"I thought up a heap of things I've heard lately, and
they'll fill up mighty well. That there poem of Miss Seliny's was a kind
of an inspiration to me, and I tried one myself, and it didn't come hard
at all. When I got started once, it jest seemed to flow from me. I didn't
set none of it up," he added modestly, but with evident consciousness of
having unearthed genius in himself and an elate foreknowledge of the treat
in store for his companions. "I thought I'd ort to see how you liked it
first." He offered the papers to Mr. Parker, but the foreman shook his
head.
"You read it, Ross," I said. "I don't believe I feel hearty enough to-day.
Read the items first--we can bear the waiting."
"What waiting?" inquired Mr. Schofield.
"For the poem," replied Parker, grimly.
With a vague but not fleeting smile, Ross settled the sheets in order, and
exhibited tokens of that pleasant nevousness incident to appearing before
a critical audience, armed with literature whose merits should delight
them out of the critical attitude. "I run across a great scheme down
there," he volunteered amiably, by way of preface; "I described everything
in full, in as many words as I could think up; it's mighty filling, and
it'll please the public, too; it gives 'em a lot more information than
they us'ally git. I reckon there's two sticks of jest them extry words
alone.
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