Once upon a time in Ashcroft there lived a "gink" who was very much
wrapped up in himself. At a local social function he took the prize one
day for being the most unpopular man in the community; and this caused
him to sit up nights, and study himself as others saw him flitting
across his unattractive and uneventful stage. The winning of this prize
spoke to him with greater accent than could the exploding of a
sixteen-inch German gun, and it sent a quiver through his entire
avoirdupois. It was not only an appalling revelation to him to know that
he was unpopular, but it was a disgrace to his pedigree right back to
the days of Samuel De Champlain, so he began to paw the bunch grass and
seek revenge. First he dug among the archives of history for a solution.
There must be some reason for this disgraceful blur on his life pages.
Why was he the most unpopular man on these sand downs? Why was he an
outcast? Why was he the Job of Ashcroft society? Now, just why was he
unpopular? Had he boils, like Job? Was he an undesirable citizen? Was he
a German, or an Austrian, or a Turk? Was he inflicted with some
loathsome disease? Was he a plague? Had some false reputation preceded
him into the community? Had he a cantankerous disposition? Was he
repulsive in appearance? Was he mean, stingy? Was he stupid, ignorant,
uneducated, brainless? No, personally he could not plead guilty of
acquaintance with any of the above disqualifications. Among the archives
of his past Ashcroft history he found some tell-tale manuscripts, the
contents of which had never appealed to him until after the booby prize
episode. In plain English, he found written facts which were as bold as
the violation of Belgian neutrality. Incidents which had seemed very
commonplace and unworthy of notice before, now loomed up on those pages
and presented themselves to him as giants of the utmost importance. For
instance, in looking up the records connected with the forming of the
Ashcroft Rinks he found that he had not been consulted in the matter.