CHAPTER III. 



CROOKED LAKE. O'LEARY'S GOOSE. 



I have asked several persons who are supposed to 

 know: 



"Why is Crooked Lake so named? With the excep- 

 tion of one man, everybody I asked unhesitatingly 

 answered: 



"Because it's so crooked, of course." 



The exception referred to was, I think, the only 

 truthful one of my informants, for after pondering 

 deeply for a few moments he turned around and 

 frankly admitted he did not know and, furthermore, 

 not feeling interested, didn't care a bean. Personally, 

 I do not think Crooked Lake takes its name from the 

 irregularity of its shore lines, for if this was the case 

 nearly every lake, with few exceptions, that I know 

 would have to be called Crooked Lake also. 



Many, many years ago, when I was a young fellow 

 of seventeen, during a tour in Switzerland I made the 

 acquaintance of a young German named Muller, a 

 devil-may-care young student, just fresh from the uni- 

 versity; we became great chums, clubbed our slender 

 finances, and for two months traveled together and 

 became inseparable. He was the most rollicksome, 

 beer bibbing, aggressive mortal it ever has been my 

 lot to meet, yet, withal, an unassuming, gentle-hearted 

 creature, incapable of knowingly hurting a fly. 



During this trip we cudgeled our brains to devise 

 the most absurd legendary lore regarding the many 

 points of scenic interest in which the country is so 

 prolific. Did a tall, jutting rock of some peculiarly 

 striking shape require a name and befitting history 

 we supplied it. Did some particularly monstrous 

 chasm in our opinion lay claim to special importance, 



(27) 



