Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 84: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

242 breed who had been branded as a coward —had come upon the pathetic herd of burned sheep, had sought out the bellweth- er and removed the bell from his carcass. Then had come the march back to the cor- ral, the Weasel using all his powers of mim- icry to create the illusion of the herd com- ing home. They carried the little figure across to the vine-covered veranda. A dash of cold water brought open his eyes. Lo} U ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEERLY. “ How’s weakly. ‘“* He’s all right,” said Owen, “‘ and how’s the Weasel?’> The dark face smiled wanly. ‘“T ain’t no Weasel,” he blustered. “You bet you’re not,” agreed Owen Oli- ver, “and you’ve got a job on my ranch as long as you want it. Hasn’t he, Nan?”’ ‘““'Yes,” said Nan, “ and he still owes me a lot of banjo lessons.” Mr. Masterson?” he asked le} ENVY A POET strolled by the road, alone, And he watched a laborer cracking stone And digging away with pick and spade In the yielding earth, as the road he made. The poet sighed;.and he said, said he: “That’s pretty easy, it seems to me! Nothing to do but dig all day In a heedless, thoughtless, casual way, And then, at evening, to drop it there, And homeward hasten, all free from care! While I—from the dawn to the setting sun, My ceaseless labors are never done! Thinking, thinking! I work and work! My brain won’t stop, so I cannot shirk, And even then, in the dead of night, I have to think of the things to write! * Oh, happy the laborer, blithe and gay, Whose labors stop with the close of day! I envy his lot, so gay and free! That’s the sort of a life for me!” The laborer sighed as the poet went. “Ah, gee!” he said in his discontent. “ Look at that guy! <A cinch he’s got! Pretty easy and soft his lot! Nothing to do but think up things "Bout love and kisses, and birds on wings, And fairies dancin’ in flower beds sunny, An’ write ’em down for to get the money! While me—I’m usin’ my strength all day, Diggin’, drivin’, delvin’ away, To quit at night all done, worked out, About as good as an old dish clout! His hands don’t hurt and his back don’t pain— He’s nothin’ to use except his brain, And that’s dead easy, it is, be gee! That’s the sort of a life for me!”’ Paul West. (©) AML vDOOK (E@)