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742

THE ROCK HILL CORRESPONDENT

BY WILLIAM H. HAMBY

THE young editor turned in his chair. That is only the prelude."" "But that is n't it," grinned Beets.

Tandoned back into the printing

shop. Instead of the click of type had come the sound of a chuckle. The redheaded printer sat on the stool, leaning on the type-case, reading copy.

It was the Rock Hill correspondence, which had just come in on the noon mail. The "Wahoo Sun" circulated over most of the county, and at a number of points had regular correspondents who sent in weekly letters of local news-items.

"What is it, Beets?" asked Simpson, the editor.

"Just found out who she is." printer chuckled.

"Who who is?"

The

"Bashful Bob's girl." "Bashful Bob" was the name signed to the Rock Hill letters. He was one of several correspondents that they had never met personally. All they knew of him they had learned from his news-items and comments.

"Read it." The editor and his redheaded foreman got a great deal of amusement piecing together neighborhood relations from the personal items in the newsletters.

Miss Ida Lane, who took a course in the Quill City Business College last fall, has accepted a position as stenographer for the Gross Grain Lumber Co. of Kansas City. Miss Ida has a host of friends around Rock Hill who will sadly miss her.

"Nothing suspicious about that," said Simpson. "Similar items every week. Bashful Bob always sends them off with a host of friends who mourn their departure."

66

He turned several pages of penciled items-a new barn, Cy Todd's broken-legged calf, a runaway, lightning shocking eavesdroppers on the party telephone-line-until he came to the last page. "Listen to this:

Lots of young folks think all the chances are in the city. But they ain't. The city is a mighty poor place to live: no pure air, nor plum-blossoms, nor fresh eggs and butter. And there ain't so awful much money in it, either, when you come to pay your board and car-fare. And you don't have no friends, —that is, no true friends,-that help when you are sick or broke. And there is lots of wickedness in the city, and danger. Better stay on the old farm, boys and girls.

"That settles it." Beets was positive. He had reached the mature age of twentyfour, and had considerable experience to draw conclusions from. "I have known for some time that Bashful Bob was in love. When a fellow notices that the dogwood is in blossom, and smells the wild plum, and talks about the light of burning leaves on the hill, and how pretty the sheep are in the green pasture, you can bet your last week's laundry-bill that he is in love. But never before have I been able to lay my finger on the girl.

"I've got it all fixed up now." The red-headed printer was something of an orator-especially when, as usual, he was in love himself. "As the poet says, I can see them in my mind's eye as plain as the board-bills of yesterday.

"Bashful Bob is five feet eleven, weighs one sixty-five. He has a smooth face,

brown eyes, and a smile that tucks you in and makes you feel like you are going to have a fine drive. About every three hundred yards he says something real interesting, and the rest of the time makes you feel like you are.

"He went through the public schools, and had one year in the academy, intending to teach. But his father gave him the back eighty, and instead of going into the school-room to harvest other people's wild oats, he settled down to raise corn and apples.

"There are forty acres for grain in the branch bottom, and forty on the hill, where he has built a five-room cottage and planted a fine orchard.

"He is twenty-seven, and has been keeping company with Ida for two years. Ida is twenty-two, and has notions of independence, and restless spells. She has blue eyes and long, black lashes, and hair so much prettier than the artificial that you can't believe it is real. She is something of a tease, and is not sure whether Bob loves her or not. He has n't ever said anything about it; been afraid to. He is mighty slow that way.

"Now, can't you imagine"-Beets imagine" - Beets threw out his hand dramatically-"poor Bob, these soft spring evenings, down there in the bottom, where he is going to plant watermelons, sitting under a willow-tree by the spring branch, watching for Ida's face in the water? It is awful lonesome with her gone; but that is n't what hurts most. What wrings the blood out of his heart is the thought that she could be dissatisfied with Rock Hill while he was there. Surely she does not love him, he reasons, or she would never have wanted to go away to the city-the beastly city."

"Yes," said the editor, "I can imagine. it. I can also imagine that the 'Wahoo Sun' will be a day late if there is not some type set pretty soon."

run

Beets picked up his stick and began to click in the type. Simpson turned back to his desk and took up his pencil. But the editorial on reciprocity did not smoothly. His mind was on Bashful Bob and Ida-at least on the picture the red-headed foreman had conjured up. And recalling bits of the correspondent's news and comment, he could easily believe the picture was very near the truth. So, as the April breeze strayed in through the

open office door, he surreptitiously began to write poetry; for he, too, smelled the wild plum-blossoms and knew when the dogwood was in bloom.

Every week after that they watched the correspondence from Rock Hill with unusual interest.

One week Bashful Bob-his real name was Jerry Coleman-wrote that there was danger of the seventeen-year locusts; that the wheat was threatened by chinch-bugs, and that nearly all the apples were dropping off the trees.

Beets shook his head sadly. "Did n't hear from. her at all this week."

Again, the Rock Hill correspondent called attention to the appalling amount of crime in the city, and declared it was the whirlpool that sucked under to eternal ruin thousands of the unsuspecting.

Beets grinned. "He had a letter this week telling about what a nice time she had in the park."

But another week: "The corn is waisthigh, and the best color I ever saw at the time of year; and the weather is just right for all crops.'

"He has just had a letter," interpreted Beets, "recalling what a lovely drive they had a year ago when they went to the June picnic on Bear Creek."

And so it went during the summer. Sometimes Bashful Bob saw the silver lining, but more often only the cloud.

Then one Wednesday early in September, when Simpson read the Rock Hill correspondence, he found it full of dullgray cheerfulness. Away down toward the bottom of the last page he found an item which he read to the printer:

Miss Ida Lane, formerly of this place, but now of Kansas City, has been promoted, and her salary nearly doubled. Miss Ida's friends will congratulate her on her good fortune.

"That"-Simpson shook his head-"is the worst one of all."

The next week the correspondence from Rock Hill was very dull. It seemed nothing had happened except that Pearly Jones had a felon, the district school had opened, and Mrs. Crow had spent a day with her daughter.

The following week for the first time in many months there was no news at all

742

THE ROCK HILL CORRESPONDEN

BY WILLIAM H. HAMBY

HE young editor turned in his chair and looked back into the printingshop. Instead of the click of type had come the sound of a chuckle. The red headed printer sat on the stool, leaning on the type-case, reading copy.

It was the Rock Hill correspondence, which had just come in on the noon mail. The "Wahoo Sun" circulated over most of the county, and at a number of points had regular correspondents who sent in weekly letters of local news-items.

"What is it, Beets?" asked Simpson, the editor.

"Just found out who she is." The printer chuckled.

"Who who is?"

"Bashful Bob's girl." "Bashful Bob" was the name signed to the Rock Hill letters. He was one of several correspondents that they had never met personally. All they knew of him they had learned from his news-items and comments.

"Read it." The editor and his redheaded foreman got a great deal of amusement piecing together neighborhood relations from the personal items in the newsletters.

"But that is n't it," grinned "That is only the prelude." He several pages of penciled itemsbarn, Cy Todd's broken-legged calf away, lightning shocking eavesdrop the party telephone-line-until he the last page. "Listen to this:

Lots of young folks think all th are in the city. But they ain't. T a mighty poor place to live: no pu plum-blossoms, nor fresh eggs a And there ain't so awful much n either, when you come to pay and car-fare. And you don't have -that is, no true friends,-that you are sick or broke. And the wickedness in the city, and dar stay on the old farm, boys and

"That settles it." Beets He had reached the mature a four, and had considerable draw conclusions from. "I for some time that Bashful love. When a fellow notices wood is in blossom, and sm plum, and talks about the li leaves on the hill, and h sheep are in the green pastu your last week's laundry-b love. But never before h to lay my finger on the girl

"I've got it all fixed red-headed printer was s orator-especially when, in love himself. "As the see them in my mind's e board-bills of terday. "Bash

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