BY MAC A'RONY.
He was mounted upon a mule, which he rode gineta fashion, and
behind him, by the duke's order, was led his Dapple, adorned
with shining trappings of silk, which so delighted Sancho that
every now and then he turned his head to look upon him, and
thought himself so happy that he would not have exchanged
conditions with the Emperor of Germany.--_Don Quixote._
The city of Council Bluffs is four miles from the Missouri River,
and takes its name as many people do, from both sides of the
house. Council comes from the old Mormon councils formerly held
there, and Bluffs is borrowed from the bluffs on which the city is
built.
Often such things are handed down for many generations; the Mayor
seemed to be constructed on the bluff order. He had the consummate
cheek to tell my master he wasn't allowed to sell photographs
without procuring a license, and thought he had squelched him, but
he almost fell out of his chair when Pod nonchalantly pulled out a
fifty dollar bill and said, "Just make out a license at once."
Then he went to work and did a land-office business, taking more
money out of the town than the Mayor could put into it in a year's
time.
Next morning Miss Damfino went shopping, coming back with a brand
new pair of shoes. She said she saw lots of donkeys shopping, and
began to distribute to a stableful of equine and asinine gossips
such a lot of scandal that I was ashamed of her. She had also
discovered the startling fact that there was one more river to
cross. "Furthermore," said she, "our highfaluting, aristocratic,
literary genius, Mac A'Rony, is to enjoy the distinction of
crossing the great Missouri River Bridge in a wheelbarrow." This
caused me to collapse. I fell on my knees and preyed on the bed of
yellow straw, and brayed aloud for spirituous support, but all I
got was a bucket of water. An hour afterward I was saddled for the
show. I had experienced riding in a wheelbarrow before, and did
not like the idea, but said nothing.
Sure enough, when we arrived at the bridge, there stood a
wheelbarrow, just brought by a wagon from the Bluffs. I eyed the
vehicle disdainfully. That was the same kind of carriage that a
man once went to London with to fetch a wife home in, and now, as
a fitting jubilee memorial of that historic event, I, a
respectable scion of an ancient race, was to be toted across a
bridge into a great city in this outlandish vehicle, to the cheers
and jeers of a multitude. The event was heralded in the morning
papers of both Council Bluffs and Omaha; I saw Pod reading about
it on the way.
At the bridge, I was at once unsaddled, and my luggage distributed
equally between Cheese and Damfino. The quilts and blankets were
folded in the wheelbarrow, and with the help of two men Pod and
Coonskin lifted me into the one-wheeled carriage, where I was
strapped and roped so securely I couldn't budge without upsetting.
Pod wheeled me a short way first, then Coonskin relieved him; in
this way I crossed that bridge of size. When half way, I thought I
would be easier if I turned over, for it was an awful long bridge;
in a minute I was on the bridge proper, the wheelbarrow on the top
of me, improper. Wasn't Pod mad though! A street-car line crossed
the bridge, and cars full of curious passengers were passing
continually, having paid extra, I reckoned, to see the circus. I
had to be untied, and again deposited in the wheelbarrow, and do
you believe, those human jackasses didn't have sense enough to lay
me on my other side. Then another distressing circumstance
happened soon after. I could see the street at the Omaha terminus
jammed with people as on a Fourth of July, but that didn't matter;
a horse-fly buzzed around me a minute prospecting, and suddenly
made his camp-fire on my left hip. Soon the fire burned like fury,
and I not able to stand it, made one super-asinine effort, ripped
and tore, and upset myself and Pod, who was wheeling me. Then the
crowd cheered louder than ever. Some boy with a large voice
yelled, "Hurrah for Mac A'Rony!" and three cheers were given.
"I think he'll walk the rest of the way, Coonskin," said Pod,
referring to me. "Save us the trouble of fixing him in the
wheelbarrow again."
Thinks I, I'll just get even with the Professor at once, and I lay
down as if I were in a barnyard for the night. It didn't take
those men long to put me in the wheelbarrow again, I tell you.
This time Pod didn't seem to care whether I was all in or not. My
tail caught in the spokes of the wheel, and wound up so quickly
that I was nearly pulled out on the bridge. The wheelbarrow came
to such a sudden stop that Pod fell all over me. At first I
thought I had lost my tail by the roots. It was sore long after.
Couldn't switch off flies with it, and had to kick at them, and
ten times out of nine I'd miss the fly and kick my long-legged
rider in the leg or foot, whereupon I would catch it with whip and
spur.
At length we crossed the bridge, and there I was dumped; then I
had a good roll in the dust, just to show there was no hard
feeling; after which a host of inquisitive spectators followed us
to the Paxton Hotel in Omaha, where we were to have a two days'
rest.
Good fortune began to fall before us now like manna from the sky.
The first morsel came in the manner of a proposition for Pod and
me to pose in front of a leading apothecary's shop in the business
center, and extol the virtues of fruit frappe, and incidentally
his perfumed soaps, insect powders, and dog-biscuits, in
consideration of several dollars in silver. The frappe clause of
the contract was most agreeably cool and delectable for that
summer season, and the sample doses of the various ices to which
Cheese and I, not to mention Pod, were treated, furnished rare
sport for an appreciative audience. The cheerful proprietor,
recognizing my blue blood, attempted to feed me with a long,
silver spoon; I so admired the spoon that with my teeth I stamped
it with our family crest.
As the demand for frappe increased, the brass-buttoned society
began to gather from the four points of the compass, and finally
attempted to arrest Pod for blocking the thoroughfare; and, but
for the timely arrival of the druggist, there would have been a
riot. Coonskin had two guns in his belt, and Pod declared he would
not be taken alive.
On this occasion, besides the money received from the druggist,
Coonskin sold many chromos, for the wily Professor was far-seeing
enough to work in considerable nonsense about his travels, and got
even the police so interested that several cops wedged through the
gang and purchased souvenirs. We made a pretty fair street show.
All were there but Miss Damfino, who felt indisposed and remained
indoors.
One of our severest crosses (some folks think the ass has only one
cross, and that on its shoulders), was experienced a few miles
southwest of the city, where we donks refused to walk a narrow
plank over a shattered bridge, and were forced to ford the
stream.