sadly upon the gaunt tree of his career.

He might have been many things--he might have been a successful
theatrical manager, or only an artistic one--he might have been a naval
commander, or a psychoanalyst, or a Christian Science healer--he might
have imparted to the United States Senate that infinitesimal something
which would probably have proved to be the greatest comfort, especially
in the cold weather.

If Mr. Belasco had not preferred Mr. David Warfield, Jabez Puffwater
might have made an enormous success in "The Return of Peter Grimm"--had
he but possessed an aptitude for histrionic achievement. He might have
sung at the Metropolitan year after year without ceasing if Miss
Geraldine Farrar had not taken an instantaneous dislike to him at
sight--and had he but possessed a flamboyant temperament and an
elementary knowledge of Puccini. In fact there is almost nothing he
couldn't have been if only Fate had but weaned him at the breast of
opportunity instead of ordaining his life drama to be played out in
lonely dignity in the drab but intensely political village of Oggsville,
Ken.

Oggsville, Ken. has been for many years a hotbed of occasionally
seditious, but always subtle intrigue, the constructive and progressive
policy of the upper part of the town, near the railway bridge, being in
direct opposition to the destructive statesmanship and constitutional
conventionality of the lower residential quarter embracing the
timber-yard, Elijah Square, and Aunt Martha's Soda Fountain. Naturally
Jabez Puffwater, whose modest store stood figuratively and literally at
the crossing of the ways, was always in a somewhat uncertain state of
mind as to which side he should ultimately pin his colours. Perhaps on
a Tuesday St. John Eddle, a staunch upholder of the C. and P.P., would
enter Jabez's store and hit him in the face because he'd sent a tin of
sardines to the Furdlehoe Mansion on the other side of the River. And
maybe on a Friday Moses Whortleberry, a leading light of the D. S. and
C. C. would belabour him with one of his own hams for daring to acquaint
old Hiram Holdit, the station master, with the result of the cocoa
coupon competition.

One thing stood out firmly amid the turmoil of Jabez's environment--and
that was his idealistic and almost fanatical admiration of the exploits
of Buffalo Bill as depicted on the screen and retailed in small
paper-bound books. Indeed so struck was he by the verve and virility of
this