“Dobie, I’d be doing the fair thing to the public if I kicked you so
hard that when your soul and body met they’d have to be introduced.”
Uncle Gabe is emotional, Hank, and emotion is a feerocious form of
insanity. He told me to go out and find that money and stage that I gave
away and then he might get fond of me again.
What can I do, Hank? I ain’t no palmist what can look in my hand and see
where Devil Creek left that stage. I ain’t seen my wife for a long time;
so I went up to the house and knocked on the door. I says to her—
“Darling, can I walk in?”
“You ain’t crippled in the legs are you, Dobie?” she asks, and I can see
that she has been told things that were better left unsaid. I went into
the parlor and picked up the family album what contains the photygraphs.
“Did you come to see the pictures?” she asks. “If that’s all you wanted,
you can take the album with you.”
“Emmie, love,” says I, “you ain’t likely heard my side of the story
yet.”
“One side is sufficient,” says she. “I wish I’d never seen you.”
“Well,” says I, “I knowed you’d take another’s word for it; so I won’t
defend myself from unjust canard. You are tired of seeing my familiar
face around here; so I won’t darken your door with it again until I can
come back a vindicated hero. I may never see you again, woman; so fare
thee a fond fare-thee-well.”
Hank, I had a lump as big as a door-knob in my throat when I said them
words, but she acts cold as a rock when she says:
“Dobie, you’ve changed your face so many times lately that I ain’t got a
chance to get tired of any one of them. I hope for your sake that you
will either brace up and be a man or find somebody you can whip.”
Hank, I’m strong when it comes to facing the bitter world or my
relatives by marriage, but I sure sheds tears when I left my sweet wife.
I went down to the Palace saloon, and I runs across “Blizzard” Hughes.
Bliz is filling his skin with hooch and his soul with misery. He sobs on
my shoulder and buys a drink. I tells him my troubles, and we cries
together.
“Tell you what I’ll do,” sobs Bliz; “I got a burro, and you can have him
if you want him.”
I kissed Bliz on the nose and asks him what I’m going to do, now that I
own a burro.
“Sympathy,” says he. “Nothing like hitting a woman’s heart-strings. I’ll
bring that jassack up to Galesburg’s gate, and we’ll pack him up.
_Sabe?_ You wife will realize that she’s going to lose you, Dobie, and
it will twang upon her heart-strings until she cometh to your loving
arms. You get the plunder together, and I’ll do the rest.”
Hank, that was one hyiu idea. I got my stuff together, and, when I got
up to the gate, I finds Bliz and the burro and a lot of innocent
bystanders. That burro is the picture of misery, having both ears broken
and hanging down like a weeping willer.
Me and Bliz shakes hands solemn-like, and then he introduces me to all
the rest of the mourners. They all sympathizes with me over my troubles
and expresses grief at losing me so soon, and then me and Bliz starts to
pack up.
We ain’t got much to pack, but we sure packs it well. I reckon we’re
there for over an hour. Emmeline don’t show up, but I can feel that
she’s looking on from one of the windows. After we’re all through, Bliz
says to me:
“Dobie, she’s likely too proud to come out here before all this
audience; so you better go up to the house to see her. But before you
go, I want to say good-by. I must say it before you start, ’cause it
would be too hard for me to wait until you pull out. Good-by, Dobie, and
good luck.”
Me and Bliz cries a little when we shakes hands, and the rest of the
crowd takes off their hats respectful-like. Then I went up to the house.
I hammers on the door for about five minutes before I gets a reply, and
then Aunt Phœbe comes to the door.
“Emmeline?” says I in undertaking tones.