The Girl at the Halfway House: A Story of the PlainsHough, Emerson
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The Girl at the Halfway House: A Story of the Plains
Hough, Emerson
Great Plains -- Fiction; Historical fiction, American
In the early days of Ellisville society was alike in costume and
custom, and as unsuspicious as it would have been intolerant of any
idea of rank or class. A "beef" was a beef, and worth eight dollars.
A man was a man, worth as much as his neighbour, and no more. Each man
mended his own saddle. Thus society remained until there ensued that
natural division which has been earlier mentioned, by which there
became established two groups or classes--the dwellers in the Cottage
and the dwellers in the Stone Hotel. This was at first a matter of
choice, and carried no idea of rank or class distinction,
For a brief time there might have been found support for that ideally
inaccurate statement of our Constitution which holds that all men are
born free and equal, entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness. With all our might we belie this clause, though in the time
of Ellisville it might have had some footing. That day has long since
passed.
The men of the Cottage Hotel continued big, brown, bespurred and
behatted, yet it might have been observed that the tenantry of the
Stone Hotel became gradually less sunburned and more immaculate.
Mustaches swept not so sunburned, blonde and wide, but became in the
average darker and more trim. At the door of the dining-room there
were hat racks, and in time they held "hard hats." The stamping of the
social die had begun its work. Indeed, after a time there came to be
in the great dining-room of the Stone Hotel little groups bounded by
unseen but impassable lines. The bankers and the loan agents sat at
the head of the hall, and to them drifted naturally the ministers, ever
in search of pillars. Lawyers and doctors sat adjacent thereunto, and
merchants not far away. There was yet no shrug at the artisan, yet the
invisible hand gradually swept him apart. Across the great gulfs, on
whose shores sat the dining-room tables, men and women looked and
talked, but trod not as they came in to meat, each person knowing well
his place. The day of the commercial traveller was not yet, and for
these there was no special table, they being for the most part assigned
to the Red Belt; there being a certain portion of the hall where the
tablecloths were checkered red and white. It was not good to be in the
Red Belt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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