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diff --git a/old/51917-h/51917-h.htm b/old/51917-h/51917-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index c001c57..0000000 --- a/old/51917-h/51917-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8388 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - The Revolt of the Oyster, by Don Marquis - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revolt of the Oyster, by Don Marquis - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Revolt of the Oyster - -Author: Don Marquis - -Release Date: May 1, 2016 [EBook #51917] -Last Updated: March 13, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVOLT OF THE OYSTER *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - THE REVOLT OF THE OYSTER - </h1> - <h2> - By Don Marquis - </h2> - <h3> - Garden City, New York - </h3> - <h3> - Doubleday, Page and Company - </h3> - <h4> - 1922 - </h4> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0010.jpg" alt="0010 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0010.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE REVOLT OF THE OYSTER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> “IF WE COULD ONLY SEE” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> HOW HANK SIGNED THE PLEDGE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACCURSED HAT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ROONEY'S TOUCHDOWN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> TOO AMERICAN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE SADDEST MAN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> DOGS AND BOYS (As told by the dog) </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> BILL PATTERSON </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> BLOOD WILL TELL (As told by the dog) </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> BEING A PUBLIC CHARACTER (As told by the dog) - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> WRITTEN IN BLOOD (As told by the dogs) </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE REVOLT OF THE OYSTER - </h2> - <p> - “<i>Our remote ancestor was probably arboreal.”</i>—Eminent - scientist. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rom his hut in the - tree-top Probably Arboreal looked lazily down a broad vista, still strewn - with fallen timber as the result of a whirlwind that had once played havoc - in that part of the forest, toward the sea. Beyond the beach of hard white - sand the water lay blue and vast and scarcely ruffled by the light morning - wind. All the world and his wife were out fishing this fine day. Probably - Arboreal could see dozens of people from where he crouched, splashing in - the water or moving about the beach; and even hear their cries borne - faintly to him on the breeze. They fished, for the most part, with their - hands; and when one caught a fish it was his custom to eat it where he - caught it, standing in the sea. - </p> - <p> - In Probably Arboreal's circle, one often bathed and breakfasted - simultaneously; if a shark or saurian were too quick for one, one - sometimes was breakfasted upon as one bathed. - </p> - <p> - In the hut next to Probably Arboreal, his neighbour, Slightly Simian, was - having an argument with Mrs. Slightly, as usual. And, as usual, it - concerned the proper manner of bringing up the children. Probably listened - with the bored distaste of a bachelor. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>will</i> slap his feet every time he picks things up with them!” - screamed Slightly Simian's wife, an accredited shrew, in her shrill - falsetto.. - </p> - <p> - “It's <i>natural</i> for a child to use his feet that way,” insisted the - good-natured Slightly, “and I don't intend to have the boy punished for - what's natural.” Probably Arboreal grinned; he could fancy the expression - on Old Sim's face as his friend made this characteristically plebeian - plea. - </p> - <p> - “You can understand once for all, Slightly,” said that gentleman's wife in - a tone of finality, “that I intend to supervise the bringing-up of these - children. Just because your people had neither birth nor breeding nor - manners——” - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. S.!” broke in Slightly, with a warning in his voice. “Don't you work - around to anything caudal, now, Mrs. S.! Or there'll be trouble. You get - me?” - </p> - <p> - On one occasion Mrs. Slightly had twitted her spouse with the fact that - his grandfather had a tail five inches long; she had never done so again. - Slightly Simian himself, in his moments of excitement, picked things up - with his feet, but like many other men of humble origin who have become - personages in their maturity, he did not relish having such faults - commented upon. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Sim,” mused Probably Arboreal, as he slid down the tree and - ambled toward the beach, to be out of range of the family quarrel. “She - married him for his property, and now she's sore on him because there - isn't more of it.” - </p> - <p> - Nevertheless, in spite of the unpleasant effect of the quarrel, Probably - found his mind dwelling upon matrimony that morning. A girl with bright - red hair, into which she had tastefully braided a number of green parrot - feathers, hit him coquettishly between the shoulder blades with a handful - of wet sand and gravel as he went into the water. Ordinarily he would - either have taken no notice at all of her, or else would have broken her - wrist in a slow, dignified, manly sort of way. But this morning he grabbed - her tenderly by the hair and sentimentally ducked her. When she was nearly - drowned he released her. She came out of the water squealing with rage - like a wild-cat and bit him on the shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Parrot Feathers,” he said to her, with an unwonted softness in his eyes, - as he clutched her by the throat and squeezed, “beware how you trifle with - a man's affections—some day I may take you seriously!” - </p> - <p> - He let the girl squirm loose, and she scrambled out upon the beach and - threw shells and jagged pieces of flint at him, with an affectation of - coyness. He chased her, caught her by the hair again, and scored the wet - skin on her arms with a sharp stone, until she screamed with the pain, and - as he did it he hummed an old love tune, for to-day there was an April - gladness in his heart. - </p> - <p> - “Probably! Probably Arboreal!” He spun around to face the girl's father, - Crooked Nose, who was contentedly munching a mullet. - </p> - <p> - “Probably,” said Crooked Nose, “you are flirting with my daughter!” - </p> - <p> - “Father!” breathed the girl, ashamed of her parent's tactlessness. “How - can you say that!” - </p> - <p> - “I want to know,” said Crooked Nose, as sternly as a man can who is - masticating mullet, “whether your intentions are serious and honourable.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, father!” said Parrot Feathers again. And putting her hands in front - of her face to hide her blushes she ran off. Nevertheless, she paused when - a dozen feet away and threw a piece of drift-wood at Probably Arboreal. It - hit him on the shin, and as he rubbed the spot, watching her disappear - into the forest, he murmured aloud, “Now, I wonder what she means by - that!” - </p> - <p> - “Means,” said Crooked Nose. “Don't be an ass, Probably! Don't pretend to - <i>me</i> you don't know what the child means. You made her love you. You - have exercised your arts of fascination on an innocent young girl, and now - you have the nerve to wonder what she means. What'll you give me for her?” - </p> - <p> - “See here, Crooked Nose,” said Probably, “don't bluster with me.” His - finer sensibilities were outraged. He did not intend to be <i>coerced</i> - into matrimony by any father, even though he were pleased with that - father's daughter. “I'm not buying any wives to-day, Crooked Nose.” - </p> - <p> - “You have hurt her market value,” said Crooked Nose, dropping his - domineering air, and affecting a willingness to reason. “Those marks on - her arms will not come off for weeks. And what man wants to marry a - scarred-up woman unless he has made the scars himself?” - </p> - <p> - “Crooked Nose,” said Probably Arboreal, angry at the whole world because - what might have been a youthful romance had been given such a sordid turn - by this disgusting father, “if you don't go away I will scar every - daughter you've got in your part of the woods. Do you get me?” - </p> - <p> - “I wish you'd look them over,” said Crooked Nose. “You might do worse than - marry all of them.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll marry none of them!” cried Probably, in a rage, and turned to go - into the sea again. - </p> - <p> - A heavy boulder hurtled past his head. He whirled about and discovered - Crooked Nose in the act of recovering his balance after having flung it. - He caught the old man half way between the beach and the edge of the - forest. The clan, including Crooked Nose's four daughters, gathered round - in a ring to watch the fight. - </p> - <p> - It was not much of a combat. When it was over, and the girls took hold of - what remained of their late parent to drag him into the woods, Probably - Arboreal stepped up to Parrot Feathers and laid his hand upon her arm. - </p> - <p> - “Feathers,” he said, “now that there can be no question of coercion, will - you and your sisters marry me?” - </p> - <p> - She turned toward him with a sobered face. Grief had turned her from a - girl into a woman. - </p> - <p> - “Probably,” she said, “you are only making this offer out of generosity. - It is not love that prompts it. I cannot accept. As for my sisters, they - must speak for themselves.” - </p> - <p> - “You are angry with me, Feathers?” - </p> - <p> - The girl turned sadly away. Probably watched the funeral cortège winding - into the woods, and then went moodily back to the ocean. Now that she had - refused him, he desired her above all things. But how to win her? He saw - clearly that it could be no question of brute force. It had gone beyond - that. If he used force with her, it must infallibly remind her of the - unfortunate affair with her father. Some heroic action might attract her - to him again. Probably resolved to be a hero at the very earliest - opportunity. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime he would breakfast. Breakfast had already been long - delayed; and it was as true then, far back in the dim dawn of time, as it - is now, that he who does not breakfast at some time during the day must go - hungry to bed at night. Once more Probably Arboreal stepped into the ocean—stepped - in without any premonition that he was to be a hero indeed; that he was - chosen by Fate, by Destiny, by the Presiding Genius of this planet, by - whatever force or intelligence you will, to champion the cause of all - Mankind in a crucial struggle for human supremacy. - </p> - <p> - He waded into the water up to his waist, and bent forward with his arms - beneath the surface, patiently waiting. It was thus that our remote - ancestors fished. Fish ran larger in those days, as a rule. In the deeper - waters they were monstrous. The smaller fish therefore sought the shallows - where the big ones, greedy cannibals, could not follow them. A man seldom - stood in the sea as Probably Arboreal was doing more than ten minutes - without a fish brushing against him either accidentally or because the - fish thought the man was something good to eat. As soon as a fish touched - him, the man would grab for it. If he were clumsy and missed too many - fish, he starved to death. Experts survived because they <i>were</i> - expert; by a natural process of weeding out the awkward it had come about - that men were marvellously adept. A bear who stands by the edge of a river - watching for salmon at the time of the year when they rim up stream to - spawn, and scoops them from the water with a deft twitch of his paw, was - not more quick or skillful than Probably Arboreal. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he pitched forward, struggling; he gave a gurgling shout, and his - head disappeared beneath the water. - </p> - <p> - When it came up again, he twisted toward the shore, with lashing arms and - something like panic on his face, and shouted: - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Oh! Oh!” he cried. “Something has me by the foot!” - </p> - <p> - Twenty or thirty men and women who heard the cry stopped fishing and - straightened up to look at him. - </p> - <p> - “Help! Help!” he shouted again. “It is pulling me out to sea!” - </p> - <p> - A knock-kneed old veteran, with long intelligent-looking mobile toes, - broke from the surf and scurried to the safety of the beach, raising the - cry: - </p> - <p> - “A god! A god! A water-god has caught Probably Arboreal!” - </p> - <p> - “More likely a devil!” cried Slightly Simian, who had followed Probably to - the water. - </p> - <p> - And all his neighbours plunged to land and left Probably Arboreal to his - fate, whatever his fate was to be. But since spectacles are always - interesting, they sat down comfortably on the beach to see how long it - would be before Probably Arboreal disappeared. Gods and devils, sharks and - octopi, were forever grabbing one of their number and making off to deep - water with him to devour him at their leisure. If the thing that dragged - the man were seen, if it showed itself to be a shark or an octopus, a - shark or an octopus it was; if it were unseen, it got the credit of being - a god or a devil. - </p> - <p> - “Help me!” begged Probably Arboreal, who was now holding his own, although - he was not able to pull himself into shallower water. “It is not a god or - a devil. It doesn't feel like one. And it isn't a shark, because it hasn't - any teeth. It is an animal like a cleft stick, and my foot is in the - cleft.” - </p> - <p> - But they did not help him. Instead, Big Mouth, a seer and <i>vers libre</i> - poet of the day, smitten suddenly with an idea, raised a chant, and - presently all the others joined in. The chant went like this: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Probably, he killed Crooked Nose, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - He killed him with his fists. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And Crooked Nose, he sent his ghost to sea - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To catch his slayer by the foot! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - slayer, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Drown, drown, drown his slayer, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - slayer, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Drown his slayer in the seal” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “You are a liar, Big Mouth!” spluttered Probably Arboreal, hopping on one - foot and thrashing the water with his arms. “It is not a ghost; it is an - animal.” - </p> - <p> - But the chant kept up, growing louder and louder: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The ghost of Crooked Nose will drown his - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - slayer! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Drown, drown, drown his slayer, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Drown his slayer in the sea!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Out of the woods came running more and more people at the noise of the - chant. And as they caught what was going on, they took up the burden of - it, until hundreds and thousands of them were singing it. - </p> - <p> - But, with a mighty turn and struggle, Probably Arboreal went under again, - as to his head and body; his feet for an instant swished into the air, and - everyone but Probably Arboreal himself saw what was hanging on to one of - them. - </p> - <p> - It was neither ghost, shark, god, nor devil. It was a monstrous oyster; a - bull oyster, evidently. All oysters were much larger in those days than - they are now, but this oyster was a giant, a mastodon, a mammoth among - oysters, even for those days. - </p> - <p> - “It is an oyster, an oyster, an oyster!” cried the crowd, as Probably - Arboreal's head and shoulders came out of the water again. - </p> - <p> - Big Mouth, the poet, naturally chagrined, and hating to yield up his - dramatic idea, tried to raise another chant: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The ghost of Crooked Nose went into an - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - oyster, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The oyster caught his slayer by the foot - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To drown, drown, drown him in the sea!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - But it didn't work. The world had seen that oyster, and had recognized it - for an oyster. - </p> - <p> - “Oyster! Oyster! Oyster!” cried the crowd sternly at Big Mouth. - </p> - <p> - The bard tried to persevere, but Slightly Simian, feeling the crowd with - him, advanced menacingly and said: - </p> - <p> - “See here, Big Mouth, we know a ghost when we see one, and we know an - oyster! Yon animal is an oyster! You <i>sing</i> that it is an oyster, or - shut up!” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Ghost, ghost, ghost,</i>” chanted Big Mouth, tentatively. But he got - no farther. Slightly Simian killed him with a club, and the matter was - settled. Literary criticism was direct, straightforward, and effective in - those days. - </p> - <p> - “But, oh, ye gods of the water, <i>what</i> an oyster!” cried Mrs. - Slightly Simian. - </p> - <p> - And as the thought took them all, a silence fell over the multitude. They - looked at the struggling man in a new community of idea. Oysters they had - seen before, but never an oyster like this. Oysters they knew not as food; - but they had always regarded them as rather ineffectual and harmless - creatures. Yet this bold oyster was actually giving battle, and on equal - terms, to a man! Were oysters henceforth to be added to the number of - man's enemies? Were oysters about to attempt to conquer mankind? This - oyster, was he the champion of the sea, sent up out of its depths, to - grapple with mankind for supremacy? - </p> - <p> - Dimly, vaguely, as they watched the man attempt to pull the oyster ashore, - and the oyster attempt to pull the man out to sea, some sense of the - importance of this struggle was felt by mankind. Over forest, beach, and - ocean hung the sense of momentous things. A haze passed across the face of - the bright morning sun; the breeze died down; it was as if all nature held - her breath at this struggle. And if mankind upon the land was interested, - the sea was no less concerned. For, of sudden, and as if by preconcerted - signal, a hundred thousand oysters poked their heads above the surface of - the waters and turned their eyes—they had small fiery opalescent - eyes in those days—upon the combat. - </p> - <p> - At this appearance, mankind drew back with a gasp, but no word was - uttered. The visible universe, perturbed earth and bending heavens alike, - was tense and dumb. On their part, the oysters made no attempt to go to - the assistance of their champion. Nor did mankind leap to the rescue of - Probably Arboreal. Tacitly, each side, in a spirit of fair play, agreed - not to interfere; agreed to leave the combat to the champions; agreed to - abide by the issue. - </p> - <p> - But while they were stirred and held by the sense of tremendous things - impending, neither men nor oysters could be expected to understand - definitely what almost infinite things depended upon this battle. There - were no Darwins then. Evolution had not yet evolved the individual able to - catch her at it. - </p> - <p> - But she was on her way. This very struggle was one of the crucial moments - in the history of evolution. There have always been these critical periods - when the two highest species in the world were about equal in - intelligence, and it was touch and go as to which would survive and carry - on the torch, and which species would lose the lead and become - subservient. There have always been exact instants when the spirit of - progress hesitated as between the forms of life, doubtful as to which one - to make its representative. - </p> - <p> - Briefly, if the oyster conquered the man, more and more oysters, - emboldened by this success, would prey upon men. Man, in the course of a - few hundred thousand years, would become the creature of the oyster; the - oyster's slave and food. Then the highest type of life on the planet would - dwell in the sea. The civilization which was not yet would be a marine - growth when it did come; the intellectual and spiritual and physical - supremacy held by the biped would pass over to the bivalve. - </p> - <p> - Thought could not frame this concept then; neither shellfish nor - tree-dweller uttered it. But both the species felt it; they watched - Probably Arboreal and the oyster with a strangling emotion, with a - quivering intentness, that was none the less poignant because there was no - Huxley or Spencer present to interpret it for them; they thrilled and - sweat and shivered with the shaken universe, and the red sun through its - haze peered down unwinking like the vast bloodshot eye of life. - </p> - <p> - An hour had passed by in silence except for the sound of the battle, more - and more men and more and more oysters had gathered about the scene of the - struggle; the strain was telling on both champions. Probably Arboreal had - succeeded in dragging the beast some ten feet nearer the shore, but the - exertion had told upon him; he was growing tired; he was breathing with - difficulty; he had swallowed a great deal of salt water. He too was dimly - conscious of the importance of this frightful combat; he felt himself the - representative of the human race. He was desperate but cool; he saved his - breath; he opposed to the brute force of the oyster the cunning of a man. - But he was growing weaker; he felt it. - </p> - <p> - If only those for whom he was fighting would fling him some word of - encouragement! He was too proud to ask it, but he felt bitterly that he - was not supported, for he could not realize what emotion had smitten dumb - his fellow men. He had got to the place where a word of spiritual comfort - and encouragement would have meant as much as fifty pounds of weight in - his favour. - </p> - <p> - He had, in fact, arrived at the Psychological Moment. There were no - professing psychologists then; but there was psychology; and it worked - itself up into moments even as it does to-day. - </p> - <p> - Probably Arboreal's head went under the water, tears and salt ocean - mingled nauseatingly in his mouth. - </p> - <p> - “I am lost,” he gurgled. - </p> - <p> - But at that instant a shout went up—the shrill, high cry of a woman. - Even in his agony he recognized that voice—the voice of Parrot - Feathers! With a splendid rally he turned his face toward the shore. - </p> - <p> - She was struggling through the crowd, fighting her way to the front rank - with the fury of a wildcat. She had just buried her father, and the earth - was still dark and damp upon her hands, but the magnificent creature had - only one thought now. She thought only of her lover, her heroic lover; in - her nobility of soul she had been able to rise above the pettiness of - spirit which another woman might have felt; she knew no pique or spite. - Her lover was in trouble, and her place was nigh him; so she flung a false - maidenly modesty to the winds and acknowledged him and cheered him on, - careless of what the assembled world might think. - </p> - <p> - She arrived at the Psychological Moment. - </p> - <p> - “Probably! Probably!” she cried. “Don't give up! Don't give up! For my - sake!” - </p> - <p> - For her sake! The words were like fire in the veins of the struggling - hero. He made another bursting effort, and gained a yard. But the rally - had weakened him; the next instant his head went under the water once - more. Would it ever appear again? There was a long, long moment, while all - mankind strangled and gasped in sympathetic unison, and then our hero's - dripping head did emerge. It had hit a stone under water, and it was - bleeding, but it emerged. One eye was nearly closed. 4 + - </p> - <p> - “Watch him! Watch him!” shouted Parrot Feathers. “Don't let him do that - again! When he has you under water he whacks your eye with his tail. He's - trying to blind you!” - </p> - <p> - And, indeed, these seemed to be the desperate oyster's tactics. If he - could once destroy our hero's sight, the end would soon come. - </p> - <p> - “Probably—do you hear me?” - </p> - <p> - He nodded his head; he was beyond speech. - </p> - <p> - “Take a long breath and dive! Do you get me? Dive! Dive at your own feet! - Grab your feet in your hands and roll under water in a bunch! Roll toward - the beach!”' - </p> - <p> - It was a desperate manouvre, especially for a man who had already been - under water so much that morning. But the situation was critical and - called for the taking of big chances. It would either succeed—or - fail. And death was no surer if it failed than if he waited. Probably - Arboreal ceased to think; he yielded up his reasoning powers to the noble - and courageous woman on the sand; he dived and grabbed his feet and - rolled. - </p> - <p> - “Again! Again!” she cried. “Another long breath and roll again!” - </p> - <p> - Her bosom heaved, as if she were actually breathing for him. To Probably - Arboreal, now all but drowned, and almost impervious to feeling, it also - seemed as if he were breathing with her lungs; and yet he hardly dared to - dive and roll again. He struggled in the water and stared at her stupidly. - </p> - <p> - She sent her unusual and electric personality thrilling into him across - the intervening distance; she held him with her eyes, and filled him with - her spirit. - </p> - <p> - “Roll!” she commanded. “Probably! Roll!” - </p> - <p> - And under the lash of her courage, he rolled again. Three more times he - rolled... and then... unconscious, but still breathing, he was in her - arms. - </p> - <p> - As he reached the land half a million oysters sank into the sea in the - silence of defeat and despair, while from the beaches rose a mighty shout. - </p> - <p> - The sun, as if it gestured, flung the mists from its face, and beamed - benignly. - </p> - <p> - “Back! Back! Give him air!” cried Parrot Feathers, as she addressed - herself to the task of removing the oyster from his foot. - </p> - <p> - The giant beast was dying, and its jaws were locked in the rigour of its - suffering. There was no way to remove it gently. Parrot Feathers laid her - unconscious hero's foot upon one rock, and broke the oyster loose with - another. - </p> - <p> - Incidentally she smashed Probably Arboreal's toe. - </p> - <p> - He sat up in pained surprise. Unthinkingly, as you or I would put a hurt - finger into our mouths, he put his crushed toe into his mouth. At that - period of man's history the trick was not difficult. And then—— - </p> - <p> - A beatific smile spread over his face! - </p> - <p> - Man had tasted the oyster! - </p> - <p> - In half an hour, mankind was plunging into the waves searching for - oysters. The oyster's doom was sealed. His monstrous pretension that he - belonged in the van of evolutionary progress was killed forever. He had - been tasted, and found food. He would never again battle for supremacy. - Meekly he yielded to his fate. He is food to this day. - </p> - <p> - Parrot Feathers and Probably Arboreal were married after breakfast. On the - toes of their first child were ten cunning, diminutive oyster shells. - Mankind, up to that time, had had sharp toenails like the claws of birds. - But the flat, shell-like toenails, the symbols of man's triumph over, and - trampling down of, the oyster were inherited from the children of this - happy couple. - </p> - <p> - They persist to this day. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - “IF WE COULD ONLY SEE” - </h2> - <h3> - I - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>unch finished, Mr. - Ferdinand Wimple, the poet, sullenly removed his coat and sulkily carried - the dishes to the kitchen sink. He swore in a melodious murmur, as a cat - purrs, as he turned the hot water on to the plates, and he splashed - profanely with a wet dishcloth. - </p> - <p> - “I'm going to do the dishes to-day, Ferd,” announced his wife, pleasantly - enough. She was a not unpleasant-looking woman; she gave the impression - that she might, indeed, be a distinctly pleasant-looking woman, if she - could avoid seeming hurried. She would have been a pretty woman, in fact, - if she had been able to give the time to it. - </p> - <p> - When she said that she would do the dishes herself, Mr. Wimple immediately - let the dishcloth drop without another word, profane or otherwise, and - began to dry his hands, preparatory to putting on his coat again. But she - continued: - </p> - <p> - “I want you to do the twins' wash.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” cried Mr. Wimple, outraged. He ran one of his plump hands through - his thick tawny hair and stared at his wife with latent hatred in his - brown eyes... those eyes of which so many women had remarked: “Aren't Mr. - Wimple's eyes wonderful; just simply <i>wonderful!</i> So magnetic, if you - get what I mean!” Mr. Wimple's head, by many of his female admirers, was - spoken of as “leonine.” His detractors—for who has them not?—dwelt - rather upon the physical reminder of Mr.'Wimple, which was more suggestive - of the ox. - </p> - <p> - “I said I wanted you to do the twins' wash for me,” repeated Mrs. Wimple, - awed neither by the lion's visage nor the bovine torso. Mrs. Wimple's own - hair was red; and in a quietly red-haired sort of way she looked as if she - expected her words to be heeded. - </p> - <p> - “H——!” said the poet, in a round baritone which enriched the - ear as if a harpist had plucked the lovely string of G. “H——!” - But there was more music than resolution in the sound. It floated somewhat - tentatively upon the air. Mr. Wimple was not in revolt. He was wondering - if he had the courage to revolt. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Wimple lifted the cover of the laundry tub, which stood beside the - sink, threw in the babies' “things,” turned on the hot water, and said: - </p> - <p> - “Better shave some laundry soap and throw it in, Ferd.” - </p> - <p> - “Heavens!” declared Mr. Wimple. “To expect a man of my temperament to do - that!” But still he did not say that he would not do it. - </p> - <p> - “Someone has to do it,” contributed his wife. - </p> - <p> - “I never kicked on the dishes, Nell,” said Mr. Wimple. “But this, <i>this</i> - is too much!” - </p> - <p> - “I have been doing it for ten days, ever since the maid left. I'm feeling - rotten to-day, and you can take a turn at it, Ferd. My back hurts.” Still - Mrs. Wimple was not unpleasant; but she was obviously determined. - </p> - <p> - “Your back!” sang Mr. Wimple, the minstrel, and shook his mane. “Your <i>back</i> - hurts you! My <i>soul</i> hurts <i>me!</i> How could I go direct from that—that - damnable occupation—that most repulsive of domestic occupations—that - bourgeois occupation—to Mrs. Watson's tea this afternoon and deliver - my message?” - </p> - <p> - A shimmer of heat (perhaps from her hair) suddenly dried up whatever dew - of pleasantness remained in Mrs. Wimple's manner. “They're just as much - your twins as they are mine,” she began... but just then one of them - cried. - </p> - <p> - A fraction of a second later the other one cried. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Wimple hurried from the kitchen and reached the living room in time - to prevent mayhem. The twins, aged one year, were painfully entangled with - one another on the floor. The twin Ronald had conceived the idea that - perhaps the twin Dugald's thumb was edible, and was testing five or six of - his newly acquired teeth upon it. Childe Dugald had been inspired by his - daemon with the notion that one of Childe Ronald's ears might be - detachable, and was endeavouring to detach it. The situation was but too - evidently distressing to both of them, but neither seemed capable of the - mental initiative necessary to end it. Even when little Ronald opened his - mouth to scream, little Dugald did not remove the thumb. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Wimple unscrambled them, wiped their noses, gave them rattles, rubber - dolls, and goats to wreak themselves upon, and returned to the kitchen - thinking (for she did not lack her humorous gleams) that the situation in - the living room bore a certain resemblance to the situation in the - kitchen. She and Ferdinand bit and scratched figuratively, but they had - not the initiative to break loose from one another. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Wimple was shaving soap into the laundry tub, but he stopped when she - entered and sang at her: “And <i>why</i> did the maid leave?” - </p> - <p> - “You know why she left, Ferd.” - </p> - <p> - “She left,” chanted Ferdinand, poking the twins' clothing viciously with a - wooden paddle, “because...” But what Mr. Wimple said, and the way he said - it, falls naturally into the freer sort of verse: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “She left [sang Mr. Wimple] - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Because her discontent... - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Her individual discontent, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Which is a part of the current general discontent - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Of all the labouring classes... - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Was constantly aggravated - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - By your jarring personality, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Mrs. Wimple! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - There is no harmony in this house, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Mrs. Wimple; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - No harmony!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Wimple replied in sordid prose: - </p> - <p> - “She left because she was offered more money elsewhere, and we couldn't - afford to meet the difference.” Something like a sob vibrated through Mr. - Wimple's opulent voice as he rejoined: - </p> - <p> - “Nellie, that is a blow that I did not look for! You have stabbed me with - a poisoned weapon! Yes, Nellie, I <i>am</i> poor! So was Edgar Poe. What - the world calls poor! I shall, in all likelihood, never be rich... what - the world calls rich. But I have my art! I have my ideals! I have my inner - life! I have my dreams! Poor? Poor? Yes, Nell! Poor! So was Robert Burns! - I am poor! I make no compromise with the mob. Nor shall I ever debase my - gift for money. No! Such as I am, I shall bear the torch that has been - intrusted to me till I fall fainting at the goal! I have a message. To me - it is precious stuff, and I shall not alloy it with the dross called gold. - Poor? Yes, Nell! And you have the heart to cast it in my teeth! You, - Nellie! You, from whom I once expected sympathy and understanding. You, - whom I chose from all the world, and took into my life because I fancied - that you, too, saw the vision! Yes, Elinor, I dreamed <i>that</i> once!” - </p> - <h3> - II - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>r. Wimple achieved - pathos... almost tragedy. To a trivial mind, however, the effect might - have been somewhat spoiled by the fact that in his fervour he gesticulated - wildly with the wooden paddle in one hand and an undergarment belonging to - Ronald in the other. The truly sensitive soul would have seen these things - as emphasizing his pathos. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Wimple, when Mr. Wimple became lyric in his utterance, often had the - perverse impulse to answer him in a slangy vernacular which, if not - actually coarse, was not, on the other hand, the dialect of the aesthete. - For some months now, she had noticed, whenever Ferdinand took out his soul - and petted it verbally, she had had the desire to lacerate it with uncouth - parts of speech. Ordinarily she frowned on slang; but when Ferdinand's - soul leaped into the arena she found slang a weapon strangely facile to - her clutch. - </p> - <p> - “Coming down to brass tacks on this money thing, Ferdy,” said Mrs. Wimple, - “you're not the downy peach you picture in the ads. I'll tell the world - you're not! You kid yourself, Ferdy. Some of your bloom has been removed, - Ferdy. Don't go so far upstage when you speak to me about the dross the - world calls gold. The reason we can't afford a maid now is because you got - swell-headed and kicked over that perfectly good magazine job you used to - have. You thought you were going to get more limelight and more money on - the lecture platform. But you've been a flivver in the big time. Your - message sounds better to a flock of women in somebody's sitting room full - of shaded candles and samovars, with firelight on the antique junk, than - it does in Carnegie Hall. You've got the voice for the big spaces all - right, but the multitude doesn't get any loaves and fishes from you. Punk - sticks and <i>nuances</i> —the <i>intime</i> stuff—that's your - speed, Ferdy. I don't want to put any useless dents into your bean, but - that message of yours has been hinted at by other messengers. 1 stick - around home here and take care of the kids, and I've never let out a yell - before. And you trot around to your soul fights and tea fests and feed - your message to a bunch of dolled-up dames that don't even know you have a - wife. I'm not jealous... you couldn't drag me into one of those perfumed - literary dives by the hair ... I got fed up with that stuff years ago. But - as long as we're without a maid because you won't stick to a steady job, - you'll do your share of the rough stuff around the house. I'll say you - will! You used to be a good sport about that sort of thing, Ferdy, but it - looks to me as if you were getting spoiled rotten. You've had a rush of - soul to the mouth, Ferdy. Those talcum-powder seances of yours have gone - to your head. You take those orgies of refinement too seriously. You begin - to look to me like you had a streak of yellow in you, Ferdy... and if I - ever see it so plain I'm sure of it, I'll leave you flat. I'll quit you, - Ferdy, twins and all.” - </p> - <p> - “Quit, then!” cried Mr. Wimple. - </p> - <p> - And then the harplike voice burst into song again, an offering rich with - rage: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Woman! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - So help me all the gods, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I'm through! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Twins or no twins, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Elinor Wimple, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I'm through! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - By all the gods, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I'll never wash another dish, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Nor yet another set of underwear!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And Mr. Wimple, in his heat, brought down the wooden paddle upon the pile - of dishes in the sink, in front of his wife. The crash of the broken china - seemed to augment his rage, rather than relieve it, and he raised the - paddle for a second blow. - </p> - <p> - “Ferd!” cried his wife, and caught at the stick. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Wimple, the aesthete, grabbed her by the arm and strove to loosen her - grasp upon the paddle. - </p> - <p> - “You're bruising my arm!” she cried. But she did not release the stick. - Neither did Ferdinand release her wrist. Perhaps he twisted it all the - harder because she struggled, and was not conscious that he was doing - so... perhaps he twisted it harder quite consciously. At any rate, she - suddenly swung upon him, with her free hand, and slapped him across the - face with her wet dishcloth. - </p> - <p> - At that they started apart, both more than a little appalled to realize - that they had been engaged in something resembling a fight. - </p> - <p> - Without another word the bird of song withdrew to smooth his ruffled - plumage. He dressed himself carefully, and left the apartment without - speaking to his wife again. He felt that he had not had altogether the - best of the argument. There was no taste of soap in his mouth, for he had - washed his lips and even brushed his teeth... and yet, psychically, as he - might have said himself, he still tasted that dishcloth. - </p> - <p> - But he had not walked far before some of his complacence returned. He - removed his hat and ran his fingers through his interesting hair, and - began to murmur lyrically: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “By Jove! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I have a way with women! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - There must be something of the Cave Man in me - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Yes, something of the primeval!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - In his pocket was a little book of his own poems, bound in green and gold. - As he had remarked to Mrs. Wimple, he was to deliver his message that - afternoon. - </p> - <h3> - III - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>rs. Watson's - apartment (to which Ferdinand betook himself after idling a couple of - hours at his club) was toward the top of a tall building which overlooked - great fields of city. It was but three blocks distant from Ferdinand's own - humbler apartment, in uptown New York, but it was large, and... well, Mr. - </p> - <p> - Wimple calculated, harbouring the sordid thought for an instant, that the - rent must cost her seven or eight, thousand dollars a year. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Watson's life was delicately scented with an attar of expense. She - would not drench her rooms or her existence with wealth, any more than she - would spill perfume upon her garments with a careless hand. But the - sensitive' nostrils of the aesthetic Mr. Wimple quivered in reaction to - the aroma. For a person who despised gold, as Mr. Wimple professed to - despise it, he was strangely unrepelled. Perhaps he thought it to be his - spiritual duty to purify this atmosphere with his message. - </p> - <p> - There were eighteen or twenty women there when Ferdinand arrived, and no - man... except a weakeyed captive husband or two, and an epicene creature - with a violin, if you want to call them men. Ferdinand, with his bovine - body and his leonine head, seemed almost startlingly masculine in this - assemblage, and felt so. His spirit, he had often confessed, was an - instrument that vibrated best in unison with the subtle feminine soul; he - felt it play upon him and woo him, with little winds that ran their - fingers through his hair. These were women who had no occupation, and a - number of them had money; they felt delightfully cultivated when persons - such as Ferdinand talked to them about the Soul. They warmed, they - expanded, half unconsciously they projected those breaths and breezes - which thrilled our Ferdinand and wrought upon his mood. If a woman, idle - and mature, cannot find romance anywhere else or anyhow other she will - pick upon a preacher or an artist. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Watson collected Ferdinands. Just how seriously she took them—how - she regarded himself, specifically—Mr. Wimple could not be quite - certain. - </p> - <p> - “She is a woman of mystery,” Mr. Wimple often murmured to himself. And he - wondered a good deal about her... sometimes he wondered if she were not in - love with him. - </p> - <p> - He had once written to her, a poem, which he entitled “Mystery.” She had - let him see that she understood it, but she had not vouchsafed a solution - of herself. It might be possible, Ferdinand thought, that she did <i>not</i> - love him... but she sympathized with him; she appreciated him; she had - even fallen into a dreamy sadness one day, at the thought of how he must - suffer from the disharmony in his home. For somehow, without much having - been said by one or by the other, the knowledge had passed from Ferdinand - to Mrs. Watson that there was not harmony in his home. She had understood. - They had looked at each other, and she had understood. - </p> - <p> - “Alethea!” he had murmured, under his breath. Alethea was her name. He was - sure she had heard it; but she had neither accepted it from him, nor - rejected it. And he had gone away without quite daring to say it again in - a louder tone. - </p> - <p> - There was only one thing about her that sometimes jarred upon Mr. - Wimple... a sudden vein of levity. Sometimes Ferdinand, in his thoughts, - even accused her of irony. And he was vaguely distrustful of a sense of - the humorous in women; whether it took the form of a feeling for nonsense - or a talent for sarcasm, it worried him. - </p> - <p> - But she understood. She always understood... him and his message. - </p> - <p> - And this afternoon she seemed to be understanding him, to be absorbing him - and his message, with an increased sensitiveness. She regarded him with a - new intentness, he thought; she was taking him with an expanded spiritual - capacity. - </p> - <p> - It was after the music, and what a creature overladen with “art jewelry” - called “the eats,” harrowing Ferdinand with the vulgar word, that he - delivered his message, sitting not far from Mrs. Watson in the carefully - graduated light. - </p> - <p> - It was, upon the whole, a cheerful message, Ferdinand's. It was... - succinctly... Love. - </p> - <p> - Ferdinand was not pessimistic or cynical about Love. It was all around us, - he thought, if we could only see it, could only feel it, could only open - our beings for its reception. - </p> - <p> - “If we could only see into the hearts! If we could only see into the - homes!” said Ferdinand. If we could only see, it was Ferdinand's belief, - we should see Love there, unexpected treasures of Love, waiting dormant - for the arousing touch; slumbering, as Endymion slumbered, until Diana's - kiss awakened him. - </p> - <p> - “Mush!” muttered one of the captive husbands to the young violinist. But - the young violinist scowled; he was in accord with Ferdinand. “Mush, - slush, and gush!” whispered the first captive husband to the second - captive husband. But captive husband number two only nodded and grinned in - an idiotic way; he was lucky enough to be quite deaf, and no matter where - his wife took him he could sit and think of his Liberty Bonds, without - being bothered by the lion of the hour.... - </p> - <p> - The world, Ferdinand went on, was trembling on the verge of a great - spiritual awakening. The Millennium was about to stoop and kiss it, as - Morning kissed the mountain tops. It was coming soon. Already the first - faint streaks of the new dawn were in the orient sky... for eyes that - could see them. Ah, if one could only see! In more and more bosoms, the - world around, Love was becoming conscious of itself, Love was beginning to - understand that there was love in other bosoms, too! At this point, at - least a dozen bosoms, among those bosoms present, heaved with sighs. Heart - was reaching out to Heart in a new confidence, Ferdinand said. One knew - what was in one's own heart; but hitherto one had often been so blind that - one did not realize that the same thing was in the hearts of one's - fellows. Ah, if one could only see! - </p> - <p> - Maeterlinck saw, Ferdinand said. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Maeterlinck!” whispered the bosoms. - </p> - <p> - Yes, Maeterlinck saw, said Ferdinand. Nietzsche, said Ferdinand, had - possessed a bosom full of yearning for all humanity, but he had been - driven back upon himself and embittered by the world... by the German - world in which he lived, said Ferdinand. So Nietzsche's strength had - little sweetness in it, and Nietzsche had not lived to see the new light - in the orient sky. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Nietzsche!” moaned several sympathetic bosoms. - </p> - <p> - Bergson knew, Ferdinand opined. Several of the women present did not quite - catch the connection between Bergson and Ferdinand's message, but they - assumed that everyone else caught it. Bergson's was a name they knew - and... and in a moment Ferdinand was on more familiar ground again. Tagore - knew, said Ferdinand. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, Rabindranath Tagore!” And the bosoms fluttered as doves flutter when - they coo and settle upon the eaves. Love! That was Ferdinand's message. - And it appeared from the remarks with which he introduced and interspersed - his own poems, that all the really brilliant men of the day were thinking - in harmony with Ferdinand. He had the gift of introducing a celebrated - name every now and then in such a manner that these women, who were at - least familiar with the names, actually felt that they were also familiar - with the work for which the names stood. And, for his part, he was repaid, - this afternoon, as he had never been repaid before ... never before had he - been so wrought upon and electrically vivified as to-day by these - emanations of the feminine soul; never before had he felt these little - winds run their fingers through his hair with such a caressing touch. Once - or twice the poignancy of the sensation almost unsteadied him for an - instant. And never before had Mrs. Watson regarded him with such singular - intentness. - </p> - <p> - Love! That was Ferdinand's message! And, ah! if one could only see! - </p> - <p> - When the others were going, Mrs. Watson asked him to stay a while, and - Ferdinand stayed. She led him to a little sitting room, high above the - town, and stood by the window. And he stood beside her. - </p> - <p> - “Your message this afternoon,” she said, presently, “I enjoyed more than - anything I have ever heard you say before. If we could only see! If we - could only see!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Watson lifted her blue eyes to him... and for an instant Ferdinand - felt that she was more the woman of mystery than ever. For there lurked - within the eyes an equivocal ripple of light; an unsteady glint that came - and went. Had it not been for her words, Ferdinand might have feared that - she was about to break into one of her disconcerting ebullitions of - levity. But he perceived in her, at the same time, a certain tension, an - unusual strain, and was reassured... she was a little strange, perhaps, - because of his near presence. She was reacting to the magnetism which was - flowing out of him in great waves, and she was striving to conceal from - him her psychic excitement. That would account for any strangeness in her - manner, any constraint. - </p> - <p> - “If we could only see!” she repeated. - </p> - <p> - “<i>You</i> always see,” hazarded Ferdinand. - </p> - <p> - “I sometimes see,” said Mrs. Watson. “I have sometimes seen more than it - was intended for me to see.” - </p> - <p> - What could she mean by that? Ferdinand asked himself. And for an instant - he was unpleasantly conscious again of the something ambiguous in her - mood. Suddenly she turned and switched on the electric light in the room, - and then went and stood by the window again. Ferdinand's psychic feathers - were a trifle rumpled by the action. It was growing dusk... but he would - have liked to talk to her in the twilight, looking out over the roofs. - </p> - <p> - “If we could only see into the hearts ... into the homes,” she mused yet - again. - </p> - <p> - “If you could see into my heart now ... Alethea...” - </p> - <p> - He left the sentence unfinished. She did not look at him. She turned her - face so he could not see it. - </p> - <p> - He tried to take her hand. But she avoided that, without actually moving, - without giving ground... as a boxer in the ring may escape the full effect - of a blow he does not parry by shrugging it off, without retreating. - </p> - <p> - After a moment's silence she said: “Ferdinand...” and paused.... - </p> - <p> - He felt sure of her, then. He drew a long breath. He wished they were not - standing by that window, framed in it, with the lighted room behind - them... but since she <i>would</i> stand there... anyhow, now was the - time.... - </p> - <p> - And then he heard himself pleading with her, eloquently, fervently. She - was his ideal! She was... he hated the word “affinity,” because it had - been cheapened and vulgarized by gross contacts... but she <i>was</i> his - affinity. They were made for one another. It was predestined that they - should meet and love. She was what he needed to complete him, to fulfill - him. They would go forth together... not into the world, but away from - it... they would dwell upon the heights, and... and... so forth. - </p> - <p> - Ferdinand, as he pleaded, perhaps thought nothing consciously of the fact - that she must be spending money at the rate of fifty or sixty thousand - dollars a year. But, nevertheless, that subconscious mind of his, of which - he had so often spoken, that subliminal self, must have been considering - the figures, for suddenly there flashed before his inner eye the result of - a mathematical calculation...<i> fifty thousand dollars a year is the - interest on one million dollars at five per cent</i>. Ah, that would make - his dreams possible! How his service to the human race might be increased - in value if all his time could be but given to carrying his message! - Farewell to the sordid struggle for bread! And in the poetic depths of him - there moved, unuttered, a phrase which he had spoken aloud earlier in the - day: <i>“I shall never wash another dish, nor yet another undergarment</i>.” - This secondary line of thought, however, did not interfere with the lyric - passion of his speech. - </p> - <p> - “You are asking me to... to... <i>elope</i> with you!” - </p> - <p> - She still drooped her head, but she let him feel her nearness. He wished—how - he wished!—that they were away from that window. But he would not - break the spell by suggesting that they move. Perhaps he could not - reestablish it. - </p> - <p> - “Elope?” Ferdinand critically considered the word. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to come away with me, Alethea, into Paradise. I want you to - help me rediscover Eden! I want you! I want you!” - </p> - <p> - “But... your family?” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - He had her hand again, and this time she let him keep it. “That episode, - that unfortunate and foolish episode, my marriage, is ended,” said - Ferdinand, as he kissed her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! Ended?” said Mrs. Watson. “You are no longer living with your wife? - The marriage is dissolved?” Mrs. Watson's own marriage had been dissolved - for some time; whether by death or by divorce Ferdinand had never taken - the trouble to inquire. - </p> - <p> - “In the spiritual sense—and that is all that counts—dissolved,” - said Ferdinand. And he could not help adding: “To-day.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Watson was breathing quickly... and suddenly she turned and put her - head on his shoulder. And yet even as Ferdinand's mind cried “Victory!” he - was aware of a strange doubt; for when he attempted to take her in his - arms, she put up her hands and prevented a real embrace. He stood in - perplexity. He felt that she was shaking with emotion; he heard muffled - sounds... she was sobbing and weeping on his shoulder, or... - </p> - <p> - No! It could not be! Yes, the woman was laughing! Joy? Hysteria? What? - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she pushed him away from her, and faced him, controlling her - laughter. - </p> - <p> - “Excuse me,” said Mrs. Watson, with the levity he had feared dancing in - her eyes, “but such a silly idea occurred to me just as I was about to - tell you that I would elope with you... it occurred to me that I had - better tell you that all my money is tied up in a trust fund. I can never - touch anything but the interest, you know.” - </p> - <p> - “Alethea,” said Ferdinand, chokingly, “such a thought at a time like this - is unworthy of both of us!” And he advanced toward her again. But she - stopped him. - </p> - <p> - “Just a moment, Ferdinand! I haven't told you all of my silly idea! I - wondered also, you know, whether, if we ever got hard up and had to do our - own work, you would break my dishes with a wooden stick and twist my arm - until I howled!” - </p> - <p> - As Ferdinand slowly took in her words, he felt a sudden recession of - vitality. He said nothing, but his knees felt weak, and he sat down on a - chair. - </p> - <p> - “Get up!” said Mrs. Watson, with a cold little silver tinkle of a laugh. - “I didn't ask you to sit down!” - </p> - <p> - Ferdinand got up. - </p> - <p> - “I don't spy on my neighbours as a rule,” continued Mrs. Watson, “but a - little after noon to-day I happened to be standing by this window looking - out over the town, and this pair of opera glasses happened to be on the - table there and... well, take them, you oaf! You fat fool! And look at - that window, down there! It's your own kitchen window!” - </p> - <p> - Ferdinand took them and looked... he was crushed and speechless, and he - obeyed mechanically. - </p> - <p> - He dropped the glasses with a gasp. He had not only seen into his own - kitchen window, lighted as this one was, but he had seen Nell there... - and, as perverse fate would have it, some whim had inspired Nell to take - her own opera glasses and look out over the city. She was standing there - with them now. Had she seen him a moment before, with Mrs. Watson's head - upon his shoulder? - </p> - <p> - He started out. - </p> - <p> - “Wait a moment,” said Mrs. Watson. Ferdinand stopped. He still seemed - oddly without volition. It reminded him of what he had heard about certain - men suffering from shell shock. - </p> - <p> - “There... I wanted to do that before you went,” said Mrs. Watson, and - slapped him across the face. And Ferdinand's soul registered once more the - flavour of a damp dishcloth. “It's the second time a woman has slapped you - to-day,” said Mrs. Watson. “Try and finish the rest of the day without - getting a third one. You can go now.” - </p> - <p> - Ferdinand went. He reached the street, and walked several blocks in - silence. Neither his voice nor his assurance seemed to be inclined to - return to him speedily. His voice came back first, with a little of his - complacence, after fifteen or twenty minutes. And: - </p> - <p> - “Hell!” said Ferdinand, in his rich, harplike voice, running his fingers - through his tawny hair. “Hell!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - HOW HANK SIGNED THE PLEDGE - </h2> - <p> - <i>AUTHOR'S NOTE—Another version of this story appeared in a book - entitled “Danny's Own Story,” published in 1912 by Doubleday, Page & - Co.</i> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>'m not so sure - about Prohibition and pledges and such things holding back a man that has - got the liquor idea in his head. If meanness is in a man, it usually stays - in him, in spite of all the pledges he signs and the promises he makes. - </p> - <p> - About the meanest man I ever knew was Hank Walters, a blacksmith in a - little town in Illinois, the meanest and the whiskey-drinkingest. And I - had a chance to know him well, for he and his wife Elmira brought me up. - Somebody left me on their doorstep in a basket when I was a baby, and they - took me in and raised me. I reckon they took me in so they could quarrel - about me. They'd lived together a good many years and quarrelled about - everything else under the sun, and were running out of topics to row over. - A new topic of dissension sort of briskened things up for a while. - </p> - <p> - Not having any kids of his own to lick, Hank lambasted me when he was - drunk and whaled me when he was sober. It was a change from licking his - wife, I suppose. A man like Hank has just naturally got to have something - he can cuss around and boss, so as to keep himself from finding out he - don't amount to anything... although he must have known he didn't, too, - way down deep in his inmost gizzards. - </p> - <p> - So I was unhappy when I was a kid, but not knowing anything else I never - found out exactly how unhappy I was. There were worse places to live in - than that little town, and there was one thing in our house that I always - admired when I was a kid. That was a big cistern. Most people had their - cisterns outside their houses, but ours was right in under our kitchen - floor, and there was a trap door with leather hinges opened into it right - by the kitchen stove. But that wasn't why I was so proud of it. It was - because the cistern was full of fish—bullheads and redhorse and - sunfish and pickerel. - </p> - <p> - Hank's father built the cistern. And one time he brought home some live - fish in a bucket and dumped them in there. And they grew. And multiplied - and refurnished the earth, as the Good Book says. That cistern full of - fish had got to be a family custom. It was a comfort to Hank, for all the - Walterses were great fish eaters, though it never went to brains any. We - fed 'em now and then, and threw the little ones back in until they were - grown, and kept the dead ones picked out as soon as we smelled anything - wrong, and it never hurt the water any; and when I was a kid I wouldn't - have taken anything for living in a house like that. - </p> - <p> - One time when I was a kid about six years old Hank came home drunk from - Bill Nolan's barroom, and got to chasing Elmira's cat, because he said it - was making faces at him. The cistern door was open, and Hank fell in. - Elmira wasn't at home, and I was scared. Elmira had always told me not to - fool around that cistern door any when I was a kid, for if I fell in - there, she said, I'd be a corpse, quicker'n scatt. - </p> - <p> - So when Hank fell in and I heard him splash, being such a little fellow - and awful scared because Elmira had always made it so strong, I supposed - that Hank was probably a corpse already. I slammed the door shut over the - cistern without looking in, for I heard Hank flopping around down there. I - hadn't ever heard a corpse flop before and didn't know but what it might - be somehow injurious to me, and I wasn't going to take any chances. - </p> - <p> - I went out and played in the front yard and waited for Elmira. But I - couldn't seem to get my mind settled on playing I was a horse, or - anything. I kept thinking of Hank being a corpse down in that cistern. And - maybe that corpse is going to come flopping out pretty soon, I thought to - myself, and lick me in some new and unusual way. I hadn't ever been licked - by a corpse. Being young and innocent, I didn't rightly know what a corpse - is, except I had the idea there was something about a corpse that kept - them from being popular. - </p> - <p> - So after a while I sneaked back into the house and set all the flatirons - on top of the cistern lid. I heard some flopping and splashing and - fluttering, as if that corpse was trying to jump up and was falling back - into the water, and I heard Hank's voice, and got scareder and scareder. - When Elmira came along down the road she saw me by the gate crying and - blubbering, and she asked me why. - </p> - <p> - “Hank is a corpse!” says I. - </p> - <p> - “A corpse!” says Elmira, dropping the pound of coffee she was carrying - home from the general store and post-office. “Danny, what do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - I saw then I was to blame somehow, and I wished I hadn't said anything - about Hank being a corpse. And I made up my mind I wouldn't say anything - more. So when she grabbed hold of me and asked me again what I meant I - blubbered harder, as a kid will, and said nothing. I wished I hadn't set - those flatirons on the cistern lid, for it came to me all at once that - even if Hank had turned into a corpse I hadn't any right to keep him in - the cistern. - </p> - <p> - Just then old Mis' Rogers, one of our neighbours, came by, while Elmira - was shaking me and yelling at me and asking how it happened, and had I - seen it, and where was Hank's corpse. - </p> - <p> - “What's Danny been doing now?” asked Mis' Rogers—me being always up - to something. - </p> - <p> - Elmira turned and saw her and gave a whoop and hollered out: “Hank is - dead!” And she threw her apron over her head and sat right down in the - path and boo-hooed like a baby. And I bellered and howled all the louder. - </p> - <p> - Mis' Rogers, she never waited to ask anything more. She saw she had a - piece of news, and she wanted to be the first to spread it. She ran right - across the road to where the Alexanderses lived. Mis' Alexander, she saw - her coming and unhooked the screen door and Mis' Rogers hollered out - before she reached the porch: “Hank Walters is dead!” - </p> - <p> - And then she went footing it up the street. There was a black plume on her - bonnet, nodding the same as on a hearse, and she was into and out of seven - front yards in less than five minutes. - </p> - <p> - Mis' Alexander she ran across the road to where we were, and kneeled down - and put her arm around Elmira, who was still rocking back and forth in the - path, and she said: - </p> - <p> - “How do you know he's dead, Elmira? I saw him not more than an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Danny saw it all,” says Elmira. - </p> - <p> - Mis' Alexander turned to me and wanted to know what happened and how it - happened and where it happened. But I didn't want to say anything about - that cistern. So I busted out crying all over again and I said: “He was - drunk and he came home drunk and he did it then, and that's how he did - it.” - </p> - <p> - “And you saw him?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - I nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Where is he?” says she and Elmira, both together. - </p> - <p> - But I was scared to say anything about that cistern, so I just bawled some - more. - </p> - <p> - “Was it in the blacksmith shop?” asks Mis' Alexander. - </p> - <p> - I nodded my head again, and let it go at that. - </p> - <p> - “Is he in there now?” she wants to know. - </p> - <p> - I nodded again. I hadn't meant to give out any untrue stories. But a kid - will always lie, not meaning particular to lie, if you sort of invite him - with questions like that, and get him scared by the way you're acting. - Besides, I says to myself, so long as Hank has turned into a corpse, and - being a corpse makes him dead, what's the difference whether he's in the - blacksmith shop or in the cistern? I hadn't had any plain idea before that - being a corpse meant the same thing as being dead. And I wasn't any too - sure what being dead was like, either. Except I knew they had funerals - over you then. I knew being a corpse must be a disadvantage from the way - that Elmira has always said to keep away from that cistern, or I'd be one. - And I began to see the whole thing was more important even than I had - figured it was at first. I wondered if there'd be a funeral at our house. - If there was one, that would be fine. They didn't have them every day in - our town, and we hadn't ever had one of our own. - </p> - <p> - Mis' Alexander, she led Elmira into the house, both a-crying, and Mis' - Alexander trying to comfort her, and me a-tagging along behind holding on - to Elmira's skirts and sniffling into them. And in a few minutes all those - women that Mis' Rogers had told came filing into the house, one at a time, - looking sad and mournful. Only old Mis' Primrose, she was a little late - getting there, because she stopped to put on the dress she always wore to - funerals, with the black Paris lace on to it that her cousin Arminty White - had sent her from Chicago. - </p> - <p> - When they found out that Hank had come home with liquor in him and done it - himself they were all excited and they all crowded around and asked me - questions, except two that were holding Elmira's hands where she sat - moaning in a chair. And those questions scared me and egged me on to lies - I hadn't had any idea of telling. - </p> - <p> - Says one woman: “Danny, you saw him do it in the blacksmith shop?” - </p> - <p> - I nodded. - </p> - <p> - “But how did he get in?” says another one. “The door was locked on the - outside with a padlock just now when I came by. He couldn't have killed - himself in there and then locked the door on the outside.” - </p> - <p> - I didn't see how he could have done that myself, so I began to bawl again - and said nothing at all. - </p> - <p> - “He must have crawled into the shop through that little side window,” says - Mis' Primrose. “That window was open when I came by, even if the door was - locked. Did you see him crawl through the little side window, Danny?” - </p> - <p> - I nodded. There wasn't anything else I could think of to do. - </p> - <p> - “But you aren't tall enough to look through that window;” sings out Mis' - Rogers. “How could you see into the shop, Danny?” - </p> - <p> - I didn't know, so I didn't say anything at all; I just sniffled. - </p> - <p> - “There's a store box right in under the window,” says another one. “Danny - must have climbed on to that store box and looked in after he saw Hank - crawl through the window. Did you scramble on to the store box and look - in, Danny?” - </p> - <p> - I just nodded again. - </p> - <p> - “And what was it you saw him do? How did he kill himself?” they all asked - together. - </p> - <p> - I didn't know. So I just bellered and boo-hooed some more. Things were - getting past anything I could see the way out of. - </p> - <p> - “He might have hung himself to one of the iron rings in the joists above - the forge,” says another woman. - </p> - <p> - “He climbed on to the forge and tied the rope to one of those rings, and - tied the other end around his neck, and then he stepped off the forge and - swung. Was that how he did it, Danny?” - </p> - <p> - I nodded. And I bellered louder than ever. I knew that Hank was down in - that cistern below the kitchen, a corpse and a mighty wet corpse, all this - time; but those women kind of got me to thinking he was hanging out in the - blacksmith shop by the forge, too. - </p> - <p> - Pretty soon one woman says, shivery: “I wouldn't want to have the job of - opening the door of the blacksmith shop the first one!” - </p> - <p> - And they all shivered, and looked at Elmira, and says to let some of the - men open that door. And Mis' Alexander says she'll run and get her husband - and make him do it. And all the time Elmira sits moaning in that chair. - One woman says Elmira ought to have a cup of tea, and she'll lay off her - bonnet and go to the kitchen and make it for her. But Elmira says no, she - can't a-bear to think of tea, with poor Hennery hanging out there in the - shop. But she was kind of enjoying all that fuss being made over her, too. - And all the other women said: “Poor thing!” But most of them were mad - because she said she didn't want any tea, for they wanted some and didn't - feel free to take it without she took some. They coaxed her and made her - see that it was her duty, and she said she'd have some finally. - </p> - <p> - So they all went out to the kitchen, taking along some of the best room - chairs, Elmira coming, too, and me tagging along. The first thing they - noticed was those flatirons on top of the cistern lid. Mis' Primrose says - that looks funny. But Mis' Rogers says Danny must have been playing with - them. “Were you playing they were horses, Danny?” - </p> - <p> - I was feeling considerable like a liar by this time, but I nodded. I - couldn't see any use hurrying things up. I was bound to get a licking - pretty soon anyhow. I could always bet on that. So they picked up the - flatirons, and as they picked them up there came a splashing noise in the - cistern. I thought to myself that Hank's corpse would be out of there in a - minute, and then I'd catch it. One woman says: “Sakes alive! What's that - noise?” - </p> - <p> - Elmira says the cistern is full of fish and it must be some of the biggest - ones flopping around. If they hadn't been worked up and excited and - talking all together and thinking of Hank hanging out in the blacksmith - shop they might have suspicioned something, for that flopping and - splashing kept up steady. Maybe I should have mentioned sooner it had been - a dry summer and there was only three or four feet of water in the cistern - and Hank wasn't in scarcely up to his big hairy chest. When Elmira says - the cistern is full of fish that woman opens the trap door and looks in. - Hank thinks it's Elmira come to get him out, he says afterward. And he - allows he'll keep quiet in there and make believe he is drowned and give - her a good scare and make her feel sorry for him. - </p> - <p> - But when the cistern door was opened he heard a lot of clacking tongues - like a hen convention, and he allowed she had told the neighbours, and - he'd scare them, too. So he laid low. And the woman that looked in, she - sees nothing, for it's as dark down there as the insides of the whale that - swallowed Jonah. But she left the door open and went on making tea, and - there wasn't scarcely a sound from that cistern, only little ripply noises - like it might have been fish. Pretty soon Mis' Rogers says: - </p> - <p> - “It has drawed, Elmira; won't you have a cup?” Elmira kicked some more, - but she took hers. And each woman took hers. And one woman, a-sipping of - hers, she says: - </p> - <p> - “The departed had his good points, Elmira.” - </p> - <p> - Which was the best thing had been said of Hank in that town for years and - years. - </p> - <p> - Old Mis' Primrose, she always prided herself on being honest, no matter - what come of it, and she ups and says: “I don't believe in any hypocritics - at a time like this, any more'n any other time. The departed wasn't any - good, and the whole town knows it, and Elmira ought to feel like it's good - riddance of bad rubbish, and such is my sentiments and the sentiments of - truth and righteousness.” - </p> - <p> - All the other women sings out: “W'y, Mis' Primrose, I never!” But down in - underneath more of 'em agreed than let on to. Elmira she wiped her eyes - and says: - </p> - <p> - “Hennery and me had our troubles, there ain't any use denying that, Mis' - Primrose. It has often been give and take between us and betwixt us. And - the whole town knows he has lifted his hand against me more'n once. But I - always stood up to Hennery and I fit him back, free and fair and open. I - give him as good as he sent on this earth and I ain't the one to carry a - mad beyond the grave. I forgive Hennery all the orneriness he did to me, - and there was a lot of it, as is becoming to a church member, which he - never was.” - </p> - <p> - All the women but Mis' Primrose says: “Elmira, you <i>have</i> got a - Christian sperrit!” Which did her a heap of good, and she cried - considerable harder, leaking out tears as fast as she poured tea in. And - each one present tried to think up something nice to say about Hank, only - there wasn't much they could say. And Hank in that cistern, listening to - every word of it. - </p> - <p> - Mis' Rogers, she says: “Before he took to drinking like a fish, Hank - Walters was as likely a lookin' young feller as ever I see.” - </p> - <p> - Mis' White, she says: “Well, Hank he never was a stingy man, anyhow. Often - and often White has told me about seeing Hank treating the crowd down in - Nolan's saloon just as come-easy, go-easy as if it wasn't money he'd ought - to have paid his honest debts with.” - </p> - <p> - They sat there that way telling of what good points they could think of - for ten minutes, and Hank hearing it and getting madder and madder all the - time. By and by Tom Alexander came busting into the house. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter with all you women?” he says. “There's nobody hanging - in that blacksmith shop. I broke the door down and went in, and it's - empty.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pretty howdy-do, then, and they all sing out: - </p> - <p> - “Where's the corpse?” - </p> - <p> - Some thinks maybe someone has cut it down and taken it away, and all - gabbled at once. But for a minute or two no one thought that maybe little - Danny had been egged on to tell lies. And little Danny ain't saying a - word. But Elmira grabbed me and shook me and said: - </p> - <p> - “You little liar, what do you mean by that story of yours?” - </p> - <p> - I thought that licking was about due then. But whilst all eyes were turned - on me and Elmira, there came a voice from the cistern. It was Hank's - voice, but it sounded queer and hollow, and it said: - </p> - <p> - “Tom Alexander, is that you?” - </p> - <p> - Some of the women screamed, for they thought it was Hank's ghost. But Mis' - Primrose says: “What would a ghost be doing in a cistern?” - </p> - <p> - Tom Alexander laughed and yelled down into the cistern: “What in blazes - you want to jump in there for, Hank?” - </p> - <p> - “You darned ijut!” said Hank, “you quit mocking me and get a ladder, and - when I get out'n here I'll learn you to ask me what I wanted to jump in - here for!” - </p> - <p> - “You never saw the day you could do it,” says Tom Alexander, meaning the - day Hank could lick him. “And if you feel that way about it you can stay - down there, for all of me. I guess a little water won't hurt you any, for - a change.” And he left the house. - </p> - <p> - “Elmira,” sings out Hank, mad and bossy, “you go get me a ladder!” - </p> - <p> - But Elmira, her temper rose up, too, all of a sudden. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you dare order me around like I was the dirt under your feet, - Hennery Walters,” she says. - </p> - <p> - Hank fairly roared, he was so mad. “When I get out'n here,” he shouted, - “I'll give you what you won't forget in a hurry! I heard you a-forgivin' - me and a-weepin' over me! And I won't be forgive nor weeped over by no - one! You go and get that ladder!” - </p> - <p> - But Elmira only answered: “You was drunk when you fell in there, Hank - Walters. And you can stay in there till you get a better temper on to - you.” And all the women laughed and said: “That's right, Elmira! Spunk up - to him!” - </p> - <p> - There was considerable splashing around in the water for a couple of - minutes. And then, of a sudden, a live fish came a-whirling out of that - hole in the floor, which he catched with his hands. It was a big bullhead, - and its whiskers around its mouth was stiffened into spikes, and it landed - kerplump on to Mis' Rogers' lap, a-wiggling, and it horned her on the - hands. She was that surprised she fainted. Mis' Primrose, she got up and - licked the fish back into the cistern and said, right decided: - </p> - <p> - “Elmira Walters, if you let Hank out of that cistern before he's signed - the pledge and promised to jine the church, you're a bigger fool than I - take you for. A woman has got to make a stand!” - </p> - <p> - And all the women sing out: “Send for Brother Cartwright! Send for Brother - Cartwright!” - </p> - <p> - And they sent me scooting down the street to get him quick. He was the - preacher. I never stopped to tell but two or three people on the way to - his house, but they must have spread the news quick, for when I got back - with him it looked like the whole town was at our house. - </p> - <p> - It was along about dusk by this time, and it was a prayer meeting night at - the church. Mr. Cartwright told his wife to tell the folks that came to - the prayer meeting he'd be back before long, and to wait for him. But she - really told them where he'd gone, and what for. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Cartwright marched right into our kitchen. All the chairs in the house - was in there, and the women were talking and laughing, and they had sent - to the Alexanderses for their chairs, and to the Rogerses for theirs. - Every once in a while there would be an awful burst of language come - rolling up from the hole where that unregenerate old sinner was cooped up. - </p> - <p> - I have travelled around considerable since those days, and I have mixed up - along with many kinds of people in many different places, and some of them - were cussers to admire. But I never heard such cussing before or since as - old Hank did that night. He busted his own records and he rose higher than - his own water marks for previous years. I wasn't anything but a little kid - then, not fit to admire the full beauty of it. They were deep down cusses - that came from the heart. Looking back at it after these years, I can well - believe what Brother Cartwright said himself that night—that it - wasn't <i>natural</i> cussing, and that some higher power, like a demon or - an evil sperrit, must have entered into Hank's human carcase and given - that terrible eloquence to his remarks. It busted out every few minutes, - and the women would put their fingers into their ears until a spell was - over. And it was personal, too. Hank would listen till he heard a woman's - voice he knew, and then he would let loose on her family, going back to - her grandfathers and working downward to her children's children. - </p> - <p> - Brother Cartwright steps up to the hole in the floor and says gentle and - soothing like an undertaker when he tells you where to sit at a home - funeral: - </p> - <p> - “Brother Walters! Oh, Brother Walters!” - </p> - <p> - “Brother!” yelled Hank, “don't ye brother me, you snifflin', - psalm-singin', yaller-faced, pigeon-toed hyp-percrit, you! Get me a - ladder, gol dern ye, and I'll mount out o'here and learn ye to brother me, - I will!” Only that wasn't anything to what Hank really said; no more like - than a little yellow fluffy canary is like a turkey buzzard. - </p> - <p> - “Brother Walters,” said the preacher, calm but firm, “we have all decided - that you aren't going to get out of that cistern until you sign the - pledge.” - </p> - <p> - Then Hank told him what he thought of him and pledges and church doings, - and it wasn't pretty. He said if he was as deep in the eternal fire of - hell as he was in rain water, and every fish that nibbled at his toes was - a devil with a red-hot pitchfork sicked on by a preacher, they could jab - at him until the whole hereafter turned into icicles before he'd sign - anything that a man like Mr. Cartwright gave him to sign. Hank was - stubborner than any mule he ever nailed shoes on to, and proud of being - that stubborn. That town was a most awful religious town, and Hank knew he - was called the most unreligious man in it, and he was proud of that, too; - and if any one called him a heathen it just plumb tickled him all over. - </p> - <p> - “Brother Walters,” says the preacher, “we are going to pray for you.” - </p> - <p> - And they did it. They brought all the chairs close up around the cistern - door, in a ring, and they all knelt down there with their heads on the - chairs and prayed for Hank's salvation. They did it up in style, too, one - at a time, and the others singing out, “Amen!” every now and then, and - they shed tears down on to Hank. - </p> - <p> - The front yard was crowded with men, all laughing and talking and chawing - and spitting tobacco, and betting how long Hank would hold out. Si Emery, - that was the city marshal, and always wore a big nickel-plated star, was - out there with them. Si was in a sweat, because Bill Nolan, who ran the - saloon, and some more of Hank's friends were out by the front fence trying - to get Si to arrest the preacher. For they said that Hank was being - gradually murdered in that water and would die if he was held there too - long, and it would be a crime. Only they didn't come into the house - amongst us religious folks to say it. But Si, he says he don't dare to - arrest anybody, because Hank's house is just outside the village - corporation line; he's considerable worried about what his duty is, not - liking to displease Bill Nolan. - </p> - <p> - Pretty soon the gang that Mrs. Cartwright had rounded up at the prayer - meeting came stringing along in. They had brought their hymn books with - them, and they sung. The whole town was there then, and they all sung. - They sung revival hymns over Hank. And Hank, he would just cuss and cuss. - Every time he busted out into another cussing spell they would start - another hymn. Finally the men out in the front yard began to warm up and - sing, too, all but Nolan's crowd, and they gave Hank up for lost and went - back to the barroom. - </p> - <p> - The first thing they knew they had a regular old-fashioned revival meeting - going there, and that preacher was preaching a regular revival sermon. - I've been to more than one camp meeting, but for just naturally taking - hold of the whole human race by the slack of the pants and dangling of it - over hell fire, I never heard that sermon equalled. Two or three old - backsliders in the crowd came right up and repented all over again. The - whole kit-and-biling of them got the power, good and hard, and sung and - shouted till the joints of the house cracked and it shook and swayed on - its foundations. But Hank, he only cussed. He was obstinate, Hank was, and - his pride and dander had risen up. - </p> - <p> - “Darn your ornery religious hides,” he says, “you're takin' a low-down - advantage of me, you are! Let me out on to dry land, and I'll show you - who'll stick it out the longest, I will!” - </p> - <p> - Most of the folks there hadn't had any suppers, so after all the sinners - but Hank had either got converted or sneaked away, some of the women said - why not make a kind of a love feast of it, and bring some victuals, like - they do at church sociables. Because it seemed that Satan was going to - wrestle there all night, like he did with the angel Jacob, and they ought - to be prepared. So they did it. They went and they came back with things - to eat and they made hot coffee and they feasted that preacher and - themselves and Elmira and me, right in Hank's hearing. - </p> - <p> - And Hank was getting pretty hungry himself. And he was cold in that water. - And the fish were nibbling at him. And he was getting cussed out and weak - and soaked full of despair. There wasn't any way for him to sit down and - rest. He was scared of getting cramps in his legs and sinking down with - his head under water and being drowned. - </p> - <p> - He said afterward he would have done the last with pleasure if there had - been any way of starting a lawsuit for murder against that gang. So along - between ten and eleven o'clock that night he sings out: - </p> - <p> - “I give in, gosh dern ye, I give in! Let me out and I'll sign your pesky - pledge!” - </p> - <p> - Brother Cartwright was for getting a ladder and letting him climb out - right away. But Elmira said: “You don't know him like I do! If he gets out - before he's signed the pledge, he'll never do it.” - </p> - <p> - So Brother Cartwright wrote out a pledge on the inside leaf of the Bible, - and tied it on to a string, and a pencil on to another string, and let - them down, and held a lantern down, too, and Hank made his mark, for he - couldn't write. But just as Hank was making his mark that preacher spoke - some words over Hank, and then he said: - </p> - <p> - “Now, Henry Walters, I have baptized you, and you are a member of the - church.” - </p> - <p> - You might have thought that Hank would have broken out into profanity - again at that, for he hadn't agreed to anything but signing the pledge. - But he didn't cuss. When they got the ladder and he climbed up into the - kitchen, shivering and dripping, he said serious and solemn to Mr. - Cartwright: - </p> - <p> - “Did I hear you baptizing me in that water?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Cartwright said he had. - </p> - <p> - “That was a low-down trick,” said Hank. “You knowed I always made my brags - that I'd never jined a church and never would. You knowed I was proud of - that. You knowed it was my glory to tell it, and that I set a heap of - store by it, in every way. And now you've gone and took that away from me! - You've gone and jined me to the church! You never fought it out fair and - square, man strivin' to outlast man, like we done with the pledge, but you - sneaked it on to me when I wasn't lookin'!” - </p> - <p> - And Hank always thought he had been baptized binding and regular. And he - sorrowed and grieved over it, and got grouchier and meaner and drunkener. - No pledge nor no Prohibition could hold Hank. He was a worse man in every - way after that night in the cistern, and took to licking me harder and - harder. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ACCURSED HAT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> request of you a - razor, and you present me with this implement! A safety razor! One cannot - gash oneself with your invention. Do you think I rush to your apartment - with the desire to barber myself? No, <i>milles diables</i>, no! I 'ave - embrace you for my friend, and you mock at my despair. This tool may - safely abolish the 'air from the lip of the drummer when the train 'ave to - wiggle, but it will not gash the jugular; it will not release the bluest - blood of France that courses through one's veins. - </p> - <p> - <i>Oui,</i> I will restrain myself. I will 'ave a drink. <i>Merci!</i> I - will make myself of a calmness. I will explain. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it is a woman. What else? At the insides of all despair it is a woman - ever. That is always the—the—w'at you call 'im?—the one - best bet. - </p> - <p> - Listen. I love 'er. She own the 'ouse of which I am one of the lodgers, - in'abiting the chamber beneath the skylight. She is a widow, and I love - 'er. Of such a roundness is she!—and she 'ave the restaurant beyond - the street. Of such a beauty!—and 'er 'usband, who was a Monsieur - Flanagan, 'e leave 'er w'at you call well fix with life-insurance. So well - fix, so large, so brilliant of the complexion, so merry of the smile, so - competent of the ménage, of such a plumpness! 'Ow should it be that one - did not love 'er? - </p> - <p> - But she? Does she smile on the 'andsome Frenchman who in'abit 'er skylight - chamber and paint and paint and paint all day long, and sell, oh, so - little of 'is paintings? <i>Hélas!</i> She scarcely know that 'e exist! - She 'ave scarcely notice 'im. 'Ow is genius of avail? W'at is wit, w'at is - gallantry, w'at is manner—w'at is all these things w'en one does not - possess the—the—w'at you call 'im?—the front? <i>Hélas!</i> - I love, but I 'ave not the front! My trousers are all of a fringe at the - bottom, and my collars are all of a frowsiness at the top. My sleeves are - of such a shine! And my 'at—— - </p> - <p> - Ten thousand curses for the man that invented 'ats! You are my friend—'ave - you a pistol? Yes, I will be calm. I will 'ave a drink. I will restrain - myself. <i>Merci</i>, monsieur. - </p> - <p> - My sleeves are of a sleekness; and my 'at——My 'at, I look at - 'im. 'E is—w'at you call 'im?—on the boom! I contemplate 'im - sadly. I regard 'im with reproach. 'E is ridiculous. 'E look like 'e been - kicked. With such a 'at, who can enact the lover? With such a 'at, who can - win 'imself a widow? I fly into a rage. I tear from my 'air. I shake my - fist at the nose of fate. I become terrible. I dash my 'at upon the floor, - and jump upon 'im with fury. Then I look at 'im with 'atred. 'E look back - at me with sorrow in 'is wrinkles. And, <i>Voilà!</i>—as I look at - 'im I 'ave a thought. The 'at, 'e straighten out from my jump. W'en my - feet is off, 'e rise a little way from 'is wrinkles where I crush 'im. 'E - lift 'imself slowly like a jack-in-the-box up from 'is disgrace. And I - 'ave an idea. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur, we Frenchmen are a people of resource! - </p> - <p> - I take my thought to an agent of the advertising profession. I say I 'ave - come to the place where I am willing to degrade my genius for gold. I wish - to eat more often. I wish to marry the widow I love. I will forget my art; - I will make some dollars; I will degrade myself temporarily. The agent of - advertising 'e say 'e 'ave no need of any degradation, to take 'im - somewhere else. But I explain, and behold! I am engaged to go to work. - They furnish me with clothes of a design the most fashionable, and with a - 'at of which I am myself the architect, and I go to work. I 'ate it, but I - go to work. - </p> - <p> - The manner of my work is this. The 'at, 'e does it all. (<i>Accursed 'at!</i>) - 'E is so built that on the outside 'e look like any other silk 'at. But 'e - 'ave 'is secrets. 'E 'ave 'is surprises. On 'is inside there is a - clockwork and a spring. At intervals 'e separate 'imself in two in the - middle, and the top part of 'im go up in the air, slowly, one inch, two - inch, three inch, four inch, five inch, six inch—like a telescope - that open 'imself out. And w'at 'ave we then? <i>Voila!</i> We 'ave a - white silk place, and on it is printed in grand letters: - </p> - <h3> - YOU ARE TOO FAT! - </h3> - <h3> - DR. BLINN - </h3> - <h3> - WILL MAKE YOU THIN - </h3> - <p> - You see, my friend? It is now my profession, every afternoon for three - hours, to join the promenade; to display my 'at; to make fast in the minds - of the people 'ow fortunate a discovery is the anti-fat of Monsieur Blinn. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur, I am always the gentleman. Am I forced into a vulgar role? Well, - then, there is something about me that redeems it from vulgarity. I am a - movable advertisement, but none the less I am an advertisement of dignity. - Those clothes they furnish, I 'ave made under my own direction. I adorn my - foot in the most poetical of boots. Only a Frenchman might 'ave created my - coat. My trousers are poems. I am dressed with that inspiration of - elegance which only a man of my imagination might devise. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur, I am always the artist. That 'at, I nevaire let 'im go up with a - pop like a jacking-jump. 'E is not to startle the most sensitive of - ladies. W'en 'e arise, 'e arise slowly. 'E is majestic in 'is movement. 'E - ascend with gravity. 'E go up with dignity. - </p> - <p> - For three hours each day, I thus set aside my finer emotions. And all the - town smile; and many 'undreds rush to buy the anti-fat of Monsieur Blinn. - 'Ow is it that the Widow Flanagan—— - </p> - <p> - Curses upon the perfidy of woman! Do not 'old me, I say! Let me go! I will - leap from your window to the stones below! Well, I will restrain myself. - Yes, I will 'ave a drink. <i>Merci!</i> - </p> - <p> - 'Ow is it that the Widow Flanagan does not perceive that I thus make of my - 'ead a billboard three hours each day? Monsieur, all Frenchmen are of an - originality w'en driven to it by fate, and not the least of them am I! To - 'er I am still the poor but 'andsome artist. It is in the parlours of the - agent of advertising that I dress myself, I don the 'at, each day. I wear - before my eyes a thick spectacles; I 'ide my black 'air beneath a gray - wig; I 'ave shave my own beard and each day put on moustache and royal of - a colour the same with the wig. There is no danger that the grave - foreigner, so courteous, so elegant, so much the statesman, who condescend - to advertise the anti-fat of Monsieur Blinn, shall be—shall be—w'at - you call 'im?—spotted by the Widow Flanagan. She does not connect - 'im with the 'andsome artist who in'abit 'er skylight chamber. To do so - would be to kill my 'opes. For love is not to be made ridiculous. - </p> - <p> - I prosper. I 'ave money each week. I eat. I acquire me some clothes which - are not the same with those worn by the employee of Monsieur Blinn. I buy - me a silk 'at which 'ave no clockwork in 'is inside. I acquire the—w'at - you call 'im?—the front. I dine at the café of the Widow Flanagan - beyond the street. I chat with the Widow Flanagan w'en I pay my check. - Monsieur, the Widow Flanagan at las' know the 'andsome Frenchman exist! - The front, 'e work like a charm. 'E give the genius beneath 'im the chance - to show w'at 'e can do. The front, 'e make—'ow you call 'im?—'e - make good. - </p> - <p> - 'Ave I said enough? You are my friend; you see me, w'at I am. Is it - possible that the Widow Flanagan should look upon me and not be of a - flutter throughout? I 'ave said enough. She see me; she love me. With - women, it is always so! - </p> - <p> - The day is name; we will marry. Already I look forward to the time that I - am no longer compelled to the service of the anti-fat of Monsieur Blinn. - Already I indulge my fancy in my 'appiness with the beautiful Widow - Flanagan, whose 'usband 'ave fortunately die and leave 'er so ver' well - fix. But, <i>hélas!</i> - </p> - <p> - Grasp me! Restrain me! Again my grief 'ave overpower! 'Ave you a - rough-on-rats in the 'ouse? 'Ave you a poison? Yes, you are my friend. - Yes, I will restrain myself. Yes, I will 'ave a drink. <i>Merci!</i> - </p> - <p> - The day is name. The day arrive. I 'ave shave. I 'ave bathe. I am 'appy. I - skip; I dance; I am exalt; all the morning I 'urn a little tune—O - love, love, love! And such a widow—so plump and so well fix! - </p> - <p> - The wedding is at the 'ome of Madame Flanagan. Meantime, I am with a - friend. The hour approach. The guests are there; the priest is there; the - mother of the Widow Flanagan, come from afar, is there. We arrive, my - friend and me. It is at the door that we are met by the mother of the - Widow Flanagan. It is at the door she grasp my 'and; she smile, and then, - before I 'ave time to remove my 'at—— - </p> - <p> - Accursed 'at! Restrain me! I will do myself a mischief! Well, yes, I will - be calm. I will 'ave a drink. <i>Merci</i>, my friend. - </p> - <p> - I see 'er face grow red. She scream. She lift 'er and as if to strike me. - She scream again. I know not w'at I must think. The Widow Flanagan she - 'ear 'er mother scream. She rush downstairs. I turn to the Widow Flanagan, - but she 'as no eyes for me. She is gazing on my 'at. Monsieur, then I - know. I 'ave got the wrong one in dressing; and I feel that accursed thing - are lifting itself up to say to my bride and her mother: - </p> - <h3> - YOU ARE TOO FAT! - </h3> - <h3> - DR. BLINN - </h3> - <h3> - WILL MAKE YOU THIN - </h3> - <p> - And be'ind the Widow Flanagan and 'er mother come crowding fifty guests, - and everyone 'as seen my 'at make those remarks! Accursed widow! The door - is slam in my face! I am jilted! - </p> - <p> - Ah, laugh, you pigs of guests, laugh, till you shake down the dwelling of - the Widow Flanagan! Were it not that I remember that I once loved you, - Madame Flanagan, that 'ouse would now be ashes. - </p> - <p> - Monsieur, I 'ave done. I 'ave spoken. Now I will die. 'Ave you a rope? - Well, I will calm myself. <i>Oui</i>, I will 'ave a drink. <i>Merci,</i> - monsieur! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ROONEY'S TOUCHDOWN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ootball,” said Big - Joe, the friendly waiter, laying down the sporting page of my paper with a - reminiscent sigh, “ain't what it was twenty years ago. When I played the - game it was some different from wood-tag and pump-pump-pull-away. It's - went to the dogs.” - </p> - <p> - “Used to be a star, huh?” said I. “What college did you play with, Joe?” - </p> - <p> - “No college,” said Joe, “can claim me for its alma meter.” - </p> - <p> - He seated himself comfortably across the table from me, as the more - sociably inclined waiters will do in that particular place. “I don't know - that I ever was a star. But I had the punch, and I was as tough as that - piece of cow you're trying to stick your fork into. And I played in one - game the like of which has never been pulled off before or since.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about it,” said I, handing him a cigar. Joe sniffed and tasted it - suspiciously, and having made sure that it wasn't any brand sold on the - premises, lighted it. There was only one other customer, and it was near - closing time. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” he said, “it wasn't any kissing game in my day. Ever hear of a - place called Kingstown, Illinois? Well, some has and some hasn't. It's a - burg of about five thousand souls and it's on the Burlington. Along about - the time of the Spanish war it turned out a football team that used to eat - all them little colleges through there alive. - </p> - <p> - “The way I joined was right unexpected to me. I happened into the place on - a freight train, looking for a job, and got pinched for a hobo. When they - started to take me to the lock-up I licked the chief of police and the - first deputy chief of police, and the second deputy, but the other member - of the force made four, and four was too many for me. I hadn't been - incarcerated ten minutes before a pleasant looking young fellow who had - seen the rumpus comes up to the cell door with the chief, and says through - the bars: - </p> - <p> - “'How much do you weigh?' - </p> - <p> - “'Enough,' says I, still feeling sore, 'to lick six longhaired dudes like - you.' - </p> - <p> - “'Mebby,' says he, very amiable, 'mebby you do. And if you do, I've got a - job for you.' - </p> - <p> - “He was so nice about it that he made me ashamed of my grouch... - </p> - <p> - “'No offence meant,' says I. 'I only weigh 230 pounds now. But when I'm - getting the eats regular I soon muscles up to 250 stripped.' - </p> - <p> - “'I guess you'll do,' says he, 'judging by the fight you put up. We need - strength and carelessness in the line.' - </p> - <p> - “'What line is that?' says I, suspicious. - </p> - <p> - “'From now on,' says he, 'you're right tackle on the Kingstown Football - Team. I'm going to get you a job with a friend of mine that runs a livery - stable, but your main duty will be playing football. Are you on?' - </p> - <p> - “'Lead me to the training table,”' says I. And he paid me loose and done - it. - </p> - <p> - “This fellow was Jimmy Dolan, and he had once played an end on Yale, and - couldn't forget it. He and a couple of others that had been off to - colleges had started the Kingstown Team. One was an old Michigan star, and - the other had been a half-back at Cornell. The rest of us wasn't college - men at all, but as I remarked before, we were there with the punch. - </p> - <p> - “There was Tom Sharp, for instance. Tom was thought out and planned and - preforedestinated for a centre rush by Nature long before mankind ever - discovered football. Tom was about seventeen hands high, and his style of - architecture was mostly round about. I've seen many taller men, but none - more circumferous as to width and thickness. Tom's chest was the size and - shape of a barrel of railroad spikes, but a good deal harder. You couldn't - knock him off his feet, but if you could have, it wouldn't have done you - any good, for he was just as high one way as he was another—and none - of it idle fat. Tom was a blacksmith during his leisure hours, and every - horse and mule for miles around knowed him and trembled at his name. He - had never got hold of nothing yet that was solid enough to show him how - strong he was. - </p> - <p> - “But the best player was a big teamster by the name of Jerry Coakley. - Jerry was between six and eight feet high, and to the naked eye he was - seemingly all bone. He weighed in at 260 pounds <i>ad valorem</i>, and he - was the only long bony man like that I ever seen who could get himself - together and start quick. Tom Sharp would roll down the field calm and - thoughtful and philosophic, with the enemy clinging to him and dripping - off of him and crumpling up under him, with no haste and no temper, like - an absent-minded battleship coming up the bay; but this here Jerry Coakley - was sudden and nefarious and red-headed like a train-wreck. And the more - nefarious he was, the more he grinned and chuckled to himself. 'For two - years that team had been making a reputation for itself, and all the pride - and affection and patriotism in the town was centred on to it. I joined on - early in the season, but already the talk was about the Thanksgiving game - with Lincoln College. This Lincoln College was a right sizable school. - Kingstown had licked it the year before, and there were many complaints of - rough play on both sides. But this year Lincoln had a corking team. They - had beat the state university, and early in the season they had played - Chicago off her feet, and they were simply yearning to wipe out the last - year's disgrace by devastating the Kingstown Athletic Association, which - is what we called ourselves. And in the meantime both sides goes along - feeding themselves on small-sized colleges and athletic associations, - hearing more and more about each other, and getting hungrier and hungrier. - </p> - <p> - “Things looked mighty good for us up to about a week before Thanksgiving. - Then one day Jerry Coakley turned up missing. We put in 48 hours hunting - him, and at the end of that time there was a meeting of the whole chivalry - and citizenry of Kingstown in the opery hall to consider ways and means of - facing the public calamity. For the whole town was stirred up. The mayor - himself makes a speech, which is printed in full in the Kingstown <i>Record</i> - the next day along with a piece that says: 'Whither are we drifting?' - </p> - <p> - “Next day, after practice, Jimmy Dolan is looking pretty blue. - </p> - <p> - “'Cheer up,' says I, 'Jerry wasn't the whole team.' - </p> - <p> - “'He was about a fifth of it,' says Captain Dolan, very sober. - </p> - <p> - “'But the worst was yet to come. The very next day, at practice, a big - Swede butcher by the name of Lars Olsen, who played right guard, managed - to break his ankle. This here indignity hit the town so hard that it - looked for a while like Lars would be mobbed. Some says Lars has sold out - to the enemy and broke it on purpose, and the Kingstown <i>Record</i> has - another piece headed: 'Have we a serpent in our midst?' - </p> - <p> - “That night Dolan puts the team in charge of Berty Jones, the Cornell man, - with orders to take no risks on anything more injurious than signal - practice, and leaves town. He gets back on Wednesday night, and two guys - with him. They are hustled from the train to a cab and from the cab to the - American House, and into their rooms, so fast no one gets a square look at - them. - </p> - <p> - “But after dinner, which both of the strangers takes in their rooms, Dolan - says to come up to Mr. Breittmann's room and get acquainted with him, - which the team done. This here Breittmann is a kind of Austro-Hungarian - Dutchman looking sort of a great big feller, with a foreign cast of face, - like he might be a German baron or a Switzer waiter, and he speaks his - language with an accent. Mr. Rooney, which is the other one's name, ain't - mentioned at first. But after we talk with the Breittmann person a while - Jimmy Dolan says: - </p> - <p> - “'Boys, Mr. Rooney has asked to be excused from meeting any one to-night, - but you'll all have an opportunity to meet him to-morrow—after the - game.' - </p> - <p> - “'But,' says I, 'Cap, won't he go through signal practice with us?' - </p> - <p> - “Dolan and Breittmann, and Berty Jones, who was our quarterback and the - only one in the crowd besides Dolan who had met Mr. Rooney, looked at each - other and kind of grinned. Then Dolan says: 'Mr. Breittmann knows signals - and will run through practice with us in the morning, but not Mr. Rooney. - Mr. Breittmann, boys, used to be on the Yale scrub.' - </p> - <p> - “'Dem vas goot days, Chimmie,' says this here Breittmann, 'but der - naturalist, Chimmie, he is also the good days. What?' - </p> - <p> - “The next day, just before the game, I got my first glimpse of this Rooney - when he come downstairs with Breittmann and they both piled into a cab. He - wore a long overcoat over his football togs, and he had so many headpieces - and nose guards and things on to him all you could see of his face was a - bit of reddish looking whisker at the sides. - </p> - <p> - “'He's Irish by the name,' says 1, 'and the way he carries them shoulders - and swings his arms he must have learned to play football by carrying the - hod.' He wasn't a big man, neither, and I thought he handled himself kind - of clumsy. - </p> - <p> - “When we got out to the football field and that Lincoln College bunch - jumped out of their bus and began to pass the ball around, the very first - man we see is that there Jerry Coakley. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, sold out! - </p> - <p> - “Dolan and me ran over to the Lincoln captain. - </p> - <p> - “'You don't play that man!' says Dolan, mad as a hornet, pointing at - Jerry. Jerry, he stood with his arms crossed, grinning and chuckling to - himself, bold as Abraham Lincoln on the burning deck and built much the - same. - </p> - <p> - “'Why not?' says the college captain, 'he's one of our students.' - </p> - <p> - “'Him?' says I. 'Why, he's the village truck-driver here!' And that there - Jerry had the nerve to wink at me. - </p> - <p> - “'Mr. Coakley matriculated at Lincoln College a week ago,' says the - captain, Jerry he grinned more and more, and both teams had gathered into - a bunch around us. - </p> - <p> - “'Matriculated? Jerry did?' says Jimmy Dolan. 'Why, it's all Jerry can do - to write his name.' - </p> - <p> - “'Mr. Coakley is studying the plastic arts, and taking a special course in - psychology,' says the captain. - </p> - <p> - “'Let him play, Dolan,' says Tom Sharp. 'Leave him to me. I'll learn him - some art. I'll fix him!' - </p> - <p> - “'O, you Tom!' says Jerry, grinning good-natured. - </p> - <p> - “'O, you crook!' says Tom. And Jerry, still grinning good-natured, hands - Tom one. It took the rest of the two teams to separate them, and they both - started the game with a little blood on their faces. We made no further - kick about Jerry playing. All our boys wanted him in the game. 'Get him!' - was the word passed down the line. And after that little mix-up both sides - was eager to begin. - </p> - <p> - “We kicked off. I noticed this here Rooney person got down after the - kick-off rather slow, sticking close to his friend Breittmann. He was at - left tackle, right, between Breittmann at guard, and Dolan, who played - end. - </p> - <p> - “Jerry, he caught the kick-off and come prancing up the field like a - prairie whirlwind. But Dolan and me got to him about the same time, and as - we downed him Tom Sharp, quite accidental, stepped on to his head with - both feet. - </p> - <p> - “'Foul!' yells the referee, running up and waving his hand at Tom Sharp. - 'Get off the field, you! I penalize Kingstown thirty yards for deliberate - foul play!' - </p> - <p> - “But Jerry jumped up—it took more'n a little thing like that to - feaze Jerry—and shoved the referee aside. - </p> - <p> - “'No, you don't put him out of this game,' says Jerry. 'I want him in it. - I'll put him out all right!' - </p> - <p> - “Then there was a squabble, that ended with half of both teams ordered off - the field. And the upshot of which was that everybody on both sides agreed - to abolish all umpires and referees, and get along without any penalties - whatever, or any officials but the time-keeper. No, sir, none of us boys - was in any temper by that time to be interfered with nor dictated to by - officials. - </p> - <p> - “No, what followed wasn't hampered any by technicalities. No, sir, it - wasn't drop the handkerchief. There wasn't any Hoyle or Spalding or - Queensberry about it. It was London prize ring, <i>savate</i>, jiu juitsi - and Græco-Roman, all mixed up, with everybody making his own ground rules. - The first down, when Tom Sharp picked up that Lincoln College Captain and - hit Jerry Coakley over the head with him, five Lincoln College substitutes - give a yell and threw off their sweaters and run on to the field. Then we - heard another yell, and our substitutes come charging into the fray and by - the end of the first half there was eighteen men on each side, including - three in citizens' clothes who were using brass knucks and barrel staves.” - </p> - <p> - Joe paused a moment, dwelling internally upon memories evidently too sweet - for words. Then he sighed and murmured: “No, sir, the game ain't what it - was in them days. Kick and run and forward pass and such darned - foolishness! Football has went to the dogs! - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he resumed, flexing his muscles reminiscently, “neither side - wasted any time on end runs or punts. It was punch the line, and then - punch the line some more, and during the first ten minutes of play the - ball didn't move twenty yards either way from the centre of the field, - with a row on all the time as to whose ball it ought to be. As a matter of - fact, it was whoever's could keep his hands on to it. - </p> - <p> - “It was the third down before I noticed this fellow Rooney particular. - Then our quarterback sent a play through between guard and tackle. It was - up to Rooney to make the hole for it. - </p> - <p> - “As the signal was give, and the ball passed back, Breittmann laid his arm - across Rooney's shoulders, and I heard him say something in Dutch to him. - They moved forward like one man, not fast, but determined like. A big - college duffer tried to get through Rooney and spill the play. This here - Rooney took him around the waist and slammed him on to the ground with a - yell like a steamship that's discovered fire in her coal bunkers, and then - knelt on the remains, while the play went on over 'em. I noticed - Breittmann had a hard time getting Rooney off of him. They carried the - fellow off considerably sprained, and two more Lincoln College fellows - shucked their wraps and run in to take his place. - </p> - <p> - “The very next play went through the same hole, only this time the fellow - that went down under Rooney got up with blood soaking through his shoulder - padding and swore he'd been bit. But nobody paid any attention to him, and - the Lincoln boys put Jerry Coakley in opposite Rooney. - </p> - <p> - “'You cross-eyed, pigeon-toed Orangeman of a hod-carrier, you,' says - Jerry, when we lined up, trying to intimidate Rooney, 'I'll learn you - football.' - </p> - <p> - “But Rooney, with his left hand hold of Breittmann's, never said a word. - He just looked sideways up at Breittmann like he was scared, or mebby shy, - and Breittmann said something in Dutch to him. - </p> - <p> - “That play we made five yards, and we made it through Jerry Coakley, too, - Mr. Rooney officiating. When Breittmann got his friend off Jerry, Jerry - set up and tried to grin, but he couldn't. He felt himself all over, - surprised, and took his place in the line without saying a word. - </p> - <p> - “Then we lost the ball on a fumble, which is to say the Lincoln centre - jumped on to Tom Sharp's wrists with both feet when he tried to pass it, - and Jerry Coakley grabbed it. The first half closed without a score, with - the ball still in the centre of the field. - </p> - <p> - “The second half, I could see right away, Jerry Coakley had made up his - mind to do up Rooney. The very first play Lincoln made was a guard's back - punch right at Rooney. I reckon the whole Lincoln team was in that play, - with Jerry Coakley in the van. - </p> - <p> - “We got into it, too. All of us,” Joe paused again, with another - reflective smile. Pretty soon he continued. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, that was some scrimmage. And in the midst of it, whoever had - the ball dropped it. But for a minute, nobody seemed to care. And then we - discovered that them unsportsmanlike Lincoln College students had changed - to baseball shoes with metal spikes between the halves. We hadn't thought - of that. - </p> - <p> - “After about a minute of this mauling, clawing mess, right out of the - midst of it rolled the ball. And then came this here Rooney crawling after - it—<i>crawling</i> I say!—on his hands and feet. - </p> - <p> - “He picked it up and straightened himself. - </p> - <p> - “'Run, Rooney, run!' says I. And he had a clear field. But he didn't seem - to realize it. He just tucked that ball under one arm, and ambled. - </p> - <p> - “Half a dozen of us fell in and tried to make interference for him—but - he wouldn't run; he just dog-trotted, slow and comfortable. And in a - second Jerry Coakley sifted through and tackled him. - </p> - <p> - “Rooney stopped. Stopped dead in his track, as if he was surprised. And - then, using only one hand—only one hand, mind you—he picked - that there Jerry Coakley up, like he was an infant, give him one squeeze, - and slung him. Yes, sir, Jerry was all sort of crumpled up when he lit! - </p> - <p> - “And he kept on, slow and easy and gentle. The Lincoln gang spilled the - interference. But that didn't bother Rooney any. Slow and certain and easy - he went down that field. And every time he was tackled he separated that - tackier from himself and treated him like he had Jerry. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, he strung behind him ten men out of the nineteen players - Lincoln College had in that game, as he went down the field. From where I - was setting on top of the Lincoln centre rush, I counted 'em as he took - 'em. Slow and solemn and serious like an avenging angel, Mr. Rooney made - for them goal posts, taking no prisoners, and leaving the wounded and dead - in a long windrow behind him. It wasn't legalized football, mebby, but it - was a grand and majestic sight to see that stoop-shouldered feller with - the red whiskers proceeding calmly and unstoppably forward like the wrath - of God. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, the game was ours. We thought it was, leastways. All he had to - do was touch that there ball to the ground! The whole of Kingstown was - drawing in its breath to let out a cheer as soon as he done it. - </p> - <p> - “But it never let that yell. For when he reached the goal——” - </p> - <p> - Here Joe broke off again and chuckled. - </p> - <p> - “Say,” he said, “you ain't going to believe what I'm telling you now. It's - too unlikely. I didn't believe it myself when I seen it. But it happened. - Yes, sir, that nut never touched the ground with the ball! - </p> - <p> - “Instead, with the ball still under one arm, he climbed a goal post. - Climbed it, I tell you, with both legs and one arm. And setting straddle - of that cross bar believe me or not, he began to shuck. In front of all - that crowd, dud after dud, he shucked. - </p> - <p> - “And there wasn't no cheers then, for in a minute there he set, <i>a - monkey!</i> Yes, sir, the biggest blamed monkey you ever seen, trying to - crack that football open on a goal post under the belief that it was a - cocoa-nut. Monkey, did I say? Monkey ain't any word for it! He was a - regular ape; he was one of these here orang-outang baboons! Yes, sir, a - regular gosh-darned Darwinian gorilla!” - </p> - <p> - Joe took a fresh light for his cigar, and cocked his eye again at my - sporting supplement. “I notice,” he said, sarcastically, “Princeton had a - couple of men hurt yesterday in the Yale game. Well, accidents is bound to - happen even in ring-around-the-rosy or prisoner's base. What?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - TOO AMERICAN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>s it a real - English cottage?” we asked the agent suspiciously, “or is it one that has - been hastily aged to rent to Americans?” - </p> - <p> - It was the real thing: he vouched for it. It was right in the middle of - England. The children could walk for miles in any direction without - falling off the edge of England and getting wet. - </p> - <p> - “See here!” I said. “How many blocks from Scotland is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Blocks from Scotland?” He didn't understand. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” I said, “blocks from Scotland.” I explained. My wife and I had been - trying to get a real English accent. That was one of the things we had - come to England for. We wanted to take it back with us and use it in - Brooklyn, and we didn't want to get too near Scotland and get any Scottish - dialect mixed up with it. It seemed that the cottage was quite a piece - from Scotland. There was a castle not far away—the fifteenth castle - on the right side as you go into England. When there wasn't any wind you - didn't get a raw sea breeze or hear the ocean vessels whistle. - </p> - <p> - “Is it overgrown with ivy,” asked Marian, my wife. - </p> - <p> - Yes, it was ivy-covered. You could scarcely see it for ivy—ivy that - was pulling the wall down, ivy as deep-rooted as the hereditary idea. - </p> - <p> - “Are the drains bad?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - They were. There would be no trouble on that score. What plumbing there - was, was leaky. The roof leaked. - </p> - <p> - There was neither gas nor electricity, nor hot and cold water, nor - anything else. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose the place is rather damp?” I said to the agent. “Is it chilly - most of the time? Are the flues defective? Are the floors uneven? Is the - place thoroughly uncomfortable and unsanitary and unhabitable in every - particular?” - </p> - <p> - Yes, it had all these advantages. I was about to sign the lease when my - wife plucked me by the sleeve in her impulsive American way. “Is there a - bathroom?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mrs. Minever,” said the agent with dignity, “there is not. I can - assure you that there are no conveniences of any kind. It is a real - English cottage.” - </p> - <p> - I took the place. It was evening of the third day after we took possession - that I discovered that we had been taken in. All the other Americans in - that part of England were sitting out in front of their cottages trying to - look as if they were accustomed to them, and we—my wife and Uncle - Bainbridge and I—were sitting in front of ours trying to act as - English as we knew how, when a voice hailed me. - </p> - <p> - “You are Americans, aren't you, sir?” said the voice. - </p> - <p> - The voice was anyhow; so we shamefacedly confessed. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you looked like it,” said the voice, and its owner came - wavering toward us through the twilight. - </p> - <p> - “What makes you think we look like it?” I said, a trifle annoyed; for it - had been my delusion that we had got ourselves to looking quite English—English - enough, at least, so that no one could tell us in the faint light. - </p> - <p> - “Our clothes don't fit us, do they?” asked my wife nervously. - </p> - <p> - “They can't fit us,” said I; “they were made in London.” - </p> - <p> - I spoke rather sharply, I suppose. And as I was speaking, a most - astonishing thing happened—the person I had been speaking to - suddenly disappeared. He was, and then he was not! I sprang up, and I - could tell from my wife's exclamation that she was startled, too. As for - Uncle Bainbridge, he seldom gives way to emotion not directly connected - with his meals or his money. - </p> - <p> - “Here, you!” I called out loudly, looking about me. - </p> - <p> - The figure came waveringly into view again. - </p> - <p> - “Where did you go to?” I demanded. “What do you mean by acting like that? - Who are you, anyhow?” - </p> - <p> - “Please, sir,” said the wavery person, “don't speak so crosslike. It - always makes me vanish. I can't help it, sir.” - </p> - <p> - He continued timidly: - </p> - <p> - “I heard a new American family had moved here and I dropped by to ask you, - sir, do you need a ghost?” - </p> - <p> - “A ghost! Are you——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” with a deprecating smile. “Only an American ghost; but one who - would appreciate a situation all the more, sir, for that reason. I don't - mind telling you that there's a feeling against us American ghosts here in - England, and I've been out of a place for some time. Maybe you have - noticed a similar feeling toward Americans? I'm sure, sir, you must have - noticed a discrimination, and——” - </p> - <p> - “Don't say 'sir' all the time,” I told him. - </p> - <p> - “Beg pardon, sir,” he rejoined: “but it's a habit. I've tried very hard to - fit myself to English ways and it's got to be second nature, sir. My voice - I can't change; but my class—I was a barber in America, sir—my - class I have learned. And,” he repeated rather vacantly, “I just dropped - by to see if you wanted a ghost. Being fellow Americans, you know, I - thought——” His voice trailed off into humble silence, and he - stood twisting a shadowy hat round and round in his fingers. - </p> - <p> - “See here!” I said. “Should we have a ghost?” - </p> - <p> - “Beg pardon, sir, but how much rent do you pay?” I told him. - </p> - <p> - He answered politely but with decision, “Then, sir, in all fairness, you - are entitled to a ghost with the place. It gives a certain tone, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Why weren't we given one, then?” I asked - </p> - <p> - “Well——” he said, and paused. If a ghost can blush with - embarrassment, he blushed. “You see,” he went on, making it as easy for me - as he could, “English ghosts mostly object to haunting Americans, just as - American ghosts find it difficult to get places in English houses and - cottages. You see, sir, we are——” - </p> - <p> - He halted lamely, and then finished, “We're so <i>American</i> somehow, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - “But we've been cheated!” I said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the American ghost, “regularly <i>had</i>” He said it in - quite an English manner, and I complimented him on his achievement. He - smiled with a child's delight. - </p> - <p> - “Would I do?” he urged again, with a kind of timid insistence. - </p> - <p> - My sympathies were with him. “You don't mind children?” I said. “We have - two.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” he replied; “leastways, if they aren't very rough, I am not much - frightened of them.” - </p> - <p> - “I guess,” I began, “that——” I was about to say that he would - do, when my wife interrupted me. - </p> - <p> - “We do not want a ghost at all,” she said firmly. - </p> - <p> - “But, my dear——” - </p> - <p> - She raised her eyebrows at me, and I was silent. After looking from one to - the other of us wistfully for a moment, the applicant turned and drifted - away, vanishing dejectedly when he reached the gate. - </p> - <p> - “You heard what he said, Henry?” said my wife as he disappeared. “It is - lucky that you have me by you! Do you want to saddle yourself with an - American ghost? For my part, I will have an English ghost or none!” - </p> - <p> - I realized that Marian was right; but I felt sorry for the ghost. - </p> - <p> - “What did—the fellow—want?” roared Uncle Bain-bridge, who is - deaf, and brings out his words two or three at a time. - </p> - <p> - “Wanted to know—if we wanted—a ghost!” I roared in reply. - </p> - <p> - “Goat? Goat? Huh-huh!” shouted Uncle Bain-bridge. “No, sir! Get 'em a pony—and - a cart—little cart! That's the best—thing—for the kids!” - </p> - <p> - Uncle Bainbridge is, in fact, so deaf that he is never bothered by the - noises he makes when he eats. As a rule when you speak to him he first - says, “How?” Then he produces a kind of telephone arrangement. He plugs - one end into his ear, and shoves a black rubber disk at you. You talk - against the disk, and when he disagrees with you he pulls the plug out of - his ear to stop your foolish chatter, and snorts contemptuously. Once my - wife remarked to me that Uncle Bainbridge's hearing might be better if he - would only cut those bunches of long gray hair out of his ears. They annoy - every one except Uncle Bainbridge a great deal. But the plug was in, after - all, and he heard her, and asked one of the children in a terrible voice - to fetch him the tin box he keeps his will in. - </p> - <p> - Uncle Bainbridge is <i>my</i> uncle. My wife reminds me of that every now - and then. And he is rather hard to live with. But Marian, in spite of his - little idiosyncrasies, has always been generous enough to wish to protect - him from designing females only too ready to marry him for his money. So - she encourages him to make his home with us. If he married at all, she - preferred that he should marry her cousin, Miss Sophia Calderwod. That was - also Miss Sophia's preference. - </p> - <p> - We did get a ghost, however, and a real English ghost. The discovery was - mine. I was sitting in the room we called the library one night, alone - with my pipe, when I heard a couple of raps in, on, about, or behind a - large bookcase that stood diagonally across one corner. It was several - days after we had refused the American applicant, and I had been thinking - of him more or less, and wondering what sort of existence he led. One half - the world doesn't know how the other half lives. I suppose my reflections - had disposed my mind to psychic receptivity; for when I heard raps I said - at once: - </p> - <p> - “Are there any good spirits in the room?” It is a formula I remembered - from the days when I had been greatly interested in psychic research. - </p> - <p> - Rap! rap! came the answer from behind the bookcase. - </p> - <p> - I made a tour of the room, and satisfied myself that it was not a flapping - curtain, or anything like that. - </p> - <p> - “Do you have a message for me?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - The answer was in the affirmative. - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” - </p> - <p> - There was a confused and rapid jumble of raps. I repeated the question - with the same result. - </p> - <p> - “Can you materialize?” - </p> - <p> - The ghost rapped no. - </p> - <p> - Then it occurred to me that probably this was a ghost of the sort that can - communicate with the visible world only through replying to such questions - as can be answered by yes or no. There are a great many of these ghosts. - Indeed, my experience in psychic research has led me to the conclusion - that they are in the majority. - </p> - <p> - “Were you sent down by the agent to take this place?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - “No!” It is impossible to convey in print the suggestion of hauteur and - offended dignity and righteous anger that the ghost managed to get into - that single rap. I have never felt more rebuked in my life; I have never - been made to feel more American. - </p> - <p> - “Sir or madam,” I said, letting the regret I felt be apparent in my voice, - “I beg your pardon. If you please, I should like to know whose ghost you - are. I will repeat the alphabet. You may rap when you wish me to stop at a - letter. In that way you can spell out your information. Is that - satisfactory?” - </p> - <p> - It was. - </p> - <p> - “Who are you?” - </p> - <p> - Slowly, and with the assured raps of one whose social position is defined, - fixed, and secure in whatever state of existence she may chance to find - herself, the ghost spelled out, “Lady Agatha Pelham.” - </p> - <p> - I hope I am not snobbish. Indeed, I think I have proved over and over - again that I am not, by frankly confessing that I am an American. But at - the same time I could not repress a little exclamation of pleasure at the - fact that we were haunted by the ghost of a member of the English - aristocracy. You may say what you will, but there is a certain something—a - manner—an air—I scarcely know how to describe it, but it is - there; it exists. In England, one meets it so often—I hope you take - me. - </p> - <p> - My gratification must have revealed itself in my manner. Lady Agatha - rapped out, if anything with more haughtiness than she had previously - employed—yes, even with a touch of defiance: - </p> - <p> - “I was at one time a governess.” - </p> - <p> - I gradually learned that while her own family was as good as the Pelham - family, Lady Agatha's parents had been in very reduced circumstances, and - she had had to become a governess. When Sir Arthur Pelham had married her, - his people acted very nasty. He hadn't any money, and they had wanted him - to marry some. He got to treating her very badly before he died. And - during his lifetime, and after it, Lady Agatha had had a very sad life - indeed. Still, you know, she was an aristocrat. She made one feel that as - she told her story bit by bit. For all this came very gradually, as the - result of many conversations, and not at once. We speedily agreed upon a - code, very similar to the Morse telegraphic code, and we still further - abbreviated this, until our conversations, after a couple of weeks, got to - be as rapid as that of a couple of telegraph operators chatting over the - wires. I intimated that it must be rather rough on her to be haunting - Americans, and she said that she had once lived in our cottage and liked - it. - </p> - <p> - In spite of her aristocracy, I don't suppose there ever was a more - domestic sort of ghost than Lady Agatha. We all got quite fond of her, and - I think she did of us, too, in spite of our being American. Even the - children got into the habit of taking their little troubles and - perplexities to her. And Marian used to say that with Lady Agatha in the - house, when Uncle Bain-bridge and I happened to be away, she felt so <i>safe</i> - somehow. - </p> - <p> - I imagine the fact that she had once been a governess would have made it - rather difficult for Lady Agatha in the house of an English family of - rank. On the other hand, her inherent aristocratic feeling made it quite - impossible for her to haunt any one belonging to the middle or lower - classes. She could haunt us, as Americans, and not feel that the social - question mattered so much, in spite of what the American ghost had hinted. - We Americans are so unclassified that the English often take chances with - individuals, quite regardless of what each individual's class would - naturally be if he had a class. Even while they do this they make us feel - very often that we are hopelessly American; but they do it, and I, for - one, am grateful. Lady Agatha sympathized with our desire to become as - English as possible, she could quite understand that. I find that many - Englishmen approve the effort, although remaining confident that it will - end in failure. - </p> - <p> - Lady Agatha helped us a great deal. We used to have lessons in the - evenings in the library. For instance, the children would stand at - attention in front of the bookcase, and repeat a bit of typical English - slang, trying to do it in an absolutely English way. They would do it over - and over and over, until finally Lady Agatha would give a rap of approval. - Or I would pretend that I was an Englishman in a railway carriage, and - that an American had just entered and I was afraid he would speak to me. I - got rather good at this, and made two or three trips to London to try it - out. I found that Americans were imposed on, and actually in one instance - I made one Englishman think that I was an Englishman who thought he was an - American. He was a nobody, however, and didn't really count. And then, I - am afraid, I spoiled it all. We Americans so often spoil it all! I enjoyed - it so that I told him. He looked startled and said, “But how American!” He - was the only Englishman I ever fooled. - </p> - <p> - But Lady Agatha's night classes were of great benefit to us. We used to - practise how to behave toward English servants at country houses, and how - to act when presented at court, and dozens of things like that: not that - we had been asked to a country house, or expected to be presented at court - soon. Marian and I had agreed that the greater part of this information - would be quite useless while Uncle Bainbridge was still spared to us. Even - in Brooklyn Uncle Bainbridge had been something of a problem at times. But - we thought it just as well to prepare ourselves for the sad certainty that - Uncle Bainbridge would pass into a better world before many years. - </p> - <p> - Uncle Bainbridge, who is very wealthy indeed, affects more informality - than the usual self-made man. He used to attend our evening classes with a - contemptuous expression upon his face, and snort at intervals. Once he - even called me “Puppy!” Then he thrust his telephone arrangement before my - face and insisted that I tell him whether I was sane or not. - </p> - <p> - “Puppy!” he bellowed. “Quit apin' the English! I get along with 'em myself—without - any nonsense! Treat 'em white! Always treat me white! No foolishness! - Puppy!” - </p> - <p> - My wife and I soon discovered that Lady Agatha and Uncle Bainbridge were - on the most friendly terms. He would sit for hours in the library, with - his telephone receiver held patiently near the bookcase, shouting - questions and smiling and nodding over the answers. Marian and I were - afraid that Uncle Bainbridge, by his lack of polish, might offend Lady - Agatha. And at first it was her custom to hover about anxiously while they - were talking to each other. But Uncle Bainbridge discovered this, and - resented it to such an extent that she had to be cautious indeed. - </p> - <p> - His talks with Lady Agatha became longer and longer, and more and more - frequent, until finally he received more of her attention than all the - rest of us put together. Indeed, we need not have worried about Uncle - Bainbridge's offending Lady Agatha: the friendship grew closer and closer. - We were certain finally that it was taking on a strong tinge of - sentimentality. One day my wife stopped me just outside the library door - and said in a whisper, indicating the general direction of Lady Agatha's - bookcase with a wave of her hand: - </p> - <p> - “Henry, those two old things in there are calling each other Hiram and - Agatha!” - </p> - <p> - I listened, and it was so. A week later I heard Uncle Bainbridge seated by - the bookcase, bellowing out a sentimental song. He was having a great deal - of difficulty with it, and in order that he might hear himself he was - singing with the black disk arrangement held directly in front of his own - mouth. - </p> - <p> - I cannot say that Uncle Bainbridge became etherealized by the state of his - feelings toward Lady Agatha, whatever the exact state of his feeling may - have been. But he did change a little, and the change was for the better. - He cut out the bunches of gray hair from his ears, and he began to take - care of his fingernails. Lady Agatha was having a good influence upon him. - </p> - <p> - One day, as he and I were standing by the front gate, he suddenly - connected himself for speech and roared at me, with a jerk of his thumb - toward the house. - </p> - <p> - “Fine woman!” - </p> - <p> - “Who?” I shouted back. - </p> - <p> - “Aggie.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes. I suppose she—was.” - </p> - <p> - “No nonsense!” he yelled. “Husband was a brute! Marry her myself! In a - minute—if possible. Ain't possible! Shame! Bet she could make—good - dumplings—apple dumplings! Huh!” - </p> - <p> - Uncle Bainbridge is very fond of apple dumplings. His final test of a - woman is her ability to make good apple dumplings. Several women might - have married him had they been able to pass that examination. He can pay - no higher compliment to a woman than to be willing to believe her able to - make good dumplings. - </p> - <p> - “Aggie, in there!” he roared again, impatient because I was slow in - answering. “Dumplings! That kind of woman—could have made—good - dumplings!” - </p> - <p> - I felt, somehow, that it was going a bit too far to imagine Lady Agatha at - so plebeian a task as making apple dumplings. - </p> - <p> - “Uncle Bainbridge,” I shouted, “the upper classes—in England—can't - make—apple dumplings!” - </p> - <p> - Even as I shouted I was aware that some bypasser, startled at our loud - voices, was pausing just outside the gate. I turned to encounter for a - moment the haughty glare of the most English-looking elderly woman I have - ever seen. She had a large, high nose, and she was a large, high-looking - handsome woman generally. She said no word to me; but as she stared her - lips moved ever so slightly. I fancied that to herself she said, “Indeed!” - I have never felt more utterly superfluous, more abjectly American. She - turned from me with an air that denied my existence, a manner that - indicated that such things as I <i>could not</i> exist, and it would be - foolish to try to make her believe they did exist. She bowed to Uncle - Bainbridge, smiled as he returned her bow, and passed on. Uncle - Bainbridge's eyes followed her admiringly. - </p> - <p> - “'Mother fine woman!” he thundered, so that she must have heard him. - “Friend of mine! Sensible woman! No frills!” - </p> - <p> - I tried to ask him who she was, when and where he had become acquainted - with her, and a dozen other questions; but Uncle Bainbridge unplugged - himself, cutting off all communication with the outer world, and - resolutely refused any information. That he should know the lady did not - surprise me, however. It had happened several times since we had been in - England that Uncle Bainbridge had become friendly with people whom we did - not know. We never got from him any exact idea as to the social status of - these persons, and indeed we always found that he had no really definite - ideas on that subject to communicate. - </p> - <p> - Our dear Lady Agatha was almost the only English friend my wife and I had - made. - </p> - <p> - My wife and I were very well contented that Uncle Bainbridge's feeling for - Lady Agatha should grow stronger and stronger. We argued that while he was - so intimately friendly with dear Lady Agatha he would not be so likely to - fall a prey to any person who might want to marry him for his wealth. So - we decided to encourage the friendship in every way possible, and would - have been only too glad to have it go on indefinitely. - </p> - <p> - “I feel so at peace about Uncle Bainbridge now,” was the way my wife - expressed it, “with him and dear Lady Agatha so wrapped up in each other.” - </p> - <p> - But this cheerful condition of affairs was not destined to last many - weeks. One day my wife received a letter from her cousin, Miss Sophia - Calderwood. Cousin Sophia was in London, and would be with us on the - coming Saturday. She had spoken of the possibility of paying us a visit - while we were in England, and of course we had urged her to do so; - although at the time the possibility had seemed rather remote to us. - </p> - <p> - Miss Sophia was past her first youth, but still very girlish at times. - Under her girlishness there was a grim determination. She had made up her - mind to marry Uncle Bainbridge. My wife, as I have already said, had been - inclined to favour the idea, since it would keep strangers from getting - hold of Uncle Bainbridge's money. But now that Uncle Bainbridge and Lady - Agatha were getting along so well together my wife had begun to hope that - Uncle Bainbridge would never marry anybody. We both thought the friendship - might become an ideal, but none the less overmastering, passion; one of - those sacred things, you know, of the sort that keeps a man single all his - life. If Uncle Bainbridge remained unmarried out of regard for Lady - Agatha, we agreed, it would be much better for him at his time of life - than to wed Miss Sophia. - </p> - <p> - So we both considered Miss Sophia's visit rather inopportune. Not that we - felt that Uncle Bainbridge was predisposed toward her. On the contrary, he - had always manifested more fear than affection for her. But, I repeat, she - was a determined woman. The quality of her determination needed no better - evidence than the fact that she had, to put it vulgarly, pursued her - quarry across the seas. It was evident that the citadel of Uncle - Bainbridge's heart was to undergo a terrible assault. As for him, when he - heard she was coming, he only emitted a noncommittal snort. - </p> - <p> - Miss Sophia, when she arrived, had apparently put in the months since we - had seen her in resolute attempts at rejuvenation. She was more girlish - than I had known her in fifteen years. And she had set up a lisp. She - greeted Uncle Bainbridge impulsively, effusively. - </p> - <p> - “You dear man,” she shrilled into his telephone, “you don't detherve it, - but gueth what I've brought you all the way acroth the ocean! A new - rethipe for apple dumplings!” - </p> - <p> - “How?” said Uncle Bainbridge. “What say?” And when she repeated it he said - “Umph!” disconnected himself, and blew his nose loudly. He rarely said - anything to her but “Umph!” walking away afterward with now and then a - worried backward glance. - </p> - <p> - When we told Miss Sophia about Lady Agatha, and she finally understood the - intimacy that had grown up between Lady Agatha and Uncle Bainbridge, she - looked reproachfully at my wife, as if to say, “You have been a traitor to - my cause!” And then she announced very primly, quite forgetting her lisp, - “I am quite sure that I, for one, do not care to make the acquaintance of - this person!” - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Sophia,” said my wife sharply, “what do you mean by that?” - </p> - <p> - “I think, Cousin Marian, that my meaning is sufficiently clear.” - </p> - <p> - “You forget,” rejoined my wife icily, “that dear Lady Agatha is our - guest.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Sophia sniffed, and was silent. - </p> - <p> - “Besides,” continued Marian, “what can you possibly have against her?” - </p> - <p> - “Marian,” said Miss Sophia, “will you answer me one question?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps, Cousin Sophia.” - </p> - <p> - “Cousin Marian, where, I ask you, <i>where</i> is Sir Arthur Pelham?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, how should I know, Cousin Sophia?” My wife was genuinely puzzled by - the question, and so was I. - </p> - <p> - “Exactly!” And Miss Sophia's voice was acid. “How should you know? I - imagine it is a point upon which Lady Agatha Pelham, under the - circumstances, has not been very communicative.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Cousin Sophia——” I began. - </p> - <p> - She interrupted me. “Cousin Henry,” she said, “do you mean to say that you - approve of these goings-on in your house? The idea of a married woman - entering into a perfectly open flirtation with a man, as this Lady Agatha - Pelham has done! Not that I blame Hiram Bainbridge; for men are - susceptible when skillfully practised upon—especially with arts - which I have never stooped to employ. It is shameless, Cousin Henry, - shameless! If Cousin Marian's mother were alive, she would at least see - that the children were sent back to America before they become - contaminated by this atmosphere. Cousin Henry, to think that you have been - so corrupted by European ways already that you acquiesce in this anomalous - relationship!” - </p> - <p> - “I should hardly call it that, Cousin Sophia,” I ventured, “and for the - life of me I cannot see anything wrong.” - </p> - <p> - It took me a little while to catch Miss Sophia's point of view. I am bound - to say that she presented it rather convincingly. If Sir Arthur had been - alive, she said, she would have seen nothing wrong in Lady Agatha forming - any ties she might choose in the spirit world. Or if Sir Arthur had been - in the spirit world and Lady Agatha in the earth life, she would have - exonerated Lady Agatha from any indelicacy in forming a close friendship - with Uncle Bainbridge. But since both Sir Arthur and Lady Agatha were in - the spirit life, Lady Agatha's place was with Sir Arthur. - </p> - <p> - “Aristocrat or not,” she said, “she is indelicate, she is unladylike, she - is coarse, or she would not carry on in this fashion with a man to whom - she is not married.” - </p> - <p> - “I will not have dear Lady Agatha insulted!” said my wife, white with - anger, rising from the chair in which she had been sitting. - </p> - <p> - “It is I who have been insulted, by being asked to a house where such a - brazen and indecent affair is accepted as a matter of course,” said Cousin - Sophia. - </p> - <p> - I hastily interposed. I saw that my wife was about to cast prudence to the - winds and tell Miss Sophia that if she felt that way about it she might as - well leave. Miss Sophia is very well-to-do herself, and my wife is her - only near relation. I did not fear that the rupture would be permanent; - for I had known Marian and Cousin Sophia to go quite this far many times - before, and, indeed, in an hour they had both apparently got over their - temper. - </p> - <p> - Miss Sophia, although certain now that she would receive no assistance - from my wife in her siege of Uncle Bainbridge, did not swerve from her - determination to subjugate him. I imagine it is rather difficult to give - battle when your rival is a ghost: the very intangibility of the tie makes - it hard to attack. Yet the person who is in the earth life has certain - advantages also. I do not know whether I have mentioned it or not, but - Miss Sophia could scarcely be called beautiful. One after another, all her - life, she had seen men upon whom she had set her affection become the - husbands of other women, and in her duel with the ghost there was a - quality of desperation that made the struggle, every move of which I - watched, extremely interesting. In spite of her announcement that she did - not care to meet Lady Agatha, she learned the code by which she - communicated with us, and did not absent herself from our gatherings in - the library. - </p> - <p> - Miss Sophia must have been desperate indeed, or she would not have - resorted to the trick she used. About a week after Miss Sophia's arrival - Lady Agatha suddenly ceased to communicate with us. We grew alarmed, - wondering what could have happened to her, as the days passed and the - friendly rappings were not resumed. In the light of what happened later I - am sure that Miss Sophia deliberately drove Lady Agatha away. What method - she used I do not know. But if she had said to Lady Agatha directly the - things that she had said to us about her, the insult would have been quite - sufficient to make that proud and gentle spirit take her departure. Likely - Miss Sophia got into communication with Lady Agatha and hurled at her the - bitter question, “Where is Sir Arthur Pelham?” Lady Agatha was not the - person to enter into any vulgar quarrel, nor yet to vouchsafe explanations - concerning her personal affairs. - </p> - <p> - Several days after Lady Agatha fell silent I heard Uncle Bainbridge - bellowing forth questions in the library. I was outside the house near the - library window, which was open. Thinking joyously that Lady Agatha had - returned to us, I stepped nearer to the window to make sure. I saw at - once, as I peeped in, that the bookcase, which set very near the window, - had been slightly moved. Miss Sophia, who was very thin, had managed to - introduce herself into the triangular space behind it—I had - mentioned that it set diagonally across one corner. She was crouched upon - the floor rapping out a conversation with Uncle Bainbridge—impersonating - Lady Agatha! Uncle Bainbridge, in front of the bookcase, was apparently - unsuspicious; nor did Miss Sophia suspect that I saw her through the - half-inch of window that commanded her hiding place. - </p> - <p> - “You must marry!” rapped Miss Sophia, in the character of Lady Agatha. - </p> - <p> - “Who?” bellowed Uncle Bainbridge. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Sophia Calderwood,” said the fake ghost. - </p> - <p> - “Aggie, I'm hanged if I do!” yelled Uncle Bainbridge. “Ask me—something—easy!” - </p> - <p> - “Hiram, listen carefully,” began the false Lady Agatha. Then she told him - that this would be their last interview. Circumstances over which she had - no control compelled her to depart. She was to assume another phase of - existence upon another plane. She could not explain to him so that he - would understand. But her interest in him would never flag. And she knew - that he would be happier wedded to some good woman. It was apparent to her - that Miss Sophia would make him the ideal wife. He would soon learn to - love Miss Sophia. She had considerable difficulty in getting the promise; - but finally Uncle Bainbridge snorted out a pledge that he would marry, and - stumped away. - </p> - <p> - That night he went to London. It was a week before he returned. I did not - communicate what I had seen and heard to Marion. The truth was, I felt - rather sorry for Miss Sophia. To resort to such a trick she must have been - desperate indeed. I tried to imagine what her life had been, and not - condemn her too harshly. And besides, if she was to marry Uncle - Bainbridge, which seemed settled now, I did not care to have her aware - that I knew her secret. - </p> - <p> - During the absence of Uncle Bainbridge she became quietly radiant, as - befits one who knows that the battle is won. She was evidently certain - that he would speak definitely upon his return. - </p> - <p> - The night that he came back he gathered us all about him in the library. - “Something to say! Important!” he shouted. - </p> - <p> - We all assumed attitudes of attention. - </p> - <p> - “Thinking maybe—get married!” said Uncle Bainbridge. It was just - like Uncle Bainbridge to announce the matter in the lady's presence before - having formally asked her; but I felt that it was a trifle hard on Miss - Sophia. But a glance at her reassured me on that score. She was flushed; - but it was the flush of triumph rather than the flush of embarrassment. - </p> - <p> - “Bought a brewery!” said Uncle Bainbridge. “Good brewery! Good beer! Like - English beer! Like English people!” - </p> - <p> - 1 felt that this was a little irrelevant, and I am sure that Miss Sophia - felt the same way. - </p> - <p> - “Bought a castle!” said Uncle Bainbridge, warming to the work. “Fine - castle! Like castles! Fix it up! Live in it! Settle here! Like England! - Fine country.” - </p> - <p> - “A castle! Oh, how lovely!” shrilled Miss Sophia, clapping her hands - girlishly. “How lovely for all of us!” - </p> - <p> - “Not invited!” roared Uncle Bainbridge, taking us all in with one sweeping - gesture. “None of you!” - </p> - <p> - There was silence for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Going to get married!” said Uncle Bainbridge, rising to his feet. “Not - Sophia! Caught Sophia—behind bookcase! Knew all the time! Sneaky - trick! Marry fine woman! Henry saw her—over the fence that day! Fine - woman! Curate's mother here! Dumplings! Fine dumplings! Learned to make - 'em for me! She don't want—to get too thick—with any my - relations! She says—all of you—are too American!” - </p> - <p> - And as Uncle Bainbridge blew his nose loudly and sat down there was a - sudden rattle of rapping from the bookcase: nothing so articulate as a - remark in the code, but a sound more like a ripple of well-bred laughter. - This was the last we ever heard from Lady Agatha, and I have sometimes - wondered just what she meant by it. It is so hard, sometimes, to - understand just what the English are laughing at. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE SADDEST MAN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he bench, the - barrel, and the cracker box in front of Hennery McNabb's general store - held three men, all of whom seemed to be thinking. Two of them were not - only thinking but chewing tobacco as well. The third, more enterprising - than the other two, more active, was exerting himself prodigiously. He was - thinking, chewing tobacco, and whittling all at the same time. - </p> - <p> - Two of the men were native and indigenous to Hazel-ton. They drew their - sustenance from the black soil of the Illinois prairie on which the little - village was perched. They were as calm and placid as the growing corn in - the fields round about, as solid and self-possessed and leisurely as the - bull-heads in the little creek down at the end of Main Street. - </p> - <p> - The third man was a stranger, somewhere between six and eight feet high - and so slender that one might have expected the bones to pop through the - skin, if one's attention had not been arrested by the skin itself. For he - was covered and contained by a most peculiar skin. It was dark and - rubbery-looking rather than leathery, and it seemed to be endowed with a - life of its own almost independent of the rest of the man's anatomy. When - a fly perched upon his cheek he did not raise his hand to brush it off. - The man himself did not move at all. - </p> - <p> - But his skin moved. His skin rose up, wrinkled, twitched, rippled beneath - the fly's feet, and the fly took alarm and went away from there as if an - earthquake had broken loose under it. He was a sad-looking man. He looked - sadder than the mummy of an Egyptian king who died brooding on what a long - dry spell lay ahead of him. - </p> - <p> - It was this third man of whom the other two men were thinking, this - melancholy stranger who sat and stared through the thick, humid heat of - the July day at nothing at all, with grievous eyes, his ego motionless - beneath the movements of his rambling skin. He had driven up the road - thirty minutes before in a flivver, had bought some chewing tobacco of - Hennery McNabb, and had set himself down in front of the store and chewed - tobacco in silence ever since. - </p> - <p> - Finally Ben Grevis, the village grave-digger and janitor of the church, - broke through the settled stillness with a question: - </p> - <p> - “Mister,” he said, “you ain't done nothing you're afraid of being arrested - for, hev you?” - </p> - <p> - The stranger slowly turned his head toward Ben and made a negative sign. - He did not shake his head in negation. He moved the skin of his forehead - from left to right and back again three or four times. And his eyebrows - moved as his skin moved. But his eyes remained fixed and melancholy. - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes,” suggested Hennery McNabb, who had almost tired himself out - whittling, “a man's system needs overhaulin', same as a horse's needs - drenchin'. I don't aim to push my goods on to no man, but if you was - feelin' anyway sick, inside or out, I got some of Splain's Liniment for - Man and Beast in there that might fix you up.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't sick,” said the stranger, in a low and gentle voice. - </p> - <p> - “I never seen many fellers that looked as sad as you do,” volunteered Ben - Grevis. “There was a mighty sad-lookin' tramp, that resembled you in the - face some, was arrested here for bein' drunk eight or nine years ago, only - he wasn't as tall as you an' his skin was different. After Si Emery, our - city marshal, had kep' him in the lock-up over Sunday and turned him loose - again, it come to light he was wanted over in I'way for killin' a feller - with a piece of railroad iron.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't killed anybody with any railroad iron over in I'way,” said the - lengthy man. And he added, with a sigh: “Nor nowheres else, neither.” - </p> - <p> - Hennery McNabb, who disagreed with everyone on principle—he was the - Village Atheist, and proud of it—addressed himself to Ben Grevis. - “This feller ain't nigh as sad-lookin' as that tramp looked,” said - Hennery. “I've knowed any number of fellers sadder-lookin' than this - feller here.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't say this feller here was the saddest-lookin' feller I ever - seen,” said Ben Grevis. “All I meant was that he is sadder-lookin' than - the common run of fellers.” While Hennery disagreed with all the world, - Ben seldom disagreed with any one but Hennery. They would argue by the - hour, on religious matters, always beginning with Hennery's challenge: - “Ben Grevis, tell me just one thing if you can, <i>where</i> did Cain get - his wife?” and always ending with Ben's statement: “I believe the Book - from kiver to kiver.” - </p> - <p> - The tall man with the educated skin—it was educated, very evidently, - for with a contraction of the hide on the back of his hand he nonchalantly - picked up a shaving that had blown his way—spoke to Ben and Hennery - in the soft and mild accents that seemed habitual to him: - </p> - <p> - “Where did you two see sadder-lookin' fellers than I be?” - </p> - <p> - “Over in Indianny,” said Hennery, “there's a man so sad that you're one of - these here laughin' jackasses 'longside o' him.” - </p> - <p> - And, being encouraged, Hennery proceeded. - </p> - <p> - This here feller (said Hennery McNabb) lived over in Brown County, - Indianny, but he didn't come from there original. He come from down in - Kentucky some-wheres and his name was Peevy, Bud Peevy. He was one of them - long, lank fellers, like you, stranger, but he wasn't as long and his skin - didn't sort o' wander around and wag itself like it was a tail. - </p> - <p> - It was from the mountain districts he come. I was visitin' a brother of - mine in the county-seat town of Brown County then, and this Bud Peevy was - all swelled up with pride when I first knowed him. He was proud of two - things. One was that he was the champeen corn-licker drinker in Kentucky. - It was so he give himself out. And the other thing he was prouder yet of. - It was the fact, if fact it was, that he was the Decidin' Vote in a - national election—that there election you all remember, the first - time Bryan run for President and McKinley was elected. - </p> - <p> - This here Bud Peevy, you understand, wasn't really sad when I first knowed - him: he only <i>looked</i> sad. His sadness that matched his innard - feelin's up to his outward looks come on to him later. He was all-fired - proud when I first knowed him. He went expandin' and extendin' of himself - around everywheres tellin' them Indianny people how it was him, personal, - that elected McKinley and saved the country from that there free-silver - ruination. And the fuller he was of licker, the longer he made this here - story, and the fuller, as you might say, of increditable strange events. - </p> - <p> - Accordin' to him, on that election day in 1896 he hadn't planned to go and - vote, for it was quite a ways to the polls from his place and his horse - had fell lame and he didn't feel like walkin'. He figgered his district - would go safe for McKinley, anyhow, and he wouldn't need to vote. He was a - strong Republican, and when a Kentuckian is a Republican there ain't no - stronger kind. - </p> - <p> - But along about four o'clock in the afternoon a man comes ridin' up to his - house with his horse all a lather of foam and sweat, and the horse was one - of these here Kentucky thoroughbred race horses that must 'a' travelled - nigh a mile a minute, to hear Bud Peevy tell of it, and that horse gives - one groan like a human bein' and falls dead at Bud Peevy's feet afore the - rider can say a word, and the rider is stunned. - </p> - <p> - But Bud Peevy knowed him for a Republican county committeeman, and he - poured some corn licker down his throat and he revived to life again. The - feller yells to Bud as soon as he can get his breath to go to town and - vote, quick, as the polls will close in an hour, and everybody else in - that district has voted but Bud, and everyone has been kep' track of, and - the vote is a tie. - </p> - <p> - It's twelve miles to the pollin' place from Bud's farm in the hills and it - is a rough country, but Bud strikes out runnin' acrost hills and valleys - with three pints of corn licker in his pockets for to refresh himself from - time to time. Bud, he allowed he was the best runner in Kentucky, and he - wouldn't 'a' had any trouble, even if he did have to run acrost mountains - and hurdle rocks, to make the twelve miles in an hour, but there was a lot - of cricks and rivers in that country and there had been a gosh-a-mighty - big rain the night before and all them cricks had turned into rivers and - all them rivers had turned into roarin' oceans and Niagara catarac's. But - Bud, he allows he is the best swimmer in Kentucky, and when he comes to a - stream he takes a swig of corn licker and jumps in and swims acrost, boots - and all—for he was runnin' in his big cowhides, strikin' sparks of - fire from the mountains with every leap he made. - </p> - <p> - Five times he was shot at by Democrats in the first six miles, and in the - seventh mile the shootin' was almost continual, and three or four times he - was hit, but he kep' on. It seems the Democrats had got wind he had been - sent for to turn the tide and a passel of 'em was out among the hills with - rifles to stop him if they could. But he is in too much of a hurry to - bandy words with 'em, and he didn't have his gun along, which he - regretted, he says, as he is the best gun fighter in Kentucky and he keeps - on a-runnin' and a-swimmin' and a-jumpin' cricks and a-hurdlin' rocks with - the bullets whizzin' around him and the lightnin' strikin' in his path, - for another big storm had come up, and no power on this here earth could - head him off, he says, for it come to him like a Voice from on High he was - the preordained messenger and hero who was goin' to turn the tide and save - the country from this here free-silver ruination. About two miles from the - pollin' place, jist as he jumps into the last big river, two men plunges - into the water after him with dirks, and one of them he gets quick, but - the other one drags Bud under the water, stabbin' and jabbin' at him. - There is a terrible stabbin' and stickin' battle way down under the water, - which is runnin' so fast that big stones the size of a cow is being rolled - down stream, but Bud he don't mind the stones, and he can swim under water - as well as on top of it, he says, and he's the best knife fighter in - Kentucky, he says, and he soon fixes that feller and swims to shore with - his knife in his teeth, and now he's only got one more mountain to cross. - </p> - <p> - But a kind of hurricane has sprung up and turned into a cyclone in there - among the hills, and as he goes over the top of that last mountain, - lickety-split, in the dark and wind and rain, he blunders into a whole - passel of rattlesnakes that has got excited by the elements. But he fit - his way through 'em, thankin' God he had nearly a quart of licker left to - take for the eight or ten bites he got, and next there rose up in front of - him two of them big brown bears, and they was wild with rage because the - storm had been slingin' boulders at 'em. One of them bears he sticked with - his knife and made short work of, but the other one give him quite a - tussel, Bud says, afore he conquered it and straddled it. And it was a - lucky thing for him, he says, that he caught that bear in time, for he was - gittin' a leetle weak with loss of blood and snake bites and battlin' with - the elements. Bud, he is the best rider in Kentucky, and it wasn't thirty - seconds afore that bear knowed a master was a-ridin' of it, and in five - minutes more Bud, he gallops up to that pollin' place, right through the - heart of the hurricane, whippin' that bear with rattlesnakes to make it go - faster, and he jumps off and cracks his boot heels together and gives a - yell and casts the decidin' vote into the ballot box. He had made it with - nearly ten seconds to spare. - </p> - <p> - Well, accordin' to Bud Peevy that there one vote carries the day for - McKinley in that county and not only in that county alone, but in that - electorial district, and that electorial district gives McKinley the State - of Kentucky, which no Republican had ever carried Kentucky for President - for afore. And two or three other States was hangin' back keepin' their - polls open late to see how Kentucky would go, and when it was flashed by - telegraph all over the country that Bud Peevy was carryin' Kentucky for - McKinley, them other States joined in with Kentucky and cast their - electorial votes that-a-way, too, and McKinley was elected President. - </p> - <p> - So Bud figgers he has jist naturally elected that man President and saved - the country—he is the one that was the Decidin' Vote for this whole - derned republic. And, as I said, he loves to tell about it. It was in 1896 - that Bud saved the country and it was in 1900 that he moved to Brown - County, Indianny, and started in with his oratin' about what a great man - he was, and givin' his political opinions about this, that and the other - thing, like he might 'a' been President himself. Bein' the Decidin' Vote - that-a-way made him think he jist about run this country with his ideas. - </p> - <p> - He's been hangin' around the streets in his new home, the county town of - Brown County, for five or six weeks, in the summer of 1900, tellin' what a - great feller he is, and bein' admired by everybody, when one day the news - comes that the U. S. Census for 1900 has been pretty nigh finished, and - that the Centre of Population for the whole country falls in Brown County. - Well, you can understand that's calculated to make folks in that county - pretty darned proud. - </p> - <p> - But the proudest of them all was a feller by the name of Ezekiel - Humphreys. It seems these here government sharks had it figgered out that - the centre of population fell right on to where this here Zeke Humphrey's - farm was, four or five miles out of town. - </p> - <p> - And Zeke, he figgers that he, himself, personal, has become the Centre of - Population. - </p> - <p> - Zeke hadn't never been an ambitious man. He hadn't never gone out and - courted any glory like that, nor schemed for it nor thought of it. But he - was a feller that thought well enough of himself, too. He had been a - steady, hard-workin' kind of man all his life, mindin' his own business - and payin' his debts, and when this here glory comes to him, bein' chose - out of ninety millions of people, as you might say, to be the one and only - Centre of Population, he took it as his just due and was proud of it. - </p> - <p> - “You see how the office seeks the man, if the man is worthy of it!” says - Zeke. And everybody liked Zeke that knowed him, and was glad of his glory. - </p> - <p> - Well, one day this here Decidin' Vote, Bud Peevy, comes to town to fill - himself up on licker and tell how he saved the country, and he is - surprised because he don't get nobody to listen to him. And pretty soon he - sees the reason for it. There's a crowd of people on Main Street all - gathered around Zeke Humphreys and all congratulatin' him on being the - Centre of Population. And they was askin' his opinion on politics and - things. Zeke is takin' it modest and sensible, but like a man that knowed - he deserved it, too. Bud Peevy, he listens for a while, and he sniffs and - snorts, but nobody pays any 'tention to him. Finally, he can't keep his - mouth shut any longer, and he says: - </p> - <p> - “Politics! Politics! To hear you talk, a fellow'd think you really got a - claim to talk about politics!” - </p> - <p> - Zeke, he never was any trouble hunter, but he never run away from it, - neither. - </p> - <p> - “Mebby,” says Zeke, not het up any, but right serious and determined-like, - “mebby you got more claim to talk about politics than I have?” - </p> - <p> - “I shore have,” says Bud Peevy. “I reckon I got more claim to be hearkened - to about politics than any other man in this here whole country. I'm the - Decidin' Vote of this here country, I am!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, gosh-ding my melts!” says Zeke Humphreys. “You ain't proud of - yourself, nor nothin', are you?” - </p> - <p> - “No prouder nor what I got a right to be,” says Bud Peevy, “considerin' - what I done.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, you be!” says Zeke Humphreys. “You been proudin' yourself around - here for weeks now all on account o' that decidin' vote business. And <i>anybody</i> - might 'a' been a Decidin' Vote. A Decidin' Vote don't amount to nothin' - 'longside a Centre of Population.” - </p> - <p> - “Where would your derned population be if I hadn't went and saved this - here country for 'em?” asks Bud Peevy. - </p> - <p> - “Be?” says Zeke. “They'd be right where they be now, if you'd never been - born nor heard tell on, that's where they'd be. And I'd be the centre of - 'em, jist like I be now!” - </p> - <p> - “And what <i>air</i> you now?” says Bud Peevy, mighty mean and - insultin'-like. “You ain't nothin' but a accident, you ain't! What I got, - I fit for and I earnt. But you ain't nothin' but a happenin'!” - </p> - <p> - Them seemed like mighty harsh words to Zeke, for he figgered his glory was - due to him on account of the uprighteous life he always led, and so he - says: - </p> - <p> - “Mister, anybody that says I ain't nothin' but a happenin' is a liar.” - </p> - <p> - “1 kin lick my weight in rattlesnakes,” yells Bud Peevy, “and I've done it - afore this! And I tells you once again, and flings it in your face, that - you ain't nothin' but a accidental happenin'!” - </p> - <p> - “You're a liar, then!” says Zeke. - </p> - <p> - With that Bud Peevy jerks his coat off and spits on to his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Set yo'self, man,” says he; “the whirlwind's cornin'!” And he makes a - rush at Zeke. Bud is a good deal taller'n Zeke, but Zeke is sort o' - bricky-red and chunky like a Dutch Reformed Church, and when this here - Peevy comes on to him with a jump Zeke busts him one right on to the eye. - It makes an uncheerful noise like 1 heard one time when Dan Lively, the - butcher acrost the street there, hit a steer in the head with a sledge - hammer. Bud, he sets down sudden, and looks surprised out of the eye that - hadn't went to war yet. But he must 'a' figgered it was a accident for he - don't set there long. He jumps up and rushes again. - </p> - <p> - “I'm a wildcat! I'm a wildcat!” yells this here Bud. And Zeke, he - collisions his fist with the other eye, and Bud sets down the second time. - I won't say this here Zeke's hands was as big as a quarter of beef. The - fact is, they wasn't that big. But I seen that fight myself, and there was - somethin' about the size and shape of his fist when it was doubled up that - kind o' <i>reminded</i> me of a quarter of beef. Only his fists was harder - than a quarter of beef. I guess Zeke's fists was about as hard as a - hickory log that has been gettin' itself soaked and dried and seasoned for - two or three years. I heard a story about Zeke and a mule that kicked him - one time, but I didn't see it myself and I dunno' as it's all true. The - word was that Zeke jist picked up that mule after it kicked him and - frowned at it and told it if it ever done that again he would jist - naturally pull off the leg that it kicked him with and turn it loose to - hop away on three legs, and he cuffed that mule thorough and thoughtful - and then he took it by one hind leg and fore leg and jounced it against a - stone barn and told it to behave its fool self. It always seemed to me - that story had been stretched a mite, but that was one of the stories they - telled on Zeke. - </p> - <p> - But this here Bud Peevy is game. He jumps up again with his two eyes - lookin' like a skillet full of tripe and onions and makes another rush at - Zeke. And this time he gets his hands on to Zeke and they rastles back and - forth. But Bud, while he is a strong fellow, he ain't no ways as strong as - a mule even if he is jist as sudden and wicked, so Zeke throws him down - two or three times. Bud, he kicks Zeke right vicious and spiteful into the - stomach, and when he done that Zeke began to get a little cross. So he - throwed Bud down again and this time he set on top of him. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then,” says Zeke, bangin' Bud's head on to the sidewalk, “am I a - happenin', or am I on purpose?” - </p> - <p> - “Lemme up,” says Bud. “Leggo my whiskers and lemme up! You ain't licked me - any, but them ol' wounds I got savin' this country is goin' to bust open - ag'in. I kin feel 'em bustin'.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't start this,” says Zeke, “but I'm a-goin' to finish it. Now, - then, am I a accident, or was I meant?” - </p> - <p> - “It's a accident you ever got me down,” says Bud, “Whether you are a - accident yourself or not.” - </p> - <p> - Zeke jounces his head on the sidewalk some more and he says: “You answer - better nor that! You go further! You tell me whether I'm on purpose or - not!” - </p> - <p> - “You was meant for somethin',” says Bud, “but you can't make me say what! - You can bang my head off and I won't say what. Two or three of them - bullets went into my neck right where you're bendin' it and I feel them - ol' wounds bustin' open.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe you got no ol' wounds,” says Zeke, “and I don't believe - you ever saved no country and I'm gonna keep you here till I've banged - some sense and politeness into your head.” - </p> - <p> - Bud, he gives a yell and a twist, and bites Zeke's wrist; Zeke slapped him - some, and Bud ketched one of Zeke's fingers into his mouth and nigh bit it - off afore Zeke got it loose. Zeke, he was a patient man and right - thoughtful and judicious, but he had got kind o' cross when Bud kicked him - into the stomach, and now this biting made him a leetle mite crosser. I - cal'ated if Bud wasn't careful he'd get Zeke really riled up pretty soon - and get his fool self hurt. Zeke, he takes Bud by the ears and slams his - head till I thought the boards in that sidewalk was goin' to be busted. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then,” says Zeke, lettin' up for a minute, “has the Centre of - Population got a right to talk politics, or ain't he? You say he is got a - right, or I mebby will fergit myself and get kind o' rough with you.” - </p> - <p> - “This here country I saved is a free country,” says Bud Peevy, kind o' - sick an' feeble, “and any one that lives in this here country I saved has - got a right to talk politics, I reckon.” - </p> - <p> - Zeke, he took that for an answer and got good-natured and let Bud up. Bud, - he wipes the blood off'n his face and ketches his breath an' gits mean - again right away. - </p> - <p> - “If my constitution hadn't been undermined savin' this here country,” says - Bud, “you never could 'a' got me down like that! And you ain't heard the - end of this argyment yet, neither! I'm a-goin' for my gun, and we'll shoot - it out!” - </p> - <p> - But the townspeople interfered and give Bud to understand he couldn't - bring no guns into a fight, like mebby he would 'a' done in them mountain - regions he was always talkin' about; an' told him if he was to start - gunnin' around they would get up a tar-and-feather party and he would be - the reception committee. They was all on Zeke's side and they'd all got - kind o' tired listenin' to Bud Peevy, anyhow. Zeke was their own hometown - man, and so they backed him. All that glory had come to Brown County and - they wasn't goin' to see it belittled by no feller from another place. - </p> - <p> - Bud Peevy, for two or three weeks, can't understand his glory has left - him, and he goes braggin' around worse than ever. But people only grins - and turns away; nobody will hark to him when he talks. When Bud tries to - tell his story it gets to be quite the thing to look at him and say: - “Lemme up! Leggo my whiskers! Lemme up!”—like he said when Zeke - Humphreys had him down. And so it was he come to be a byword around town. - Kids would yell at him on the street, to plague him, and he would get mad - and chase them kids, and when folks would see him runnin' after the kids - they would yell: “Hey! Hey, Bud Peevy! You could go faster if you was to - ride a bear!” Or else they would yell: “Whip yourself with a rattlesnake, - Bud, and get up some speed!” - </p> - <p> - His glory had been so big and so widespread for so long that when it - finally went, there jist wasn't a darned thing left to him. His heart - busted in his bosom. He wouldn't talk about nothin'. He jist slinked - around. He was most pitiful because he wasn't used to misfortune like some - people. - </p> - <p> - And he couldn't pack up his goods and move away from that place. For he - had come there to live with a married daughter and his son-in-law, and if - he left there he would have to get a steady job working at somethin' and - support himself. And Bud didn't want to risk that. For that wild run he - made the time he saved the country left him strained clean down to the - innards of his constitution, he says, and he wa'n't fit to work. But the - thing that put the finishing touches on to him was when a single daughter - that he had fell into love with Zeke Humphreys, who was a widower, and - married herself to him. His own flesh and blood has disowned him, Bud - says. So he turns sad, and he was the saddest man 1 ever seen. He was - sadder than you look to be, stranger. - </p> - <p> - The stranger with the educated skin breathed a gentle sigh at the - conclusion of Hennery's tale of the Deciding Vote and the Centre of - Population, and then he said: - </p> - <p> - “I don't doubt Bud Peevy was a sad man. But there's sadder things than - what happened to Bud Peevy. There's things that touches the heart closer.” - </p> - <p> - “Stranger,” said Ben Grevis, “you've said it! But Hennery, here, don't - know anything about the heart bein' touched.” - </p> - <p> - Hennery McNabb seemed to enjoy the implication, rather than to resent it. - Ben Grevis continued: - </p> - <p> - “A sadder thing than what happened to Bud Peevy is goin' on a good deal - nearer home than Indianny. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't the kind of a feller that goes running to Indianny and to - Kentucky and all over the known earth for examples of sadness, nor nothin' - else. We got as good a country right here in Illinois as there is on top - of the earth and I'm one that always sticks up for home folks and home - industries. Hennery, here, ain't got any patriotism. And he ain't got any - judgment. He don't know what's in front of him. But right here in our home - county, not five miles from where we are, sets a case of sadness that is - one of the saddest I ever seen or knowed about. - </p> - <p> - “Hennery, here, he don't know how sad it is, for he's got no finer - feelin's. A free thinker like Hennery can't be expected to have no finer - feelin's. And this case is a case of a woman.” - </p> - <p> - “A woman!” sighed the stranger. “If a woman is mixed up with it, it could - have finer feelin's and sadness in it!” And a ripple of melancholy ran - over him from head to foot. - </p> - <p> - This here woman (said Ben Grevis) lives over to Hickory Grove, in the - woods, and everybody for miles around calls her Widder Watson. - </p> - <p> - Widder Watson, she has buried four or five husbands, and you can see her - any day that it ain't rainin' settin' in the door of her little house, - smokin' of her corn-cob pipe, and lookin' at their graves and speculatin' - and wonderin'. I talked with her a good deal from time to time durin' the - last three or four years, and the things she is speculatin' on is life and - death, and them husbands she has buried, and children. But that ain't what - makes her so sad. It's wishin' for somethin' that, it seems like, never - can be, that is makin' her so sad. - </p> - <p> - She has got eighteen or twenty children, Widder Watson has, runnin' around - them woods. Them woods is jist plumb full of her children. You wouldn't - dare for to try to shoot a rabbit anywhere near them woods for fear of - hittin' one. - </p> - <p> - And all them children has got the most beautiful and peculiar names, that - Widder Watson got out of these here drug-store almanacs. She's been a - great reader all her life, Widder Watson has, but all her readin' has been - done in these here almanacs. You know how many different kinds of almanacs - there always are layin' around drug-stores, I guess. Well, every two or - three months Widder Watson goes to town and gets a new bale of them - almanacs and then she sets and reads 'em. She goes to drug-stores in towns - as far as twelve or fifteen miles away to keep herself supplied. - </p> - <p> - She never cared much for readin' novels and story papers, she tells me. - What she wants is somethin' that has got some true information in it, - about the way the sun rises, and the tides in the oceans she has never - saw, and when the eclipses is going to be, and different kinds of diseases - new and old, and receipts for preserves and true stories about how this or - that wonderful remedy come to be discovered. Mebby it was discovered by - the Injuns in this country, or mebby it was discovered by them there - Egyptians in the old country away back in King Pharaoh's time, and mebby - she's got some of the same sort of yarbs and plants right there in her own - woods. Well, Widder Watson, she likes that kind o' readin', and she knows - all about the Seven Wonders of the World, and all the organs and ornaments - inside the human carcass, and the kind o' pains they are likely to have - and all about what will happen to you if the stars says this or that and - how long the Mississippi River is and a lot of them old-time prophecies of - signs and marvels what is to come to pass yet. You know about what the - readin' is in them almanacs, mebby. - </p> - <p> - Widder Watson, she has got a natural likin' for fine words, jist the same - as some has got a gift for hand-paintin' or playin' music or recitin' - pieces of poetry or anything like that. And so it was quite natural, when - her kids come along, she names 'em after the names in her favourite - readin' matter. And she gets so she thinks more of the names of them kids - than of nearly anything else. I ain't sayin' she thinks more of the names - than she does of the kids, but she likes the names right next to the kids. - Every time she had a baby she used to sit and think for weeks and weeks, - so she tells me, for to get a good name for that baby, and select and - select and select out of them almanacs. - </p> - <p> - Her oldest girl, that everybody calls Zody, is named Zodiac by rights. And - then there's Carty, whose real name is Cartilege, and Anthy, whose full - name is Anthrax, and so on. There's Peruna and Epidermis and Epidemic and - Pisces. - </p> - <p> - I dunno as I can remember all them swell names. There's Perry, whose real - name is Perihelion, and there's Whitsuntide and Tonsillitis and Opodeldoc - and a lot more—I never could remember all them kids. - </p> - <p> - And there ain't goin' to be no more on 'em, for the fact of the matter - seems to be that Widder Watson ain't likely to ever get another husband. - It's been about four years since Jim Watson, her last one, died, and was - buried in there amongst the hickory second-growth and hazel bushes, and - since that day there ain't nobody come along that road a-courtin' Widder - Watson. And that's what makes her sad. She can't understand it, never - havin' been without a husband for so long before, and she sets and grieves - and grieves and smokes her corn-cob pipe and speculates and grieves some - more. - </p> - <p> - Now, don't you get no wrong idea about Widder Watson. She ain't so - all-fired crazy about men. It ain't that. That ain't what makes her - grieve. She is sad because she wants another baby to pin a name to. - </p> - <p> - For she has got the most lovely name out of a new almanac for that there - kid that will likely never be born, and she sets there day after day, and - far into the night, lookin' at them graves in the brush, and talkin' to - the clouds and stars, and sayin' that name over and over to herself, and - sighin' and weepin' because that lovely name will be lost and unknown and - wasted forevermore, with no kid to tack it on to. - </p> - <p> - And she hopes and yearns and grieves for another man to marry her and - wonders why none of 'em never does. Well, I can see why they don't. The - truth is, Widder Watson don't fix herself up much any more. She goes - barefooted most of the time in warm weather, and since she got so sad-like - she don't comb her hair much. And them corn-cob pipes of hern ain't none - too savory. But I 'spose she thinks of herself as bein' jist the same way - she was the last time she took the trouble to look into the lookin' glass - and she can't understand it. - </p> - <p> - “Damn the men, Ben,” she says to me, the last time I was by there, “what's - the matter with 'em all? Ain't they got no sense any more? I never had no - trouble ketchin' a man before this! But here I been settin' for three or - four years, with eighty acres of good land acrost the road there, and a - whole passel o' young uns to work it, and no man comes to court me. There - was a feller along here two-three months ago I did have some hopes on. He - come a-palaverin' and a-blarneyin' along, and he stayed to dinner and I - made him some apple dumplin's, and he et an' et and palavered. - </p> - <p> - “But it turned out he was really makin' up to that gal, Zody, of mine. It - made me so darned mad, Ben, I runned him off the place with Jeff Parker's - shotgun that is hangin' in there, and then I took a hickory sprout to that - there Zody and tanned her good, for encouragin' of him. You remember Jeff - Parker, Ben? He was my second. You wasn't thinkin' of gettin' married - ag'in yourself, was you, Ben?” - </p> - <p> - I told her I wasn't. That there eighty acres is good land, and they ain't - no mortgages on it, nor nothin', but the thought of bein' added to that - collection in amongst the hazel brush and hickory sprouts is enough for to - hold a man back. And the Widder Watson, she don't seem to realize she - orter fix herself up a little mite. But I'm sorry for her, jist the same. - There she sets and mourns, sayin' that name over and over to herself, and - a-grievin' and a-hopin', and all the time she knows it ain't much use to - hope. And a sadder sight than you will see over there to Hickory Grove - ain't to be found in the whole of the State of Illinois. - </p> - <p> - “That is a mighty sad picture you have drawed,” said the stranger, when - Ben Grevis had finished, “but I'm a sadder man for a man than that there - woman is for a woman.” - </p> - <p> - He wrinkled all over, he almost grinned, if one could think of him as - grinning, when he mentioned “that there woman.” It was as if he tasted - some ulterior jest, and found it bitter, in connection with “that there - woman.” After a pause, in which he sighed several times, he remarked in - his tired and gentle voice: - </p> - <p> - “There's two kinds of sadness, gentlemen. There is the melancholy sadness - that has been with you for so long that you have got used to it and kind - o' enjoy it in a way. And then there's the kind o' sadness where you go - back on yourself, where you make your own mistakes and fall below your own - standards, and that is a mighty bitter kind of sadness.” - </p> - <p> - He paused again, while the skin wreathed itself into funeral wreaths about - his face, and then he said, impressively: - </p> - <p> - “Both of them kinds of sadness I have known. First I knowed the melancholy - kind, and now I know the bitter kind.” - </p> - <p> - The first sadness that I had lasted for years (said the stranger with the - strange skin). It was of the melancholy kind, tender and sort o' sweet, - and if I had been the right kind of a man I would 'a' stuck to it and kept - it. But I went back on it. I turned my face away from it. And in going - back on it I went back on all them old, sad, sweet memories, like the - songs tell about, that was my better self. And that is what caused the - sadness I am in the midst of now. It's the feelin' that I done wrong in - turnin' away from all them memories that makes me as sad as you see me - to-day. I will first tell you how the first sadness come on to me, and - secondly I will tell you how I got the sadness I am in the midst of now. - </p> - <p> - Gentlemen, mebby you have noticed that my skin is kind o' different from - most people's skin. That is a gift, and there was a time when I made money - off'n that gift. And I got another gift. I'm longer and slimmer than most - persons is. And besides them two gifts, I got a third gift. I can eat - glass, gentlemen, and it don't hurt me none. I can eat glass as natural - and easy as a chicken eats gravel. And them three gifts is my art. - </p> - <p> - I was an artist in a side-show for years, gentlemen, and connected with - one of the biggest circuses in the world. I could have my choice of three - jobs with any show I was with, and there ain't many could say that. I - could be billed as the India Rubber Man, on account of my skin, or I could - be billed as the Living Skeleton, on account of my framework, or I could - be billed as the Glass Eater. And once or twice I was billed as all three. - </p> - <p> - But mostly I didn't bother much with eating glass or being a Living - Skeleton. Mostly I stuck to being an India Rubber Man. It always seemed to - me there was more art in that, more chance to show talent and genius. The - gift that was given to me by Providence I developed and trained till I - could do about as much with my skin as most people can with their fingers. - It takes constant work and practice to develop a skin, even when Nature - has been kind to you like she has to me. - </p> - <p> - For years I went along contented enough, seein' the country and being - admired by young and old, and wondered at and praised for my gift and the - way I had turned it into an art, and never thinkin' much of women nor - matrimony nor nothing of that kind. - </p> - <p> - But when a man's downfall is put off, it is harder when it comes. When I - fell in love I fell good and hard. I fell into love with a pair of Siamese - twins. These here girls was tied together somewheres about the waist line - with a ligament of some kind, and there wasn't no fake about it—they - really was tied. On account of motives of delicacy I never asked 'em much - about that there ligament. The first pair of twins like that who was ever - on exhibition was from Siam, so after that they called all twins of that - kind Siamese twins. But these girls wasn't from none of them outlandish - parts; they was good American girls, born right over in Ohio, and their - names was Jones. Hetty Jones and Netty Jones was their names. - </p> - <p> - Hetty, she was the right-hand twin, and Netty was the left-hand twin. And - you never seen such lookers before in your life, double nor single. They - was exactly alike and they thought alike and they talked alike. Sometimes - when I used to set and talk to 'em I felt sure they was just one woman. If - I could 'a' looked at 'em through one of these here stereoscopes they - would 'a' come together and been one woman, I never had any idea about 'em - bein' two women. - </p> - <p> - Well, I courted 'em, and they was mighty nice to me, both of 'em. I used - to give 'em candy and flowers and little presents and I would set and - admire 'em by the hour. I kept gettin' more and more into love with them. - And I seen they was gettin' to like me, too. - </p> - <p> - So one day I outs with it. - </p> - <p> - “Will you marry me?” says I. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” says Hetty. And, “Yes,” says Netty. Both in the same breath! And - then each one looked at the other one, and they both looked at me, and - they says, both together: - </p> - <p> - “Which one of us did you ask?” - </p> - <p> - “Why,” says I, kind o' flustered, “there ain't but one of you, is they? I - look on you as practically one woman.” - </p> - <p> - “The idea!” says Netty. - </p> - <p> - “You orter be ashamed of yourself,” says Hetty. - </p> - <p> - “You didn't think,” says Netty, “that you could marry both of us, did - you?” - </p> - <p> - Well, all I had really thought up to that time was that I was in love with - 'em, and just as much in love with one as with the other, and I popped the - question right out of my heart and sentiments without thinking much one - way or the other. But now I seen there was going to be a difficulty. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” I says, “if you want to consider yourself as two people, I suppose - it would be marryin' both of you. But I always thought of you as two - hearts that beat as one. And I don't see no reason why I shouldn't marry - the two of you, if you want to hold out stubborn that you <i>are</i> two.” - </p> - <p> - “For my part,” says Hetty, “I think you are insulting.” - </p> - <p> - “You must choose between us,” says Netty. - </p> - <p> - “I would never,” says Hetty, “consent to any Mormonous goings-on of that - sort.” - </p> - <p> - They still insisted they was two people till finally I kind o' got to see - their side of the argyment. But how was I going to choose between them - when no matter which one I chooses she was tied tight to the other one? - </p> - <p> - We agreed to talk it over with the Fat Lady in that show, who had a good - deal of experience in concerns of the heart and she had been married four - or five times and was now a widder, having accidental killed her last - husband by rolling over on him in her sleep. She says to me: - </p> - <p> - “How happy you could be with either, Skinny, were t'other dear charmer - away!” - </p> - <p> - “This ain't no jokin' matter, Dolly,” I tells her. “We come for serious - advice.” - </p> - <p> - “Skinny, you old fool,” she says, “there's an easy way out of this - difficulty. All you got to do is get a surgeon to cut that ligament and - then take your choice.” - </p> - <p> - “But I ain't really got any choice,” I says, “for I loves 'em both and I - loves 'em equal. And I don't believe in tamperin' with Nature.” - </p> - <p> - “It ain't legal for you to marry both of 'em,” says the Fat Lady. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't moral for me to cut 'em asunder,” I says. - </p> - <p> - I had a feelin' all along that if they was cut asunder trouble of some - kind would follow. But both Hetty and Netty was strong for it. They - refused to see me or have anything to do with me, they sent me word, till - I give up what they called the insultin' idea of marryin' both of 'em. - They set and quarrelled with each other all the time, the Fat Lady told - me, because they was jealous of each other. Bein' where they couldn't get - away from each other even for a minute, that jealousy must have et into - them something unusual. And finally, I knuckled under. I let myself be - overrulled. I seen I would lose both of 'em unless I made a choice. So I - sent 'em word by the Fat Lady that I would choose. But I knowed deep in my - heart all the time that no good would come of it. You can't go against - Scripter and prosper; and the Scripter says: “What God has joined - together, let no man put asunder.” - </p> - <p> - Well, we fixed it up this way: I was to pay for that there operation, - having money saved up for to do it with, and then I was to make my choice - by chance. The Fat Lady says to toss a penny or something. - </p> - <p> - But I always been a kind of a romantic feller, and I says to myself I will - make that choice in some kind of a romantic way. So first I tried one of - these ouija boards, but all I get is “Etty, Etty, Etty,” over and over - again, and whether the ouija left off an H or an N there's no way of - telling. The Fat Lady, she says: “Why don't you count 'em out, like kids - do, to find out who is It?” - </p> - <p> - “How do you mean?” I asks her. - </p> - <p> - “Why,” says she, “by saying, 'Eeny meeny, miney, mo!' or else 'Monkey, - monkey, bottle of beer, how many monkeys have we here?' or something like - that.” - </p> - <p> - But that ain't romantic enough to suit me and I remember how you pluck a - daisy and say: “She loves me! She loves me not!” And I think I will get an - American beauty rose and do it that way. Well, they had the operation, and - it was a success. And about a week later I'm to go to the hospital and - tell 'em which one has been elected to the holy bonds of matrimony. I gets - me a rose, one of the most expensive that money can buy in the town we was - in, and when I arrive at the hospital I start up the front steps pluckin' - the leaves off and sayin' to myself: “Hetty she is! Netty she is! Hetty - she is!”—and so on. But I never got that rose all plucked. - </p> - <p> - I knowed all along that it was wrong to put asunder what God had joined - together, and I orter stuck to the hunch I had. You can't do anything to a - freak without changing his or her disposition some way. You take a freak - that was born that way and go to operating on him, and if he is - good-natured he'll turn out a grouch, or if he was a grouch he'll turn out - good-natured. I knowed a dog-faced boy one time who was the sunniest - critter you ever seen. But his folks got hold of a lot of money and took - him out of the business and had his features all slicked up and made over, - and what he gained in looks he lost in temper and disposition. Any - tinkering you do around artists of that class will change their sentiments - every time. - </p> - <p> - I never got that rose all plucked. At the top of the steps I was met by - Hetty and Netty, just cornin' out of the hospital and not expectin' to see - me. With one of them was a young doctor that worked in the hospital and - with the other was a patient that had just got well. They explained to me - that as soon as they had that operation their sentiments toward me - changed. Before, they had both loved me. Afterwards, neither one of 'em - did. They was right sorry about it, they said, but they had married these - here fellows that morning in the hospital, with a double wedding, and was - now starting off on their wedding trips, and their husbands would pay back - the operation money as soon as they had earned it and saved it up. - </p> - <p> - Well, I was so flabbergasted that my skin stiffened up on me, and it - stayed stiff for the rest of that day. I never said a word, but I turned - away from there a sad man with a broken heart in my bosom. And I quit - bein' an artist. I didn't have the sperrit to be in a show any more. - </p> - <p> - And through all the years since then I been a saddened man. But as time - went by there come a kind of sweetness into that sadness, too. It is - better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, like the - poet says. I was one of the saddest men in the world, but I sort o' - enjoyed it, after a few years. And all them memories sort o' kept me a - better man. - </p> - <p> - I orter stuck to that kind of sweet sadness. I orter knowed that if I went - back on all them beautiful memories of them girls something bitter would - come to me. - </p> - <p> - But I didn't, gentlemen. I went back on all that sentiment and that - tenderness. I betrayed all them beautiful memories. Five days ago, I went - and married. Yes, sir, I abandoned all that sweet recollection. And I been - livin' in hell ever since. I been reproachin' myself day and night for not - provin' true and trustworthy to all that romantic sadness I had all them - years. It was a sweet sadness, and I wasn't faithful to it. And so long as - I live now I will have this here bitter sadness. - </p> - <p> - The stranger got up and sighed and stretched himself. He took a fresh chew - of tobacco, and began to crank his flivver. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Ben Grevis, “that is a sad story. But I don't know as you're - sadder, at that, than the Widder Watson is.” - </p> - <p> - The stranger spat colourfully into the road, and again the faint semblance - of a smile, a bitter smile, wreathed itself about his mouth. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I be!” he said, “I be a sadder person than the Widder Watson. It was - her I married!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - DOGS AND BOYS (As told by the dog) - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f you are a dog of - any sense, you will pick you out a pretty good sort of a boy and stick to - him. These dogs that are always adopting one boy after another get a bad - name among the humans in the end. And you'd better keep in with the - humans, especially the grown-up ones. Getting your scraps off a plate at - the back door two or three times a day beats hunting rabbits and - ground-squirrels for a living. - </p> - <p> - What a dog wants is a boy anywhere from about nine to about sixteen years - old. A boy under nine hasn't enough sense, as a rule, to be any company - for an intelligent dog. And along about sixteen they begin to dress up and - try to run with the girls, and carry on in a 'way to make a dog tired. - There are exceptions of course—one of the worst mistakes some dogs - make is to suppose that all boys are alike. That isn't true; you'll find - just as much individuality among boys as there is among us dogs, if you're - patient enough to look for it and have a knack for making friends with - animals. But you must remember to be kind to a boy if you're going to - teach him anything; and you must be careful not to frighten him. - </p> - <p> - At the same time, you must keep a boy in his place at once. My boy—Freckles - Watson is his name—understands just how far he can go with me. But - some dogs have to give their boys a lesson now and then. Jack Thompson, - who is a fine, big, good-natured dog, has a boy like that. The boy's name - is Squint—Squint Thompson, he is—and he gets a little - overbearing at times. I remember one Saturday afternoon last summer in - particular. There were a lot of us dogs and boys fooling around up at - Clayton's swimming-hole, including some stray boys with no dogs to look - after them, when Squint began to show off by throwing sticks into the - water and making Jack swim in and get 'em. Jack didn't mind that, but - after a while he got pretty tired and flopped down on the grass, and - wouldn't budge. - </p> - <p> - “Grab him by the tail and the scruff of the neck, and pitch him in, - Squint,” says my boy, Freckles. “It's a lot of fun to duck a dog.” - </p> - <p> - Squint went over to where Jack was lying and took hold of the scruff of - Jack's neck. Jack winked at me in his good-natured way, and made a show of - pulling back some, but finally let Squint pitch him into the deepest part - of the swimming-hole. His head went clear under—which is a thing no - dog likes, let alone being picked up that way and tossed about. Every boy - there set up a shout, and when Jack scrambled up the bank, wagging his - tail and shaking the water off himself, the humans all yelled, “Sling him - in again, Squint!” - </p> - <p> - Jack trotted over to where he had a bone planted at the foot of a walnut - tree, and began to dig for it. Squint followed, intending to sling him in - again. I wondered if old Jack would stand for any more of it. Jack didn't; - but before he got that fool boy to give up his idea he had to pretend like - he was actually trying to bite him. He threw a good scare into the whole - bunch of them, and then made out like he'd seen a rabbit off through the - trees, and took after it. Mutt Mulligan and I went with him, and all the - boys followed, naked, and whooping like Indians, except two that stayed - behind to tie knots in shirts. When we three dogs had given the whole - bunch of them the slip, we lay down in the grass and talked. - </p> - <p> - “Some day,” says Jack to me, “I'm afraid I'm really going to have to bite - that Squint boy, Spot.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't do it,” says I, “he's just a fool boy, and he doesn't really mean - anything by it.” - </p> - <p> - “The thing to do,” says Mutt Mulligan, “is to fire him—just turn him - loose without a dog to his name, and pick up another boy somewhere.” - </p> - <p> - “But I don't like to give Squint up,” says Jack, very thoughtful. “I think - it's my duty to stick to him, even if I have to bite him once or twice to - keep him in his place.” - </p> - <p> - “You see,” Jack went on, “I'm really <i>fond</i> of Squint. I've had him - three years now, and I'm making a regular boy of him. He was a kind of a - sissy when I took charge of him. His folks made him wear long yaller - curls, and they kept him in shoes and stockings even in the summer-time, - and they dressed him up in little blouses, and, say, fellows, you'd never - guess what they called him!” - </p> - <p> - “What?” says I. - </p> - <p> - “Percival,” says Jack. “And they wouldn't let him fight. Well, I've seen - him turn into a real boy, a bit it a time, and I think it's up to me to - stick to the job and help with his education. He chews tobacco now,” says - Jack very proudly, “and he can smoke a corncob pipe without getting sick; - and I'll tell you what, Spot, he can lick that Freckles boy of yours to a - frazzle.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh!” says I, “there's no boy of his age in town that dast to knock a - chip off that Freckles boy's shoulder.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Jack, ignoring my remark, “that Squint has turned into - some kid, believe me! And the first time I saw him he was a sight. It was - about dusk, one summer afternoon three years ago, and he was sitting down - in the grass by the side of the road six or seven miles from town, crying - and talking to himself. I sat down a little way off and listened. He had - run away from home, and I didn't blame him any, either. Besides the curls - and shoes and stockings I have mentioned, there were other persecutions. - He never went fishing, for instance, unless his father took him. He didn't - dast to play marbles for keeps. They wouldn't let him have a Flobert - rifle, nor even a nigger shooter. There were certain kids he wasn't - allowed to play with—they were too common and dirty for him, his - folks said. So he had run off to go with a circus. He had hacked off his - Fauntleroy curls before he started only he hadn't got 'em very even; but - he had forgot to inquire which way to go to find a circus. He'd walked and - walked, and the nearest thing to a circus he had found was a gipsy outfit, - and he had got scared of an old man with brass rings in his ears, and run, - and run, and run. He'd slung his shoes and stockings away when he started - because he hated 'em so, and now he had a stone bruise, and he was lost - besides. And it was getting dark. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I felt sorry for that boy. I sat there and watched him, and the - idea came to me that it would be a Christian act to adopt him. He wasn't a - sissy at heart—he had good stuff in him, or he wouldn't have run - away. Besides, I wanted a change; I'd been working for a farmer, and I was - pretty sick of that.” - </p> - <p> - “It's no life for a dog with any sporting instinct,” I said, “farm life - isn't. I've tried it. They keep you so infernally busy with their cows and - sheep and things; and I knew one farm dog that had to churn twice a week. - They stuck him in a treadmill and made him.” - </p> - <p> - “A farm's no worse than living in a city,” said Mutt Mulligan. “A city dog - ain't a real dog; he's either an outcast under suspicion of the police, or - a mama's pet with ribbons tied around his neck.” - </p> - <p> - “You can't tell me,” says Jack. “I know. A country town with plenty of - boys in it, and a creek or river near by, is the only place for a dog. - Well, as I was saying, I felt sorry for Percival, and we made friends. - Pretty soon a man that knew him came by in a buggy, going to town. He was - a doctor, and he stopped and asked Percival if he wasn't pretty far from - home. Percival told him he'd left home for good and for all; but he - sniffled when he said it, and the doctor put him into his buggy and drove - him to town. I drilled along behind. It had been dark quite a while when - we got home, and Percival's folks were scared half to death. His mother - had some extra hysterics when she saw his hair. - </p> - <p> - “'Where on earth did you get that ornery-looking yellow mongrel?' says - Percival's father when he caught sight of me. - </p> - <p> - “'That's my dog,' says Percival. 'I'm going to keep him.' - </p> - <p> - “'I won't have him around,' says his mother. - </p> - <p> - “But Percival spunked up and said he'd keep me, and he'd get his hair - shingled tight to his head, or else the next time he ran away he'd make a - go of it. He got a licking for that remark, but they were so glad to get - him back they let him keep me. And from that time on Percival began to get - some independence about him. He ain't Percival now; he's Squint.” - </p> - <p> - It's true that a dog can help a lot in a boy's education. And I'm proud of - what I've done for Freckles. I will always remember 'one awful time I had - with him, though. I didn't think he'd ever pull through it. All of a - sudden he got melancholy—out of sorts and dreamy. I couldn't figure - out what was the matter with him at first. But I watched him close, and - finally I found out he was in love. He was feeling the disgrace of being - in love pretty hard, too; but he was trying not to show it. The worst part - of it was, he was in love with his school-teacher. She was a Miss Jones, - and an old woman—twenty-two or twenty-three years old, she was. - </p> - <p> - Squint and Freckles had a fight over it when Squint found out. Squint came - over to our place one night after supper and whistled Freckles out. He? - says: - </p> - <p> - “Say, Freckles, I seen you put an apple on Miss Jones's desk this - morning.” - </p> - <p> - “You're a liar,” says Freckles, “and you dastn't back it.” - </p> - <p> - “I dast,” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - “Dastn't,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Dast,” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - “Back it then,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you're another,” says Squint. Which backed it. - </p> - <p> - Then Freckles, he put a piece of wood on to his shoulder, and said: - </p> - <p> - “You don't dast to knock that chip off.” - </p> - <p> - “I dast,” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - “You dastn't,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - Squint made a little push at it. Freckles dodged, and it fell off. - “There,” says Squint, “I knocked it off.” - </p> - <p> - “You didn't; it fell off.” - </p> - <p> - “Did.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn't neither.” - </p> - <p> - “Did teether. Just put it on again, and see if I don't dast to knock it - off.” - </p> - <p> - “I don't have to put it on again, and you ain't big enough to make me do - it,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “I can too make you.” - </p> - <p> - “Can't.” - </p> - <p> - “Huh, you can't run any sandy over me!” - </p> - <p> - “I'll show you whether I can or not!” - </p> - <p> - “Come on, then, over back of the Baptist Church, and show me.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I won't fight in a graveyard.” - </p> - <p> - “Yah! Yah! Yah!—'fraid of a graveyard at night! Fraid-cat! - Fraid-cat! Fraid-cat!” - </p> - <p> - There isn't any kid will stand for that, so they went over to the - graveyard back of the Baptist Church. It was getting pretty dark, too. I - followed them, and sat down on a grave beside a tombstone to watch the - fight. I guess they were pretty much scared of that graveyard, both of - those boys; but us dogs had dug around there too much, making holes after - gophers, and moles, and snakes for me to mind it any. They hadn't hit each - other more than half a dozen times, those boys, when a flea got hold of me - right in the middle of my back, up toward my neck—the place I never - can reach, no matter how hard I dig and squirm. It wasn't one of my own - fleas, by the way it bit; it must have been a tramp flea that had been - starved for weeks. It had maybe come out there with a funeral a long time - before and got lost off of someone, and gone without food ever since; and - while I was rolling around and twisting, and trying to get at it, I bumped - against that tombstone with my whole weight. It was an old slab, and - loose, and it fell right over in the grass with a thud. The boys didn't - know I was there, and when the tombstone fell and I jumped, they thought - ghosts were after them, though I never heard of a ghost biting anybody - yet. It was all I could do to keep up with those boys for the next five - minutes, and I can run down a rabbit. When they stopped, they were half a - mile away, on the schoolhouse steps, hanging on to each other for comfort. - But, after a while they got over their scare, and Squint said: - </p> - <p> - “There ain't any use in you denying that apple, Freckles; two others, - besides me, not counting a girl, saw you put it there.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Freckles, “it's nobody's business.” - </p> - <p> - “But what I can't make out,” says Squint, “is what became of the red - pepper. We knew you wasn't the kind of a softy that would bring apples to - teacher unless they was loaded with cayenne pepper, or something like - that. So we waited around after school to see what would happen when she - bit into it. But she just set at her desk and eat it all up, and slung the - core in the stove, and nothing happened.” - </p> - <p> - “That's funny,” says Freckles. And he didn't say anything more. - </p> - <p> - “Freckles,” says Squint, “I don't believe you put any red pepper into that - apple.” - </p> - <p> - “I did,” says Freckles. “You're a liar!” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” says Squint, “what become of it, then?” - </p> - <p> - “That's none of your business, what become of it,” says Freckles. “What's - it to you what become of it? How do I know what become of it?” - </p> - <p> - “Freckles,” says Squint, “I believe you're stuck on teacher.” - </p> - <p> - “You're a liar!” yells Freckles. And this time he was so mad he hit Squint - without further words. They had a beauty of a fight, but finally Freckles - got Squint down on the gravel path, and bumped his head up and down in the - gravel. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” says he, “did you see any apple?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” says Squint, “I didn't see any apple.” - </p> - <p> - “If you had seen one, would there have been pepper in it?” - </p> - <p> - “There would have been—le'me up, Freckles.” - </p> - <p> - “Am I stuck on teacher?” - </p> - <p> - “You ain't stuck on anybody—ouch, Freckles, le'me up!” - </p> - <p> - Freckles let him up, and then started back toward home, walking on - different sides of the street. About half-way home Freckles crossed the - street, and said: “Squint, if I tell you something, you won't tell?” - </p> - <p> - “1 ain't any snitch, Freckles, and you know it.” - </p> - <p> - “You won't even tell the rest of the Dalton Gang?” - </p> - <p> - “Nope.” - </p> - <p> - “Cross your heart and hope to die?” - </p> - <p> - “Sure.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, set down on the grass here, and I'll tell you.” They set down, and - Freckles says: - </p> - <p> - “Honest, Squint, it's true—I did take her that apple this morning, - and I'm stuck on her, and there wasn't any pepper in it.” - </p> - <p> - “Gee, Freckles!” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - Freckles only drew in a deep breath. - </p> - <p> - “I'm awful sorry for you, Freckles,” says Squint, “honest, I am.” - </p> - <p> - “You always been a good pal, Squint,” says Freckles. “Ain't there anything - can be done about it?” - </p> - <p> - “Nope,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “The Dalton Gang could make things so hot for her she'd have to give up - school,” says Squint, very hopeful. “If you didn't see her any more, you'd - maybe get over it, Freckles.” - </p> - <p> - “No, Squint, I don't want her run out.” - </p> - <p> - “Don't <i>want</i> her run out! Say, Freckles, you don't mean to say you - <i>like</i> being in love with her?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” says Freckles, “if I did like it, that would be a good deal of - disgrace, wouldn't it?” - </p> - <p> - “Gosh darn her!” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Squint,” says Freckles, “if you call me a softy, I'll lick you - again; but honest, I do kind of like it.” And after that disgrace there - wasn't anything more either of them could say. And that disgrace ate into - him more and more; it changed him something awful. It took away all his - spirit by degrees. He got to be a different boy—sort of mooned - around and looked foolish. And he'd blush and giggle if any one said - “Hello” to him. I noticed the first bad sign one Saturday when his father - told him he couldn't go swimming until after he had gone over the whole - patch and picked the bugs off of all the potatoes. He didn't kick nor play - sick; he didn't run away; he stayed at home and bugged those potatoes; he - bugged them very hard and savage; he didn't do two rows, as usual, and - then sneak off through the orchard with me—<i>no, sir, he hugged 'em - all!</i> I lay down at the edge of the patch and watched him, and thought - of old times, and the other dogs and boys down at the creek, or maybe - drowning out gophers, or getting chased by Cy Smith's bull, or fighting - out a bumblebee's nest and putting mud on the stung places, and it all - made me fell mighty sad and downcast. Next day was Sunday, and they told - him he'd get a licking if he chased off after Sunday-school and played - baseball out to the fair-grounds—and he didn't; he came straight - home, without even stopping back of the livery-stable to watch the men - pitch horseshoes. And next day was Monday, and he washed his neck without - being told, and he was on time at school, and he got his grammar lesson. - And worse than that before the day was over, for at recess-time the - members of the Dalton Gang smoked a Pittsburgh stogie, turn and turn - about, out behind the coal-house. Freckles rightly owned a fifth interest - in that stogie, but he gave his turns away without a single puff. Some of - us dogs always hung around the school-yard at recess-times, and I saw that - myself, and it made me feel right bad; it wasn't natural. And that night - he went straight home from school, and he milked the cow and split the - kindling wood without making a kick, and he washed his feet before he went - to bed without being made to. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir, it wasn't natural. And he felt his disgrace worse and worse, and - lost his interest in life more and more as the days went by. One afternoon - when I couldn't get him interested in pretending I was going to chew up - old Bill Patterson, I knew there wasn't anything would take him out of - himself. Bill was the town drunkard, and all of us dogs used to run and - bark at him when there were any humans looking on. I never knew how we got - started at it, but it was the fashion. We didn't have anything against old - Bill either, but we let on like we thought he was a tough character; that - is, if any one was looking at us. If we ever met old Bill toward the edge - of town, where no one could see us, we were always friendly enough with - him, too. Bill liked dogs, and used to be always trying to pet us, and - knew just the places where a dog liked to be scratched, but there wasn't a - dog in town would be seen making up to him. We'd let him think maybe we - were going to be friendly, and smell and sniff around him in an - encouraging sort of a way, like we thought maybe he was an acquaintance of - ours, and then old Bill would get real proud and try to pat our heads, and - say: 'The <i>dogs</i> all know old Bill, all right—yes, sir! <i>They</i> - know who's got a good heart and who ain't. May be an outcast, but the <i>dogs</i> - know—yes, sir!” And when he said that we'd growl and back off, and - circle around him, and bristle our backs up, and act like we'd finally - found the man that robbed our family's chicken-house last week, and run in - and snap at Bill's legs. Then all the boys and other humans around would - laugh. I reckon it was kind of mean and hypocritical in us dogs, too; but - you've got to keep the humans jollied up, and the coarsest kind of jokes - is the only kind they seem to appreciate. But even when I put old Bill - through his paces, that Freckles boy didn't cheer up any. - </p> - <p> - The worst of it was that Miss Jones had made up her mind to marry the - Baptist minister, and it was only a question of time before she'd get him. - Every dog and human in our town knew that. Folks used to talk it over at - every meal, or out on the front porches in the evenings, and wonder how - much longer he would hold out. And Freckles used to listen to them - talking, and then sneak off alone and sit down with his chin in his hands - and study it all out. The Dalton Gang—Squint had told the rest of - them, each promising not to tell—was right sympathetic at first. - They offered to burn the preacher's house down if that would do any good. - But Freckles said no, leave the preacher alone. It wasn't <i>his</i> fault—everyone - knew <i>he</i> wouldn't marry Miss Jones if she let him alone. Then the - Daltons said they'd kidnap the teacher if he said the word. But Freckles - said no, that would cause a lot of talk; and, besides, a grown woman eats - an awful lot; and what would they feed her on? Finally Tom Mulligan—he - was Mutt Mulligan's boy—says: - </p> - <p> - “What you got to do, Freckles, is make some kind of a noble sacrifice. - That's the way they always do in these here Lakeside Library books. - Something that will touch her heart.” - </p> - <p> - And they all agree her heart has got to be touched. But how? - </p> - <p> - “Maybe,” says Squint, “it would touch her heart if the Dalton Gang was to - march in in a body and offer to reform.” - </p> - <p> - But Tom Mulligan says he wouldn't go <i>that</i> far for any one. And - after about a week the Dalton Gang lost its sympathy and commenced to guy - Freckles and poke fun at him. And then there were fights—two or - three every day. But gradually it got so that Freckles didn't seem to take - any comfort or joy in a fight, and he lost spirits more and more. And - pretty soon he began to get easy to lick. He got so awful easy to lick the - Daltons got tired of licking him, and quit fighting him entirely. And then - the worst happened. One day they served him notice that until he got his - nerve back and fell out of love with Miss Jones again, he would not be - considered a member of the Dalton Gang. But even that didn't jar him any—Freckles - was plumb ruined. - </p> - <p> - One day I heard the humans talking it over that the preacher had give in - at last. Miss Jones's pa, and her uncle too, were both big church members, - and he never really had a chance from the first. It was in the paper, the - humans said, that they were engaged, and were to be married when school - was out. Freckles, he poked away from the porch where the family was - sitting when he heard that, and went to the barn and lay down on a pile of - hay. I sat outside the barn, and I could hear him in there choking back - what he was feeling. It made me feel right sore, too, and when the moon - came up I couldn't keep from howling at it; for here was one of the finest - kids you ever saw in there bellering like a girl, and all because of a - no-account woman—a grown-up woman, mind you! I went in and lay down - on the hay beside him, and licked his face, and nuzzled my head up under - his armpit, to show him I'd stand by him anyhow. Pretty soon he went to - sleep there, and after a long while his father came out and picked him up - and carried him into the house to bed. He never waked up. - </p> - <p> - The next day I happened by the schoolhouse along about recess-time. The - boys were playing prisoner's base, and I'm pretty good at that game - myself, so I joined in. When the bell rang, I slipped into Freckles's room - behind the scholars, thinking I'd like a look at that Miss Jones myself. - Well, she wasn't anything Yd go crazy over. When she saw me, there was the - deuce to pay. - </p> - <p> - “Whose dog is that?” she sings out. - </p> - <p> - “Please, ma'am,” squeals a little girl, “that is Harold Watson's dog, - Spot.” - </p> - <p> - “Harold Watson,” says she to Freckles, “don't you know it's strictly - against the rules to bring dogs to school?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes'm,” says Freckles, getting red in the face. - </p> - <p> - “Then why did you do it?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn't, ma'am,” says he. “He's just come visitin' like.” - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” says she, “don't be impudent. Step forward.” - </p> - <p> - He stepped toward her desk, and she put her hand on his shoulder. He - jerked away from her, and she grabbed him by the collar. No dog likes to - see a grown-up use his boy rough, so I moved a little nearer and growled - at her. - </p> - <p> - “Answer me,” she says, “why did you allow this beast to come into the - schoolroom?” - </p> - <p> - “Spot ain't a beast,” says Freckles. “He's my dog.” She stepped to the - stove and picked up a poker, and come toward me. I dodged, and ran to the - other side of her desk, and all the scholars laughed. That made her mad, - and she made a swipe at me with that poker, and she was so sudden that she - caught me right in the ribs, and I let out a yelp and ran over behind - Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “You can't hit my dog like that!” yelled Freckles, mad as a hornet. “No - teacher that ever lived could lick my dog!” And he burst out crying, and - ran out of the room, with me after him. - </p> - <p> - “I'm done with you,” he sings out from the hall. “Marry your old preacher - if you want to.” - </p> - <p> - And then we went out into the middle of the road, and he slung stones at - the schoolhouse, and yelled names, till the principal came out and chased - us away. - </p> - <p> - But I was glad, because I saw he was cured. A boy that is anything will - stick up for his dog, and a dog will stick up for his boy. We went - swimming, and then we went back as near the schoolhouse as we dast to. - When school let out, Freckles licked the whole Dalton Gang, one at a time, - and made each say, before he let him up: “Freckles Watson was never stuck - on anybody; and if he was, he is cured.” - </p> - <p> - They all said it, and then held a meeting; and he was elected president. - </p> - <p> - And me!—I felt so good I went down-town and picked a fuss with a - butcher's dog that wore a spiked collar. I had always felt a little scared - of that dog before, but that night I just naturally chewed him to a - frazzle. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BILL PATTERSON - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his town,” says - Squint, quiet, but determined, “has got to be made an example of. It has - got to learn that it can't laugh at the Dalton Gang and go unscathed. - Freckled Watson of Dead Man's Gulch,” says he to me, “speak up! What form - shall the punishment take?” - </p> - <p> - “Blood,” says I. - </p> - <p> - “Two-Gun Tom of Texas,” says he to Tom Mulligan, “speak!” - </p> - <p> - “Death!” says Tom. - </p> - <p> - “Arizona Pete, speak!” - </p> - <p> - “Blood and Death,” says Pete Wilson, making his voice deep. - </p> - <p> - “Broncho Bob?” - </p> - <p> - “Blood, death, and fire!” says Bob Jones. - </p> - <p> - There was a solemn pause for a minute, and then I says, according to rule - and regulation: - </p> - <p> - “And what says Dead-Shot Squint, the Terror of the Plains?” - </p> - <p> - He was very serious while one might have counted ten breaths, and then he - pulled his jack-knife from his pocket and whet it on the palm of his hand, - and tried its point on his thumb, and replied: - </p> - <p> - “He says death, and seals it with a vow!” - </p> - <p> - That vow was a mighty solemn thing, and we always felt it so. It wasn't - the kind of a thing you would ever let small kids or girls know about. - First you all sat down in a circle, with your feet together, and rolled up - the sleeve of your left arm. Then the knife was passed around, and each - drew blood out of his left arm. Then each one got as much blood out of the - next fellow's arm as he could, in his mouth, and all swallowed - simultaneous, to show you were going into the thing to the death and no - turning back. Next we signed our names in a ring, using blood mixed with - gunpowder. But not on paper, mind you. We signed 'em on parchment. First - and last, that parchment was a good deal of trouble. If you think skinning - a squirrel or a rat to get his hide for parchment is an easy trick, just - try it. Let alone catching them being no snap. But Squint, he was Captain, - and he was stern on parchment, for it makes an oath more legal, and all - the old-time outlaws wouldn't look at anything else. But we got a pretty - good supply ahead by saving all the dead cats and things like that we - could find, and unless you know likely places to look it would surprise - you how many dead cats there are in the world. - </p> - <p> - We were in the Horse Thieves' Cave, about a mile from town. It had really - been used for that, way back before the war. There was a gang pretended to - be honest settlers like everybody else. But they used to steal horses and - hide them out in there. When they had a dozen or so of them they'd take - 'em over to the Mississippi River, which was about thirty miles west, some - night, and raft 'em down stream and sell 'em at Cairo or St. Louis. That - went on for years, but along in the fifties, my grandfather said, when <i>he</i> - was a kid, a couple was hung, and the remainder got across the river and - went west. The cave was up on the side of a hill in the woods, and - forgotten about except by a few old-timers. The door-beams had rotted and - fallen down, and the sand and dirt had slid down over the mouth of it, and - vines and bushes grown up. No one would have guessed there was any cave - there at all. But the dogs got to digging around there one afternoon when - the Dalton Gang was meeting in the woods, and uncovered part of those door - beams. We dug some more and opened her up. It took a lot of work to clean - her out, but she was as good as new when we got done with her. We never - told any one, and the vines and bushes were so thick you could hunt a year - and never find the opening. It isn't every bunch of kids get a real Horse - Thieves' Cave ready-made like that, right from the hands of Providence, as - you might say. Pete Wilson used to brag and say his grand-dad was one of - those horse-thieves. It made the rest of us feel kind of meek for a time, - because none of us could claim any honour or grandeur like that in our - families. But my grand-dad, who has a terrible long memory about the early - days, said it wasn't so; so far as he could recollect Pete's grand-dad - never had any ambition above shoats and chickens. - </p> - <p> - Well, I was telling you about that oath. We were taking it because - Squint's father, who was mayor, had run on to one of those parchments - (which Squint ought never to have taken away from the cave), and had asked - a lot of fool questions about it. Then he threw back his head and laughed - at the Dalton Gang. It made our blood boil. Hence, our plans for revenge. - </p> - <p> - “The time has come,” said Squint, “for a bold stroke. Yonder proud city - laughs. But he laughs best who laughs last. And ere another sun has set——” - </p> - <p> - “The last time we took the blood oath,” interrupts Bob Jones, “we didn't - do anything more important than steal the ice cream from the Methodist - lawn sociable.” - </p> - <p> - “There must be no failure,” says Squint, not heeding him, and he jabbed - the knife into the ground and gritted his teeth. You could see how the - memory of being laughed at was rankling through his veins. - </p> - <p> - “But, Squint,” says Tom Mulligan, looking quite a bit worried, “you don't - <i>really</i> mean to kill any one, do you?” - </p> - <p> - Squint only says, very haughty: “The blood oath has been sworn. Is there a - traitor here?” He was always a great one for holding us to it, Squint was, - unless what he called an Honourable Compromise came into sight. And we all - got mighty uncomfortable and gloomy trying to think of some Honourable - Compromise. It was to me that the great idea came, all of a sudden. - </p> - <p> - “Squint,” I says, “the thing to do is to kidnap some prominent citizen and - hold him for ransom.” - </p> - <p> - Squint brightened up and said to wring gold from the coffers of yonder - proud city would be even more satisfaction than blood. The next question - was: Who will we kidnap? - </p> - <p> - “I suggest the mayor of yonder town!” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - “Gee—your dad, Squint?” says Tom Mulligan. - </p> - <p> - “I offer him as a sacrifice,” says Squint, very majestically. No one could - do any more, and we all felt Squint's dad had deserved it. But the idea - was so big it kind of scared us, too. But while the rest of us were - admiring Squint, Bob Jones got jealous and offered <i>his</i> father. Then - we all offered our fathers, except Tom Mulligan, who didn't have anything - better to offer than a pair of spinster aunts. There was a general row - over whose father was the most prominent citizen. But finally we decided - to bar all relatives and kinsfolk, in order to prevent jealousy, even to - the distant cousins. But it isn't a very big town, and it would surprise - you how many people are related to each other there. Finally Bill - Patterson was voted to be the Honourable Compromise, being known as the - town drunkard, and not related to anybody who would own up to it. - </p> - <p> - It figured out easy enough. All we had to do was to wait until Sunday - night, and take Bill out of the lockup. Every Saturday afternoon regular - Si Emery, who was the city marshal, arrested Bill for being drunk on Main - Street, and Bill was kept in jail until Monday morning. Si was getting - pretty old and feeble and shaky, and of late years the town council never - let him have the lock-up key until just an hour or so before it was time - to arrest Bill on Saturdays. Because one time Si had forgot to feed and - water a tramp in there for about a week, and the tramp took sick after a - while, and he was dead when Si remembered about him, and had to be buried - at the town's expense. And several times some tough customers had taken - the keys away from Si and broken into the place and played cards and cut - up in there scandalous for half the night. So it was thought best Si - shouldn't carry the keys, nor the handcuffs which belonged to the town. - After he had locked Bill up on Saturday evenings Si would take the keys to - the mayor's house, and get them again on Monday morning to let Bill out. - </p> - <p> - So the next Sunday night when the hired girl wasn't looking, Squint - sneaked the keys and the town handcuffs out of the drawer in the kitchen - table where the knives and forks were kept. He slipped upstairs to bed, - and no one noticed. About ten o'clock he dressed again, and got out the - back window, and down the lightning rod; and at the same hour us other - Daltons were doing much the same. - </p> - <p> - We met behind the lockup, and put on the masks we had made. They had hair - on the bottoms of them to look like beards sticking out. - </p> - <p> - “Who's got the dark-lantern?” Squint asks, in a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “M-m-me,” answered Pete Wilson, stuttering. I was so excited myself I was - biting my coat-sleeve so my teeth wouldn't chatter. And Bob Jones was - clicking the trigger of the cavalry pistol his uncle carried in the war, - and couldn't stop, like a girl can't stop laughing when she gets - hysterics. The cylinder was gone and it couldn't be loaded or he would - have killed himself, for he turned it up and looked right into the muzzle - and kept clicking when Squint asked him what the matter was. Pete shook so - he couldn't light the lantern; but Squint, he was that calm and cool he - lit her with the third match. He unlocked the door and in we went. - </p> - <p> - Bill was snoring like all get out, and talking in his sleep. That made us - feel braver again. Squint says to handcuff him easy and gentle before he - wakes. Well, there wasn't any trouble in that; the trouble was to wake him - up afterward. He was so interested in whatever he was dreaming about that - the only way we could do it was to tickle his nose with a straw and wait - until he sneezed himself awake. Squint clapped the muzzle of the pistol to - his forehead, while I flashed the lantern in his eyes and the other three - sat on his stomach and grabbed his legs. Squint says: - </p> - <p> - “William Patterson, one move and you are a dead man!” - </p> - <p> - But Bill didn't try to move any; he only said: “Can't an honest - working-man take a little nap? You go 'way and leave me be!” - </p> - <p> - “William Patterson,” says Squint, “you are kidnapped!” - </p> - <p> - “Yer a liar,” says Bill. “I ain't. Ye can't prove it on to me. I'm just - takin' a little nap.” - </p> - <p> - Then he rouses up a little more and looks at us puzzled, and begins to - mumble and talk to himself: - </p> - <p> - “Here I be,” he says, “and here they be! I can see 'em, all right; but - they can't fool me! They ain't really nothing here. I seen too many of - them tremenses come and go to be fooled that easy.” - </p> - <p> - “Arise, William Patterson, and come with us,” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - “Now, you don't want to get too sassy,” says Bill, “or you'll turn into - something else the first thing <i>you</i> know. You tremenses always does - turn into something else.” We had to kick him on the shins to make him get - up. When we did that he says to himself: “Shucks, now! A body'd think he - was bein' kicked if he didn't know different, wouldn't he?” - </p> - <p> - He came along peaceable enough, but muttering to himself all the way: - “Monkeys and crocodiles and these here striped jackasses with wings on to - 'em I've saw many a time, and argified with 'em, too; and talked with - elephants no bigger'n a man's fist; and oncet I chased a freight train - round and round that calaboose and had it give me sass; but this is the - first time a passel o' little old men ever come and trotted me down the - pike.” - </p> - <p> - And he kept talking like that all the way to the cave. It was midnight - before we took off his handcuffs and shoved him in. When we gave him that - shove, he did get sort of spiteful and he says: - </p> - <p> - “You tremenses think you're mighty smart, but if I was to come out of this - sudden, where would <i>you</i> be? Blowed up, that's where—like - bubbles!” - </p> - <p> - We padlocked the door we had rigged up over the mouth of the cave, and by - the time it was locked he was asleep; we could hear him snoring when we - lit out for town again. - </p> - <p> - On the calaboose door, and in front of the post-office, and on the bank, - we tacked big notices. They were printed rough on wrapping paper and - spelled wrong so it would look like some tough customers had done it. They - read as follows: - </p> - <p> - <i>Bill Patterson has Bin stole 5 hundred $$ ransum must be left on baptis - Cherch steps by Monday mid-night or his life pays us forfut like a Theef - in the nite he was took from jale who Will Be next!</i> - </p> - <p> - —<i>the kidNappers.</i> - </p> - <p> - Next morning we were all up at the cave as early as we could make it. I - had a loaf of bread and a pie and part of a boiled ham, and Pete had some - canned sardines and bacon he got out of his dad's store, and the others - were loaded up with eggs and canned fruit and what they could get hold of - easy. You may believe it or not, but when we opened that cave door Bill - was still asleep. Squint woke him up and told him: - </p> - <p> - “Prisoner, it is the intention of the Dalton Gang to treat you with all - the honours of war until such time as you are ransomed, or, if not - ransomed, executed. So long as you make no effort to escape you need have - no fear.” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't afeared,” says Bill, looking at that grub like he could hardly - believe his eyes. We built a fire and cooked breakfast. There was a hollow - stump on the side of the hill, and we had dug into the bottom of it - through the top of the cave. It made a regular chimney for our fireplace. - If any one saw the stump smoking outside they would only think some farmer - was burning out stumps. - </p> - <p> - Bill always wore a piece of rope around his waist in place of a belt or - suspenders. When he had eaten so much he had to untie the rope he sat back - and lighted his pipe, and said to me, right cunning: - </p> - <p> - “I'll bet you ain't got any idea what state this here is.” - </p> - <p> - “It's Illinois,” says I. He looked like he was pleased to hear it. - </p> - <p> - “So it is,” says he. “So it is!” After he had smoked awhile longer he - said: “What county in Illinois would you say it was, for choice?” - </p> - <p> - “Bureau county,” I told him. I saw then he hadn't known where he was. - </p> - <p> - “It ain't possible, is it,” he says, “that I ever seen any of you boys on - the streets of a little city by the name of Hazelton?” - </p> - <p> - I told him yes. - </p> - <p> - “I s'pose they got the same old city marshal there?” says he. I guess he - thought maybe he'd been gone for years and years, like Rip Van Winkle. He - was having a hard time to get things straightened out in his mind. He - stared and stared into the bowl of his pipe, looking at me now and then - out of the corners of his eyes as if he wondered whether he could trust me - or not; finally he leaned over toward me and whispered into my ear, - awfully anxious: “Who would you say I was, for choice, now?” - </p> - <p> - “Bill Patterson,” I told him, and he brightened up considerable and - chuckled to himself; and then he said, feeling of himself all over and - tying on his rope again: - </p> - <p> - “Bill Patterson is correct! Been wanderin' around through these here woods - for weeks an' weeks, livin' on roots an' yarbs like a wild man of Borneo.” - Then he asks me very confidential: “How long now, if you was to make a - guess, would you judge Bill had been livin' in this here cave?” - </p> - <p> - But Squint cut in and told him point blank he was kidnapped. It took a - long time to get that into Bill's head, but finally he asked: “What for?” - </p> - <p> - “For ransom,” says I. - </p> - <p> - “And revenge,” says Squint. - </p> - <p> - Bill looked dazed for a minute, and then said if it was all the same to us - he'd like to have a talk with a lawyer. But Bob Jones broke in and told - him “Unless five hundred dollars is paid over to the gang, you will never - see Hazelton again.” He looked frightened at that and began to pick at his - coat-sleeves, and said he guessed if we didn't mind he'd go and take a - little nap now. You never saw such a captive for sleeping up his spare - time; he was just naturally cut out to be a prisoner. But we felt kind of - sorry and ashamed we had scared him; it was so easy to scare him, and we - agreed we'd speak gentle and easy to him after that. - </p> - <p> - At dinner time we waked Bill up and gave him another meal. And he was - ready for it; the sight of victuals seemed to take any fright he might - have had out of his mind. You never saw such an appetite in all your born - days; he ate like he had years of lost time to make up for; and maybe he - had. He was having such a good time he began to have his doubts whether it - would last, for he said, in a worried kind of way, after dinner: “This - here thing of being kidnapped, now, ain't a thing you boys is going to try - and charge for, is it? 'Cause if it is them there sharp tricks can't be - worked on to me; and if you was to sue me for it you sue a pauper.” - </p> - <p> - After dinner Squint and I went to town on a scouting party. We hung around - the streets and listened to the talk that was going on just like a couple - of spies would that had entered the enemy's camp in war time. Everybody - was wondering what had become of Bill, and gassing about the notices; and - it made us feel mighty proud to think that fame had come to ones so young - as us, even although it came in disguise so that no one but us knew it. - But in the midst of that feeling we heard Hy Williams, the city drayman, - saying to a crowd of fellows who were in front of the post office waiting - for the mail to be distributed: - </p> - <p> - “The beatingest part of the whole thing is that any one would be fools - enough to think that this town or any other town would pay ransom to get - back a worthless cuss like Bill Patterson!” - </p> - <p> - It had never struck us like that before. Instead of being famous like we - had thought, here we were actually being laughed at again! Squint, he - gritted his teeth, and I knew all the rankling that he had done inside of - him was as nothing to the rankling that he was doing now. So that night we - put up some more notices around town, which read as follows: - </p> - <p> - <i>n. B.—take notus! we didunt reely Expect money for Old Bill - Patterson, we onely done that to show this town Is in Our Power. Take - warning and pay Up the next will be a rich one or his child.</i> - </p> - <p> - —<i>kidnappers.</i> - </p> - <p> - That really made folks pretty serious, that notice. There was a piece in a - Chicago paper about the things that had happened in our town. The piece - told a lot of things that never had happened, but when the papers came - down from Chicago and they all read it the whole town began to get worse - and worse excited. And about that time we began to get scared ourselves. - For there was talk of sending off to Chicago and getting a detective. - People were frightened about their kids, too. It kept getting harder and - harder for us to get out to the cave to guard Bill. Not that he needed - much guarding, either; for he was having the time of his life out there, - eating and sleeping and not working at anything else. It had been years - since he had struck any kind of work that suited him as well as being - kidnapped did; if we hadn't been so worried it would have been a pleasure - to us to see how happy and contented we were making him; he acted like he - had found the real job in life that he had always been looking for, and - the only thing that bothered him at all was when he recollected about that - ransom and got afraid the town would pay it and end his snap. But mostly - he didn't bother about anything; for his recollection was only by fits and - starts; yesterday was just as far off to him as a year ago. The second day - he was there he did get a little grouchy because he had been without - anything to drink for so long. But that night someone broke into the - saloon and stole a lot of quart bottles of whiskey; about a bushel of - them, it was said. We didn't suspect it was Bill, right at first, for he - was foxy enough to keep it hid from us; and when we did know we didn't - dare say anything! That whiskey was the one thing Bill had lacked to make - him completely happy. But the theft worked in a way that increased our - troubles. For it showed people that the mysterious gang was still hanging - around waiting to strike a desperate stroke. And the very next night a - store was broken into and some stuff stolen. It wasn't Bill, but I suppose - some tramp that was hanging around; but it helped to stir things up worse - and worse. So we decided that we had better turn Bill loose. We held a - meeting out by the cave, and then Squint told him: - </p> - <p> - “Prisoner, you are at liberty!” - </p> - <p> - “What d'ye mean by that?” says Bill. “You ain't goin' back on me, are ye?” - </p> - <p> - “Yonder town has been punished enough,” says Squint. “Go free—we - strike your shackles off!” - </p> - <p> - “But see here,” says Bill, “wasn't I kidnapped reg'lar? Ain't I been a - model prisoner?” - </p> - <p> - “But we're through with you, Bill,” we told him. “Don't you understand?” - </p> - <p> - Bill allowed it was a mean trick we were playing on him; he said he had - thought we were his friends, and that he'd done his best to give - satisfaction in the place, and here we were, firing him, as you might say, - without any warning, or giving him any chance to get another job like it, - or even telling him where he had failed to make good, and then he snuffled - like he was going to cry, and said: “That's a great way to treat an honest - workin'-man, that is! An' they call this a free country, too!” - </p> - <p> - But Squint, while expressing sorrow that we should have raised any false - hopes, was firm with him, too. “You take the rest of that whiskey and - chase along, now, Bill,” he said, “you aren't kidnapped any more.” - </p> - <p> - But Bill flared up at that. “I ain't, ain't I?” he said. “Yer a liar! I - was kidnapped fair and square; kidnapped I be, and kidnapped I stay! I'll - show you blamed little cheats whether I'm kidnapped or not, I will!” - </p> - <p> - He took a chew of tobacco and sat down on a log, and studied us, looking - us over real sullen and spiteful. “Now, then,” he says, finally, “if you - young smart alecs think you can treat a free man that-a-way yer dern - fools. I got the law on to my side, I have. Do you think I don't know - that? Mebby you boys don't know ye could go to jail for kidnappin' an - honest work-in'-man? Well, ye could, if it was found out on ye. It's a - crime, that's what it is, and ye could go to jail for it. You treat Old - Bill fair and square and keep friends with him, and he won't tell on you; - but the minute I hear any more talk about bein' set at liberty I'll tell - on ye, and to jail you goes. I'm mighty comfortable where I be, and I - ain't goin' to be turned out.” - </p> - <p> - We all looked at each other, and then we looked away again, and our hearts - sank. For each one read in his neighbour's eyes (as Squint said later) - what his doom might well be. - </p> - <p> - “Kidnapped I be,” says Bill again, very rough and decided, “and kidnapped - I stay. And what's more, I want chicken for supper to-night. I ain't had - no chicken for quite a spell. You can wake me up when supper's ready.” And - he went into the cave and lay down for a nap. - </p> - <p> - We were in his power, and he knew it! - </p> - <p> - We had to steal that chicken, and it went against the grain to do it. It - was the first time in its career of crime the Dalton Gang had ever - actually stolen anything. Except, of course, watermelons and such truck, - which isn't really stealing. And except the ice cream from the Methodist - lawn sociable, which was for revenge and as a punishment on the Sunday - School, and so not really stealing, either. - </p> - <p> - Things got worse and worse. For Bill, he kept us on the jump. He got to - wanting more and more different things to eat, and was more and more - particular about the cooking. He wouldn't lift a hand for himself, not - even to fill and light his own pipe. We waited on him hand and foot, all - day long. And first he would take a fancy for a mess of squirrels, and - then he would want pigeons; and we had to take turns fanning the flies off - of him when he wanted to take a nap. Once he told a story, and we all - laughed at it; and that gave him the idea he was a great story teller; and - he would tell foolish yarns by the hour and get sulky if we didn't laugh. - We got so we would do anything to keep him in a good humour. We had a lot - of Indian stories and Old Sleuths out to the cave, and he made us take - turns reading to him. That good-for-nothing loafer turned into a regular - king, and we were his slaves. - </p> - <p> - Between sneaking out there to keep him happy and contented and rustling up - grub for him, and thinking all the time we would be arrested the next - minute, and wanting to confess and not daring to, we all got right - nervous. Then there was a man came to town who didn't tell what his - business was the first day he was there, and we were right sure he was a - detective. He passed right by the cave one day, and we hugged the ground - behind the bushes and didn't dare breathe. It turned out afterward he was - only looking at some land he was figuring on buying. But that night I - dreamed that that man arrested me; and I was being sent to jail when I - waked up screaming out something about kidnapping. I heard my Pa say to my - Ma, after they had got me quieted down: - </p> - <p> - “Poor little fellow! He thought he was kidnapped! No wonder he is afraid, - the state this whole town is in. If those desperadoes are caught, they'll - go to the pen for a good long term: nothing on earth can save 'em from a - Bureau county jury.” - </p> - <p> - Then he went back into his room and went to sleep; but I didn't go to - sleep. What he had said didn't make me feel sleepy. I slipped out of bed - and prayed enough that night to make up for the times I had forgot it - lately; and the next day the rest of the Dalton Gang admitted they had - prayed some, too. - </p> - <p> - But the worst of all was when Bill made friends with the tramp. Squint and - I went out to the cave one morning to get Bill's breakfast for him, and as - we got near we heard two sets of snores. Bill's snore you could tell a - long way off, he sort of gargled his snores and they ended up with kind of - a choke and an explosion. But the other snore was more of a steady - whistling sound. We ran across the fellow sudden, and it like to have - frightened us out of a year's growth. He was lying just inside the cave - with his hat pulled over his face, but he was snoring with one eye open. - It peered out from under the brim of his hat; it was half-hidden, but it - was open all right, and it was staring straight at us. It wasn't human; no - one with good intentions would lie there like that and snore like he was - asleep and watch folks at the same time on the sly. We couldn't even run; - we stood there with that regular see-saw snore coming and going, and that - awful eye burning into the centres of our souls, as Squint says later, and - thought our end had come. But he waked up and opened the other eye, and - then we saw the first one was glass and he hadn't meant any harm by it. He - was right sorry he'd scared us, he said; but we'd have to get used to that - eye, for <i>he</i> allowed he was kidnapped, too. It was two days before - he quit being our captive and left, and they are among the saddest days I - ever spent. - </p> - <p> - He left because Bill's whiskey was gone; and the afternoon he left, Bill - was helpless. When we saw Bill in that fix it gave us an idea how to get - rid of him. That night he was still weak and easy to handle. So we slipped - the handcuffs on him and took him back and locked him into the calaboose - again. Then we put signs and notices around town that read this way: - </p> - <p> - <i>Ha Ha Ha</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Did you ever get left! this town joshed me for years but I have got - even—the joke is on to you—I wasn't kidnapped a tall—who - is the suckers now?</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Bill Patterson.</i> - </p> - <p> - And that town was so mad that when they found Bill in the jail again there - was talk of handling him pretty rough. But it all turned into josh. Bill, - when he woke up in the calaboose, thought he had just had a dream at - first, and denied he had ever been absent. Then when he saw they all took - him for a deep joker he began to act like he was a joker. And before long - he got to thinking he really had played that trick on the town. When they - used to ask him how on earth he got into and out of the calaboose without - the keys, he would wink very mysterious, and look important, and nod and - chuckle to himself and say that was the best part of the joke and he - intended to keep it to himself. - </p> - <p> - But one day when he was almost sober he saw Squint and me on the street - and stared at us long and hard like he was trying to recollect something, - and scratched his head and said: “You boys didn't always used to live in - this town, did you?” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh,” says I. - </p> - <p> - “That's funny,” says Bill, “I could have swore you was boys I once knowed - a long ways off from here that time I was on my travels.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BLOOD WILL TELL (As told by the dog) - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> am a middle-sized - dog, with spots on me here and there, and several different colours of - hair mixed in even where there aren't any spots, and my ears are frazzled - a little on the ends where they have been chewed in fights. - </p> - <p> - At first glance you might not pick me for an aristocrat. But I am one. I - was considerably surprised when I discovered it, as nothing in my inmost - feelings up to that time, nor in the treatment which I had received from - dogs, humans or boys, had led me to suspect it. - </p> - <p> - I can well remember the afternoon on which the discovery was made. A lot - of us dogs were lying in the grass, up by the swimming hole, just lazying - around, and the boys were doing the same. All the boys were naked and - comfortable, and no humans were about, the only thing near being a cow or - two and some horses, and although large they are scarcely more human than - boys. Everybody had got tired of swimming, and it was too hot to drown out - gophers or fight bumblebees, and the boys were smoking grapevine - cigarettes and talking. - </p> - <p> - Us dogs was listening to the boys talk. A Stray Boy, which I mean one not - claimed or looked out for or owned by any dog, says to Freckles Watson, - who is my boy: - </p> - <p> - “What breed would you call that dog of yours, Freck?” - </p> - <p> - I pricked up my ears at that. I cannot say that I had ever set great store - by breeds up to the time that I found out I was an aristocrat myself, - believing, as Bill Patterson, a human and the town drunkard, used to say - when intoxicated, that often an honest heart beats beneath the outcast's - ragged coat. - </p> - <p> - “Spot ain't any <i>one</i> particular breed,” says Freckles. “He's - considerably mixed.” - </p> - <p> - “He's a mongrel,” says Squint Thompson, who is Jack Thompson's boy. - </p> - <p> - “He ain't,” says Freckles, so huffy that I saw a mongrel must be some sort - of a disgrace. “You're a link, link liar, and so's your Aunt Mariar,” says - Freckles. - </p> - <p> - I thought there might be a fight then, but it was too hot for any - enjoyment in a fight, I guess, for Squint let it pass, only saying, “I - ain't got any Aunt Mariar, and you're another.” - </p> - <p> - “A dog,” chips in the Stray Boy, “has either got to be a thoroughbred or a - mongrel. He's either an aristocrat or else he's a common dog.” - </p> - <p> - “Spot ain't any common dog,” says Freckles, sticking up for me. “He can - lick any dog in town within five pounds of his weight.” - </p> - <p> - “He's got some spaniel in him,” says the Stray Boy. - </p> - <p> - “His nose is pointed like a hound's nose,” says Squint Thompson. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” says Freckles, “neither one of them kind of dogs is a common dog.” - </p> - <p> - “Spot has got some bulldog blood in him, too,” says Tom Mulligan, an Irish - boy owned by a dog by the name of Mutt Mulligan. “Did you ever notice how - Spot will hang on so you can't pry him loose, when he gets into a fight?” - </p> - <p> - “That proves he is an aristocratic kind of dog,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “There's some bird dog blood in Spot,” says the Stray Boy, sizing me up - careful. - </p> - <p> - “He's got some collie in him, too,” says Squint Thompson. “His voice - sounds just like a collie's when he barks.” - </p> - <p> - “But his tail is more like a coach dog's tail,” says Tom Mulligan. - </p> - <p> - “His hair ain't, though,” says the Stray Boy. “Some of his hair is like a - setter's.” - </p> - <p> - “His teeth are like a mastiff's,” says Mutt Mulligan's boy Tom. And they - went on like that; I never knew before there were so many different kinds - of thoroughbred dog. Finally Freckles says: - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he's got all them different kinds of thoroughbred blood in him, and - he's got other kinds you ain't mentioned and that you ain't slick enough - to see. You may think you're running him down, but what you say just <i>proves</i> - he ain't a common dog.” - </p> - <p> - I was glad to hear that. It was beginning to look to me that they had a - pretty good case for me being a mongrel. - </p> - <p> - “How does it prove it?” asked the Stray Boy. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” says Freckles, “you know who the King of Spain is, don't you?” - </p> - <p> - They said they'd heard of him from time to time. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” says Freckles, “if you were a relation of the King of Spain you'd - be a member of the Spanish royal family. You fellows may not know that, - but you would. You'd be a swell, a regular high-mucky-muck.” - </p> - <p> - They said they guessed they would. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then,” says Freckles, “if you were a relation to the King of - Switzerland, too, you'd be just <i>twice</i> as swell, wouldn't you, as if - you were only related to one royal family? Plenty of people are related to - just <i>one</i> royal family.” - </p> - <p> - Tom Mulligan butts in and says that way back, in the early days, his folks - was the Kings of Ireland; but no one pays any attention. - </p> - <p> - “Suppose, then, you're a cousin of the Queen of England into the bargain - and your grand-dad was King of Scotland, and the Prince of Wales and the - Emperor of France and the Sultan of Russia and the rest of those royalties - were relations of yours, wouldn't all that royal blood make you <i>twenty - times</i> as much of a high-mucky-muck as if you had just <i>one</i> - measly little old king for a relation?” - </p> - <p> - The boys had to admit that it would. - </p> - <p> - “You wouldn't call a fellow with all that royal blood in him a <i>mongrel</i>, - would you?” says Freckles. “You bet your sweet life you wouldn't! A fellow - like that is darned near on the level with a congressman or a - vicepresident. Whenever he travels around in the old country they turn out - the brass band; and the firemen and the Knights of Pythias and the Modern - Woodmen parade, and the mayor makes a speech, and there's a picnic and - firecrackers, and he gets blamed near anything he wants. People kow-tow to - him, just like they do to a swell left-handed pitcher or a champion - prizefighter. If you went over to the old country and called a fellow like - that a mongrel, and it got out oh you, you would be sent to jail for it.” - </p> - <p> - Tom Mulligan says yes, that is so; his grand-dad came to this country - through getting into some kind of trouble about the King of England, and - the King of England ain't anywhere near as swell as the fellow Freckles - described, nor near so royal, neither. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Freckles, “it's the same way with my dog, Spot, here. - <i>Any</i> dog can be full of just <i>one</i> kind of thoroughbred blood. - That's nothing! But Spot here has got more different kinds of thoroughbred - blood in him than any dog you ever saw. By your own say-so he has. He's - got <i>all</i> kinds of thoroughbred blood in him. If there's any kind he - ain't got, you just name it, will you?” - </p> - <p> - “He ain't got any Great Dane in him,” yells the Stray Boy, hating to - knuckle under. - </p> - <p> - “You're a liar, he has, too,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - The Stray Boy backed it, and there was a fight. All us dogs and boys - gathered around in a ring to watch it, and I was more anxious than anybody - else. For the way that fight went, it was easy to see, would decide what I - was. - </p> - <p> - Well, Freckles licked that Stray Boy, and rubbed his nose in the mud, and - that's how I come to be an aristocrat. - </p> - <p> - Being an aristocrat may sound easy. And it may look easy to outsiders. And - it may really be easy for them that are used to it. But it wasn't easy for - <i>me</i>. It came on me suddenly, the knowledge that I was one, and - without warning. I didn't have any time to practise up being one. One - minute I wasn't one, and the next minute I was; and while, of course, I - felt important over it, there were spells when I would get kind of - discouraged, too, and wish I could go back to being a common dog again. I - kept expecting my tastes and habits to change. I watched and waited for - them to. But they didn't. No change at all set in on me. But I had to - pretend I was changed. Then I would get tired of pretending, and be - down-hearted about the whole thing, and say to myself: “There has been a - mistake. I am <i>not</i> an aristocrat after all.” - </p> - <p> - I might have gone along like that for a long time, partly in joy over my - noble birth, and partly in doubt, without ever being certain, if it had - not been for a happening which showed, as Freckles said, that blood will - tell. - </p> - <p> - It happened the day Wilson's World's Greatest One Ring Circus and - Menagerie came to our town. Freckles and me, and all the other dogs and - boys, and a good many humans, too, followed the street parade around - through town and back to the circus lot. Many went in, and the ones that - didn't have any money hung around outside a while and explained to each - other they were going at night, because a circus is more fun at night - anyhow. Freckles didn't have any money, but his dad was going to take him - that night, so when the parade was over, him and me went back to his dad's - drug store on Main Street, and I crawled under the soda-water counter to - take a nap. - </p> - <p> - Freckles's dad, that everyone calls Doc Watson, is a pretty good fellow - for a human, and he doesn't mind you hanging around the store if you don't - drag bones in or scratch too many fleas off. So I'm there considerable in - right hot weather. Under the soda water counter is the coolest place for a - dog in the whole town. There's a zinc tub under there always full of - water, where Doc washes the soda-water glasses, and there's always - considerable water slopped on to the floor. It's damp and dark there - always. Outdoors it may be so hot in the sun that your tongue hangs out of - you so far you tangle your feet in it, but in under there you can lie - comfortable and snooze, and when you wake up and want a drink there's the - tub with the glasses in it. And flies don't bother you because they stay - on top of the counter where soda water has been spilled. - </p> - <p> - Circus day was a hot one, and I must have drowsed off pretty quick after - lying down. I don't know how long I slept, but when I waked up it was with - a start, for something important was going on outside in Main Street. I - could hear people screaming and swearing and running along the wooden - sidewalk, and horses whinnying, and dogs barking, and old Si Emery, the - city marshal, was yelling out that he was an officer of the law, and the - steam whistle on the flour mill was blowing. And it all seemed to be right - in front of our store. I was thinking I'd better go out and see about it, - when the screen doors crashed like a runaway horse had come through them, - and the next minute a big yellow dog was back of the counter, trying to - scrouch down and scrooge under it like he was scared and was hiding. He - backed me into the corner without seeing me or knowing I was there, and - like to have squashed me. - </p> - <p> - No dog—and it never struck me that maybe this wasn't a dog—no - dog can just calmly sit down on me like that when I'm waking up from a - nap, and get away with it, no matter <i>how</i> big he is, and in spite of - the darkness under there I could see and feel that this was the biggest - dog in the world. I had been dreaming I was in a fight, anyhow, when he - crowded in there with his hindquarters on top of me, and I bit him on the - hind leg. - </p> - <p> - When I bit him he let out a noise like a thrashing machine starting up. It - wasn't a bark. Nothing but the end of the world coming could bark like - that. It was a noise more like I heard one time when the boys dared - Freckles to lie down between the cattle guards on the railroad track and - let a train run over him about a foot above his head, and I laid down - there with him and it nearly deefened both of us. When he let out that - noise I says to myself, “Great guns! What kind of a dog have I bit?” - </p> - <p> - And as he made that noise he jumped, and over went the counter, marble top - and all, with a smash, and jam into the show window he went, with his tail - swinging, and me right after him, practically on top of him. It wasn't - that I exactly intended to chase him, you understand, but I was rattled on - account of that awful noise he had let out, and I wanted to get away from - there, and I went the same way he did. So when he bulged through the - window glass on to the street I bulged right after him, and as he hit the - sidewalk I bit him again. The first time I bit him because I was sore, but - the second time I bit him because I was so nervous I didn't know what I - was doing, hardly. And at the second bite, without even looking behind - him, he jumped clean over the hitch rack and a team of horses in front of - the store and landed right in the middle of the road with his tail between - his legs. - </p> - <p> - And then I realized for the first time he wasn't a dog at all. He was the - circus lion. - </p> - <p> - Mind you, I'm not saying that I would have bit him at all if I'd a-known - at the start he was a lion. - </p> - <p> - And I ain't saying I <i>wouldn't</i> 'a' bit him, either. - </p> - <p> - But actions speak louder than words, and records are records, and you - can't go back on them, and the fact is I <i>did</i> bite him. I bit him - twice. - </p> - <p> - And that second bite, when we came bulging through the window together, - the whole town saw. It was getting up telephone poles, and looking out of - second-story windows, and crawling under sidewalks and into cellars, and - trying to hide behind the town pump; but no matter where it was trying to - get to, it had one eye on that lion, and it saw me chasing him out of that - store. I don't say I would have chased him if he hadn't been just ahead of - me, anyhow, and I don't say I wouldn't have chased him, but the facts are - I <i>did</i> chase him. - </p> - <p> - The lion was just as scared as the town—and the town was so scared - it didn't know the lion was scared at all—and when his trainer got - hold of him in the road he was tickled to death to be led back to his - cage, and he lay down in the far corner of it, away from the people, and - trembled till he shook the wagon it was on. - </p> - <p> - But if there was any further doubts in any quarter about me being an - aristocrat, the way I bit and chased that lion settled 'em forever. That - night Freckles and Doc went to the circus, and I marched in along with - them. And every kid in town, as they saw Freckles and me marching in, - says: - </p> - <p> - “There goes the dog that licked the lion!” - </p> - <p> - And Freckles, every time any one congratulated him on being the boy that - belonged to that kind of a dog, would say: - </p> - <p> - “Blood will tell! Spot's an aristocrat, he is.” - </p> - <p> - And him and me and Doc Watson, his dad, stopped in front of the lion's - cage that night and took a good long look at him. He was a kind of an old - moth-eaten lion, but he was a lion all right, and he looked mighty big in - there. He looked so big that all my doubts come back on me, and I says to - myself: “Honest, now, if I'd <i>a-known</i> he was a lion, and that <i>big</i> - a lion, when I bit him, <i>would</i> I have bit him or would I not?” - </p> - <p> - But just then Freckles reached down and patted me on the head and said: - “You wasn't afraid of him, was you, old Spot! Yes, sir, blood will tell!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BEING A PUBLIC CHARACTER (As told by the dog) - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>ver since I bit a - circus lion, believing him to be another dog like myself, only larger, I - have been what Doc Watson calls a Public Character in our town. - </p> - <p> - Freckles, my boy, was a kind of a public character, too. He went around - bragging about my noble blood and bravery, and all the other boys and dogs - in town sort of looked up to him and thought how lucky he was to belong to - a dog like me. And he deserved whatever glory he got of it, Freckles did. - For, if I do say it myself, there's not a dog in town got a better boy - than my boy Freckles, take him all in all. I'll back him against any dog's - boy that is anywhere near his size, for fighting, swimming, climbing, - foot-racing, or throwing stones farthest and straightest. Or I'll back him - against any stray boy, either. - </p> - <p> - Well, some dogs may be born Public Characters, and like it. And some may - be brought up to like it. I've seen dogs in those travelling Uncle Tom's - Cabin shows that were so stuck on themselves they wouldn't hardly notice - us town dogs. But with me, becoming a Public Character happened all in a - flash, and it was sort of hard for me to get used to it. One day I was - just a private kind of a dog, as you might say, eating my meals at the - Watson's back door, and pretending to hunt rats when requested, and not - scratching off too many fleas in Doc Watson's drug store, and standing out - from underfoot when told, and other unremarkable things like that. And the - next day I had bit that lion and was a Public Character, and fame came so - sudden I scarcely knew how to act. - </p> - <p> - Even drummers from big places like St. Louis and Chicago would come into - the drug store and look at my teeth and toe nails, as if they must be - different from other dogs' teeth and toe nails. And people would come - tooting up to the store in their little cars, and get out and look me over - and say: - </p> - <p> - “Well, Doc, what'll you take for him?” and Doc would wink, and say: - </p> - <p> - “He's Harold's dog. You ask Harold.” - </p> - <p> - Which Harold is Freckles's other name. But any boy that calls him Harold - outside of the schoolhouse has got a fight on his hands, if that boy is - anywhere near Freckles's size. Harry goes, or Hal goes, but Harold is a - fighting word with Freckles. Except, of course, with grown people. I heard - him say one day to Tom Mulligan, his parents thought Harold was a name, or - he guessed they wouldn't have given it to him; but it wasn't a name, it - was a handicap. - </p> - <p> - Freckles would always say, “Spot ain't for sale.” And even Heinie - Hassenyager, the butcher, got stuck on me after I got to be a Public - Character. Heinie would come two blocks up Main Street with lumps of - Hamburg steak, which is the kind someone has already chewed for you, and - give them to me. Steak, mind you, not old gristly scraps. And before I - became a Public Character Heinie even grudged me the bones I would drag - out of the box under his counter when he wasn't looking. - </p> - <p> - My daily hope was that I could live up to it all. I had always tried, - before I happened to bite that lion, to be a friendly kind of a dog toward - boys and humans and dogs, all three. I'd always been expected to do a - certain amount of tail-wagging and be friendly. But as soon as I got to be - a Public Character, I saw right away I wasn't expected to be <i>too</i> - friendly any more. So, every now and then, I'd growl a little, for no - reason at all. A dog that has bit a lion is naturally expected to have - fierce thoughts inside of him; I could see that. And you have got to act - the way humans expect you to act, if you want to slide along through the - world without too much trouble. - </p> - <p> - So when Heinie would bring me the ready-chewed steak I'd growl at him a - little bit. And then I'd bolt and gobble the steak like I didn't think so - derned much of it, after all, and was doing Heinie a big personal favour - to eat it. And now and then I'd pretend I wasn't going to eat a piece of - it unless it was chewed finer for me, and growl at him about that. - </p> - <p> - That way of acting made a big hit with Heinie, too. I could see that he - was honoured and flattered because I didn't go any further than just a - growl. It gave him a chance to say he knew how to manage animals. And the - more I growled, the more steak he brought. Everybody in town fed me. I - pretty near ate myself to death for a while there, besides all the meat I - buried back of Doc Watson's store to dig up later. - </p> - <p> - But my natural disposition is to be friendly. I would rather be loved than - feared, which is what Bill Patterson, the village drunkard, used to say. - When they put him into the calaboose every Saturday afternoon he used to - look out between the bars on the back window and talk to the boys and dogs - that had gathered round and say that he thanked them one and all for - coming to an outcast's dungeon as a testimonial of affection, and he would - rather be loved than feared. And my natural feelings are the same. I had - to growl and keep dignified and go on being a Public Character, but often - I would say to myself that it was losing me all my real friends, too. - </p> - <p> - The worst of it was that people, after a week or so, began to expect me to - pull something else remarkable. Freckles, he got up a circus, and charged - pins and marbles, and cents when he found any one that had any, to get - into it, and I was the principal part of that circus. I was in a cage, and - the sign over me read: - </p> - <h3> - SPOT, THE DOG THAT LICKED A LION - </h3> - <h3> - TEN PINS ADMITTION - </h3> - <p> - To feed the lion-eater, one cent or two white chiney marbles extry but - bring your own meat. - </p> - <p> - Pat him once on the head twinty pins, kids under five not allowed to. - </p> - <p> - For shaking hands with Spot the lion-eater, girls not allowed, gents three - white chinies, or one aggie marble. - </p> - <p> - Lead him two blocks down the street and back, one cent before starting, no - marbles or pins taken for leading him. - </p> - <p> - For sicking him on to cats three cents or one red cornelian marble if you - furnish the cat. Five cents to use Watson's cat. Watson's biggest Tom-cat - six cents must be paid before sicking. Small kids and girls not allowed to - sick him on cats. - </p> - <p> - Well, we didn't take in any cat-sicking money. And it was just as well. - You never can tell what a cat will do. But Freckles put it in because it - sounded sort of fierce. I didn't care for being caged and circused that - way myself. And it was right at that circus that considerable trouble - started. - </p> - <p> - Seeing me in a cage like that, all famoused-up, with more meat poked - through the slats than two dogs could eat, made Mutt Mulligan and some of - my old friends jealous. - </p> - <p> - Mutt, he nosed up by the cage and sniffed. I nosed a piece of meat out of - the cage to him. Mutt grabbed it and gobbled it down, but he didn't thank - me any. Mutt, he says: - </p> - <p> - “There's a new dog down town that says he blew in from Chicago. He says he - used to be a Blind Man's Dog on a street corner there. He's a pretty wise - dog, and he's a right ornery-looking dog, too. He's peeled considerably - where he has been bit in fights.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Mutt,” says I, “as far as that goes I'm peeled considerable myself - where I've been bit in fights.” - </p> - <p> - “I know you are, Spot,” says Mutt. “You don't need to tell me that. I've - peeled you some myself from time to time.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” I says, “you did peel me some, Mutt. And I've peeled you some, too. - More'n that, I notice that right leg of yours is a little stiff yet where - I got to it about three weeks ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, Spot,” says Mutt, “maybe you want to come down here and see - what you can do to my other three legs. I never saw the day I wouldn't - give you a free bite at one leg and still be able to lick you on the other - three.” - </p> - <p> - “You wouldn't talk that way if I was out of this cage,” I says, getting - riled. - </p> - <p> - “What did you ever let yourself be put into that fool cage for?” Mutt - says. “You didn't have to. You got such a swell head on you the last week - or so that you gotto be licked. You can fool boys and humans all you want - to about that accidental old lion, but us dogs got your number, all right. - What that Blind Man's Dog from Chicago would do to you would be a plenty!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” I says, “I'll be out of this cage along about supper time. - Suppose you bring that Blind Man's Dog around here. And if he ain't got a - spiked collar on to him, I'll fight him. I won't fight a spike-collared - dog to please anybody.” - </p> - <p> - And I wouldn't, neither, without I had one on myself, If you can't get a - dog by the throat or the back of his neck, what's the use of fighting him? - You might just as well try to eat a blacksmith shop as fight one of those - spike-collared dogs. - </p> - <p> - “Hey, there!” Freckles yelled at Tom Mulligan, who is Mutt Mulligan's boy. - “You get your fool dog away from the lion-eaters cage!” - </p> - <p> - Tom, he histed Mutt away. But he says to Freckles, being jealous himself, - “Don't be scared, Freck, I won't let my dog hurt yours any. Spot, he's - safe. He's in a cage where Mutt can't get to him.” - </p> - <p> - Freckles got riled. He says, “1 ain't in any cage, Tom.” - </p> - <p> - Tom, he didn't want to fight very bad. But all the other boys and dogs was - looking on. And he'd sort of started it. He didn't figure that he could - shut up that easy. And there was some girls there, too. - </p> - <p> - “If I was to make a pass at you,” says Tom, “you'd wish you was in a - cage.” - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he didn't want to fight so bad, either. But he was running this - circus, and he didn't feel he could afford to pass by what Tom said too - easy. So he says: - </p> - <p> - “Maybe you think you're big enough to put me into a cage.” - </p> - <p> - “If I was to make a pass at you,” says Tom, “there wouldn't be enough left - of you to put in a cage.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Freckles, “why don't you make a pass at me?” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe you figure I don't dast to,” says Tom. - </p> - <p> - “I didn't say you didn't dast to,” says Freckles; “any one that says I - said you didn't dast to is a link, link, liar, and so's his Aunt Mariar.” - </p> - <p> - Tom, he says, “I ain't got any Aunt Mariar. And you're another and dastn't - back it.” - </p> - <p> - Then some of the other kids put chips on to their shoulders. And each - dared the other to knock his chip off. And the other kids pushed and - jostled them into each other till both chips fell off, and they went at it - then. Once they got started they got really mad and each did all he knew - how. - </p> - <p> - And right in the midst of it Mutt run in and bit Freckles on the calf of - his leg. Any dog will fight for his boy when his boy is getting the worst - of it. But when Mutt did that I give a bulge against the wooden slats on - the cage and two of them came off, and I was on top of Mutt. The circus - was in the barn, and the hens began to scream and the horses began to - stomp, and all the boys yelled, “Sick 'im!” and “Go to it!” and danced - around and hollered, and the little girls yelled, and all the other dogs - began to bark, and it was a right lively and enjoyable time. But Mrs. - Watson, Freckles's mother, and the hired girl ran out from the house and - broke the fight up. - </p> - <p> - Grown women are like that. They don't want to fight themselves, and they - don't seem to want any one else to have any fun. You gotto be a hypocrite - around a grown woman to get along with her at all. And then she'll feed - you and make a lot of fuss over you. But the minute you start anything - with real enjoyment in it she's surprised to see you acting that way. - Nobody was licked satisfactory in that fight, or licked any one else - satisfactory. - </p> - <p> - Well, that night after supper, along comes that Blind Man's Dog. Never did - I see a Blind Man's Dog that was as tight-skinned. I ain't a dog that - brags, myself, and I don't say I would have licked that heavy a dog right - easy, even if he had been a loose-skinned dog. What I do say is that I had - been used to fighting looseskinned dogs that you can get some sort of a - reasonable hold on to while you are working around for position. And - running into a tight-skinned dog that way, all of a sudden and all - unprepared for it, would make anybody nervous. How are you going to get a - purchase on a tight-skinned dog when you've been fighting looseskinned - dogs for so long that your teeth and jaws just naturally set themselves - for a loose-skinned dog without thinking of it? - </p> - <p> - Lots of dogs wouldn't have fought him at all when they realized how they - had been fooled about him, and how tight-skinned he was. But I was a - Public Character now, and I had to fight him. More than that, I ain't - ready to say yet that that dog actually licked me. Freckles he hit him in - the ribs with a lump of soft coal, and he got off of me and run away - before I got my second wind. There's no telling what I would have done to - that Blind Man's Dog, tight-skinned as he was, if he hadn't run away - before I got my second wind. - </p> - <p> - Well, there's some mighty peculiar dogs in this world, let alone boys and - humans. The word got around town, in spite of his running away like that - before I got my second wind, that that Blind Man's Dog, so called, had - actually licked me! Many pretended to believe it. Every time Freckles and - me went down the street someone would say: - </p> - <p> - “Well, the dog that licked the lion got licked himself, did he?” - </p> - <p> - And if it was a lady said it, Freckles would spit on the sidewalk through - the place where his front teeth are out and pass on politely as if he - hadn't heard, and say nothing. And if it was a man that said it Freckles - would thumb his nose at him. And if it was a girl that said it he would - rub a handful of sand into her hair. And if it was a boy anywhere near his - size, there would be a fight. If it was too big a boy, Freckles would - sling railroad iron at him. - </p> - <p> - For a week or so it looked like Freckles and I were fighting all the time. - Three or four times a day, and every day. Oft the way to school, and all - through recess-times, and after school, and every time we went on to the - street. I got so chewed and he got so busted up that we didn't hardly - enjoy life. - </p> - <p> - No matter how much you may like to fight, some of the time you would like - to pick the fights yourself and not have other people picking them off of - you. Kids begun to fight Freckles that wouldn't have dast to stand up to - him a month before. I was still a Public Character, but I was getting to - be the kind you josh about instead of the kind you are proud to feed. I - didn't care so awful much for myself, but I hated it for Freckles. For - when they got us pretty well hacked, all the boys began to call him Harold - again. - </p> - <p> - And after they had called him Harold for a week he must have begun to - think of himself as Harold. For one Saturday afternoon when there wasn't - any school, instead of going swimming with the other kids or playing - baseball, or anything, he went and played with girls. - </p> - <p> - He must have been pretty well down-hearted and felt himself pretty much of - an outcast, or he wouldn't have done that. I am an honest dog, and the - truth must be told, the disgrace along with everything else, and the truth - is that he played with girls of his own accord that day—not because - he was sent to their house on an errand, not because it was a game got up - with boys and girls together, not because it was cousins and he couldn't - dodgje them, but because he was an outcast. Any boy will play with girls - when all the boys and girls are playing together, and some girls are - nearly as good as boys; but no boy is going off alone to look up a bunch - of girls and play with them without being coaxed unless he has had - considerable of a down-fall. - </p> - <p> - Right next to the side of our yard was the Wilkinses. They had a bigger - house and a bigger yard than ours. Freckles was sitting on the top of the - fence looking into their orchard when the three Wilkins girls came out to - play. There was only two boys in the Wilkins family, and they was twins; - but they were only year-old babies and didn't amount to anything. The two - oldest Wilkins girls, the taffy-coloured-haired one and the squint-eyed - one, each had one of the twins, taking care of it. And the other Wilkins - girl, the pretty one, she had one of those big dolls made as big as a - baby. - </p> - <p> - They were rolling those babies and the doll around the grass in a - wheelbarrow, and the wheel came off, and that's how Freckles happened to - go over. - </p> - <p> - “Up in the attic,” says the taffy-coloured-haired one, when he had fixed - up the wheelbarrow, “there's a little old express wagon with one wheel off - that would be better'n this wheelbarrow. Maybe you could fix that wheel - on, too, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he fell for it. After he got the wagon fixed, they got to - playing charades and fool girl games like that. The hired girl was off for - the afternoon, and pretty soon Mrs. Wilkins hollered up the stairs that - she was going to be gone for an hour, and to take good care of the twins, - and then we were alone in the place. - </p> - <p> - Well, it wasn't much fun for me. They played and they played, and I stuck - to Freckles—which his name was called nothing but Harold all that - afternoon, and for the first time I said to myself “Harold” seemed to fit. - I stuck to him because a dog should stick to his boy, and a boy should - stick to his dog, no matter what the disgrace. But after while I got - pretty tired and lay down on a rug, and a new kind of flea struck me. - After I had chased him down and cracked him with my teeth I went to sleep. - </p> - <p> - I must have slept pretty sound and pretty long. All of a sudden I waked up - with a start, and almost choking, for the place was smoky. I barked and no - one answered. - </p> - <p> - I ran out on to the landing, and the whole house was full of smoke. The - house was on fire, and it looked like I was alone in it. I went down the - back stairway, which didn't seem so full of smoke, but the door that let - out on to the first-floor landing was locked, and I had to go back up - again. - </p> - <p> - By the time I got back up, the front stairway was a great deal fuller of - smoke, and I could see glints of flame winking through it way down below. - But it was my only way out of that place. On the top step I stumbled over - a gray wool bunch of something or other, and I picked it up in my mouth. - Thinks I, “That is Freckles's gray sweater, that he is so stuck on. I - might as well take it down to him.” - </p> - <p> - It wasn't so hard for a lively dog to get out of a place like that, I - thought. But I got kind of confused and excited, too. And it struck me all - of a sudden, by the time I was down to the second floor, that that sweater - weighed an awful lot. - </p> - <p> - 1 dropped it on the second floor, and ran into one of the front bedrooms - and looked out. - </p> - <p> - By jings! the whole town was in the front yard and in the street. - </p> - <p> - And in the midst of the crowd was Mrs. Wilkins, carrying on like mad. - </p> - <p> - “My baby!” she yelled. “Save my baby. Let me loose! I'm going after my - baby!” - </p> - <p> - I stood up on my hind legs, with my head just out of that bedroom window, - and the flame and smoke licking up all around me, and barked. - </p> - <p> - “My doggie! My doggie!” yells Freckles, who was in the crowd, “I must save - my doggie!” And he made a run for the house, but someone grabbed him and - slung him back. - </p> - <p> - And Mrs. Wilkins made a run, but they held her, too. The front of the - house was one sheet of flame. Old Pop Wilkins, Mrs. Wilkins's husband, was - jumping up and down in front of Mrs. Wilkins yelling, here was her baby. - He had a real baby in one arm and that big doll in the other, and was so - excited he thought he had both babies. Later I heard what had happened. - The kids had thought they were getting out with both twins but one of them - had saved the doll and left a twin behind. The squint-eyed girl and the - taffy-coloured-haired girl and the pretty girl was howling as loud as - their mother. And every now and then some man would make a rush for the - front door, but the fire would drive him back. And everyone was yelling - advice to everyone else, except one man who was calling on the whole town - to get him an axe. The volunteer fire engine was there, but there wasn't - any water to squirt through it, and it had been backed up too near the - house and had caught fire and was burning up. - </p> - <p> - Well, I thinks that baby will likely turn up in the crowd somewhere, after - all, and I'd better get out of there myself while the getting was good. I - ran out of the bedroom, and run into that bunched-up gray bundle again. - </p> - <p> - I ain't saying that I knew it was the missing twin in a gray shawl when I - picked it up the second time. And I ain't saying that I didn't know it. - But the fact is that I did pick it up. I don't make any brag that I would - have risked my life to save Freckles's sweater. It may be I was so rattled - I just picked it up because I had had it in my mouth before and didn't - quite know what I was doing. - </p> - <p> - But the <i>record</i> is something you can't go behind, and the record is - that I got out the back way and into the back yard with that bundle - swinging from my mouth, and walked round into the front yard and laid that - bundle down—<i>and it was the twin!</i> - </p> - <p> - 1 don't make any claim that I <i>knew</i> it was the twin till I got into - the front yard, mind you. But you can't prove I <i>didn't</i> know it was. - </p> - <p> - And nobody tried to prove it. The gray bundle let out a squall. - </p> - <p> - “My baby!” yells Mrs. Wilkins. And she kissed me! I rubbed it off with my - paw. And then the taffy-coloured-haired one kissed me. And the first thing - I knew the pretty one kissed me. But when I saw the squint-eyed one coming - I got behind Freckles and barked. - </p> - <p> - “Three cheers for Spot!” yelled the whole town. And they give them. - </p> - <p> - And then I saw what the lay of the land was, so 1 wagged my tail and - barked. - </p> - <p> - It called for that hero stuff, and I throwed my head up and looked noble—and - pulled it. - </p> - <p> - An hour before Freckles and me had been outcasts. And now we was Public - Characters again. We walked down Main Street, and we owned it. And we - hadn't any more than got to Doc Watson's drug store than in rushed Heinie - Hassenyager with a lump of Hamburg steak, and with tears in his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “It's got chicken livers mixed in it, too!” says Heinie. I ate it. But - while I ate it, I growled at him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - WRITTEN IN BLOOD (As told by the dogs) - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ever did I suppose - that I would be a bloodhound in an “Uncle Tom's Cabin” show. But I have - been one, and my constant wish is that it has not made me too proud and - haughty. For proud and haughty dogs, sooner or later, all have their - downfalls. The dog that was the rightful bloodhound in that show was the - proudest and haughtiest dog I ever met, and he had his downfall. - </p> - <p> - Other proud and haughty dogs I have seen, in my time; and some of them I - have licked, and some of them have licked me. For instance, there was the - one that used to be a blind man's dog on a street corner in Chicago. He - was a tough, loud-barking, red-eyed dog, full of suspiciousness and fleas; - and his disposition was so bad that it was even said that if one of his - fleas bit an ordinary dog, that ordinary dog would swell up where he was - bit as if a hornet had stung him. He was proud of those fleas and proud of - being that ornery; but he had his downfall. - </p> - <p> - Another proud and haughty dog I knew belonged to the dog and pony part of - a circus that came to our town once. He sat in a little cart in the street - parade, with a clown's hat and jacket on, and drove a Shetland pony. You - couldn't get him into a fight; he would just grin and say he was worth too - much money to risk himself in a fight, especially as the money he was - worth did not belong to him anyhow, but to the circus that owned him. He - said it wouldn't be honest to risk other people's money just because he - wanted to fight; but I have never believed that he really wanted to fight. - He grinned mostly all the time, a conceited kind of grin, and he would - up-end himself and stand on his head for you to admire him, and then flop - over and bark and look proud of his own tricks and proud of the money he - was worth. But he had his downfall right in the midst of his greatest - pride, for a brindle Tom-cat with one eye went after him right in the - middle of that street parade, and he left that cart very quickly, and it - nearly broke up the parade. - </p> - <p> - But the proudest and haughtiest of all was the bloodhound that owned that - Uncle Tom show—leastways, he acted as if he owned it. It was a show - that showed in a tent, like a regular circus, and it stayed in our town - three days. It had a street parade, too; and this bloodhound was led along - at the head of the street parade with a big heavy muzzle on, and he was - loaded down with chains and shackles so he could hardly walk. Besides the - fellow that led him, there were two more men that followed along behind - him and held on to chains that were fastened to his collar. In front of - him marched the Uncle Tom of that show; and every now and then the - bloodhound would struggle to get at Uncle Tom and be pulled back. He was a - very dangerous-looking dog, and you thought to yourself what a lot of - damage he would probably do if he was ever to bite those chains to pieces - and eat up those three men that held him and chew Uncle Tom and then run - loose into the world. Every step he took he would toss his head and jangle - those chains and growl. - </p> - <p> - After the parade was over, a lot of us dogs and boys went down to the lot - where the show was to be held. We were hanging around the tent where the - actors were eating, and that bloodhound dog was there without chains like - any other dog, and us dogs got to talking with him. - </p> - <p> - “You country-town dogs,” he says to Mutt Mulligan, who is a friend of mine - and some considerable dog himself, “don't want to come fussin' around too - close to my cook tent or my show! Us troupers ain't got any too much use - for you hick dogs, anyhow.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it's <i>your</i> show, is it?” says Mutt. - </p> - <p> - “Whose show did you think it was?” says that bloodhound dog, very haughty. - </p> - <p> - “1 thought from all those chains and things, maybe the show owned you, - instead of you owning the show,” says Mutt. - </p> - <p> - “You saw who led that street parade, didn't you?” says the bloodhound dog. - “Well, that ought to tell you who the chief actor of this show is. This - here show is built up around me. If anything was to happen to me, there - couldn't be any show.” - </p> - <p> - Mutt, he gave me a signal with his tail to edge in a little closer, and I - sidled up to where I could grab a front leg unexpected to him, if he made - a pass at Mutt. And then Mutt says, sneering so his teeth stuck out and - his nose wrinkled: - </p> - <p> - “Something's goin' to happen to you, if you ain't more polite and - peaceable in your talk.” - </p> - <p> - “What's goin' to happen to me?” says that bloodhound dog. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you let them bristles rise around your neck,” says Mutt, “or you'll - find out what's goin' to happen to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose bristles are they?” says that bloodhound dog. - </p> - <p> - “It don't make any difference whose bristles they are,” says Mutt. “No dog - can stick his bristles up into my face like that and get away with it. - When I see bristles stand up, I take it personal.” - </p> - <p> - But just then Old Uncle Zeb White, who is coloured, come amoseyin' along, - and that Tom-show dog barked out: - </p> - <p> - “Somebody hold me! Quick! Somebody muzzle me! Somebody better put my - chains on to me again! Somebody better tell that coloured man to clear out - of here! I've been trained to chase coloured men! What do they mean by - letting that coloured man get near my show tent?” - </p> - <p> - Old Uncle Zeb, he is the quietest and most peaceable person anywhere, - amongst dogs, boys, or humans, and the janitor of the Baptist church. He - is the only coloured man in our town, and is naturally looked up to and - respected with a good deal of admiration and curiosity on that account, - and also because he is two hundred years old. He used to be the - bodyservant of General George Washington, he says, until General - Washington set him free. And then along comes Abraham Lincoln after a - while and sets him free again, he says. And being set free by two - prominent men like that, Uncle Zeb figures he is freer than anybody else, - and I have heard him tell, time and again, how he can't speak kindly - enough of them two white gentlemen. - </p> - <p> - “Don't anybody sick me on to that coloured man,” says this bloodhound dog. - “If I was to be sicked on to that coloured man, this whole town couldn't - pull me off again! I been trained to it, I tell you!” - </p> - <p> - Which it was easy enough to see he really didn't want to start anything; - it was just his pride and haughtiness working in him. Just then Freckles - Watson, who is my boy that I own, and Tom Mulligan, who is Mutt Mulligan's - boy, both says: “Sick 'im!” Not that they understood what us dogs was - talking about, but they saw me and Mutt sidling around that Tom-show dog, - and it looked to them like a fight could be commenced. But the Tom-show - dog, when he heard that “Sick 'im!” jumped and caught Uncle Zeb by a leg - of his trousers. Then Uncle Zeb's own dog, which his name is Burning Deck - after a piece Uncle Zeb heard recited one time, comes a-bulging and - a-bouncing through the crowd and grabs that Tom-show dog by the neck. - </p> - <p> - They rolled over and over, and into the eating tent, and under the table. - The actors jumped up, and the table got tipped over, and the whole meal - and the tin dishes they was eating off of and all the actors and the - benches and the dogs was wallowing and banging and kicking and barking and - shouting on the ground in a mess, and all of us other dogs run in to help - Burning Deck lick that bloodhound, and all the boys followed their dogs in - to see a square deal, and then that tent come down on top of everything, - and believe me it was some enjoyable time. And I found quite a sizeable - piece of meat under there in the mix-up, and I thinks to myself I better - eat that while I can get it, so I crawled out with it. Outside is sitting - Uncle Zeb, watching that fallen-down tent heaving and twisting and - squirming, and I heard him say to himself: - </p> - <p> - “White folks is allers gittin' up some kin' of entuh-tainment fo' us - cullud people to look at! Us cullud people suah does git treated fine in - dese heah Nothe'n towns!” - </p> - <p> - Pretty soon everybody comes crawling out from under that tent, and they - straightens her up, and the boss of the show begins to talk like Uncle Zeb - has done the whole thing, and Uncle Zeb just sits on the grass and smiles - and scratches his head. And finally the boss of the show says to Uncle Zeb - could he hire Burning Deck for the bloodhound's part? Because Burning Deck - has just about chewed that proud and haughty dog to pieces, and they've - got to have a bloodhound! - </p> - <p> - “No, suh,” says Uncle Zeb. “No, suh! I thank yo' kindly fo' yo' offer, - suh, but Burnin' Deck, he ain't gwine inter no show whah he likely ter be - sicked on ter no cullud pusson. Burnin' Deck, he allers been a good - Republican, bringed up that-a-way, des de same as me, an' we ain't gwine - ter take no paht in any gwines-on agin' de cullud nation.” - </p> - <p> - “But see here,” says the boss. “In this show the coloured people get all - the best of it. In this show the coloured people go to Heaven!” - </p> - <p> - Uncle Zeb says he had heard a good deal about that Uncle Tom show in his - life, first and last, and because he had heard so much, he went to see it - one time. And he says if getting chased by bloodhounds and whipped by - whips is giving them the best of it, he hopes he never obtains admission - to any show where they get the worst of it. The boss, he says that show is - the show that helped make the coloured people free, and Uncle Zeb ought to - be proud of Burning Deck acting in it. But Uncle Zeb says he ain't to be - fooled; it was General Washington set 'em free first, and Abraham Lincoln - set 'em free the second time, and now President Wilson is licking them - Germans and setting them free again. And as for him, he says, he will - stick to his own white folks that he knows and janitors for and whose - clothes fit him, and Burning Deck will do the same. And as far as them - Tom-show coloured folks' going to heaven is concerned, he reckons he don't - want to be chased there by no bloodhounds; and it ain't likely that a man - that has janitored for a Baptist church as faithful as he has would go - anywhere else, anyhow. So he takes Burning Deck and goes along home. - </p> - <p> - “I've got to have a dog,” says the boss, watching them get the tent fixed - up, and rubbing his head. - </p> - <p> - “Would Spot do?” says Freckles, which is my boy, Spot being me. - </p> - <p> - Well, I never expected to be an actor, as I said before. But they struck a - bargain, which Freckles was to get free admission to that show, and I was - to be painted and dyed up some and be a bloodhound. Which the boss said - the regular bloodhound which Burning Deck had eat so much of wasn't really - a bloodhound, anyhow, but only a big mongrel with bloodhound notions in - his head. - </p> - <p> - Well, maybe you've seen that show. Which all the bloodhound has to do is - to run across the stage chasing that Uncle Tom, and Freckles was to run - across with me, so there wasn't much chance to go wrong. - </p> - <p> - And nothing would have gone wrong if it hadn't been for Burning Deck. - Uncle Zeb White must have got over his grouch against that show, for there - he was sitting in the front row with a new red handkerchief around his - throat and his plug hat on his knees, and Burning Deck was there with him. - I never had anything but liking for Uncle Zeb, for he knows where to - scratch dogs. But Burning Deck and me have never been close friends, on - account of him being jealous when Uncle Zeb scratches you too long. He - even is jealous when Uncle Zeb scratches a pig, which all the pigs in town - that can get loose have a habit of coming to Uncle Zeb's cottage to be - scratched, and they say around town that some of those pigs never find - their way home again. Squeals have been heard coming from Uncle Zeb's - kitchen, but the rest of the pigs never seem to learn. - </p> - <p> - But no self-respecting dog would be jealous if his boss scratched a pig. - For after all, what is a pig? It is just a pig, and that is all you can - say for it. A pig is not a person; a pig is something to eat. But Burning - Deck is a peculiar dog, and he gets ideas into his head. And so, right in - the midst of the show, when I chased that coloured man across the stage, - Burning Deck all of a sudden jumped up on to the platform and grabbed me. - I would have licked him then and there, but what was left of the show's - bloodhound come crawling out on to the stage dragging two of his legs, and - Burning Deck turned from me to him, and then all the actors run on to the - stage to save what was left of the bloodhound, and Si Emery, the city - marshal, threw open his coat so you could see his big star and climbed on - to the stage and arrested everybody, and somebody dropped the curtain down - right into the midst of it. - </p> - <p> - And the way it happened, on the outside of the curtain was left Freckles - and me and the Little Eva of that show, which she is beautiful, with long - yellow hair and pink cheeks and white clothes like an angel. And before - Freckles could stop her, she took hold of him by the hand and says to the - audience won't they please be kind to the poor travelling troupers and not - let them be under arrest, and let the show go on? And she cried - considerable, and all through her crying you could hear Si Emery behind - the curtain arresting people; and after while some of the women in the - audience got to crying, too, and the city fathers was all in the audience, - and they went up on to the stage and told Si, for the sake of Little Eva, - to release everyone he had arrested, and after that the show went on. - </p> - <p> - Well, after the show was out, quite a lot of the dogs and boys that was - friends of mine and of Freckles was waiting for us. Being in a show like - that made us heroes. But some of them were considerably jealous of us, - too, and there would have been some fights, but Freckles says kind of - dignified that he does not care to fight until his show is out of town, - but after that he will take on any and all who dare—that is, he - says, if he doesn't decide to go with that show, which the show is crazy - to have him do. And me and him and Stevie Stevenson, which is his - particular chum, goes off and sets down on the schoolhouse steps, and - Stevie tells him what a good actor he was, running across the stage with - me after that Uncle Tom. But Freckles, he is sad and solemn, and he only - fetches a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “What's eatin' you, Freckles?” Stevie asks him. Freckles, he sighs a - couple of times more, and then he says: - </p> - <p> - “Stevie, I'm in love.” - </p> - <p> - “Gosh, Freckles,” says Stevie. “Honest?” - </p> - <p> - “Honest Injun,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know who with?” says Stevie. - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says Freckles. “If you didn't know who with, how would you know - you was?” - </p> - <p> - But Stevie, he says you might be and not know who with, easy enough. Once, - he says, he was like that. He says he was feeling kind of queer for a - couple of weeks last spring, and they dosed him and dosed him, with - sassafras and worm-medicine and roots and herbs, and none of it did any - good. His mother says it is growing-pains, and his father says it is - either laziness and not wanting to hoe in the garden or else it is a - tapeworm. And he thinks himself maybe it is because he is learning to chew - and smoke tobacco on the sly and keeps swallowing a good deal of it right - along. But one day he hears his older sister and another big girl talking - when they don't know he is around, and they are in love, both of them, and - from what he can make out, their feelings is just like his. And it come to - him all of a sudden he must be in love himself, and it was days and days - before he found out who it was that he was in love with. - </p> - <p> - “Who was it?” asks Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “It turned out to be Mabel Smith,” says Stevie, “and I was scared plumb to - death for a week or two that she would find out about it. I used to put - toads down her back and stick burrs into her hair so she wouldn't never - guess it.” - </p> - <p> - Stevie says he went through days and days of it, and for a while he was - scared that it might last forever, and he don't ever want to be in love - again. Suppose it should be found out on a fellow that he was in love? - </p> - <p> - “Stevie,” says Freckles, “this is different.” - </p> - <p> - Stevie asks him how he means. - </p> - <p> - “I <i>want</i> her to know,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Great Scott!” says Stevie. “No!” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” - </p> - <p> - “It don't show on you, Freckles,” says Stevie. - </p> - <p> - Freckles says of course it don't show. Only first love shows, he says. - Once before he was in love, he says, and that showed on him. That was last - spring, and he was only a kid then, and he was in love with Miss Jones, - the school teacher, and didn't know how to hide it. But this time he can - hide it, because this time he feels that it is different. He swallows down - the signs of it, he says, the way you keep swallowing down the signs of it - when you have something terrible like heart-disease or stomach-trouble, - and nobody will ever know it about him, likely, till after he is dead. - </p> - <p> - And when he is dead, Freckles says, they will all wonder what he died of, - and maybe he will leave a note, wrote in his own blood, to tell. And they - will all come in Injun file and pass through the parlour, he says, where - his casket will be set on to four chairs, and She will come filing by and - look at him, and she will say not to bury him yet, for there is a note - held tight in his hand. - </p> - <p> - And everybody will say: “A note? A note? Who can it be to?” - </p> - <p> - And She will say to pardon her for taking the liberty at a time like this, - but She has saw her own name on to that note. And then, Freckles says, She - will open it and read it out loud right there in the parlour to all of - them, and they will all say how the departed must have liked her to draw - up a note to her wrote in his own blood like that. - </p> - <p> - And then, Freckles says, She will say, yes, he must have liked her, and - that she liked him an awful lot, too, but She never knew he liked her, and - She wished now she had of known he liked her an awful lot, because to - write a note in his own blood like that showed that he liked her an awful - lot, and if he only was alive now she would show she liked him an awful - lot and would kiss him to show it. And she would not be scared to kiss him - in front of all those people standing around the sides of the parlour, - dead or alive. And then she would kiss him, Freckles says. And maybe, - Freckles says, he wouldn't be dead after all, but only just lying there - like the boy that travelled around with the hypnotizer who was put in a - store window and laid there all the time the hypnotizer was in town with - everybody making bets whether they could see him breathing or not. And - then, Freckles says, he would get up out of his casket, and his Sunday - suit with long pants would be on, and he would take the note and say: - “Yes, it is to you, and I wrote it with my own blood!” - </p> - <p> - Which, Freckles says, he has a loose tooth he could suck blood out of any - time, not wanting to scrape his arm on account of blood poison breaking - out. Though he says he had thought of using some of Spot's blood, but that - would seem disrespectful, somehow. And the tooth-blood seemed - disrespectful, too, for he did not know the girl right well. But it would - have to be the tooth-blood, he guessed, for there was a fellow out by the - county line got lockjaw from blood poison breaking out on him, and died of - it. And when She handed him the note, Freckles says, he would tell the - people in the parlour: “Little Eva and I forgive you all!” - </p> - <p> - “Little Eva!” says Stevie. “Gosh all fish hooks, Freckles, it ain't the - girl in the show, is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says Freckles, kind of sad and proud. “Freckles,” says Stevie, - after they had both set there and thought, saying nothing, for a while, “I - got just one more question to ask you: Are you figuring you will get - married? Is it as bad as that?” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - Stevie, he thought for another while, and then he got up and put his hand - on to Freckles's shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Freckles, old scout,” he says, “good-bye. I'm awful sorry for you, but I - can't chase around with you any more. I can't be seen running with you. I - won't tell this on you, but if it was ever to come out I wouldn't want to - be too thick with you. You know what the Dalton Gang would do to you, - Freck, if they ever got on to this. I won't blab, but I can't take no - risks about chumming with you.” - </p> - <p> - And he went away and left Freckles and me sitting there. But in a minute - he came back and said: - </p> - <p> - “Freckles, you know that iron sling-shot crotch of mine? You always used - to be stuck on that slingshot crotch, Freckles, and I never would trade it - to you. Well, Freckles, you can have that darned old iron slingshot crotch - free for nothing!” - </p> - <p> - “Stevie,” says Freckles, “I don't want it.” - </p> - <p> - “Gosh!” says Stevie, and he went off, shaking his head. - </p> - <p> - And I was considerable worried myself. I tagged him along home, and he - wasn't natural. He went into the house, and I tagged him along in and up - to his room, and he took no notice of me, though I'm not supposed to be - there at all. - </p> - <p> - And what do you suppose that kid did?—he went and washed his ears. - It was midnight, and there wasn't any one to make him do it, and there - wasn't any one to see his ears but me, but he washed 'em careful, inside - and out. And then he wet his hair and combed it. First he parted it on one - side, and then he parted it x on the other, and then he blushed and parted - it in the middle. I was sitting on the floor by the foot of the bed, and - he was facing the looking-glass, but I saw the blush because it spread - clear around to the back of his neck. - </p> - <p> - And then he went to the closet and put on his long pants that belonged to - his Sunday suit. The looking-glass wasn't big enough so he could see his - hair and his long pants all at the same time, but he tilted the glass and - squirmed and twisted around and saw them bit by bit. At first I thought - maybe he was going out again, even at that time of night, but he wasn't; - all he was doing was admiring himself. Just then his father pounded on the - wall and asked him if he wasn't in bed yet, and he said he was going. He - put the light out right away. But he didn't go to bed. He just sat in the - dark with his clean ears and his long pants on and his hair parted in the - middle, and several times before I went to sleep myself I heard him sigh - and say: “Little Eva! Little Eva's dying! Little Eva!” - </p> - <p> - He must have got so tired he forgot to undress, staying up that late and - everything, for in the morning when his father pounded on the door he - didn't answer. I was under the bed, and I stayed there. Pretty soon his - father pounded again, and then he came into the room. And there Freckles - was lying on the bed with his Sunday pants on and his hair parted in the - middle and his ears clean. - </p> - <p> - “Harold!” says his father, and shook him, “what does this mean?” - </p> - <p> - Harold is Freckles's other name, but if any one of his size calls him - Harold, there will be a fight. He sat up on the bed and says, still - sleepy: - </p> - <p> - “What does what mean, Pa?” - </p> - <p> - “Your lying there asleep with your clothes on,” says his father.. - </p> - <p> - “I was dressing, and I went to sleep again,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says his father. “It looks like it, don't it?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - I had crawled out to the foot of the bed where I could see them, and he - was still sleepy, but he was trying hard to think up something. - </p> - <p> - “It looks a lot like it,” says his father. “If you had slept in that bed, - the covers would have been turned down, wouldn't they?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles, looking at them. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what then?” says his father. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Pa,” says Freckles, “I guess I must have made that bed up again in - my sleep, and I never knew it.” - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” says his father. “Do you do that often?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles, “a good deal lately.” - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” says his father, real interested, “aren't you feeling well these - days?” - </p> - <p> - “No, Pa,” says Freckles, “I ain't felt so very well for quite a while.” - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” says his pa. “How does it come when you dressed yourself you put - on your Sunday pants, and this is only Tuesday?” - </p> - <p> - Harold says he guesses he did that in his sleep, too, the same time he - made the bed up. - </p> - <p> - His pa wants to know if that has ever happened to him before. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles, “once I woke up in the moonlight right out on - one of the top limbs of the big maple tree in the front yard, with my - Sunday suit on.” - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” says his father. “And was your hair parted in the middle that - time, too?” - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he blushes till you can hardly see his freckles, and feels of - his hair. But he is so far in, now, that he can't get out. So he says: - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, every time I get taken that way, so I go around in my sleep, - Pa, I find my hair has been parted in the middle, the next morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says his pa. “Let's see your ears.” And he pinched one of them - while he was looking at it, and Freckles says, “Ouch!” - </p> - <p> - “I thought so,” says his pa, but didn't say what he thought right away. - Then pretty soon he says: “Those ears have been washed since that neck - has.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Did you do that in your sleep, too?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you always do that when you have those spells of yours?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir, I always find my ears have been washed the next morning.” - </p> - <p> - “But never your neck?” - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes my neck has, and sometimes it hasn't,” said Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says his father, and took notice of me. I wagged my tail, and - hung my tongue out, and acted friendly and joyful and happy. If you want - to stay on good terms with grown-up humans, you have to keep them jollied - along. I wasn't supposed to be in the house at night, anyhow, but I hoped - maybe it would be overlooked. - </p> - <p> - “Did you paint and dye that dog up that way?” asked Freckles's father. For - of course the paint and dye they had put on me was still there. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles. “Nearly always when I come to myself in the - morning I find I have dyed Spot.” - </p> - <p> - “That's queer, too,” said his father. And then Harold says he dyes other - dogs, too, and once when he woke up in the maple tree there were three - strange dogs he had dyed at the foot of it. - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” says his father, “how often do these spells come on?” - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he says, some weeks they come often and some weeks hardly ever. - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” says his father. “And when they come on, do you notice it is - harder for you to tell the truth than at any other times?” - </p> - <p> - Freckles says he doesn't know what he says in his sleep when those spells - take him, nor even whether he talks in his sleep or not, but he guesses if - he does talk in his sleep what he says would be talk about his dreams, but - he can't remember what his dreams are, so he doesn't know whether what he - says is true or not. - </p> - <p> - “Uh-huh!” says his father. “Harold, do you own a gun?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” says Harold. Which is true, for he only owns a third interest - in a gun. Tom Mulligan and Stevie Stevenson own the rest of it, and they - are keeping it hid in the rafters of Tom Mulligan's barn till they can - save money enough to get it fixed so it will shoot. - </p> - <p> - “You haven't killed anybody in these spells of yours, have you, Harold?” - asks his father. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “How would you know if you had?” asks his father. - </p> - <p> - Freckles says there would be blood on him next morning, wouldn't there? - </p> - <p> - “Not,” says his father, “if you stood at a distance and killed them with a - gun.” - </p> - <p> - Freckles knows he hasn't ever really had any of these spells he says he - has had, but from his looks I should judge he was scared, too, by the way - his father was acting. - </p> - <p> - “Pa,” he says, “has any one been found dead?” - </p> - <p> - “The body hasn't been found yet,” says his father, “but from what I heard - you say, early this morning in your sleep, I should judge one will be - found.” - </p> - <p> - I thinks to myself maybe Freckles does do things in his sleep after all, - and from the looks of his face he thinks so, too. He is looking scared. - </p> - <p> - “Pa,” he says, “who did I kill? What did I say?” - </p> - <p> - “You said: 'Little Eva's dying! Little Eva's dying!'” said his father. “I - heard you say it over and over again in your sleep.” - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he gets red in the face again, and stares at his feet, and his - pa stands and grins at him for a minute or two. And then his pa says: “Get - into your weekday clothes and wash your face and neck to match your ears, - and come on down to breakfast. When you get ready to tell what's on your - mind, all right; but don't try to tell lies to your dad.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - But he looked mighty gloomy. And when his father went out of the room he - got his fountain pen and sucked some blood out of his loose tooth and - tried to spit it into his fountain pen. From which I judged he was still - of a notion to write that letter and was pretty low in his mind. But he - couldn't spit it into the pen, right. And he cried a little, and then saw - me watching him crying and slapped at me with a hairbrush; and then he - petted me and I let him pet me, for a dog, if he is any sort of dog at - all, will always stand by his boy in trouble as well as gladness, and - overlook things. A boy hasn't got much sense, anyhow; and a boy without a - dog to keep him steered right must have a pretty tough time in the world. - </p> - <p> - If he was low in his mind then, he was lower in his mind before the day - was through. For after breakfast there was Stevie Stevenson and Tom - Mulligan waiting for him outside, and in spite of his promise, Stevie has - told everything to Tom. And Tom has a wart and offers some wart blood to - write that letter in. But Freckles says another person's blood would not - be fair and honourable. He has a wart of his own, if he wanted to use wart - blood, but wart blood is not to be thought of. What would a lady think if - she found out it was wart blood? It would be almost and insult, wart blood - would; it would be as bad as blood from a corn or bunion. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Stevie, “the truth is that you don't want to write that - letter, anyhow. Last night you talked big about writing that letter, but - this morning you're hunting up excuses for not writing it.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll write it if I want to write it, and you can't stop me,” says - Freckles. “And I won't write it if I don't want to write it, and nobody of - your size can make me.” - </p> - <p> - “I can too stop you,” says Stevie, “if I want to.” - </p> - <p> - “You don't dast to want to stop me,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “I do dast,” says Stevie. - </p> - <p> - “You don't,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “I do,” says Stevie. - </p> - <p> - “You're a licked, licked liar—and so's your Aunt Mariar,” says - Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “I ain't got any Aunt Mariar,” says Stevie. - </p> - <p> - “You don't dast to have an Aunt Mariar,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “I do dast,” says Stevie. - </p> - <p> - Then Tom put a chip on each of their shoulders, and pushed them at each - other, and the chips fell off, and they went down behind the barn and had - it out, and Freckles licked him. Which proves Freckles couldn't be stopped - from writing that note if he wanted to, and he was still so mad that he - wrote it right then and there back of the barn on a leaf torn out of a - notebook Tom Mulligan owned, with his fountain pen, using his own nose - bleed that Stevie had just drawed out of him; and he read out loud what he - wrote. It was: - </p> - <p> - <i>Dear Miss Little Eva: The rose is red, the violet's blue. Sugar is - sweet and so are you. Yours truly. Mr. H. Watson. This is wrote in my own - blood.</i> - </p> - <p> - “Well, now, then,” says Stevie, “where's the coffin?” - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean, the coffin?” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Last night,” says Stevie, “you was makin' a lot of brags, but this - morning it looks like you didn't have the sand to act up to them.” - </p> - <p> - “If you think you've got size enough to make me lay down into a coffin - with that note,” says Freckles, “you got another think cornin' to you. - There ain't a kid my size, nor anywhere near my size, in this whole town - can make me lay down into a coffin with that note. And if you think so, - you just try it on!” - </p> - <p> - Stevie, he doesn't want to fight any more. But Tom Mulligan says never - mind the casket. Nobody really wants him to lay in a casket anyhow. He - says he is willing to bet a million dollars Freckles doesn't dast to carry - that note to the show grounds and give it to that Little Eva. - </p> - <p> - “I dast!” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “Dastn't!” says Tom. - </p> - <p> - “You don't dast to knock this chip off my shoulder,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - “I dast!” says Tom. And Stevie give him a push, and he did it. And they - had it. Freckles got him down and jammed his head into the ground. - </p> - <p> - “Now, then,” he says, “do I dast to carry that note, or don't I dast to?” - </p> - <p> - “You dast to,” says Tom. “Leave me up.” - </p> - <p> - And that was the way it come about that Freckles had to carry the note, - though not wanting to at all. But he did it. We all went with him over to - the show grounds, Stevie Stevenson and Tom Mulligan and Mutt, Tom's dog, - and me. - </p> - <p> - There was a lady sitting out in front of one of the tents on a chair. She - had been washing her hair, and it was spread out to dry over her - shoulders, and she was sewing on a pair of boy's pants. She had on a pair - of those big horn-rimmed glasses, and we could see from her hair, which - had gray in it, that she was quite an old lady, though small. I heard - later that she was all of thirty-five or thirty-six years old. - </p> - <p> - The rest of us hung back a little ways, and Freckles went up to her and - took off his hat. - </p> - <p> - She laid down her sewing and smiled at him. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my little man, what is it?” she said. “Were you looking for - somebody?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, ma'am,” says Freckles. He stuttered a little and he was standing on - one foot. - </p> - <p> - “For whom?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “For Little Eva,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - The lady stared at him, and then she smiled again. - </p> - <p> - “And what do you want with Little Eva, sonny?” she said. - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he stands on the other foot a while, and says nothing. And like - as not he would have backed away, but Tom Mulligan yells: “You don't dast - give it to her, Freck!” - </p> - <p> - Then Freckles hands her the letter and gulps and says: “A letter for Miss - Little Eva.” - </p> - <p> - The lady takes it and reads it. And then she reads it again. And then she - calls out: “Jim! Oh, Jim!” - </p> - <p> - A man comes out of the tent, and she hands it to him. He reads it, and his - mouth drops open, and a pipe he is smoking falls on to the grass. - </p> - <p> - “Jim,” says the lady, “someone is making love to your wife!” - </p> - <p> - Jim, he reads the letter again, and then he laughs. He laughs so hard he - bends double, and catches the back of the lady's chair. And she laughs of - a sudden and puts her hand in front of her face and laughs again. And then - Jim, he says to Freckles, who has been getting redder and redder: - </p> - <p> - “And who is Mr. H. Watson?” - </p> - <p> - “Don't you get it?” says the lady, taking off her glasses to wipe them, - and pointing to Freckles. “This is the boy that owns the dog that played - the bloodhound last night, and <i>he</i> is Mr. H. Watson!” - </p> - <p> - And when she took off her glasses like that, we all saw she was the Little - Eva of that show! - </p> - <p> - “Mr. H. Watson,” says Jim to Freckles, “did you intend matrimony, or were - you trying to flirt?” - </p> - <p> - “Quit your kidding him, Jim,” says Little Eva, still laughing. “Can't you - see he's hacked nearly to death?” - </p> - <p> - “None of your business what I intended!” yells Freckles to Jim. And he - picks up a clod of dirt and nearly hits Jim with it, and runs. And we all - run. But when we had run half a block, we looked back, and nobody was - following us. Jim and Little Eva had busted out laughing again, and was - laughing so hard they was hanging on to each other to keep from falling - down. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye, Mr. H. Watson,” yells Jim. “Is it really your own blood?” - </p> - <p> - And then began a time of disgrace for Freckles and me such as I never hope - to live through again. For the next thing those two boys that had been his - friends was both dancing round him laughing and calling him Mr. H. Watson; - and by the time we got down to the part of Main Street where the stores - are, every boy and every dog in town was dancing around Freckles and - hearing all about it and yelling, “H. Watson! Mr. H. Watson! Is it your - own blood? Is it your own blood, Mr. H. Watson?” - </p> - <p> - Freckles and I did the best we could, fighting all that was our size and - some bigger; but after a couple of hours it got so that most any one could - lick us. Kids that was afraid to stand up to him the day before could lick - him easy, by now, and dogs I had always despised even to argue with began - to get my number. All you could hear, on every side, was: “Is it your <i>own</i> - blood, Mr. Watson?” - </p> - <p> - And at noon we went home, but Freckles didn't go into the house for dinner - at all. Instead, he went out to the barn and laid down in the hay, and I - crawled in there with him. And he cried and cried and choked and choked. I - felt sorry for him, and crawled up and licked his face. But he took me by - the scruff of the neck and slung me out of the haymow. When I crawled back - again, he kicked me in the ribs, but he had on tennis shoes and it didn't - hurt much, and anyhow I forgave him. And I went and crawled back to where - he was and nuzzled my head up under his armpit. And then he cried harder - and hugged me and said I was the best dog in the world and the only friend - he ever had. - </p> - <p> - And then I licked his face again and he let me and we both felt better, - and pretty soon he went to sleep there and slept for an hour or so, with - his head on my ribs, and I lay there quiet so as not to wake him. Even - when a flea got me, I let that flea bite and didn't scratch for fear of - waking him. But after a while that flea got tired of me, and crawled over - on to Freckles, and he waked natural. And when he waked, he was hungry, - but he didn't want to go into the house for fear the story had spread to - the grown-ups and he would have to answer questions. So he found a couple - of raw turnips, and ate them, and a couple of apples, only they were - green, and he milked the cow a little into an old tin cup and drank that. - And in a little while he begins to have pains, and he thinks he is getting - heart's disease and is really going to die, but he says to himself out - loud if he dies now he won't get any credit for it, and he would have - enjoyed it more if he had died while he still thought Little Eva was young - and beautiful and probably going to marry him in the end. - </p> - <p> - But after awhile it seems turning from heart's disease into some kind of - stomach trouble; so he drinks some stuff out of a bottle that was left in - the barn last spring when Bessie, the old roan mare, had the colic, and - whether it is heart's disease or stomach trouble, that stuff cures him. - And him and me drift along downtown again to see if maybe the kids have - sort of begun to forget about it a little. - </p> - <p> - But they hadn't. It had even spread to some of the grown-ups. We went into - Freckles's father's drug store, and Mr. Watson told Freckles to step - around to the post office and ask for his mail. And the clerk in the post - office when we come in, looks at Freckles very solemn and says: - </p> - <p> - “Ah, here is Mr. H. Watson, after a letter! Will you have a letter written - in blood?” - </p> - <p> - So Freckles told his dad there wasn't any mail, and we sneaked along home - again. That night at supper I was lying on the porch just outside the - dining room and the doors were open, and I heard Freckles's dad say: - </p> - <p> - “Harold, would you like to go to the show to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “No, Pa,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - His mother says that is funny; it is the first time she ever heard him - refuse to go to a show of any kind. And his father asks him if anything - special has happened that makes him want to stay away from this particular - show. I guess when his father says that, Freckles thinks his father is - wise, too, so he says he has changed his mind and will go to the show - after all. He didn't want to start any argument. - </p> - <p> - So him and me sneaks down to the show grounds again. It is getting dark, - but too early for the show, and every kid we know is hanging around - outside. And what Freckles has had to stand for in the way of kidding - beforehand is nothing to what comes now. For they all gets around him in a - ring and shouts: “Here is the bridegroom! Here is Mr. H. Watson come to - get married to Little Eva! And the wedding invitations are wrote in his - own blood! His own blood! His own blood!” - </p> - <p> - And the grown-ups beginning to go into the show all tell each other what - the kids are getting at, and we hear them laughing to each other about it. - Him and me was about the two downest-tail-and-head-hanging-est persons you - ever saw. But we stayed. There wasn't no place else to go, except home, - and we didn't want to go home and be asked again if there was any special - reason for staying away from that particular show. - </p> - <p> - And right in the midst of all the yelling and jostling around, a kid about - Freckles's size comes out of the show tent and walks over to the bunch and - says: - </p> - <p> - “Now, then, what's all this yelling about Little Eva for?” - </p> - <p> - All the kids shut up, and this show kid says to Freckles: - </p> - <p> - “Was they yelling bridegroom at <i>you?</i>” - </p> - <p> - Freckles, he was down, but he wasn't going to let any out-of-town boy get - away with anything, either. All our own gang had him licked and disgraced, - and he knew it; but this was a stranger, and so he spunked up. - </p> - <p> - “S'pose they was yelling bridegroom at me,” he says. “Ain't they got a - right to yell bridegroom at me if they want to? This is a free country.” - </p> - <p> - “You won't be yelled bridegroom at if I say you won't,” says the show kid. - </p> - <p> - “I'll be yelled bridegroom at for all of you,” says Freckles. “What's it - to you?” - </p> - <p> - “You won't be yelled bridegroom at about my mother,” saws the show kid. - </p> - <p> - “Who's being yelled bridegroom at about your mother?” says Freckles. “I'm - being yelled at about Little Eva.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says this kid, “Little Eva is my mother, and you got to stop - being yelled at about her.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Freckles, “you just stop me being yelled at if you - think you're big enough.” - </p> - <p> - “I could lick two your size,” says the show kid. “But I won't fight here. - I won't fight in front of this crowd. If I was to fight here, your crowd - might jump into me, too, and I would maybe have to use brass knucks, and - if I was to use brass knucks, I would likely kill someone and be arrested - for it. I'll fight in private like a duel, as gentlemen ought to.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Freckles, “if any one was to use brass knucks on me, I - would have to use brass knucks on them, and I won't fight any one that - uses brass knucks in private.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says the show kid, “my brass knucks is in my trunk in the - tent, and you don't dast to follow me and fight with bare fists.” - </p> - <p> - “My brass knucks is at home,” says Freckles, which was the first I knew he - ever had any, “and I do dast.” So each one searched the other for brass - knucks, and they went off together, me following. The fight was to be - under the bridge over the crick down by the school-house on the edge of - the woods. But when they got down there, the strip of sand by the side of - the crick was in shadow. So they went on top of the bridge, to fight in - the moonlight. But the moonlight was so bright they were afraid they would - be seen by some farmer coming into town and maybe told on and arrested. So - they sat down on the edge of the bridge with their feet hanging over and - talked about where they had better fight to be private, as gentlemen - should. And they got to talking of other things. And pretty soon they - began to kind of like each other, and Freckles says: - </p> - <p> - “What's your name?” - </p> - <p> - “Percy,” says the show kid. “But you better not call me that. I'd fight if - I was called that out of the family. Call me Spike. What's your name?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Freckles, “1 don't like mine either; mine is Harold. - But call me Freckles.” - </p> - <p> - Spike says he wished he had more freckles himself. But he don't get much - chance for freckles, he says; his mother takes such awful good care of all - the complexions in their family. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” says Freckles, “I think your mother is an awful nice lady.” - </p> - <p> - Spike, all of a sudden, bursts out crying then and says how would Freckles - like it if people wrote notes to <i>his</i> mother and was yelled at about - her? And Freckles says how would <i>he</i> like it if <i>he</i> was the - one was yelled at, and he never had any idea the lady was grown up and had - a family, and he got to sniffling some himself. - </p> - <p> - “Spike,” he says, “you tell your mother I take it all back. You tell her I - was in love with her till I seen her plain off the stage, and since I have - seen her and her family plain, I don't care two cents for her. And I'll - write her an apology for falling into love with her.” - </p> - <p> - Which he done it, then and there, in the moonlight, jabbing his fountain - pen into his wart, and it read: - </p> - <p> - <i>Dear Little Eva. Since I seen your husband and son I decided not to say - anything about matrimony, and beg your pardon for it. This is wrote in my - blood and sets you free to fall in love with who you please. You are older - and look different from what I expected, and so let us forget bygones.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Yours truly,</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>H. Watson.</i> - </p> - <p> - “Spike,” says Freckles, when they were walking back to town together, - chewing licorice and pretending it was tobacco, “do you really have some - brass knucks?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” says Spike. “Do you, Freckles?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” says Freckles. - </p> - <p> - And they went back to the tent together and asked the gang if they wanted - any of their game, and nobody did, and the disgrace lifted. - </p> - <p> - And I felt so good about that and the end of the love-affair and - everything, that right then and there I hunted up that Burning Deck dog - and give him the licking of his life, which I had never been able to do - before. - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Revolt of the Oyster, by Don Marquis - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REVOLT OF THE OYSTER *** - -***** This file should be named 51917-h.htm or 51917-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/1/51917/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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