Anyway, it’s a wonderful place to dig for it.
People will want to get in on the ground floor some day.
Let’s organize a company and sell shares.
“Yes, this is the land of opportunity.
People will come here from all over some day
To buy farms, lots, climate and oil wells.
Let’s organize a company and sell shares.”
The loggers all nearly fell over when they heard this; they were tremendously surprised, for they had never imagined that Bab Babbitson could have it in him. They hid their own poems, for they were ashamed of them now, and someone lifted a shout, “Hurrah for Bab Babbitson, the boss poet of Paul Bunyan’s camp!” Everyone cheered and begged for more verses. Bab Babbitson, gloriously puffed up, was about to comply, when the loggers saw two great shadows advancing upon them. They looked up and beheld Paul Bunyan and the Big Swede. The great logger’s brows were drawn in a terrible frown, and his beard was shaking from his rage as the forest boughs shake when a swift wind blows among them.
“Are these Paul Bunyan’s loggers?” he roared. “I don’t recognize them!”
The poets were all tumbled from their feet by the force of that wrathful voice, and all but Bab Babbitson lost their poems in the scramble.