It is this day agreed that Magpie Simpkins, party of the first
part, bets Tellurium Woods, party of the hind part, one hundred
dollars that he can go out into the woods and live for thirty
days: starting out from a designated spot, with no clothes and
no weapons.
The party of the first part agrees to come back in good health,
nourished from the bosom of nature, and it is further agreed
that the said Magpie Simpkins, Tellurium Woods and Ike Harper,
stakeholder, and party of minor interest shall, do and hereby
agree not to tell a darn soul of the bet, and in case the
parties of the first part or parties of the hind part break this
agreement they shall forfeit their half of the bet, and in case
Ike tells he shall lose the money he loaned to the party of the
first part.
We all signed it. They wanted me to hold up my right hand, and swear
that I’ll keep my mouth shut, but I said:
“If you think I’m going to sign that article and then tell anybody,
you’re crazy. I expect to lose the money, but I don’t give my coin to no
dealer before I get a look at the cards.”
The next day Magpie went back to Nature. He limped off into the woods,
up in the Medicine Hills, and I’ll bet that Nature, if she saw him
coming, was ashamed of her handiwork.
* * * * *
The next morning I’m there on the sunny side of our cabin, when I sees a
caravan coming up the trail. There’s something about this group of human
beings that reminds me of something I’ve seen before, and when they gets
a little closer, I says to me—
“Ike, there’s Professor Phinney, or you’re a wall-eyed pike!”
It sure was that same identical old pelican, with his shiny, hard hat on
his head, and them same crêpe-rimmed specs dangling on his skinny nose.
His knees interfere with the burro’s ear action, and his coattails makes
a hy-iu drape for the rear end of the critter.
Behind him comes Mrs. Professor, fatter and more painful than ever, and
behind her is another lady, who is strange to me. Just then a burro tops
the rise, and I sees Doctor Doolittle. Yes, sir, here comes that doctor,
knee-breeches and all, and so far as I can see he ain’t changed none at
all. Just as fat and red-faced as ever, and across in front of him,
almost covered with his stummick, is that same shotgun that he hopes
some day to kill something with.
They pilgrims up and the professor squints at me over his specs.
“How—er—do you do,” says he. “Is that you, Mr. Harper?”
“I’ll have to admit it, old-timer,” says I, uncoiling myself from the
chair, and shaking hands with him.
Doc falls off his steed, and waddles up to shake hands, too.
“Ike,” pants the doctor, “I’m glad to see you. Ah-h-h-h! How are you?”
“Reasonable, Doc,” says I. “Howdy, Mrs. Phinney. How are you?”
“Unreasonable!” snaps the professor, before the old lady can open her
mouth. “She’s done nothing but complain all the way. Meet my daughter
Angeline. This is her first trip of this kind.”
“And her last!” snorts the old lady. “Your theories will be the death of
both of us. It’s the most foolish undertaking I ever heard of, Wallace.
Absolutely the most foolish thing on earth!”
“I don’t mind the trip, mother,” states Angeline, in the voice of a
medder lark. “I rather love it, don’t you know?”
“I know,” says I. “Is this the end of your journey, folks, or do you
intend to pilgrim on?”
“We terminate here,” says the professor.
“We will be with you for some little time. Is Mr. Simpkins at home?”
“Magpie,” corrects the doctor. “I called him Mr. Simpkins, and he got
indignant. I like him—so unconventional and quaint.”
“Magpie,” says I, reaching deep into my soul for an alibi, “Magpie is
dead.”
“Dead?” squeaks the professor. “Dead? Well, well!”
“I’m so sorry,” says the old lady, acting almost human. “So sorry. It
must be awful hard for you.”
“Yes’m. Almost impossible.”
“Magpie is dead,” wonders the doctor. “From what cause?”
“Nature took him unto its own,” says I, removing my hat. “You—er—might
say that natural history took him unto its own.”
“Exactly,” agrees the professor. “Just how?”
“Met a grizzly bear,” says I. “Never met before.”
“Must have been sudden,” says the old lady.
“Yes’m, I’d say it was quick.”
“Oh!” exclaims the doctor. “Grizzly bear?”
“I told you we’d have them to contend with,” argues the professor. “Even
with grizzlies abroad it will merely lend zest to the experiment.”
“Zest!” yelps the old lady. “Experiment! Did you ever in your life hear
of such a thing, Mr. Harper? The professor, supposedly a learned man,
and the doctor, also of supposedly human intelligence, have come out
here to prove the theory that a man can live a whole month in the woods,
without clothes or weapons or food, except such as they can snatch from
nature. Did you ever hear of such a thing? Isn’t it the most absurd
thing on earth?”