BY PYE POD.
Full in the midst the polish'd table shines,
And the bright goblets, rich with generous wines;
Now each partakes the feast, the wine prepares,
Portions the food, and each the portion shares;
Nor till the rage of thirst and hunger ceased
To the high host approached the sagacious guest.
--_Homer's Odyssey._
I left my embryo caravan in Oak Park for the night, and returned
to the Auditorium Hotel. The clerk greeted me with, "Well! well!"
grasped my outstretched hand, and with a smile said, "I thought
your picturesqueness had left us for good." Then, pulling a pen
out of the vegetable pen-stand which squinted "How to do?" with
one remaining eye, he handed it to me.
"I'm a hard customer to get rid of," I remarked; "could not get
out of the city entirely this day, though I've traveled miles--jacks
at Oak Park--saloon barn, best I could find--no hotel--got
to eat and sleep, you know." And having said this, I walked
majestically to the "lift."
"Seventh floor?" queried the elevator boy.
"No--dining room," I corrected, patting my stomach fondly.
"Pretty late for feed, guess," observed the lad discouragingly, as
we began to rise.
"There's a banquet on now," continued the lad.
"Great Balaam! I am late!" I exclaimed. "I've been a week saving
my appetite for this dinner. Let 'er slide kid--there!" and I
hurried to the dining-room.
I knocked persistently against the locked doors, while savory
odors drifted through the keyhole, and was soon admitted by the
assistant head-waiter. I smile now as I recall that watermelon
grin, when the darkey yawned like a coalbin in expression of his
greeting.
"I'm somewhat embarrassed, Jim, to appear so tardy," I began, "I
had about decided to deny myself the honor and pleasure of the
event. You see, my friends are all togged out in their pigeon-tails,
while--just look at me."
"Why, Mistah 'Tagras, shuah dey will be glad to--"
"Yes, yes, I know they would be more pleased to see me in my odd
regulation clothes; but no, not this time, Jim; close your
scuttle--mum's the word. Just let me eat in this snug corner
where I can hear the strains of the orchestra, out of reach of
their stale jokes. Fetch on the viands." As I concluded I pressed
a coin into the mahogany hand, and took from my coat a button
containing Mac's and Pod's photo, and gave it to the delighted
darkey.
There was novelty in this strange situation. It was the only feast
I remembered ever having attended uninvited.
Across the spacious hall, obscured by Japanese screens, sat the
garrulous banqueters, blissfully ignorant of my presence, while I,
a famished and jaded nomad, sat comfortably drinking in the liquid
music of the serenade and inflating my gastronomical pipes with
terrapin, squab, robin's eggs, salads and other dainties galore.
Presently I was served with something more mellifluous than music,
as Jim appeared with a bottle of that familiar sparkling liquid,
which is proverbially wrapped in cobwebs and frost, in a pail of
ice, and said: "Believe yo' sayed Mumm, Sah--be dis yo' taste,
Mistah 'Tagras?" My eyes eloquently expressed my sentiments. Oh,
what a nerve tissue a donkey journey does create! As I quaffed the
soul-stirring nectar, I thought of Mac A'Rony--how he would have
relished a quart of that sterling brand!--and then poured a bumper
for him and drank it to his very good health.
When I had finished, I called the waiter and said, with visible
effort: "Jim, I wish--hic--you would tell th' bandmaster (here Jim
poked a napkin into his mouth), that a tardy guest--hic--heartily
requests the pat--patriotic--hic tune Macaroni's come to town. Go,
Jim, that's a good girl." And Jim went.
That waiter was the cleverest darkey I ever came across. We all
well know that one trait of a thoroughbred darkey is the faculty
for invention. Imagine my surprise when the fellow returned with a
gentleman in full dress and introduced me. I, expecting to catch
something different, failed to catch his name.
My new acquaintance seemed to feel highly honored with the
presentation. He appeared a bit staggered, though, and with
difficulty found my wandering hand. Taking my arm, he escorted and
introduced me to the convivial assembly as the distinguished guest
of the evening--"though somewhat belated, nevertheless his genial
presence duly appreciated."
When he mentioned the name of Professor Pythagoras Pod such
applause issued from the unsteady occupants of the hundred chairs
that I, thinking it my courteous duty to join in the encore,
clapped my hands vigorously. This seemed to provoke great
merriment. The laughter and clapping grew louder and louder, until
hands and throats were inadequate to express the jubilant spirits
of the banqueters, and they began to stamp their feet. Finally
all arose, threw in the air imaginary hats, broke glasses of wine,
and, in fact, I don't know what would have happened if the manager
had not entered the scene.
Finally, some one called, "Speech! Speech! A speech from Mr. Pod!"
I tried to respond. I didn't believe the guests knew who I was,
other than a pod of some sort. The hotel manager did, but he had
gone. I therefore decided not to reveal my identity; I would act
the invited guest I was taken to be.
I did not speak long. What I said was ostensibly so appropriate,
so pointed, so witty, so apropos, that the frequent cries of
"Hear! Hear!" told me I had made a hit, and it was time to stop. I
have no recollection of what I said on that momentous occasion,
but I apologized for the abruptness of my departure on the plea
that I had six more banquets to attend that evening, whereas I had
but one stomach.
Wild cheers and handclapping greeted my speech. When quiet was
restored I offered the following toast, asking all to rise with
filled goblets:
Hic--here's to the man, boys, here's to the man
Who--hic--has the sagacity, gall, and who can
Partake of the bless--hics--of earth, though unbidden,
Without revealing the jack--hic--he has ridden;
Here's to--hic--his pocket and here's to--hic--his purse--
May Balaam shed tears when--hic--he rides in a hearse.
With a concerted "Bravo!" all drank my health. Then, hat in hand,
I followed a very tortuous route out and to the elevator, and soon
afterward found the keyhole of my chamber door, and retired.
I did not feel well in the morning, but nevertheless journeyed to
Oak Park at an early hour.
What a surprise awaited me at the barn! The air was dense with
the odor of beer. I had hardly anticipated trouble brewing;
nothing was so foreign to my thoughts as the possibility of
finding two asinine inebriates and a "jagged" canine instead of
the sober company I left the evening before.
But there they lay, both donkeys paralyzed, panting and
blear-eyed. An overturned beer keg swam in the deluge of froth
that flooded the floor. Mac must have pulled the bung out of the
keg. The fellow looked guilty enough, but, when I recalled my own
recent dissipation, I didn't have the heart to upbraid him.
I was perplexed. What could I do? To resume my pilgrimage that
morning was out of the question. I felt in my bones that as soon
as the saloonkeeper learned of the calamity, I, Pythagoras Pod,
would have to pay damages. Such I could not well afford. Why not
go to the man and enter a complaint against him for harboring
knock-out drops, and consequently causing my valuable animals
ruination of mind, physique and moral character?
A capital idea! No sooner thought than done. The man was
speechless.
"Why!" I exclaimed, pounding my fist hard down on the oaken bar,
"think of it! a day's delay may lose me my five thousand dollar
wager. THINK OF IT, MAN! FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!" I would have
said more, but I noticed the Hibernian was knocked completely out
of the metaphorical ring by my unequivocal utterances. His
blanched countenance showed that his conscience smote him. He
paced the barroom floor like a leopard trying to get away from his
spots. Presently he stopped, and, thrusting his fingers through
his goatee, looked out in time to witness Mac A'Rony turn a
headspring from the barn door.
"Begorry!" he exclaimed, "if Oi hod that mule, Oi'd ruun 'im for
alderman of the Tinth Ward. Shure, and it's phure air and wather
the bye's votin fer. It's this Oi'm sayin', Misther Pod, Oi'll
give ye twinty-foive bones fer th' brute in his prisent condishun;
Oi will that, ond call it shquare."
Mac certainly was acting very compromisingly. But I explained to
the Irishman no reasonable sum could purchase that particular
donkey, and, furthermore, that twenty-five dollars would barely
satisfy my claims.
The exclamation of "Holy Mither!" checked me for the moment, and
as the man looked barnward he added, elequently shaking his fists,
"Oi'm dommed, if th' shcapegrace ain't mixin' dhrinks!" Here Mr.
Rooney and I rushed out in the nick of time to prevent my crazy
jack from tapping a whiskey barrel standing in the shed adjoining
the barn.
"Misther Pod, a curse on me soul if Oi would ruun th' bladherscat
fer doorkeeper oof th' pinnytinsury! Here's tin dollars, tear th'
likes oof it in two and rhuun ond buy a bhromo seltzer, and sober
th' toper oop at wance." I took the proffered note, and had gone
but a hundred feet when the Irishman called to me, "Hold on;
before yez lave fer th' sphace of a mooment moind thet ye puts a
muzzle on th' asrophoid rephrobate with th' bobtail ears, ond
shpring a toime lock on th' crethur."
The animals having been dosed, I was about to question myself
"What next?" when my host said cordially, "Shure, ond yez will
feed with us. Yez may keep th' change from th' shinphlaster ond
good luck in sthore fer yez. Now, coom on to grub, ond lave th'
brutes alone. They'll be afther havin' their sea legs soon." And
Pat succeeded in conciliating me, and escorted me to the house.
By one o'clock my disgraceful donkeys answered to roll-call, and
with touching humility submitted to be saddled.
With such disappointing interpositions of Fate the Golden Gate
seemed to be a decade removed. For a while, the donks were
wavering and their pedals unreliable; but after the first hour
they meandered along quite acceptably. As Mac was slow to
recuperate, I rode Cheese. He was surprisingly sure of foot,
whereas Mac, swell-headed, drowsy-eyed and swaying, couldn't have
walked a straight line a yard wide, unless it was a yard of grass.
He walked with a suspicious tread, like one venturing on ice which
threatened his death bath any moment. When the afternoon was well
advanced Cheese showed symptoms of lameness in his nigh fore-leg,
as I had feared, in consequence of his late circus. We passed
Maywood and Elmhurst as we followed the main-traveled road. I was
compelled to dismount and lead my cripple four miles to Lombard.
Such was my luck in the State of Illinois.
It was after dark, the second day out of Chicago, and still we had
traveled but twenty miles. To think--that munificent gift, Cheese,
was already an invalid on my hands! I summoned a veterinary
surgeon, and listened to his diagnosis with solicitous attention.
"Only a strain of the shoulder muscles," said he; "must have
run-hop-skip-and-jumped to get such a strain--does he ever play
golf? Will require a full week's rest." The doctor rendered his
professional opinion with the air of a metropolitan specialist
prescribing a trip to Europe for some delicate society belle.
Next morning I rode in company with a good fellow two miles into
the country, where I purchased a very long-eared, shapeless
donkey, of a good character, and quickly rode him bare-back to
town. Then I sold my cripple at auction in the public square.
The cumbersome pack-boxes, which the sturdy Mac A'Rony had borne
without a murmur, I also sold to pay the doctor's bill.
The following day saw me in the town of Wheaton, whose reputed
beauty I failed to appreciate in a pouring rain. I remained there
over Saturday night and Sunday.
The clipping of Cheese II on Monday morning proved to be an
exhibition well worth witnessing--at a safe distance. That "model"
character turned out to have the temper of a vixen. First, a rope
was twisted round his nose, then his four legs were tied securely
together, and finally six strong men held him down on the floor to
permit the finishing touches to his vibrating limbs, while
carefully avoiding the finishing touches to their lives.
Instantly the half dozen assistants were sent sprawling across the
floor in all directions, while the stable dog chased an imaginary
bird into space and landed in a poultry yard. The frightened
donkey was mad, or had a fit. On the other hand, Mac, in the noisy
excitement, pumped his bronchial organs to their utmost capacity,
and Don joined in the chorus, till any passer-by might easily have
mistaken the barn for a slaughter house. Finally, the unruly
subject was got under control, and in time released on bail (of
hay). I verily believe that the electricity generated by that
clipped donkey, if stored, could have propelled a trolley for
twenty-four hours.
During the ensuing week, the villages of Geneva, Elberon, Maple
Park and Courtland in turn greeted me with the usual curiosity and
concern, and I was spared to enter De Kalb on Wednesday evening,
after a most distressing adventure. When we had proceeded about
two miles beyond Courtland, I unchained my dog for a short
sportive recess. I rode Mac, and about three feet to our right
ambled Cheese, a chain connecting his bit with my saddlehorn. My
little troop was peacefully traversing the smooth country road
when suddenly Don came bounding down the highway, chasing a little
red calf, the dog barking gleefully, the calf bellowing with
fright. Drawing my revolver, I fired to distract Don's attention;
but without avail. A few moments later, as I was aiming at a flock
of black birds, I heard the ominous clatter of hoofs rapidly
approaching us from the rear, accompanied by a deep, hoarse
mooing, which clearly emanated from a calf of mature years.
Imagine my feelings when, turning in my seat, I beheld an enraged
cow racing with Don in a bee line for me, the dog in the lead
going a mile a minute, the bovine a mile and a quarter. It was the
first I had known Don to flee from a foe. His eye now protruded,
his tongue hung out a-foam, and his tail lay back straight like an
arrow.
As I remember, the dog passed under the chain connecting my
donkeys, and instantly with the force of a locomotive something
alive plunged in our midst, striking the chain. How many double
somersaults I turned I know not. How many minutes we remained in
the dusty road overturned in a heap I can only estimate from the
distance the lucky dog must have traveled to get out of sight so
soon.
My first mental reflection was that the cow must be the calf's
mother; my second thought was to save my life. I managed somehow
to crawl out from under the animated heap, and then surveyed the
situation. The cow's horns were fast in the chain and one of her
feet in the saddle gear; and she tossed her head savagely, every
time lifting one donkey or the other bodily off the ground and
dropping him in a heap in the dust. She kicked and bellowed,
until, finally breaking loose minus a horn, she made for me head
down, innocent as I was.
I didn't stop to argue, but lit out for the barbed wire fence with
that outraged mother at my heels. I have heard you can tell how
fast a man thinks by the way he eats. You could have told how fast
I thought by the way I ran. Over the fence I leaped, leaving my
long coat-tail hanging from the top strand of wire. The cow,
blinded with rage, made a lunge at the piece of cloth only to
lacerate her head on the barbs; then she jumped the fence and took
after me, tail in air, and foam dripping from her mouth.
A small tree stood by the roadside not far distant, and I cleared
the fence again and made for it. Although not an expert at
climbing, I shinned aloft like a squirrel, and for a moment
expected the bovine to follow. She reared on her haunches, and
pawed furiously at the swaying branches; then, backing several
feet, she charged headlong against the sapling, almost dislocating
every bone of my body and every hair of my head.
All but shaken out of the tree-top, I contrived to gather in my
legs and to wind them round the slender trunk. Then I reached for
my revolvers. My Colt 44 was missing, but with my Smith & Wesson
32, I peppered that cow, until I shot away a section of her tail,
and sent her off in a cloud of dust--like a howling, raging
cyclone--in the direction of her calf.
I waited a while before venturing down to look for my animals, now
conspicuous for their absence. Darkness had settled on the scene.
Groping my way up the road, I soon stumbled over a pair of boots,
further on a camera, and a hundred yards beyond my Winchester
rifle, minus its holster.
Still no sign of donkeys or dog. I stopped at a farm house and
inquired: "Have you seen two jackasses strolling this way?"
The agriculturist pulled his goatee as he surveyed me from foot to
crown, and replied: "No, I hain't seen TWO jackasses STROLLIN'
this way, but a WHOLE HERD of 'em came tearing past my barnyard
a-kitin' about an hour ago, skeerin' the cattle I was a-milkin'
into fits. Why! the brayin' and takin's on of the wild beasts
caused a stampede of my hull gol-darned dairy. What be ye at
a-pesterin' round these parts with a herd of wild jackasses?"
My response was terse, and was given before the man had finished.
I hurried on, making inquiries at other farmhouses before I found
my fugitive caravan huddling together in a corral, a mile beyond.
My dog was with them, but no cows or calves.
Borrowing a lantern and two halters, I retraced my steps down the
highway, my unwilling animals in tow, and resaddled and packed
them as best I could; then I returned the loan and hastened to
town.
[Illustration: "_In this way I crossed that bridge of size._"]
[Illustration: "_I saw the streak of daylight._"]
[Illustration: "_So slow that his shadow beat him to town._"]