“No,” her father answered, “he’s not satisfied with it.” But added with real conviction, “I’m certain it will be heard later.”
Judy immediately lost interest in their talk and pointing to her book, asked to be excused. “I have work to do too.”
Her mother appeared impressed. But her father said, with that dead-pan expression he loved to assume, “I hope the Beethoven Quintet will provide pleasant background music for your scholarly labors.”
Giving him scarcely a smile, although she was laughing inwardly, she ostentatiously picked up the library book and went to her room.
Propped up in bed, surrounded with well-sharpened pencils, reams of paper and her diary, she turned on her radio tuned to some weird jazz. She began to read.
The idea of writing a story for the Plow, while still nebulous, had not been discarded. If she wrote something that would stun her classmates into admiration—
Facts, dull facts: drilling—pumps—shafts—mining operations. It was disappointing!
Undiscouraged she plodded on, skipping whole pages. At last she was rewarded by a tiny paragraph that she recorded on her note pad.
“Aspen, situated in one of the most beautiful valleys of the world, is surrounded by giant mountains which guard her treasures. Ashcroft, her near neighbor, just as beautifully situated, makes the picture complete. Together, their silvery riches give promise of greater treasure than has yet been found in the marvelous state of Colorado. Who can foretell the future?”
Judy looked blankly at the word “future.” “That rosy future had come and gone,” she sagely commented to herself. But how did it all start? By more diligent searching, she discovered something more of the early beginnings of Aspen and an occasional reference to Ashcroft. Again she faithfully recorded a brief summary of her findings.