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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 20:51:55 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 20:51:55 -0800 |
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diff --git a/old/51981-h/51981-h.htm b/old/51981-h/51981-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3a8892b..0000000 --- a/old/51981-h/51981-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13170 +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> - Sandburrs, by Alfred Henry Lewis - </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 Sandburrs and Others, by Alfred Henry Lewis - -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: Sandburrs and Others - -Author: Alfred Henry Lewis - -Illustrator: Horace Taylor and George B. Luks - -Release Date: May 3, 2016 [EBook #51981] -Last Updated: March 12, 2018 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANDBURRS *** - - - - -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> - SANDBURRS - </h1> - <h2> - By Alfred Henry Lewis - </h2> - <h4> - Author of “Wolfville,” etc. - </h4> - <h3> - Illustrated by Horace Taylor and George B. Luks - </h3> - <h5> - Second Edition - </h5> - <h4> - New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company - </h4> - <h3> - 1898 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - TO - </h3> - <h3> - JAMES ROBERT KEENE - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> SANDBURRS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> SPOT AND PINCHER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> MULBERRY MARY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> SINGLETREE JENNINGS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> JESS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE HUMMING BIRD </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> GASSY THOMPSON, VILLAIN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> ONE MOUNTAIN LION </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> MOLLIE MATCHES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE ST. CYRS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> McBRIDE'S DANDY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> RED MIKE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> HAMILTON FINNERTY'S HEART </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> SHORT CREEK DAVE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> CRIME THAT FAILED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE BETRAYAL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> FOILED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> POLITICS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> ESSLEIN GAMES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> THE PAINFUL ERROR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> THE RAT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> CHEYENNE BILL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> BLIGHTED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> THE SURETHING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> GLADSTONE BURR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> THE GARROTE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> O'TOOLE'S CHIVALRY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> WAGON MOUND SAL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> JOE DUBUQUE'S LUCK </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> BINKS AND MRS. B. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> ARABELLA WELD </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> THE WEDDING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> POINSETTE'S CAPTIVITY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> TIP FROM THE TOMB </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> TOO CHEAP </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER I. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> HENRY SPENY'S BENEVOLENCE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> JANE DOUGHERTY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> MISTRESS KILLIFER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> BEARS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> THE BIG TOUCH </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> THE FATAL KEY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> AN OCEAN ERROR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> SKINNY MIKE'S UNWISDOM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> MOLLIE PRESCOTT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> ANNA MARIE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> THE PETERSENS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> BOWLDER'S BURGLAR </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> ANGELINA McLAURIN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> DINKY PETE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> CRIB OR COFFIN? </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> OHIO DAYS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> I—AT THE LEES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> II—ED CHURCH AND LIDE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> III—THE SPELLING SCHOOL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> IV—THE FIGHT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> V—JIM LEE INTERFERES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> VI—THEY DECORATE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc2"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> VII—AUNT ANN PLOTS </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - PREFACE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> SANDBURR is a - foolish, small vegetable, irritating and grievously useless. Therefore - this volume of sketches is named Sandburrs. Some folk there be who - apologize for the birth of a book. There's scant propriety of it. A book - is but a legless, dormant creature. The public has but to let it alone to - be safe. And a book, withal! is its own punishment. Is it a bad book? the - author loses. Is it very bad? the publisher loses. In any case the public - is preserved. For all of which there will be no apology for SAND-BURRS. - Nor will I tell what I think of it. No; this volume may make its own - running, without the handicap of my apology, or the hamstringing of my - criticism. There should be more than one to do the latter with the least - of luck. The Bowery dialect—if it be a dialect—employed in - sundry of these sketches is not an exalted literature. The stories told - are true, however; so much may they have defence. - </p> - <h3> - A. H. L. - </h3> - <p> - New York, Nov. 15, 1899. - </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> - SANDBURRS - </h2> - <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> - SPOT AND PINCHER. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>artin is the - barkeeper of an East Side hotel—not a good hotel at all—and - flourishes as a sporting person of much emphasis. Martin, in passing, is - at the head of the dog-fighting brotherhood. I often talk with Martin and - love him very much. - </p> - <p> - Last week I visited Martin's bar. There was “nothin' doin',” to quote from - Martin. We talked of fighting men, a subject near to Martin, he having - fought three prize-fights himself. Martin boasted himself as still being - “an even break wit' any rough-and-tumble scrapper in d' bunch.” - </p> - <p> - “Come here,” said Martin, in course of converse; “come here; I'll show you - a bute.” - </p> - <p> - Martin opened a door to the room back of the bar. As we entered a - pink-white bull terrier, with black spots about the eyes, raced across to - fawn on Martin. The terrier's black toe-nails, bright and hard as agate, - made a vast clatter on the ash floor. - </p> - <p> - “This is Spot,” said Martin. “Weighs thirty-three pounds, and he's a hully - terror! I'm goin' to fight him to-night for five hundred dollars.” - </p> - <p> - I stooped to express with a pat on his smooth white head my approbation of - Spot. - </p> - <p> - “Pick him up, and heft him,” said Martin. “He won't nip you,” 'he - continued, as I hesitated; “bulls is; d' most manful dogs there bees. - Bulls won't bite nobody.” - </p> - <p> - Thereupon I picked up Spot “to heft him.” Spot smiled widely, wagged his - stumpy tail, tried to lick my face, and felt like a bundle of live steel. - </p> - <p> - “Spot's goin' to fight McDermott's Pincher,” said Martin. “And,” - addressing this to Spot, “you want to watch out, old boy! Pincher is as - hard as a hod of brick. And you want to look out for your Trilbys; - Pincher'll fight for your feet and legs. He's d' limit, Spot, Pincher is! - and you must tend to business when you're in d' pit wit' Pincher, or he'll - do you. Then McDermott would win me money, an' you an' me, Spot, would - look like a couple of suckers.” - </p> - <p> - Spot listened with a pleased air, as if drinking in every word, and wagged - his stump reassuringly. He would remember Pincher's genius for crunching - feet and legs, and see to it fully in a general way that Pincher did not - “do” him. - </p> - <p> - “Spot knows he's goin' to fight to-night as well as you and me,” said - Martin, as we returned to the bar. “Be d' way! don't you want to go?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - It was nine o'clock that evening. The pit, sixteen feet square, with board - walls three feet high, was built in the centre of an empty loft on - Bleecker street. Directly over the pit was a bunch of electric lights. All - about, raised six inches one above the other, were a dozen rows of board - seats like a circus. These were crowded with perhaps two hundred sports. - They sat close, and in the vague, smoky atmosphere, their faces, row on - row, tier above tier, put me in mind of potatoes in a bin. - </p> - <p> - Fincher was a bull terrier, the counterpart of Spot, save for the markings - about the face which gave Spot his name. Pincher seemed very sanguine and - full of eager hope; and as he and Spot, held in the arms of their - handlers, lolled at each other across the pit, it was plain they - languished to begin. Neither, however, made yelp or cry or bark. Bull - terriers of true worth on the battle-field were, I learned, a tacit, - wordless brood, making no sound. - </p> - <p> - Martin “handled” Spot and McDermott did kindly office for Pincher in the - same behalf. Martin and McDermott “tasted” Spot and Pincher respectively; - smelled and mouthed them for snuffs and poisons. Spot and Pincher - submitted to these examinations in a gentlemanly way, but were glad when - they ended. - </p> - <p> - At the word of the referee, Spot and Pincher were loosed, each in his - corner. They went straight at each other's throats. They met in the exact - centre of the pit like two milk-white thunderbolts, and the battle began. - </p> - <p> - Spot and Pincher moiled and toiled bloodily for forty-five minutes without - halt or pause or space to breathe. Their handlers, who were confined to - their corners by quarter circles drawn in chalk so as to hem them in, - leaned forward toward the fray and breathed encouragement. - </p> - <p> - What struck me as wonderful, withal, was a lack of angry ferocity on the - parts of Spot and Pincher. There was naught of growl, naught of rage-born - cry or comment. They simply blazed with a zeal for blood; burned with a - blind death-ardour. - </p> - <p> - When Spot and Pincher began, all was so flash-like in their motions, I - could hardly tell what went on. They were in and out, down and up, over - and under, writhing like two serpents. Now and then a pair of jaws clicked - like castanets as they came together with a trap-like snap, missing their - hold. Now and then one or the other would get a half-grip that would tear - out. Then the blood flowed, painting both Spot and Pincher crimson. - </p> - <p> - As time went on my eyes began to follow better, and I noted some amazing - matters. It was plain, for one thing, that both Spot and Pincher were as - wise and expert as two boxers. They fought intelligently, and each had a - system. As Martin had said, Pincher fought “under,” in never-ending - efforts to seize Spot's feet and legs. Spot was perfectly aware of this, - and never failed to keep his fore legs well back and beneath him, out of - Pinchers reach. - </p> - <p> - Spot, on his part, set his whole effort to the enterprise of getting - Pincher by the throat. A dog without breath means a dead dog, and Spot - knew this. Pincher appeared clear on the point, too; and would hold his - chin close to his breast, and shrug his head and shoulders well together - whenever Spot tried to work for a throat hold. - </p> - <p> - Now and then Spot and Pincher stood up to each other like wrestlers, and - fenced with their muzzles for “holds” as might two Frenchmen with foils. - In the wrestling Spot proved himself a perfect Whistler, and never failed - to throw Pincher heavily. And, as I stated, from the beginning, the two - warriors battled on without cry. Silent, sedulous, indomitable; both were - the sublimation of courage and fell purpose. They were fighting to the - death; they knew it, joyed in it, and gave themselves to their destiny - without reserve. Each was eager only to kill, willing only to die. It was - a lesson to men. And, as I looked, I realised that both were two of the - happiest of created things. In the very heat of the encounter, with - throbbing hearts and heaving sides, and rending fangs and flowing blood, - they found a great content. - </p> - <p> - All at once Spot and Pincher stood motionless. Their eyes were like coals, - and their respective stump tails stood stiffly, as indicating no abatement - of heart or courage. What was it that brought the halt? Spot had set his - long fangs through the side of Pinchers head in such fashion that Pincher - couldn't reach him nor retaliate with his teeth. Pincher, discovering - this, ceased to try, and stood there unconquered, resting and awaiting - developments. Spot, after the manner of his breed, kept his grip like - Death. They stood silent, motionless, while the blood dripped from their - gashes; a grim picture! They had fought, as I learned later, to what is - known in the great sport of dog fighting as “a turn.” - </p> - <p> - “It's a turn!” decided the referee. - </p> - <p> - At this Martin and McDermot seized each his dog and parted them - scientifically. Spot and Pincher were carried to their corners and - refreshed and sponged with cold water. At the end of one minute the - referee called: - </p> - <p> - “Time!” - </p> - <p> - At this point I further added to my learning touching the kingly pastime - of dog-fighting. When two dogs have “fought to a turn,” that is, locked - themselves in a grip, not deadly to either if persisted in, and which - still prevents further fighting,—as in the case of Spot and Pincher,—a - responsibility rests with the call of “Time” on the dog that “turns.” In - this instance, Pincher. At the call of “Time” Spot would be held by his - handler, standing in plain view of Pincher, but in his corner. It was - incumbent on Pincher—as a proof of good faith—to cross the pit - to get at him. If Pincher failed when released on call of “Time” to come - straight across to Spot, and come at once; if he looked to right or left - or hesitated even for the splinter of a second, he was a beaten dog. The - battle was against him. - </p> - <p> - “Time!” called the referee. - </p> - <p> - Just prior to the call I heard Martin whisper huskily over his shoulder to - a rough customer who sat just back of and above him, at Spot's corner of - the pit: - </p> - <p> - “Stand by wit' that glim now!” Martin muttered without turning his head. - </p> - <p> - At the call “Time!” McDermot released Pincher across in his corner. - Pincher's eyes were riveted on Spot, just over the way, and there's no - doubt of Pincher's full purpose to close with him at once. There was no - more of hesitation in his stout heart than in Spot's, who stood mouth open - and fire-eyed, waiting. - </p> - <p> - But a strange interference occurred. At the word “Time!” the rough - customer chronicled slipped the slide of a dark lantern and threw the - small glare of it squarely in Pincher's eyes. It dazed Pincher; he lost - sight of Spot; forgot for a moment his great purpose. There stood poor - Pincher, irresolute, not knowing where to find his enemy; thrall to the - glare of the dark lantern. - </p> - <p> - “Spot win!” declared the referee. - </p> - <p> - At that moment the dark-lantern rough-customer closed the slide and - disappeared. - </p> - <p> - Few saw the trick or its effects. Certainly the referee was guiltless. But - McDermot, who had had the same view of the dark lantern Pincher had, and - on whom for a moment it had similar effect, raised a great clamour. But it - was too late; Martin had claimed the thousand dollars from the - stake-holder, and with it in his pocket was already in a carriage driving - away, with Spot wrapped up in a lap robe occupying the front seat. - </p> - <p> - “Let McDermot holler!” said Martin, with much heat, when I mentioned the - subject the next day. “Am I goin' to lose a fight and five hundred - dollars, just because some bloke brings a dark lantern to d' pit and takes - to monkeyin' wit' it? Not on your life!” - </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> - MULBERRY MARY - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>hucky d' Turk” was - the <i>nom de guerre</i> of my friend. Under this title he fought the - battles of life. If he had another name he never made me his confidant - concerning it. We had many talks, Chucky and I; generally in a dingy - little bar on Baxter Street, where, when I wearied of uptown sights and - smells, I was wont to meet with Chucky. Never did Chucky call on me nor - seek me. From first to last he failed not to conduct himself towards me - with an air of tolerant patronage. When together I did the buying and the - listening, and Chucky did the drinking and the talking. It was on such - occasion when Chucky told me the story of Mulberry Mary. - </p> - <p> - “Mary was born in Kelly's Alley,” remarked Chucky, examining in a - thoughtful way his mug of mixed ale; “Mary was born in Kelly's Alley, an' - say! she wasn't no squealer, I don't t'ink. - </p> - <p> - “When Mary grows up an' can chase about an' chin, she toins out a dead - good kid an' goes to d' Sisters' School. At this time I don't spot Mary in - p'ticler; she's nothin' but a sawed-off kid, an' I'm busy wit' me graft. - </p> - <p> - “D' foist I really knows of Mary is when she gets married. She hooks up - wit' Billy, d' moll-buzzard; an' say! he's bad. - </p> - <p> - “He gets his lamps on Mary at Connorses spiel, Billy does; an' he's stuck - on her in a hully secont. It's no wonder; Mary's a peach. She's d' belle - of d' Bend, make no doubt. - </p> - <p> - “Billy's graft is hangin' round d' Bowery bars, layin' for suckers. An' he - used to get in his hooks deep an' clever now an' then, an' most times - Billy could, if it's a case of crowd, flash quite a bit of dough. - </p> - <p> - “So when Billy sees Mary at Connorses spiel, like I says, she's such a - bute he loses his nut. You needn't give it d' laugh! Say! I sees d' map of - a skirt—a goil, I means—on a drop curtain at a swell t'eatre - onct, an' it says under it she's Cleopatra. D' mark nex' me says, when I - taps for a tip, this Cleopatra's from Egypt, an' makes a hit in d' coochee - coochee line, wit' d' high push of d' old times, see! An' says this - gezeybo for a finish: 'This Cleopatra was a wonder for looks. She was d' - high-roller tart of her time, an' d' beauti-fulest.' - </p> - <p> - “Now, all I got to say is,” continued Chucky, regarding me with a - challenging air of decision the while; “all I has to utter is, Mary could - make this Cleopatra look like seven cents! - </p> - <p> - “Well,” resumed Chucky, as I made no comment, “Billy chases up to Mary an' - goes in to give her d' jolly of her life. An', say! she's pleased all - right, all right; I can see it be her mug. - </p> - <p> - “An' Billy goes d' limit. He orders d' beers; an' when he pays, Billy - springs his wad on Mary an' counts d' bills off slow, Linkin' it'll - razzle-dazzle her. Then Billy tells Mary he's out to be her steady. - </p> - <p> - “'I've got money to boin,' says Billy, 'an' what you wants you gets, see!' - An' Billy pulls d' long green ag'in to show Mary he's dead strong, an 'd' - money aint no dream. - </p> - <p> - “But Mary says 'Nit! couple of times nit!' She says she's on d' level, an' - no steady goes wit' her. It's either march or marry wit' Mary. An' so she - lays it down. - </p> - <p> - “That's how it stands, when d' nex' news we hears Billy an' she don't do a - t'ing but chase off to a w'ite-choker; followin' which dey grabs off a - garret in d' Astorbilt tenement, an' goes to keepin' house. - </p> - <p> - “But Mary breaks in on Billy's graft. She says he's got to go to woik; - he'll get lagged if he don't; an' she won't stand for no husband who - spends half d' time wit' her an 'd' rest on d' Island. So he cuts loose - from d' fly mob an' leaves d' suckers alone, an' hires out for a tinsmith, - see! - </p> - <p> - “An' here's d' luck Billy has. It's d' secont day an' he's fittin' in d' - tin flashin' round a chimbley on a five-story roof; an' mebby it's because - he aint used to woik, or mebby he gets funny in his cupolo, bein' up so - high; anyhow he dives down to d' pavement, an' when he lands, you bet your - life! Billy's d' deadest t'ing that ever happened. - </p> - <p> - “Mary goes wild an' wrong after that. In half of no time Mary takes to - chasin' up to Mott Street an' hittin' d' pipe. There's a Chink up there - who can cook d' hop out o' sight, an' it aint long before Mary is hangin' - 'round his joint for good. It's then dey quits callin' her Mulberry Mary, - an' she goes be d' name of Mollie d' Dope. - </p> - <p> - “Mary don't last in d' Chink swim more'n a year before there's bats in her - belfry for fair; any old stiff wit' lamps could see it; an' so folks gets - leary of Mary. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0027.jpg" alt="0027 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0027.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “It runs on mebby two years after Billy does that stunt from d' roof, see! - when there's a fire an' all d' kids run an' screeched, an' all d' folks - hollered, an' all d' engines comes an' lams loose to put it out. D' fire's - in a tenement, an 'd' folks who was in it has skipped, so it's just d' - joint itself is boinin'. - </p> - <p> - “All at onct a kid looks out d' fort' story window wit 'd' fire shinin' - behint him. You can see be d' little mark's mug he's got an awful scare - t'run into him, t'inkin' he's out to boin in d' buildin*. - </p> - <p> - “'It's McManuses' Chamsey!' says one old Tommy, lettin' her hair down her - back an' givin' a yell, 'Somebody save McManuses' Chamsey!' - </p> - <p> - “'Let me save him!' says Mary, at d' same time laughin' wild. 'Let me save - him; I want to save him! I'm only Mollie d' Dope—Mollie d' hop fiend—an' - if I gets it in d' neck it don't count, see!' - </p> - <p> - “Mary goes up in d' smoke an 'd' fire, no one knows how, wit' d' water - pourin' from d' hose, an 'd' boards an' glass a-fallin' an' a-crashin', - an' she brings out McManuses' Chamsey, Saves him; on d' dead! she does; - an' boins all d' hair off her cocoa doin' it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, of course d' fire push stan's in an' gives Mary all sorts of guff - an' praise. Mary only laughs an' says, while d' amb'lance guy is doin' up - her head, that folks ain't onto her racket; that she d' soonest frail that - ever walks in d' Bend.” - </p> - <p> - At this juncture Chucky desired another mixed ale. He got it, and after a - long, damp pause he resumed his thread. - </p> - <p> - “Now what do youse t'ink of this for a finish? It's weeks ago d' fire is. - Mary meets up wit' McManuses' Chamsey to-day—she's been followin' - him a good deal since she saves him—an' as Chamsey is only six years - old, he don't know nothin', an' falls to Mary's lead. It's an easy case of - bunk, an' Chamsey only six years old like that! - </p> - <p> - “Mary gives Chamsey d' gay face an' wins him right off. She buys him - posies of one Dago an' sugar candy of another; an' then she passes Chamsey - a strong tip, he's missin' d' sights be not goin' down to d' East River. - </p> - <p> - “Here's what Mary does—she takes Chamsey down be d' docks—a - longshoreman loafin' hears what she says. Mary tells Chamsey to look at - all d' chimbleys an 'd' smoke comin' out! - </p> - <p> - “'An' in every one there's fire makin 'd' smoke,' says Mary. 'T'ink of all - d' fires there must be, Chamsey! I'll bet Hell ain't got any more fires in - it than d' woild! Do youse remember, Chamsey, how d' fire was goin' to - boin you? Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, so d' fire never will boin us; - we'll jump in,—you an' me!' - </p> - <p> - “An' wit' that, so d' longshoreman says, Mary nails Chamsey be d' neck - wit' her left hook an' hops into d' drink. Yes, dey was drowned—d' - brace of 'em. Dey's over to d' dead house now on a slab—Mary an' - McManuses' Chamsey. - </p> - <p> - “What makes me so wet? I gets to d' dock a minute too late to save 'em, - but I'm right in time to dive up d' stiffs. So I dives 'em up. It's easy - money. That's what makes me cuffs look like ruffles an' me collar like a - corset string.” And here Chucky called for a third mixed ale, as a sign - that his talk was done. - </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> - SINGLETREE JENNINGS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was evening in - Jordan Hollow, and Singletree Jennings stood leaning on his street gate. - Singletree Jennings was a coloured man, and, to win his bread, played many - parts in life. He was a whitewasher; he sold fish; he made gardens; and - during the social season he was frequently the “old family butler,” in - white cotton gloves, at the receptions of divers families. - </p> - <p> - “I'm a pore man, honey!” Singletree Jennings was wont to say; “but dar was - a time when me an' my ole Delia was wuf $1,800. Kase why? Kase we brought - it at auction, when Marse Roundtree died—didn't we, Delia?” - </p> - <p> - This was one of Singletree Jennings's jokes. - </p> - <p> - “But pore man or no!” Singletree Jennings would conclude, “as de Lamb - looks down an' sees me, I never wronged a man outen so much as a - blue-laiged chicken in my life.” - </p> - <p> - This evening Singletree Jennings was a prey to dejection. Nor could he - account for his gloom. His son opened the gate and went whistling up the - street. - </p> - <p> - “Clambake Jennings, whar yo' gwine?” asked Singletree Jennings. - </p> - <p> - “Gwine ter shoot craps.” - </p> - <p> - “Have yo' got yer rabbit's foot? - </p> - <p> - “Yassir.” - </p> - <p> - “An' de snake's head outen de clock?” - </p> - <p> - “Yassir.” - </p> - <p> - Singletree Jennings relapsed into moody silence, and Clambake passed on - and away. - </p> - <p> - The shouts and cries of some storm-rocked multitude was heard up the - street. The Columbia College boys were taking home their new eight-oared - boat. The shouts settled into something like the barking of a dog. It was - the crew emitting the college cry. - </p> - <p> - “What's dat?” demanded Delia Jennings, coming to the door. - </p> - <p> - “De Lawd save us ef I knows!” said Singletree Jennings; “onless it's one - of dem yar bond issues dey's so 'fraid'll happen.” - </p> - <p> - The tones of Singletree Jennings showed that he was ill at ease. - </p> - <p> - “What's de matter, Daddy Singletree?” demanded the observant Delia. - </p> - <p> - “I've got a present'ment, I reckon!” said Singletree Jennings. “I'm - pow'ful feard dar'll somethin' bust loose wrong about dat Andrew Jackson - goat.” - </p> - <p> - Singletree Jennings was the owner and business manager of a goat named - Andrew Jackson. In the winter Singletree Jennings never came home without - an armful of straw for Andrew Jackson. In the summer there was no need of - straw. Andrew Jackson then ate the shirts off the neighbour's - clothes-lines. Andrew Jackson had been known to eat the raiment off a - screaming child, and then lower his frontlet at the rescue party. Andrew - Jackson was a large, impressive goat; yet he never joked nor gave way to - mirth. Ordinarily, Andrew Jackson was a calm, placid goat; aroused, he was - an engine of destruction. - </p> - <p> - All of these peculiarities were explained by Singletree Jennings when Sam - Hardtack and Backfence Randolph, a committee acting on behalf of the - Othello Dramatic Club, desired the loan of Andrew Jackson. The church to - which Singletree Jennings belonged was programming a social this very - night, and divers and sundry tableaux, under the direction of the Othello - Dramatic Club, were on the card. It was esteemed necessary by those in - control to present as a tableau Abraham slaying Isaac. There was a paucity - of sheep about, and Andrew Jackson, in this dearth of the real thing, was - cast to play the character of the Ram in the Bush. - </p> - <p> - “An' Andrew Jackson is boun' to fetch loose,” reflected Singletree - Jennings, with a shake of his head; “an' when he does, he'll jes' go - knockin' 'round among de congregashun like a blind dog in a meat shop!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Singletree Jennings's worst fears were realised. It was nine o'clock now, - and he and Delia had come down to the social. Andrew Jackson had been - restrained of his liberty for the previous four hours and held captive in - a drygoods' box. He was now in a state of frenzy. When the curtain went up - on Abraham and Isaac, Andrew Jackson burst his bonds at the rear of the - stage and bore down on the Hebrew father and son like the breath of - destiny. Andrew Jackson came, dragging his bush with him. The bush was, of - course, a welcome addition. Abraham saw him coming, and fled into the lap - of a fiddler. Isaac, however, wasn't faced that way. Andrew Jackson smote - Isaac upon the starboard quarter. It was a follow shot, rather than a - carom, and Andrew Jackson and his prey landed in the middle of the - audience together. For two minutes Andrew Jackson mingled freely with the - people present, and then retired by the back door. - </p> - <p> - “I knowed destrucshun was a-comin'!” murmured Singletree Jennings. “I - ain't felt dat pestered, Delia, since de day I concealed my 'dentity in - Marse Roundtree's smokehouse, an' dey cotched me at it.” - </p> - <p> - “Singletree Jennings!” observed the Reverend Handout F. Johnson, in a tone - of solemn anger, while his pistol pocket still throbbed from the - visitation of Andrew Jackson, “Elder Shakedown Bixby is in pursuit of dat - goat of your'n with a razor. He has orders to immolate when cotched. At de - nex' conference dar'll be charges ag'in you for substitutin' a deboshed - goat for de Ram of Holy Writ. I keers nothin' for my pussonel sufferin's, - but de purity of de Word mus' be protected. De congregashun will now join - in singin' de pestilential Psalms, after which de social will disperse.” - </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> - JESS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was sunset at - the Cross-K ranch. Four or five cowboys were gloomily about outside the - adobe ranch house, awaiting supper. The Mexican cook had just begun his - fragrant task, so a half hour would elapse before these Arabs were fed. - Their ponies were “turned” into the wire pasture, their big Colorado - saddles reposed astride the low pole fence which surrounded the house, and - it was evident their riding was over for the day. - </p> - <p> - Why were they gloomy? Not a boy of them could tell. They had been partners - and <i>campaneros</i>, and “worked” the Cross-K cattle together for - months, and nothing had come in misunderstanding or cloud. The ranch house - was their home, and theirs had been the unity of brothers. - </p> - <p> - The week before, a pretty girl—the daughter she was of a statesman - of national repute—had come to the ranch from the East. Her name was - Jess. - </p> - <p> - Jess, the pretty girl, was protected in this venture by an old and gnarled - aunt, watchful as a ferret, sour as a lime. Not that Jess, the pretty - girl, needed watching; she was, indeed! propriety's climax. - </p> - <p> - No soft nor dulcet reason wooed Jess, the pretty girl, to the West; she - came on no love errand. The visitor was elegantly tired of the East, that - was all; and longed for western air and western panorama. - </p> - <p> - Jess, the pretty girl, had been at the Cross-K ranch a week, and the boys - had met her, everyone. The meeting or meetings were marked by awkwardness - as to the boys, indifference as to Jess, the pretty girl. She encountered - them as she did the ponies, cows, horned-toads and other animals, domestic - and <i>fero naturo</i>, indigenous to eastern Arizona. While every cowboy - was blushingly conscious of Jess, the pretty girl, she was serenely - guiltless of giving him a thought. - </p> - <p> - Before Jess, the pretty girl, arrived, the cowboys were friends and the - tenor of their calm relations was rippleless as a mirror. Jess was not - there a day, before each drew himself insensibly from the others, while a - vague hostility shone dimly in his eyes. It was the instinct of the - fighting male animal aroused by the presence of Jess, the pretty girl. - Jess, however, proceeded on her dainty way, sweetly ignorant of the - sentiments she awakened. - </p> - <p> - Men are mere animals. Women are, too, for that matter. But the latter are - different animals from men. The effort the race makes to be other, better - or different than the mere animal fails under pressure. It always failed; - it will always fail. Civilisation is the veriest veneer and famously thin. - A year on the plains cracks this veneer—this shell—and the - animal issues visibly forth. This shell-cracking comes by the expanding - growth of all that is animalish in man—attributes of the physical - being, fed and pampered by a plains' existence. - </p> - <p> - To recur to the boys of the Cross-K. The dark, vague, impalpable - differences which cut off each of these creatures from his fellows, and - inspired him with an unreasoning hate, had flourished with the brief week - of their existence. A philosopher would have looked for near trouble on - the Cross-K. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever did you take my saddle for, Bill?” said Jack Cook to one Bill - Watkins. - </p> - <p> - “Which I allows I'll ride it some,” replied Watkins; “thought it might - like to pack a sure-'nough long-horn jest once for luck!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don't maverick it no more,” retorted Cook, moodily, and ignoring - the gay insolence of the other. “Leastwise, don't come a-takin' of it, an' - sayin' nothin'. You can <i>palaver Americano</i>, can't you? When you aims - to ride my saddle ag'in, ask for it; if you can't talk, make signs, an' if - you can't make signs, shake a bush; but don't go romancin' off in silence - with no saddle of mine no more.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever do you reckon is liable to happen if I pulls it ag'in to-morry?” - inquired Bill in high scorn. - </p> - <p> - Watkins was of a more vivacious temper than the gloomy Cook. - </p> - <p> - “Which if you takes it ag'in, I'll shorely come among you a whole lot. An' - some prompt!” replied Cook, in a tone of obstinate injury. - </p> - <p> - These boys were brothers before Jess, the pretty girl, appeared. Either - would have gone afoot all day for the other. Going afoot, too, is the last - thing a cowboy will consent to. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you-all fail to come among me none,” said Bill with cheerful - ferocity, “on account of it's bein' me. I crosses the trail of a hold-up - like you over in the Panhandle once, an' makes him dance, an' has a - chuck-waggon full of fun with him.” - </p> - <p> - “Stop your millin' now, right yere!” said Tom Rawlins, the Cross-K range - boss, who was sitting close at hand. “You-alls spring trouble 'round yere, - an' you can gamble I'll be in it! Whatever's the matter with you-alls - anyway? Looks like you've been as <i>locoed</i> as a passel of sore-head - dogs for more'n a week now. Which you're shorely too many for me, an' I - plumb gives you up!” And Rawlins shook his sage head foggily. - </p> - <p> - The boys started some grumbling reply, but the cook called them to supper - just then, and, one animalism becoming overshadowed by another, they - forgot their rancour in thoughts of supplying their hunger. Towards the - last of the repast, Rawlins arose, and going to another room, began - overlooking some entries in the ranch books. - </p> - <p> - Jess, the pretty girl, did not sit at the ranch table. She had small - banquets in her own room. Just then she was heard singing some tender - little song that seemed born of a sigh and a tear. The boys' resentment of - each other began again to burn in their eyes. None of these savages was in - the least degree in love with Jess, the pretty girl. - </p> - <p> - The singing went on in a cooing, soft way that did not bring you the - words; only the music. - </p> - <p> - “What I says about my saddle a while back, goes as it lays!” said Jack - Cook. - </p> - <p> - The song had ceased. - </p> - <p> - As Cook spoke he turned a dark look on Watkins. - </p> - <p> - “See yere!” replied Watkins in an exasperated tone—he was as vicious - as Cook—“if you're p'intin' out for a war-jig with me, don't go - stampin' 'round none for reasons. Let her roll! Come a-runnin' an' don't - pester none with ceremony.” - </p> - <p> - “Which a gent don't have to have no reason for crawlin' you!” said Cook. - “Anyone's licenced to chase you 'round jest for exercise!” - </p> - <p> - “You can gamble,” said Watkins, confidently, “any party as chases me - 'round much, will regyard it as a thrillin' pastime. Which it won't grow - on him none as a habit.” - </p> - <p> - “As you-all seem to feel that a-way,” said the darkly wrathful Cook, “I'll - sorter step out an' shoot with you right now!” - </p> - <p> - “An' I'll shorely go you!” said Watkins. - </p> - <p> - They arose and walked to the door. It was gathering dark, but it was light - enough to shoot by. The other cowboys followed in a kind of savage - silence. Not one word was said in comment or objection. They were grave, - but passive like Indians. It is not good form to interfere with other - people's affairs in Arizona. - </p> - <p> - Jess, the pretty girl, began singing again. The strains fell softly on the - ears of the cowboys. Each, as he listened, whether onlooker or principal, - felt a licking, pleased anticipation of the blood to be soon set flowing. - </p> - <p> - Nothing was said of distance. Cook and Watkins separated to twenty paces - and turned to face each other. Each wore his six-shooter, the loose pistol - belt letting it rest low on his hip. Each threw down his big hat and stood - at apparent ease, with his thumbs caught in his belt. - </p> - <p> - “Shall you give the word, or me?” asked Cook. - </p> - <p> - “You says when!” retorted Watkins. “It'll be a funny passage in American - history if you-all gets your gun to the front any sooner than I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Be you ready?” asked Cook. - </p> - <p> - “Which I'm shorely ready!” - </p> - <p> - “Then, go!” - </p> - <p> - “Bang! Bang!! Bang!!!” went both pistols together. - </p> - <p> - The reports came with a rapidity not to be counted. Cook got a crease in - the face—a mere wound of the flesh. Watkins blundered forward with a - bullet in his side. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0041.jpg" alt="0041 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0041.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Rawlins ran out. His experience taught him all at a look. Hastily - examining Cook, he discovered that his hurt was nothing serious. The - others carried Watkins into the house. - </p> - <p> - “Take my pony saddled at the fence, Jack,” said Rawlins, “an' pull your - freight. This yere Watkins is goin' to die. You've planted him.” - </p> - <p> - “Which I shorely hopes I has!” said Cook, with bitter cheerfulness. “I - ain't got no use for cattle of his brand; none whatever!” - </p> - <p> - Cook took Rawlins's pony. When he paused, the pony hung his head while his - flanks steamed and quivered. And no marvel! That pony was one hundred - miles from the last corn, as he cooled his nervous muzzle in the Rio San - Simon. - </p> - <p> - “Some deviltry about their saddles, Miss; that's all!” reported Rawlins to - Jess, the pretty girl. - </p> - <p> - “Isn't it horrible!” shuddered Jess, the pretty girl. - </p> - <p> - The next morning Jess and the gnarled aunt paid the injured Watkins a - visit. This civility affected the other three cowboys invidiously. They at - once departed to a line of Cross-K camps in the Northwest. This on a - pretence of working cattle over on the Cochise Mesa. They looked black - enough as they galloped away. - </p> - <p> - “Which it's shore a sin Jack Cook ain't no better pistol shot!” observed - one, as the acrid picture of Jess, the pretty girl, sympathising above the - wounded Watkins, arose before him. - </p> - <p> - “That's whatever!” assented the others. - </p> - <p> - Then, in moods of grim hatefulness, they bled their tired ponies with the - spur by way of emphasis. - </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 HUMMING BIRD - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>IT; I'm in a hurry - to chase meself to-night,” quoth Chucky, having first, however, taken his - drink. “I'd like to stay an' chin wit' youse, but I can't. D' fact is I've - got company over be me joint; he's a dead good fr'end of mine, see! - Leastwise he has been; an' more'n onct, when I'm in d' hole, he's reached - me his mit an' pulled me out. Now he's down on his luck I'm goin' to make - good, an' for an even break on past favours, see if I can't straighten up - <i>his</i> game.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is your friend?” I asked. “Does he live here?” - </p> - <p> - “Naw,” retorted Chucky; “he's a crook, an' don't live nowhere. His name's - Mollie Matches, an 'd' day was when Mollie's d' flyest fine-woiker on - Byrnes's books. An' say! that ain't no fake neither.” - </p> - <p> - “What did he do?” I inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Leathers, supers an' rocks,” replied Chucky. “Of course, d' supers has to - be yellow; d' w'ite kind don't pay; an' d' rocks has to be d' real t'ing. - In d' old day, Mollie was d' king of d' dips, for fair! Of all d' crooks - he was d' nob, an' many's d' time I've seen him come into d' Gran' Central - wit' his t'ree stalls an' a Sheeny kid to carry d' swag, an' all as swell - a mob as ever does time. - </p> - <p> - “But he's fell be d' wayside now, an' don't youse forget it! Not only is - he broke for dough, but his healt' is busted, too.” - </p> - <p> - “That's one of the strange things to me, Chucky,” I said, for I was - disposed to detain him if I could, and hear a bit more of his devious - friend; “one of the very strange things! Here's your friend Mollie, who - has done nothing, so you say, but steal watches, diamonds and pocket-books - all his life, and yet to-day he is without a dollar.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! as for that,” returned Chucky wisely, “a crook don't make so much. In - d' foist place, if he's nippin' leathers, nine out of ten of 'em's bound - to be readers—no long green in 'em at all; nothin' but poi-pers, - see! An' if he's pinchin' tickers an' sparks, a fence won't pay more'n a - fort' what dey's wort'—an' there you be, see! Then ag'in, it costs a - hundred plunks a day to keep a mob on d' road; an' what wit' puttin' up to - d' p'lice for protection, an' what wit' squarin' a con or brakey if youse - are graftin' on a train, there ain't, after his stalls has their bits, - much left for Mollie. Takin' it over all, Mollie's dead lucky to get a - hundred out of a t'ousand plunks; an' yet he's d' mug who has to put his - hooks on d' stuff every time; do d' woik an' take d' chances, see! - </p> - <p> - “But I'll tip it off to youse,” continued Chucky, at the same time - lowering his tone confidentially; “I'll put you on to what knocks Mollie's - eye out just now. He's only a week ago toined out of one of de western - pens, an' I reckon he was bad wit' 'em at d' finish—givin' 'em a - racket. Anyhow, dey confers on Mollie d' Hummin' Boid, an dey overplays. - Mollie's gettin' old, and can't stand for what he could onct; an', as I - says, these prison marks gives him too much of 'd Hummin' Boid and it - breaks his noive. - </p> - <p> - “Sure! Mollie's now what youse call hyster'cal; got bats in his steeple - half d' time. If it wasn't for d' hop I shoots into him wit' a dandy - little hypodermic gun me Rag's got, he'd be in d' booby house. An' all for - too much Hummin' Boid! Say! on d' level! there ought to be a law ag'inst - it.” - </p> - <p> - “What in heaven's name is the Humming Bird?” I queried. - </p> - <p> - “It's d' prison punishment,” replied Chucky. “Youse see, every pen has its - punishment. In some, it's d' paddles, an' some ag'in don't do a t'ing but - hang a guy up be a pair of handcuffs to his cell door so his toes just - scrapes d' floor. In others dey starves you; an' in others still, dey - slams you in d' dark hole. - </p> - <p> - “Say! if youse are out to make some poor mark nutty for fair, just give - him d' dark hole for a week. There he is wit' nothin' in d' cell but - himself, see! an* all as black as ink. Mebby if d' guards is out to keep - him movin', dey toins d' hose in an' wets down d' floor before dey leaves - him. But honest to God! youse put a poor sucker in d' dark hole, an' be d' - end of ten hours it's apples to ashes he ain't onto it whether he's been - in a day or a week. Keep him there a week, an' away goes his cupolo—he - ain't onto nothin'. On d' square! at d' end of a week in d' dark, a mut - don't know lie's livin'. - </p> - <p> - “D' cat-o'nine-tails, which dey has at Jeff City, ain't a marker to d' - dark hole! D' cat'll crack d' skin all right, all right, but d' dark hole - cracks a sucker's nut, see! His cocoa never is on straight ag'in, after - he's done a stunt or two in d' dark hole.” - </p> - <p> - “But the Humming Bird?” I persisted. “What is it like?” - </p> - <p> - “Why! as I relates,” retorted Chucky, “d' Hummin Boid is what dey does to - a guy in d' pen where Mollie was to teach him not to be too gay. It's like - this: Here's a gezebo doin' time, see! Well, he gets funny. Mebby he soaks - some other pris'ner; or mebby he toins loose and gives it to some guard in - d' neck; or mebby ag'in he kicks on d' lock-step. I've seen a heap of mugs - who does d' last. - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow, whatever he does, it gets to be a case of Hummin' Boid, an' dey - brings me gay scrapper or kicker, whichever he is, out for punishment. An' - this is what he gets ag'inst: - </p> - <p> - “Dey sets him in a high trough, same as dey waters a horse wit', see! - Foist dey shucks d' mark—peels off his make-up down to d' buff. An' - then dey sets him in d' trough, like I says, wit' mebby its eight inches - of water in it. - </p> - <p> - “Then he's strapped be d' ankles, an' d' fins, and about his waist, so he - can't do nothin' but stay where he is. A sawbones gets him be d' pulse, - an' one of them 'lectrical stiffs t'rows a wire, which is one end of d' - battery, in d' water. D' wire, which is d' other end, finishes in a wet - sponge. An' say! hully hell! when dey touches a poor mark wit' d' sponge - end on d' shoulder, or mebby d' elbow, it completes d' circuit, see! an' - it'll fetch such a glory hallelujah yelp out of him as would bring a deef - an' dumb asylum into d' front yard to find out what d' row's about. - </p> - <p> - “It's d' same t'ing as d' chair at Sing Sing, only not so warm. It's - enough, though, to make d' toughest mug t'row a fit. No one stands for a - secont trip; one touch of d' Hummin' Boid! an' a duck'll welch on anyt'ing - you says—do anyt'ing, be anyt'ing; only so youse let up and don't - give him no more. D' mere name of Hummin' Boid's good enough to t'run a - scare into d' hardest an' d' woist of 'em, onct dey's had a piece. - </p> - <p> - “As I says about Mollie: it seems them Indians gives him d' Hummin' Boid; - an' dey gives him d' gaff too deep. But I've got to chase meself now, and - pump some dope into him. I ought to land Mollie right side up in a week. - An' then I'll bring him over to this boozin' ken of ours, an' cap youse a - knock-down to him. Ta! ta!” - </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> - GASSY THOMPSON, VILLAIN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>ESTERN humour is - being severely spoken of by the close personal friends of Peter Dean. Less - than a year ago, Peter Dean left the paternal roof on Madison Avenue and - plunged into the glowing West. On the day of his departure he was - twenty-three; not a ripe age. He had studied mining and engineering, and - knew in those matters all that science could tell. His purpose in going - West was to acquire the practical part of his chosen profession. Peter - Dean believed in knowing it all; knowing it with the hands as well as with - the head. - </p> - <p> - Thus it befell that young Peter Dean, on a day to be remembered, tossed a - careless kiss to his companions and fled away into the heart of the - continent. Then his hair was raven black. Months later, when he returned, - it was silver white. Western humour had worked the change; therefore the - criticism chronicled. Peter Dean tells the following story of the - bleaching: - </p> - <p> - “At Creede I met a person named Thompson; 'Gassy' Thompson he was called - by those about him, in testimony to his powers as a conversationist. A - barkeeper, who seemed the best-informed and most gentlemanly soul in town, - told me that Gassy Thompson was a miner full of practical skill, and that - he was then engaged in sinking a shaft. I might arrange with Gassy and - learn the business. At the barkeeper's hint, I proposed as much to Gassy - Thompson. - </p> - <p> - “'All right!' said Gassy; 'come out to the shaft to-morrow.' - </p> - <p> - “The next day I was at the place appointed. The shaft was already fifty - feet deep. Besides myself and this person, Gassy, who was to tutor me, - there was a creature named Jim. This made three of us. - </p> - <p> - “At the suggestion of Gassy, he and I descended into the shaft; Jim was - left on the surface. We went down by means of a bucket, Jim unwinding us - from a rickety old windlass. - </p> - <p> - “Once down, Gassy and I, with sledge and drill, perpetrated a hole in the - bottom of the shaft. I held the drill, Gassy wielding the sledge. When the - hole met the worshipful taste of my tutor, he put in a dynamite cartridge, - connected a long, five-minute fuse therewith, and carefully thumbed it - about and packed it in with wet clay. - </p> - <p> - “At Gassy's word, I was then hauled up from the shaft by Jim. I added my - strength to the windlass, Gassy climbed into the bucket, lighted the fuse, - and was then swiftly wound to the surface by Jim and myself. We then - dragged the windlass aside, covered the mouth of the shaft, and quickly - scampered to a distance, to be out of harm's reach. - </p> - <p> - “At the end of five minutes from the time that Gassy lighted the fuse, and - perhaps three minutes after we had cleared away, the shot exploded with a - deafening report. Tons of rock were shot up from the mouth of the shaft, - full fifty feet in the air. It was all very impressive, and gave me a - lesson in the tremendous power of dynamite. I was much pleased, and felt - as if I were learning. - </p> - <p> - “Following the explosion Gassy and I again repaired to the bottom of the - shaft. After clearing away the débris and sending it up and out by the - bucket, we resumed the sledge and drill. We completed another hole and - were ready for a second shot. This was about noon. - </p> - <p> - “It was at this point that the miscreant, Gassy, began to put into action - a plot he had formed against me, and to carry out which the murderer, Jim, - lent ready aid. You must remember that I had perfect confidence in these - two villains. - </p> - <p> - “'I never seed no tenderfoot go along like you do at this business,' said - Gassy Thompson to me. - </p> - <p> - “This was flattery. The miscreant was fattening me for the sacrifice. - </p> - <p> - “'Looks like you was born to be a miner,' he went on. 'Now, I'm goin' to - let you fire the next shot. Usual, I wouldn't feel jestified in allowin' a - tenderfoot to fire a shot for plumb three months. But you has a genius for - minin'; it comes as easy to you as robbin' a bird's nest. I'd be doin' - wrong to hold you back.' - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I naturally felt pleased. To be allowed to fire a dynamite - shot on my first day in the shaft I felt and knew to be an honour. I - determined to write home to my friends of this triumph. - </p> - <p> - “Gassy said he'd put in the shot, and he selected one of giant size. I saw - the herculean explosive placed in the hole; then he attached the fuse and - thumbed the clay about it as before. He gave me a few last words. - </p> - <p> - “'After I gets up,' he said, 'an' me an' Jim's all ready, you climb into - the bucket an' light the fuse. Then raise the long yell to me an' Jim, an' - we'll yank ye out. But be shore an' light the fuse. There's nothin' more - discouragin' than for to wait half an* hour outside an' no cartridge goin' - off. Especial when it goes off after you comes back to see what's the - matter with her. So be shore an' light the fuse, an' then Jim an' me'll - run you up the second follerin'. This oughter be a great day for you, - young man! firin' a shot this away, the first six hours you're a miner!' - </p> - <p> - “Jim and Gassy were at the windlass and yelled: - </p> - <p> - “'All ready below?' - </p> - <p> - “I was in the bucket and at the word scratched a match and lit the fuse. - It sputtered with alarming ardour, and threw off a shower of sparks. - </p> - <p> - “'Hoist away!' I called. - </p> - <p> - “The villains ran me up about twenty-five feet, and came to a dead halt. - At this they seemed to get into an altercation. They both abandoned the - windlass, and I could hear them cursing, threatening, and shooting; - presumably at each other. - </p> - <p> - “'I'll blow your heart out!' I heard Gassy say. - </p> - <p> - “My alarm was without a limit. I'd seen one dynamite cartridge go off. - Here I was, swinging some twenty-five feet over a still heavier charge, - and about to be blown into eternity! Meanwhile the caitiffs, on whom my - life depended, were sacrificing me to settle some accursed feud of their - own. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell you of my agony. The fuse was spitting fire like forty - fiends; the narrow shaft was choked with smoke. I swung helpless, awaiting - death, while the two monsters, Gassy and Jim, were trying to murder each - other above. Either from the smoke or the excitement, I fainted. - </p> - <p> - “When I came to myself I was outside the shaft, safe and sound, while - Gassy and his disreputable assistant were laughing at their joke. There - had been no shot placed in the drill-hole; the heartless Gassy had palmed - it and carried it with him to the surface. - </p> - <p> - “At my very natural inquiry, made in a weak voice—for I was still - sick and broken—as to what it all meant, they said it was merely a - Colorado jest, and intended for the initiation of a tenderfoot. - </p> - <p> - “'It gives 'em nerve!' said Gassy; 'it puts heart into 'em an' does 'em - good!' - </p> - <p> - “As soon as I could walk I severed my relations with Gassy Thompson and - his outlaw adherent, Jim. The next morning my hair had turned the milky - sort you see. The Creede people with whom I discussed the crime, laughed - and said the drinks were on me. That was all the sympathy, all the - redress, I got. - </p> - <p> - “After that I came East without delay. When I leave the city of New York - again it will not be for Creede. Nor will my next mining connection be - formed with such abandoned barbarians as Gassy Thompson and Jim.” - </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> - ONE MOUNTAIN LION - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>ard! would you - like to shoot at that lion?” - </p> - <p> - Bob usually gave me no title at all. But when in any stress of our - companionship he was driven to it, I was hailed as “pard!” Once or twice - on some lighter occasion he had addressed me by the Spanish “<i>Amigo</i>.” - In business hours, however, my rank was “pard!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Sundown in the hills. The scene was a southeast spur of the Rockies; call - the region the Upper Red River or the Vermejo, whichever you will for a - name. Forty miles due west from the Spanish Peaks would stand one on the - very spot. - </p> - <p> - I had been out all day, ransacking the canyons, taking a Winter's look at - the cattle to note how they were meeting the rigours of a season not yet - half over. I had witnessed nothing alarming; my horned folk of the hills - still made a smooth display as to ribs, and wore the air of cattle who had - prudently stored up tallow enough the autumn before to carry them into the - April grass. - </p> - <p> - “Many a day have I dwelt in a wet saddle, only to crawl into a wetter - blanket at night; and all for cows!” It was Bob Ellis who fathered this - rather irrelevant observation. I had cut his trail an hour before, and we - were making company for each other back to camp. I put forth no retort. - Bob and I abode in the same small log hut, and I saw much of him, and - didn't feel obliged to reply to those random utterances which fluttered - from him like birds from a bush. - </p> - <p> - It had been snowing for three days. This afternoon, however, had shaken - off the storm. It is worth while to see the snow come down in the hills; - flakes soft and clinging and silently cold; big as a baby's hand. Out in - the flat valleys free of the trees the snow was deep enough to jade and - distress our ponies. Therefore Bob and I were creeping home among the - thick sown pines which bristled on the Divide like spines on a pig's back. - There was very little snow under the trees. What would have made an easy - depth of two feet had it been evenly spread on the ground over which our - broncos picked their tired way, was above our heads in the pines. That was - the reason why the trees were so still and silent. Your pine is a most - garrulous vegetable in a sighing fashion, and its complaining notes sing - for ever in your ears; sometimes like a roar, sometimes like a wail. But - the three-days' snow in their green mouths gagged them; and never a tree - of them all drew so much as a breath as we pushed on through their ranks. - </p> - <p> - “Like the Winchester you're packin?” asked Bob. - </p> - <p> - I confessed a weakness for the gun. - </p> - <p> - “Had one of them magazine guns once myse'f,” Bob remarked. “Model of '78. - Never liked it, though; always shootin' over. As you pump the loads outen - 'em and empty the magazine, the weight shifts till toward the last the - muzzle's as light as a feather. Thar you be! shootin' over and still over, - every pull.” - </p> - <p> - Having no interest in magazine guns beyond the act of firing them, I paid - no heed to Bob's assault on their merits. - </p> - <p> - “Now a single-shot gun,” continued Bob, as he rode an oak shrub underfoot - to come abreast of me, “is the weepon for me. Never mind about thar bein' - jest one shot in her! Show me somethin' to shoot, an' I'll sling the - cartridges into her frequent enough for the most impatient gent on earth. - This rifle I'm packin' is all right—all except the hind sight. - That's too coarse; you could drag a dog through it.” - </p> - <p> - Bob's dissertation on rifles was entertaining enough. My mood was - indifferent, and his wisdom ran through my wits like water through a - funnel, keeping them employed without filling them up. Bob had just begun - again—all about a day far away when muzzle loaders were many in the - hills—when my pony made sudden shy at something in the bushes. The - muzzle of my gun instantly pointed to it, as if by an instinct of its own. - Even as it did I became aware of the harmless cause of my pony's devout - breathings—one of those million tragedies of nature which makes the - wilderness a daily slaughter pen. It was the carcass of a blacktail deer. - Its torn throat and shoulders, as well as the tracks of the giant cat in - the snow, told how it died. The panther had leaped from the big bough of - that yellow pine. - </p> - <p> - “Mountain lion!” observed Bob, sagely, as he con templated the torn deer. - “The deer come sa'nterin' down the slope yere, an' the lion jest naturally - jumps his game from that tree. This deer was a bigger fool than most. You - wouldn't ketch many of 'em as could come walkin' down the wind where the - brush and bushes is rank, and gives the cats a chance to lay for 'em and - bushwhack 'em!” - </p> - <p> - It was becoming shadowy in among the pines by this time, and, having - enough of Bob's defence of the dead buck and apology for its errors, I - pushed on through the bushes for the camp. As we crossed a burnt strip - where the fires had made a meal of the trees, the sun was reluctantly - blinking his last before going to bed in the Sangre de Christo Range, - which rolled upward like some tremendous billow in an ocean of milk full - five scores of miles to the west. - </p> - <p> - Bob and I were smoking our pipes in our log home that evening. Perhaps it - was nine o'clock. A pitch-pine fire—billets set up endwise in the - fireplace—roared in one corner. Our chimney was a vast success. Out - back of our log habitat the surveyors had peeled the base of a pine and - made a red-paint statement to the effect that even in the bottom of our - little valley we were over 8,000 feet above the sea. This rather derogated - from the pride of our chimney's performance; because, as Bob with justice - urged, “a chimney not to 'draw' at an altitude of 8,000 feet would have to - be flat on the ground.” - </p> - <p> - I was sprawled on a blanket, softly taking in the smoke of a meerschaum. - My eyes, fascinated by the glaring, pitch-pine blaze, were boring away at - the fire as if it guarded a treasure. But neither the tobacco smoke nor - the flames were in my thoughts; the latter were idly going back to the - torn deer. - </p> - <p> - As if in deference to a fashion of telepathy, Bob would have been thinking - of the deer, also. It's possible, however, he had the cat in his - meditations. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he broke into my quiet with the remark which opens this yarn. - Then he proceeded. - </p> - <p> - “Because,” Bob continued, as I turned an eye on him through my tobacco - smoke, “you might get it easy. He's shorely due to go back to-night an' - eat up some of that black-tail, unless he's got an engagement. It's even - money he's right thar now.” - </p> - <p> - I stepped to the door and looked out. The roundest of moons in the - clearest of skies shone down. Then there was the snow; altogether, one - might have read agate print by the light. I picked up my rifle and sent my - eye through the sights. - </p> - <p> - “But how about it when we push in among the pines; it'll be darker in - there?” - </p> - <p> - “Thar'll be plenty of light,” declared Bob. “You don't have to make a - tack-head shot. It ain't goin' to be like splittin' a bullet on a bowie. - This mountain lion will be as big as you or me. Thar'll be light enough to - hit a mark the size of him.” - </p> - <p> - Our ponies were heartily scandalised at being resaddled so soon; but they - were powerless to enforce their views, and away we went, Indian file, with - souls bent to slay the lion. - </p> - <p> - “Which I shorely undertakes the view that we'll get him,” observed Bob as - we rode along. - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever hear the Eastern proverb which says, 'The man who sold the - lion's hide while yet upon the beast was killed in hunting him'?” I asked - banteringly. - </p> - <p> - “Who says so?” demanded Bob, defiantly. - </p> - <p> - “It is an Eastern proverb.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it may do for the East,” responded Bob, “but you can gamble it - ain't had no run west of the Mississippi. Why! I wouldn't be afraid to bet - that one of these panthers never killed a human in the world. They do it - in stories, but never in the hills. Why, shore! if you went right up an' - got one by his two y'ears an' wrastled him, he'd have to fight. You could - get a row out of a house cat, an' play that system. But you can write - alongside of the Eastern proverb, that 'Bob Ellis says that the lion them - parties complain of as killin' their friend, must have been plumb <i>locoed</i>, - an' it oughtn't to count.'” - </p> - <p> - At the edge of the trees we left the ponies standing. They pointed their - ears forward as if wondering what all this mysterious night's work meant. - It was entirely beside their experience. We left them to unravel the - puzzle and passed as quietly among the trees as needles into cloth. - </p> - <p> - Both Bob and I had served our apprenticeship at being noiseless, and - brought the noble trade of silence to a science. It wasn't distant now to - the field of the deer's death. Soon Bob pointed out the yellow pine. Bob - was a better woodsman than I. Even in the daylight I would have owned - trouble in picking out the tree at that distance among such a piney - throng. - </p> - <p> - What little wind we had was breathing in our faces. Bob hadn't made the - black-tail's blunder of giving the lion the better of the breeze. Bob took - the lead after he pointed out the yellow pine. Perhaps it was 150 yards - away when he identified it. We didn't cover five yards in a minute. Bob - was resolutely deliberate. Still, I had no thought of complaint. I would - have managed the case the same way had I been in the lead. - </p> - <p> - Every ten feet Bob would pause and listen. There was now and then the - sound of a clot of snow falling in the tops of the pines, as some bough - surrendered its burden to the influence of the slight breeze. That was all - my ears could detect of voices in the woods. - </p> - <p> - We were within forty yards of the yellow pine, when Bob, after lingering a - moment, turned his face toward me and made a motion of caution. I bent my - ear to a profound effort. At last I heard it; the unctuous sound of - feeding jaws! - </p> - <p> - The oak bushes grew thick in among the pine trees. It did not seem - possible to make out our game on account of this shrub-screen. At this - point, instead of going any nearer the yellow pine, Bob bore off to the - left. This flank movement not only held our title to the wind, but brought - the moon behind us. After each fresh step Bob turned for a further survey - of that region at the base of the yellow pine, where our lion, or some one - of his relatives, was busy at his new repast. - </p> - <p> - Then the climax of search arrived. To give myself due credit, I saw the - panther as soon as did Bob. A fallen pine tree opened a lane in the - bushes. Along this aisle I could dimly make out the body of the beast. His - head and shoulders were protected by the trunk of the yellow pine, from - the limb of which he had ambuscaded the black-tail. A cat's mouth serves - vilely as a knife; the teeth are not arranged to cut well. His inability - to sever a morsel left nothing for our lion to do, but gnaw at the carcass - much as a dog might at a bone. This managed to keep his head out of harm's - way behind the tree. - </p> - <p> - Nothing better was likely to offer, and I concluded to try what a bullet - would bring, on that part of the panther we could see. I found as I raised - my Winchester that there was to be a strong element of faith in the shot. - It was dim and shadowy in the woods, conditions which appeared to increase - the moment you tried to point a gun. The aid my aim received from the - gun-sights was of the vaguest. Indeed, for that one occasion they might as - well have been left off the rifle. But as I was as familiar with the - weapon as with the words I write, and could tell to the breadth of a hair - where to lay it against my face to make it point directly at an object, - there was nothing to gain by any elaboration of aim. As if to speed my - impulse in the matter, a far-off crashing occurred in the bushes to the - rear. A word suffices to read the riddle of the interruption. Our ponies, - tired of being left to themselves, were coming sapiently forward to join - us. - </p> - <p> - With the first blundering rush of the ponies I unhooked my Winchester. The - panther had no chance to take stock of the ponies' careless approach. If - they had started five minutes earlier he might have owed them something. - </p> - <p> - With the crack of the Winchester, the panther gave such a scream as, added - to the jar of the gun—I was burning 120 grains of powder—served - to make my ears sing. There were fear, amazement and pain all braided - together in that yell. The flash of the discharge and the night shadows so - blinded me that I did not make a second shot. I pumped in the cartridge - with the instinct of precedent, but it was of no use. On the heels of it, - our ponies, as if taking the shot to be an urgent invitation to make - haste, came up on a canter, tearing through the bushes in a way to lose a - stirrup if persisted in. - </p> - <p> - Bob had run forward. There was blood on the snow to a praiseworthy extent. - As we gazed along the wounded animal's line of flight there was more of - it. - </p> - <p> - “He's too hard hit to go far,” said Bob. “We'll find him in the next - canyon, or that blood's a joke.” Bob walked along, looking at the - blood-stained snow as if it were a lesson. Suddenly he halted, where the - moonlight fell across it through the trees. - </p> - <p> - “You uncoupled him,” he said. “Broke his back plumb in two. See where he - dragged his hind legs!” - </p> - <p> - “He can't run far on those terms,” I suggested. - </p> - <p> - “I don't know,” said Bob, doubtfully. “A mountain lion don't die easy. - Mountain lions is what an insurance sharp would call a good resk. But I'll - tell you how to carry on this campaign: I'll take the horses and scout - over to the left until I get into the canyon yonder. Then I'll bear off up - the canyon. If he crosses it—an' goin' on two legs that away, I - don't look for it—I'll signal with a yell. If he don't, I'll circle - him till I find the trail. Meanwhile you go straight ahead on his track - afoot. Take it slow an' easy, for he's likely to be layin' somewhere.” - </p> - <p> - The trail carried me a quarter of a mile. As nearly as I might infer from - the story the panther's passage had written in the snow, his speed held - out. This last didn't look much like weakness. Still, the course was a - splash of blood in red contradiction. The direction he took was slightly - uphill. - </p> - <p> - The trail ended sharp at the edge of a wide canyon. There was a shelf of - scaly rock about twelve feet down the side. This had been protected from - the storm by the overhanging brink of the canyon, and there was no snow on - the shelf. That and the twelve feet of canyon side above it were the - yellow colour of the earth. - </p> - <p> - Below the shelf the snow again was deep, as the sides took an easier slope - toward the bottom of the canyon. The panther had evidently scrambled down - to the shelf. It took me less than a second to follow his wounded example. - Once down I looked over the edge at the snow a few feet below to catch the - trail again. The unmarred snow voiced no report of the game I hunted. I - stepped to the left a few paces, still looking over for signs in the snow. - There were none. As the shelf came to an end in this direction, I returned - along the ledge, still keeping a hawk's eye on the snow below for the - trail. I heard Bob riding in the canyon. - </p> - <p> - “Have you struck his trail?” I shouted. - </p> - <p> - “Thar's been nothin' down yere!” shouted Bob in reply. “The snow's as - unbroken as the cream-cap on a pan of milk.” - </p> - <p> - Where was my panther? I had begun to regard him as a chattel. As my eye - journeyed along the ledge the mystery cleared up. There lay my yellow - friend close in against the wall. I had walked within a yard of him, - looking the other way while earnestly reading the snow. - </p> - <p> - The panther was sprawled flat like a rug, staring at me with green eyes. I - had broken his back, as Bob said. As I brought the Winchester to my face, - his gaze gave way. He turned his head as if to hide it between his - shoulder and the wall. I was too near to talk of missing, even in the dim - light, and the next instant he was hiccoughing with a bullet in his brain. - Six and one-half feet from nose to tip was the measurement; whereof the - tail, which these creatures grow foolishly long, furnished almost - one-half. - </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> - MOLLIE MATCHES - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of the Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was clear and - cold and dry—excellent weather, indeed, for a snowless Christmas. - Everywhere one witnessed evidences of the season. One met more gay clothes - than usual, with less of anxiety and an increase of smiling peace in the - faces. Each window had its wreath of glistening green, whereof the red - ribbon bow, that set off the garland, seemed than common a deeper and more - ardent red. Or was the elevation in the faces, and the greenness of the - wreaths, and the vivid sort of the ribbon, due to impressions, impalpable - yet positive, of Christmas everywhere? - </p> - <p> - All about was Christmas. Even our Baxter Street doggery had attempted - something in the nature of a bowl of dark, suspicious drink, to which the - barkeeper—he was a careless man of his nomenclature, this barkeeper—gave - the name of “apple toddy.” Apple toddy it might have been. - </p> - <p> - When Chucky came in, an uncertain shuffle which was company to his rather - solid tread showed he was not alone. I looked up. Our acquaintance, Mollie - Matches, expert pickpocket,—now helpless and broken, all his one - time jauntiness of successful crime gone,—was with him. - </p> - <p> - “It was lonesome over be me joint,” vouchsafed Chucky, “wit' me Bundle - chased over to do her reg'lar anyooal confession to d' priest, see! an' so - I fought youse wouldn't mind an' I bring Mollie along. Me old pal is still - a bit shaky as to his hooks,” remarked Chucky, as he surveyed his - tremulous companion, “an' a sip of d' booze wouldn't do him no harm. It - ain't age; Mollie's only come sixty spaces; it's that Hum-min' Boid about - which I tells youse, that's knocked his noive.” - </p> - <p> - Drinks were ordered; whiskey strong and straight for Matches. No; I've no - apology for buying these folk drink. “Drink,” observed Johnson to the - worthy Boswell, “drink, for one thing, makes a man pleased with himself, - which is no small matter.” Heaven knows! my shady companions, for the - reason announced by the sagacious doctor, needed something of the sort. - Besides, I never molest my fellows in their drinking. I've slight personal - use for breweries, distilleries, or wine presses; and gin mills in any - form or phase woo me not; yet I would have nothing of interference with - the cups of other men. In such behalf, I feel not unlike that fat, - well-living bishop of Westminster who refused to sign a memorial to - Parliament craving strict laws in behalf of total abstinence. “No,” said - that sound priest, stoutly, “I will sign no such petition to Parliament. I - want no such law. I would rather see Englishmen free than sober.” - </p> - <p> - It took five deep draughts of liquor, ardently raw, to put Matches in half - control of his hands. What with the chill of the day, and what with the - torn condition of his nerves, they shook like the oft-named aspen. - </p> - <p> - “Them don't remind a guy,” said Matches, as he held up his quivering - fingers, “of a day, twenty-five years ago, when I was d' pick of d' swell - mob, an 'd' steadiest grafter that ever ringed a watch or weeded a - leather! It would be safe for d' Chief to take me mug out of d' gallery - now, an' rub d' name of Mollie Matches off d' books. Me day is done, an' - I'll graft no more.” - </p> - <p> - There was plaintiveness in the man's tones as if he were mourning some - virtue, departed with his age and weakness. Clearly Matches, off his guard - and normal, found no peculiar fault with his past. - </p> - <p> - “How came you to be a thief?” I asked Matches bluntly. I had counted the - sixth drink down his throat, which meant that he wouldn't be sensitive. - </p> - <p> - “It's too far off to say,” retorted Matches. “I can't t'row back to d' - time when I wasn't a crook. Do youse want to know d' foist trick I loined? - Well, it wasn't t'ree blocks from here, over be d' Bowery. I couldn't be - more'n five. There was a fakir, sellin' soap. There was spec'ments of d' - long green all over his stand, wit' cakes of soap on 'em, to draw d' - suckers. Standin' be me side was a kid; Danny d' Face dey called him. He - was bigger than me, an' so I falls to his tips, see!” - </p> - <p> - “'When you see him toin round,' said Danny d' Face, 'swipe a bill, an' - chase yourself up d' alley wit' it.' - </p> - <p> - “Danny goes behint, an' does a sneak on d' fakir's leg wit' a pin. Of - course, he toins an' cuts loose a bluff at Danny, who's ducked out of - reach. As he toins, up goes me small mit, an' d' nex' secont I'm sprintin' - up d' alley wit 'd' swag. - </p> - <p> - “Nit; d' mug wit' d' soap don't chase. He never even makes a holler; I - don't t'ink he caught on. But Danny cuts in after me, an 'd' minute he - sees we ain't bein' followed, or piped, he gives me d' foot, t'rows me in - a heap, an' grabs off d' bill. I don't get a smell of it. An 'd' toad - skin's a fiver at that! - </p> - <p> - “D' foist real graft I recalls,” continued Matches, as he took a - meditative sip of the grog, “I'm goin' along wit' an old fat skirt, called - Mother Worden, to Barnum's Museum down be Ann Street an' Broadway. Mebbe - I'm seven or eight then. Mother Worden used to make up for d' respectable, - see! an' our togs was out of sight. There was no flies on us when me an' - Mother Worden went fort' to graft. What was d' racket? Pickin' women's - pockets. Mother Worden would go to d' museum, or wherever there was a - crush, an' lead me about be me mit. She'd steer me up to some loidy, an' - let on she's lookin' at whatever d' other party has her lamps on. - Meanwhile, I'm shoved in between d' brace of 'em, an' that's me cue to dip - in wit' me free hook an' toin out d' loidy's pocket, see! An' say! it was - a peach of a play; an' a winner. We used to take in funerals, an' - theaytres, an' wherever there was a gang. Me an' Mother Worden was d' - whole t'ing; there was nobody's bit to split out; just us. We was d' - complete woiks. - </p> - <p> - “Now an' then there was a squeal. Once in a while I'd bungle me stunt, an' - d' loidy I was friskin' would tumble an' raise d' yell. But Mother Worden - always 'pologised, an' acted like she's shocked, an' cuffed me an' t'umped - me, see! an' so she'd woik us free. I stood for d' t'umpin', an' never - knocked. Mother Worden always told me that if we was lagged, d' p'lice - guys would croak me. An' as d' wallopin's she gives me was d' real t'ing,—bein' - she was hot under d' collar for me failin' down wit' me graft,—d' - folks used to believe her, an' look on me fin in their pocket, that way, - as d' caper of a kid. Oh, d' old woman Worden was dead flossy in her day, - an' stood d' acid all right, all right, every time. - </p> - <p> - “But like it always toins out, she finds her finish. One day she makes a - side-play on her own account, somethin' in d' shopliftin' line, I t'ink; - an' she's pinched, an' takes six mont's on d' Island. I never sees her - ag'in; at which I don't break no record for weeps. She's a boid, was - Mother Worden; an' dead tough at that. She don't give me none d' best of - it when I'm wit' her, an' I'm glad, in a kid fashion, when she gets put - away. - </p> - <p> - “That's d' start I gets. Some other time I'll unfold to youse how I takes - me name of Mollie Matches. Youse can hock your socks! I've seen d' hot end - of many an alley! I never chases be Trinity buryin' ground, but I t'inks - of a day when I pitched coppers on one of d' tombstones, heads or tails, - for a saw-buck, wit' a party grown, before I was old enough an' fly enough - to count d' dough we was tossin' for. But we'll pass all that up to-night. - It's gettin' late an' I'll just put me frame outside another hooker an' - then I'll hunt me bunk. I can't set up, an' booze an' gab like I onct - could; I ain't neither d' owl nor d' tank I was.” - </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> - THE ST. CYRS - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rançois St. Cyr is - a Frenchman. He is absent two years from La Belle France. He and his - little wife, Bebe, live not far from Washington Square. They love each - other like birds. Yet François St. Cyr is gay, and little Bebe is jealous. - Once a year the Ball of France is held at the Garden. Bebe turns up a nose - and will not so belittle herself. So François St. Cyr attends the Ball of - France alone. However, he does not repine. François St. Cyr is permitted - to be more <i>de gage</i>; the ladies more <i>abandon</i>. At least that - is the way François St. Cyr explains it. - </p> - <p> - It is the night of the Ball of France. François St. Cyr is there. The - Garden lights shine on fair women and brave men. It is a masque. The - costumes are fancy, some of them feverishly so. A railroad person present - says there isn't enough costume on some of the participants to flag a - hand-car. No one has any purpose, however, to flag a hand-car; the - deficiency passes unnoticed. Had the railroader spoken of flagging a beer - waggon—<i>mon Dieu!</i> that would have been another thing! - </p> - <p> - A prize, a casket of jewels, is to be given to the best dressed lady. A - bacchante in white satin trimmed with swans' down and diamonds the size - and lustre of salt-cellars is appointed the beneficiary by popular - acclaim. François St. Cyr, as one of the directors of the ball, presents - the jewels in a fiery speech. The music crashes, the mad whirl proceeds. A - supple young woman, whose trousseau would have looked lonely in a - collar-box, kicks off the hat of François St. Cyr. <i>Sapriste!</i> how - she charms him! He drinks wine from her little shoe! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he morning papers - told of the beauty in swans' down; the casket of jewels, and the - presentation rhetoric of François St. Cyr, flowing like a river of oral - fire. Bebe read it with the first light of dawn. <i>Peste!</i> Later, when - François St. Cyr came home, Bebe hurled the clock at him from an upper - window. Bebe followed it with other implements of light housekeeping. - François St. Cyr fled wildly. Then he wept and drank beer and talked of - his honour. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he supple person - who kicked the hat of François St. Cyr was a chorus girl. The troop in - whose outrages she assisted was billed to infuriate Newark that evening. - François St. Cyr would seek surcease in Newark. He would bind a new love - on the heart bruised and broken by the jealous Bebe. <i>Mon Dieu!</i> yes! - </p> - <p> - The curtain went up. François St. Cyr inhabited a box. He was very still; - no mouse was more so. No one noticed François St. Cyr. At last the chorus - folk appeared. - </p> - <p> - “Brava! mam'selle, brava!” shouted François St. Cyr, springing to his - feet, and performing with his hands as with cymbals. - </p> - <p> - What merited this outburst? The chorus folk had done nothing; hadn't slain - a note, nor murdered a melody. The audience stared at the shouting - François St. Cyr. What ailed the man? At last the audience admonished - François St. Cyr. - </p> - <p> - “Sit down! Shut up!” - </p> - <p> - Those were the directions the public gave François St. Cyr. - </p> - <p> - “I weel not sit down! I weel not close up!” shouted François St. Cyr, - bending over the box-rail and gesticulating like a monkey whose reason was - suffering a strain. Then again to the chorus girl: - </p> - <p> - “Brava! mam'selle, brava!” - </p> - <p> - The other chorus girls looked disdainfully at the chorus girl whom - François St. Cyr honoured, so as to identify her to the contempt of the - public. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>rancois St. Cyr - suddenly discharged a bouquet at the stage. It was the size of a butter - tub. It mowed a swath through the chorus like a chain shot. - </p> - <p> - “Put him out!” commanded the public. - </p> - <p> - “Poot heem out!” repeated François St. Cyr with a shriek of sneering - contempt. “<i>Canaille!</i> I def-fy you! I am a Frenchman; I do not - fee-ar to die!” - </p> - <p> - Wafted to his duty on the breath of general opinion, a <i>gend'arme</i> of - Newark acquired François St. Cyr, and bore him vociferating from the scene - of his triumph. - </p> - <p> - As he was carried through the foyer, he raised his voice heroically: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Vive le Boulanger!</i>” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he next public - appearance of François St. Cyr was in the Newark Police Court. He was pale - and limp, and had thoughts of suicide. He was still clothed in his dress - suit, which clung to him as if it, too, felt “<i>des-pond</i>.” - </p> - <p> - François St. Cyr was fined $20. - </p> - <p> - Bebe, the jealous, the faithful little Bebe, was there to pay the money. - <i>Mon Dieu!</i> how he loved her! He would be her bird and sing to her - all her life! Never would he leave his Bebe more! As for the false one of - the chorus: François St. Cyr “des-spised” her. - </p> - <p> - Also Bebe had brought the week-day suit of François St. Cyr. Could an - angel have had more forethought? François St. Cyr changed his clothes in a - jury room, and Bebe and he came home cooing like turtle doves. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>y virtue of the - every-day suit, the St. Cyrs were home by 4 o'clock in the afternoon. - Otherwise, under the rules, being habited in a dress suit, François St. - Cyr could not have returned until 6, - </p> - <p> - And they were happy! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - McBRIDE'S DANDY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>lbert Edward - Murphy is a high officer in one of the departments of the city. He holds - his position with credit to the administration, and to his own celebration - and renown. He has a wife and a family of children; and sets up his Lares - and Penates in a home of his own in Greenwich Village. - </p> - <p> - Among other possessions of a household sort, Albert Edward Murphy, until - lately, numbered one pug dog. It was a dog of vast spirit and but little - wit. Yet the children loved it, and its puggish imbecility only seemed to - draw it closer to their baby hearts. - </p> - <p> - The pug's main delusion went to the effect that he could fight. Good - judges say that there wasn't a dog on earth the pug could whip. But he - didn't know this and held other views. As a result, he assailed every dog - he met, and got thrashed. The pug had taken a whirl at all the canines in - the neighbourhood, and been wickedly trounced in every instance. This only - made him dearer, and the children loved him for the enemies he made. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - The pug's name was John. - </p> - <p> - One day, John, the pug, fell heir to a frightful beating at the paws and - jaws of the dog next door. All that saved the life of John, the pug, on - this awful occasion, was the lucky fact that he could get between the - pickets of the line fence, and the neighbour's dog could not. The - neighbour's dog was many times the size and weight of John, the pug; but, - as has been suggested, what John didn't know about other dogs would fill a - book; and he had gone upon the neighbour's premises and pulled off a - fight. - </p> - <p> - Now these divers sporting events in which John, the pug, took disastrous - part worried Albert Edward Murphy. They worried him because the children - took them to heart, and wept over the wounds of John, the pug, as they - bound them with tar and other medicaments. At last Albert Edward Murphy - resolved upon a campaign in favour of John, the pug. His future should - have a protector; his past should be avenged. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - There was a forty-pound bulldog resident of Philadelphia. He whipped every - dog to whom he was introduced. His name was Alexander McBride. He was - referred to as “McBride's Dandy” in his set, whenever his identification - became a conversational necessity. Of the many dogs he had met and - conquered, Alexander McBride had killed twenty-three. - </p> - <p> - Albert Edward Murphy resolved to import Alexander McBride. He knew the - latter's owner. A letter adjusted the details. The proprietor of Alexander - McBride was willing his pet should come to the metropolis on a visit. - Alexander McBride had fought Philadelphia to a standstill, and his owner's - idea was that, if Alexander McBride were to go on a visit and remain away - for a few months, Philadelphia would forget him, and on his return he - might ring Alexander in on the town as a stranger, and kill another dog - with him. ***** - </p> - <p> - Alexander McBride got off the cars in a chicken crate. The expressmen were - afraid of him. Albert Edward Murphy was notified. He hired a coloured - person, who looked on life as a failure, to convey Alexander McBride to - his new home. They tied him to a bureau when they got him there. - </p> - <p> - Alexander McBride was a gruesome-looking dog, with a wide, vacant head, - when his mouth was open, like unto an empty coal scuttle. Albert Edward - Murphy looked at Alexander McBride, and after saying that he “would do,” - went to dinner. During the prandial meal he explained to his family the - properties and attributes of Alexander McBride; and then he and the - children went over the long list of neighbour dogs who had oppressed John, - the pug, and settled which dog Alexander McBride should chew up first. - Alexander McBride should begin on the morrow to rend and destroy the - adjacent dogs, and assume toward John, the pug, the rôle of guide, - philosopher and friend. Albert Edward Murphy and his children were very - happy. - </p> - <p> - After dinner they went back to take another look at Alexander McBride. As - they stood about that hero in an awed but admiring circle, John, the pug, - rushed wildly into the ring, and tackled Alexander McBride. The - coal-scuttle head opened and closed on John, the Pug. - </p> - <p> - There was a moment of frozen horror, and then Albert Edward Murphy and his - household fell upon Alexander McBride in a body. - </p> - <p> - It was too late. It took thirteen minutes and the family poker to open the - jaws of Alexander McBride. Then John, the pug, fell to the floor, dead and - limp as a wet bath towel. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Alexander McBride had slain his twenty-fourth dog, and John, the pug, is - only a memory now. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - RED MIKE - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of the Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ay!” remarked - Chucky as he squared himself before the greasy doggery table, “I'm goin' - to make it whiskey to-day, 'cause I ain't feelin' a t'ing but good, see!” - </p> - <p> - I asked the cause of Chucky's exaltation. Chucky's reason as given for his - high spirits was unusual. - </p> - <p> - “Red Mike gets ten spaces in Sing Sing,” he said; “an' he does a dead - short stretch at that. He oughter get d' chair—that bloke had. - </p> - <p> - “Red Mike croaks his kid,” vouchsafed Chucky in further elucidation. “Say! - it makes me tired to t'ink! She was as good a kid, this little Emmer which - Mike does up, as ever comes down d' Bend. An' only 'leven!” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me the story,” I urged. - </p> - <p> - “This Red Mike's a hod carrier,” continued Chucky, thus moved, “but ain't - out to hoit himself be hard woik at it; he don't woik overtime. Hit! Not - on your life insurance! - </p> - <p> - “What Red Mike sooner do is bum Mulberry Street for drinks, an' hang - 'round s'loons an' sling guff about d' wrongs of d' woikin'man. Then he'd - chase home, an' bein' loaded, he'd wallop his family. - </p> - <p> - “On d' level! I ain't got no use ford' sort of a phylanthrofist who goes - chinnin' all night about d' wrongs of d' labour element an 'd' oppressions - of d* rich an' then goes home an' slugs his wife. Say! I t'ink a bloke - who'd soak a skirt, no matter what she does—no matter if she is his - wife! on d' square! I t'ink he's rotten.” And Chucky imbibed deeply, - looking virtuous. - </p> - <p> - “Well, at last,” said Chucky, resuming his narrative, “Mike puts a crimp - too many in his Norah—that's his wife—an' d' city 'torities - plants her in Potters' Field.” - </p> - <p> - “Did Mike kill her?” I queried, a bit horrified at this murderous - development of Chucky's tale. - </p> - <p> - “Sure!” assented Chucky, “Mike kills her.” - </p> - <p> - “Shoot her?” I suggested. - </p> - <p> - “Nit!” retorted Chucky disgustedly. “Shoot her! Mike ain't got no gun. If - he had, he'd hocked it long before he got to croak anybody wit' it. Naw, - Mike does Norah be his constant abuse, see! Beats d' life out of her be - degrees. - </p> - <p> - “When Norah's gone,” resumed Chucky, “Emmer, who's d' oldest of d' t'ree - kids, does d' mudder act for d' others. She's 'leven, like I says. An' - little!—she ain't bigger'n a drink of whiskey, Emmer ain't. - </p> - <p> - “But youse should oughter see her hustle to line up an' take care of them - two young-ones. Only eight an' five dey be. Emmer washes d' duds for 'em, - and does all sorts of stunts to get grub, an' tries like an old woman, - night an' day, to bring 'em up. - </p> - <p> - “D' neighbours helps, of course, like neighbours do when it's a case of - dead hard luck; an' I meself has t'run a quarter or two in Emmer's lap - when I'm a bit lushy. Say! I'm d' easiest mark when I've been hit-tin' d' - bottle!—I'd give d' nose off me face! - </p> - <p> - “If d' neighbours don't chip in, Emmer an' them kids would lots of times - have had a hard graft; for mostly there ain't enough dough about d' joint - from one week's end to another to flag a bread waggon. - </p> - <p> - “Finally Red Mike gets woise. After Norah goes flutterin' that time, - Mike's been goin' along as usual, talkin' about d' woikin'man, an' doin' - up Emmer an 'd' kids for a finish before he rolls in to pound his ear. - </p> - <p> - “At foist it ain't so bad. He simply fetches one of d' young ones a - back-handed swipe across d' map wit' his mit to see it swap ends wit' - itself; or mebbe he soaks Emmer in d' lamp an' blacks it, 'cause she's - older. But never no woise. At least, not for long. - </p> - <p> - “But as I says, finally Red Mike gets bad for fair. He lams loose oftener, - an' he licks Emmer an 'd' kids more to d' Queen's taste—more like - dey's grown-up folks an' can stan' for it. - </p> - <p> - “Emmer, day after day chases 'round quiet as a rabbit, washin' d' kids an' - feedin' 'em when there's any-t'ing, an' she don't make no holler about - Mike's jumpin' on 'em for fear if she squeals d' cops'll pinch Mike an' - give him d' Island. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Emmer was a dead game all right. Not only she don't raise d' roar on - Mike about his soakin' 'em, but more'n onct she cuts in an' takes d' smash - Mike means for one of d' others. - </p> - <p> - “But, of course, you can see poor Emmer's finish. She's little, an' weak, - an' t'in, not gettin' enough to chew—for she saws d' food off on d' - others as long as dey makes d' hungry front—an 'd' night Mike puts - d' boots to her an' breaks t'ree of her slats, that lets her out! She - croaks in four hours, be d' watch. - </p> - <p> - “W'at does Red Mike do it for? Well, he never needs, much of a hunch to - pitch into Emmer an' d' rest. But I hears from me Rag who lives on d' same - floor that it's all 'cause Mike gets d' tip that Emmer's got two bits, an' - he wants it for booze. Mike comes in wit' a t'irst an' he ain't got d' - price, an' he puts it to Emmer she's got stuff. Mike wants her to spring - her plant an' chase d' duck. - </p> - <p> - “But Emmer welched an' won't have it. She's dead stubborn an' says d' kids - must eat d' nex' day; and so Mike can't have d' money. Mike says he'll - kick d' heart out of her if he don't get it. Emmer stan's pat, an' so Mike - starts in. - </p> - <p> - “It's 'most an hour before I gets there. D' poor baby—for that's all - Emmer is, even if she was dealin' d' game for d' joint—looks awful, - all battered to bits. One of d' city's jackleg sawbones is there, mendin' - Emmer wit' bandages. But he says himself he's on a dead card, an' that - Emmer's going to die. Mike is settin' on a stool keepin' mum an' lookin' - w'ite an' dopey, an' a cop is wit' him. Oh, yes! he gets d' collar long - before I shows up. - </p> - <p> - “Say! d' scene ain't solemn, oh, no! nit! Emmer lays back on d' bed—she - twigs she's goin' to die; d' doctor puts her on. Emmer lays back an' as - good as she can, for her valves don't woik easy an' she breathes hard, she - tells 'em what to do. She says there's d' washboiler she borry's from d' - Meyers's family, an' to send it back. - </p> - <p> - “'An' I owes Mrs. Lynch,' says Emmer—she's talkin' dead faint—'a - dime for sewin' me skirt, an' I ain't got d' dough. But when dey takes dad - to d' coop, tell her to run her lamps over d' plunder, an' she has her - pick, see! An' when I'm gone,' goes on Emmer, 'ast d' Gerries to take d' - kids. Dey tries to get their hooks on 'em before, but I wanted to keep - 'em. Now I can't, an' d' Gerries is d' best I can do. D' Gerries ain't so - warm, but dey can lose nothin' in a walk. An' wit' dad pinched an' me - dead, poor Danny an' Jennie is up ag'inst it for fair.' - </p> - <p> - “Nit; Emmer never sheds a weep. But say! you should a seen me Rag! She was - d' terror for tears! She does d' sob act for two, an' don't you forget it. - </p> - <p> - “Emmer just lays there when she's quit chinnin' an' gives Mike d' icy eye. - If ever a bloke goes unforgiven, it's Red Mike. - </p> - <p> - “'Don't youse want d' priest, or mebby a preacher?' asts me Rag of Emmer - between sobs. Emmer's voice is most played when she comes back at her. - </p> - <p> - “'W'at's d' use?' says Emmer. - </p> - <p> - “Then she toins to d' two kids who's be d' bed cryin', an' tries to kiss - 'em, but it's a move too many for her. She twists back wit 'd' pain, an' - bridges herself like you see a wrestler, an' when she sinks straight wit - 'd' bed ag'in, d' red blood is comin' out of her face. Emmer's light is - out. - </p> - <p> - “I tumbles to it d' foist. As I leads me Rag back to our room—for I - can see she's out to t'row a fit—d' cop takes Red Mike down be d' - stairs.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - HAMILTON FINNERTY'S HEART - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ar up in Harlem, - on a dead swell street, the chance pedestrian as he chases himself by the - Ville Finnerty, may see a pale, wrung face pressing itself against the - pane. It is the map of Hamilton Finnerty. - </p> - <p> - “W'at's d' matter wit' d' bloke?” whispered Kid Dugan, the gasman's son, - to his young companion, as they stood furtively piping off the Ville - Finnerty. “Is it 'D' Pris'ner of Zenda' down to date?” - </p> - <p> - “Stash!” said his chum in a low tone. “Don't say a woid. That guy was - goin' to be hitched to a soubrette. At d' las' minute d' skirt goes back - on him—won't stan' for it; see! Now d' sucker's nutty. Dey's - thrunning dice for him at Bloomin'dale right now!” - </p> - <p> - It was a sad, sad story of how two loving hearts were made to break away; - of how in their ignorance the police declared themselves in on a play of - which they wotted nit, and queered it. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen the betrothal - of Isabelle Imogene McSween to Hamilton Finnerty was tipped off to their - set, the élite of Harlem fairly quivered with the glow and glory of it. - The Four Hundred were agog. - </p> - <p> - “It's d' swiftest deal of d' season!” said De Pygstyster. - </p> - <p> - “Hammy won't do a t'ing to McSween's millions, I don't t'ink!” said Von - Pretselbok. - </p> - <p> - “Hammy'll boin a wet dog. An' don't youse forget it, I'll be in on d' - incineration!” said Goosevelt. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>amilton Finnerty - embarked for England. The beautiful Isabelle Imogene McSween had been - plunging on raiment in Paree. The wedding was to be pulled off in two - weeks at St. Paul's, London. It was to be a corker; for the McSweens were - hot potatoes and rolled high. Nor were the Finnerties listed under the - head of Has-beens. It is but justice to both families to say, they were in - it with both feet. - </p> - <p> - When Hamilton Finnerty went ashore at Liverpool he communed with himself. - </p> - <p> - “It's five days ere dey spring d' weddin' march in me young affairs,” - soliloquised Hamilton Finnerty, “an' I might as well toin in an' do d' - village of Liverpool while I waits. A good toot will be d' t'ing to allay - me natural uneasiness.” - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that Hamilton Finnerty went forth to tank, and spread red - paint, and plough a furrow through the hamlet of Liverpool. But Hamilton - was a dead wise fowl. He had been on bats before, and was aware that they - didn't do a thing to money. - </p> - <p> - “For fear I'll blow me dough,” said Hamilton, still communing with - himself, “I'll buy meself an' chip d' retoin tickets, see! It's a - lead-pipe cinch then, we goes back.” - </p> - <p> - And the forethoughtful Hamilton sprung his roll and went against the - agent, for return tickets. They were to be good on the very steamer he - chased over in. They were for him and the winsome Isabelle Imogene - McSween, soon to be Mrs. Finnerty. The paste-boards called for the - steamer's trip three weeks away. - </p> - <p> - “There!” quoth Hamilton Finnerty, as he concealed the tickets in his - trousseau, “I've sewed buttons on the future. We don't walk back, see! I - can now relax an' toin meself to Gin, Dog's Head and a general whizz. I - won't have no picnic,—oh, no! not on your eyes!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was early - darkness on the second day. One after another the windows were showing a - glim. Liverpool was lighting up for the evening. A limp figure stood - holding to a lamp-post. The figure was loaded to the guards. It was - Hamilton Finnerty, and his light was out. He had just been fired from that - hostelry known as The Swan with the Four Legs. - </p> - <p> - “I 'opes th' duffer won't croak on me doorstep,” said the blooming - barmaid, as she cast her lamps on Hamilton Finnerty from the safe vantage - of a window of The Swan with the Four Legs. - </p> - <p> - There was no danger of Hamilton Finnerty dying, not in a thousand years. - But he was woozy and tumbled not to events about him. He knew neither his - name, nor his nativity, Nor could he speak, for his tongue was on a spree - with the Gin and the Dog's Head. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s Hamilton - Finnerty stood holding the lamp-post, and deeming it his “only own,” two - of the Queen's constabulary approached. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0085.jpg" alt="0085 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0085.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “'Ere's a bloomin' gow, Jem!” said the one born in London. “Now '00 d' ye - tyke the gent to be?” - </p> - <p> - They were good police people, ignorant but innocent; and disinclined to - give Hamilton Finnerty the collar. - </p> - <p> - “Frisk 'un, Bill,” advised the one from Yorkshire; “it's loike th' naime - bees in 'uns pawkets.” - </p> - <p> - The two went through the make-up of Hamilton Finnerty. Jagged as he was, - he heeded them not. They struck the steamer tickets and noted the - steamer's name, but not the day of sailing. - </p> - <p> - As if anxious to aid in the overthrow of Hamilton Finnerty, the steamer - was still at her dock, with preparations all but complete for the return - slide to New York. - </p> - <p> - “Now 'ere's a luvely mess!” said London Bill, looking at the tickets. “The - bloody bowt gows in twenty minutes, an' 'ere's this gent a-gettin' 'eeself - left! An' th' tickets for 'ees missus, too! It's punds t' peanuts, th' - loidy's aboard th' bowt tearin' 'er blessed heyes out for 'im. Hy, say - there, kebby! bear a 'and! This gent's got to catch a bowt!” - </p> - <p> - Hamilton Finnerty, dumb with Gin and Dog's Head, was tumbled into the cab, - and the vehicle, taking its hunch from the excited officers, made the run - of its life to the docks. They were in time. - </p> - <p> - “It tak's th' droonken 'uns t'av th' loock!” remarked Yorkshire Jem - cheerfully to London Bill, as they stood wiping their honest faces on the - dock, while the majestic steamer, with Hamilton Finnerty aboard, worked - slowly out. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Hamilton - Finnerty came to his senses he was one hundred miles on his way to New - York. For an hour he was off his trolley. It was six days before he - landed, and during that period he did naught but chew the rag. - </p> - <p> - Hamilton Finnerty chased straight for Harlem and sought refuge in the - Ville Finnerty. He must think; he must reorganise his play! He would - compile a fake calculated to make a hit as an excuse with Isabelle Imogene - McSween, and cable it. All might yet be well. - </p> - <p> - But alas! As Hamilton Finnerty opened the door of the Ville Finnerty the - butler sawed off a cablegram upon him. It was from Isabelle Imogene - McSween to Hamilton Finnerty's cable address of “Hamfinny.” - </p> - <p> - As Hamilton Finnerty read the fatal words, he fell all over himself with a - dull, sickening thud. And well he might! The message threw the boots into - the last hope of Hamilton Finnerty. It read as follows: - </p> - <p> - <i>Hamfinny:—Miscreant! Villain! A friend put me onto your skip from - Liverpool. It was a hobo trick. But I broke even with you. I was dead - aware that you might do a sneak at the last minute, and was organised with - a French Count up me sleeve; see! Me wedding came off just the same. Me - hubby's a bute! I call him Papa, and he's easy money. Hoping to see you on - me return, nit, and renew our acquaintance, nit, I am yours, nit.</i> - </p> - <p> - <i>Isabelle Imogene McSween-Marat de Rochetwister.</i> - </p> - <p> - Outside the Ville Finnerty swept the moaning winds, dismal with November's - prophecy of snow. At intervals the election idiot blew his proud horn in - the neighbouring thoroughfare. It was nearly morning when the doctor said, - that, while Hamilton Finnerty's life would be spared, he would be mentally - dopey the balance of his blighted days. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - SHORT CREEK DAVE - </h2> - <h3> - (Wolfville) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>hort Creek Dave - was one of Wolfville's leading citizens. In fact his friends would not - have scrupled at the claim that Short Creek Dave was a leading citizen of - Arizona. Therefore when the news came over from Tucson that Short Creek - Dave, who had been paying that metropolis a breezy visit, had, in an - advertant moment, strolled within the radius of a gospel meeting then and - there prevailing, and suffered conversion, Wolfville became spoil and prey - to some excitement. - </p> - <p> - “I tells him,” said Tutt, who brought the tidings, “not to go tamperin' - 'round this yere meetin'. But he would have it. He simply keeps pervadin' - about the 'go-in' place, an' it looks like I can't herd him away. Says I: - 'Dave, you don't onderstand this yere game they're turnin' inside. Which - you keep out a whole lot, you'll be safer!' But warnin's ain't no good; - Short Creek don't regard 'em a little bit.” - </p> - <p> - “This yere Short Creek is always speshul obstinate that a-way,” said Dan - Boggs, “an' he gets moods frequent when he jest won't stay where he is nor - go anywhere else. I don't marvel none you don't do nothin' with him.” - </p> - <p> - “Let it go as it lays!” observed Cherokee Hall, “I reckons Short Creek - knows his business, an* can protect himse'f in any game they opens on him. - I ain't my-se'f none astonished by these yere news. I knows him to do some - mighty <i>locoed</i> things, sech as breakin' a pair to draw to a - three-flush; an' it seems like he's merely a pursooin' of his usual system - in this relig'ous lunge. However, he'll be in Wolfville to-morry, an' then - we'll know a mighty sight more about it; pendin' of which let's irrigate. - Barkeep, please inquire out the beverages for the band!” - </p> - <p> - Those of Wolfville there present knew no cause to pursue the discussion so - pleasantly ended, and drew near the bar. The debate took place in the Red - Light, so, as one observed on the issuance of Cherokee's invitation: “They - weren't far from centres.” - </p> - <p> - Cherokee himself was a suave suitor of fortune who presided behind his own - faro game. Reputed to possess a “straight” deal box, he held high place in - the Wolfville breast. - </p> - <p> - Next day; and Wolfville began to suffer an increased exaltation. Feeling - grew nervous as the time for the coming of the Tucson stage approached. An - outsider might not have detected this fever. It found its evidence in the - unusual activity of monte, high ball, stud and kindred relaxations. Faro, - too, displayed some madness of spirit. - </p> - <p> - At last out of the grey and heat-shimmer of the plains a cloud of dust - announced the coming of the stage. Chips were cashed and games cleaned up, - and presently the population of Wolfville stood in the street to catch as - early a glimpse as might be of the converted one. - </p> - <p> - “I don't reckon now he's goin' to look sech a whole lot different - neither!” observed Faro Nell. She stood near Cherokee Hall, awaiting the - coming stage. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder would it 'go' to ask Dave for to drink?” said Tutt, in a tone of - general inquiry. - </p> - <p> - “Shore!” argued Dan Boggs; “an' why not?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nothin' why not!” replied Tutt, as he watched the stage come up; - “only Dave's nacherally a peevish person that a-way, an' I don't reckon - now his enterin' the fold has redooced the restlessness of that - six-shooter of his'n, none whatever.” - </p> - <p> - “All the same,” said Cherokee Hall, “p'litenes 'mong gents should be - observed. I asks this yere Short Creek to drink so soon as ever he - arrives; an' I ain't lookin' to see him take it none invidious, neither.” - With a rattle of chains and a creaking of straps the stage and its six - high-headed horses pulled up at the postoffice door. The mail bags were - kicked off, the express boxes tumbled into the street, and in the general - rattle and crash the eagerly expected Short Creek Dave stepped upon the - sidewalk. - </p> - <p> - There was possibly a more eager scanning of his person in the thought that - the great inward change might have its outward evidences; a more vigorous - shaking of his hand, perhaps; but beyond these, curious interest did not - go. Not a word nor a look touching Short Creek's religious exploits - betrayed the question tugging at the Wolfville heart. Wolfville was too - polite. And, again, Wolfville was too cautious. Next to horse-stealing, - curiosity is the greatest crime. It's worse than crime, it's a blunder. - Wolfville merely expressed its polite satisfaction in Short Creek Dave's - return, and took it out in handshaking. The only incident worth record was - when Cherokee Hall observed in a spirit of bland but experimental - friendship: - </p> - <p> - “I don't reckon, Dave, you-all is objectin' to whiskey none after your - ride?” - </p> - <p> - “Which I ain't done so usual,” observed Dave cheerfully, “but this yere - time, Cherokee, I'll have to pass. Confidin' the trooth to you-all, I'm - some off on nose-paint now. I'm allowin' to tell you the win-an'-lose - tharof later on. Now, if you-alls will excuse me, I'll go wanderin' over - to the O. K. House an' feed myse'f a whole lot.” - </p> - <p> - “I shore reckons he's converted!” said Tutt, and he shook his head - gloomily. “I wouldn't care none, only it's me as prevails on Dave to go - over to Tucson that time; an' so I feels responsible.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever of it?” responded Dan Boggs, with a burst of energy, “I don't - see no reecriminations comin', nor why this yere's to be regarded. If Dave - wants to be relig'ous an' sing them hymns a heap, you bet! that's his - American right! I'll gamble a hundred dollars, Dave splits even with every - deal, or beats it. I'm with Dave; his system does for me, every time!” - </p> - <p> - The next day the excitement began to subside. Late in the afternoon a - notice posted on the postoffice door caused it to rise again. The notice - announced that Short Creek Dave would preach that evening in the warehouse - of the New York Store. - </p> - <p> - “I reckons we-alls better go!” said Cherokee Hall. “I'm goin' to turn up - my box an' close the game at first drink time this evenin', an' Hamilton - says he's out to shut up the dance hall, seein' as how several of the - ladies is due to sing a lot in the choir. We-alls might as well turn loose - an' give Short Creek the best whirl in the wheel—might as well make - the play to win, an* start him straight along the new trail.” - </p> - <p> - “That's whatever!” agreed Dan Boggs. He had recovered from his first - amazement, and now entered into the affair with spirit. - </p> - <p> - That evening the New York Store's warehouse was as brilliantly a-light as - a mad abundance of candles could make it. All Wolfville was there. As a - result of conferences held in private with Short Creek Dave, and by that - convert's request, Old Man Enright took a seat by the drygoods box which - was to serve as a pulpit. Doc Peets, also, was asked to assume a place at - the Evangelist's left. The congregation disposed itself about on the - improvised benches which the ardour of Boggs had provided. - </p> - <p> - At 8 o'clock Short Creek Dave walked up the space in the centre reserved - as an aisle, carrying a giant Bible. This latter he placed on the drygoods - box. Old Man Enright, at a nod from Short Creek Dave, called gently for - attention, and addressed the meeting briefly. - </p> - <p> - “This yere is a prayer meetin' of the camp,” said Enright, “an' I'm asked - by Dave to preside, which I accordin' do. No one need make any mistake - about the character of this gatherin', or its brand. This yere is a - relig'ous meetin'. I am not myse'f given that a-way, but I'm allers glad - to meet up with folks who be, an' see that they have a chance in for their - ante, an' their game is preserved. I'm one, too, who believes a little - religion wouldn't hurt this yere camp much. Next to a lynchin', I don't - know of a more excellent inflooence in a western camp than these meetin's. - I ain't expectin' to cut in on this play none myse'f, an' only set yere, - as does Peets, in the name of order, an' for the purposes of a squar' - deal. Which I now introdooces to you a gent who is liable to be as good a - preacher as ever thumps a Bible—your old pard, Short Creek Dave.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Pres'dent!” said Short Creek Dave, turning to Enright. - </p> - <p> - “Short Creek Dave!” replied Enright sententiously, bowing gravely in - recognition. - </p> - <p> - “An' ladies an' gents of Wolfville!” continued Dave, “I opens this racket - with a prayer.” - </p> - <p> - The prayer proceeded. It was fervent and earnest; replete with unique - expression and personal allusion. In the last, the congregation took a - warm interest. - </p> - <p> - Towards the close, Dave bent his energies in supplication for the - regeneration of Texas Thompson, whom he represented in his orisons as by - nature good, but living a misguided and vicious life. The audience was - listening with approving attention, when there came an interruption. It - was from Texas Thompson. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Pres'dent,” said Texas Thompson, “I rises to ask a question an' put - for'ard a protest.” - </p> - <p> - “The gent will state his p'int,” responded Enright, rapping on the - drygoods box. - </p> - <p> - “Which the same is this,” resumed Texas Thompson, drawing a long breath. - “I objects to Dave a-tacklin' the Redeemer for me. I protests ag'in him - makin' statements that I'm ornery enough to pillage a stage. This yere - talk is liable to queer me on High. I objects to it!” - </p> - <p> - “Prayer is a device without rools or limit,” responded Enright. “Dave - makes his runnin' with the bridle off; an* the chair, tharfore, decides - ag'in the p'int of order.” - </p> - <p> - “An' the same bein' the case,” rejoined Texas Thompson with heat, - “a-waivin' of the usual appeal to the house, all I've got to say is, I'm a - peaceful gent; I has allers been the friend of Short Creek Dave. Which I - even assists an' abets Boggs in packin' in these yere benches, an' aids to - promote this meetin'. But I gives notice now, if Short Creek Dave persists - in malignin' of me to the Great White Throne, as yeretofore, I'll shore - call on him to make them statements good with his gun as soon as ever the - contreebution box is passed.” - </p> - <p> - “The chair informs the gent,” said Enright with cold dignity, “that Dave, - bein' now a Evangelist, can't make no gun plays, nor go canterin' out to - shoot as of a former day. However, the chair recognises the rights of the - gent, an', standin' as the chair does in the position of lookout to this - game, the chair nom'nates Dan'l Boggs, who's officiatin' as deacon hereof, - to back these yere orisons with his six-shooter as soon as ever church is - out, in person.” - </p> - <p> - “It goes!” responded Boggs. “I proudly assoomes Dave's place.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0097.jpg" alt="0097 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0097.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Mr. Pres'dent,” interrupted Short Creek Dave, “jest let me get my views - in yere. It's my turn all right, as I makes clear, easy. I've looked up - things some, an* I finds that the Apostle Peter, who was a great range - boss of them days, scroopled not to fight. Which I trails out after Peter - in this. I might add, too, that while it gives me pain to be obleeged to - shoot up brother Texas Thompson in the first half of the first meetin' we - holds in Wolfville, still the path of dooty is plain, an' I shall shorely - walk tharin, fearin' nothin'. I tharfore moves we adjourn ten minutes, an' - as thar is plenty of moon outside, if the chair will lend me its gun—I'm - not packin' of sech frivolities no more, regyardin' of 'em in the light of - sinful bluffs—I trusts to Providence to convince brother Texas - Thompson that he's followed off the wrong waggon track. You-alls can - gamble! I knows my business. I ain't 4-flushin' none when I lines out to - pray!” - </p> - <p> - “Onless objection is heard, this meetin' will stand adjourned for ten - minutes,” said Enright, at the same time passing Short Creek Dave his - pistol. - </p> - <p> - Fifteen paces were stepped off, and the opponents faced up in the moonlit - street. Enright, Peets, Hall, Boggs, Tutt, Moore and the rest of the - congregation made a line of admiration on the sidewalk. - </p> - <p> - “I counts one! two! three! an' then I drops the contreebution box,” said - Enright, “whereupon you-alls fires an' advances at will. Be you ready?” - </p> - <p> - The shooting began on the word. When the smoke blew away, Texas Thompson - staggered to the sidewalk and sat down. There was a bullet in his hip, and - the wound, for the moment, brought a feeling of sickness. - </p> - <p> - “The congregation will now take its seats in the sanctooary,” remarked - Enright, “an' play will be re-soomed. Tutt, two of you-alls carry Texas - over to the hotel, an' fix him up all right. Yereafter, I'll visit him an' - p'int out his errors. This shows concloosive that Short Creek Dave is - licensed from Above to pray any gait for whoever he deems meet, an' I'm - mighty pleased it occurs. It's shore goin' to promote confidence in Dave's - ministrations.” - </p> - <p> - The concourse was duly in its seats when Short Creek Dave again reached - the pulpit. - </p> - <p> - “I will now resoome my intercessions for our onfortunate brother, Texas - Thompson,” said Short Creek Dave. - </p> - <p> - “I know'd he would,” commented Dan Boggs, as twenty dollars came over - addressed by the wounded Thompson to the contribution box. “Texas Thompson - is one of the reasonablest sports in Wolfville. Also you can bet! - relig'ous trooths allers assert themse'ves.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CRIME THAT FAILED - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of the Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ay! Matches,” said - Chucky, removing his nose from his glass, “youse remember d' Jersey Bank? - I means d' time youse has to go to cover an 'd' whole mob is pinched in d' - hole. Tell us d' story; it's dead int'restin'.” - </p> - <p> - This last was to me in a husky whisper. - </p> - <p> - “That play was a case of fail,” remarked Mollie Matches thoughtfully. Then - turning to me as chief auditor, he continued. “It's over twenty years ago; - just on d' heels of d' Centenyul at Phil'delfy. D' graft was fairly flossy - durin 'd' Centenyul, an' I had quite a pot of dough. - </p> - <p> - “One day a guy comes to me; he's a bank woiker, what d' fly people calls - 'a gopher man'; he's a mug who's onto all d' points about safes an' such. - Well, as I says, this soon guy comes chasin' to me. - </p> - <p> - “'Matches,' he says, 'don't say a woid; I'll put youse onto an easy trick. - Come wit' me to Jersey, an' I'll show you a bin what's all organised to be - cracked. Any old hobo could toin off d' play; it's a walk-over.' - </p> - <p> - “Wit' that, for I had confidence in this mark, see! We skins over to - Jersey, an' he steers me out to a nearby town an' points me out a bank. - What makes it a good t'ing is a vacant joint, wit' a 'To Rent' sign in d' - window, built dost ag'inst d' side of d' bank. - </p> - <p> - “'Are youse on?' says d' goph, pointin' his main hook at d' empty house, - an' then at d' bank. - </p> - <p> - “Bein' I'm no farmer meself, I takes no time to tumble. We screws our - nuts, me an' d' goph, to d' duck who owns d' house, an 'd' nex' news is we - rents it. D' duck who does d' rentin' says he can see we're on d' level d' - moment we floats in; but all d' same, if we can bring him a tip or two on - d' point of our bein' square people from one or two high rollers whose - names goes, he'll take it kindly. We says, suttenly; we fills him to d' - chin wit' all d' ref-runces he needs. - </p> - <p> - “'We won't do a t'ing but send our pastor to youse,' puts in d' goph. - </p> - <p> - “Good man, me pal was, as ever draws slide on a dark lantern, but always - out to be funny. - </p> - <p> - “We rents d' joint, as I states, an' no more is said about refrunces. Now, - when it comes to d' real woik, I ain't goin' to do none, see! I ain't down - to dig an' pick; it spoils me hooks for dippin'. What I does is furnish d' - tools an 'd' dough. - </p> - <p> - “I goes back an' gets a whole kit of bank tools—drills, centre-bits, - cold-chisels, jointed-jimmies, wedges, pullers, spreaders, fuse, powder, - mauls an' mufflers—I gets d' whole t'ing, see! Me pal knows a brace - of pards who'll stand in on d' play. He calls 'em in, an' one night d' - entire squeeze, wit 'd' tools, goes over an' plants themselfs in d 'empty - house. Yes; dey takes grub an' blankets an' all dey needs. - </p> - <p> - “Before this I goes ag'inst d' bank janitor; an' while he's a fairly downy - party, I wins him. D' janitor of d' bank gets a hundred bones, an' I gets - a map of d' bank, which shows where d* money is planted an' all about it. - </p> - <p> - “What's d' idee? Our racket is to tunnel from d' cellar of d' joint we - rents, under d' sidewall of d' bank, an' keep on until we reaches d' - stuff, see! We're out to do all d' woik we can wit'out lettin' d' - bank-crush twig d' graft. Then we waits till Saturday noon. D' bank shuts - up on Saturday noon, understan'! An' then we has till Monday at 9 o'clock - to finish d' woik. An' say! it's time plenty! It gives us time to boin! - </p> - <p> - “As I states, I don't do any of d' woik. D' gopher an' his two pals is all - d' job calls for. So I lays dead in d' town, ready to split out me piece - of d' plunder, an' waits results. - </p> - <p> - “To hurry me yarn, everyt'ing woiks like it's greased to fit d' play. D' - mob gets d' tunnel as far as it'll go. Saturday noon comes an 'd' last - sucker who belongs to d' bank skips out. It's then me gopher an' his two - pals t'rows themselfs. - </p> - <p> - “All t'rough Saturday afternoon an' all d' night till daylight Sunday - mornin', them gezebos woiks away like dogs. An' say! don't youse ever - doubt it! dey was winnin' in a walk. - </p> - <p> - “But all this time d' pins was set up to do 'em. It was d' same old story. - There's always some little nogood bet a crook is sure to overlook, an' it - goes d' wrong way an' downs him. Here's what happens: - </p> - <p> - “In d' foist place, we forgets to take d' 'To Rent' sign out of d' window, - see! That's d' beginnin'. Nex,' me goph an' his side-partners digs so much - dirt out of d' tunnel it fills d' cellar. Honest! it won't hold no more. - </p> - <p> - “At this last, dey takes to shovelin 'd' dirt into a bushel basket. Then - dey carries it up d' back stairs and dumps it on d' floor of a summer - kitchen. Be 7 o'clock Sunday, mebby dey dumps as many as six basketfuls; - dumps it, as I tells youse, in this lean-to, which is built on d' rear. - </p> - <p> - “Now, right at this time there's an old Irish Moll who keeps a boardin' - house not far away who is flyin' along to early Mass, bein' dead religious - an' leary about her soul, see! This old goil, as she comes sprintin' - along, gets her bleary old lamps on d' 'To Rent' card. All at onct d' idee - fetches her a t'ump in d' cocoa that d' house would be out of sight for a - boardin' joint. Wit' that she steers herself in to take a squint an' size - up d' crib. - </p> - <p> - “D' door is locked, so d' old goil can't come in. Wit' that she leads d' - nex' best card an' goes galumpin' round, pipin' off d' place t'rough d' - windows. An' say! she gets stuck on it. She t'inks if she can rent it, she - can run d' dandy boardin' house of d' ward in it. - </p> - <p> - “As d' old frail goes round d' place, among all d' rest, she looks t'rough - d' windows into d' summer kitchen. She gets onto d' dirt that's dumped, as - I states, in one corner. But she don't see none of d' gang, bein' dey's - down in d' hole at d' time, so she don't fasten to nothin'. - </p> - <p> - “At last she's seen enough an' sherries her nibs to d' cat'edral. - </p> - <p> - “That's all right if it's only d' end; but it ain't. When it gets to about - 2 o'clock, this old skate in petticoats goes toinin' nutty ag'in about d' - empty house. Over she spins to grab another glimpse, see! When she strikes - d' summer kitchen she comes near to throwin' a faint. D' pile of rubbidge - is twenty times as big! - </p> - <p> - “That settles it! d' joint is ha'nted! an' wit' that notion all tangled up - in her frizzes d' old mut makes a straight wake for d' priest. - </p> - <p> - “'D' empty house nex' to d' bank is full of ghosts!' she shouts, an' then - she flings her apron over her nut an' comes a fit. - </p> - <p> - “Now, this priest is about as sudden a party as ever comes over d' ocean. - Youse can't give him no stiff about spooks, see! Bein' nex' to d' bank is - a hot tip, an' he takes it. - </p> - <p> - “Nit! he don't go surgin' round for his prayer-books an d' hully water. It - would have been a dead good t'ing if he had. Nixie weedin'! D' long-coat - sucker don't even come over to d' house. - </p> - <p> - “What does he do? He sprints for d' nearest p'lice station at a 40 clip, - an' fills up d' captain in charge wit 'd' story till youse can't rest. - After that, it takes' d' p'lice captain about ten seconts to line up his - push; an' be coppin' a sneak, he pinches me gopher an' his two pals right - in d' hole. Dey was gettin' along beautiful at d' time, an' in ten hours - more dey would have had that bank on d' hog for fair. - </p> - <p> - Dey was dead games at that. While dey gets d' collar, not one of 'em - coughs on me, an' me name ain't never in it from start to finish. Dey was - game, true pals from bell to bell, an' stayed d' distance. - </p> - <p> - “It was d' bummest finish, all d' same, for what looked like d' biggest - trick, an' d' surest big money, that I ever goes near. Youse may well peel - your peeps! If it wasn't for that old Irish keener an' her ghost stories, - in less than ten hours more we wouldn't have got a t'ing but complete - action on more'n a million plunks! There was a hay-mow full of money in - that bin! - </p> - <p> - “That's d' last round an' wind-up, as d' pugs puts it. Me gopher an' his - pals is handed out ten spaces each, an' I lose me kit of tools. Take it - over all, I'm out some four t'ousand dollars on d' deal. A tidy lump of - dough to be done out of be a priest, a p'liceman an' an old Irish boardin' - boss! D' old loidy lands wit' bot' her trilbys, though; d' bank chucks her - a bundle of fly-paper big enough to stan' for all her needs until she - croaks, forcuttin' in on our play, see!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BETRAYAL - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he boys had - resolved on revenge, and nothing could turn them from their purpose. The - trouble was this: Some one not otherwise engaged had fed the furnace an - overshoe which it did not need. As incident to its consumption the - overshoe had filled the building with an odour of which nothing favourable - could be said. The professor afterwards, in denouncing the author of the - outrage, had referred to it as “effluvia.” It had as a perfume much force - of character, and was stronger and more devastating than the odour which - goes with an egg in its old age, when it has begun to hate the world and - the future holds nothing but gloom. - </p> - <p> - As stated, the schoolhouse reeked and reeled with this sublimated - overshoe. It all pleased the boys excessively. They made as much as - possible of the odour; they coughed, and sneezed, and worried the - professor by holding up their hands one after the other with the remark: - </p> - <p> - “Teacher, may I go out?” - </p> - <p> - The professor, after several destructive whiffs of the overshoe, made a - fiery speech. He said that could he once locate the boy who lavished this - overshoe on mankind in a gaseous form, that boy's person would experience - a rear-end collision. He would be so badly telescoped that weeks would - elapse before the boy could regard himself as being in old-time form. The - professor said the boy who founded the overshoe odour was a “miscreant” - and a “vandal.” He demanded his name of the boys collectively; and failing - to get it, the professor said they were all miscreants and vandals, and - that it would be as balm to his spirits were he to wade in and larrup the - entire outfit. - </p> - <p> - After school the boys held a meeting. - </p> - <p> - Frank Payne, aged fourteen, the boy who could lick any boy in school, - denounced the professor. He referred to the fact that his father was a - school trustee; and that under the rules the professor had no right to - bestow upon them the epithets of miscreants and vandals. Frank Payne - advised that they whip the professor; who must, he said, while a large, - muscular man, yield to mob violence. - </p> - <p> - The proposition to whip the professor was carried unanimously under a - suspension of the rules. - </p> - <p> - In the ardour of this crusade for their rights the boys did not feel as if - they could await the slow approach of trouble in the natural way. It was - decided by them to bring matters to a focus. It was planned to have Tony - Sanford stick a pin in John Dayton. That would be a splendid start! John - Dayton, thus stuck, would yell; and when the professor asked the cause of - his lamentations, John Dayton would point to Tony Sanford as his assassin. - When the professor laid corrective hands on Tony all of the conspirators - were to rush upon the professor and give him such a rough-and-tumble - experience that succeeding ages would date time from the emeute. The boys - were filled with glee; they regarded the business, so they said, as “a - pushover.” - </p> - <p> - The hour for action had arrived. - </p> - <p> - Tony Sanford had no pin. But Tony was a fertile boy; if there was a picket - off Tony's mental fence at all, it was his foresight. Lacking a pin, the - ingenious Tony stuck the small blade of his knife into John Dayton. The - victim howled like a dog at night. - </p> - <p> - “Please, sir, Tony Sanford's stabbed me,” was John Dayton's explanation of - his shrieks. - </p> - <p> - Tony Sanford was paraded for punishment. The cold-blooded enormity of the - crime seemed to strike the professor dumb. He did not know how to take - hold of the situation. But Tony pursued a course which not only invited - but suggested action. As Tony approached, he dealt the professor an - uppercut in the bread-basket, and with the cry, “Come on, boys!” closed - doughtily with the foe. - </p> - <p> - The boys beheld the deeds of the intrepid Tony; they heard his cry and - knew it for their cue. Nevertheless, notwithstanding, not a boy moved. - They sat in their seats and gazed fixedly at Tony and the professor. With - the call of Tony to his fellow-conspirators the professor saw it all. - </p> - <p> - “Tony Sanford,” quoth the professor, “we will adjourn to the library. When - I get through, you will be of no further use to science.” - </p> - <p> - The door closed on Tony Sanford, and a professor weighing 211 pounds. The - sounds which came welling from the library showed that some strong, - emotional work was being done within. Tony and the professor sounded at - times like a curlew at night, and anon like unto a man falling downstairs - with a stove. Tony Sanford said afterward that he would never again attach - himself to a plot which did not show two green lights on the rear platform - of its caboose. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - FOILED - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>ARLING, I fear - that man! The cruel guy can from his place as umpire do you up.” - </p> - <p> - It was Gwendolin O'Toole who spoke. She was a beautiful blonde angel, and - as she clung to her lover, Marty O'Malley, they were a picture from which - a painter would have drawn an inspiration. - </p> - <p> - “Take courage, love!” said Marty O'Malley tenderly; “I'm too swift for the - duck.” - </p> - <p> - “I know, dearest,” murmured the fair Gwendolin, “but think what's up on - the game! Me brother, you know him well! the rooter prince, the bleachers' - uncrowned king! he is the guardian of me vast estates. If I do not marry - as he directs, me lands and houses go to found an asylum for decrepit ball - tossers. And to-day me brother Godfrey swore by the Banshee of the - O'Tooles that me hand should belong to the man who made the best average - in to-morrow's game. Can you win me, love?” - </p> - <p> - “I will win you or break the bat!” said Marty O'Malley, as he folded his - dear one in his arms. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN that villain, - O'Malley, goes to bat to-morrow, pitch the ball ten feet over his head. No - matter where it goes I'll call a 'strike.'” - </p> - <p> - It was Dennis Mulcahey who spoke; the man most feared by Gwendolin - O'Toole. He was to be the next day's umpire, and as he considered how - securely his rival was in his grasp, he laughed the laugh of a fiend. - </p> - <p> - Dennis Mulcahey, too, loved the fair Gwendolin, but the dear girl scorned - his addresses. His heart was bitter; he would be revenged on his rival. - </p> - <p> - “You've got it in for the mug!” replied Terry Devine, to whom Dennis - Mulcahey had spoken. Devine was the pitcher of the opposition, and like - many of his class, a low, murdering scoundrel. “But, say! Denny, if you - wants to do the sucker, why don't youse give him a poke in d' face? See!” - </p> - <p> - “Such suggestions are veriest guff,” retorted Dennis Mulcahey. “Do as I - bid you, caitiff, an' presume not to give d' hunch to such as I! A wild - pitch is what I want whenever Marty O'Malley steps to the plate. I'll do - the rest.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll t'row d' pigskin over d' grand stand,” said Terry Devine as he and - his fellow-plotter walked away. - </p> - <p> - As the conspirators drifted into the darkness a dim form arose from behind - a shrub. It was Marty O'Malley. - </p> - <p> - “Ah! I'll fool you yet!” he hissed between his clinched teeth, and turning - in the opposite direction he was soon swallowed by the darkness. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>ou'll not fail me, - Jack!” said Marty O'Malley to Jack, the barkeeper of the Fielders' Rest. - </p> - <p> - “Not on your sweater!” said Jack, “Leave it to me. If that snoozer pitches - this afternoon I hopes d' boss'll put in a cash-register!” - </p> - <p> - Marty O'Malley hastened to the side of his love. Jack, the faithful - barkeeper, went on cleaning his glasses. - </p> - <p> - “That hobo, Devine, will be here in a minute,” said Jack at last, “an' I - must organise for him.” - </p> - <p> - Jack took a shell glass and dipped it in the tank behind the bar. Taking - his cigar from between his finely chiselled lips, he blew the smoke into - the moistened interior of the glass. This he did several times. - </p> - <p> - “I'll smoke a glass on d' stiff,” said Jack softly. “It's better than a - knockout drop.” - </p> - <p> - It was a moment later when Terry Devine came in. With a gleam of almost - human intelligence in his eye Jack, the barkeeper, set up the smoked - glass. Terry Devine tossed off the fiery potation, staggered to a chair, - and sat there glaring. A moment later his head fell on the table, while a - stertorous snore proclaimed him unconscious. - </p> - <p> - “That fetched d' sucker,” murmured Jack, the barkeeper, and he went on - cleaning his glasses. “His light's gone out for fourteen hours, an' he - don't make no wild pitches at Marty O'Malley to-day, see!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>en thousand people - gathered to witness the last great contest between the Shamrocks and the - Shantytowns. - </p> - <p> - Gwendolin O'Toole, pale but resolute, occupied her accustomed seat in the - grand stand. Far away, and high above the tumult of the bleachers she - heard the hoarse shouts of her brother, Godfrey O'Toole, the bleachers' - king. - </p> - <p> - “Remember, Gwendolin!” he had said, as they parted just before the game, - “the mug who-makes the best average to-day wins your hand. I've sworn it, - and the word of an O'Toole is never broken.” - </p> - <p> - “Make it the best fielding average, oh, me brother!” pleaded Gwendolin, - while the tears welled to her glorious eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Never!” retorted Godfrey O'Toole, with a scowl; “I'm on to your curves! - You want to give Marty O'Malley a better show. But if the butter-fingered - muffer wants you, he must not only win you with his fielding, but with the - stick.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>erry Devine wasn't - in the box for the Shantytowns. With his head on the seven-up table, he - snored on, watched over by the faithful barboy Jack. He still yielded to - smoked glass and gave no sign of life. - </p> - <p> - “Curse him!” growled Umpire Mulcahey hoarsely beneath his breath “has he - t'run me down? If I thought so, the world is not wide enough to save him - from me vengeance.” - </p> - <p> - And the change pitcher took the box for the Shantytowns. - </p> - <p> - Marty O'Malley, the great catcher of the Shamrocks, stepped to the plate. - Dennis Mulcahey girded up his false heart, and registered a black, hellish - oath to call everything a strike. - </p> - <p> - “Never! never shall he win Gwendolin O'Toole while I am umpire!” he - whispered, and his face was dark as a cloud. - </p> - <p> - It was the last word that issued from the clam-shell of Dennis Mulcahey - for many a long and bitter hour; the last crack he made. Just as he - offered his bluff, the first ball was pitched. It was as wild and high as - a bird, as most first balls are. But Marty O'Malley was ready. He, too, - had been plotting; he would fight Satan with fire! - </p> - <p> - As the ball sped by, far above his head, Marty O'Malley leaped twenty feet - in the air. As he did this he swung his unerring timber. Just as he had - planned, the flying, whizzing sphere struck the under side of his bat, and - glancing downward with fearful force, went crashing into the dark, - malignant visage of Dennis Mulcahey, upturned to mark its flight. The - fragile mask was broken; the features were crushed into complete confusion - with the awful inveteracy of the ball. - </p> - <p> - Dennis Mulcahey fell as one dead. As he was borne away another umpire was - sent to his post. Marty O'Malley bent a glance of intelligence on the - change pitcher of the Shantytowns, who had taken the place of the - miscreant Dermis, and whispered loud enough to resell from plate to box: - </p> - <p> - “Now, gimme a fair ball!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nd so the day was - won; the Shamrocks basted the Shantytowns by the score of 15 to 2. As for - Marty O'Malley, his score stood: - </p> -<pre xml:space="preserve"> - Ab. R. H. Po. A. E. - - O'Malley, c,....4 4 4 10 14 0 -</pre> - <p> - No such record had ever been made on the grounds. With four times at bat, - Marty O'Malley did so well, withal, that he scored a base hit, two - three-baggers and a home-run. - </p> - <p> - That night Marty O'Malley wedded the rich and beautiful Gwendolin O'Toole. - Jack, the faithful bar-boy of the Fielders' Rest, officiated as groomsman. - Godfrey O'Toole, haughty and proud, was yet a square sport, and gave the - bride away. - </p> - <p> - The rich notes of the wedding bells, welling and swelling, drifted into - the open windows of the Charity Hospital, and smote on the ears of Dennis - Mulcahey, where he lay with his face. - </p> - <p> - “Curse 'em!” he moaned. - </p> - <p> - Then came a horrible rattle in his throat, and the guilty spirit of Dennis - Mulcahey passed away. - </p> - <p> - Death caught him off his base. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - POLITICS - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ixie! I ain't did - nothin', but all de same I'm feelin' like a mut, see!” - </p> - <p> - Chucky was displeased with some chapter in his recent past. I could tell - as much by the shifty, deprecatory way in which he twiddled and fiddled - with his beer-stein. - </p> - <p> - “This is d' way it all happens,” exclaimed Chucky. “Over be Washin'ton - Square there's an old soak, an' he's out to go into pol'tics—wants - to hold office; Congress, I t'inks, is what this gezeybo is after. Anyhow - he's nutty to hold office. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I figgers that a guy who wants to hold office is a sucker; for - meself, I'd sooner hold a baby. Still, when some such duck comes chasin' - into pol'tics, I'm out for his dough like all d' rest of d' gang. - </p> - <p> - “So I goes an' gets nex' to this mucker an' jollies his game. I tells him - all he's got to do is to fix his lamps on d' perch that pleases him, blow - in his stuff an' me push'll toin loose, an' we'll win out d' whole box of - tricks in a walk, see! - </p> - <p> - “That's all right; d' Washin'ton Square duck is of d' same views. An' some - of it ain't no foolish talk at that. I'm dead strong wit' d' Dagoes, an' - d' push about d' Bend, an' me old chum—if he starts—is goin' - to get a run for his money. - </p> - <p> - “It ain t this, however, what wilts me d' way you sees to-night. It's that - I'm 'shamed, see! In d' foist place, I'm bashful. That's straight stuff; - I'm so bashful that if I'm in some other geezer's joint—par-tic'ler - if he's a high roller an' t'rowin' on social lugs, like this Washin'ton - Square party—I feels like creep-in' under d' door mat. - </p> - <p> - “D' other night this can'date for office says, says he, 'Chucky, I'm goin - to begin my money-boinin' be givin' a dinner over be me house, an' youse - are in it, see! in it wit' bot' feet.* - </p> - <p> - “'Be I comin' to chew at your joint?' I asts; 'is that d' bright idee?' - </p> - <p> - “'That's d' stuff,' he says; 'youse are comin' to eat wit' me an' me - friends. An' you can gamble your socks me friends is a flossy bunch at - that.' - </p> - <p> - “I says I'll assemble wit' 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Nit, I ain't stuck on d' play. I'd sooner eat be meself. But if I'm goin' - to catch up wit' his Whiskers an' sep'rate him from some of d' long green, - I've got to stay dost to his game, see! - </p> - <p> - “It's at d' table me troubles begins. I does d' social double-shuffle in - d' hall all right. D' crush parts to let me t'rough, an' I woiks me way up - to me can'date—who, of course, is d' main hobo, bein' he's d' - architect of d' blowout—an' gives him d' joyful mit; what you calls - d' glad hand. - </p> - <p> - “'Glad to see youse, Chucky,' says d' old mark. 'Tummas, steer Chucky to - his stool be d' table.' - </p> - <p> - “It's at d' table I'm rattled, wit' all d' glasses an' dishes an 'd' - lights overhead. But I'm cooney all d' same. I ain't onto d' graft meself, - but I puts it up on d' quiet I'll pick out some student who knows d' ropes - an' string me bets wit' his. - </p> - <p> - “As I sets there, I flashes me lamps along d' line, an' sort o' stacks up - d' blokes, for to pick out d' fly guys from d' lobsters, see! - </p> - <p> - “Over'cross'd table I lights on an old stiff who looks like he could teach - d' game. T'inks I to meself, 'There's a mut who's been t'rough d' mill - many a time an' oft. All I got to do now is to pipe his play an' never let - him out o' me sight. If I follows his smoke, I'll finish in d' front - somewheres, an' none of these mugs 'll tumble to me ignorance.' - </p> - <p> - “Say! on d' level! there was no flies on that for a scheme, was there? An' - it would have been all right, me system would; only this old galoot I goes - nex' to don't have no more sense than me. Why! he was d' ass of d' - evening! d' prize pig of d' play, he was! Let me tell youse. - </p> - <p> - “D' foist move, he spreads a little table clot' across his legs. I ain't - missin' no tricks, so I gets me hooks on me own little table clot' and - spreads it over me legs also. - </p> - <p> - “'This is good enough for a dog, I t'inks, an' easy money! Be keepin' me - eye on Mr. Goodplayer over there I can do this stunt all right.' - </p> - <p> - “An' so I does. I never lets him lose me onct. - </p> - <p> - “'How be youse makin' it, Chucky?' shouts me can'date from up be d' end of - d' room. - </p> - <p> - “'Out o' sight!' I says. 'I'm winner from d' jump; I'm on velvet.' - </p> - <p> - “'Play ball!' me can'date shouts back to encourage me, I suppose because - he's dead on I ain't no Foxy Quiller at d' racket we're at; 'play ball, - Chucky, an' don't let 'em fan youse out. When you can't bat d' ball, bunt - it,' says me can'date. - </p> - <p> - “Of course gettin 'd' gay face that way from d' boss gives me confidence, - an' as a result it ain't two seconts before I'm all but caught off me - base. It's in d' soup innin's an 'd' flunk slams down d' consomme in a tea - cup. It's a new one on me for fair! I don't at d' time have me lamps on d' - mark 'cross d' way, who I'm understudyin', bein' busy, as I says, slingin - 'd' bit of guff I tells of wit' me can'date. An' bein' off me guard, I - takes d' soup for tea or some such dope, an' is layin' out to sugar it. - </p> - <p> - “'Stan' your hand!' says a dub who's organised be me right elbow, an' - who's feedin' his face wit' both mits; 'set a brake!' he says. 'That's - soup. Did youse t'ink it was booze?' - </p> - <p> - “After that I fastens to d' old skate across d' table to note where he's - at wit' his game. He's doin' his toin on d' consomme wit' a spoon, so I - gets a spoon in me hooks, goes to mixin' it up wit 'd' soup as fast as - ever, an' follows him out. - </p> - <p> - “An' say! I'm feelin' dead grateful to this snoozer, see! He was d' - ugliest mug I ever meets, at that. Say! he was d' limit for looks, an' - don't youse doubt it. As I sizes him up I was t'inking to meself, what a - wonder he is! Honest! if I was a lion an' that old party comes into me - cage, do youse know what I'd do? Nit; you don't. Well, I'll tip it to - youse straight. If any such lookin' monster showed up in me cage, if d' - door was open, I'd get out. That's on d' square, I'd simply give him d' - cage an' go an' board in d' woods. An' if d' door was locked an' I - couldn't get out, I'd t'row a fit from d' scare. Oh! he was a dream! He's - one of them t'ings a mark sees after he's been hittin' it up wit 'd' lush - for a mont'. - </p> - <p> - “'But simply because he looks like a murderer,' I reflects, 'that's no - reason why he ain't wise. He knows his way t'rough this dinner like a - p'liceman does his beat, an' I'll go wit' him.' - </p> - <p> - “It's a go! When he plays a fork, I plays a fork; when he boards a shave, - I'm only a neck behint him. When he shifts his brush an' tucks his little - table clot' over his t'ree-sheet, I'm wit' him. I plays nex' to him from - soda to hock. - </p> - <p> - “An' every secont I'm gettin' more confidence in this gezebo, an' more an' - more stuck on meself. On d' dead! I was farmer enough to t'ink I'd t'ank - him for bein' me guide before I shook d' push an' quit. Say! he'd be a - nice old dub for me to be t'ankin 'd' way it toins out. I was a good t'ing - to follow him, I don't t'ink. - </p> - <p> - “If I was onto it early that me old friend across d' table had w'eels an' - was wrong in his cocoa, I wouldn't have felt so bad, see! But I'd been - playin' him to win, an' followin' his lead for two hours. An' I was so - sure I was trottin' in front, that all d' time I was jollyin' meself, an' - pattin' meself on d' back, an' tellin' meself I was a corker to be gettin' - an even run wit 'd' 400 d' way I was, d' foist time I enter s'ciety. An' - of course, lettin' me nut swell that way makes it all d' harder when I - gets d' jolt. - </p> - <p> - “It's at d' finish. I'd gone down d' line wit' this sucker, when one of - them waiter touts, who's cappin' d' play for d' kitchen, shoves a bowl of - water in front of him. Now, what do youse t'ink he does? Drink it? Nit; - that's what he ought to have done. I'm Dutch if he don't up an' sink his - hooks in it. An' then he swabs off his mits wit' d' little table clot'. - Say! an' to t'ink I'd been takin' his steer t'rough d' whole racket! It - makes me tired to tell it! - </p> - <p> - “'W'at th' 'ell!' I says to meself; 'I've been on a dead one from d' - start. This stiff is a bigger mut than I be.' - </p> - <p> - “It let me out. Me heart was broke, an' I ain't had d' gall to hunt up me - can'date since. Nit; I don't stay to say no 'good-byes.' I'm too bashful, - as I tells you at d' beginnin'. As it is, I cops a sneak on d' door, - side-steps d' outfit, an' screws me nut. The can'date sees me oozin' out, - however, an' sends a chaser after me in d' shape of one of his flunks. He - wants me to come back. He says me can'date wants to present me to his - friends. I couldn't stan' for it d' way I felt, an' as d' flunk shows - fight an' is goin' to take me back be force, I soaks him one an' comes - away. On d' dead! I feels as'shamed of d' entire racket as if some sucker - had pushed in me face.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ESSLEIN GAMES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or generations the - Essleins have been fanciers of game chickens. The name “Esslein” for a - century and a half has had honourable place among Virginians. In his day, - they, the Essleins, were as well known as Thomas Jefferson. As this is - written they have equal Old Dominion fame with either the Conways, the - Fairfaxes, the McCarthys or the Lees. And all because of the purity and - staunch worth of the “Esslein Games.” - </p> - <p> - It was the broad Esslein boast that no man had chickens of such feather or - strain. And this was accepted popularly as truth. The Essleins never - loaned, sold, nor gave away egg or chicken. No one could produce the - counterpart of the Esslein chickens for looks or warlike heart; no one - ever won a main from the Essleins. So at last it was agreed generally, - that no one save the Essleins did have the “Esslein Games;” and this - belief went unchallenged while years added themselves to years. - </p> - <p> - But there came a day when a certain one named Smith, who dwelt in the - region round about the Essleins, and who also had note for his fighting - cocks, whispered to a neighbour that he, as well as the Essleins, had the - “Esslein Games.” The whisper spread into talk, and the talk into general - clamour; everywhere one heard that the long monopoly was broken, and that - Smith had the “Esslein Games.” - </p> - <p> - This startling story had half confirmation by visitors to the Smith walks. - Undoubtedly Smith had chickens, feather for feather, twins of the famous - Essleins. That much at least was true. The rest of the question might have - evidence pro or con some day, should Smith and the Essleins make a main. - </p> - <p> - But this great day seemed slow, uncertain of approach. Smith would not - divulge the genesis of his fowls, nor tell how he came to be possessed of - the Esslein chickens. Smith confined himself to the bluff claim: - </p> - <p> - “I've got 'em, and there they be.” - </p> - <p> - Beyond this Smith wouldn't go. On' their parts, the Essleins, at first - maintained themselves in silent dignity. They said nothing; treating the - Smith claim as beneath contempt. - </p> - <p> - As man after man, however, went over to the Smith side, the Essleins so - far unbent from their pose of tongue-tied hauteur as to call Smith “a - liar!” - </p> - <p> - Still this failed of full effect; the talk went on, the subject was in - mighty dispute, and the Essleins at last, to settle discussion, defied - Smith to a main. - </p> - <p> - But Smith refused to fight his chickens against the Essleins. Smith said - it was conscience, but failed to go into details. This was damaging. - Meanwhile, however, as Smith challenged the world of fighting cocks, and, - moreover, won every match he ever made, and barred only the Essleins in - his campaigning, there arose, in spite of his steady objection to fighting - the Essleins, many who believed Smith and stood forth for it that Smith - did have the far-famed “Esslein Games.” It is to the credit of the - Essleins that they did all that was in their power to bring Smith and his - chickens to the battlefield. They offered him every inducement known in - chicken war, and tendered him a duel for his cocks to be fought for - anything from love to money. - </p> - <p> - Firm to the last, Smith wouldn't have it; and so, discouraged, the - Essleins, failing action, nailed as it were their gauntlet to Smith's - hen-coop door, and thus the business stood for months. - </p> - <p> - It came about one day that a stranger from Baltimore accepted Smith's - standing challenge to fight anybody save the Essleins. The stranger - proposed and made a match with Smith to fight him nine battles, $500 on - each couple and $2,500 on the general main. And then the news went 'round. - </p> - <p> - There was high excitement in chicken circles. The day came and the sides - of the pit were crowded. Smith was in his corner with his handler, getting - the first of his champions ready for the struggle. As Smith was holding - the chicken for the handler to fasten on the gaffs—drop-socket, they - were, and keen as little scimetars—he chanced to glance across the - pit. - </p> - <p> - There stood John, chief of the Essleins. - </p> - <p> - Smith saw it in a moment; he had been trapped. But it was too late. The - match was made and the money was up; there was no chance to retrace, even - if Smith had wanted. As a fact to his glory, however, he had no desire so - to do. - </p> - <p> - “We're up against the Essleins, Bill,” Smith said to his trainer; “and - it's all right. I didn't want to make a match with them, because I got - their chickens queer. And if I'd fought them and won, I'd felt like I'd - got their money queer; and that I couldn't stand. But this is different. - We'll fight the Essleins now they're here, and 'if they can win over me, - they're welcome.” - </p> - <p> - Then the main began. The first battle was short, sharp, deadly; and - glorious for Smith. The Esslein chicken got a stab in the heart the first - buckle. Smith smiled as his handler pulled his chicken's gaff out of its - dead victim, and set it free. - </p> - <p> - The Smith entries won the second and third battle. Triumph rode on the - glance of Smith, while the Esslein brows were bleak and dark. - </p> - <p> - “Smith's got the 'Esslein Games,' sure!” was whispered about the pit. - </p> - <p> - In the fourth and fifth battles the tide ran the other way, the Esslein - chickens killing their rivals. Each battle, for that matter, had so far - been to the death. - </p> - <p> - The sixth battle went to Smith and the seventh to the Essleins. Thus it - stood four for Smith to three for the Essleins, just before the eighth - battle. It didn't look as if Smith could lose. - </p> - <p> - It was at this juncture so hopeful for the coops of Smith, that Smith did - a foolish thing. Yielding to the appeals of his trainer, Smith let that - worthy man put up a chicken of his own to face the Esslein entry for the - eighth duel. It was a gorgeous shawl-neck that Smith's trainer produced; - eye bright as a diamond, and beak like some arrow-head of jet. His legs - looked as strong as a hod-carrier's. It was a horse to a hen, so everybody - said, that the Esslein chicken,—which was but a small, indifferent - bird,—would lose its life, the battle, and the main at one and the - same time. - </p> - <p> - Popular conjecture was wrong, as popular conjecture often is. The Esslein - chicken locked both gaffs through the shawl-neck's brain in the second - buckle. - </p> - <p> - “That teaches me a lesson,” said Smith. “Hereafter should an angel come - down from heaven and beg me to let him fight a chicken in a main of mine, - I'll turn him down!” - </p> - <p> - It was the ninth battle and the score stood four for Smith and four for - the Essleins. As the slim gaffs, grey and cruelly sharp, were being placed - on the feathered gladiators for the last deadly joust, Smith called across - the pit to John Esslein: - </p> - <p> - “Esslein,” he said, “no matter how this last battle may fall, I reckon - I've convinced you and everybody looking on, that, just as I said, I've - got the 'Esslein Games.' To show you that I know I have, and give you a - chance for revenge as well, I'll make this last fight for $10,000 a cock. - The main so far has been an even break, and neither of us has won or lost. - The last battle decides the tie and wins or loses me $3,000. To make it - interesting, I'll raise the risk both ways, if you're willing, just - $7,000, and call the bundle ten. And,” concluded Smith, as he glanced - around the pit, “there isn't a sport here but will believe in his heart, - when I, a poor man, offer to make this last battle one for $20,000, that I - know that, even if I'm against, I'm at least behind an 'Esslein Game.'” - </p> - <p> - “Make it for $10,000 a cock, then!” said John Esslein bitterly. “Whether I - win or lose main and money too, I've already lost much more than both - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - Then the fight began. The chickens were big and strong and quick and as - dauntlessly savage as ospreys. And feather and size, eye, and beak and - leg, they were the absolute counterparts of each other. - </p> - <p> - For ten minutes the battle raged. Either the spurred fencers had more of - luck or more of caution than the others. Buckle after buckle occurred, and - after ten minutes' fighting the two enemies still faced each other with - angry, bead-like eyes, and without so much as a drop of blood spilled. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0127.jpg" alt="0127 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0127.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - They fronted each other balefully while one might count seven. Their beaks - travelled up and down as evenly as if moved by the same impulse. Then they - clashed together. - </p> - <p> - This time,-as they drew apart, Smith's chicken fell upon its side, its - right leg cut and broken well up toward the hip, with the bone pushing - upward and outward through the slash of the gaff. - </p> - <p> - “Get your chicken and wring its neck, Smith,” said someone. “It's all - over!” - </p> - <p> - “Let them fight!” responded Smith. “It's not 'all over!' That chicken of - Esslein's has a long row to hoe to kill that bird of mine.” - </p> - <p> - Hardly were the words uttered when a strange chance befell. Smith's - prostrate cripple reached up as its foe approached, seized it with its - beak, and struggled to its one good foot. In the buckle that followed, the - one gaff by some sleight of the cripple slashed the Esslein chicken over - the eyes and blinded it. The muscles closed down and covered the eyes. - Otherwise the Esslein cock was unhurt. - </p> - <p> - Then began a long, fierce, yet feeble fight. One chicken couldn't stand - and the other couldn't see. The Smith chicken would lie on its side and - watch its rival with eyes blazing hate, while the Esslein chicken, blind - as a bat, would grope for him. When he came within reach of Smith's - chicken, that indomitable bird would seize him with his bill; there would - be some weak, aimless clashing, and again they'd be separated, the blind - one to grope, the cripple to lie and wait. - </p> - <p> - The war limped on in this fashion for almost two hours. But the end came. - As the Esslein chicken strayed blindly within reach, its enemy got a - strong, sudden grip, and in the collision that was the sequel, the Esslein - chicken had its head half slashed from its body. It staggered a step with - blood spurting, tottered and fell dead. - </p> - <p> - Smith said never a word, but from first to last his face had been cold and - grimly indifferent. His heart was fire, but no one could see it in his - face. Evidently the man was as clean-strain as his chickens. - </p> - <p> - That's all there is to the story. What became of the victor with the - broken leg? Smith looked him over, decided it was “no use,” and wrung his - dauntless neck. The great main was over. Smith had won, everybody knew, as - Smith went home that night, that he wras $10,000 better off, and that fast - and sure, beyond denial or doubt, Smith had the “Esslein Games.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE PAINFUL ERROR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his is a tale of - school life. Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton are scholars in - the same school. The name of this seminary is withheld by particular - request. Suffice it that all three of these youths come and go and have - their bright young beings within the neighbourhood of Newark. The age of - each is thirteen years. Thirteen is a sinister number. They are all - jocund, merry-hearted boys, and put in many hours each day thinking up a - good time. - </p> - <p> - One day during the noon hour the school building was all but deserted. - Charles Roy, Fred Avery and Benjamin Clayton, however, were there. They - had formed plans for their entertainment which demanded the desertion of - the school building as chronicled. The coast being fairly clear, the - conspiring three proceeded to one of the upper recitation rooms of the - building. This room did not appertain to the particular school favoured by - the attendance of Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton as - scholars. This, however, only added zest to the adventure. - </p> - <p> - The room to which our heroes repaired was the recitation stamping ground - of a high school class in physiology. The better to know anatomy, the - class was furnished with the skeleton of some dead gentleman, all nicely - hung and arranged with wires so as to look as much like former days as - possible. During class hours the framework of the dead person stood in a - corner of the room, and the students learned things from it that were - useful to know. When off duty it reposed in a box. - </p> - <p> - Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton had heard of deceased. Their - purpose this noon was to call on him. They gained entrance to the room by - the burglarious method of picking the lock. Once within they took the - skeleton from its box home and stood it in the window where the public - might revel in the spectacle. To take off any grimness of effect they - fixed a cob pipe in its bony jaws and clothed the skull in a bad hat, - pulled much over the left eye, the whole conferring upon the remains a - highly gala, joyous air indeed. - </p> - <p> - Then Charles Roy, Fred Avery and Benjamin Clayton withdrew from the scene. - </p> - <p> - The skeleton in the window was very popular. Countless folk had assembled - to gaze upon it at the end of the first ten minutes, and armies were on - their way. - </p> - <p> - The principal of the school as he came from lunch saw it and was much - vexed. He put the skeleton back in its box, and the hydra-headed public - slowly dispersed. - </p> - <p> - Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Benjamin Clayton secretly gloated over the - transaction in detail and entirety. But the principal began to make - inquiries; the avenger was on the track of the criminal three. Some big - girls had witnessed the felonious entrance of the guilty ones into the den - of the skeleton. The big girls imparted their knowledge to the principal, - hunting these felons of the school. But the big girls slipped a cog on one - important point. They did not know the recreant Benjamin Clayton. After - arguing it all over they decided that “the third boy” was a very innocent - young person named Albert Weed, and so gave in the names of the guerillas - as: - </p> - <p> - “Charles Roy, Fred Avery and Albert Weed!” That afternoon the indignant - principal demanded that Fred Avery, Charles Roy and Albert Weed attend him - to the study. They were there charged with the atrocity of the skeleton in - the window. Charles Roy and Fred Avery confessed and asked for mercy. - Albert Weed denied having art, part or lot in the outrage. The principal - was much shocked at his prompt depravity in trying to lie himself clear. - The principal, in order to be exactly just, and evenly fair, craved to - know of Charles Roy and Fred Avery: - </p> - <p> - “Was Albert Weed with you?” - </p> - <p> - “Please, sir, we would rather be excused from answering,” they said, - hanging down their heads. - </p> - <p> - Then the principal knew that Albert Weed was guilty. Fred Avery and - Charles Roy were forgiven, and were complimented on their straightforward, - manly course in refusing to tell a lie to shield themselves. - </p> - <p> - “As for you, Albert,” observed the principal, as he seized Albert Weed by - the top of his head, “as for you, Albert, I do not punish you for being - roguish with the skeleton, but for telling me a lie.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - The principal thereupon lambasted the daylights out of Albert Weed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE RAT - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>e d' cops at d' - Central office fly?” Chucky buried his face in his tankard in a polite - effort to hide his contempt for the question. “Be dey fly! Say! make no - mistake! d' Central Office mugs is as soon a set of geezers as ever looked - over d' hill. Dey're d' swiftest ever. On d' level! I t'ink t'ree out of - every four of them gezebos could loin to play d' pianny in one lesson. - </p> - <p> - “Just to put youse onto how quick dey be, an' to give you some idee of - their curves, let me tell you what dey does to Billy d' Rat. - </p> - <p> - “Youse never chases up on d' Rat? Nit! Well, Cully, you don't miss much. - Yes, d' Rat's a crook all right. He's a nipper, but a dead queer one, see! - He always woiks alone, an' his lay is diamonds. - </p> - <p> - “'I don't want no pals or stalls in mine,” says d' Rat. “I can toin all - needful tricks be me lonesome. Stalls is a give-away, see! Let some sucker - holler, an' let one of your mob get pinched, an' what then? Why, about d' - time he's stood up an' given d' secont degree be Mc-Clusky, he coughs. - That's it! he squeals, an' d' nex' dash out o' d' box youse don't get a - t'ing but d' collar. Nine out o' ten of d' good people doin' time to-day, - was t'rown into soak be some pal knockin'. I passes all that up! I goes it - alone! If I nips a rock it's mine; I don't split out no bits for no - snoozer, see! I'm d' entire woiks, an' if I stumbles an' falls be d' - wayside, it's me's to blame. Which last makes it easier to stan' for.' - </p> - <p> - “That's d' way d' Rat lays out d' ground for me one day,” continued - Chucky, “an' he ain't slingin' no guff at that. It's d' way he always - woiked. - </p> - <p> - “But to skin back to d' Central Office cops an' how flydey be: One of d' - Rat's favourite stunts is dampin' a diamond. What's that? Youse'll catch - on as me tale unfolds, as d' nov'lists puts it. - </p> - <p> - “Here's how d' Rat would graft. Foist he'd rub up his two lamps wit' - pepper till dey looks red an', out of line. When he'd got t'rough doin' d' - pepper act to 'em, d' Rat's peeps, for fair! would do to understudy two - fried eggs. - </p> - <p> - “Then d' Rat would pull on a w'ite wig, like he's some old stuff; an' wit' - that an' some black goggles over his peeps, his own Rag wouldn't have - known him. To t'row 'em down for sure, d' Rat would wear a cork-sole shoe,—one - of these 6-inch soles,—like he's got a game trilby. Then when he's - all made up in black togs, d' Rat is ready. - </p> - <p> - “Bein' organised, d' Rat hobbles into a cab an' drives to a diamond shop. - D' racket is this: Of course it takes a bit of dough, but that's no - drawback, for d' Rat is always on velvet an' dead strong. As I say, d' - play is this: D' Rat being well dressed an' fitted up wit' his cork-soles, - his goggles an' his wig, comes hobblin' into d' diamond joint an' gives d' - impression he's some rich old mark who ain't got a t'ing but money, an' - that he's out to boin a small bundle be way of matchin' a spark which he - has wit' him in his mit. D' Rat fills d' diamond man up wit' a yarn, how - he's goin' to saw a brace of ear-rings off on his daughter an' needs d' - secont rock, see! Of course it's a dead case of string. D' Rat ain't got - no kid, an' would be d' last bloke to go festoonin' her wit' diamonds if - he had. - </p> - <p> - “Naturally, d' mut who owns d' store is out an' eager to do business. D' - Rat won't let d' diamond man do d' matchin'; not on your life! he's goin' - to mate them sparks himself. So he gives d' stiff wit' d' store d' tip to - spread a handful of stones, say about d' size of d' one he's holdin' in - his hooks—which mebby is a 2-carat—on some black velvet for - him to pick from. D' diamond party ain't lookin' for no t'row down from an - old sore-eyed, cork-sole hobo like d' Rat, so he lays out a sprinklin' of - stones. D' Rat, who all this time is starring his bum lamps, an' tellin' - how bad an' weak dey be, an' how he can hardly see, gets his map down dost - to d' lay-out of sparks, so as he can get onto em an' make d' match. - </p> - <p> - “It's now d' touch comes in. When d' Rat's got his smeller right among d' - diamonds, he sticks out his tongue, quick like a toad for a honey-bee, an' - nails a gem. That's what dey calls 'dampin' a diamond.' Yes, mebby if - there's so many of 'em laid out, he t'inks d' mark behint d' show case - will stan' for it wit'out missin' 'em, d' Rat gets two. Then d' Rat goes - on jollyin' an' chinnin' wit' d' sparks in his face; an' mebby for a - finish an' to put a cover on d' play, he buys one an' screws his nut. - </p> - <p> - “Wit' his cab, as I says, d' Rat is miles away, an' has time to shed his - wig an' goggles an' cork-sole before d' guy wit' d' diamonds tumbles to it - he's been done. That's how d' Rat gets in his woik. Now I'll tell youse - how d' Central Office people t'run d' harpoon into him. - </p> - <p> - “One day d' Rat makes a play an' gets two butes. He tucks 'em away in back - of his teet', an' is just raisin' his nut to say somethin', when d' store - duck grabs him an' raises a roar. Two or t'ree cloiks an' a cop off d' - street comes sprintin' up, an' away goes d' Rat to d' coop. - </p> - <p> - “Wit 'd' foist yell of d' sucker who makes d' front for d' store—naw, - he ain't d' owner, he's one of d' cloiks—d' Rat goes clean outside - of d' sparks at a gulp; swallows 'em; that's what he does. There bein' no - diamond toined up, an' no one at headquarters bein' onto him—for - he's always laid low an' kept out of sight of d' p'lice—d' Rat makes - sure dey'll have to t'run him loose. - </p> - <p> - “But d' boss cop is pretty cooney. He figgers it all out, how d' Rat's a - crook, an' how he's eat d' diamonds, just as I says. So he cons d' Rat an' - t'rows a dream into him. He tells him there'll be no trouble, but he'll - have to keep him for an hour or two until his 'sooperior off'cer,' as he - calls him, gets there. He's d' main squeeze, this p'lice dub dey're - waitin' for, an' as soon as he shows up an' goes over d' play, d' Rat can - screw out. - </p> - <p> - “That's d' sort of song an' dance d' high cop gives d' Rat; an' say! I'm a - lobster if d' Rat don't fall to it, at that. On d' dead! this p'lice duck - is so smooth an' flossy d' Rat believes him. - </p> - <p> - “Just for appearances d' Rat registers a big kick; an' then—for dey - don't lock him up at all—he plants himself in a easy chair to do a - toin of wait. D' Rat couldn't have broke an' run for it, even if he'd took - d' scare, for d' cops is all over d' place. But he ain't lookin' for d' - woist of it nohow. He t'inks it's all as d' boss cop has told him; he'll - wait there an hour or two for d' main guy an' then dey'll cut him free. - </p> - <p> - “After a half hour d' boss cop says: 'It's no use you bein' hungry, me - frien', an' as I'm goin' to chew, come wit' me an' feed your face. D' - treat's on me, anyhow, bein' obliged to detain a respect'ble old mucker - like you. So come along.' - </p> - <p> - “Wit' that d' Rat goes along wit 'd' boss cop, an' all d' time he's - t'inkin' what a Stoughton bottle d' cop is. - </p> - <p> - “It's nex' door, d' chop-house is. D' cop an 'd' Rat sets down an' breasts - up to d' table. Dey gives d' orders all right, all right. But say! d' grub - never gets to 'em. D' nex' move after d' orders, d' Rat, who's got a - t'irst on from d' worry of bein' lagged, takes a drink out of a glass. - </p> - <p> - “'I'm poisoned!' yells d' Rat as he slams down d' tumbler; 'somebody's - doped me!' an' wit' that d' Rat toins in, t'rows a fit, an' is seasick to - d' limit. - </p> - <p> - “That's what that boss cop does. He sends over an' doctors a glass while - d' Rat is settin' in his office waitin', an' then gives him a bluff about - chewin' an' steers d' Rat ag'inst it. Say! it was a dandy play. D' dope or - whatever it was, toins me poor friend d' Rat inside out, like an old - woman's pocket. - </p> - <p> - “An' them sparks is recovered. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, d' Rat does a stretch. As d' judge sentences him, d' Rat gives d' - cop who downs him his mit. 'You're a wonder,' says d' Rat to d' cop; - 'there's no flies baskin' in d' sun on you. When I reflects on d' way you - sneaks d' chaser after them sparks, an' lands 'em, I'm bound to say d' - Central Office mugs are onto their job.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHEYENNE BILL - </h2> - <h3> - (Wolfville) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>heyenne Bill is - out of luck. Ordinarily his vagaries are not regarded in Wolfville. His - occasional appearance in its single street in a voluntary of nice feats of - horsemanship, coupled with an exhibition of pistol shooting, in which old - tomato cans and passé beer bottles perform as targets, has hitherto - excited no more baleful sentiment in the Wolfville bosom than disgust. - </p> - <p> - “Shootin' up the town a whole lot!” is the name for this engaging pastime, - as given by Cheyenne Bill, and up to date the exercise has passed - unchallenged. - </p> - <p> - But to-day it is different. Camps like individuals have moods, now light, - now dark; and so it is with Wolfville. At this time Wolfville is - experiencing a wave of virtue. This may have come spontaneously from those - seeds of order which, after all, dwell sturdily in the Wolfville breast. - It may have been excited by the presence of a pale party of Eastern - tourists, just now abiding at the O. K. Hotel; persons whom the rather - sanguine sentiment of Wolfville credits with meditating an investment of - treasure in her rocks and rills. But whatever the reason, Wolfville virtue - is aroused; a condition of the public mind which makes it a bad day for - Cheyenne Bill. - </p> - <p> - The angry sun smites hotly in the deserted causeway of Wolfville. The - public is within doors. The Red Light Saloon is thriving mightily. Those - games which generally engross public thought are drowsy enough; but the - counter whereat the citizen of Wolfville gathers with his peers in - absorption of the incautious compounds of the place, is fairly sloppy from - excess of trade. Notwithstanding the torrid heat this need not sound - strangely; Wolfville leaning is strongly homoeopathic. “<i>Similia - similibus curantur</i>,” says Wolfville; and when it is blazing hot, - drinks whiskey. - </p> - <p> - But to-day there is further reason for this consumption. Wolfville is - excited, and this provokes a thirst. Cheyenne Bill, rendering himself - prisoner to Jack Moore, rescue or no rescue, has by order of that - sagacious body been conveyed by his captor before the vigilance committee, - and is about to be tried for his life. - </p> - <p> - What was Cheyenne Bill's immediate crime? Certainly not a grave one. Ten - days before it would have hardly earned a comment. But now in its spasm of - virtue, and sensitive in its memories of the erratic courses of Cheyenne - Bill aforetime, Wolfville has grimly taken possession of that volatile - gentleman for punishment. He has killed a Chinaman. Here is the story: - </p> - <p> - “Yere comes that prairie dog, Cheyenne Bill, all spraddled out,” says Dave - Tutt. - </p> - <p> - Dave Tutt is peering from the window of the Red Light, to which lattice he - has been carried by the noise of hoofs. There is a sense of injury - disclosed in Dave Tutt's tone, born of the awakened virtue of Wolfville. - </p> - <p> - “It looks like this camp never can assoome no airs,” remarks Cherokee Hall - in a distempered way, “but this yere miser'ble Cheyenne comes chargin' up - to queer it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0141.jpg" alt="0141 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0141.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - As he speaks, that offending personage, unconscious of the great change in - Wolf ville morals, sweeps up the street, expressing gladsome and ecstatic - whoops, and whirling his pistol on his forefinger like a thing of light. - One of the tourists stands in the door of the hotel smoking a pipe in - short, brief puffs of astonishment, and reviews the amazing performance. - Cheyenne Bill at once and abruptly halts. Gazing for a disgruntled moment - on the man from the East, he takes the pipe from its owner's amazed mouth - and places it in his own “smokin' of pipes,” he vouchsafes in condemnatory - explanation, “is onelegant an' degradin'; an' don't you do it no more in - my presence. I'm mighty sensitive that a-way about pipes, an' I don't aim - to tolerate 'em none whatever.” - </p> - <p> - This solution of his motives seems satisfactory to Cheyenne Bill. He sits - puffing and gazing at the tourist, while the latter stands dumbly staring, - with a morsel of the ravished meerschaum still between his lips. - </p> - <p> - What further might have followed in the way of oratory or overt acts - cannot be stated, for the thoughts of the guileless Cheyenne suddenly - receive a new direction. A Chinaman, voluminously robed, emerges from the - New York store, whither he has been drawn by dint of soap. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever is this Mongol doin' in camp, I'd like for to know?” inquires - Cheyenne Bill disdainfully. “I shore leaves orders when I'm yere last, for - the immejit removal of all sech. I wouldn't mind it, but with strangers - visitin' Wolf ville this a-way, it plumb mortifies me to death.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh well!” he continues in tones of weary, bitter reflection, “I'm the - only public-sperited gent in this yere outfit, so all reforms falls - nacheral to me. Still, I plays my hand! I'm simply a pore, lonely white, - but jest the same, I makes an example of this speciment of a sudsmonger to - let 'em know whatever a white man is, anyhow.” - </p> - <p> - Then comes the short, emphatic utterance of a six-shooter. A puff of smoke - lifts and vanishes in the hot air, and the next census will be short one - Asiatic. - </p> - <p> - In a moment arrives a brief order from Enright, the chief of the vigilance - committee, to Jack Moore. The last-named official proffers a Winchester - and a request to surrender simultaneously, and Cheyenne Bill, realizing - fate, at once accedes. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, gents,” says Enright, apologetically, as he convenes the - committee in the Red Light bar; “I don't say this Cheyenne is held for - beefin' the Chinaman sole an' alone. The fact is, he's been havin' a - mighty sight too gay a time of late, an' so I thinks it's a good, safe - play, bein' as it's a hot day an' we has the time, to sorter call the - committee together an' ask its views, whether we better hang this yere - Cheyenne yet or not?” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Pres'dent,” responds Dave Tutt, “if I'm in order, an' to get the - feelin' of the meetin' to flowin' smooth, I moves we takes this Cheyenne - an' proceeds with his immolation. I ain't basin' it on nothin' in - partic'lar, but lettin' her slide as fulfillin' a long-felt want.” - </p> - <p> - “Do I note any remarks?” asks Enright. “If not, I takes Mr. Tutt's very - excellent motion as the census of this meetin', an' it's hang she is.” - </p> - <p> - “Not intendin' of no interruption,” remarks Texas Thompson, “I wants to - say this: I'm a quiet gent my-se'f, an' nacheral aims to keep Wolfville a - quiet place likewise. For which-all I shorely favours a-hangin' of - Cheyenne. He's given us a heap of trouble. Like Tutt I don't make no p'int - on the Chinaman; we spares the Chink too easy. But this Cheyenne is allers - a-ridin', an' a-yellin', an' a-shootin' up this camp till I'm plumb tired - out. So I says let's hang him, an' su'gests as a eligible, as well as - usual nook tharfore, the windmill back of the dance hall.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” says Enright, “the windmill is, as experience has showed, amply - upholstered for sech plays; an' as delays is aggravatin', the committee - might as well go wanderin' over now, an' get this yere ceremony off its - mind.” - </p> - <p> - “See yere, Mr. Pres'dent!” interrupts Cheyenne Bill in tones of one - ill-used, “what for a deal is this I rises to ask?” - </p> - <p> - “You can gamble this is a squar' game,” replies Enright confidently. - “You're entitled to your say when the committee is done. Jest figure out - what kyards you needs, an' we deals to you in a minute.” - </p> - <p> - “I solely wants to know if my voice is to be regarded in this yere play, - that's all,” retorts Cheyenne Bill. - </p> - <p> - “Gents,” says Doc Peets, who has been silently listening. “I'm with you on - this hangin'. These Eastern sharps is here in our midst. It'll impress 'em - that Wolfville means business, an' it's a good, safe, quiet place. They'll - carry reports East as will do us credit, an' thar you be. As to the - propriety of stringin' Cheyenne, little need be said. If the Chinaman - ain't enough, if assaultin' of an innocent tenderfoot ain't enough, you - can bet he's done plenty besides as merits a lariat. He wouldn't deny it - himse'f if you asks him.” - </p> - <p> - There is a silence succeeding the rather spirited address of Doc Peets, on - whose judgment Wolfville has been taught to lean. At last Enright breaks - it by inquiring of Cheyenne Bill if he has anything to offer. - </p> - <p> - “I reckons it's your play now, Cheyenne,” he says, “so come a-runnin.'” - </p> - <p> - “Why!” urges Cheyenne Bill, disgustedly, “these proceedin's is ornery an' - makes me sick. I shore objects to this hangin'; an' all for a measly - Chinaman too! This yere Wolfville outfit is gettin' a mighty sight too - stylish for me. It's growin' that per-dad-binged-'tic'lar it can't take - its reg'lar drinks, an'——” - </p> - <p> - “Stop right thar!” says Enright, with dignity, rapping a shoe-box with his - six-shooter; “don't you cuss the chair none, 'cause the chair won't have - it. It's parliamentary law, if any gent cusses the chair he's out of - order, same as it's law that all chips on the floor goes to the house. - When a gent's out of order once, that settles it. He can't talk no more - that meetin'. Seein' we're aimin' to eliminate you, we won't claim nothin' - on you this time. But be careful how you come trackin' 'round ag'in, an' - don't fret us! <i>Sabe?</i> Don't you-all go an' fret us none!” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't allowin' to fret you,” retorts Cheyenne Bill. “I don't have to - fret you. What I says is this: I s'pose, I sees fifty gents stretched by - one passel of Stranglers or another between yere an' The Dalis, an' I - never does know a party who's roped yet on account of no Chinaman. An' I - offers a side bet of a blue stack, it ain't law to hang people on account - of downin' no Chinaman. But you-alls seems sot on this, an' so I tells you - what I'll do. I'm a plain gent an' thar's no filigree work on me. If it's - all congenial to the boys yere assembled—not puttin' it on the - grounds of no miser'ble hop slave, but jest to meet public sentiment half - way—I'll gamble my life, hang or no hang, on the first ace turned - from the box, Cherokee deal. Does it go?” - </p> - <p> - Wolfville tastes are bizarre. A proposition original and new finds in its - very novelty an argument for Wolfville favour. It befalls, therefore, that - the unusual offer of Cheyenne Bill to stake his neck on a turn at faro is - approvingly criticised. The general disposition agrees to it; even the - resolute Enright sees no reason to object. - </p> - <p> - “Cheyenne,” says Enright, “we don't have to take this chance, an' it's - a-makin' of a bad preceedent which the same may tangle us yereafter; but - Wolfville goes you this time, an' may Heaven have mercy on your soul. - Cherokee, turn the kyards for the ace.” - </p> - <p> - “Turn squar', Cherokee!” remarks Cheyenne Bill with an air of interest. - “You wouldn't go to sand no deck, nor deal two kyards at a clatter, ag'in - perishin' flesh an' blood?” - </p> - <p> - “I should say, no!” replies Cherokee. “I wouldn't turn queer for money, - an' you can gamble! I don't do it none when the epeesode comes more onder - the head of reelaxation.” - </p> - <p> - “Which the same bein' satisfact'ry,” says Cheyenne Bill, “roll your game. - I'm eager for action; also, I plays it open.” - </p> - <p> - “I dunno!” observes Dan Boggs, meditatively caressing his chin; “I'm - thinkin' I'd a-coppered;—that's whatever!” - </p> - <p> - The deal proceeds in silence, and as may happen in that interesting sport - called faro, a split falls out. Two aces appear in succession. - </p> - <p> - “Ace lose, ace win!” says Cherokee, pausing. “Whatever be we goin' to do - now, I'd like to know?” There is a pause. - </p> - <p> - “Gents,” announces Enright, with dignity, “a split like this yere creates - a doubt; an' all doubts goes to the pris'ner, same as a maverick goes to - the first rider as ties it down, an' runs his brand onto it. This camp of - Wolfville abides by law, an' blow though it be, this yere Cheyenne Bill, - temp'rarily at least, goes free. However, he should remember this yere - graze an' restrain his methods yereafter. Some of them ways of his is - onhealthful, an' if he's wise he'll shorely alter his system from now on.” - </p> - <p> - “Which the camp really lose! an' this person Bill goes free!” says Jack - Moore, dejectedly. “I allers was ag'in faro as a game. Where we-all misses - it egreegious, is we don't play him freeze-out.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know, Cherokee,” whispers Faro Nell, as her eyes turn softly to - that personage of the deal box, “I don't like killin's none! I'd sooner - Cheyenne goes loose, than two bonnets from Tucson!” - </p> - <p> - At this Cherokee Hall pinches the cheek of Faro Nell with a delicate - accuracy born of his profession, and smiles approval. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BLIGHTED - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>s it hauteur, or - is it a maiden's coyness which causes you to turn away your head, love?” - </p> - <p> - George D'Orsey stood with his arm about the willowy form of Imogene - O'Sullivan. The scene was the ancestral halls of the O'Sullivans in the - fashionable north-west quarter of Harlem. George D'Orsey had asked Imogene - O'Sullivan to be his bride. That was prior to the remark which opened our - story. And the dear girl softly promised. The lovers stood there in the - gloaming, drinking that sweet intoxication which never comes but once. - </p> - <p> - “It isn't hauteur, George,” replied Imogene O'Sullivan, in tones like - far-off church bells. “But, George!—don't spurn me—I have - eaten of the common onion of commerce, and my breath, it is so freighted - with that trenchant vegetable, it would take the nap from your collar like - a lawn mower. It is to spare the man she loves, George, which causes your - Imogene to hold her head aloof.” - </p> - <p> - “Look up, darling!” and George D'Orsey's tones held a glad note of - sympathy, “I, too, have battened upon onions.” - </p> - <p> - The lovers clung to each other like bats in a steeple. - </p> - <p> - “But we'll have to put toe-weights on pa, George; he'll step high and - lively when he hears of this!” - </p> - <p> - The lovers were seated on the sofa, now; the prudent Imogene was taking a - look ahead. - </p> - <p> - “Doesn't your father love me, pet?” - </p> - <p> - “I don't think he does,” replied the fair girl tenderly. “I begged him to - ask you to dinner, once, George; that was on your last trip. He said he - would sooner dine with a wet dog, George, and refused. From that I infer - his opposition to our union.” - </p> - <p> - “We'll make a monkey of him yet!” and George D'Orsey hissed the words - through his set teeth. - </p> - <p> - “And my brother?” - </p> - <p> - “As for him,” said George D'Orsey (and at this he began pacing the room - like a lion), “as for your brother! If he so much as looks slant-eyed at - our happiness, he goes into the soup! From your father I would bear much; - but when the balance of the family gets in on the game, they will pay for - their chips in advance.” - </p> - <p> - “Can we not leave them, George; leave them, and fly together?” - </p> - <p> - “Your father is rich, Imogene; that is a sufficient answer.” There was a - touch of sternness in George D'Orsey's tones, and the subject of flying - was dropped. - </p> - <p> - George D'Orsey lived in the far-off hamlet of Hoboken. He returned to his - home. In three months he was to wed Imogene O'Sullivan. Benton O'Sullivan - had a fit when it was first mentioned to him. At last he gave his sullen - consent. - </p> - <p> - “I had planned a title for you, Imogene.” That was all he said. - </p> - <p> - Three months have elapsed. It was dark when the ferryboat came to a - panting pause in its slip. George D'Orsey picked his way through the crowd - with quick, nervous steps. It was to be his wedding-night. He wondered if - Imogene would meet him at the ferry. At that moment he beheld her dear - form walking just ahead. - </p> - <p> - “To-night, dearest, you are mine forever!” whispered George D'Orsey - tenderly, seizing the sweet young creature by her arm. - </p> - <p> - The shrieks which emanated from the young woman could have defied the best - efforts of a steam siren. - </p> - <p> - It was not Imogene O'Sullivan! - </p> - <p> - The police bore away George D'Orsey. They turned a deaf ear to his - explanations. - </p> - <p> - “You make me weary!” remarked the brutal turnkey, to whom George D'Orsey - told his tale. - </p> - <p> - The cell door slammed; the lock clanked; the cruel key grated as it - turned. George D'Orsey was a prisoner. The charge the blotter bore against - him was: “Insulting women on the street.” - </p> - <p> - When George D'Orsey was once more alone, he cursed his fate as if his - heart would break. At last he was calm. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Oh, woman, in our hour of ease, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Uncertain, coy, and hard to please; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But, seen too oft, familiar with her face; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - We first endure, then pity, then embrace!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The Chateau O'Sullivan was a flare and a glare of lights. The rooms were - jungles of palms and tropical plants. Flowers were everywhere, while the - air tottered and fainted under the burden of their perfume. Imogene - O'Sullivan never looked more beautiful. - </p> - <p> - But George D'Orsey did not come. - </p> - <p> - Hour followed hour into the past. The guests moved uneasily from room to - room. The preacher notified Benton O'Sullivan that he was ready. - </p> - <p> - And still George D'Orsey came not. - </p> - <p> - “The villain has laid down on us, me child!” whispered Benton O'Sullivan - to the weeping Imogene; “but may me hopes of heaven die of heart failure - if I have not me revenge! No man shall insult the proud house of. - O'Sullivan and get away with it; not without blood!” - </p> - <p> - The guests cheerfully dispersed, talking the most scandalous things in - whispers. - </p> - <p> - Imogene O'Sullivan's dream was over. - </p> - <p> - It was the next night. George D'Orsey stood on the O'Sullivan porch, - ringing the bell. His eye and his pocket and his stomach were alike wildly - vacant. - </p> - <p> - “Sic him, Bull! Sic him!” said Benton O'Sullivan, bitterly. - </p> - <p> - Bull tore several specimens from the quivering frame of George D'Orsey, - who vanished in the darkness with a hoarse cry. - </p> - <p> - Years afterward George D'Orsey and Imogene O'Sullivan met, but they gave - each other a cold, meaningless stare. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE SURETHING - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">J</span>ohn Sparrowhawk - was a sporting man of the tribe of “Surethings.” He was fond of what has - Cherry Hill description as a “cinch.” He never let any lame, slow trick - get away. John Sparrowhawk's specialty was racing; and he always referred - to this diversion with horses as his “long suit.” He kept several rather - abrupt animals himself, and whenever he found a man whose horse wasn't as - sudden as some horse he owned, John Sparrowhawk would lay plots for that - man, and ultimately race equines with him, and become master of such sums - as the man would bet. John Sparrowhawk wandered through life in his - “surething” way and amassed wealth. He was rich, and was wont to boast to - very intimate friends: - </p> - <p> - “I never spent a dollar which I honestly earned.” This gave John - Sparrowhawk a vast deal of vogue, and he was looked up to and revered by a - circle which is always impressed by the genius of one who can rob his - fellow-worms, and do it according to law. - </p> - <p> - It befell one day that the Brooklyn Jockey Club offered a purse for a - running race, but demanded five entries. In no time at all, three horses - were entered. Their names and capacities were well known to the sagacious - John Sparrowhawk. He had a horse that could beat them all. - </p> - <p> - “He would run by them like they was tied to a post!” remarked John - Sparrowhawk, in a chant of ungrammatical exultation. - </p> - <p> - It burst upon him that the time was ripe to pillage somebody. His latest - larceny was ten days old, and John Sparrowhawk oft quoted the Bowery poet - where he said: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Count that day lost whose low, descending sun - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Sees at thy hands no worthy sucker done.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - And John Sparrowhawk did business that way. If he might only get another - horse entered, and then complete the quintet with his own, John - Sparrowhawk would possess “a snap.” Which last may be defined as a - condition of affairs much famed for its excellence. - </p> - <p> - At this juncture John Sparrowhawk had the idea of his career. The idea - made “a great hit” with him. He had a friend who had a horse, which, while - not so swiftly elusive as “Tenbroeck” and “Spokane” in their palmy days, - could defeat such things as district messenger boys, Fifth avenue stages, - and many other enterprises which do not attain meteoric speed. John - Sparrowhawk's horse could beat it, he was sure. He would explain the - situation to his friend, and cause his snail of a horse to be entered. - This would fill the race, and then John Sparrowhawk's horse would win - “hands down,” and thereby empty everybody's pockets in favour of John - Sparrowhawk's, which was a very glutton of a pocket, and never got enough. - </p> - <p> - John Sparrowhawk's friend was lying ill at the Hoffman. John Sparrowhawk - went into that hostelry and climbed the stairs, softly humming that - optimistic ballad, which begins: “There's a farmer born every second!” - </p> - <p> - The sick friend took little interest in the deadfall proposed by John - Sparrowhawk. He was suffering from a mass-meeting on the part of divers - boils, which had selected a trysting place on his person, where their - influence would be felt. - </p> - <p> - Locked, as it were, in conflict with his afflictions, John Sparrowhawk's - friend was indifferent to his horse. He cared not what traps were set with - him. - </p> - <p> - John Sparrowhawk entered the friend's horse and paid the entrance money—$150. - Then he lavished $15 on a “jock” to ride him. The field was full, the - conditions of the purse complied with, and the race a “go.” Of course, - John Sparrowhawk's horse would win; and, acting on it as the chance of his - life, John Sparrowhawk went craftily about wagering his dollars, even unto - his bottom coin; and all to the end that he deplete the “jays” about him - and become exceeding rich. - </p> - <p> - “I'm out for the stuff!” observed John Sparrow-hawk, and acted - accordingly. - </p> - <p> - When the race started John Sparrowhawk had everything up but his eyes, his - ears, and other bric-à -brac of a personal sort, which would mean - inconvenience to be without a moment. - </p> - <p> - There could be no purpose other than a cruel one, so far as John - Sparrowhawk is concerned, to dwell on the details of this race. Suffice it - that they started and they finished, and the horse of the sick friend made - a fool of the horse of John Sparrowhawk. He beat him like rocking a baby, - so said the sports, and thereby dumped the unscrupulous yet sapient John - Sparrow-hawk for every splinter he possessed. It shook every particle of - dust out of John Sparrowhawk. He called to relate his woe to his sick - friend. That suffering person's malady had temporarily taken a recess from - its labours, and for the nonce he was resting easy. - </p> - <p> - “I know'd it, and had four thousand placed that way, John,” observed the - invalid. “I win almost thirteen thousand on the trick. My horse could do - that skate of yours on three legs. I tumbled to it the moment you came in - the other day.” - </p> - <p> - “Why didn't you put me on?” remonstrated John Sparrowhawk, almost in - tears, as he thought of the dray-load of money he had lost. - </p> - <p> - “Put you on!” repeated the Job of the Hoffman, scornfully; “not none! I - wanted to see how it would seem to let a 'surething' sharp like you open a - game on a harmless sufferer and 'go broke' on it. No, John; it will do you - good. You won't have so much money as the result of this, but you will be - a heap more erudite.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - GLADSTONE BURR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">G</span>ladstone Burr is a - small, industrious, married man. His little nest of a home is in Brooklyn. - Perhaps the most emphasised feature of the Burr family home is Mrs. B. She - is a large woman, direct as Bismarck in her diplomacy, and when Gladstone - Burr does wrong, she tells him of it firmly and fully for his good. There - is but one bad habit which can with slightest show of truth be charged to - Gladstone Burr. The barriers of his nature, yielding to social pressure, - at intervals give way. At such times the soul of Gladstone Burr issues - forth on a sea of strong drink. - </p> - <p> - But, as he says himself, “these bats never last longer than ten days.” - </p> - <p> - Notwithstanding this meagre limit, Mrs. B. does not approve of Gladstone - Burr when thus socially relaxed. And from time to time she has left - nothing unsaid on that point. Indeed, Mrs. B. has so fully defined her - position on the subject, that Gladstone Burr, while he in no sense fears - her, does not care to go home unless he is either very drunk or very - sober. There is no middle ground in tippling where Gladstone Burr and Mrs. - B. can meet with his consent. He is not superstitious, but he avers that - whenever he has been drinking and meets Mrs. B. he has had bad luck. His - only safety lies in either being sober and avoiding it, or in taking - refuge in a jag too thick for wifely admonitions to pierce. - </p> - <p> - There arose last week in the life of Gladstone Burr some event that it was - absolutely necessary to celebrate. For two days he gave himself up to his - destiny in that behalf, and being very busy with his festival Gladstone - Burr did not go home. - </p> - <p> - Toward the close of the third day he was considering with himself how best - to approach his domicile so as to avoid the full force of the storm. He - was not so deep in his cups at that moment, but Mrs. B.'s opinions gave - him concern. Still, he felt the need of going home. He was tired and he - was sick. Gladstone Burr knew he would be a great deal sicker in the - morning, but he felt of a four-bit piece in his pocket, and remarking - something about the hair of a dog, took courage, and was confident he - carried the means of restoring himself. - </p> - <p> - But how to get home! - </p> - <p> - It was at this crisis in the affairs of Gladstone Burr that his friend, - Frederick Upham Adams, came up. An inspiration seized Gladstone Burr. - Adams should take him home in a carriage. Mrs. B. didn't know Adams, being - careful of her acquaintances. They would say that he, Gladstone Burr, had - been ill, almost dead from apoplexy, or sunstroke, during the recent hot - spell, and that “Dr. Adams” was bringing him home. - </p> - <p> - It was a most happy thought. - </p> - <p> - “Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Burr,” said Adams, as an hour later he supported - the drooping Gladstone Burr through the hall and stowed him away on a - sofa. “I am Dr. Adams, of Williamsburg. Mr. Burr has suffered a great - shock, but he is out of danger now. All he needs is rest—perfect - rest!” - </p> - <p> - Gladstone Burr gasped piteously from the sofa. Mrs. B. was deceived - perfectly. The ruse worked like a charm. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0159.jpg" alt="0159 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0159.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “How long must he be kept quiet, Doctor?” asked Mrs. B., as she wrung her - hands over Gladstone Burr's danger. She was bending above the invalid at - the time, and he was unable to signal his friend to be careful how he - prescribed. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! ahem!” observed “Dr. Adams,” looking at the ceiling, professionally, - “about three days! That is right! Perfect rest for three days, and Mr. - Burr will be a well man again.” - </p> - <p> - “Are there directions as to what medicines to give him?” asked Mrs. B., - passing her hand gently over Gladstone Burr's heated dome of thought; “any - directions about the food, Doctor?” - </p> - <p> - “He needs no medicine,” observed the wretched Adams, closing his eyes - sagaciously, and sucking his cane. “As for food, we must be careful. I - should advise nothing but milk. Give him milk, Mrs. Burr, milk.” - </p> - <p> - After this Frederick Upham Adams drove away. And at the end of three days - Gladstone Burr was almost dead. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE GARROTE - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>ell youse - somethin' about d' worser side of d' Bend!” retorted Chucky. His manner - was resentful. I had put my question in a fashion half apologetic and as - one who might be surprised at anything bad in the Bend. It was this - lamblike method of being curious that Chucky didn't applaud. Evidently he - gloried a bit in the criminal vigour of certain phases of a Bend - existence. - </p> - <p> - “Mebby you t'inks there is no worser side to d' Bend! Mebby you takes d' - Bend for a hotbed of innocence! Don't string no stuff on d' milky - character of d' Bend. Youse would lose it one, two, t'ree, keno! see! - There's dead loads of t'ings about d' Bend what's so tough it 'ud make - youse sore on yourself to get onto 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Be d' way! while youse is chinnin' concernin' d' hard lines of d' Bend, - I'm put in mind about Danny d' Face, who shows up from Sing Sing to-day. - Say! d' Face wasn't doin' a t'ing but put up a roar all d' morn-in', till - a cop shows up an' lays it out cold if d' Face don't cork, he'll pinch - him. - </p> - <p> - “What was d' squeal about? Why! it's like this,” continued Chucky, - settling himself where the barkeeper might know when his glass was empty. - “It's all about d' Face's Bundle. When d' victim takes his little ten - spaces, his Bundle mourns 'round for a brace of mont's, see! An' then she - marries another guy. - </p> - <p> - “What else could youse look for? That's what I say; what could d' Face - expect? Ten spaces ain't like a stretch, it's 'life,' see! D' mug who - chases in an' takes a trip for ten, he's a lifer. An' you knows as well as - me, even if youse ain't done time, that when a duck gets life, it's d' - same as a divorce. That's dead straight! his Bundle is free to get married - ag'in. - </p> - <p> - “An' that's just what d' Face's Rag does; she hooks up wit' another skate, - after d' Face has had his stripes for a couple of mont's. She's no - tree-toad to live on air an' scenery, so she gets hitched. I was right - there, pipin' off d' play meself, when d' w'ite choker ties 'em. It was a - good weddin', wit' a dandy lot of lush; d' can was passin' all d' time, - an' so d' mem'ry of it is wit' me still. - </p> - <p> - “As I says, d' Face comes weavin' in this mornin', an' tries to break up - what d' poipers call 'existin' conditions.' It don't go, though; d' cop - cuts in on d' play an' makes it a cinch case of nit, see! - </p> - <p> - “What'll d' Face do? What can he do but screw his nut an' stan' for it? He - ain't got no licence to interfere. It's a case of 'nothin' doin',' as far - as d' Face's end goes. Let him charge 'round an' grab off another skirt. - There's plenty of 'em; d' Face can find another wife if he goes d' right - way down d' line. But he don't make no hit be hollerin', he can take a - tumble to that. - </p> - <p> - “What is it railroads d' Face? He does a stunt garrotin', see! I'll tell - youse d' story. Of course, d' Face is a crook. - </p> - <p> - “Now, understan' me! I ain't no crook. I'm a fakir, an' a grafter; an' - I've been fly in me time an' I ain't no dub to-day, but I never was no - crook, see! But, of course, born as I was in Kelly's Alley, an' always - free of d' Bowery push, I hears a lot about crooks, an' has more'n one of - d' swell mob on me visitin' list. - </p> - <p> - “Naw; d' Face was never in d' foist circles, nothin' fine to him. He never - was d' real t'ing as a dip, an 'd' best he could do was to shove an' - stall. Now an' then he toins a trick as a porch climber; but even at that - I never gets a tip of any big second-story woik d' Face does. - </p> - <p> - “D' Face's best trick is d' garrote, an' it's on d' gar-rote lay dey downs - d' Face when dey puts him away. - </p> - <p> - “Now-days there's a lot of sandbaggin'. Some mug comes wanderin' along, - loaded to d' guards wit* booze, an' some soon duck lends him a t'ump back - of d' nut wit' a sandbag, or mebby it's a lead pipe or a bar of rubber. - Over goes d' slewed mug, on his map, an' d' rest is easy money, see! - That's d' way it's done now. - </p> - <p> - “But in d' old times, when I'm a kid, it ain't d' sandbag; it's d' - garrote. An' d' patient can be cold sober, still d' garrote goes all - right. It takes two to woik it; but even at that it beats d' sandbag hands - down. It's smoother, cleaner, and more like a woik-man, see! d' garrote - is. - </p> - <p> - “Besides, there's more apt to be stuff on a sober party than on some stiff - who's tanked. I know d' poipers is always talkin' about people gettin' a - load, wit' money all over 'em; but youse can gamble! such talk is a song - an' dance. I'm more'n seven years old, an' me exper'ence is, that it's a - four-to-one shot a drunk is every time broke. - </p> - <p> - “But to go to d' story of how d' Face gets pinched. As I states, it's way - back; not quite ten spaces (for d' Face shortens his stay at d' pen wit' - good conduct time see!), an 'd' Face an' a pal, Spot Casey, who's croaked - now, is out on d' garrote lay. - </p> - <p> - “D' Face is followin', an' Spot is sluggin'. Here's how dey lays out d' - game. It's on Fift' Avenoo, down be Nint'. Spot's playin' round d' corner - on Nint'; d' Face is woikin' about a block away on Fift' Avenoo, on d' - lookout for a sucker, see! Along he comes walkin' fast, this sucker. As he - passes, d' Face gives him d' size-up. He's got a spark, an' a yellow - chain, an' looks like he's good for a hundred in d' long green. That does - for d' Face. He lets this guy get good an' by, an' then toins an' shadows - him. - </p> - <p> - “D' Face walks faster than d' sucker. It's his play to be nex', be d' time - dey hits Nint', where Spot is layin' dead. - </p> - <p> - “As dey chases up, d' Face an 'd' snoozer he's out to do is bot' walkin' - fast, wit 'd' Face five foot behint. - </p> - <p> - “Just before dey makes d' corner, d' Face gives d' office to Spot be - stampin' onct wit' his trilby on d' sidewalk. Then he moves right up - sharp, claps his right arm about d' geezer's t'roat, at d' same time - grabbin' his right hook wit' his left an' yankin' his arm in tight. It - shuts off d' duck's wind. - </p> - <p> - “As d' Face clenches his party, as I says, he gives him d' knee behint, - an' sort o' lifts him up. At d' same instant, Spot comes chasin' round d' - corner in front an' smashes his right duke into what d' prize fighters - calls 'd' mark.' Yes, it's d' same t'ump that does for Corbett that day - wit' Fitz. - </p> - <p> - “'That's d' stuff, Spot!' says d' Face, as d' party is slugged, an' then - he sets him down be d' fence all limp an' quiet, an' goes t'rough him. - </p> - <p> - “Dey gets a super, a pin, an' quite a healt'y roll besides. He's so done - up dey even gets a di'mond off one of his hooks. - </p> - <p> - “Sure! d' garrote almost puts a mark's light out. Youse can bet! after - youse has been t'rough d' mill onct, youse won't t'ink, travel, nor raise - d' yell for half an hour. A mark's lucky to be alive who's been t'rough d' - garrote. It ain't so bad as d' sandbag at that, neither. - </p> - <p> - “How was it d' Face is took? Nit; d' cop don't get in on d' play; dey win - easy. It's two weeks later when he's collared. D' Face's pal, Spot, gets - too gabby wit' a skirt, who's stoolin' for d' p'lice on d' sly, an' she - goes an' knocks to d' Chief!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - O'TOOLE'S CHIVALRY - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut tree; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The more you beat them, the better they be. - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Irish Proverb. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hus sadly sang P. - Sarsfield O'Toole to himself, as he readjusted the bandage to his wronged - eye. He believed it, too; at least in the case of Madame Bridget Burke, - the wife of one John Burke. - </p> - <p> - The Burkes were the neighbours of P. Sarsfield O'Toole; they lived next - door. The intimacy, however, went no further; O'Toole and the Burkes were - not friends. - </p> - <p> - This is the story of the damaged eye. It offers the reason why P. - Sarsfield O'Toole comforted himself with the vigorous Irish proverb. - </p> - <p> - It was the evening before. P. Sarsfield O'Toole was sitting on his back - porch, cooling himself after a day's work at his profession of bricklayer, - by reading the history of Ireland. The Burkes were holding audible - converse just over the division fence. - </p> - <p> - P. Sarsfield O'Toole closed the history of his native land to listen. This - last was neither an arduous nor a painful task, for the Burkes, with the - splendid frankness of a household willing to stand or fall by its record, - could be heard a block. - </p> - <p> - “Me family was noble!” P. Sarsfield O'Toole overheard John Burke remark. - “The Burkes wanst lived in their own cashtle.” - </p> - <p> - “They did not,” observed Madame Burke. “They lived woild in the bog of - Allen, and there was mud on their shanks from wan ind of the year to the - other. Divvil a cashtle did a Burke ever see; barrin' a jail.” - </p> - <p> - “Woman! av yez arouse me,” said John Burke, threateningly, “I'll break the - bones of ye, an' fling yez in the corner to mend. Don't exashperate me, - woman.” - </p> - <p> - “I exashperate yez!” retorted Madame Burke, scornfully. “For phwat wud I - exashperate yez! Wasn't your own uncle transhpoorted? Answer me that, John - Burke?” - </p> - <p> - “Me uncle suffered to free Ireland, woman!” responded the husband. - </p> - <p> - “May the divvil hould him!” said Madame Burke. “He was transhpoorted as a - felon, for b'atin' the head off Humpy Pete, the cripple, at the Fair. He - was an illygant speciment of a Burke! always b'atin' cripples an' women!” - </p> - <p> - The last would seem to have been an unfortunate remark, in so far as it - contained a suggestion. The next heard by the listening P. Sarsfield - O'Toole was the loud lament of Madame Bridget Burke as her husband, John - Burke, submitted her to that correction which he afterwards described to - the police justice as, “givin' her a tashte av the sthrap.” - </p> - <p> - The cries of Madame Bridget Burke were at their highest when P. Sarsfield - O'Toole looked over the fence. - </p> - <p> - “Shtop b'atin' the leddy, John Burke!” commanded P. Sarsfield O'Toole. - </p> - <p> - “Phwat's it to yez! ye Far-down!” demanded John Burke, looking up from his - labours. “Av yez hang your chin on that line fince ag'in, I'll welt the - life out av yez! D'ye moind it now!” - </p> - <p> - “Is it to me yez apploies the word 'Far-down!” shouted P. Sarsfield - O'Toole, wrathfully. “Phwat are yez yerself but a rascal of a - Stonethrower? Don't timpt me with your names, John Burke, an' shtop - b'atin' the leddy. If I iver come over wanst to yez, I'll return a - criminal!” - </p> - <p> - “Shtop b'atin' me own lawful Bridget,” retorted John Burke, in tones of - scorn, “when she's been teasin' for the sthrap a month beyant! Well, I - loike that! I'll settle with yez, O'Toole, when I tache me woife to - respect the name of Burke.” Here the representative of that honourable - title smote Madame Bridget lustily. “Av I foind yez in me yarud, O'Toole, - ye'll lay no bricks to-morry.” - </p> - <p> - P. Sarsfield O'Toole cleared the fence at a bound. He was chivalrous, and - would rescue Madame Burke. He was proud and would resent the opprobrious - epithet of “Far-down.” He was sensitive, and would teach John Burke never - to threaten him with disability as a bricklayer. - </p> - <p> - P. Sarsfield O'Toole, as stated, cleared the fence at a bound, and closed - with John Burke as if he were a bargain. - </p> - <p> - What might have been the finale of this last collision will never be - known. As P. Sarsfield O'Toole and John Burke danced about, locked in a - deadly embrace, the emancipated Madame Burke suddenly selected a piece of - scantling from the general armory of the Burke backyard and brought it - down, not on the head of her oppressor, but on that of the gallant P. - Sarsfield O'Toole, who had come to her rescue. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, ye murtherin' villyun!” shouted Madame Burke. “W'ud yez kill a - husband befure the eyes of his lawful widded woife! An' due yez think I'd - wear his ring and see yez do it!” - </p> - <p> - At this point in the conversation Madame Bridget Burke cut a long, - satisfactory gash in P. Sarsfield O'Toole, just over the eye. - </p> - <p> - The police came. - </p> - <p> - John Burke was fined twenty dollars. - </p> - <p> - Madame Bridget Burke, present lovingly in court, paid it with a composite - air, breathing insolence for the judge and affection for John Burke. - </p> - <p> - “The ijee av that shpalpeen, O'Toole,” said Madame Burke that evening to - John Burke, and her words floated over the fence to P. Sarsfield O'Toole, - as he nursed his wounds on his porch; “the ijee av that shpalpeen, - O'Toole, comin' bechuxt man and woife! D' yez moind th' cheek av 'im! - Didn't the priest say, 'Phwat hivin has j'ined togither, let no man put - asoonder?” - </p> - <p> - “He did, Bridget, he did,” replied John Burke. “An' yez have the - particulars av a foine woman about yez, yerself, Bridget!” - </p> - <p> - “Troth! an' I have,” said Madame Burke, giving full consent to this view - of her merits. “But, John, phwat a rapscallion yer uncle they - transhpoorted must av been, to bate the loife out o' poor Humpy Pete, the - cripple-fiddler, that toime at the Fair!” - </p> - <p> - For the second time the strap fell, and the shrieks of Madame Burke filled - the neighbourhood. P. Sarsfield O'Toole, still on his porch, sat unmoved, - and bestowed no interest on the doings of the Burkes. As the strap was - plied and the yells of the victim uplifted, P. Sarsfield O'Toole repeated - the proverb which stands at the head of this story. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - WAGON MOUND SAL - </h2> - <h3> - (Wolfville) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was Wagon Mound - Sal—she got the prefix later and was plain “Sal” at the time—who - took up laundry-labours when Benson Annie became a wife. And this tells of - the wooing and wedding of Riley Bent with Sallie of Wagon Mound. - </p> - <p> - Wagon Mound Sal prevailed, as stated, the mistress of a laundry. And it - was there Riley Bent first beheld her, as she was putting a tubful of the - blue woollen shirts affected by the males of her region through a second - suds. On this occasion Riley's appearance was due to a misunderstanding. - He was foggy with drink, and looked in on a theory that the place was a - store which made a specialty of the sale of shirts. - </p> - <p> - “What for a j'int is this?” asked Riley as he entered. - </p> - <p> - “It's a laundry,” replied Sal; and then observing that Riley Bent was in - his cups, she continued with delicate firmness; “an' if you-all ain't - mighty keerful how you line out, you'll shorely get a smoothin' iron - direct.” - </p> - <p> - Nothing daunted by the lady's candour, Riley Bent sat down on a furloughed - tub which reposed bottom up in one corner. In the course of a - conversation, whereof he furnished the questions, and Sal the short, - inhospitable replies, it occurred that she and Riley Bent became mutually, - albeit dimly, known to one another. - </p> - <p> - During the three months following, Riley Bent was much and persistently in - the laundry of Wagon Mound Sal. Wolfville, eagle-eyed in the softer and - more dulcet phenomena of life, looked confidently for a wedding. So in - truth did Sal, emulous of Benson Annie. Also Sal was a clear-minded, - resolute young lady; and having one day concluded to take Riley Bent for - better or for worse, she lost no time in bringing matters to a focus. - </p> - <p> - “You're a maverick?” she one day asked, suddenly looking up from her - ironing. Sal's tones were steady and cool, but it was noticed that she - burnt a hole in the bosom of Doc Peets's shirt while waiting a reply. - “You-all ain't married none?” - </p> - <p> - “Thar ain't no squaw has ever been able to rope, throw an' run her brand - on me!” said Riley Bent. “Which I'm shorely a maverick!” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever then is the matter of you an' me dealin'?” asked Sal, coming - around to Riley Bent's side of the ironing table. - </p> - <p> - That personage surveyed her in a thoughtful maze. - </p> - <p> - “You're a long horn, an' for that much so be I,” he said at last, as one - who meditates. “Neither of us would grade for corn-fed in anybody's - yards!” - </p> - <p> - Then came another long pause, during which, with his eyes fixedly gazing - into Wagon Mound Sal's, Riley Bent gave himself to the unwonted employment - of thinking. At last he shook his head until the little gold bells on his - bullion hatband tinkled in a dubious, uncertain way, as taking their tone - from the wearer. - </p> - <p> - “Which the idee bucks me plumb off!” he remarked, with a final deep - breath; and then with no further word Riley repaired to the Red Light - Saloon and became dejectedly yet deeply drunk. - </p> - <p> - For a month Wolfville saw naught of Riley Bent. He was supposed to be - two-score miles away on the range with his cattle. Wagon Mound Sal, with a - trace of grimness about the mouth, conducted her laundry, and, in the - absence of competition, waxed opulent. She looked confidently for the - return of Riley Bent; as what woman, knowing her spells and powers, would - have not. - </p> - <p> - At last he came. Sal, as well as Wolfville, learned of his presence by a - mellow whoop at the far end of the single street. Sal was subsequently - gratified by a view of him as he and a comrade, one Rice Hoskins, slid - from their saddles and entered the Red Light Saloon. - </p> - <p> - Wagon Mound Sal was offended at this; he should have come straight to her. - But beyond slamming her irons unreasonably as she replaced them on the - range, she made no sign. - </p> - <p> - To give Riley Bent justice, he had done little during the month of his - absence save think of Wagon Mound Sal. Whether he pursued the evanescent - steer, or organised the baking powder biscuit of his day and kind, Wagon - Mound Sal ran ever in his thoughts like a torrent. But he couldn't bring - himself to the notion of a wife; not even if that favoured woman were - Wagon Mound Sal. - </p> - <p> - “Seems like bein' married that a-way,” he explained to Rice Hoskins, as - they discussed the business about their camp-fire, “is so onnacheral.” - </p> - <p> - “That's whatever!” assented Rice Hoskins. - </p> - <p> - “But,” said Riley Bent after a pause; “I reckon I'd better ride in an' - tell her she don't get me none, an' end the game.” - </p> - <p> - “That's whatever!” - </p> - <p> - It was deference to this view which gained Wolfville the pleasure of the - presence of Riley Bent and Rice Hoskins on the occasion named. It had been - Riley Bent's plan—having first acquired what stimulant he might - crave—to leave Rice Hoskins to the companionship of the barkeeper, - while he repaired briefly to Wagon Mound Sal, and expressed a - determination never to wed. But after the first drink he so far modified - the programme as to decide, instead, to write a letter. - </p> - <p> - “You see!” he said, “writin' a letter shows a heap more respect. An' then - ag'in, if I goes personal, she might get all wrought up an' lay for me - permiscus a whole lot.” - </p> - <p> - The flaw in this letter plan became apparent. Neither Riley Bent nor Rice - Hoskins could write. They made application to Black Jack, the barkeeper, - to act as amanuensis. But he saw objection, and hesitated. - </p> - <p> - “I reckon I'll pass the deal, gents,” said Black Jack, “if you-alls don't - mind. The grand jury is goin' to begin their round-up over in Tucson next - week, an' they'd jest about call it forgery.” - </p> - <p> - At last as a solution, Rice Hoskins drew a rude picture in ink of a woman - going one way, and a man with a big hat and disreputable spurs, going the - other; what he called an “Injun letter.” This work of art he regarded with - looks of sagacity and satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - “If she was an Injun,” said the artist, “she'd <i>sabe</i> that picture - mighty quick. That means: 'You-all take your trail an' I'll take mine.'” - </p> - <p> - “Which it does seem plain as old John Chisholm's 'Fence-rail Brand,'” - remarked Riley Bent. “Now jest make a tub by her, an' mark me with a - 4-bar-J, the same bein' my brand; then she'll shorely tumble. Thar's - nothin' like ropin' with a big loop; then if you miss the horns, you're - mighty likely to fasten by the feet.” - </p> - <p> - The missive was despatched to Wagon Mound Sal by hand of a Mexican. Then - Riley Bent and Rice Hoskins restored their flagged spirits with liquor. - </p> - <p> - Riley Bent and Rice Hoskins drank a vast deal. And it came to pass, by - virtue of this indiscretion, that Rice Hoskins later, while Riley Bent was - still thoughtfully over his cups at the Red Light, rode his broncho into - the New York Store. In the plain line of objection to this, Jack Moore, - the Marshal, shot Rice Hoskins' pony. As the animal fell it pinned Rice - Hoskins to the floor by his leg; in this disadvantageous position he - emptied his pistol at Jack Moore, and of course missed. - </p> - <p> - Moore was in no sort an idle target. He was a painstaking Marshal, and - showed his sense of duty at this time by putting four bullets through the - reckless bosom of Rice Hoskins; the staccate voices of their Colt's - six-shooters melted into each other until they sounded as one. - </p> - <p> - “I never could shoot none with a pony on my laig,” observed Rice Hoskins. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0177.jpg" alt="0177 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0177.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Then a splash of blood stained his sun-coloured moustache; his empty - pistol rattled on the board floor; his head dropped on his arm, and Rice - Hoskins was dead. - </p> - <p> - It was at this crisis that Riley Bent, startled by the artillery as he sat - in the Red Light, came whirling to the scene on his pony. The duel was - over before he set foot in stirrup. He saw at a glance that Rice Hoskins - was only a memory. Had he been romantic, or a sentimentalist, Riley Bent - would have shot out the hour with Jack Moore, the Marshal. And had there - been one spark of life in the heart of Rice Hoskins to have fought over, - Riley Bent would have stood in the smoke of his own six-shooter all day - and taken what Fate might send. As it was, however, he curbed his broncho - in mid-speed so bluntly, the Spanish bit filled its mouth with blood. It - spun on its hind hoofs like a top. Then, as the long spurs dug to its - ribs, it whizzed off in the opposite direction; out of camp like an arrow. - The last bullet in Jack Moore's pistol splashed on a silver dollar in - Riley Bent's pocket as he turned his pony. - </p> - <p> - “Whenever I reloads my pistol,” said Jack Moore to Old Man Enright, who - had come up, “I likes to reload her all around; so I don't regyard that - last cartridge as no loss.” - </p> - <p> - Wagon Mound Sal was deep in a study of Rice Hoskins' “Injun letter” when - the shooting took place. The missive's meaning was not so easy to make out - as its hopeful authors had believed. When the deeds of Jack Moore were - related to her, however, the brow of Wagon Mound Sal took on an angry - flush. She sent a message to Jack Moore asking him to call at once. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever do you mean?” she demanded of Jack Moore, as he entered the - laundry, “a-stampedin' of Riley Bent out of camp that a-way? Don't you - know I was intendin' to marry him? Yere he's been gone a month, an' yet - the minute he shows up you have to take to cuttin' the dust 'round his - moccasins with your six-shooter, an' away he goes ag'in. He jest - nacherally seizes on your gun-play for a good excuse. It's shore enough to - drive one plumb loco!” - </p> - <p> - Jack Moore looked decidedly bothered. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, Sal,” he said at last in a deprecatory way, “you-all - onderstands that when I takes to shakin' the loads outen my six-shooter at - Riley Bent, I does it offishul. An' I'm free to say, that I was that - wropped and preoccupied like with my dooties as Marshal at the time, I - never thinks once of them nuptials you med'tates with Riley Bent. If I had - I would have downed his pony with that last shot an' turned him over to - you. But perhaps it ain't too late.” - </p> - <p> - It was the next afternoon. Riley Bent was reclining in his camp in the <i>Très - Hermanas</i>. Grey, keen eyes watched him from behind a point of rocks. - Suddenly a mouthful of white smoke puffed from the point of rocks, and - something hard and positive broke Riley Bent's leg just above the knee. - The blow of the bullet shocked him for a moment, but the next, with a - curse in his mouth, and a six-shooter in each hand, he tumbled in behind a - boulder to do battle with his assailant. With the crack of the Winchester - which accompanied the phenomena of smoke-puff and broken leg, came the - voice of Jack Moore, Marshal. - </p> - <p> - “Hold up your hands, thar!” said Moore. “Up with 'em; I shan't say it - twice!” - </p> - <p> - Riley Bent could not obey; he had taken ten seconds off to faint. - </p> - <p> - When he revived Jack Moore had claimed his pistols and was calmly setting - the bones of the broken leg; devoting the woollen shirts in the war-bags - on his saddle to be bandages, and making splints of cedar bark. These folk - of the plains and mountains, far from the surgeon, often set each other's, - or, for that matter, their own bones, when a fall from a pony, or some - similar catastrophe, furnishes the call. - </p> - <p> - “If you-all needed me,” observed Riley Bent peevishly, when a little later - Jack Moore was engaged over bacon and flap-jacks for the sundown meal, - “whatever was the matter of sayin' so? Thisyere idee of shootin' up a gent - without notice or pow-wow is plumb onlegal. An' I'll gamble on it, ten to - one!” - </p> - <p> - “Well!” said Jack Moore, as he deftly tossed a flap-jack in the air and - caught it in the frying-pan again, “I didn't aim to take no chances of - chagrinin' one who loves you, by lettin' you get away. Then, ag'in, my own - notion is that it might sorter hasten the bridal some. Thar's nothin' like - a bullet in a party's frame for makin' him feel romantic an' sentimental. - It softens his nature a heap, an' sets him to yearnin' for female care. - </p> - <p> - “Which you've been shootin me up to be married!” responded Riley Bent in - tones of disgust. - </p> - <p> - “That's straight!” retoited Jack Moore, as he slid the last flap-jack into - the invalid's tin plate. “You've been pesterin' 'round Wagon Mound Sal - ontil that lady has become wropped in you. She confides to me cold that - she's anxious to make a weddin' of it, which is all the preliminary - necessary in Arizona. You are goin' back to Wolfville with me tomorry on a - buck-board,—which will be sent on yere from the stage station,—an' - after Doc Peets goes over your laig ag'in, you an' Wagon Mound Sal are - goin' to become man an' wife like a landslide. You have bred hopes in that - lady's bosom, an' you've got to make 'em good. That's all thar is to this - play; an' you don't get your guns ag'in ontil you're a married man.” - </p> - <p> - Jack Moore, firm, direct and decided, had a great effect in fixing the - wandering fancies of Riley Bent. He thoughtfully masticated his flap-jack - a moment, and then asked: - </p> - <p> - “S'pose I arches my back an' takes to buckin' at these yere abrupt methods - in my destinies; s'pose I quits the deal cold?” - </p> - <p> - “In which eevent,” responded Jack Moore, with an air of iron confidence, - “we merely convenes the Stranglers an' hangs you for luck.” - </p> - <p> - But Riley Bent was softened and his mind made fully up. Whether it was the - sentimental influence of Jack Moore's bullet, which Doc Peets subsequently - dug out; or whether Riley was touched by the fact that Wagon Mound Sal, - herself, brought over the buckboard to convey him to Wolfville, may never - be known. What was certain, however, was that Riley Bent came finally to - the conclusion to wed. He told Wagon Mound Sal so while on the buckboard - going back. - </p> - <p> - “Which it's shorely doubtful,” said Wagon Mound Sal, “if any man is worth - the trouble. An' this yere is my busiest day, too!” - </p> - <p> - There was great rejoicing in the wareroom of the New York Store. A whole - box of candles blazed gloriously from the walls. Old Man Enright gave the - bride away, Benson Annie appeared to look on, while Faro Nell supported - Sal as bridesmaid. As usual, in any hour of sacred need, a preacher was - obtained from Tucson. - </p> - <p> - “An' you can bet that pastor knows his business!” said Old Monte, the - stage driver, who had been commissioned to bring one over. “He's a - deep-water brand, an' he's all right! I takes my steer when I seelects him - from the barkeep of the Golden Rod saloon, an' he'd no more give me the - wrong p'inter, that a-way, than he'd give me the wrong bottle.” - </p> - <p> - Doc Peets's offering to the bride was a bullet. It was formerly the - property of Jack Moore. It was the one he conferred on Riley Bent that - evening in the foothills of the <i>Très Hermanas</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Keep it!” said Doc Peets to the bride. “It's what sobers him, an' takes - the frivolity outen him, an' makes him know his own heart.” - </p> - <p> - “An' I shorely reckons you're right that a-way, Doc,” said Jack Moore, - some hours after the wedding as the two turned from the laundry whither - Moore had repaired to return Riley Bent his pistols; “I shore reckons - you're right a whole lot. I knows a gent in the states, an' he tells me - himse'f how he goes projectin' 'round, keepin' company with a lady for a - year, an' ain't thinkin' none speshul of marryin' her. One day somebody - gets plumb tired of the play an' shoots him some, after which he simply - goes about pantin' to lead that lady to the altar; that's straight!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - JOE DUBUQUE'S LUCK - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUSE can soak your - super,” said Chucky, “some dubs has luck! I've seen marks who could fall - into d' sewer, see! an' come out wit' a bunch of lilacs in each mit. - </p> - <p> - “Nit; it wasn't all luck wit' Joe Dubuque. His breakin' out of hock that - time is some luck, but mostly 'cause Joe himself is a dead wise guy an* - onto his job. Tell youse about it? In a secont—in a hully second! - Just say 'gin fizz!' to d' barkeep an' I'll begin. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind d' preeliminaries, as d' story writers says, but Joe's in - jail, see! Joe win out ten spaces for touchin' a farmer for his bundle. - Was it a wad? D' roll Joe gets is big enough to choke a cow—'leven - t'ousand plunks, if it's a splinter. - </p> - <p> - “Wherefore, as I relates, Joe gets ten years, an' is layin' in jail while - d' gezebo, who's his lawyer, sees can he woik d' high court to give Joe a - new trial. - </p> - <p> - “Joe don't feel no sort chirpy; he's onto it d' high court's dead sure to - t'run him down. Then he goes to d' pen to do them ten spaces. An' onct - there, wit' all that time ahead, he sees his finish all right, all right. - He might as well be a lifer. - </p> - <p> - “So Joe puts it up he'll break himself out. Joe's goil comes every day to - see him. Say! she's a bute, Joe's Rag is; d' crooks calls her 'Wild - Willie,' 'cause now an' then she toins dopey an' acts like she's got doves - in her eaves. But anyhow she's on d' square wit' Joe, an' sticks to him - like a postage stamp. - </p> - <p> - “Joe sends out d' woid be his Rag about what he's goin' to do, to d' push - outside; an' tells 'em how to help. Yes; d' job is put up as fine as silk. - Every mark knows what he's to do. - </p> - <p> - “Now, here's d' trick dey toins; here's how Joe beats d' jail for good. - </p> - <p> - “It comes round to d' night. Joe's cell—it's a big cell, a reg'lar - corker, wit' gas into it—is on d' fort' corridor. D' guard comes - round at 9 o'clock orderin' out d'lights. Joe's gas is boinin' away to - beat d' band, an' Joe is lay in' on his bunk. - </p> - <p> - “'Dowse d' glim, Joe!' says d' guard. - </p> - <p> - “What th' 'ell!' says Joe. 'Dowse d' glim, yourself, you Sheeny hobo!' - </p> - <p> - “D' guard makes a bluff about what he'll do, an' cusses Joe out. All d' - same he unlocks d' door an' comes chasin' in to put out Joe's gas. - </p> - <p> - “Now, what does Joe do? As d' guard toins to d' gas to dowse it, Joe sets - up on his bunk, an' all at onct he soaks this gezebo of a guard wit' a - rubber billy his Moll sneaks in to him d' day before. Does he land d' - sucker? Say! he almost cracks his nut, an' that's for fair! - </p> - <p> - “D' guard drops an' in a minute Joe winds him all up tight in a bedtick - rope he's made. Then he stoppers his jaw an' t'rows d' mucker on d' bunk, - takes his keys, locks him in d' cell an' goes galumpin' off to let himself - t'rough d' doors, so he can try a sprint for it. Yes, Joe makes some row - when he t'umps this party, but d' captiffs in d' nex' cells hears d' - racket an' half tumbles to it; an' so dey starts singin' 'Rock of Ages,' - an' makes a noise so as to cover Joe's play, see! Oh! dey was some fly - guys locked up in that old coop. - </p> - <p> - “As Joe lines out for d' doors, he's t'inkin' to himself, how on eart' is - he goin' to make it? Nit; it wouldn't be no trouble to get outside d' - doors of what youse might call d' jail proper. But after that, Joe's got - to go t'rough four offices wit' a mob of dep'ties into 'em. An' he's on - it's goin' to be a squeak if some of 'em don't recognize him. Joe's mug - was well known. - </p> - <p> - “You know how dey woiks d' doors to a jail? Youse don't? It's this way. - Joe, when he comes up, has d' key to d' inside door, which he nips off d' - guard as I says when he slugs him wit 'd' billy. Joe lets himself into d' - cage wit' that. - </p> - <p> - “Now, d' key to d' outside door ain't in d' coop at all. There's an old - stiff of a dep'ty sheriff planted outside wit' that. As Joe opens d' - inside door, he raps on d' bars of d' cage wit' his key, an' it's d' tip - for this outside snoozer to unlock his door. Of course he plays Joe for d' - guard coinin' out from his rounds. - </p> - <p> - “It's at this door-slammin' pinch where Joe's luck comes in, an' relieves - him of d' chanct of d' gang of dep'ties in d' office tumblin' to him. Just - as Joe raps to d' sucker on d' outside door, an' then lets himself into d' - cage, a gun goes off inside d' jail. It's Joe's guard. Joe forgets to - pinch d' pop, see! an' this gezebo gets his hooks onto it, all tied like - he is, an' bangs away wit' it in his pockets so as to warn d' gang Joe's - loose. - </p> - <p> - “'That does me for fair!' t'inks Joe when he hears d' gun; ''dey gets me - dead to rights!' - </p> - <p> - “Say! it was d' one trick that saves him! At d' bang of d' gun every - dep'ty leaps to his trilbys an' comes chasin'. D' outside mark has just - unslewed his door. He flings it wide open an' scoots inside d' cage. Joe - t'rows d' inside door open—for Joe's dead swift to take a hunch that - way—an 'd' outside guard an 'd' entire bunch of dep'ties goes - sprintin' into d' jail. Then Joe locks 'em all in an' loafs t'rough d' - offices into d' street. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; Joe knows where he's goin'. He toins into d' foist stairway an' - climbs one story to a law office, which d' crooks outside has fixed to be - open, waitin' for him. Nixie; d' law guy ain't in on d' play. A dip named - Jim Butts comes an' touts this law sharp away, an' cons him into goin' out - six miles to d' country to draw d' last will an' test'ment of a galoot he - says is on d' croak, an' can't wait for mornin'. Yes, Butts has one of his - mob faked up for sick, an' dey detains d' law guy four hours makin' d' - will. This stall of Butts, who's doin' d' sick act, sets up between gasps - an' gives away more'n twenty million dollars wort' of wealt'. This crook - who's fakin' sick is on his uppers at d' time, an' don't really have d' - price of beer; but to hear him make his will that night, you'd say he was - d' richest ever; d' Astors was monkeys to him. - </p> - <p> - “As I states, Joe skips into this lawyer's office, d' same bein' open for - d' poipose, an' one of d' 'fambly' holdin' it down. While Joe's in there - he hears d' chase runnin' up an' down in d' street below d' window. - </p> - <p> - “Not for long, though. Fifteen minutes after Joe is outside d' jug, one of - d' crooks calls up d' Central Office be telephone. - </p> - <p> - “'Who's talkin'?' asts d' captain at d' Central Office. - </p> - <p> - “'It's Doyle, lieutenant o' police, Fourt' Precinct,' says d' crook who's - on d' wire. Me man on d' station house beat just reports Joe Dubuque - drivin' west on Detroit street wit' a horse an' buggy. He was on d' dead - run, lamin' loose to beat four of a kind. Send all d' men youse can - spare.' - </p> - <p> - “An' that's what d' captain at d' Central Office does. In ten minutes - every cop an' fly cop is on d' chase, a mile away from Joe, an' gettin' - furder every secont, see! - </p> - <p> - “After a while it settles down all quiet an' dead about d' jail, an 'd' - little old law office where Joe lies buried. He, an' d' crook who's - waitin' for him, is chinnin' each other in whispers. All d' time Joe's got - his lamps to d' window pipin' off d' other side of d' street. At last a - cab drives up opposite d' law office an' stops. A w'ite han'kerchief shows - flutterin' be d' window. It's Wild Willie who's inside. - </p> - <p> - “Joe's pal gets up an' goes down to d' street. All's clear an' he w'istles - up to Joe. When he gets d' office Joe sort of loafs down an' saunters over - to d' cab. D' door opens an' in one move Joe's inside, an' d' nex' his arm - is 'round his Moll. She's all right, this Wild Willie is, an' Joe does d' - correct t'ing to give her d' fervent squeeze. - </p> - <p> - “That's d' end. Joe Dubuque runs clear away, goes under cover, an' d' - sheriff never gets his hooks on him ag'in. As Joe drives be d' jail he can - still hear them captiffs singin' 'Rock of Ages.' - </p> - <p> - “'Say!' says Joe to Wild Willie as he toins her mug to his an' smacks her - onct for luck, 'I won't do a t'ing but make it a t'ousand dollars in d' - kecks of them ducks who's doin' that song. I'll woik d' dough to 'em be - some of d' boys, see!'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BINKS AND MRS. B. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>INKS was an - excellent man, hard-working and sober. He made good money and took it home - to his wife for her judgment to settle its fate; every dollar of it. Mrs. - Binks was a woman among a thousand. When taken separate and apart from his - wife and questioned, Binks said she was a “corker.” Binks declined all - attempts at definition, and beyond insisting that Mrs. Binks was and would - remain a “corker,” said nothing. - </p> - <p> - From what was told of Mrs. Binks by herself, it would seem that she was a - true, loving wife to Binks, and that, aside from the duty every woman owed - to her sex and the establishment of its rights in all avenues of life, she - held that with the wedding ring came a list of duties due from a good - woman to her husband, which could not be avoided nor gone about. - </p> - <p> - “Some women,” quoth Mrs. B., “worry their husbands with a detail of small - matters. A woman who is to be a helpmeet to her husband, such as I am to - Binks, will be self-reliant and decide things for herself. In the little - cares of life which fall to her share, let her go forward in her own - strength. What is the use of adding her troubles to his? If she has plans, - let her execute them. If problems confront her, let her solve them. If she - tells her husband aught of the thousand little enterprises of her daily - home life, then let it be the result. When success has come to her, she - may call her husband to witness the victory. Aside from that she should - face her responsibilities alone.” - </p> - <p> - Of course Mrs. B. did not mean by all this that she would not be open and - frank with Binks, and confide in him if a burglar were in the house, or if - the roof took fire in the night that she would not arouse Binks and - mention it. What she did mean was that when it came to such things as - dismissing the servant girl, the wife should gird up her loins and “fire” - the maiden singlehanded, and not ring her husband in on a play, manifestly - disagreeable, and likely to subject him to great remorse. - </p> - <p> - It chanced recently that an opportunity opened like a gate for Mrs. B. to - illustrate her doctrine that wives should proceed in a plain duty alone, - without imposing needless anxiety on the head of the family. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Binks had decided to visit her sister in Hoboken. She was to go - Thursday, and Binks, who was paid his sweat-bought stipend on Monday, was - to furnish the money Monday evening wherewith to make the trip. - </p> - <p> - It chanced, unfortunately, that pay-day this particular week was deferred. - The head partner was sick, or out of town; checks could not be drawn, or - something like that. - </p> - <p> - “But your money will come on Saturday, boys,” said the other partner. - </p> - <p> - Binks was obliged to wait. - </p> - <p> - The money was all right; it would be accurately on tap Saturday, so Binks - took no fret on that point. - </p> - <p> - But what was he to do about Mrs. B.? That good woman was to go Thursday, - and in order to organise for the descent upon her relative would need the - money—$40—on Tuesday. What was Binks to do? - </p> - <p> - Clearly he must do something. He could not ask Mrs. B. to put off her trip - a week; indeed, his reluctance to take such course came almost to the - point of superstition. - </p> - <p> - In his troubles Binks suddenly bethought him of a gold watch, once his - father's, with a rich chain and guard attached. These precious heirlooms - had been given to Binks by the elder Binks' executor, and were cherished - accordingly. - </p> - <p> - Rather than disappoint Mrs. B. the worthy Binks decided, that just for - once in his life he would seek a pawnbroker and do business with that - common relative of all. - </p> - <p> - Binks felt timid and ashamed, but the case was urgent. There was no risk, - for his money would float in all right on the tides of Saturday. Binks - would then redeem these pledges from disgraceful hock; all would be well. - Mrs. B. would be in Hoboken on redemption day, and it would not be - necessary to tell her anything about the matter. It would save her pain, - and Binks bravely determined to keep the whole transaction dark. - </p> - <p> - Again, if he told her he had not been paid at the store, the brave woman - would indubitably wend to his employer's house and demand the reason why. - This would be useless and embarrassing. Therefore, Binks would say - nothing. He would pawn the ancestral super, and get it again when his - money came in, and his wife was away. - </p> - <p> - The watch and its appertainments were snug in the far corner of a bureau - drawer; away over and behind Mrs. B.'s lingerie. Binks had a watch of his - own, a Waterbury, with a mainspring as endless as a chain pump. Mrs. B. - saw, therefore, no reason why he should carry the gold watch of his - progenitor. Binks might lose it. Mrs. Binks strongly advised that it be - kept in the bureau where it would be safe and naturally, in an affair of - that sort Binks took his wife's advice. - </p> - <p> - Binks reflected that he must secure the watch and pawn it that night. To - do this he must plot to get Mrs. B. out of the house. Binks thought - deeply. At last he had it. - </p> - <p> - Binks sent a message home in the afternoon and asked Mrs. B. to meet him - in a store down town at six o'clock. Then he had himself released at 5:30, - and went hotfoot homeward. - </p> - <p> - The coast was clear; Mrs. B. was down town in deference to his stratagem, - no doubt believing that Binks meditated soda water, or some other - delicacy, as the cause of his sudden summons of the afternoon. She little - wotted that she was the victim of deceit. If she had, there would have - been woe. - </p> - <p> - Binks rushed at once to the bureau and secured the treasure. He did not - wait a moment, but plunged off to a store where the three balls over the - door bore testimony to the commerce within. Binks would explain to Mrs. B. - on his return, how he had missed her and so failed to keep his date with - her down town. - </p> - <p> - The merchant of loans and pledges looked over Binks' timepiece, and then, - as Binks requested, gave him a ticket for it and $40. It was to be - redeemed in thirty days or sooner. And Binks was to pay $44 to get it - again. Binks was very willing. Anything was wiser and better than to - permit Mrs. B.'s visit to her sister to be interrupted. - </p> - <p> - When Binks got home Mrs. B. had already returned. - </p> - <p> - There was a bad light in her eye. She accepted Binks' excuses and - explanations as to “how he missed her down town” with an evil grace. She - as good as told Binks that he deceived her; that if the phenomenon were - treed she would find another woman in the case. - </p> - <p> - However, Binks had the presence of mind to turn over the $40 he reaped on - the watch; and as he expressed it later: - </p> - <p> - “That sort of hushed her up.” - </p> - <p> - The next day Binks returned to his labours, while Mrs. B. repaired to the - marts to plunge moderately on what truck she stood in want of for her - trip. - </p> - <p> - When Mrs. B. got back to the house it chanced that the first thing she - needed was in the fatal drawer. She opened it. - </p> - <p> - Horrors! The watch was gone! - </p> - <p> - There was naught of hesitation; Mrs. B. knew it had been stolen. Anybody - could see that from the way every garment had been carefully laid back to - hide the loss. - </p> - <p> - What should she do? The police must at once be notified. Mrs. B. pulled on - her shaker and scooted for the police station. She told her story out of - breath. She left her house at three o'clock and was back at four o'clock, - and in that short hour her home had been entered and looted of its - treasures. Made to be specific, Mrs. B. said the treasures were a watch - and chain, and described them. - </p> - <p> - “What were they worth?” asked the sergeant of the detectives. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. B. considered a bit, and then said they would be dog cheap at $1,000. - She reflected that the sum, if published in the papers, would be a source - of pride. - </p> - <p> - The sergeant of detectives told Mrs. B. his men would look about for her - property, and should they hear of it or find it they would at once notify - her. - </p> - <p> - “You bet your gum boots! ma'am,” said the sleuth confidently, “whatever - crook's got your ticker, he's due to soak it or plant it some'ers in a - week. Mebby he'll turn it over to his Moll. But the minute we springs it, - ma'am, or turns it up, we'll be dead sure to put you on in a jiff.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said Mrs. B. - </p> - <p> - Then Mrs. Binks went home and, true to her determination to save Binks - from unnecessary worry, she told him nothing of the loss nor of her - arrangements for the watch's recovery. - </p> - <p> - “What's the use of bothering Binks?” she asked herself. “All he could do - would be to notify the police, and I've done that.” - </p> - <p> - Thursday came and Mrs. B. set forth for Hoboken. No notice had come from - the police. Binks was glad to see her go. He had lived in fear lest she - come across the departure of the watch. He breathed easier when she was - gone. As for Mrs. B., as she had not heard from the police, there was - nothing to tell Binks; wherefore, like a self-reliant woman who did not - believe in making her husband unhappy to no purpose, she left without word - or sign as to her knowledge of the watch's disappearance. - </p> - <p> - It was Friday; ever an unlucky day. Binks was walking swiftly homeward. - Binks was thinking some idle thing when a hand came down on his shoulder, - heavy as a ham. - </p> - <p> - “Hold on, me covey; I want you!” - </p> - <p> - Binks looked around, scared and startled. He had been halted by a stocky, - bluff man in citizen's clothes. - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” gasped Binks. - </p> - <p> - “Suttenly, sech a fly guy as you don't know!” said the bluff man, with a - glare. “Well! never mind why I wants you; I'm a detective, and you comes - with me.” - </p> - <p> - And Binks went with him. - </p> - <p> - Not only that, Binks went in a noisy patrol wagon which the detective rang - for; and it kept gonging its way along and attracting everybody's - attention. - </p> - <p> - The word went about among his friends that Binks was drunk and had been - fighting. - </p> - <p> - “And to think a man would act like that,” said one lady, who knew Binks by - sight, “just because his wife is away on a visit! If I were his wife I'd - never come back to him!” - </p> - <p> - At the station Binks was solemnly looked over by the chief. - </p> - <p> - “He's the duck!” said the chief at last. “Exactly old Goldberg's - description of the party who spouts the ticker. Where did you collar him, - Bill?” - </p> - <p> - “I sees him paddin' along on Broadway,” replied the bluff man, “and I - tumbles to the sucker like a hod of brick. I knowed he was a sneak the - first look I gives; and the second I says to meself, 'he's wanted for a - watch!' Then I nails him.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know who he is?” asked the chief. - </p> - <p> - “My name,” said Binks, who was recovering from the awful daze that had - seized him, “my name is B——” - </p> - <p> - “Shet up!” roared the bluff man. “Don't give us any guff! It'll be the - worse for you!” - </p> - <p> - “I know the mark,” said an officer looking on. - </p> - <p> - “His name is 'Windy Joe, the Magsman.' His mug's in the gallery all right - enough; number 38, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “That's correct!” said the chief. “I knowed he was familiar to me, and I - never forgets a face. Frisk him, Bill, and lock him up!” - </p> - <p> - “But my name's Binks!” protested our hero. “I'm an innocent man!” - </p> - <p> - “That's what they all says,” replied the chief. “Go through him, Bill, and - lock him up; I want to go to me grub.” - </p> - <p> - Binks was cast into a dungeon. Next door to him abode a lunatic, who - reviled him all night. On the blotter the ingenuity of the chief detective - inscribed: “Windy Joe, the Magsman, alias Binks. Housebreaking in - daytime.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - There is scant need of spinning out the agony. Binks got free of the - scrape some twelve hours later. But it was all very unfortunate. He came - near dismissal at the store, and the neighbours don't understand it yet. - They shake their heads and say: - </p> - <p> - “It's very strange if he's so innocent, why he was locked up. When the - police take a man, he's generally done something.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm not sorry a bit!” said Mrs. B., when she was brought back from - Hoboken on Saturday by a wire the police allowed Binks to send her. “And - when I saw him with the officers, I was as good a mind to tell them to - keep him as ever I had to eat. To think how he deceived me about that - watch, allowing me to break my heart with thoughts of it being stolen! I - guess the next time Binks sneaks off to pawn his dead father's watch, - he'll let me know.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ARABELLA WELD - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <h3> - I - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a chill - Harlem evening. The Undertaker sat in his easy chair smoking his pipe of - clay. About him were ranged the tools and trappings of his gruesome art. - On trestles, over in the corner's gliding shadows, lay the remains he had - just been monkeying with. - </p> - <p> - At last, as one who reviews his work, the Undertaker arose, and scanned - the wan map of the Departed. - </p> - <p> - “He makes a great front,” mused the Undertaker. “He looks out of sight, - and it ought to fetch her.” - </p> - <p> - Back to his chair roamed the Undertaker. As he seated himself he touched a - bell. The Poet of the establishment glided dreamily in. The Undertaker, - not only straightened the kinks out of corpses to the Queen's taste, but - he furnished epitaphs, and as well, verses for those grief-bitten. These - latter were to run in the papers with the funeral notice. - </p> - <p> - “Have youse torn off that epitaph for his jiblets?” asked the Undertaker, - nodding towards Deceased. - </p> - <p> - “What was it you listed for?” asked the Poet. - </p> - <p> - “D' epitaph for William Henry Weld,” replied the Undertaker. The Poet - passed over the desired epitaph. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - William Henry Weld. - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - (Aged 26 years.) - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - His race he win with pain and sin, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - At Satan he did mock; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - St. Peter said as he let him in: - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “It's Willie, in a walk!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “You're a wonder!” cried the Undertaker, when he had finished the perusal, - and he gave the Poet the glad hand. “Here's d' price. Go and fill your - tank.” - </p> - <p> - “That should win her,” reflected the Undertaker, when the poet had wended - his way; “that ought to leave her on both sides of d' road. What I've done - for Deceased, and that epitaph should knock her silly. She shall be mine!” - </p> - <h3> - II - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>UBLIC interest - having been aroused in the corpse, it may be well to tell how it became - that way. - </p> - <p> - Deceased was William Henry Weld. Five days before the opening of our - story, William donned his skates and lined out on one of his periodicals. - For four days he debauched to beat four kings and an ace. - </p> - <p> - And William had adventures. He paid a fine; he fell down a coal hole; he - invaded a laundry and administered the hot wallops to the presiding - Chinaman. On the fourth day he declared himself in on a ball not far from - Sixth Avenue. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, there!” quoth William, archly, to a beautiful being to whom he had - not been introduced. “Ah, there! Tricksey; I choose youse for d' next - waltz.” - </p> - <p> - “Nit; not on your life!” murmured the beautiful one. - </p> - <p> - As William Henry Weld was about to make fitting response, a coarse, vulgar - person approached. - </p> - <p> - “What for be youse jimmin' 'round me pick?” asked this person. - </p> - <p> - “That's d' stuff, Barney!” said the beautiful one. “Don't do a t'ing to - him!” - </p> - <p> - The next instant William Henry Weld was cast into outer darkness. - </p> - <p> - “It's all right, Old Man!” said the friend who rescued William Henry Weld, - “I'm goin' to take youse home. Your wife ain't on to me, an' I'll fake it - I'm a off'cer, see! I'll give her d' razzle dazzle of her existence, an' - square youse wit' her.” - </p> - <p> - “It's Willie!” said the friend to Arabella Weld, as he supported her - husband into the sitting-room. “It's Willie, an' he's feelin' O. K. but - weedy. Me name, madam, is Jackson—Jackson, of d' secret p'lice. - Willie puts himse'f in me hands as a sacred trust to bring him home.” - </p> - <p> - “Is he sick?” moaned Arabella Weld, as she began to let her hair down, - preparatory to a yell. - </p> - <p> - “Never touched him!” assured the friend. “Naw; Willie's off his feed a - bit. You sees, madam, Willie hired out to a hypnotist purely in d' - interest of science, an' he's been in a trance four days, see! That's why - he ain't home. Bein' in a trance, he couldn't send woid. Now all he needs - is a rest for, say, a week. Oughtn't to let him get out of his crib for a - week.” - </p> - <p> - At 4 o'clock the next morning William Henry Weld began to see blue-winged - goats. Arabella Weld “sprung” a glass of water on him. - </p> - <p> - “Give it a chase!” shrieked William Henry Weld, wildly waving the false - beverage aside. - </p> - <p> - In his ratty condition he didn't tumble to the pure element's identity, - but thought it was one of those Things. - </p> - <p> - At 5 o'clock A. M. William Henry Weld didn't do a thing but perish. When - the glorious sun again poured down its golden mellow beams, the Undertaker - had his hooks on him and Arabella Weld was a widow. - </p> - <h3> - III - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>UT to return to - the Undertaker, the real hero of our tale. We left him in his studio - poring over the epitaph of William Henry Weld, while Departed rehearsed - his dumb and silent turn for eternity in the corner's lurking shadow. At - last the Undertaker roused himself from his reveries. - </p> - <p> - “I must to bed!” he said; “it waxeth late, and tomorrow I propose for her - in wedlock.” - </p> - <p> - Next morning the Undertaker arose refreshed. He had smote his ear for full - eight hours. He felt fit to propose for his life, let alone the delicate - duke of Arabella Weld. - </p> - <p> - The Undertaker's adored one was to come at noon. She wanted to size up - Departed prior to the obsequies. - </p> - <p> - Although it was but 9 o'clock, the Undertaker had to get a curve on - himself to keep his date with Arabella Weld at midday. He had an invalid - to measure for a coffin—it was a riveted cinch the party would die—and - then there was a corpse to shave in the next block. These duties were - giving him the crowd. - </p> - <p> - But our hero made it; played every inning without an error, and was - organised for Arabella Weld when she arrived. - </p> - <p> - As they stood together—Arabella and the man who, all unknown to her, - loved her so madly—looking down at Deceased, she could not repress - her admiration. - </p> - <p> - “On d' dead! I never saw Willie look so well,” she said. “He's very much - improved. You must have taken a woild of pains wit' Willie.” - </p> - <p> - The Undertaker was silent. - </p> - <p> - Struck by this, Arabella Weld turned her full lustrous lamps on the - Undertaker and saw it all. It was for her, the loving heart beside her had - toiled over Deceased like an artist over a picture. - </p> - <p> - Swift is Love, and the Undertaker, quivering with his great passion, - twigged in an instant that Arabella was onto him. A vast joy swept his - heart like a torrent. - </p> - <p> - “I wanted him to make a hit for your sake,” he whispered, stealing his arm - about her. - </p> - <p> - Arabella softly put his arm away. - </p> - <p> - “Not now,” she sighed. “It would be too soon a play. We must wait until - we've got Willie off our hands—we must wait a year.” - </p> - <p> - “Wait a year!” and the pain of it bent the Undertaker like a willow. “Wait - a year, dearest! Now, what's d' fun of that? You must take me for a - farmer!” and his tones showed that the Undertaker was hurt. - </p> - <p> - “But in Herkimer County they wait a year,” faltered Arabella, wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “Sure! in Herkimer!” consented the Undertaker; “but that's Up-the-state. A - week in Harlem is equal to a year in Herkimer. Let it be a week, love!” - </p> - <p> - “This isn't a game for Willie's life insurance?” and great crystals of - pain and doubt swam in Arabella's glorious eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, me love!” cried the Undertaker, fondly, yet desperately, “plant d' - policy wit' Willie! Send it back to d' company if youse doubts me, an' - tell 'em to call d' whole bluff a draw.” - </p> - <p> - The bit of paper, containing the epitaph, fluttered to the floor from her - nerveless mits, her beautiful head sank on the broad shoulder of the - Undertaker, and her tears flowed unrestrained. - </p> - <h3> - IV - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>ne week had passed - since William Henry Weld was solemnly pigeon-holed for eternal reference. - </p> - <p> - The preacher received the couple in his study. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I marry you with the prayer-book, or would youse prefer the short - cut?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Marry us on a deck of cards, if you choose!” faltered Arabella. Her eyes - sought the floor, while the tell-tale blushes painted her lovely - prospectus. “Only cinch the play, an' do it quick!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE WEDDING - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>aw; I'm on I'm - late all right, all right; but I couldn't help it, see!” - </p> - <p> - Chucky was thirty minutes behind our hour. I'd been sitting in the little - bar in sickening controversy with one of the vile cigars of the place - waiting for Chucky. For which cause I was moved to mention his dereliction - sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Sorry to keep an old pal playin' sol'taire, wit' nothin' better to amuse - him than d' len'th of rope youse is puffin',” continued Chucky in furtive - excuse, “but I was to a weddin' an' couldn't breakaway. That's w'y I've - got on me dress soote. - </p> - <p> - “Say! on d' dead! of course I ain't in on many nuptials; but all d' same I - likes to go. I always comes away feelin' so wise an* flossy an* cooney. - Why, I don't know, unless it's 'cause d' guys gettin' hitched looks so - much like a couple of come-ons—so dead sure life is such a cinch, - such a sight of confidence like one sees at a weddin', be d' parts of d' - two suckers who's bein' starred, never omits to make me feel too cunnin' - to live for d' whole week after. - </p> - <p> - “Sure! this weddin' was a good t'ing; what youse might call d' real t'ing; - an' it's a spark to a rhinestone it toins out all hunk for d' folks - involved. Who's d' two gezebos who gets nex' to each other? D' groom is d' - boss gunner of one of our war boats, an 'd' skirt is d' cash goil in d' - anti-Chink laundry on Great Jones street. - </p> - <p> - “An' say! that little skirt's a wonder, an' don't youse forget it! She's - good any day for any old t'ing I've got; an' all she's got to do is just - rap, an' she takes it, see! It was me Rag sees d' goil foist one time when - she's down be d' laundry puttin' in me t'ree-sheets for their weekly dose - of suds. - </p> - <p> - “Is me Rag an' me married? Say! I likes that, I don't t'ink! Youse is - gettin' fanciful in your cupolo. 4 Be me little Bundle an' me married?' - says you. Well, I should kiss a pig! Youse can take me tip for it, if we - ain't man an' wife be d' longest system d' Cat'lic Choich could play—for - me Rag told d' father who 'fficiates that we're out for d' limit—then - all I got to stutter is there ain't a mug who's married in d' entire city - of Noo York. - </p> - <p> - “Cert! we're married!” Chucky went on after cheering himself with the - tankard which the barkeeper placed before him. “If youse had let your - lamps repose on this horseshoe scar over d' bridge of me smeller, youse - would have tumbled to d' fac wit'out astin'. - </p> - <p> - “How do I win it? I'm comin' up d' stairs like a sucker, just followin' a - difference of opinion between me an' me loidy (I soaked her a little one, - an' that's for fair! to show her she's off her trolley about d' subject in - dispoote), when she cuts loose d' coal bucket at me. Say! she spoiled me - map for a mont'. - </p> - <p> - “But to get back to d' little laundry goil. Me Rag, as I says, was in this - tub-joint where d' goil woikswit' me linen one day; an' just as she chases - in, a fresh stiff who's standin' there t'run some raw bluff at d' little - laundry goil she couldn't stand for, see! an' she puts up a damp eye an' - does d' weep act. - </p> - <p> - “This little laundry goil is one of them meek, harmless people—rabbits - is bull-terriers to 'em—an' so when me onliest own beholds d' tears - come chasin down her nose at d' remarks of this fly guy, she chucks me - shirts in d' corner an' mounts him in a hully secont. - </p> - <p> - “An' say! me Rag can scrap, an' that's no dream! I don't want none of it. - When she an' me has carried d' conversation to d' point where she takes - out her hairpins, an' gives her mane to d' breeze, that's me cue to cork. - Youse can't get another rise out of me after that: I knows her. - </p> - <p> - “Well! me Rag lights into this hobo who's got gay wit 'd' little goil, an' - when she takes her hooks out of his make-up, an' he goes surgin' into d' - street, honest! he looks like he's been fightin' a dog. Some lovers of - true sport who's there an' payin' attention to d' mill, says this galoot - wasn't in it wit' me Rag. She has him on d' blink from d' jump; she win in - a loiter. - </p> - <p> - “Takin' her part that way makes d' little laundry goil confidenshul wit' - me Rag. It's about two weeks later when she sprints over an' tells Missus - Chuck (she makes her promise to lay dead about it, too, but still she - passes d' woid to me)—she tells me Rag, as I'm sayin', that she's in - trouble. Her steady, she says, is one of d' top notch gunners of one of - our big boats; he's d' main squeeze in histurrent, see! an' way up in d' - paint. His boat's been layin' at d' Navy Yard, an' now he's ordered to - sail for Cuba in a week an' help straighten up d' Dagoes we're havin' d' - recent run in wit'. Meanwhiles, she says, dey won't let her beloved have - shore leave; an' neither dey won't stand for her to come aboard an' see - him. There youse be! a case of dead sep'ration between two lovin' hearts. - </p> - <p> - “D' little laundry goil gives it out cold, she'll croak if she don't get - to see her Billy before he skates off for d' wars. She says she knows he's - out to be killed anyhow. D' question wit' her is—what's she goin' to - do? Dey won't let her aboard d' boat, an' dey won't let him aboard d' - land; now, what's d' soon move for her to make? - </p> - <p> - “Well, me Rag—who's got a nut on her for cert—says for her to - skip down to Washin'ton an' go ag'inst d' Sec'tary himself. - </p> - <p> - “'Make him a strong talk,' says me Rag; 'give him a reg'lar razzle-dazzle, - an' he'll write youse a poiper to them blokes aboard d' boat to let youse - see your Billy.' - </p> - <p> - “'Do youse t'ink for sure he will?' says d' little laundry goil. - </p> - <p> - “'Why, it's a walkover!' says me Rag. 'If he toins out a hard game, give - him d' tearful eye, see! an' cough a sob or two, an' he'll weaken! You - can't miss it,' says me ownliest; 'it's easy money.' - </p> - <p> - “But d' little goil was awful leary of d' play. - </p> - <p> - “' Washin'ton is so far away,' she says. - </p> - <p> - “' It's like goin' to Harlem,' says me Rag. 'All youse has to do to go, is - to take some sandwidges an' apples to sort o' jolly d' trip, an' then - climb onto d' cars an' go. When d' Con. comes t'rough, pass him your - pasteboard, see! an' if any of them smooth marks try to make a mash, t'run - 'em down an' t'run 'em hard. I'll go over an' do your stunt at d' laundry, - so that needn't give youse a scare. An' be d' way! if that lobster I win - from d' other day shows up, I'll make a monkey of him ag'in. I didn't - spend enough time wit' him on d' occasion of our mix-up, anyway.' - </p> - <p> - “At last d' little laundry goil makes d' brace of her life. She's so - bashful an' timid she can't live; but she's dead stuck on seein' her Billy - before he sails away, an' it gives her nerve. As I says, she takes me - Rag's steer an' skins out for d' Cap'tal. - </p> - <p> - “An' what do youse t'ink? D' old mut who's Sec'tary won't chin wit' her. - Toins her down cold, he does; gives her d' grand rinky-dink wit'out so - much as findin' out what's her racket at all. - </p> - <p> - “At d' finish, however, d' little goil lands one of d' push—he's a - cloik in d' office, I figgers—an' he hears her yarn between weeps, - an' ups an' makes a pass or two, an' she gets d' writin'. It says to toin - Billy loose every afternoon till d' boat pulls out. - </p> - <p> - “Say! him an 'd' little goil, when she gets back, was as happy as a couple - of kids; dey has more fun than a box of monkeys. On d' level! I was proud - of me Rag for floor managin' d' play. She wasn't solid wit' Billy an 'd' - little goil! Oh, no! - </p> - <p> - “That's how me an' me loidy was in on this weddin' to-day wit' bot' - trilbys. Me Rag's 'It' wit' d' little goil; youse can gamble on that! - </p> - <p> - “Of course d' war's over now, an' two weeks ago d' little goil's Billy - comes home. An' what wit' pay, an' what wit' prize money, he hits d' Bend - wit' a bundle of d' long green big enough to make youse t'row a fit, an' - he ain't done a t'ing but boin money ever since. - </p> - <p> - “Nit; it ain't much of a story, but d' whole racket pleases me out o' - sight, see! Considerin' d' hand me Rag plays, when I'm at that weddin' - to-day I feels like a daddy to Billy an 'd' little goil. On d' level! I - feels that chesty about it, that when d' priest is goin' to bat an says, - 'Is there any duck here to give d' bride away?' I cuts in on d' game wit - 'd' remark, 'I donates d' bride meself.' I s'pose I was struck dopey, or - nutty, or somethin'. - </p> - <p> - “But me Rag fetches me to all c'rrect. She clinches her mit an' whispers: - </p> - <p> - “Let me catch youse makin' another funny break like that an' I'll cop a - sneak on your neck.' An' then she stands there chewin' d' quiet rag an' - pipin' me off wit' an eye of fire. 'Such an old bum as youse,' she says, - 'is a disgrace to d' Bend.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - POINSETTE'S CAPTIVITY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his is a tale of - last August. Poinsette was to be left alone for four weeks. Mrs. Poinsette - had settled on Cape May as a good thing for the hot spell. She would hie - her thither and leave Poinsette to do his worst without her. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette did not care. He bravely told Mrs. P. she needed an outing. The - ozone and the salty, ocean breeze would do her good. So he encouraged Cape - May, and bid Mrs. P. go there by all means. - </p> - <p> - It was decided by the Poinsettes discussing Cape May to have Poinsette - room up town while Mrs. P. was thus Cape Maying. The Poinsette house in - the suburbs might better be locked up during Mrs. P.'s absence from the - city. It would be more economical; indeed, it was not esteemed safe to - leave the Poinsette lares and penates to the unwatched ministrations of - the Congo who performed in the Poinsette kitchen. It would be wiser to - dismiss the servant, bolt and bar the house, obtain Poinsette apartments, - and let him browse for food among the bounteous restaurants of the city. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette found a room to suit in a house on West 87th Street. It was one - of a long row of houses. Poinsette reported his victory in room-hunting to - Mrs. P. Poinsette was now all right, and ready for what might come. Mrs. - P. might bend her course to Cape May without further hesitation. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. P. was glad to learn of Poinsette's apartment success. She went out - and looked at his find to make sure that Poinsette would be comfortable. - Incidentally, Mrs. P. kept her eye about her, to note whether the - boarding-house books carried any pretty girls. Mrs. P. did not care to - have Poinsette too comfortable. - </p> - <p> - There were no pretty girls. Mrs. P. approved the selection. The very next - day she kissed Poinsette good-bye and rumbled and ferried to the station, - from which arena of smoke and noise a train leaped forth like a greyhound - and bore her away to Cape May. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette did not accompany his spouse to the station. Ten years before he - would have done this, but experience had taught him that Mrs. P. could - care for herself. Therefore he remained behind to fasten up the house. - Soberly he went about locking doors, and fastening windows, and thinking - rather sadly,—as all husbands so deserted do,—of the long, - lonely months before him. At last all was secure, and Poinsette turned the - key in the big front door and came away. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette did not feel like work that afternoon, or the trifling fragment - of it that was left after Mrs. P. had wended and he had locked up the - house. He bought a few good books and several of the more solid - periodicals. They would serve during the weary nights while Mrs. P. was - away at the Cape. These Poinsette sent to his rooms, and, as it was - growing six o'clock now, he turned into Sherry's for his dinner. - </p> - <p> - Just where Poinsette went that evening following Sherry's, and what he saw - and did, and who assisted at such enterprises as he embarked in, would be - nothing to the present point and may be skipped. They are the private - affairs of Poinsette, and not properly the subjects of a morbid curiosity. - However, lest Mrs. P. see this and argue aught herefrom to feed distrust, - it should be said that Poinsette saw nobody, did nothing, went no place - unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. - </p> - <p> - It was four o'clock in the morning when Poinsette, the sole passenger - aboard a foaming night-liner, toiled through the Park and bore away for - his new abode. Poinsette stopped the faithful night-liner two blocks from - the door and went forward on foot. Poinsette did not care to clatter - ostentatiously to his rooms at four in the morning the first day he - inhabited them. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette found the house without trouble, and stepped lightly to the - door. He put the pass-key his landlady had bestowed upon him in the lock, - but it would not turn. The bolt would not yield to his wooing. Do all he - might, and work he never so wisely, there had sprung up a misunderstanding - between key and lock which would not be reconciled. Poinsette could not - get “action;” the sullen door still barred him from his bed. - </p> - <p> - At last Poinsette gave up in despair. He might ring the bell and arouse - the house; but he hesitated. It was his first day; the hour needed - apology. Poinsette thought it would be better to walk gently to a hotel - and abide for the remainder of the night. He would solve this - incompatibility of key and lock the next afternoon. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette turned away and started softly for the street. As he did so a - policeman stepped from behind a tree and stopped him. The policeman had - been watching Poinsette for five minutes. - </p> - <p> - “Wot was you a-doin' at the door?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette, in a low, hurried voice, explained. He didn't care to awaken - his landlady by a tumult of talk, and have that excellent woman discover - him in the hands of the law. - </p> - <p> - “If your key don't work,” said the policeman, “why don't you ring the - bell?” - </p> - <p> - Poinsette cleared up that mystery. The officer was not satisfied. - </p> - <p> - “To be free with you, my man,” he said, seizing Poinsette's collar, “I - think you're a burglar. If that's your boarding-house you're goin' in. If - it isn't, you're goin' to the station.” - </p> - <p> - Then the policeman, with one hand wound about in Poinsette's neckwear, - made trial of the key with the other hand. The effort was futile. The lock - was obdurate; the key was stranger to it. Then the blue guardian of the - city's slumbers stepped back a pace and took a mighty pull at the - door-bell. It was a yank which brought forth a wealth of jingle and ring. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette was glad of it. He had grown desperate and wanted the thing to - end. Bad as it was, it would be better to face his landlady than be locked - up in a burglar's cell. Poinsette was resigned, therefore, when a - second-story window lifted and a night-capped head was made to overhang - the sill and blot its silhouette against the star-lit sky. - </p> - <p> - “Be you the landlady?” asked the policeman. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am!” quoth the night-cap in a snappy, snarly way. “What do you - want?” This with added sourness. - </p> - <p> - “This party says his name is Poinsette and that he rooms here,” replied - the officer. - </p> - <p> - “No such thing!” retorted the night-cap. “No such man rooms here. Don't - even know the name!” - </p> - <p> - Then the window came down with a grievous bang. It was as if it descended - on Poinsette's heart. - </p> - <p> - “You're a crook!” said the policeman, “and now you come with me.” - </p> - <p> - Poinsette essayed to explain that the night-cap was not his landlady; that - he had made a mistake in the house. The policeman laughed in hoarse scorn - at this. - </p> - <p> - “D'ye think I'm goin' all along the row, yankin' door-bells out by the - roots on such a stiff as you're givin' me?” - </p> - <p> - That was the reply of the policeman to Poinsette's pleadings to try next - door. - </p> - <p> - Poinsette was led sadly off, with the grip of the law on his collar. At - the station he was searched and booked and bolted in. On the hard plank, - which made the sole furnishings of his narrow cell, Poinsette threw - himself down; not to sleep, but to give himself to bitter consideration of - his fate. - </p> - <p> - As Poinsette sat there waiting for the sun to rise and friends to come to - his rescue, the station clock struck five. It rang dismally in the cell of - Poinsette. - </p> - <p> - At Cape May, clocks of correct habits were also telling the hour of five. - Mrs. P. was not yet asleep. The vigorous aroma of the ocean swept the - room. The half-morning was beautiful; Mrs. P., loosely garbed, sat in an - easy-chair at the window and enjoyed it. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what Poinsette's been doing,” said Mrs. P. to herself; and there - was a colour of jealousy in the tone. Then Mrs. P. snorted as in contempt. - “I'll warrant he's been having a good time,” she continued. “This idea - that married men when their wives are away for the summer have a dull - time, never imposed on me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - TIP FROM THE TOMB - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>. Jefferson Bender - was a doctor; that is, he was not a real, legal doctor as yet, but he was - a hard student, and looked hopefully toward a day when, in accordance with - the statutes in such cases made and provided, he would be cantered through - the examination chute, and entitled to write “M. D.” following his name, - with all that it implied. - </p> - <p> - Each morning T. Jefferson Bender arose with the lark, and, seizing his - dissecting knife, plunged into whatever subject was spread before him. In - the afternoon he attended lectures, bending a hungry ear and watching with - eager eye, while the lecturer, in illustration of his remarks, tortured - poor people, free of charge. At night, when the day's carvings, and - listenings, and lookings were over, T. Jefferson Bender sat in his easy - chair and peered down the long aisle of coming time. - </p> - <p> - The world was bright to the glance of T. Jefferson Bender; the future full - of promise. In his musings he saw himself striding towards surgical fame - and riches over a pathway strewn with the amputational harvest of his - skill. He filled the hereafter with himself routing disease; cutting down - deadly maladies as a farmer might the mullein-stalk; driving before him - bacteria and bacilli in herds, droves, schools and shoals. T. Jefferson - Bender was a happy man, and his forehead was already, in his imaginings, - kissed by the rays of a dawning professional prosperity. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>. Jefferson Bender - allowed himself but one relaxation. He was from Lexington, and had a true - Kentuckian's love for horseflesh. Thus it was that he patronised the - races, and was often seen at Morris Park, where he prevailed from a seat - in the grand-stand. Here, casting off professional dignity as he might a - garment, T. Jefferson Bender whooped and howled and hurled his hat on - high, as race following race swept in. - </p> - <p> - At intervals T. Jefferson Bender was carried to such heights of madness as - “playing the horses.” And then it was he suffered those vicissitudes which - are chronicled colloquially under the phrase of “getting it in the neck.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the day of - the great race. The Morris Park grand-stand was reeling full. The quarter - stretch was crowded with Democrats and Republicans and Mugwumps, who, - laying aside political hatreds for a day, had come to see the races. The - horses were backing and plunging in the grasp of rubbers and stable - minions, while the gay jockeys, with their mites of saddles on their left - arms, were being weighed in. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly, a cry of terror rent the air. Otero, a headstrong beauty, had - leaped upon the neck of Paddy the Pig, a horse rubber, and borne him to - the earth. Paddy the Pig's neck was severely wrenched, so the crowd said. - As the accident occurred, the victim fainted. - </p> - <p> - “Is there a doctor present?” shouted one of the race judges, appealing to - the grand-stand. - </p> - <p> - T. Jefferson Bender arose from where he sat, walked over seventeen men and - women, and leaped upon the stretch. - </p> - <p> - “I am here,” observed T. Jefferson Bender, while his eye lighted and his - nostrils expanded with the ardour of a great resolve. - </p> - <p> - T. Jefferson Bender bent above Paddy the Pig and felt his pulse. - </p> - <p> - “He lives!” muttered T. Jefferson Bender. - </p> - <p> - Then he called for whiskey. - </p> - <p> - At the magical words, Paddy the Pig languidly opened his eyes, while a - flush dimly painted his cheek. - </p> - <p> - “Doc, you have saved my life!” said Paddy the Pig. - </p> - <p> - “I have,” said T. Jefferson Bender, willing to be impressive. “I have - saved your life.” - </p> - <p> - “Doc,” said Paddy the Pig in a weak, fluttering voice, “I am only a horse - rubber, but I will make you rich. Play Skylight to win, Doc; Skylight! - It's a tip from the tomb!” - </p> - <p> - “It's a tip from the tomb!” said T. Jefferson Bender reverently, “what are - the odds?” - </p> - <p> - “It's a 20-to-1 shot, Doc. Play it. You will thus be paid for what you've - done for me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hat night T. - Jefferson Bender stood in a pawnshop. The flickering gaslight shone on - mandolins, pistols, watches, and clothing, which had suffered the ordeal - of the spout. T. Jefferson Bender was dusty and footsore. He had walked - from Morris Park, and was now about to pawn his watch for food. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0217.jpg" alt="0217 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0217.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <h3> - T. Jefferson Bender had played Skylight. - </h3> - <p> - (Annals of The Bend) - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hy, yes,” - responded Chucky readily enough, “there's choiches of all sorts, same as - there's folks, see! Some does good an' then ag'in there's others that - ain't so warm.” - </p> - <p> - It was rude, cold weather. Because of the bluster and the freezing air - without, Chucky had abandoned his customary ale for hot Scotches. These - and the barroom's pleasant heat, in contrast with the chill and gusts of - the street, served to unfold Chucky's conversational powers. He even waxed - philosophical. - </p> - <p> - “For that matter,” continued Chucky, critically, “there's lots of good - lyin' 'round loose. Sometimes it's dead hard to find, but it's there all - d' same, if youse is fly enough to pipe it off. An' it ain't all in d' - choiches neither. As I states, I'm d' last mug to go knockin' d' choiches, - but dey ain't got no corner on d' good of this woild. There is others. D' - choices ain't d' only apple on d' tree. Nor yet d' onliest gas jet on 'd - chandelier. - </p> - <p> - “Say!” Chucky went on, after a further taste of the hot Scotch, “on d' - level! I'm onto achoich what's got nex' to a bakery, an' what do youse - t'ink? Each night d' bakery don't do a t'ing but give every poor hobo who - fronts up to d' window a loaf of bread. That's for fair! an 'd' gezebo who - runs d' bakery is a Dutch Sheeny at that. Would youse get bread if you was - to go chasin' nex' door to d' choich? Nit; t'ree times nit! If you was to - go slammin' 'round d! choich makin' a talk for a hand-out, all youse would - get would be d' collar, see! - </p> - <p> - “Onct a week that sanchewary would fill youse to d' chin on chimes; oh, - yes! but no buns; not on your life! Chimes is d' limit wit' that choich. - An' say! it's got money to boin! Bread at d' bakery! chimes at d' choich! - that's how dey line t'ings up at that corner. An' I'm here to say as - between d' brace of 'em, when it gets down to d' cold proposition, 'W'ich - does d' most good?' d' bakery can lose that temple of worship in a walk. I - strings me money on d' bakery. An' don't youse forget it!” - </p> - <p> - Chucky was quite exhausted after this outburst. He revived, however, with - the hot Scotch, which restored him mightily. - </p> - <p> - “Onct,” resumed Chucky, “about ten years ago, this is, I was where a w'ite - choker was takin' up a c'llection. An' what do youse figure he wants it - for? I'm a black Republican if he didn't break it off on us that he was - out to make up a wad so his congregation could cel'brate d' fortieth - birt'-day of gold in Californy. Don't that knock youse silly? D' w'ite - choker says as how he comes from Californy an' him an' his push is goin' - to toin themselfs loose, see! an whoop it up because dey found gold forty - spaces back. It made me tired, honest! - </p> - <p> - “'Why!' I says to this pulpit t'umper, just like that, 'Why! don't youse - preach that gold is d' roots of evil? An' now youse is framin' up a - blow-out over findin' it! It looks like a dead gauzy bluff to me.' - </p> - <p> - “What does d' w'ite choker mark do? Just gives me d' dead face an' ignores - me. - </p> - <p> - “Youse permits yourself to be amazed at me pickin' this guy up about gold - bein' d' seeds of evil,” observed Chucky, with a touch of severity. This - was in response to some syllable of admiration I'd let fall. “Youse - needn't mind. I'll give youse a tip that in me yout' I was d' star peeple - of d' Sunday school dey opens long ago at d' Five Points. That's straight - goods, see! I was d' soonest kid at me lessons that ever comes down d' - pike, an 'd' swiftest ever. I has all d' other kids on d' blink. I win a - test'ment onct from d' outstretched mits of d' entire push, bar d' Bible - class, for loinin' more verses be heart than anybody. I downs every kid in - d' bunch. I made 'em look like a lot of suckers!” and Chucky paused in - approving meditation over the victories of boyhood days. - </p> - <p> - “Still d' choiches does dead lots o' good,” asserted Chucky, coming back - to the subject. “There's d' case of Bridgy McGuire. She makes two or t'ree - trips to d' Cat'lic joint over on Mott Street, an' all she loins, so it - sticks in her frizzes, is: 'Honour dy father an' dy mother,' see! An' - Bridgy says herself it's that what brings her back after she's been run - away from home for six years. Bridgy shows up just in time to straighten - out d' game for d' McGuires at that. D' fam'ly was on d' hog for fair when - Bridgy gets there. - </p> - <p> - “Nixie, d' yarn ain't so long, nor yet so scarce; for that matter, there's - lots more like 'em. In d' foist place, this mark, McGuire, Bridgy's dad, - ain't so bad. Mac's a bricklayer; but d' loose screw wit' him was that he - ain't woikin' in d' winter; an' as durin' d' summer he gen'rally lushes - more whiskey than he lays bricks, an' is more apt to hit d' bottle than a - job, d' McGuire household's more or less on d' bum, see! - </p> - <p> - “I remembers Bridgy when she's so little a yard makes a frock for her. She - was a long, slim, bony kid, wit' legs on her like she's built to pick - hops; an' if Bridgy shows anyt'ing in her breed when young, it's a strong - streak of step-ladder. - </p> - <p> - “In her kid days I wasn't noticin' Bridgy much; d' fact was, then as now, - I'm havin' troubles, of me own. Her mommer, who was pretty near an even - break wit' Mac himself when it comes to hittin' up d' booze, every now an' - then t'run back to d' religious days of her own yout', an' it's durin' one - of these Bible fits of d' old woman that she saws Bridgy off on d' choich, - where I speaks of her gettin 'd' hunch from d' priest, or somebody, that - it's d' fly caper if youse is out to finish wit' d' heavenly squeeze, to - honour your father an' mother. - </p> - <p> - “As I relates, I ain't dead clear about Bridgy when she's young an' - little, except it does come chasin' back to me that she's dead gone on - dancin' an' knock-about woik. Onct when me an' d' McGuires is livin' on d' - same floor, I hears a racket in d' hall like some sucker is tryin' to come - downstairs wit' a tool chest. Naturally, I shoves me nut outside me door - to tell him to go chase himself. But it's only Bridgy—mebby she's - twelve at d' time—practyesing. I keeps me lamps onto her awhile, an' - she never tumbles I'm there; for I don't say nothin', but lays dead. - Bridgy is doin' han'-stan's, cartwheels, backbends, fallin' splits an' all - sorts of funny stunts. - </p> - <p> - “'Is this an accident, or does you mean it?' I asts at last, as Bridgy - winds up a cartwheel wit' a split that looks like it's goin' to leave her - on bot' sides of d' passage way. - </p> - <p> - “'I'm doin' a spread,' says Bridgy, 'same as d' Boneless Wonder at - Miner's, see!' An' here she lays her little cocoa down on her knee to show - she's comfortable, an' dead easy in her mind. - </p> - <p> - “Wit'out keepin' exact tabs on Bridgy, I'm able to state that as soon as - she's big enough she goes to woik; an' at one time an' another she sells - poipers, does a toin in a vest factory, or some other sweat shop; an' at - last, when she's about seventeen, she's model in a cloak joint. She gets - along all right, all right for a space or so, when one day d' old grey guy - who owns d' woiks takes it into his nut he'll float into Bridgy's - 'fections. - </p> - <p> - “'Love youse!' says Bridgy, to this aged stiff; 'old gent, you're dopey! - If youse give way to a few more dreams like that, your folks 'll put you - in d' booby house. Yous'll be in Bloomin'dale cuttin' poiper dolls d' - foist news you know.' - </p> - <p> - “At this d' wicked old geezer makes a strong talk—makes d' speech of - his life. But Bridgy won't stand for him, nor his game. - </p> - <p> - “'Come off your perch!' she says at last. 'Either you corks up or I quits. - You don't make no hit wit' me at all.' - </p> - <p> - “But d' old mucker don't let up none, an' keeps on givin' Bridgy a song - an' dance about his love for her; so at last she makes her bluff good an' - walks out of d' joint an' goes home. - </p> - <p> - “McGuire was hot in d' collar at Bridgy t'runnin' down her job; but d' old - woman, she says Bridgy does dead right; an' for a finish Mac an 'd' old - woman goes on a drunk an' has a fight over it; after which d' subject's - dropped, see! an' that's d' end of it. I only sees Bridgy onct after that, - before she screws her cocoa. That's at d' Tugman's Ball; where she's d' - Queen spieler of d' bunch, an' shows on d' floor as light an' graceful as - so much cigar smoke. It's right on d' heels of this that Bridgy fades from - d' Bend for fair, an' no one has d' least line on her or knows where she's - at. - </p> - <p> - “It runs on for t'ree or four spaces, an 'd' McGuires keeps gettin' - drunker an' harder up. More'n onct d' neighbors has to bring in d' grub, - or dey wouldn't have done a t'ing but starve. Dey's jumpin' sideways for - food to chew, I'll tell youse that right now, as much as half d' time. - Durin' all this no one hears a woid about Bridgy. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, no one's makin' much of a roar. There's a good deal doin' - about d' Bend, see! An' d' comin' or d' goin' of a skirt more or less - don't cut much ice. - </p> - <p> - “It's in d' winter, an 'd' McGuires has been carryin' on bad. No woik, no - money, no grub! On d' dead! it's a forty-to-one shot dey bot' finishes at - d' morgue, or d' Island before d' spring comes 'round. For d' winter is - bad in d' Bend, an' while everybody is on, that d' McGuires is strikin' it - hard, d' most of us is havin' all we can do runnin' down t'ree feeds a - day, so d' McGuires ain't what*d' poipers calls 'much in d' public eye,' - after all. One evenin', however, Mac comes sprintin' to me, an' he's fair - sober for him. - </p> - <p> - “'Nit!' he says, when I asts him, 'nit; none of d' ellegunt for me!' - </p> - <p> - “Then I tumbles there's a cochin on. McGuire's t'runnin' off on a drink - was a new one on d' Bend. - </p> - <p> - “'Come wit' me,' he says, 'to Roster & Bial's.' - </p> - <p> - “'Come wit' youse to Koster's!' I retort. 'That's a dandy idee; youse - ought to sew buttons on it! Come to Koster & Bial's! Who's got d' - price?' - </p> - <p> - “'Here's d' pasteboards,' says Mac. - </p> - <p> - “An' I'm a liar' if he ain't got 'em. So we goes, see! - </p> - <p> - “D' fift' toin on d' programme is a 'Mamselle Fleury from Paris.' She's - down on d' bills as a singer, dancer an' high kicker. I'm leanin' back in - me seat feelin' sore on meself for not makin' Mac hock d' tickets for - beer, when all at onct Mac gives me a jolt in d' slats wit' his elbow, an' - pointin' one of his main hooks at this French tart, where she's singin' on - d' stoige—an' say! she's a boid an' a Kokobola—an' says: - </p> - <p> - “'Be youse on?' - </p> - <p> - “I focuses me peeps on this Fleury, all pink tights an' silks an' - feathers, where she's doin' her toin. I'm a lobster if she ain't Bridgy - McGuire! - </p> - <p> - “'What th' 'ell! what th' bloomin' 'ell!' is all I can say; an' on d' - square! Mac has to drag me out an' lay an oyster on me before I'm meself - ag'in. It comes mighty near stoppin' me in d' foist round. - </p> - <p> - “You sees d' finish. Bridgy's took to d' stoige. She's been over in London - an' Paris; an' say! she's got d' game down fine as silk. She'd come back - an' was beatin 'd' box for t'ree hundred plunks a week. - </p> - <p> - “Sure! Bridgy had been up to find her folks. Foist she said she t'ought - she'd pass 'em up. Dey had given her d' woist of it when she's a kid; why - should she bother! But she tells us herself, talkin' it over, how when she - struck d' old town ag'in, an' old sights begins to toin up old mem'ries, - it starts to run in her wig about d' Bend an 'd' old days. An' what stan's - out clearest is d' little old Cat'lic choich, an 'd' guff dey gives her d' - onct or twict she shows up there, about honourin' her father an' mother. I - s'pose what youse would call Bridgy's conscience gets a run for its money. - Anyhow, somet'ing inside of her took to chewin' d' rag, an' showin' - Bridgy's she's wrong, an' at d' last, she can't stand for it no longer, - an' so she sends a tracer out for her mother an' dad, an' lands 'em. - </p> - <p> - “D' McGuires live in Harlem now. Dey drinks better whiskey then dey did in - d' Bend, an' less of it. Bridgy is a wonder an' a winner; in it wit' bot' - feet an' has dough to back every needful racket. Yes, d' choich does it, - give it d' credit; an' youse can gamble your last chip d' McGuires crosses - themselfs every time dey sees one. An' dey's dead flossy so to do.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - TOO CHEAP - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I. - </h2> - <h3> - |The scene was Washington. - </h3> - <p> - “Get the galoot to urge the Bill, gal; and I'll make over half them - phosphate beds to you. The Senate has already passed it.” - </p> - <p> - “I'll do my best, Uncle Silver Tip,” said Agnes Huntington. “Slippery Elm - Benton loves me, and he cannot refuse his affianced wife his vote.” - </p> - <p> - “They'd hang him in Colorado if he did,” observed Uncle Silver Tip; “but - see to it at once, gal; the fourth of March draws on apace. All must then - be over, or all is lost.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>gnes Huntington - pressed her expectant nose against the pane. Outside the snowstorm was - profound. The flakes crowded the air as they fell. The drifts were four - feet deep on Connecticut avenue. A man wrapped in furs pushed his way - toward the Chateau d' Huntington. It was Arctic cold, but love beckoned - him. He stamped the snow from his feet in the entry. The next moment Agnes - Huntington had curled about his neck in a festoon of affection. - </p> - <p> - It was Representative Slippery Elm Benton. - </p> - <p> - Agnes Huntington was a beautiful creature—tall, slender, - spirituelle, with eyes as dark and deep as the heavens at-night. Agnes - Huntington had but one fault: she would sell the honour of the man she - loved. - </p> - <p> - Agnes Huntington was out for the stuff bigger than a wolf. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ometimes I doubt - the longevity of our bliss,” he said. “Despair rides on the crupper of my - hopes at times. The Witch of Waco told how in a trance she saw my future - spread before me like a faro layout. 'And,' said the Witch of Waco, I saw - the pale hand of Fate put a copper on the queen. You may be lynched, but - you will never wed.' Such was her bleak bode.” - </p> - <p> - And Slippery Elm Benton trembled like a child. - </p> - <p> - “Heed her not, dearest,” murmured Agnes Huntington. “Surrender yourself, - as I do, to the solemn currents of our love. And, darling, promise me - again, you will do what is needful for the Phosphate Bill. It would - brighten the last days of dear old Uncle Silver Tip.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is your aged relative?” asked Slippery Elm Benton, moodily. - </p> - <p> - “We'd better not call him, dearest,” she said. “Uncle is lushing to-night, - and he is unpleasant when he has been tanking up. What you do for the - Phosphate Bill, you do for me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was “suspension - day,” and the Phosphate Bill went through the House like the grace of - Heaven through a camp-meeting. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>alf of that - phosphate bed is yours, gal,” said Uncle Silver Tip, when Agnes Huntington - told him the Bill was already at the White House for the President's - signature. “It's wuth a million; an' you've 'arned it, gal! It was to turn - sech tricks as this your old uncle sent you from the wild and woolly West - to an Eastern seminary, and had them knock your horns off. It cost a bunch - of cattle, but it's paid.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here's something I - must tell you, love,” said Agnes Huntington; “you would know all in time, - and it is better that you learn it now from the lips of your Agnes.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it, beautiful one?” said Slippery Elm Benton, languidly. - </p> - <p> - The Congressional day, with its labours, had wearied our hero, and, - although with the woman he loved, he still felt fatigued. - </p> - <p> - “Read this,” said Agnes, as she pushed a paper into her lover's hand, and - shrank back as if frightened. - </p> - <p> - The paper made over one-half of the phosphate bed to Agnes Huntington. - </p> - <p> - “And it was for this you sold my vote in the House!” and Slippery Elm - Benton laughed mockingly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, say not so, love!” said Agnes Huntington, piteously. “Rather would I - hear you curse than laugh like that!” - </p> - <p> - “And so the vote and influence of Slippery Elm Benton are basely bargained - by the woman he loved for a one-half interest in a phosphate bed!” - </p> - <p> - Slippery Elm Benton strode up and down the apartment, tossing his arms - like a Dutch windmill. - </p> - <p> - Agnes Huntington cowered before the wrath of her lover. - </p> - <p> - “What would you have?” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “What would I have!” repeated Slippery Elm Benton, with a sneer, which all - but withered the weeping girl; “what would I have! I would have all—all! - My vote and influence were worth the entire phosphate bed, and you basely - accepted a paltry moiety! Go from my side, false woman; you who would put - so low an estimate upon me! The Witch of Waco was right. I leave you. I - leave you as one unfit to be the wife of a Congressman!” - </p> - <p> - And Slippery Elm Benton, while Agnes Huntington swooned on the rug, rushed - into the night and the snow. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - HENRY SPENY'S BENEVOLENCE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>UMMER was here and - the day was warm. Henry Speny had been walking, and now stood at-the - corner of Tenth Avenue and Twenty-eighth street, mopping his brow. Henry - Speny was a Conservative; and, although Mrs. Speny had that morning gone - almost to the frontiers of a fist fight to make him change his underwear - for the lighter and more gauzy apparel proper to jocund August, Henry - Speny refused. He was now paying the piper, and thinking how much more - Mrs. Speny knew than he did, when the Tramp came up. - </p> - <p> - “Podner!” said the Tramp in a low, guttural whine, intended to escape the - ear of the police and touch Henry Speny's heart at one and the same time; - “podner! couldn't you assist a pore man a little?” - </p> - <p> - “Assist a poor man to what?” asked Henry Speny, returning his handkerchief - to his pocket and looking scornfully at the Tramp. - </p> - <p> - He was a fat, healthy Tramp, in good condition. Henry Speny hardened his - heart. - </p> - <p> - “Dime!” replied the Tramp; “dime to get somethin' to eat.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Henry Speny shortly; “I'm a half dozen meals behind the game - myself.” - </p> - <p> - This last was only Henry Speny's humour. Mrs. Speny fed him twice a day. - But Henry Speny knew that the Tramp wanted the dime for whiskey. - </p> - <p> - “Well! if you don't think I want it to chew on,” said the Tramp, “jest' - take me to a bakery and buy me a loaf of bread. I'll get away with it - right before you.” - </p> - <p> - “Say!” remarked Henry Speny, in a spirit of sarcastic irritation, “what's - the use of your talking to me? There's the Charity Woodyard in this town, - where, if you were really hungry, you would go and saw wood for something - to eat. You can get two meals and a bed for sawing one-sixteenth of a cord - of wood.” - </p> - <p> - “You can't saw wood with no such fin as this, podner!” said the Tramp; and - pulling up his coat sleeve he displayed to Henry Speny an arm as withered - as a dead tree. “The other's all right,” he continued, restoring his coat - sleeve; “but wot's one arm in a catch-as-catch-can racket with a bucksaw?” - </p> - <p> - Henry Speny was conscience-stricken, but he would defeat the Tramp in his - efforts to buy whiskey. - </p> - <p> - “I'll go down to the woodyard and saw your wood myself,” said Henry Speny. - </p> - <p> - He told Mrs. Speny afterward that he could not account for the making of - this offer, unless it was his anxiety to keep the Tramp sober. All the - Tramp wanted was ten cents, and for Henry Speny to propose to saw - one-sixteenth of a cord of hard wood on a hot day, when a dime would have - made all things even, was a conundrum too deep for Henry Speny, as he - looked back over the transaction. But he did make the proposal; and the - Tramp accepted with a grin of gratitude. - </p> - <p> - There were twenty sticks in that one-sixteenth of a cord—hard, - knotty sticks, too. And each one had to be sawed three times; sixty cuts - in all. It was a poor bucksaw. Before he had finished the third stick, - Henry Speny declared that it was the most beastly bucksaw he ever handled - in his life. The buck itself was a wretched buck, and wouldn't stand still - while Henry Speny sawed. It had a habit of tipping over; and when Henry - Speny put his knee on the stick to steady the refractory buck, the knots - tore his trousers and made his legs black and blue. Then the perspiration - got in his eyes and made them smart. When he wiped it away he saw two of - his friends looking at him in a shocked, sober way from across the street. - They passed on, and told everybody that Henry Speny was down at the - Charity Woodyard sawing wood for his food. They said, too, that they had - reason to believe he did this every day; that business had gone to pieces - with him, and an assignment couldn't be staved off much longer. - </p> - <p> - Henry Speny would have thrown up the job with the second stick, but the - Tramp was already half through his meal; Henry Speny could see him bolting - his food like a glutton through the window, from where he stood. - </p> - <p> - It took Henry Speny two hours to saw those twenty sticks sixty times. His - hands were a fretwork of blisters; his back and shoulders ached like a - galley-slave's. Henry Speny hired a carriage to take him home; he couldn't - stand the slam and jolt of a street car. He was laid up three days with - the blisters on his hands, while Mrs. Speny rubbed his back and shoulders - with Pond's Extract. - </p> - <p> - On the fourth day, as Henry Speny was limping painfully toward his office, - he heard a voice he knew. - </p> - <p> - “Podner! can't you assist a pore m—Oh! beg pardon; you looked so - different I didn't know you!” It was the fat Tramp with the withered arm. - Without a word Henry Speny gave him ten cents and hobbled on. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - JANE DOUGHERTY - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of the Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat's d' flossiest - good t'ing I'm ever guilty of?” said Chucky. There was a pause. Chucky let - his eye—somewhat softened for him—rove a bit abstractedly - about the sordid bar. At last it came back to repose on the beer mug - before him, as the most satisfying sight at easy hand. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” retorted Chucky, as he wet his lip, “that question is a corker. - 'What's d' star good deed you does?' is d' way you slings it. - </p> - <p> - “Will I name it? In a secont—in a hully secont! It's d' story of a - little goil I steals, an' sticks in for ever since. This kid's two years - comin' t'ree, when I pinched it, so to speak; an' youse can bet your - boots! she was reg'larly up ag'inst it. A fly old sport like Chucky would - never have mingled wit' her destinies otherwise; not on your life! Between - youse, an' me, an' d' bar-keep over there, I ain't got no more natural use - for kids than I have for a wet dog. But never mind! we'll pass up that - kink in me make-up an' get down to this abduction I prides meself on. - </p> - <p> - “It's nine spaces ago, an 'd' kid in dispoote is now goin' on twelve. I've - been, as I states, stickin' in for her ever since, an' intends to play me - string to a finish. But to go on wit' me romance. - </p> - <p> - “As I relates, d' play I boasts of is nine spaces in d' rear, see! In that - day I has a dandy graft. I've got me hooks on as big a bundle as a hundred - plunks, many an' many is d' week. I'd be woikin' it now only I lushes too - free. - </p> - <p> - “Here's how in that day I sep'rated suckers from their stuff. It was - simply fakin', of d' smoot' an' woidy sort, see! I'd make up like a Zulu, - wit' burnt cork, an' feathers, an' queer duds; an' then I'd climb into an - open carriage, drive to a good corner, do a bit of chin music, pull a - crowd an' sell 'em brass jewellery. - </p> - <p> - “Me patter would run something like this: D' waggon would stop an' I'd - stand up. Raisin' me lamps to d' heavens above, I'd cut loose d' remark at - d' top of me valves: - </p> - <p> - “'It looks like rain! It don't look like a t'ing but rain!' - </p> - <p> - “Wit' me foist yell d' pop'lace would flock 'round, an' in two minutes - there would be a hundred people there. In ten, there'd be a t'ousand, if - d' cops didn't get in their woik. I'll give youse a tip d' great American - public is d' star gezebos to come to a dead halt, an' look an' listen to - t'ings. More'n onct I've seen some stiff who's sprintin' for a doctor, - make a runnin' switch at d' sound of me voice an' side-track himself for - t'irty minutes to hear me. Dey's a dead curious lot, d' public is; buy a - French pool on that! - </p> - <p> - “W'en d' crowd is jammed all about me carriage w'eels, I'd cut loose some - more. I'd quit d' rain question cold, an' holdin' up an armful of jimcrow - jewellery, I'd t'row meself like this: - </p> - <p> - “'Loidies an' gents,' I'd say, 'I'm d' only orig'nal Coal Oil Johnny. An' - I'm a soon mug at that, see! I don't get d' woist of it; not on your - neckties. I gives away two hundred an' I takes in four hundred toadskins - (dollars) an' I don't let no mob of hayseeds do me, so youse farmers - needn't try. - </p> - <p> - “'Look at me! Cast your lamps over me! I'm one of Cetewayo's Zulu - body-guard, an' I'm here from Africa on a furlough to saw off on suckers a - lot of bum jewellery, an' down youse for your dough, see! I'm goin' to - offer for sale four t'ings: I'm goin' to sell youse foist ten rings, then - ten brooches, then ten chains, and then ten watches. An' when I gets down - to d' watches, watch me dost; because, when I gets nex' to d' tickers I've - reached d' point where I'm goin' to t'run youse down. I'm here to skin - youse out of your money, an' leave youse lookin' like d' last run of shad. - </p> - <p> - “'But there's this pecoolarity about me sellin 'd' rings. Each ring is a - dollar apiece, an' when I've shoved ten of 'em onto youse, every galoot - who's paid me a dollar for one, gets his dollar back an' a dollar wit' it - for luck. - </p> - <p> - “'Now here's d' rings, good folks an' all!'—here I*d flash d' rings; - gilt, an' wort' t'ree dollars a ton!—'here's d' little crinklets! - Who's goin' to take one at a dollar, an' at d' finish, when d' ten is - sold, get two dollars back? Who'll be d' foist? Now don't rush me! don't - crush me! but come one at a time. D' rings ain't wort' a dollar a ton: I - only makes d' play for fun, an' because d' doctors who looks after me - healt' says I'll croak if I don't travel. Who'll be d' early boid to nip a - ring? - </p> - <p> - “'There you be!' I goes on, as some rustic gets to d' front an' hands up - d' bill. 'Sold ag'in an' got d' tin, another farmer just sucked in!' - </p> - <p> - “So I goes, on,” continued Chucky, after reviving his voice—which - his exertions had made a trifle raucous—with a swig at the tankard; - “so I'd go on until d' ten rings would be sold. Then I'd go over d' outfit - ag'in, take back d' rings, an' give 'em each a two-dollar willyum.” - </p> - <p> - Now push back into d' mob, you lucky guys,' I'd say, 'an' give your - maddened competitors to d' rear of youse a chanct to woik d' racket. I'm - goin' to sell ten brooches now for two dollars each, an' give back four - dollars wit' every brooch. Then I'm goin' to dazzle youse wit' ten chains, - at five cases per chain. An' then I'll get down to d' watches, at which - crisis, me guileless come-ons, youse must be sure to watch me, for it's - then I'll make a monkey of youse.' - </p> - <p> - “An' so I chins on, offerin' d' brooches at two dollars a t'row, an' at d' - wind-up, when d' ten is gone, I gives back to each mucker who's got in, d' - sum of four plunks, see! - </p> - <p> - “Be that time it's a knock-down an' drag-out around me cabrioley, to see - who's goin' to transact business wit' me, an', wit'out as much cacklin' as - a hen makes over an egg, I goes to d' chains an' floats ten of 'em at five - a chain. As I sells d' last, I toins sharp on some duck who's dost be me - w'eel an' says: - </p> - <p> - “'What's that? I'm a crook, am I! an' this ain't on d' level! Loidies an' - gents, just for d' disparagin' remark of this hobo, who is no doubt funny - in his topknot from drink, I'll go on an' sell ten more chains. After - which I'll come down to d' watches, which is d' great commercial point - where youse had better watch me, for it's there I'm goin' to lose you in a - lope! An' that's for fair, see!' - </p> - <p> - “Ten more chains, at five a trip, goes off like circus lem'nade, an' I - stows d' long an' beauteous green away in me keck. As d' last one of d' - secont ten fades into d' hooks of d' last sucker, I stows d' five he's - coughed up for it in me raiment, an' says: - </p> - <p> - “'An' now, loidies an' gents, we gets down to d' watches!' - </p> - <p> - “Wit' which bluff I lugs me ticker out an' takes a squint at it. - </p> - <p> - “'What th' 'ell!' I shouts. 'Here it's half-past t'ree, an' I was to be - married at t'ree-fifteen! Hully gee! Excuse me, people, but I must fly to - d' side of me beloved, or I'll get d' dead face; also d' frozen mit. I'll - see youse dubs next year, if woikin' overtime wit' youse to-day ain't - ruined me career.' - </p> - <p> - “As I'm singin' out d' last, I'm givin' me driver d' office to beat his - dogs an' chase, see! An', bein' as he's on, an' is paid extra as his part - of d' graft, he soaks d' horses wit' d' whip an' in twenty seconts d' - crowd is left behint, an' is busy givin' each other d' laugh. No, there - never was no row; no mug was ever mobbed for guyin'. Nit! I always comes - away all right, an' youse can figure it, I'm sixty good bones in on d' - racket. - </p> - <p> - “Naturally, youse would like to hear where d' kid breaks into d' play an' - how I wins it. I'd ought to have told youse sooner, but, on d' level! when - me old patter begins to flow off me tongue, I can't shut down until I've - spieled it all. - </p> - <p> - “But about d' kid. One afternoon I'm goin' on—it's in Joisey City—wit' - me Zulu war-paint an' me open carriage, givin 'd' usual mob d' usual - jolly. T'ings is runnin' off d' reel like a fish new hooked, an' I'm down - to me fift' chain. Just then I hears a woman say: - </p> - <p> - “'Fly's d' woid, Sallie! Here's your old man, an' he's got his load! He - won't do a t'ing to youse! Screw out, Sal! screw out!” - </p> - <p> - “But Sallie, who's a tattered lookin' soubrette, wit' a kid in her arms, - an' who's been standin' dost be one of me hind w'eels, don't get no chanct - to skin out, see! There's a drunken hobo—as big an' as strong as a - horse—who's right up to her when d' foist skirt puts her on. As she - toins, he cops her one in d' neck wit'-out a woid. Down she goes like - ninepins! As she lands, d' back of her cocoa don't do a t'ing but t'ump a - stone horse-block wit' a whack! As d' blood flies, I'm lookin' down at - her. I sees her map fade to a grey w'ite under d' dirt; she bats her lamps - onct or twict; an' d' nex' moment I'm on wit'out tellin' that her light is - out for good. - </p> - <p> - “As Sallie does d' fall, d' kid which she's holdin' rolls in d' gutter - under d' carriage. - </p> - <p> - “'T'run d' kid in here!' I says to d' mark who picks it up. - </p> - <p> - “Me only idee at d' time is to keep d' youngone from gettin 'd' boots from - d mob that's surgin' round, an' tryin' to mix it up wit' d' drunken bum - who's soaked Sal. D' guy who gets d' kid fires it up to me like it's a - football. I'm handy wit' me hooks, so I cops it off in midair, an' stows - it away on d' seat. - </p> - <p> - “Be that time d' p'lice has collared d' fightin' bum all right, an' some - folks is draggin' Sal, who's limp an' dead enough, into a drug shop. - </p> - <p> - “It's all up wit' me graft for that day, so after lookin' at d' youngone a - secont, I goes curvin' off to d' hotel where I hangs out. While I'm takin' - me Zulu make-up off, d' chambermaid stands good for d' kid. When I sees it - ag'in, it's all washed up an' got some decent duds on. Say! on d' dead! it - was a wonder! - </p> - <p> - “Well, to cut it short,” said Chucky, giving the order for another mug of - ale, “I loins that night that d' mother is dead, an' d' drunken hobo's in - d' holdover. As it s a cinch he'll do time for life, even if he misses - bein' stretched, I looks d' game all over, an' for a wind-up I freezes to - d' kid. Naw; I couldn't tell why, at that, see! only d' youngone acts like - it's stuck on me. - </p> - <p> - “Nixie; I never keeps it wit' me. I've got it up to d' Sisters' school. - Say! them nuns is gone on it. I makes a front to 'em as d' kid's uncle; - an' while I've been shy meself on grub more'n onct since I asted d' - Sisters to keep it, I makes good d' money for d' kid right along, an' I - always will. What name does I give it? Jane—Jane Dougherty; it's me - mudder's name. Nit; I don t know what I'll do wit' Jane for a finish. I - was talkin' to me Rag only d' other day about it, an' she told me, in a - week or so, she'd go an' take a fall out of a fortune-teller, who, me Rag - says, is d' swiftest of d' whole fortune-tellin' push. Mebby we'll get a - steer from her.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - MISTRESS KILLIFER - </h2> - <h3> - (Wolfville) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his is of a day - prior to Dave Tutt's taking a wife, and a year before the nuptials of - Benson Annie, as planned and executed by Old Man Enright, with one, - French. - </p> - <p> - Wolfville is dissatisfied; what one might call peevish. A man has been - picked up shot to death, no one can tell by whom; no one has hung for it. - Any one familiar with the Western spirit and the Western way would note - the discontent by merely walking through the single, sun-burned street. - When two citizens of the place make casual meeting in store or causeway, - they confine their salutations to gruff “how'd!” and pass on. Men are even - seen to drink alone in a sullen, morbid way. - </p> - <p> - Clearly something is wrong with Wolfville. The popular discontent is so - sufficiently pronounced as to merit the notice of leading citizens. - Therefore it is no marvel that when Old Man Enright, who, by right of - years—and with a brain as clear and as bright as a day in June—is - the head man of the hamlet, meets Doc Peets at the bar of the Red Light, - the discussion falls on affairs of public concern. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever do you reckon is the matter with this camp, Enright?” asks Doc - Peets, as they tip their liquor into their throats without missing a drop. - </p> - <p> - Doc Peets is the medical practitioner of Wolfville, but his grammar, like - that of many another man, has lost ground before his environment. - </p> - <p> - “Can't tell!” replied Enright, with a mien dubious yet thoughtful. “Looks - like the whole outfit is somehow on a dead kyard. Mebby it's that Denver - party gettin' downed last week an' no one lynched. Some folks says the - Stranglers oughter have swung that Greaser.” - </p> - <p> - “Well!” retorts Doc Peets, “you as chief of the Stranglers, an' I as a - member in full standin', knows thar's no more evidence ag'in that Mexican - than ag'in my <i>pinto</i> hoss.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I knows that too!” replies Enright, “but still I sorter thinks - general sentiment lotted on a hangin'. You know, Doc, it ain't so - important from a public stand that you stretches the right gent, as that - you stretches somebody when it's looked for. Nacherally it would have been - mighty mortifyin' to the Mexican who's swung off at the loop-end of the - lariat for a killin' he ain't in on; but still I holds the belief it would - have calmed the sperit of the camp. However, I may be 'way off to one side - on that; it's jest my view. Set up the nosepaint ag'in, barkeep!” - </p> - <p> - While Doc Peets is slowly freighting his glass with a fair allowance, he - is deep in meditation. - </p> - <p> - “I've an idee, Enright,” says Doc Peets at last. “The thing for us to do - is to give the public some new direction of thought that'll hold 'em - quiet. The games is all dead at this hour, an' the boys ain't doin' - nothin'; s'pose we makes a round-up to consider my scheme. The mere - exercise will soothe 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall we have Jack Moore post a notice?” asks - </p> - <p> - Enright. “He's Kettle Tender to the Stranglers, an' I reckons what he does - that a-way makes it legal.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” says Peets, “let's rustle 'em in an' hold the meetin' right now an' - yere in the Red Light. Some of the boys is feelin' that petulant they're - likely to get to chewin' each other's manes any minute. I'm tellin' you, - Enright, onless somethin' is done mighty <i>poce tiempo</i> to cheer 'em, - an' convince 'em that Wolfville is lookin' up an' gettin' ahead on the - correct trail, this outfit's liable to have a killin' any time at all. The - recent decease of that Denver person won't be a marker!” - </p> - <p> - “All right!” says Enright, “if thar ain't no time for Moore an' a notice, - a good, handy, quick way to focus public interest would be to step to the - back door, an' shake the loads outen my six-shooter. That'll excite - cur'osity, an' over they'll come all spraddled out.” - </p> - <p> - Thus it comes to pass that the afternoon peace of Wolfville is suddenly - disparaged and broken down by six pistol shots. They follow each other - like the rapid striking of a Yankee clock. - </p> - <p> - “Any one creased?” asks Jack Moore, by general consent a fashion of - marshal and executive officer for the place, and who, followed by the - population of Wolfville, rushes up the moment following the shooting. - </p> - <p> - “None whatever!” replies Doc Peets, cheerfully. “The shootin' you-alls - hears is purely bloodless; an' Enright an' me indulges tharin onder what - they calls the 'public welfare clause of the constitootion.' The intent - which urges us to shake up the sereenity of the hour is to convene the - camp, which said rite bein' now accomplished, the barkeep asks your - beverages, an' the business proceeds in reg'lar order.” - </p> - <p> - Enright, who has finished replenishing the pistol from which he evicted - the loads, draws a chair to a monte table and drums gently with his - fingers. - </p> - <p> - “The meetin' will please bed itse'f down!” says Enright, with a sage - dignity which has generous reflection in the faces around him. “Doc Peets, - gents, who is a sport whom we all knows an' respects, will now state the - object of this round-up. The barkeep meanwhile will please continue his - rounds, the same not bein' deemed disturbin'; none whatever.” - </p> - <p> - “Gents, an' fellow townsmen!” says Doc Peets, rising at the call of - Enright and stepping forward, “I avoids all harassin' mention of a - yeretofore sort. Comin' down to the turn at once, I ventures the remark - that thar's somethin' wrong with Wolfville. I would see no virtue in - pursooin' this subject, which might well excite the resentment of all true - citizens of the town, was it not that I feels a crowdin' necessity for a - change of a radical sort. Somethin' must be proposed, an' somethin' must - be did. I am well aware thar's gents yere to-day as holds a conviction - that a bet is overlooked in not stringin' the Mexican last week on account - of the party from Denver. That may or may not be true; but in any event, - that hand's been played, an' that pot's been lost an' won. Whether on that - occasion we diskyards an' draws for the best interests of the public, may - well pass by onasked. At any rate we don't fill, an' the Greaser wins out - with his neck. Lettin' the past, tharfore, drift for a moment, I would - like to hear from any gent present somethin' in the line of a proposal for - future action; one calc'lated to do Wolfville proud. As affairs stand our - pride is goin' our brotherly love is goin', our public sperit is goin', - an' the way we're p'intin' out, onless we comes squar' about on the trail, - we won't be no improvement on an outfit of Digger Injuns in a month. - Gents, I pauses at this p'int for su'gestions.” - </p> - <p> - As Doc Peets sits down a whispered buzz runs through the room. It is plain - that what he has said finds sympathy in his audience. - </p> - <p> - “You've heard Peets,” observes Enright, beating softly. “Any party with - views should not withhold 'em. I takes it we-all is anxious for the good - of Wolfville. We should proceed with wisdom. Red Dog, our tinhorn rival, - is a-watchin' of this camp, ready to detect an' take advantages of any - weakenin' of sperit on the Wolfville part. So far Red Dog has been - out-lucked, out-played, an' out-held. Wolfville has downed her on the - deal, an' on the draw. But, to continue in the future as in the past, - requires to-day that we acts promptly, an' in yoonison, an' give the - sitooation, mentally speakin', the best turn in the box.” - </p> - <p> - “What for a play would it be?” asks Dan Boggs, doubtfully, as he rises and - bows stiffly to Enright, who bows stiffly in return; “whatever for a play - would it be to rope up one of these yere lecture sharps, which the same I - goes ag'inst the other night in Tucson? He could stampede over an' put us - up a talk in the warehouse of the New York Store; an' I'm right yere to - say a lecture would look mighty meetropolitan, that a-way, an' lay over - Red Dog like four kings an' an ace.” - </p> - <p> - “Whatever was this yere ghost dancer you adverts to lecturin' about?” asks - Jack Moore. - </p> - <p> - “I never do hear the first of it,” replies Boggs. “Me an' Old Monte, the - stage driver, is projectin' about Tucson at the time we strikes this - lecture game, an* it's about half dealt out when he gets in on it. But as - far as we keeps tabs, he's talkin' about Roosia an' Siberia, an' how they - were pesterin' an' playin' it low on the Jews. He has a lay-out of maps - an' sech, an' packs the whole racket with him from deal box to check-rack. - Folks as <i>sabes</i> lectures allows he turns as strong a game, with as - high a limit, as any sport that ever charged four bits for a back seat. - The lecture sharp's all right; the question is do you-alls deem highly of - the scheme? If it's the sense of this yere town, it don't take two days to - cut this short-horn out of the Tucson herd an' drive him over yere. - </p> - <p> - “Onder other, an' what one might call a more concrete condition of public - feelin',” says Doc Peets, cutting rapidly and diplomatically into the - talk, “the hint of our esteemed townsman would be accepted on the instant. - But to my mind this yere camp ain't in no proper frame of mind for - lectures on Roosia. It'll be full of trouble,—sech a talk. I <i>sabes</i> - Roosia as well as I does an ace. Thar's an old silver tip they calls the - Czar, which is their language for a sort o' national chief of scouts, an' - he's always trackin' 'round for trouble. Thar's bound to be no end of what - you might call turmoil in a lecture on Roosia, and the sensibilities of - Wolfville, already harrowed, ain't in no shape to bear it. Now, while - friend Boggs has been talkin', my idees has followed off a different - waggon track. What we-all needs, is not so much a lecture, which is for a - day, but somethin' lastin', sech as the example of a refined an' elevated - home life abidin' in our very midst. What Wolfville pines for is the - mollifyin' inflooence of woman. Shorely we has Faro Nell! who is - pleasantly present with us, a-settin' back thar alongside Cherokee Hall; - an' that gent never makes a moccasin track in Wolfville who don't prize - an' value Nell. Thar ain't a six-shooter in camp but what would bark - itse'f hoarse in her behalf. But Nell's young; merely a yearlin' as it - were. What we wants is the picture of a happy household where the feminine - part tharof, in the triple capacity of woman, wife an' mother, while - cherishin' an' carin' for her husband, sheds likewise a radiant inflooence - for us.” - </p> - <p> - “Whoopee! for Doc Peets!” shouts Faro Nell, flourishing her broad sombrero - over her young curls. - </p> - <p> - “Pausin' only to thank our fair young townswoman,” says Doc Peets, bowing - gallantly to Faro Nell, who waves her hand in return, “for her - endorsements, which the same is as flatterin' as it is priceless, I - stampedes on to say that I learns from first sources, indeed from the gent - himse'f, that one of the worthiest citizens of Wolfville, Mr. Killifer, - who is on the map as blacksmith at the stage station, has a wife in the - states. I would recommend that Mr. Killifer be requested to bring on this - esteemable lady to keep camp for him. The O. K. Restaurant will lose a - customer, the same bein' the joint where Kif gets his daily <i>con-carne</i>; - but Rucker, the landlord, will not repine for that. What will be Rucker's - loss will be general gain, an' for the welfare of Wolfville, Rucker makes - a sacrifice. Mr. Chairman, my su'gestion takes the form of a motion.” - </p> - <p> - “Which said motion,” responds Enright, with such vigorous application of - his fist to the purpose of a gavel that nervous spirits might well fear - for the results, “which said motion, onless I hears a protest, goes as it - lays. Thar bein' no objection the chair declares it to be the commands of - Wolfville that Syd Killifer bring on his wife. What heaven has j'ined - together, let no gent——” - </p> - <p> - “See yere, Mr. Chairman!” interposes Killifer, with a mixture of decision - and diffidence, “I merely interferes to ask whether, as the he'pless - victim of this on-looked for uprisin', do my feelin's count? Which if I - ain't in this—if it's regarded as the correct caper to lay waste the - future of a gent, who in his lowly way is doin' his best to make good his - hand, why! I ain't got nothin' to say. I'm impugnin' no gent's motives, - but I'm free to remark, these yere proceeding strikes me as the froote of - reckless caprice.” - </p> - <p> - “I will say to our fellow gent,” says Enright with much dignity, “that - thar's no disp'sition to force a play to which he seems averse. If from - any knowledge we s'posed we entertained of the possession of a sperit on - his part, which might rise to the aid of a general need—I shorely - hopes I makes my meanin' plain—we over-deals the kyards, all we can - do is to throw our hands in the diskyard an' shuffle an' deal ag'in.” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all, an' no offence given, took or meant!” hastily retorts - Killifer, as he balances himself uneasily upon his feet, and surveys - first, Enright and then Peets. “I has the highest regard for the chair, - personal, an' takes frequent occasion to remark that I looks on Doc Peets - as the best eddicated scientist I ever sees in my life. But this yere - surge into my domestic arrangements needs to be considered. You-alls don't - know the lady in question, which, bein' as it's my wife, I ain't assoomin' - no airs when I says I does.” - </p> - <p> - “Does she look like me, Kif?” asks Faro Nell from her perch near Cherokee - Hall. - </p> - <p> - “None whatever, Nell!” responds Killifer. “To be shore! I ain't basked - none in her society for several years, an' my mem'ry is no doubt blurred - by stampedes, an' prairie fires, an' cyclones, an' lynchin's, an' other - features of a frontier career; but she puts me in mind, as I recalls the - lady, of an Injun uprisin' more'n anythin' else. Still, she's as good a - woman as ever founds a flap-jack. But she's haughty; that's what she is, - she's haughty. - </p> - <p> - “I might add,” goes on Killifer, in a deprecatory way, “that inasmuch as I - ain't jest lookin' for the camp yere to turn to me in its hour of need, - this proposal to transplant the person onder discussion to Wolfville, is - an honour as onexpected as a rattlesnake in a roll of blankets. But - you-alls knows me!”—And here Killifer braces himself desperately.—“What - the camp says, goes! I'm a <i>vox populi</i> sort of sport, an' the last - citizen to lay down on a duty. Still!”—here Killifer's courage - begins to ebb a little—“I advises we go about this yere enterprise - mighty conserv'tive. My wife has her notions, an' now I thinks of it she - ain't likely to esteem none high neither of our Wolfville ways. All I can - say, gents, is that if she takes a notion ag'in us, she's as liable to - break even as any lady I knows.” - </p> - <p> - “Thar ain't a gent here but what honours Kif,” says the sanguine Peets, as - he looks encouragingly at Killifer, who has resumed his seat and is - gloomily shaking his head, “for bein' frank an' free in this.” - </p> - <p> - “Which I don't want you-alls to spread your blankets on no ant-hill, an' - then blame me!” interrupts Killifer dejectedly. - </p> - <p> - “I believe, Mr. Chairman,” continues Doc Peets, “we fully onderstands the - feelin's of our townsman in this matter. But I'm convinced of the - correctness of my first view. Thar can shorely be nothin' in the daily - life of Wolfville at which the lady could aim a criticism, an' we needs - the beneficent example of a home. I would tharfore insist on my plan with - perhaps a modification.” - </p> - <p> - “I rises to ask the Preesidin' Officer a question!” interrupts Dave Tutt. - </p> - <p> - “Let her roll!” retorts Enright. - </p> - <p> - “How would it be to invite Kif's wife to come yere on a visit?” queries - Tutt. “Sorter take her on probation! That's the way an oncle of mine back - in Missouri j'ines the Meth'dist Church. An' it's lucky the congregation - takes them precautions; which they saves the trouble of cuttin' the old - felon out of the herd later, when he falls from grace. Which last he - shorely does!” - </p> - <p> - “Not waitin' for the chair to answer,” replies Doc Peets, “I holds the - limitation of Tutt to be good. I tharfore pinches down my original - resolootion to the effect that Kif bring his wife yere for a month. Let - her stack up ag'inst our daily game, an' triumph through a deal or so, an' - she'll never quit Wolfville nor Wolfville her. I shorely holds the present - occasion the openin' of a new era.” - </p> - <p> - It is a month later, perhaps, when everybody assembles at the post-office - to receive the lady on whom the local public has built so many hopes. - Killifer has gone over to Tucson to act as her escort into Wolfville, and, - as he said, “to sorter break the effect.” - </p> - <p> - She is an iron-visaged heroine. As Killifer hands her from the stage—a - ceremony upon which he bestows that delicate care wherewith he would have - aided the unloading of so much dynamite—Doc Peets steps gallantly - forward, raising his hat. Doc Peets is the proprietor of the only stiff - hat in town, and presumes on it. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0253.jpg" alt="0253 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0253.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Who is that insultin' drunkard, Mr. Killifer?” demands the lady, as she - bends her eyes on the suave Peets, with such point-blank wrath that it - silences the salutation on Peets' lips; “no friend of your'n I hope?” - </p> - <p> - “Which I says it in confidence,” remarks Old Monte, as an hour later he - refreshes himself at the bar of the Red Light, “for I holds it - onprofessional to go blowin' the private affairs of my passengers, but I - shorely thinks the old grizzly gives Kif a clawin' on the way over. I - hears him yell like a wolf back in Long's canyon. To be shore! he's inside - an' I can't see, but I'm offerin' two to one up to $100 she was lickin' - him; if I don't I'm a Siwash!” - </p> - <p> - It turns out as Killifer predicted. He read the lady aright. There is - nothing in Wolfville to which she yields approval. It would be as - impossible as it would be terrific, to repeat in print the conduct of this - remarkable woman. She utterly abashes Enright; while such hare-hearts as - Jack Moore, Cherokee Hall, Dave Tutt, Texas Thompson, Short Creek Dave and - Dan Boggs, fly from her like quicksilver. Even Doc Peets acknowledges - himself defeated and put to naught. The least of her feats is the invasion - of a peaceful poker game to which Killifer is party, and the sweeping - confiscation of every dollar in the bank on claim that it is money - ravished from Killifer by venal practices. The mildest of her plans is one - to assail the Red Light with an axe, should she ever detect the odour of - whiskey about Killifer again. - </p> - <p> - “An' do you know, Doc!” observes Enright, a fortnight later, as they meet - for their midday drink, “the boys sorter lays it on you. You know me, Doc! - I'll stand up ag'in the iron for you; but as a squar' man, with a fairly - balanced mind, I'm bound to admit the boys is right. Now I don't say they - feels resentful; it's more like they was mournful over what used to be, - an' a day of peace gone by. But you knows what people be whose burdens is - more'n they can bear; an' if I was you, this yere lady or I would leave - the camp. I'm the last gent to go dictatin' about the details of another - gent's game; but you an' me, Doc, has been old friends, an' as a warnin' - from a source which means you well, I gives it to you cold the camp is - gettin' hostile.” - </p> - <p> - It is always a spectacle to inspire, to witness a great soul rise to an - occasion. Doc Peets never so proves the power of his nature as now, when - the tremendous shadow of “Kif's wife” has fallen across Wolfville like a - blight. Peets, following Enright's forebodings, holds a long and secret - conference with the unhappy Killifer. That night Peets rides to Tucson. - The next day Old Monte, with his six horses a-foam, comes crashing into - Wolfville two hours ahead of schedule. Before even a mail bag is thrown - off, Old Monte unpouches a telegram received at the Tucson office for - Mistress Killifer. Its earmark is Illinois; its contents moving. No matter - what it tells, its news is cogent enough to decide the lady's mind. - </p> - <p> - The next morning this dread woman departs, leaving, as she came, with a - withering look at all around. That night Killifer gets drunk. Wolfville - not only pardons Killifer in his weakness; it joins him. - </p> - <p> - “But you suppresses the facts, Kif, when you says she's haughty,” observes - Dan Boggs. “Haughty, as a deescription, ain't a six-spot!” - </p> - <p> - “It's with no purpose, Kif,” says Doc Peets, as he fills his glass, “to - discourage you—whom I sympathises with as an onfortunate, an' - respects as a dead game gent—that I yereby invites the pop'lation to - join me in a drink of congratulation on Wolfville's escape from your wife. - An' all informal though this assemblage be, I offers a resolootion that - this, the 23d of August, the date when the lady in question pulls her - freight, be an' remain forevermore a day of yearly thanksgivin' to - Wolfville.” - </p> - <p> - “Which I libates to that myse'f!” says Killifer as he drains his cup to - the last lingering drop. “Also I trusts this camp will proceed with - caution the next time it turns in to play my domestic hand.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BEARS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ears are peaceful - folk. They are a mild and lowly citizenry of the woods—I'm talking - of the black sort—and shuffle modestly away the moment they hear you - coming. We get many of our impressions of the ferocity of animals and the - deadly poisons of reptiles from an unworthy sort of hearsay evidence. Much - of it comes from Mexicans and Indians rather than from real experience. - Now I wouldn't traduce either the Mexicans or the Indians, for their lot - is one of hard, sodden ignorance; but it must be conceded that they're by - no means careful historians, and run readily to tales of the marvellous - and the tragic. I am going back to a bear story I have in mind before I - get through; but I want to interject here, while I think of it, that - though the centipede, the rattlesnake, the tarantula and the Gila monster, - have bitter repute as able to deal death with their poisonous feet or - fangs, I was never, in my years on the plains and in the mountains, able - to secure proof of even the shallowest sort that a death, whether of man - or animal, had ever resulted from the sting of any one of these. On the - other hand, I have been with men who were bitten by rattlesnakes, or stung - by tarantulas; or who while asleep had suffered as the inadvertent - promenade of a centipede, with its hundred hooked, poison-exuding feet; - but none of them died. They were sick in an out-of-sort, headache fashion - for a day or two; the bitten place inflamed and was sore for a week or a - month; that was all. I suppose I've known of fully one hundred horses, - cows and sheep which were bitten by rattlesnakes; none died. They were - invariably fanged in the nose, too, as they grazed towards my lord of the - rattlers. On more than one occasion I kept the animal so bitten in sight - to note results. Its head would swell and puff; it would lounge about with - a sick listlessness for several days; then the poison would wear away in - force, and back to its grass it would go with the wire-edge appetite of a - sailor home from sea. - </p> - <p> - But about bears. I was remarking that my black, shaggy cousins of the - woods were a peaceful folk. So much is this true, and so little do their - neighbours apprehend violence at their clumsy hands, that they who live in - regions which abound in bears evince not the least alarm about the safety - of their children. The babies, some as young as five or six years, roam - the same mountains with the bears; and, while the latter will swoop upon a - pig and run dangers with wide-open eyes in doing it, never did I hear of - one who disturbed a ringlet on a child's head. They had daily - opportunities enough, for many are the households to live in the wide, - pine-sown Rockies. - </p> - <p> - Our bears, too, are creatures of vast physical power. Often, as I rode the - mountain for cattle, have I come across a dead and fallen pine tree, which - would have defeated the best efforts of a horse to move, completely torn - from its bed in the earth and leaves, and either overturned or thrown one - side by the mighty arms of a bear. He was in search of a dinner cf grubs—those - white, helpless worms which make their dull homes under rotten logs—and - Sir Bear made no more ado of lifting and laying aside a pine tree in his - grub-hunt than would you or I of a billet of firewood. - </p> - <p> - While in the mountains I marvelled over the fact that the bears and the - mountain lions never assailed the young calves. The hills were rife with - cattle, and every spring found the canyons and oak-bushed slopes a perfect - nursery of calves. And yet neither the panthers nor the bears disturbed - them. It was due, I think, more to the bellicose character of the old cow - and her relatives, than any uprightness of character on the part of the - bears, and the panthers. Let a calf raise but one yell of distress in - those mountains—and I assure you he can make their walls and valleys - ring with his youthful music when so disposed—and, out of canyons - and off mesas, over logs and crashing through the oak bushes, will come - plunging all the cattle within hearing. Not thirty seconds will elapse - before as many cattle will be by the side of the threatened calf, lusting - for battle. They make such a phalanx of sharp, threatening horns, coupled - with their rolling, wrath-red eyes and ferocious breathings, that, I - warrant you, they have so shocked the nerves of past bears and panthers, - it has become instinct with these latter to give the whole horned, - truculent brood a wide berth. - </p> - <p> - The Indians are very fond of the bear for his wisdom, and he divides their - respect with the beaver as a personage of sagacity. The curiosity of my - shaggy friend would shame any boy or girl of ten. You may be sure, were a - bear to visit you for a week at your home, he would open every door, - ransack every bureau, take every garment off every hook in every closet—and - I had almost said “try it on”—before he had been with you an hour. - Not a box nor a barrel, not a nook nor cranny, from cellar to ridge pole, - would escape his investigation. His black nose would sniff at every crack, - his black hand explore every crevice. Nor, beyond what he bestowed in his - remorseless stomach, would he destroy anything. I have the black coat of a - bear at my house, who might be wearing it himself to-day, were it not for - his curiosity. - </p> - <p> - There was a salt spring near my camp on the upper Red River; perhaps two - miles away, which is “near” in the mountains. This salt spring was popular - with the deer. They repaired thither to lick the salt earth about the - waters. I had, among the lumber at my camp, a big, two-spring trap of - steel; I suppose it must have weighed sixty pounds. It occurred to me that - a lazy way to kill a deer would be to set this wide-jawed engine near the - spring and let one walk into it. I'm not proud of this plan as a method in - deer-killing, and wouldn't do it now. On this occasion, however I was not - particular. I “set” the trap at my camp—for I had to use a - hand-spike to crush down the springs, and it all gave me a deal of work - and trouble—and then, with its jaws wide open, but held so that it - wouldn't nip me in case it did snap, I crept carefully aboard my pony and - rode over to the spring. The next morning early I had to go again to - remove the trap, as during the day the cattle would take the places of the - deer at this delectable salt spring, and I didn't care to break the legs - of a thirty-dollar steer with my trapping. I went over while it was yet - dark, and found no deer in the trap. I took it and hid it, face downward—the - jaws still spread and “set”—by the of a big yellow pine log, which - stretched its decayed length along the slope of the canyon. There I left - it, intending to return and rearrange it for deer at dusk. - </p> - <p> - It snowed that day, and as I grew lazy towards night, I left my trap where - I'd hidden it by the yellow pine log. The deer would have one night of - safety. What was safety for the deer proved otherwise for the bear. - </p> - <p> - The following day I rode over just as the canyons were getting dark and - the cattle climbing out of them to pass the night on the hills. Behold! my - trap was gone! - </p> - <p> - There was a great flourish of tracks in the snow; long plantigrade - impressions like the bare footprints of some giant! I knew that a bear had - somehow acquired my trap, or the trap, him; at that time I couldn't tell - which. To make it short, however, it came to this: The bear, scouting in a - loaferish way down the hill, and pausing no doubt to make an estimate of - the probable grubs he would find beneath this particular yellow pine next - summer, had chanced upon the trap. Here was a great find. Thoughts of - grubs and common edible things at once deserted him. The mysterious - novelty he had found took possession of his addle-pate like a new toy. A - wolf or a fox would have smelled the odour of my handling, even off the - cold steel of the trap, and been over the hills and far away in a - twinkling. Your wolf is the canniest of timber folk; a grey Scotchman of - the mountains. But my bear was reared on a different bottle. He sat down - at once and actually took the new plaything in his lap. Then it would seem - as if he deliberately thrust his paw into it and sprung its savage jaws on - his forearm. - </p> - <p> - In his first wrathful surprise, my bear tore up the snow and bushes for - twenty feet about; but at last he set off with the trap on his foot. - </p> - <p> - It was late. For half an hour I followed the broad track where his - bearship had dragged the trap in the snow at a gallop. It was dark when at - last I turned off for camp. Bright and betimes, I took the trail next day. - It carried me over some ten miles of rough, close country. About midday I - stood on the bluff edge of the Canyon Caliente, picking a pathway with my - eyes along its steep, perilous side for my pony to get down. The bear had - crossed here; but he was in the roughest of moods, and seemingly made no - more of hurling himself over twenty-foot precipices—himself and my - trap—or sublimely sliding down dangerous descents of hundreds of - feet where foothold was impossible, than you would of eating buttered - buns. So I had to pick out paths for myself; I couldn't trust to so - reckless and uncivil an engineer as my bear. - </p> - <p> - As I sat in the saddle running a quick eye over the slope for a trail, I, - of an instant, heard a most surprising noise. It was indeed a noble - racket, and might have passed for a blacksmith shop. But I knew the hills - too well. It was of a verity my bear; and from the riot he was making, it - was plain I would have to get there soon if I wanted to save the trap. - </p> - <p> - This formidable uproar came from across the Caliente, perhaps half a mile. - I slid from the saddle and went forward afoot. It didn't take long to - cover the distance. I fell and tumbled down the first third, much as the - bear had done a bit earlier. - </p> - <p> - Once on the other side, I came upon my rough gentleman cautiously, and - found him sitting by the side of a round, boulder-like rock, something the - size and contour of a load of hay. And he was smiting the enduring granite - with my trap in a way which told more of his feelings than would have been - possible with mere words. He would raise his arm clumsily, 60-pound trap - and all, and then bring it against the rock with all the fervour of rage - and giant strength. - </p> - <p> - He was so wrapt in the enterprise, he never heard me until a shot from my - Winchester met him just under the ear. One shot did it; and I had trap and - bear. He had ruined the trap; one spring was broken and the whole - disparaged beyond my power to repair. Wherefore I stripped him of his - black overcoat to pay for the damage he had done; and that and the grease - I took from him covered all costs and damages. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BIG TOUCH - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>e fren', Mollie - Matches,” observed Chucky. - </p> - <p> - That was our introduction. A moment later Chucky whispered in a hoarse - aside: - </p> - <p> - “Matches is d' dip I chins youse about, who gets d' Hummin' Boid t'run - into him.” - </p> - <p> - “Matches,” as Chucky called him, was a sad, grey, broken man. Years and a - life of flight and anxious furtivity had told on him. His eye was dancing - and birdlike; resting on nothing, roving always; the sure mark of one sort - of criminal. Matches drank for an hour before he felt at ease. That time - arrived, however, and I took advantage of it to feed my curiosity. It was - no easy matter, but at last I won him by a deft blending of flattery and - drink to talk of his crimes. And indeed I fear—for I suppose the - expert thief does plume himself a bit on his art—that Matches took - some sort of wretched pride in his illicit pocket searchings. - </p> - <p> - “D' biggest touch I ever makes,” said Matches, in response to a query, - “was $36,000; quite a bunch of dough. Gettin' it was easy; gettin' away - wit' it was d' squeak. - </p> - <p> - “We toins d' trick on d' train from Albany. D' tip comes straight to me in - New York that a bloke is goin' to draw $36,000 from d' Albany bank on such - a day. I makes up a mob; t'ree stalls an' meself;—all pretty fly we - was—an' lands in Albany. - </p> - <p> - “We gets onto d' party who's to be woiked early in d' mornin', an' shadows - him so dost he's never out of reach. Our play is to follow him to d' bank - an' do him wit 'd' drop game. If that misses, we're to stay wit' him till - d' bundle's ours be one racket or another. - </p> - <p> - “This sucker is pretty soon himself, see! He ain't such a mut as we - figgers. His train starts at 1 o'clock, an' he takes in d' bank on his way - to d' station. - </p> - <p> - “Of course we was wit' him; but he's dead leary an' never t'rows himself - open to be woiked. D' stuff is in t'ousand-dollar willyums, an' as he just - sinks it in his keck d' minute his hooks is onto it, an' never stops to - count or run his lamps over it, we don't get no chanct to do d' drop. D' - instant d' money's in his mits he plants it—all stretched out long - in a big leather, it is—in his inside pocket, an' screws his nut for - d' door. D' hack slams an' he's on his way to d' train. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; we starts for d' station be another street. D' bloke ain't onto us - yet, an' we tries not to plant a scare into him. He's leary enough as it - is; just havin' such a roll wit' him rattles him. - </p> - <p> - “So I makes up me mind to do d' job on d' train runnin' into New York. As - he sinks d' stuff away, I notes how d' ends of d' bills sticks out over d' - pocket-book. Me idee is to weed it—get d' dough an' leave d' leather - in his pocket—if I can make d' play. Weedin' was d' way to do; you - gets d' long green an 'd' sucker still has d' leather to feel of, an' it's - some time before he tumbles he's been touched, see! - </p> - <p> - “D' guy wit 'd' stuff plants himself in a seat. Two of me stalls sits - ahead of him, me an' me other pal is behint him. We only waits now for him - to get up an' come along d' aisle of d' car to get in our hooks. - </p> - <p> - “Foist I goes d' len'th of d' train to see who's onto it. I always does - that; I wants to see if any guy aboard knows Mollie Matches. You see, if - there is, when d' holler comes, an' some duck declares himself shy his - spark, or roll, or ticker, it's 40 to 1 Mr. Know-all, who's onto me for a - crook, sends a tip to d' p'lice: 'Matches was on d' train!' an' I gets d' - collar. No, I never woiks when one of me acquaintances is along be - accident. D' cops, in such case, as I says, is put onto me an' spots me - wit 'd' foist yell. - </p> - <p> - “I covers d' train an' comes back. There's no guy on me visiting list - who's along. So I sits down wit' me pal to d' rear of d' sucker an' waits. - </p> - <p> - “It's not for long. D' leather's still in his inside keck, 'cause I can - see him pressin' on it wit' his mit to make sure it's there. At last he - gets up to go to d' watercooler. I sees d' move comin', an' is in d' aisle - before him. So's me stalls. From start to finish no one bungles d' stunt. - There's a tangle—all be accident, of course—every mug - 'pologises, we break away, an' I've got d' blunt. But d' woist part is, I - can't weed it. D' stuff won't come no other way, an' so I lifts leather - an' all. - </p> - <p> - “There's due to be a roar in no time;—this mark's bound to be on - he's frisked!—so I splits out each stall's bit in a hurry an' says: - 'Every gent for himself! an' if youse is nipped, don't knock!' an' then I - sherries me nibs for d' rear coach. It was great graft. Me bit was $9,000, - an' I has me plan all set up to save it an' meself wit' it. This is d' - racket I has in me cocoa. - </p> - <p> - “In d' last coach is an old w'ite choker—a pulpit t'umper, you - understand. Wit' him is his daughter, an' wit' her is her kid. Mebby d' - kid, say, is six years. I heads for 'em an' begins to give d' old skate a - jolly. I was dead strong on patter in them days, an' puts it up I'm a - gospel sharp from Hamilton. I saws it off on his nibs how me choich boins - down, an' how I'm linin' out to New York to see if d' good folks down - there won't spring their rolls—cough up be way of donations, you - understand, an' help us slam up a new box—choich, I means—so - we can go back to our graft. - </p> - <p> - “It's all right. Me razzle dazzle takes like spring water. In two minutes - me an 'd' old party an 'd' loidy, an' for that matter d' kid, is t'ick as - t'ieves. We was bunched together, singin' 'Jesus, Lover of me Soul,' to - beat four of a kind, when d' galoot I skins for his bundle lifts d' shout - he's been done, see! - </p> - <p> - “This dub who lose is t'ree coaches ahead. D' foist we knows of his - troubles—all but me—d' Con' comes an' locks d' door. No one - can get off d' train. Then he stops an' taps d' wires wit' a machine from - d' baggage car an' sends d' story chasin' into New York. - </p> - <p> - “'Party t'run down for $36,000, says d' message; 'swag an' crooks still on - me train. Send orders.' - </p> - <p> - “D' order comes to keep d' doors locked an' run to New York wit' no more - stops. An' after puttin' a Brakey in each coach to see what goes on, - that's what dey does. We go spinnin' into New York at forty-five miles an - hour. - </p> - <p> - “Naturally, I'm in a steam. I goes all right wit 'd' Con', an' d' train - crew, as a sky pilot, but how was I to make d' riffle wit' de fly cop of - New York, who'd be waitin' for d' train—me mug in d' gallery, an' - four out o' five of 'em twiggin' me be me foist name? But I t'ought it - out. - </p> - <p> - “When d' train rumbles into d' Gran' Central, d' door is slammed open an' - we all gets up to go. A fly-cop is comin' in just as we starts. I grabs up - d' kid to carry him, see! bein' d' old preacher party nor d' skirt ain't - so able as me. - </p> - <p> - “Say! it was a winner. I buries me map in d' kid's make-up, gets between - d' goil an' d' old stumblin' mucker of a gran'dad, an' walks slap t'rough - d' entire day-push of d' Central office. An' hard, sharp marks dey is to - beat, see! - </p> - <p> - “Fly dey is, but not swift enough for Matches wit a scare on, see! Not a - dub of 'em tumbles to me. - </p> - <p> - “In two moves an' ten seconts I'm in d' street. As I goes along I pulls a - ring off one of me north hooks wit' me teet,' an' t'oins it over to d' kid - as his bit for makin' d' good front for me. No; d' others don't catch on, - but d' way he cinches it in his small mit shows me he's goin' to save it - out for fair. - </p> - <p> - “When I hits d' street I drops d' youngone, who's still froze to his - solitaire, an' grabs off a cab, an' in twenty minutes I'm buried where all - d' p'lice in New York couldn't toin me up in a t'ousand years. - </p> - <p> - “No; me pals got d' collar, an' each does a stretch. But dey lays dead - about me; never peached nor squealed. I win out. - </p> - <p> - “Who?—d' w'ite choker an' his party? Nit; never hears of 'em ag'in. - For four days I gets one of d' fam'ly—he's a crook who's under cover - for a bank trick, an' who's eddicted—to read me all d' poipers. I - wants to see if d' preacher an' his goil gives up anyt'ing about d' ring I - swaps to d' kid. - </p> - <p> - “Never hears a peep! Nixie; dey was on all right, you bet your life! when - their lamps lights on that jewelry; but most likely dey needs d' ring in - their graft. It was a spark wort' five hundred cases from any fence in d' - land, an' so d' old guy an' his goil sort o' stan's for d' play, see!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE FATAL KEY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>oung Jenkins - prided himself on sharp eyes. He said he could “give a hawk cards and - spades.” He could find four-leaf clovers where no one else could see them. - He took in the smallest detail of the scenery all about him. - </p> - <p> - As a result, young Jenkins was a great finder of small trifles, and that - he might miss nothing, lost, strayed or stolen, he went about during the - little journeys of the day, with his eyes searching the ground. And he - picked up many trinkets of a personal sort that other men had lost. - Nothing of much value, perhaps, but it served to please young Jenkins, and - it gave him a chance to boast of the sharp, devouring character of his - eyes. - </p> - <p> - Even as a child, young Jenkins was prone to find things. He told how once - his talents as a retriever made him the subject of parental suspicion. He - was ten years old when he picked up a four-blade Barlow knife. - </p> - <p> - “Where did you get it?” queried old Jenkins, as young Jenkins displayed - his treasure trove. - </p> - <p> - “Found it,” was the reply. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you found it!” snorted old Jenkins. “Well, take it straight back, and - put it where you found it, and don't 'find' any more. If you do, I'll lick - you out of your knickerbockers!” - </p> - <p> - In spite of such discouragement, young Jenkins kept on finding all sorts - of bric-à -brac. He does even to this day. - </p> - <p> - One evening young Jenkins had a disagreeable adventure, as the fruit of - his talent, which for an hour or so made him wish he had weaker vision. - </p> - <p> - It was on Great Jones Street, and young Jenkins, hurrying along, noticed - in the half moonlight a big store key, where the owner had dropped it just - after locking up for the night. The hour was full midnight. - </p> - <p> - Young Jenkins possessed himself of the key. He looked at it as he held it - in his hand, and wondered how the careless shopman would open up in the - morning without it. - </p> - <p> - From where it lay it wasn't hard to infer the store to which the key - belonged. Yet to make sure on that point it occurred to young Jenkins that - he might better try the lock with it. - </p> - <p> - Young Jenkins had just fitted the big key to the lock when some one seized - him by the wrist. It startled him so that he dropped the key and allowed - it to go rattling along the sidewalk. As young Jenkins looked up he saw - that the party who had got him was a member of the police. - </p> - <p> - “I was trying to unlock the door!” stammered young Jenkins. - </p> - <p> - “I saw what you were about,” said the officer with suspicious severity. - “What were you monkeying with the door for? You aren't the owner of this - store?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” said young Jenkins, much impressed. “No, sir; I——” - </p> - <p> - “Nor one of the clerks?” - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” replied young Jenkins again, “I have nothing to do with the - store. I found the key, and thought I'd see if it opened this door.” - </p> - <p> - “What did you want to see if it would open the door for? Don't you think - it is a little late for a joke of that sort?” - </p> - <p> - “It wasn't a joke,” said young Jenkins, beginning to perspire rather - copiously; “it was an experiment. I found the key on the sidewalk, and - wanted to see——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes!” interrupted the blue coat with a fine scorn; “you wanted to see if - you could get into the store and rob it bare. That is what you wanted to - see. You're a box-worker, if ever I met one, and if I hadn't come along - you would have had this bin cracked and cleaned out in another ten - minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “I told you I found the key,” protested young Jenkins. - </p> - <p> - “That's all right about your finding the key!” said the policeman in - supreme contempt. “You found the key and I found you, and we'll both keep - what we've found. That's square, ain't it?” - </p> - <p> - And in spite of all young Jenkins could say at that late hour of the - twenty-four, the faithful officer dragged him to the station, where a - faithful sergeant faithfully registered him, and a faithful turnkey locked - him faithfully up. - </p> - <p> - As young Jenkins sat unhappy in his cell, while vermin sparred with him - for an opening, he registered a vow that never again would he find - anything. - </p> - <p> - Young Jenkins wouldn't pick up a twenty-dollar gold piece were he to meet - one to-day in the street. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - AN OCEAN ERROR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>o; neither my name - nor the name of my vessel can I give. Our navy has a way of - courtmartialing its officers who wax garrulous.” - </p> - <p> - It was just as the Lieutenant called for the <i>creme de menthe</i>, that - may properly succeed a dinner well ordered and well stowed. - </p> - <p> - “But you are welcome to the raw facts,” continued the Lieutenant. “It was - during those anxious days that went before the penning in of Cervera at - Santiago. We had been ordered on a ticklish service. Schley was over south - of the island on a prowl for the Spanish fleet. Sampson was, or should - have been, off the Windward Passage similarly employed. Cervera was last - heard of two weeks before at Barbadoes. Then he disappeared like a ghost; - no one knew where his smoke would be sighted next. The one sure thing, of - which all were aware, was that with Sampson anywhere between the Mole and - Cape Mazie, and Schley searching the wide seas south of Cuba, Cervera - might easily with little luck and less seamanship dodge either and appear - off Havana. There the cardboard fleet left on blockade wouldn't, with such - heavy odds, last as long as a drink of whiskey. - </p> - <p> - “It stood thus when our orders came to my Captain to proceed to Bayou - Hondu, some seventy miles west of Havana, and there stand off and on, like - a policeman walking his beat, in what would be the path of Cervera should - he work to the rear of Schley and to the north of Cuba by the way of St. - Antonio. - </p> - <p> - “Our vessel was detailed on this duty because of her perfect order and - speed of seventeen knots. Our heavy armament was eight 4-inch broadside - guns, with a 6-inch rifle forward and another mounted aft. Our orders - were: If Cervera came upon us to fight!—steam as slowly as might be - for Havana and fight!—and to keep fighting until sunk or sure that - the block-aders off Havana were warned, whether by our signals or our - racket, of Cervera's coming. - </p> - <p> - “It was a grinding task, this lonely patrol off Bayou Hondu. The rains had - just begun, the weather was a dripping hash of fog and squall and rain. If - Cervera didn't come, it meant discomfort; and if he did, it meant death. - Take it full and by, the outlook was depressing. - </p> - <p> - “At night no light burned and the ship was dark as a coffin. This, with - the service, contributed to keep us all in a mood of alert nervousness. - Cervera's ships would also be dark. We didn't care to be crept upon, and - get our first notice of his advent from the broadside that sent us to the - bottom like an anvil. - </p> - <p> - “We had been on this dreary duty some ten days. It was a dark, heavy - night. I myself had the bridge, and the captain, whose anxiety kept him - up, was seated in the starboard corner, dozing. His sea cloak was thrown - over his head to keep out the weather. We were working to the eastward, - with engines at quarter speed, and with a head sea running, were making - perhaps three knots. - </p> - <p> - “The ship's bells were not being struck for the hours, and I had just - looked at my watch by the light of the binnacle. It was half-past two in - the morning. - </p> - <p> - “'How's your head?' I asked of the man at the wheel, as I put up my - timepiece. - </p> - <p> - “'East by south, half south,' he replied. - </p> - <p> - “This was taking us too much inshore. 'Starboard for a point!' I said. - </p> - <p> - “As I turned from the wheel I saw that which sent a thrill over me and - brought me up all standing. It was the murky loom of a great ship, black - and dim and dark and silent as ourselves. She was off our port quarter and - not five hundred yards away. It gave me a start, I confess. None of our - ships should be that far to the west of Havana. It was a sword to a sheath - knife she was one of Cervera's advance. - </p> - <p> - “Instantly I reached for the electric button; and instantly the red and - white lights, which stood for the letter of that night, burned in our - semaphore. The stranger replied with a red over two white lights. It was - the wrong letter. - </p> - <p> - “With my first motion, the captain was on his feet; his hand gripped the - lever that worked the engine bells. - </p> - <p> - “'Try her again!' he said. - </p> - <p> - “Again I flashed the proper letter, and again came a queer reply. - </p> - <p> - “The next moment the captain jammed the lever 'Full steam, ahead!' and a - general call to quarters went singing through the ship. - </p> - <p> - “'Starboard!' shouted the captain to the man at the wheel; 'starboard! - pull her over!' - </p> - <p> - “There was a vast churning from the propellers; the vessel leaped forward - like a horse; the sailor climbed the wheel like a squirrel. We surged - forward with a broad sheer to port. The next instant we opened on our dark - visitor with every gun in the larboard battery. It wasn't ten seconds - after she gave us the wrong signal when she got our broadside. - </p> - <p> - “The result was amazing. With the first crash of our guns the stranger - went from utter darkness to the extreme of light. She flashed out all over - like a Fall River steamer. Knowing who we were—for they bore orders - for us—and realizing that there had been some mixing of signals, the - officer on her bridge had the wit to turn on every light in his ship. It - was an inspiration and saved them from a second broadside. - </p> - <p> - “Who was she? One of our own vessels. Cervera was locked in Santiago and - she had come up to tell us the news. Her officer blundered in giving out - the wrong letter for the night, and thereby sowed the seed of our - misunderstanding. - </p> - <p> - “No, beyond peppering her a bit, our fire did no harm. We were so close - that most of our shot went over her. Still, I don't believe that vessel - will ever get her signals fouled again. And it's just as well that way. If - she had made the wrong talk to some one of our heavy-weights, the Oregon, - for instance, she would have gone down like so much pig-iron.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - SKINNY MIKE'S UNWISDOM - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>HUCKY was posed in - his usual corner. As I came in he nodded sullenly as one whom the Fates - ill-use. I craved of Chucky to name his drink; it was the surest way to - thaw him. - </p> - <p> - “Make it beer,” said Chucky. - </p> - <p> - Now beer stood as a symbol of gloom with Chucky, as he himself had told - me. - </p> - <p> - “It's always d' way wit' me,” said Chucky on that far occasion when he - explained “Beer”, “when I'm dead sore an' been gettin' it in d' neck, to - order beer. It's d' sorrowfulest kind of booze, beer is; there's a sob in - every bottle of it, see!” - </p> - <p> - Realising Chucky's low spirits by virtue of present beer, I suavely made - query of his unknown grief and tendered sympathy. - </p> - <p> - “I've been done for me dough,” replied Chucky, softening sulkily. “You - minds d' races at d' Springs? That's it; I gets t'run down be d' horses. I - get d' gaff for fifty plunks. Now, fifty plunks ain't all d' money in d' - woild; but it was wit' me. It was me fortune.” - </p> - <p> - Chucky ruminated bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I'm a good t'ing!” he ejaculated, as he tilted his chair against the - wall with an air of decision. “I'll play d' jumpers agin, nit! - </p> - <p> - “W'at's d' use? I can't beat nothin'. Say! I couldn't beat a drum! I'm a - mut to ever t'ink of it! I ought to give meself up to d' p'lice right now - an' ast 'em to put me in Bloomin'dale or some other bug house. I'm nutty, - that's what I am; an' that's for fair! Now, I'd as lief tell you. It's d' - boss hard luck story, an' that ain't no vision! - </p> - <p> - “In d' foist place, I was a rank sucker to d' point of deemin' meself a - wise guy about d' horses. An' it so follows, bein' stuck on meself about - horses, as I says, that when Skinny Mike blows in wit 'd' idee that he can - pick d' winner of d' big event, I falls to d' play, an easy mark. - </p> - <p> - “Mike is an oldtime tout; an' wit' me feelin', as I says, dead fly, it - ain't a minute before I'm addin' me ignorance to Mike's, an' we're runnin' - over d' dopes in d' papers seein' what d' horses has done. To make a long - story short, we settles it for a finish that War Song's out to win. Which, - after all, ain't such a sucker t'eory. - </p> - <p> - “'It's a cinch!' says Skinny Mike; 'War Song's got a pushover. Dey can't - beat him; never in a t'ousand years!' - </p> - <p> - “It looks a sure tip to me, too; so I digs for me last dollar an' hocks me - ticker besides, an' makes up d' fifty plunks I mentions. Mike sticks in - fifty an' then takes d' whole roll an' screws his nut for d' Springs to - get it up on War Song. Naw; I don't go. Mike's plenty to make d' play; an' - besides I had me lamps on a sure t'ing for a tenner over on d' Bowery. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, while Mike's gone, I ain't doin' a t'ing but read d' poipers - all to pieces. War Song's a 20-to-1 shot; I stan's to make a killin'—stan's - to win a t'ousand plunks, see! - </p> - <p> - “An', say! War Song win! Mebby I don't give d' yell of d' year when I sees - it in d' print. - </p> - <p> - “'W'at's eatin' youse, Chucky?' says me Rag, as I cuts loose me warwhoop. - </p> - <p> - “'O, I ain't got no nut!' I says, givin' meself d' gran' jolly. 'No! not - at all! I has to ast some mark to tell me me name, I don't t'ink! I'm - cooney enough to get onto War Song, all d' same! Say! I'm d' soonest - galoot that ever comes down d' pike!' - </p> - <p> - “That's d' way I feels an' that's d' way I chins. - </p> - <p> - “At last I cools off me dampers an' sets in to wait for Mike. Meanwhile I - begins to figger how I'll blow d' stuff, see! an' settle what I'll buy. - It's a case of money to boin an' I was gettin' me matches ready before - even Mike shows up. - </p> - <p> - “But Mike don't come. 'W'at th' 'ell!' I t'inks; 'Mike ain't crookt it; he - ain't skipped wit' d' bundle?' An' say! you should a-seen me chew d' rag - at d' idee. - </p> - <p> - “But I'm wrong on me lead. Mike hadn't welched, an' he hadn't been - sandbagged. He comes creepin' along a day behint d' play, an' d' secont I - gets me lamps on his mug I'm dead on we lose. I don't have to have me - fortune told to tumble to that. Mike looks like five cents wort' of lard - in a paper bag. An* here's d' song he sings. - </p> - <p> - “Mike says he goes to d' Springs all right, all right, an' is organised to - get War Song for d' limit d' nex' day. It's that night, out be d' stables, - when he chases up on a horsescraper—a sawed-off coon, he is—an - 'd' horse-scraper breaks off a great yarn on Mike. - </p> - <p> - “'I ain't no tout, an' dis ain't no tip,' Mike says d' coon says; 'it's a - rev'lation. On d' dead! it's a prophecy! It's las' night. I'm sleepin' in - d' stall nex' to a little horse named Dancer. All at onct I wakes up an' - listens. It's that Dancer horse in d' nex' stall talkin' to himself. Over - an' over agin he says: “I'm goin' to win it! I'm goin' to win it!” just - like that.' - </p> - <p> - “Well,” continued Chucky, “you know Skinny Mike. There's a ghost goes wit' - Mike, an' he's that sooperstitious, d' nigger's story has him on a string - in a hully secont. He can't shake it off. Away he wanders an' dumps d' - entire wad on Dancer, an' never puts a splinter on War Song at all. - </p> - <p> - “W'at do you t'ink of it? On d' level! w'at d' youse really t'ink of it? - That Mike's a woild-beater; that's right; a woild-beater an' a wonder to - boot! I'd like to trade him for a yaller dawg, an' do d' dawg!” - </p> - <p> - “Did Dancer win?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - “Did Dancer win?” repeated Chucky; and his tones breathed guttural scorn; - “d' old skate never even finished. Naw; he gets 'round on d' back stretch, - stops, bites d' boy off his back, chases over be d' fence an' goes to - eatin' grass; that's what Dancer does. He's a dandy race horse, or I don't - want a cent! I'll bet me mudder-in-law on that Dancer some day. I tells - Mike to take a run an' jump on himself. Naw,” concluded Chucky, with a - great gulp, “Dancer don't win; War Song win.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - MOLLIE PRESCOTT - </h2> - <h3> - (Wolfville) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Cactus” was the - name bestowed upon her in Wolfville. Her signature, if she had written it, - would probably have been Mollie Prescott, at least such was the - declaration of Cherokee Hall. - </p> - <p> - “I sees this yere lady a year ago in Tombstone,” asserted that veracious - chronicler, “where she cooks at the stage station; an' she gives it out - she's Prescott—Mollie Prescott—an' most likely she knows her - name, an' knows it a year ago.” - </p> - <p> - As Cherokee was a historian of known firmness of statement, no one cared - to challenge either his facts or his conclusions. The true name of “The - Cactus” was accepted by the Wolfville public as Prescott. - </p> - <p> - “The Cactus” was personable, and her advent into Wolfville society caused - something of a flutter. Her mission was to cook, and in the fulfilment of - her destiny she presided over the range at the stage station. - </p> - <p> - Being publicly hailed as “The Cactus” seemed in no wise to depress her. It - was even possible she took a secret glow over an epithet, meant by the - critical taste awarding it, to illustrate those thorns in her nature which - repelled and held in check the amorous male of Wolfville. - </p> - <p> - Women were not frequent in Wolfville, and on her coming, “The Cactus” had - many admirers. Every man in camp loved her the moment she stepped from the - Tucson stage; that is, every man save Cherokee Hall. That scientist, given - wholly to faro as a philosophy, had no time—in a day before he met - Faro Nell—for so dulcet an affair as love. Also Cherokee had - scruples born of his business. - </p> - <p> - “Life behind a deal box is a mighty sight too fantastic,” observed the - thoughtful Cherokee, “for a fam'ly. It does well enough for - single-footers, which it don't make much difference with when some gent - they've mortified an' hurt, pulls his six-shooter an' sends them lopin' - home to heaven all spraddled out. But a lady ain't got no business with a - sport who turns kyards as a pursoot.” - </p> - <p> - As time unfurled, the train of lovers to sigh on the daily trail of “The - Cactus” dwindled. There were those who grew dispirited. - </p> - <p> - “I'm clean-strain enough,” said Dan Boggs, in apologetic description of - his failure to persevere, “but I knows when I've got through. I'll play a - game to a finish, but when it's down to the turn an' my last chip's gone - over to the dealer, why! I shoves my chair back an' quits. An' it's about - that a-way of an' concernin' my yearnin's for this yere Cactus girl. I - jest can't get her none, an' that settles it. I now drops out an' gives up - my seat complete.” - </p> - <p> - “That's whatever!” said Texas Thompson, who was an interested listener to - the defeated Boggs, “an' you can gamble I'm with you on them views! Seein' - as how my wife in Laredo gets herse'f that divorce, I turns in an' loves - this Cactus person myse'f to a frightful degree. Thar's times I simply - goes about sobbin' them sentiments publicly. But yere awhile back I comes - wanderin' 'round her kitchen, an' bing! arrives a skillet at my head. That - lets me out! You bet! I don't pursoo them explorations 'round her no more. - I has exper'ence with one, an' I don't aim to get any lariat onto a second - female who is that callous as to go a-chunkin' of kitchen bric-a-brac at a - heart which is merely pinin' for her smiles.” - </p> - <p> - There were two at the shrine of “The Cactus,” who were known to Wolfville, - respectively, as Cottonwood Wasson and Cape Jinks. These were - distinguished for the ardour wherewith they made siege to the affection of - “The Cactus,” and the energy of their demands for her capitulation. - </p> - <p> - That virgin, however, paid neither heed to their court, nor took an - interest in the comment of onlook-ing Wolfville. She pursued her path in - life, even and unmoved. She set her tables, washed her dishes, and - perfected her daily beefsteaks by the ingenious process, popular in the - Southwest, of burning them on the griddles of the range, and all with a - composure bordering hard on the stolid. - </p> - <p> - “All I'm afraid of,” said Old Man Enright, the head of the local vigilance - committee, “is that some of these yere young bucks'll take to pawin' - 'round for trouble with each other. As the upshot of sech doin's would - most likely be the stringin' of the survivors by the committee, nuptials, - which now looks plenty feasible, would be plumb busted an' alienated, an' - the camp get a setback it would be hard to rally from. I wishes this - maiden would tip her hand to some discreet gent, so a play could be made - in advance to get the wrong parties over to Tucson or some'ers. Whatever - do you think yourse'f, Cherokee?” - </p> - <p> - “It's a delicate deal,” replied that philosopher, “to go tamperin' 'round - a lady for the secret of her soul. But I shorely deems the occasion a - crisis, an* public interest demands somethin' is done. I wish Doc Peets - was yere; he knows these skirted cattle like I does an ace. But Peets - won't be back for a month; pendin' of which, onless we-alls interferes, - it's my jedgment some of this yere amorousness 'll come off in the smoke.” - </p> - <p> - “Thar ought to be statoots,” observed Texas Thompson, with a fine air of - wisdom, “ag'in love-makin' in the far West. The East should be kept for - sech purposes speshul; same as reservations for Injuns. The Western - climate's too exyooberant for love.” - </p> - <p> - “S'pose me an' you an' Thompson yere goes to this young person, an' all - p'lite an' congenial like, we ups an' asks her intentions?” remarked - Enright. This was offered to Cherokee. - </p> - <p> - “Excuse me, pards!” said Texas Thompson with eagerness, “but I don't - reckon I wants kyards in this at all. 'The Cactus' is a mighty fine young - bein', but you-alls recalls as how I've been ha'ntin' 'round her somewhat - in the past myse'f. For which reason, with others, she might take my - comin' on sech errants derisive, an' bust me over the forehead with a - dipper, or some sech objectionable play. I allows I better keep out of - this embroglio a whole lot. I ain't aiming to shirk nothin', but it'll be - a heap more shore to win.” - </p> - <p> - “Thompson ain't onlikely to be plenty right about this,” said Cherokee, - “an' I reckons, Enright, we-alls better take this trick ourse'ves.” - </p> - <p> - The mission was not a success. When the worthy pair of peace-preservers - appeared in the presence of “The Cactus,” and made the inquiries noted, - the scorn of that damsel was excited beyond the power of words to - describe. - </p> - <p> - “What be you-alls doin' in my kitchen?” she cried, her face a-flush with - rage and noonday cookery. “Who sends you-alls curvin' over to me, a-makin' - of them insultin' bluffs? I demands to know!” - </p> - <p> - “An' yere,” said Cherokee Hall, relating the exploit in the Red Light - immediately thereafter, “she stamps her foot like a buck antelope, an' - lets fly a stovelifter at us; an' all with a proud, high air, which - reminds me a mighty sight of a goddess.” - </p> - <p> - At the time, it would seem, the duo attempted to show popular cause for - their presence, and made an effort to point out to “The Cactus” the crying - public need of some decision on her part. - </p> - <p> - “You-all don't want the young male persons of this village to take to - shootin' of each other all up none, do you?” asked Enright. - </p> - <p> - “I wants you two beasts to get outen my kitchen!” replied “The Cactus” - vigorously; “an' I wants you to move some hurried, too. Don't never let me - find your moccasin tracks 'round yere no more, or I'll turn in an' mark - you up.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0287.jpg" alt="0287 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0287.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Yere, you!” she continued as the ambassadors were about to leave, - something cast down by the conference; “you-alls can tell the folks of - this town, that if they're idiots enough to go makin' a gun play over me, - to make it. They has shore pestered me enough!” - </p> - <p> - “Which I don't wonder none at Thompson bein' reluctant an' doobious about - seein' this Cactus lady,” said Enright, as the two walked away. - </p> - <p> - “She's some fiery, an' that's a fact!” observed Cherokee in assent. - </p> - <p> - The result of the talk with “The Cactus” found its way about Wolfville, - and in less than an hour bore its hateful fruit. The peaceful quiet of the - Red Light, which, as a rule, was wounded by no harsher notes than the - flutter of a stack of chips, was rudely broken. - </p> - <p> - “Gents who ain't interested, better hunt a lower limb!” - </p> - <p> - It was the voice of Cottonwood Wasson. The trained instincts of Wolfville - at once grasped the trouble, and proceeded to hide its many heads behind - barrels, tables, counters, and anything which promised refuge from the - bullets. - </p> - <p> - All but one; Cape Jinks. He knew it meant him the moment Cottonwood Wasson - uttered the first syllable, and his pistol came bluntly to the fore - without a word. His rival's was already there, and the shooting set in - like a hailstorm. As a result, Cottonwood Wasson received an injury that - crippled his arm for days, while Cape Jinks was picked up with a hole in - his side, which even the sanguine sentiment of Wolfville, inclined to a - hardy optimism at all times, called dangerous. - </p> - <p> - “Well!” said Old Man Enright, drawing a deep, troubled breath, after the - duellists were cared for at the O. K. House, “yere we be ag'in an' nothin' - settled! Thar's all this shootin', an' this blood-lettin', an' the camp - gets all torn up; an' thar's as many of these people now as thar is - before, an' most likely the whole deal to go over ag'in.” - </p> - <p> - “I shore 'bominates things a-splittin' even that a-way!” said Cherokee. - </p> - <p> - The next day a new face was given the affair when “The Cactus” was - observed, clothed in her best frock and with two violent red roses in her - straw hat, to take the stage for Tucson. The stage company reported, in - deference to the excited state of the Wolfville mind, that “The Cactus” - would return in a week. - </p> - <p> - “Goin' for her weddin' trowsoo, most likely,” said Dan Boggs, as he gazed - after the stage. - </p> - <p> - “Let's drink to the hope she wins out a red dress!” remarked Texas - Thompson. “Set up the bottles, bar-keep, an' don't let no gent pass up the - play. Which red is my fav'rite colour!” - </p> - <p> - No one seemed to know the intentions of “The Cactus.” The shooting would - appear to have in nowise disturbed her. That may have been her obdurate - heart, or it may have come from a familiarity with the evanescent tenure - of human life, born of her years on the border. Be that as one will, she - expressed not the least concern touching her brace of wounded lovers, and - took the stage without saying good-bye to any one. - </p> - <p> - “An' some fools say women is talkers!” remarked Jack Moore, the Marshal, - in high disgust. - </p> - <p> - Three days later Old Monte, the stage driver, came in with thrilling news. - “The Cactus” had wedded a man in Tucson, and would bring him to Wolfville - in a week. - </p> - <p> - “When I first hears of it,” went on Old Monte with a groan, “an' when I - thinks of them two pore boys a-layin' in Wolfville, an' their claims bein' - raffled off in that heartless way, I shore thinks I'll take my Winchester - an' stop them marriage rites if I has to crease the preacher. But, pards, - the Tucson marshal wouldn't have it. He stan's me off. So she nails him; - an' the barkeep at the Oriental Saloon tells me over thar, how she's been - organisin' to wed this yere prairie dog before she ever hops into - Wolfville at all. I sees him afterwards; an', gents! for looks, he don't - break even with horned toads!” - </p> - <p> - “Thar you be!” said Enright, making a deprecatory gesture, “another case - of woman, lovely woman! However, even if this Cactus lady has done rung in - a cold hand onto us, we must still prance 'round an' show her a good time - when she trails in with her prey. Where the honour of the camp is - concerned, we whoops it up! Of course the Cactus don't please us none with - this deal; but most likely she pleases herse'f, which, after all, is the - next best thing. Gents,” concluded Enright, after a pause, “the return of - the new couple will be the signal of a general upheaval in their honour. - It's to be hoped our young friends, Cottonwood an' Jinks, will by then be - healthful enough to participate tharin. Barkeep! the liquor, please! Boys, - the limit's off; wherefore drink hearty!” - </p> - <p> - “Which I has preemonitions from the first, this yere Cactus female is a - brace game,” remarked Texas Thompson, as he filled his glass; “that's - whatever!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! I don't know!” replied Cherokee Hall thoughtfully. “She has her right - to place her bets to please herse'f, an' win or lose, this camp should be - proud to turn for her. Wolfville can't always make a killin'—can't - always be on velvet; but as long as the Cactus an' her victim pitches camp - yere, Wolfville can call herse'f ahead on the deal. I sees no room for - cavil, an' I yereby freights my glass to the Cactus an' the shorthorn - she's tied down.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ANNA MARIE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>nna Marie was to - be a new woman. She had decided that for herself. In the carrying out of - her destinies, Anna Marie had cut her hair short. She also made a - specialty of very mannish costumes, and, outwardly, at least, became as - virile as a woman might be with a make-up the basis of which was bound to - be a skirt. - </p> - <p> - Anna Marie was motherless, and at the age of nineteen, when she determined - to become a new woman, had no advice save her father's to depend on. When - she discussed an adoption of broader and more masculine methods on her - girlish part with her father, the old gentleman looked puzzled, and said: - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear! I have great confidence in your judgment. There is nothing - like experience, so go ahead. You will find, however, before you have gone - far, that you labour under many structural defects. The great Architect - didn't lay you out for a man, Anna Marie; you were not intended for such a - fate.” However, Anna Marie kept on. She was looking for a fuller liberty - and a wider field. She was too delicately and too accurately determined in - her tastes to be a fool to cigarettes, or swept down in a current of - profanity. Bad language she would leave to the real man; in her career as - a new woman nothing so vigorous was needed. - </p> - <p> - But men did other things, had other freedoms; and from that long male list - of liberties Anna Marie proceeded to pick out a line of freedom for - herself. She had had enough of that pent-up Utica which confines the - conventional woman. What she wanted was more room: that is, of proper, - decorous sort. - </p> - <p> - Of course, as Anna Marie proceeded up the long trail of masculinity, it - was noted by critics that she still continued essentially feminine as to - many common male accomplishments. She could not throw a stone, except in - that vague, pawey, overhand fashion usual with ladies, and which confers - on the missile neither direction nor force. And when Anna Marie essayed to - run, she still put everybody in mind of a cow trying to keep an - engagement. - </p> - <p> - While others noted those solemn truths, Anna Marie did not. She thought - she was making strenuous progress, and combed her short hair as a man - combs his, and walked with long, decided stride. - </p> - <p> - Anna Marie rode a bike, and decided to don bloomers for this ceremony. She - came to the bloomer decision hesitatingly, but made up her mind at last. - Secretly she regarded bloomers as the Rubicon. It was bloomers which - flowed between herself and the new woman in full standing; and once Anna - Marie had broken on the world in this ill-considered costume, she would - feel herself graduated, and no longer at school to Destiny. Therefore, - there dawned a day when Anna Marie came down the avenue on her bike, - be-bloomered to heart's content. She had made the plunge; the Rubicon was - crossed, and Anna Marie felt now like a female Cæsar who must conquer or - die. - </p> - <p> - On the bike-bloomer occasion Anna Marie was weak enough to hurry. She put - her unbridled steed to fullest speed, and flashed by the onlookers like - unto some sweet meteor. She blamed herself afterward for being such a - craven, but concluded that by sticking to her bloomers she would acquire - heart and slacken speed in time. - </p> - <p> - The worst feature about the bloomer business was that Anna Marie wotted - not how hideous she looked. She did not know that a printer on his way to - his case, caught a fleeting impression of her as she sped by, and that he - at once “put on a sub.,” took a night off, and became dejectedly yet fully - drunk. Nor did she wist that a nervous person was so affected by the awful - tout ensemble of herself, bike, and bloomers that he repaired to - Bloomingdale and sternly demanded admission as a right. - </p> - <p> - No; Anna Marie rode all too frightened and too fast to reap these truths. - Still, she might not have altered her system if she had known. For Anna - Marie was resolute. Bent as Anna Marie was on her completion as a new - woman, she resolved to inhabit bloomers and ride her two-wheeled vehicle - even unto a grey old age. How else, indeed, could she be a new woman? A - girl friend who had stood appalled at the vigour of Anna Marie asked her - as to the bloomers. - </p> - <p> - “They are good things,” observed Anna Marie. “There's a comfort in - bloomers which lurks not in the tangled wilderness of the ordinary skirt. - Their fault is that in donning bloomers one does not put them on over - one's head. It is a great defect. As it is, one never feels more than - half-dressed.” Anna Marie declared that the great want of the day was - bloomers, through which one thrust one's arms and head in the process of - harnessing. - </p> - <p> - Anna Marie had a brother George. This youth was twelve years of age. - George was essentially masculine. Anna Marie could see that, and it came - to her as a thought that in the course of becoming a new woman of fullest - feather, a good, ripe method would be to study George. Should she do as - George did, young though he was, she was sure to succeed. George would do - from instinct what she must do by imitation. Anna Marie felt these things - without really and definitely thinking them. It so fell out that, without - telling George, Anna Marie began to take him as guide, philosopher and - friend. And all without really knowing it herself. - </p> - <p> - Unconsciously, George loved her all the better because of this, and, moved - by a warm, ingenuous lack of years, began to take Anna Marie into his - confidence like true comrade. Anna Marie encouraged his frankness. - </p> - <p> - “George,” said Anna Marie, one day, “whenever you are about to do anything - peculiarly boyish and interesting, always tell me, so that I may join you - in your sport.” - </p> - <p> - George said he would, and he did. - </p> - <p> - It so befell one day, as the fruit of this comradeship, that George - changed the channel of Anna Marie's manly determination, and caused her to - abandon the rôle of a new woman. This is the story, and it all taught Anna - Marie, with the rush of a landslide, that, however industriously she might - prune and train her habits to the trellis of the male, she would never be - able to bring her nature to that state of icy, egotistical, cold-blooded - hardihood absolutely necessary to the perfect man, and therefore - indispensable to the new woman. But the story. - </p> - <p> - “Anna Marie,” said George, coming on her one day, “Anna Marie, me and - Billy Sweet wants you.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it, George?” asked Anna Marie. - </p> - <p> - “We're going to hang a dog out back of the barn,” explained George. “Me - and Billy are to be the jury, and we want you for judge. Hurry up, now! - that's a good fellow!” - </p> - <p> - Anna Marie felt a shock at thought of taking the life of anything. Her - first feeling was that George was a brute—a mere animal himself. But - Anna Marie quickly reflected, that, whatever George might be, at least his - hardened sex was the promontory the new woman must steer by. She put down - the garment she was sewing and sought the scene of canine trial. - </p> - <p> - “You see, Anna Marie!” explained George, pointing to a saffron-coloured - dog, which stood with dolorous tail between his legs and looked very - repentant, “he murdered a kitten, and we are going to try to convict and - hang him. You sit down there by the fence, and the trial won't take a - minute. Billy and me have got our minds made up, and we won't take no time - to decide. There's the rope, and we're going to hang him to the limb of - that maple.” - </p> - <p> - Anna Marie felt worried. Still, she allowed herself to be installed, and - the trial proceeded. It was very brief. George produced the defunct - kitten,—which looked indeed, very dead,—with the remark, “Say, - you yellow dog! you're charged with murdering this cat; have you got - anything to say against being hung?” - </p> - <p> - The yellow cur feebly wagged his disreputable tail, and looked at Anna - Marie in a fashion of sneaking appeal. He said as plain as words: “Save - me!” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn't hang the poor thing, George,” said Anna Marie, and she began - to pat the felon yellow cur. - </p> - <p> - “You're a great judge!” remonstrated George, indignantly. “It ain't for - you to decide; it's for me and Billy. We are the jury, and in favour of - hanging him, ain't we, Billy?” - </p> - <p> - Billy nodded emphatically. - </p> - <p> - “But, George,” expostulated Anna Marie, “it is so cruel! so brutal!” - </p> - <p> - “Brutal!” scoffed George. “Don't they hang folks for murder every day? You - wear bloomers and talk of being a new woman and having the rights of a - man! I have heard you with that Sanford girl! And now you come out here - and try to talk off a yellow dog who is guilty of murder, and admits it by - his silence! You would act nice if it was a real man and a real murder - case! Come on, Billy; let's string him up.” - </p> - <p> - Here George seized on the cowering victim of lynch law, and started for - the maple, where the rope already dangled for its prey. Anna Marie became - utterly feminine at this, and burst into tears. Her nineteen years and her - progress toward a new womanhood did not save her. In her distress she - turned to the other member of the jury. - </p> - <p> - Billy Sweet, at the age of thirteen, was an ardent admirer of George's - sister, loved her dearly, if secretly, and meant to marry her in ten or - fifteen years, when he grew up. At present he played with George and kept - a loving eye on his future bride. Anna Marie knew of Billy's partiality, - so she cunningly turned on this admirer, like a true daughter of the olden - woman. - </p> - <p> - “You think as I do, don't you, Billy?” And Anna Marie's tone had a caress - in it which made Billy's ears a happy red. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, ma'am!” said Billy. - </p> - <p> - George was disgusted. - </p> - <p> - “You are the kind of a juryman,” said George, full of contempt, “that - makes me tired. There, Anna Marie, take your yellow dog, and don't try to - play with me no more. You are too soft!” - </p> - <p> - Anna Marie felt that some vast deposit of good, hard sense lay hidden in - George's last remark. On her way to the house she did a good deal of - thinking, as girls whose mothers are dead do now and then. The development - of her cogitations was told in a remark to her girl friend: - </p> - <p> - “It's so tiresome, this being a new woman! I am going to give it up. I am - afraid, as father says, I am 'not built right.'” - </p> - <p> - And thus it ended. Marie is exceedingly the olden woman now. She has - beaten her sword into a pruning-hook, her bike into a spinning-wheel! She - no longer walks with long, decided stride. She is a woman in all things, - and will scream and chase a street car as if it were the last going that - way for a week, like the tenderest and frailest of her kind. She has - retracted as to bloomers. Anna Marie has returned to the agency, and - forever abandoned the warpath of a new and manly womanhood. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE PETERSENS - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HEN Chucky came - into the little doggery where we were wont to converse, there arrived with - him an emphatic odour of kerosene. Also Chucky's face was worn and sad, - and his hands were muffled with many bandages. To add to it all Chucky was - not in spirits. - </p> - <p> - “What's the trouble?” I asked. - </p> - <p> - “We've been havin 'd' run in' of our lives,” replied Chucky, as he called - to the barkeeper for his usual bracer, “an' our tenement is just standin' - on its nut right now, an' that's for straight!” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me about it,” I urged. - </p> - <p> - “D' racket this time over to d' joint,” said Chucky, “is about a Swede - skirt named Petersen who croaks herself be d' gas play last night. D' - place is full of cops an' hobos an' all sorts of blokes, pipin' off d' - play, while a corner mug is holdin' an inkwest over d' stiff, see! What - you smells is d' coal oil on me mits. I soaks me hooks in it to take d' - boin away. Me Rag gives me d' tip; an' say! it's a winner at that. D' - boins ain't half so bad as dey was.” - </p> - <p> - “But I don't understand,” I replied. “How did you come to burn your hands? - If the gas was burning, I don't see how the woman could have committed - suicide.” - </p> - <p> - “Youse is gettin' away on d' wrong hoof,” said Chucky. “I don't boin me - fins over d' Petersen moll croakin' herself. I cremates 'em puttin' out d' - flames when d' Petersen kid takes fire d' day before. This inkwest which - d' cor'oner guy is holdin' to-day, is d' secont one. He holds d' foist - yesterday over d' kid. - </p> - <p> - “On d' level! I don't catch on to d' need of inkwests anyhow. If a mark's - dead, he's dead. It don't need no sawbones an' a mob of snoozers to be - 'panelled for a jury, see! to put youse on. It looks to me like a dead - case of shakin' down d' public for d' fees; these inkwests do, Cor'ners, I - s'spose, has to have some excuse for livin', so when some poor duck - croaks, dey comes chasin' 'round wit' a inkwest to see if he's surely done - up, an' to put a bit of dough in their kecks. Well! I figgers it's law all - right, all right, an' mebby it's d' proper caper. Anyhow, I passes it up. - </p> - <p> - “What about this Petersen push? Well, if ever a household strikes it hard, - I'm here to say it's d' Petersens. When it comes to d' boss hard luck - story, I'll place me bets wit' that outfit every time. - </p> - <p> - “It's two spaces back when this Petersen gang comes ashore at Ellis - Island. There's t'ree of 'em; husband, wife, an' kid, see! Dey comes in as - steerage, an' naturally, d' Ellis Island gezebos collars 'em an' t'rows - 'em into hock d' moment dey hits d' pier. Nit; dey ain't arrested. But - youse is on, how dey puts d' clamps to emigrants. Dey 'detains' 'em, as - it's called. - </p> - <p> - “Every mug who comes steerage has to spring his plant when he lands, an' - if he ain't as strong as $30, dey—d' offishuls—don't do a - t'ing but chase him back on d' nex' boat. He's a pauper, see! an' he gets - d' razzle dazzle an 'd' gran' rinky dink. Back he goes where he hails - from, like a bundle of old clothes. Paupers is barred at Ellis Island; dey - don't go wit' these United States, not on your overshoes! - </p> - <p> - “So d' Petersens is stood up, like I tells youse, at Ellis Island to see - be dey tramps. It toins out, nit. Dey ain't paupers. Petersen has more'n - enough money to get be d' gate, see! Petersen has a hundred an' fifty - plunks, an' bein' there's only t'ree, it's plenty to go 'round an' show - $30 for each. - </p> - <p> - “Still them Ellis Island snoozers detains d' Petersens a week just d' - same. D' place where dey stays is worse'n any holdover or station house - I'm ever in; an', bein' d' weather's winter, an' this 'detention' pen is - wet an' cold, Petersen himself cops off d' pneumonia an' out goes his - light before ever he leaves Ellis Island at all. Dey plants him in d' - graveyard dey has for emigrants, an 'd' wife an' kid comes over to d' city - alone. - </p> - <p> - “That's d' foist I knows of d' Petersens. D' mother an' kid takes a - back-room in our tenement; an' after dey gets 'quainted, she tells me Rag - about her man dyin'. She ain't so old, this Petersen woman, an' only she's - all broke up about her man croakin', she ain't a bad looker, see! wit' - blue eyes an' a mop of gold hair. D' kid's name is Hilda, an,' except - she's only seven years an' no bigger'n a drink of whiskey, she's a ringer - for her mother. - </p> - <p> - “Well! like I says, d' Petersens—what's left of 'em after d' man - quits livin'—organised in d' back room on our floor. An' because - folks who wants to chew must woik, d' Petersen woman gets a curve on an' - goes to doin' stunts wit' a tub. She chases 'round doin' washin', see! - </p> - <p> - “It's when d' old goil is away slingin' suds that I gets nex' wit 'd' kid. - She's dropped her ragbaby down be a gratin' one day an' her heart is - broke. She t'inks it's a cinch case of all over wit' d' poor ragbaby, an' - she's cryin' to beat d' band. - </p> - <p> - “But she gets it ag'in. Me an' a big fat cop who comes waddlin' along, - tears up d' gratin' an' fishes out Hilda's doll, an' after that me an' her - gets to be dead chummy; what youse might call * pals.' - </p> - <p> - “Hilda's shy at foist, an' a bit leary of me—I ain't no bute at me - best—but she gets used to seein' me about, an' as I stakes her to - or'nges onct or twict, at last she gets stuck on me. - </p> - <p> - “D' Petersens, an' me, an' me Rag is neighbours on d' same floor for near - two years. An' days when I comes home early, an' me breat' ain't smellin' - of booze—for d' kid welches every time she sniffs d' lush on me, - see!—I used to go in an' kiss Hilda same as she's me own. An' - between youse an' me,” and here a drop gathered in Chucky's cold eye, “I - ain't above tippin' it off on d' quiet, I t'inks a heap of this young-one, - an' feels better every time I gets me lamps on her. - </p> - <p> - “D' finish comes t'ree days ago. D' old goil Petersen is away woikin', an' - Hilda, for all it's so cold, is playin' in d' passage-way. There's one of - them plumber hold-ups fixin 'd' water pipe where it's sprung a leak, an' - he's got one of them dinky little fire pots which plumbers lug 'round wit' - em. - </p> - <p> - “While this plumber stiff is busy wit' his graft, poor little Hilda t'inks - she'll warm her dolly's mits be d' blaze. She's holdin' her ragbaby's - hooks over d' plumber's fire as I comes up d' stairs; an' as she hears me - foot, an' toins smilin' to make sure it's me, her frock catches, an' when - she chases screechin' into me arms, she's a bundle of live flame. Say! I'd - sooner ten to one it was me, an' that's no bluff! - </p> - <p> - “I wraps me coat over her, an' gives d' fire d' quick smother, see! An' I - boins me dukes until it comes to bein' mighty near a case of stumps wit' - Chucky d' balance of his joiney to d' tomb. - </p> - <p> - “But what th' 'ell! It all don't do no good. D' poor kid has swallered d' - fire, an' she's d' deadest ever before even I takes her out of me coat. - </p> - <p> - “We lays Hilda out, me Rag an' me, on d' Petersens' bed; an' d' cor'ner - sucker, as I says at d' be-ginnin', comes sprintin' over an' goes to - holdin' his inkwests. - </p> - <p> - “Bimeby, d' mother gets home from her tubs, an' that's where d' hard play - comes in. Me Rag tells her as easy as she can; but youse could see it was - a centre shot all d' same. It soaked her where she lived. - </p> - <p> - “'Foist d' man, an' then d' baby!' says d' Petersen woman, as she sets on - d' floor an' mourns; 'now I'll soon go hunt for 'em.' - </p> - <p> - “Me Rag tries to get her to come in wit' us, but she won't stan' for it. - All t'rough d' night we hears her mournin' an' groanin' on d' floor be d' - side of little Hilda's coffin. - </p> - <p> - “D' kid's fun'ral was yesterday, an' a pulpit sharp from one of d' - Missions gets in on d' play, an' offishiates. Sure! it's a case of - Potter's Field—for d' mother ain't got d' dough to make good for a - grave—but me an' me Rag gets a car, an' takes d' mother out to see - little Hilda planted. No, she don't cry much at that; but me Rag toins in - an' don't do a t'ing but break d' record for tears. If Hilda was her own - kid, she couldn't have made more of a row. When it comes to what youse - might call 'd' outward evidences of grief,' me Rag simply lose d' Petersen - mother. - </p> - <p> - “D' mother was feelin' it all d' same. She keeps whisperin' to herself: - 'Soon I'll go find 'em!' like that; an' that's d' limit of what youse - could get out of her. - </p> - <p> - “It's last night, after little Hilda's put away,—it's mebby, say, - t'ree this mornin', when wit'out a woid of warnin' me Rag sets up straight - in bed an' gives a sniff. - </p> - <p> - “'Be d' mother of d' Holy Mary! it's gas!' she says, an' nex' she makes a - straight wake for d' Petersen door. - </p> - <p> - “An' me Rag guesses right d' very foist time, like d' kid in d' song. Gas - it was; d' poor Petersen mother toins it on full blast. She's croaked an' - cold as a wedge, hours before we tumbles to her game. - </p> - <p> - “That's d' finish. As I states d' foist dash out of d' box, it's d' dandy - hard luck story of d' year. D' whole Petersen push is wiped out, same as - that bar-keep would swab off his bar. On d' dead! it's all too many for - me! What's d' use of folks bein' born at all, if dey's goin' to get yanked - in like that—t'ree at a clatter, an' all young! - </p> - <p> - “Do dey have re-latiffs? Some in d' old country, I takes it. There's a - note d' Petersen woman leaves for me Rag, astin' her to write d' hist'ry - of d' last round an' wind-up to d' folks at home, an' givin' d' address. - But me ownliest own says 'nit!' an* chucks d' note in d' stove. - </p> - <p> - “'Dey's better off not knowin',' says me Rag.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BOWLDER'S BURGLAR - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>owlder's wife and - offspring were away at the time; and the time was a night last summer. - Mrs. B. was in Long Branch, and Bowlder, left lonely and forlorn, to look - after the house and earn money, was having a sad, bad time, indeed. - </p> - <p> - Not that Bowlder really lacked anything; but he missed his wife and little - ones. Where before the merry prattle of his children made the racket of a - boiler shop, all was solemn peace and hush. The Bowlder mansion was like a - graveyard. - </p> - <p> - Naturally Bowlder felt lonesome; and to avoid, as much as might be, having - his loneliness thrust upon him by the empty desolation of the house, he - made it a rule during his wife's absence not to go home until 3 o'clock A. - M. - </p> - <p> - He was “dead on his legs” by that time, as he expressed it, and went at - once to sleep, before the absence of Mrs. B. began to prey upon him. - </p> - <p> - On the night, or more properly morning, in question, Bowlder wended - homeward at sharp 3. He had been missing Mrs. B. painfully all the - evening, and, to uphold himself, subscribed to divers drinks. These last - Bowlder put safely away within his belt, and they cherished him and taught - him resignation, and he didn't miss his wife as much as he had. - </p> - <p> - The hoary truth is that as Bowlder drew near his home, he had so far - conquered his sense of abandonment that he wasn't even thinking of his - wife. He was plodding along in the middle of the street for fear of - footpads, whom he fancied might be sauntering in the shadows on either - side, and was really in quite a happy, fortunate frame of mind. As Bowlder - turned in toward his door he was softly repeating the lines: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - “'Tis sweet to hear the watch dog's honest bark, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home, - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Our coming, and grow brighter when we come.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Not that Bowlder had a watch dog, honest or otherwise, to bay him - deep-mouthed welcome. And inasmuch as they had discharged the exile from - Erin, who aforetime did service as the Bowlder maid-of-all-work, when Mrs. - B. took flight for the summer, there was slight hope of an eye on the - premises to grow brighter when he came. - </p> - <p> - No; it was not that Bowlder was really looking for deep-mouthed bays or - brightening eyes; he was naturally musical and poetical, and the drinks he - had corralled had unlocked his nature in that behalf. Bowlder was reciting - the lines quoted for the pleasure he drew from their beauty; not from the - prophecy they put forth of any meeting to which he looked forward. A - remark which escaped Bowlder as he climbed his steps and dexterously - fitted his night key to the day keyhole showed this. - </p> - <p> - “I ought to have stayed at a hotel,” said Bowlder. “There's nobody here to - rake me over the coals for it, and I'm going to have a great head on me - when I wake up.” - </p> - <p> - Bowlder at last by mistake got his latchkey into the keyhole to which it - related, and the door swung inward. This was a distinct success and - Bowlder heaved a breath of relief. This door, which had grown singularly - obdurate since Mrs. B.'s departure, had been known to hold Bowlder at bay - for twenty minutes. - </p> - <p> - Bowlder had just cast his hat on the hall floor—he intended to hang - it up in the morning when he would have more time—and got as far on - a journey to the second story as one step, when a noise in the basement - dining-room enlisted Bowlder's attention. His curiosity rather than his - fears was aroused; another happy effect of his libations. - </p> - <p> - Without one thought of burglars, Bowlder deferred his journey upstairs, - and repaired instead to the dining-room below. Bowlder would investigate - the untoward noises which, while soft and light, were still of such volume - as might tell upon the ear. - </p> - <p> - “Wonder 'f the houshe is haunted?” observed Bowlder as he went deviously - below. - </p> - <p> - It has already been noted that Bowlder not once bethought him of burglars. - In truth he had often scoffed at burglars while conversing with Mrs. B. on - this subject so interesting to ladies. Bowlder had said that no burglar - could make day wages robbing the house. - </p> - <p> - It had all the thrill of perfect surprise then when, as Bowlder turned - into his dining-room, he beheld a bull's-eye lantern shedding a malevolent - stream of light in his face, and caught the shadowy outlines of a tall man - behind it who seemed engaged in pointing a pistol at him. - </p> - <p> - “Hold up your hands!” said the tall man, “and don't come a step further, - or out goes your light!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0307.jpg" alt="0307 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0307.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Well! I like thish!” squeaked Bowlder, in a tone of querulous complaint, - at the same time, however, clasping his hands above his head; “I like - thish! What's the row here?” - </p> - <p> - The tall man made no reply, but came across and deftly ran his hands over - Bowlder for possible arms. Bowlder had no gun. The tall man seemed - satisfied, and stepping back, told Bowlder he might sit down on a chair - and rest his hands in his lap. Bowlder took advantage of the permission. - </p> - <p> - “Any 'bjections to me lighting a shegar?” queried Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - “Not at all,” said the tall man. - </p> - <p> - Bowlder was soon puffing away. Being friendly, not to say polite by - nature, Bowlder bestowed one on his visitor. - </p> - <p> - “Is it a mild cigar?” asked the burglar. - </p> - <p> - “Colorado claro,” said Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - “That's all right!” assented the other. “I don't like a strong smoke; it - makes my head ache.” - </p> - <p> - As the visitor lighted the cigar, Bowlder noticed that he wore a black - mask across his eyes, and that the latter shone through the apertures cut - for their convenience like beads. The mask gave Bowlder a chill which the - pistol had not evoked. Indeed, it came very near destroying the whole - force of the drinks he had accumulated. - </p> - <p> - When the stranger had lighted his cigar, Bowlder and he puffed at each - other a moment without a word. - </p> - <p> - “What are you doing in my houshe?” at last demanded Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - The stranger smiled and puffed on. Then he kicked a large sack with his - foot. Bowlder had not observed this sack before. As the stranger touched - it with his foot, it gave out a metallic clinking. - </p> - <p> - Bowlder's eyes roamed instinctively to the sideboard. There wasn't much - light; enough, however, to show Bowlder that the sideboard's burden of - silverware was gone. With such a start, Bowlder was able to infer a great - deal. - </p> - <p> - “Made a clean shweep, eh?” remarked Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - The masked stranger nodded. - </p> - <p> - “If you've got all there is loose and little in the houshe,” said Bowlder—he - was talking plainer every moment now—“you've got $1,500 worth. Been - up-shtairs yet?” - </p> - <p> - Again the man of the mask nodded. Also he exhibited symptoms of being - about to depart. - </p> - <p> - “Don't go yet!” remonstrated Bowlder. “Want to talk to you. Did you get - the old lady's jewellery upstairs?” - </p> - <p> - Again the burglar nodded. He seemed disinclined to use his voice unless it - was necessary. - </p> - <p> - “Thash's bad!” remarked Bowlder reflectively; referring to the conquest of - his wife's jewellery. “The old lady won't do a thing but make me buy her - some more. And the worst of it is, she'll put up the figures on what - jimcracks you've got, and insisht they're worth four times their true - value. I'm lucky if she don't put it higher than $1,000. And they ain't - worth $200; you'll be lucky if you get that on 'em.” - </p> - <p> - The burglar looked hopeful as well as he could with a mask, but retorted - nothing to Bowlder. The latter mused sorrowfully over his wife's jewels. - </p> - <p> - “You see it putsh me in the hole!” said Bowlder. “I get it going and - coming. You come along and rob me; and then Mrs. B. comes home and robs me - again. Don't you think that's a little rough?” - </p> - <p> - The stranger said it was rough. He didn't nod this time, but used his - voice. Encouraged by the agreement with his views, Bowlder urged the - return of his wife's jewellery. - </p> - <p> - “Just gimme back what's hers,” said Bowlder, “and you can keep the rest. - That'll let me out with her, and I don't care for the balance.” - </p> - <p> - But the man of midnight stoutly objected. It would be a dead loss of $200, - he said, and worse yet, it would be unprofessional. - </p> - <p> - Bowlder thought deeply a moment. Then he took a new tack. - </p> - <p> - “Any 'bjections to taking a drink with me?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “None in the world!” said the burglar. - </p> - <p> - Bowlder explored his coat pocket for a bottle he'd brought home to restore - him after his sleep. He proffered the bottle to the burglar. - </p> - <p> - “After you is manners!” said that person. - </p> - <p> - Bowlder drank and then the burglar did the same. - </p> - <p> - “You a Republican?” demanded Bowlder suddenly. “I s'pose even burglars - have their politics!” - </p> - <p> - “Administration Republican!” said the burglar; “that's what I am. I - believe in Imperialism and a sound currency.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm an Administration Republican, too,” remarked Bowlder. “I knew we'd - find common ground at last. Now, as a member of the same party as - yourself, I want to ask a favour of you. You've got about $1,500 worth of - plunder there; and yet, you see yourself, there's a good deal of furniture - you're leaving behind; piano upstairs and all that. I'll play you one game - of ten-point seven-up to see whether you take all or nothing. Come, now, - as a favour!” - </p> - <p> - The burglar hesitated. He feared there was a trap in it. Bowlder gave him - his word as a goldbug that he made the proffer in all honesty. - </p> - <p> - “If you win,” said Bowlder, “you can cart the furniture away to-morrow. - I'll order you a waggon as I go down, and you can sleep in the house and - see that I don't carry off anything or hold out on you.” - </p> - <p> - “But it ain't worth as much as what I've got,” demurred the burglar. - </p> - <p> - “Well, see here!” said Bowlder—sober he was now—“to avoid - spoiling sport I'll throw in my watch and $30. That's square!” - </p> - <p> - The burglar admitted that the proposal was fair, but stuck for seven - points. - </p> - <p> - “I like straight seven-up,” he said. “Make it a seven-point game and I'll - go you.” - </p> - <p> - Bowlder produced a deck of cards from the sewing-machine drawer. At the - burglar's own suggestion they lighted one gas jet. - </p> - <p> - “Cut for deal!” said Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - The burglar cut a ten-spot, Bowlder a deuce. The burglar had the deal. - </p> - <p> - The king of diamonds was turned as trump. - </p> - <p> - “Beg!” said Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - “Take it!” remarked the burglar. - </p> - <p> - The hands were played. Bowlder had the queen and six-spot of diamonds; the - marauder had the ten, nine, and seven of diamonds. Bowlder took high, low - and the burglar counted game. - </p> - <p> - “No jack out!” remarked Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the other. And then in an abused tone; “Say! you don't beg nor - nuthin', do you? The idee of a gent's beggin' in a two-hand game, - a-holdin' of the queen and six.” - </p> - <p> - They played three hands; Jack had been out once. Bowlder was keeping - score. It stood: - </p> - <p> - “Bowl, I I I I I I.” - </p> - <p> - “Burg, I I I I.” - </p> - <p> - It was Bowlder's deal. He riffled the cards with the deftness of one who - plays often and well. - </p> - <p> - “Bound to settle it this time!” said the burglar. “The score stands 6 to - 4. You bet your life! I'll stand on the bare jack if I get it.” - </p> - <p> - Bowlder threw the cards around and turned trump with a snap. It was the - jack of clubs. - </p> - <p> - The burglar looked at it wistfully, even sadly. - </p> - <p> - “That's square, is it?” he said to Bowlder in a tone of half reproach. - “You ain't the party to go and turn a jack on a poor crook from the bottom - of the deck, and you only one to go?” - </p> - <p> - Bowlder assured him the transaction was perfectly honest. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I guess it was,” said the burglar, rising. “I was watching you, and - I guess it was straight. It's just my luck, that's all. Well! I must go; - it's getting along towards 4: 30 o'clock.” - </p> - <p> - “Have a drink!” said Bowlder, “and take another cigar!” - </p> - <p> - The cracksman took a drink. Then he selected a cigar from Bowlder's - proffered case. - </p> - <p> - “If it's all the same to youse,” said the burglar, “I'll smoke this later - on—after breakfast.” And he put the cigar in his pocket. - </p> - <p> - “Here; let me show you out this way,” said Bowlder, leading the way to the - front basement door. - </p> - <p> - “I hates to ask it of a stranger,” said the burglar, as he hesitated just - outside the door, “but the Eight' Avenoo cars'll be runnin' in a little - while now, and would you mind lendin' me a nickel? I lives down be the - Desbrosses Ferry.” - </p> - <p> - Of course Bowlder would lend him car-fare. This somewhat raised the - burglar's spirits, made sad by seven-up. As he closed the door behind him, - the burglar looked back at Bowlder. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know, pard,” he said, “if it wasn't for my weakness for gamblin', - I'd been a rich man a dozen times.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - ANGELINA McLAURIN - </h2> - <h3> - (By the Office Boy) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ngelina McLaurin's - was a rare face; a beautiful face. It had but one defect: Angelina's nose - was curved like the wing of a gull. This gave her an air of resolution and - command that affected the onlooker like a sign which says: “Look out for - the engine.” - </p> - <p> - Still, Angelina McLaurin was bewitchingly lovely, a result much aided in - its coming about by a form so admirably upholstered that to look upon her - would have made Diana tired. - </p> - <p> - It was a soft, sensuous September afternoon. Angelina McLaurin was - impatiently holding down a richly cushioned chair in the library of the - noble McLaurin mansion—one of those stately piles which are the - pride of Washington Heights. She was awaiting the coming of her affianced - husband, George Maurice St. John. - </p> - <p> - “Why does he prove so dilatory?” she murmured. “Methinks true love would - not own such leaden feet!” - </p> - <p> - As Angelina McLaurin arose to gaze from the window she rocked on the tail - of the ample Angora cat. - </p> - <p> - The cat made it a point to hang out in the library every afternoon. On - this occasion, while Angelina McLaurin was dreaming of her lover, the cat - had taken advantage of her abstraction to deftly bestow his tail beneath - the rocker of her chair. When Angelina arose, as stated, the cat got the - worst of it. - </p> - <p> - As the rocker came down on the cat's tail, the cat exploded into - observations in Angorese that are unfit for these pages. Angelina was not - only startled out of herself, but almost out of her frock. Angelina and - the cat arose hastily, and stood there panting. - </p> - <p> - As the shrieks of the wronged exile from Angora were uplifted into space, - the door of the library burst violently open. - </p> - <p> - “What is the matter, dearest? Are you injured? Why do you cry for help?” - </p> - <p> - It was George Maurice St. John who asked the question. As he did so, he - caught Angelina McLaurin in his powerful arms, while the Angora cat, his - worst fears now realised, chased himself down the hall with tail excited - to lamp-cleaner size. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, love?” asked George Maurice St. John, as he tenderly unloaded - his delicious burden onto a sofa, “Speak! it is the voice of your George - who bids you. Has any one dared to insult the coming bride of a St. John?” - </p> - <p> - “Bear with me, George!” she whispered. “Believe me, I will be better - anon!” - </p> - <p> - After a few moments she recovered, and was able to smile through her tears - at the alarm of her dear one. Then she told George all: how the cat had - been ass enough to leave his tail lying around loose while asleep; how, in - the intensity of her waiting, she had put a crimp in it with the fell - rocker of the chair; and how the cat had been drawn into statements, by - sheer dint of agony, which it was impolitic as well as useless to repeat. - </p> - <p> - “So I was just in time, Angelina, to relieve both you and the cat of what - was doubtless an awkward situation.” And George Maurice St. John laughed - gaily. - </p> - <p> - Then he kissed her with a fervour that left nothing to be wished for, and - Angelina took a brace and sat erect on the sofa. - </p> - <p> - “I feel better now!” she remarked. - </p> - <p> - George tried to get in another kiss, but she stood him off. - </p> - <p> - “Don't crowd your luck, dear!” she said, with a sweet softness. “I am - yours for ever, and there is not the slightest need for any excess of - osculatory zeal. You are to have me with you always, so set a brake or two - and take the grades easy.” - </p> - <p> - Thus repulsed, George Maurice St. John sat abashed. A pained look seamed - his features; he bit his lips and was silent. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - Daylight became twilight, and twilight retreated into the darkness of a - new night. It struck eight o'clock in the adjoining tower, and George - Maurice St John was a-hungered. His stomach was the first to tip it off to - him. - </p> - <p> - “Don't we feed to-night?” asked George Maurice St. John. - </p> - <p> - The lovers for two hours had chattered aimlessly, as ones wandering in a - wilderness of bliss. This was the first pointed remark. - </p> - <p> - “Anon! love; we will feed anon!” replied Angelina McLaurin dreamily. “But, - George, before we get in our gustatory work, I would a word with you—indeed! - sundry words.” - </p> - <p> - “Aim low, and send 'em along!” said George. “What is it my Queen would - learn from her slave?” - </p> - <p> - In his ecstacy he achieved a “half Nelson” on the lovely girl, and caught - her in the back of the neck with a kiss. - </p> - <p> - The Angora cat, who was stealthily threading the hall, intending to play a - return game with the library rug, gave a great convulsive start, at the - kiss, which carried him out of the mansion, and over the alley fence. - </p> - <p> - “They're a mark too high for me!” said the Angora to himself. - </p> - <p> - Then inflating his lungs to the last limit of expansion, the Angora sent a - song of invitation down the line that set every Tabby in the block to - washing her face and combing her ears. - </p> - <p> - “Your Queen wants a square heel-and-toe talk, George,” said the sweet - girl, as she tucked up her silken locks, dishevelled by his caresses into - querulous little rings. “And your Queen wants straight goods this time, - and no guff! Oh, darling!” continued Angelina McLaurin in a passionate - outburst, “be square with me, and make me those promises upon which my - life's happiness depends!” - </p> - <p> - George Maurice St. John strained Angelina to his bosom. - </p> - <p> - “I'll promise anything!” he said. “What wouldst thou have me do? My life, - my fortune, my honour—my all, I lay at your feet! Monkey with them - as thou wilt.” - </p> - <p> - “Then listen!” said Angelina. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - “George, we are to be wedded in a month, are we not?” - </p> - <p> - “We are!” he cried exultantly; and again he essayed the “half Nelson,” and - attempted to bury his nose in her mane. - </p> - <p> - “Don't get gay, George!” she said mournfully, as she broke George's lock, - and gently but firmly pushed his bows off a point; “don't get funny! but - hear me.” - </p> - <p> - “Go on,” said George, and his tones showed that his failure pierced him - like a javelin. “We are to be wedded in a month. What then, lady?” - </p> - <p> - “George,” said Angelina McLaurin, and the tear-jewels shone in her eyes, - “don't think me unwomanly, but you know how I am fixed;—father and - mother both dead! I am an orphan, George, and must heel-and-handle - myself.” - </p> - <p> - “Even so!” said George, and his face showed his sympathy. - </p> - <p> - “Then, George, before we take that step to the altar,” she went on - steadily enough, but with a quaver in her voice which his ear, made - sensitive by great love, did not fail to detect: “before we take that - step, I say, from which there is no retreat, I must know certain things. - You must make me certain promises.” - </p> - <p> - “Name them,” he whispered, and his deep voice overran her like a melody. - </p> - <p> - “Then, George,” she said, “is it too much to ask that $100,000 worth of - property be settled upon me at this time?” - </p> - <p> - “My solicitors have already received my instructions to make it a - million.” George Maurice St. John's voice dwelt fondly on the settlement. - “It is but a beggarly ante in such a game of table-stakes as this!” This - time Angelina McLaurin did not decline his endearments. When he let up, - she continued: - </p> - <p> - “And it's dead sure I go to the Shore each summer?” - </p> - <p> - “It is a welded cinch,” he replied, as he drew her nearer to him. “You - take in the coast from Bar Harbour to the Florida Keys.” - </p> - <p> - “And servants?” - </p> - <p> - “A mob shall minister unto thee,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Then I have but one more boon, George,” she murmured, “grant that, and I - am thine forever.” - </p> - <p> - “Board the card!” cried George; “I promise before you ask.” - </p> - <p> - “Say not so,” she said with a sweet sadness; “but muzzle your lips and - listen. You must quit golf.” - </p> - <p> - “What!” shrieked George, with an energy that sent the Angora backward off - a shed-roof of dubious repute, from which he was carolling to his low - companions; “what!” he repeated. “Woman, think!” - </p> - <p> - “I have thought, George,” responded Angelina Mc-Laurin, with an air of - sorrowful firmness. “There is but one alternative: saw short off,—saw - short off on golf, or give me up forever!” - </p> - <p> - “Is this some horrid dream?” he hissed, as he strode up and down the - library. - </p> - <p> - At last he paused before her. - </p> - <p> - “Woman,” he said sternly, “look on me! Is this some lightsome bluff, or - does it go? Dost mean it, woman?” - </p> - <p> - “Ay! I mean it!” answered Angelina, while her cheek paled and her breath - came quick and fast. “Don't make any mistake on that; I mean it. My talk - goes. And my hand is off my chips.” - </p> - <p> - “Is this your love?” he sneered, bitterly. - </p> - <p> - “It is,” she faltered. “I have spoken, and I abide your answer.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, girl,” said George Maurice St. John, and his words were cold and - hard, “all is over between us. You would drive me into a corner and take - away my golf! I say No! No! a thousand times, No!” - </p> - <p> - At this outbreak the curve in Angelina's nose became more intense. She - dried her eyes. Her features, too, became as flint. She even cut loose a - low, mocking laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Be it so!” she said; “sirrah, take your ring!” - </p> - <p> - He seized the bauble and ground it beneath his heel. As he did so her - strength failed her, and she sank to the floor. - </p> - <p> - “That knocked her out!” he muttered, and he started to count: “One!—Two!—Three—Four!-” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, not necessarily!” she said, struggling to her feet. “I'm still in it; - and I say again, give up golf, or give up me!” - </p> - <p> - “The die is cast!” and as he spoke the fatal words, the eyes of George - Maurice St. John took on the firm, irrevocable expression of a fish's set - in death. “I wouldn't give up golf for the best woman that ever put a - dress on over her head. Maiden, you ask too much; you come too high! - Damsel, I quit you cold!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - George Maurice St. John rushed from the scene. The ponderous door, as it - slammed behind him, echoed and re-echoed through the vaulted apartments of - the McLaurin mansion. Angelina McLaurin listened until his footsteps died - away far up the street. - </p> - <p> - “He has flew the coop on me!” she wailed. - </p> - <p> - Then she gave way to a torrent of tears. In her distress Angelina McLaurin - was more beautiful than ever. Two minutes! Five minutes! Ten minutes went - by! Her tears still fell like rain. - </p> - <p> - “I have turned the hose on my hopes!” she said. - </p> - <p> - This was the thought that crossed her mind; but she desperately womanned - (word coined since advent of new woman) herself to bear it. - </p> - <p> - Still afloat on the sad currents of her tears, her head bowed, a light - sound beat upon the tympanum of Angelina McLaurin. She looked quickly up - and squared herself to emit a glad cry, if one should be necessary. - </p> - <p> - What was it? - </p> - <p> - Something had come back. - </p> - <p> - True! it was the Angora cat. - </p> - <p> - As the Angora flung himself upon the rug with an air of reckless abandon, - Angelina McLaurin gazed at him with a wistful fixedness. One eye was - closed, his fur was torn, blood dripped from his lacerated ears. He was, - in good sooth, but a tattered Angora! Angelina McLaurin laughed long and - wildly. - </p> - <p> - “He, too,' has got it in the neck!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - DINKY PETE - </h2> - <h3> - (Annals of The Bend) - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>o we have romances - on t' East Side!” and Chucky's voice was vibrant with the scorn my doubts - provoked. “Do we have romances! Well, I don't t'ink! Say! there's days - when we don't have nothin' else.” - </p> - <p> - At this crisis Chucky called for another glass; did it without invitation. - This last spoke of and betrayed a sense of injury. - </p> - <p> - “Let me tell youse,” continued Chucky, “an' d' yarn don't cost you a cent, - see! how Dinky Pete sends Jimmy d' barkeep back to his wife. It's what I - calls romantic for a hundred plunks. - </p> - <p> - “Not that Jimmy ever leaves her, for that matter; that is, he don't leave - her for fair! But he's sort o' organisin' for d' play when Dinky Pete puts - d' kybosh on d' notion, an' wit' that Jimmy don't chase at all, see! - </p> - <p> - “Jimmy d' barkeep is some soft in d' nut, see! Nit, he ain't really got - w'eels; ain't bad enough for d' bug house; but he's a bit funny in his - cocoa—mostly be way of bein' dead stuck on himself. - </p> - <p> - “An' bein' weak d' way I says, Jimmy is a high roller for clothes; always - sports a w'ite t'ree-sheet, wit' a rock blazin' in d' centre, big enough - to trip a dog. An' say! his necktie's a dream, an' his hat's d' limit! - </p> - <p> - “What's a t'ree-sheet? an' what's a rock? I don't want to give you no - insultin' tips, but on d' square! youse ought to take a toim at night - school. Why! a t'ree-sheet is his shirt, an' d' rock I names is Jimmy's - spark! Of course, d' spark ain't d' real t'ing; only a rhinestone; but it - goes in d' Bend all d' same for a 2-carat headlight. - </p> - <p> - “Jimmy makes a tidy bit of dough, see! He gets, mebby it's fifteen bones a - week, an' I makes no doubt he shakes down d' bar for ten more, which is - far from bad graft. So it ain't s'prisin' one day when Jimmy gets it stuck - in his frizzes he'll be married. - </p> - <p> - “Jimmy's Bundle is all right at that. Her name's Annie, an' she's a proper - straight chip. An' that ain't no song an' dance; square as a die she was. - An' a bute! She was d' pick of d' Bowery crush, an' don't youse doubt it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Jimmy an' Annie goes on wit' their courtships, I takes it, same as - if dey lives on Fift' Avenoo. Annie's a mil'ner, an' while she don't have - money to t'row to d' boids, she woiks for enough so it's as good as a - stan'-off on livin', which is all her hand calls for an' all she asts. If - she don't quit winner after trimmin' hats a week, at any rate she don't - get in d' hole, see! - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; she an' Jimmy gets action on d' sights. Now an' then it's Coney - Island; then ag'in it's a front seat at d' People's; or mebby if some of - d' squeeze has a dance, dey pulls on their skates an' steps in on d' - spiel. An' say! as a spieler Annie's a wonder, an' don't youse forget it. - I has d' woid for it from me own Rag, an' when it comes to pickin' out a - dancer, you can trust me Rag to be dead on in a minute. D' loidy can do a - dizzy stunt or two on a wax floor herself when it comes to a show-down. - </p> - <p> - “But about me romance. Jimmy has chased around wit' Annie, say it's t'ree - mont's. An' all this time his strong play is voylets, see! Annie is gone - on voylets, so each evenin' Jimmy toins in on Dinky Pete, who sells - poipers an' peanuts, an' some of this hard, bum candy you breaks your - teet's on. Dinky also deals a little flower game, wit' about a 5-cent - limit, an' that's what gets Jimmy. Just as I says, each evenin' Jimmy - sticks in a nickel for a bunch of voylets at Dinky's an' sends some kid—Dinky's - joint is a great hang-out for d' kids—to take 'em up to Annie. - </p> - <p> - “An' them voylets tickles Annie to death. - </p> - <p> - “At last all goes well, an' Jimmy an' Annie gets spliced. An' it's all - right at that! Me Rag, who calls on 'em, says Jimmy an' Annie's d' - happiest ever, an' gettin 'd' boss run for their money. - </p> - <p> - “It's about a year when Annie don't do a t'ing but have a kid. At foist - Jimmy likes it, an' lets on it's d' racket of his career. But after a - while Jimmy gets chilly—sort o' gets sore on d' kid. Me Rag gives me - a pointer it's mostly Annie's fault. She stars d' kid too heavy, an' it - makes Jimmy feel like a deuce in a bum deck; makes him t'ink he ain't so - strong—ain't so warm as he was. An' it toins out' Annie, bein' - always busy monkeyin' wit 'd' young-one, an' givin' Jimmy d' languid eye, - d' nex' news you get, Jimmy is back on d' street when he is off watch, - tryin' to pipe off some fun. - </p> - <p> - “I never knows where she catches on wit' Jimmy, but it ain't no time when - one of them razzle-dazzle blondes has him on d' string. She's doin' d' - grand at that, see! an' givin' him d' haughty stand-off. - </p> - <p> - “Mebby Jimmy met her on d' street onct or twict, when for d' foist time, - Goldie—which is this blonde tart's name—says Jimmy can come - an' see her. - </p> - <p> - “It's been mont's since Jimmy's done d' flower act at Dinkey Pete's. But - d' sucker t'inks it's d' night of his life, an' so he chases in an' goes - ag'inst Pete's counter for a bunch. - </p> - <p> - “This Dinky Pete's a dead queer little mug. He's a short, sawed-off mark, - wit' a humpy back an' a bum lamp. But you can gamble your life ÃŽ Dinky - Pete's heart is on straight, whether his back is or not. - </p> - <p> - “It's be chanct I'm in Dinky Pete's meself d' time Jimmy is out to meet - this blonde mash. Now, at d* time I ain't onto Jimmy's curves; I don't - tumble to d' play till a week later, when me Rag puts me on. - </p> - <p> - “W'at was I doin' in Dinky Pete's? Flowers? Nit; not on your life! Naw; I - wants to change me luck. I'd got d' gaff at draw poker d' night before, - an' I'm layin' for Dinky Pete for to rub his hump on d' sly. Sure! - Youse'll have luck out of sight. Only you mustn't let d' humpback guy get - on. If he notices you rubbin' his hump it'll give youse bad luck, see! - </p> - <p> - “Jimmy comes in, an' at foist, be force of habit, I s'spose, he's goin' to - plunge on voylets. But he t'inks of Annie, an' he can't stand for it. Wit' - that, Jimmy shifts his brush an' tells Dinky Pete to toin him out some - roses. - </p> - <p> - “'An' make 'em d' reddest in d' joint, see!' says Jimmy. - </p> - <p> - “Dinky Pete's got his mits on some voylets, but when Jimmy says 'roses' - Dinky comes to a stan' still. - </p> - <p> - “' W'at! roses?' says Dinky Pete, an' his ratty eyes—one of 'em on - d' hog, as I states—looks dead sharp at Jimmy. 'Roses?' he repeats. - </p> - <p> - “'That's what I says!' is d' way Jimmy comes back. - </p> - <p> - “' Better take voylets,' says Dinky, an' he stops foolin' wit 'd' flowers - an' gives Jimmy d' gimlet eye. - </p> - <p> - “'Nit,' declares Jimmy; * I'm dead onto me needs. Give me roses.' - </p> - <p> - “'But roses won't last,' says Dinky, an' his look is sharp an' soft an' - sad all at onct. 'Roses won't last, an' that's for fair,' says Dinky, - 'while voylets is stayers. Better take voylets, Jimmy!' - </p> - <p> - “But Jimmy gets sullen an' won't have no voylets, see! An' he swings an' - rattles wit' Dinky that he wants roses—roses red as blood. - </p> - <p> - “'Roses has thorns,' goes on Dinky, still holdin' his lamps on Jimmy in d' - same queer way; 'you don't want roses, Jimmy; you just t'inks you want - roses! Be a square bloke, Jimmy; be yourself an' take voylets!' - </p> - <p> - “An' I'm damned!” declares Chucky, “if Jimmy don't begin to look like a - whipped kid, an' d' foist t'ing I knows, he welches on roses, grabs off a - bunch of voylets big enough to make a salad, an' goes chasin' home to - Annie. Me Rag is there when Jimmy pours in. - </p> - <p> - “Say! It's d' finish of d' blonde! She ain't in it! Me rag, on d' quiet, - gives Annie d' chin-chin of her existence, an' shows her Jimmy ain't - gettin' a square deal. An' Annie—who, for all she's nutty about d' - kid, is a dead wise fowl just d' same—takes a tumble, an' from that - time she makes d' bettin' even money on* bot 'd' young-one an' Jimmy. D' - last time I sees Jimmy he stops to tell me that Annie's a peach, an' d' - kid's a wonder. An' he's lookin' like a nine-times winner himself. Now - don't youse call that a romance for Dinky Pete to get onto Jimmy's game so - quick, an' stickin' to him till he takes d' voylet steer? Ain't it a - romance? Well! I should kiss a pig!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CRIB OR COFFIN? - </h2> - <h3> - I - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Jones stood - in the telegraph office—the one at Twenty-third Street and Broadway. - There was an air of triumph about Jones, an atmosphere of insolent - sagacity, which might belong to one who, by some sudden, skilful sleight - had caught a starling. Yet Jones's victory was in nowise uncommon. Others - had achieved it many a time and oft. It was simply a baby; young Jones had - become a papa, and it was this that gave him those frills which we have - chronicled. The presence of young Jones in the telegraph office might be - explained by looking over his shoulder. This is the message he wrote: - </p> - <p> - New York City, Dec. 8, '99. - </p> - <p> - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps, - </p> - <p> - Albany, N. Y. - </p> - <p> - I still take it you are interested in the census of your family. Recent - events in this city have altered the figures. Don't attempt to write a - history of the tribe of Van Epps without consulting Sanford Jones. - </p> - <p> - “There!” said young Jones, “that ought to fetch him. He won't know whether - I mean the birth of a baby or Mary's death. If he doesn't come to see her - now, I will mark him off my list for good. I would as it stands, if it - were not for Mary.” - </p> - <p> - “Won't father worry, dear?” asked Mary, when young Jones repeated the - ambiguous message he had aimed at his up-the-State father-in-law. - </p> - <p> - “I expect him to shed apprehensive tears all the way to New York,” replied - young Jones. “But don't fret, Mary; I am sure he will come; and a tear or - two won't hurt him. They will help his eyes, even though they do his heart - no good. I don't resent his treatment of me, but his neglect of you is not - so easy to forgive.” - </p> - <h3> - II - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>his was the story: - </p> - <p> - Back four years, Albany would have shown you young Jones opening his law - office in that hamlet. Mary was “Mary Van Epps.” At that time seventeen - years was all the family register allowed to her for age. - </p> - <p> - Her father, Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps, was one of the leading citizens - of Albany. While not a millionaire, he was of sufficient wealth to dazzle - the local eye, and he was always mentioned by the denizens of his native - place as “rich.” - </p> - <p> - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps had a weakness. He was slave to the pedigree - habit. Never a day went by but he called somebody's attention to those - celebrities who aforetime founded and set flowing the family of Van Epps; - and he proposed at some hour in the future to write a history of that - eminent house. With his wealth and his family pride to prompt him, it came - easy one day for Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps to object with decision and - vigour to a match between young Jones and his daughter Mary. - </p> - <p> - “They were both fools!” he said. - </p> - <p> - Then he pointed out that the day would never dawn when a plebeian like - unto Jones, without lineage or lucre, boasting nothing better than a law - office vacant of practice, and on which the rent was in arrears three - months, would wed a daughter of the Van Epps. Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps, - in elaboration of his objection, showed that beyond a taste to drink - whiskey and a speculative bent toward draw poker, he knew of nothing which - young Jones possessed. Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps closed, as he began, - with the emphatic announcement that no orange blossoms would ever blow for - the nuptials of young Jones and Mary Van Epps. - </p> - <p> - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps in his attitude will have the indorsement of - all good Christian people. He was right as a father. As a prophet touching - orange blossoms, however, he was what vulgar souls call “off.” Of that - anon. - </p> - <h3> - III - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Jones more - than half believed that Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps was right. So far as - whiskey and draw poker were concerned, he went with him; but with Colonel - Stuyvesant Van Epps' objections to him, based on the lack of pedigree and - a failure of pocket-book, he didn't sympathise. - </p> - <p> - “I may be poor, and my family tree may be a mullein stalk, but I am still - a fitting mate for any member of the Van Epps tribe.” - </p> - <p> - Thus spake young Jones to Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps. He then took the - earliest private occasion to kiss Mary good-bye, give her his picture, and - make her his promise to wed her within five years. - </p> - <p> - “Would she wait?” - </p> - <p> - “I would wait a century,” said Mary. - </p> - <p> - Young Jones kissed Mary again after that. The next day Albany was short - one citizen, and that citizen was young Jones. Albany is short to this - day. - </p> - <h3> - IV - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>et us drop - details. Good luck came to young Jones, hard on the lonely heels of his - evacuation of Albany. He was named a junior partner of a New York City law - firm. His income equalled his hope. He dismissed whiskey and draw poker, - and he wrote to Mary Van Epps: - </p> - <p> - “Could he claim her now?” - </p> - <p> - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps said “No” again. Young Jones still lacked - ancestry, and a taste for whiskey and four aces still lurked in his blood. - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps would not consent. This served for a time to - abate the bridal preparations. - </p> - <h3> - V - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo years deserted - the future for the past. A great deal of water will run under a bridge in - two years. Mary Van Epps was nineteen. She went on a visit to a Trenton - relative. Young Jones became abundant in Trenton at that very time. They - took in a parson while on a stroll one day, and when that experienced - divine got through with them they were man and wife. They wired their - entangled condition to Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps. He sent them a message - of wrath. - </p> - <p> - “I cast Mary off for ever! Never let me see her face again!” - </p> - <p> - “Very well!” remarked young Jones as he read the wire; “I shall need Mary - myself, in New York. Casting her off, therefore, at Albany, cuts no great - figure. As for Mary's face, I will look at it all the more to make up for - her brutal dad's abatement of interest therein.” - </p> - <p> - Then he kissed Mary as if the feat were entirely fresh. And while Mary - wept, she still felt very happy. Next they came to a modest home in the - city. - </p> - <h3> - VI - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>wo years more - trailed the otners into history. Young Jones was held a fortunate man. His - work was a success. Whiskey and poker were now so far astern as to be - hull-down in the horizon. And he loved Mary better than ever. She was the - triumph of his life, and he told her so every day. - </p> - <p> - “It is certainly wonderful,” he said, “how much more beautiful you become - every day.” - </p> - <p> - This pleased Mary; and while her heart turned to her hard old father, she - did not repent that episode at Trenton, which changed her name to Jones. - </p> - <p> - Once a month Mary faithfully addressed a letter, new and fresh each time - with the love that fails and fades not, to “Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps, - Albany, N. Y.” And once a month Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps read it, - gulped a little, and made no reply. - </p> - <p> - “I will never see her again!” Colonel Stuyvesant - </p> - <p> - Van Epps remarked to himself on these letter occasions. - </p> - <p> - All the time he knew he lived for nothing else. But he thought of his - family and mustered his pride, and of course became a limitless fool at - once, as do those who give way to an attack of pedigree. - </p> - <p> - But the Jones baby was born; and young Jones concluded to try his hand on - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps. Mary wanted him to come, and that settled the - whole matter so far as young Jones was concerned. In his new victory as a - successful father, he felt that he could look down on Colonel Stuyvesant - Van Epps. He therefore wrote the message referred to in our first chapter - with perfect confidence, that, turn as matters might, he had nothing to - fear. - </p> - <p> - “The past, at least, is secure!” said young Jones; “and, come what may, I - have Mary and the baby.” Both Mary and young Jones, however, awaited the - returns from Albany with anxiety;—Mary, because she loved her father - and mourned for his old face, and young Jones because he loved Mary. They - were relieved when the bell rang at 7 P. M., and a bicycle boy handed in a - yellow paper, which read: “Will be there to-morrow on the 8:30.—Stuyvesant - Van Epps.” - </p> - <p> - Mary was all gladness. Young Jones was calm, but gave way sufficiently to - say: - </p> - <p> - “Mary, we will call the cub 'Stuyvesant Van Epps Jones.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0335.jpg" alt="0335 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0335.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <h3> - VII - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>OUNG Jones met - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps at the Forty-Second Street station. The old - gentleman had been torn by doubts and grievous misgivings all the way - down. What did young Jones' ambiguous message mean? Was Mary dead? Was he - bound to a funeral? or a christening? Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps knew - that something tremendous had happened. But what? - </p> - <p> - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps walked up to young Jones at the station, and - without pausing to greet him, remarked: - </p> - <p> - “Crib or coffin?” - </p> - <p> - “Crib!” said young Jones. - </p> - <p> - Then Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps fell into a storm of tears, and began to - shake young Jones by the hand for the first time in his life. - </p> - <h3> - VIII - </h3> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he three happiest - people in the world that night were Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps, Mary and - young Jones. The baby was the one member of the family who did not give - way to emotion. He received his grandfather with a stolid phlegm which - became a Van Epps. - </p> - <p> - “And his name is Stuyvesant Van Epps Jones,” said Mary. - </p> - <p> - Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps kissed Mary again at this cheering news, and - shook hands with young Jones for the second time in his life. - </p> - <p> - That is all there is to a very true story. Colonel Stuyvesant Van Epps - lives now in New York City, and Albany is shy a second citizen. Mary is - happy, young Jones feels like a conqueror, and the infant, Stuyvesant Van - Epps Jones, beneath the eye of his grandsire, waxes apace. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - OHIO DAYS - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - I—AT THE LEES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>unt Ann, be we - goin' to the spellin' to-night at the Block schoolhouse?” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee always called his wife “Aunt Ann.” So did everybody except her - daughter Lydia. She called Aunt Ann “Mother.” But to Jim Lee and the other - inhabitants of Stowe Township, she was “Aunt Ann Lee.” - </p> - <p> - As Jim Lee asked Aunt Ann the question, he threw down the armful of maple - wood and retreated to the back door to stamp the snow off his boots. - </p> - <p> - “I want to know,” he said, “so's to do the chores in time.” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Ann was chopping mince-meat. She was a clean, beautiful woman of the - buxom sort. Her eyes were very blue, while her hair was very black with - not a strand of silver, for all her forty-seven years. Jim Lee held Aunt - Ann in great respect. Aunt Ann on her part was a tender soul and true, - although Jim Lee had found her quite firm at times. - </p> - <p> - “Now and then she's a morsel hard on the bit,” said Jim Lee, - descriptively. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps the two old-maid Spranglers meant the same thing when they said: - “There never was a body with blue eyes and black hair who didn't have the - snap in 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” replied Aunt Ann to Jim Lee's question “yes, of course we'll go. - I've got to see Mrs. Au about some rag carpets she's weavin' for me, and - she be there. Better get the Morgan colt and the cutter ready, father; - we'll go in that.” - </p> - <p> - “That'll only hold two,” said Jim Lee. “How Lide goin' to go?” - </p> - <p> - “Lide's goin' with Ed Church. She's over to Jenn Ruple's now; she and Jen - are goin' to choose up for the spellin' bee. But she'll be back in time, - and Ed Church is comin' for her at half-past seven.” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee's face showed that he didn't like Ed Church He said nothing for - five minutes, and pulling off his kip-skin boots began to give them a coat - of tallow. - </p> - <p> - “Where's Ezra?” at last he asked. Ezra was the heir of the house of Lee. - His age was eleven; he was twenty. - </p> - <p> - “Ezra's down cellar sortin' over that bin of peach blows,” said Aunt Ann, - busy with her mince-me; and chopping-bowl; “they'd started to rot.” - </p> - <p> - “I wanted to send him to the Corners for the mail,” suggested Jim Lee, as - he kneaded the wax tallow into the instep of his boot to soften the - leather. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0341.jpg" alt="0341 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0341.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “You'd better hitch up the colt a mite early,” answered - </p> - <p> - Aunt Ann, “and go to the Corners before we start to the spellin'. Ezra's - got to churn as soon; he's done the peachblows.” - </p> - <p> - There was another pause. Jim Lee softly drew on his freshly tallowed - boots, and then stood up an tried them by raising his heels one after the - other bending the boots at the toes as if testing a couple of Damascus - sword blades. - </p> - <p> - “I don't like this here Ed Church sparkin' our Lide,” remarked Jim Lee at - last; “bimeby they'll want to get married.” - </p> - <p> - “Father!” said Aunt Ann, raising her blue eyes with a look of cold - criticism from the mince-meat she was massacring. - </p> - <p> - “Has he asked Lide yet?” said Jim Lee. - </p> - <p> - “No, he ain't,” replied Aunt Ann, “but he's goin' to.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know?” - </p> - <p> - “How do I know?” repeated Aunt Ann, as she set the chopping-bowl on the - kitchen table, and turned to put a few select sticks of maple into the - oven to the end that they become kiln-dried and highly inflammable; “how - do I know Ed Church is goin' to marry Lide? Humph! I can see it.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' to put a stop to it,” said Jim Lee. “This Church boy is goin' - to keep away from Lide.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, you're goin' to do nothing of the kind,” and Aunt Ann's eyes - began to sparkle. “You can run the farm and Ezra, father; I'll run Lide - and the house. The only person who's goin' to have a syllable to say about - Lide's marryin' when the time comes, is Lide herself. If she wants Ed - Church she's goin' to have him.” - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Ann, I'm s'prised at you upholdin' for this Church boy!” Jim Lee - threw into his tone a strain of strong reproof. “Ed Church drinks.” - </p> - <p> - “Ed Church don't drink,” retorted Aunt Ann sharply. - </p> - <p> - “How about that time two years ago last summer? Waren't Ed Church drunk - over at the Royalton Fair?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he was,” answered Aunt Ann, “and that's the only time. But so was my - father drunk once at a barn-raisin' when he was a boy, for I've heerd him - tell it; and I guess my father, William H. Pickering, was as good as any - Lee who ever greased his boots. One swallow don't make a summer, and one - drunk don't make a drunkard. Ed Church told me himself that he ain't took - a drop since.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' to break up this nonsense between him and Lide, at any rate,” - said Jim Lee. His mood was dogged, and it served to irritate Aunt Ann. - </p> - <p> - “All you've got ag'inst Ed Church, father,” said Aunt Ann, “is that his - father voted ag'in you for pathmaster, and I'm glad he did. What under the - sun you ever wanted to be pathmaster for, and go about ploughin' up good - roads to make 'em bad, was more'n I could see. I'm glad you was beat.” - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' to stop this Church boy hangin' 'round Lide, jest the same,” - was the closing remark of Jim Lee. At this point he went out to the barn - to put some straw in the cutter and harness the Morgan colt. Aunt Ann - turned again to her duties. - </p> - <p> - “Father is so exasperatin',” remarked Aunt Ann, as she poured some boiling - water over a dozen slices of salt pork to “freshen it,” in the line of - preparing them for the evening frying-pan. “He'll find out, though, that - I'll have a tolerable lot to say about Lide's marriage.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - II—ED CHURCH AND LIDE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>t half-past seven, - Ed Church swung into Jim Lee's yard, with a horse all bells, and a cutter - a billow of buffalo robes. He did not dare leave Grey Eagle, his pet colt, - for Grey Eagle was restless with the wintry evening air and wanted to go. - So Ed Church notified Lide of his coming by shouting, “House!” with a - great voice. - </p> - <p> - Grey Eagle made a plunge at the sound, but was brought up by the bit. - </p> - <p> - “How'dy do, Ed,” said Lide, as she came out the side door. She looked rosy - and pretty with her muskrat muff and cape. - </p> - <p> - “Hello, Lide,” said Ed. “You'll have to scramble in yourself. I can hardly - hold the colt this weather, when he don't have nothin' to do but eat.” - </p> - <p> - Lide scrambled in. As Ed Church stood up in the cutter to allow Lide a - chance to be seated, her face came close to his. Taking his eyes from Grey - Eagle for the mere fraction of a second, he kissed her dexterously. Lide - received the caress with the most admirable composure, and Ed Church - himself did not act as if the idea was a discovery or the experiment new. - </p> - <p> - “Let him out, Ed!” said Lide, when they were well into the road. - </p> - <p> - There was a foot of snow on the ground. The fence corners showed great - drifts, while each rail of the fence had a ruffle of its own of cold, - white snow. As far as one could see in the moonlight, the fields to each - side were like milk. In the background stood the grey woods laced against - the sky. Here and there a lamp shone in a neighbour's window like an eye - of fire. - </p> - <p> - Stowe Township was out that night. The steady beat of the bells could be - heard ahead and behind. Ed Church sent Grey Eagle forward with long - strides, the cutter following over the hard, packed snow with no more of - resistance than a feather. Lide held her muff to her face, so that she - might open her mouth to talk without catching any of the flying snowballs - from Grey Eagle's nervous hoofs. - </p> - <p> - “It'll be a big spellin'-school to-night,” said Lide. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I guess it will,” replied Ed. “I hear folks are comin' clear from - Hammond Corners.” - </p> - <p> - “If that Gentry girl comes,” said Lide, “mind! you're not to speak to her, - Ed. If you do, you can go home alone.” - </p> - <p> - Ed grinned with an air of pleased superiority. - </p> - <p> - “Get up,” he said to Grey Eagle. Then to Lide: “Go on! You're jealous!” - </p> - <p> - “No, I ain't!” said Lide, with a lofty intonation. “Speak to her if you - want to! What do I care!” - </p> - <p> - “I won't speak to her, Lide.” - </p> - <p> - Ed looked at his sweetheart to see how she received his submission. As the - road was level and straight at this point, and Grey Eagle had worn away - the wire edge of his appetite to “go,” Ed put his face in behind the - muskrat muff and kissed Lide again. The victim abetted the outrage. - </p> - <p> - “I saw ye!” yelled a happy voice behind. It was Ben Francis with Jennie - Ruple. They also were enthroned in a cutter. - </p> - <p> - “What if you did?” retorted Lide with a toss. - </p> - <p> - “Do it again if I want to!” shouted Ed Church with much joyous hardihood. - </p> - <p> - “I never asked you to marry me yet, did I, Lide?” observed Ed Church, - after two minutes of silence. - </p> - <p> - “No, you didn't,” said Lide from behind the muskrat muff. The words would - have sounded hard, if it were not for the sudden soft sweetness of the - voice, which was half a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'll do it now,” said Ed, with much resolution, but a little shake - in the tone. “You'll marry me, Lide, when we get ready?” - </p> - <p> - “Ed, what do you think father 'll say?” - </p> - <p> - Ed Church knew Lide's father found no joy in him. The next time his voice - took on a moody, half-sullen sound. - </p> - <p> - “Don't care what he says! I ain't marryin' the hull Lee family.” - </p> - <p> - “But s'pose he says we can't?” - </p> - <p> - “If he does, I'll run away with you, Lide,” and Ed Church's tones were - touched with storm. “I'm goin* to marry you even if all the Lees in the - state stand in the way!” - </p> - <p> - Lide crowded a bit closer to Ed at this, and, holding the muskrat muff - against her face to keep her nose from getting red, said nothing. Lide was - thinking what a noble fellow Ed was, and how much she admired him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - III—THE SPELLING SCHOOL - </h2> - <p> - The Block schoolhouse was crowded. Lide and Ed made their way toward the - back benches. Jim Lee spoke to his daughter and growled gruffly at Ed. - </p> - <p> - The latter half growled back. Aunt Ann was all smiles and approval of Ed. - At this, Ed thought her the best woman on earth except his own mother, and - mentally put her next that excellent old lady in his heart. - </p> - <p> - It was a Mr. Parker who taught at the Block school-house. At 8 o'clock he - rapped on the teacher's desk with a ruler, and everybody who was standing - up hunted for a seat. Those who could find none—they were all young - men and boys—crouched down along the walls of the big school-room - and made seats of their heels. Mr. Parker came down from his desk and - opened the stove door with the end of the ruler. The stove—a - long-bodied air-tight—was raging red hot from the four-foot wood - blazing in its interior. When the door was opened the heat almost singed - Mr. Parker's eyebrows. At this he started back nervously, and Ben Weld and - Will Jenkins, two very small boys, laughed. The stove on its part began to - cool off and the cherry colour faded from its hot sides, leaving them - brown and rusty. - </p> - <p> - “Lydia Lee and Jennie Ruple have been selected to choose sides for the - spelling contest,” said Mr. Parker. - </p> - <p> - Lide and Jennie seated themselves side by side on the bench which ran - along the rear of the room. It was Lide's first choice. - </p> - <p> - “Ed Church,” called Lide in a low voice. - </p> - <p> - Several young persons giggled, while Ed, blushing deeply to have his - sweetheart's preference thus forced into prominence, blundered along the - aisle and sat down by Lide. It was Jennie's choice. Jennie selected Ben - Francis. - </p> - <p> - “Of course!” said Ada Farr in a loud whisper to - </p> - <p> - Myrtle Jones, “they'd choose their beaux first, so as to sit by 'em.” - </p> - <p> - There was no gainsaying the Farr girl's statement. The “choosing up,” - however, went on. At last everybody, young and old, from the grey-headed - grandpa to the five-year-old just sent to his first school that winter, - had been chosen by Lide or Jennie. Then Mr. Parker began to give out the - words. - </p> - <p> - Ed Church failed on the first word. It was “emphasis.” Ed thought there - was an “f” in it. He straightway sat down and spelled no more that night. - Lide made a better showing, and lasted through five words. She tripped on - “suet” upon which she conferred an “i.” Lide then joined Ed among the - silenced ones. - </p> - <p> - “Lide Lee missed on purpose,” whispered the Farr girl to her neighbour - Myrtle Jones, “so she could sit and talk with Ed.” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee spelled well, but fell a prey to “moustache.” - </p> - <p> - At last only three were left standing—Nellie Brad-dock, a girl from - Hammond Corners, and Aunt Ann. Mr. Parker turned over to the back part of - the spelling book where the hard words lived. Nellie Braddock fell before - “umbrageous.” - </p> - <p> - The struggle between the girl from Hammond Corners and Aunt Ann was a - battle of the giantesses. The girl from Hammond Corners was the champion - speller of her region, and had spelled down every school so far that - winter. The interest was intense, as first to Aunt Ann and then to the - girl from Hammond Corners, Mr. Parker put out: - </p> - <p> - “Fantasy.” - </p> - <p> - “Autobiographer.” - </p> - <p> - “Thaumaturgie.” - </p> - <p> - “Cosmography.” - </p> - <p> - At last the girl from Hammond Corners tripped on: - </p> - <p> - “Sibylline.” - </p> - <p> - She made it “syb.” Mr. Parker had to show her the spelling book to - convince the girl from Hammond Corners that she had missed. She glanced in - the spelling book where Mr. Parker's finger pointed, and then burst into - tears. At this an unknown young man, presumably from Hammond Corners, got - up and excitedly declared the book to be wrong. Nobody took any notice of - him, however, and Aunt Ann Lee was named the victor. She had spelled down - the school. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - IV—THE FIGHT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>d CHURCH left Lide - talking with the girls in the schoolhouse while he went back to the waggon - shed to get Grey Eagle and bring him and the cutter to the door. As Ed was - in the entry of the schoolhouse he was stopped by little Joe Barnes. - </p> - <p> - “Say! Fan Brown's out there waitin' for you.” - </p> - <p> - “What about Fan Brown?” asked Ed Church. - </p> - <p> - Fan Brown was the bully of Hinckley. He boasted that he could thrash any - man between Bath Lakes and the Hinckley Ridge. - </p> - <p> - “He says he's goin' to wallop you for shootin' his dawg last summer,” said - little Joe Barnes. - </p> - <p> - “Joe, will you do something for me?” asked Ed. - </p> - <p> - “Yep!” - </p> - <p> - “You go and tell Lide Lee in there that I'm goin' over to Square Chanler's - to get a neck-yoke he borrowed and I'll be right back. Tell her to wait in - the school-house till I come.” - </p> - <p> - “He's afraid of Fan Brown and is runnin' over to Square Chanler's to get - the constable,” said little Joe Barnes to himself. For this he despised Ed - Church very much, but went in and delivered the message. - </p> - <p> - “All right!” said Lide, and then went on gossiping with the girls. - </p> - <p> - Ed Church stepped out of the schoolhouse and started for the horse-sheds. - </p> - <p> - He noticed a knot of men standing at the rear corner of the building; - among them he discerned the stocky, bull-necked bully of Hinckley, Fan - Brown. - </p> - <p> - “Here he comes now!” said one, as Ed approached. - </p> - <p> - “Let him come!” gritted the bully; “I'll fix him! I'll show him whose dog - he's been shootin! As fine a coon dog, boys, as ever went into a corn - field. He shot him, and I ain't goin' back to Hinckley till I mash his - face.” - </p> - <p> - “What's the row here?” said Ed Church, walking straight to the little - huddle about Fan Brown. His tones were brittle and bold; a note of ready - war ran through them. Not at all the voice in which he talked to Lide. “I - understand somebody's lookin' for me. Who is it?” - </p> - <p> - “It's me, by G—d! You killed my dog last summer, and I'm goin'——” - </p> - <p> - “No, you ain't,” said Ed, interrupting; “you ain't goin' to do a thing. - You may be the bully of Hinckley, Fan Brown, but you can't scare me. Your - dog was killin' sheep; he was a good deal like you; but bein' a dog I - could shoot him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and I ain't goin' back to Hinckley until I maul you so you won't - shoot another dog as long as you live.” - </p> - <p> - “Enough said!” replied Ed, “come right down in the hollow back of the - horse sheds, where the folks won't see, and do it.” - </p> - <p> - Just then a small, meagre man approached. He walked with a lounging gait, - and when he spoke he had a thin, mealy voice. - </p> - <p> - “What's the matter here?” piped the meagre little man. - </p> - <p> - His name was Dick Bond. He was renowned widely as a wrestler. Gladiators - had come from far and near, and at town meetings and barn raisings, - wrestled with little Dick Bond. Where a hundred tried not one succeeded. - </p> - <p> - He had not lost a “fall” for four years. His skill had given birth to a - half proverb, and when somebody said he would do something, and somebody - else doubted it, the latter would observe with laughing scorn: “Yes; - you'll do it when somebody throws Dick Bond.” - </p> - <p> - Such was the fell repute of this invincible little man that when his - shrill, light voice made the inquiry chronicled, a silence fell on the - crowd and no one answered. - </p> - <p> - “Who's goin' to fight?” asked Dick Bond more pointedly. - </p> - <p> - “I'm goin' to fight Fan Brown,” said Ed. - </p> - <p> - There was a load of ferocity in the way he said it, which showed that Ed, - himself, had a latent hunger for battle. - </p> - <p> - “I guess I'll go 'long and see it,” said Dick Bond pipingly. - </p> - <p> - “How do you want to fight?” asked Ed of Fan Brown when each had buttoned - up his coat tight to the chin. “Stand up, or rough and tumble?” - </p> - <p> - “Rough and tumble,” said Fan Brown savagely. - </p> - <p> - “All right!” - </p> - <p> - “Now, boys,” said Dick Bond when all was ready, “I'll give the word and - then you're goin' to fight until one of you says 'enough.' And remember! - there's no bitin' no gougin', no scratchin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Bitin' goes?” declared Fan Brown, in a fashion of savage interrogatory. - </p> - <p> - “Bitin' don't go!” replied the lean little referee, “and if you offer to - bite or gouge, Fan Brown, I'll break your neck. You'll never go back to - Hinckley short of being carried in a blanket.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0353.jpg" alt="0353 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0353.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - The battle was brief and bloody. It didn't last ten minutes. When it was - over, Ed Church, bleeding, but victorious, walked back to the sheds to get - Grey Eagle. Fan Brown was unable to rise from the snow without help. His - face was beaten badly, and he was a thoroughly whipped person. Dick Bond - expressed great satisfaction, and in his high voice said it was a splendid - fight. - </p> - <p> - “But, Brown,” said Dick Bond to the beaten one, “I can't see how you got - it into your head you could lick Ed Church. Why, man! he was all over you - like a panther.” - </p> - <p> - The news of the fight ran like wildfire. Everybody knew of it before an - hour passed. It was a source of general satisfaction that Ed Church had - whipped Fan Brown, the Hinckley bully, yet no one failed to stamp the - whole proceeding as disgraceful; that is, among the older men at least. - </p> - <p> - Lide, however, when she heard of the valour of her lover felt a great - tenderness for him, and was never kinder than when they drove Grey Eagle - back from the Block schoolhouse spelling-bee that crisp winter night. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - V—JIM LEE INTERFERES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>OTHER,” sobbed - Lide, as she threw herself down on the chintz lounge without pausing to - take off her hat or cape, “father has just told Ed never to come to the - house nor speak to me again.” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee and Aunt Ann got home before the lovers. The news of the broil - overtook them, however. Jim Lee declared it a scandal and a scorn. - </p> - <p> - “Now you see,” he said to Aunt Ann, “what sort of ruffian the Church boy - is!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I'm glad he whipped that miserable Fan Brown,” said Aunt Ann. “He's - done nothin' for ten years but come over here to Stowe Township and raise - a fuss. I'm glad somebody's at last spunked up and thrashed him. I'd done - it years ago if I had been a man.” - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Ann Lee!” said Jim Lee, hitting the Morgan colt a blow with the whip - which set that sprightly animal almost astride the thills—“Aunt Ann, - do you tell me you approve of Ed Church lickin' Fan Brown?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I do,” retorted Aunt Ann, stoutly, “and so will Lide. If you - imagine, father, a woman finds fault with a man because he'll fight other - men you don't know the sex.” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee moaned. Absolutely! for the first time in his life Aunt Ann had - shocked him. Not another word was spoken by Jim Lee all the way home. - </p> - <p> - Aunt Ann went into the house when they arrived, while Jim Lee remained to - put up the Morgan colt. He was busy in the barn when Ed and Lide drove - into the yard. - </p> - <p> - “Father came up to Ed,” sobbed Lide, as she lay on the lounge, “and called - him a brawler and a drunkard, and said he'd got to keep away from me.” - </p> - <p> - “What did Ed say?” asked Aunt Ann, as she sat down by her daughter and - began, with kind hands, to take off her hat and cape. Every touch was full - of motherly love and tenderness. - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Ed didn't say much,” said Lide, giving way to long-drawn sighs; a - fashion of dead swell following the storm of sobs. “He said he'd marry me - whether father was willing or not. Then he drove away.” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Ann smiled. - </p> - <p> - “I guess Ed Church is pretty high strung,” said Aunt Ann, “but that won't - hurt him any.” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee came in at that moment, looking a bit sheepish and guilty; but - over it all an atmosphere of victory. - </p> - <p> - “That Church boy will stay away now, I guess!” said Jim Lee, as he got the - bootjack and began pulling off his boots. - </p> - <p> - “Jim Lee, you're an awful fool!” observed Aunt Ann with the air of a sibyl - settling all things. “You're the biggest numbskull in Stowe Township!” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” asked Jim Lee. - </p> - <p> - He was disturbed because Aunt Ann addressed him by his full name. - Experience had taught him that defeat ever followed hard on the heels of - his full name, when Aunt Ann made use of it. - </p> - <p> - “Never mind why!” said Aunt Ann. - </p> - <p> - And not another word could Jim Lee get from her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VI—THEY DECORATE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a month - after the spelling-school. Stowe Township was decorating the Church for - Christmas. For time out of mind Stowe Township had had a Christmas tree at - the Church, and everybody, rich or poor, high or low, young or old, great - or small, got a present if it were nothing but a gauze stocking full of - painted popcorn. - </p> - <p> - Aunt Ann, as usual, was at the head of the decorating committee. The - Church was full of long strings of evergreen, which Aunt Ann's satellites - were festooning about the walls, and to that end there was much climbing - of step-ladders, much standing on tip-toe, much pounding of thumbs with - caitiff tack-hammers, vilely wielded by girlish hands. Occasionally some - fair step-ladder maid gave the public a glimpse of a well-filled woollen - stocking as she went up and down, or stood on her toes on the top step. At - this, the young men present always blushed, while the maidens tittered. - Most people don't know it, but the male of our species is more modest, - more easily embarrassed, than the female. - </p> - <p> - The Christmas tree had just arrived. It had been contributed by “Square” - Chanler. The tree was a noble hemlock; thick and feathery of bough, - perfect of general outline. Old Curl, the Rip Van Winkle of Stowe, had cut - it down and hauled it to the church on “Square” Chanler's bob-sleds. All - the smallfry of the Corners had gone with Old Curl after the Christmas - tree, and were faithful to him to the last. Every one of them was - clamorously forward in unloading the tree and getting it into the Church. - </p> - <p> - Then it was taken charge of by Aunt Ann, who put the smallfry to flight. - They were to be beneficiaries of the tree, and it was held that their joy - would be enhanced if they were not allowed to remain while the tree was - decorated, and were debarred all sight thereof until Christmas Eve, when - the presents would be cut from the boughs and bestowed upon their owners. - </p> - <p> - One little boy had a cold, and Aunt Ann let him remain in the Church. This - little boy perched himself in a window where his fellows outside might see - and envy him. There was a three-cornered hole in the window pane near him, - and the little boy was wont every few moments to place his mouth to this - crevice and say to the boys outside: - </p> - <p> - “My! but you ought to see what Aunt Ann's tyin' on the tree now!” - </p> - <p> - “What is it?” would chorus the outside boys. - </p> - <p> - “Can't tell you!” - </p> - <p> - The boy with the cold became the most unpopular child in Stowe Township, - and several of his fellows outside in their agony threatened him with - personal violence. - </p> - <p> - “I'll lick you when I ketch you!” shouted children in the rabble rout to - the lucky child with the cold. - </p> - <p> - “I don't care!” said the child inside, “you just ought to see the tree - now!” - </p> - <p> - Lide Lee was aiding the others to festoon the church. Under the maternal - direction she was fitting tawdry little wax candles among the branches of - the Christmas tree, and tying on Barlow knives for all the little boys, - and “Housewives” for all the little girls. - </p> - <p> - Lide had not seen Ed save once since the spelling-school, and then she met - him in the village drug-store by chance. But they wrote to each other, and - some progress in this way had been made toward an elopement which was - scheduled for the coming Spring. Aunt Ann in the depths of her sagacity, - suspected the arrangement, but it gave her no alarm. As for Jim Lee, so - fatuous was he that he believed he had ended all ties between his daughter - and Ed Church. - </p> - <p> - While decorations were in progress in the church, Jim Lee suddenly drove - up. - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Ann,” said Jim Lee, after pausing to admire the garish display, - “Aunt Ann, I've just got a line from Ludlow, and there's goin' to be a - special meetin' of the board of directors of our Ice Company, and I've got - to mosey into the city.” - </p> - <p> - Jim Lee had an air of importance. He liked to appear before Aunt Ann in - the attitude of a much-sought-for man of business. - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw! father, that's too bad!” said Aunt Ann. “Can't you be back by - Christmas Eve?” - </p> - <p> - “No; Christmas Eve is only day after to-morrow, and the Ice Company - business ought to last a week, so Ludlow says.” - </p> - <p> - “Well!” said Aunt Ann, “if you must go, you must. Ezra can do most of the - chores while you're away, and I'll have Old Curl come and do the heaviest - of 'em.” - </p> - <p> - So Jim Lee kissed Aunt Ann, and then kissed Lide. This latter caress was a - trifle strained, for Jim Lee felt guilty when he looked at his daughter; - and Lide hadn't half forgiven him his actions toward her idolised Ed. - Since Ed had been forbidden her society, Lide loved him much better than - before. - </p> - <p> - Thus started Jim Lee for the city on Ice Company matters, Tuesday - afternoon. Christmas Eve was the following Thursday. Jim Lee would return - on the Monday or Tuesday after. He was fated to find some startling - changes on his coming back. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - VII—AUNT ANN PLOTS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>UNT Ann found much - to occupy her during the hours before Christmas Eve. There were - forty-eight of these hours. Aunt Ann needed them all. - </p> - <p> - For one matter she made Ezra drive her over to the County Seat. She wanted - to see her brother, Will Pickering, who was Probate Judge of the County. - Aunt Ann also dispatched a letter by trusty messenger to her sister, Mary - Newton, who lived at Eastern Crossroads, some seven miles from Stowe. As a - last assignment, Aunt Ann told Ezra to go over and ask Ed to come up to - the house. - </p> - <p> - “You'll be at the Christmas tree at the church tonight, won't you, Ed?” - asked Aunt Ann, after making some excuse for sending for him. She put the - question quite casually. - </p> - <p> - “Well! be sure and come, Ed,” said Aunt Ann. “And more'n that, be sure and - dress yourself up. I think I'll need you to help me get things off the - high limbs.” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Ann, as she led Lide to his side. “Now, Brother Crandall, if you will - perform the ceremony—the short form, please, and leave out the word - 'obey'—the distribution will be complete.” - </p> - <p> - “But the licence!” gasped the Rev. Crandall. - </p> - <p> - “There it is,” said Aunt Ann, “with my brother Will's seal and signature - as Probate Judge on it. You don't s'pose I had Ezra drive me clear to the - County Seat in the dead of winter for nothing?” - </p> - <p> - The ceremony was over. Ed and Lide were “Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Church;” and - the entire population of Stowe, some in tears, all in earnest, were - kissing the bride and shaking hearty hands with the groom. That latter - young gentleman was dazed and happy, and looked both. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Ed,” said Aunt Ann, after kissing him and then kissing Lide, “I'm - your mother; and I'll begin to tell you what to do. You put Lide in your - cutter and head Grey Eagle for Eastern Cross-roads. I sent Mary word you - were coming, and there's a trunk full of Lide's things gone over. Stay a - week. If you need collars, or shirts or anything, Mary will give you some - of John's. Stay a week and then come home. Father will be back from the - Ice Company Tuesday, and by Thursday of next week, when you return, I'll - have him fully convinced that all is ordered for the best, and whatever - is, is right. So kiss your mother again, children, and start. I hear Grey - Eagle's bells a-jingling, where Dick Bond's brought him to the door.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sandburrs, by Alfred Henry Lewis - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SANDBURRS *** - -***** This file should be named 51981-h.htm or 51981-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/8/51981/ - -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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