The Prodigal Village

Gasoline Power seemed to express its opinion of Mr. Smix by hurling him against a telegraph pole and running wild in the park until it cooled its passion in the fountain pool. In the language of Hiram Blenkinsop, the place was badly smixed up. Yet Mr. Smix was the object of unmerited criticism. He was like many other men in that quiet village slow, deliberate, harmless and goodnatured. The action of his intellect was not at all like that of a gasoline engine. Between the swiftness of the one and the slowness of the other, there was a wide zone full of possibilities. The engine had accomplished many things while Mr. Smix sintellect was getting ready to begin to act. In speaking of this adventure, Hiram Blenkinsop made a wise remark: My married life learnt me one thing, said he.