Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

356 yet plastic, for they had set to the curve of the animal’s barrel like the bark on a tree. His black hair was cut short, all except a forelock like a horse, leaving his big ears naked and unframed. These turned away from his head as if they had been frosted and wilted, and if ears ever stood as an index to generosity in this world the camp cook’s at once pronounced him the most liberal man to be met between the moun- tains and the sea.. His features were small, his mustache and eyebrows large, his nose sharp and thin, his eyes blue, and as bright and merry as a June day. He wore a blue wool shirt, new and clean, with a bright scarlet necktie as big as a hand of tobacco; and a green velvet vest, a galloping horse on his heavy gold watch- chain; and great, loose, baggy corduroy trousers, like a pirate of the Spanish main. _ These were folded into expensive, high- heeled, quilted-topped boots, and, in spite of his trade, there was not a spot of grease or flour on him anywhere to be seen. Lambert noted the humorous glances which passed from eye to eye, and the sly winks that went round the circle of cross- legged men with tin plates between their knees as they looked now and then at his bicycle leaning close by against a tree. But the exactions of hospitality appeared to keep down both curiosity and comment during the meal. Nobody asked him where he came from, what his business was, or _ whither he was bound, until the last plate was pitched into the box, the last cup drained of its black, scalding coffee. It was one of the elders who took it up then, after he had his pipe geing and Lambert had rolled a cigarette from the proffered pouch. “What kind of a horse is that you’re ridin’, son?” he inquired. ‘Have a look at it,” Lambert invited, knowing that the machine was new to most, if not all, of them. He led the way to the bicycle, they unlimbering from their squat- ting beside the wagon and following. He took the case containing his un- profitable wares from the handle-bars and turned the bicycle over to them, offering no explanations on its peculiarities or parts, speaking only when they asked him, in ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. horse-parlance, with humor that broadened as they put off their reserve. On invita- tion to show its gait he mounted it, after explaining that it had stepped on a nail and traveled lamely. He circled the fire and came back to them, offering it to anybody who might want to try his skill. Hard as they were to shake out of the saddle, not a man of them, old or young, could mount the rubber-shod steed of the city streets. All of them gave it up after a tumultuous hour of hilarity but the bow- legged cook, whom they called Taterleg. He said he never had laid much claim to being a horseman, but if he couldn’t ride a long-horned Texas steer that went on wheels he’d resign his job. He took it out into the open, away from the immediate danger of a collison with a tree, and squared himself to break it in. He got it going at last, cheered by loud whoops of admiration and encouragement, and rode it straight into the fire. He scat- tered sticks and coals and bore a wabbling course ahead, his friends after him, shout- ing and .waving hats. Somewhere in the dark beyond the lanterns he ran into a tree. But he came back pushing the machine, his nose skinned, sweating and triumphant, offering to pay for any damage he had done. Lambert assured him there was no damage. They sat down to smoke again, all of them feeling better, the barrier against the stranger quite down, everything comforta- ble and serene. Lambert told them, in reply to kindly, polite questioning from the elder of the bunch, a man designated by the name Si- wash, how he was lately graduated from the Kansas agricultural college at Manhat- tan, and how he had taken the road with a grip full of hardware to get enough ballast in his jeans to keep the winter wind from blowing him away. “Yes, I thought that was a college hat you had on,” said Siwash. Lambert acknowledged its weakness. “ And that shirt looked to me from the first snort I got at it like a college shirt. I used to be where they was at one time.” Lambert explained that an aggie wasn’t the same as a regular college fellow, such as they turn loose from the big factories in COMICEDOO© C)) S Co mM