THE MEASURE OF A MAN
This ebook edition has been proofed and corrected and compiled to be read with without errors!
***
An excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
THE STRANGER AT SWAMP'S END
That a dog fight—a growling squabble in the early summer dust and sunshine—should upset the lumber-woods settlement of Swamp's End and divert her most eminent citizens from their accustomed employments was in itself almost sign manifest of the awakening interest of Providence in that benighted but fervently joyous community. When it is explained that the dog fight occurred simultaneously with the appearance of John Fairmeadow in the clearing—and after proper reflection upon the remarkable coincidence—it will be obvious that nothing more need be said. The absence of an instant and grateful perception of the impending beneficence, however, on the part of Swamp's End, is to be condoned: Providence had never before interfered at Swamp's End. Nor had Swamp's End now deputed any person or persons whomsoever to invite the intervention of Providence, or of any other supercilious Easterner, including John Fairmeadow, in her domestic concerns. The domestic concerns of Swamp's End, of course, were cherished at Swamp's End as inviolate; and Swamp's End was not at all conscious of any need of providential assistance in the management of them.
"You see," Gingerbread Jenkins has since been heard to apologize, "the boys wasn't quite used t' Providence."
There is a generous concurrence.
"Somehow, too," Plain Tom Hitch drawls in explanation, "Providence didn't seem t' be very well acquainted with the boys."
In those days, Swamp's End was on scantest—and, I fear, most suspicious—terms of acquaintance with Providence. Swamp's End regarded Providence in the light of a sinister stranger, of vastly mysterious and engaging personality, perhaps—of some noteworthy fame, to be sure—and certainly of accomplishments not to be despised by any cautious individual—with whom, however, it would be quite as well to have nothing to do, in any intimate way, until the sensational rumours, affecting the visitor's reputation as a gentleman of those qualities held in highest admiration at Swamp's End, should have been rigidly investigated. Moreover, the dog fight was of such an extraordinary aspect—a contention so singular—and so indecent in issue—that Swamp's End was far too happily engrossed in the progress of the affair to discover the hand of Providence in its inception. Swamp's End was inclined towards excitement of that mild description, and was used to indulging, of course, in entertainment at once much more reprehensible and engaging; and Swamp's End is not fairly to be condemned for preferring its accustomed diversions above fasting and prayer, of which, believe me, it knew nothing at all, as a community, and had never been told.
According to old John Rowl, the scaler from Kettle Camp of the Cant-hook cutting, who had sardonically cherished the rise of Swamp's End from its obscure beginnings with one shanty saloon to the flourishing prosperity of its thirty-two—according to old John Rowl, Gingerbread Jenkins, the Bottle River swamper, subsequently remarked in Pale Peter's bar:
"Gawd moo-ooves in a mystee-ee-eerious way,
His wonders to pre-form,"
and the sentiment was promptly adopted as a succinct expression of the general feeling in respect to the occurrences of the day and the amazing situation which the advent of John Fairmeadow had precipitated upon the startled community.
The agitated bar agreed, it is reported, and with the only recorded unanimity.
"That's reason," Charlie the Infidel declared.
Gingerbread Jenkins, it seemed, had dropped a pearl of wisdom from the casket of his memory; and Gingerbread Jenkins, elated by the impression his philosophical quotation had achieved upon the popular bewilderment, would have cast other pearls of the sort, with a free, glad hand, in expectation of increasing the enlightenment, had not Plain Tom Hitch been distracted from his liquor by an illuminating idea.
"There's a lot o' common sense," said Plain Tom Hitch, "in them old school-books."
"You take a man's mother," Billy the Beast began, "an' her teachin'——"
"Gimme a match."
Gingerbread Jenkins was about to give tongue, once more, when Charlie the Infidel, Pale Peter's bartender, interrupted with a suggestion which in the gravest parliamentary fashion was at Swamp's End always and sacredly in order.
"What'll ye have, boys?" said he; "the drinks is on the house."
Plain Tom Hitch stroked his beard, in a muse of anxious deliberation, and gently whispered:
"A li'l' licker, Charlie—fer me."
The echo ran down the frowzy line:
"A li'l' licker—fer mine
1029571526
***
An excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
THE STRANGER AT SWAMP'S END
That a dog fight—a growling squabble in the early summer dust and sunshine—should upset the lumber-woods settlement of Swamp's End and divert her most eminent citizens from their accustomed employments was in itself almost sign manifest of the awakening interest of Providence in that benighted but fervently joyous community. When it is explained that the dog fight occurred simultaneously with the appearance of John Fairmeadow in the clearing—and after proper reflection upon the remarkable coincidence—it will be obvious that nothing more need be said. The absence of an instant and grateful perception of the impending beneficence, however, on the part of Swamp's End, is to be condoned: Providence had never before interfered at Swamp's End. Nor had Swamp's End now deputed any person or persons whomsoever to invite the intervention of Providence, or of any other supercilious Easterner, including John Fairmeadow, in her domestic concerns. The domestic concerns of Swamp's End, of course, were cherished at Swamp's End as inviolate; and Swamp's End was not at all conscious of any need of providential assistance in the management of them.
"You see," Gingerbread Jenkins has since been heard to apologize, "the boys wasn't quite used t' Providence."
There is a generous concurrence.
"Somehow, too," Plain Tom Hitch drawls in explanation, "Providence didn't seem t' be very well acquainted with the boys."
In those days, Swamp's End was on scantest—and, I fear, most suspicious—terms of acquaintance with Providence. Swamp's End regarded Providence in the light of a sinister stranger, of vastly mysterious and engaging personality, perhaps—of some noteworthy fame, to be sure—and certainly of accomplishments not to be despised by any cautious individual—with whom, however, it would be quite as well to have nothing to do, in any intimate way, until the sensational rumours, affecting the visitor's reputation as a gentleman of those qualities held in highest admiration at Swamp's End, should have been rigidly investigated. Moreover, the dog fight was of such an extraordinary aspect—a contention so singular—and so indecent in issue—that Swamp's End was far too happily engrossed in the progress of the affair to discover the hand of Providence in its inception. Swamp's End was inclined towards excitement of that mild description, and was used to indulging, of course, in entertainment at once much more reprehensible and engaging; and Swamp's End is not fairly to be condemned for preferring its accustomed diversions above fasting and prayer, of which, believe me, it knew nothing at all, as a community, and had never been told.
According to old John Rowl, the scaler from Kettle Camp of the Cant-hook cutting, who had sardonically cherished the rise of Swamp's End from its obscure beginnings with one shanty saloon to the flourishing prosperity of its thirty-two—according to old John Rowl, Gingerbread Jenkins, the Bottle River swamper, subsequently remarked in Pale Peter's bar:
"Gawd moo-ooves in a mystee-ee-eerious way,
His wonders to pre-form,"
and the sentiment was promptly adopted as a succinct expression of the general feeling in respect to the occurrences of the day and the amazing situation which the advent of John Fairmeadow had precipitated upon the startled community.
The agitated bar agreed, it is reported, and with the only recorded unanimity.
"That's reason," Charlie the Infidel declared.
Gingerbread Jenkins, it seemed, had dropped a pearl of wisdom from the casket of his memory; and Gingerbread Jenkins, elated by the impression his philosophical quotation had achieved upon the popular bewilderment, would have cast other pearls of the sort, with a free, glad hand, in expectation of increasing the enlightenment, had not Plain Tom Hitch been distracted from his liquor by an illuminating idea.
"There's a lot o' common sense," said Plain Tom Hitch, "in them old school-books."
"You take a man's mother," Billy the Beast began, "an' her teachin'——"
"Gimme a match."
Gingerbread Jenkins was about to give tongue, once more, when Charlie the Infidel, Pale Peter's bartender, interrupted with a suggestion which in the gravest parliamentary fashion was at Swamp's End always and sacredly in order.
"What'll ye have, boys?" said he; "the drinks is on the house."
Plain Tom Hitch stroked his beard, in a muse of anxious deliberation, and gently whispered:
"A li'l' licker, Charlie—fer me."
The echo ran down the frowzy line:
"A li'l' licker—fer mine
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
This ebook edition has been proofed and corrected and compiled to be read with without errors!
***
An excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
THE STRANGER AT SWAMP'S END
That a dog fight—a growling squabble in the early summer dust and sunshine—should upset the lumber-woods settlement of Swamp's End and divert her most eminent citizens from their accustomed employments was in itself almost sign manifest of the awakening interest of Providence in that benighted but fervently joyous community. When it is explained that the dog fight occurred simultaneously with the appearance of John Fairmeadow in the clearing—and after proper reflection upon the remarkable coincidence—it will be obvious that nothing more need be said. The absence of an instant and grateful perception of the impending beneficence, however, on the part of Swamp's End, is to be condoned: Providence had never before interfered at Swamp's End. Nor had Swamp's End now deputed any person or persons whomsoever to invite the intervention of Providence, or of any other supercilious Easterner, including John Fairmeadow, in her domestic concerns. The domestic concerns of Swamp's End, of course, were cherished at Swamp's End as inviolate; and Swamp's End was not at all conscious of any need of providential assistance in the management of them.
"You see," Gingerbread Jenkins has since been heard to apologize, "the boys wasn't quite used t' Providence."
There is a generous concurrence.
"Somehow, too," Plain Tom Hitch drawls in explanation, "Providence didn't seem t' be very well acquainted with the boys."
In those days, Swamp's End was on scantest—and, I fear, most suspicious—terms of acquaintance with Providence. Swamp's End regarded Providence in the light of a sinister stranger, of vastly mysterious and engaging personality, perhaps—of some noteworthy fame, to be sure—and certainly of accomplishments not to be despised by any cautious individual—with whom, however, it would be quite as well to have nothing to do, in any intimate way, until the sensational rumours, affecting the visitor's reputation as a gentleman of those qualities held in highest admiration at Swamp's End, should have been rigidly investigated. Moreover, the dog fight was of such an extraordinary aspect—a contention so singular—and so indecent in issue—that Swamp's End was far too happily engrossed in the progress of the affair to discover the hand of Providence in its inception. Swamp's End was inclined towards excitement of that mild description, and was used to indulging, of course, in entertainment at once much more reprehensible and engaging; and Swamp's End is not fairly to be condemned for preferring its accustomed diversions above fasting and prayer, of which, believe me, it knew nothing at all, as a community, and had never been told.
According to old John Rowl, the scaler from Kettle Camp of the Cant-hook cutting, who had sardonically cherished the rise of Swamp's End from its obscure beginnings with one shanty saloon to the flourishing prosperity of its thirty-two—according to old John Rowl, Gingerbread Jenkins, the Bottle River swamper, subsequently remarked in Pale Peter's bar:
"Gawd moo-ooves in a mystee-ee-eerious way,
His wonders to pre-form,"
and the sentiment was promptly adopted as a succinct expression of the general feeling in respect to the occurrences of the day and the amazing situation which the advent of John Fairmeadow had precipitated upon the startled community.
The agitated bar agreed, it is reported, and with the only recorded unanimity.
"That's reason," Charlie the Infidel declared.
Gingerbread Jenkins, it seemed, had dropped a pearl of wisdom from the casket of his memory; and Gingerbread Jenkins, elated by the impression his philosophical quotation had achieved upon the popular bewilderment, would have cast other pearls of the sort, with a free, glad hand, in expectation of increasing the enlightenment, had not Plain Tom Hitch been distracted from his liquor by an illuminating idea.
"There's a lot o' common sense," said Plain Tom Hitch, "in them old school-books."
"You take a man's mother," Billy the Beast began, "an' her teachin'——"
"Gimme a match."
Gingerbread Jenkins was about to give tongue, once more, when Charlie the Infidel, Pale Peter's bartender, interrupted with a suggestion which in the gravest parliamentary fashion was at Swamp's End always and sacredly in order.
"What'll ye have, boys?" said he; "the drinks is on the house."
Plain Tom Hitch stroked his beard, in a muse of anxious deliberation, and gently whispered:
"A li'l' licker, Charlie—fer me."
The echo ran down the frowzy line:
"A li'l' licker—fer mine
***
An excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
THE STRANGER AT SWAMP'S END
That a dog fight—a growling squabble in the early summer dust and sunshine—should upset the lumber-woods settlement of Swamp's End and divert her most eminent citizens from their accustomed employments was in itself almost sign manifest of the awakening interest of Providence in that benighted but fervently joyous community. When it is explained that the dog fight occurred simultaneously with the appearance of John Fairmeadow in the clearing—and after proper reflection upon the remarkable coincidence—it will be obvious that nothing more need be said. The absence of an instant and grateful perception of the impending beneficence, however, on the part of Swamp's End, is to be condoned: Providence had never before interfered at Swamp's End. Nor had Swamp's End now deputed any person or persons whomsoever to invite the intervention of Providence, or of any other supercilious Easterner, including John Fairmeadow, in her domestic concerns. The domestic concerns of Swamp's End, of course, were cherished at Swamp's End as inviolate; and Swamp's End was not at all conscious of any need of providential assistance in the management of them.
"You see," Gingerbread Jenkins has since been heard to apologize, "the boys wasn't quite used t' Providence."
There is a generous concurrence.
"Somehow, too," Plain Tom Hitch drawls in explanation, "Providence didn't seem t' be very well acquainted with the boys."
In those days, Swamp's End was on scantest—and, I fear, most suspicious—terms of acquaintance with Providence. Swamp's End regarded Providence in the light of a sinister stranger, of vastly mysterious and engaging personality, perhaps—of some noteworthy fame, to be sure—and certainly of accomplishments not to be despised by any cautious individual—with whom, however, it would be quite as well to have nothing to do, in any intimate way, until the sensational rumours, affecting the visitor's reputation as a gentleman of those qualities held in highest admiration at Swamp's End, should have been rigidly investigated. Moreover, the dog fight was of such an extraordinary aspect—a contention so singular—and so indecent in issue—that Swamp's End was far too happily engrossed in the progress of the affair to discover the hand of Providence in its inception. Swamp's End was inclined towards excitement of that mild description, and was used to indulging, of course, in entertainment at once much more reprehensible and engaging; and Swamp's End is not fairly to be condemned for preferring its accustomed diversions above fasting and prayer, of which, believe me, it knew nothing at all, as a community, and had never been told.
According to old John Rowl, the scaler from Kettle Camp of the Cant-hook cutting, who had sardonically cherished the rise of Swamp's End from its obscure beginnings with one shanty saloon to the flourishing prosperity of its thirty-two—according to old John Rowl, Gingerbread Jenkins, the Bottle River swamper, subsequently remarked in Pale Peter's bar:
"Gawd moo-ooves in a mystee-ee-eerious way,
His wonders to pre-form,"
and the sentiment was promptly adopted as a succinct expression of the general feeling in respect to the occurrences of the day and the amazing situation which the advent of John Fairmeadow had precipitated upon the startled community.
The agitated bar agreed, it is reported, and with the only recorded unanimity.
"That's reason," Charlie the Infidel declared.
Gingerbread Jenkins, it seemed, had dropped a pearl of wisdom from the casket of his memory; and Gingerbread Jenkins, elated by the impression his philosophical quotation had achieved upon the popular bewilderment, would have cast other pearls of the sort, with a free, glad hand, in expectation of increasing the enlightenment, had not Plain Tom Hitch been distracted from his liquor by an illuminating idea.
"There's a lot o' common sense," said Plain Tom Hitch, "in them old school-books."
"You take a man's mother," Billy the Beast began, "an' her teachin'——"
"Gimme a match."
Gingerbread Jenkins was about to give tongue, once more, when Charlie the Infidel, Pale Peter's bartender, interrupted with a suggestion which in the gravest parliamentary fashion was at Swamp's End always and sacredly in order.
"What'll ye have, boys?" said he; "the drinks is on the house."
Plain Tom Hitch stroked his beard, in a muse of anxious deliberation, and gently whispered:
"A li'l' licker, Charlie—fer me."
The echo ran down the frowzy line:
"A li'l' licker—fer mine
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THE MEASURE OF A MAN
THE MEASURE OF A MAN
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940012165374 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Leila's Books |
| Publication date: | 01/06/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 435 KB |
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