Bumblepuppy is a synonym of whist played in defiance of certain time-
honoured conventions and principles. Ajax said with reason that
Johnnie Kapus, the nephew of our neighbour, old man Kapus, played the
game of life in such a sorry, blundering fashion that he marvelled why
his uncle gave him house-room. Ajax christened Johnnie--Bumble-puppy.
Once we hired Johnnie to work for us at the rate of half-a-dollar a
day. A heavy rain-storm had just taken place, and my brother insisted
that Johnnie was the right man to fill up the "wash-outs" in and about
the corrals. He was strong, big, docile as a cow, and he lived within
a few hundred yards of the ranch-house.
Johnnie was provided with a spade and a wheelbarrow, and led to a
gaping hole beneath the barn. I explained that the rain had washed
away the soil and made the hole, which must be filled up before more
rain should fall.
"Wheer shall I git the dirt from?" Johnnie demanded.
"From the most convenient place," said I. Ajax and I returned to the
barn an hour later. The hole was filled; but another hole, from which
Johnnie had taken the dirt, as large as the first, seriously
threatened the under-pinning of the building.
Ajax swore. Johnnie looked at me, as he drawled out:
"The boss told me to git the dirt wheer 'twas mos' handy."
Ajax grinned.
"I see. It was the boss' fault, not yours. Now then, Johnnie, the work
must be done all over again."
"If you say so, boys, I'll do it."
As we moved away Ajax pointed out the propriety of giving explicit
directions. At dinner time we came back to the barn. Johnnie had taken
the earth out of the first hole and put it back again into the second!
"You star-spangled fool!" said Ajax.
"You tole me," replied Johnnie, "that the work mus' be did all over
agen--an' I done it."
"Directions," I remarked, "may be made too explicit."
After this incident, we always spoke of Johnnie as Bumblepuppy.
Some six months later Alethea-Belle told us that Johnnie Kapus was
doing "chores" for the widow Janssen; milking her cow, taking care of
the garden, and drawing water. Upon inquiry, however, we learned that
the cow was drying up, the well had caved in, and the garden produced
no weeds, it is true, and no vegetables!
"Why doesn't the widow sack him?" Ajax asked.
"Mis' Janssen is kinder sorry for Johnnie," replied the
schoolmistress; then she added irrelevantly, "There's no denyin' that
Johnnie Kapus has the loveliest curly hair."
About a fortnight after this, when the July sun was at its zenith and
the starch out of everything animate and inanimate, old man Kapus came
up to the ranch-house. Johnnie, he said, disappeared during the
previous night.
"And he's bin kidnapped, too," the uncle added.
"Kidnapped?"
"Yes, boys--hauled out o' winder! A man weighin' close onter two
hundred pounds 'd naterally prefer to walk out o' the door, but the
widder hauled Johnnie out o' winder."
"The widow?"
"Mis' Janssen. There was buggy tracks at the foot o' the melon patch,
and the widder's missin'. She's put it up to marry my Johnnie. I
suspicioned something, but I counted on Johnnie. I sez to myself:
'Others might be tempted by a plump, well-lookin' widder, but not
Johnnie.' Ye see, boys, Johnnie ain't quite the same as you an' me."
"Not quite," said Ajax.
"Mebbee ye've wondered why I sot sech store by Johnnie. Wal--I'll tell
ye. Johnnie's paw an' me was brothers an' pardners afore the war. An'
after Bull Run John sez to me: 'Abram,' he sez, 'we mustn't let Ole
Glory trail in the dust.' That's what he sez. 'John,' I answers, 'what
kin we do to prevent it?' '_Enlist_,' sez he. An' we done it. But
afore we go within smellin' distance o' the rebs, yes, boys, afore we
saw 'em, a bullet comes slam-bang into John's head."
The old man paused, overcome. We turned our eyes from his wrinkled,
troubled face, as Ajax entreated him to say no more.
"He died in defence of his flag," I muttered.
"Ah!" exclaimed Johnnie's uncle, "I thought you'd say that. No, boys,
John didn't die. A Kapus takes a heap o' killin.' John up an lived--
an' _married_! He married my girl, too, Susie Bunker. Susie felt
awful sorry for him, for that there rebel bullet had kinder made
scrambled eggs with pore John's brains. I let Susie marry John,
because I knew that he needed a good woman's keer. And then Johnnie
was born: a whoppin' baby, but with a leetle something missin' in his
purty head. Then John died, and soon enough Susie got peaked-face an'
lost her relish fer food. She tuk a notion that John needed her
t'otherside. Just afore she sent in her checks, she give me Johnnie,
an' she ast my pardon for marryin' John instead o' me. I tole her she
done right. An' I promised to look after Johnnie. Up to date, boys, I
hev. But now that darned widder woman has onexpectedly kidnapped him.
What kin I do?"
"The widow will look after both of you," I suggested.
"What! Share my Johnnie with her? Not much. She stole that there boy
from me by force. By Jing! I'll take him from her without liftin' a
finger. Ye see, Johnnie is mighty apt to disappint the widder.
Sometimes--more often than not--Johnnie _is_--disappintin'! I
allus jedge the pore boy by contrairies. Most o' men when they marry
air apt to forgit them as raised 'em, but Johnnie'll pine fer me. I
know it. Bless his heart, he can't git along nohow without me."
Listening to this simple talk, watching the old man's rough, honest
face, my own heart grew chill with apprehension. The widow had a small
income and many charms. It was certain that Johnnie's curly hair,
bright blue eyes, and stalwart figure had captivated her fancy. Pity
had bloomed into love. The pair must have driven--as fast as the
widow's steed could travel--into San Lorenzo. By this time, high noon,
the licence, doubtless, had been issued and the marriage solemnised by
parson or justice of the peace. Once married, no man--not even old man
Kapus--would be justified in tearing Bumblepuppy from the fond arms of
his bride.
We asked Johnnie's uncle to dine with us. He thanked us warmly.
"Boys, you surmise that I'm feelin' lonesome. And I am. But I won't be
lonesome long. The widder can't let that cow o' hers go without two
milkin's, an' her pigs an' chickens must be fed. She'll be back in the
village 'bout four or five; an' to-night, to-night, boys, my Johnnie
'll be home to supper."
Ajax discreetly descanted upon the widow's fine complexion, but old
man Kapus lent him but an indifferent ear.
"She's fat an' slick," he admitted, "but Johnnie's fat an' slick, too.
An' who made him so? Why--his uncle Abram. D'ye think now that I've
fed him up and got him into sech fine shape that he'll leave me? No,
sir. You might act that-a-way, but not my Johnnie."
After dinner, we accompanied Uncle Abram as far as the creek which
flows between the village and our domain. Here stand some fine
cottonwood trees and half-a-dozen lordly white-oaks. The spot is
famous as a picnicking ground, and in the heat of summer is as cool a
place as may be found in the county. And here, paddling in the brook
like an urchin, we found Bumblepuppy. His eyes sparkled as they fell
upon the face of his uncle.
"Ye've got back, Johnnie," said the old man.
"Yas. 'Twas hotter'n a red-hot stove on the road."
"Ye druv in with the widder woman?"
"Yas. I druv in with her; but I walked back. Guess I run the most o'
the way, too."
"An' Mis' Janssen--wheer is she?"
"I dunno', uncle Abram."
"Is she still a widder woman, Johnnie?"
"She was when I left her," said Bumblepuppy.
He had ascended the bank. Sitting down, he began to put on his socks.
I noted the admirable symmetry of calf and ankle; I thought of the
lungs and muscles which had sustained the superb body during a twenty-
six mile run between blazing earth and sky.
"What in thunder did ye go to town fer?" asked the old man. "Speak up,
Johnnie. Give us the cold facts."
Then Bumblepuppy made the speech of his life.
"Uncle Abram, you tole me to obey Mis' Janssen, an' do what she said."
"That's so, Johnnie."
"Yesday, she tole me to fix up an' be ready to go to San Lorenzy with
her. She said we'd travel by night 'cause o' the heat. An' she said I
was not to 'sturb you. She said she'd come to the winder an' tap. Then
I'd crawl out without 'sturbin' you. Wal--she come around about two,
jest as the roosters was a'crowin 'fer the second time. I slipped out
o' winder in my stockined feet. I hope I didn't 'sturb ye?"
"Ye didn't. Go on."
"In town Mis' Janssen said she'd fixed it up to marry me. She said I
needed a lovin' wife, and that me an' she'd have a Fourth o' July time
together. I said nothing, 'cause you'd tole me never to interrup' a
lady when she was a-talkin'. She kep' on a-talkin' till we got to the
Court House, where Mis' Janssen bought a licence. Then we hunted a
minister. Bimeby, he ast me if I was willin' to take Sairy Anne
Janssen to be my wife----"
"An' ye said NO, my own Johnnie?"
"That's what I done, Uncle Abram. And then she sez, kinder wheedlin':
'But you will marry yer Sairy Anne, Johnnie, won't ye?' And then,
gittin' scared, I kinder forgot my manners, fer I said: 'No--I'm d----
d if I will!' An' I disremember what she said nex', but I found myself
in the road, a-runnin' like a mad steer. Jee! that road was hotter'n a
red-hot stove!"
During the recital of this adventure Bumblepuppy's face had deepened
in tint till it glowed like an iron disc in the heart of a fire. As he
finished speaking, he knelt down and dipped his head into the cool,
bubbling creek. Lifting up his ruddy face, a ray of sunshine,
filtering through the tremulous leaves of the cottonwoods, fell full
upon his chestnut curls, and each drop of water on his hair became of
a sudden a gem of prismatic colour and most brilliant lustre.
"Phew-w-w!" said Bumblepuppy. "I hope Mis' Janssen ain't feelin' as
warm as I am."