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Updated: June 28, 2025
And God be praised if you can steal the best and to it add somewhat of your own. Brann offends, shocks and outrages, is suppressed, damned, forcibly ignored and laboriously forgotten, because though the lark sings in his words, "the buzzard is on the wing."
The old sorrel came round "gauming," his ugly head thrown up, his great red mouth open, his ears laid back. Brann and the young doctor of the place were turning together, a little farther up the street. The blacks, responding to their driver's word, came down with flying hoofs, their great glossy breasts flecked with foam, their jaws champing.
He swore through his teeth, and turned about. He looked dogged and sullen, with his bent shoulders and his chin thrust down. There were a dozen similar rigs moving up or down the street, and greetings passed from sleigh to sleigh. Everybody except Brann welcomed Albert with sincere pleasure, and exchanged rustic jokes with him.
"Come on, fellers!" yelled Brann, insultingly, as he came down past the doctor, and seemed about to pass Albert and Maud. There was hate in the glare of his eyes. But he did not pass. The old sorrel seemed to lengthen; to the spectators his nose appeared to be glued to the glossy side of Brann's off black. "See them blacks trot!" shouted Albert, in ungrammatical enthusiasm.
Haubin, indeed! I don't like carrits! as it must be confest Miss Hemly's his and has for a BLOND BUTY, she has pink I's like a Halbino, and her face looks as if it were dipt in a brann mash. How she squeeged my & as she went away! "Mary Hann now HAS haubin air, and a cumplexion like roses and hivory, and I's as blew as Evin.
As Brann read his Homer and his Carlyle, his Shakespeare and his Ingersoll, so Hubbard and O. Henry read their Brann; and Hubbard specifically commends him to the would-be writer as Johnson commended Addison. There is no ore that will assay more literary metal to the page than Brann. As a writer's writer no man of our time surpasses him.
It could serve no good purpose at present to trace out here the history of those "accidents" so feelingly referred to at the ratification of the Brann round-up would but cause cheeks to flame and hearts to break. I would not destroy Baylor; I would make it better. I would deprive the ignorant and vicious of control. I would expel all the hoodlums whose brutality and cowardice have disgraced it.
MR. W. C. BRANN: In your editorial on the "Henry George Hoodoo," which appears in the August number of the ICONOCLAST, the following passage occurs: "It seems to me that I have treated the Single Taxers as fairly as they could ask, and if I now proceed to state a few plain truths about them and their faith they will have no just cause to complain."
The copies of The Iconoclast, read in their day till worn to tatters, were ill adapted to preservation. It were futile to look for them in libraries, for Brann was about as welcome in those formal repositories of the proper in literature as matches in a powder mill.
"Of course not fortunes o' war. Nobody to blame; just my carelessness. Yes; I'll take turkey," he said to Maud, as he sank into the seat of honor. The rest laughed, but Brann remained standing near Albert's chair. He had not finished yet. "I'm mighty glad you don't lay it up against me, Lohr; an' I want to say the doctor's bill is all right; you un'erstand, it's all right."
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