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Updated: May 12, 2025
Spunk, real, Simon-pure spunk, started somewhere in Patty and coursed through her blood like wine. "If a girl's old enough to stay at home and work, I should think she was old enough to go out and play once in a while." Patty was still too timid to make this remark more than a courteous suggestion, so far as its tone was concerned.
Before the Altrurian could reply, young Camp said: "If you want to see American individuality, the real, simon-pure article, you ought to go down to one of our big factory towns and look at the mill-hands coming home in droves after a day's work, young girls and old women, boys and men, all fluffed over with cotton, and so dead tired that they can hardly walk.
A bunch of simon-pure tenderfeet strayed into the mountains west of here a couple of summers ago. There were two women in the bunch. The youngest one, who was about your age and size, must have had more than her share of vanity. I guess she figured on charming the bear and the moose, or the simple aborigines who dwell in this neck of the woods.
"I'm sayin' so-long to you, ma'am," smiled Harlan. "Oh!" she said, aware of the flatness of her tone. "Are you going away?" "I'm figurin' to go. I ain't used to hangin' around one place very long. But I'm comin' back some day. Red Linton an' the boys will be seein' that things go smooth with you. You can depend on Red, and all the boys. They're Simon-pure, dyed-in-the-wool, eighteen-carat men."
One elderly-looking comforter said: "Stranger, you've been taken in. Everybody in this camp knows that horse. Any child, any Injun, could have told you that he'd buck; he is the very worst devil to buck on the continent of America. You hear me. I'm Curry. Old Curry. Old Abe Curry. And moreover, he is a simon-pure, out-and-out, genuine d d Mexican plug, and an uncommon mean one at that, too.
Never before had they known the Minister of a Kingdom to step within the boundaries of Sihasset. Bishops had been seen there before, but Ministers were new, and international weddings had never come nearer than the great metropolis. Barons, too, were scarce, and who loves a baron provided he is not an American "baron" any more than the simon-pure Yankee?
His face was like a girl's for its smoothness and its prettiness; his eyes were like blue flowers of sweet innocence; on his forehead his hair was a cluster of little yellow ringlets. And yet he managed full well to convey the impression that he was less innocent than insolent, a somewhat true impression; for from high heels to finger-tips he was a downright, simon-pure rascal.
Ponder a moment her singing in Thais. The converted Thais, about to betake herself desertward with the insistent monk, has a solo to sing. The solo is Massenet, simon-pure Massenet, the idol of the Paris midinette. Miss Garden, with a defective voice, a defective technique, exalts and magnifies that passage till it might be the noblest air of Handel or of Mozart.
"Thank you! This sutny goin' combine business with pleasuah!" "Get away with you!" scolded Old Man Curry. Now, nearly every one knows that the simon-pure feed-box information, the low-down and the dead-level tip, may be picked up behind any barn where hostlers, exercise boys, and apprentice jockeys congregate.
Their father comes and squats down beside me, and, as we sip tea together, he bestows a fond, parental smile upon the three scarlet poppies sitting motionless, with heads slightly bent and eyes downcast, before us, and inquires by an eloquent sweep of his chin what I think of them as specimens of simon-pure nobility.
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