Too Much Progress for Piperock

ThereÕs Mrs. ÒWickÓ Smith, who jars the hay-scales to two hundred and seventy-five, and wheezes plentiful. Art WheelerÕs better half tasted of life and found it sour, and never got the acid out of her system. Mrs. ÒTestamentÓ Tilton looks upward for guidance in all matters except when it comes to flattering TestamentÕs head with a skillet. When Mrs. Pete Gonyer is in sight, PeteÕs voice sinks seventeen inches below a whisper. Somebody remarks one day that PeteÕs kinda henpecked.

ÒHenpecked, _!Ó says Pete. ÒOrstrichÑif there ainÕt nothinÕ bigger what wears feathers.Ó

Mrs. Steele, the wife of our legal light, is six feet two inches tall, and sheÕs always oratinÕ about the sanctity of the home, whatever that is. One cinch, the prize never hands down any decisions in his own home.

Mrs. Sam Holt goes through life worrying about somebody alienating the affections of old Sam, who can barely hear himself yell, and has to eat his spuds mashed or miss the taste of Õem.

ThereÕs the Mudgett sisters, who must ÕaÕ been the originals of the first cartoon of ÒMiss Democracy.Ó Cupid would have to use a .30-30 if he went to work for them. Scattered around the range is a occasional female, but nothing that youÕd bet your money on in a beauty contest. Annie Schmidt is cooking for the Triangle outfit, but the same donÕt seem to cause any of the other ranches to go short of help.

Henrietta Harrison horns into Piperock. Piperock takes a deep breath. Bad news travels fast, and it ainÕt long before thereÕs a need of another hitch-rack in Piperock. Sam Holt runs the hotelÑor thought he did; but Ma Holt got one look at Henrietta and shut up the book.