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Connor, Ralph, Pseudonym, 1860-1937

"Corporal Cameron of the North West Mounted Police; a tale of the Macleod trail"

There is
a young friend of mine out there at present, but from what I can gather
his home correspondence is mainly confined to appeals for remittances
from his governor, and his chief occupation spending these remittances
as speedily as possible. All very well, as I have said, for fun, if
you can pay the shot. But to play the role of gentleman cowboy, while
somebody else pays for it, is the sort of thing I despise."
"And so do I, Sir!" said Cameron. "There will be no remittance in my
case."
Denman glanced at the firm, closed lips and the stiffening figure.
"That is the talk!" he exclaimed. "No, there is no chance in ranching
unless you have capital."
"As far as I can see," replied Cameron gloomily, "everything seems
closed up except to the capitalist, and yet from what I heard at home
situations were open on every hand in this country."
"Come here!" cried Denman, drawing Cameron to the office window. "See
those doors!" pointing to a long line of shops. "Every last one is
opened to a man who knows his business. See those smokestacks! Every
last wheel in those factories is howling for a man who is on to his job.
But don't look blue, there is a place for you, too; the thing is to find
it."
"What are those long buildings?" inquired Cameron, pointing towards the
water front.


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