| OCR Text |
Show It's Over. The city has once more put on its everyday clothes. The broad grin of the seductive trader baa aimmered down into the u;ual placid smile of hopeless invitation. The flies have flown and the spider is left to epin alone. No niore do the shadows of mince pies grow beautifully les in the cases of the confectioner; no longer plava the quiet smirk o'er the faces of our music clerks as when asked the price of butter and epeckhd neckties; no more does the wild eyed youth on a broncho dash down our streets like a dusty thunderbolt fresh shot from the batteries of Olympua, nor do the pedeBtrisu's hairs strike vertical attitudes as when forced to retrograde with equal velocity to avoid the collision. No! all is peace once more. Conterence is over. And yet, we like the boys from country, the and know that though irreconcilably hostile to our eccentric notions of '"oiled Bhirta and plug hats" their hearts are warm and trusty and we love them jtiit the Bame. Come again boys, bronchos and all. |
