ck up
with anybody."

My partner agreed with me, but the conversation was continued, and at
last the stranger said:

"Gentlemen, I am the agent or prospector of the Kansas Pacific Railroad,
and my business is to locate towns for the company along the line."

"We think we have the only suitable town-site in this immediate
locality," said Mr. Rose, "and as a town is already started, we have
saved the company considerable expense."

"You know as well as I do," said Dr. Webb, "that the company expects to
make money by selling lands and town lots; and as you are not disposed to
give the company a show, or share with me, I shall probably have to start
another town near you. Competition is the life of trade, you know."

"Start your town, if you want to. We've got the 'bulge' on you, and can
hold it," said I, somewhat provoked at his threat.

But we acted too independently and too indiscreetly for our own good Dr.
Webb, the very next day after his interview with us, began hauling
material to a spot about one mile east of us, where he staked out a new
town, which he called Hays City. He took great pains to circulate in our
town the story that the railroad company would locate their round-houses
and machine shops at Hays City, and that it was to be _the_ town and a
splendid business center. A ruinous stampede from our place was the
result. People who had built in Rome came to the conclusion that they had
built in the wrong place; they began pulling down their buildings and
moving them over to Hays City, and in less than three days our once
flourishing city had dwindled down to the little store which Rose and I
had built.

It was on a bright summer morning that we sat on a pine box in front of
our crib, moodily viewing the demolition of the last building. Three days
before, we had considered ourselves millionaires; on that morning we
looked around and saw that we were reduced to the ragged edge of poverty.
Our sanguine expectations of realizing immense fortunes were dashed to
the ground, and we felt pretty blue. The new town of Hays had swallowed
Rome entirely. Mr. Rose facetiously remarked that he felt like "the last
rose of summer," with all his lovely companions faded and gone, and _he_
left blooming alone. I told him I was still there, staunch and true, but
he replied that that didn't help the matter much. Thus ends the brief
history of the "Rise, Decline and Fall" of Modern Rome.

It having become evident to me that