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Going Some

Creator: Beach, Rex Ellingwood, 1877-1949
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GOING SOME A ROMANCE OF STRENUOUS AFFECTION BY REX BEACH SUGGESTED BY THE PLAY BY REX BEACH AND PAUL ARMSTRONG ILLUSTRATED BY MARK FENDERSON CHAPTER I Four cowboys inclined their bodies over the barbed-wire fence which marked the dividing-line between the Centipede Ranch and their own, staring mournfully into a summer night such as only the far southwestern country knows. Big yellow stars hung thick and low-so low that it seemed they might almost be plucked by an upstretched hand-and a silent air blew across thousands of open miles of land lying crisp and fragrant under the velvet dark.
The Talking Deaf Man

TO THE READER. Candid Reader, _In these few Pages, I expose to thee openly and ingenuously, by what means I can learn the Deaf, (and because they were born so) the Dumb to speak articulately_, and easily to understand others also when they are speaking, so as they may be able both to read, and to understand a Book, or Letter, and to discover their own Minds, either by Speach or Writing. How important a Benefit is this? How advantageous is the not hearing supplied by this Art? If Envy, or the detestable greedy Desire of Gain_ _could have prevailed with me, I had retained this Art, as lockt up in my own Breast. But alass! How miserable is the condition of the Deaf? How lame and defective is that Speach, which is performed by Signs and Gestures? How little are they capable to receive of those things which concern their eternal Salvation? Who doth not commiserate_ _this sort of Persons? Who can refuse to help them by all means which are possible? For my part, I, by the help of God's Grace,
And as the four inclined their bodies, they inclined also their ears, after the strained manner of listeners who feel anguish at what they hear. A voice, shrill and human, pierced the night like a needle, then, with a wail of a tortured soul, died away amid discordant raspings: the voice of a phonograph. It was their own, or had been until one overconfident day, when the Flying Heart Ranch had risked it as a wager in a foot-race with the neighboring Centipede, and their own man had been too slow. As it had been their pride, it remained their disgrace. Dearly had they loved, and dearly lost it. It meant something that looked like honor, and though there were ten thousand thousand phonographs, in all the world there was not one that could take its place. The sound ceased, there was an approving distant murmur of men's voices, and then the song began: "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Lift up your voice and sing--" Higher and higher the voice mounted until it reached again its first thin, ear-splitting pitch. "Still Bill" Stover stirred uneasily in the darkness. "Why 'n 'ell don't they keep her wound up?" he complained. "Gallagher's got the soul of a wart-hog. It's criminal the way he massacres