by W. C. Tuttle
Author of “Sparing the Family Tree,” “The Wisdom of the Ouija,” etc.
“This is the land of the free and the home of the brave, the same of
which makes your argument worthless. Everybody except ‘Testament’ Tilton
was strong for the idea, and Testament, bein’ a preacher, don’t count.”
“Well,” says I, “it ain’t none of my business, but I don’t like it. I’ve
got a right to an opinion, ain’t I? Just because a committee of danged
fools agrees on anything it don’t mean that it’s all right and perfectly
proper, does it? And besides all that, where in —— are you going to get
a lion?”
“From the circus which is to be at Granite on the last day of August,
Ike. We aims to purchase one from them.”
“Cost you a lot of money, Magpie, and I don’t know of anybody in
Piperock who is going to pay good money for a ordinary lion.”
“Not ordinary lion, Ike—African.”
Magpie Simpkins unhooks his spurs from the top of the table and rolls a
smoke.
“The community is going to foot the bill,” he explained. “We’re goin’ to
sell chances on the lion. We sells the chances for enough to buy the
lion and promote the entertainment. Five dollars per chance.”
“I wouldn’t pay five dollars for no lion.”
“If you could win the lion, Ike? If your number wins you gets the lion
free gratis and also a share of the receipts, which means two dollars
per ticket.”
“Is it the bull that Zeb Whittaker calls Calamity?”
“Uh-huh. Some animal, Ike.”
“Some. But what is there about Labor Day which falls for a fight between
a bull and a lion?”
“Just a novelty, Ike. You’ve got to hand it to us for handing Piperock
something new and novel in entertainments. When me and Judge Steele,
‘Wick’ Smith, ‘Buck’ Masterson and ‘Jay Bird’ Whittaker gets together we
sure surprizes ourselves with the things we can think of to do.”
“You can’t surprize me,” says I. “I’ve suffered too many times from your
brilliant ideas, Magpie. I don’t _sabe_ this Labor Day thing, but I
reckon it has to be. Still it ain’t going to be nothing in my existence,
’cause I won’t be here. Nobody can point at me and say, ‘Ask him—he was
there.’”
“Say yuh won’t?” Magpie looks sad-like at me and smooths his mustache.
“Said I wouldn’t. Labor Day may be a hyiu holiday, Magpie, but it ain’t
no sufficient reason for me to be a stepping-stone for a lion and bull
fight. I ain’t lost no lions and as far as the bull is concerned—there’s
a great plenty always. I sure am all packed up and ready for shipment
the day before.”
“I’m sorry for yuh, Ike.”
“Go ahead and be sorry. I hope you enjoy the fight. I hope it is a
howling success, but somebody will have to write and tell me about it,
that’s a cinch. Curse me if you will, but——”
“Curse yuh, Ike?”
Magpie’s voice shows about two quarts of tears.
“Curse yuh, friend Harper? No, old pardner, I won’t curse yuh, but——”
“No!” I yelps at the top of my voice. “—— you, let up on that sob stuff!
You dog-goned——”
“Me and you has been selected to secure the lion,” says he soft-like. “I
promised ’em, Ike, and Magpie Simpkins never breaks his promise. I told
’em that you would go with me and I ain’t goin’ to let you make me out a
liar. What did you say, Ike?”
“I didn’t say. I was just wonderin’ how we were going to haul the lion
down here, Magpie.”
“That’s easy. We’ll get a wagon, I reckon. Jay Bird is going to advance
the money.”
“Why not pull off the raffle first?”
“Not until after the fight, Ike. It’s the uncertainty that is going to
make it interesting. _Sabe?_”
“Uh-huh. Like shaking dice to see whether you’re going to get shot or
hung. I don’t know what in —— anybody would want of a lion if they got
it for five dollars.”
“Yuh can’t get African lions every day in the week, Ike.”
“Be a —— of a place to live if you could, but that don’t answer my
questions, Magpie.”
“Well, for gosh sake don’t start any agitation like that! Let the winner
decide what he wants to do with it.”
“In other words—keep your danged mouth shut and let the lucky man get
scratched.”
“Something to that effect,” says Magpie.
Old Testament Tilton sure is anti-bullfight. He rises with indignation
and scorches us with his wrath. He calls a meeting to protest against
it. “Dirty Shirt” Jones was the only one in the audience and he slept
all through the protest.
Testament comes to us and promises that we’ll never climb the golden
stairs nor twang a harp. He points out the error of our ways and
denounces our past, present and future.
“Desecratin’ Labor Day by chargin’ two dollars to see a lion and a bull
fight each other,” says he, wailing-like.
“I’ve got a free seat for the clergymen,” says Magpie. “A seat where you
can see every move of the fight.”