“I’m getting a move on me,” said the checkerboard.
“And I’m getting a head in the world,” said the piece of sensation news.
“I’m dead in it,” said the spoiled bivalve at the clambake.
“I think I shall get along well,” said the artesian water company.
“And my work is all being cut out for me,” said the grape seed.
Speaking of Big Winds
The man with the bronzed face and distinguished air was a great traveler, and had just returned from a tour around the world. He sat around the stove at the Lamlor, and four or five drummers and men about town listened with much interest to his tales.
He was speaking of the fierce wind storms that occur in South America, when the long grass of the pampas is interlaced and blown so flat by the hurricanes that it is cut into strips and sold for the finest straw matting.
He spoke also of the great intelligence of the wild cattle which, he said, although blown about by the furious hurricanes and compelled to drift for days before the drenching floods of the rainy season, never lost their direction by day or night.
“How do they guide themselves?” asked the Topeka flour drummer.