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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Yer see thet's what I sez to Milt, 'Milt, sez I, 'pay as you go, for you are a borned poet. Hevin no call to write, but doin' it free and spontaneous like, in course you pays. Thet's why Mr. "What name shall I put to it?" asked the editor. "Milton."
The committee were ill at ease about him. The way he wagged his head and declared he knew what was what, you bet, was very disquieting, and the horrible fear haunted them that they were perchance cherishing a serpent in their bosom. The Secretary had a proposal: "Take him out to Milt Kennedy's. Milt said he could work him. Take him out there!
On this eastern side of the pass, the new road was not open; there was a tortuous, flint-scattered trail, too narrow, in most places, for the passing of other cars. Claire was glad that Milt and Pinky were near her. If so many of the race of kind advisers of tourists had not warned her about it, doubtless she would have gone over the pass without difficulty.
I have learned that obsequiousness is best appreciated when it is backed up by prayer and ca'tridges." "What's the idea? I seem to gather you'd like a lift. Jump in." "You do not advocate the Ciceronian style, I take it," chuckled the man as he climbed aboard. Milt was not impressed.
A new Milt, the boss, abrupt, almost bullying, snapped out of his bug. "Good idee. Jump in, Claire. I'll take your father up. Heh, whasat, Pink? Yes, I get it; second turn beyond grocery. Right. On we go. Huh? Oh, we'll think about the gold-mine later, Pink."
Hot about the neck, he stumbled over one or two chairs, and was permitted to rest in a foolish little gilt chair in the farthest corner. Once safe, he felt much better. Except that Jeff did put on white kid gloves, Milt couldn't see that they two looked so different. And neither of the two men in the next box wore gloves.
He seemed on the verge of a collapse as, shaking all over, he backed into the door. A few seconds of rage had transformed him into a pitiful old man. "But, Al I'm your friend " began Dale, appealingly. "Friend, hey?" returned the rancher, with grim, bitter passion. "Then you're the only one.... Milt Dale, I'm rich an' I'm a dyin' man.
Gilson the best he could get out was, "Thanks f' inviting me." They expansively saw him to the door. Just as he thought that he had escaped, Saxton begged, "Oh, Daggett, I was arguing with a chap What color are Holstein-Friesian cattle? Red?" "Black and white," Milt said eagerly. He heard Mrs. Gilson giggle.
If he was, he wouldn't inflict himself on Claire. For several minutes he gave up forever the zest of climbing. When Bill awoke, brightly solicitous about the rest of the quart of Bourbon, and bouncingly ready to "go out and have a time," Milt loafed about the streets with him, showing him the city. He dully cut his classes, next morning, and took Bill to the wharves.
It was the first word that the born poet had spoken during the interview, and his voice was so very sweet and musical that the editor looked at him curiously, and wondered if he had a sister. "Milton; is that all?" "Thet's his furst name," exclaimed Mr. McCorkle. The editor here suggested that as there had been another poet of that name "Milt might be took for him! Thet's bad," reflected Mr.
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