press you. There are hundreds too willing; but remember, you will regret
it if you lose this chance of a lifetime. Opportunity is knocking at
your door; seize it by the fore-lock.
"The proposition I have to put before you is this: We are selling
shares at one hundred dollars each, but if you have not the cash now, we
will allow you six, twelve and eighteen months on the balance with a
payment of five hundred dollars down if you buy twenty shares. The
reason we are able to make such liberal offers is that we receive the
same terms in buying up debentures."
Simon was completely victimized. His tormentor might just as well have
addressed him in Latin, for he knew so little about debentures, joint
stock funds and the intricacies of high finance that he could not follow
the promoter and was completely dazzled with the obscurity and eloquence
of the language. And then the magnate spoke so rapidly that only
lightning could keep up with him. The result was that Simon fell into
the trap and was pinched. He not only gave away all his rainy day money,
but he burdened himself with a debt, which, to a working man, was a
mountain, and more than he could carry. He sold his house to meet the
next two payments, and just as the third payment came due the company
went into liquidation, and it consumed all their available assets to
discover that there was nothing left for the shareholders. And Simple
Simon began life over again.
Of the High Class Eskimo
Away up in the great northland, even further north than the northern
boundary of British Columbia, there lives a race of people who form, and
have formed, no part of the great human civilization of the world which
has been, and is going on in the more moderately climatic regions of the
earth. For centuries they have lived apart, and have taken no notice of
the big world which has been, and is living itself to death far from
them down in the indolent south, where the sun could shine every day in
the year--where it did shine every day that it was not cloudy, and where
there was no long, dreary, dark midnight of at least four months'
duration; where the sun did not dip beneath the horizon at about the
beginning of October, and disappear, not to be seen again until the end
of March; where, in some parts, there was no snow, while in others only
for a few weeks during the year. No snow! no ice! Can you imagine such a
condition? And up there it is almost the Eskimo's only commodity. He
eats it, drinks it, lives in it, sleeps on it, and his castle is built
of it. And he endures it year after year, from his babyhood to his gray
days, and there appears no hope for him. Bare ground is a curiosity to
the Eskimo; and there are no spring freshets. Their bridges across their
streams are formed of ice; the very salt sea is covered with it; and
they venture out on those great floors of ice in search of the polar
bear and the right whale which form almost their only food, and supply
them with their only source of clothing, heat and light. In the midst of
his narrow and cramped circumstances the Eskimo can laugh at times as
heartily as any other human, and he has grown extremely low in stature
to accommodate himself to the small opening which gives access to his
igloo (house). The average man or woman does not exceed much over four
feet. No other explanation seems to have been offered by science for the
extreme dwarfishness in stature of this curious race of people.
Like the polar bear--almost their only associate in those northern and
frozen wilds--the idea never occurred to this people to migrate south
where the earth is bare and warm, and is clothed in a green mantle;
where the sun shines every day; where the land is flowing with milk and
honey; where peaches and water melons grow, and where it is not
necessary to go through a hole in the ice to take a bath. No, this
strange people, whose food is ice, whose bed is ice, whose home is ice,
and whose grave is ice, are part and parcel of the snowy north; and they
live on, apparently happy and contented with their hard life and
uncongenial environment. Where the white man begins to be uncomfortable,
the Eskimo begins to be at home. Where the white man leaves off the
Eskimo begins, and his haunts penetrate away into the far north--into
the land of perpetual ice and snow. Where we go only to explore he
builds his permanent abode.
But this is not a history of the geographical distribution of men; it is
to be the story of an Eskimo who went astray according to the moral
ideals of his immediate tribesmen.
Once upon a time there lived in this northland of which we have been
speaking a young native who had mysteriously arrived at the conclusion
that the life of an Eskimo was a very narrow and fruitless existence
indeed, and that the conditions under which they lived were totally
inadequate to supply the demands of a twentieth century human being. In
the midst of the other members of the family he assumed an attitude of
weariness and contempt for his associates and environs. "One may as well
associate with a polar bear," he soliloquized. "Man was made to
accomplish things; the Eskimo is no further advanced in the scale of
living, organic beings, to all intent and purpose, than the polar bear,
or the walrus. He is born, lives, eats, sleeps, hunts, kills, dies, and
is buried in the cold frozen earth, if he does not fall through a hole
in the ice into the bottomless sea. To the south of us is a great
healthy world where men live; where they have discovered all that the
world has to give, and where they enjoy those things to the utmost;
where they read and write and take records of their doings. Me for the
south!" he shouted, and he made up his mind to migrate at the first
opportunity and be in the swim with men. "I must learn to read and
write and think, even if I have to forget my own language," he declared.
Now, it came to pass that as he was soliloquizing as above one morning,
a girl appeared before him. She was so muffled up in furs that only an
Eskimo could distinguish whether the bundle was male or female. She sat
down beside him and placed her short, stubby, muffled arm as far around
his neck as it would go, and in this attitude she coaxed, and begged,
and prayed, and argued with him, thinking that she might resurrect him
to himself again. But when she found that his mania was for the south,
she wept as only woman can weep the whole world over, even in the far
north where the tears are in danger of freezing to her cheeks. But he,
in his brutish, advanced-thought sort of way, pushed her from him.
"If you love me you will help me to go," he said. "If you love me you
will stay," she responded.
He rose and moved towards his igloo; she followed. He crawled like a
bear through the thirty feet or more of narrow tunnel which led into the
hut proper. She did likewise. In the igloo he threw himself down on the
ice floor among the squalor and quantities of bear meat in various
stages of decomposition. The smell from the whale-oil lamp almost choked
him. The girl sat down and continued to cling to him.
"Let me go to the south and I will make a lady of you," he said. "I will
give you gold and silver and feather beds. These environs are not fit
for a bear to hibernate in. Just think of our branch of the human family
existing and suffering up here among the ice and snow for thousands of
years and not having advanced one step from the hovel in which we were
first produced? Is the Eskimo destined to everlasting failure--perpetual
degeneration? Must you and I be satisfied and consent to endure this
animal existence to the end of our days because it is our only heritage
from our ancestors? No! I say, a thousand times no. I am ashamed of
myself, my ancestors and my entire race," he shouted, and the girl
almost trembled in fear of him. He must surely be demented. But she
still clung to him, thinking that her enchanting presence might cure
him. Thus love can be a very warm thing even up among the cold ice and
snow. Their cold, half frozen cheeks came together and she kissed him.
"Stay," she murmured, coaxingly, as only a woman can.
"I will take passage south," he continued unheedingly, "and will plunge
myself into the midst of the big, busy, warm world, and will gain with
one bound that social condition which it has taken the white man
thousands of years to attain."
Now, after all, was this man not right, and is the Eskimo not to be
pitied?
The girl, seeing that her whole world was about to vanish from her, left
the igloo weeping, and again crawled like a bear through the narrow
tunnel to the colder world outside.
One day when the sun was just about to make its appearance above the
horizon, and the long night was nearly at an end, two half starved and
partially frozen white men burrowed their way into our hero's igloo and
asked for food and shelter. The night had been long, dreary, dark and
cold, and the approaching return of the sun was welcomed like a
prodigal. Is it a wonder then that the Eskimo worships the sun? It seems
his only hope, his only comfort; and it would seem to him, more than to
any other, the source of all life, his only friend in his dire need. The
Eskimo offered the two strangers some meat, which they devoured
greedily; and then they told a long, pitiful story. They were explorers.
Their ship had been crushed hopelessly between masses of ice. Fifty had
started on the long journey south. Provisions gave out. Men had dropped
off daily. The trail was one long line of frozen corpses stretched out
in the dark and silent night. They two alone had survived, so far as the
strangers were able to tell. It was the usual tale of woe which befalls
the Arctic or Antarctic explorers. Beginning happily, hopefully,
buoyantly; ending in misery, sorrow and death. The strangers wanted a
guide to lead them to the south--to civilization and warmth. They had
not known what it was to be comfortable for two years; and they had not
seen one square inch of bare ground during that period.
"Oh, for a sight of mother earth!" they shouted. "We would gladly eat
the soil, and chew the bark from the trees." Thus one does not
appreciate the most trivial and simple but indispensable things until
one is deprived of them for a period of more or less duration.
Our hero agreed to guide them so far as his knowledge extended--even to
the very gateway between the north and south lands--if they would
guarantee to guide him from that point into their own big, beautiful
world further on; they taking the helm when his usefulness as a guide
would be exhausted; and he explained his ambition to them.
So, one morning when summer was approaching, and the sun, for the first
time in the year was sending her streamers above the horizon, and when
his sweetheart Lola stood with arms outstretched over the cold snow and
ice towards him, pleading and sending forth her last appeal to his stony
heart, he walked out across the white table-land towards the south, and
was soon a small black speck in the far horizon.
When the strange expedition reached Dawson they discarded their
hibernating costumes and substituted more modern ones, not so much
because they were out of fashion, but because they rendered them
somewhat uncomfortable. At this point the white men grasped the helm and
the Eskimo followed. At Fort Fraser our hero discarded more of his
clothing, and at Quesnel he became determined to strip himself. "I
cannot stand this heat," he said; "why, it will kill me."
"Heat? Kill you?" exclaimed his two companions. "Why, the thermometer is
scarcely above the freezing point. If this moderate climate makes you
uncomfortable, what will be your condition in California? Why, you will
melt away like a candle beside a red-hot stove." And thus they joked
with him, not taking him seriously. So they sailed along and in due time
reached Ashcroft. The Eskimo perspired to such an extent that his
condition threatened to become dangerous. The slightest covering of
clothing became a burden to him, and it was only with the greatest
difficulty that his companions could prevent him from stripping himself
naked. They persuaded him that he should return before it was too late,
but he would not hear of it. "I have made my nest; I will sit in it to
the bitter end," he said. They boarded the midnight train, and in a few
moments he was fleeing to the sunny south a great deal faster than ever
dog team or sledge had taken him across the frozen plateau. And the
farther south he went the more he suffered from the heat, until he was
in great danger of melting away. And then the truth dawned upon him; it
had never occurred to him before. He was a fish trying to live out of
water. He discovered that what his mind had pictured, and his heart had
longed for, his constitution could not endure. He was doomed to live and
die in the frozen north. Oh, those savage, unprogressive, half-animal
ancestors! And for the first time he thought of his igloo, his dog
teams, the polar bear, and the little woman who had pleaded with him to
remain; and he saw her standing as he had left her with outstretched
arms, while her very heart tissue was being torn asunder. "Oh, for the
ice and snow and the long, dark night," he exclaimed; "anything but this
awful heat." When they reached San Francisco he was almost insane, and
his condition became critical; and, as if to punish him for his folly,
the heat became intense for a few days. They rushed him to the sea
shore and he plunged into the water, and refused to come out again.
Those were the most congenial surroundings he had found since he left
the frozen north. He was in such misery that he did not have time to
enjoy the wonders of civilization which he had risked so much to see.
Thus does distance lend enchantment to the view. This was an instance of
how a man had grown up with his environment--had inherited qualities or
weaknesses applicable to his surroundings, had breathed the air of one
planet so long that the atmosphere of another was poison to him. He had
envied others a lot which it was constitutionally impossible for him to
emulate. And he wept for his hereditary infirmities and failings. Could
a man be blamed for regretting his ancestors and cursing the fate, or
the necessity which drove them into those northern fastnesses at the
early stages of their existence? Here again the white man was to blame,
for he, in his eagerness and greed, had seized upon the cream of the
earth for himself and had driven all inferior or weaker peoples to all
the four corners of the globe. And of all the unfortunate, subordinate
races, the Eskimo was the most unfortunate, and their condition savored
of discrimination on the part of the powers that governed or ordained
things.
As our hero had only one ambition while in the north--an insane notion
to go south--he had only one ambition while in California--an
overpowering ambition to go north.
"Oh, for a mantle of snow, and a canopy of ice!" he shouted. "And, oh,
for one touch on mine of my Lola's cold, sweet cheek. Oh, for the
frozen, hopeless northland, even if its condition means the perpetual
doom and obliteration of the whole Eskimo race!"
They shipped him north as fast as steam could carry him, and from Dawson
he went on foot, becoming day by day more and more his natural self.
When he neared his igloo he found his Lola standing with outstretched
arms to welcome him even as she had mourned his departure, and he
realized for the first time that the love and companionship of one woman
is worth more than all the riches and wonders of the world put together.
They embraced each other with the grip of a vice, in the awful power of
their natures, and their affection was as genuine as the most civilized
variety. And there he threw himself on the earth and hugged the snow of
his dear northland.
Of the Sweet Young Things
Once upon a time in Ashcroft a very foolish young man married a very
foolish young lady. They were foolish in so far as they had entered a
matrimonial partnership without the preliminary requisite of love. He
married because he wanted a wife, as all good men do; she married
because she wanted a home, as all good women do. But, as we have said,
they married too hastily in their eagerness for those mere mundane
pleasures. Each had been known to lie awake many nights before their
marriage summing up the situation, and putting two and two together;
but, as they were both liberal in their political views, and had no
conservative opposition, the two and two always made four without a
decimal remainder, and the house voted for marriage with an overwhelming
majority. So they became legally united before they were morally mature
for love, and before they had formal introduction to the great things of
the world. After the solemnization of their marriage they adjourned to a
beautiful little home which had been made to order; and it was guarded
by a beautiful garden of Eden.
For a short time everything went merry as the Ashcroft curlers' ball.
Her happiness was all he lived for, and his comfort was the only excuse
she could find for living. Nothing was too good for his Maud; no man
was like her Manfred. They each congratulated themselves that they had
hooked the best fish from the Thompson. There was nothing in the world
outside of their own sweet lives. How others could live outside of
_their_ sphere was a mystery to them; and the hugs and kisses which they
did not treat themselves to daily would be of no commercial value as a
love asset.
For the first few weeks they spent their evenings with their tentacles
wound around each other so tightly that they would have passed for one
animal; but they had not been welded by that permanent binding quality
which is essential to perpetual happiness. Their natures seemed to
blend, but it was only a case of superfluous friendship between them.
They had no reason to fall out, no excuse to quarrel. They had one mind,
one ambition, and they had agreed, mutually, to salt down a few "plunks"
each payday for their anticipated gray days. In fact, they seemed better
"cut out" for each other than many who marry loving desperately and
savagely.
In a few sweet years they had a few sweet children, and life was one
sweet dream. But they did not love each other, and without oxygen the
lights ultimately became extinguished. But this was only because the
ironies of fate had discovered that they were too happy, and that
something must be done to damage their heavenliness.
The honeymoon might, otherwise, have lasted all their long lives without
interruption. But fate decreed that the clouds should gather from the
north, south, east and west to obliterate their sun. It happened in the
shape of two monsters in the form of Flossy and Freddy. Flossy and
Freddy were float rocks. They had been picked up by Maud and Manfred on
their face value and welcomed to the family circle. They had been
assayed at the provincial assay office and found to contain a valuable
percentage of real collateral; so our hero and heroine could not be
reproached for taking them into their arms and allowing them the freedom
of their home pastures. But, ah! this is where the evil one sneaked on
to the happy hearth-rug--they took the strangers into their arms. They
were all young; and, moreover, human. What could they do when the
failings of their ancestors of a million years took them in an iron grip
and led them in a hypnotic spell toward the brink of ruin? They were as
helpless as the Liberals in B.C. politics in the year 1912. We have
often quoted that every one must love one of the opposite sex at least
once in a lifetime, and our hero and heroine were not immune from this
stern gravitation law, because they were only human after all. What was
the consequence? Maud fell hopelessly in love with Fred, and Manfred
lost his conscience, his manhood, his heart, his soul, his brains, his
job and his salary over the Flossy vision. They had fallen foul of a
strong Conservative party, and civil war broke out. The former happy
couple looked upon each other as intruders, as disturbers of the peace.
While before they could not get close enough, now they could not get far
enough apart. Manfred would enjoy his evenings at the ball or opera
with Flossy, while Fred would entertain Maud, much to her pleasure, at
home. The wife hated to see her husband come home at all, but she went
into hysterics when Fred arrived. When Fred and Flossy were away, or
absent, goodness knows where, the once happy home was like a lunatic
asylum, in which the mania with the inmates was a total disregard of
each other, and where language was unknown. The husband and wife drifted
further and further apart. They ceased to smile, ceased to know each
other, ceased to see each other. They were like a lion and a tiger in
the same cage.
As time went on the once happy home became a horrid prison. The children
became detestable brats who were stumbling-blocks to their ambitions.
Manfred cooked his own meals, or ate at the "French" Café. Maud had to
purchase food and clothing from the local emporium with money she had
saved up before marriage while waiting table at the "Best" Hotel.
Finance became frenzied, for Manfred spent both principal, interest and
sinking fund on his affinity. Starvation and the cold world were staring
them in the face, for the wolf and the collection man were howling at
the door. The city cut off their light and water supply for non-payment
of dues, and were about to seize the property for arrears; so they were
on the water wagon and in darkness, but still they would not regain
consciousness.
The usual course of events did not apply in this strange case. There was
no jealousy floating on the surface on the part of the husband and wife.
Maud ignored Manfred's insane attitude towards Flossy because she had
the same love-blind sickness and could see no one but Fred. Far from
being jealous, Manfred viewed his wife in the light of a white man's
burden which he could not shake off. Christian's burden was fiction
beside it. Flossy was the only star in his firmament--the only toad in
his puddle.
The children were neglected, and ran wild in the bush. It was as though
some great Belgian calamity had overtaken the household and had riven it
asunder. The garden lost its lustre, irrigation was discontinued, the
fruit trees lost their leaves prematurely; the very willows wept. The
pickets fell from the fence unheeded; the stovepipe smoked, and the
chickens laid away in the neighbor's yard. The house assumed the
appearance of a deserted sty. Divorce was suggested inwardly--that
modern refuge to which the weak-minded flee in seeking a drastic cure
for a temporary ailment; and all this disruption in two hearts which had
tripped along together so smoothly and pleasantly. Surely love,
misapplied, is a curse. It is surely sometimes a severe form of
insanity. If so, those two were insane, just waiting for the pressure to
be removed from the brain. And, theirs was a pitiful and unfruitful case
indeed. They were--
Thirst crazed; fastened to a tree,
By a sweet river running free.
In the meantime Fred and Flossy were having "barrels" of amusement at
the expense of the demented ones. Fred and Flossy were perhaps in the
wrong in causing such an upheaval in a very model household. But they
were young, and the mischief had taken root before they suspected that
any such danger was in existence. When the awfulness of the situation
dawned upon them they looked at each other one day in the interrogative
and agreed that the poisonous weed should be uprooted. But since it had
grown to such proportions it was difficult to arrive at a means by which
the evil could be strangled. Now Fred and Flossy loved each other, and
the lady was just waiting for the gentleman to put the motion, so that
she would have an opportunity to second it.
The thirst-crazed husband and wife, however, were too blind to observe
that anything unusual existed between their two friends, and they
continued to float down that smooth but awful river to destruction.
"Why does she not die?" whispered the demon within the man.
"Why does he not fall into the Thompson and get drowned for
accommodation?" questioned the evil one in the heart of the woman.
At last the eruption became "Vesuvian," and the ashes from the crater
threatened to re-bury Pompeii--we mean Ashcroft. Thoughts of suicide as
the only means of relief bubbled up at intervals.
"Give me love or give me death," they shouted when the fever was at its
highest.