Windy McPherson\'s Son
CHAPTER I At the beginning of the long twilight of a summer evening, Sam McPherson, a tall big-boned boy of thirteen, with brown hair, black eyes, and an amusing little habit of tilting his chin in the air as he walked, came upon the station platform of the little corn-shipping town of Caxton in Iowa. It was a board platform, and the boy walked cautiously, lifting his bare feet and putting them down with extreme deliberateness on the hot, dry, cracked planks. Under one arm he carried a bundle of newspapers. A long black cigar was in his hand. In front of the station he stopped; and Jerry Donlin, the baggage-man, seeing the cigar in his hand, laughed, and slowly drew the side of his face up into a laboured wink. "What is the game to-night, Sam?" he asked. Sam stepped to the baggage-room door, handed him the cigar, and began giving directions, pointing into the baggage-room, intent and business- like in the face of the Irishman's laughter. Then, turning, he walked
perplexity.
"The music ceased, and mirth and jollity fled at once from the banquet.
The torches, which lit up the scene, flickered and smoked; the lustre
of the gems in the vaulted roof was dimmed; dark clouds canopied the
great hall: for Eris had taken her place at the table, uninvited and
unwelcome though she was.
"'The apple belongs to me,' said Hera, trying to snatch it; 'for I am
the queen, and gods and men honor me as having no peer on earth.'
"'Not so!' cried red-lipped Aphrodite. 'With me dwell Love and Joy;
and not only do gods and men sing my praises, but all nature rejoices
in my presence. The apple is mine, and I will have it!'
"Then Athena joined in the quarrel. 'What is it to be a queen,' said
she, 'if at the same time one lacks that good temper which sweetens
life? What is it to have a handsome form and face, while the mind is
uncouth and ill-looking? Beauty of mind is better than beauty of face;
for the former is immortal, while the latter fades and dies. Hence no
one has a better right than I to be called the fairest.'
"Then the strife spread among the guests in the hall, each taking sides
with the one he loved best; and, where peace and merriment had reigned,
now hot words and bitter wrangling were heard. And had not Zeus bidden
them keep silence, thus putting an end to the quarrel, all Pelion would
CHAPTER I At the beginning of the long twilight of a summer evening, Sam McPherson, a tall big-boned boy of thirteen, with brown hair, black eyes, and an amusing little habit of tilting his chin in the air as he walked, came upon the station platform of the little corn-shipping town of Caxton in Iowa. It was a board platform, and the boy walked cautiously, lifting his bare feet and putting them down with extreme deliberateness on the hot, dry, cracked planks. Under one arm he carried a bundle of newspapers. A long black cigar was in his hand. In front of the station he stopped; and Jerry Donlin, the baggage-man, seeing the cigar in his hand, laughed, and slowly drew the side of his face up into a laboured wink. "What is the game to-night, Sam?" he asked. Sam stepped to the baggage-room door, handed him the cigar, and began giving directions, pointing into the baggage-room, intent and business- like in the face of the Irishman's laughter. Then, turning, he walked