THE COLONEL'S VICTORY. 



A. L. VERMILYA. 



"Go on, now, you garrulous mistake of 

 humanity ; you make me tired ! Don't you 

 know, Wiggles, that the songs of crickets 

 and grasshoppers are several times more 

 pleasant to listen to than your chatter? If 

 you must bore someone with your silly 

 cackle, try it on Starchy or the Chicken ! 

 They can't feel anything !" The Colonel 

 resumed his reading, while the semblance 

 of a frown touched, for a moment, his 

 good natured face. 



Wiggles looked reproachfully at the 

 Colonel, and winked at Starchy and me. 

 That is Wiggles' way, and a reproachful 

 look is his strong point. He will pour out 

 unmitigated twaddle until you have lost all 

 patience, and then when you tell him what 

 you think about it, he will turn on you an 

 injured, sorrowful look that makes you 

 feel as flat as a punctured tire. 



There were 4 of us, and we were taking 

 our annual vacation in a picturesque part 

 of the country, about ^30 miles from the 

 city. We had pitched our tent close by a 

 fidgety little stream, from whose foaming 

 waters we drew fish of various kinds in 

 plenty. It was an ideal place. To be sure, 

 we had the regulation discomforts of the 

 camper, such as mosquitoes, ants, rainy 

 days, etc. ; but we did not allow those 

 things to bother us. We liked the country 

 in general, and fishing and pottering about 

 the water in particular. 



The Colonel, Jones, by name, is a small, 

 fat, jolly man, with as military a bearing 

 as a cow has. His high sounding title never 

 fails to draw a smile from strangers who 

 for the first time hear it applied to him. 

 Wiggles, whose real name is Will Leisaw, 

 is a tall, athletic young fellow, light heart- 

 ed and witty, but with an abnormally de- 

 veloped penchant for hectoring. When 

 in the city, and in his right mind, he is a 

 photographer, and a good one, too. 

 Starchy, known to some as Sam Perkins, 

 is tall, slim, and blue eyed. At home he 

 operates a laundry, but this has nothing 

 to do with his nickname. We call him 

 Starchy because of his extremely neat and 

 fastidious ways. As for me, my name is 

 Smith, just plain Smith without any frills; 

 and I am a clerk in a wholesale house. I 

 am the oldest of the party, and have been 

 dubbed the "Chicken." Why the boys 

 gave me this name I do not know ; perhaps 

 they likened my light and easy bearing, to 

 the vain and trifling manners of a pin- 

 feathered product of the poultry yard. 

 Names cut no johnny-cake anyway. 



About a mile from our camp was the 



sleepy little village of Wickers, contain- 

 ing, perhaps, 300 inhabitants, most of whom 

 appeared to wonder how they got there. 

 There were sleepy little stores containing 

 fly-specked stocks which were never sold ; 

 a sleepy old tavern where nobody ever 

 stopped; a sleepy little millinery store 

 where a sleepy looking young lady with 

 red hair and a sentimental smile built im- 

 possible hats and bonnets out of silks and 

 ribbons of antiquated weave and delirious 

 color; and there was a tumble-down shoe- 

 maker's shop where a dried-up little Eng- 

 lishman made caricatures of boots and 

 shoes, and did cobbling for the sleepy vil- 

 lagers. How these somnolent citizens lived 

 was a wonder to many, but the fact that a 

 good sized river flowed calmly along one 

 side of the village offered a partial solution 

 to the vexed problem ; for the visitor could 

 not fail to notice that the fishing tackle 

 shop was the most prosperous looking es- 

 tablishment in the town. Moreover, as 

 the banks of the stream were usually dotted 

 with anglers and as what the denizens of 

 the village did not know about fishing was 

 not worth bothering about, it was reason- 

 able to suppose that the greater part of 

 their sustenance was drawn from the river. 



When Wiggles turned off his reproach- 

 ful look, he again gave his attention to 

 stirring up the Colonel. 



"That's a pretty good magazine you're 

 reading, isn't it, Colonel?" 



"Of course it is," returned the individual 

 addressed. 



"Yes, I rather like it myself," said the 

 imperturbable Wiggles, "and so do Starchy 

 and the Chicken. Quite a magazine, I 

 guess." 



"You guess," said the Colonel, hopping 

 up like a startled prairie dog. "You guess ! 

 Why, anybody with only half an eye and 

 no sense at all ought to comprehend, just 

 by looking at the Southwest corner of the 

 back cover, that it's the best sportsmen's 

 book published between Jerusalem and the 

 Klondyke !" 



"Quite a book is Recreation/' said Wig- 

 gles, winking at Starchy and me ; "but 

 there are others !" 



"Now, see here, sonny," — the Colonel 

 was looking savage by this time — "I tell 

 you there can't be others while this maga- 

 zine is published ! ; It's the whole thing. 

 It's better reading than Robinson Crusoe, 

 and its game pictures would bring a blind 

 setter to a point.." He held the book up 

 by one corner and gazed affectionately at 

 it. 



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