ll all this suburban
property. Terms reasonable. No restrictions except that street-cars
shall not run past these lots at a higher rate of speed than sixty
miles per hour without permission of the owner.

I think that the property looks better in the autumn even than it does
in spring. The autumn leaves are falling. Also the price on this piece
of property. It would be a good time to buy it now. Also a good time to
sell. I shall add nothing because it has been associated with me. That
will cut no figure, for it has not been associated with me so very long,
or so very intimately.

The place, with advertising and the free use of capital, could be made a
beautiful rural resort, or it could be fenced off tastefully into a
cheap commodious place in which to store bears for market.

But it has grown. It is wider, it seems to me, and there is less to
obstruct the view. As soon as commutation or dining trains are put on
between Minneapolis and Sitka, a good many pupils will live on my
property and go to school at Sitka.

Trade is quiet in that quarter at present, however, and traffic is
practically at a standstill. A good many people have written to me
asking about my subdivision and how various branches of industry would
thrive there. Having in an unguarded moment used the stamps, I hasten to
say that they would be premature in going there now, unless in pursuit
of rabbits, which are extremely prevalent.

Trade is very dull, and a first or even a second national bank in my
subdivision of the United States would find itself practically out of a
job. A good newspaper, if properly conducted, could have some fun and
get a good many advertisements by swopping kind words at regular
catalogue prices for goods. But a theater would not pay. I write this
for the use of a man who has just written to know if a good opera-house
with folding seats would pay a fair investment on capital. No, it would
not. I will be fair and honest. Smarting as I do yet under the cruel
injustice done me by the meek and gentle groceryman, who, while he wept
upon my corrugated bosom with one hand, softly removed my pelt with the
other and sprinkled Chili sauce all over me, I will not betray my own
friends. Even with my still bleeding carcass quivering under the Halford
sauce of Mr. Pansley, the "skin" and hypocrite, the friend of the
far-distant savage and the foe of those who are his unfortunate
neighbors, I will not betray even a stranger.