he said. 'I cain't an' won't tolerate no interference from these Yanks in the few pleasures of my home!' "When they-all came to our house one night to bust up his good barrel of old Bourbon, he reached his army rifle right down from the wall. grandpap was jest tickled to death. He'd chuckle an' chuckle an' advise us how to circumvent an' hide our pleasures from them parent pests an' interferin' Yankees. We had some right good times that way-dances, picnics, motah pahties. We took the old man on a coon hunt one night; an' when we couldn't find no coon, we went on a rabbit hunt instead. We'd shine 'em with our headlight an' shoot 'em as we dashed along. My grandpap got so gay that night, he taught us the old Rebel yell; an' when we came back into town, we woke them Yanks all up with it. They didn't seem to like it much, but we-all jest enjoyed ourselves! "Gentlemen, I reckon you-all have come to the wrong house. I have to inform you that this is the home of an Early American,' he said. "I got right interested in the Early Americans then-an' the old gentleman told me a lot about those early settler days in the West, an' life on the Mississippi at the time when he was young. An' then one night, in his account of a grand pahty he had seen on one of them big plantations, he said some Colonial Dames was "We had one hell of a good time,' theah. my grandpap said, when we got "What's a Colonial Dame?' I home. 'You're the wildest lot since asked him. "Well,' he replied, 'I nevah did get on very intimate terms with those Dames. I only seen them through the window on the occasion to which I refer. Those Dames was kind of Duchesses. A Colonial Dame would be lonely out heah!' The girl paused a moment and then continued. "So we went on for quite some time. But when I was fifteen, my mothah died, an' "I'd read a good deal about that seemed to pull old grandpap Duchesses an' they all seemed to down; when she was gone, he give have right good times-conductin' right out an' jest naturally settled their own evolooshins jest as my old into his grave. An' then, about two grandpap did. An' that was what yeahs ago, my stepmothah_came I allowed I'd do. So when I was into our home. She was a Kansas about thirteen, I got togethah a few City Yank; an' she once said, if she girl friends who were simply all fed had her way, everybody who smoked up with bein' interfered with. Back cigarettes would be put in the county to the good old days for us. We let jail. The first thing she did was in a few boys, in the cou'se of time; to scrub our whole house, an' fix an' an' when we met togethah, we fuss till all its nice old Southern look was known as Early Americans; but was jest plumb gone out of it. An' when we young ladies met alone, then she turned her attention to me we was the Colonial Dames. They- an' the Colonial Dames. She tried all seemed to like that name, an' my to bust up every pahty we planned, an' got to interferin' in every little thing I did. She nevah would let me take a job, an' she'd barely let me jazz at all. When I did go to a dance, she made Dad bring me home when the pahty was jest beginnin' to get right gay. "She tried to stop me motorin', too. We'd had some pleasant motah rides. We Dames would start out in somebody's cyar, on nice warm summer evenin's, an' pick up a few boy friends, or two or three young travelin' men, an' give 'em a welcome to our town. We was really helpin' boost the place, but my stepmothah nevah could see it that way. She made me stay home an' sew instead. When I jest couldn't stand it an' went out of the house, she changed the curtains in my room. I'd had lovely curtains theah-deep blue with orange buttahflies. She yanked 'em down while I was out an' put up muslin in their place dead white, with lumpy polka-dots! Them polka-dots was the last straw! I used to wake up an' look at the things, an' they made me a regular Reb once more! I remembered my grandpap, an' I said: 'I'm agoin' to conduct my own evolooshin!' "By this time theah was quite a lot of us in the Colonial Dames, an' we reckoned we'd have a beauty show, to put some life into the town. It wa'n't easy; it had to be done in the teeth of half the Yanks in the place. But we had it at last, in the new hotel, an' my friend Rosalie took the prize in the Charleston contest theah, while I got a second at buck an' wing. To celebrate, I decided to give a little pancake pahty. I'm right smart at makin' cakes, an' the girls kept me busy makin' 'em most all that Sunday afternoon. When we'd had enough, we went up to my room; an' knowin' how I'd come to feel about them theah polka-dots, some of the Dames took to burnin' 'em out by usin' lighted cigarettes. Just then my stepmothah came home an' flew into a regular Yankee rage. She told my friends to get right out-an' aftah the way that woman did talk, I jest couldn't remain at home no mo'! "I reckoned I'd bettah get right out of town-an' travelin' is so easy, these days, I decided I might as well go to New Yo'k, an' see what it amounted to. That appealed to my friend Rosalie heah; so we took her fifty dollah prize, an' the twenty I'd won at buck an' wing, an' stahted up No'th. That was weeks ago. For we nevah did use the railroads much; we thought it'd be mo' interestin' to come up by motah hikes; an' most everybody we met on the road seemed right glad to take us in. "It was easy enough to earn our board an' lodging every night, because this country nowadays is plumb full of chain hotels an' restaurants. We got on one chain that run clean up to Chicago, with a café in every big town for about a thousand miles or so. An' I'd heard all about that chain from a nice young travelin' man I knew. The Dames once gave him a pahty back home. He seen me tossin' pancakes theah an' fell plumb in love with them cakes of mine. An' he dealt in restaurant supplies; so through his help I got my chance, an' they passed us right on up the line. I was able to arrange to get a job most anywheah, tossin' cakes in café windows. We made some good friends in those cafés; they-all became right sympathetic ovah our troubles back home; an' on hearin' of the Colonial Dames, they'd even sometimes raise our pay. "I nevah did have a Colonial Dame toss cakes in my show-window before,' one café manager said to me. 'An' I propose to pay for it!" 2 "So we got along right pleasantly," the little Southerner continued, "an' came at last to the end of our hike. When we Dames rode into Chicago one night, we felt mighty proud of ourselves, an' we had a right to be— for we had come over a thousand miles without the slightest mite of harm, an' even with mo' money than we had on leavin' home. We stayed in Chicago for quite some time, an' I got a job in a depot café, while Rosalie was a waitress theah. We-all made most seven dollahs a day, an' we could live on half of that, so we saved about eighty dollahs mo'. "Now,' I decided, 'we'll go to New Yo'k-an' what's mo', we'll go by train.' For we'd had enough of travelin' an' livin' 'round most anyhow. We-all are real homey girls, an' we're right hungry now for a home-jest a couple of nice cheap quiet rooms that we can fix up to suit ourselves, an' give nice little pahties theah. We've most two hundred dollahs saved, an' I've got an offer of a good job right heah in this depot. That was arranged by the woman who ran the depot café in Chicago. By to-morrow night I'll be at work in my white cap an' uniform, while Rosalie will be stahtin' in to study hard for her career." "What's to be her career?" the agent inquired, sorrier than ever to tell these valiant travelers the dismal news that they must go home. "Why, dancin', ma'am," small Ginny said. "It couldn't be anything else, you see, for her whole soul is in her feet. She's jest plumb bawn for cabarets." "But, my dear," said the agent, "cabaret jobs are not so easy to get in New York; and even if you get one, they're not nice places for young girls. Besides, I'm afraid”— and reluctantly she reached for the telegram that was to shatter youth's young dream. But once more Ginny cut her off. "Oh, I've got that all arranged," she said. Quickly she opened her small bag and took out three glamorous circulars. "We've found three dancin' schools," she explained, "that guarantee for fifty dollahs to put a girl in cabaret trim. They may be fakes, I know you'll say; but tomorrow we'll look them over, ma'am; an' we nevah will throw any money away till they can prove they get results. Don't you worry about Rosalie. With me right heah, she'll be as safe as she evah was back home. If anybody undahtakes to do my friend heah any harm, believe me, ma'am, I'll see to him! When we've fixed up a nice little home, I'm agoin' to put old grandpap's photograph up on the wall, jest to remind us we want to stay free an' not be interfered with. That's what this country stood for once. We fought big wars about it, too; an' by the Almighty, we will again, if people like my stepmothah get thinkin' they can run the whole show! Theah's been altogethah too much palavah about us so-called modern girls. It's all a mistake—we ain't modern at all. We're old as the Rebs of Sixty-One an' them early Western pioneers. We're jest plain Early Americans, ma'am, who want to conduct our own evolooshins!" The agent smiled regretfully. "Well, I wish you could," she said, "for you really seem to me quite able to take care of yourselves. But I've some responsibility here, and I'll have to hold you, I'm afraid." "Why, ma'am, what in the world do you mean?" asked Ginny, with a startled glance. For answer, the woman handed her that telegram from Oklahoma. But as Ginny read it aloud, her face cleared up in a smile of amusement. "Now ain't that jest like our parents?" she asked. Brightly she looked up again. "Please don't look so worried, ma'am. Your whole responsibility ends the minute you know we're both of age, an' legally free to live wheah we like." "But, my dear, I don't know!" the agent exclaimed. "You don't look eighteen to me! If you had any real proof that you were, of course I couldn't send you home. But—” "Oh, I have, ma'am," Ginny said. "I've brought along all that's required by law. I consulted a young lawyer friend of mine about that very point, you see; for I nevah did like to be unprepared for this world exactly as it is—especially parents!" And she produced two birth certificates from the town clerk back at home! "So you see, we're all right now, ma'am, an' we cain be gettin' along to our beds. But please don't think that we ain't grateful. You've been right hospitable an' I'd love to keep in touch with you. My job in this depot will be close by, an' I'll be glad to drop in on you heah, an' I hope you will come to our rooms some night. If we change our address, I shall keep you informed; an' I'll be right glad to know you are heah-in case Rosalie evah should get too gay.' "What shall I reply to this telegram, then?" the agent asked, with a look of keen relish in her eyes. "Oh, I'll attend to that, if you please." Ginny picked up a telegraph blank and, after a frown, wrote rapidly: "Please stop worrying. We are quite safe and in charge of a right respectable friend. But we mean to conduct our own evolutions. Love and kisses-Jackson and Quale." T CHICAGO Yesterday, To-Day and To-Morrow EDGAR LEE MASTERS HIS is a city which was never named-instead, a name rose up to claim it. The ancient great cities had founders: Ilus, the son of Tros, for Troy; Dido for Carthage, who purchased for her city as much land as she could measure with a bull's hide cut thin, on which she built the citadel called Byrsa (the hide of a bull). So the early name of Carthage (Byrsa) sprang out of the incident of a day, out of the soil. It was so with Chicago, save that Chicago had no founder, and was named for no man by any certain report. There was an Indian chief in the latter part of the seventeenth century named Chikagou, and it has been said, a later chief of the same name, though this is in doubt. But about 1725, in the reign of Louis XV, a Chicagou went to Paris and was presented a splendid snuff-box by the Duchess of Orleans. Was the city named for him? He measured no land and did nothing to deserve the honor. And there remain the Indian words Chicajo, Chacajou, Chekegou, Shekagong, meaning in the Indian tongues strong, wild onion, swamp- or skunk-cabbage. Symbolists desiring to fasten an original odium on Chicago can choose these as epithetical eponyms; but they will have to adopt the meaning "strong" as a part of any of them, for Chicago began strong, and has grown in strength. Her metropolitan area was measured by something more extensive than the bull's hide, being circumscribed by the domain of cattle, corn and wheat, copper and iron, and forests. The building of Chicago and its magnificence attained in less than a hundred years overtop the story of any city ancient or modern. With no sacking after ten years of siege, to send down the centuries a theme for a Euripides, it has the Civil War, during which it won industrial rule along the Mississippi River and throughout the Middle West, and a new dramatic or epic conception may find that eventuation rich in imaginative material. Why not in that war, which blossomed a city both populous and rich, while she played a great part in that struggle, flinging her émigrés and her wealth without stint, and pouring in her spirit derived from the liberty heritage of the Old Northwest, from New England and from the German révolutionnaires. How is the site of a city selected? There is nothing really casual about it; there is always a reason back of the choice. Only look into the physical and other facts and it will be clear that Chicago could not have |