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Updated: May 8, 2025
He'd show 'em, by gorry! He'd show 'em! Mr. Butefish jabbed his pen into the potato he used as a penwiper, instead of the ink, in his fury. He wrote with the rapidity of inspiration, and words came which he had not known were in his vocabulary as he extolled Kate and her achievements.
The applause was tumultuous when he had further elucidated and finished. To get something out of nothing made a strong appeal to Prouty. It was criminal for Sudds to waste his abilities in a small community. They wondered why he did it. Hiram Butefish, who succeeded the orator, felt a quite natural diffidence in giving to the Club his modest suggestion, but as he talked he warmed to his subject.
Hiram Butefish supported his back against the door jamb in an attitude which did not suggest any pressing business. Mrs. Sudds, who formerly had passed Kate with a face that was ostentatiously blank, now stared at her with a certain inquisitive amiability. Major Prouty sitting in front of the post office waved a hand at her that was comparatively friendly.
"It won't take long to puncture those bubbles," Toomey answered, contemptuously. Certainly he had made a raise somewhere! "We will hear your criticisms," replied Mr. Butefish, with the restraint of offended dignity. "In the first place, everybody knows that the soil in this country sours and alkalies when water stands on it." Toomey spoke as a man who had wide experience.
The prospect of unloading his stock made Hiram Butefish as thirsty as if he had eaten herring, and, overlooking the glass in his excitement, he drank long and deep from the water pitcher before he said tremulously: "Undoubtedly that can be arranged, Mr. Toomey." It was obvious that the Boosters Club shared its president's opinion.
Butefish debated, a spirit of rebellion rose within him. Ever since he had established the paper he had been a worm, and what had it got him? It had got him in debt to the point of bankruptcy that's what it had got him and he was good and sick of it! He was tired of grovelling nauseated with catering to a public that paid in rutabagas and elk meat that was "spoilin' on 'em."
Therefore, with true western resourcefulness he bought the handpress of a defunct sheet and turned to journalism instead. Though less lucrative, moulding public opinion and editing a paper that was to be a recognized power in the state seemed to Mr. Butefish a step ahead. The Middle West had responded nobly to his editorial appeals to come out and help found an Empire.
"It's nearer the music," said Neifkins with an apologetic grin to the others. Those who stayed had something of the air of brazening it out. In vain Mr. Butefish called sternly for, "One more couple this way!" It was Scales of the Emporium who said, finally: "Looks like we don't dance might as well sit down." Every one acted on the suggestion with alacrity save Kate and Hughie.
Who do you think of inviting to meet her?" Mrs. Pantin considered. Then her eyes sparkled with malice, "I'll begin with Mrs. Toomey." In the office of the Grit, Hiram Butefish was reading the proof of his editorial that pointed out the many advantages Prouty enjoyed over its rival in the next county. There was no more perfect spot on the footstool for the rearing of children, Mr.
Butefish then recounted the natural resources of the country with a glibness that carried the suggestion that he could do the same in his sleep, and Mr. Scales arose to affirm his confidence in the day when Prouty would be heralded as "the Denver of the State." Noting the growing signs of restlessness, the Gov'nor ignored the expectant looks of other prominent citizens and called upon Mr.
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