Once upon a time a man, call him P.o1, was Marshal at a big picnic
and cavorted around in a gorgeous scarf, riding an ancient but fiery
untamed Mexican bronco, blanco I mean, which had lots of action,
particularly forward. This man had been yarning with another, call him
P.o2, who had also been in the golden South Americas and who, being
in that frivolous state of mind, often found in travelers, insisted
on climbing up behind P.o1 whenever he got a chance, and inciting the
blanco till the action became worse than ever, and the three nearly
got seasick. They did not though, but feasted sumptiously on part of
a whole bullock barbecued, which was so good that they wished they
had known him when alive; might have been better men. Picnic was a
success but P.o2 was not satisfied with one day, and carried on till
a couple of weeks later P.o1 got a message to come to the St. C.
hotel. P.o2 had got D.T.'s and was amusing himself trying to get out
of a three-story window. The St. C. people sent for P.o1 who took the
maniac away and kept him in his bedroom for four abandoned nights.
P.o2 was big and wiry and strong withal, and in the lengua del pais
it was "no circus". P.o2 got better and two years after P.o1 had a
telegram from him saying their ship went down in the Atlantic and took
his twenty thousand draft with her, and he was busted. Now he is in
England with a title and estate and P.o1 has neither, and this is the
reward of virtue--but P.o1 was a Marshal once--and
"The world goes up, and the world goes down,
And the sunshine follows the rain;
And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown
never come over again."
"La vie est vaine:
Un peu d'amour,
Un peu de haine ...
Et puis--bon-jour!
La vie est brève:
Un peu d'espoir,
Un peu de rève ...
Et puis--bonsoir." ...
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