The New Ulm Enterprise (New Ulm, Tex.), Vol. 31, No. 32, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 22, 1941 Page: 7 of 8
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THE NEW ULM ENTERPRISE, THURSDAY, MAY 22. 1941
IMAGINARY DIALOGUES:
GARGANTUA AND TOTO
("Ail efforts to get Gargantua, the
circus gorilla, and Toto, the Cuban
gorilla imported to be his mate, to
be friends have failed.” — News
item.)
Gargantua (after one look)—Am I
seeing things?
Toto—That’s just what I was ask-
ing myself.
Gargantua — I don’t know what
you are, but do me a favor and
scram.
Toto—Listen, Funny Face, I’m not
here of my own accord. This visit
isn't my idea.
Gargantua—Well, it certainly isn’t
mine. Gee, but you're a homely
dame.
Toto—That goes double for you.
If I was as ugly as you I’d do
something about it.
Gargantua (sadly)—There’s only
one thing you can do about it, and
that’s join a circus.
Toto—That’s what I’m here for
now!
Gargantua—So that’s it! They’re
trying to co-star me! Well, they
can't do that to me.
Toto—Calm yourself. It’s not my
idea.
Gargantua—Nobody could get you
here if you didn't want to come.
Toto—A dozen men brought me
here.
Gargantua—You could have licked
'em all!
Toto—You must have read Ar-
thur Brisbane.
• • •
Gargantua—Aw, go away, please!
It was tough enough around here
when there was only one of us.
Toto—Didn't you ever think of get-
ting married?
Gargantua—No, that’s my press
agent's idea.
Toto—Two can live as cheap as
one, Gargie.
Gargantua—Yes, but what do I
care what I cost this circus. It’s
got plenty of dough.
• • •
Toto—What you need is a nice
wife.
Gargantua—Where would I find
one?
Toto—How about me?
Gargantua (with a look of horror)
—I’m not monkey enough to marry
a girl with a mug like yours.
Toto—You’re no jungle Clark
Gable yourself.
Gargantua—Maybe not, but I've
got prestige. I'm probably the most
famous gorilla in the world.
Toto—You're just another big go-
rilla to me.
Gargantua—Where did you come
from, anyhow?
Toto—Cuba.
Gargantua—Now I know what
caused all that unrest there!
Toto—Lissen, you can’t insult me
like that. I wouldn’t take you for
a husband. If I was your wife I'd
give you poison.
Gargantua—And if I was your
husband I'd take it.
Both (in a fury) — You BIG
GORILLA!
• • •
BANKING BY TIMETABLE
A bank has been opened in a rail-
road depot at New Rochelle, N. Y.,
and it is at least a novel idea. The
country has always wanted to see a
demonstration of how money could
be withdrawn or deposited at full
gallop by a man with his arms full
of garden tools and his coat half oft.
Elmer Twitchell wants to know if
the depot banks runs on eastern
standard or daylight saving time.
And there is sure to be the con-
fused commuter who isn’t certain
whether he was to deposit $8 just
before the 7:55 a. m. or deposit 7:55
just before the $8 pulled in.
• • •
The U. S. treasury announces that,
despite metal priorities, it will con-
tinue to issue nickels. This country
has got to have a coin that will do
the work the penny used to do, or
nearly so.
♦ • •
Congressmen grow gabby at cock
tail parties and spill important wat
Information, it is alleged. And prob-
ably it’s true. Congressmen are
talky enough when they’re cold so-
ber, let alone when they’re on their
fourth old-fashioned.
• • •
STEAM TOWEL VICTIM
There's nothing that's hotter
Than barbershop water.
—Merrill Chilcote.
• • •
Ima Dodo, starting her spring
planting, makes the usual com-
plaint: "No matter how I plan a
garden, it never comes up the way
they do at the Flower Show.”
CAN YOU REMEMBER
Away back when a tank was com-
monly accepted as just a fellow who
could stand a lot of lager beer?
• • •
During that prolonged drugstore
strike in New York thousands of peo-
ple got a chance to get over Indi-
aestion.
We Lamp ^Valley^
B/ ARTHUR STRINGER JL W. N. U Service /
Carol Coburn. Alaska-born daushter of a
"bu«h rat" who died with an unproved min-
ing claim, returns North to teach school
Sidney Lander, mining engineer, rescues
her aboard ship from annoyances ot Eric
(the Red) Ericson. Lander is engaged to
CHAPTER XI
Life is like a husky-dog that re-
fuses to be entirely tamed. Quite un-
expectedly the old wolf strain breaks
out.
Several weeks ago I'd arranged
to have young Olie Eckstrom bring
me a quart of milk every morning.
And I looked forward to Olie’* daily
visits. For I liked Olie and Olie
liked me. I liked the flash of his
boyish wide smile and the friendly
warmth in those sky-blue Scandina-
vian eyes of his. He was always
glad to fill my water pail and do
some trivial little chore for me.
But one day, instead of the tow-
headed Olie, it was his little sister
Frieda who proudly toddled to my
door. She made a funny figure as she
stood there in her patched old cor-
duroy trousers (plainly inherited
from Olie) and an equally abraded
old wolfskin coat that was much too
big for her. She couldn’t have been
more than six years old but she
showed an active interest in my
school crayons and building blocks.
After she'd pored over a picture
book or two I tied her up in her
wolfskin coat, gave her an apple,
and started her off for home.
There was a feeling of Spring in
the air. I noticed that my shack
eaves were dripping and my door-
yard drifts were diminishing.
But about midafternoon Olie ap-
peared at my door. He stood there
with his wide smile.
"I ban come for Frieda,” he an-
nounced.
"But Frieda went home hours
ago,” I explained with a faint chill-
ing of the blood.
His face, as he stood frowning
over that, became suddenly mature.
She had not come home, he said,
and his mother had thought that
maybe I had kept her for dinner.
We began the search by first look-
ing through the outbuildings and
skirting the clearing edges where
the shadows were growing longer.
It was foolish. I suppose, but I kept
calling out, "Frieda! Frieda!" as
I went. And there was, of course,
no childish answer to that call.
Then we went back to the road and
examined the muddy ruts and the
sun-softened snow for any betraying-
ly small footprints. But there was
nothing there we could be sure of.
"Perhaps,” I told the solemn-eyed
Olie, "she’s home by this time.”
I pinned my faith on that hope.
But it proved to be a hollow one.
And the stricken look in Mrs. Eck-
strom’s eyes did not add to my hap-
piness. She called her husband, who
came from the stable with a hay
fork in his hand. The smile faded
from his wide blond face as Olie
explained the situation. The sun, I
could see, was already low over the
mountain tops. And every hour
counted, with night coming on.
"We’ve got to have help,” I told
them. "We’ve simply got to find
that child."
That took my thoughts back to
Katie’s Indian baby, the abandoned
; little papoose who’d been found in
the valley birch grove. And the
1 god from the machine, on that oc-
casion, had been Sidney Lander's
sheep dog.
"Olie," I said, “could you get on
a horse and hurry over to Sock-
Eye Schlupp’s? There’s a man there
named Lander, who has a dog called
Sandy. And something tells me
Sandy might find Frieda.”
It wasn't Sandy I wanted. I'm
afraid, as much as Sandy’s master.
He was off like the wind.
Lander arrived more promptly
than I had expected, with Sandy at
his heels. I noticed, as he swung
down from his horse, that he had a
flashlight in his hand. His face, as
he hurried over to us, was stern
but not excited. And he didn't stop
to ask many questions.
"I’m having Sock-Eye notify the
settlers,” he said. "When they get
here, tell them to strike north and
south of the trail at fifty paces apart.
Let ’em work a half mile each way.
And when they’ve finished their trip
in and out have 'em report at the
Jansen shack.”
He turned for a moment to the
lost child's mother, who was quietly
weeping in the doorway. "That’s all
right, Mrs. Eckstrom. We’ll find
your girl for you."
There was such assurance in that
deep-timbred voice of his that I
1 half-believed him.
Then, for the first time, he looked
squarely into my eyes.
“It’s only trouble,” he said in a
lowered voice, "that seems to bring
' us together."
"We haven’t seen much of each
other,” I answered, resenting the
' quaver in my voice.
"Isn't that what you asked for?”
he demanded, almost sharply.
"Was it?" 1 temporized, arrested
by the deeper lines in his face.
But Mrs Eckstrom's wailing call
for someone to find her Frieda cut
short the answer he seemed about
to make.
"You'd better come with me," he
raid after a second brief study of
my face. And my heart, at that
command, gave an absurd little leap
t* relief.
THE STORY SO FAR
Barbara Trumbull, wheat lather la fighting
Coburn's claim. Lander breaks with Trum-
bull and moves to Sock-Eye Schlupp’s
shack. Carol gets a achool Job at Mata-
nuska.
Barbara visits her and Carol aaya she la
INSTALLMENT IX
"And you, Eckstrom," Lander
called back over his shoulder, "line
up the men when they get here.
And you, Olie, ride straight over to
the station and tell the agent there
to get the marshal. Tell him to
wire up and down the line for any
men he can get here. This calls
for fast work. So come onl”
I didn't resent the brusqueness of
that order.
"How old is that child?" he asked
as we reached the open road.
"About six,” I answered. And that
struck me as such a pitiably small
figure that I was prompted to add:
"She seemed quite a sturdy little
tyke."
"How was the child dressed?” he
asked.
I told him about the old wolfskin
coat.
"That’s in her favor,” he said as
he hurried on. “And a child of six
wouldn't go far in country like this.
She couldn't.” He glanced about the
darkening bowl between the laven-
der-tinted hills. "She’s somewhere
within a mile of us.”
"Won’t Sandy help us?” I asked.
"He hasn't enough to work on,”
Lander explained. "Or, ather, he
has too much, here on the road. He
"She's somewhere within a
mile of us.”
wouldn't know what's expected of
him. A hundred different feet have
passed along this trail.”
Lander left me and pushed his way
in through a tangle of berry canes,
with Sandy whimpering at his heels.
That, for some reason gave me a
flicker of hope. But it resulted in
nothing. Man and dog worked their
way back to the road again and once
more Lander sidled along the ruts,
step by step, studying the broken
surface. I saw him rather abruptly
leave the road, push through a mat
of last year's fireweed, and drift
away across a flattened meadow of
wild hay. I thought, for a while,
that I was both deserted and forgot-
ten. But he circled back to me, in
the end, a little breathless from run-
ning.
"Come on," he said. "I've struck
a trail.”
It was easy to follow him, since
the meadow, for all its roughness,
sloped downward. But I remem-
bered, with a gulp, where that slope
ended.
"Aren't we going toward the riv-
er?” I asked.
"Yes," he answered.
Lander turned when a scattering
of white birches barred our path,
and veered off to the left, penciling
the ground with the ray of his flash-
light as he went. He stood in doubt,
when we came to a spruce wood, but
pushed on again, skirting the gloom
of the close-serried trees. Then he
suddenly stopped and showed me a
mark on a mounded snowdrift. It
didn’t mean much to me. But the
excitement in his voice was unmis-
takable.
"That,” he said, “is a child's foot-
print."
He called Sandy to his side and
talked to him. He pushed the dog’s
nose down in the snow and patted
him and started him off with the
cry of, "Find her, Sandy!”
But Sandy disappointed us. He
struck off in the darkness, quivering
with excitement, only to circle back
to us and whimper at his mas-
ter’s heels.
Then a cry came from Lander.
The beam of his flashlight had fallen
on an empty tin pail, lying beside a
fallen spruce bole. One glance at
it told me it was the pail in which the
Eckstrom milk was daily carried to
my door. That sent Lander run-
ning about in an ever-widening cir-
cle, sweeping his flashlight from side
to side as he went. I could hear,
for the first time, the sullen roar-
ing of the river under its tangle of
ice. And I didn’t like the sound of it.
He rejoined me. as I stood there
with a new chill in my blood, and
thrust the flashlight in my hands.
"We've got to have help here,”
he said. “You keep Sandy and the
not InUrMted In Lander.
One of Carol'* pupil* I* Salaria Bryson
a big. out-door* y<ung woman. also in lov«
with Lander.
Salaria can hardly read but *h* I* adept
at hunting game.
flashlight when I go back for the
men. And blink the light from time
so we can place you.”
"AU right,” I agreed, as quietly
as I could.
“Can't you find her, Sandy?” I
said as I stood with my fingers
hooked through his collar. For it
would be natural, I knew, for the
dog to follow his owner. I let him
sniff at the pail as I held him trem-
bling against my knee. Then he
suddenly whimpered and broke
loose. And I realized, as I stag-
8®red after him in the darkness,
that I had failed to keep a part of
my promise. He was off.
I could hear his bell-like barks in
the cold night air as he quartered
off from the woodland and crossed
a treeless slope that led to a hayfield
as level as a floor. It was a stretch
of open land, I could see, where
some homesteader the summer be-
fore had cut wild hay for his stock.
But Sandy, instead of racing after
his master, seemed to be crissceass-
ing about this open floor wind rowed
with its sun-shrunken snowdrifts.
He came back to me, barked twice
in my face, and was off again.
I followed him, as best I could,
wondering if his excitement was due
to a fox or even some larger ani-
mal prowling about in the gloom.
But I found him, at the meadow
edge, with his nose buried in the
tumble of loose hay at the base of a
poled stack covered with a faded
tarpaulin. His bobbed tail, I no-
ticed, was going from side to side
like a metronome.
I dropped down on my knees be-
side him, pawing away the loose
hay. Then I suddenly stopped. I
shrank back, with a quick little cur-
dle of nerve ends. For my bare
hand, pushing deeper, had come in
contact with warm fur.
I was sure of that. And I was
equally sure that Sandy had smelled
out a sleeping bear.
My one and only aim in life was
to get away from that stack and
hear the comfortable voices of
armed men about me again. I ran
stumbling across the drifted hay-
field, wondering as I went why I
could see no moving lights in the
distance.
Then my flight came to an end.
For I realized that Sandy, who was
following me. did not approve of that
retreat. His sharp barks were
plainly meant for sounds of protest.
He even came and tugged at my
parka end, as though to drag me
back.
I stood there, in my weakness,
and hesitated. I must have stood in
the darkness for a full minute, with-
out moving. Then a second wind
of courage took me slowly back to-
ward the stack.
It wasn't easy to go back.
But I shut my jaw and crept gin-
gerly forward, wondering how I
should defend myself if an aroused
wild animal lumbered out at me.
My hand. I'm afraid, wasn't a very
steady one as I thrust an exploring
arm into the little cave under the
stack shoulder, the cave where some
stray deer or perhaps a moose had
been feeding during the deep cold.
It was quite a deep hollow. My
arm, in fact, went in up to the el-
bow. Then it went still deeper. It
went until I could feel the warm
fur again. But, a moment later, I
could feel something else. About it,
strangely enough, was wrapped a
coil or two of rope. And then I
realized the truth.
It wasn’t a sleeping bear: it was
tlie body of a child in a worn wolf-
skin jacket. It was our lost Frieda.
She roused a little and emitted a
sleepy whimper or two as I caught
her up and held her to my breast.
A great surge of relief swep*
through me as I heard the sleepy
small voice complain: “Ah ban so
hungry!”
“Of course you're hungry," I said,
a little drunk with excitement. And
both Sandy and the half-awakened
child must have thought that I’d
suddenly gone mad, for I managed,
in some way, to clamber to the top
of the stack and there, standing up
in the darkness, I shouted with all
my strength. I called and called
again, until an answering shout
came back to me.
"They’re coming, Frieda,” I said
as Sandy's voice belled out on the
cold night air.
Lander came first, a little out of
breath, pushing Sandy away from
him as he stooped over me.
"I've found her,” I said as I strug-
gled to my feet in the loose hay.
"She's all right.” But. with Frieda
in my arms, 1 wasn’t sure of my
footing. And a sudden sense of se-
curity went through me as I felt
Lander’s long arm encircle my waist
and hold me up. He held me close
in under his wide shoulder, for just
a moment, in what I accepted as a
silent gesture of gratitude.
“She's all right," he shouted back
over his shoulder. And he took the
child from my arms as the twin-
kling lanterns drew nearer. I could
hear a cheer go up from the crowd
and a moment later 1 could hear the
tremulous voice of Mrs. Eckstrom
saying over and over again: "My
lecdle Frieda! My leedle Frieda!"
ITO BE CONTINUED)
Even Court Ruling Couldn't
Make Absent Plaintiff Talk
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When You Limit Calorie*
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A TRUE slimming story! And
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By limiting food calorie* to
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that while reducing you eat as
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• • •
H*v« a graceful. girlish new figure-
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READER-SOME SERVICE
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Enclose 10 cents In coin for your
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Masonry Via Wire
Even the laying of a cornerstone
has been done over electric wires,
says Colliers. Not long ago in Lon-
don, 10,000 Masons in an exhibi-
tion hall watched a dignitary go
through such a ceremony, every
movement of laying the substitute
stone actuating, through electrical
synchronization, the laying of the
real stone on the site of a hospital
several miles away.
“I understand that you called on
the complainant. la that so?” de-
manded a browbeating barrister
of a man he wa* cross-examining.
“Yea,” replied the witness.
“What did he aay?”
“Counsel for the other side ob-
jected that evidence as to a con-
versation was not admissible, and
half an hour’s argument ensued.
Then the court retired to consider
the point, announcing some time
later that they deemed th* ques-
tion a proper one.
“Well, what did the plaintiff
say?” repeated the cross-examin-
ing attorney.
“He wasn’t at home, sir!” was
the answer.
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What makes a great thought is
when a thing is said which reveals
a great number of others, and
which enables us to discover sud-
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hope except after long study —
Montesquieu.
Exposed Defeet
Let a defect, which is possibly
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A fault concealed is presumed to
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The New Ulm Enterprise (New Ulm, Tex.), Vol. 31, No. 32, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 22, 1941, newspaper, May 22, 1941; New Ulm, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1208330/m1/7/?q=+date%3A1941-1945: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Nesbitt Memorial Library.