Page:Caroline Lockhart--The Fighting Shepherdess.djvu/44

 Major Prouty hung over the hitching post in front of the post office listening with a beatific smile to the sound of the saw and the hammer that came from the Opera House going up at the corner of Prouty Avenue and Wildwood Street. The Major's eyes held the brooding tenderness of a patron saint, as he looked the length of the wide street of the town which bore his name.

"Sunnin' yourself, Major?" inquired Hiram Butefish jocularly as he passed; then paused to add, " I'm lookin' for a big turn-out at the Boosters Club to-night."

"I trust so, Hiram."

Aside from himself, no one person had contributed more to Prouty's growth than the editor of the Grit.

Mr. Butefish had arrived among the first with the intention of opening a plumbing shop, but since the water supply was furnished by a windmill the demand for his services was not apt to be pressing for some time to come.

Therefore, with true western resourcefulness he bought the hand press of a defunct sheet and turned to journalism instead. Though less lucrative, moulding public opinion and editing a paper that was to be a recognised power in the state seemed to Mr. Butefish a step ahead.

The Middle West had responded nobly to his editorial appeals to come out and help found an Empire. The majority of the optimistic citizens who walked with their