Once upon a time Country Charley became dissatisfied with shoveling corn into his father’s fat steers in Green Bay Township and decided that he would go to Osceola and be a Town Sport. He had always looked with envy upon the Town Boy who stood in front of the churches Sunday night and chewed Star Plug and waited for little bright eyes to absorb a bunch of religion and appear at the door so he could escort her home after the choir had torn off the last anthem.
Waves of envy surged through his breast when he saw the Town Boy reading a Cap Collier and feeling tougher than any western desperado He looked upon the Town Boy as all to the good and a bigger man than the County Attorney or the local ticket agent. His heart ached to wear striped socks and a red necktie and play Seven Up, and drink in the livery barn Sunday afternoons.
When father sent him down to the south lot to feed the hogs he bemoaned his fate and looked upon the City Sports as the real thing lapping up knowledge at the Fountain head.
His father and brother Bill pleaded with him to look not upon the Town Sport when he is red in the face with self-esteem, but to stay with the old folks, save his money, marry the little blonde peach down at the crossroads and buy a farm of his own. But what he thought was ambition calling him one day he sold the sorrel colt to an Omaha buyer and turning his face toward Osceola, started out to see real life and throw around a little red paint if it cost him all of four dollars and a half.
Country Charlie had not been in Osceola two days before he could chase the 13 ball into the side pocket every once in a while and could tell two new highly colored stories from Omaha. Continued.