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Updated: May 22, 2025
"I helped build the U.P.," said a Buffalo man, "and I want to tell you high-liners you can't drink squirrel-whiskey at timber-line without seein' things nights." That ended the discussion. Probably no road in the country suffered from the evil effects of the mysterious signal as did the Inter-Mountain Air Line.
By noon the sheer time-killing effort became blankly unbearable, and in desperation he broke with another of the ideals the one labelled sincerity and going boldly to the Inter-Mountain he waited in the lobby for the family party of three to come down to the one-o'clock luncheon in the public café.
It was late the following evening, several hours after the informal little dinner for five in the Inter-Mountain café, when the senator had himself lifted from the lobby to the private-suite floor and made his way to the door of his own apartments. As was her custom when they were together, his wife was waiting up for him.
"This man Hathaway; what did he want?" was the brusque question shot at the clerk. "I don't know. He said he was stopping at the Inter-Mountain, and he asked me to let him know when you got back." "Phone him and tell him I'm here," said Blount; and in due time the lumber magnate made his appearance. It was not at all in keeping with Mr.
He was asked to participate in a joint debate at the campaign opening in the town in question, and he was so glad of the chance that he instantly wired his acceptance. That evening, at the Inter-Mountain café dinner hour, he found his father dining alone and joined him. In a burst of confidence he told of the invitation.
"Pretty good old town, isn't it?" laughed Gantry one day, when he had tolled Blount away from the Inter-Mountain luncheon to share a table with him in the Railway Club. "Getting so you feel a little more at home with us?" "If I'm not, it isn't your fault, Dick, or the fault of your friends.
The well-worn argument is always specious to the beginner, and Blount thought he had sufficiently justified himself by the time he was pushing through the revolving doors into the Inter-Mountain lobby.
Evan Blount walked three squares beyond the Inter-Mountain Hotel before he had cooled down sufficiently to determine what to do next. As it chanced, the cooling-down process had led him to the door of the public garage patronized by his father.
After the solid costliness of Wartrace Hall and the thirty-mile spin in a high-powered gentleman's roadster, which was only one of the three high-priced motor-carriages in the Wartrace garage, Evan Blount was not surprised to learn that his father was registered in permanence for one of the private dining-room suites at the Inter-Mountain.
With the critical election, a struggle which was to decide for another two-year period whether or not the people of the Sage-Brush State were to be the masters or the servants of chartered monopoly, only four days distant, the capital city took on the aspect of a stirring camp two rival camps, in fact, since the State headquarters of the two chief parties were in the Inter-Mountain Hotel and each incoming train brought fresh relays of henchmen and district spellbinders to swell the sidewalk throngs and to crowd the lobbies.
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