We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
throwing the dollar in his face! I hadn't expected any reward, but when anybody volunteered for the first time in my life to give me something, I expected it to be important. Maybe a ten-dollar gold piece.
So, when he put the value of one silver dollar on his eyesight and my services, I put my grandfather out of my life. Slamming the money down on the secretary, I fled from the room, packed my clothes, went home, and never saw him again. Call it hate, call it vindictiveness, call it anything you like, as far as I was concerned he no longer existed. I should like to report that when he died I forgave him and attended his funeral, but I did not. Having had no respect for him in life, I didn't develop any when he died.
The incident colored most of my life.
My brother Sherman helped Dad in the meat market Between them they managed always to keep a fine fast horse. We had two horses: a good one for the boys to hitch to a buggy to take their girls riding —that was the way it was in our family; the boys got everything, the girls nothing— and Fanny, the good old plug used for store deliveries.
I never had a bicycle, and resented it. I never had any horse but old Fanny. All the other neighborhood kids had something that made you notice them, so I saved up— even tapped the till for a few extra dollars which I thought I'd earned (now I know I earned them)— until I had enough money to send to Sears Roebuck for a sidesaddle. No girl in town had one. I'd never used one, having ridden only farm horses, bareback. But I'd seen pictures in magazines of graceful ladies in tailored habits riding sidesaddle. So I made a habit for myself while I was waiting for my purchase to come by express. Its arrival marked a red-letter day in my life. I'd give a good deal if I had a picture of myself sallying forth on top of old Fanny, wearing my homemade habit and Sherman's derby hat.
It was Sunday, and I rode past the Altoona bucks and loafers without deigning a glance in their direction. My head was so high that the sky and I were cheek-to-cheek.
Halfway to Hollidaysburg, on the main highway, Fanny had enough. After working hard all week she was used to having the
23