when the next full moon would beam. The home calendars, this being an outdoor country, always showed a man catching a fish, killing a cougar, or just gawking at a snow-clad peak.... It is hoped that the calendars come back. They are an unfailing sign that Prosperity is upon one and all.
Jim Dinkens of Beagle, who grabs exuberant skunks by the nape of their necks to thwart their ingenuity, is balking at an ordinary doctor looking down his throat.
We would like to be rich enough to throw our venerable typewriter out of the window and buy a brand new one of the same make, and throw it out of the window, too.
Taxes: As usual, they will be raised, to be lowered.
It now develops that the parties who purloined Dub Watson's car did not steal it—they just drove it away. Mr. Watson is an accessory to the theft, inasmuch as he left the key in the car, but forgot to leave the engine running.
The notch-tailed, red-headed woodpeckers, who last summer withdrew their nut deposits from the First National Oak Tree because they thought a fence post would be safer, now know better, according to Game Warden Bill Coleman. The Scarface Bluejay gang are busy robbing the new depository and replacing the stolen collateral with pebbles from the banks of Butte Creek. The depositor does not realize that he has been bilked until he goes to dinner and gets a severe shock to his beak. He then flutters away in high dudgeon toward Eagle Point.
Spring did not tiptoe over the Siskiyous, as in previous years, but, instead, sneaked in through the low place in the hills three miles this side of Gold Hill. We will slay the society editor if she mentions the "vernal debut".
Reports from the tall timber bring the astounding news that Jim Dinkens of Beagle, the eminent hillbilly, is skylarking around the mountain social whirls, and has descended to wearing a white-speckled red necktie in the middle of the week.
