Frank Gee Patchin - "The Pony Rider Boys in the Rockies"

Padraic Colum - "The King of Ireland's Son"

Gene Stratton Porter - "Moths of the Limberlost"

Lyman Abbott - "Laicus"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Happy Hawkins

R >> Robert Alexander Wason >> Happy Hawkins




She allus left me so much to do when she was away that I never felt
like leavin' through the winter; while durin' vacation time I
wouldn't have gone without bein' drove; but toward the middle of her
fourth year, me an' Bill Andrews had another little run in.

We was havin' a terrible streak of weather, an' Bill wanted to move
a herd over to the southwest corner of the ranch where the' was some
extra good bunch grass. It was a wise move all right, an' I said so;
but when he wanted me to help trail 'em, I vetoed it. I was watchin'
up some experiments with silkworms an' I didn't want to leave 'em.
We were short-handed an' Jabez 'lowed 'at I'd better go. Well, we
argued back an' forth until he finally said that he could take full
care o' the silkworms, an' intimated that my work with 'em wasn't
much but pastime, anyway.

That settled it with me. I helped drive the herd, an' it was the
bitterest weather we'd ever had. The sleet blew in the cow's faces
an' it was simply one long fight. Three o' the boys gave up an'
pulled back to the ranch house, but not me. I don't believe I slept
on that drive, night or day, an' when, the boys finally told Bill
Andrews that it couldn't be done, I told 'em that it could, an' that
if any more of 'ern dropped out I'd count it a personal insult. We
got 'em there all right, an' then I rode back to the ranch house.

Jabez had let the silkworms die--an' I told him what I thought of
him, an' pulled out. It was cold weather an' I was travelin' on
foot, but it wasn't cold I was suffer in' from, it was heat.




CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

IN RETIREMENT


I plugged along through the cold, gettin' hotter an' hotter all the
time, 'cause I didn't want to go away at all. Barbie'd be home in a
few months and I wanted to be there when she came--but I couldn't
get over those silkworms. She was goin' to write somethin' about 'em
for some kind of a paper, an' it meant a good deal to her, an' I had
kept a record of all the projec's she'd written me to do with 'em--
only to have Cast Steel an' flint fool Bill Andrews flounder in with
that herd o' cows.

I piked on over to Danders thinkin' I'd get on a train an' go
somewhere; but on my way there I met the foreman o' the E. Z. outfit
ridin' into town to see if he couldn't pick up a fence-rider. Then I
see old Mrs. Fate nudgin' me in the ribs with her finger again. We
was all down on fences at the Diamond Dot. Jabez said that as far as
he was concerned, he preferred to have his fences mounted on hoss-
back, 'cause they was easiest moved, an' we didn't have a foot o'
wire on the place. I knew that no one would ever think o' me ridin'
fence, so I just up an' spoke for the job. The foreman, Hank Midders
was his name, didn't know me an' he was suspicious of me bein' on
foot. "Can you ride?" sez he.

"I used to could," sez I. "How many days' ridin' does it take to go
around?"

"We don't ride that way," sez he, "we put two men in a camp an' they
ride out fifteen miles an' then double back." "They waste the return
trip," sez I.

"We think different," sez he. "We keep a big run o' cows, an' we
want the whole fence rode twice a day. We allus have plenty o' good
ridin' ponies."

"Well, they ain't ridin' on my time," sez I, "so it ain't nothing to
me. Do I get the job?"

"Where you been ridin' at?" sez he.

"At the Lion Head, for Jim Jimison," sez I.

"I've seen some o' their stuff," sez he. "It's a good outfit; but
it's a rather lengthy walk from here."

"Yes, I stopped off a while in Californie an' Idaho to rest," sez I.
"Do I get the job?"

"We don't find a man's saddle an' bridle for him," sez he.

"I got mine cached over at Danders," sez I, recallin' the ones I had
left there before I went into business.

"What's your name?" sez he.

"I ain't nowise choicy," sez I, "call me anything you want."

"I guess you won't do," sez he, ridin' on into Danders.

I reached it myself about two hours later, an' went to the hotel.
Hank was settin' by the stove when I came into the bar-room. The'
was eight or ten other fellers still restin' from last summer's
work, but I didn't see the old landlord. "Where's Peabody?" sez I.

"He's dead," sez a tall, snarley lookin' feller; "what do ya want
with him?"

"I don't want nothin' with him--if he's dead," sez I. "Who's runnin'
this place now?"

"I am," sez the snarley one. I didn't take to him at all.

"Would you be so kind enough as to tell me where my saddle an'
bridle is?" sez I in my softest voice. "What the 'ell do I know
about your saddle an' bridle?" sez he.

"I left 'em here with Peabody," sez I.

"How would I know it was yours?" sez he, sneerin'.

"I'd recognize it," sez I. "It had H. H. burned into it."

"What does H. H. stand for?" sez he.

"It stands for Henry Higinson--sometimes," sez I. Then I turned to
the bar mop an' said, "Where's that saddle an' bridle?"

"Why, it's back in--" he began; but Snarley snaps in "You shut up,
will ya? Even if this puncher did leave an old saddle here years
ago, I bought everything on the place from Peabody, an' the storage
on the rubbish would amount to more than it's worth."

"That 's kind o' new doctrine out this way," sez I; "an' I'm 'bliged
to request you to produce the articles so I can claim 'em up."

"You go ahead an' make me do it," sez he, grinnin'.

"Wouldn't you sooner do it of your own free will?" sez I, like a
missionary tryin' to get up enthusiasm over a donation.

"I'm good an' sick o' your fool nonsense," sez he, comin' down
toward me. I was wearin' a gun on each leg, an' I pulled 'em out an'
punctuated both his ears at one time; but I never stopped smilin'.
He grabbed an ear in each hand an' begun to swear in a foreign
langwidge, dancin' around most comical. "Won't you please get my
leather for me," sez I, "or would you sooner have me guess off the
center o' those two shots?"

"Yes," he roared, usin' a lot o' high-power words 'at ain't needful
in repetin', "take your blame junk an' get out o' here." I nodded to
the bar mop. "Shall I get 'em, Frenchy?" sez he.

"Yes, for heaven's sake, get 'em," sez the snarley one, while some
o' the boys snickered, but not too noticeable.

Well, they was my saddle an' bridle all right, an' I thanked the bar
mop an' flung 'em in a corner. Then I went over an' sat down by Hank
Midders. "Did you get your fence-rider yet?" sez I.

"No, I ain't got him yet, but I got two days to look for him in," he
sez.

Just then who should come in but the same old Diamond Dot hand who
had beat me out of the pony. "Well, sign my name! If there ain't
Happy Hawkins!" sez he, rushin' over an' shakin' my hand, "Still in
business, Happy?" sez he.

"Nope, I've retired," sez I.

"You'd ought to have stuck around here until that tourist went home
from his vacation," sez Bill,--I reckon his name was still Bill,
though for the life o' me I can't remember it plain,--"he got the
whole town hilarious on account o' the joke we'd played on him. He
was game all right, an' he got me a job out to his uncle's, which
I've held ever since--off an' on."

"Happy?" sez Hank Midders, "Happy what?"

"Happy Hawkins," sez Bill. "Haven't you never heard o' Happy
Hawkins?"

"Happy Hawkins is down in the Texas-Pan Handle," sez I, in a matter-
o'-fact voice. "Don't forget that, Bill."

"Surest thing there is," sez Bill, winkin'. "I seen him get on the
train myself."

"When will supper be ready, Frenchy?" I sez to the snarley one, who
had been puttin' some grease on his ears an' wishin' he'd had better
manners.

"In about an hour," sez he, an' I knew the' wouldn't be any more
trouble from him. He was one o' these fellers what can take a
lickin' without gettin' all broke up over it, an' he'd be just as
gay about bluffin' the next stranger as ever, an' he'd be just as
dominatin' over them what he had already bluffed.

"Well, I'm goin' out for a little stroll," sez I, "but I'll be back
in time for supper, an' I'll likely be hungry."

I knew they'd all want to ask a few questions, so I went outside an'
walked down the street. I couldn't make up my mind what to do, an' I
wanted that fence-ridin' job more than ever. When T turned around to
come back, I see Hank Midders walkin' toward me. "So you're Happy
Hawkins?" sez he.

"Well, that's what some folks call me," sez I.

"I thought 'at you had finally settled down at the Diamond Dot?" sez
he.

"The' ain't nothin' that I know of that changes any oftener than the
style in thoughts," sez I. "Do you think it's goin' to snow?"

He laughed. "You're Happy Hawkins all right," sez he. "Do you want
that fence-ridin' job?"

"That's what I went to the trouble o' rootin' out that saddle an'
bridle for," sez I, "but I don't care to have it advertised that I'm
ridin' fence at my time o' life, an' I don't promise to continue at
it more'n a few months."

"I see," sez he, "an' it'll be all right. Kid Porter'll be down with
the buckboard day after to-morrow, an' you can go out with him."

When I went back I see that Bill hadn't spared no details to make me
interestin', an' all the boys was friendly to me--an' called me
Higinson. Me an' Frenchy got along all right, an' when I threw my
saddle an' bridle into the back o' the buckboard, an' sez, "Well,
good-bye, fellers! I'm on my way to the Pan Handle," they all calls
out, "Goodbye, Happy! If any o' your friends inquire for you we'll
tell 'em we saw you start; but the next time you come this way,
Higinson, don't forget to drop in for a little sport."

Things generally even up pretty well in this life, an' before we had
driven very far I was able to see where I had got full value out o'
that seven-dollar pony 'at Bill had beat me out of. Kid Porter
explained things to me an' I saw it was goin' to be a purty fair
sort of a layout. Our shack was closer to Danders than it was to
headquarters, so we got our needin's there. He said that Colonel
Scott was an allright man to work for, but that he'd only seen him
once since he'd been on the job.

Ridin' fence is about as excitin' as waitin' for sun-up, an' after a
couple of months at it I was feelin' the need of a little change, so
I drove down to Danders the first day of April, an' while I was
standin' on the platform watchin' the train pull in an' take water,
a cute little feller dismounted an' after givin' me a complete look-
over, he sez: "Me good man, are you a type of this comunity?"

I put my hand to my ear as though I had heard a noise close to the
ground. After a bit I let my gaze rest on him sort o' surprised
like, an' then I sez in a soft, oozy voice, like a cow conversin' to
her first calf, "Be you speakin' to me, little one?" sez I.

It allus riles me some, to be called "me good man." It seems to give
me a curious, itchy feelin' in the right hand, an' I have had to
make several extra peculiar speciments dance a few steps for no
other reason; but this little cuss never batted an eye. He looks me
square in the face, an' sez, "It is perfectly obious that I could be
addressin' nobody else. I am out in the West hunting for a place to
study the most pronounced types of American citizens, an' I am very
favorable impressed with your appearance."

Did you ever have a stranger brace you like that? I suppose the fat
lady an' the livin' skeleton gets used to it, but I allus feel a
trifle too big for my background. I stand six foot two an' dress
easy an' comfortable, an' some o' the guys on the trains allus seem
to think 'at I'm part of the show, out for an airin'.

"Well, to tell you the truth, honey," I sez to the little feller, "I
ain't fully maychured yet. We get hair on our faces pretty young out
here, but we don't get our growth till we're twenty-five. I'm water-
boy to the E. Z. outfit. If you want to see somethin' worth lookin'
at, you ought to come out where the men are. You'll find American
citizens out there, a darn sight harder type to pronounce than what
I am. They sent me to town on an errant."

He examined me, but I never blinked a winker, an' then his face lit
up, like as if he'd found a whole plug of tobacco, when he thought
his last chew was gone. Finally he gave a wink an' a chuckle, an'
sez, "Here, smoke a cigar on me, an' tell me if I can get board out
your way. I think you'll make copy."

He was just what I needed as a time-killer, so I spun him a yarn
about the lovely life me an' Kid Porter was livin'. We jerked out
his trunk just before the train left, bought a month's grub, an'
came along out to our shack. His name was William Sinclair
Hammersly, an' the' never was a squarer boy on the face o' the
earth, after he'd shed off those spectator ways. He won my
affections, as the storybooks say, before we was out o' sight o'
Danders.

He said he had relations scattered all over the British Empire, an'
owned up that he had just come back from a long visit to England,
where he had picked up the "good man" habit. I told him that it
might suit that climate all right, but that out our way I couldn't
recommend it to a peace-lovin' man for every-day use. He thanked me
an' said he was ashamed to know so little about his own country,
this bein' the first time he had ever been west of Philadelphia. He
said that he was minded to become an author, an' had come out to
study the aboriginal types an' get the true local color. Whenever I
hear this little bunch o' sounds, I know I got a nibble. Any time a
man goes nosin' around after local color, you can bet your saddle
he's got several zigzags in his think-organ.

These fellers is a breed to themselves. I wouldn't exactly call 'em
wise--wordy'd come a sight nearer fittin' these local-color fellers
without wrinklin'. The''s a ringin' in my ears yet from the time
that I was penned up with Hammy an' Locals, an' this one had a good
many o' the same outward an' visible signs, but more o' the inward
an' spiritual grace, as Friar Tuck sez.

Bill slid right into our mode of livin' like a younger brother, but
it took us some consid'able time to savvy his little private
oddities. The' was one wide bunk in the shack an' one narrow one. Me
an' Bill took the wide one, but it wasn't so eternal wide that a
feller could flop around altogether accordin' to the dictates of his
own conscience. When she was carryin' double we had to hold a little
consultation of war, to see whether we'd turn over or not.

We used to start out early in the mornin', an' if the' wasn't much
fixin' to be done we got back long before dark. About seven-thirty
was our perchin' time before Bill took a hand, but after that we got
so convivual that sometimes we'd sit up till purt' nigh half-past
nine, playin' cut-throat an' swappin' tales. Sleep allus was a kind
of a nuisance to Bill. Purt' nigh every night when me an' the Kid
would stretch ourselves out, Bill would speak a piece about "God
bless the man what first invented sleep"; but he was only joshin',
an' all the time he was sayin' it he'd be buildin' up the fire an'
changin' his clothes. He had one suit which he never wore for
nothin' except just to sleep in. Pajamers, he called 'em, an' they
sure was purty.

Well, he'd put on this suit an' a pair o' red-pointed slippers,
light his pipe, pick his guitar, an' saw his fiddle till along
toward mornin', all the while singin' little batches o' song an'
speakin' pieces. Then he'd heave a sigh an' lay down alongside o'
me; but in about fifteen minutes he'd jump out o' bed, sayin',
"That's good! That's great! I mustn't lose that!" an' he'd get out a
book an' write something into it. Sometimes he'd laugh over it an'
sometimes he'd cry.

The Kid'd never had no experiences with geniuses before, an' at
first he feared that he might get violent durin' the night, so he
took his gun to bed with him, but I knowed the' wasn't a mite o'
danger in him. When breakfast was ready we purt' nigh had to get a
hoss to pull him out o' bed.

I was interested in his tales of foreign countries, an' he used to
tell me all about the castles he had been to. One day I happened to
think of the letter what the drug clerk at Slocum's Luck had wrote
us, an' I asked Bill what kind of a lookin' place Clarenden Castle
was. "Clarenden Castle?" sez Bill. "Where the deuce did you ever
hear of Clarenden Castle?"

"Well, I might have heard of it from the younger son," sez I. "He
came over to this country, you know."

"Where is he now?" sez Bill, mighty interested.

"Minin' law is, that the first feller what stakes out a claim gets
it," sez I. "Now my question staked out the first claim. You answer
my questions an' then we'll be ready for yours."

"Humph," sez Bill.

"Where is St. James Court, Bill?" sez I.

"Well, I never expected you to know anything about such things!" sez
Bill.

"'Tis wonderful how intelligent some trained animals are, ain't it?"
sez I, sarcastic. "But you must remember, little one, that I've been
livin' right in the house with folks a good part of my life. Now if
you'll just answer my questions the same as if I was human, I'll sit
up an' beg, jump over a stick, an' do all my other tricks for you."

Bill would allus tumble if you hit him hard enough, so after a bit
he grinned an' said, "Well, Clarenden Castle is one o' the seats of
the Cleighton family--"

"Seat?" sez I. "I allus thought it was a house."

"You see, over in England they call--" Bill began to explain it to
me an' then he saw me grinnin' an' he broke off short. "I know what
a seat is, Bill," sez I. "They have country seats an' town seats;
but some o' you fellers pout when you're obliged to live up to the
rules, an' I wanted to see if you was square enough to own up after
you'd been shown--the's lots o' fellers, not as well edicated as
you, who can't do it without groanin'."

Bill studied out this last remark before he answered, an' I was glad
to notice it. Most fellers look for a marked passage, but I like to
train 'em out to pan everything I say, an' then do their own
testin'. Bill was all right. "Now, dear teacher," sez he, "if we are
through with that lesson, we shall return to the original subject."
We both laughed, lookin' into each other's eyes, an' it did us good.

"Now this Cleighton family is a great family in England and
Scotland," sez Bill, "The Earl of Clarenden is the head of one
branch an' the Duke of Avondale is the head of another. The sons are
called lords, an' they have lots of land, but are running shy on
money, an' the main stem of the family is getting purty well thinned
out."

"About this younger son that came to America, now?" sez I.

"Well, the present Earl married beneath him--I visited close to
Clarenden Castle, an' I know all about it," sez Bill. "He married an
American girl with lots of money, Florence Jamison of Philadelphia."

"Jamison?" sez I.

"Yes, Jamison," sez Bill. "I suppose you are well acquainted with
the Philadelphia Jamisons?"

"Well, that name does awaken a purty tol'able fairsized echo," sez
I, "but still, to be perfectly frank with you, me an' the Jamisons
ain't on what you could call intimate terms any more."

"I'm glad to learn it," sez Bill. "I'd hate to think that I had
irritated you by implicatin' that it was a come-down for an English
Earl to marry into your circle." Bill most generally squoze all the
dampness out of his jokes. "This was his second marriage," Bill went
on, "an' he had one son by it, named James Arthur Fitzhugh Patrick--
"

"That's plenty for me," sez I, breakin' in. "The first two names is
interestin' to me, but the' ain't no use loadin' down a feller with
names till he has to pay excess baggage on 'em. Now, how did this
one get to be a younger son?"

"Why, the first marriage of the Earl also resulted in a son," sez
Bill. "His first wife was a lady of quality, but she had a weak
constitution an' the son has epolepsy. The younger son was fitted
for the army, but he got into a scrape, was given a lump sum by his
father, an' came to this country, where he disappeared. He also had
an inheritance from an aunt, a maiden sister of his mother, who
didn't like the first son for a minute."

"What kind of a scrape did the youngster get into, Bill?" sez I.

"He was engaged to the daughter of the curat at Avondale Chapel,"
sez Bill, "an' he bein' the heir presumptive to the title--"

"What is that, Bill?" sez I.

"The one what gets the title as soon as the one who is holding it,
dies, is the heir apparent, an' the one who gets the next chance is
the heir presumptive. It's a legal term an'--"

"Never mind explainin' it then," sez I, "If I was to live as long as
Methusleh, all I'd know about law would be that ignorance wasn't no
excuse for it; but what is a curat?"

"A curate is a sort of preacher," sez Bill.

"I thought it was some kind of a doctor. But what in thunder did you
mean when you said that gettin' engaged to the daughter of one was a
scrape?" sez I.

"Why, it wouldn't do for the heir presumptive to Clarenden, and a
possible claimant to Avondale, to get engaged to a person in that
station of life; he had to make up either to a heap of money or else
a big title; he simply had to marry a lady of quality," sez Bill.

"So he could contribute his share of epolepsy to the family
collection," I suppose," sez I.

"Well, James gets an awful callin' down," sez Bill, "an' he cuts
loose from the family an' goes to live in London, where he's a
leftenant. Richard Cleighton, his cousin, who is the heir
presumptive, once removed, sneaks down there an' comes back with the
report that James is married to Alice LeMoyne, a music-hall dancer."

Jim swung purty wide in his taste for women, didn't he?" sez I.

"The upshot of it was," sez Bill, never heedin' me, "that they
settled with James, an' he lit out--his mother had died several
years before. About four years after, this Alice LeMoyne dies, an,
on her deathbed she confesses that she is the wife of Richard
Cleighton an' helped to put up the job on James to get him out of
the way, as the heir apparent didn't look like a long-liver, an' she
thought she would like to be an Erless, with a chance of being a
Duchess even."

An' you mean to tell me that this low-grade Dick Cleighton puts up
that job on Jim, just so he can beat him to the title?" sez I.

"Yes," sez Bill, "you see he was the heir presumptive, only once
removed."

"Well, if I'd had the job o' removin'," sez I, "once, would 'a' been
plenty."

"That put Richard out o' the runnin'," sez Bill, "Lord Wilfred, the
apparent, was livin' along all right, an' the old Earl had come to
the conclusion that when it came to a presumptive, he'd sooner have
Jim; so he turned the hose on Dick, an' started out to find Jim. Jim
wrote 'em from New York that he was goin' to South Africa, an' then
he wrote 'em from Australia that he was goin' to India, an' then he
wrote 'em from--"

"Oh, those was only jokes," sez I. "Jim's all right; but what become
of Dick?"

"Nobody knows," sez Bill, "an' nobody cares. He's got lots better
health than Lord Wilfred, but he's got some epolepsy, too, an' he's
a mean sneak. His mother was insane, but she left him a little bunch
of money."

"She must have had more quality than the average of 'em;" sez I,
"but hanged if I wouldn't sooner do without the quality than to have
all that epolepsy thrown in with it. Jim's all right though, I'll
say that for the breed."

"Yes, Jim was a fine feller from all accounts," sez Bill, "but where
the Jink did you meet up with him?"

"It's a state secret," sez I, "or I'd let you in. Jim's doin' fine
an' I wouldn't for the world have him dragged down where he'd have
to marry up with a lot o' quality. Now while you're givin' your
concert, I'm goin' out an' check up the stars."

I was purty yell pleased with Bill. I had bothered him all I could
in the tellin' an' yet he had kept his temper an' handed out the
facts; an' I wanted to go over 'em forward an' hack till I could get
the full hang of 'em. It was wonderful queer how a ridin' man like
me had brushed shoulders, as you might say, with the Earl of
Clarenden, an' I was beginnin' to think that old Mrs. Fate was
stirrin' things up a shade extra. As a usual thing I don't go into
scandal an' gossip so prodigious; but I was hungry to have another
look at Jim, now that I knew he was the son of an Earl, an' I
decided to pull out an' give the Pan Handle a look-over as soon as
it was handy. I spent about two hours that night lookin' at the
stars an' wishin' they could tell me all they'd ever seen. They knew
all that Barbie wanted to know, an' I didn't seem able to git on the
track, in spite of me readin' detective stories every chance I had.




CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CUPID


Well, I didn't go down to the Pan Handle after all. I just fatten on
a new variety of entertainment an' the sample that Bill was puttin'
out amused me to the limit. Me an' Bill drove down to Danders on the
first o' May to get some grub. Most o' this breed has a purty
tol'able active thirst, but Bill was unusual harmless when it came
to storin' away liquor. About the only excitement Danders held out
to a temperance crank was goin' down to the depot to watch the train
come in. This time the west-bound had to take a sidin' and wait
twenty minutes for the cast bound; an' a feller got his dog out o'
the baggage car an' started to climb the mountains.