Little Warhorse 
Ill 
Newchusen was a typical Western town. 
Everywhere in it, were to be seen strenuous 
efforts at uglification, crowned with unmeas- 
ured success. The streets were straight level 
lanes without curves or beauty-spots. The 
houses were cheap and mean structures of 
flimsy boards and tar paper, and not even hon- 
est in their ugliness, for each of them was pre- 
tending to be something better than itself. 
One had a false front to make it look like two 
stories, another was of imitation brick, a third 
pretended to be a marble temple. 
But all agreed in being the ugliest things 
ever used as human dwellings, and in each could 
be read the owner’s secret thought—to stand it 
for a year or so, then move out somewhere 
else. The only beauties of the place, and those 
unintentional, were the long lines of hand- 
planted shade-trees, uglified as far as possible 
with whitewashed trunks and croppy heads, 
but still lovable, growing, living things. 
The only building in town with a touch of 
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