of Animals at New York City. It 
 was so old I could smell Egyptian mummies and 
 King Pharaoh's cow in the backyard. It must have 
 been written by a grand-cousin to the fellow who 
 struck a match to see if the gasoline tank was 
 empty — it wasn't. 
 
 Merrill was snow-bound yesterday and so I 
 couldn't get a special to take me down to Walnut 
 Hollow on official business. But will surely hit the 
 trail as soon as everything's back to mean temper- 
 ature. We had premature spring weather a few 
 days until Old Man Winter got jealous and chased 
 it round the corner. And as he went, it started 
 to snow. Tonight you could hear him yet. A cold 
 wave is whipping down from where they say is the 
 North Pole, but that I figure is where Peary's oil 
 heater went out or got tipped over by some stupid 
 white bear scratching its back on the foot-railing. 
 
 43 
 
44 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 It looks like spring is canned and pickled for a couple 
 weeks more. 
 
 Fm still looking forward to June, nothwithstand- 
 ing. Have been stalking the past week for a nest. 
 Of course, it will have to be analyzed, labelled, copy- 
 righted and passed by the National Board of Cen- 
 sorship. Sometimes it grieves me to see my bach- 
 elor days go. They have been so good to me that 
 it seems cruel now to give them death certificates 
 and an undertaker's hearse ride. And then, too, I 
 have to scrape to save plunks and iron men. All it 
 costs to get a passport upon the matrimonial sea, 
 really, is a pastor and a county clerk's signature. 
 But one wants all the trimmings thereto. If this 
 wasn't a funny old world, gosh, I'd like to live in a 
 tent like an Injun and hunt profiteers' scalps with 
 tomahawks and poisoned arrows, believe me ma. 
 
 I think that Bess and I will get along beauti- 
 fully when married. The fellow that she went with 
 before I came across her path wasn't worth a part- 
 icle, she says. He broke her heart once and then 
 wrote her this letter (keep mum, Guy, as Bess says 
 no one should read it as it would reflect on the kind 
 of fellows she used to go with) : 
 
 Dear Miss Friedham: 
 
 Say I would just rite ua few lines to let u no 
 I still love u. 
 
 Wouldn't u like to have a true frend, I havent any 
 girl at present time. If u would care to keep company 
 
WHAT'S THE FAKE TO AEGYLEVILLE? 45 
 
 with ME your chance is good. I no I broke your heart 
 once but I will never brake your heart AGEN no other 
 girl heart. I hope u aren't soar at me at present. I 
 felt so bad over it that time. Hoping u forgive me 
 averything. Maybe u & I could make up agen deer. 
 
 I am not a fancy riter haven't riten a love letter 
 almoste 3 years. At present I would like to have the 
 best girl in Walnut Hollow. The last letter u riten 
 to me June 23, 1918, I cant read that letter at all must 
 of read it hunderd times already. U must thought a 
 lot of me Tuesday 23. I said to myself Bess must be 
 sick or something is the mater with the deer girl. I 
 beleve I will have to — sometime hopping in the near 
 future. Don't care for another girl I love but u. U 
 are the only girl I take so much intress. And if I would 
 live so long & get married to another girl I whonte 
 be happy nor u will. 
 
 U will be soar in the future marke my word Bess 
 deer. 
 
 U got a chance to be my Sweetheart heart egen 
 if u ans. soon as possible. I can tell u a lot of that ho 
 was all against u but I don't whant to tell u onless u 
 make up agen. Hoping u will soon be well agen wish 
 u best love & lots of love & hundreds of Kisses. 
 
 From Clarence Hammerthrower that loves u. Ans. 
 Hoping to receved ans. Bess deer Sweetheart. 
 
 I'm not that kind, Guy, as my love letters run 
 along the lines of Browning- — only I never dare com- 
 pare Browning's with mine. 
 
 I was over to see if I could sell some of your 
 alleged non-explosive lamps in the County Home, 
 the other day. The supt. told me I would have to 
 wait until electricity goes out of style. And then I 
 tried to demonstrate them to the tenants thereof. 
 They all were interested in the lamp, Guy, but just 
 
46 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 when I felt sure I had a transaction safely anchored, 
 they told me to charge 'em up to the supt. I left, 
 indignant. That set me to thinking why Bess and T 
 can't reside in this flat and live free, and write 
 books and take life gosh-darned easy. But as to* 
 your kerosene lamps, I don't know as how I will 
 take one myself. I haven't anybody to charge it 
 up to just now. 
 
 I heard the other day that man is like some 
 old kerosene lamp. Not very bright. Often gets 
 turned down. Smokes frequently and often goes 
 out at night. Of course, I am not mentioning you, 
 Guy, but your being agent for the lamps has set 
 me to thinking. 
 
 Well, I hear my Old Faithful snoring in the 
 garage, so I think I'll wind the alarm clock, read 
 the weather forecast in your almanac, put the cat 
 outdoors, and go to see Bess on dreamland's en- 
 chanting shores. Of course, three's a crowd, so I'll 
 pull down the shade now. 
 
 Yours till it's over, 
 Bud. 
 P. S. I just heard tell that the tracks will be clear 
 tomorrow, so it's me for W. H. Look for big an- 
 nouncements in Milwaukee society columns. 
 
Dear Guy: 
 
 The lid is off! Ah, woe's me! Why should I 
 suffer thus? Why all this lamentation, why this 
 tearing of hair and gnashing of teeth? Who would 
 think that a bomb of infernal, irreparable grief 
 should burst unwarranted in my face? ME — who 
 has striven to live up to the tabulations and decrees 
 of a honest to goodness Tennyson hero-worship 
 lover! ME — who should be spumed, rejected, ta- 
 booed, vetoed, and tabled for indefinite postpone- 
 ment by Bess! 
 
 And yet I am here alone, Guy! Alone! That 
 awful, hollow-sounding word! Alone — like a for- 
 lorn, ship-wrecked sailor marooned on an unmapped 
 island, the loneliest in a lonely sea! And I turn my 
 eyes appealingly to you — what is the fare to Ar- 
 gyleville ? 
 
 It was that shrimp of a shrivelled fig-stone, the 
 fellow across the street, who upset my instruments 
 of live. It was him — HIM who thought he could 
 prove that muscles are mightier than the love-pen! 
 I was bent on surprising Bess with my visit, Guy, 
 and had alighted from the train and was taking a 
 
 47 
 
48 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 short cut towards that temple of love — her home — 
 when that fellow bumps onto me, grins a little, and 
 acts sheepish. I says, "Whaddya want?" He rears 
 up like a grouch with a promiscuous equator and 
 wants to know if he didn't have as much right of 
 way as I. 
 
 I don't recollect much, Guy, but we were taking 
 measure of each other's lamps and beaks till I con- 
 nects one with the southwest portion of his face, 
 and he rolls all of a heap into a sand pile. When 
 he comes up spitting gravel and interjections, Bess 
 heaves to in view. The fellow pleads that I had 
 wheels in my head which didn't turn right insofar 
 as he never had known Bess much outside of being 
 her Sunday School classmate, and I, seeing Bess 
 coming, hastily forms myself into a Court of Ap- 
 peals committee of one, grants amends, dusts his 
 pants, and acts amicable. When Bess at last comes 
 up, I tried to explain. Honest, Guy, I never begged 
 so hard for anything as I did for a wholesome, dyed 
 in wool, yard-wide understanding. But Bess moons 
 over that fellow, pats his face tootsie-sweetie like, 
 looks daggers at me, and says, insultant, "How 
 dare you! Coming sneaking around in this alley, 
 spying on me, and spoiling the Sunday School class 
 complexion. You — you dirt of the scum! You 
 white-livered thing! Of all the infernal deeds of 
 man, why, you can do the cake-getting slick as a 
 
WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 49 
 
 whistle! You- YOU! And yet you call me your 
 love! Oh, thank goodness, it is a case of finding 
 out the quality of the meat before the nut is 
 cracked !" 
 
 So I'm back home, Guy, back to my old bunk 
 with poison-labelled bottles looking javelin-like into 
 my own eyes ! Things are blankety-blank-blank, and 
 I don't care an owl's hoot what happens! I thought 
 that to be a hero one has got to show the stuff he 
 was made of, but I guess I got the wrong end of 
 the thing when I used my long-range gun! And 
 Bess just naturally turned her back to me and strut- 
 ted away with that fellow in her arm — like a pea- 
 cock in full gorgeous array! Ah me! When will 
 I ever smile again to the rising and setting sun? 
 When can the moon again call me back to youth? 
 I'm aged, old, wrinkled, stoop-shouldered, shaky, and 
 devoid of feeling. I don't know — but when I die I 
 will want this epitaph penciled on a shingle and 
 placed on my unsodden-by- tears grave: 
 
 AN EPITAPH 
 Here, reader, lies a patient gink 
 
 Of Isaak Walton fame; 
 To every fish he tried to wink, 
 
 But none cared for his name. 
 
 Then he hooked one that was a dream 
 And pulled with skill and care; 
 
 But when the fish came up to him, 
 And saw his red, red hair — 
 
50 WHAT'S THE FARE TO ARGYLEVILLE? 
 
 "0 this is sudden, bo; I must 
 
 Ask daddy first," she cried, 
 And dived — and he who bit the dust 
 
 Soon of heart failure died. 
 
 Yours till I cash in, 
 Bud. 
 P. S. Everything's safe and sane. Bess is won. I 
 wrote the above fiction merely to make you for the 
 moment feel the thrills of pink joy, and this P. S. 
 assuring you briefly that my proposal was a dynamic 
 triumph is destined to turn you emerald green with 
 the pangs of envy all of a sudden. I am doing this 
 to help you see the different colors of life, remem- 
 bering the rides in your old, invertebrate tin-boat. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 liiilllllillilllllili 
 
 015 909 006 1