The Pig and Whistle of 1789 was a far cry from
Central Park in 1950. And Ephraim Hale was certain
that more than rum had been used to get him there!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
December 1950
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Ephraim Hale yawned a great yawn and awakened. He'd expected to have
a headache. Surprisingly, considering the amount of hot buttered rum
he'd consumed the night before, he had none. But where in the name
of the Continental Congress had he gotten to this time? The last he
remembered was parting from Mr. Henry in front of the Pig and Whistle.
A brilliant statesman, Mr. Henry.
"_Give me liberty or give me death._"
E-yah. But that didn't tell him where he was. It looked like a cave.
This sort of thing had to stop. Now he was out of the Army and in
politics he had to be more circumspect. Ephraim felt in his purse, felt
flesh, and every inch of his six feet two blushed crimson. This, Martha
would never believe.
He sat up on the floor of the cave. The thief who had taken his clothes
had also stolen his purse. He was naked and penniless. And he the
representative from Middlesex to the first Congress to convene in New
York City in this year of our Lord, 1789.
He searched the floor of the cave. All the thief had left, along with
his home-cobbled brogans, his Spanish pistol, and the remnants of an
old leather jerkin, was the post from Sam Osgood thanking him for his
support in helping to secure Osgood's appointment as Postmaster General.
Forming a loin cloth of the leather, Ephraim tucked the pistol and
cover in it. The letter could prove valuable. A man in politics never
knew when a friend might need reminding. Then, decent as possible under
the circumstances, he walked toward the distant point of light to
reconnoiter his position. It was bad. His rum-winged feet had guided
him into a gentleman's park. And the gentleman was prolific. A dozen
boys of assorted ages were playing at ball on the greensward.
Rolling aside the rock that formed a natural door to the cave, Ephraim
beckoned the nearest boy, a cherub of about seven. "I wonder, young
master, if you would tell me on whose estate I am trespassing."
The boy grinned through a maze of freckles. "Holy smoke, mister. What
you out front for? A second Nature Boy, or Tarzan Comes To Television?"
"I beg your pardon?" Ephraim said puzzled.
"Ya heard me," the boy said.
* * * * *
Close up, he didn't look so cherubic. He was one of the modern
generation with no respect for his elders. What he needed was a beech
switch well applied to the seat of his britches. Ephraim summoned the
dignity possible to a man without pants. "I," he attempted to impress
the boy, "am the Honorable Ephraim Hale, late officer of the Army
of The United States, and elected representative from Middlesex to
Congress. And I will be beholden to you, young sir, if you will inform
your paternal parent a gentleman is in distress and wouldst have words
with him."
"Aw, ya fadder's mustache," the boy said. "Take it to the V.A. I should
lose the old man a day of hackin'." So saying, he returned to cover
second base.
Ephraim was tempted to pursue and cane him. He might if it hadn't been
for the girl. While he had been talking to the boy she had strolled
across the greensward to a sunny knoll not far from the mouth of
the cave. She was both young and comely. As he watched, fascinated,
she began to disrobe. The top part of her dress came off revealing
a bandeau of like material barely covering her firm young breasts.
Then, stepping out of her skirt, she stood a moment in bandeau and
short flared pants, her arms stretched in obeisance to the sun before
reclining on the grass.
[Illustration: He stared at the girl in amazement, for he had never
seen such brazen nakedness in all his life--and such real beauty....]
Ephraim blushed furiously. He hadn't seen as much of Martha during
their ten years of marriage. He cleared his throat to make his presence
known and permit her to cover her charms.
The girl turned her head toward him. "Hello. You taking a sun bath,
too? It's nice to have it warm so oily, ain't it?"
Ephraim continued to blush. The girl continued to look, and liked what
she saw. With a pair of pants and a whiskey glass the big man in the
mouth of the cave could pass as a man of distinction. If his hair was
long, his forehead was high and his cheeks were gaunt and clean shaven.
His shoulders were broad and well-muscled and his torso tapered to a
V. It wasn't every day a girl met so handsome a man. She smiled. "My
name's Gertie Swartz. What's yours?"
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ephraim told her.
"That's a nice name," she approved. "I knew a family named Hale in
Greenpernt. But they moved up to Riverside Height. Ya live in the
Heights?"
Ephraim tried to keep from looking at her legs. "No. I reside on a
farm, a league or so from Perth Amboy."
"Oh. Over in Joisey, huh?" Gertie was mildly curious. "Then what ya
doin' in New York in that Johnny Weismuller outfit?"
"I," Ephraim sighed, "was robbed."
The girl sat up, clucking sympathetically. "Imagine. Right in Central
Park. Like I was saying to Sadie just the other night, there ought to
be a law. A mugger cleaned you, huh?"
A bit puzzled by her reference to a _crocodilus palustris_, but
emboldened by her friendliness, Ephraim came out of the cave and sat on
the paper beside her. Her patois was strange but not unpleasant. Swartz
was a German name. The blond girl was probably the offspring of some
Hessian. Even so she was a pretty little doxy and he hadn't bussed a
wench for some time. He slipped an experimental arm around her waist.
"Haven't we met before?"
* * * * *
Gertie removed his arm and slapped him without heat. "No. And no hard
feelings, understand. Ya can't blame a guy for trying." She saw the
puckered white scars on his chest, souvenirs of King's Mountain. "Ya
was in the Army, huh?"
"Five years."
She was amazed and pleased. "Now ain't that a coincidence? Ya probably
know my brother Benny. He was in five years, too." Gertie was
concerned. "You were drinking last night, huh?"
"To my shame."
Gertie made the soft clucking sound again. "How ya going to get home in
that outfit?"
"That," Ephraim said, "is the problem."
She reached for and put on her skirt. "Look. I live just over on 82nd.
And if ya want, on account of you both being veterans, I'll lend you
one of Benny's suits." She wriggled into the top part of her four piece
sun ensemble. "Benny's about the same size as you. Wait."
Smiling, Ephraim watched her go across the greensward to a broad
turnpike bisecting the estate, then rose in sudden horror as a
metallic-looking monster with sightless round glass eyes swooped out
from behind a screen of bushes and attempted to run her down. The girl
dodged it adroitly, paused in the middle of the pike to allow a stream
of billings-gate to escape her sweet red lips, then continued blithely
on her way.
His senses alerted, Ephraim continued to watch the pike. The monsters
were numerous as locusts and seemed to come in assorted colors and
sizes. Then he spotted a human in each and realized what they must be.
While he had lain in a drunken stupor, Mother Shipton's prophecy had
come true--
'_Carriages without horses shall go._'
He felt sick. The malcontents would, undoubtedly, try to blame _this_
on the administration. He had missed the turning of an important page
of history. He lifted his eyes above the budding trees and was almost
sorry he had. The trees alone were familiar. A solid rectangle of
buildings hemmed in what he had believed to be an estate; unbelievable
buildings. Back of them still taller buildings lifted their spires
and Gothic towers and one stubby thumb into the clouds. His pulse
quickening, he looked at the date line of a paper on the grass. It was
April 15, 1950.
He would never clank cups with Mr. Henry again. The fiery Virginian,
along with his cousin Nathan, and a host of other good and true men,
had long since become legends. He should be dust. It hadn't been a
night since he had parted from Mr. Henry. It had been one hundred and
sixty-one years.
A wave of sadness swept him. The warm wind off the river seemed cooler.
The sun lost some of its warmth. He had never felt so alone. Then he
forced himself to face it. How many times had he exclaimed:
"_If only I could come back one hundred years from now._"
Well, here he was, with sixty-one years for good measure.
A white object bounded across the grass toward him. Instinctively
Ephraim caught it and found it was the hard white sphere being used by
the boys playing at ball.
"All the way," one of them yelled.
Ephraim cocked his arm and threw. The sphere sped like a rifle ball
toward the target of the most distant glove, some seventeen rods away.
"Wow!" the youth to whom he had spoken admired. The young voice was so
shocked with awe Ephraim had an uneasy feeling the boy was about to
genuflect. "Gee. Get a load of that whip. The guy's got an arm like Joe
DiMaggio...."
* * * * *
Supper was good but over before Ephraim had barely got started. Either
the American stomach had shrunk or Gertie and her brother, despite
their seeming affluence, were among the very poor. There had only been
two vegetables, one meat, no fowl or venison, no hoe cakes, no mead or
small ale or rum, and only one pie and one cake for the three of them.
He sat, still hungry, in the parlor thinking of Martha's ample board
and generous bed, realizing she, too, must be dust. There was no use in
returning to Middlesex. It would be as strange and terrifying as New
York.
Benny offered him a small paper spill of tobacco. "Sis tells me ya was
in the Army. What outfit was ya with?" Before Ephraim could tell him,
he continued, "Me, I was one of the bastards of Bastogne." He dug a
thumb into Ephraim's ribs. "Pretty hot, huh, what Tony McAuliffe tells
the Krauts when they think they got us where the hair is short and want
we should surrender."
"What did he tell them?" Ephraim asked politely.
Benny looked at him suspiciously.
"'Nuts!' he tol' 'em. 'Nuts.' Ya sure ya was in the Army, chum?"
Ephraim said he was certain.
"E.T.O. or Pacific?"
"Around here," Ephraim said. "You know, Germantown, Monmouth, King's
Mountain."
"Oh. State's side, huh?" Benny promptly lost all interest in his
sister's guest. Putting his hat on the back of his head he announced
his bloody intention of going down to the corner and shooting one of
the smaller Kelly Pools.
"Have a good time," Gertie told him.
Sitting down beside Ephraim she fiddled with the knobs on an ornate
commode and a diminutive mule-skinner appeared out of nowhere cracking
a bull whip and shouting something almost unintelligible about having a
Bible in his pack for the Reverend Mr. Black.
Ephraim shied away from the commode, wide-eyed.
Gertie fiddled with the knobs again and the little man went away. "Ya
don't like television, huh?" She moved a little closer to him. "Ya
want we should just sit and talk?"
Patting at the perspiration on his forehead with one of Benny's
handkerchiefs, Ephraim said, "That would be fine."
As with the horseless carriages, the towering buildings, and the water
that ran out of taps hot or cold as you desired, there was some logical
explanation for the little man. But he had swallowed all the wonders he
was capable of assimilating in one night.