The Call Of The Canyon by Zane Grey (most inspirational books .txt) 📕

American Girl Or Bride Goes In For Being Rushed Or She Goes In For Fads,

The Ultra Stuff You Mentioned. New York City Gets All The Great Artists,

Lecturers,  And Surely The Great Fakirs. The New York Women Support Them.

The Men Laugh,  But They Furnish The Money. They Take The Women To The

Theaters,  But They Cut Out The Reception To A Polish Princess,  A Lecture By

An Indian Magician And Mystic,  Or A Benefit Luncheon For A Home For

Friendless Cats. The Truth Is Most Of Our Young Girls Or Brides Have A

Wonderful Enthusiasm Worthy Of A Better Cause. What Is To Become Of Their

Surplus Energy,  The Bottled-Lightning Spirit So Characteristic Of Modern

Girls? Where Is The Outlet For Intense Feelings? What Use Can They Make Of

Education Or Of Gifts? They Just Can't,  That's All. I'm Not Taking Into

Consideration The New-Woman Species,  The Faddist Or The Reformer. I Mean

Normal Girls Like You And Me. Just Think,  Carley. A Girl's Every Wish,

Every Need,  Is Almost Instantly Satisfied Without The Slightest Effort On

Her Part To Obtain It. No Struggle,  Let Alone Work! If Women Crave To

Achieve Something Outside Of The Arts,  You Know,  Something Universal And

Helpful Which Will Make Men Acknowledge Her Worth,  If Not The Equality,

Where Is The Opportunity?"

"Opportunities Should Be Made," Replied Carley.

"There Are A Million Sides To This Question Of The Modern Young Woman--The

Fin-De-Siecle Girl. I'm For Her!"

"How About The Extreme Of Style In Dress For This Remarkably-To-Be-Pitied

American Girl You Champion So Eloquently?" Queried Carley,  Sarcastically.

"Immoral!" Exclaimed Eleanor With Frank Disgust.

"You Admit It?"

"To My Shame,  I Do."

"Why Do Women Wear Extreme Clothes? Why Do You And I Wear Open-Work Silk

Stockings,  Skirts To Our Knees,  Gowns Without Sleeves Or Bodices?"

"We're Slaves To Fashion," Replied Eleanor,  "That's The Popular Excuse."

"Bah!" Exclaimed Carley.

Eleanor Laughed In Spite Of Being Half Nettled. "Are You Going To Stop

Wearing What All The Other Women Wear--And Be Looked At Askance? Are You

Going To Be Dowdy And Frumpy And Old-Fashioned?"

"No. But I'll Never Wear Anything Again That Can Be Called Immoral. I Want

To Be Able To Say Why I Wear A Dress. You Haven't Answered My Question Yet.

Why Do You Wear What You Frankly Admit Is Disgusting?"

"I Don't Know,  Carley," Replied Eleanor,  Helplessly. "How You Harp On

Things! We Must Dress To Make Other Women Jealous And To Attract Men. To Be

A Sensation! Perhaps The Word 'Immoral' Is Not What I Mean. A Woman Will Be

Shocking In Her Obsession To Attract,  But Hardly More Than That,  If She

Knows It."

"Ah! So Few Women Realize How They Actually Do Look. Haze Ruff Could Tell

Them."

"Haze Ruff. Who In The World Is He Or She?" Asked Eleanor.

"Haze Ruff Is A He,  All Right," Replied Carley,  Grimly.

"Well,  Who Is He?"

"A Sheep-Dipper In Arizona," Answered Carley,  Dreamily.

"Humph! And What Can Mr. Ruff Tell Us?"

"He Told Me I Looked Like One Of The Devil's Angels--And That I Dressed To

Knock The Daylights Out Of Men."

"Well,  Carley Burch,  If That Isn't Rich!" Exclaimed Eleanor,  With A Peal Of

Laughter. "I Dare Say You Appreciate That As An Original Compliment."

"No. . . . I Wonder What Ruff Would Say About Jazz--I Just Wonder,"

Murmured Carley.

"Well,  I Wouldn't Care What He Said,  And I Don't Care What You Say,"

Returned Eleanor. "The Preachers And Reformers And Bishops And Rabbis Make

Me Sick. They Rave About Jazz. Jazz--The Discordant Note Of Our Decadence!

Jazz--The Harmonious Expression Of Our Musicless,  Mindless,  Soulless

Materialism!--The Idiots! If They Could Be Women For A While They Would

Realize The Error Of Their Ways. But They Will Never,  Never Abolish Jazz--

Never,  For It Is The Grandest,  The Most Wonderful,  The Most Absolutely

Necessary Thing For Women In This Terrible Age Of Smotheration."

"All Right,  Eleanor,  We Understand Each Other,  Even If We Do Not Agree,"

Said Carley. "You Leave The Future Of Women To Chance,  To Life,  To

Materialism,  Not To Their Own Conscious Efforts. I Want To Leave It To Free

Will And Idealism."

"Carley,  You Are Getting A Little Beyond Me," Declared Eleanor,  Dubiously.

"What Are You Going To Do? It All Comes Home To Each Individual Woman. Her

Attitude Toward Life."

"I'll Drift Along With The Current,  Carley,  And Be A Good Sport," Replied

Eleanor,  Smiling.

"You Don't Care About The Women And Children Of The Future? You'll Not Deny

Yourself Now,  And Think And Work,  And Suffer A Little,  In The Interest Of

Future Humanity?"

"How You Put Things,  Carley!" Exclaimed Eleanor,  Wearily. "Of Course I

Care--When You Make Me Think Of Such Things. But What Have I To Do With The

Lives Of People In The Years To Come?"

"Everything. America For Americans! While You Dawdle,  The Life Blood Is

Being Sucked Out Of Our Great Nation. It Is A Man's Job To Fight; It Is A

Woman's To Save. . . . I Think You've Made Your Choice,  Though You Don't

Realize It. I'm Praying To God That I'll Rise To Mine."

Carley Had A Visitor One Morning Earlier Than The Usual Or Conventional

Time For Calls.

"He Wouldn't Give No Name," Said The Maid. "He Wears Soldier Clothes,

Ma'am,  And He's Pale,  And Walks With A Cane."

"Tell Him I'll Be Right Down," Replied Carley.

Her Hands Trembled While She Hurriedly Dressed. Could This Caller Be Virgil

Rust? She Hoped So,  But She Doubted.

As She Entered The Parlor A Tall Young Man In Worn Khaki Rose To Meet Her.

At First Glance She Could Not Name Him,  Though She Recognized The Pale Face

And Light-Blue Eyes,  Direct And Steady.

"Good Morning,  Miss Burch," He Said. "I Hope You'll Excuse So Early A Call.

You Remember Me,  Don't You? I'm George Burton,  Who Had The Bunk Next To

Rust's."

"Surely I Remember You,  Mr. Burton,  And I'm Glad To See You," Replied

Carley,  Shaking Hands With Him. "Please Sit Down. Your Being Here Must Mean

You're Discharged From The Hospital."

"Yes,  I Was Discharged,  All Right," He Said.

"Which Means You're Well Again. That Is Fine. I'm Very Glad."

"I Was Put Out To Make Room For A Fellow In Bad Shape. I'm Still Shaky And

Weak," He Replied. "But I'm Glad To Go. I've Pulled Through Pretty Good,

And It'll Not Be Long Until I'm Strong Again. It Was The 'Flu' That Kept Me

Down."

"You Must Be Careful. May I Ask Where You're Going And What You Expect To

Do?"

"Yes,  That's What I Came To Tell You," He Replied,  Frankly. "I Want You To

Help Me A Little. I'm From Illinois And My People Aren't So Badly Off. But

I Don't Want To Go Back To My Home Town Down And Out,  You Know. Besides,

The Winters Are Cold There. The Doctor Advises Me To Go To A Little Milder

Climate. You See,  I Was Gassed,  And Got The 'Flu' Afterward. But I Know

I'll Be All Right If I'm Careful. . . . Well,  I've Always Had A Leaning

Toward Agriculture,  And I Want To Go To Kansas. Southern Kansas. I Want To

Travel Around Till I Find A Place I Like,  And There I'll Get A Job. Not Too

Hard A Job At First--That's Why I'll Need A Little Money. I Know What To Do.

I Want To Lose Myself In The Wheat Country And Forget The--The War. I'll

Not Be Afraid Of Work,  Presently. . . . Now,  Miss Burch,  You've Been So

Kind--I'm Going To Ask You To Lend Me A Little Money. I'll Pay It Back. I

Can't Promise Just When. But Some Day. Will You?"

"Assuredly I Will," She Replied,  Heartily. "I'm Happy To Have The

Opportunity To Help You. How Much Will You Need For Immediate Use? Five

Hundred Dollars?"

"Oh No,  Not So Much As That," He Replied. "Just Railroad Fare Home,  And

Then To Kansas,  And To Pay Board While I Get Well,  You Know,  And Look

Around."

"We'll Make It Five Hundred,  Anyway," She Replied,  And,  Rising,  She Went

Toward The Library. "Excuse Me A Moment." She Wrote The Check And,

Returning,  Gave It To Him.

"You're Very Good," He Said,  Rather Low.

"Not At All," Replied Carley. "You Have No Idea How Much It Means To Me To

Be Permitted To Help You. Before I Forget,  I Must Ask You,  Can You Cash

That Check Here In New York?"

"Not Unless You Identify Me," He Said,  Ruefully,  "I Don't Know Anyone I

Could Ask."

"Well,  When You Leave Here Go At Once To My Bank--It's On Thirty-Fourth

Street--And I'll Telephone The Cashier. So You'll Not Have Any Difficulty.

Will You Leave New York At Once?"

"I Surely Will. It's An Awful Place. Two Years Ago When I Came Here With My

Company I Thought It Was Grand. But I Guess I Lost Something Over There.

. . . I Want To Be Where It's Quiet. Where I Won't See Many People."

"I Think I Understand," Returned Carley. "Then I Suppose You're In A Hurry

To Get Home? Of Course You Have A Girl You're Just Dying To See?"

"No,  I'm Sorry To Say I Haven't," He Replied,  Simply. "I Was Glad I Didn't

Have To Leave A Sweetheart Behind,  When I Went To France. But It Wouldn't

Be So Bad To Have One To Go Back To Now."

"Don't You Worry!" Exclaimed Carley. "You Can Take Your Choice Presently.

You Have The Open Sesame To Every Real American Girl's Heart."

"And What Is That?" He Asked,  With A Blush.

"Your Service To Your Country," She Said,  Gravely.

"Well," He Said,  With A Singular Bluntness,  "Considering I Didn't Get Any