THE MIXER
I know a man who deals in planks, and he has money in nine banks. He has a busy lumber booth, where he makes business hum, in sooth. And when the day of toil is o’er, he might go home and rest and snore, and put his feet upon a chair, and talk about his load of care. But when he’s had his evening meal, and read the valued Daily Squeal, he says, “Methinks I’ll go down town, and see what’s up, or maybe down.”
He takes a hand in everything that makes our home town move and swing. If boosters hold a jamboree, this lumber dealer there you’ll see, and he will on his hind legs stand, and help to boost, to beat the band.
If there’s a wedding at the kirk, this lumber man will leave his work, and reach the scene with active stride, and he’s the first to kiss the bride.
When we arrange a big parade, you see this lumber man arrayed in all his panoply and pomp, and down the street he’ll proudly romp.
If we decide to lynch a gent, some agent for a patent tent, or one who’s sold us mining shares, or double action easy chairs, that lumber man is right on deck, and puts the rope around his neck.
I hear folks say, “That lumber chap, has put this village on the map. If we had twenty men like him, the town would sure be in the swim. He is the first man, every time, to help to make things hump and climb.”
The business man who hopes to win must boost the town he’s living in. You cannot do the hermit stunt, and hope to travel at the front. Get next to all that’s going on, mix in with Richard, James and John, and help along the town’s affairs, and leave the grouches in their lairs.