I. The Hostelry of Mr. Smith

In Canada, there exists a little town named Mariposa, but the name doesn’t matter, for there are many other towns just like it. Although the Canadian census puts its population down as around 5000, the inhabitants inflate the number to 10000. To the unaccustomed eye, Mariposa is a quiet, peaceful town. Yet, the sunlit town bustles with activity—and the people are proud of the trains that pass by their town, even if they don’t stop! If you spend a few months in this town, you’ll notice that the buildings become taller, the traffic multiplies, and the crowds thicken.

Now it comes about that there is a hostelry on Main Street—"JOS. SMITH, PROP."—owned by Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith is something of a character. A bulky man who wears chequered waistcoats with plaid trousers, Mr. Smith has a solemn and unreadable face, which makes him a natural king of the hotel business.

On this particular afternoon, Mr. Smith anxiously awaits a telegram from his legal advisor who’s representing him before the License Commissioners. The Mariposa Court had ordered Mr. Smith to close down the hostel for selling liquors after hours. Mr. Smith knew his fault but "crime always seems impossible in retrospect." Normally, Smith would close his doors at 11pm—he’d of course try to open them a few minutes longer if his hostel wasn’t full enough—but never would he dream of closing them before Judge Pepperleigh and attorney Macartney were inside the bar. But on that fatal night, he did. As well, before that, Smith had given $100 to the Liberals, and Pepperleigh happened to be a Conservative.

So, on that afternoon, four men were in the bar as Smith awaited the telegram: Mullins and Duff, the expensively dressed bank managers; Diston, the high school teacher who never got a raise because he goes to the hostelry unaccompanied by neither lady nor child; and Gingham the undertaker, who once said, "Get to know people really well while they are alive, be friends with them, close friends, and then when they die you don’t need to worry. You’ll get the order every time."

The four visitors suggested that perhaps Mr. Smith could open a hotel in the city instead. And he could too, for from the start, Smith was a success as proprietor. He had all the qualifications, he was big enough to haul two drunken men out of the bar, his drinks cost 5 cents, or 6 for 25 cents, and meals and beds were free. He was also a philanthropic soul: he subscribed to everything, joined everything, and gave to everything (especially to all those things that needed premises to meet in and grew thirsty in their discussions.)

When Billy, the desk clerk, entered the room with the telegram, Mr. Smith asked detachedly, "What does it say?" (for he was illiterate and no one was the wiser) Billy read, "Commissioners give you three months to close down." And Smith said, "Let me read it…that’s right, three months to close down." But he had an idea.

Within two days, the hotel swarmed with construction workers. And within a month, Smith’s hostelry had transformed into a "caff—like what they have in the city—a ladies’ and gent’s caff, and that underneath…is a Rat’s Cooler." Soon, Smith’s new "caff" was packed, for not only is there a new French cook, but prices stood fast at 25 cents a meal. Everyone loved the place, but not a soul in the town except Mr. Smith ever guessed that waiters, palms, and marble tables can be rented over the long distance telephone. Soon, the delicious food won over the town, including Judge Pepperleigh. And so it is that Smith’s license was renewed for three years.

In the midst of all the celebrations, Mr. Smith got Billy to send back all the palms and tables. The "caff" remained, only there were changes, small changes. The food soon tasted like any other food in town after Alphonse the French cook left. Mr. Smith had promised to open a "girl room" in the winter, and still talked of it, but there’s been a sort of feeling against it. The "Rats’ Cooler" was closed for repairs, but it’ll probably not be opened for the next three years.

II. The Speculations of Jefferson Thorpe

Across from Smith’s Hostelry is Jeff’s barbershop. Inside, there are signs that read ‘HOT AND COLD BATHS’, ‘TURKISH SHAMPOO’, but these services haven’t exist for twenty years—the signs were there to lend distinction to the place.

It’s hard to see how Jeff made money out of the barbershop. A have cost five cents, a haircut fifteen (or two for a quarter). And in Mariposa, shaving is unhurried: it can last from twenty-five minutes to three-quarters of an hour. Jeff loves talking to his customers in a soft confidential monotone, his razor going slower and slower, till the shave dies away into the mere drowse of conversation.

Although Jeff could suit the conversation to the customer, his favorite topic was that of finance. When the town of Mariposa heard about the mines in Yukon, Jeff sold his wife’s hens and bought shares from myriad cobalt country mines. After that, the henhouse stood empty and Jeff’s wife ("The Woman") had to throw away chicken feed every day, at a loss of a shave and a half. That didn’t bother Jeff, however: "But if a feller knows the country and keeps his head level, he can’t lose." In fact, he’s looked at so many prospectuses and so many pictures of mines and pine trees that he’d forgotten that he’d never been in the country. Everyone else in Mariposa was onto the mining frenzy as well. Pete bought Nippewa stock at thirteen cents and sold it to his brother at seventeen and bought it back in less than a week at nineteen. Smith hung back, but bought up enough early potatoes to send fifteen carloads into Cobalt at a profit of 5 dollars a bag.

Meanwhile, Jeff’s stocks were not making any profits, especially not Northern Star. He bought her at thirty-two, but as the days wore on, it went down to three cents. Yet, Jeff was determined. He even bought in others’ shares of Northern Star and vowed that he’ll "stay with her till she breaks."

Then, one day, news arrived that they had struck silver in the Northern Star, and the stock had jumped to seventeen dollars a share. Jeff now had a bunch of mining scripts in his hand that was worth forty thousand dollars! That afternoon, everyone wanted to buy Northern Star. And due to the joyous atmosphere, Dean Drone had to change the whole text of his Sunday funeral sermon for fear of offending this public sentiment.

Now it came about that Jeff’s daughter Myra works at the Telephone Exchange. She was pretty. Even if she treated lovers like dogs, they still worship her. So when Jeff made the fortune, Myra resigned her job and it was known that she was to go to a dramatic school and become a leading actress. Soon, Jeff received letters from some Cuban Land Development Company, which wanted a business deal with him. Their enterprise was banana and tobacco in the plantation district reclaimed from the insurrectos. They made no rash promises, only that the enterprise might realize 400%, or conceivably less. There was no hint of more. They asked no guarantee either: just sent the money. So, when Jeff’s money was accepted without questions, Johnson wanted to be in the business too. The Cuban people wrote back: Any friends of Jeff’s were friends of Cuba.

Even with this handsome new business, Jeff didn’t give up shaving because it allowed him to talk about Cuba, "I tell you, boys," said Jeff one night (there were no boys present, but in Mariposa, all really important speeches are addressed to an imaginary audience of boys). "I tell you, if I was to make a million out of this Cubey, I’d give it straight to the poor." But nobody knows or cares about what Jeff meant to do any more.

Indeed, it came quietly. You remember the Cuban Land frauds in New York – and Gomez and Morez getting clear away with $200 000? NO? That was Jeff’s money – part of it. After receiving the telegram, Jeff went back to the shop so quietly, and resumed his work shaving. The hens are back, and Myra is back at the Telephone Exchange. She says now that if there’s one thing she hates, it’s the stage, and she can’t see how the actresses put up with it.

III. The Marine Excursion of the Knights of Pythias

Half past six on a July morning and the Mariposa Belle is at the wharf by Lake Wissanotti. Excursion Day! Everyone in Mariposa is here. There’s Mullins, the manager of Exchange Bank, who is a Knight of Pythias; and there’s Dean Drone, who’s also a Knight of Pythias, who came with a landing net in case of pickerel, and with his eldest daughter, Lillian Drone, in case of young men. Now, although this excursion is for the Knights of Pythias, you mustn’t misunderstand. In Mariposa, everyone belongs to the Knights of Pythias just as they do to everything else. Everybody is in everything.

Meanwhile, the ship’s whistle had blown again for a quieter to seven – anyone not on board now is late for certain. Yet even with a huge boat like the Mariposa Belle, it would be impossible to fit all of Mariposa in. In reality, at least half the town is not going, for some reason or another.

The captain blew his whistle again, and warning them that he’d leave them behind, -- leave them out of the accident! And everybody crowding so eagerly to be in the accident. Funny thing though, the people who were left behind, or in some way prevented from going, always afterwards told of how they had escaped being on board the Mariposa Belle that day! Take Morison, for example. He said afterwards that he’s read so much about accidents lately that he’s grown nervous. He declined when his wife asked him at supper whether or not he’d like to go, but added, "Perhaps your mother might like to go."

But never mind the accident, -- let us turn back again to the morning. There were notices everywhere that said the Mariposa Belle would leave at 7 o’clock sharp (there was one that read, "Boat leaves sharp on time"). At seven, the whistle blew loud and long, and then at seven fifteen, three short blasts. At seven thirty, one quick angry call, -- just one, -- and the mariposa Belle is off.

Although the people complained at first of where they sat, they soon got sorted out and gravitated to the places in the boat where they belonged. The older women all went into the cabin on the lower deck and by taking out their needlework, and with all the windows shut, they had it, as they said themselves, just like being a home. On the upper deck, Mr. Gingham was telling his audience how he knew the lake very, very well, having been much all over in his time. This surprised Smith very much. Indeed, the only other time Gingham’s been on the water was one day, years ago, when he first arrived in Mariposa. Meanwhile, Dean Drone and Dr. Gallagher took turns looking through the binoculars and marvelling at the swallows and the banks and the shrubs, -- which one could see just as plainly as with the naked eye.

When at last they arrived at the Indian’s Island, there were picnics, speeches, and races. The mood was subdued as the tired people boarded Mariposa Belle for the return journey. Now and then, the quiet was broken by a long-drawn melody of "O—Can-a-da—O—Can-a-da." At any rate, news soon spread that the boat was sinking, although each person who passed the news on doubted it very much. Some even said that there were two sides to everything. However, there was no need to fret, as the depth of Lake Wissanotti couldn’t have been more than 6 feet! Alas, when the Mariposa Belle was built, there were some cracks in between the timbers that you fill up with cotton waster every Sunday. If this was not attended to, the boat sinks.

Sure enough, the Mariposa Belle sank until it got stuck on a reed bank. The water came up to the lower deck. While the people laughed and ate, they sent out rocket signals, which could easily be seen from Mariposa, whose lights are clearly visible from the boat.

The rescue boats came alright. But they were in such poor condition that water poured in at every seam. As water threatened to pull down the rescue boats, the rescuers didn’t turn back, for they were nearer the steamer than the shore. So, boatful after boatful of rescuers were saved by those on the Mariposa Belle!

All of a sudden, the stranded steamer floated. It appeared that Mr. Smith had plugged the timber seams with mallet and marline, pumped out the water, and restarted the engine fires. So, with Smith at the steering wheel, Mariposa Belle sailed back to town, to the strains of "O Can-a-da!"

IV. The Ministrations of the Rev. Mr. Drone

Dean Drone, reverend of the Church of England in Mariposa, loves spending time under the plum trees reading Greek, especially the Pastorals of Theocritus. The light trash of modern romance may put a man to sleep in such a spot, but with such food for reflection as Theocritus, a man may safely close his eyes and muse on what he reads without fear of dropping into slumber. When someone asks the Dean to translate the work, he would say that he simply couldn’t translate it (for perhaps if one attempts to translate Greek into so poor a medium as English, something would be missing). However, Dean Drone would often read aloud. Sometimes when the old Dr. Gallagher comes over and brings his latest Indian relics to show the Dean, the Dean would open his Theocritus and read from it.

The Dean doesn’t spend all his time reading thought. After helping at the Infant Class, he’d go to the Mothers’ Auxiliary, then the Book Club, then the Bible Study Class, and then the Early Workers’ Guild. If he has any free time let, Drone would make toys for children. He’d make a Chinese kite for Teddy Moore and close down the Infant class of two days so that the child should not miss the pleasure of seeing it flown (it’s sheer folly to trust a child with a Chinese kite). He’s also made a sand-clock for little Willie and gave it to another child when poor Willie died. Death must be different to the clergy. After all, the Dean’s Sunday walk is always to his wife’s grave.

Besides the book of Theocritus, Drone would often read a piece of paper that’s covered with figures. It’s the debt of the new Church. You see, mathematics is not his forte. Drone insisted that if he knew logarithms, he could calculate everything in no time. The figures on the paper are certainly a mess (Mullins would notice the item for $100 due on fire insurance and would say it couldn’t be, and the Dean would say surely not, and change it). So the debt grew, year after year. Once, the rector heard someone say, "The Church would be all right if that old mugwump was out of the pulpit." It went to his heart like a barbed thorn, and stayed there. From time to time, the congregation would attempt to raise money to get rid of the debt, but to no avail. Once, there was the "endless chain" of letters of appeal. Those involved each write 3 letters asking for 10 cents from 3 each of their friends and asking each of them to send on 3 similar letters. Nobody would forget about it, especially not Mr. Pupkin, the teller in the Exchange Bank, for it was here that he met Zena Pepperleigh, the Judge’s daughter, for the first time. There, they wrote out so many letters – eight or nine – in a single afternoon that they discovered their handwriting was remarkably alike.

Another time, there was a bazaar – but it lost $20. There was also a magic lantern show (the lantern broke) and a lecture on "English Humour All Seats Twenty-five Cents" (where no one showed up) But then came the idea of the Whirlwind Campaign in Mariposa.

V. The Whirlwind Campaign in Mariposa

Mullins, the banker, had returned from one of the big cities and told Mariposa about the Whirlwind Campaign he’s witnessed. He explained that, first, a few businessmen got together quietly and talked things over. Then they would invite more and more people, until a central committee and subcommittees are formed – and the Whirlwind Campaign would begin, with more and more people becoming excited, until there’s a celebration where people weep with joy.

And so, the town of Mariposa followed this guideline until finally, one day, Mullins wrote out a cheque for $100, conditional on the fun reaching $50 000. George Duff followed suit and wrote out a cheque for another $100 conditional on the fun reaching $70 000. This went on and on, but somehow, the Whirlwind Campaign did not work. You see, since everyone in mariposa is on the committees, it’s awfully hard to find men to canvass, and it’s not allowable for the committeemen to canvass one another, because their gifts are spontaneous.

The rejected Henry Mullins decided to tell the sad news to Dean Drone, who knew nothing of the Campaign, for Mullins had wanted the money to be a surprise to the Dean. Once, Drone had caught a news headline that read "A Quarter of a Million", but he wouldn’t let himself read further for fear it would’ve spoilt the surprise.

VI. The Beacon on the Hill

When Mullins broke the news to Dean Drone, the latter took it quite calmly. The only time the rector seemed animated was when Mullins said that the campaign had been ruined by a lot of confounded mugwumps. Straight away, the Dean asked if those mugwumps had really prejudiced the outcome of the campaign. Mullins said there was no doubt of it, and Drone asked if even one mugwump was deleterious. Mullins said that one mugwump would kill anything. After that the Dean hardly spoke at all.

After Mullins left, Drone went up to his study and looked out the window. He tried to write a letter of resignation, but didn’t know how to word it.

"It is now forty years since I came among you, a youth full of life and hope –."

No.

"There are times, gentlemen, in the life of a parish, when it comes to an epoch which brings it to a moment when it reaches a point --."

Finally, Drone gave up. He wrote to Mullins, "My dear Harry. I want to resign my charge. Will you come over and help me?" When at last he rose and looked out the window, he saw that the Church was on fire. He fainted.

Outside, the town of Mariposa was awake. As half of the town was constructed of wood, the people fought the fire vigorously, not to save the church, but to stop the spread of it and save the town. Mr. Smith, wearing somebody’s helmet, bossed the Mariposa fire brigade like Bismarck with the German parliament.

The next morning, people gossiped about the fire. From the city came the insurance men and the fire appraisers. It turned out that the Church was insured for a $100 000 – twice the whole amount of the cost and the debt and the rector’s salary and the boarding-school fees of the littlest of the Drones all put together.

Now that’s a whirlwind campaign for you! Sure enough, there was protest from the insurance people, but Judge Pepperleigh disposed of the case in 15 minutes and even threatened the plaintiffs with the penitentiary, or worse. How the fire started, no one knew. It was said that Mr. Smith and Gingham’s assistant were seen carrying a can of kerosene up the street that night, but it was disproved. Mr. Smith took his dying oath in court, and said that he had not carried a can of kerosene, and that anyway it was the rottenest kind of kerosene he had ever seen and no more use than so much molasses. So that point was settled.

VII. The Extraordinary Entanglement of Mr. Pupkin

Judge Pepperleigh’s temper is unpredictable. He could be sweet to his wife or his dog one day, and swear at them the next. Perhaps it was because he passes sentences all day long. In fact, Pepperleigh had perfected his sentencing so much, that he spent his whole time at it inside of court and out. He would read the news, and with dynamite sparks flying from his spectacles, sentences the Czar of Russia to ten years in the salt mines. So as you can see, most people of Mariposa avoided Judge Pepperleigh’s house.

However, Pepperleigh’s never spoken crossly to his daughter Zena, -- Oh, he did threw her novel over the grapevine, but then why on earth should a girl read trash like Errant Quest of the Palladin Pilgrim, when the house was full of good reading like The Life of Sir John A. Macdonald?

And Neil Pepperleigh? The Judge thinks he’s the finest boy in the whole country. He’s so clever that he didn’t need to study, so cleaver that he used to come out at the foot of the class in mathematics at the mariposa high school through sheer surplus of brain power. And when Neil smashed in the face of Peter McGinnis, the Liberal organizer, at the big election, he was tried at the Mariposa Court. Judge Pepperleigh sentenced his son with pride, "my boy, you are innocent, You smashed in Peter McGinnis’s face but you did it without criminal intent. You put a face on him, by Jehoshaphat." Ah, but no one had the heart to tell the Judge his son was drunk all the time, even on the evening he struck McGinnis. Especially after Neil was killed in action in S. Africa. Even if you tried to tell Judge Pepperleigh about Neil now, he’d laugh it to scorn.

So, it is awfully hard to approach the Judge’s house. Now it comes about that Mr. Pupkins had fallen in love with Zena, the Judge’s daughter. One used to think he was in love with Miss Lawson, as he’s rescued her the night the Mariposa Belle sank. But that wasn’t love, it was merely respect. And anyway, that was long before, six or seven months back, and Pupkin admitted that at the time he was a mere boy.

Mr. Pupkin lived with Mallory Tompkins and Mullins over the Exchange Bank. Pupkin and Tompkins used to have arguments about creation and evolution. Mallory Tompkins used to prove absolutely that miracles were only electricity, and Pupkin used to claim he had proof to counter that, only he’s forgotten what it was.

Tompkins generally got the best of the logical side of the arguments, but Pupkin was much stronger in the things he had forgotten. Of course, Pupkin would never have thought of himself on an intellectual par with Malory Tompkins. Tompkins ad read all sorts of things and had half a mind to write a novel himself, only he’s never started. Tompkins always have bookshelves filled with books like the "Encyclopaedia Metropolitana" in forty volumes, that he bought on the installment plan for $2/month. When they took that away, there was the "History of Civilization" in 50 volumes at 50 cents a week for 50 years. Tompkins had read half-way through the Stone Age before they took it away, and so on it goes.

However, not all evening were spent studiously. Pupkin, Tompkins, and the other "boys" would often get together to play cards. Of course, card-playing was boring if you don’t put your money on it, so it was ten matches for a chip and ten chips made a cent.

Anyway, it was from Mallory Tompkins that Pupkins learned all about Mariposa, for Pupkin had come from the Maritimes. Pupkin used to be sick of all the Mariposa talk, but when he fell in love with Zena Pepperleigh, he couldn’t hear enough of it.

VIII. The Fore-Ordained Attachment of Zena Pepperleigh and Peter Pupkin

Like the other girls in Mariposa, Zena Pepperleigh often dreamed of being married by an enchanted prince and living in one of the little enchanted houses in the lower part of town. Some of the most enchanted houses are the cheapest in town, while enchanted princes can easily be found working—under a spell—in drug-stores and printing offices.

Mr. Pupkin often rode past the Pepperleigh’s house quickly, on his bike. Some thought he was crazy, but Zena knew that he was not, for there was already a dim parallel between the passing of the bicycle and the last ride of Tancred the Inconsolable along the banks of the Danube. The first time the two met was when they copied out the "endless chain" letter asking for 10 cents. They wrote out no less than eight letters between them, and they found out their handwriting were so alike that you can’t tell the difference, except that Pupkin’s letters were round and straight, while Zena’s were pointed and narrow. Zena and Pupkin would play tennis and go canoeing together. At night, Zena would ask Pupkin to point out the Pleiades and Jupiter, and he would. Pupkin never knew Zena remembered the names from the astronomy book at her boarding school, and she never knew that Pupkin simply guessed where the stars were.

Pupkin felt that their relationship was doomed from the start, for he felt that Zena was too good for him. Besides, Judge Pepperleigh did not seem to like him, although Pupkin did try to shift his opinions like the glass in a kaleidoscope just to agree with everything the Judge said.

Also, Pupkin’s salary was $800 a year and the Exchange Bank limit for marriage was $100. No that his family couldn’t afford it. His parents were rich, but Pupkin was ashamed of them. He’s often heard Judge Pepperleigh say that any man who received more than $3000 (that’s the judicial salary in Mariposa) a year was a robber. And Zena! How often Pupkin had heard her say that she despised diamonds.

What was Pupkin doing in Mariposa then? It appeared that Pupkin Senior wanted to harden his boy. No luxury for him! So, Pupkin Senior called up his old friend in Mariposa, Judge Pepperleigh, who said at once, "Edward, by Jehoshaphat! Send the boy up here."

IX. The Mariposa Bank Mystery

Mr. Pupkin often attempted to commit suicide on the basis of love, for he felt that his love for Zena was hopeless. One night, after the Fireman’s Ball where Zena had danced 4 times with a university student from the city, Pupkin decided to get a revolver from the bank’s office and kill himself.

In the darkness, Pupkin took the revolver but all thought of suicide vanished when he heard some sounds in the vault near the back stairway of the bank. When Pupkin reached the iron door of the safe, he was shot. This all happened at about 3 am, which was established in the evidence of Gillis, the caretaker, whose match was a bit undependable.

By 7:30pm the next day, it was known all over Mariposa that Pupkin and Gillis were shot dead by the robber. As the day went on, however, it was finally learned that the bullet had merely grazed Pupkin’s head, as well as that of Gillis. Nevertheless, this was just as good as being killed from the point of view of public interest.

That afternoon the Mariposa court sat in enquiry. They had Harry Mullins, the bank manager, on the stand for an hour and a half. Niveus, a great criminal lawyer, asked him questions like," Where did you go to school?", "How many boys were at the school?", and when he finally asked where Mullins was on the night of the shooting, Mullins answered, "Down the lake duck shooting." There was such excitement in the court that the enquiry was immediately terminated. Half of the witnesses hurried off to shoot the first ducks of the season.

So, the full story of the bank robbery never came to light. To be sure, a number of arrest – mostly of vagrants and suspicious characters – were made. It was never known the sum of money stolen, but the bank, no doubt for business motives, claimed that nothing was missing.

As for Pupkin, not only did he become a hero, but he’s also promoted, which raised his salary to $1000. That night, he proposed to Zena, and admitted his greatest shame: his family was rich.

At that moment, a round of limousine touring cars drew up to the Pepperleigh’s house. It was Pupkin’s father, who at first brought along a trainload of detectives, for he’s thought Pupkin Jr. was dead. Now, Pupkin Sr. jumped out, hugged Zena, and seemed to understand the whole situation without any explanations at all.

Judge Pepperleigh almost shook Pupkin Sr.’s arms off when he saw him and it seemed like they were boys again attending classes at the old law school in the city.

If Pupkin though his father wouldn’t be a hit in Mariposa, it only showed his ignorance. Pupkin Sr. smoked on the judge’s verandah, went in and out of Jeff’s barber shop, shot ducks in the marsh, and played poker every evening at a hundred matches for a cent as if he’d never lived any other life in all his days. They had to send him telegrams enough to fill a satchel to make him come away.

So Pupkin and Zena were married in due time, and lived in one of the enchanted houses on the hillside in the newer part of the town, where you may find them to this day.

X. The Great Election in Missinaba County

In Mariposa, everyone is either a Conservative or Liberal or else is both. Anyone who took a bribe for money becomes an object of scorn. Of course, they would take the money, but they would take it in a straight fearless way and say nothing about it.

The division is between the Liberals and the Conservatives, but the people all live together peacefully so that you’d never notice the difference. For instance, Milligan is a Conservative, and yet he shares the same boathouse with young Dr. Gallagher, who is a Liberal, and they even bought a motor boat between them.

But just as soon as elections drew near, Liberals and Conservatives drew away from one another – like how Milligan used the motorboat one Saturday and Dr. Gallagher the next, and how there was a Liberal drugstore and a Conservative drugstore, and so on.

For the moment, John Henry Bagshaw was the sitting member, the Liberal member, for Missinaba County. Bagshaw wore a long political overcoat that it cost the country 20 cents a day to brush, and boots that cost the Dominion 15 cents every morning to shine.

But it was money well spent.

Bagshaw of Mariposa was one of the most representative men of the age, and it’s no wonder that he’d been returned for the county for five elections running. He owned ½ share in the harness business and a ¼ share in tannery and that made him a businessman. He paid for a pew and that represented religion. He attended college for two sessions thirty years ago, and that represented education. He kept a little account in one bank and a big account in the other, so that he was a rich man or a poor man at the same time.

That is why everybody knew when Bagshaw got off the train one day in the early spring, that a new election must be coming. Everything he did showed this. He bought nails and putty and glass in the hardware store, and drugs in the drugstore and toys in the toy shop, and all the things that are needed for the big campaign.

Then Bagshaw held a meeting with McGinnis the Liberal organizer and Mallory Tompkins, the Times-Herald man, and Gingham (the Independent-Liberal undertaker). Bagshaw was worried the election was based on the tariff question…if only the "fight" was about whether he’d spent too much money on the town wharf or the post-office!

Tompkins then informed Bagshaw that Edward Drone was going to run for Independent, on a programme of simple honesty and public morality. Bagshaw was delighted, for Edward Drone had always been a failure – he used to come up to the autumn exercises at the high school and make speeches about the ancient Romans at the same time when Bagshaw used to make a speech about the Maple Leaf and ask for an extra half holiday. In training he had been an engineer and built dams that broke and bridges that fell down. He had been a manufacturer and failed, had been a contractor and failed, and now lived a meagre life as a surveyor on goodness know what.

Bagshaw was a bit afraid that Drone wouldn’t run after all, since he didn’t have the money. So he told Gingham to work it out so that the Liberals could pay Drone’s deposit and his campaign expenses.

This relief was short-lived, for Gingham then told Bagshaw that Josh Smith was running for the Conservatives.

"I never know Smith was a Conservative, "Bagshaw said faintly, "he always subscribed to our fund."

Well, he is now –and besides the trade question, temperance and total prohibition will be on Smith’s platform.

XI. The Candidacy of Mr. Smith

As election day drew nigh, Smith decorated his hostelry with posters of King George, King Albert, Queen Victoria, and other British symbols. Banners and placards for Bagshaw and Smith were everywhere, but there were only five or six for Drone.

Smith was superb at dealing with the press. For example, one interview went thus:

"What do you think about Imperial defence?" asked one questioner.

"Of what?" said Mr. Smith.

"Of everything."

"Who says it?" asked Smith.

"Everybody is talking of it."

"What do the Conservative boys at Ottaway think about it?"

"They’re all for it."

"Well, I’m fer it too," answered Mr. Smith.

To get a vote from a farmer, one must go in and eat a meal with him. However, just as soon as the Bagshaw men had begun to get the farming vote solidified, the Smith buggies came driving through in the other direction, eating meals and distributing cigars and turning all farmers back into Conservatives. Here and there, you might see Drone, the Independent candidate, who pledge to give no bribes, to spend no money, and to offer no jobs.

After days of trading political barbs, election day finally arrived. The bar rooms are all closed by law so that you have to go in by the back way. Everyone kept looking in at the different polling places to see if anyone has voted yet, because nobody cares to vote first for fear of voting on the wrong side. Mostly, it was the supporters of Mr. Smith, acting under his instructions, who hang back from the poll in the early hours. To Mr. Smith, voting was the same as bear-shooting: "Hold back your votes, boys, and don’t be too eager. Wait till she begins to warm up and then let ‘em have it good and hard."

The voting, of course, is by secret ballot, so that no one except the scrutineers and the returning officers and the two or three people who may be round the poll can possibly tell how a man has voted. That is why the first results are often so contradictory. Often, a voter makes his mark so hurriedly that the scrutineers have to pick it out of the ballot box to read it.

By 4:00 that day, it appeared that Drone had won and everyone congratulated him, commenting on how sick they were of the Liberals and of the Conservatives. But soon, news came sweeping in the Bagshaw had won, and the Mariposa Band of the Knights of Pythias (every man in it is a Liberal) was launched.

At this time, Smith said to his followers, "Get at it, boys, vote and keep on voting till they make you quit." Then he told Billy the desk clerk to send a telegram to the city announcing the Conservatives’ victory and told the city to send the news right back.

And so, in that last hour of election day, everyone flooded the polling stations upon seeing the telegrams from the city that Smith had won. It appeared that there wasn’t really a Liberal in Mariposa and that there never had been. Those who appeared to be Liberals confessed that they’ve felt guilty all along, acting as Liberals.

At any rate, there was quite a celebration that night. There was music from the band of the Knights of Pythias (an organization that is conservative in all but name), and many speeches. The speeches were all quite brief (more than half hour long), and the speakers all spoke of accomplishments that they said they should’ve left to history, and all refused to dwell on the subject of this victory on the ground that anything that they might have done was better left for future generations to investigate.

XII. L’Envoi. The Train to Mariposa

The train for Mariposa leaves the city every day at 5:00pm. Strange that you did not know of it, though you come from the little town – or did, long years ago.

Sometimes you’d speak of going home to Mariposa when you’re rich enough. Of course, "home" to you now is that big red sandstone house of yours in the city. "Home" means, in a way, this Mausoleum Club where you sometimes talk with me of the times that you had as a boy in Mariposa.

Most of the people you k now came from Mariposa, but are half ashamed to own it. But just ask your neighbour there at the next table whether the partridge they serve to you here can be compared to the birds that he and you, or he and someone else, used to shoot as boys in Mariposa.

Still, not many know about the train to Mariposa. They have mistaken it for a suburban train. But look closely, and you’ll find the Mariposa people easily enough. Here and there in the crowd those people with the clothes that are perfectly all right and yet look odd in some way, the women with peculiar hats and the – what do you say? – last year’s fashions? Ah yes, of course, that must be it.

Anyway, it’s hard to recognize them until the train’s passed through the city and golf district. As the train leaves all these behind, it’ll slowly transform. The electric locomotive will be replaced by one of these wood engines. Look out the window, and you’ll see farms and Lake Ossawippi. The people, too, are transformed. Everyone seemed to be part of a family.

It is past nine thirty at night now, and you hear the cry of the brakesmen and the porters:

"MARIPOSA! MARIPOSA!"

And as we listen, the cry grows fainter and fainter in our ears and we are sitting here again in the leather chairs of the Mausoleum Club, talking of the little Town in the Sunshine that once we knew.