"But the day from Pendleton to
Boise slipped by—not only for me but
for that variegated little bunch in the
ÄÄÄSTÄ "to
of the war, the silent lad from Nez
Perce whose chief discourse was a
broad and booming smile, 'J?
, red . who Cached a3 talked about
the great inequalities of life—all tin
ally deferring to the long thin gentle
who knew much about
so
the war than did the soldier, about
the farm than did the farmer boy,
about economics than did the travel
ing man, about socialism than did the
'red,' about journalism than did I.
"Anecdote, 'stories,' observations, i
life's philosophies, Dr. Lindley told
no t as one teaching us but as one of •
US) as a member of that slice of the
human family penned in the little |
smoking room, forced for the day to
be
companions. Whatever the topic I
he illuminated it. Without offense
he showed the 'red' the fallacies of
socialism, reduced to terms of ab
surdity. He taught his little class,
down across Oregon and back into
Idaho and across and re-across the
Snake, not obtrusively, not even with
their knowledge, but effectively and
with the realization on their part
that a mind had gone their way and
that they had been privileged for a
spell to drink from a pure and limpid
stream.
