THE TOWN THAT LOST ITSELF
it were but yesterday. Why, it simply staggered 'em, sir.
"You see, they'd lost all idea of time. From observing them I can now dimly appreciate the all-absorbing interest the Civil War excited. Those people simply hung around from one day to another, waiting for the paper to leave the dinky, squeaking press. It was a mere leaflet, all reading-matter. Old Deacon Durgin, with hickory staff clutched in his withered hand, loafed in our office from morning until night. Tib and I had to stand out in the middle of the grass-grown lane when we wished to cook up some warm, sassy ones.
"‘What shall we give 'em next?' I inquired.
"‘Capture of Fort Donelson,' suggested Tib.
"‘That was before the naval engagement, I believe,' I objected.
"‘We are defying time,' reminded my leader. 'But if you are squeamish and desire to observe a strict sequence of events, give 'em the Peninsular Campaign.'
"I didn't recall much about this campaign, but I foozled up some names, gave a list of twenty killed, and let it go. It took like hot cakes. They didn't mind paying over the gold; it was the least valuable of their possessions. If we'd asked for potatoes they would have coppered us to lose, I reckon.
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