has not affected my voice, except to mellow it with more of reverence
when I address the wife of a noble man and the mother of a charming
girl."
She had dignity, but humor was never lost upon her, and she smiled. This
was encouraging, and old Gid proceeded: "I was just telling the Major of
my splendid prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and I feel that
with this blessing of Providence I shall soon be able to meet all my
obligations. I saw our rector, Mr. Mills, this morning, and he spoke of
how thankful I ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and I
told him that I would not only assert my gratitude, but would prove it
with a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season."
In the glance which she gave him there was refined and gentle contempt;
and then she looked down upon the decanter of whisky. Old Gideon drew
down the corners of his mouth, as was his wont when he strove to excite
compassion.
"Yes," he said with a note of pity forced upon his voice, "I am
exceedingly thankful for all the blessings that have come to me, but I
haven't been very well of late; rather feeble to-day, and the kind Major
noticing it, insisted upon my taking a little liquor, the medicine of
our sturdy and gallant fathers, madam."
The Major sprawled himself back with a roaring laugh, and hereupon Gid
added: "It takes the Major a long time to get over a joke. Told him one
just now and it tickled him mighty nigh to death. Well, I must be going
now, and, madam, if I should chance to see anything of your charming
daughter, I will tell her that you desire a conference with her.
William," he called, "my horse, if you please."
* * * * *
The Major's wife went into the house as Batts came up, glancing back at
him as she passed through the door; and in her eyes there was nothing as
soft as a tear. The old fellow winced, as he nearly always did when she
gave him a direct look.
"Are you all well?" Gideon asked, lifting the tails of his long coat and
seating himself in a rocking chair.
"First-rate," the Major answered, drawing forward another rocker; and
when he had sat down, he added: "Somewhat of an essence of November in
the air."
"Yes," Gid assented; "felt it in my joints before I got up this
morning." From his pocket he took a plug of tobacco.
"I thought you'd given up chewing," said the Major. "Last time I saw you
I understood you to say that you had thrown your tobacco away."
"I did, John; but, I gad, I watched pretty close where I threw it.
Fellow over here gave me some stuff that he said would cure me of the
appetite, and I took it until I was afraid it would, and then threw it
away. I find that when a man quits tobacco he hasn't anything to look
forward to. I quit for three days once, and on the third day, about the
time I got up from the dinner table, I asked myself: 'Well, now, got
anything to come next?' And all I could see before me was hours of
hankering; and, I gad, I slapped a negro boy on a horse and told him to
gallop over to the store and fetch me a hunk of tobacco. And after I
broke my resolution I thought I'd have a fit there in the yard waiting
for that boy to come back. I don't believe that it's right for a man to
kill any appetite that the Lord has given him. Of course, I don't
believe in the abuse of a good thing, but it's better to abuse it a
little sometimes than not to have it at all. If virtue consists in
deadening the nervous system to all pleasurable influences, why, you may
just mark my name off the list. There was old man Haskill. I sat up with
him the night after he died, and one of the men with me was harping upon
the great life the old fellow had lived--never chewed, never smoked,
never was drunk, never gambled, never did anything except to stand still
and be virtuous--and I couldn't help but feel that he had lost nothing
by dying."
THE TWO YOUNG MEN
BY CAROLYN WELLS
Once on a Time there were Two Young Men of Promising Capabilities.
One pursued no Especial Branch of Education, but Contented himself with
a Smattering of many different Arts and Sciences, exhibiting a Moderate
Proficiency in Each. When he Came to Make a Choice of some means of
Earning a Livelihood, he found he was Unsuccessful, for he had no
Specialty, and Every Employer seemed to Require an Expert in his Line.
The Other, from his Earliest Youth, bent all his Energies toward
Learning to play the Piano. He studied at Home and Abroad with Greatest
Masters, and he Achieved Wonderful Success. But as he was about to Begin
his Triumphant and Profitable Career, he had the Misfortune to lose both
Thumbs in a Railway Accident.
Thus he was Deprived of his Intended Means of Earning a Living, and as
he had no other Accomplishment he was Forced to Subsist on Charity.
MORALS:
This Fable teaches that a Jack of all Trades is Master of None, and that
It Is Not Well to put All our Eggs in One Basket.
THE TWO HOUSEWIVES
BY CAROLYN WELLS
Once on a Time there were Two Housewives who must Needs go to Market to
purchase the Day's Supplies.
One of Them, who was of a Dilatory Nature, said:
"I will not Hurry Myself, for I Doubt Not the Market contains Plenty for
all who come."
She therefore Sauntered Forth at her Leisure, and on reaching the Market
she found to her Dismay that the Choicest Cuts and the Finest Produce
had All been Sold, and there remained for her only the Inferior Meats
and Some Withered Vegetables.
The Other, who was One of the Hustling, Wide-awake Sort, said:
"I will Bestir myself Betimes and Hasten to Market that I may Take my
Pick ere my Neighbors appear on the Scene."
She did so, and when she Reached the Market she Discovered that the
Fresh Produce had not yet Arrived, and she must Content herself with the
Remnants of Yesterday's Stock.
MORALS:
This Fable teaches that The Early Bird Gets the Worm, and that There Are
Always as Good Fish In the Sea as Ever were Caught.
IN PHILISTIA
BY BLISS CARMAN
Of all the places on the map,
Some queer and others queerer,
Arcadia is dear to me,
Philistia is dearer.
There dwell the few who never knew
The pangs of heavenly hunger
As fresh and fair and fond and frail
As when the world was younger.
If there is any sweeter sound
Than bobolinks or thrushes,
It is the _frou-frou_ of their silks--
The roll of their barouches.
I love them even when they're good,
As well as when they're sinners--
When they are sad and worldly wise
And when they are beginners.
(I say I do; of course the fact,
For better or for worse, is,
My unerratic life denies
My too erotic verses.)
I dote upon their waywardness,
Their foibles and their follies.
If there's a madder pate than Di's,
Perhaps it may be Dolly's.
They have no "problems" to discuss,
No "theories" to discover;
They are not "new"; and I--I am
Their very grateful lover.
I care not if their minds confuse
Alastor with Aladdin;
And Cimabue is far less
To them than Chimmie Fadden.
They never heard of William Blake,
Nor saw a Botticelli;
Yet one is, "Yours till death, Louise,"
And one, "Your loving Nelly."
They never tease me for my views,
Nor tax me with my grammar;
Nor test me on the latest news,
Until I have to stammer.
They never talk about their "moods,"
They never know they have them;
The world is good enough for them,
And that is why I love them.
They never puzzle me with Greek,
Nor drive me mad with Ibsen;
Yet over forms as fair as Eve's
They wear the gowns of Gibson.
THE DYING GAG
BY JAMES L. FORD
There was an affecting scene on the stage of a New York theater the
other night--a scene invisible to the audience and not down on the
bills, but one far more touching and pathetic than anything enacted
before the footlights that night, although it was a minstrel company
that gave the entertainment.
It was a wild, blustering night, and the wind howled mournfully around
the street corners, blinding the pedestrians with the clouds of dust
that it caught up from the gutters and hurled into their faces.
Old man Sweeny, the stage doorkeeper, dozing in his little glazed box,
was awakened by a sudden gust that banged the stage door and then went
howling along the corridor, almost extinguishing the gas-jets and making
the minstrels shiver in their dressing-rooms.
"What! You here to-night!" exclaimed old man Sweeny, as a frail figure,
muffled up in a huge ulster, staggered through the doorway and stood
leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath.
"Yes; I felt that I couldn't stay away from the footlights to-night.
They tell me I'm old and worn out and had better take a rest, but I'll
go on till I drop," and with a hollow cough the Old Gag plodded slowly
down the dim and drafty corridor and sank wearily on a sofa in the big
dressing-room, where the other Gags and Conundrums were awaiting their
cues.
"Poor old fellow!" said one of them, sadly. "He can't hold out much
longer."
"He ought not to go on except at matinees," replied another veteran, who
was standing in front of the mirror trimming his long, silvery beard,
and just then an attendant came in with several basins of gruel, and the
old Jests tucked napkins under their chins and sat down to partake of a
little nourishment before going on.
The bell tinkled and the entertainment began. One after another the
Jokes and Conundrums heard their cues, went on, and returned to the
dressing-room, for they all had to go on again in the after-piece. The
house was crowded to the dome, and there was scarcely a dry eye in the
vast audience as one after another of the old Quips and Jests that had
been treasured household words in many a family came on and then
disappeared to make room for others of their kind.
As the evening wore on the whisper ran through the theater that the Old
Gag was going on that night--perhaps for the last time; and many an eye
grew dim, many a pulse beat quicker at the thought of listening once
more to that hoary Jest, about whose head were clustered so many sacred
memories.
Meanwhile the Old Gag was sitting in his corner of the dressing-room,
his head bowed on his breast, his gruel untasted on the tray before him.
The other Gags came and went, but he heeded them not. His thoughts were
far away. He was dreaming of old days, of his early struggles for fame,
and of his friends and companions of years ago. "Where are they now?" he
asked himself, sadly. "Some are wanderers on the face of the earth, in
comic operas. Two of them found ignoble graves in the 'Tourists''
company. Others are sleeping beneath the daisies in Harper's 'Editor's
Drawer.'"
"You're called, sir!"
The Old Gag awoke from his reverie, started to his feet, and, throwing
aside his heavy ulster, staggered to the entrance and stood there
patiently waiting for his cue.
"You're hardly strong enough to go on to-night," said a Merry Jest,
touching him kindly on the arm; but the gray-bearded one shook him off,
saying hoarsely:
"Let be! Let be! I must read those old lines once more--it may be for
the last time."
And now a solemn hush fell upon the vast audience as a sad-faced
minstrel uttered in tear-compelling accents the most pathetic words in
all the literature of minstrelsy:
"And so you say, Mr. Johnson, that all the people on the ship were
perishing of hunger, and yet you were eating fried eggs. How do you
account for that?"
For one moment a deathlike silence prevailed. Then the Old Gag stepped
forward and in clear, ringing tones replied:
"The ship lay to, and I got one."
A wild, heartrending sob came from the audience and relieved the tension
as the Old Gag staggered back into the entrance and fell into the
friendly arms that were waiting to receive him.
Sobbing Conundrums bore him to a couch in the dressing-room. Weeping
Jokes strove in vain to bring back the spark of life to his inanimate
form. But all to no avail.
The Old Gag was dead.
IN ELIZABETH'S DAY
BY WALLACE RICE
Who would not give the treasure
Of very many lives
If some kind fate would pleasure
To let him be where Ben is
A-playing Kit at tennis,
Or playing Will at fives?
The racquet ne'er so deftly
Is turned, whoever strives,
The ball flies ne'er so swiftly
As thought and tongue where Ben is
A-playing Kit at tennis,
Or playing Will at fives.
THE TWO AUTOMOBILISTS
BY CAROLYN WELLS
Once on a Time there were Two Young Men, each of whom Bought an
Automobile.
One Young Man, being of a Bold and Audacious nature, said:
"I will make my Machine go so Fast that I will break all Previous
Records."
Accordingly, he did So, and he Flew through the Small Town like a Red
Dragon Pursuing his Prey.
Unheeding all Obstacles in his Mad Career, his Automobile ran into a
Wall of Rock, and was dashed to Pieces. Also, the young Man was killed.
The Other Young Man, being of a Timorous and Careful Disposition,
started off with great Caution and Rode at a Slow Pace, pausing now and
then, Lest he might Run into Something.
The Result was, that Two Automobiles and an Ice Wagon ran into him from
behind, spoiling his Car and Killing the Cautious Young Man.
MORALS:
This Fable teaches Us, The More Haste The Less Speed, and Delays Are
Dangerous.
THE NEW VERSION
BY W.J. LAMPTON
A soldier of the Russians
Lay japanned at Tschrtzvkjskivitch,
There was lack of woman's nursing
And other comforts which
Might add to his last moments
And smooth the final way;--
But a comrade stood beside him
To hear what he might say.
The japanned Russian faltered
As he took that comrade's hand,
And he said: "I never more shall see
My own my native land;
Take a message and a token
To some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Smnlxzrskgqrxzski,
Fair Smnlxzrskgqrxzski on the Irkztrvzkimnov."
SOUTHERN SKETCHES
BY BILL ARP
JIM ALLCORN
I was only thinkin' how much better it is to be in a lively humor than
be goin' about like a disappointed offis seeker. Good humor is a blessed
thing in a family and smooths down a heap of trubble. I never was mad
but a few times in my life, and then I wasn't mad long. Foaks thought I
was mad when I fout Jim Allcorn, but I wasent. I never had had any
grudge agin Jim. He had never done me any harm, but I could hear of his
sayin' around in the naborhood that Bill Arp had played cock of the walk
long enuf. So one day I went over to Chulio court ground to joak with
the boys, and shore enuf Jim was there, and I soon perseeved that the
devil was in him. He had never been whipped by anybody in the distrikt,
and he outweighed me by about fifteen pounds. A drink or two had made
him sassy, and so he commenced walkin' around first to one crowd, and
then to another, darin' anybody to fite him. He would pint to his
forrerd and say, "I'll give anybody five dollars to hit that." I was
standin' tawkin' to Frank Air and John Johnsin, and as nobody took up
Jim's offer, thinks says I to myself, if he cums round here a huntin'
for a fite he shall have one, by golly. If he dares me to hit him I'll
do it if it's the last lick I ever strike on this side of Jordin. Frank
Air looked at me, and seemed to know what I was a thinkin', and says
he, "Bill, jest let Allcorn alone. He's too big for you, and besides,
there ain't nothin' to fite about." By this time Jim was makin' rite
towards us. I put myself in position, and by the time he got to us every
muscle in my body was strung as tite as a banjo. I was worked up
powerful, and felt like I could whip a campmeetin' of wild cats. Shore
enuf Jim stepped up defiantly, and lookin' me rite in the eye, says he,
"I dare anybody to hit that," and he touched his knuckles to his
forrerd. He had barely straightened before I took him rite in the left
eye with a sock-dolyger that popped like a wagin' whip. It turned him
half round, and as quick as lightnin' I let him hav another on the right
temple, and followed it up with a leap that sprawled him as flat as a
foot mat. I knowed my customer, and I never giv him time to rally. If
ever a man was diligent in business it was me. I took him so hard and so
fast in the eyes with my fists, and in his bred basket with my knees,
that he didn't hav a chance to see or to breathe, and he was the worst
whipped man in two minets I ever seed in my life. When he hollered I
helped him up and breshed the dirt off his clothes, and he was as umble
as a ded nigger and as sober as a Presbyterian preacher. We took a dram
on the strength of it, and was always good frends afterwards.
But I dident start to tell you about that.
JIM PERKINS (COUSIN OF ELI)
I jist wanted to say that I wasent mad with Jim Allcorn, as sum peepul
supposed; but it do illustrate the onsertainty of human kalkulashuns in
this subloonery world. The disappintments of life are amazin', and if a
man wants to fret and grumble at his luck he can find a reesunable
oppertunity to do so every day that he lives. Them sort of
constitutional grumblers ain't much cumpany to me. I'd rather be Jim
Perkins with a bullit hole through me and take my chances. Jim, you
know, was shot down at Gains' Mill, and the ball went in at the
umbilikus, as Dr. Battey called it, and cum out at the backbone. The
Doktor sounded him, and sez he, "Jeems, my friend, your wound is
mortal." Jim looked at the Doktor, and then at me, and sez he, "That's
bad, ain't it?" "Mighty bad," sez I, and I was as sorry for him as I
ever was for anybody in my life. Sez he, "Bill, I'd make a will if it
warn't for one thing." "What's that, Jim?" sez I. He sorter smiled and
sez, "I hain't got nothin' to will." He then raised up on his elbow, and
sez he, "Doktor, is there one chance in a hundred for me?" and the
Doktor sez, "Jest about, Jim." "Well, then," sez he, "I'll git well--I
feel it in my gizzard." He looked down at the big hole in his umbilikus,
and sez he, "If I do get well, won't it be a great _naval_ viktry,
Doktor Battey?" Well, shore enuff he did git well, and in two months he
was fitin' the Yanks away up in Maryland.
But I didn't start to tell you about that.
IKE MACKOY
I jest stuck it in by way of illustratin' the good effeks of keepin' up
one's spirits. My motto has always been to never say die, as Gen. Nelson
sed at the battle of Madagascar, or sum other big river. All things
considered, I've had a power of good luck in my life. I don't mean money
luck, by no means, for most of my life I've been so ded poor that
Lazarus would hev been considered a note shaver compared with me. But
I've been in a heap of close places, and sumhow always cum out rite side
up with keer. Speakin' of luck, I don't know that I ever told you about
that rassel I had with Ike McKoy at Bob Hide's barbyku. You see Ike was
perhaps the best rasler in all Cherokee, and he jest hankered after a
chance to break a bone or two in my body. Now, you know, I never hunted
for a fite nor a fuss in my life, but I never dodged one. I dident want
a tilt with Ike, for my opinyun was that he was the best man of the two,
but I never sed anything and jest trusted to luck. We was both at the
barbyku, and he put on a heap of airs, and strutted around with his
shirt collar open clean down to his waist, and his hat cocked on one
side as sassy as a confedrit quartermaster. He took a dram or two and
stuffed himself full of fresh meat at dinner time. Purty soon it was
norated around that Ike was going to banter me for a rassel, and, shore
enuff, he did. The boys were all up for some fun, and Ike hollered out,
"I'll bet ten dollars I can paster the length of any man on the ground,
and I'll giv Bill Arp five dollars to take up the bet." Of course there
was no gittin' around the like of that. The banter got my blood up, and
so, without waitin' for preliminaries, I shucked myself and went in. The
boys was all powerfully excited, and was a bettin' evry dollar they
could raise; and Bob Moore, the feller I had licked about a year before,
jumped on a stump and sed hed bet twenty dollars to ten that Ike would
knock the breath out of me the first fall. I jest walked over to him
with the money and sed, "I'll take that bet." The river was right close
to the ring, and the bank was purty steep. I had on a pair of old
breeches that had been sained in and dried so often they was about half
rotten. When we hitched, Ike took good britches hold, and lifted me up
and down a few times like I was a child. He was the heaviest, but I had
the most spring in me, and so I jest let him play round for sum time,
limber like, until he suddenly took a notion to make short work of it
by one of his backleg movements. He drawed me up to his body and lifted
me in the air with a powerful twist. Just at that minit his back was
close to the river bank, and as my feet touched the ground I giv a
tremenjius jerk backwards, and a shuv forwards, and my britches busted
plum open on the back, and tore clean off in front, and he fell from me
and tumbled into the water, kerchug, and went out of sight as clean as a
mud turtle in a mill pond. Such hollerin' as them boys done I rekon
never heard in them woods. I jumped in and helped Ike get out as he riz
to the top. He had took in a quart or two of water on top of his
barbyku, and he set on the bank and throwed up enuf vittels to feed a
pack of houns for a week. When he got over it he laffd, and sed Sally
told him before he left home he'd better let Bill Arp alone--for nobody
could run agin his luck. Ike always believed he would hav throwd me if
britches holt hadent broke, and I rekon may be he would. One thing is
sertin, it cured him of braggin', and that helps anybody. I never did
like a braggin' man. As a genrul thing they ain't much akkount, and
remind me of a dog I used to have, named Cesar.
DOGS
But I dident start to tell you a dog story--only now, since I've
mentioned him, I must tell you a circumstance about Cees. He was a
middlin' size broot, with fox ears and yaller spots over his eyes, and
could out bark and out brag all creation when he was inside the yard. If
another dog was goin' along he'd run up and down the palins and bark and
take on like he'd give the world if that fence wasent there. So one day
when he was showin' off in that way I caught him by the nap of the neck
as he run by me, and jest histed him right over and drapped him. He
struck the ground like an injun rubber ball, and was back agin on my
side in a jiffy. If he had ever jumped that fence before I dident know
it. The other dog run a quarter of a mile without stoppin'. Now, that's
the way with sum foaks. If you want to hear war tawk jest put a fence
between 'em; and if you want it stopped, jest take the fence away. Dogs
is mighty like peepul anyhow. They've got karacter. Sum of em are good,
honest, trusty dogs that bark mity little and bite at the right time.
Sum are good pluk, and will fite like the dickens when their masters is
close by to back em, but ain't worth a cent by themselves. Sum make it a
bizness to make other dogs fite. You've seen these little fices a
runnin' around growlin' and snappin' when two big dogs cum together.
They are jest as keen to get up a row and see a big dog fite as a store
clerk or a shoemaker, and seem to enjoy it as much. And then, there's
them mean yaller-eyed bull terriers that don't care who they bite, so
they bite sumbody. They are no respekter of persons, and I never had
much respekt for a man who kept one on his premises. But of all mean,
triflin', contemptible dogs in the world, the meanest of all is a
country nigger's houn--one that will kill sheep, and suck eggs, and lick
the skillet, and steal everything he can find, and try to do as nigh
like his master as possibul. Sum dogs are filosofers, and study other
dogs' natur, just like foaks study foaks. It's amazin' to see a town dog
trot up to a country dog and interview him. How quick he finds out
whether it will do to attack him or not. If the country dog shows fite
jest notis the consequential dignity with which the town dog retires. He
goes off like there was a sudden emergency of bisness a callin' him
away. Town dogs sumtimes combine agin a country dog, jest like town
boys try to run over country boys. I wish you could see Dr. Miller's dog
Cartoosh. He jest lays in the piazzer all day watchin' out for a stray
dog, and as soon as he sees him he goes for him, and he can tell in half
a minit whether he can whip him or run him; and if he can, he does it
instanter, and if he can't he runs to the next yard, where there's two
more dogs that nabor with him, and in a minit they all cum a tarin' out
together, and that country dog has to run or take a whippin', shore.
I've seen Cartoosh play that game many a time. These town pups remind me
powerfully of small editurs prowlin' around for news. In my opinyun they
is the inventors of the interview bisness.
INTERVIEWERS