But since I had crossed the Missouri something had entered into my blood which rendered me obstinate against such allurements. For her North Platte, “strictly moral,” and the guardianship of her broad 20 motherly wing I had no ardent feeling. I was set upon Benton; foolishly, fatuously set. And in after days—soon to arrive—I bitterly regretted that I had not yielded to her wholesome, honest counsel.
Nevertheless this was true, at present:
“But I have already purchased my ticket to Benton,” I objected. “I understand that I shall find the proper climate there, and suitable accommodations. And if I don’t like it I can move elsewhere. Possibly to Salt Lake City, or Denver.”
She snorted.
“In among them Mormons? My Gawd, young man! Where they live in conkibinage—several women to one man, like a buffler herd or other beasts of the field? I guess your mother never heard you talk like that. Denver—well, Denver mightn’t be bad, though I do hear tell that folks nigh starve to death there, what with the Injuns and the snow. Denver ain’t on no railroad, either. If you want health, and to grow up with a strictly moral community, you throw in with North Platte of Nebrasky, the great and growin’ city of the Plains. I reckon you’ve heard of North Platte, even where you come from. You take my word for it, and exchange your ticket.”
It struck me here that the good woman might not be unbiased in her fondness for North Platte. To extol the present and future of these Western towns seemed a fixed habit. During my brief stay in Omaha—yes, on the way across Illinois and Iowa 21 from Chicago, I had encountered this peculiar trait. Iowa was rife with aspiring if embryonic metropolises. Now in Nebraska, Columbus was destined to be the new national capital and the center of population for the United States; Fremont was lauded as one of the great railroad junctions of the world; and North Platte, three hundred miles out into the plains, was proclaimed as the rival of Omaha, and “strictly moral.”
“I thank you,” I replied. “But since I’ve started for Benton I think I’ll go on. And if I don’t like it or it doesn’t agree with me you may see me in North Platte after all.”
She grunted.
“You can find me at the Bon Ton restaurant. If you get in broke, I’ll take care of you.”
With that she settled herself comfortably. In remarkably short order she was asleep and snoring.