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Page 88 text:
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Page Seventy eight
pretty, and besides it's pretty run down."
' "Perhaps, Mr. Judson, you have never looked at it trying to discover its
hidden beauties. Imagine how peaceful and cool and beautiful it must be at
this very moment!" his visitor continued in his melodious, pleading tones.
"Yes, go on."
"As for the house, that could easily be converted into a cozy little cottage. I
can at this instant imagine that I am in my vine-covered home" Qclosing his
eyes to denote imaginationj "on the banks of the Angelina. My beautiful wife
is in the kitchen cooking weiners. My little daughter is making mud-pies. And
I am reclining in my easy chair painting and-and--munchntg a banana, as I
have said, Mr. Judson, I will give Miss Simpson three hundre dollars cash for
all the land she owns within one hundred feet of the river."
"Well, there hardly seems to be any reason for refusing you, Mr. Tomaski.
gil haive the deed ready pretty soon and ring you on the phone," Judson said as
e go up.
"Thank you, sir," Mr. Tomaski-Hazlewood-Kalsh mumbled as he walked un-
steadily to the door.
Knowing that he would soon feel the after-effects of his drink, he went
immediately to his hotel, instructed that any call for Mr. Tomaski be sent to
him, and lay down in his room.
About a minute later, it seemed, he became conscious of a terrible pain in
his head and of a dangling in his room. On the third attempt he picked up the
receiver. It was r. Judson, who wanted to tell him the deed was ready. Mr.
Judson explained that since the artist had said he didn't care for the mill and
dam, he had bought them himself for a beautiful summer home. Mr. Judson
said he had never noticed how beautiful it was until Tomaski had told him.
"Thanks for telling me, old boy," he concluded. -
"All right," replied Mr. Kalsh. Hanging up, he poured himself some liquid
consolation and went back to bed.
There are various things in this great world of ours,
That are pleasing to the earg
There are thousands of sounds that keep making the rounds,
That some of us always can hear.
There's the greeting of friendship as two dear friends meet-
After having been parted-that is certainly sweet.
There's the sigh of the sweetheart,
A trivial noise!
Though there are some whom it fills with
The greatest of joys.
Then, the crack of the rifle to the sportsmen dear.
The plunk of the putt for a golfer to hear!
But for me, however, I'll now state my choice,
Though before, I would never have put it to voice:
That the sweetest of sounds, of them all, great and small,
Is the dismissal bell of my last study hall!
. ,- 3,
Page 87 text:
with a trembling, heart-breaking pathos all the gruesome details of the child
torture and child murder among the heathen. Before he had finished Aunt J ul1e
was dabbling at her eyes and when he mentioned the need of funds, she rushed
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in to get her purse. She returned with a little money.
"Revuhren, dis is all the money I can give you to help dose po' little kids
in Afghanistan, but ah shua hopes you git enuff to go back," she told him as
she gave him the money.
When he reached Livingston, he registered at the hotel, ate lunch, and
scouted around the town to see if he could stir up something. Back of a garage
he came upon a group of farmers who were trying to increase their cotton money
with the aid of their dice. He joined them and soon owned all of the loose cash
in the dgroup and two bottles of homemade "mash" by frequently using his
He had returned to his hotel, intending to check out, when he happened to
see a copy of the Livingston Daily Herald. The feature story was about the
Texas Railroad Commission refusing to permit the Southwestern States Power
Company to build a dam near Livingston on the Angela River. The Commission
stated that no more permits would be given for dams in that section.
When he read that, something clicked inside his head which caused him to
go to his room and spend an hour in his room planning his actions and trying to
discover any flaws in his scheme. At the end of this time he had resolved on
how he would do it, so he spent the rest of the afternoon in conference with an
attorney and talking over the phone with the president of the Southwestern
States Power Company.
Early the next morning he retraced his steps to Aunt Julie, who was sur-
prised to see him again. In his most suave manner he explained to her that
the executive council of his church had wired him to buy a suitable location for
an orphanage for the parentless children of Afghanistan. He then offered her
three hundred dollars for her stretch of land along the river. The old negro
didn't know what to think about her penniless missionary now, but she agreed
that the price was a fair one. She refused to sign any papers, however, without
the consent of Mr. Judson, her former employer. Mr. Kalsh used all his diplo-
macy on her with no effect, but finally she agreed to go back to town with him
to see Mr. Judson.
When they reached the ofiice, Kalsh was almost nonplussed to meet a capable-
looking, hard-boiled business man instead of a "hick." He knew he must change
his tactics, so he excused himself for a moment and went out in the hall to do
some concentrated concentrating. Automatically, his hand reached for the bottle
in his hip pocket and raised it to his mouth. His mind cleared instantly when
he gulped it down, and he began to feel that there was a way out. Another long
swallow, and Mr. Kalsh felt very confident in his ability. By the time the third
swallow of the potent liquor trickled down his throat his plan was determined and
he marched into the room.
Giving the startled Aunt Julie a courtly bow, he requested a private con-
ference with Mr. Judson. When they retired to the inner ofiice, Mr. Judson
turned to him coldly, as if to say "Well?"
"Mr. Judson, I am an artist traveling about the country searching for inspi-
ration." Luckily Aunt Julie had not had time to tell Mr. Judson much except
that he wanted to buy some land. "As I was meditatively walking down one of
your charming sylvan lanes today, I chanced to see a setting which fulfilled all
the yearnings of my artistic soul. A small, apparently deserted cottage was
picturesquely situated on a bend of a stream. Not far from it is an old barn
and a dam, but no doubt these could be torn down."
"That was the old flour mill, Mr.-ah-ah--"
"Tomaski," volunteered his visitor.
Yes Mr. Tomaski," he repeated. "I never thought the old place was so
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