could meet an old lady that was a passenger in that car—not the one with
the bunion on her left foot and the crockery teeth, who mistook me for a
minister, but the mild old lady with glasses that sat opposite me—she
would tell you the same. _She_ knows. Bless her gentle heart! If she
doesn’t, I would like to know who does. She partook of the fowl. I saw
her looking wistfully upon it as I dismembered it, and, though I say it
myself, I am not greedy, by any means, so I offered her the juicy neck.
Did she take it? Ask, rather, if a cat that had fasted a week would take
a mouse if she got between him and his hole? As old Shylock said, “Are
you answered?” She was no novice at picking the neck of a fowl, either.
She manipulated it in a manner that proved to me clearly she had a
perfect knowledge of its construction. It was not long—perhaps ten
seconds—before she had it picked as bare as a corkscrew. She did it with
such ease, too; and that’s what got me. She kept it revolving as rapidly
as a squirrel does the cylinder in his cage. She had but one front tooth
left in her upper jaw. The intelligent mind will no doubt immediately
picture forth a _long_ tooth; and the intelligent mind, in so doing,
portrays the incisor correctly. It was, indeed, a long tooth, but it was
just the thing she needed for the business before her. It seemed to be
specially made for it, as it fitted into every depression or notch in
the neck as nicely as a key into a lock. It ran around between the
vertebræ like a turner’s chisel, throwing the small particles of
nutriment far back against the roof of her mouth. It did me good to see
her play around that fowl’s neck. I grew young again while beholding the
busy scene, and actually regretted that a chicken did not have two
necks, as well as two legs, that I might repeat the generous donation,
and see the pleasing scene enacted again. As it was, I won golden
opinions from the old lady.
[Illustration: NECK TO NECK.]
A stout German woman who sat near by also seemed to be looking upon the
chicken as though she would like to help me make away with it. With that
magnanimity which was ever my peculiar characteristic, I severed the
pope’s nose from the trunk and proffered her the delicious morsel, when,
to my utter astonishment and confusion, she whipped out of her pocket a
big bologna sausage the size of a stuffed club, and shook it
triumphantly in my face, so close that it might have greased the end of
my nose. She actually scouted the idea. Independent, proud and
self-sustaining, these Germans, and no mistake. She evidently felt
insulted, and delivered herself of a long essay in the German tongue.
She was undoubtedly giving me to understand that she was able to furnish
grists for her own mill. Of course that is what she meant. I could tell
that by the way she flourished the bologna, and pointed to her mouth and
stomach. I expected she was about to whack me over the jaw with the
singular looking weapon, and prepared to dodge on the shortest possible
notice. But she didn’t. As if to madden me, she commenced eating the
sausage in a hasty, excited manner, taking about two inches at a bite.
What could I do? What did I do? Why, let her eat it, of course; it was
none of my business. I had no objection, so long as she didn’t choke,
and render it necessary for me to pat her upon the back, which I
certainly thought I would have to do before she finished her meal.
You may be sure I offered no more chicken to any person after that, but
picked the bones as bare as pen-holders. If she liked bologna better
than a choice piece of fowl, it was her fault, not mine. I washed my
hands of the whole affair.
I stopped a few hours at a mill in the mountains, and while there
witnessed an amusing incident. There was a small pipe leading from the
engine, and projecting through the side of the building close to the
ground. Through this pipe the waste water was conveyed from the engine,
and at the end of it quite a puddle or drain had been formed, about a
foot in width and eight or ten feet in length. The constant dripping
from the pipe kept the water warm, and from it a steam was continually
rising. There were several Indian camps in the vicinity of the mill, and
as wood was rather scarce, the squaws belonging to the camps were in the
habit of congregating around this warm drain when the cold weather
numbed their poorly protected limbs. It was not an unusual thing to see
half a dozen coming down the hill to squat beside the drain, and there
sit for hours discussing the current topics of the day, enjoying at the
same time the luxury of a cheap steam bath.
There were a couple sitting at the drain in this innocent manner while I
was at the mill. I called the engineer’s attention to the capital
opportunity that lay before him to give them a surprise that would be
fun to behold. This he could do by simply turning a gauge cock and
allowing the steam to go out with a rush upon the squatting pair. The
engineer was a sober sort of man, not at all given to humor, and not
inclined to take advantage of the opportunity. But when I informed him
that I represented an illustrated paper and wanted to make a stirring
sketch of the scene, he consented for my benefit. As he went to comply
with my suggestion, I moved to the window to see how the squaws would
enjoy it. I had hardly reached my position when the steam shot along the
surface of the water like smoke from the muzzle of a rifle. At the same
instant the gentle savages shot at least four feet into the air, in the
most extravagant positions imaginable. Until that moment I would not
have believed the human form could assume such strange attitudes on such
short notice. If I had not been intently gazing upon the pair as they
sat chatting sociably over the drain, and had my eyes riveted upon them
as they shot aloft, I could hardly have thought the two dark figures
performing such grotesque evolutions in mid air were indeed human
beings.
[Illustration: STEAM LET ON.]
The steam was harmless, as it had to go quite a distance before
escaping, but the squaws didn’t understand anything about that, you
know. No person had enlightened their untutored minds upon that point,
and they didn’t sit there very long in order to ascertain; for the sake
of the squaws, however, let us hope that it was. One thing they
evidently _did_ feel certain about, and that was that something had
broken loose, and that, too, at a very inopportune moment. The thought
that followed close upon the heels of the other was to change their
position in the shortest possible time. If they both had been shot into
the air out of one mortar they could hardly have shown greater concert
of action. If there was any difference in their sensitiveness or
agility, the one farthest from the pipe seemed to claim the superiority,
for, as near as I could judge, she was first to spring aloft. The back
of one was towards me, and the face of the other. Though quite a
distance from them, I could distinguish the white eyes of the latter
standing out as prominently as a pair of silver-headed nails in the end
of a mahogany coffin.
It may be argued that this was a mean trick. It may even be said that it
was a sinful act. I admit all this; nay, more, it may be that I will
have to answer for it hereafter, when you, and they, and all of us, have
ceased to be interested in things pertaining to the flesh; but in the
face of this supposition, I must still adhere to the original assertion
that it was indeed an amusing incident, and will go further and say that
as yet I have not been brought down to that perfect state of repentance
where I could sincerely say that I regretted having been the instigator
of the deed.
I never learned whether the squaws returned to the drain again, but,
judging from the way they hustled over the hill in the direction of
their camp, I am inclined to think not.
While coming down the river there was quite an excitement on board, on
account of the steamer grounding suddenly upon the “Hog’s Back.” She was
running pretty fast at the time, and the sudden stop threw several
passengers off their feet, and for a few moments all was confusion. I
was partly disrobed at the time, and the first thought that entered my
mind was that we had collided with some schooner on its way up the
river. Before leaving, a gentleman placed a lady and two small children
in my charge, and my first act was to run to the state-room in which
they were. I found the lady preparing for rest, but the children were
already in bed. Without much ceremony, I seized a child in each hand,
and bidding the lady to follow, started to deposit them near the davits,
that they might be handy to throw into the boats in case we were
compelled to take to them.
[Illustration: “BLOW ME UP!”]
While hastening through the cabin I was confronted by a terrified woman
in her nightclothes, who jumped out of her state-room as I was passing
the door. In her hands she grasped the nozzle of a large life preserver,
which she had buckled around her, and which only needed to be inflated
with wind to make her comparatively safe. No sooner did she see me than
she commenced dancing frantically around me in the most insane manner,
at the same time shouting with all the strength of her voice: “Blow me
up! blow me up! for the love of heaven, Mister, blow me up!” But I had
enough to do at that moment without stopping to “blow her up.” Besides,
I didn’t know but I might have to swim to the shore, and would,
consequently, need what little wind I could muster to bear me through
the task. Before proceeding far, however, I met the mate, who told me to
put the children back in bed and go soak my head, or do anything that
would keep me from making an unmitigated fool of myself, with which
kindly suggestion I meekly complied.
[Illustration]
AN IMPATIENT UNDERTAKER.
Now and then we come across a scoundrel, an inhuman wretch, of such
magnitude that we are inclined, like Bassanio, to waver in our faith,
and hold opinion with Pythagoras, that being the only hypothesis by
which we are enabled to account for their being possessed of such
brutish natures. For example: An undertaker was pointed out to me to-day
who follows so close in the wake of death that he quite often appears in
advance of the grim leveler, and secures, if possible, the job of
burying the body while yet the person is alive, much as he would bespeak
a quarter of beef of his neighbor before the animal was butchered. This
individual heard that a man was about to die in the County Hospital, and
learning that the only friend of the sick man was about to leave the
city, he hunted him up and solicited the job of performing the last sad
rites for his friend when death should have gathered him in.
The request was unthinkingly granted, and sufficient money to cover the
expenses of the burial was placed in the hands of a third party, who was
to pay it to the undertaker when the obsequies were performed. The man
of coffins departed, smiling over his success. The only thing that
remained now between him and a fat profit was the man’s life; but this
was only a slim barrier and likely to fall at every breath of air. He
paid semi-daily visits to the hospital to learn how the disease was
developing.
Each morning as he arose and looked out upon the cold fog hanging over
the city, he rubbed his hands with delight, and chuckled as he thought
how impossible it would be for the sick man to live through such a
disagreeable day. “It’s not in the nature of the disease to allow it,”
he argued. “If he is not gone already, he will be as stiff as a
piston-rod before ten o’clock, or I am no judge of cause and effect.”
But somehow the last thread of life was indeed a tough one, and held out
wonderfully. One, two and three days dragged by, and still the invalid’s
cough waked the echoes of the corridors and halls of the hospital. This
annoyed the anxious undertaker terribly.
“What if he should recover, and cheat me out of the money, after all?”
thought he, as he sat in his gloomy office and gazed about upon the
coffins standing on their ends around the room.
Then his small gray eyes lingered longer upon the cheap burial case in
the corner—which he thought would about fit the man in the hospital.
“There’s no use of this delay,” he muttered to himself. “There must be
some outside influence brought to bear upon him, and that immediately,
or the fellow may linger along through the whole winter, and keep the
money lying idle that is now almost within my reach.” Taking a tape
measure in his pocket, he repaired at once to the hospital, and gained
admittance to the sick man’s room.
The poor fellow was lying apparently in the last stages of that
deceptive disease, consumption. But instead of thinking he was so far
gone that his obsequies had actually commenced, he was promising himself
long, happy years of life and usefulness. The unfeeling scoundrel
approached the bed and deliberately proceeded to measure the poor fellow
for his last outfit, in the meantime keeping up a sort of rattling
conversation, like the following: “Hello! old boy; so you’re going to
peg out, eh? Well, it’s a road that sooner or later we’ve all got to
travel; so there’s no use of a feller making any bones over it. Rather
young, though, to have to stiffen out; without even having the pleasure
of being married—there won’t be no such enjoyment where you’re going,
the Scripture tells us. There—that’s a good fellow; stretch out full
length, so that I can get a correct measure. If there is anything I do
dislike it is to see a corpse stuck into a coffin that’s too short by a
few inches. I would rather pinch a fellow a little in width than in
length, ’cause it doesn’t cripple a corpse up so bad. There—that’s it to
a dot; five feet nine and a quarter, with half an inch allowed for the
stretching out of the joints just as you are going off. You know a
fellow elongates a little about that time, so I always make some
allowance when I measure a live man for his coffin. Now for the depth,
my hearty! Jerusalem! a general caving in all along the line, eh? Why,
you’re as flat as a griddle-cake. Ah! that consumption is the thing that
plays hob with a fellow! it _is_, my boy, there’s no use denying it. It
scoops a person out mighty quick, I can tell you. Four and
three-quarters—four and a-half—pinch measurement. Why, blow me, if it
doesn’t seem like a waste of material to give you the standard depth. If
it wasn’t for your long feet I would be inclined to shallow a little on
you, old boy! Let me think now,—why, what a numbskull I am, to be sure:
I can twist your feet crosswise a little, and make a go of it like a
charm; but hold on,—no, I can’t do it after all, for there’s your nose
sticking up at t’other end, and it wouldn’t hardly be doing the fair
thing by you to twist your head around ear up, for the sake of saving a
few inches of material, no sir e-e. I wouldn’t do that sort of thing to
the deadest corpse I ever screwed a lid over; I’ll do the fair thing by
a man, be he dead or living, though it should keep me poor. I can give
you the juvenile handles, though, for you don’t weigh any more than a
Cape Ann codfish.
[Illustration: BUSINESS IS BUSINESS.]
“You’re going off the reel at a favorable time, too, for I’ve been
wishing for a chance to give my light team an airing, for some time. Old
Skidamadink over on Market street, I hear, is going to take out a stiff
one to-morrow afternoon also, and no doubt he will be trying to forge
ahead of me the way he did yesterday when I had the spavined grays
along; but he’ll find out that he has got to limber up a little
differently when Moll and Kate are stuck in his flank. He wouldn’t have
shook me off yesterday, if I hadn’t that soggy old sea captain aboard.
He seemed to grow heavier the longer I kept him. If there is any one
thing I dislike more than another it is a pussy corpse. It is bad enough
to have a fat person about you while living, but when they come to peter
out it’s worse,—you can’t chuck them under the ground too quick. I had
the old emblem of mortality packed away in an ice chest for three weeks,
waiting for his wife to come down from the Mountains to attend the
funeral, but she finally sent down word that she had got married again,
and if she knew the duties of a wife—and she thought she did—her place
was alongside of a living husband rather than traipsing after a dead
one. Oh! these women are terribly slippery sweetmeats the world over.
How fast they get over anything, crying one minute and singing the next.
Well, well, I often wonder whether they have the genuine feeling that we
men have.
“Well, business is business. There—now let me fold your arms across
until I get the width; so we go, so we go, steady, there you are, that’s
it, that’s the posish; natural and easy as death itself. Whew! there it
is again, never knew it to fail, follows as naturally as the fruit does
the blossom; broad across the shoulders, sure sign of consumption; show
me a person broader at the shoulders than at the hips and I will show
you an individual that is not long for this world; never knew a person
of that build that didn’t die of consumption; never, sir; bound to cave,
no getting around or climbing over it; might as well be knocked in the
head at birth, for they are sure to go some time.
“Well, time is crowding, I must be off, as I’ve got to rustle around in
order to have things ready for you. I’ll expect to find you over your
troubles in the morning, so I’ll say good-bye now, while you can
appreciate it.”
Thus did the inhuman scoundrel rattle along while his poor victim lay
paralyzed with fear; hope, at every word uttered by the monster,
deserting his breast, and despair usurping the vacant seat. With gaping
mouth and wide open eyes he watched each movement of the undertaker. His
face seemed to be all eyes as he stared at the bustling trader in death.
The hope of the visitor was, that a speedy death would follow this
disconsolate harangue; but happy to relate, patients sometimes recover
after doctors have devoted them to the yew-tree shade; and strange as it
may seem, the patient in question suddenly improved, as though
frightened by the undertaker into health instead of into his coffin.
The next day he sat up in bed. On the second he sat by the window. The
third day he took an airing on the veranda, and passed the time of day
with the undertaker who happened to be going by. In ten days he took his
carpetbag in his hand and bade good-bye to both doctors and undertaker,
and started to join his friend in the country.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SERMON ON A PIN.
Give me that simple shining pin,
So worthless in your hand,
Here on my desk a place to win
And as a lesson stand.
Think you no moral may be found
In such a common thing?
That Fancy will not hover ‘round
And apt allusions bring?
The Poet, with observing eyes,
Saw sermons in a stone;
So in this pin a sermon lies,
Of philosophic tone.
We see it first, where placed in rows,
The pins lie side and side;
So children, wrapped in sweet repose,
In peaceful homes reside.
Soon from the rest it travels west,
Or east, by land or sea;
So loving households part in quest
Of pleasure, fame or fee.
Observe it well, with sober mind;
The head, you see, is flat;
Thus many heads in life you’ll find,
Beneath a stylish hat.
When new, how perfect, straight and neat,
How finished, and how sound;
So stands the upright man complete,
With virtues circled ‘round.
It has a point, and mission, too,
’Tis seldom made in vain;
So men should have a point in view
If they would glory gain.
If wrongly placed ‘twill mar your thought,
When one would fain be still;
So man, if badly bred or taught,
Will treat his neighbor ill.
Its life of constant service tends
To keep it clean and bright;
Thus men are kept, my loving friends,
By application, right.
’Tis polished, like a sword or spear,
And in the light will shine;
Thus men of learning do appear,
Where wit and sense combine.
It moves around from coat to dress,
As trouble one befalls;
Thus men should hearken to distress,
And go where duty calls.
It oft assists to hide one’s shame
Till needles can repair;
Thus should it be the Christian’s aim
To cover faults with care.
If once ’tis sprung, ‘twill bend each day,
And is no longer true;
So thus in life, one step astray
Will often lead to two.
When bent, and blunt, and black at last,
Who stoops to lift the pin?
So thus the crowds do hurry past
The crooked slave of sin.
[Illustration]
DUDLEY’S FIGHT WITH THE TEXAN.
The poor cur, kicked and scalded during the day, at night can lie and
lick his sores in peace. The scudding hare that can hold out ahead of
the baying beagles, until black Hecate waves her wand between the
hunters and the hunted, may hope to shake them off. The aeronaut, tiring
of the clamor here below, can rise above the busy haunts of men and hold
sweet communion with the gods in quiet. But I, alas, find no escape from
the inexorable plague, “Jim Dudley.”
He comes upon me like a thief in the night and mars my rest. Within the
holy sanctuary even, he whispers in mine ear. Through the busy marts and
thoroughfares he haunts me still; and tells of fights and hair-breadth
escapes, with all the glibness of an old battle-scarred veteran who has
primed his firelock in three campaigns. He talks of drawing deadly
weapons as a dentist would of drawing teeth. In all likelihood the
fellow never drew a weapon in his life, except, perhaps, at a raffle. I
had long noticed a scar on “Jim’s” forehead, but never ventured to ask
him how he got it, fearing a story would follow. Last night he detected
me looking inquiringly, and without any query on my part the following
infliction fell upon me:—
“You see that scar that looks somethin’ like a wrinkle, over my left
eyebrow, don’t ye? Wal, you can’t guess how I come by that. Cow kicked
me? No, not by a long chalk, nor a hoss nuther. I got that scar the
summer I was gwine through Texas. I’ll not forget how I got it nuther in
a hurry, for I never did have sech a narrow dodge since the night dad’s
old house burned down and I got out through the cellar drain.
“I was travelin’ towards the border of Texas, gwine away back of Waco,
and arter I got as far as cars would take me I set out on hossback. One
evenin,’ jest as I was gettin’ into a small village, my hoss got one of
his legs into a hole in the road, and fallin’ over, broke it snap off
below the knee. I felt mi’ty bad over it, because I didn’t have any too
much money about me; but I had to leave him thar and go into the village
on foot, carryin’ the saddle along, for I cal’lated to git another
animal the next day and continue my journey. I put up for the night at a
small hotel, and thar was quite a number of fellers a settin’ around the
bar-room talkin’; but amongst ’em was one big, ugly-looking villain,
with a glass eye that was continewally droppin’ out and rollin’ across
the floor like a marble. Pupil up and pupil down, it would move along
under chairs and tables, the most comical lookin’ thing you ever sot
eyes on. He would walk after the truant, glarin’ around with the other
eye as though watchin’ to see if anybody was laughin’ at him. Then he
would pick it up and chuck it back into his head ag’in, as if it was a
pipe that had dropped out of his mouth.
“He seemed to be a bully amongst ’em, for when any of the other fellows
went to pass they circled around him, somethin’ like a woman around a
hoss standin’ on the sidewalk. I judged by that they were skeered of
him, and didn’t want to git anywhere near his corns lest they might
accidentally touch ’em.
[Illustration: BILL AFTER HIS GLASS EYE.]
“I sat thar watchin’ of him for some time, and at last, while he was
leanin’ on the counter beatin’ time with his fingers on top of it, a
feller come in and called for somethin’ to drink.
“The bar-tender gin him the bottle and he poured out a drink and left
the glass settin’ on the counter, while he turned around to drop his
quid of terbacker. As he was doin’ it the big, bully-lookin’ customer
h’isted the glass, drained it right thar, and smacked and licked his
lips arter it as though wishin’ thar was more of it,—somethin’ like a
young widder arter ye give her a kiss.