Part 38 (2/2)

He jumped up and shook hands. ”Yas, I am,” he says; ”but only a land-agent, y' savvy. They's three others in town that's got _capital_. The one that lives over yonder at the hotel is a millionaire.

Then they's a doctor (left a _fine_ practice to come), and a preacher.

But the preacher ain't just one of you' _ord'nary_ pulpit pounders.”

I stooped over to git a look at that sheet of blue paper. It had lines all criss-cross on it, same as a checker-board, and little, square, white spots showin' now and again.

”_Ex_cuse me fer astin',” I says, ”but what's this?”

”This is the new map of Goldstone,” he says, ”and drawed two mile square. Here”--pointin' to a white spot--”'ll be the Normal College, and here”--pointin' to another--”the Merchants' _Ex_change. Then, a-course, the Pavilion fer Indus'tral _Ex_hibitions----”

”Pardner,” I broke in, ”if Goldstone was in the middle 'r east part of Oklahomaw, where crops is allus fine, this boom wouldn't surprise me a _little_ bit. But out _this_ way, where they's only a show fer cattle, I cain't just understand it. Now, they must be some _reason._”

The real estate agent, he smiled awful sly like, and wunk. ”Mebbe,”

he says.

Later on, I seen the gent that was stoppin' at the hotel. He was tonier'n the other. Wore one of them knee coats that's got a wedge outen it, right in front, and two b.u.t.tons fastened in the small of the back. He was walkin' up and down the porch and smokin' a seegar. Rich?

Wal, I guess! Had the finest room in the house, and et three six-bit meals a day! About fifty, he was, and kinda porky; not a tub, y'

savvy, but plenty fat.

That same day, a new _Tarantula_ come out. In it was a piece haided ”_More Capital Fer Goldstone._” It went on like this: ”_Our City has lately acquired four new citizens whose confidence and belief in her future 'd put some of the old hangers-on and whiners to the blush if they faces wasn't made of bra.s.s, and didn't know how to blush.

Wake up,_” goes on the _Tarantula, ”wake up, Goldstone, and shake you'self. And gents, here's a hearty welcome! Give us you' paw!_”

Goldstone was woke up, all right, all right. She was as lively and _ex_cited as a chicken with its haid cut off. That real-estate feller 'd bought up two big tracts just north of town, gittin' 'em cheap a-course; _awful_ cheap, in fact, 'cause no one 'd smelt a boom when he first showed up. (Wal, _first_ come, first _served_.) Porky 'd bought, too, and owned some lots 'twixt them tracts and the post-office.

To the east, right where the nicest houses is, the parson was plannin'

to import his fambly. More'n that, them four gun-shy gents stood ready to buy all the time. And Goldstone fellers that would 'a' swapped they lots fer a yalla dawg, and then shot the dawg, was holdin' out fer fifty plunks.

Wal, I had that three hunderd. But I helt back. What I wanted to know was _the why behind the boom._

I just kinda happened past that real-estate corn-crib. The land-agent was to home, and I ast him to come over and have one with me. He said O. K., that suited _him_. So we greased our hollers a few times. And, when he was feelin' so good that he could make out to talk, I drawed from him that Goldstone was likely to stand 'way up yonder at the haid of her cla.s.s account of ”natu'al developments.”

”Natu'al developments,” I says. ”Wal, pardner, when it comes to them big, dictionary words, I sh.o.r.e am a slouch. And you got me all twisted up in my picket-rope.”

But I had to spend another dollar 'fore he'd talk some more. Then he begun, _turrible_ confidential: ”I been sayin' nothin' and sawin'

wood, Lloyd. I ain't let _no_ man git information outen _me_. But I like you, Lloyd, and, say! I'm a-goin' to tell you. Natu'al developments is _coal_ and _oil_ and _gas._”

Same as the Tusla country! Wal, I was plumb crazy. ”Blamed if it ain't _likely,_” I says to myself. ”Wal, that settles things fer _me._”

I got shet of that real-estate feller quick as I could (didn't want him to remember that he'd talked in his sleep), and hunted up the post-master. The postmaster was one of the china-eyed, corn-silk Swedes, and he owned quite a bit of Goldstone. I tole him I wanted to buy a couple of lots 'cause I was goin' to be married, and figgered to build. (That wasn't no lie, neither.) Said I didn't want to live in the part of town where the greasers was fer the reason that I'd rather settle down in a Sioux Camp in August _any_ day than amongst a crowd of blamed _cholos_.

The postmaster wasn't anxious to sell. Said he didn't have more'n a block left, and he wanted a big price fer that. ”'Cause this boom is _solid,_”--he kinda half whispered it. ”How do I know? Wal, I pumped one of them suspender-cityzens this mornin'.”

That showed me I'd got to hump myself. If that real-estate feller blabbed any more, I wouldn't be able to buy. The station-agent owned some lots. I hiked fer the deepot.

When I looked into the ticket-office through the little winda, I seen that agent--one hand on the tick-machine, other holdin' his haid--with his mouth wide open, like a hungry wall-eye.

”Lloyd,” he says, pantin' hard, ”I ain't got no right to tell, but I can't hole it in. Them Chicago fellers, Lloyd, are a Standard Oil bunch.

Look a-here!” And he pushed out a telegram.

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