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Anderson, Sherwood, 1876-1941

"Poor White"


At eleven o'clock having already achieved some ninety miles Tom turned the
car back. Running more sedately he again talked of the mechanical triumphs
of the age in which he had lived. "I've brought you whizzing along, you and
Clara," he said proudly. "I tell you what, Hugh, Steve Hunter and I have
brought you along fast in more ways that one. You've got to give Steve
credit for seeing something in you, and you've got to give me credit for
putting my money back of your brains. I don't want to take no credit from
Steve. There's credit enough for all. All I got to say for myself is that I
saw the hole in the doughnut. Yes, sir, I wasn't so blind. I saw the hole
in the doughnut."
Tom stopped to light a cigar and then drove on again. "I'll tell your what,
Hugh," he said, "I wouldn't say so to any one not of my family, but the
truth is, I'm the man that's been putting over the big things there in
Bidwell. The town is going to be a city now and a mighty big city. Towns
in this State like Columbus, Toledo and Dayton, had better look out for
themselves. I'm the man has always kept Steve Hunter steady and going
straight ahead down the track, as this car goes with my hand at the
steering wheel.
"You don't know anything about it, and I don't want you should talk, but
there are new things coming to Bidwell," he added. "When I was in Chicago
last month I met a man who has been making rubber buggy and bicycle
tires.


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