Jeff Briggss Love Story | Page 3

electronically, or by disk, book
or any other medium if you either delete this "Small Print!" and all
other references to Project Gutenberg, or:
[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this requires that
you do not remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,
including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (i) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?

The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
We are planning on making some changes in our donation structure in
2000, so you might want to email me, [email protected] beforehand.

*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN
ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This etext was prepared by Donald Lainson, [email protected] and
David Widger, < [email protected] >

JEFF BRIGGS'S LOVE STORY
by Bret Harte

JEFF BRIGGS'S LOVE STORY.
I.
It was raining and blowing at Eldridge's Crossing. From the stately
pine-trees on the hill-tops, which were dignifiedly protesting through
their rigid spines upward, to the hysterical willows in the hollow, that
had whipped themselves into a maudlin fury, there was a general
tumult. When the wind lulled, the rain kept up the distraction, firing
long volleys across the road, letting loose miniature cataracts from the
hill-sides to brawl in the ditches, and beating down the heavy heads of
wild oats on the levels; when the rain ceased for a moment the wind
charged over the already defeated field, ruffled the gullies, scattered the
spray from the roadside pines, and added insult to injury. But both wind

and rain concentrated their energies in a malevolent attempt to utterly
disperse and scatter the "Half-way House," which seemed to have
wholly lost its way, and strayed into the open, where, dazed and
bewildered, unprepared and unprotected, it was exposed to the taunting
fury of the blast. A loose, shambling, disjointed, hastily built
structure--representing the worst features of Pioneer renaissance--it
rattled its loose window-sashes like chattering teeth, banged its ill-hung
shutters, and admitted so much of the invading storm, that it might have
blown up or blown down with equal facility.
Jefferson Briggs, proprietor and landlord of the "Half-way House," had
just gone through the formality of closing his house for the night,
hanging dangerously out of the window in the vain attempt to subdue a
rebellious shutter that had evidently entered into conspiracy with the
invaders, and, shutting a door as against a sheriff's posse, was going to
bed--i. e., to read himself asleep, as was his custom. As he entered his
little bedroom in the attic with a highly exciting novel in his pocket and
a kerosene lamp in his hand, the wind, lying in wait for him, instantly
extinguished his lamp and slammed the door behind him. Jefferson
Briggs relighted the lamp, as if confidentially, in a corner, and,
shielding it in the bosom of his red flannel shirt, which gave him the
appearance of an illuminated shrine, hung a heavy bear-skin across the
window, and then carefully deposited his lamp upon a chair at his
bedside. This done, he kicked off his boots, flung them into a corner,
and, rolling himself in a blanket, lay down upon the bed. A habit of