It is the fourth of February in the year 2010. It has been a severe winter, and the snow lies deep in the gorges, the valleys, and upon the hillsides and frozen lakes. The county snow-ploughs have, however, kept the roads open, and life is going on pretty much as usual, but with fewer down-state tourists.
Here, among the lumber-camps of Michigan, we like to pause on this day and drink a toast to honor one of our own, who traveled down to Chicago looking for better opportunities, and from there went on to achieve eternal fame as a man who almost fooled Sherlock Holmes, but not quite. Sadly, he didn’t fool Moriarty either.