Judge — August 31, 1918 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

admit that possibly his mastery of words helped to gain his ances- tors’ ears. If he had sent a commercial telegram like this—* My bill for damages is one acre of land, free from income tax—kindly bequeath—Blub Upperson—" the chances are, they would never have noticed it any more than chickweed. But the prayer he sent so often and so fervently in the choicest words must have affected them like incense. And in the end they heard Blub had a second Cousin, Cathis Plympton. Her father was crusted with gold, and she had every opportunity to marry well. But alas! Blub was dear to her. Papa Ply mpton had no love for ne’er-do-wells. Cleverly he acquired property in the Kentucky mountains. He told Blub he might have half the land if he'd go there and experiment with the ub went—thinking mostly of his ancestors on the way. Glorious land it was with a creek running through. There was a cabin on the place with a big cellar—deep—dirt Blub_ fell in with a couple f mining engineers and le arned he had never dreamed. ‘They gave him a company’s dis- t more coddled, red- flanneled or trundled tt a v le contrivance. It brought water to the cabin. Then, fr 00k where Blub had recorded this recipe, he as care! as though it were Johnny Cake 2 Wheelbarrows of gravel. Wheelbarrow of sand. Bag of Cement. bbls. (approximately) of water The engineers called it ‘Four in One’—the strongest con- crete flooring. Blub, his soul in flower, put that mixture on his cellar floor. He made concrete steps and a walk to the sycamore tree and a well-curb that was an incitement to thirst! Then was Blub ex- alted like a palm tree on the sea-shore, and he wrote to his Uncle. In that letter glowed fellowship for the mountaineers, for beast and buzzard. Pages of brush fire burned; the thrumming of fiddlers sounded. You could see dancers at Sis Twombley’s- your blood curdled at the howling of a coon dog. There were nights smoky-sweet, full of God and visions, full of red warmth and forgetfulne in that letter. Blub never dismounted for ten moving-picture pages. Cathie treasured that letter till she got an inspiration. She had it type-written, and sent it to a proud magazine. They ac- cepted it with a generous check, asked for more articles of the same literary finish, with the same authentic out-of-door tone. That was the way of Blub’s getting into Literature. After the wanton had crumpled his pride and he had left her for other things, the jade came fawning and led him in that intimate way up to her back porch and right into the fragrant kitchen, where she told him he might eat all the ginger-bread he wanted—the trickster! Now the least object that meets Blub’s eyes he can put into an article that sells almost before it is read. Curious! for the author doesn’t care a wasp’s wing for Literature—now. But he cares for Cathie! And her father, Lord bless you! he says, 1 you've got the sense, child, to keep the clever one in the family Reporters work their way to see him. Clever women and shy girls beg him for a revelation of his methods. “Where do you get your inspiration, Mr. Upperson? SZ” i And Mr. Upperson, from the middle of a twisty smile, re- = a a : plies, “My ancestors gave me any I may have when they Brus Mape Concrete STEPS AND A showed me how to get along without it. But my best advice, Wak to tHe Sycamore TREE AND if you really care about literary success,” adds Blub, “is to mix A Wett-Curs Tuat Was an concrete INcttemeNT To Tuirst And they call him a humorist. 2 comicbooks.com