SHARP AXES AND SHARPER WITS.
During the week preceding the great contest with axes there was very
little truancy, fighting or bad hours to be complained of by the
parents of the boys of Doveton. The excitement natural to an
approaching struggle was sufficient even for the nerves of the most
irrepressible juvenile natures in town. Most of the boys went into
training at their respective family wood-piles, and those who had no
uncut wood on hand resorted to the unprecedented operation of
requesting permission to work at that of somebody else. The story of
the bet became noised abroad, beyond the limits of the town, and
several sturdy country boys having signified their desire to earn
fifty cents by a half day's work, the crowd allowed them to enter for
the contest, for anything was more endurable than Jack Wittingham's
conceit; Jack himself welcomed them, of course, in the most hearty
manner in the world. Toward the last of the week the sound of the
grindstone was heard in the land, and as several boys had asked and
received permission to use saws instead of axes, the melodious voice
of the hand saw file arose to stimulate in nervous persons of
religious tendencies an increased appreciation of the promised peace
of Heaven. Then every carpenter who owned a boy of wood-chopping age
suddenly missed his best oil stone, and sundry axes had their edges
dressed so keenly that no one denied their owner's assertions that a
man might shave himself with those axes and not know but they were
rabbit paws or puff balls. The juvenile rowdies, who treasured old
copies of sporting papers, read up on the training of prize-fighters,
with the result that they indulged in ablutions with unhabitual
frequency, and took an amount and variety of exercise which threatened
to exorcise the demon which inhabits the juvenile loafer.
The morn of the eventful day dawned at last, and, early as it was when
Doctor Wittingham had to start for the railway station, there was
already approaching his wood-pile fat Billy Barker, who was so
treacherous a sleeper that he had remained awake all night so as to be
on hand in time in the morning. Then one of the loafers, whose family
owned no timepiece, lounged up, and made Billy very uncomfortable with
prophecies that a certain boy would hardly escape melting on such a
warm day as that particular Saturday promised to be, and that only a
pair of leg boots could be trusted to save enough of the remains to
justify a full sized funeral. Then one of the country boys appeared,
riding bareback upon an ancient mare, and his extreme taciturnity
became as annoying to Billy as the chaffing of the loafer had been,
while the loafer himself visibly abated his arrogance by a degree or
two. Then the Pinkshaw twins approached, each with an axe in one hand
and a piece of bread and butter in the other. Matt Bolton came next,
quite out of breath, for though he had half an hour to spare, a sense
of his official responsibility had somehow impelled him to run every
step of the way from his own home. Lame Joey Wilson staggered in soon
after, with his heavy "saw horse" and saw, and close behind him came a
country boy whose family had brought him as far as the main street in
the farm wagon. Then two loafers, successful catchers of occasional
saw logs and drift wood, lounged up from the river. Several boys from
the neighborhood known as the other side of town, approached in a
body, led by big Frank Parker, who was the largest boy in school and
who it was always considered a privilege to follow. Then as the hour
for business came nearer, boys approached from all directions so
rapidly that they could scarcely be catalogued, and when Matt drew his
sister's watch from his pocket for the twentieth time and announced
that it was ten minutes of eight, there were present forty-three boys,
five horses (belonging to the delegation from the country), besides
three unemployed men who had come to look on. The stalwart appearance
of some of the larger contestants terrified certain small, weak and
lazy boys into determining to throw up the sponge in advance, but when
the challenger, the boastful Jack himself, sauntered out from the
house with an axe on his shoulder, a toothpick in his mouth and an
intolerable air of self-sufficiency in his face, the nerves of the
most timid boy grew suddenly as fine as steel, and he determined to
drop dead on his axe rather than let that bragging Jack crow over him
any longer.
Suddenly Matt mounted the wood-pile, consulted his sister's watch, and
exclaimed—
"Only five minutes more. Now, fellows, this is to be a fair fight, you
know. Every man picks his own place, carries wood to it from the pile,
cuts each stick into three equal lengths, and throws in front of him
whatever he chops. If at twelve o'clock there's any doubt who has done
most, the biggest piles are to be laid up straight against a stake,
and carefully measured. Nobody need split his wood. When it's time to
begin, I'll holloa 'One, two, three—go!' and when twelve o'clock comes
I'll say 'One, two, three—stop!' I'll have a pail of water and a cup
here by the fence, for anyone who wants a drink."
The boys were already carrying the four foot sticks of wood to their
chosen locations, and between the confusion of selecting desirable
places and that occasioned by snatching from a wood-pile which did not
afford elbow-room for forty-three boys at a time, there was
considerable bad feeling engendered, and sundry punishments with
impolite names were promised for the indefinite future. The country
boys had judiciously hugged the ends of the wood-pile from the moment
of their arrival, which prospective advantage certain other boys
attempted to nullify by taking wood from the ends, and there might
have ensued a serious collision had not Matt, who had moved the
judge's stand from the wood-pile to the fence, shouted,
"Eight o'clock. One, two, three—go!"
Thirty-nine axes came down nearly as one, and four saws began a not
discordant quartette across the bark of sundry sticks, while the three
unemployed men thrust their hands deep into their pockets and adjured
the boys, collectively, to "go in." A chip from fat Billy Barker's axe
started to avenge Billy upon his tormentor of an hour before, and it
struck the loafer in the back of the neck with such force that the bad
boy howled with anguish, and volubly condemned his soul to all sorts
of uncomfortable places and conditions. The axes soon broke the
uniformity of their stroke; some flew at the rate of nearly a blow a
second, others, particularly those of the country boys, were slow, but
oh, so regular! Still others, confined almost exclusively to the
loafers, struck the wood rapidly and with a particularly vicious
hardness which was not without its influence upon boys of small
spirit. The peculiar ringing of an occasional "glance" was heard, and
soon a yell from Scoopy Brown, who was a very awkward boy, called
general attention to that youth, who was sitting upon the ground
holding one of his feet and weeping bitterly. A careful examination
determined that his axe had not gone deeper than the stocking, so
Scoopy dried his tears and began work again, his spirits sharpened by
many uncomplimentary remarks by the loafers and others who had lost
time by stopping work to look at him.
Within a quarter of an hour fat Billy Barker had visited the
water-pail three times; a quarter of an hour later he was curled up
with agony beside the fence, his only consolation consisting in making
dreadful faces at the big loafer who had proved a tolerable prophet.
At the same time two other boys, one of whom had broken an arm within
three months, and the other being so small that he realized the folly
of contending against many large boys, retired from the contest, and
took place among the spectators, who already consisted of seven men,
one woman (with baby) and two dogs. Then one of the loafers declared
that although he could beat as easily as falling off a log, fifty
cents wouldn't pay for half a day of work under such a sun. Of the
spare forty who remained, nearly half were of apoplectic hue, so that
Matt the umpire, consulting his sister's watch, felt in duty bound to
inform them that barely half an hour had elapsed, and that they would
never get through the morning unless they took things easier.
As for Jack, he did splendidly. With great sagacity he had selected
the largest sticks, these requiring less handling, and fewer delays
between an old stick and a new one, besides making a heap look more
bulky. His axe was in capital condition, as his physique always was,
his nerve was equally good, and he had the additional incentive of
wanting to keep up the general interest, which would be sure to flag
if he were discovered to be falling behind. The country boys led him a
close race, and compelled him to do his best, as did also two of the
loafers. At the end of the first hour, Matt the umpire, who had
attended closely to his sister's watch for the ten minutes preceding,
shouted "Nine o'clock," and most of the country boys stopped for a
brief rest. Jack was glad to follow their example, and at the same
time one of the loafers took a flask bottle from his pocket and
swallowed considerable whiskey. A request, proffered by another
loafer, that the bottle be passed was met by a reply similar in tenor
to that given by the five wise virgins to their foolish companions,
and the apparent meanness of this proceeding made even the weariest
boy determine to at least beat that particular loafer.
Half-past nine came, and with it a loud snap which proved to proceed
from the saw block of lame Joey Wilson. As Joey was a very pleasant
little fellow, with a widowed mother whose lot in life was not the
easiest, another boy, who had a saw, pressed it upon Joey, and thus
honorably retired from a contest which had kept his back aching
frightfully for nearly an hour. Then two or three other boys honestly
acknowledged themselves completely used up, and they retired to such
shade as the fence afforded and constituted themselves an invalid
corps of observation. The loafer who had drank the whiskey dropped
suddenly, muttered something about sunstroke, and crawled away
unlamented by any one.
At the cry of "Ten o'clock!" the working force had dwindled to
twenty-seven axes and two saws. Two boys had been legitimately
summoned from the field by their legal guardians, and at least half a
dozen others longed earnestly for a similar fate. Jack began to be
doubtful of the entire success of his scheme, but the country boys all
stuck manfully to business, and at least one of them was beginning to
show signs of becoming excited. The remaining loafers, too, hung on
very well, and so did a spare half dozen of other boys, mostly large.
The crowd was still large and industrious enough to astonish several
farmers who drove into town, and the road became literally paved with
chips. The invalid corps increased at about the rate of four men an
hour between ten and eleven, but by this time Jack's mind was easy,
for the only danger was that there would not be wood enough left with
which the fittest who survived could complete the half day. Nearly all
the loafers broke down, as loafers always do during the decisive hour,
and the strife narrowed down to the country boys, one loafer, big
Frank Parker, lame Joey Wilson and Jack. Each boy had his special
adherents; the loafers cheered their own representative with much
outlandish language, most of the men encouraged the country boys, the
delegation from the other side of town urged big Frank Parker to "lay
himself out," to "come down lively," to "sling himself," and to do
many other things which to the youthful mind seem best signified by
idioms of great peculiarity, but the mass of sympathy was pretty
equally divided between Jack and lame Joey Wilson. Eligible sticks of
wood began to be sought at the piles of those who had abandoned the
contest, and Matt the umpire had to exert the extreme measure of his
authority to prevent the partizans of the two favorites from rushing
in and carrying wood for them. The breaking of the axe-helve of one of
the country boys elicited a tremendous roar from the entire
assemblage, which was now upon its feet. The lame Joey Wilson faction
began to sing the chorus "Go in lemons, if you do get squeezed," which
was known to be Joey's favorite air and the song stimulated Joey
wonderfully, noting which fact the adherents of Jack started "John
Brown's body lies mouldering in the grave," which Jack was known to
consider the finest thing ever written. But somehow the tune did not
stimulate Jack as it was expected to do; perhaps the words with which
the air is indissolubly associated had a depressing effect upon him,
besides, the two songs were roared with about equal volume of sound,
and as they are written in different keys, measures, and time, the
general effect was horribly discordant and annoying to a tired man.
At half past eleven the remaining sticks, like angels' visits, became
far between, and finally dwindled to one, over which two of the
country boys fought, dropping it in their struggle, to be triumphantly
snatched and sawed by lame Joey Wilson. Then Matt, the umpire, first
ascertaining from his sister's watch that it was not yet twelve
o'clock, announced that any man might take a stick from any other man
who had uncut sticks before him. At thirteen minutes of twelve, five
of the six country boys were upon their last sticks and the other had
a single stick yet uncut before him, which seemed to lie between Jack
and lame Joey Wilson. Jack's axe glanced several times and Joey got
the stick, and at precisely ten minutes before twelve Joey had the
last stick reposing in three pieces upon his pile. The whole crowd
rushed in, but Matt shouted—
"Everybody get back—quick—get back! every man piles his own wood!"
Some little delay occasioned by the difficulty of getting stakes
against which to stake the piles which seemed largest, was ended by an
order to pile against the fence. It was generally admitted, by every
one but the country boys, that the decision must be between Jack and
Joey, and as Jack was quick upon his feet and Joey, an account of his
lame leg, was slow, the former was allowed to assist the latter, but
no one noticed that Jack took considerable wood from the piles of the
boys who had been unsuccessful with the saw; the result was that
Joey's pile was so much the larger that no one insisted upon a
measurement, and Matt handed the half dollar to lame Joey Wilson
without a protest from any one, though the shouts that went up formed
a conglomerate sound which was truly appalling to any adult ear which
it reached.
Then the boys separated and started homeward with their respective
axes, saws, and saw-horses. Dr. Wittingham met several of them, as he
returned at an earlier hour than Jack had expected from his
consultation. What to make of the unusual number of business looking
boys he did not know, but as he went around to the wood-pile to see
how his son had begun his self-imposed penalty, the truth dawned upon
him, and he exclaimed:
"I've used every evening this week upon that chapter of heredity, and
now it isn't worth the paper it's written on!"
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