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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f24b39c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67519 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67519) diff --git a/old/67519-0.txt b/old/67519-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 709d05c..0000000 --- a/old/67519-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1115 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Bigfoot Joe and Others, by Henry -Bedford-Jones - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Bigfoot Joe and Others - -Author: Henry Bedford-Jones - -Release Date: February 27, 2022 [eBook #67519] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Al Haines - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIGFOOT JOE AND OTHERS *** - - - - - - -[Transcriber's note: spelling and grammar oddities have been -preserved as printed] - - - - - - BIGFOOT JOE - And Others - - - Figments of Fancy, Written - Hand-set in Type, & - Printed, by - - - H BEDFORD-JONES - - - - Done At Lakeport - MCMXX - - - - -To The KING - -Most Gracious Sovereign, - -I beg leave to approach Your Royal Person with an humble Offering, -glean'd from long acquaintance with Your Majesty's subjects. A Work, -which owes it's Rise, it's Progress, and Completion to this Source, -is hence with all Humility proffered to Your Sacred Majesty. That -Providence may long preserve the blessings of Your Reign to this -Profession and Nation, is the constant prayer of, - -May it please Your Majesty, - -Your Majesty's most humble and devoted - -Servant and Subject, - -H. BEDFORD-JONES - -To HUMBUG, Rex et Imperator. - - - - -CONTENTS - - -BIG FOOT JOE - -THE CLEAR WORD - -THE NAKED MAN - -ONE NIGHT AT HEALY'S - -THE SHEPHERD'S FAILURE - - - - -BIGFOOT JOE - - -In a town of the north there dwelt three men apart from their -fellows. One of these men was a Philosopher, one was a Poet, and one -was a Painter. These lived and wrought, while all the folk looked up -to them from afar off. There was a halfbreed called Bigfoot Joe who -hewed in a lumber camp, so that the folk knew nothing of him. - -The Philosopher penned a mystical work on the philosophy of the -woods, and he grew known in the world. The Poet wrote stanzas filled -with the music of the pines and cedars, and his verse brought high -wage. The Painter limned a single hemlock, instinct with the breath -of the lonely forest; and it found fame. But, deep in the woods, -trees crashed down and the unknown lumberjack lopped off their -branches. - -Now it so happened that a certain Great Author, having heard of the -famous Three, journeyed across the seas to visit them; for he was an -unwearied seeker after the truth that is in life. - -The Artists, receiving him as a brother, expounded to him the -philosophy and rhythm and tonal harmony of Nature; but the Great -Author warmed himself in their steam-heated studios and said little. - -One day the Artists took the distinguished guest on a visit to the -woods. They came to camp in time to lunch with the jacks, and the -visitor was seated next Bigfoot Joe. Naturally observant, he noted -that the halfbreed, coming from the woods bare-headed, flung an -expressive glance at the thick furs of the Philosopher. - -During their meal the Painter apologized for the coarse fare--the -beans and bread, the creamless coffee; but the halfbreed gorged -hugely, and drank his molasses-sweet coffee with gusto. The Poet was -disgusted by the table manners of the jacks, for a bread-fight arose -amid jests and curses; but the halfbreed deftly caught a crust and -devoured it. - -Later, the visitors went to the woods and watched the work. -Presently they came to Bigfoot Joe; the others would have passed on -but the Great Author paused and spoke. - -"B'jou," replied the halfbreed, wiping his brow and staring at the -stranger. - -"Is the work hard?" - -"It is my work--I am strong, me! You little man, wear four eyes." -His gaze swept in contempt over the visitor. "Dis tree, she's be my -brudder; she's be tall, strong like me. 'Bon!' she's say. 'You good -lumberjack, you Joe!'" And his axe bit a deep chord of assent from -the heart of the pine. - -The Great Author perceived that here was a philosopher, who drew from -the woods his one rule: "Work! You are here; so it is evident that -you were to be a lumberjack--but be careful to be a _good_ -lumberjack!" - -The halfbreed was a poet, for he could read the secret heart of the -woods and make response from his own. He was a painter, whose brush -was the axe; with that brush he limned great canvases, whose truth -all woodsmen loved instantly. - -The Philosopher groped after his soul, the Painter strove to express -his soul, and the Poet tried to clothe his soul in words. The -half-breed, caring nothing about soul, struck fire from the spirit of -the Great Author, who knew what a plain thing the soul really is; -this, in fact, was why he was a Great Author. - -And so, when he had returned again to his own country, the Great -Author neglected to write about the famous Artists. Instead, he -penned a wonderful tale about a halfbreed Indian, and the world cried -out in rapture. - -But the three Artists bitterly termed him an ignorant fakir. - - - - -From the "Sonnet" of Felix Arvers - - Within my soul there lies a secret, thieved - Eternally from Love, that knows no sleep. - All innocent it she whose name lies deep - Enshrined upon my heart, nor has she grieved - With love's kind sorrow; naught have I achieved - Though alway at her side. Thus shall I keep - My secret, while I live. How might I reap - Rewards unsought, when none can be received? - - For she, to whom God gave a soul so tender, - Goes calmly on her way, and will not hear - The murmured homage Love would gladly render; - So pure is she, so quiet and austere! - Scanning my lines, "Who can this angel be?" - She smiling asks--and fails herself to see. - - - - -THE CLEAR WORD - - -There has been a good deal of mysticism in the public prints -lately--emanations from Point Loma, perhaps; subtle propaganda. - -They are interesting, these men with the wide eyes. They write about -a multitude of things; they are masters of glowing phrases, golden -wordings, witchery of thought. - -Eternally invincible are they, being very nebulous and vague. So -lofty are their ideals and visions that never by any chance can they -be brought down to concrete wordings. Fixed in the abstract, they -leave to their readers the interpretation of these sacred -thought-gems. - -Fine fluidity rounds the paragraphs, and a wizardry of poeticism -gilds the pages, until any central idea is lost in dazzled wonder at -the pyrotechnics. The type of writing is intoxicating but not tonic. -It is impressionistic and owns a very vague sense of philology; "vers -libre" is a case in point. Art or music may legally convey -impressions, but the business of words is to convey thought; each -word in the language is an historical entity. When words are so -cleverly conjoined as to present only an impression, something is -amiss. - -Our mystics have some central thought, spread it across scores of -pages, and lose it; they are style et praeterea nihil. They won't -play to the gallery, preferring the circle. As a matter of fact, -they have no hope of ever reaching the gallery. - -It is the great mass of our fiction magazines that reflect the -gallery, the vox populi. Magazinedom is aligned in favor of the -story related with an artful simplicity--the clear word! - -The clear word; that is the thing! The forthright, honest word, -signifying something foursquare and definite! When Snorri quilled -that great chronicle, the Heimskringla, his words fitted like a -mosaic; he left us a perfect example of the clear word. - -A work of literature creates a character, then evolves it through the -stress of exterior circumstances. The magazine story takes its -character ready-made, evolving a plot through the stress of that -character upon exterior circumstances. If we regard this as -cheapening of a noble art, and decidedly infra dig., then recollect -how our grandsires applied like terms to Dumas and other masters. - -The past twenty years have here evolved a type of magazine that -serenely ignores the ranting of the Elder Brethren. It has created a -writer as peculiar to this country as is the feuilletoniste to -France. These magazines of fiction have filled a gap; and they have -been eagerly acclaimed by the reading public. - -This reading public, not being confined to the New England states but -being comprised largely of hoi polloi, does not want character -studies. It wants a well-ordered, wholly false and often absurd -plot-scheme, progressing in a straight line instead of by zigzag -dashes, as in life; but it demands that this plot-scheme be -plausible, intricate and fascinating. - -A new fiction magazine makes its curtsey by deploring these facts and -apologetically devotes its pages only to the highest forms of -writing. Stuff! Why cringe to the Elder Brethren? An editor -interprets the wishes of the public; he is not to suit his own whims, -but to make money for the owners. - -The public knows what it wants, and will pay to get it. The mystics -may become the oracles of new cults, may set about remaking their own -petty worlds after their hearts' desires; but they cannot make a -living by the quill. Even the music critics have come from their -misty pinnacles. - -Simplicity has cash value. That is why the magazines pay such -excellent prices for the clear word--which is the hardest of all to -write. - - - - - LA CATHEDRALE ENGLOUTIE - - Bells far and fine - Lost evermore - To the blue sky, - Yet still implore - And bid us fly - The citied roar, - To seek God's shrine - And hold divine - The rich, deep things - That men decry. - A bell that rings - And echoes o'er - On angels' wings; - Sweetly it sings-- - "All life is thine! - Give God an hour - And feel His power - Steal far and fine - Like bells across - The city's dross--" - - - - -THE NAKED MAN - - -A section of the Argonne wood is feebly lighted by distant star -shells. Over the mechanical and human wreckage eddies the vapor of -poison gas; yet the two men sitting against the ruined -gun-emplacement wear no masks, and seem not to feel the gas. One is -a husky chap, a marine; his left foot, gone above the ankle, is -replaced by an ineffectual tourniquet. The other is a conscript; -across his breast is a wide gash of bubbling red. - -Nearby lies a German, bayonet-gashed, who from time to time opens his -eyes. At his knee lies an empty U.S.A. canteen. - -The Marine: You were a damn' fool to give him that bottle! Not that -it matters to us, only-- - -The Conscript, smiling: You gave him yours first! - -The Marine: Sure; I figured yours 'ud do us, but we should worry now! -Say, Fritzie learned somethin' about fightin' today, huh? - -The Conscript: I feel like writing a poem about it; only I'll never -write it, of course-- - -The Marine: Cut the comedy, bo! Say, the way you knifed this guy was -one swell bit o' work! After he ploughed you up, too! - -The poet-conscript shivers. The German opens his eyes wide and looks -at them. - -The German: Listen--the music! Can you hear it? The Brunhilde -motif; it is the valkyr coming for me-- - -His eyes close again, his head droops. - -The Marine: Plumb nuts; I bet he ain't et a square meal in a year! -Say, what d'you figure on seein' next, bo? - -The Conscript, blankly: Eh? - -The Marine: Why, we don't swallow no bull about fightin' for -democracy and goin' to heaven; everybody except the home folks is -wise to that bunk. But where do we land on the other side, hey? -Fightin' Heinie won't ticket us to the pearly gates, will it? - -The Conscript, gazing at the curling trees in the mist: Search me! -Religion never bothered me much; and just now I'm sorry. - -The Marine: Sorry, hell! Cut out the regrets. If you hadn't give -that guy your canteen we might ha' lasted till morning. - -The Conscript: If you hadn't crawled to help prop him up, your -tourniquet might not have given way-- - -Suddenly startled, both men turn their heads. Before them appears -the figure of a man, nearly naked, an open wound in his side; he is -regarding them attentively. - -The Marine: Hullo! Where in hell did you come from--front lines? -Sit down and take it easy; no Croy Rouge nor nothin' here to hurry -you. Got it bad? - -The Conscript: Here's an extra first-aid packet--better stop the -bleeding. - -The naked man moves closer, but refuses the proffered packet. - -The Naked Man: Thank you, brother, but it would do me no good. - -The Marine: I guess you're right there. Bayonet, hey? Jabbed up an' -got you. - -The Naked Man: I've come from inside the German lines. - -The Conscript: Captured and got away, eh? Stripped off your uniform-- - -The Marine: What's your division? I bet Liggett's corp's been -catchin' hell! - -The Naked Man: I am unattached. - -The Marine, feebly tossing out his mask: Take this; it can't help me, -but there's gas around. - -The Naked Man: Thanks, brother, but I hardly think it would help me, -either. - -The naked man moves, to show them his wounded feet. He opens his -hands; and the conscript breaks into a bitter cry. - -The Conscript: By God! Crucified you, like they did to the Canucks! - -The Marine, pityingly: Aw, hell! - -The German soldier opens his eyes, staring about in vacant wonder. - -The German: To whom are you talking? There is no one here. Ach, the -Valkyr song! It is drawing nearer-- - -The naked man throws him a glance of stern pity. Then he turns and -extends his hand to the conscript. - -The Naked Man: Come! I'll help you-- - -The Conscript, smiling: No use, pard! You chase along--we're here -for keeps. - -The Naked Man: Take my hand and get up! I've come to take you home. - -The Marine, laughing harshly: Home! - -With a faint shrug, the conscript touches the extended hand, grips -it, and rises. In his face dawns amazed incredulity. - -The Conscript: Good lord! I believe I can walk after all! - -The naked man turns and holds out his hand to the marine in silent -command. - -The Marine, roughly: Aw, don't be a fool--can't you see I only got -one foot? You guys chase along-- - -The Naked Man: I tell you, come! Put an arm around my neck; we'll do -very well. Take my hand and get up! - -Compelled, the marine obeys. Into his bronzed face leaps surprise as -he rises. After getting one arm about his helper's neck, he pauses -suddenly. - -The Marine: Look here, you ain't in no shape to stand us both-- - -The Naked Man: Be quiet, brother! We are going home, and you need -not doubt my strength. Come, let us go. - -They start away, the marine moving by awkward hops, but moving. The -conscript holds to the arm of the naked man, throwing him sidelong -glances of frightened surmise--and at length checks himself abruptly. - -The Conscript: I don't know if I'm out of my head--no, no! It's an -impossibility. I'm afraid even to think of it-- - -The naked man smiles. Behind them the German once more opens his -eyes and looks about in wonder. - -The German: Where are they gone? No one is here--they were talking, -yet I see no one. I can see no one! - -The naked man casts over his shoulder a look of ineffable sorrow. -From him comes a murmur. - -The Naked Man: No, you can see no one. You cannot even see ME! And -that, as you shall come to know, is hell. - - - - - LES DEUX CORTEGES - - Within the church two companies are met. - The one is sad and bears an infant's bier, - A woman following; slow steals the tear - On her pale cheek, where grief his mark has set. - The other, a baptism. Protecting arm - Held close, a nurse upbears the precious mite; - Comes the young mother, whose proud looks invite - Praise and allegiance to her baby's charm. - They christen, they absolve; the chapels clear. - Then the two women, crossing in the aisle, - Exchange a single glance at joining there; - And--wondrous mystery to inspire a prayer-- - The young wife weeps in gazing on the bier, - The mourner throws the newborn child a smite! - - - - -ONE NIGHT AT HEALY'S - - -We recall many a charming tale, done in the most Lamb-like of -accents, regarding the rare and curious old volumes picked up at the -farthing stalls. Le Gallienne has reminisced most delightfully and -incredibly in this fashion, as have others; but I, for one, long ago -decided that these degenerate days never witnessed such discoveries -as those recorded in le temps jadis. - -Many and many an hour have I spent delving along dusty shelves in -grimy shops, or by the less alluring ways of the spick-and-span, -rebound and furbished, dustless and listed Olde Book Shoppe whose -displays are priced at their weight in carets. In both have I been -disappointed. Many a catalog have I pored over, only to decide that -all catalogs are supplied from publishers' remainders. - -One concludes that the old book trade is a thing of the past, at -least so far as we none too affluent consumers are concerned. The -dealers know too much about their wares and are too eager after -excess profits. They fatten upon the rich manufacturer who seeks -scholarly polish, or the scholar who has inherited the price of -gratification. If they find an Elzevir, however mean, they placard -it at a rare price, and await the victim who thinks that all Elzevirs -are treasures. - -Once, indeed, I found a little shop in New Orleans, off the tourist -lanes, where I encountered over a score of delightful volumes in -French, filled with hand-tinted plates, at some very low figure. -Alas! I had just been entrapped in Royal street and had but little -money left. I bought a number of the sweet tooled-morocco volumes at -some little sacrifice, and went my way. Later, in funds, I returned -for the remainder of the set, only to find that a famous playwright -had discovered the treasure--and all were vanished. - -With this exception, luck was seldom mine. Old book shops were many, -bargains few. From city to city it was the same old story; until, -upon a cold and foggy night in San Francisco, I chanced to pass the -forbidding and grimy portal of a shop kept by one Healy. - -I merely sniffed and turned to catch a jitney; I had come from a -survey of certain downtown shops and felt that I had no more time to -waste. Then I saw the proprietor, sitting in an easy-chair in his -window, which framed dull old spectacles within a luxuriant and -mighty fringe of reddish-grey whiskers. Fascinated, I turned again. -Once more to try my luck! Hopeless though I knew it to be, I would -still essay the impossible--and I entered. - -Truth to tell, my entry was compelled less by hope than by that -curious spectacle in the window. In the doorway I came to a pause, -aghast before a dim array of shelves which at some prior day had been -assorted, but were now jumbled and heaped in a most erratic madness -of confusion. - -The fringed old gentleman in the easy chair was reading one of his -own books; and this was an excellent sign. He barely vouchsafed a -grunt to my greeting, directed me to switch on the lamps and help -myself, then resumed his book and a huge pipe. - -As directed, I turned on the lights and began my explorations. -Already the mystic alchemy of this stage-setting held me gripped in a -pleasant excitation, a glowing confidence that here awaited unguessed -treasure-trove! - -Mirabile dictu! At the very first turn I pulled down a glorious big -volume, newly bound in half morocco, which proved to be no other than -Dr. Shaw's Travels in Barbary. - -Every map, every letter and engraving and page was perfect, even the -paper was as chastely unblemished as when struck off the press of -Oxford University in the days of the first George. The press-work, -like that of the first folio of Beaumont & Fletcher, was a delight to -the eye; abounding in Arabic, old-style Greek, Hebrew and -less-remembered tongues, it was all as nobly executed as if it had -been drawn by hand and lithographed. - -A price was penciled on the flyleaf; it would scarcely have amounted -to taxicab fare home. I sighed over the high insolence that prompts -dealers to face their customers with the prices these wares fetched -twenty or fifty years ago; then I turned to the fringed divinity with -tremulous query. - -"Everything marked plain," he made response, without raising his eyes -from the book in his lap. - -Ye gods and little bookworms--the dream had come true! Or was it a -chance find--perhaps some lure to catch unwary feet? - -No matter; within five minutes dinner was forgotten, all -responsibilities put aside, and I was hooked fast. Those unordered -shelves held everything from Russian novels to French scientific -treatises, and Americana ran riot. - -Imagine a copy of Vetelius, that rare edition of saga-chants, for -fifty cents; and, no less expensive, a spanking fine copy of Mme. de -Grandfort's execrated work on the Louisiana Creoles, serene in its -dingy binding of ante-bellum days! Here was the sort of place -hitherto found only in romancers' tales! - -And a little old French handbook for gardeners, with quaintly tinted -plates; or a first edition of Palgrave, or a historical work from the -library of the Garde Royale Hussars! - -Then the discovery of Ripperda's memoirs--Ripperda, that fine -Hollander who became a Spaniard, wearing the collar of the Golden -Fleece and ruling all the wide realms of Spain, then passed into -Morocco and ruled that land as pasha--Ripperda, who took new -religions or families at will, but ruled always until the gout -fetched him to a devout Christian end--here was the crowning find! - -I staggered home that night freighted with treasure. A few days -later I returned, with the intent of further March and seizure; but -this time I did not enter. I only turned mournfully from the -doorway, above which flaunted the dire announcement: - -THIS PLACE HAS CHANGED HANDS - - - - - With a Branch of Semper-virens - - Unto the end that age to age shall know - The perfect love which Ronsard gave in fee, - How your warm beauty laid cold reason low - And held in fetters all his liberty; - Unto the end that age to age shall see - How your sweet face shrined in his life was lying, - How in his heart you dwelt eternally-- - I bring to you this flowered branch, undying, - Which knows no frost to sere its radiant spring! - When you are dead I shall revive you, chaste - And lovely; such the tribute that I bring, - Who in your service find all bliss embraced! - Like Laura, loved of Petrarch, you will live-- - At least, while books immortal life can give! - - - - -THE LITTLE VISITORS - - -[1] This final title has been altered since the printing of the Table -of Contents. - - -It was lately my good fortune--and I so term it advisedly--to -entertain a budding Bolshevist in my midst. - -He was an excellent young man and a fellow writer, who had been -discharged as an officer of the nation's armed forces. Not knowing -him intimately, I invited him, with his brother, to spend a part of -the summer in a cottage which I maintained as an office. - -In due time the twain arrived and were heartily welcomed. They were -made quite at home in my studio, which was furnished to my own fancy -with books, rugs, tools of the trade, rare and curious objects from -foreign parts, and, what occasioned much interest, an amount of -correspondence filed away. - -The young gentlemen made themselves very much at home, and, in the -course of a few days' intimacy, confessed to a boyishly intense -sympathy with the Bolsheviki. They reveled in a white-collar -abstinence, oblivious that the hated uniforms were vastly more -becoming than their present garb, and took a keen delight in tearing -to shreds the integrity of the press and the administration. One -must admit that the latter was rather silly; but to think the press -of the world in a vast conspiracy of lies against Lenine et al., -savored too much of a de Quincy phantasy. - -Political creeds, of course, could not mar the pleasure of the visit. -But in course of time it gradually dawned upon me that my guests were -rather exacting in their way of taking things for granted. - -They acquired a happy faculty of letting me run their errands, or of -utilizing my services as chauffeur. The only argument against this -was its matter-of-course air. I presume that the Bolsheviki, like -the Arabs, feel any expression of gratitude to be unworthy them. - -Still, this was but a small cavil against great writers--men of -genius who had accomplished high things in their profession and were -attaining a worthy place in literature! - -It was with some misgivings, however, that I observed certain very -odd tendencies; such as, for example, plying the gentle arts of -Munchausen upon the despised caste of editors. - -When one delicately hinted that this might hardly be considered as -strictly ethical, the notion was greeted with roars of scornful -laughter. Ethics were individual things entirely, much beneath the -consideration of free artists. And what was an editor compared with -one who wrote literature? Less than the dust! - -However, the suggestion that it was the editor who wrote the checks, -proved to be sobering--amazingly sobering. - -The days wore breezily on, with much writing and earnest endeavor, -and much discussion of why no man in the writing game today deserved -the place he held; that is, no man at the top. One or two had some -facility; a little plot, perhaps, a gift of words, a lilt to -paragraphs--but this was "all they had." The heroic dead, happily, -possessed virtues. - -There began to be a Bolshevik atmosphere about the place, a vague and -unsatisfied air of much begun and little finished. Oddly enough, my -friend were working on anti-red propaganda; excellent work, too, if -it did come but slowly. Curious how antipathy to white collars seems -to involve in its anathema all forms of hard labor! - -The visitors found the country lonely. One evening I dropped in -unexpectedly at the office, and my presence seemed to excite an odd -embarrassment. It developed that my friends were giving a party, so -of course I at once withdrew gracefully. - -Some time later, a young man about town informed me, grinningly, that -them letters I got from editors were suttinly rich! Upon inquiry I -found that my guests kindly elucidated the art of writing, to their -local acquaintance, by means of my correspondence. - -Nor did they deny the matter. They were so puzzled at my objections -that anger could not exist; since I did object, of course it would -occur no more. In the face of so charming a simplicity, what could -the ruffled course of hospitality do but resume the even tenor of its -way? - -But little things, as is their habit, in time grow onerous. Around -the books, the rare and curious objects, the writing tools, climbed -filth and squalor unbelievable. In despair, seeking the kindliest -way out of the impasse, I was summoned away for a month or so. Not -without some misgivings--quite justified by events. - -When I returned to the office, I found that my guests had departed. -So had many of my books and things. In their stead remained castoff -raiment and much misplaced matter. - -I have now adopted the firm rule of invariably inquiring into the -politics of a friend before erecting him into the status of a guest. - - - - - Sonnet au Lecteur - - I hailed you, reader, after ancient wont, - Crying "Bonjour!" upon my first fair page; - Closes my book in type of gloomier font-- - For we are come into a perilous age. - Gone are the golden days of merry wage, - Of nymphs and laughing gods, of kings who ranted, - Of sober men who jeered me for a child, - Of merry fools who jeered me for a sage. - In factioned strife our troubled time is veiled, - Our poets sing, with politics inflamed; - Yet shall I not be counted to have failed - If you, who read me, read me once again! - And if two words my wisdom may contain, - Let them be Joy and Folly, unashamed! - - - - - HERE ENDS THE BOOK - BIGFOOT JOE & OTHERS - - HANDSET & PRINTED BY THE - AUTHOR AND THIRTY COPIES - DISTRIBUTED PRIVATELY - - - - - From The Same Press - - Verse - - FIGS & THISTLES - FRUIT BEFORE SUMMER - GATHERED VERSE - CORN WINE & OIL - - Prose - - THE MYTH WAWATAM - L'ARBRE CROCHE MISSION - SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIGFOOT JOE AND OTHERS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Bigfoot Joe and Others</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Henry Bedford-Jones</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 27, 2022 [eBook #67519]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Al Haines</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIGFOOT JOE AND OTHERS ***</div> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="transnote"> -[Transcriber's note: spelling and grammar oddities have been -preserved as printed] -</p> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - BIGFOOT JOE<br /> - And Others<br /> -</h1> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - Figments of Fancy, Written<br /> - Hand-set in Type, &<br /> - Printed, by<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - H BEDFORD-JONES<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - Done At Lakeport<br /> - MCMXX<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -To The KING -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -Most Gracious Sovereign, -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -I beg leave to approach Your Royal Person -with an humble Offering, glean'd from long -acquaintance with Your Majesty's subjects. -A Work, which owes it's Rise, it's Progress, -and Completion to this Source, is hence with -all Humility proffered to Your Sacred Majesty. -That Providence may long preserve the blessings -of Your Reign to this Profession and -Nation, is the constant prayer of, -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -May it please Your Majesty, -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -Your Majesty's most humble and devoted -<br /> -Servant and Subject, -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -H. BEDFORD-JONES -</p> - -<p class="letter"> -To HUMBUG, Rex et Imperator. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> -CONTENTS -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -<a href="#chap01">BIG FOOT JOE</a> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -<a href="#chap02">THE CLEAR WORD</a> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -<a href="#chap03">THE NAKED MAN</a> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -<a href="#chap04">ONE NIGHT AT HEALY'S</a> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -<a href="#chap05">THE SHEPHERD'S FAILURE</a> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<h3> -BIGFOOT JOE -</h3> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -In a town of the north there dwelt three -men apart from their fellows. One of these -men was a Philosopher, one was a Poet, and -one was a Painter. These lived and wrought, -while all the folk looked up to them from afar -off. There was a halfbreed called Bigfoot Joe -who hewed in a lumber camp, so that the folk -knew nothing of him. -</p> - -<p> -The Philosopher penned a mystical work -on the philosophy of the woods, and he grew -known in the world. The Poet wrote stanzas -filled with the music of the pines and cedars, -and his verse brought high wage. The Painter -limned a single hemlock, instinct with the -breath of the lonely forest; and it found fame. -But, deep in the woods, trees crashed down -and the unknown lumberjack lopped off their -branches. -</p> - -<p> -Now it so happened that a certain Great -Author, having heard of the famous Three, -journeyed across the seas to visit them; for he -was an unwearied seeker after the truth that -is in life. -</p> - -<p> -The Artists, receiving him as a brother, -expounded to him the philosophy and rhythm -and tonal harmony of Nature; but the Great -Author warmed himself in their steam-heated -studios and said little. -</p> - -<p> -One day the Artists took the distinguished -guest on a visit to the woods. They came -to camp in time to lunch with the jacks, and -the visitor was seated next Bigfoot Joe. -Naturally observant, he noted that the halfbreed, -coming from the woods bare-headed, flung an -expressive glance at the thick furs of the -Philosopher. -</p> - -<p> -During their meal the Painter apologized -for the coarse fare—the beans and bread, -the creamless coffee; but the halfbreed gorged -hugely, and drank his molasses-sweet coffee -with gusto. The Poet was disgusted by the -table manners of the jacks, for a bread-fight -arose amid jests and curses; but the halfbreed -deftly caught a crust and devoured it. -</p> - -<p> -Later, the visitors went to the woods and -watched the work. Presently they came to -Bigfoot Joe; the others would have passed on -but the Great Author paused and spoke. -</p> - -<p> -"B'jou," replied the halfbreed, wiping his -brow and staring at the stranger. -</p> - -<p> -"Is the work hard?" -</p> - -<p> -"It is my work—I am strong, me! You -little man, wear four eyes." His gaze swept -in contempt over the visitor. "Dis tree, she's -be my brudder; she's be tall, strong like me. -'Bon!' she's say. 'You good lumberjack, you -Joe!'" And his axe bit a deep chord of assent -from the heart of the pine. -</p> - -<p> -The Great Author perceived that here was -a philosopher, who drew from the woods his -one rule: "Work! You are here; so it is -evident that you were to be a lumberjack—but -be careful to be a <i>good</i> lumberjack!" -</p> - -<p> -The halfbreed was a poet, for he could -read the secret heart of the woods and make -response from his own. He was a painter, -whose brush was the axe; with that brush he -limned great canvases, whose truth all -woodsmen loved instantly. -</p> - -<p> -The Philosopher groped after his soul, the -Painter strove to express his soul, and the Poet -tried to clothe his soul in words. The -half-breed, caring nothing about soul, struck fire -from the spirit of the Great Author, who knew -what a plain thing the soul really is; this, in -fact, was why he was a Great Author. -</p> - -<p> -And so, when he had returned again to -his own country, the Great Author neglected -to write about the famous Artists. Instead, -he penned a wonderful tale about a halfbreed -Indian, and the world cried out in rapture. -</p> - -<p> -But the three Artists bitterly termed him -an ignorant fakir. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> -From the "Sonnet" of Felix Arvers -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Within my soul there lies a secret, thieved<br /> - Eternally from Love, that knows no sleep.<br /> - All innocent it she whose name lies deep<br /> - Enshrined upon my heart, nor has she grieved<br /> - With love's kind sorrow; naught have I achieved<br /> - Though alway at her side. Thus shall I keep<br /> - My secret, while I live. How might I reap<br /> - Rewards unsought, when none can be received?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For she, to whom God gave a soul so tender,<br /> - Goes calmly on her way, and will not hear<br /> - The murmured homage Love would gladly render;<br /> - So pure is she, so quiet and austere!<br /> - Scanning my lines, "Who can this angel be?"<br /> - She smiling asks—and fails herself to see.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -THE CLEAR WORD -</h3> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -There has been a good deal of mysticism -in the public prints lately—emanations from -Point Loma, perhaps; subtle propaganda. -</p> - -<p> -They are interesting, these men with the -wide eyes. They write about a multitude of -things; they are masters of glowing phrases, -golden wordings, witchery of thought. -</p> - -<p> -Eternally invincible are they, being very -nebulous and vague. So lofty are their ideals -and visions that never by any chance can they -be brought down to concrete wordings. Fixed -in the abstract, they leave to their readers the -interpretation of these sacred thought-gems. -</p> - -<p> -Fine fluidity rounds the paragraphs, and -a wizardry of poeticism gilds the pages, until -any central idea is lost in dazzled wonder at -the pyrotechnics. The type of writing is intoxicating -but not tonic. It is impressionistic and -owns a very vague sense of philology; "vers -libre" is a case in point. Art or music may -legally convey impressions, but the business -of words is to convey thought; each word in -the language is an historical entity. When -words are so cleverly conjoined as to present -only an impression, something is amiss. -</p> - -<p> -Our mystics have some central thought, -spread it across scores of pages, and lose it; -they are style et praeterea nihil. They won't -play to the gallery, preferring the circle. As -a matter of fact, they have no hope of ever -reaching the gallery. -</p> - -<p> -It is the great mass of our fiction magazines -that reflect the gallery, the vox populi. -Magazinedom is aligned in favor of the story -related with an artful simplicity—the clear -word! -</p> - -<p> -The clear word; that is the thing! The -forthright, honest word, signifying something -foursquare and definite! When Snorri quilled -that great chronicle, the Heimskringla, his -words fitted like a mosaic; he left us a perfect -example of the clear word. -</p> - -<p> -A work of literature creates a character, -then evolves it through the stress of exterior -circumstances. The magazine story takes its -character ready-made, evolving a plot through -the stress of that character upon exterior -circumstances. If we regard this as cheapening -of a noble art, and decidedly infra dig., then -recollect how our grandsires applied like terms -to Dumas and other masters. -</p> - -<p> -The past twenty years have here evolved -a type of magazine that serenely ignores the -ranting of the Elder Brethren. It has created -a writer as peculiar to this country as is the -feuilletoniste to France. These magazines of -fiction have filled a gap; and they have been -eagerly acclaimed by the reading public. -</p> - -<p> -This reading public, not being confined to -the New England states but being comprised -largely of hoi polloi, does not want character -studies. It wants a well-ordered, wholly false -and often absurd plot-scheme, progressing in -a straight line instead of by zigzag dashes, as -in life; but it demands that this plot-scheme -be plausible, intricate and fascinating. -</p> - -<p> -A new fiction magazine makes its curtsey -by deploring these facts and apologetically -devotes its pages only to the highest forms of -writing. Stuff! Why cringe to the Elder -Brethren? An editor interprets the wishes of the -public; he is not to suit his own whims, but -to make money for the owners. -</p> - -<p> -The public knows what it wants, and will -pay to get it. The mystics may become the -oracles of new cults, may set about remaking -their own petty worlds after their hearts' -desires; but they cannot make a living by the -quill. Even the music critics have come from -their misty pinnacles. -</p> - -<p> -Simplicity has cash value. That is why -the magazines pay such excellent prices for -the clear word—which is the hardest of -all to write. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - LA CATHEDRALE ENGLOUTIE<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Bells far and fine<br /> - Lost evermore<br /> - To the blue sky,<br /> - Yet still implore<br /> - And bid us fly<br /> - The citied roar,<br /> - To seek God's shrine<br /> - And hold divine<br /> - The rich, deep things<br /> - That men decry.<br /> - A bell that rings<br /> - And echoes o'er<br /> - On angels' wings;<br /> - Sweetly it sings—<br /> - "All life is thine!<br /> - Give God an hour<br /> - And feel His power<br /> - Steal far and fine<br /> - Like bells across<br /> - The city's dross—"<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -THE NAKED MAN -</h3> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -A section of the Argonne wood is feebly -lighted by distant star shells. Over the -mechanical and human wreckage eddies the vapor -of poison gas; yet the two men sitting against -the ruined gun-emplacement wear no masks, -and seem not to feel the gas. One is a husky -chap, a marine; his left foot, gone above the -ankle, is replaced by an ineffectual tourniquet. -The other is a conscript; across his breast is -a wide gash of bubbling red. -</p> - -<p> -Nearby lies a German, bayonet-gashed, -who from time to time opens his eyes. At his -knee lies an empty U.S.A. canteen. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: You were a damn' fool to -give him that bottle! Not that it matters to -us, only— -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript, smiling: You gave him -yours first! -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Sure; I figured yours 'ud do -us, but we should worry now! Say, Fritzie -learned somethin' about fightin' today, huh? -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: I feel like writing a poem -about it; only I'll never write it, of course— -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Cut the comedy, bo! Say, -the way you knifed this guy was one swell bit -o' work! After he ploughed you up, too! -</p> - -<p> -The poet-conscript shivers. The German -opens his eyes wide and looks at them. -</p> - -<p> -The German: Listen—the music! Can -you hear it? The Brunhilde motif; it is the -valkyr coming for me— -</p> - -<p> -His eyes close again, his head droops. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Plumb nuts; I bet he ain't -et a square meal in a year! Say, what d'you -figure on seein' next, bo? -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript, blankly: Eh? -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Why, we don't swallow no -bull about fightin' for democracy and goin' to -heaven; everybody except the home folks is -wise to that bunk. But where do we land on -the other side, hey? Fightin' Heinie won't -ticket us to the pearly gates, will it? -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript, gazing at the curling trees -in the mist: Search me! Religion never -bothered me much; and just now I'm sorry. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Sorry, hell! Cut out the -regrets. If you hadn't give that guy your -canteen we might ha' lasted till morning. -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: If you hadn't crawled to -help prop him up, your tourniquet might not -have given way— -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly startled, both men turn their -heads. Before them appears the figure of a -man, nearly naked, an open wound in his -side; he is regarding them attentively. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Hullo! Where in hell did -you come from—front lines? Sit down and -take it easy; no Croy Rouge nor nothin' here -to hurry you. Got it bad? -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: Here's an extra first-aid -packet—better stop the bleeding. -</p> - -<p> -The naked man moves closer, but refuses -the proffered packet. -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: Thank you, brother, -but it would do me no good. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: I guess you're right there. -Bayonet, hey? Jabbed up an' got you. -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: I've come from inside -the German lines. -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: Captured and got away, -eh? Stripped off your uniform— -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: What's your division? I bet -Liggett's corp's been catchin' hell! -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: I am unattached. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine, feebly tossing out his mask: -Take this; it can't help me, but there's gas -around. -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: Thanks, brother, but -I hardly think it would help me, either. -</p> - -<p> -The naked man moves, to show them his -wounded feet. He opens his hands; and the -conscript breaks into a bitter cry. -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: By God! Crucified you, -like they did to the Canucks! -</p> - -<p> -The Marine, pityingly: Aw, hell! -</p> - -<p> -The German soldier opens his eyes, -staring about in vacant wonder. -</p> - -<p> -The German: To whom are you talking? -There is no one here. Ach, the Valkyr song! -It is drawing nearer— -</p> - -<p> -The naked man throws him a glance of -stern pity. Then he turns and extends his -hand to the conscript. -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: Come! I'll help you— -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript, smiling: No use, pard! -You chase along—we're here for keeps. -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: Take my hand and get -up! I've come to take you home. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine, laughing harshly: Home! -</p> - -<p> -With a faint shrug, the conscript touches -the extended hand, grips it, and rises. In -his face dawns amazed incredulity. -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: Good lord! I believe I -can walk after all! -</p> - -<p> -The naked man turns and holds out his -hand to the marine in silent command. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine, roughly: Aw, don't be a -fool—can't you see I only got one foot? -You guys chase along— -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: I tell you, come! Put -an arm around my neck; we'll do very well. -Take my hand and get up! -</p> - -<p> -Compelled, the marine obeys. Into his -bronzed face leaps surprise as he rises. After -getting one arm about his helper's neck, he -pauses suddenly. -</p> - -<p> -The Marine: Look here, you ain't in no -shape to stand us both— -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: Be quiet, brother! We -are going home, and you need not doubt my -strength. Come, let us go. -</p> - -<p> -They start away, the marine moving by -awkward hops, but moving. The conscript -holds to the arm of the naked man, throwing -him sidelong glances of frightened -surmise—and at length checks himself abruptly. -</p> - -<p> -The Conscript: I don't know if I'm out -of my head—no, no! It's an impossibility. -I'm afraid even to think of it— -</p> - -<p> -The naked man smiles. Behind them the -German once more opens his eyes and looks -about in wonder. -</p> - -<p> -The German: Where are they gone? No -one is here—they were talking, yet I see no -one. I can see no one! -</p> - -<p> -The naked man casts over his shoulder a -look of ineffable sorrow. From him comes a -murmur. -</p> - -<p> -The Naked Man: No, you can see no -one. You cannot even see ME! And that, -as you shall come to know, is hell. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - LES DEUX CORTEGES<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Within the church two companies are met.<br /> - The one is sad and bears an infant's bier,<br /> - A woman following; slow steals the tear<br /> - On her pale cheek, where grief his mark has set.<br /> - The other, a baptism. Protecting arm<br /> - Held close, a nurse upbears the precious mite;<br /> - Comes the young mother, whose proud looks invite<br /> - Praise and allegiance to her baby's charm.<br /> - They christen, they absolve; the chapels clear.<br /> - Then the two women, crossing in the aisle,<br /> - Exchange a single glance at joining there;<br /> - And—wondrous mystery to inspire a prayer—<br /> - The young wife weeps in gazing on the bier,<br /> - The mourner throws the newborn child a smite!<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -ONE NIGHT AT HEALY'S -</h3> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -We recall many a charming tale, done -in the most Lamb-like of accents, regarding -the rare and curious old volumes picked up at -the farthing stalls. Le Gallienne has -reminisced most delightfully and incredibly in this -fashion, as have others; but I, for one, long -ago decided that these degenerate days never -witnessed such discoveries as those recorded -in le temps jadis. -</p> - -<p> -Many and many an hour have I spent -delving along dusty shelves in grimy shops, -or by the less alluring ways of the spick-and-span, -rebound and furbished, dustless and -listed Olde Book Shoppe whose displays are -priced at their weight in carets. In both have -I been disappointed. Many a catalog have I -pored over, only to decide that all catalogs -are supplied from publishers' remainders. -</p> - -<p> -One concludes that the old book trade -is a thing of the past, at least so far as we -none too affluent consumers are concerned. -The dealers know too much about their wares -and are too eager after excess profits. They -fatten upon the rich manufacturer who seeks -scholarly polish, or the scholar who has -inherited the price of gratification. If they find -an Elzevir, however mean, they placard it at -a rare price, and await the victim who thinks -that all Elzevirs are treasures. -</p> - -<p> -Once, indeed, I found a little shop in -New Orleans, off the tourist lanes, where I -encountered over a score of delightful volumes -in French, filled with hand-tinted plates, at -some very low figure. Alas! I had just been -entrapped in Royal street and had but little -money left. I bought a number of the sweet -tooled-morocco volumes at some little -sacrifice, and went my way. Later, in funds, I -returned for the remainder of the set, only to -find that a famous playwright had discovered -the treasure—and all were vanished. -</p> - -<p> -With this exception, luck was seldom -mine. Old book shops were many, bargains -few. From city to city it was the same old -story; until, upon a cold and foggy night in -San Francisco, I chanced to pass the -forbidding and grimy portal of a shop kept by one -Healy. -</p> - -<p> -I merely sniffed and turned to catch a -jitney; I had come from a survey of certain -downtown shops and felt that I had no more -time to waste. Then I saw the proprietor, -sitting in an easy-chair in his window, which -framed dull old spectacles within a luxuriant -and mighty fringe of reddish-grey whiskers. -Fascinated, I turned again. Once more to -try my luck! Hopeless though I knew it to -be, I would still essay the impossible—and -I entered. -</p> - -<p> -Truth to tell, my entry was compelled -less by hope than by that curious spectacle -in the window. In the doorway I came to a -pause, aghast before a dim array of shelves -which at some prior day had been assorted, -but were now jumbled and heaped in a most -erratic madness of confusion. -</p> - -<p> -The fringed old gentleman in the easy -chair was reading one of his own books; and -this was an excellent sign. He barely -vouchsafed a grunt to my greeting, directed me to -switch on the lamps and help myself, then -resumed his book and a huge pipe. -</p> - -<p> -As directed, I turned on the lights and -began my explorations. Already the mystic -alchemy of this stage-setting held me gripped -in a pleasant excitation, a glowing confidence -that here awaited unguessed treasure-trove! -</p> - -<p> -Mirabile dictu! At the very first turn -I pulled down a glorious big volume, newly -bound in half morocco, which proved to be -no other than Dr. Shaw's Travels in Barbary. -</p> - -<p> -Every map, every letter and engraving -and page was perfect, even the paper was as -chastely unblemished as when struck off the -press of Oxford University in the days of the -first George. The press-work, like that of -the first folio of Beaumont & Fletcher, was -a delight to the eye; abounding in Arabic, -old-style Greek, Hebrew and less-remembered -tongues, it was all as nobly executed as if it -had been drawn by hand and lithographed. -</p> - -<p> -A price was penciled on the flyleaf; it -would scarcely have amounted to taxicab fare -home. I sighed over the high insolence that -prompts dealers to face their customers with -the prices these wares fetched twenty or fifty -years ago; then I turned to the fringed -divinity with tremulous query. -</p> - -<p> -"Everything marked plain," he made -response, without raising his eyes from the -book in his lap. -</p> - -<p> -Ye gods and little bookworms—the -dream had come true! Or was it a chance -find—perhaps some lure to catch unwary -feet? -</p> - -<p> -No matter; within five minutes dinner -was forgotten, all responsibilities put aside, -and I was hooked fast. Those unordered -shelves held everything from Russian novels -to French scientific treatises, and Americana -ran riot. -</p> - -<p> -Imagine a copy of Vetelius, that rare -edition of saga-chants, for fifty cents; and, -no less expensive, a spanking fine copy of -Mme. de Grandfort's execrated work on the -Louisiana Creoles, serene in its dingy binding -of ante-bellum days! Here was the sort of -place hitherto found only in romancers' tales! -</p> - -<p> -And a little old French handbook for -gardeners, with quaintly tinted plates; or a -first edition of Palgrave, or a historical work -from the library of the Garde Royale Hussars! -</p> - -<p> -Then the discovery of Ripperda's -memoirs—Ripperda, that fine Hollander who -became a Spaniard, wearing the collar of the -Golden Fleece and ruling all the wide realms -of Spain, then passed into Morocco and ruled -that land as pasha—Ripperda, who took -new religions or families at will, but ruled -always until the gout fetched him to a devout -Christian end—here was the crowning find! -</p> - -<p> -I staggered home that night freighted -with treasure. A few days later I returned, -with the intent of further March and seizure; -but this time I did not enter. I only turned -mournfully from the doorway, above which -flaunted the dire announcement: -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -THIS PLACE HAS CHANGED HANDS -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - With a Branch of Semper-virens<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Unto the end that age to age shall know<br /> - The perfect love which Ronsard gave in fee,<br /> - How your warm beauty laid cold reason low<br /> - And held in fetters all his liberty;<br /> - Unto the end that age to age shall see<br /> - How your sweet face shrined in his life was lying,<br /> - How in his heart you dwelt eternally—<br /> - I bring to you this flowered branch, undying,<br /> - Which knows no frost to sere its radiant spring!<br /> - When you are dead I shall revive you, chaste<br /> - And lovely; such the tribute that I bring,<br /> - Who in your service find all bliss embraced!<br /> - Like Laura, loved of Petrarch, you will live—<br /> - At least, while books immortal life can give!<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -THE LITTLE VISITORS -</h3> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="footnote"> -[1] This final title has been altered since the printing -of the Table of Contents. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -It was lately my good fortune—and -I so term it advisedly—to entertain a -budding Bolshevist in my midst. -</p> - -<p> -He was an excellent young man and a -fellow writer, who had been discharged as -an officer of the nation's armed forces. Not -knowing him intimately, I invited him, with -his brother, to spend a part of the summer -in a cottage which I maintained as an office. -</p> - -<p> -In due time the twain arrived and were -heartily welcomed. They were made quite at -home in my studio, which was furnished to -my own fancy with books, rugs, tools of the -trade, rare and curious objects from foreign -parts, and, what occasioned much interest, -an amount of correspondence filed away. -</p> - -<p> -The young gentlemen made themselves -very much at home, and, in the course of a -few days' intimacy, confessed to a boyishly -intense sympathy with the Bolsheviki. They -reveled in a white-collar abstinence, oblivious -that the hated uniforms were vastly more -becoming than their present garb, and took a -keen delight in tearing to shreds the integrity -of the press and the administration. One -must admit that the latter was rather silly; -but to think the press of the world in a vast -conspiracy of lies against Lenine et al., -savored too much of a de Quincy phantasy. -</p> - -<p> -Political creeds, of course, could not -mar the pleasure of the visit. But in course -of time it gradually dawned upon me that -my guests were rather exacting in their way -of taking things for granted. -</p> - -<p> -They acquired a happy faculty of letting -me run their errands, or of utilizing my -services as chauffeur. The only argument -against this was its matter-of-course air. I -presume that the Bolsheviki, like the Arabs, -feel any expression of gratitude to be -unworthy them. -</p> - -<p> -Still, this was but a small cavil against -great writers—men of genius who had -accomplished high things in their profession and -were attaining a worthy place in literature! -</p> - -<p> -It was with some misgivings, however, -that I observed certain very odd tendencies; -such as, for example, plying the gentle arts -of Munchausen upon the despised caste of -editors. -</p> - -<p> -When one delicately hinted that this -might hardly be considered as strictly ethical, -the notion was greeted with roars of scornful -laughter. Ethics were individual things -entirely, much beneath the consideration of -free artists. And what was an editor -compared with one who wrote literature? Less -than the dust! -</p> - -<p> -However, the suggestion that it was -the editor who wrote the checks, proved to -be sobering—amazingly sobering. -</p> - -<p> -The days wore breezily on, with much -writing and earnest endeavor, and much -discussion of why no man in the writing game -today deserved the place he held; that is, no -man at the top. One or two had some facility; -a little plot, perhaps, a gift of words, a -lilt to paragraphs—but this was "all they -had." The heroic dead, happily, possessed -virtues. -</p> - -<p> -There began to be a Bolshevik atmosphere -about the place, a vague and -unsatisfied air of much begun and little finished. -Oddly enough, my friend were working on -anti-red propaganda; excellent work, too, if -it did come but slowly. Curious how antipathy -to white collars seems to involve in its -anathema all forms of hard labor! -</p> - -<p> -The visitors found the country lonely. -One evening I dropped in unexpectedly at the -office, and my presence seemed to excite an -odd embarrassment. It developed that my -friends were giving a party, so of course I at -once withdrew gracefully. -</p> - -<p> -Some time later, a young man about -town informed me, grinningly, that them -letters I got from editors were suttinly rich! -Upon inquiry I found that my guests kindly -elucidated the art of writing, to their local -acquaintance, by means of my correspondence. -</p> - -<p> -Nor did they deny the matter. They -were so puzzled at my objections that anger -could not exist; since I did object, of course -it would occur no more. In the face of so -charming a simplicity, what could the -ruffled course of hospitality do but resume the -even tenor of its way? -</p> - -<p> -But little things, as is their habit, in -time grow onerous. Around the books, the -rare and curious objects, the writing tools, -climbed filth and squalor unbelievable. In -despair, seeking the kindliest way out of the -impasse, I was summoned away for a month -or so. Not without some misgivings—quite -justified by events. -</p> - -<p> -When I returned to the office, I found -that my guests had departed. So had many -of my books and things. In their stead -remained castoff raiment and much misplaced -matter. -</p> - -<p> -I have now adopted the firm rule of invariably -inquiring into the politics of a friend -before erecting him into the status of a guest. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - Sonnet au Lecteur<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I hailed you, reader, after ancient wont,<br /> - Crying "Bonjour!" upon my first fair page;<br /> - Closes my book in type of gloomier font—<br /> - For we are come into a perilous age.<br /> - Gone are the golden days of merry wage,<br /> - Of nymphs and laughing gods, of kings who ranted,<br /> - Of sober men who jeered me for a child,<br /> - Of merry fools who jeered me for a sage.<br /> - In factioned strife our troubled time is veiled,<br /> - Our poets sing, with politics inflamed;<br /> - Yet shall I not be counted to have failed<br /> - If you, who read me, read me once again!<br /> - And if two words my wisdom may contain,<br /> - Let them be Joy and Folly, unashamed!<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<p class="t3"> - HERE ENDS THE BOOK -<br /><br /> -BIGFOOT JOE & OTHERS -<br /><br /> - HANDSET & PRINTED BY THE<br /> - AUTHOR AND THIRTY COPIES<br /> - DISTRIBUTED PRIVATELY<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - From The Same Press<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - Verse<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - FIGS & THISTLES<br /> - FRUIT BEFORE SUMMER<br /> - GATHERED VERSE<br /> - CORN WINE & OIL<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - Prose<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - THE MYTH WAWATAM<br /> - L'ARBRE CROCHE MISSION<br /> - SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIGFOOT JOE AND OTHERS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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