The Nonpartisan Leader Newspaper, August 23, 1917, Page 11

WILL B. CRAFTY BACK AGAIN! Rip, the Reporter, Discovers Him, up in the Mountains Near Pike’s Peak \ (Editor’'s note—' “Will B, Crafty,” an old gang politician, became a famous character in North Dakota last year during the farmers’ campaign to carry the state. He was an imaginary character, the “hero” of a series of stories by O. M. Thomason printed in the Leader. He was drawn so true to life and answered the description of so many real well-known politicians in the state, that he almost became a real person. His tricks and plans to beat the Nonpartisan league and the farmers interested thou- sands of readers, who grabbed the Leader every week “to see what. Crafty is up to now.” It is giving away no secret to say that Mr. Thomason, creator of “Crafty,” is also “Rip the Reporter” and author of the “Rip” stories which the Leader has been printing lately. In the accompanying story “Rip” discovers “Crafty,” who disappeared mysteriously from North Dakota after the farmers’ smashing victory at the polls. Old readers of the Leader will be delighted to hear more of “Crafty” through “Rip,” and recent subscribers, with this introduction, will be able also to appreciate this new series of stories.) BY I. B. RIPP, THE REPORTER EER Mistur Editur:—It got so dingsizlin’ hot wup thar in North Dakota that I jist ®] packed up my -carpetbag an’ beet it fur.the rocky moun- tains, an’ so here I am, baskin’ in the cool breezes at the foot uv Pike's Peak an’ feelin’ finer'n a G fiddle string an’ hope you air the saim. I wish to ex- press my appreciashun to the late Mr. Pike fur discovern’ this Peak fur I don’t see how we cud git along without it. Besides I am shore the Peak would “have bin sorely disappinted ef it had never bin discovered. But I must prune down theze pre- liminaries an’ maik ’em short an‘ to the pint for I have sumthin’ that iz more pertinent that I wish to say. Here it iz. ] On the secon’ day after I ariv here I wuz settin’ in a big luther cheer at the Elk Horn hotel reedin’ a story in the Thomas Cat magazine ‘about a young American sailor maikin’ luve to a buteful hulu-hulu girl in sum furin jland. About the time I got to the most interrestin’ part uv the story my at-. tenshun wuz attrackted by a large, stoutish man, with grizly-black, stub- by mushtash. He walked rite past me an’ sot down in a cheer over by the winder. : Thar wuz sumthin’ about that feller that looked furmillyer to me. I fur- got my story an’ sot thar an’ looked at him fur ten minnits a-tryin’ to figger out who in the Jim Hill he wuz. IT WAS W. B. CRAFTY— SURE ENOUGH, IT WASI! Then I got up an’ went to the clurk uv the hotel an’ sed, sez I, “Who iz that feller settin’ over thar by the winder?” jerkin my thumb over my shoulder. He took one look at him an’ then run his finger down the paige uv the register about half way an’ then stopped, hiz finger pintin’ at a naim. “That’s hiz naim,” sez he. I looked at the naim— .looked agin, then rubbed my ize an’ Jooked agin. I thot at furst I must be a-dreamin’ an’ I pinched myself to see an’ shore anuf I wuzzent. Then I leened down an’ took a good, long, close-up view uv the naim. Yes, T wuz rite the furst time. It wuz the naim of Will B. Crafty, jist az plane az puppy tracks in a fresh snow. I - turned around an’ leanin’ up aginst the desk took a long an’ penetratin’ look at him. Az I had only a back view I went over an’ sot down in a cheer whur I cud git a quarterin’ side an’ frunt view uv him. He wuz glancin’ nervously thru a nuzepaper an’ I wuz peerin’ shyly over the top uv my magazine. Finally he pitched the paper over to anuther cheer, bit off the end uv a big black seegar, lit it an’ sot thar silently puffin’ an’ gazin’ unseein’ly out into the distance with a fur-away look in his ize. Now I had heerd a great deal about this man Crafty but this wuz my furst chance to size him up at furst hand. The furst impression I got uv him wuz that he. had bin ackcidently run thru a rock crusher. Not that he didn't have good clothes on an’ not that his hair wuz not trimmed emackulately an’ hiz mushtash cropped evenly an’ hiz linnin done spotlessly. But the man under the hair, behind the mustash an’ in- side the clothes wuz a sufferin’ site so pittyably as to bring tears to the ize uv an Egyptian mummy. RIP BORROWS MATCH FROM MR. CRAFTY Not only wuz hiz fysical features haggard, worn, tattered an’ torn but the sole uv the man that looked outten them one-time black, purcin’ an’ steady but now wonderin’, lusturlis an’ shiftin’ ize had evidently bin doin’ over time in the cracklin’ fires uv enternal torment fur menny days. Az I penetrated past the good clothes an’ the rugged body uv this man a well uv pitty sprung up in my heart an’ I felt an impulse to maik his acquaintance an’ pour on hiz troubled sole the healin’ balm uv sym- pathy an’ interrest. I very delibertly filled up my barn- yvard meershum with a han’full uv hillside navy an’ felt in my pocket for a match. Not findin’ enny I went over an’ sed, sez I, “Beg pardon, but cud you lone me a match.” ; He did not even glance up but machanically fished a silver match case frum the pocket uv hiz linin vest past it to me and continued to gaze un- seein’ly out thru the winder. When I handed the match case back to him an’ thankt him he took one quick, nervous glance at me. I sot down in a nearby cheer, took a few long puffs, blew a cloud uv smoke that looked like a Kansas cyclone, an’ in a careless sort 4Something’ about that feller looked furmillyer to me.” “Instid uv tendin’ to the calves, milkin’ farmers spend most of their time chasin’ around in tin lizzies,” said Crafty. uv way sed, sez I, “Well, this climate shorely beets southeast Texas.” “Air you frum Texas?’. he sed, awakenin’ frum hiz undreamin’ sleep an’ showin’ sines uv interest. “I shore- ly am,” sez I, rizin’ an’ extendin’ my hand, “My naim iz Head, M. T. Head,” I proceeded, “what mite your naim be?” “I'm glad to meet you,” he sed, not even rizin’ frum hiz seet.- I sot down agin, took a few more puffs from my pipe an’ then sed, sorter probin’ly, “Out here fur ye'r helth?” “Y-e-s,” he sed hesitatin’ly, “an restin’ up a little.” Once more silence raned a downpore. NAME OF DAKOTA MAKES HIM NERVOUS “Well, this iz the furst time I've bin outten my native stait,” sed I, an’ I'm takin’ the trip uv my life. I got a ticket from my home town clean to Seattle an’ back. I'm stoppin’ over here fur a few daze an’ then go on to Salt Lake, to Seattle an’ back thru Montana, North Dakota an’ then home by way of Chicago. I expeck to stop several daze in North Dakota an’ Minnesota az I am thinkin’ uv buyin’ land up thar,” I conculded. ‘When I mentioned North Dakota an’ Minnesota he flinched like you’d stuck. him with a hat pin. Hiz fase twitched az if in intense pane an’ hiz steal-trap jaws clamped down on his seegar like a wolf trap on a rabbit’s foot. Silence raned torrents agin. “They tell me its a grate cuntry up thar in the Northwest,” I sed proddin’ly. “I've lived in the South a long time an’ frum what I heer I think I wud like it up thar. Ennyhow I'm goin’ up an’ see.” He tuck the seegar outten his mouth, hiz fase darkened a little more, an’ turnin’ to me he sed, sez he. “Mr. Head, allow me to give you a little free advice.” “I'll shorely appreciate enny infur- mashun I can git,” I sed manifestin’ deap interrest. : “I know sumthin’ about that North- wesi country,” he went on after a moment uVv silence. “It’s no place fur a decent man to go to an’ you look to me like a decent man, Mr. Head.” Thisg complement sorter puffed me up an’ I stuck out my chest, looked wize an’ tuck several more big puffs at my pipe. “Part uv the Northwest haz gone to the dogs,” he-sed, bitterly, “an’ the rest iz goin’ an’ goin’ fast.” I manifested great interrest. “I know what I'm talk- ing about an’ I tell you its gone to the dogs.” : GIVES HIS OPINION OF THE NORTHWEST “But ain’t it a good farmin’ cuntry?” I ast. He looked at me in witherin’ scorn. *But farmin’' ain’t what makes a ‘cun- try desirable to a decent man,” he sed, painfully. “But they’re beginin’ to diversify a lot haint they?” I cum back. *Diversify iz rite—vaudevill wud be a better term,” an’ hiz ize snapped like 8 parlor match, “An’ ain’t they turnin’ thur attenshun to stock an’"— “Yes, yes, yes, they’re turnin’ thur attenshun to ever'thing. They’re turnin’ the stait upside down an’ twistin’ it over an’ over an’ shakin’ it out like a horse blanket.” *T dor’t think I git you Mr.—er—er” “You will git me if you go up thar,” he snapped. “Why the peeple in the Northwest air gone crazy—plump, PAGE ELEVEN the cows an’ sloppin’ the pigs, them smack cracy,” he sed turnin’ hiz face to me an’ leenin’ over in his cheer. “Them dingbusted sodbusters up thar haz got it into their heds that the thing fur farmers to do iz to quit farmin’ an’ go into politics—politics mind you. Now you know, Mr..Head—M. T. Head, I believe—you know that politics aint no place fur a decent man. . Politics iz rotten, iz dirty, iz filthy, iz crooked an’ the place fur a decent man is outten - ’em. The place fur a farmer iz on the farm—rite on the farm. Leave poli- tics fur the pol—leave politics alone— you know that az well az I do, Mr. Head.” “I think you’re rite,” 1 sed, at the saim time preyin’ that God wud furgive me fur the lye. “POLITICS NO GAME FOR THE FARMERS” “Shore I'm rite but you can’t maik them Northwest farmers think so. Why them farmers up thar instid uv ’tendin’ to the calves, milkin’ the cows an’ slop- pin’ the pigs, spend must uv thur time chasin’ 'round in tin lizzies gitten’ up politickel meetin’s an’ listenin’ to wind- jammin’ orators tell ’em how to run the govern-ment. They've got it into thur heds that runnin’ the govern-ment is sum uv thur bizness. An’ I tell you it aint. Farmin’s thur bizness—plain, strait farmin’.” Then he suddenly lapsed into silence agin. I maid several more remarks which indicated interrest but he paid no attenshun to me. “Well, I'm glad to have met you Mr. —er—er, and I think I'll go up to the iron springs an’ drink a barrell uv iron water, it’s good fur the blood they say.” He roze to hiz feet an’ stuck out hiz han’. “Mr. Head,” he sed, “I'll be glad to visit with you sum more. When shall. I see you agin?’ I tole him I'd be thar fur several daze, an’ we parted. Yoors Trooly, RIP. GETS HIS WISH Bergen, N. D., Aug. 8, 1917, Editor Nonpartisan Leader: Having been a silent reader of your paper, thought I would send you a few lines—“my first poetry”: How sweet is the smell - of the new " mown hay To the agent who drives in a car all day, And tells the farmers how to work, ‘While he himself is a lazy shirk. He says: ‘“You better adopt my plan For I'm a better farming man.” He likes to shake hands and get ac- quainted— If I told him my thoughts, = I believe he’d have fainted. He tells you how to farm the land And to raise a crop that’s something grand; He never talks on marketing grain, Because he hasn’'t got the brain. —ALBIN MOXNESS. P, S.—Hope to see this in print. LEAGUE DOCTRINE Congress is apparently having a very - difficult time of it determining how to apportion the burden of the war cost. Yet it ought not to require any high degree of statesmanship to figure that the men who profit most by the fact that we are in war should pay the most of its cost, while those who profit not at all should be burdened ag little as possible—W. J. BRYAN, ¥ ) ) f