The San Juan Islander

A Deserted Village

Tom Plowman lived on a section farm
Not far from a prosperous village:
He worked late and early and calloused
his palm
But thrived by industrious tillage.
He saved up some money and stood
very well,
His luck would have lasted for all
we can tell
If he had never heard of Chicago.

One day a big catalogue came through
the mail
That told of a wonderful heater;
The figures were tempting, Tom swal-
lowed the tale.
Says he, "Mr. Merchant's a cheater.
His profit must be near a hundred
per cent.:
I'll just call his bluff and unless he'll
relent
I'll order a stove from Chicago,"

So he drove to the village and enter-
ed the store
With an air that was lofty and
knowing.
Says he, "Mr. Merchant, please tell
me once more
The price of that stove you were
showing."

"Thirty-five, cash or credit, the best
one in town."
Tom turned on his heel and went out
with a frown,
And sent off a check to Chicago

He bragged to his neighbors and they
in a trice
Sent away for whatever they needed :
They often were stuck. but they got a
low price,
Which, of course was the one thing
they needed.

The merchant soon failed and sold
out his store
And this was the notice he left on his
door:

"Gone to look for a job in Chi-
cago".

Tom's mail order stove didn't work
very long.
But no one in town could repair it:
At last he was forced to admit he was
wrong.
His neighbors weren't slow to de-
clare it.

With no stores there was no one to
buy or to sell,
The drummers stopped coming, they
closed the hotel.

'Twas surprising how quick the town
went to -well
A very long way from Chicago.

The lawyer, the doctor, the editor,
too,
They all got cold feet very quickly:
The parson soon noticed the way the
wind blew
He left, for his children were sick-
ly.

At last Tom decided to sell his old
farm.
But no one, he found with the great-
est alarm,
Would buy one so far from Chi-
cago.

When blank desolation stared Tom
in the face
His courage grew weaker and weak-
er,
Till he made up his mind to get out
of the place
And go on a jaunt as home seeker.

So he put on his overcoat, packed up
his grip
Says he. "I'll be giving my neighbors
the slip
For I must be off to Chicago."

When he got to the station to Tom's
great surprise
He found it deserted and dusty
Inhabited only by spiders and flies,
And the siding was crooked and
rusty;
The trains flew by whizzing. Tom
waited in vain.
Says he, "Neither
merchant
nor
doctor nor train
Will stop any place but Chicago."