A Sure Cure

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Antrim, Ohio

Here is a couple of dollars for a subscription renewal of Mr. Floyd M. Nichols, R. D. 2, Quaker City, Ohio.

Should have had this in several days ago as Mr. Nichols hopes not to miss a single copy, but I have been laid up in bed with the flu. Was rather sick for a couple of days until I discovered a wonderful cure. I got out all of my old IRON-MEN, every single copy, stayed in bed and read, reminisced and dreamed. Within 24 hours I found myself much improved. To any Brother Threshermen who is afflicted with this new-fangled flu that's going the rounds, I will guarantee this remedy. I also had a few old American Threshermen that I took in small doses to help keep fever down and spirits up. This is, however, not an essential; the ALBUM alone will effect a cure.

Some of the tales I read over the second time although I had read them before. One in particular that struck my fancy was called 'Exhaust Echoes' by Roy W. Ross, Innisfail, Alberta. It was concluded in the March-April 1955 issue. The language Mr. Ross uses in his narrative holds one like the hand-clasp of an old friend. I heartly agree with Mr. Laurence J. Hathaway in his letter, page 29, Sept.-Oct., 1957 ALBUM: The good old Steam Language should be used when discussing Steam. I'm not as old as Mr. Ross but I well remember those men and their times. Back when a straw hat, blue denim overalls and blouse were standard field equipment, and if you heard some one refer to members of the crew as 'You Guys', you knew that he was a hobo or some silly kid trying to act like one.

Yes, they are fine stories! Grand Old Men striving to tell us something that is so difficult to express in words! something one must feel. Charles L. Genter of Byron, Oklahoma, comes very close in his fine poem, 'Smoke on the Prairie,' Sept.-Oct., 1955 ALBUM, in a couple of verses that run, as nearly as I remember

No more we'll feel the engines throb
The pulse that comes through steel
Or know the smell of smoke and steam
The music of whining wheel.
No more we'll hear the thresher hum
Or a faithful engine exhaust
We know that this means little to you
But to us it is something lost.
Just about brings tears, doesn't, it Elmer?