1901 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
i57 
The Luck of Monty Morrison. 
TiPMAN and Dows, fellow graduates of 
Grinnell, editors and publishers, dust 
covered and weary, sat on the rear plat¬ 
form of the Pullman, the dust whirl¬ 
ing about them in clouds, and doggedly 
viewed the dreary Nebraska landscape. 
The train—six coaches, loaded to the 
doors—was a special, kindly furnished 
on reasonable terms for the laudable 
purpose of restoring to their homes a 
party of jaded, satiated Iowa journal¬ 
ists, who had been seeing the sights of 
the great West. It was due to arrive 
at Omaha the following morning, and 
there a committee would drive the ex¬ 
cursionists around in carriages and om¬ 
nibuses. There would be a banquet, 
and the spokesmen of the party would 
once again unwind the frayed strings 
01 speech which had done duty from St. 
Paul and Minneapolis to Helena, and 
back by way of Denver. Tipman was 
not anticipating the festivities with a 
great amount of pleasure, and he told 
Dows so, whereupon Dows came out of 
a state of mind closely resembling thf» 
waking slumber of functional debility, 
and declared his intention of cutting it. 
“Monty Morrison’s farm is somewhere 
near Omaha,” he said. “Let’s go out 
and see the old chap while the others 
are being entertained. I don’t think I 
am strong enough to be entertained 
again this trip. I don’t, really.” 
Tipman’s travel-stained face bright¬ 
ened at the suggestion. “It’s a positive¬ 
ly great idea,” he said. 
Monty Morrison had been of their 
class at Grinnell, and in some mysteri¬ 
ous way he had managed to graduate 
when they graduated. He had not been 
strong in books, but he could play base¬ 
ball. He was afraid of girls. And yet, 
a year or two after his graduation, his 
fellow classmen were astounded to learn 
of his marriage to a young lady whom 
the Dubuque papers enthusiastically de¬ 
scribed as a queen of society. She was 
the daughter of a Keyes, and the wed¬ 
ding was followed by a violent shower 
of gossip all over the State. It was 
said that v.ld Keyes raged unceasingly 
for weeks. He had wished his daughter 
to marry an old friend of his—a man 
of most disagreeable social attributes, 
but of undoubted financial standing. 
Not even so much as a bridal gown or 
a belt buckle did he give her for a wed¬ 
ding gift, though he might have given 
her a check for a hundred thousand dol¬ 
lars without the least inconvenience. 
Public opinion, while severe upon old 
Keyes for permitting his anger to reach 
such lengths, was rather inclined to 
question the wisdom of the match. A 
young fellow whose fortune consists of 
a small Nebraska farm, and nothing 
else, takes stupendous chances when he 
marries a girl who has been reared in 
the lap of luxury. Furthermore, there 
seemed little in common between the 
daughter of the house of Keyes and 
Monty Morrison. Her education and 
culture had cost not a penny less than 
fifty thousand dollars. She had in her 
veins the most aristocratic blood be¬ 
tween the rivers. Monty had no definite 
idea as to what culture was. He had 
gone to college principally because the 
boys wanted him on the team. He had 
sprung from very common stock—sound 
and honest and all that, but scrubby. 
After the wedding, Monty Morrison and 
his bride started for their future home, 
near Omaha. The elder Morrison had 
inherited the farm from an uncle, and 
in turn he bequeathed it to Monty. The 
rest of his fortune, which was not a 
large one, had gone to Mrs. Morrison 
and the girls. Monty was perfectly 
satisfied. 
“Did you ever see Monty’s wife?” 
asked Tipman. 
Dows said he had not, but his mother 
had. “She described her,” said he, “as 
MOTHERS.—Pe sure to use“Mrs.Wins- 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best.—Adt?. 
very beautiful; a creature with all the 
graces; with an almost regal air; one 
who was accustomed to rule; one who 
had never known what it was to have 
her slightest wish ungratified.” 
“And yet,” said Tipman slowly, “she 
married Monty Morrison.” 
“I suppose,” he went on presently, 
“that it was pure love. Monty was a 
handsome chap with a pleasant way. 
He was different from the others. She 
was probabiy sick of twaddle and twad¬ 
dlers. She wanted the real article. But 
I am afraid they have both repented be¬ 
fore this. Farmers’ wives have to work, 
and she doesn’t know how to work. 
That was not included in her fifty thou¬ 
sand dollar education.” 
“Probably not,” said Dows. “Poor 
Monty!” 
“Poor Monty!” echoed Tipman. 
Next day, they found that the farm 
was not far from Omaha. They came 
into full view of the place after an 
hour’s driving in a hired buggy. It was 
a plain dwelling, set upon a well kept 
lawn. There was a red barn, and there 
was a carriage house. It was the typi¬ 
cal home of the prosperous farmer. In 
the big garden, separated from the lawn 
by a graveled driveway, a sun bonnet¬ 
ed woman was hoeing energetically. 
Tipman nudged Dows, and jerked his 
thumb towards her. 
“Has to keep a servant,” he said pity¬ 
ingly. 
“Poor Monty!” said Dows again. 
They stopped at the driveway, and a 
tall broad shouldered, bearded man, fol¬ 
lowed by a yellow dog, came toward 
them from the barn. When he was 
near enough to recognize them he broke 
into a run and came down upon them 
with a mighty rush. He greeted them 
vociferously, and piled into the buggy 
on top of them, talking every instant 
like a delighted whirlwind. Tipman 
and Dows glanced their astonishment 
at each other across his back. 
“How long can you stay?” asked 
Monty. “A month?” 
“Heavens, no!” said Tipman; “we 
must go back in an hour.” 
Monty wanted to know all about his 
old friends, and they gave him all the 
news. The visitors wanted to know 
about Monty’s marriage, and he told 
them very frankly. 
“It came about like a story book,” 
he said candidly. “I was strolling along 
the Mississippi below Dubuque, one day, 
with nothing to bother me but a pic¬ 
nic party. I sat down to enjoy the 
scenery, and when I awoke the first 
thing I saw was a man and a girl in a 
skiff. He was a beast—looked more like 
a hippopotamus than anything I could 
think of—and the girl was scared to 
death. She was begging him to return, 
and he wouldn’t. She tried to take the 
oars, and he took hold of her. That 
made her scream. 
“Of course it wasn’t any of my busi¬ 
ness, but it roiled me to see that big 
dub bully the girl. I had a baseball in 
my pocket, and I reached for it, meas¬ 
ured the distance to the skiff. It was 
seventy feet, I estimated—just far 
enough for my old out curve to work 
beautifully. I let drive. It was a great 
throw, boys, if I do say it. It caught 
the beast squarely under the ear, and 
he dropped into the bottom of the skiff 
so suddenly that the leer didn’t have 
a chance to break loose from his face. 
Then I stepped down to the shore and 
called to the girl. ‘Will you please take 
the oars and row over here so that I 
may get my ball?’ said I. ‘It acci¬ 
dentally slipped from my hand.' She 
did as I asked her to do. She shook 
my hand, too, and looked at me till I 
blushed fearfully. She asked my name. 
I gave it to her like a schoolboy. Then 
she gave me hers, and invited me to call 
on her. I pushed the skiff out into the 
stream, and escorted her back to her 
friends. The fellow in the skiff was 
the man her father wanted her to marry. 
She had suggested a boat ride rather 
than walk with him. Well, we were 
married, in spite of a lot of things, six 
weeks later.” 
“Love at first sight, eh?” said Tip- 
man. 
“I believe that’s the term,” said 
Monty; “but it’s good love.” He point¬ 
ed with his finger down the road. “See 
that?” he asked. 
“I see nothing but a cloud of dust," 
said Tipman. 
“Nor I,” said Dows. 
“Well, in the midst of that cloud of 
dust are two of the greatest kids in the 
world. They’ve been visiting a neigh¬ 
bor’s boys, and they’re playing steam 
engine home again; the dust is the 
smoke, you know. And now I want 
you to meet my wife.” 
He spoke proudly, arising to his full 
height. Tipman and Dows moved in¬ 
voluntarily towards the front door. 
“Not that way,” said Monty. “She 
doesn’t stay in the house much during 
the Summer.” 
He led the way to the garden fence, 
and called to the woman with the hoe. 
She dropped the implement, and came 
forward, wiping her hands on her apron. 
Then she pushed back the sunbonnet, 
disclosing a sweet face, beaming with 
health and happiness, and greeted her 
husband’s friends. 
That night, in the Pullman, Tipman 
was awakened by a vigorous prodding 
in his ribs. 
‘ What is it?” he asked, starting up. 
“Did Monty’s wife lower herself to 
his level or did he raise himself to 
hers?” asked Dows, in the tone of one 
who has suddenly awakened. 
“It looks to me like a blessed happy 
medium,”’ replied Tipman sleepily. 
“Lucky Monty!” 
“Lucky Monty!” echoed Dows. 
—David H. Talmage, in Munsey’s Maga¬ 
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