THE CHINA MAIL, JULY 8, 1988.
By BUD FISHER
(O.K., DO
YOUR
BEST!
TWO STRIKES,
TWO BALLS!
BALL
THREE!
JUST
SECOND!
??
Page
MUTT AND JEFF
NINTH INNING SCORE TIED AND THE PITCHER - REALIZES THE » DANGER OF PITCHING-
'A BALL WITHIN
JEFF'S REACH! YESTERDAY JEFF.; SWUNG. AT THE FIRST TWO WHICH WERE WAY OVER HIS HEAD! HE. LET THE THIRD PASS AND THEN; DETERMINED TO SMACK THE PILL
HE GET HIMSELF UP AS SHOWNE▼
CONTIN TOMOR
THEN
and
NOW
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THE DAILY SHORT STORY
was
No Job Wanted
IT snowing when Guy started
or
five
The needle of his gas tank register- over the pass. The filling station ed half full. He could probably keep attendant at Jackson had warned him the motor running for four against it, but Guy had only smiled hours-fast enough to generate a little crookedly. It was early May and warmth from the hot water heater. He snuggled down into snowstorms of any consequence didn't After that
happen in May, not even in the high the collar of his overcoat.
こ Hours passed. Twice Guy thought country.
Besides, the way he felt, it wouldn't he heard someone call. The third time make much difference if anything did he, roused up. Through the slanting happen to him.. Not even if he perish curtain of mow he saw a figure floun- ed in the drifts or froze to death, dering toward him. He got out. The his face Death would solve all his problems. It man was nearly exhausted; would be a relief from worry and hope- frost bitten. lessness and bleak despair.
Guy got him inside the car and turn- Foolish thought for a young man ed on the heater full, speeding up the twenty-six years old. But young men motor. Presently the man looked at can sometimes become pretty wild and him wild-eyed. "My wife! She's sick. desperate in their thoughts. Guy re- We're stuck-up the road." membered Mr. Moore's cynical smile. "Sorry, son, we haven't a place for you. Full up. Reporters are easy to get these days."
:
"How far?" "Don't know. Mile I guess.'
There was Guy thought quickly. the shack. Apparently the man had
"But not good reporters. I've had passed it in the storm. It must be their experience, Mr. Moore. I'm a good close by. At any rate, it was writer. I always scrape up a new an- only chance.
There's a shack
gle to a story that makes interesting "You stay here. reading. Besides" There was des- near by. At least there should be. peration in Guy's tone because Mr. I'll find it. Doesn't matter if I get Moore had begun shuffling papers on lost, I'll do the best I can." his desk, "When I wrote inquiring Afterward, Guy wondered how he'd about a Job you said you'd be glad to found the, shack, or what it was that talk to me."
kept him going when the desire to le
He had driven all the way up from down and sleep and forget everything Denver 1000 miles because Mr. was so strong. It was all like a dream Moore had said he'd talk to him. It the way he'd stumbled against the had taken nearly his last dollar to buy shack itself, found the door and fell
By Richard Hill Wilkinson
enough gas to make the trip. Now he inside. He remembered that the wind had nothing left but the 5-year-old car, and cold were shut out. Then he re- which, on a sale might bring thirty dol- membered the sick woman. lars. Thirty dollars! Just about The place he'd found was a road enough to get him back home, from camp. There was a stove and wood which he'd started out six months ago, and a few cans of food on the shelf. determined to land a job on a news He got a fire going and placed water paper. Back home. A failure. No on to boil. Then he lunged out into thing to show. Hungary and lonesome the storm again, fought his way down and discouraged.
the road and found the stranger's car. He half carried, half dragged the wo- her man up to the shack, and left there near the stove while he went for the man.
Guy crouched over the wheel, squint ing to pierce the ever-increasing heavy curtain of snow. He knew a place in Denver where he could sell the car The thing to do was get to Denver as quickly as possible.
}
fed. Then he went to sleep,
When he awoke Mr. Moore - was standing by his bed. "Feeling better, son? Good. How about a story on your experiences? That man you say ed was Senator Ostrand. The lady wasn't his wife at all. See what mean? You want a job and we want a story, because Ostrand is on the op- position ticket. Here's your chance,
The storm lasted two days. It took another day for a rescue party to get Toward noon Guy understood why through. They took the three of them the filling station man had warned him. down to Jackson and to a hospital. Guy The snow formed an impenetrable wall, was put into a room by himself and The wind was rising and it was colder. Twice he thought he was stuck, but somehow he managed to keep going He hadn't passed a car in hours.
The thing to do, of course, was turn back. But the road was too narrow There wasn't a chance. Keep going ahead, or atop and wait out the storm. Foolish to do that. Probably last four days. He remembered, suddenly a de- serted shock he'd passed when coming boy, over the pass yesterday. If he could
Guy closed his eyes. Well, why not?... reach that how far was it, anyway?
He leaned forward to wipe inside he thought. After all, a man has to froat from the windshield, releasing his live, has to look out for himself. Why not?" - Why not? The thought" kept grip on the wheel, At the same mo- ment a front tire struck some object in pounding against his brain. Then he the road, skidded sidewise, plumped up opened his eyes..
"Sorry" he said, "Sorry, that's isn't against something soft and stopped. without avail. The front of the car Newspapers).
The rear wheels ground angrily, but the kind of Job I'm after
(Copyright, 1988, by The Associated was securely embedded in a drift. Guy got out to inspect the damage, bending against the wind. Not a chance of moving it. He climbed back behind the wheel. Well, here it was.. Foolish A summer dance will be held at to try walking back. Get lost in no the Hotel Cocil on Saturday night,: time. No alternative but to sit and
wait till somebody came along. The from 8.45 p.m. to 1 a.m. There will crooked smile played about his lips. be special prizes for an amateur. When they found him, perhaps Mr. dancing championship competition Moore's paper, would have something thrilling to write about.
(Waltz)