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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Drift from Two Shores"

But I could
not help asking him what had been the result of this expenditure.
"Nothing just yet. But the Secretary of Tape and the man at the
head of the Inferior Department, both spoke to me, and one of them
said he thought he'd heard my name before. He might," he added,
with a forced laugh, "for I've written him fifteen letters."
Three months passed. A heavy snow-storm stayed my chariot wheels
on a Western railroad, ten miles from a nervous lecture committee
and a waiting audience; there was nothing to do but to make the
attempt to reach them in a sleigh. But the way was long and the
drifts deep, and when at last four miles out we reached a little
village, the driver declared his cattle could hold out no longer,
and we must stop there. Bribes and threats were equally of no
avail. I had to accept the fact.
"What place is this?"
"Remus."
"Remus, Remus," where had I heard that name before? But while I
was reflecting he drove up before the door of the tavern. It was a
dismal, sleep-forbidding place, and only nine o'clock, and here was
the long winter's night before me.


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