Jasperson came to the ranch at the time of the March branding, and it
was well understood between the contracting parties--Ajax and I of the
first part, and Jasper Jasperson of the second part, all of San
Lorenzo County, in the State of California--that the said Jasperson
came to us as a favour, and, so to speak, under protest. For he had
never worked out before, and was possessed of money in bank and some
four hundred acres of good arable land which, he carefully explained
to us, he was unwilling to farm himself. Indeed, his appearance
bespoke the man of independent means, for he wore a diamond collar-
stud--his tie was always pulled carefully down so as not to interfere
with this splendid gem--and two diamond rings. In Jasperson's hot
youth he had come into violent contact with a circular saw, and the
saw, as he admitted, had the best of the encounter--two fingers of his
left hand being left in the pit. A man of character and originality,
he insisted upon wearing the rings upon his maimed hand, both upon the
index finger; and once, when Ajax suggested respectfully that the
diamonds would shine to better advantage upon the right hand, he
retorted reasonably enough that the mutilated member "kind of needed
settin' off." He seized the opportunity to ask Ajax why we wore no
jewellery, and upon my brother replying that we considered diamonds
out of place upon a cattle ranch, he roundly asserted that in his
opinion a "gen'leman couldn't be too dressy."
During the first month he bought in San Lorenzo a resplendent black
suit, and an amazing dress shirt with an ivy pattern, worked in white
silk, meandering down and up the bosom. To oblige Ajax he tried on
these garments in our presence, and spoke hopefully of the future,
which he said was sure to bring to his wardrobe another shirt and
possibly a silk hat. We took keen interest in these important matters,
and assured Jasperson that it would afford us the purest pleasure to
see once more a silk hat. Then Ajax indiscreetly asked if he was about
to commit matrimony.
"Boys," he replied, blushing, "I'd ought to be engaged, but I ain't.
Don't give me away, but I ain't got no best girl--not a one.
Surprisin', yes, sir, considerin' how I'm fixed--most _sur_prisin'."
He took off his beautiful coat, and wrapped it carefully in tissue
paper. We were sitting on the verandah after supper, and were well
into our second pipes. The moonlight illumined the valley, but
Jasperson's small delicate face was in shadow. From the creek hard by
came the croaking of many frogs, from the cow pasture the shrilling of
the crickets. A cool breeze from the Pacific was stirring the leaves
of the willows and cottonwoods, and the wheat, now two feet high,
murmured praise and thanksgiving for the late rains. When nature is
eloquent, why should a mortal refrain from speech?
"Boys," continued Jasperson; "I'm a-goin' to tell ye something;
because--well, because I feel like it. I've never had no best girl!"
"Jasperson," said Ajax, "I can't believe that. What! you, a young
and----"
"I ain't young," interrupted the man of independent means. "I'm nigh
on to thirty-six. Don't flim-flam me, boys. I ain't young, and I ain't
beautiful, but fixed up I am--dressy, an' that should count."
"It does count," said my brother, emphatically. "I've seen you,
Jasperson, on Sundays, when I couldn't take my eyes off you. The girls
must be crazy."
"The girls, gen'lemen, air all right; the trouble ain't with them.
It's with me. Don't laugh: it ain't no laughin' matter. Boys--I'm
bashful. That's what ails Jasper Jasperson. The girls," he cried
scornfully; "you bet they know a soft snap when they see it, and I am
a soft snap, an' don't you forget it!
"I left my own land," he continued dreamily, in a soft, melancholy
voice, "because there ain't a lady within fifteen miles o' my barn,
and here there's a village, and----"
"Her name, please," said Ajax, with authority; "you must tell us her
name."
"Wal," he bent forward, and his face came out of the shadows; we could
see that his pale blue eyes, red-rimmed and short-sighted, were
suffused with tender light, and his pendulous lower lip was a-quiver
with emotion; even the hair of his head--tow-coloured and worn _à la
Pompadour_--seemed to bristle with excitement, "Wal," he whispered
"it's--it's Miss Birdie Dutton!"
In the silence that followed I could see Ajax pulling his moustache.
Miss Birdie Dutton! Why, in the name of the Sphinx, should Jasperson
have selected out of a dozen young ladies far more eligible Miss
Birdie Dutton? She was our postmistress, a tall, dark, not uncomely
virgin of some thirty summers. But, alas! one of her eyes was
fashioned out of glass; her nose was masculine and masterful; and her
chin most positive. Jasperson's chin was equally conspicuous--
negatively. Miss Birdie, be it added, was a frequent contributor to
the columns of the _San Lorenzo Banner_, and Grand Secretary of a
local temperance organisation. She boarded with the Swiggarts; and Mr.
Swiggart, better known as Old Smarty, told me in confidence that "she
wouldn't stand no foolishness"; and he added, reflectively, that she
was something of a "bull-dozer." I knew that Old Smarty had sold his
boarder an aged and foundered bronco for fifty dollars, and that
within twenty-four hours the animal had been returned to him and the
money refunded to Miss Birdie. Many persons had suffered grievously at
the hands of Mr. Swiggart, but none, saving Miss Dutton, could boast
of beating him in a horse-deal.
Presently I expressed surprise that Jasperson had the honour of Miss
Dutton's unofficial acquaintance.
"I was interdooced last fall," said our friend, "at a candy-pullin' up
to Mis' Swiggart's. Not that Miss Birdie was a-pullin' candy. No, sir;
she ain't built that a way, but she was settin' there kind of
scornful, but smilin' An' later she an' me sung some hymns together.
Mebbe, gen'lemen, ye've heard Miss Birdie sing?"
I shook my head regretfully, but Ajax spoke enthusiastically of the
lady's powers as a vocalist. He had previously described her voice to
me as "a full choke, warranted to kill stone-dead at sixty yards."
"It is a lovely voice," sighed Jasperson, "strong, an' full, an' rich.
Why, there ain't an organ in the county can down her high B!" Then,
warmed by my brother's sympathy, he fumbled in his pocket, and found a
sheet of note-paper. Upon this he had written a quatrain that he
proposed to read to us _au clair de la lune_. The lines were
addressed: "To My Own Blackbird."
"She's a pernounced brunette," explained the poet; "and her name is
Birdie. I thought some of entitlin' the pome: 'To a Mocking Bird'; but
I surmised that would sound too pussonal. She has mocked me, an'
others, more'n once."
He sighed, still smarting at the memory of a gibe; then he recited the
following in an effective monotone:--
"Oh! scorn not the humble worm, proud bird,
As you sing i' the top o' the tree;
Though doomed to squirm i' the ground, unheard.
He'll make a square meal for thee."
"It ain't Shakespeare," murmured the bard, "but the idee is O.K."
My brother commended the lines as lacking neither rhyme nor reason,
but he questioned the propriety of alluding to a lady's appetite, and
protested strongly against the use of that abject word--worm. He told
Jasperson that in comparing himself to a reptile he was slapping the
cheeks of his progenitors.
"But I do feel like a worm when Miss Birdie's around," objected the
man of acres. "It may be ondignified, but that there eye of hers does
make me wiggle."
"It's a thousand pities," said I softly, "that Miss Dutton has only
one eye."
Jasperson wouldn't agree with me. He replied, with ardour, that he
would never have dared to raise his two blue orbs to Miss Dutton's
brilliant black one, unless he had been conscious that his mistress,
like himself, had suffered mutilation.
"I'm two fingers short," he concluded, "an' she's lackin' an eye.
That, gen'lemen, makes it a stand-off. Say, shall I send her this yere
pome?"
"Most certainly not," said Ajax.
"Then for the Lord's sake, post me."
I touched Ajax with my foot, and coughed discreetly; for I knew my
brother's weakness. He is a spendthrift in the matter of giving
advice. If Jasperson had appealed to me, the elder and more
experienced, I should have begged politely, but emphatically, to be
excused from interference. I hold that a man and a maid must settle
their love affairs without help from a third party. Ajax, unhappily,
thinks otherwise.
"Miss Dutton," he began, tentatively, "is aware, Jasperson, of your--
er--passion for her?"
"She ain't no sech a thing," said the lover.
"Yet her eye," continued Ajax, "is keen--keen and penetrating."
"It's a peach," cried the enthusiastic poet. "There ain't another like
it in the land, but it can't see in the dark; an', boys, I've not
shown my hand--yet!"
"You've made no advances directly or indirectly?"
"Not a one. By golly! I--I dassn't. I jest didn't know how. I ain't up
to the tricks. You air, of course; but I'm not."
My brother somewhat confusedly hastened to assure Jasperson that his
knowledge of the sex was quite elementary, and gleaned for the most
part from a profound study of light literature.
The poet grinned derisively. "You ain't no tenderfoot," he said. "I
reckon that what you don't know about the girls ain't worth picklin'."
"Well, if you mean business," said Ajax didactically, "if nothing we
can say or do will divert your mind from courtship and matrimony--if,
my dear Jasperson, you are prepared to exchange the pleasant places,
the sunny slopes, and breezy freedom of bachelor life for the thorny
path that leads to the altar, and thence to--er--the cradle, if, in
short, you are determined to own a best girl, why, then the first and
obvious thing to do is to let her know discreetly that you're in love
with her."
"As how?" said Jasperson, breathlessly. "I told ye that when she was
around I felt like a worm."
"You spoke of wiggling," replied my brother; "and I suppose that
heretofore you have wiggled _from_ and not _to_ the bird.
Next time, wiggle up, my boy--as close as possible."
"You're dead right," murmured the disciple; "but look at here: when I
call on Miss Birdie, she sez, 'Mister Jasperson,' or, mebbe, 'Mister
Jasper, please be seated, an' let me take your hat.' Naterally, boys,
I take the chair she p'ints out, an' then, dog-gone it! she takes
_another_."
"Do you expect this young lady to sit down in your lap, sir? Maids,
Jasperson, must not be lightly put to confusion. They must be stalked,
and when at bay wooed with tender words and languishing glances. Now
listen to me. Next Sunday, when you call upon Miss Dutton, take the
chair she offers, but as soon as a suitable opportunity presents
itself, ask to see the album. Thus you will cleverly betray a warm
interest in her by showing a lively interest in her people. And to
look over an album two persons must----"
"You bet they must," interrupted the poet. "They must nestle up.
That's right! What kind of a chump am I not to have thought of that
before? Yes, boys, she's got an album, a beaut', too: crimson plush
an' nickel. And, of course, the pictures of her folks is inside. By
gum! I'll give the homeliest of 'em sech a send-off as----"
"You will not," said Ajax. "Remember, Jasperson, that a burning black
eye indicates jealousy, which you must beware of arousing. Don't
praise too wantonly the beauty of Miss Dutton's sisters and cousins;
but if the father is well-looking, pay your mistress the compliment of
saying that the children of true lovers always take after the father.
In turning the leaves of the album you might touch her hand, quite
accidentally. No less an authority than Mr. Pickwick commends a
respectful pressure."
"I'll do it," exclaimed Jasperson, "I'll do it, sure!"
"Has she a pretty hand?" I asked.
"Has she a pretty hand!" echoed the lover, in disdainful tones, "She
has the hand of a queen! The Empress of Roosia ain't got a whiter nor
a finer hand! Miss Birdie ain't done no harder work than smackin' a
kid that needs it."
"I've heard," said I, "that she can smack--hard."
"An' I'd be a liar if I denied it," replied Jasperson. "Wal,
gen'lemen, I'm obligated to ye. Next Sabbath I'll wade right in."
Upon the following Sunday our hero rose betimes, tubbed himself,
shaved himself, perfumed his small person with bergamot, and then
arrayed it in the ivy-bosomed shirt and the $75 suit of broadcloth.
His toilet occupied just two hours and seventeen minutes. Ajax
decorated the lapel of his coat with a handsome rosebud, and then the
impatient swain tied round his neck a new white silk handkerchief,
mounted his horse, and betook himself at a gallop to the village
church. Ajax remarked with regret that the pace was too hot at the
start, and feared that our colt would finish badly. As we walked back
to the verandah, I told my brother that he had assumed a big
responsibility; for I was convinced that Miss Dutton, albeit possessed
of many admirable qualities, was not the woman to make little
Jasperson either happy or comfortable. She, doubtless, being a wise
bird, would greedily snap up this nice worm who had waxed fat in the
richest soil. But how would the worm fare when swallowed up and
absorbed?
At five that afternoon the amorous poet rode slowly up to the corral.
As he sat limply upon his sorrel horse, smiling dismally at Ajax, we
could see that the curl was out of his moustache, and out of the brim
of his sombrero; upon his delicate face was inscribed failure.
"Boys," said he, throwing one leg over the horn of the saddle; "I
didn't get there. I--I mired down!"
Later, he gave us some interesting details. It transpired that he had
met his sweetheart, after Sabbath-school, and had sat beside her
during the regular service; after church he had accepted a warm
invitation from Mrs. Swiggart to join the family circle at dinner. At
table he had been privileged to supply Miss Birdie with many dainties:
pickled cucumbers, cup-custards, and root beer. He told us frankly
that he had marked nothing amiss with the young lady's appetite, but
that for his part he had made a sorry meal.
"My swaller," he said plaintively, "was in kinks before the boolyon
was served."
"You say," murmured Ajax, "that Miss Dutton's appetite was good?"
"It was just grand," replied the unhappy bard. "I never seen a lady
eat cup-custards with sech relish."
"We may infer, then," observed my brother, "that Miss Birdie is still
in happy ignorance of your condition; otherwise pity for you would
surely have tempered that craving for cup-custards."
"I dun'no', boys, about that. Me an' Miss Birdie sung out o' the same
hynm book, and--and I sort o' showed down. I reckon she knows what
ails Jasper Jasperson."
Ajax unwisely congratulated the lovelorn one upon this piece of news.
He said that the Rubicon was now passed, and retreat impossible. We
noted the absence of the rosebud, and Jasperson blushingly confessed
that he had presented the flower to his best girl after dinner, an act
of homage--so we presumed--in recognition of the lady's contempt of
danger in mixing pickled cucumbers with cup-custards.
"After that," said Jasperson, "I thought of the album, an' 'twas then
my feet begun to get cold. But I up and as't to see it, as bold as a
coyote in a hen-roost. Then she sez, kind of soft an' smilin': 'Why,
Mister Jasper, what d'you want to see my album for? you don't know my
folks.'"
"A glorious opportunity," said Ajax. "What did you reply, my buck?"
"Dog-gone it! I'd ought to have sailed right in, but I sot there,
shiverin', an' said:' Oh! because ...' jest like a school-girl. And I
could see that the answer made her squirm. She must ha' thought I was
the awflest fool. But to save me that's all I could stammer out--'Oh,
because ...'"
"Well," said Ajax, encouragingly, "the best of us may be confounded in
love and war."
"You do put heart into a man," murmured the little fellow. "Wal, sir,
we sot down an' looked through the album. And on the first page was
Miss Birdie's father, the mortician and arterialist."
"The what?" we exclaimed.
"Undertaker and _em_-bammer. He's an expert, too. Why, Miss
Birdie was a-tellin' me--"
I ventured to interrupt him. "I don't think, Jasperson, I should like
an undertaker for a father-in-law. Have you considered that point?"
"I have, gen'lemen. It might come in mighty handy. Wal, he was the
homeliest critter I ever seen. I dassn't ring in that little song an'
dance you give me. And on the nex' page was Mis' Dutton." He sighed
softly and looked upward.
"The mother," said Ajax briskly. "Now, I dare swear that she's a good-
looking woman. Nature attends to such matters. Beauty often marries
the b---- the homely man."
"Mis' Dutton," said Jasperson solemnly, "is now a-singing in the
heavenly choir, an' bein' dead I can't say nothing; but, gen'lemen,
ye'll understand me when I tell ye that Miss Birdie never got her fine
looks from her maw. Not on your life!"
"Doubtless," said Ajax sympathetically, "there was something in the
faces of Miss Dutton's parents that outweighed the absence of mere
beauty: intelligence, intellect, character."
"The old man's forehead is kind o' lumpy," admitted Jasperson, "but I
didn't use that. I sot there, as I say, a-shiverin', an' never opened
my face. She then showed me her cousins: daisies they were and no
mistake; but I minded what you said, an' when Miss Birdie as't me if
they wasn't beauties, I sez no--not even good-lookin'; an', by golly!
she got mad, an' when I tetched her hand, obedient to orders, she
pulled it away as if a tarantula had stung it. After that I made
tracks for the barn. I tell ye, gen'lemen, I'm not put up right for
love-makin'."
Ajax puffed at his pipe, deep in thought. I could see that he was
affected by the miscarriage of his counsels. Presently he removed the
briar from his lips, and said abruptly: "Jasperson, you assert that
you showed down in church. What d'you mean by that? Tell me exactly
what passed."
The man we believed to be a laggard in love answered confusedly that
he and Miss Dutton had been singing that famous hymn, "We shall meet
in the sweet By-and-by." The congregation were standing, but resumed
their seats at the end of the hymn. Under cover of much scraping of
feet and rustling of starched petticoats, Jasperson had assured his
mistress that the sweet By-and-by was doubtless a very pleasant place,
but that he hoped to meet her often in the immediate future. He told
us that Miss Birdie had very properly taken no notice whatsoever of
this communication; whereupon he had repeated it, lending emphasis to
what was merely a whisper by a sly pressure of the elbow. This, too,
the lady had neither approved nor resented.
Upon this Ajax assured our friend that he need not despair, and he
said that the vexed question of the fair's appetite had been set at
rest: a happy certainty was the sauce that had whetted her hunger.
Jasperson listened with sparkling eyes.
"Say," said he; "if you'll help me out, I'll write a letter to Miss
Birdie this very night."
I frowned and expostulated in vain. Within two minutes, pens, ink and
paper were produced, and both Jasperson and my brother were hard at
work. Between them the following composition was produced. Jasperson
furnished the manner, Ajax the matter.
"To Miss Birdie Dutton.
"Dear Friend,--Since leaving you this afternoon, _more abrupt than a
gentleman could wish_, I have taken up my pen to set forth that
which is in my heart, but which cannot leave my trembling lips. Dear
friend, there is too much _at steak_ for me to be calm in your
presence. When I sat by your side, and gazed with you at the noble
faces of your parents, reading there, dear friend, the names of those
great qualities which have been inherited by you, _with queenly
beauty thrown in_, then it was that a sudden sinking inside robbed
your lover of his powers of speech. And how could I see the loveliness
of your cousins when my eyes were dwelling with rapture upon the
stately form of her I trust to call my own? Be mine, dear friend, for
I love you and hope to marry you, to part neither here nor in the
sweet By-and-by.
"Yours respectfully,
"Jasper Jasperson.
"P.S.--_Important_. The ranch is four hundred and three acres,
_paid for_. And there's money somewhere to build a nice
residence, and to furnish it according to Hoyle. We'd keep a hired
girl.
"P.P.S.--_And a pianner_. J.J.(_A true lover_)."
This billet-doux was sealed and despatched, and in due time brought an
acceptance. The engagement was formally ratified at a banquet given by
the Swiggarts, and the health of the high contracting parties was
enthusiastically drunk in pink lemonade. The marriage was arranged to
take place during the summer vacation, and Pacific Grove was selected
as the best spot in California for the honeymoon.
Thus smoothly for a season ran the course of true love. But three
weeks later, when the landscape was wearing its imperial livery of
lupin and eschscholtizia, when the fields at night were white with
moonflowers, when a glorious harvest was assured, and all beasts and
birds and insects were garrulous of love and love's delight--upon May-
day, in short--was disclosed a terrible rift within poor Jasperson's
lute.
He had escorted his sweetheart to the annual picnic, and returning
late at night found Ajax and me enjoying a modest nightcap before
turning in. We asked him to join us, but he refused with some
asperity, and upon cross-examination confessed that he had promised
Miss Button to take the pledge at the next meeting of the lodge. Now,
we knew that Jasperson was the pink of sobriety, but one who
appreciated an occasional glass of beer, or even a mild cocktail; and
we had heard him more than once denounce the doctrines of the
Prohibitionists; so we were quite convinced that meek submission to
the dictates of the Grand Secretary of Corona Lodge was both
unnecessary and inexpedient. And we said so.
"Birdie knows I don't drink," stammered our hired man, "but she thinks
I'd ought to take the pledge as an example."
"An example," echoed Ajax. "To whom? To _us?_"
"She said an example, gen'lemen, jest--an example."
"But she meant us," said Ajax sternly. "Our names were mentioned.
Don't you deny it, Jasperson."
"They was," he admitted reluctantly. "She as't me, careless-like, if
you didn't drink wine with your meals, and I said yes. I'd ought to
have said no."
"What!" cried my brother, smiting the table till the decanter and
glasses reeled. "You think that you ought to have lied on our account.
Jasperson--I'm ashamed of you; I tremble for your future as the slave
of Miss Dutton."
"Wal--I didn't lie," said Jasperson defiantly; "I up and told her the
truth: that you had beer for supper, and claret wine, or mebbe sherry
wine, or mebbe both for dinner, and that you took a toddy when you
felt like it, an' that there was champagne down cellar, an' foreign
liquors in queer bottles, an' Scotch whisky, an'--_everything_.
She as't questions and I answered them--like an idiot! Gen'lemen, the
shame you feel for me is discounted by the shame I feel for myself.
I'd ought to have told Birdie that your affairs didn't concern her;
I'd ought to have said that you was honnerable gen'lemen whom I'm
proud to call my intimate friends; I'd ought to have said a thousand
things, but I sot there, and said-nothin'!"
He was standing as he spoke, emphasising his periods with semaphoric
motions of his right arm. When he had finished he sank quite overcome
upon the big divan, and covered his flushed face with a pair of small
hands. He was profoundly moved, and Ajax appeared less solidly
complacent than usual. I reflected, not without satisfaction, that I
had done what I could to keep Jasperson and the Grand Secretary apart.
"This is very serious," said Ajax, after a significant pause. "I--I
feel, Jasperson, that this engagement was brought about by--me."
"It's a fact," assented our hired man. "And that's what makes me feel
so mean right now. Boys, I love that woman so that I dassn't go agin
her."
Ajax rose in his might and confronted the trembling figure upon the
divan. My brother's nickname was given to him at school in virtue of
his great size and strength. Standing now above Jasperson, his
proportions seemed even larger than usual. The little dandy in his
smug black garments with his diamond stud gleaming in the ivy-bosomed
shirt (his rings had been given to Miss Birdie), with his features
wilting like the wild pansies in the lapel of his coat, dwindled to an
amorphous streak beneath the keen glance of my burly brother.
"Do you really love her?" said Ajax, in his deepest bass. "Or do you
_fear_ her, Jasperson? Answer honestly."
The small man writhed. "I dun'no'," he faltered at last. "By golly! I
dun'no'."
"Then I do know," replied my brother incisively: "you've betrayed
yourself, Jasperson. You're playing the worm. D'you hear? The
_worm_! I once advised you to wiggle up to the bird, now I tell
you solemnly to wiggle away, before it's too late. I've been a fool,
and so have you. For the past three weeks I've had my eye on you, and
I suspected that you'd fallen a victim to an ambitious and
unscrupulous woman. You've lost weight, man; and you've no flesh to
spare. Marry Miss Dutton, and you'll be a scarecrow within a year, and
require the services of the mortician within two! I got you into this
infernal scrape, and, by Heaven I I'll get you out of it."
"But what will the neighbours say?" stammered Jasperson, sitting
upright. At my brother's words his pendulous nether lip had stiffened,
and now his pale blue eyes were quickening with hope and vitality. He
arranged his white satin tie, that had slipped to one side, and
smoothed nervously the nap of the broadcloth pants, while Ajax clad in
rough grey flannels took a turn up and down our sitting-room.
My brother and I had lived together for many years, years of fat kine
and years of lean, but I couldn't recall a single instance when he had
considered the opinion of Mrs. Grundy. In coming to California, to a
rough life on a cattle ranch, we had virtually snapped our fingers
beneath the dame's nose. I mention this because it sheds light upon
what follows.
"The neighbours, Jasperson," replied Ajax, "will say some deuced
unpleasant things. But I think I can promise you the sympathy of the
men, and your ranch is fifteen miles from a petticoat."
"I dassn't break it off, gen'lemen, not by word of mouth; but--but we
might write."
"And lay yourself open to a breach of promise case and heavy damages.
No--I've a better plan than that. We'll make Miss Dutton release you.
She shall do the writing this time."
"Boys," said Jasperson solemnly, "she'll never do it--never! Her mind
is sot on merridge. I see it all now. She hypnotised me, by golly! I
swear she did! That eye of hers is a corker."
"What night are you to be initiated?" asked Ajax, with seeming
irrelevance.
"Next Toosday," replied the neophyte nervously.
"You have never, I believe, been on a spree?"
"Never, gen'lemen--never."
"They tell me," said Ajax softly, "that our village whisky, the sheep-
herders' delight, will turn a pet lamb into a roaring lion."
"It's pizon," said Jasperson,--"jest pizon."
"You, Jasperson, need a violent stimulant. On Tuesday afternoon, my
boy, you and I will go on a mild spree. I don't like sprees any more
than you do, but I see no other way of cutting this knot. Now, mark
me, not a word to Miss Dutton. It's late, so--good-night."
Between May-day and the following Tuesday but little transpired worth
recording. Miss Dutton sent the convert a bulky package of tracts,
with certain scathing passages marked--obviously for our benefit--in
red ink; and we learned from Alethea-Belle that the initiation of
Jasper Jasperson was to be made an occasion of much rejoicing, and
that an immense attendance was expected at Corona Lodge. The
storekeeper asked Ajax outright if there were truth in the rumour that
we were to be decorated with the blue ribbon, and my brother hinted
mysteriously that even stranger things than that might happen.
Jasperson complained of insomnia, but he said several times that he
would never forget what Ajax was doing on his behalf, and I don't
think he ever will. For my part I maintained a strict neutrality.
Ethically considered, I was sensible that my brother's actions were
open to severe criticism; at the same time, I was certain that mild
measures would not have prevailed.
The Grand Secretary, while I was in the post-office, invited me quite
informally to participate in the opening exercises, and to assist at
the banquet, the benediction, so to speak, of the secret rites. She
said that other prominent gentlemen would receive invitations, and
that she was certain the "work" would please and edify. She expressed
much chagrin when I tendered my regret, and amazed me by affirming
that Ajax had cordially consented to be present. This I considered an
outrageous breach of good manners upon his part: if he kept his
promise, a number of most worthy and respectable persons would
consider themselves insulted; so I advised Miss Birdie not to count
upon him.
"I like your big brother," she said, in her hard, metallic tones; "he
is such a man: he has made quite a conquest of me; for mercy's sake
don't tell him so."
I pledged myself to profound secrecy, but walking home the remembrance
of an uncanny gleam in her bold black eye put to flight my misgivings.
I decided that Ajax was justified in using "pizon."
Upon Tuesday afternoon I deemed it expedient to remain at the ranch-
house. About five, Jasperson, arrayed in his best, accompanied Ajax to
the village. The lodge was to open its doors at 7.30; and at ten my
brother returned alone, breathless and red in the face, the bearer of
extraordinary tidings. I shall let him tell the story in his own
words.
"The whole village," said he, "has been painted by Jasperson a lovely
pigeon-blood red!" Then he sat down and laughed in the most
uncontrollable and exasperating manner.
"By Jupiter!" he gasped; "I knew that whisky was wonderful stuff, but
I never believed it could turn a worm into a Malay running amok." Then
he laughed again till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
Between the gusts and gurgles of laughter a few more details leaked
out. I present them connectedly. The kind reader will understand that
allowance must be made for my brother. He is a seasoned vessel, but no
man can drink our village nectar with impunity.
"Of course," he began, "I knew that, this being his last day, the boys
would ask Jasperson to celebrate. So, mindful, of your precious
reputation--I don't care a hang about my own--I kept in the
background. Upon inquiry you'll find that it is generally conceded
that I did my best to prevent what has happened. And Jasperson was
foxey, too. He hung back, said he was going to join the lodge, and
wouldn't indulge in anything stronger than Napa Soda. He had three
rounds of that. Then he was persuaded by Jake Williams to try a glass
of beer, and after that a bumper of strong, fruity port--the pure
juice of the Californian grape. That warmed him up! At a quarter to
six he took his first drink of whisky, and then the evil spirits of
all the devils who manufacture it seemed to possess him. In less than
half-an-hour he was the centre of a howling crowd, and none howled
louder than he. He set up the drinks again and again. I tried to drag
him away, and failed miserably. I'll be hanged if he didn't get hold
of a six-shooter, and threatened to fill me with lead if I interfered.
He told the boys he was going to join the lodge. That was the dominant
note. He was going to join the lodge. He had come to town on purpose.
How they cheered him! Then that scoundrel Jake Williams was inspired
by Satan to ask him if he was provided with an initiation robe. And he
actually persuaded Jasperson to remove his beautiful black clothes and
to array himself in a Sonora blanket. Then they striped his poor white
face with black and red paint, till he looked like an Apache.
Honestly, I did my level best to quash the proceedings: I might as
well have tried to bale out the Pacific with a pitchfork. At a
quarter-past seven the Swiggarts drove into Paradise, and I wish you
could have seen the Grand Secretary's face. She had no idea,
naturally, that her Jasper was the artist so busily engaged in
decorating the village. But she knew there was an awful row on, and I
fancy she rather gloried in her own saintliness. Presently the lodge
filled up, and I could see Miss Birdie standing on the porch looking
anxiously around for the candidate. Finally I felt so sorry for the
girl, that I made up my mind to give her a hint, so that she could
slip quietly away. She greeted me warmly, and said that she supposed
Mr. Jasperson was around 'somewheres,' and I said that he was. Then
she spoke about the riot, and asked if I had seen a number of brutal
cowboys abusing a poor Indian. She told me that her brothers and
sisters inside the lodge were very distressed about it. And as she
talked the yells grew louder, and I was convinced that the candidate
was about to present himself. So I tried to explain the facts. But,
confound it! she was so obtuse--for I couldn't blurt the truth right
out--that, before she caught on, the procession arrived. The catechumen
was seated upon an empty beer-barrel, placed upon a sort of float
dragged by the boys. They had with them a big drum, that terrible
bassoon of Uncle Jake's, and a cornet; the noise was something
terrific. Well, Miss Birdie's a good plucked one! She stood on the
steps and rebuked them. That voice of hers silenced the band. Before
she was through talking you might have heard a pin drop. She rated
them for a quarter of an hour, and all the good people in the lodge
came out to listen and applaud. I was jammed up against her, and
couldn't stir. At the end she invited them to come into the lodge to
see a good man--I quote her verbatim--an upright citizen, a credit to
his country and an ornament to society, take the pledge. When she
stopped, Jasperson began, in that soft, silky voice of his. He thanked
her, and said he was glad to know that he was held in such high
esteem; that he cordially hoped the boys would come in, as he was
paying for the banquet, and that after supper they might expect a real
sociable time!
"That's all, but it was enough for the Grand Secretary. She gave a
ghastly scream, and keeled over, right into my arms."
"And where," said I, "is Jasperson?"
"Jasperson," replied Ajax soberly, "is being removed in a spring-wagon
to his own ranch. To-morrow he will be a very sick man, but I think
I've got him out of his scrape."