AN OREGON ARAB 



bearing a label with a very beautiful picture 

 of a white Arab horse, having his shin bone 

 treated with what the can had once held. That 

 the liniment had gone, did not bother me at 

 all. I carefully removed the stains on the 

 cover of the can without soiling the lithograph, 

 and that can formed my only piece of artistic 

 furniture for a number of years. I remember 

 that for a time I had in mind that I would keep 

 the can, and, in later life, when I began to ac- 

 cumulate artistic treasures I could build around 

 it. But in 1892, when I was compelled by rel- 

 atives to leave Oregon for San Francisco, the 

 horse liniment can was left in the woodshed, 

 much against my will. 



In 1893, however, at Chicago, just before the 

 opening of that World's Fair, the Arab germs 

 in my system got a fresh start. I was going 

 with a reporter on some detail, while employed 

 on the Chicago Herald, when, on State Street, 

 we heard some weird, queer music. Approach- 

 ing us wxre some gray horses slipping and fall- 

 ing on the wet pavement; horses that actually 

 had grace and beauty as they fell and regained 

 their feet almost instantaneously. 



Though never having before seen a horse 

 with a speck of Arab blood in his veins, I knew 



