sound of the saw and the hammer
that came from the Opera House going up at the corner of Prouty Avenue
and Wildwood Street. The Major's eyes held the brooding tenderness of a
patron saint, as he looked the length of the wide street of the town
which bore his name.

"Sunnin' yourself, Major?" inquired Hiram Butefish jocularly as he
passed; then paused to add, "I'm lookin' for a big turn-out at the
Boosters Club to-night."

"I trust so, Hiram."

Aside from himself, no one person had contributed more to Prouty's
growth than the editor of the _Grit_.

Mr. Butefish had arrived among the first with the intention of opening a
plumbing shop, but since the water supply was furnished by a windmill
the demand for his services was not apt to be pressing for some time to
come.

Therefore, with true western resourcefulness he bought the handpress of
a defunct sheet and turned to journalism instead. Though less lucrative,
moulding public opinion and editing a paper that was to be a recognized
power in the state seemed to Mr. Butefish a step ahead.

The Middle West had responded nobly to his editorial appeals to come out
and help found an Empire. The majority of the optimistic citizens who
walked with their heads in the clouds and their eyes on the roseate
future were there through his efforts. Appreciative of this fact, the
Major's eyes were kindly as they gazed upon the editor's retreating
back.

His expression was benignity itself as his glance turned lovingly to the
Prouty House and the White Hand Laundry--the latter in particular being
a milestone on the road of Progress since it heralded the fact that the
day was not far distant when a man could wear a boiled shirt without
embarrassing comment. Three saloons, the General Merchandise Emporium,
and "Doc" Fussel's drug store completed the list of business enterprises
as yet, but others were in contemplation and a bottling works was
underway. Oh, yes, Prouty was indelibly on the map.

The Major's complacent smile changed to a slight frown as a man in a
black tall crowned hat stopped to rest his back against the post of the
Laundry sign.

It had reached the Major's ears that Mormon Joe had said that Prouty had
no more future than a prairie dog town. He had been in his cups at the
time but that did not palliate the offense.

Now, there--there was the kind of a man that helped a town! The Major's
brow cleared as Jasper Toomey swung round the corner by the Prouty House
and