"ODD FOLKS", 
 
 BY 
 
 OPIE READ, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A CAPTAIN S ROMANCE." 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, 1 14 Fifth Avenue, 
 
 NEW YORK. PUBLISHER. MDCCCXCVII. 
 
?* 
 
 # 
 
 Copyrighted, 189T, 
 
 in the 
 United States 
 
 and 
 Great Britain. 
 
 by 
 F. TENNYSON- NEELY. 
 
 (Ail Rights Reserved.) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE . . . . 5 
 
 THE BRICK OFFICE * . . . . . . 30 
 
 THE GREEK GOD BARBER . . . . . 41 
 
 UGLY RACHEL . , . . . . . 52 
 
 THE MOON IN THE PICTURE . ,. . . . 62 
 
 HlS SlXTEEN-ElGHTY-NlNE . . . . .95 
 
 BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY ^ . . . . .108 
 
 AN IVORY SMILE . . . . . . . 120 
 
 OLD JOBLEY . . v 133 
 
 OLD BILLY . . . . . . . . . 140 
 
 SWINGING IN THE DUSK . . . . . 146 
 
 A MEMORABLE MEAL . . . . . . . 153 
 
 A DEAD MARCH . .- . . . 156 
 
 AN IMPERIOUS COURT . . . . . . . 159 
 
 His SPECIAL .. . .. . .. 165 
 
 AT THE SPRING . . . . . . . I7t 
 
 NOT FOR THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND . . . 183 
 
 HER SWEET DREAM . . . . . . 194 
 
 (3) 
 
 M130309 
 
ODD FOLKS. 
 
 WANTED A CERTIFICATE, 
 
 AT a small town on a railway running through Ken 
 tucky an express company had been robbed of 85,000. 
 The loss of the money was insignificant when viewed 
 simply as the removal of so many pieces of paper bear 
 ing the portrait of a distinguished American, but the 
 necessity to hold up some one in the glaring light of the 
 law as a dazzling example was a momentous consider 
 ation. It may be observed that a great corporation 
 never knows an evil doer as an individual, but regards 
 him wholly as an " example " ; indeed, the closest re 
 lationship and services that have endured through 
 many years can be forgotten by a great institution when 
 it sets out to establish an " example." And I have 
 often wondered why some one has not taken up the 
 business of professional "example," to undergo a 
 sentence to prison, for a reasonable salary. Well, 
 $5,000 was taken one night from the express office in 
 
 Springdale. The safe was blown open, the town 
 
 (5) 
 
6 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 trembled for three days in a delirium of excitement, 
 and the agent, with a bruise on his head, lay in his 
 room at the tavern. At that time I was operating a 
 detective agency in Louisville (truly, a despicable call 
 ing, I must say), and the division superintendent of the 
 express company sent for me. A great man was he. 
 Consciously impressive, portly, with animal life running 
 like an engine within him. As I entered his private 
 apartment he turned in his chair and, looking at me a 
 moment, said : 
 
 " So you are Capt. Blake ? " 
 
 " My name is Blake ; yes, sir." 
 
 " I suppose you have heard of our little affair down 
 in the country ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have read an account of it." 
 
 "What do you think?" 
 
 "It is only now, sir, that I have found it to my ad 
 vantage to think." 
 
 " Ah ; I see." And after a short pause he added : 
 " Now, I tell you what we have done, and then I ll tell 
 you what we want you to do. The agent at Springdale 
 has been arrested." 
 
 He paused and looked at me as if he expected me to 
 show astonishment, but I didn t. I simply said : 
 "Yes; " and he continued: " About six years ago he 
 came to us most highly recommended, strictly sober, 
 and with no bad habits. There is no bank in the town, 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 7 
 
 and on numerous occasions he has been intrusted with 
 large sums of money. He is of a good family, and 
 during many years his father has been cashier of a bank 
 in this city." 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, stroked his side whiskers, 
 and looked at me, and I fancied that I could hear the 
 great engine of health pumping within him. lk I 
 authorized his arrest last night," he went on, " and I 
 have a dispatch telling me that the town is greatly ex 
 cited. The physician is unable to decide whether or 
 not the blow on the head was self-inflicted, but he 
 agrees that it looks suspicious." 
 
 44 Well," said I, " what do you want me to do ? " 
 
 " I have a scheme," he answered. " There have 
 been so many similar cases, you understand, that I be 
 lieve we could convict him upon the testimony of the 
 physician and other suspicious circumstances ; and al 
 though it is necessary for us to have an example, you 
 understand, yet I should like to know beyond question 
 whether or not he is guilty. I may be overparticular, 
 but, the fact is, I want him to make a confession. I 
 may be a trifle soft-hearted, you understand, but I d 
 like to know." 
 
 " Don t you always want to know," I asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes, surely," he quickly replied, " but as a gen 
 eral thing we are willing for \\\Q law to settle that point 
 and act accordingly. But down in that part of the 
 
8 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 country an example is badly needed, and if this fellow 
 Haines could be brought to confess, why it would be 
 well, it would be a good thing for us, you know." 
 
 " And your scheme ? " 
 
 "Is this. I want you to be put into the cell with 
 him, win his confidence, and worm a confession out of 
 him." 
 
 "Rather an old scheme," I was bold enough to re- 
 
 piy- 
 
 " Oh, I ve been told you are a most discouraging 
 man, but I am determined upon this, and I am willing 
 to pay handsomely for your services, and if you suc 
 ceed the amount of compensation shall be doubled." 
 
 This, of course, interested me, and during more than 
 an hour we laid our plans and talked them over, and 
 when I left him it was with these words : " You may 
 depend upon it that I shall do my duty." 
 
 That evening an officer conducted me along the 
 main street of Springdale. The sight of the handcuffs 
 upon my wrists caught the eyes of the corner loungers, 
 and soon a crowd was following us, and occasionally I 
 heard the remark : " Got him all right, haven t they ? " 
 I heard the words, " horse thief, I bet you," and as 
 unimpulsive as I am I turned around to confront a 
 mottled face. The officer, who knew nothing of the 
 Superintendent s scheme who was proud to be made 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 9 
 
 so important gave me a jerk, and the mob applauded 
 him. By the time we reached the jail the air was full 
 of " horse thief." I had no sooner been shoved through 
 the door into the corridor than the words " hang him " 
 smote my ears like a blow from a mallet, for I knew the 
 abhorrence in which my countrymen held the stealing 
 of a horse ; that, charged with any other crime, a man 
 might hope for some sort of a hearing, but that to be 
 suspected of horse theft was more than likely to mean 
 deaf ears and quick action. The mob was now fierce. 
 The jailer, a fat and humorous old fellow, stepped out. 
 I stood in the corridor just behind him. Near me 
 stood a man holding a key waiting to show me to my 
 quarters. 
 
 " Boys," said the jailer, " what do you want ? " 
 
 " You know what we want, Buck," replied a lank 
 fellow r who had assumed command outside. " We 
 want that hoss thief! " 
 
 " Bill, there ain t no hoss thief here ! " 
 
 " Tell that up at Bear Waller an up the right fork 
 of Big Sandy, but don t tell it to us. That feller stole 
 the Widder Cage s hoss, and we want him." 
 
 " Who says so ? " 
 
 " Why, Ab, here." And I saw him nod at a fellow 
 standing near, and the light held at an upper window 
 fell upon his mottled face. 
 
 " How do you know, Ab ? " the jailer asked. 
 
10 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Why, McGee lowed he was the man, and he was 
 with the fellers that got after him." 
 
 " Where s McGee ? Let him identify him. And if 
 he s the man, I ll agree to hang him myself, and then 
 eat a foot of the rope. No, boys, you are wrong this 
 time. You have hung fellers out of here all right 
 enough, but you d make a mistake this time, and it 
 ain t exactly right to make such mistakes. I ricollect 
 they hung the wrong man over at Hover not long 
 ago, and it caused a good deal of talk and some ill- 
 feelin , so I advise you to be more particular. Now, if 
 you want to know right bad, I ll tell you what the man 
 is charged with." 
 
 " Out with it," the leader cried. 
 " Why, they do say that he killed a man." 
 The light was still held at the window, and I saw the 
 eager and expectant countenance of the leader droop 
 to disappointment. 
 
 " Buck, is that straight ? 
 " As a rope pullin a bucket out of a well." 
 "All right, then," said the leader, turning about. 
 ;< There air occasions when a feller s got a right to kill 
 a man, but nobody ever had a right to steal a boss. 
 Boys, let s go down to Tobe s grocery. I understand 
 they air goin to cut a watermillon, knock a nail keg in 
 the head, and wring a dishrag down there pretty soon. 
 Come on." 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 11 
 
 The jailer, his fat sides shaking, stepped back and 
 closed the door, and the man with the key motioned 
 me to follow him. 
 
 As the turnkey was fumbling with the lock I heard 
 the nervous pacing, to and fro, of a man inside the 
 cell, and when I stepped in he turned about, looked at 
 me, and, withdrawing his brief attention with a con 
 temptuous bat of his eyes, said to the jailer : 
 
 "Buck, you ve been acquainted with me long enough 
 to know that I don t want to be shut in here with a 
 horse thief." 
 
 " Oh, you heard them fellers, did you ? Of course, 
 you don t want to be shut up with a hoss thief don t 
 want to be shut up at all for that matter, Jimniie but 
 there are some things we can t help, and bein shut up 
 with the first feller that comes along is sometimes one 
 of them. Tom, stick that candle up there over the 
 door and leave it there till it burns out so these here 
 gentlemen can see how to entertain each other. That s 
 all right ; it ll stick. Well, good-night. Glad we ve 
 got room enough in there for both of you, and if you 
 don t find bed clothes enough shout for more. In fact, 
 whatever you don t see in the dark, ask for." 
 
 The shooting of the bolt sent a chill through me, 
 and my fellow -prisoner, noticing my momentary dis 
 tress, gave me a kindly look. " You are not used to 
 
12 07)7) FOLKS 
 
 it," he said. " They may be lying about you as they 
 are about me. It s an easy thing to do." 
 
 " And sometimes a hard thing to disprove," I replied, 
 sitting down on my bunk, opposite his own. He made 
 no reply, but turned about and resumed his pacing up 
 and down the cell. I was careful not to let him catcli 
 me gazing at him, but I sat there studying him closely. 
 And surely I was never impressed more deeply by the 
 bearing and the countenance of a man. There was 
 something about him that was more than graceful, an 
 attraction new to me, unexpected, surprising. I had 
 seen studied suggestions of it on the stage the hand 
 some, brave, reckless gambler. His features were not 
 regular, his nose was faulty, his chin weak, and yet as 
 a whole his face was strikingly picturesque. He must 
 have been about twenty-five years of age. 
 
 The flickering of the light told me that the candle 
 was dying. Had he been walking so long in silence, 
 and had I in silence been studying him so long? 
 
 " We ll soon be in the dark," I said. " I hate the 
 dark. But it is in keeping with this miserable hole. 
 Here a sunbeam would be like a bright-haired child, 
 strayed into a den of vice." 
 
 " Yes," he replied, pausing to look at me. 
 
 "Were you ever on the stage?" I asked. 
 
 " No. There goes the light." 
 
 Blackness fell about us. I heard him stretch himself 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 13 
 
 upon his bed. I lay down to ponder over him, to 
 speculate upon his character. I wondered if he were 
 really guilty. Before seeing him I would have staked 
 anything upon my belief in his guilt, but now I was 
 uncertain. Time and again I turned over, striving to 
 force myself to sleep. And I muttered charges of 
 weakness against myself. He had done a rare thing 
 had won my friendship. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LONG before the sun came up, but when the misty 
 dawn-light began, like a thin fog, to stream down from 
 a high and narrow window, my fellow-prisoner arose 
 and resumed his walk. And with a strange impatience 
 I waited to see if daylight would confirm the impres 
 sion that had come upon me as the dying candle rays 
 were flitting upon the gloomy walls. But before the 
 day was strong there came footsteps down the corridors. 
 The slide-window in the door was opened, and the 
 thick voice of the fat jailer was poured in upon us. 
 
 " Boys, stirring about already ? Don t believe it s a 
 good plan to stir about much before you eat a bite. 
 Had an uncle that broke a colt before breakfast and 
 aged so fast afterwards that he died at ninety. Bring 
 the wedding breakfast this way, Nick. Our cook got 
 
14 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 married this morning while the water was boiling. 
 Hah, how s our hoss thief this mornin ? Came in one 
 of bein a nightmare yistidy evenin , eh? Yes, sir; 
 durin the off season of the year, when the boys ain t 
 got much to do, they d as soon hang a man as not. 
 But they don t mean no particular harm by it." 
 
 Thus he talked while the turnkey " spread " our 
 breakfast, and he stood there, his great round face fill 
 ing the window, until breakfast was cleared, and even 
 then he hung about until it grew light enough for me 
 to see him wink. And this he did several times, slyly 
 looking at me and then at Haines. In his "squint" 
 was legible the fact that he had been intrusted with 
 the secret of my mission, and I cannot say that it was 
 an agreeable discovery. I fancied that I could already 
 see unconscious betrayal stewing through his hanging 
 jowl, and, hardened as I was, I must have blushed, for 
 I grew sick at the thought of standing exposed before 
 that young fellow, meeting the contemptuous look of 
 his melancholy eyes. Then the daylight had confirmed 
 the impression left by the dying candle. 
 
 The day wore along, and our acquaintance made but 
 slow progress. I waited for his advances, but he made 
 none. When not walking he sat where the light was 
 strongest, reading a lead-colored pamphlet. 
 
 "What are you reading?" I asked. 
 
 " A fool thing." 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 15 
 
 "Who wrote it?" 
 
 " A fool." 
 
 "Ah, I didn t know that a piece of my work had 
 found its way into this place." He laughed. " I sup 
 pose it might just as well have been yours, but it hap 
 pens to be mine an amateur play printed at my own 
 expense." 
 
 " Has it been played ? " 
 
 " Yes ; had a one-night run in the church for the bene 
 fit of the same." 
 
 " Was it a success ? " 
 
 " Quite. Respect for the church debt forbade any 
 one s leaving the house, although there was a good deal 
 of tittering when the moon got out of order, burned 
 the negro s fingers, and fell down." 
 
 "What s the name of the piece ? " 
 
 " The Detective. " 
 
 "I suppose you make him a hero." 
 
 " No ; a black-hearted villain." 
 
 " Served him right," I replied ; and it was well that 
 lie did not look up, for I felt a slow shiver creeping 
 over me. 
 
 At night another candle was placed above the door, 
 and sitting in its yellow glow he grew more inclined to 
 talk seriously of himself. He had been well educated, 
 had tried to do a number of things, had done ill had 
 failed as a country editor, had learned telegraphy, and 
 
16 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 at last had settled down to a lonely midnight luncheon 
 in the wayside office of an express company. I was 
 sorry for him, for I knew that hidden somewhere a suc 
 cess might lie waiting for him, as it does for many of 
 us ; but, ah, how long it lies waiting, and how rusty it 
 has grown when sometime we find it ! His features, 
 now that I had become better acquainted with them, 
 were weaker, and this increased my pity; but I was 
 resolved to do my duty, I would win him if I could. 
 
 The days passed and he called me Dick. We had 
 read the same books. In our admiration for the same 
 book or poem lies the first tottering of many a down 
 fall. In a similar taste we recognize our second self, 
 and shrewdness shuts its eyes and dreams. 
 
 We talked about books, and those of his favorites 
 that I had not seen I pretended to love. It was night, 
 and the candle was burning above the door. 
 
 " A man must live with one self and write with 
 another," he said. 
 
 " We all have two selves," I replied. " I know that 
 I have. One self does wrong, and the other self, which 
 is a sort of indulgent parent, suffers over it." 
 
 He looked at me and was silent. A shadow fell 
 across his face. He looked up at the candle and said : 
 " We ll soon be in the dark." 
 
 " We are always in the dark," I answered. " In 
 darkness while we are doing, and only step out into 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 17 
 
 the light long enough to look back and find that we did 
 fi wrong while in the dark. I would give half my life 
 it 1 could recall one dark night." 
 
 He leaned toward me. "What happened?" he 
 asked hoarsely. 
 
 "I don t know but I might as well tell you. A 
 trouble aired is lighter for the airing. It is the secret 
 trouble that eats the heart. I am here suspected of a 
 
 " Yes ? " he said, eagerly. 
 
 " But there is no direct proof against me. Come 
 closer. That fat jailer might be out there." 
 
 He did not get up ; he scrambled across the floor and 
 sat down near me, 
 
 " I had been out of employment a long time," I went 
 on, speaking low, "and was forced to quit the city. I 
 wandered about doing odd jobs, desperate, hating the 
 world. Well, one day, not long ago, I came into a 
 neighborhood not far from here. I stopped at a 
 farmer s house and asked for something to eat. He re 
 ceived me into his house, placed a chair at his table, 
 and treated me as his guest. A rainstorm came up, 
 and he insisted upon my remaining over night with 
 him. Just before bed time a hired man came in to re 
 ceive his wages, and I saw the old man take out his 
 wallet, and when he had unwound a string, laying it 
 carefully across his knee, I caught sight of a $50 note. 
 
18 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 Soon afterward I was shown to a room just above. And 
 I laid there thinking of that money. At first I turned 
 over with a shudder. And then the weary miles I had 
 walked stretched out before me. T could see the dust 
 in the road and the heat danced on the hot hilltop, 
 and in the glimmer I saw that old man s money. I 
 turned over again not with a shudder, but with a 
 mere shiver and I saw myself treading that dry road ; 
 and I saw a railway train sweeping past, and I caught 
 sight of two men as they tipped their glasses. They 
 saw me, and one of them shouted : Not for you, poor 
 fool. I rob the poor, but you haven t sense enough to 
 rob even the rich when they spread their money before 
 your very eyes. It seemed that the train slacked long 
 enough for the scoundrel thus to tantalize me, and then 
 it thundered on, the two scoundrels tipping their 
 glasses again. I got out of bed, tiptoed to the head of 
 the stairway, and listened. I heard the ticking of the 
 clock. I stepped back and dressed myself.^ Then I 
 trod softly downstairs. In the room a light was burn 
 ing dimly. The old man and his wife were sound 
 asleep. His trousers were under his pillow. Slowly I 
 pulled them away, and without noise I got out. Then 
 I ran for a mile at least, and then I stopped and thrust 
 my hand into the pocket and there was the wallet. 
 The moment I touched it I would have given half my 
 life never to have seen it. But repentance was now 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENTS EXAMPLE. 19 
 
 too late. I could have taken the money back in fact, 
 I was almost decided on this risk, when my blood shot 
 through me at the barking of a dog and dropping the 
 trousers, but gripping the money, I leaped over a fence 
 and ran fiercely into the woods. Well, I went to a 
 town, tricked myself out in new clothes, had my beard 
 shaved off, and was ready to take a railway train and 
 tip glasses with some other scoundrel when I was 
 arrested. I said I was suspected of the crime, and that 
 is the case, for that blessed old farmer was not certain 
 that I was the man. And here I have told you all 
 about it. But I trust you; I don t know why, but 
 I do." 
 
 The candlewick fell and the cell was black. Haines 
 said not a word. I heard him scramble to his feet, and 
 then with a sigh he lay down heavily upon his bunk. 
 And so long a silence followed that I thought him 
 asleep, when he began to mutter something and I heard 
 him repeat my own words : " A trouble aired is lighter 
 for the airing." 
 
 " I hope you don t think any less of me," I remarked. 
 
 " No, I am sorry for you sorry that your better self 
 yielded. But don t you think they will convict you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid so." 
 
 " And if they do, are you going to make a confes 
 sion ? " 
 
 " No. I have confessed to you, and that was cooling 
 
20 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 to my conscience. There is bravado in confessing to 
 the world, but confessing to a friend is a simple virtue." 
 
 I listened with my head off the pillow, and he mut 
 tered something, but I did not understand him. 
 
 " There is one thing I am glad of," said I. 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " The fact that I have no near relatives to be dis 
 graced." 
 
 " That s fortunate," he replied. 
 
 I waited for him to say more, but he was silent, 
 though I knew that he was not asleep, for I heard him 
 turn over time and again. I was now almost out of 
 patience. I had made my confession. Why didn t he 
 make his ? I felt that I had won his confidence ; I knew 
 that he admired my tastes, because they agreed with 
 his own. I had given to him the most pronounced of 
 all flattery I imitated his accent and his mannerisms. 
 I was growing weary of m^ contract. Confinement 
 was telling on my nerves. Inwardly I cursed the 
 Superintendent and all his senseless whims. I con 
 demned the undertaking as a foolish experiment, with 
 out the possibility of a compensating result. But the 
 Superintendent s promise came back to me. My affairs 
 had been running behind hand. I was in need of 
 money. Yes, I would stick it out. Haines began to 
 mutter. 
 
 44 Talking to me?" I asked. 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENTS EXAMPLE. 21 
 
 "No, wasn t saying anything. By the way and 
 you please pardon me for such a question, but if they 
 should send you to the penitentiary, how long do you 
 suppose it would be for ? " 
 
 "Not so loud," I cautioned. 
 
 " There are no other prisoners on this floor. How 
 long do you suppose it would be for ? " 
 
 "Ten years at least." 
 
 "That long? Terrible to think of. But I suppose 
 robbery is different from theft or embezzlement. After 
 all, if a man goes to the penitentiary it doesn t make 
 much difference for how long. The mere sentence is 
 enough to break his heart." 
 
 "Yes, but time may heal a broken heart." 
 
 "Not time done in a penitentiary." 
 
 Was he laughing at me ? I listened, and I thought 
 I heard him titter, but it might have been the ripple of 
 a suppressed sob. 
 
 "I wonder what time it is?" said he, turning over 
 wearily. 
 
 " Must be nearly day. You seem more than usually 
 distressed." 
 
 "I am. My heart has been growing heavier since 
 you told me your story." 
 
 "Don t think of me, my dear boy, but of your 
 self." 
 
 "I am thinking of myself, and that s what makes my 
 
22 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 heart so heavy." For a few moments he was silent and 
 then he continued : 
 
 " And you say there is a sort of bravado in confess 
 ing to the world ? " 
 
 "Yes; and the church, early in the beginning, rec 
 ognized in man the yearning, the necessity to confers 
 his errors to an individual. In my case religion plays 
 no part. I told you of my depravity and my heart has 
 become lighter. Suppose we go to sleep." 
 
 " I can t, Dick, I am too wretched. And now I am 
 going to tell you something but it s daylight, and our 
 fat friend is coming." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DURING all that day we talked in closest sympathy, 
 but I was afraid to remind him of his resolve to con 
 fess. Nor did he refer to it; indeed, at noontime, 
 when sunlight fell into the cell, he flipped a joke at our 
 condition, but I knew that this was broad-day banter 
 and that the ghost would return at night. 
 
 That afternoon his sister came from Louisville. On 
 a chair, brought for her by the jailer s wife, she sat in 
 side the cell, and, looking at her, I could have fancied 
 that she was a part of the noon hour. She wept at 
 first, but she grew cheerful when I assured her that her 
 brother would prove his innocence. 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT 3 EXAMPLE. 23 
 
 44 Oh, I know that," she said ; " but think of what a 
 shame it is to keep him shut up here so long. And you 
 haven t done anything, either, have you ? I don t see 
 what makes people so mean." 
 
 She remained with us until evening, and the light 
 was surely gone when she went away ; and the hours 
 were slow and long before the candle was put above 
 the door. But the old fellow came with it after a 
 stretched-out season. " Boys," he said, filling the 
 window with his face, " I ve a little piece of news for 
 you. The grand jury met to-day and court will be in 
 session before the week s out, and, consequently, you ll 
 have a hearin pretty soon. But don t git skeered, for 
 the foreman of the jury is a hoss doctor, and the Judge 
 owns a livery stable. This might not seem to make 
 any difference, but it do, for I want to tell you that a 
 feller that knows how to handle a hoss knows how to 
 handle a man. 
 
 44 Well, I must leave you now," he continued. 
 41 Pardon me for not spendin more time with you, but 
 they keep me on the rush these days." 
 
 He was gone at last. Haines was pacing the floor. 
 Would he wait for the death of the candle ? I said 
 nothing, but sat on my bunk waiting. 
 
 44 The candle burns longer than usual to-night," he 
 said. He was waiting for the darkness. 
 
24 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Yes ; for it seems to know that we are sleepy, and it 
 wants to tantalize us." 
 
 " I m not sleepy," he replied quickly. He sat down. 
 I said nothing. " I m not sleepy I can t sleep until I 
 have told you something. I m going to throw off all 
 reserve and talk to you as I would to myself. My 
 father is cashier of a bank. He is one of the most 
 lovable of men, but he is weak, always itching to better 
 his condition in life, living in the midst of money, daily 
 noting its power, counting the wealth of other men. 
 In such an atmosphere it was but natural that he 
 should feel the clamp placed upon him by a moderate 
 income. He had a brother, much older than himself, 
 and this brother was slowly dying. The brother had 
 mone} r , say 110,000, and it had been given out that the 
 larger part of this money was to fall to my father. But 
 the brother continued to linger, though his hour was 
 surely near. Just after hearing, one day, that his 
 brother could not survive another night, my father saw 
 a grand opportunity to invest $5,000. The return 
 would be quick. He would use the bank s money, and 
 even should the investment fail, he could soon replace 
 the amount from his brother s estate. The investment 
 was made and lost and the brother grew better. In 
 despair, father came to see me. I thought of mother 
 and sister when I told him that I would risk every 
 thing to save him. In the express office, during the 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 25 
 
 tobacco season, there was constantly a large amount of 
 money in the company s safe. I would take $5,000 and 
 wait for the brother to die. Well, I took that amount, 
 and father was saved. But the brother continued to 
 improve. And it was drawing near the time when I 
 might expect a call from the company s inspector. I 
 had no means of raising the money I was not in 
 ventive so I was forced to resort to an old trick. I 
 blew open the safe and knocked myself senseless with 
 an iron bar. There was money scattered all about the 
 room when the town officer and the night watchman 
 rushed in, and the supposition was that the robbers 
 were too much frightened to gather it up ; arid when 
 an investigation was made it was discovered that but 
 $5,000 was missing. And the day after I was arrested 
 the brother died. Father came heartbroken to see me 
 the day you were put in here, and his plan was to buy 
 off the express company, but I urged him not to at 
 tempt it, knowing that they would rather send a man 
 to the penitentiary than to compromise for twice that 
 amount of money. But we were agreed on one point 
 that no matter what was done with me the money 
 should be mysteriously returned. Father and yourself 
 are the only ones that know the truth. Mother and 
 sister will always believe me innocent. I have one 
 strong hope," he went on after a short pause, " I don t 
 think that the doctor who examined me is over- 
 
26 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 scrupulous, and, if worked skillfully, I think that we 
 might buy him. You see I am determined to take every 
 advantage that a thief s shrewdness can suggest. I 
 may deserve to go to the penitentiarjr, but I am not 
 enough of a Christian to suffer willingly. There, the 
 candle s gone." 
 
 I lay down to think. I had won my fight and my 
 reward was sure. 
 
 " What do you think of it all ? " he asked when I had 
 thought that he must be asleep. 
 
 "A sad case," I answered, pitying his frailty. The 
 son had inherited the weakness of the father. 
 
 " And do you think that if we buy the doctor they 
 can convict me ? The fact is, I did hit myself a ter 
 rific blow." 
 
 "They will if they can," I answered. 
 
 " I know that. Good-night," he added, " I think I 
 can sleep now." 
 
 Long before day I was up and dressed, with a few 
 words scribbled to the Superintendent, asking to be re 
 leased at once ; and when the fat jailer came, I gave 
 him the note. 
 
 During the day we talked of books, though with a 
 lessened interest on nry part. 
 
 " You don t appear to be well," he said. 
 
 " Brooding has worn my spirits away," I answered. 
 
 But you shouldn t lose hope. Something tells me 
 
TEE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 27 
 
 that before long we shall be together, free and happy, 
 ready to serve man because we have violated his laws. 
 We will go out west where generosity gilds a fault, and 
 live a buoyant life. And now, even if we are con 
 demned, let us promise to join each other after our time 
 is served. Will you promise that ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Give me your hand." 
 
 We shook hands, and he walked up and down the 
 cell, with a smile parting his lips. 
 
 " I think more of you than any fellow I ever met, 
 Dick. In fact, you are the only real companion I have 
 ever known. You stimulate my mind make me feel 
 that I can do good in the world. I hope they won t 
 separate us hope that if they send us to prison they 
 will send us together. It is awful to be companionless. 
 Dick, you don t look well. You mustn t get sick, but 
 if you do I ll nurse you they mustn t take you out of 
 here." 
 
 The fat jailer appeared. " I have a piece of news," 
 he said. " The doctor has been called out of town fora 
 few days, and the grand jury will skip your case, 
 Haines, until he comes back. So you ll have a few 
 days more of rest. Saw the foreman of the grand jury, 
 Haines, and I told him to treat you like a blooded hoss, 
 and if he can make up his mind to do that you are all 
 right. But I haven t got such good ne-ws for you," he 
 
28 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 added, speaking to me ; and Haines wheeled about and 
 looked at him. 
 
 "What about me ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well, they are goin to take you over into Gasper 
 County." 
 
 "No! " Haines cried, grasping my arm. 
 
 " That s the orders," said the jailer. " I told them 
 that they d better let him stay a little longer now that 
 he d got so well acquainted and so well liked, but they 
 lowed, they did, that they believed not said that 
 possibly he mout come agin after the crops was laid 
 
 by." 
 
 " Don t tantalize him," I cried, alarmed at the poor 
 fellow s distress. 
 
 " Bless you, I don t want to worry him. Never want 
 to pester a body. Well, come on." 
 
 Haines gave me his hand ; his lips were trembling. 
 He said not a word, but as I passed out he gave me a 
 quick look and then turned his back to the door. As 
 we were going through the corridor the jailer strove to 
 pump me, but I shut him up and went my way. 
 
 Ah, the glory of the sunshine and the thrill of the 
 sweet air. I stood near a garden where flowers nodded, 
 feeling that I had been snatched from a loathsome 
 dream. And I thought of that poor fellow who must 
 pay for his father s greed. How harder than a rock is 
 human justice ; but he must be just or man s law be- 
 
THE SUPERINTENDENT S EXAMPLE. 29 
 
 comes a laughable failure. I turned away, toward the 
 railway station, and the sight of the express office 
 smote me with sadness. "Poor, loyal, and generous 
 fool," I said. 
 
 The train came. And the wheels kept repeating 
 something they always do. And what was it ? " Re 
 member your promise, remember your promise." Yes, 
 I would remember it. 
 
 I had accomplished my mission and now for the re 
 ward. 
 
 The Superintendent was in his office waiting for me 
 that evening. A check book lay in front of him. 
 
 "Ah, Captain, I am glad to see you. And what do 
 you say ? " 
 
 And instantly I replied : " The man is innocent. 
 Turn him out." 
 
 He gave me a blank look and shoved the check book 
 from him. 
 
 " Innocent ! " 
 
 " As a lamb. Turn him out." 
 
 I stalked away, poor, but with a smile in my heart. 
 I was a liar, but I was a man. 
 
 The money was mysteriously returned. Haines 
 found the success lying down the road, waiting, and he 
 found it before it had gathered rust. He is an evan 
 gelist, telling his story to the world ; and his sister 
 she s my wife. 
 
THE BRICK OFFICE. 
 
 IN the old and remote village of Eddex stood a 
 small brick building. Formerly it had been the law 
 office of Judge Branham, remembered as a man of great 
 learning and ability. And during the years that fol 
 lowed his death an old Justice of the Peace was wont 
 to say, "Who will have the audacity to hang a lawyer s 
 sign in front of the Judge s temple of wisdom ? " This 
 remark was repeated until every man in the village 
 claimed it the green grocer and the cobbler. Finally, 
 it was agreed that no one should summon the senseless 
 courage this was the way it was put in the village 
 to occupy the little, dingy den once so nearly filled by 
 the fat jurist. 
 
 The old tin sign hung there until it was blown away 
 during a summer hail-storm, and after that the battered 
 post stood holding out its naked arm. The property 
 changed hands, but the office remained vacant. In the 
 columns of the village newspaper it was offered for 
 rent, and the young lawyers, taught to revere the great, 
 
 sniffed at the announcement. But one morning the 
 (30) 
 
THE BRICK OFFICE. 31 
 
 villagers were startled to see a new sign swinging from 
 the old arm. " A. C. Jonnett, Attorney-at-law," in 
 blight green letters, was plain to every gaze, and, of 
 course, an insult to the memory held warmly dear. 
 
 "It is an outrage ! " declared the old Justice, having 
 hastily arrived in his shirt-sleeves. " It is intended a$ 
 an insult, and ought to be pulled down. Why, I ve 
 lived in this town sixty-odd years this spring, and I 
 never saw the like before. Hop up there, some of you, 
 and pull off that tin blasphemy." 
 
 " Hold on," interposed the Mayor. " Let us proceed 
 with more deliberation. Of course, this office is sacred 
 to us, but it is now owned by a comparative stranger, 
 and has doubtless been rented by a stranger. And, 
 surely, when we have had a talk with him he will be 
 willing to move to some other place. Go slow, boys. 
 See who is inside." 
 
 A young fellow made the announcement that the 
 office was locked. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Justice, " his conscience has smitten 
 him and he has sneaked off. But you are right, Mr. 
 Mayor. It is better to proceed with deliberation." 
 
 Just at that moment the tavern bell rang for break 
 fast. No matter what the people of a remote village 
 may be doing, or what question the wise and ancient 
 heads of the municipality may be discussing, the ring 
 ing of the tavern bell calls an instant halt. It is the 
 
32 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 voice announcing the crawl rather than the flight of 
 time, and in a village the fact that one hour has suc 
 ceeded another hour is a great thing to know. 
 
 The Justice and the Mayor went home to breakfast, 
 and afterward, when they returned to renew their in 
 vestigations, they found the office open. The Mayor 
 was the first to enter; and he had advanced but a few 
 feet beyond the threshold when he staggered back 
 against the Justice, close upon his heels. And then the 
 two men stood gaping in astonishment. At the desk 
 sat a handsome young woman. 
 
 "We we are looking for A. C. Jonnett," the Mayor 
 stammered. 
 
 "I am that person," replied the young woman, ris 
 ing, and sweetly smiling. 
 
 " What ! " the Justice gasped. " You don t mean to 
 say that you are a lawyer? " 
 
 " I don t only mean to say it, I do say it." 
 
 " But I never heard of such a thing !" 
 
 " Perhaps not ; and there are doubtless many other 
 things you never heard of." 
 
 " I don t know about that, miss. But there are a 
 great many things I have heard of, and one of them is 
 an honored Judge whose memory - 
 
 " That will do," she interrupted, raising her hand. 
 " I have heard of the Judge, and I respect his memory 
 far more than you do. I have read his books and ad- 
 
THE BRICK OFFICE. 33 
 
 mire the keenness of his mind. Have you read his book 
 on the fallacies of circumstantial evidence? " 
 
 " Didn t know he wrote one." 
 
 " I thought not. Did you wish to see me on any 
 other business ? " 
 
 "I believe not," said the Mayor. He turned toward 
 the door, his friend moving with him, but halted, faced 
 about, and said : 
 
 " You surely don t mean that you are going to prac 
 tice law in this town ? " 
 
 "Yes; that s my business." 
 
 "But the people here never heard of such a thing 
 as a woman lawyer, and you might stay here for forty 
 years and never get a case." 
 
 " Well, I ll try it forty years, and at the end of 
 that time I may be able to decide whether or not to 
 settle here permanently." 
 
 " Gosh ! but you ve got nerve." 
 
 And laughing at him, she replied : 
 
 "Gosh ! I need it." 
 
 " I reckon you do. But," he added, giving his com 
 panion an odd wink, " even if it was common for wo 
 men to practice at the bar you are too pretty for a 
 lawyer." 
 
 " I have seen better looking criminals than lawyers," 
 she replied, smiling. 
 
 The two men strode away. The report that the new 
 
34 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 lawyer was a woman was spread about, and so large a 
 crowd was soon collected about her door that the young 
 woman closed her establishment and went to the tavern. 
 The proprietor apologized to her for the ill-behavior of 
 his town, and on the way to her room she halted long 
 enough to say : " O, the novelty will wear out by the 
 time I m elected prosecuting attorney for this district." 
 And the landlord, grinning as he passed on, said he 
 reckoned it " mout " a good while before that time. 
 
 The next day was Sunday. The new lawyer went 
 to church, to be stared at, and preached at. She sat 
 far back toward the door, and the hemming and hawing 
 of the minister were testimony of the annoyance he 
 felt at beholding the honored members of his flock 
 twisting their necks to gaze at the astounding novelty, 
 a female barrister. She conducted herself with simple 
 dignity, paying respectful attention to the sermon, and 
 when the services were done she walked straightway 
 to the hotel. About the church door a crowd gathered 
 to discuss her, and in the midst of this idle assembly 
 stood the old Justice of the Peace. He was more than 
 honestly worried he was sorely distressed. His im 
 portance had long hung upon his reminiscences of the 
 old Judge, and by common consent he had taken charge 
 of the great man s memory, sole executor of the es 
 tate, bonds and mortgages of recollection and thus to 
 be intruded upon was a fetching blow. If the intruder 
 
THE BRICK OFFICE. 35 
 
 were only a man, come with the defiance of a man s 
 J strength, procedure would be clear ; but, instead, he 
 was confronted by a young and winsome woman. 
 However, his duty lay before him, like a straight path, 
 and he had but one course to pursue. He would make 
 it so unpleasant for the woman that she would soon va 
 cate the old office, if not the town. The Circuit Judge 
 was his friend, and that morning they held a long con 
 ference ; and now, as he stood in the middle of that 
 idle throng, bare of his hat, with the sun beating upon 
 his ancient head, he looked about him until his eyes 
 fell upon the Mayor s face, and then he said : 
 
 " Speakin in the nature of a parable, I may say that 
 there is more ways than one of killin a dog when you 
 ain t got a rope to hang him with. And I want it un 
 derstood that I don t mean nothin personal, and, fur 
 thermore, that there ain t a man in all this community 
 that s fonder of ladies society than I am. Do you fol- 
 ler me ? " he added, nodding at the Mayor. 
 
 "Bumpin up agin your heels," the Mayor an 
 swered. 
 
 " I thought so. No, sir ; you might git on a pert 
 hoss and ride all day and not find a man that likes the 
 ladies better than I do. And the fact that I have been 
 married three times is proof of the fact. Now, I know 
 that you gentlemen are all interested in what I m 
 doin , so I ll keep no secrets from you. I went over to 
 
36 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 see the Circuit Judge this mornin , and he tells me that 
 the young woman has got the right to practice in his 
 court, and worse than that, she can t by any due proc 
 ess of law be got out of the brick office ; but there is a 
 recourse. The Judge don t like the idea of a woman 
 practicin law, and well, in fact, he ll make it in- 
 terestin for her from the very jump. Court opens to 
 morrow mornin , and I want all you gentlemen to be 
 there." 
 
 When court assembled the next day Attorney Jon- 
 nett, duly enrolled, took her seat with the other law 
 yers ; and when the Judge, following the usual polite 
 custom, asked the members of the bar, one by one, if 
 they had any motion to make, A. C. Jonnett, in a sweet 
 voice, answered : " No motion, your Honor." 
 
 A few unimportant cases were taken up and set 
 aside, and then work on the criminal docket was begun. 
 The first case was that of a young man named Elliott. 
 He had been indicted on a charge of stealing $20. He 
 was tall, pale, nervous, with an intellectual expression 
 of countenance. He was a stranger, had not been able 
 to give bond, and for more than two months he had 
 lain in jail ; and now, as he had not the money where 
 with to employ counsel, it was the Judge s duty to ap 
 point a lawyer to defend him. He was guilty, of 
 course, and such an appointment was a genial farce, 
 but it was the law. The Judge looked about until his 
 
THE BRICK OFFICE. 37 
 
 stern eye rested upon Attorney Jonnett. His look 
 was interpreted, and a titter went about the room. 
 The young woman blushed slightly, and the old Jus 
 tice, nudging the Mayor, whispered : 
 
 " This here is the beginnin of her embarrassment in 
 this town. I like the ladies society, understand " 
 
 " We must have silence ! " the Judge demanded : 
 then he appointed Agnes C. Jonnett to defend the 
 prisoner. 
 
 Now there was no red of confusion on her face. She 
 was pale and courageous. She went over to the pris 
 oner and sat down beside him ; she went to the hotel- 
 keeper, and shortly afterward had the defendant s bond 
 fixed. She announced that the defense was not ready 
 for trial, and was given three days for preparation. 
 During that time she worked day and night, and when 
 the case was called she was ready. Her examination 
 of the witnesses was sharp, and the prosecuting attor 
 ney gave her many a look of antagonistic admiration. 
 Finally, the argument was begun, and then she sur 
 prised the court. Her command of language was ex 
 quisite ; she was impassioned, and upon a backwoods 
 jury passion falls with the grace of a gospel. She 
 wrung tears from the eyes of those rough but soft 
 hearted men ; she threw upon them a hypnotic spell of 
 pathos ; she convinced them that the young man was 
 innocent, and a verdict of not guilty was brought in. 
 
38 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 The tavern bell was ringing as she left the courtroom. 
 Some one spoke to her. She looked up and recognized 
 the old Justice. 
 
 "Miss, I reckon I am about as good a critic as you d 
 find in a day s ride mout ride a pert hoss from sun to 
 sun and not find a keener one and I want to say that 
 you made as good a speech as I ever heard." 
 
 " I thank you, sir." 
 
 " O, not at all. You proved that young fellow s in 
 nocence beyond a doubt ; and he can settle right down 
 and live here if he wants to." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that," she replied, walk 
 ing along with him. At first I thought him guilty, 
 but now I know he is not. And, by the way, he is go 
 ing to settle down here. He is a doctor." 
 
 "You don t say so? He didn t look it. But when 
 a man gets down in the world, and lays in jail awhile, 
 he don t look much of anything. Fust thing we 
 knowed of him he was pokin round here like he was 
 sorter daft. By the way," he added, halting at the 
 corner of the street, " I want to tell you not to give 
 yourself no uneasiness about that brick office. You 
 may stay there as long as you want to. I ve done my 
 duty by the old Judge, and that s all anybody can do." 
 
 Elliott began the practice of medicine. He had been 
 graduated from a well-known institution, and was 
 really a skillful physician. But concerning himself he 
 
THE BRICK OFFICE. 39 
 
 was strangely silent. One day he successfully per 
 formed a startling surgical operation and the country 
 side rang with his name. Every day his buggy was 
 stopped in front of the little brick office, and a smile 
 always welcomed him. He called one night when 
 Agnes was late at work. That day his buggy had not 
 stopped, and laughingly he said he had called to ex 
 plain. 
 
 "Look here," he broke out, taking a seat near her 
 desk, "do you know that this is our anniversary ? " 
 
 " Our anniversary ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " One year ago to-day you saved me from prison." 
 
 " O ! " was all she said, looking down. 
 
 " And now, looking back, it seems that I never lived 
 until then I was born that day, for with your smile 
 came the sweet breath of life." 
 
 "Flatterer! " she said. 
 
 "No, a rare example gratitude." She looked at 
 him, and in her glance was a thrilling question. 
 " More than gratitude," he hastened to say. 
 
 " What can be more than gratitude ? " 
 
 "Love," he answered. 
 
 A soft wind came out of the woods, and the tin sign 
 swung on the old arm of the post. They stood by the 
 
40 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 desk, and his arm was about her. Suddenly he took it 
 away, stepped back, and folded his arms. 
 
 " Agnes, I have made a sweet confession, and now I 
 must make a bitter one. I was guilty." 
 
 " What ? " she cried, drawing back. 
 
 "Listen to me. I stole the $20. I came here a 
 vagabond, not knowing whither I went a victim of 
 morphine. I was moneyless. All night I raved. I 
 thought I should go mad ; I was mad, and at morning 
 I stole the money and ran away to get the drug. I 
 got it, and then the awful sense of my crime came upon 
 me, and when they found me I was in a fence corner 
 praying, with my mother s voice throbbing in my ears. 
 They took me to jail, and there, with the determination 
 of one inspired, I lessened my allowance of morphine 
 until I cured myself. Yes, I cured my body, and in 
 the sight of God you cured my soul. Long ago I re 
 funded three times the amount of the theft sent it 
 
 anonymously. And now, Agnes " 
 
 She held out her hands to him. 
 
THE GREEK GOD BARBER. 
 
 BOCAGE and a friend went into a barber shop, and 
 when they came out, Bocage remarked : " Those bar 
 bers in there are about as distinguished looking a set 
 of fellows as I ever saw. The one that shaved you 
 might easily be taken for a United States Senator, 
 while the one who condescended to accommodate me 
 could serve as a faultless model for a Greek god. I 
 think that if I had a jury composed of such material, I 
 could make a speech that would charm back to rosy 
 life the long cold and dusty ear of Cicero." 
 
 " Bocage," said the friend, " for a man who hopes to 
 make his living by the laying down of dull law, you 
 are the silliest sentimentalist I have ever seen. I laid 
 a wager some time ago that a sudden outcropping of 
 this trait would one day get you in trouble. You can t 
 go even into a barber shop, the place, perhaps, for sar 
 casm, but never for sentiment, without having your 
 fancy aroused." 
 
 "Perhaps I should have been a poet," Bocage an 
 swered, dodging a cab. 
 
 " But don t you think that selling flowers instead of 
 
 (41) 
 
42 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 trying to give them voice, lies closer to the scope of 
 your abilities ? " 
 
 " That s all right, old fellow, you may guy me as 
 much as you please, but you can not alter the fact that 
 the man who shaved me looks like a Greek god; and 
 how easy it would be for him, although he may be as 
 ignorant as a guinea-pig, to go to some fashionable 
 watering place and pass himself off as a distinguished 
 personage, marry the handsomest girl in the country. 
 Well, I must leave you here." 
 
 " Going out of town, are you?" 
 
 " Yes, going to Lake Minnetonka for a few weeks." 
 
 The evening was charming. The air was as soft as 
 a whispered sentiment. Music, refined into an echo, 
 floated across the lake ; well-dressed men and fashion 
 able women promenaded on the long veranda of a 
 summer hotel. Bocage had smoked himself into senti- 
 mental listlessness and was sitting apart from the slowly 
 moving throng. Suddenly he became wide awake. A 
 beautiful girl, on the arm of a Greek god model, passed 
 him. 
 
 " There s my barber," he said to himself. I will 
 watch him, and when the proper time comes, I will 
 send him back to his shop. I have been here two 
 weeks and no one has paid any particular attention to 
 
THE GREEK GOD BARBER. 43 
 
 me, but here comes a barber and becomes at once a 
 champion of beauty. I will follow the fellow." 
 
 He followed along with well-disguised aimlessness, 
 until he met the proprietor of the hotel. "Captain," 
 said he, " who is that nice looking man walking with 
 that beautiful girl ?" 
 
 The captain, after looking a moment, asked, "Do you 
 mean that tall, young fellow and blondish girl ? 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why, he is a Mr. Stockbridge, of Lexington, Ken 
 tucky, and she is Miss Ambridge, of Baltimore." 
 
 " I wonder if they have known each other long." 
 
 " That I can t say. I believe, however, that they 
 met for the first time several nights ago." 
 
 " I should like to be presented." 
 
 " Well, that can be arranged easily enough. Yonder 
 is her father. I ll introduce you to him." 
 
 Bocage was presented to Mr. Ambridge, and found 
 him to be an exceedingly pleasant old gentleman, with 
 a remarkably unworldly air. 
 
 " May I ask what business you are engaged in ? " 
 Bocage asked. 
 
 " Your question is perfectly proper," said the old 
 gentleman, noticing that his new acquaintance was 
 slightly embarrassed. "I am not really in any busi 
 ness, being the rector of one of the leading churches of 
 our city. I have come hither for rest, having done 
 
44 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 much labor of late. This is my first visit to this de 
 lightful spot, having hitherto spent my vacations at the 
 seaside." 
 
 "Did you come alone?" 
 
 "No, my daughter is with me. She has just re 
 turned from Home, whither she went to study art ; not 
 that she purposes to follow painting as a means of live 
 lihood, but to indulge the longing of the purest of all 
 sentiment. She is coming now." 
 
 " That er excuse me but that handsome lady 
 with the tall young man ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "A friend of the family, I suppose." 
 
 " Well, no. A comparatively new acquaintance." 
 
 "I should like to be presented. Of course, I am a 
 stranger to you, but the proprietor of this hotel, a man, 
 as you doubtless know, of eminent respectability, will 
 vouch for my standing." 
 
 Bocage was presented ; the barber scanned him closely. 
 Bocage felt the blood of triumph surging through his 
 veins. He would let the fellow play awhile, and then 
 he would reel him in. After dinner Bocage sought 
 Stockbridge and asked him if he would not take a 
 stroll. Stockbridge hesitated a moment and then said 
 that he would. They walked along the beach. 
 
 "Where are you from, Mr. Stockbridge?" 
 
 " Kentucky." 
 
THE GREEK GOD BARBER. 45 
 
 " Have you lived there long ? " 
 
 " I was born there, but I have been away so much 
 that I know but little of the State." 
 
 " Foreign travel ? " Bocage asked. 
 
 Stockbridge hesitated a moment, and then replied : 
 
 " No, not exactly, although I have been in Mexico a 
 good deal." 
 
 " You are pretty well acquainted with our own 
 country, I should think." 
 
 " Well, no, I can t say that I am." 
 
 " You have been in Chicago, I presume." 
 
 " Why do you presume so ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don t know, except that nearly every Ameri 
 can visits Chicago sooner or later." 
 
 " I have been in Chicago." 
 
 " Yes, I ll bet you have," Bocage mused. 
 
 " But it is too rushing for my nerves," Stockbridge 
 continued. 
 
 " Yes, it is rushing, but it has many advantages over 
 a quieter place. Our hotels are great, and it is said 
 that our barber shops can t be beaten." 
 
 u Suppose we return to the hotel," said Stockbridge. 
 " I have an engagement." 
 
 They returned to the hotel. / Bocage went to his 
 room, and when he came down he saw the barber and 
 Miss Ambridge sitting on the veranda. He joined 
 them, expressing a hope that he did not intrude. 
 
46 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 "Oh, not in the least," said the young lady. "I 
 have just been trying to convince Mr. Stockbridge that 
 he ought to read Arnold s Light of the World, and I 
 trust that you will come to my assistance." 
 
 " As a man of taste, he should read that great work," 
 Bocage answered. He had never read it had 
 merely glanced at its skeleton printed in a newspaper. 
 "I am very fond of it," he continued, " and think that 
 it is really better than the Light of Asia. " 
 
 " I can hardly agree with you there," said Miss Am- 
 briclge. " The Light of Asia being more paganish is, 
 to my mind, more poetic. Christianity has not im 
 proved poetry, although it has blessed the world. 
 Poetry, in its truest and sublimest sense, is the light of 
 the dawn, and not the glare of noontide. Do you agree 
 with me, Mr. Stockbridge ? " 
 
 " Well, I don t know much about it ; to tell you the 
 truth, I never read much poetry, except in the news 
 papers. I like a good book, such as Allen Quarter- 
 main. " 
 
 " Oh, no," cried the girl ; " say Lorna Doone. " 
 
 " I never read that." 
 
 " Then you have missed the sweetest novel in the 
 English language," said Bocage, who had struggled up 
 to the great snow-storm and had then put down the 
 book and taken up " She." 
 
 " Well, I don t know about that," Stockbridge re- 
 
THE GREEK GOD BARBER. 47 
 
 plied. ",I reckon a man reads the books that suit him 
 best, and I guess his taste in reading is pretty much the 
 same as it is in music. He likes what he does like and 
 that s about all there is to it." 
 
 "You are right," said Bocage. " Take opera, for in 
 stance. Some people like one opera and some another. 
 One man will go into ecstasies over ; Otello, while 
 another is perfectly satisfied with the Barber of 
 Seville. " 
 
 " Will you please excuse me a moment ? " Stock- 
 bridge asked, rising. 
 
 " Yes," said the girl ; " but you won t stay long, will 
 you?" 
 
 " No, not long." 
 
 "Isn t he grand and delightful?" she remarked, 
 when the barber, not of Seville, but of Chicago, had 
 withdrawn. 
 
 " Yes," said Bocage, " he is a very nice-looking man ; 
 rather neat, too." 
 
 "Neat doesn t express it," the girl replied, "he is so 
 noble-looking." 
 
 " What business is he engaged in ? " 
 
 " Well, I don t know that he is in any business, but 
 his father is the owner of a fine blue-grass farm and has 
 many blooded horses, I understand." 
 
 " Did he say so ? " 
 
 " Yes, or I should not have known it." 
 
48 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 li Humph," Bocage grunted. 
 
 " But do you doubt it, Mr. Bocage ? " 
 
 " Suppose I should say that I have reason for doubt 
 ing it?" 
 
 " Oh, but I don t see how you can have reason for 
 saying so. He has conducted himself as a perfect gen 
 tleman ever since I met him and I have no cause for 
 doubting his word." 
 
 " He has conducted himself as a gentleman so far as 
 I know, and yet I have cause to doubt his word. Now, 
 I am going to say something for your own good. I saw 
 you with that man and I was at once interested in your 
 behalf and was determined to warn you. Mind you, I 
 shall say nothing against the man s calling, for it is a 
 necessary one, but I despise his pretense. He is simply 
 a Chicago barber." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bocage, you ought to be ashamed of your 
 self." 
 
 " I am telling the truth. He works in a Dearborn 
 street shop and shaved me the day I left Chicago. 
 He s coming back. I must bid you good-night." 
 
 The next morning when Bocage came down, Stock- 
 bridge was waiting for him. " Let me see you a mo 
 ment," said the barber. 
 
 " Am I next ? " Bocage sarcastically asked. 
 
 44 You are next so far as I am concerned. What 
 
THE GREEK GOD BARBER. 49 
 
 have you been telling Miss Ambriclge about me?" 
 Stockbridge asked, drawing Bocage aside. 
 
 " I suppose you know." 
 
 " Yes, I know, for she told me. You say that I am 
 a Chicago barber." 
 
 " And I acknowledge that you are a good one. I 
 don t care how much you enjoy yourself or how high 
 you aspire, but I despise pretense. If you had come 
 here without any disguise, I should have well, I 
 haven t time to talk to you." 
 
 "But I have time to talk and to act unless you make 
 proper amends. You must go to that young lady and 
 tell her that you are a liar." 
 
 " Mind how you talk, or I shall not be responsible 
 for my action. Tell her that I am a liar, indeed, when 
 I couldn t even tell her that I was mistaken. You 
 know, as well as you know anything, that you shaved 
 me not long ago." 
 
 "I will give you until noon to apologize to that 
 lady." 
 
 " Why apologize to her ? I have said nothing about 
 her." 
 
 44 No matter, you have slandered her future husband." 
 
 4 Now, look here," said Bocage, 44 you can t bluff me. 
 I won t have it. If the girl is a mind to marry you af 
 ter what I have said, all right." 
 
 44 Even if I had shaved you " 
 
 4 
 
50 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Which you did." 
 
 " Well, then, don t you think that you have acted the 
 part of a coward ? " 
 
 " No, I think I have acted the part of a man in ex 
 posing a fellow who is seeking to deceive a trusting girl." 
 
 " All right. Do you think, though, that you will 
 be ready by noon to acknowledge to Miss Ambridge 
 that you are a liar ? " 
 
 " I am as ready now as I shall ever be." 
 
 " I will give you until noon." 
 
 " By noon," said Bocage, as he strode off, " he will 
 be gone. I rather like his gall. Why, helloa, judge ! " 
 he suddenly exclaimed, springing forward and seizing 
 the hand of an elderly-looking gentleman. " When did 
 you arrive ? " 
 
 " Just now." 
 
 " How s everything in Louisville ? " 
 
 " Oh, moving along smoothly. I am looking for 
 Louis Stockbridge, of Lexington." 
 
 4< Ah, have you met him ? " 
 
 " Not since I came here, but I have known him a long 
 time his father is an old friend of mine." 
 
 " Can it be possible ! " Bocage exclaimed. 
 
 " It must be possible when it is already a fact. 
 What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, I took that man Stockbridge to be a 
 Chicago barber." 
 
THE GREEK GOD BARBER. 51 
 
 " You d better not tell him so." 
 
 " But I have told him so and he has given me until 
 noon to apologize to to the young lady. It is all 
 mixed up." 
 
 " Well, then, you d better straighten it out by making 
 the amplest apology within the range of retraction s 
 most persuasive language." 
 
 " I must be a fool. By George ! I would have sworn 
 that he was a barber. Yonder he comes. I don t like 
 to apologize here, unless I can do it quietly. There are 
 too many people looking." 
 
 Stockbridge and the judge cordially greeted each 
 other and then Bocage stepped up. " My dear sir," 
 said he, " I have made an egregious blunder " 
 
 " I think so," replied Stockbridge, " and I have de 
 cided not to give you until noon," and, wheeling 
 Bocage about, he kicked him off the veranda. 
 
 ***** # 
 
 The next day while Bocage was walking along Dear 
 born street, he glanced into a barber shop and saw a 
 man that looked like a Greek god rubbing the swollen 
 head of a drunken Swede. 
 
UGLY RACHEL. 
 
 IN the Cumberland mountains, near a much-traveled 
 road, and not far from a stream that seemed to exist in 
 a succession of accidental tumblings, there once lived 
 an old man who held natural claims to local distinction, 
 but who was chiefly known for one cause. He was a 
 wonderful rifle shot, but this brought him no fame ; he 
 was one of the most skillful of fishermen, but this 
 aroused not the slightest degree of interest ; he was a 
 dangerous opponent in a wrestle ; a champion at a 
 corn-shucking ; a notably solemn man at a funeral ; a 
 marked rejoicer at a celebration ; an astonishing breaker 
 of colts ; a master of stubborn steers, and the terror of 
 balky horses, and yet all these accomplishments, any 
 t\vo of which are quite enough to bring renown to a 
 man in almost any mountain community, were disre 
 garded. Why, then, was he known to all ? Simply 
 because he was the father of Rachel Moss. It had often 
 been declared by men of keen judgment and women of 
 unerring taste, that Rachel was the most unattractive, 
 indeed, the ugliest girl that nature could possibly form. 
 
 She had the hayest-like hair, the catist-like eyes that 
 (52) 
 
UGLY RACHEL. 53 
 
 had ever been seen ; her mouth looked like an incision 
 made in impulsive revenge, and her chin was the very 
 climax of ill-shape. No imagination could picture a 
 more unattractive woman. 
 
 Naturally enough, Rachel was never invited into 
 " society." No one seemed to think that there could 
 possibly be any enjoyment for her. Once a young 
 fellow, who, in early youth had been struck on the head 
 with a stone and who had afterward been nearly 
 squeezed to death by a bear, a man who, in short, was 
 a jabbering idiot, chattered a declaration of love 
 to her, and every one who heard of it roared with 
 laughter. 
 
 Old man Moss, Rachel s father, took summer board 
 ers, but the girl never attempted to force her presence 
 upon them. When not engaged in the kitchen, or when 
 not shyly picking her way along the tumbling stream, 
 she sat alone in an attic room. 
 
 One evening a distinguished looking traveler stopped 
 at the old Moss house. He was an artist and at one 
 time had dreamed of fame, but the unexpected in 
 heritance of a large estate and the ease which naturally 
 followed, turned his mind from the thoughts of a 
 struggle for a place in the capricious world of art. He 
 had passed through seasons of dissipation and was now 
 seeking rest far from the exacting eye of fashion. He 
 paid no attention to the other boarders he lived 
 
54 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 within himself. The days passed, and although he 
 politely answered every question addressed to him, he 
 avoided meeting any one. After a time he was put 
 down as a man suffering from the guawings of remorse 
 
 One day he caught the sight of Rachel. His first 
 impression was a shudder of repulsion, and then moved 
 by a strange fascination, he sought a better view of her 
 face, which, when gained, made him yearn to get a 
 closer look at her features. The dinner hour was over 
 and the boarders sat in the shade of the porch, nodding. 
 The woodpecker, with his red head glaring in the sun 
 light, tapped on the dead arm of a white oak tree, and 
 a ragged sheep, with her eyes bulging in a melancholy 
 stare, stood in the dusty road. Rachel slyly stole 
 away, and sought the cool brink of the hurrying stream. 
 The artist followed her. She had gone some distance 
 up the rugged glade, and, pausing under an over-cup 
 acorn tree, was looking at a wild honeysuckle that 
 trembled under the weight of a humming-bird, when she 
 heard a stone splash in the water. The next moment 
 she had turned to run away, when the artist scrambled 
 out of the stream, whither a treacherous bowlder had 
 thrown him and cried: 
 
 " Please wait a moment." 
 
 She paused, though with painful embarrassment, un 
 til he approached, and, half hiding her face, waited for 
 him to speak. 
 
UGLY RACHEL. 55 
 
 " If the water had been deeper I should have had a 
 good ducking," said he. " I am not as dry as a pow 
 der-horn, as it is." 
 
 "I am sorry you fell in," she answered. 
 
 " Oh, it doesn t amount to anything," he cheerfully 
 replied. " We live in the same house, I believe ? " he 
 continued after a pause. 
 
 " Yes, I am Mr. Moss* daughter." 
 
 " I didn t know he had a daughter." 
 
 " Then you have not heard of me ? " 
 
 "No, I have heard of nothing concerning the family 
 affairs of any one in this neighborhood." 
 
 " You have been fortunate," she said, with the merest 
 suggestion of bitterness in the tone of her voice. " I 
 didn t suppose that any one could escape hearing an ac 
 count of my father s unfortunate celebrity." 
 
 " I don t comprehend your meaning," he rejoined. 
 u ls your father celebrated on account of a misfor 
 tune?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And may I ask what that misfortune is?" 
 
 " The fact that he is my father," she answered. 
 
 " But why is that a misfortune ? " 
 
 " Can t you see ? " she bitterly asked, throwing aside, 
 with unwonted boldness, her old sun bonnet, and ex 
 posing every feature of her face. " Don t you see 
 that it is because I am unrivalled in my ugliness? 
 
56 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 Come, be honest enough to acknowledge that you do 
 
 see." 
 
 "I confess that you may be without a rival in your 
 
 unenvied line of distinction, but I can t see why the 
 
 old man should be held accountable." 
 
 " Oh, your honesty is charming," she cried, laughing 
 
 merrily ; I never encountered such frankness outside 
 
 a book." 
 
 " You know something of books, then, do you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have been driven into an acquaintance with 
 
 them. You must know that among ignorant people 
 much depends upon looks. Intelligence counts fur 
 nothing, and cultivation is looked upon as a weakness 
 or rather as an insanity. An old school teacher 
 boarded at our house years ago, and filled our attic 
 now my attic with books. He was kind enough, or 
 tolerant enough, to teach me, and when he died, he left 
 me his books. That is, he was unable to take them 
 with him, and as no one else wanted them they became 
 my property. If I had been passably good looking, I 
 should doubtless have never looked into them, but as 
 my face was my physical misfortune I was driven to 
 the attic for my only real pleasure. I know but little 
 of the neighborhood gossip, and, therefore, have but 
 little to say to the neighbors. In fact, I am ashamed to 
 talk to ignorant people." 
 
UGLY RACHEL. 57 
 
 " I must thank you for the compliment you are now 
 paying me," said the artist. 
 
 " Oh, you are under no obligations whatever. But 
 to tell you the truth I am surprised that I should talk 
 so freely to you, a total stranger. I suppose, though, 
 we all have our moods. If I had seen you sooner, I 
 should have run away/ 
 
 "I m glad you didn t, for I am in need of your 
 society, although I am not so very bookish. I have de 
 voted my life to the study of art." 
 
 " There }^ou have a decided advantage of me," she 
 answered. " I know nothing whatever of art, except 
 what I have read." 
 
 " In that event you know as much as most people, 
 for there are thousands of pretended art critics who do 
 not even read about it. By the way, I have become 
 interested in you." 
 
 " Thank you. I will attempt to make better bread 
 after this." 
 
 "I am serious," he earnestly declared. 
 
 " So am I," she replied. " There is nothing more 
 serious than making bread." 
 
 " Come, now, don t guy me ; don t make fun of me." 
 
 " I don t think I can make anything of you more 
 than you are." 
 
 "That s a compliment, or it isn t, I don t know 
 
58 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 which ; but, really, I am interested in you and have a 
 favor to ask." 
 
 44 What is it?" 
 
 " That you will meet me here every day." 
 
 "But I should like to know why." 
 
 "I can t tell you now I will some other time." 
 
 "I can t promise." 
 
 " But will you meet me here to-morrow ? " 
 
 44 Yes, I will promise that, but I don t know why. 
 Indeed, if I had been told an hour ago that I should 
 ever have agreed to meet any one, and especially a man, 
 I well, I could not have thought such a thing possible. 
 I must go now." 
 
 The artist sat for a time gazing after her and then he 
 gave himself up to meditation. He was interested in 
 her more deeply interested than he had ever been in 
 any human being. " I will paint her portrait," he had 
 mused while talking to her. " From the very child 
 hood of art down to its unrevered gray hairs to-day, 
 the artist has sought in high and low life, the beautiful 
 face that should on his canvas, carry his name down 
 through 4 all time to come. Why should not I reverse 
 this order why should not those ugly features bear 
 my name to generations yet to come ? I will win her 
 consent and will paint a true portrait, which, in com 
 parison, shall show 4 Medusa as a joy for ever, being 
 so truly a thing of beauty." 
 
UGLY RACHEL. m 59 
 
 He sat there deeply meditating, and to him there 
 came back, as if an anxious hour of the necessitous 
 past had stepped into the prosperous and easy present, 
 a dream of fame, a dream so vivid and intense that he 
 shook with agitation. 
 
 The next day he was sitting on that same rock, 
 when Rachel came. "I don t know why I am so 
 prompt," she said. "In fact, I don t know why I 
 have come at all, yet something seemed to be drawing 
 me." 
 
 His blood leaped. Fate herself was aiding him. " I 
 should have been greatly disappointed if you hadn t 
 come," he answered. " Isn t the day lovely ? " 
 
 44 Yes, it falls upon the earth like God s beneficent 
 smile." He looked up quickly, and wished that he 
 could have thrown her face upon the canvas at that mo 
 ment. He asked her to name her favorite books, and 
 for more than an hour he sat listening to the passionate 
 praise which she bestowed upon her friends, and at 
 times he fancied himself attempting to paint her words. 
 Once he thought to tell her of the intended portrait, 
 but discretion whispered that the time was not yet in 
 full bloom. 
 
 Day after day they met under the over-cup acorn 
 tree. The time was in full bloom and he said : 
 " Rachel, I have another great favor to ask of you, the 
 greatest that I could possibly ask." 
 
60 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Is it that I might still farther improve in my bread 
 making? " 
 
 " Will you never forbear to ridicule me ? What do 
 I care for bread ? Bread may be the staff of life, but 
 art is the wing of the soul. I want to paint a portrait 
 of you; want to paint you just as you are, so that in 
 after years I can look upon your face and bring up 
 these surroundings." 
 
 She laughed. He looked up in surprise. "A 
 miracle has been wrought," she said. "A man has 
 cultivated me for my face alone. Yes, you may paint 
 my picture, for your poorest work can but flatter me ; 
 but I shall name the conditions. The picture must be 
 painted here, and at no time must you work on it after 
 I have told you to stop." 
 
 " The conditions are satisfactory, Rachel. I will be 
 gin to-morrow." 
 
 Day after day she sat for him. Sometimes, with his 
 brush just ready to touch the canvas, he would pause 
 and listen to her as if her words were the unexpected 
 wild-wood notes, and sometimes, when she seemed to be 
 inspired with poetry, he would turn away from his work 
 and in a tranquil rapture gaze upon her. One day he 
 touched the canvas and, throwing down his brush, ex 
 claimed: 
 
 " God in Heaven, it is beautiful." It was the picture 
 of a divine face the features of an angel. " Rachel," 
 
UGLY RACHEL. 61 
 
 he cried, " I have painted your soul. See," it sprang 
 from the canvas like a burst of light. " Look, girl, I 
 have caught a face fresh from Heaven s mould. It is 
 your soul, girl, it is your soul ! Look, Rachel ! " He 
 ran to her and started back in horror. She was life 
 less, and his brush had caught the image of her passing 
 soul. 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 John Radfleld, general inspector American Express 
 Company ; Harvey Gray, a handsome deaf mute ; 
 Nick Bowles, a detective ; Nat Morris, son of widow ; 
 Jerry, colored man of all work; Widow Morris; 
 Laura, pretty daughter of widow; Harriet, old maid 
 daughter of widow. 
 
 ACT I. 
 TIME, THE PKESENT. 
 
 SCENE Farm house of widow, turned into summer re 
 sort, Northern Illinois. Parlor, plainly furnished, old me- 
 lodeon or piano, center table, sofa, rocking chairs, several 
 upholstered chairs, simple pictures on wall, door C, small 
 mirror on wall L, blind fireplace L covered ivith screen, 
 poker decorated with a ribbon leaning against wall near 
 screen. Curtain rises discovering Laura sitting on sofa ; 
 Jerry, with hat wadded in his hand, standing near the door 
 as if about to go out. 
 
 JERRY An ez I wus sayin ter myse f, ef dat man 
 Mr. Radfield has got so much money, w y doan he go 
 ober yander ter de hotel dat da built cross de lake ? 
 
 (62) 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 63 
 
 Ef I had money like da say he has, you wouldn t see 
 me roostin on de groun ; huh, see me up in de highest 
 tree. But I doan know whuther he got money or not ; 
 he ain t come showin me none. 
 
 LAURA (smiling ) People don t usually go round 
 showing their money. 
 
 JERRY (jolting himself with a laugh) He doan, an 
 dat s er fack. But whut s de matter wid dat uder 
 ge nerman ? 
 
 LAURA Who, Mr. Gray? Why, he is a deaf 
 mute. 
 
 JERRY Huh, an I reckon dat s de reason he kain t 
 talk. Now ain t dat er mighty bad fix fur er person 
 ter be in ? Pear ter me like ef I couldn t talk I d jest 
 hatter hatter talk anyhow ; jest couldn t keep from 
 it. Dar ain t nuthin dat could keep me frum it, I tell 
 you, caze when I gits mad it it it jest talks itse f. 
 Wall, I must be gwine now. I clar I so busy I doan 
 know what ter do fust. An do you know dat yo sis 
 ter come er callin me lazy ? Yas, she did. Come woke 
 me up whar I wuz lyin er sleep out dar under er apple 
 tree jest ter call me lazy. Dat wan t no way ter act, 
 an says I, " gone way frum yere, chile, an doan fool 
 wid me caze I se dangus." Yas, I mus go, now. 
 
 LAURA Well, why don t you go on? 
 
 JERRY Who, me? Now you ain t goin ter turn er 
 gin me, is you ? I neber seed sich times ez dese yere. 
 
64 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 Eber body tellin you ter go on now. An I m gwine, 
 too. Wall, I must go. Whut you want ter keep 
 lioldin me yere fur ? 
 
 LAURA (with pretended anger} You trifling rascal, 
 I m not holding you. Go on. 
 
 JERRY Dat s whut I said I gwine do. Yere I goes. 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Enter HARVEY GRAY. 
 
 LAURA What a pity it is that he can neither hear 
 nor talk. (Gray takes the rocking chair and turning it 
 toward her, sits down.) Yes, and he is so handsome, too. 
 How sad he looks. They say that it is just as much 
 as he can do to write his name. What a pity. (Sud 
 denly brightening) But what a chance this is for me to 
 say what I please to a man. And, oh, how I can 
 practice on him and say lovely things to him. Oh, 
 how handsome you are ; and I am in love with you. 
 Now, sir, what do you think of that ? Why don t you 
 tell me how delightful it is to have a modest girl tell 
 you of her love ? Poor man, I am sorry for you, and 
 I m going to keep on telling you how much I love 
 you. You are just as sweet as you can be. Why, he s 
 not even looking at me. Never mind, sir. You don t 
 appreciate your good fortune ; you don t know what a 
 precious thing a young girl s love is ; and a handsome 
 girl, too. (Springs from the sofa and humorously poses 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 65 
 
 in front of mirror.) Now you may think that this is 
 vanity, but if you do, you won t say anything about it, 
 will you ? You mustn t because you are my sweet 
 heart, you know. 
 
 Enter Miss HARRIET. 
 
 HARRIET Why, whom are you talking to? 
 
 LAURA Oh, to Mr. Gray. 
 
 HARRIET What a silly goose you are. 
 
 LAURA Why, just because I have taken advantage 
 of the opportunity to say what I please to a man ? I 
 can t let such a privilege slip past me. (Takes hold of 
 Harriet and attempts to waltz with her.) 
 
 HARRIET (freeing herself) For gracious sake stop 
 your foolishness. I never saw such a girl. What must 
 this man think of you, cutting up this way ? 
 
 LAURA It doesn t make any difference what he 
 thinks. He won t say anything about it, will you pre 
 cious ? (to Gray.) 
 
 HARRIET ( with energy) Laura, I m ashamed of 
 you. Go on out there and help mother set the table. 
 
 LAURA (with mock concern) And will you promise 
 not to make love to my sweetheart while I m gone ? 
 
 HARRIET (laughing in spite of all efforts at restraint) 
 Oh, go on with you. You are enough to make a cat 
 laugh. 
 
 LAURA (with assumed surprise) And I have 
 
66 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 tickled my sister, and ray only sister at that. (Hums 
 a tune, waltzes, exit.) 
 
 HARRIET (taking up a book and seating herself on the 
 sofa) I wonder how much longer Mr. Radfield is go 
 ing to stay. He is in love witli Laura and she is a fool 
 if she doesn t marry him. They would live in the 
 city and I could spend the most of my time with them. 
 He likes me ; I can see that. 
 
 The door is partly open. Eadfidd looks in. 
 
 HARRIET (Moving over to one end of the sofa) 
 Come in. 
 
 RADFIELD (entering with dignity and taking a chair, 
 turns his back on Gray, who dreamily sits there, slowly 
 rocking) Rather warm in the sun. (Looks toward the 
 door and perceiving the widow Morris,) Why don t you 
 come in and rest a while, madam ? You are simply 
 working yourself to death. 
 
 WIDOW (entering, seating herself on the sofa beside 
 Harriet and fanning herself) A body does have to 
 scuffle mightily to make a living these days, I tell you. 
 Up this morning by daylight and have been going it 
 ever since. 
 
 RADFIELD (bowing) Pardon me if I obtrude a 
 suggestion, but why don t you insist upon your 
 
 HARRIET Now, Mr. Radfield, you needn t say that 
 we don t help her. Oh, I know what you were going 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 67 
 
 to say (shaking her finger at him), and you needn t say 
 it. Mama knows that we help her all the time. 
 
 RADFIELD (apologetically) Yes, I suppose you do. 
 I was merely joking. But it is a shame that a woman 
 must work so hard. 
 
 WIDOW (still fanning herself) Well, I m glad that 
 there s one man who looks at it that way. They are 
 precious few, goodness knows, and if I were a girl I 
 would not marry a man until he acknowledged ac 
 knowledged well, you know what I mean. I have so 
 many ideas but haven t the language to express them 
 with. 
 
 RADFIELD But you have language enough to dis 
 charge that lazy negro. Why don t you fire him ? 
 
 WIDOW I can t for he did us a great service once, 
 not very long ago. My son Nat fell into the lake and 
 Jerry saved him from drowning, and I can t discharge 
 him on that account and 
 
 RADFIELD (in an undertone) Rather a doubtful serv 
 ice. 
 
 WIDOW (looking inquiringly at him) What did you 
 say, sir? 
 
 RADFIELD I said it was a great service. 
 
 WIDOW Oh, yes indeed, for I don t know what we 
 should do without dear Nat. He is such a good 
 
 (A voice without crying. Haw, o/i, maw) 
 
 WIDOW What is it, my son ? 
 
68 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 N AT (appearing at door) Make Laura gimmy my 
 knife. 
 
 WIDOW Laura, dear, give him his knife. 
 
 LAURA (without) Haven t seen his knife. 
 
 NAT She has, too. First thing she knows I ll whip 
 her, too. All time tryin to run over me. (Enters with 
 his fists doubled, and approaches Jus mother. She reaches 
 up and puts his hair back out of his eyes) 
 
 WIDOW Can t you speak to Mr. Radfield? 
 
 NAT Don t want to speak to him ; ain t got 
 nothin to tell him. 
 
 WIDOW Well, go on out now, and split some stove 
 wood. 
 
 NAT Make Jerry split it. 
 
 JERRY (thrusting his head in at the door) Whut s 
 dat ? Boy, you doan know whut you talkin bout. I 
 I I split wood befo you wuz born, chile. 
 
 RADFIELD And you haven t split any since, have 
 you? 
 
 JERRY (with great indignation) Look yere, white 
 pusson, ain t you feard dat mouth o yourn will go off 
 some time an hurt you? 
 
 WIDOW (with anger) Jerry, you impudent rascal, 
 get away from that door ! Get away this instant. 
 
 JERRY (looking up and down the door) Ain t hurt de 
 do . Lemme see, did I knock a splinter off yere ? No, 
 de do is all right. 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 69 
 
 HARRIET Mr. Radfield, what was that you were 
 telling me yesterday about the moon in the picture ? 
 
 RADFIELD Oh, I was simply telling you about a 
 piece of perfect art. A friend of mine was suddenly 
 stricken with insomnia ; he tried all sorts of remedies, 
 but couldn t sleep. He consulted numerous doctors, 
 but they were unable to do anything for him. He had 
 been a sound sleeper, and the sudden loss of this faculty 
 not only frightened him but puzzled him as well. And 
 finally the cause came out : He had bought a picture 
 and had hung it in his bedroom, and in the picture was 
 a moon, and the moon, being full, shone in his face and 
 robbed him of sleep. 
 
 JERKY Well, (scratching his head) I has been on 
 han at er good many stretches o de truth, but dis yere 
 is er bout de stretchest stretch I eber seed. De moon 
 in de pictur , er haw ! haw ! (Disappears.) 
 
 WIDOW (to Nat) Go on now and wash your face for 
 dinner. 
 
 NAT (frowning ) All time have to wah wash my 
 face. Washed it yesterday. 
 
 RADFIELD I didn t suppose it had been wet since 
 you fell into the lake. 
 
 NAT (moving toward the door) Want you to let me 
 alone, now. All time tryin to run over me. Laura! 
 (calling loudly) want my knife. Goin to hurt you first 
 thing you know, too. Tell this feller that you are in love 
 
70 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 with him the first thing you know (looking at Radfield.) 
 All time taking my knife. (Exit.) 
 
 WIDOW (arising) Well, I must see about dinner. 
 
 HARRIET Want me to help you, mama? 
 
 WIDOW No ; there s but little to do now. (Exit) 
 
 HARRIET (appearing to be much relieved) When you 
 want me to do anything call me. 
 
 Gray arises as if from a doze, walks about the room, 
 looks at the pictures, goes back to the rocking chair, places 
 his hand upon the back of it as if meditating, and suddenly 
 turning leaves the room. 
 
 HARRIET Poor man, what a pity. 
 
 RADFIELD Oh, I don t know about that. He misses 
 . hearing a great many disagreeable things. 
 
 HARRIET But he also misses music, which is the 
 greatest of misfortunes. 
 
 RADFIELD Yes, and he fails to hear the bagpipes 
 when the Scotch have a picnic, and that is a blessing. 
 
 HARRIET What a funny man you are, Mr. Rad 
 field. (Suddenly as if moved by an inspiration) But he 
 hears no word of love, and missing that, life has gone to 
 seed without having bloomed. 
 
 RADFIELD Good, that is, in a poetic way, but he 
 also hears no word of hate and therefore misses the bit 
 terness of the human heart. It is but natural, how 
 ever, you should turn to the poetry of nature, living as 
 you do in the very whisper of nature s secrets ; to you 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 71 
 
 there is a sigh in the wind, a tear in the cloud, a smile 
 in the rays of the sun ; but to people who live in the 
 actual world, the hard, grinding world, there is so much 
 bald necessity that there can be but little beauty, little 
 of the poetry of sweet inference. There, the pleasant 
 man may be the scoundrel and the uncouth and hated 
 person may be the real gentleman. It is only on the 
 stage that the villain wears his principles stamped upon 
 his countenance. 
 
 LAUEA (calling from without) Mr. Radfield, there s 
 a man out here that wants to see you. 
 RADFIELD Tell him to come in. 
 
 Enter Nick Bowels. Bows to Radfield, and then looks to- 
 ivard Harriet. 
 
 HARRIET (arising) I will go and help mother with 
 the dinner. (Exit.) 
 
 BOWLES (Seating himself and leaning toward Rad 
 field) Well, sir, I am here. 
 
 RADFIELD So I see. Now I suppose you thor 
 oughly understand the case. The robbery of the ex 
 press office at Mingago occurred about six months ago. 
 The first thing the agent knew, one night, he saw a 
 man in the room, and the next thing he knew he was 
 lying stunned on the floor. Some 120,000 were taken 
 out, money that had been forwarded a few days before 
 and was consigned to a party of men who had made 
 rather large purchases of land. We put some of the 
 
72 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 very best detectives at work on the case, and one by 
 one they were withdrawn. There is a reward of $5,- 
 
 000 offered, and well, I have discovered a clue. Wait 
 a moment. (Detective leaning eagerly toward him} Yes, 
 
 1 have a clue. I came up here to spend a short va 
 cation, simply because I am tired of large resorts and 
 hotels, and I have improved my time. In this house 
 is a deaf and dumb fellow named Gray. He is the 
 robber. 
 
 BOWLES How do you know ? 
 
 RADFIELD Oh, I don t know for certain, but I be 
 lieve it. I have discovered, no matter how, that the 
 work was done by a deaf mute. And why? He was 
 acting with a gang who wanted an agent that could not 
 well inform on them. As I say, I am not absolutely 
 certain, but a few days more will absolutely settle it. 
 Now you stay about here, and when I give you the 
 word, nab him. 
 
 BOWLES But you must be reasonably sure. It is 
 dangerous to snatch up a man 
 
 RADFIELD Don t you worry ; I ll fix that. 
 
 LAURA (laughing and thrusting her head in at the 
 door) Come on to dinner. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 73 
 
 Act II. 
 ONE WEEK LATEK. 
 
 SCENE Same. Gray and Laura entering room as curtain 
 goes up. Gray takes rocking chair; Laura flounces about 
 on sofa and then settles herself at one end of it. 
 
 LAUKA And we had such a delightful time in the 
 boat, didn t we sweetheart ? Why, I didn t know you 
 could row so well. Why didn t you tell me ? But you 
 don t tell everything you know, do you ? My, I m not 
 half so discreet as you are. 1 tell everything I know 
 and would tell more if I could think of it. And you 
 haven t told me how long you intend to stay. Humph, 
 you haven t told me yet where you live. Ain t it funny 
 to be in love with a man and not know where he lives? 
 You are just too sweet for anything. Who would have 
 ever thought that I could talk this way to a man ? But 
 it won t go any farther, will it sweetheart? Oh, but 
 how are you going to ask mama for my hand, you sweet 
 thing? But I must quit this foolishness. The first 
 thing I know I shall be in love with you sure enough. 
 I declare I have felt so sorry for you that I believe I 
 am actually in love with you. Yes, and I can love you 
 all I want to and nobody will be the wiser. Isn t it 
 nice to make a doll of a man ? And suppose I get 
 mad, I can scold you all I please and you would never 
 say a word. How nice of you that would be. You 
 
74 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 are surely an exception. Why, my papa before he died 
 used to scold mama every once in a while. What am 
 I talking about ? Of course he couldn t scold her after 
 he died. ( Gets up and walks about the room. Poses in 
 front of the mirror. Hums a tune and -waltzes. Gray 
 smiles and nods his head) You "like that, don t you 
 sweetheart? And your smile isn t dumb, is it ? No, 
 indeed, for it tells me a great deal. (Gray smiles and 
 nods his head.) Yes, it does, you sweet thing. 
 
 Enter RADFIELD. 
 
 RADFIELD (Drawing a chair to the center table, sit 
 ting down with one arm carelessly on table) Well, I see 
 that you are alone. 
 
 LAURA (surprised) Alone ! Why, no ; Mr. Gray is 
 with me. 
 
 RADFIELD So I see, but unfortunately he is no com 
 pany. 
 
 LAURA Quite as good company as some people who 
 talk more but who really say less. 
 
 RADFIELD (softly laughing) You believe then in the 
 wisdom of silence. 
 
 LAURA The poets have said that the sweetest music 
 makes no sound. 
 
 RADFIELD And the poets have talked nonsense. 
 
 LAURA Not when they were silent. 
 
 RADFIELD Good. P;d you enjoy your boat rule ? 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 75 
 
 LAURA (with enthusiasm} It was delightful. 
 
 RADFIELD And I want you to go with me some 
 time. 
 
 LAURA (spiritedly) Oh, you want me to go with 
 you. Is that the way to ask ? 
 
 RADFIELD (bowing) I should have said that I de 
 sire that pleasure. 
 
 LAURA Oh, that s different. But I can t go with 
 you; I m engaged for the season. 
 
 RADFIELD Not to dummy, I hope. 
 
 LAURA (angrily) Mr. Radfield, you should not 
 speak that way. This man can t help his affliction. I 
 won t talk to you (Arising) 
 
 RADFIELD (apologetically] Pardon me, please. Wait 
 just a moment. Wait, please, I was joking. (Laura 
 halts near the door.) I have something to say to you. 
 
 LAURA Well, say it. 
 
 RADFIELD Sit down and I will. 
 
 LAURA No, I ll stand here. 
 
 RADFIELD I hardly know how to begin. 
 
 LAURA Then what you were going to say must not 
 be very important. 
 
 RADFIELD Yes, it is of great importance, and that 
 is the reason I don t know how to begin. 
 
 LAURA Well, I m waiting. 
 
 RADFIELD (seriously) Miss Laura 
 
 LAURA That s a good start. 
 
76 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 RADFIELD Miss Laura, 1 have thought 
 
 LAURA Oh, you have thought. You surprise me. 
 
 RADFIELD Please give me time. I have thought 
 since coming here that I had found the most charming 
 spot on the face of the earth ; and the secret of that 
 charm has made itself known to me. I love you. 
 Please wait. Yes, I love you. I know how awkward 
 this confession is, for I am a man of affairs arid am but 
 little used to the sly ways of sentiment, but I love you 
 and want you to be my wife. In the city I have gone 
 into society just enough to form a distaste for society 
 women, and I had supposed that I should never enter 
 tain the thought of marriage, but you you have 
 thrilled me, transformed me, compelled me to sur 
 render. 
 
 LAURA (sadly} I believe you are in earnest, Mr. 
 Radfield, and I shall therefore speak earnestly. It is 
 possible that you do not quite understand } r our own 
 mind. I am a simple girl, with some pretences to edu 
 cation, it is true, but when brought into comparison 
 with the women of the world I might be found sadly 
 wanting. I am flattered^by your offer, I admit, but I 
 cannot marry you. Wait, now. (Radfield moves im 
 patiently.) I waited for you and now you must wait 
 for me. I am old-fashioned enough to believe that a 
 woman should love her husband, and I don t love you ; 
 
TEE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 77 
 
 why, our marriage is out of the question. Isn t it, 
 sweetheart? (Smiling at Gray. Exit.) 
 
 RADFIELD (arising and walking up and down the 
 room) What ! it can t be that she is in love with this 
 poor clod. It must not be. With that girl for a wife 
 and with a summer home here, I should be happy. 
 And this sphinx is between us. (Turning to Gray.) 
 Well, I ll fix you. 
 
 WIDOW (without) Go right on now and wash your 
 face. Go on, this instant ! 
 
 NAT (without) All time have to be washin my face. 
 Make Jerry go and wash his face. 
 
 Enter Widow and Nat. Widow sighs and takes rocking 
 chair. Nat hangs about her, standing first on one foot and 
 then on the other. 
 
 NAT Want ten cents, now. 
 
 WIDOW Go on away. I ll not give you ten cents. 
 
 NAT Want ten cents, now. 
 
 WIDOW (making a motion at him) If you don t go 
 on away, I ll box your jaws. 
 
 NAT Don t give me ten cents I ll thrash the settin 
 hen off her nest. 
 
 WIDOW Don t you. do that, sir; if you do, I ll whip 
 you. 
 
 NAT If you don t give me ten cents, I won t wash 
 my face. 
 
?8 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 WIDOW Well, will you go and wash your face and 
 be a good boy if I give you ten cents ? 
 
 NAT Yessum. 
 
 WIDOW (giving him money) There now, dear, go 
 on and be a good boy. 
 
 NAT Won t be good all the time for ten cents. Be 
 good till dinner time. (Exit N) 
 
 3 EKKY (without) Whut you come runnin er gin 
 me fur, hah ? Look whar you gwine, ur de fust thing 
 you know suthin gwine drap an drap hard, I tell you. 
 (Enter Jerry.) Boy come runnin ergin me like he 
 wuz er calf. Folks all time tryin run ove me. 
 Gwine yere suthin drap, too, dais. Er er er Miz 
 Morris, I thought I d come an ax you ef you kere ef I 
 put on dem britches hangin in de closet up stairs. 
 
 WIDOW There are no breeches hanging there. 
 
 JERRY Yassum, da is, caze I hung em dar yistidy. 
 
 WIDOW But what were you doing with them ? 
 
 JERRY Why, I wore em one ur two times an hung 
 em dar, an now I lowed I ax you ef you kere ef I 
 w ar em ergin. Huh? 
 
 WIDOW (almost tearfully) You trifling rascal, those 
 trousers belonged to my dear husband. 
 
 JERRY (surprised) Did da? Wall, I want to tell 
 you dat he wuz er pusson dat knowed whut britches 
 wuz. I yered folks say dat he wuz er mighty smart 
 man, an da say, too, dat you an him wuz monstus well 
 
THE MOON IN TUE PICTURE. 79 
 
 suited to one nnder, an I thought ez he wan t gwine 
 need dem britches ergin, you mout gib em ter me. 
 Huh? 
 
 WIDOW Well, yes, you may have them. 
 
 JERRY Thank you, ma am. Huh ! gwine cut a 
 swath mung dem ladies now, I tell you. (Turning to 
 90.) 
 
 RADFIELD Madam, why don t you make that fellow 
 earn those trousers ? 
 
 JERRY Dar s dat white pusson er firm off dat mouth 
 o hizen. Ever time I comes near him he has ter suit 
 me. Come er talkin bout er moon in er pictur er 
 keepin er man er wake. Whut kin yer spect frum er 
 pusson like dat ? An say, pusson, lemme tell you dat 
 you gwine keep on foolin wid me tell you yere suthin 
 drap, an w en you look roun ter see whut it is, you ll 
 find yo self lyin dar. Huh ? (Exit.) 
 
 RADFIELD -(to widow) Why don t you drive that 
 brute off the place ? 
 
 WIDOW Why, didn t I tell you that he saved Nat s 
 life ? I just couldn t think of driving him away now, 
 and besides he is so much help to me. 
 
 (Gray gets up, ivaUcs about the room, looking at the pic 
 tures!) 
 
 . RADFIELD I might remember my obligation to him 
 but at the same time I certainly should protect myself 
 against his insolence. 
 
80 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 WIDOW Oh, he is never insolent to me ; indeed, he 
 does everything I tell him to do. ( Gray approaches the 
 door, stands there a moment and exit) Poor man, I do 
 pity him. 
 
 RADFIELD Oh, he s all right. In fact, I think he is 
 to be envied. 
 
 WIDOW What, a deaf and dumb man to be envied. 
 I don t see how you can make that out. 
 
 RADFIELD It may be clearer to you when I tell you 
 that your daughter Laura is in love with him. 
 
 WIDOW (yreatly surprised) Why, how can you 
 say such a thing, Mr. Radfield ? 
 
 RADFIELD Easily enough. Truth may be pretty 
 scarce, but sometimes it is on hand and then to tell it 
 is not a difficult matter. I know that she is in love 
 with him. I heard her say as much. 
 
 WIDOW It was only a joke. Laura is too sensible 
 a girl to throw herself away. 
 
 RADFIELD I wonder then that she is not sensible 
 enough to see something that is to her advantage. I 
 have asked her to be my wife and she has refused. 
 
 WIDOW (thoughtfully] Perhaps she 
 
 RADFIELD There is no perhaps about it. She has 
 simply refused to marry me. I hope, madam, that you 
 have no objections to me ? 
 
 WIDOW (Iriyhteniny) I object to you? Surely 
 
THE MOON IN TEE PICTURE. 81 
 
 not, Mr. Radfield, for never since my poor husband s 
 death have I seen a man 
 
 RADFIELD I mean of course that I hope you have 
 no objections to me for a san-iri-law. 
 
 WIDOW (sobering) Yes, I know what you mean. I 
 am surely bright enough to tell what a person means. 
 I don t boast of being very smart but I know enough 
 for that. I hope you don t think 
 
 RADFIELD Of course not, madam. 
 
 WIDOW Well I m very glad you don t. Let me 
 see. Well, I don t know that I object to you as a son- 
 in-law, but there s Harriet. 
 
 Enter HARRIET. 
 
 HARRIET Mother, your preserves are boiling over. 
 
 WIDOW (springs to her feet) Gracious, why didn t 
 you tell me ? 
 
 HARRIET I did. 
 
 WIDOW (passing quickly through the door) Jerry, 
 you good-for-nothing thing why did you let them pre 
 serves boil over? 
 
 JERRY (far without) Doan come talkin ter me 
 w en I dun burnt my finger in em ; soused my finger 
 in dar ter see ef da wuz hot an da wuz. 
 
 HARRIET (seating herself on the sofa) Pardon me, 
 but did I hear you tell mother that Laura had refused 
 to be your wife ? 
 6 
 
82 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 RADFIELD Yes. 
 
 HARRIET Little fool, she never did have any sense. 
 But never mind, she s got to many you. 
 
 RADFIELD I am thankful that you champion my 
 cause. I (Bowles, the detective, appears at the door.) 
 Come in. Miss Morris will you pardon us for a few 
 minutes. I have some very important business with 
 this man. But wait, you needn t go. What was I 
 thinking about ? I can go out with him. 
 
 HARRIET (on her feet) Oh, no, I was going any 
 way. (Exit H.) 
 
 RADFIELD (to Bowles) Sit down. 
 
 BOWLES (continuing to sta?id) No, thank you, 
 haven t time. Just stepped in to tell you that I m go 
 ing back to town. I don t think there s anything in 
 the case your suspicions of dummy are not well enough 
 founded. 
 
 RADFIELD (rises) Don t be a fool, man. 
 
 BOWLES I have decided not to be and that s the 
 reason I m going back to town. I know more about 
 this business than you do ; I have made a number of 
 mistakes in my time and have decided to profit by 
 them. Good day. (Turns to go.) 
 
 RADFIELD Wait a moment. 
 
 BOWLES No use to wait. You have advised me 
 not to be a fool and I have taken your advice. (Exit 
 
THE MOON IN TEE PICTURE. 83 
 
 RADFIELD Insolent puppy. Those detectives don t 
 know enough to there you are, eh? 
 
 Enter Gray. Walks about the room, paying no atten 
 tion to Radfield. 
 
 RADFIELD I m going to get rid of you some way, 
 you blockhead. I believe if you were out of the 
 way everything would be well. And I want you to 
 understand that I m going to marry that girl. ( Gray 
 stands with his back toward him, looking toward mirror.) 
 I could brain you and no one would ever be the wiser. 
 (Looks about.) I could hit you back of the neck and 
 tell them that you had fallen in a fit. Yes, tell them 
 that you struck your head against the rocker of this 
 chair. (Moves chair) I m not going to be foiled by 
 you. (Seizes poker. Gray wheels about with a pistol in 
 one hand and with other hand points at mirror) 
 
 JERRY (poking his head through the door) Yas, sah, 
 yas sah ; de moon in de pictur. 
 Curtain. 
 
 Act III. 
 
 TWO DAYS LATER. 
 
 SCENE Same. Curtain rises, Radfield and Laura dis 
 covered in the sitting-room, Laura in rocking chair with 
 book, facing Radfield, who stands with one hand resting on 
 center table. 
 
84 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 LAURA (looking up from book) Why did you tell 
 mama that you had asked me to marry you? 
 
 RADFIELD Perhaps I wanted her to intercede for 
 me. 
 
 LAURA As if that would do any good. 
 
 RADFIELD I didn t know but it might, 
 
 LAURA If I were a man I wouldn t marry a girl 
 that had to be begged. 
 
 RADFIELD (with a mirthless laugh) I suppose that 
 is the right view to take of it, but when a man is in love 
 all sensible views are obscured. 
 
 LAURA Can you be so much in love as that ? I 
 thought that your fancy for me was merely an idle 
 whim. 
 
 RADFIELD Whims belong to women, men are moved 
 by ideas. 
 
 LAURA (with surprise) Oh ! and is that the reason 
 that some of them move so seldom and so slowly ? 
 
 RADFIELD (seriously) Miss Laura, a man may joke 
 while a surgeon is cutting off his arm, but levity does 
 not come from a wounded heart. If a man jokes when 
 his heart aches he is either a fool or a hypocrite. 
 
 LAURA You will please pardon me, but I don t 
 think that you love me very much. It is a sort of 
 summer love and will pass away when the frost falls. 
 
 JERRY (without) Wonder whar I lef dat ar pipe. 
 Neber seed de like. Man kain t put his pipe down 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 85 
 
 (Enters and looks at Radfield.) Skuze me, sail, but did 
 you pick up my pipe ? 
 
 RADFIELD (turning contemptuously upon him) What! 
 Look here : you ll go too far with me the first thing you 
 know. Remember that I am under no obligations to 
 you. You haven t saved me from drowning. 
 
 JERRY (looking at him with a squint in his eye) Yas, 
 sah, an you went too fur wid me de minit you come up 
 ter whar I wuz. How did I know but you mout hab 
 picked up my pipe ? 
 
 RADFIELD (severely) Get out, you impudent ras 
 cal! 
 
 JERRY Dat s zactly whar I wuz gwine, sah. (Moves 
 to the door, looks back.) One deze days you gwine yere 
 suthin drap. Mind whut I tells you, an it gwine drap 
 hard, too. (Exit J) 
 
 RADFELD (to Laura) Your mother will never make 
 a success at keeping boarders. By the way, how long 
 is that dummy going to stay ? 
 
 LAURA (looking down at her book) Mr. Gray will go 
 when he is ready to start, I suppose. 
 
 RADFIELD (taking a seat) I shouldn t wonder. By 
 the way, did your mother tell you anything else beside 
 the fact that I had asked you to marry me ? 
 
 LAURA (without looking up) I don t remember. 
 
 RADFIELD Didn t she tell you that I said that you 
 were in love with Gray ? 
 
86 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 LAURA (without taking her eyes from the book) Isn t 
 he handsome ? 
 
 RADFIELD And his mind is as deaf as his ears. 
 LAURA And he is so much of a gentleman. 
 
 Enter WIDOW. 
 
 WIDOW Do I intrude ? 
 
 LAURA. {looking up) No, mama, we are so glad you 
 came. 
 
 WIDOW (seating herself on the sofa) I was afraid 
 that you were talking about something that you didn t 
 want me to hear. 
 
 LAURA (laughing) But a girl ought not to talk 
 about anything that she doesn t want her mother to 
 hear. 
 
 RADFIELD (to the ividow) There is thoughtfulness 
 for you. 
 
 WIDOW Oh, Laura is all the time thoughtful. And 
 all my children are obedient. (Nat enters and stretches 
 himself upon the floor.) Get up, son. Don t lie there, 
 you might take cold. Did you hear me ? Get up from 
 there and go and wash your face. 
 
 NAT (turning over) All time have to wash my face. 
 Why don t you make Jerry wash his face ? 
 
 WIDOW You ve got nothing to do with Jerry. Get 
 up, and after awhile I ll give you some preserves. 
 
 NAT Want em now. 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 87 
 
 WIDOW Wait until I go out. 
 
 NAT Give em to me now or I won t get up. 
 
 WIDOW All right, sir, I won t let you go to mill 
 with Jerry to-morrow. 
 
 NAT (brightening] If I get up will you ? 
 
 WIDOW Yes, if you ll get up and be good. 
 
 (Nat goes to the sofa and lies down with his head in 
 widow" 1 s lap.) 
 
 RADFIELD (arising) Well, I am going out to row. 
 Won t you come along, Miss Laura ? 
 
 LAURA (without looking at him) No, I thank you, 
 I m tired. 
 
 WlDOW (persuasively, to Laura) Oh, go on with 
 him. 
 
 NAT Mebby if you give her some preserves she will. 
 
 LAURA I don t care to go, mama. 
 
 WIDOW Why, you go with Mr. Gray, and he can t 
 even ask you. 
 
 LAURA And probably that s the reason I go. 
 
 RADFIELD (to Laura) Well, will you go this after 
 noon ? 
 
 LAURA I ll see about it. 
 
 RADFIELD That s as good as a promise, I suppose. 
 (Exit Eatlfield.) 
 
 WIDOW (to Laura) Why didn t you go with him ? 
 
 LAURA Oh, I just couldn t ! I don t like him at all, 
 mama,, 
 
88 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 WIDOW I wish you wouldn t be so foolish. (Rises) 
 You can see how fond he is of you. (Nat tumbles on 
 the floor) Get up, son, and come on. Come, and I ll 
 give you the preserves. 
 
 NAT ((jetting up) And you ve got to let me go with 
 Jerry, too, now. 
 
 LAURA (to widow) Oh, yes, I can see how fond he 
 is of me, but I can t see how fond I am of him. 
 
 WIDOW (leading boy toward door) It does seem to 
 me that a girl ought to look after her own interest ; and 
 times are so hard too. (Exit widow and boy.) 
 
 LAUEA I wonder if they think I could marry that 
 man. I hate him. (Gray appears at door.) Come 
 in sweetheart. (Gray nods to her and seats himself on 
 sofa.) Sweetheart, they are trying to take me away 
 from you but they can t. I wonder if he lias an idea of 
 what I am talking about? 
 
 Enter JERRY. 
 
 JERRY I know I lef dat pipe summers. Huh, 
 (looking at Gray) yere s dat pusson dat kain t talk. 
 But I want to tell you what, (looking at Laura) he s er 
 fine pusson. Come a givin me a quarter jest de same 
 ez ef he could make a speech. I doan blebe it make so 
 much diffunce whuther er man kin talk ur not. I 
 know folks dat has been er talkin all dar lives an 
 neber has mounted ter nuthin yit. Yas, I does. 
 
THE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 89 
 
 (Feels in his pockets. Draws out a pipe.) Wh} r , yere 
 dat triflin pipe. Huh, wlmt s gittin de matter wid 
 me ? But I wanter tell you right now dat it wuz er 
 powerful good thing dat it wan t tuck by dat pusson 
 dat called me er rascal. Mind whut I tell you, he 
 gwine yer suthin drap (Exit J.) 
 
 LAURA (looking at Gray) That s the funniest negro 
 you ever saw, sweetheart ; and one of these times if I 
 learn to talk on my fingers, I may tell you about the 
 funny things he does. Oh, I m so sorry for you. A 
 bird flew to the top of the house this morning and sat 
 there and sang ever so long, and you didn t hear his 
 song. I thought of you at the time. How many 
 people hear the songs of birds and are too dull to be 
 thrilled. But you d be thrilled if you could hear, 
 wouldn t you sweetheart? 
 
 Enter HARRIET. 
 
 HARRIET What are you doing here, Laura? 
 
 LAURA Oh, just talking to my sweetheart. 
 
 HARRIET (frowning at her and taking a chair) You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself. 
 
 LAURA (innocently) Why, just because I talk to my 
 sweetheart? Oh, sister, I am astonished at you. Why, 
 if you had a sweetheart, wouldn t you talk to him ? 
 You have had sweethearts, and didn t you talk to 
 them? 
 
90 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 HARRIET (moving angrily in her chair) I wish you 
 did have some little sense, Laura. 
 
 LAURA How little ? 
 
 HARRIET (flouncing) Oh, don t talk to me ! 
 
 LAURA Well, then, I must talk to my sweetheart. 
 
 HARRIET Silliest goose I ever saw. Why didn t 
 you go boat riding with Mr. Radfield ? 
 
 LAURA Oh, because I was tired. 
 
 HARRIET No, you were not anything of the sort, 
 and you know it. 
 
 LAURA Yes, if I wasn t I know it. 
 
 HARRIET Goose ! (After a pause) Mr. Radfield is 
 going home to-morrow. 
 
 LAURA Oh, is he going to put it off so long as that? 
 
 HARRIET You ought to be ashamed of yourself. 
 First thing you know you ll have all the neighbors 
 saying that you are in love with a deaf and dumb 
 man. 
 
 LAURA Yes? I wonder when they are going to 
 begin. We might get up a sort of a picnic for the oc 
 casion. Oh, I ll tell Jerry to get some Chinese lanterns 
 when he goes to the village. 
 
 Enter widow with Nat tagging after her. 
 
 WIDOW (taking a seat and holding Nat on her lap) 
 I ll be glad when night comes, I m so tired. 
 
 HARRIET You wouldn t have to work so hard if 
 Laura had any sense, 
 
TEE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 91 
 
 LAURA Isn t that unfortunate ! Do you know what 
 I am going to do? I m going to get my books and 
 study as hard as I can. Then, you see, I ll soon have 
 more sense. 
 
 HARRIET (flouncing) Oh, don t talk to me. | 
 
 LAURA All right, I ll talk to my sweetheart. 
 
 HARRIET (to widow) Mother, I d make her quit that 
 foolishness. 
 
 WIDOW (to Laura) You must stop it, dear. 
 
 LAURA Why, what harm is there in it ? He can t 
 hear me? 
 
 WIDOW I know, but other people can. 
 
 LAURA Oh, well, what if they do? they must know 
 that I am simply joking. 
 
 WIDOW But it is better not to carry on that way. 
 Some people can t understand a joke. Nat, (shaking 
 him) go over there and sit down. You wear me out. 
 
 NAT What will you give me ? 
 
 WIDOW Oh, anything ! Go over there and sit down 
 on the sofa. 
 
 NAT By him ? I m afraid I d catch it. 
 
 HARRIET (to Nat) Catch what, simpleton? 
 
 NAT That that not knowin how to talk. 
 
 HARRIET And it would be a good thing for you. 
 
 Enter RADFIELD. 
 HARRIET (rising) Have this seat, Mr. Radfield, 
 
92 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 RADFIELD No, I thank you, I don t care to sit down. 
 I have come merely to tell you good bye. 
 
 HARRIET Oh, you don t mean it ! 
 
 RADFIELD Yes, I must get back to town. 
 
 Gray gets up and goes out. 
 
 WIDOW We are so sorry to lose you. 
 
 RADFIELD I wish you could speak for every one 
 when you say that. (Looks at Laura.) 
 
 HARRIET Oh, she can, I m sure. But will you not 
 come back soon? 
 
 RADFIELD I may, but I can t tell how soon. I have 
 had I was going to say a pleasant time, but perhaps 
 I should say an impressive time. 
 
 Enter Gray. Stands with his back to the fireplace, 
 facing the rest of the company. 
 
 HARRIET Is Mr. Gray going with you ? 
 
 RADFIELD (with an air of apology) I know nothing 
 of the intentions of our unfortunate friend. (Looks at 
 Laura.) 
 
 LAURA Yes, it is unfortunate not to hear some 
 things, and still, as you once said to sister, it is fortu 
 nate not to hear other things. 
 
 RADFIELD Yes, I believe I said something like 
 that. I am pleased to know that you even remem 
 ber 
 
 LAURA (interrupting him) Oh, I never forget any 
 thing. 
 
TEE MOON IN THE PICTURE. 93 
 
 RADFIELD That gives me a hope that you may not 
 forget me. 
 
 LAUKA (as though she did not hear him) Yes, I re 
 member the good and the bad alike, I suppose. 
 
 WIDOW You will want Jerry to take you to the 
 station, won t you? 
 
 RADFIELD I should prefer some one else. (Looks 
 at Laura.} Can t you drive me out ? 
 
 LAURA I m afraid of the horse. 
 
 HARRIET I will drive you, Mr. Radfield. 
 
 RADFIELD (bowing} I thank you, but surely I do 
 not wish to put you to that trouble. 
 
 HARRIET No trouble, but a pleasure. 
 
 Harriet arises and Radfield steps toward the door. 
 Gray with a quick movement reaches the door first, turns 
 and confronts him. 
 
 GRAY Stop ! Stand where you are ! (Every one 
 starts up in astonishment.) Ladies, I have been forced 
 to deceive you. My name is not Gray. I am George 
 Miller, a reporter for a Chicago newspaper, and I have 
 been set on track of this man, to fasten the proof of a 
 robbery upon him. He is the man who has robbed the 
 express office, his own company. Don t you move ! 
 (To Radfield.) Outside are two deputy sheriffs waiting 
 for you. Oh, I ve got the absolute proof on you. 
 
 LAURA (hiding her face) And oh ! he s got the ab 
 solute proof on me, too ! 
 
94 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 GRAY Yes, I have, and that proof is that you are 
 the sweetest and most charming woman in the world. 
 (Holds out his hands ; she slowly approaches him and he 
 takes her hands.) 
 
 JERKY (poking his head in at the door) Whut I dun 
 tole you bout, dat suthin gwine drap ? Ur moon in er 
 picture, er haw ! haw ! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OFF Dearborn street in Chicago, there is an old 
 book "joint," that has long been known to people 
 who find a musty delight in old style type and musty 
 bindings. It is a cellar, approached by a dark and nar 
 row stairway, and many a man, attracted thither by 
 stories that were told of the place, have turned back in 
 disgust when half way down the stairs. The old cellar 
 was of itself as musty as a rare first edition, and 
 was but dimly lighted, but the eager eyes of a true 
 bibliomaniac soon discovered the beauties of this, the 
 wayward hiding place of weary learning, abashed fan 
 cies and murdered ambitions. The walls were covered 
 with books, and the corners were stacked and jammed 
 with old political pamphlets. What records of the 
 law s injustice; what demands for reformations that 
 never came I 
 
 This place, known as the " Book-worm s Joint," was 
 kept by an old man named Dorsey. He was once the 
 
 proprietor of an old book stall in London. Why he 
 
 (95) 
 
96 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 left the world s relic house of literature and settled in 
 Chicago is not known, nor does it materially affect this 
 recital. I don t know how the old man would have ap 
 peared in the sunlight, for I never saw him there, but 
 amid the shadows of his " joint," he was most impress 
 ive. His hair was long and white ; his flowing gray 
 beard seemed to be kept as a sort of religion. He was 
 tall, and bent and feeble. His eyes were of a mildewed 
 brown, in color, and were so weak that he could 
 scarcely read a newspaper to-day s "pert " infringe 
 ment on the learning of yore but with the swift glance 
 of intuition he could discern the faded title of an an 
 cient tome. Visitors of a certain class were welcome, 
 but purchasers seemed to alarm him. He was com 
 pelled to sell books, for he had no other source of in 
 come, but it gave him pain to part with a volume, and 
 once, when the necessity of meeting his rent had forced 
 him to sell the political pamphlets of DeFoe, he fell 
 upon his miserable bed and moaned as if his heart 
 would break. He was a book miser. The disastrous 
 year to the commercial world was a year of compara 
 tive prosperity to old Dorsey, for then he was not 
 so much assailed by customers. As time passed he 
 grew worse and hugged his books in an embrace of 
 despair. 
 
 One afternoon a collector called and presented him a 
 bill. 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 97 
 
 " What is it for ? " the old man asked, tremblingly 
 adjusting his glasses. 
 
 " December rent." 
 
 " But I paid it the other day, didn t I ? " 
 
 " No, you paid for November about a month ago." 
 
 "It seems to me, young man, that you were here the 
 other day and that I paid you for December." 
 
 " I can t help how it seems to you, I know my busi 
 ness, I reckon." 
 
 " Well, how much is the amount ? " 
 
 "You ought to know. You ve paid it often 
 enough." 
 
 " Ah, I grant you that," he replied, scanning the bill. 
 "What!" he suddenly exclaimed, "forty dollars! 
 You have raised on me." 
 
 " No, we haven t. It s been forty dollars for the last 
 four years." 
 
 "But I don t think I ought to pay so much, young 
 man." 
 
 " Well, then, get out. A fellow wants to start a 
 Turkish bath in here, anyway." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; I can t do that. I have been here so 
 long that I am attached to the place." 
 
 " Well, then, pay your rent." 
 
 "I will, but I can t do it to-day. Come around some 
 other time." 
 
 " I will come to-morrow, and if you don t pay then 
 
 7 
 
98 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 you may know what to expect. It s growing harder 
 and harder to get money out of you, and we re getting 
 tired of it. See ? " 
 
 The collector went out, and Dorsey, turning to a man 
 who had just entered, asked: " Can I do anything for 
 you, sir ? " 
 
 " Well, I don t know," the man answered, slowly 
 turning about the room. " Thought I d drop in and 
 look around. Have you a catalogue ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Ought to issue one every once in a while. * 
 
 44 That would be unnecessary, sir, as I don t add to 
 my stock." 
 
 44 Humph, you don t do a very thriving business." 
 
 44 No. To tell the truth I don t care to do any busi 
 ness. I did at first, though. I used to purchase 
 largely and get out a catalogue every three months but 
 novv r I the truth is, I have only the books that I am 
 attached to and don t want to part with them." 
 
 44 Ha ! rather a strange case. But you must have 
 made considerable money while you were actively in 
 the business." 
 
 41 Yes, I made some, but lost it. Do you remember 
 fifteen years ago when the steamship 4 McAlpin was 
 lost?" 
 
 4 Yes, believe I do." 
 
 44 1 had twenty-five thousand dollars worth of books 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 99 
 
 on board, and their loss discouraged me so that I have 
 never taken much of an interest in business since." 
 
 " I see; and the keeping of this place is now a sort 
 of sentiment with you." 
 
 44 Well, I suppose you might term it a sentiment. I 
 have lived in this cellar so long that I could not find 
 contentment elsewhere. I should be like the prisoner 
 who begged to be re-admitted into his cell ; and these 
 books are my family. I part with one sometimes and 
 so does a man bury his children sometimes." 
 
 " Yes, that s true." 
 
 The visitor began to browse about, with the slow 
 motion of carelessness, but with an eye of cool and care 
 ful search. 
 
 " What have we here ? " 
 
 " One of the earliest English edititions of Plutarch," 
 the old man answered with strange excitement, and 
 then quickly reached out to take the volume. 
 
 44 Let me look at it," said the visitor, turning about. 
 
 44 Oh, I don t think you will like it, sir. It hasn t 
 been very well cared for, and I fancy that the binding 
 wasn t very good in the first place. Indeed, sir," he 
 added, becoming more eager to take the book, " I don t 
 believe that it is so old as its date would imply. 1689 
 I don t really believe it is so old as that. I haven t 
 looked into the matter very closely, not being much 
 interested, you know, but I don t believe there was 
 
100 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 an English translation of Plutarch so far back as 
 that." 
 
 "The deuce there wasn t," the visitor replied; "how 
 did Shakespeare manage to follow Plutarch s Julius 
 Csesar so closely ? " 
 
 "Well, but Shakespeare may have been a better 
 scholar than Ben. Jonson thought he was. Indeed, 
 sir, great men have begun to believe that Bacon wrote 
 the plays, at least the classic ones." 
 
 " Rats ! " said the visitor. " How many volumes are 
 there of this ? " 
 
 " Eight, and you see what unwieldly things they are." 
 
 " What will you take for the set ? " 
 
 " Really, sir, I think I have an edition that will 
 suit you much better." 
 
 " Don t want any other edition ; want this. What 
 will you take for it ? " 
 
 " I don t want to sell it," he said, taking the volume 
 from the visitor. 
 
 " It isn t so rare, old man, that it is priceless. I will 
 give you seventy -five dollars." 
 
 " The price is satisfactory enough, but I don t care 
 to sell." 
 
 " But don t you need money ? Didn t I hear a man 
 say just now that unless you pay him forty dollars to 
 morrow, steps will be taken to turn you into the 
 street ? " 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 101 
 
 " Yes, that s a fact ; yes." 
 
 " Then, why are you so foolish ? " 
 
 "My dear sir, I wouldn t order a man out of my 
 house for the world, but won t you please go away ? I 
 am sick and must lie down." 
 
 "Yes, I will go away, but I will come back to-mor 
 row." 
 
 The visitor went out and the old man, gathering up 
 his precious volumes, tenderly placed them on his bed, 
 and then laid down beside them. Hours passed and 
 still he continued to lie there. Once some one came 
 in, and coughed to attract his attention, but he did not 
 look up. He dozed off into a troubled dream, and was 
 awakened by voices in the " joint." He got up, and, 
 after rubbing his dim old eyes, recognized two acquaint 
 ances. 
 
 " Hello, Dorsey." 
 
 " Good evening, gentlemen." 
 
 "You may well say evening if you wish to refer 
 to the lateness of the hour." 
 
 " What time is it ? " 
 
 " After twelve." 
 
 " I had no idea it was so late," the old man said, get 
 ting up and coming forward. 
 
 " You were not awake to hear the news." 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 " A bank just up the street was robbed of fifteen 
 
102 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 thousand dollars this evening. But I don t suppose it 
 concerns you much ? " 
 
 " Well, I can t say that I m shocked, still the news 
 is interesting. If somebody had to be robbed I don t 
 know of an institution that is more able to lose money 
 than a bank. It is much better, too, than if an old 
 book store had been robbed. Won t you come back 
 and sit down ? " 
 
 " No, just thought we d drop in a moment and look 
 round. Good night." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE first thing Dorsey thought of the next morning, 
 was that he had to pay his rent that day. But he had 
 strong hopes that he might make enough of what he 
 termed comparatively indifferent sales to raise forty 
 dollars ; yet the morning wore away and no one came 
 in. Just at noon the collector entered the place. 
 " Well, have you got forty dollars for me ? " 
 " I am sorry to say that I haven t. I expected some 
 money this morning but it didn t come. But I am sure 
 it will be here by to-morrow. Anything I can do for 
 you, sir?" he asked, turning to a man who had just 
 entered, and then he drew back for he recognized the 
 man who had offered seventy-five dollars for Plutarch. 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 103 
 
 " Yes," the man answered, " you can let me have 
 those books." 
 
 " But I told you 
 
 "Never mind what you told me. Here are seventy- 
 five dollars, nearly enough to pay two months rent. 
 Come, now, don t be foolish. You ll soon forget the 
 attachment you had for them. You don t want to be 
 set out in the street. Here, give the man his rent." 
 
 "But he can t put me out under a month and by 
 that time I ll have the money." 
 
 "Well, but what s the use of hanging fire over a 
 thing that must be done? " 
 
 A long discussion followed. The would-be purchaser 
 was persuasive and logical ; the old man finally 
 yielded in a sort of dreamy way. The persistent cus 
 tomer marched off with his books and the collector 
 went away with his rent. 
 
 Old Dorset s eyes were more than ever a mildewed 
 brown, and his flowing beard, which had seemed to be 
 kept as a sort of religion, was tangled as no creed 
 ought to be. Sometimes he would mumble as if talk 
 ing apologetically to some one, and then he would 
 break out as if in a fierce argument. Late one night 
 he was pacing up and down the room when an odd 
 and cautious-looking man came down the narrow stair 
 way. 
 
 " Who are you ? " the old man demanded, and then 
 
104 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 added, when the visitor halted: "I have paid the 
 rent." 
 
 " Glad of it," the visitor answered. 
 
 "Well, but why do you come back here? Is it 
 possible that another month has passed ? " 
 
 " I don t know what you are talking about. 
 
 "Didn t you come around here this morning and 
 collect forty dollars from me ? " 
 
 " I never saw you before." 
 
 "Is that so?" and, then, after a few moments 
 silence, during which he rubbed his dim, old eyes, he 
 added : " Well, what do you want here now? " 
 
 " Just thought I d drop in and warn? myself. Didn t 
 reckon you d care." 
 
 " Of course I don t, but let me see if you are a 
 first edition." 
 
 The fellow laughed and said: "I reckon I am. 
 That is, my father and mother always said I was the 
 oldest of five children." 
 
 " What s your date ? " 
 
 "1850, I understand." 
 
 "And not 1689?" 
 
 "Hah, you must think I m just out of the ark." 
 
 " Hardly so old as that, but when were you first 
 translated? You know it has been held by certain 
 scholars, or I may say alleged scholars, that a versatile 
 monk put you into crude English before the art of 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 105 
 
 printing was invented. How about that but, pray 
 pardon me, I thought for a moment you were Plu 
 tarch s Lives. ! 
 
 " Well, now, I ain t and never was anybody s life but 
 my own." 
 
 The old man rubbed his brow and said: "It was a 
 long time before I could believe in the occult, but I am 
 becoming a full-fledged mystic. It is something that 
 all sensible men must come to. But mysticism is too 
 grand to be grasped at once. It is the key to all wis 
 dom ; and there can be no sorrow when all men are 
 just and wise, for justice relieves the wants of the body 
 and wisdom will provide against grief." 
 
 " Have you got anything to eat handy ? " the visitor 
 asked, glancing about. 
 
 " I wish I had Greek wine and pomegranates," the 
 old man answered, " but I haven t. You are welcome, 
 though, to what I have. Here is a beefsteak pie," he 
 added, taking a plate from a shelf and handing it to the 
 visitor. " You see I still keep my English appetite." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 The fellow seized the pie and began eagerly to de 
 vour it. The old man stood watching him. The fel 
 low s eyes bulged out. " Got any water ? " he asked, 
 almost choked. The old man handed him a leaking 
 dipper of water. " I am old fashioned even in my 
 drinking," he said. The old fellow walked back to his 
 
106 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 bed, turned despairingly toward the door, confusedly 
 put out his hands before him, and then, wheeling about 
 and facing his guest, who was swallowing the last 
 morsel of the meat pie, said in tremulous tones: 
 " I thank heaven that you have returned." 
 "Good enough, but as I never was here before I 
 don t see how I could have returned." 
 
 " But didn t a brisk arid heartless business man give 
 me seventy-five dollars for you? " 
 
 "If he gave you any money for me I wish you 
 would let me have it." 
 
 "Oh my 1689!" cried the old man, attempting to 
 fling his arms about the fellow, " Oh, my Plutarch, I 
 will never part with you again." 
 
 " What kind of a joint have I struck? " 
 "You have come home and you will never leave me 
 again." 
 
 " Much obliged to you for your kindness but I ve got 
 my own affairs to look after. It s gettin along toward 
 mornin and I reckon I d better go." 
 
 " You can not go, my Plutarch. Ah, what binding, 
 what print. There are none like you these days. Tell 
 me, did the disturbed elements foretell Cesar s death ? 
 In the dreams of an anxious mind did the fountain 
 spurt blood ? " 
 " I give it up." 
 " But did Alexander ride the fiery horse that Philip 
 
HIS SIXTEEN-EIGHTY-NINE. 107 
 
 was unable to master ? I know that you are a ro 
 mancer, and that you have talked much for the mere 
 pleasure of listening to your own musical words, but 
 you can tell an old worshipper many truths that you 
 withheld, even from Montaigne." 
 
 " Cap, your water is too deep for me. Let me get 
 out." The old man was standing between his guest 
 and the door. 
 
 " No, you are not going to leave me." 
 
 "I ve got to go. Get out of the way," he said, at 
 tempting to pass the old man. " I don t want to stay 
 down here with a crazj^man. Let me by, T say. Turn 
 me loose. I ll choke the life out of you. Get away." 
 
 The old man fell on the floor, and desperately clung 
 to the fellow s knees. 
 
 " Turn me loose, you old fool, or I ll tramp the life 
 out of you." 
 
 The old man uttered a loud and despairing cry. 
 Footsteps on the stairway police. They seized the 
 fellow; they knew him had been searching for him. 
 He was the bank robber. 
 
 The old man, still grieving over his loss, is in the 
 asylum at Kankakee. 
 
BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY. 
 
 WHEN the superintendent of a railway, that had just 
 been built through Allen county, Kentucky, published 
 an announcement that he would buy all the cord-wood 
 that might be ricked up at certain places along his road, 
 the news flew as a carrier pigeon, conveying the words 
 of promised deliverance from the cutthroat mortgage 
 of the crossroads merchant. The country was exceed 
 ingly poor. The hillside fields were trenched with 
 gullies, and the gushing rain-tide had washed away so 
 much of the soil that many a patch of land, which at 
 its best was capable of producing only nubbins, would 
 not now have sprouted a black-eyed pea. Along the 
 creeks there was strips of comparatively fertile land, 
 but they were subject to overflow and were not, even 
 after the kindliest season, productive of sufficient grain 
 to keep their owners out of debt. It was early spring 
 when the superintendent s publication was received, 
 and instantly there was an unhitching of old plow 
 horses, and a throwing of old bull-tongue plows into 
 the fence corners. 
 
 It was like a call to arms in a patriotic community ; 
 (108) 
 
BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY. 109 
 
 it seemed to be the movement of a single impulse. 
 Every able-bodied man shouldered his axe and turned 
 toward the " big woods," a great and rugged forest 
 which was yet the common property of mankind. 
 Cabins were built, and patches here and there in the 
 woods soon bore the aspect of a mining camp. 
 
 Hep Brooks was one of the first men to build a 
 cabin. He was known as Big Hep ; and he was a 
 giant. He was splendidly proportioned, and Bradford 
 Wellbanks, an old circuit-rider who lost his life recently 
 while attempting to save a worthless fellow from 
 drowning, often pleasantly remarked that he would bet 
 his saddle-bags that Big Hep could outrun a buck and 
 kill him with his fist after he caught him. Hep was 
 about twenty-five years old, and although he was a 
 rather good-looking fellow, had never spent much time 
 in the society of women. It was soon remarked that 
 he was adorning his cabin with many an extra touch, 
 and one evening a neighbor said to him that he must 
 be thinking of making some woman happy. 
 
 " I am," he answered. 
 
 " That s right, for you re gittin old enough. This 
 is a mighty fine place for women up here in the hills 
 and they can help a right smart chance when we begin 
 to haul the wood down to the road. When air you 
 goin to git married? " 
 
 " You air too hard for me now," said Hep. 
 
110 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Why, I thought you lowed you was goin to make 
 some woman happy." 
 
 "So I did, but makin a woman happy don t always 
 mean marry in . This cabin " pointing with pride to 
 the hut " is for my mother." 
 
 " Oh, I didn t know that. By the way I don t be 
 lieve I ever seed her." 
 
 " No, I reckon not. She is livin over in Barren 
 county with my brother Jim an never has been out to 
 Allen. You know I ain t been livin here but about 
 two years ; come out here to see if I couldn t git a 
 place for her, but it peared like the harder I worked 
 the wus times got, and I was jest about to give up and 
 go somewhar else when this wood business come up. 
 It won t take me long now to knock out a few dol 
 lars." 
 
 " I reckon not, but have you made any arrangements 
 about havin yo wood hauled down to the road ? " 
 
 " That was about the only thing that stood in my 
 way, not havin airy hoss, but I have agreed to pay 
 Sim Joyner so much to haul it out and rick it up for 
 me. I ve got to strike out early in the mornin atter 
 mother." 
 
 " I reckon you ll have some little trouble in hirin a 
 hoss to go that fur." 
 
 " Yes, a good deal. The truth is I kain t git a hoss 
 at all, but I ll fetch her all right enough." 
 
BIO HEP AND LITTLE LADY. Ill 
 
 Hep set out earty the next morning while his neigh 
 bors were eating breakfast. He disappeared down the 
 valley, singing his one tuneless song : 
 
 " Ob, the old raccoon was cbasecl from his hole, 
 And he couldn t git back for to save his soul. 
 He tried it late and he tried it soon, 
 But he couldn t git back, that old raccoon." 
 
 Four days passed before they heard that tuneless 
 song again, and then they heard it coming up out of 
 the valley. 
 
 "I don t see his mother with him," a man remarked, 
 shading his eyes with his hand. " Mebby the old lady 
 couldn t walk so fur. He s got a pretty big bundle of 
 something on his back." 
 
 They stood speculating until Hep came up, and then 
 they saw a woman s head protruding from a roll of 
 blanket which the giant carried on his back. Every 
 one uttered an exclamation of surprise when Hep 
 placed his mother in a hickory sapling chair which he 
 had made for her, and which he requested some one to 
 bring from the cabin. 
 
 " Now you sit right here. Little Lady, till I git you 
 suthin to eat," said the giant. " You see," he pleas 
 antly added, turning to his neighbors, "that thar s a 
 good deal of diffunce in our size. I weigh over two 
 hundred and Little Lady don t weigh but ninety." 
 
112 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 * And is she r a ly yo mother? " some one asked. 
 
 " Indeed I am," the little, old woman spoke up. 
 "And if you had seed Hep onct long time ago you 
 wouldn ter thought he would be much when he growd 
 up. But bless us all, jest look at him now." 
 
 How sweet and pleased her old face was. She had 
 that peculiar countenance which seems to come as an 
 illumined beauty to old age a face through which one 
 catches glimpses of a patient and loving soul. She 
 looked like a mere doll, and was as easily amused as a 
 child. Big Hep brought his axe and showed it to her, 
 and when he explained that he had experienced some 
 trouble in finding one large enough for him, she seized 
 the arms of the chair and laughed. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HEP S house became a favorite resort, and at even 
 ing the neighbors would gather there and sing religious 
 songs. They knew no worldly airs, and to them music 
 was the handmaiden of the gospel. The leader of the 
 musical exercises was a girl named Lutie Moore. She 
 was the daughter of a man who owned several 
 teams, and was, therefore, high in the social grade. 
 She had the appearance of a flirt, and it was known 
 
BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY. 113 
 
 that she had smiled upon Rob Turner, as hard a work 
 ing young fellow as ever lived, and then refused to 
 marry him, although he begged her piteously and al 
 though he was a hard-working boy. It was soon dis 
 covered that Big Hep was smitten with her, and one 
 Sunday when he hired one of her father s horses and 
 took her to church, at least ten miles distant, the 
 gossips knew that a marriage or a refusal would be the 
 result. Old Miss Beverly, the chief of gossips, called 
 on Hep s mother that Sunday, and the impulse to gos 
 sip was so strong within her that she disregarded her 
 usual skirmishing and went at once into the engage 
 ment. 
 
 "I reckon you know that Hep s gone with Lute 
 Moore to-day." 
 
 "Yes," the little, old woman answered, "but I 
 reckon he ll come back." 
 
 " Oh, of course, but haven t you been thinkin that 
 he mout want to marry her ? " 
 
 " The only thing I ve thought about it is that she 
 would have to search a mighty long time before she 
 could do better." 
 
 44 1 understand that, too, but ain t you afeered she 
 won t have him, and that it will pretty nigh break his 
 heart?" 
 
 44 He has a mighty big heart, Miss Beverly." 
 
 " That s true enough, but big hearts air ginerally the 
 
114 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 easiest to break. Look at Rob Turner, fur instance. 
 Thar ain t nobody got no bigger heart than he has, and 
 thar ain t a harder workiu boy in all this country, and 
 now look at him. He mopes about like he don t kere 
 whuther the price of wood keeps up or not. If I had a 
 son and I reckon it s a blessin that I ain t I would 
 hate to see him makin a set at a girl like Lute Moore. 
 I would jest give him a piece of sensible advice. I 
 would tell him to be keerful of women that thinks 
 themselves good lookin an take some good, honest per 
 son that thinks more of other folks than she does of 
 herself. I would tell him to find some good girl, 
 makes no difference if she was a little older than 
 him, and marry her. I have been mightily inter 
 ested in Hep ever sense I fust seed him, and I do so 
 much want him to git a good wife whenever he do 
 marry." 
 
 " Little Lady," with all her smallness physically, 
 and beauty born of a sweet and patient soul, was a 
 woman, and while Miss Beverly was talking this 
 little mother mused: "I see what you air drivin 
 at, Missie, but you might as well hush, for Hep will 
 never marry such a lookin busy-body as you air. 
 Why, thar wouldn t be no livin in the house with 
 
 you." 
 
 "Well, I must go," said Miss Beverly, rising. "I 
 thought I would merely drop over and see you awhile. 
 
BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY. 115 
 
 I wish but never mind " She was now standing in 
 the door, twisting the strings of her gingham sun- 
 bonnet. 
 
 " What were you goin to wish?" 
 
 " Oh, nuthin , only I thought that if you cared to 
 speak of it, you might tell Hep that we air all might ly 
 interested in him. I don t think I ever seen a young 
 man that I ever was more interested in than I am in 
 him. Good mornin ." 
 
 When Hep returned from church, late that evening, 
 his mother looked at him closely, as if she were search 
 ing for evidences of unrequited love ; and when 
 he had sat down to the table upon which his dinner had 
 been spread, she noticed that he did not eat with his 
 usual relish. 
 
 " What s the matter, Hep ? " 
 
 " Oh, nuthiri ," he answered, looking up surprised. 
 " What makes you think thar s anything the mat 
 ter?" 
 
 " I didn t think you eat like you had much appetite, 
 and thar is the dandelion greens, too." 
 
 " I won t try to fool you, Little Lady," he said, 
 smiling. " I will jest tell you exactly what is the mat 
 ter. I love Lutie Moore." 
 
 " And do she love you, my son ? " 
 
 " That s what I kain t find out." 
 
 " Have you said anything to her about it?" 
 
116 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Not yet. I have been tryin to all day, but some 
 how I couldn t. I d keep on lookin ahead and think 
 that when I got thar I would say somethin , but I kep 
 puttin it off, an puttin it off, till here I am an nuthin 
 ain t been said yit." 
 
 " Do you want me to go over and talk to her ? " 
 
 " Gracious, no ! " he exclaimed. " She would think 
 that I ain t got sense enough to talk fur myself, and 
 that would settle it right then and thar. The next 
 time the folks come over here to sing I will walk home 
 with her and say somethin or bust a hame-string, as 
 pap uster say." 
 
 The singing party met that very night, and Hep 
 walked home with Lutie Moore. He struggled with 
 himself as they walked along, and not until they had 
 almost arrived at Moore s cabin could he summon up 
 sufficient courage. Finally, in a sort of desperate burst, 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 "Stop right here whar you air and let me say 
 suthin ." She stopped and turned her face toward him. 
 The moon was shining. 
 
 " Miss Lutie," said he, " I want to tell you somethin 
 that I have tried mighty hard to say. I never was 
 much of a hand to go among women, for the reason 
 that I never was much interested in their talk, but it s 
 different with you. It don t make no difference what 
 you say, I am interested in it ; and I don t believe you 
 
BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY. 117 
 
 could say a word that wouldn t sorter stir me up. 
 What have you got to say to that ? " he added, his des 
 peration giving away to embarrassment. 
 
 "I don t know what you mean," she said. 
 
 " Wall, I mean jest this here ! I love you; and now 
 what have you got to say to that? " 
 
 " I say that I am glad of it." 
 
 "Air you railly ! " he exclaimed, placing his hands on 
 her head. " Air you sho naff, and air you glad enough 
 to love me ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said smiling, and the moon that shone full 
 in her face pointed out the smile to him. 
 
 He scarcely remembered anything else that night, 
 except that he hastened home and told his mother that 
 he was almost too happy to live. 
 
 "Lift me up and kiss me," said the little, old 
 woman. 
 
 He got up the next morning singing his one tuneless 
 song. u And you won t forget me after you are mar 
 ried, will you son ? " the little woman asked. 
 
 He sat down, looked at her a moment, and said : 
 "I don t see what could have put that into yo little 
 head. I love that girl well enough to die for her, but 
 I couldn t love her well enough to forgit you." 
 
 The gossips soon learned of Hep s engagement, and 
 there was great surprise when it was reported that 
 Lutie was "dead in love " with him, "And her father 
 
118 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 owns so many teams, too," one woman remarked. 
 " Sholy, strange things do happen in this here world." 
 
 The night was beautiful ; the wedding was to take 
 place on the following day. Big Hep and Lutie sat on 
 a log. They could hear " Little Lady " singing. 
 
 " Hep," said the girl, " we ll be so happy after we 
 air married." 
 
 "Yes, the happiest of anybody in the world," he 
 answered. 
 
 "And then yo won t have no trouble in gittin 
 hosses to haul yo wood. Say, dear, how long is yo 
 mother goin to stay with you? " 
 
 " Allus," Hep proudly answered. 
 
 " No, that mustn t be. I like her well enough, but 
 I m afeerd she would make me tired." 
 
 He arose, looked down upon her for a moment and 
 then said : "And if that s the case, I reckon I would 
 make you tired, too. I worship you or did worship 
 you but the Lord has p inted out my duty. Good 
 night." 
 
 " But wait, Hep, tell me that we air to be married in 
 the mornin ." 
 
 " Good-night," he repeated. 
 
 ****** 
 The neighbors that arose early the next morning, 
 
BIG HEP AND LITTLE LADY. 119 
 
 saw Hep, with a large bundle on his back, going down 
 into the valley, and they heard the words of his tune 
 less song: 
 
 " Oh, the old raccoon was chased from his hole, 
 And he couldn t git back for to save his soul. 
 He tried it late and he tried it soon, 
 But he couldn t git back, that old raccoon." 
 
AN IVORY SMILE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE following sketch, written by Col. J. McCloud, 
 of Kentucky, was recently given to me by a son of that 
 well-known gentleman : 
 
 I lived in Kentucky and owned a number of slaves. 
 Among them was an enormous man, named Amos. I 
 think he was the strongest human being I ever have 
 seen. Once when I was a boy I went with Amos to a 
 circus. During the performance the ring-master an 
 nounced that he had a wonderful mule. "I will give 
 this mule to any man who can either ride him or lead 
 him around the ring." Amos arose. I plucked his 
 coat and excitedly asked what he was going to do. I 
 asked this, although I knew well enough what was on 
 his mind. 
 
 "Chile," said he, "dar ain t no man, white iiur 
 black, dat s gwine bluff me wid er mule ; " and before 
 I could by persuasion restrain him, he had stalked into 
 the ring. The mule was a small animal and depended 
 for success upon that quality which so well serves the 
 
 (120) 
 
AN IVORY SMILE. 121 
 
 small man and the politician trickery. Amos turned 
 to the ring-master and said : 
 
 " You means dat I kin hab dis mule ef I kin ride him 
 ur lead him ? " 
 
 " That is exactly what I mean." 
 
 " Ah, hah, an does you mean dat ef I takes dis yere 
 mule outen de ring I kin hab him ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you can take him out of the ring he is your 
 property." 
 
 Amos seized the mule and I don t know how, but in 
 a moment had him on his back. The frightened animal 
 struggled, but Amos, amid the wildest applause, carried 
 him out of the ring. 
 
 44 He s mine," Amos shouted as he put down his 
 burden. 
 
 " Not so fast, my good fellow," the ring-master cried, 
 quickly following him. " I said you might have him if 
 you could lead him out of the ring." 
 
 " An den you said I could hab him ef I tuck him 
 out?" 
 
 "Oh, no," the ring-master answered, taking hold of 
 the bridle. " I said if you could lead him ; but now to 
 show that there s nothing mean about me, I will 
 solemnly swear in the presence of these good people, 
 that I will give you the elephant if you take him on 
 your shoulder down to the river and give him a bath." 
 
 The audience roared as though the world s greatest 
 
122 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 witticism had just been uttered, and Amos, disgusted 
 with the perfidy of showmen, returned to his seat. 
 
 I was deeply attached to Amos, who, my father as 
 sured me was my individual property ; and I used to 
 smile over the absurdity of so small a boy owning so 
 large a man. When I grew up, and when the death of 
 my father gave to me the sad inheritance of all the 
 slaves, I depended on Amos as a sort of general man 
 ager. He was so faithful and had so apparent an affec 
 tion for me, that in gratitude and especially in a Chris 
 tian prompting, I resolved to set him free. So, one 
 day just before Christmas, I called him as he was cross 
 ing the yard. 
 
 " Good mawnin , Mars George ; how does you feel 
 dis mawnin , sah ? " 
 
 " First-rate, Amos. In fact, I feel so well that I 
 have decided to give you a great Christmas present." 
 
 " Thankee, sah," he replied, removing his hat and 
 bowing low, "an lemme tell you dat de Lawd ain t 
 gwine furgit you fur dat. Lawd dun said He is mighty 
 in lub wid de cheerful giber, an ef you ain t one I 
 doan know who is. Look yere, Mars George, whut it 
 gwine be?" 
 
 " Never mind, I ll tell you when Christmas morning 
 comes." 
 
 " Dat s right an proper, sah, but somehow I d like 
 ter hab er little sorter idee. I wan ter know how ter 
 
AN IVORY SMILE. 123 
 
 shape myself. Man pear like he wanter be s prized, 
 but still he d ruther know whut he gwine be s prized 
 erbout. When de dog trees er possum er man would 
 like ter be s prized ez ter whut sort o varment dar is 
 up dar, still he d ruther know whuther it s er possum 
 ur er coon fo he chops down de tree." 
 
 " That s all right, Amos, but you go ahead and cut 
 down the tree and leave it to me to provide against 
 disappointment." 
 
 " Wall, ez you nebber has diserp inted me, I ll do 
 dat. I got up ter go ober in de woods, sah, an see 
 erbout hawlin up some back-logs fur Christmas. Doan 
 want none de white folks ter git cold on dat day, I as- 
 sho you. Dar ain t nuthin dat takes de brightness 
 offen Christmas day like chilly white folks. Good 
 mawnin , Mars George." 
 
 He went away, singing the blithe song of a light 
 heart. He was a giant but he was a child. 
 
 Before daylight, one morning shortly afterward, 
 while I was yet in bed, a house servant tapped on the 
 door and told me that Amos wanted to see me. " Tell 
 him to come in," I answered. The giant, black in the 
 dark shadows of the dim lamp-light and the early 
 morning, entered the room and stood near my bedside. 
 There was the sudden gleam of an ivory smile, then a 
 low, musical laugh and the warm tones of a "good 
 mawnin . Mars George." 
 
124 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Well, Amos, what do you want this time of day ? " 
 
 " Dat s whut I come ter tell you, sah. I woke up 
 bout midnight, an fo de Lawd I couldn t go ter sleep 
 ergin fur lay in dar worry in ." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " Wall, sah, jes dis : I wuz wonderin whut in de 
 worl you gwine gib me fur dat Christmus present. 
 Now I know you gwine turn ober wid one dem flounces 
 de white folks has, an say I se foolish an ain t got no 
 sense, an I low mebbe you d be right ef you did say 
 so, but I jest couldn t he p it, Mars George." 
 
 But I did not turn over with one of those flounces 
 that the " white folks " have ; I reached out and took 
 his hand. " My poor child," said I, " my poor child 
 
 " and I really could say nothing else. He broke 
 
 down. The giant was on his knees. 
 
 " Oh, you calls me er chile, when it wa n t but de 
 udder day dat I toted you in my arms, showing you de 
 geese swimmin in de pond, an now you is er gre t big 
 man an calls me chile. Ole Marster s time does fly 
 monstrus fast when de little toddler o yistidy terday 
 takes you by de han like he gwine lead you, an calls 
 you chile. But I wush you would tell me whut dat 
 present gwine be. It doan pear like I kin stand it no 
 longer, Mars George." With the tenderness of a 
 mothers touch his hand stroked my hair. " Tell me 
 jest dis time, Mars George, an I won t ax you no mo ." 
 
AN IVORY SMILE. 125 
 
 " Amos, you have only two more days to wait, and I 
 don t believe that it would be real kindness to tell you 
 now." 
 
 "Wall, sah," he said, slowly arising to his feet, "it 
 will hatter go, I reckon. Ain t dar er jug in dat closet, 
 sah ? Dat one right dar ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 "Wall, would you mind ef I wuz ter tilt it up ez er 
 sort o good mawnin ter dis new-bo n day, sah?" 
 
 "Help yourself, Amos." 
 
 "I thanks you, I does. Ef dar s any thin dat 
 smooths out de wrinkles o er diserp iritment, it s one 
 deze fine articles o licker." 
 
 He drew out the jug and tilted a long good morning 
 to the new-born day, and then, slowly wiping his mouth 
 with the back of his hand, declared that he was 
 strengthened against the trials of another season of dis 
 appointment. 
 
 He did not again speak of the present until early 
 Christmas morning. Then he came and tapped on my 
 bedroom door. 
 
 " Mars George, oh, Mars George." 
 
 " Is that you, Amos ? " 
 
 "Yas, sah, an I come ter mind you dat Chris mas 
 done come." 
 
 "I know that, Amos." 
 
 " Yas, sah, I lowed you did, but I wuz sorter 
 
126 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 skeered dat ole Satan rnout put sutliin in yo way ter 
 make you furgit it." 
 
 " You haven t known him to put many things in my 
 way to make me forget promises, have you?" 
 
 " No, sah, but still you kain t nebber tell what Satan 
 gvvine do. De Good Book say he allus pokin round 
 seekin whut he kin vower." 
 
 "Well, I ll be out pretty soon, and give you the 
 present." 
 
 " All right, sah, but you ain t gwine turn ober an go 
 ter sleep ergin, is you ? " 
 
 "No, I m getting up now;" and then I heard him 
 mutter: "thank de Lawd fur dat." 
 
 There had been so much speculation among the ne 
 groes as to what Amos present was to be, that I was 
 greeted by nearly every man, woman and child on the 
 plantation when I stepped out upon the veranda. I 
 shall never forget that morning. The sun was rising. 
 Far in the west the loitering stars were fading one by 
 one, and above them hung the quartered moon, stripped 
 of her majesty and paled by the brightening glory of 
 the morn. Far down the creek, where the lurking 
 shadows hid under the bending willow boughs, the 
 rushing waters played a deep-toned symphony, and in 
 the woods a tired dog, barked unheeded, where he had 
 "treed" at midnight. 
 
 " Amos," I said, stepping forward. 
 
AN IVORY SMILE. 127 
 
 " Yas, Mars George," he answered, bowing. 
 
 " I promised you a Christmas present, and in view of 
 my great attachment, you, with reason, supposed that 
 it was to be something to be valued far above the ordi 
 nary gift." 
 
 " Yas, Mars George." 
 
 "Amos, I am going to give you something which 
 many of the world s greatest men have died for, and 
 for which any great man would shed his blood. Amos, 
 I give you freedom." 
 
 He did not bound into the air, as I had expected ; 
 he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and 
 quietly said : 
 
 "I lowed you gwine gimme dat possum dog." 
 
 " What ! You old rascal," I exclaimed, " would you 
 rather have a dog than your freedom ? " 
 
 He looked up and thus replied: " Er ole man kin 
 hab comfort wid er possum dog, sah, but when free 
 dom comes ter er ole man it makes him feel foolish." 
 
 " Amos, you are not so old. I will give you two 
 hundred dollars, and you can go away and be a free 
 man. Although I am deeply attached to you, yet I 
 would not advise you to stay here. Come, and I will 
 give you the money." 
 
128 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 YEARS passed, and the war came. I went as a cap 
 tain into the Confederate army. I shall say but little 
 of my military career, for there is but a small part of it 
 that concerns this narration. While on a raid in Ken 
 tucky I was captured. A number of depredations had 
 been committed upon Union men, and I was charged 
 with these wanton outrages. I was innocent, but, un 
 fortunately, had no proof at my command. I was 
 court-martialed and sentenced to be shot. My captors 
 were men who knew me most of them were my 
 neighbors, and despised me for not having taken sides 
 with them. 
 
 The night was intensely cold. Under a tree I lay, 
 bound with a rope. There were no tents; the com 
 mand was under marching orders. There were no 
 fires ; there was nothing but gloom and a freezing at 
 mosphere. One of my guards was a man who owned a 
 small farm near mine. I had done him favors. 
 
 "Mills," said I he was standing near me " Mills, 
 this war business is very serious, isn t it ? " 
 
 " It is for traitors," he answered. 
 
 " That s all right, Mills ; but you shouldn t talk that 
 
AN IVORY SMILE. 129 
 
 way to me simply because I held an opinion opposite 
 to your own." 
 
 " My opinion is the one held by the State," he re 
 plied. " You must remember that Kentucky didn t go 
 out of the Union. Therefore, you are not only a 
 traitor to the general government, but a traitor to your 
 own commonwealth." 
 
 " You look at it that way, and perhaps you are right, 
 but I was born in Virginia and Virginia has gone out. 
 I am inclined to believe that we made a mistake. As 
 for myself, I should hate to see this country dis 
 rupted." 
 
 " Yes, it seems so," he sarcastically answered. " The 
 certainty of being shot at daylight has a tendency to 
 make a man thoughtful at midnight." 
 
 Mills." 
 
 " Well ; but don t talk so loud. You are supposed 
 to keep silent ; but what were you going to say? " 
 
 " I was going to say that I dont want to be shot at 
 daylight." 
 
 " Oh, you were. How did so strange a thought 
 occur to you ? " 
 
 " It occurred to me in a most natural way. Now, 
 just change places with me and " 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " I mean that you just suppose yourself in my 
 
 fix." 
 
 9 
 
130 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " My imagination isn t that strong. At school, you 
 know, I was always a matter-of-fact sort of fellow. 
 You were the imaginative boy of the class." 
 
 " Yes, and that s one of the reasons why I don t relish 
 the idea of being shot at daybreak. It strikes me that 
 if T were in your position and you in mine, I would do 
 something for you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, when a man s fancy is wrought up, as 
 yours must be, anything is likely to strike him." 
 
 " Mills, don t you remember that if it hadn t been 
 for my father your brother might have gone to the pen 
 itentiary ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but what s that got to do with this affair ? " 
 
 " I should think that gratitude would arise and an 
 swer that question." 
 
 " That was very well said, but you must know that 
 gratitude rarely keeps a man from being shot at sun 
 rise. I gad, it rarely keeps him from starving to death. 
 There is no gratitude, captain." 
 
 " There may not be with some people." 
 
 "I mean that no man is grateful enough to risk his 
 life. But before you go any farther, let me say that it 
 would have been better had that brother of mine gone 
 to the pen." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Well, he s in the rebel army." 
 
 "Mills," I said, after a few moment s silence, "if it 
 
AN IVORY SMILE. 131 
 
 were not for one thing, to-morrow morning. could not 
 strike so great a terror to my heart. 
 
 " What s that ? " 
 
 " I am engaged to marry Mary Caldwell." 
 
 " Handsome girl, but she ll soon forget you." 
 
 " I wish I were untied." 
 
 " Yes, I reckon you would like to take to your heels." 
 
 " I would run away, but not until I had knocked you 
 down." 
 
 " Good boy ; but I reckon you d better stop talking 
 now and go to sleep. You want to be in good trim, 
 you know, for the devil s dress parade." 
 
 He walked off a short distance and sat down, I im 
 agined, for I could not see. I wondered what time it 
 was, and just then I heard Mills say, in answer to an 
 inquiry, that it must be about four o clock. I heard 
 something move on the ground near me, and then there 
 came a whisper that thrilled my heart : 
 
 " Doan say er word, Mars George I se yere." 
 
 Then I felt myself slowly dragged, and then I was 
 lifted from the ground and carefully carried away in 
 the deepened darkness of the thick woods. 
 
 "Does you know me?" came another whisper. 
 
 " Yes ; God bless you." 
 
 " Hush. Let me git you round on my back an den 
 we ll be all right." 
 
 He seemed to be running, especially after he struck 
 
132 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 a path, and shortly afterwards the raking boughs of the 
 trees assured me that we were again in the thick woods. 
 
 "Put me down and untie me," I whispered. 
 
 " Hush." 
 
 He hastened along, going faster and faster. He 
 crossed a frozen stream and began to climb a hill. 
 
 " I can put you down now," he said, after a long 
 time. He put me down and cut the rope that bound 
 me. I was so stiff and sore that I could scarcely walk. 
 
 The grayish advance of dawn was marching down 
 the hillside when we halted. Old Amos turned to 
 me. Again there was the sudden gleam of an ivory 
 smile. 
 
 " Mars George, I forgibs you, sah, fur not makin 
 me er present o dat possum dog. You gib me ez er 
 Chris mas present er freedom what de Lawd has per 
 mitted me ter enjoy ; and now, sah, on dis Chris mas 
 mawnin " 
 
 "This is Christmas, Amos; I had not thought of 
 it." 
 
 " Yas, an I gives you yo freedom ez er present. 
 You ll find er hoss in dat little stable down yander, 
 sah. Good bye, and may de Lawd bless you." 
 
OLD JOBLEY. 
 
 OLD JOBLEY was always accompanied by a deaf and 
 dumb boy, his grandson. The only word the boy could 
 utter and, so far as any one could discover, the only 
 word he could hear was " Zib." Sometimes, and par 
 ticularly at early morning when he felt disposed to be 
 loquacious, he would run up to the old man and cry 
 " zib, zib, zib." Then it was known that he was moved 
 by the cheering influences of the season, or that the 
 currents of his small and silent life were smooth and 
 of pleasant gliding. 
 
 What a drunkard old man Jobley was ! Yes, so 
 much of a drunkard that people said that had he not 
 wasted his life with drink he surely would have gone 
 to Congress. What a fallacy. A man of an ordinary 
 mind gets drunk and says foolish things that are sud 
 den enough and strange enough to be interesting, and 
 people say that liquor is at its old trick of blighting a 
 great intellect. Jobley was a man of pretty fair sense, 
 it is true, and though he might have gone to Congress 
 for many shadowy minds have gone thither yet he 
 could not have become a statesman, even though there 
 
 (133) 
 
134 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 never had been distilled a drop of anything that would 
 make a man forget his dignity. But how he did like 
 to sit around and talk about what he would have been 
 had he never drunk liquor ; and he always made it out 
 that he surely would have been rich. 
 
 During his whole life he had lived on a hillside 
 farm, and from what source his riches could have come 
 no one in the community was sufficiently imaginative 
 to surmise. The old man was a periodical debaucher, 
 and whenever he got off a spree he invariably declared 
 it to be his last. 
 
 "I simply won t waste my life in any such a way," 
 he would declare. " I do quit for five months at a 
 time, and a man that can quit that long can quit for 
 ever. Just watch me, now ; you just keep your eye on 
 the old man and hell show you what firmness is. 
 Won t he Zib?" 
 
 " Zib, zib," the boy would reply. 
 
 When the old fellow was getting well after a spree, 
 the boy always took care of him. The old man s wife 
 had no patience with such ailments. 
 
 " He needn t expect me to wait on him," she would 
 say. " Heaven knows I was worn out with him years 
 and years ago. He ruined my life, gracious knows. 
 It s a good thing that poor little child don t understand 
 things, but how he can love an old drunkard is more 
 than I can see." 
 
OLD JOBLEY. 135 
 
 "If you had been more patient with him years ago he 
 might not have been so bad," a privileged neighbor 
 once remarked. " There is such a thing as curing a 
 man by gentleness. I know that my George used to 
 get drunk, but I shamed him out of it before it took 
 much of a hold on him. I didn t scold him I treated 
 him so kindly that his conscience kept him sober." 
 
 " Oh you needn t talk to me about conscience. A 
 drunkard hasn t got any." 
 
 " After a while may be not, but he has at first. I 
 know that my George used to suffer awfully in mind, 
 and when I d come into the room he d seem to be afraid 
 to look at me afraid I d scold him but I wouldn t 
 let on that I thought he d done wrong. You ought to 
 have tried that plan, for I believe that many a man has 
 been saved that way." 
 
 "That s all nonsense. The whippin post is the 
 thing." 
 
 " Well, I ve tried that plan and you haven t, and my 
 husband is a sober man and yours isn t. That s all 
 I ve got to say. Good day." 
 
 Seven months had passed and old Jobley was still 
 sober. One evening, sitting by the log fire with Zib on 
 his knee, he spoke of his long period of abstinence. 
 
 " It s nothin to boast about," his wife said, shaking 
 a cat out of a chair and sitting down. " Seven months 
 indeed ! My father was never drunk in his life, and 
 
136 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 here you brag because you ve been sober seven 
 months." 
 
 " No, I m not exactly braggin , mother, but I m sorter 
 congratulatin myself." 
 
 "Well, you d better not holler till you get out of the 
 woods." 
 
 "No use to holler at all then, Martha. But if you 
 holler before you get out of the woods somebody may 
 come and help you out. How s that Zib ? " 
 
 The boy did not look up and the old man shouted 
 "Zib!" and the boy looked up quickly and replied, 
 " Zib, Zib." 
 
 At the breakfast table the next morning the old man 
 said: 
 
 " Martha, me and Zib are goin out to the post office 
 this mornin for I believe there must be a letter for us. 
 Heigh ? " 
 
 "You don t believe nothin of the sort. You just 
 want to go there and get drunk ; that s exactly what 
 you want, or you wouldn t go such a cold, snowy day 
 as this." 
 
 "There you go," the old man replied; "you are the 
 most suspicious creature I ever saw in my life. Why, 
 if I was as suspicious as you I wouldn t believe 
 wouldn t believe the Bible, even. Let me tell you one 
 thing right here; there ain t money enough in this 
 county to put a drop of liquor in me. Do you under- 
 
OLD JOBLEY. 137 
 
 stand ? Not money enough in this whole county. I m 
 goin out there, and if there ain t no letter for me I m 
 com in right straight back. Now mark what I tell you 
 right straight back." 
 
 Off they went on the roan mare the gray old man 
 and the deaf and dumb boy. The day was intensely 
 cold, with a spiteful spitting of snow. A log fire 
 crackled in the back room of the general store and 
 post office, and a loud company was gathered there. 
 Old Jobley, with the boy on his knee, sat for a time 
 listening to the stories he had often heard before. 
 "Lem," he said, speaking to the postmaster, "it struck 
 me last night that there must be a letter here for 
 me." 
 
 " Why, who on earth would waste time a writin to 
 you?" Pud Perdue cried. 
 
 "Never mind about that, Pud," the old man an 
 swered. " Bet I get ten letters to your one." 
 
 "Bet neither one of you never did get ten letters," a 
 red-eyed fellow shouted. 
 
 "That s neither here nor there," said the old man. 
 " I lowed last night there was a letter here for me, and 
 I wish you d see if there is, Lem." 
 
 " No use lookin , Jobley, for I know there ain t," Lem 
 replied. 
 
 " Well, then, I reckon about all I ve got to do is to 
 go home." 
 
138 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 "Oh, don t be snatched," said the red-eyed fellow, 
 " we re goin to open a kag of nails in a minit." 
 
 " You can go home when you can t go nowhere else," 
 Lem remarked with a quotation from the time-honored 
 lore of the backwoods. 
 
 44 Yes, I guess that s so, but I told the old woman I d 
 be right back." 
 
 "And of course she knowed you were lyin ," said 
 Pud. 
 
 44 Sorter seemed like she did," the old man replied. 
 " Say, boys, it has been seven months since I touched 
 a drop." 
 
 44 Oh, come now," Lem protested. 
 
 44 Yes, I ll swear to it. Seven months ; and it strikes 
 me that a man ought to gather up pretty good control 
 of himself in that length of time." 
 
 44 Seems like he ought," said the red-eyed fellow. 
 
 44 There are times," remarked the old man, " when a 
 little liquor does a man a heap of good." 
 
 44 1 reckon you re right." 
 
 44 Say, Lem, draw us off some in that pint cup." 
 
 When old Mrs. Jobley, after an anxious night of 
 waiting, opened the door at early morning, she saw the 
 roan mare, with snow on her back, standing at the gate. 
 
 The neighbors turned out to search the woods, and 
 
OLD JOBLEY. 139 
 
 at noontime they came upon the old man lying in the 
 snow; and the boy was crouched down beside him, with 
 his face hidden in the folds of his grandfather s coat. 
 They saw at once that the old fellow was dead. A 
 man touched the little fellow and cried : 
 
 "Zib!" 
 
 But the child did not look up. 
 
OLD BILLY. 
 
 RAIN came in dashes. It was like the angry spitting 
 of a cornered cat. The landscape was dreary: the 
 farmhouses seemed as blotches of wretchedness the 
 train roared toward Chicago. There were not many 
 passengers. Some of them were nodding, others sat in 
 gloomy resignation, but there were three men who were 
 inclined to be prankish. These three men, Brooks, 
 Adams and Cooper, were actually laughing, at one of 
 the oldest of jokes, doubtless, and a gaunt old fellow, 
 wise enough to be miserable, was frowning on them in 
 sour disapproval when the train stopped at a station. 
 A woman, with a bundle almost as large as a feather 
 bed, bumped her way off, and a comical-looking old 
 fellow nodded and " ducked " his way on. What a pe 
 culiar old fellow he did appear to be, with his squint 
 ing eyes set so close together and with his hook-nose 
 shaped so much like a scythe. His type is not found 
 in old countries quiet self assurance in homespun 
 clothes exists only in America. 
 
 " What have we picked up now ? " said Brooks. 
 
 " The governor of the state, perhaps," Adams an- 
 (140) 
 
OLD BILLY. 141 
 
 swered, and then added : " Cooper, go and ask that 
 old fellow to explain himself." 
 
 " Well, I don t know that he owes me an explana 
 tion," Cooper replied, " but if you say so I ll go and tell 
 him that you want to see him." 
 
 " All right, go and tell him to come down here and 
 make himself sociable." 
 
 Cooper told the old fellow that he was wanted, and 
 he good humoredly came back and joined the friends. 
 
 "You looked lonesome up there," said Brooks, "and 
 we didn t know but you might be willing to enter into 
 a sort of reciprocity with us." 
 
 " Much obleeged," the old fellow replied, squinting 
 comically. 
 
 " Where are you from ? " Adams asked. 
 
 "Wall," he answered, pulling at his thin, streaky 
 beard, " my home is down yan in Kaintucky, sah. 
 Come up here in Tndiany to see my married daughter 
 that lives back yander a piece. Hearn her husband 
 wa n t treatin her very well and I lowed, I did, that 
 I d come up and maul him awhile. I transacted my 
 business with him and I reckon it s all right now." 
 
 " What s your name ?" 
 
 " Old Billy." 
 
 "Which way are you going now? " Cooper asked. 
 
 " Thiser way," he answered, pointing forward. 
 
 " Yes, so I see." 
 
142 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Glad of it, sah. I m always glad to 1 arn that a 
 person aint blind. I lowed I d go up here to Chicago 
 and see how all them rascals are gittin along. Rascals 
 tickle me might ly." 
 
 " There isn t fun enough in this," Brooks adroitly 
 whispered, and then said aloud: "Well, Old Billy 
 you say you live in Kentucky ? " 
 
 " Yes, sah, in Allen county." 
 
 " Well, then, tell us a story. I have heard that 
 Allen county is full of yarns." 
 
 "I don t know any story. You don t know Ab 
 Starbuck, do you ? " 
 
 " No ; but what about him ? " 
 
 "Nothin , only he was about the toughest man in 
 Kaintucky. And mean ! Thar wa n t nuthin too 
 mean for him to do. One night over on Big Sandy he 
 rid into a meetin house durin a revival and shot out 
 the lights and left the mourners thar in the dark. Oh, 
 he was bad, and when he got on the rampage folks had 
 to git out of his way. When he come to town busi 
 ness jest nachully suspended. I never shall furgit one 
 day when he come to Scottville. A good many of the 
 merchants closed their doors when they hearn that he 
 had come, and men were pretty scarce on the street, I 
 tell you. Wall, Ab he come a stalkin along the side 
 walk with a couple of pistols in his belt, and a bowie 
 knife in his boot leg. Old men got out of his way, and 
 
OLD BILLY. 143 
 
 little children got off the sidewalk down in the mud to 
 let him pass. Wall, jest about the time he was 
 the worst lookin jest atter he had kicked a dog out 
 into the street, here come an old nigger man, walkin 
 along, meetin him. The nigger didn t git out of the 
 way he walked right into Ab Starbuck bumped 
 against him. Ab jumped back. He was too much as 
 tonished to think about his bowie knife, and he hauled 
 off with his monstrus fist and hit the nigger in the 
 mouth. The old man staggered. He wiped his bloody 
 lips with one hand, and began to feel about at arm s 
 length in front of him with the other ; and then, in a 
 voice as gentle as a child s, he said : 
 
 " Boss, you must skuze me, sah; I se blind. 
 " My God, old man ! I didn t know that ! Ab 
 cried, and then stood with his hand restin on the 
 nigger s shoulder. Old man, he said, I wouldn t 
 hurt you for the world, and he took out his hanker- 
 chief and wiped the nigger s lips. Old man, he went 
 on, that hat you ve got on aint fit to wear. Come in 
 here, and he led him into a store that happened not to 
 be closed up on account of the desperado. Here, he 
 called, and the storekeeper began to dance around, 
 give this old man the best hat you ve got in the 
 house. W y, your shoes are all worn out, too, old man. 
 We ll jest get a new pair, that s what we ll do. And 
 you need a coat too. Oh, we can t afford to go around 
 
144 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 lookin shabby. We don t care what it costs. Here, 
 young fellow, hustle around. Hand us a coat. He 
 stood lookin on with tender eyes. When the nigger 
 was rigged out, Ab asked : 
 
 " 4 Whar was you headed for, old gentleman and 
 God knows you are a gentleman, I don t care how black 
 you are. 
 
 " 4 I was goin down to the wagin yard, sah. 
 
 " 4 Wall, it s too muddy to walk down thar with them 
 new shoes on, so I ll jest send you down thar in a hack. 
 Here, Mister, make out your bill ; and when he had 
 paid what was due the store he put the old man in a 
 hack and sent him away." 
 
 The three friends looked at one another but said 
 nothing. The train stopped at a station, and a tired- 
 looking woman, carrying a little girl in her arms, got 
 on. She took a seat just opposite the three friends and 
 Old Billy. The little girl began to cry. Brooks 
 bought her an orange, but she would not take it. 
 Adams offered her an apple, but she screamed at him. 
 
 " Oh, I don t know what to do with her," said the 
 woman, sighing. " I don t know what is the matter 
 with her." 
 
 Old Billy looked at the woman and then at the child. 
 " Your child, madam ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Your only child, I reckon." 
 
OLD BILLY, 145 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " The only one you ve ever had, I take it." 
 
 " Well, yes, sir," she answered, regarding him curi 
 ously. 
 
 " And you were an only child, too, I reckon." 
 
 u I was, sir." 
 
 "And you didn t play with children much." 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " I thought not." 
 
 The old man got up, took a little shawl that had 
 been thrown on a seat, twisted it, tied a knot at one 
 end, smoothed the thing into the semblance of a rag 
 doll, handed it to the little girl and said : " Love 
 the doll." The little creature seized the rag and 
 hugged it. She ceased crying in a moment, and in a 
 sweet disregard of what was going on about her, 
 hummed the improvised tune of tenderness. 
 
 " Madam," said the old man, "your little girl simply 
 wanted somethin to love and protect." 
 
 " Gentlemen," Brooks remarked, arising, " the man 
 who can thus touch the earliest bud of woman s noble 
 nature the very germ of the truest of all affection, 
 motherly love, is my master. He is not Old Billy, but, 
 
 gentlemen, he is the Hon. William." 
 10 
 
SWINGING IN THE DUSK. 
 
 THE Hatcbie river was raging. Far away over the 
 hills black clouds were hanging, and dogwood trees, 
 still green of leaf and white of blossom, came down the 
 tumbling stream. The air was warm and heavy, and 
 the woodpecker that flew over the bottom field ap 
 peared likely to fall ere he could reach the dead tree 
 that stood at the edge of the clearing. Reports from 
 up the river gave exciting accounts of another swell 
 coming down from the mountains, and in the neighbor 
 hood of Hickory Flat there was nothing talked of ex 
 cept the disasters of the flood. A yoke of oxen belong 
 ing to old Matt Sprague had been dumped out of a lot 
 by the sudden caving of a bank and whirled away, and 
 it was excitingly reported that a fine brond mare, the 
 property of Squire Nickelson, had been washed against 
 a tree and killed. The Hatchie was a treacherous 
 stream, and the people had been brought up in the be 
 lief that it could be guilty of almost any trick known 
 to the southern tributaries of the Mississippi, but no 
 
 one had been sufficiently schooled to suspect this 
 (146) 
 
SWINGING IN THE DUSK. 147 
 
 stream capable of so broad-spread a disaster as was now 
 threatened. 
 
 Lit Halpin, a hard-working fellow who had married 
 one of the Lanier girls, had just completed a one-story 
 board house in the second bottom of the Hatchie. At 
 the time of his marriage he was a hired man on a farm ; 
 and a hired man in that part of the country is scarcely 
 a Ward McAllister of society. But the knowledge 
 that there existed a prejudice against him did not seem 
 to lie with much weight upon the mind of Lit Halpin. 
 He said that he wasn t much of a society man anyway ; 
 declared that he didn t care to ride about on Sundays 
 wearing high-heeled boots that were too small for him 
 and this the social life of Hickory Flat imperiously 
 demanded he sought simply an opportunity to earn a 
 living. And he did earn a living. Not only this, he 
 won the love of the handsomest girl in the community 
 in an accidental way and married her. He bought a 
 piece of land in the rich second bottom and had just 
 put away his tools, after completing his modest house, 
 when the Hatchie began its threatening rise. 
 
 " Allie," he said, speaking to his wife, " I believe 
 the old Hatch is going to try to gouge us out. Up a 
 little way from here it is digging pretty sharply into 
 the bank." 
 
 " Oh, I hope not, Lit." She was standing on the 
 veranda. 
 
148 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " So do I, but that won t keep the water back. If 
 hope worked half the time there wouldn t be one-third 
 us much trouble in the world." 
 
 " That s true," she admitted ; and after a moment s 
 silence, she asked : 
 
 " Do you think we can do anything? * 
 
 " Not much." He turned and looked about him. 
 " Allie," said he, " I ll tell you what we might do. 
 We might tie the house with a cable rope, so that if 
 the water does come we ll be anchored." 
 
 " Oh, that would be charming," she cried. " But 
 will it float? " she asked, becoming serious. 
 
 " Of course it will. I ll go and get that well rope 
 and fix the thing right now." 
 
 The rope was found to be long enough. He at 
 tached one end to the strong underpinning of the house, 
 and the other end he made fast to a large cotton wood 
 tree, leaving a play of about fifty feet. He smiled at 
 his own ingenuity, and said that if the freakish river 
 should take a turn in his direction, it would find him 
 prepared. Just then a man rode up. 
 
 "Lit," he called, "the water is about to sweep old 
 man Potts from the face of the earth. We must go 
 down and help him save his cattle. Here, hop up be 
 hind me." 
 
 This admitted of no protest, nor of a moment s ques- 
 
SWINGING IN THE DUSK. 149 
 
 tioning. Lit jumped upon a stump and sprang upon 
 the horse. 
 
 "Allie," he called, looking back, "stay in the house 
 and you ll be all right. There s no danger, anyway, 
 but stay in the house." 
 
 The horse galloped away. The woman went about 
 her work. The clouds over the hills grew darker 
 but the sun shone on the house, and in the brightness 
 there was so blithe a promise that the danger would 
 pass that the wife hummed a tune as she worked. 
 Suddenly there came a roar and a jar. She ran out 
 upon the veranda. The river had cut through the 
 field. The house was afloat. The current was swift, 
 and the rope was taut. There was no way to reach 
 land, and the woman, feeling that she was safe, sat 
 down to await the return of her husband. Some one 
 called her, and looking up she saw a man standing near 
 the tree at the other end of the rope. 
 
 " Where s Lit ? " the man asked. 
 
 " Gone to help save cattle. And why don t you go 
 to help, too. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, 
 Tobe." 
 
 The man looked about him. " Yes," he said, "but 
 there are other things in this life that a person might 
 be ashamed of. I know people that ought to be 
 ashamed of something worse than not saving cattle- 
 
150 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 I know a woman who promised to marry a man and 
 didn t." 
 
 " Go on away, Tobe ; I don t want to have any words 
 with you.* 
 
 " Don t you? But I reckon you will." 
 
 ". If Lit were here you wouldn t talk to me that way. 
 I m going to tell him when he comes home." 
 
 The water was so loud in its roar that she had to lift 
 her voice. 
 
 " Do } T OU reckon ? " he shouted. " When do you ex 
 pect to see him again ?" 
 
 " He ll be home pretty soon too soon for your good." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " If I had something to shoot with you shouldn t 
 stand there and torment me." 
 
 " Do you reckon ? You ought to have kept your 
 gun at home instead of letting folks borrow it. Say, 
 after you fooled me I told you that you d be sorry, 
 didn t I?" 
 
 I didn t fool you, Tobe." 
 
 " Yes, you did ; you said you d marry me." 
 
 " Well, but I told you shortly afterward that I 
 couldn t. That wasn t fooling you/ 
 
 "Wasn t it? I think it was, and I told you that 
 you d be sorry. You couldn t keep your word, but I m 
 going to show you that I can keep mine. The water s 
 swift out there, ain t it?" 
 
SWINGING IN THE DUSK. 151 
 
 " What do you mean to do ! " she cried in alarm. 
 
 "I m going to keep my word." 
 
 " Tobe, please go on away." 
 
 " I will Fll go one way and you ll go another. The 
 water s pretty swift out there, ain t it?" 
 
 " What are you doing ? " she shrieked. " For God s 
 sake don t cut that rope, Tobe ! 
 
 The house went whirling down the stream. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN a remote community, near the line of the Indian 
 territory, a rude court sat in session. A prisoner, tied 
 with a rope, sat on a bench. He had come into the 
 neighborhood six months before, and had killed a man. 
 Now he was on trial for his life. The verdict was 
 brought in, and just then a man strode into the room. 
 
 "Judge," he said, "wait a moment. I m no lawyer 
 and have no right to talk in court, but I beg you to 
 listen to me." 
 
 " This is a court of justice rather than of law," the 
 judge answered. " Speak." 
 
 The prisoner drew back and tried to hide his face. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the man who had just entered, 
 " for months I have been looking for the wretch you ve 
 got tied there. Listen." He told an affecting story of 
 
152 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 a home in Tennessee. He told of a flood, and of his 
 house, tied to a tree. He drew a rude but strong 
 picture of his wife sitting on the veranda, with the 
 waters of a mad river roaring about her. " This wretch 
 came up and stood on the bank, gentlemen, he con 
 tinued. "He declared that my wife had promised to 
 marry him. He knew that I was nowhere about the 
 place he knew that I had gone to help his own father 
 save his cattle from drowning. Gentlemen, this scoun 
 drel cut the rope that held the house, and -I found 
 her," he added after a pause "I found her when the 
 river fell. And now I tell you that this hound does 
 not belong to your law, but to mine. See here, I have 
 brought this all the way from Tennessee." He un 
 wound a rope from about his body. " I say he is mine. 
 Judge, did you hear what I said ? " 
 
 "Mr. Sheriff," said the judge, "we have made a mis 
 take. The prisoner does not belong to us." 
 
 Near the place where the court met, a tree leaned 
 over the road, and when evening was come a man sat 
 with his back against a stump, watching a human fig 
 ure, swinging in the dust. 
 
A MEMORABLE MEAL. 
 
 IT was at luncheon, and one of Chicago s largest 
 merchants was in a talkative mood. " One particular 
 meal lives in my memory," said he. " It was years ago, 
 and I had just arrived in Chicago. I had come from 
 the East, and had worked my way on canal boats 
 and afterwards hoofed it over the prairie. I had been 
 led to believe that all one had to do was to come here 
 and pick up money. I looked about with an eager eye, 
 but didn t find any. Indeed, I must have struck the 
 town when its pulse was low for I couldn t get any 
 work. I had gone two days with nothing to eat. 
 Something had to be done. I didn t want to steal. In 
 fact, nothing was left lying in my way. But I had to 
 get something to eat, one way or another. I shuddered 
 at the thought of begging, but I stepped into a store 
 and hinted that I should like to eat something. A man 
 looked up from his desk, flashed a measurement over 
 me, and said : * Get out, you hulk. For a short time 
 anger relieved my hunger, but resentment, while it 
 may temporarily turn the edge of appetite, can not 
 shut the knife. I was walking along Lake street when 
 the richest of perfume, the fragrance of a New England 
 
 (153) 
 
154 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 boiled dinner, came through a doorway. I stepped into 
 the place. At that time it was the largest restaurant 
 in Chicago. A feeling of desperate boldness came over 
 me, and with a firm step I walked back and took a seat 
 at a table. My first intention was to give a modest 
 order, but could modesty serve a thief, and surely I was 
 a thief, for I had come in to steal my dinner. No, I 
 would suffer no self-restraint If I had to steal, I 
 would steal the best. The waiter came and I ordered 
 nearly everything on the bill of fare. It was an eter 
 nity before the order was filled, and when it came I was 
 so nervously eager that I could scarcely eat ; but after 
 a while I settled down to a sort of physical happiness. 
 No one noticed that I was eating like a wolf. Sud 
 denly a sore dread fell upon me. How was I going to 
 get out ? I looked toward the door, and for the first 
 time I noticed that the cashier was a most threatening 
 and burly-looking fellow. Then I began to speculate 
 as to the particular method he would choose to rid me 
 of my life. At last I settled upon the belief that he 
 would kick me to death. This was suggested, I re 
 member, by the fact that just as I sat looking at him he 
 came out from behind the counter and kicked at a dog. 
 Yes, my time had come. I had saved myself from 
 starving merely to die a more violent death. I philoso 
 phized that after all life was not worth living. But I 
 was young, and it was hard to die without having aq- 
 
A MEMORABLE MEAL. 155 
 
 complished anything. I took up the check which the 
 waiter had placed on the table. Gracious alive, I owed 
 1.40! I thought of my home, away back in the hills 
 of New England. I thought of my husky father, and 
 I wished that I had his strength. There was no use of 
 putting it off. Better die and get it off my mind. I 
 took the check, walked up to the cashier s desk, and 
 with hopelessness settled into a resignation that might 
 have been taken for the serenest of confidence, I placed 
 the piece of paper in front of that frowning giant. He 
 turned it over, looked at it and then looked at me. 
 
 " - Was everything all right ? he asked. 
 
 " * Yes, sir. 
 
 " 4 Well ! 
 
 "I looked at him a moment and then said : * I won t 
 tell a pitiful tale. I was hungry; I had no money; I 
 came in, ordered the best you ve got, and now I am at 
 your service. 
 
 " He opened the showcase. Ah ! instead of kick 
 ing me to death, he was going to shoot me. He reached 
 in and grabbed up something, and, withdrawing his 
 hand, said, Have a cigar ? 
 
 " That was a long time ago," the merchant continued, 
 after a pause, " but I think of it nearly every time I 
 go into a restaurant. What did you say ? Oh, what 
 became of the burly fellow ? He is the manager of 
 our wholesale department/ 
 
A DEAD MARCH. 
 
 AT night they brought a man to the hotel. He had 
 sprung up from an opium dream wild and a maniac. 
 He had gone to a Chinese opium den and for hours he 
 lay in a stupor, but suddenly he awoke with a cry and 
 he sprang up and shook in a frenzy. Some one said 
 that he was staying at a hotel in the "downtown" 
 district, and thither they took him. His eyes looked 
 like glass marbles with curiously-wrought figures in 
 them, but the design of the figures could not be 
 traced. They took him to a room and compelled him 
 to lie down. A doctor came and injected morphine 
 into his arm. Some one remarked : " I warrant you 
 he s a handsome fellow when he s at himself." 
 
 Three children were playing in the corridor, and a 
 boy, early in beginning the lordly deception which the 
 male feels that it is legitimate to practice on the oppo 
 site sex, said to a girl: " He is a robber and they 
 brought him out of a cave where there s ever so much 
 gold, and they re going to kill him." 
 
 At intervals during the night the man slept, but at 
 times he would spring up and rave like a demon, 
 
 (156) 
 
A DEAD MARCH. 157 
 
 "They are gone, they are murdered," he kept on re 
 peating. " Why didn t they take me. They are mur 
 dered." 
 
 To a certain class of human beings the following 
 day will ever be memorable. A procession marched 
 along the street. The music was a dead march, but 
 from further down the line came the strains of Annie 
 Laurie. There were coffins with red flags thrown 
 over them. The air was cold and raw, and everywhere 
 there seemed to be a suppressed excitement a hushed 
 yell. On the sidewalks rough men stood, breathing 
 hard. They were panting for revenge. A man 
 stepped from the throng. He unfurled an American 
 flag, took the lead of the procession and defiantly 
 marched onward. There was a loud murmur a growl, 
 but no one dared molest him. 
 
 A party of ladies and gentlemen were assembled in 
 the drawing-room of the hotel to which the opium 
 maniac had been taken. The procession was passing. 
 Some one accidentally struck the keys of a piano. 
 The next moment the maniac rushed into the room. 
 He had been asleep, and his attendant had left him. 
 The piano had called him back to wakefulness but not 
 to reason. His eyes glared. The designs in them 
 could now have been traced, a man said coffins with 
 red rags over them. 
 
 "They have tried to keep me from it, but they 
 
158 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 can t," he cried. " I was born to play their funeral 
 march. " 
 
 He threw himself at the piano. A storm arose, and 
 out of the storm came a cry of distress. The storm 
 deepened and there was a rumble as if a great multi 
 tude were threatening vengeance. The .company 
 turned from the windows and gazed in awe at the pian 
 ist. There was present a man who was celebrated in 
 Europe as a musical genius and he was enraptured. 
 
 " This is not a man," he cried. " It is a tormented 
 soul." 
 
 The procession passed. The strains of "Annie 
 Laurie " were heard far down the street. The storm 
 also had passed, and the piano seemed a green bank 
 where waters rippled. Birds were singing. The 
 ripple grew fainter the birds were hushed. Silence. 
 The man leaned forward. His, nurse ran into the room. 
 The European genius said, " Don t disturb him. He 
 will play again." 
 
 They waited, but he did not move. Yes, he did 
 move He leaned back slowly and fell on the floor. 
 The designs were no longer in his eyes they may have 
 been there, but the lights were turned out behind 
 them. 
 
 His name was never discovered. He had registered 
 when he came to the hotel, but when the book was ex 
 amined there was found an unintelligible scratch. 
 
AN IMPERIOUS COURT. 
 
 NEGLEY was riding along a road in a remote and 
 picturesque part of southern Missouri. The day was 
 delightful the weather had crossed the imaginary line 
 that fancy has drawn between Spring and Summer. 
 Negley did not belong to any temperance order, or if 
 he did his adherence to its precepts was not very 
 strict, for as he rode along there in the sunshine he took 
 out a whisky bottle, held it up and looked through it. 
 That hasty survey assured him that there was but one 
 drink left. 
 
 " Well, I might as well take it off my mind and put 
 it where it will do more good or harm," he mused. 
 " What s this," he added, looking at a line of print 
 across the label on the flask. " 4 Please break this bot 
 tle. Now why should I put myself to that trouble ? 
 My obligation ended when I paid for the stuff, and 
 the manufacturer has no more right to make any 
 further demand. But after all it s a very slight re 
 quest. It implies but little exertion on my part." He 
 drank the whisky and again looked at the request. 
 This time he noticed it was printed in red. "All 
 
 (159) 
 
160 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 right, gentlemen, I will go you," said he, and rising in 
 his stirrups he threw the bottle at a rail fence. The 
 bottle whirled through an opening, made by a crooked 
 rail, and then there came a loud cry like the howl of a 
 wild beast. And a man jumped up, looked about 
 him, sprang over the fence, and, bounding to the mid 
 dle of the road, in front of Negley, shook his fist and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "So I ve got you. Oh, attempt to get away and 
 I ll shoot the top of your head off. Can t lie down to 
 take a little nap but somebody must come along and 
 try to kill me. But I ve got you." 
 
 "My dear sir," said Negley, "I humbly beg your 
 pardon. I didn t see you until after I had thrown that 
 bottle" 
 
 " You didn t, hay ? Haven t you got anything to do 
 but go about the country throwing bottles? What 
 did you throw at if you didn t throw at me? Oh, I ve 
 got you ! " 
 
 " My dear sir, I threw at the fence." 
 
 "What did you want to throw at the fence for? 
 And do you mean to tell me that you couldn t hit 
 that fence ? And say, Why did you want to hit the 
 fence ? " 
 
 " I wanted to break the bottle." 
 
 " What did you want to break the bottle for ? Why 
 couldn t you have thrown it over there against that 
 
AN IMPERIOUS COURT. 161 
 
 rock? Look here, your aim was to assassinate one of 
 the most prominent citizens of this neighborhood, and 
 if any law can be squeezed out of the statutes of this 
 State you shall suffer for it. Turn off yonder at the 
 right, and ride slowly toward that house across the 
 creek." 
 
 "Look here," Negley protested, "you can t arrest me 
 without a warrant." 
 
 "Can t I? We ll see. Things may be different 
 where you came from, but in this part of the country 
 the law doesn t sit cross-legged and see a criminal get 
 away just because no warrant has been issued for him. 
 Ride on, there." 
 
 Negley is a peaceable sort of a fellow, and he is also 
 a man of exquisite judgment ; so he rode along. When 
 he arrived at the gate in front of the house that had 
 been pointed out, he was told to dismount. He did 
 so, and just then a girl, swift of motion and with a 
 wild tangle of dark hair, came out. 
 
 "Hal," said Negley s captor, "here s a fellow that 
 tried to kill me just now, and I m going to have him 
 tried for his life, even if we do have to stretch a point 
 in law. Here, take this pistol and hold him here until 
 I come back." 
 
 The girl took the pistol and the man disappeared. 
 44 What is he going to do ? " Negley asked. 
 
 "He s gone after the constable and the clerk. Got 
 11 
 
162 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 to have em or he can t run the court. He s the 
 Judge." 
 
 " Look here, miss, I didn t hit your father intention 
 ally. I simply threw a bottle away to break it and 
 happened to hit him." 
 
 " Was there anything in the bottle ? " she asked. 
 
 -No." 
 
 " Then no wonder he got mad." 
 
 Negley s face brightened. " And won t you please 
 let me ride on away ? " 
 
 " No, I ll have to keep you till pap comes." 
 
 " But you could shoot at me and not hit me." 
 
 " Oh, hitting you wouldn t make so much difference, 
 but I might hit the horse, and that would be bad." 
 
 She held him there until the old man returned, 
 and then a formal indictment was issued. The Judge 
 decided that the case was not bailable, and it was 
 therefore necessary to keep the prisoner in close con 
 finement until the next day, when it was intended that 
 the trial should begin. So the prisoner was locked in 
 the smokehouse and a guard was appointed. Negley 
 sat down on a box of salt pork and cursed the back 
 woods institutions of his country. He knew that he 
 could have the old man arrested and severely dealt 
 with, but that was small consolation. What he wanted 
 was to get out of that greasy prison. 
 
AN IMPERIOUS COVET. 163 
 
 " Who s on guard out there ? " he asked, talking 
 through a crack. 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Oh, is that you, miss ? " 
 
 " Yes. Jim, the constable, has gone to get some 
 thing to eat and I have to stay until he gets back." 
 
 44 What time of night is it ? " 
 
 44 Bout ten, I think." 
 
 44 Look here, if you will let me out I will send you a 
 silk dress." 
 
 44 I d like to have one powerful but I have to do my 
 duty. Here comes Jim." 
 
 The next day Negley was arraigned before what pur 
 ported to be a solemn court. The old man presided 
 with severe dignity. He not only pointed out the 
 crime of striking a man with a bottle, but declared that 
 added to this crime was the awful offense of contempt 
 of court, as he himself was the man who had received 
 the blow. The prisoner urged that out of the tender 
 obedience of his nature he had simply obeyed a request 
 pasted on a bottle. But the bottle was produced. 
 The label was gone some evil-minded person had re 
 moved it. This was a serious complication. "Pris 
 oner," said the Judge, 44 1 don t see but one way out of 
 it. Marry the girl." 
 
 44 What ! " the prisoner exclaimed. 
 
164 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 * Yes, that s the law. You become my son-in-law or 
 take the consequences." 
 
 This appeared to satisfy the entire court. The 
 prisoner, who had been watching for an opportunity, 
 darted through the doorway, tumbled over a fence and 
 was soon in a woods. He had left a fine horse, but he 
 had escaped a wife. Several weeks later, while sitting 
 in a St. Louis hotel, Negley overheard the following 
 fragment of a conversation : " Yes, I was down in 
 that country once and was arrested on some fool charge 
 don t exactly remember now what it was and the 
 court decided that I should marry a girl. The girl had 
 nothing to do with the affair, but that made no differ 
 ence. Well, I seized what I thought to be an accidental 
 opportunity and ran away, leaving a $250 horse. I 
 afterward heard that this was the aim of the court. I 
 hear that other men have been trapped pretty much in 
 the same way." 
 
HIS SPECIAL. 
 
 THERE lived in Chicago, not long ago, an old fellow 
 whom the newspaper men knew as old Marcus. He 
 was known in all the newspaper offices ; he haunted 
 them at most inopportune times when the city editor 
 was on the stretcher of a threatened " scoop " and when 
 the night editor was on the frenzied tiptoe of closing 
 the " forms." Old Marcus always had an important 
 "special" to sell, "just for enough to get along on." 
 Want had made him weazen ; poverty had slapped him 
 into servility of manner, but he aspired to write on 
 monetary subjects. The antennae of his mind were 
 constantly feeling for some financial crisis. He knew 
 exactly how many dollars there were in the govern 
 ment vaults ; he could tell you how many dollars were 
 appropriated by the late session of congress, and could 
 recite, with astonishing glibness, page after page from 
 the Banker s Monthly. An ordinary event did not in 
 terest him. He would riot read even the headlines of 
 a sensational murder, but would hungrily gulp down 
 the details of a bank failure. On the night after the 
 
 Bladridge murder he went into the office of a morning 
 
 (165) 
 
166 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 paper and shrinking his way to the city editor s desk, 
 said : 
 
 " Mr. Lowery, pardon my interruption, but I have a 
 very strong article here that I wish you d look at. The 
 shipment of gold from this country " 
 
 The city editor wheeled about and gave him a look 
 that jolted him. " Great Csesar, Marcus, this is no 
 time to talk about shipments of gold. We d have no 
 room to-night for an account of the discovery of Capt. 
 Kidd s boodle; we ve got a great murder on hand a 
 magnificent murder. Why don t you go to the news 
 editor with your stuff. It s not in my line anyway." 
 
 " He won t talk to me doesn t seem to know what 
 he wants. Now, on the sixteenth there was shipped 
 from New York, 83,562,840, and " 
 
 " That ll do. Gracious alive, how your head must 
 ache, trying to keep up with all that stuff." 
 
 " But it is of extreme importance to the country." 
 
 " Of course. Why don t you take it to a financial 
 paper?" 
 
 " Because a man has to be a banker or the average 
 financial paper won t pay any attention to him." 
 
 "Well, so long, Marcus. I haven t time to talk to 
 you to-night. Go and find out who killed Bladridge 
 and reap the reward of a scoop." 
 
 " I am no detective, Mr. Lowery." 
 
 " That s all right. So long." 
 
HIS SPECIAL. 167 
 
 " There ll be a time, Mr. Lowery, when you ll be 
 glad to get the first whack at something I write." 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 " I ll furnish you an item one of these days that ll 
 wake you up." 
 
 "All right, but put it off as long as you can." 
 
 The old man fumbled his way down the stairs and 
 went to another newspaper office. The city editor was 
 in a stew and the night editor was boiling. They 
 snapped at him when he offered his special. He went 
 away and sought his room up a dark and ill-smelling 
 alley. The place was miserable. Its atmosphere was 
 heavy with the steamy stench of a midnight lunch, 
 served in a neighboring hell-hole. The old man 
 lighted a lamp and placed it on a goods box which 
 served as a desk. There was no furniture in the room, 
 except a stool-bottom chair with the back broken off, 
 and a few cooking utensils. Newspaper cuttings, con 
 taining numerous figures and dollar marks, were tacked 
 here and there on the wall, as if they were gems in oil, 
 holding a rich bit of landscape or a handsome face. 
 
 Old Marcus sat down with a weary and discour 
 aged drop. He sat for a time, seeming to be worn out, 
 and then, taking up his pen, began to write. Sud 
 denly his old and wrinkled face flushed, and his form 
 rounded out. His hastening pen left an enchanting 
 track of figures. He mumbled over them and mur- 
 
16 8 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 mured, " beautiful," as if he were a poet, astonished at 
 the wasteful outpour of his own inspiration. 
 
 "Seventy-six millions, nine hundred and four thou 
 sand, six hundred and fourteen," he muttered. " Beau 
 tiful, and yet they won t take it ; but they will take 
 something one of these days. I will thrill them." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ONE Sunday night Lowery looked up ^o find old 
 Marcus standing near. 
 
 " Helloa, Marcus." 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Lowery. Are you pushed for 
 time?" 
 
 "Never pushed much Sunday night; but say, don t 
 tell me anything about the financial condition of the 
 country. I never did have time enough to hear about 
 that." 
 
 " But I have a thing here that would be the very 
 thing for Monday morning. Now, Wall street" 
 
 "Great Csesar, Marcus, don t begin that. Don t 
 you get tired ? Say, you ought to go off somewhere 
 and rest ; you can t stand the strain much longer. 
 There is nothing that wears harder on the brain than 
 financiering, and you d better look out. Don t you 
 
HIS SPECIAL. 169 
 
 know that Gould and all those fellows have been 
 warned by their physicians, not to keep up the strain 
 too long ? Look out, Marcus." 
 
 "Mr. Lowery," said the old man, and in his voice 
 there was a tone of sadness, " I am too old and too 
 feeble to be made fun of this way. I know you don t 
 mean any harm by it, and for a long time I could stand 
 it, but I have been so oppressed of late that what was 
 once a mere reminder that I was carrying something 
 has become a heavy load. Don t make fun of me." 
 
 Lowery had shoved back his chair, and was regard 
 ing the old man with an expression of sympathy. 
 
 " Marcus, you know that I wouldn t say anything to 
 hurt your feelings. I am sorry for you if you are in 
 distress, and will help you out if I can. Where are 
 you from, anyway, old man ?" 
 
 For the first time he felt a sort of interest in this 
 strange piece of driftwood on the river of life. 
 
 " I came from Boston seven years ago. Ah, Lowery, * 
 he added with a brightening face, " there s the financial 
 town for you. I used to write for the weekly State 
 ment, published there, and the editor often said that he 
 didn t see how he could get along without me. Do 
 you remember, about ten years ago, an article giving 
 an exhaustive account of the debt of England how 
 she owed more than all the coined money in the world 
 could pay ? " 
 
170 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " I read something like that, but I don t know where 
 I saw it," Loweiy answered. 
 
 " Well, no matter where you saw it, I wrote it." 
 
 " Did the editor of the weekly Statement pay you for 
 your contributions? " 
 
 " Oh, gracious, yes." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " Oh, he used to pay me a dollar a column. It 
 wasn t much, I know, but in these days of dry rot and 
 sensationalism, a man ought to be glad to get the truth 
 printed at almost any price. That reminds me that I 
 have an article here that will create a sensation through 
 out the country. It involves the sum of forty-eight 
 millions, five hundred " 
 
 " That s enough," Lowery interposed. 
 
 " But don t you want the article ? " 
 
 " No, I m afraid it s too sensational." 
 
 " Nonsense, Lowery. It would add tone and dignity 
 to your paper. I was noticing this morning what a lot 
 of dry stuff you print not one gleam of light except 
 a few figures telegraphed from Washington." 
 
 The city editor made a gesture of impatience. The 
 great financier continued: "Of course, you needn t 
 take it. I didn t expect you would. You are hired to 
 get up news for unthinking people, and a piece of real 
 intelligence is of no use to you. I ll bet that one of 
 these days I ll write an article that you ll want." 
 
HIS SPECIAL. 171 
 
 " How many millions will it involve ? " 
 
 "Not a blessed cent." 
 
 "Ah, you begin to interest me." 
 
 "You ll not only be interested, but thrilled when 
 you see the article." 
 
 " When are you going to write it? " 
 
 " I don t know exactly, but when you read it you 
 will be astonished at my power to produce sensational 
 matter, and the boys in the office will talk about it, and 
 the whole town will be eager to know more of the 
 writer." 
 
 " All right, bring it up." 
 
 "No, I shall not bring it." 
 
 " You ll send it in, eh ? " 
 
 " No, I ll not do that, either." 
 
 " Then how am I to get it? " 
 
 " If you ll give me a dollar I ll promise to direct it 
 to you." 
 
 "All right, here s your money." 
 
 The old man took the dollar and went out. They 
 heard him fumbling his way down the narrow stairs, 
 and then one of the men said : 
 
 " Didn t know you ever paid in advance, Mr. Low- 
 ery." 
 
 "Poor fellow," replied the city editor, "he needed 
 the dollar. I don t think, however, that he ll need 
 many more." 
 
172 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " I ll bet," said a reporter, " that he ll never furnish 
 an item until he s dead." 
 
 Some time passed, and old Marcus did not call, but 
 one night just as some one had mentioned Ids name, 
 there came a telephone message announcing that he 
 was dead. About an hour later a reporter came in, 
 and handing Lowery a sealed envelope, said : " This 
 was found on old Marcus desk addressed to you. The 
 police don t know whether he died a natural death or 
 committed suicide. Maybe this will tell." 
 
 Lowery tore open the envelope and read the follow 
 ing: 
 
 MY SENSATIONAL SPECIAL. 
 
 " I told you that I would write you a sensational 
 special. Here it is. I know that I shall not be able 
 to get out of my room again, as it is about as much as 
 I can do to sit up, and I must hasten to the fulfillment 
 of my promise. 
 
 " A number of years ago, while I lived in Boston, I 
 did a great deal of writing, as I once told you, for the 
 Statement. Once, while in the office, I met a very 
 pleasant man who had just handed in his views on an 
 important financial transaction. We talked a while 
 and I found him to be bright and entertaining. I met 
 him a number of times and became interested in him. 
 One day while we were talking, my wife, who was down 
 
HIS SPECIAL. 173 
 
 town shopping, called for me. I introduced him, and 
 when she and I left the office he accompanied us. We 
 walked some distance together, and when we parted, I 
 gave him the number of our house and asked him to 
 call. He said that he should be pleased to do so, and 
 he did call several evenings later and made himself 
 most agreeable. My wife was a handsome and charm 
 ing woman, much younger than I. She was much 
 taken with the fellow. You can begin to surmise, can t 
 you? You can, unless you are as stupid as I was. 
 This man called frequently, and instead of keeping up 
 a financial talk with me, talked literature to iny wife. 
 Fool is the practical man who marries a woman of lit 
 erary bent. The fellow of gabbling nonsense, of 
 metrical blubbers, of the dactylic dripping of mental 
 foam, can come along and wind a pliant will about his 
 finger. Babbled literature has ruined many an honest 
 plodder s home. Look at the farmer boy. What a 
 fool he is to marry a girl that loves poetry. Well, one 
 day when I went home I found that my wife had run 
 away with that villain. They had gone, I knew not 
 whither, but I felt within my soul that I should meet 
 them again and kill them. I could not follow them I 
 was too poor. Some time afterwards I learned that 
 they were in Europe. Then, after a long time, I met a 
 man who told me that my wife was dead and that the 
 man was living in Chicago, that he was wealthy and, 
 
174 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 consequently, esteemed. I .came to Chicago almost as 
 a tramp. The man, I learned, had gone with a party 
 of capitalists to South America. I resolved to wait for 
 him, and I lived on bitter bread and sweet hope. I 
 hud a long knife, made of a file and finely tempered. 
 I would kill him with that. Why ? One day my wife 
 put a ring his ring on her finger and couldn t get it 
 off. I will fix it, he said, and he went to a hardware 
 store and got a file and filed it off. The operation 
 must have been painful, done with the clumsy fingers 
 of love, and the flesh was torn, but she looked up at 
 him and smiled. It was then that I knew he had won 
 her heart. Yes, I would kill him with that knife, but 
 I pawned it to a saloon man, so reduced was I, and lie 
 used it to carve beef for the free lunch. One day, 
 while I was standing in the saloon, in walked my man. 
 I stepped back and he did not notice me. He went up 
 to the lunch counter and cut off a piece of beef with 
 my knife ah, his knife, too and after taking a drink 
 went away. I tried to raise money enough to get the 
 knife I wrote financial items but could not sell them. 
 At last I worked for the saloon man ; I cleaned out his 
 spittoons and got my knife. Then, every night, I 
 looked for my man. I was cautious, for I didn t want 
 to be hanged. One night, after writing an article 
 which I hoped you would accept, I started for your 
 office. I saw my man. I followed him and I pressed 
 
BIS SPECIAL. 175 
 
 the knife affectionately against me as I walked along. 
 My man turned into an alle} T , evidently to go to a re 
 tired saloon, and I hastened after him. He did go into 
 the saloon and I waited in the alley, not far off. He 
 came out and approached me. I stood against the wall. 
 Should I stab him without saying anything ? No. I 
 wanted to hear him speak. I spoke to him and he 
 stopped. 
 
 " Who are you? he asked. 
 
 " My name is File and King, I said. 
 
 "I never heard of such a fool name. 
 
 " Then I will introduce myself, and I stabbed him. 
 He made a smothered noise and was dead. I pulled 
 my knife out of his breast, wiped it on his beard and 
 hastened to my miserable room. Ah, there was a great 
 sensation the next morning. An enterprising citizen 
 had been murdered, and it was no ordinary murder, 
 for none of the valuables on his person had been mo 
 lested. The next night I took my financial article to 
 your office and you and your man were talking about 
 my man, and were wondering if the police would catch 
 the murderer. I am the man that killed Bladridge. 
 You will find the knife in my pillow, and if you ques 
 tion the truth of my statement, telegraph to R. J. Bis- 
 comb, 4311 State street, Boston, and ask him what he 
 knows about me. He does not know where I am and 
 probably does not suspect that I committed the mur- 
 
176 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 der, but will believe what I have written. I have kept 
 my promise have written a special that will create a 
 sensation. And now I am to die here alone. I could 
 call for help, but need none. Good-bye." 
 
 The knife was found in the pillow. A dispatch was 
 sent to R. J. Biscomb, and lie replied that he was ac 
 quainted with the details of the family trouble through 
 which Marcus had passed, and that the old man had 
 undoubtedly committed the murder. 
 
AT THE SPRING. 
 
 IN every neighborhood throughout the heavily wooded 
 districts of the South there stands an old log house 
 slowly settling down into decay; and near it, on the 
 same hill, is a white board church. The old house was 
 a place of religious resort years ago, and within its 
 walls America s most fervid oratory was heard. In the 
 fall of the year, when the fodder had been pulled, when 
 the leaves on the oak trees had caught the first breath 
 of autumn, the " revival " began at Mount Zion. A 
 strong man from a distance, a gospel Samson, came to 
 help the young circuit-ridercame to arraign the devil 
 and to paint sin in most horrible colors. Many a 
 shoat was slaughtered, and many a pone of corn bread 
 was baked. Eloquence, zeal, power to convert did not 
 turn the edge of the preacher s appetite. He was a 
 worker and he believed in eating; he gloried in his 
 physical as well as in his religious strength. Indeed, 
 his bodily strength stood him well in hand, for he was 
 sometimes called upon to fight Satan in more forms 
 than one. The tough man from over the creek and 
 it appeared that the toughest man always lived just 
 across the creek held preachers in contempt, and was 
 12 (177) 
 
178 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 opposed to the spread of the gospel ; so the circuit- 
 rider was sometimes forced to get down in the county 
 road, hitch his horse, and thrash this fellow. 
 
 As long as the weather was good, the young men re 
 mained outside the meeting house, lolling under the 
 trees, talking horse, swapping saddles, knives, and 
 sometimes horses. The old men, the women and the 
 children sat inside, listening to the preacher. The 
 preachers inveighed against this neglect on the part of 
 the young fellows, but it was a custom of the country 
 and could not be remedied. The church was near a 
 spring, and the spring was a place of great social resort. 
 It was here that the young men sat and picked out 
 their future wives from among the young women who 
 dismounted at the horse-block not far away. This is a 
 fair sample of their talk : 
 
 " Zeb, how s your tobacco ? " 
 
 " Putty good. Turning out better than I expected." 
 
 " Glad to hear it. I didn t low you d have any. 
 Rid along by your upper patch about a month ago, and 
 a tobacco worm hopped up on the fence and asked me 
 for a chaw; lowed he d dun chawed all yourn up." 
 
 This never failed to raise a laugh, even among the 
 old men who had heard it when they were boys. 
 
 Once a "revival" was in progress at Oak Grove in 
 Sumner county, Tennessee. It had been a year of 
 great sin, of backsliding, and the new circuit-rider was 
 
AT THE SPUING. 179 
 
 ambitious to reclaim the swamp lands of the church. 
 And he had made a very fair start. He had wallowed 
 old Sandy Balch in the county road, had larrupped one 
 of the Stallcup boys with an apple tree sprout, and had 
 eaten with marked relish a sweet potato pie baked by 
 the widow Morris. Now all that remained was to per 
 suade the backsliders to return, to urge the new crop 
 of sinners to throw over their evil ways. His only 
 hope to catch the young men was at night; during the 
 day, he must be content with the old men and the 
 women. He was near the close of his sermon, one day 
 at noon ; a horse discussion was going on at the spring. 
 
 "Now, this horse of mine," said Tom Dabbs, "is one 
 that you read about." 
 
 " Yes," Tobe Brock replied, " but this horse of mine 
 is one that men preach about." 
 
 "I never hearn nobody preach about him." 
 
 "You hain t? Well, you must have paid mighty 
 little attention to the sermon. Brother Hooker is goin 
 to preach about him to-night." 
 
 " Yes, that s mighty fine to tell these folks settin 
 about here. He s goin to call up mourners to-night, 
 an I know he ain t goin to talk horse." 
 
 " He may call up mourners, but he s goin to talk 
 about my horse, all the same." 
 
 " I ll bet you five dollars he don t." 
 
 "I ve jest got five and I ll take you." 
 
180 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 The money was put up ; and as Brock was walking 
 away from the spring a friend said : " Tobe, you air 
 mighty foolish to throw away five dollars these hard 
 times." 
 
 " Ain t flung away no five dollars." 
 
 " Yes, you have, makin such a bet as that." 
 
 " You wait." 
 
 The sermon was done and Mr. Hooker was riding to 
 ward the place where he was to eat dinner. Tobe 
 Brock overtook him. 
 
 " Tobe, why don t you come into the fold? " 
 
 " I ve been layin off to do so, Brother Hooker, and 
 I believe I will after a while." 
 
 " Why not now, Tobe ? " 
 
 " Well, I m breakin some steers now. Have to wait 
 till I git them broke." 
 
 "But what difference does that make ? " 
 
 "Makes a good deal. No man can break steers 
 without cussin ." 
 
 " That s all nonsense." 
 
 " Yes, it do look that way to a man that ain t breakin 
 steers ; but let him try it once, and he ll find that 
 cussin is the nachulest thing in the world. But I am 
 goin to mend my licks this fall. Say, I ve got a little 
 proposition to make to you. Now this fellow, Tom 
 Dabbs but wait a minute. I heard you say you 
 wanted to fix up the church." 
 
AT THE SPRING. 181 
 
 Yes, I do." 
 
 " That s what I thought, and I lowed to give you 
 five dollars." 
 
 " I wish you would. That would make up the 
 amount." 
 
 " I think I can. Now this fellow, Tom Dabbs, thinks 
 a man ain t got courage to do nothin . He said that a 
 preacher is hampered and hilt down more than any 
 body. I lowed he wan t lowed that you could say 
 putty much what you pleased ; said that you could talk 
 about a horse while standin right up in the pulpit 
 said that you could mention my horse. He offered to 
 bet five dollars that you wouldn t, and I tuck him up. 
 Now wait a minute. You mention my horse to-night 
 in your sermon, and I ll give you five." 
 
 " But I won t encourage betting." 
 
 " You won t? But you air encouragin it when you 
 let fellows go on bettin without gettin nipped. You 
 can teach this fellow that it s dangerous to bet, and you 
 might cure him. He thinks he s got a sure thing, and 
 you ought to show him that it s mighty risky even to 
 bet on a certainty, and besides the church will get 
 fixed up." 
 
 " You ve put it on pretty strong ground, Tobe? " 
 
 "Yes, and I believe that s your duty both to the 
 church and to to showin fellows that they oughtn t to 
 bet Well, you know what I m tryin to git at," 
 
182 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Yes, and I will think about it." 
 
 That night Tobe leaned forward and listened eagerly 
 to every word the preacher uttered. And he saw no 
 place where a mention of his horse might be slipped in. 
 " The Son of Man came humbly riding on an ass," said 
 the preacher. " How illustrative of his meekness. He 
 could have mounted the charger of a Roman centurion. 
 He could have had the fiery steed from the Arabian des 
 ert ; or coming down to a mere homelike illustration, 
 he could have ridden an animal such as we see hitched 
 out yonder under the trees, a horse such as our young 
 men ride, such as that poor, blinded sinner Tobe Brock 
 rides. Ah, he is well mounted now on the prancing 
 steed of pride ; he feels strong ; he thinks that he will 
 never be compelled to flounder on foot in the mud of 
 despair. Bat his time is coming; and your time is 
 coming, Tom Dabbs ; and yours, Lit Perdue ; and yours, 
 Sam Johnson ; and yours, Bob Stoveall ; arid yours, 
 John White yea, you are all approaching your time." 
 
 Before the sermon was over every man whom he- 
 mentioned was at the bench, praying that his sins might 
 be pardoned ; and when the congregation was dis 
 missed, the stake-holder was told to return the money, 
 that the bet was off. 
 
 That was a long time ago. Tobe is the pastor of a 
 church in West Tennessee, and Tom is a presiding el 
 der in Arkansas, 
 
Not for Three Hundred Thousand. 
 
 AT a watering place in Virginia there arrived one 
 evening a puffy man of middle age, and his daughter, 
 rather an attractive girl. The old man s entrance into 
 society was not upon invitation ; it was a break in, as 
 if a steer had jumped into a forbidden pasture. A 
 number of gentlemen arid ladies were seated near the 
 end of a shaded veranda, discussing a book that had 
 achieved an almost instant popularity, when the puffy 
 newcomer brusquely shoved his way forward, and in a 
 loud voice blurted out his opinion : 
 
 " I ain t read the book," said he, " but I ll bet that 
 it don t amount to much. There is more humbuggery 
 in this here book business than in most any other I 
 know of. Books ll do putty well for women, but in my 
 opinion a man is throwing away his time with em. I 
 had a twin brother that took to books along back when 
 he was a boy, and although he was a bright feller as 
 bright as I was he never amounted to much. I had 
 to take up a mortgage on his place for him not more n 
 six months ago. That s about what I think of books." 
 
 He leaned back against the railing of the " banisters " 
 
 (183) 
 
184 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 and surveyed the party with the satisfaction of a man 
 who has carried his point and who is thoroughly pre 
 pared for any subsequent attack. The ladies, especially 
 the better-natured ones, smiled; the men, with one ex 
 ception, laughed. The exception was a young lawyer 
 from Nashville. He looked with the inquiry of dis 
 approval at the intruder, and then quietly remarked : 
 
 "I had thought of writing a book, a charming 
 romance, but through fear that I might possibly compel 
 you to take up another mortgage, I will forego the 
 pleasure." 
 
 The interloper, no wise abashed, replied: "It s a 
 good step you re takin , I reckon, as the writin of the 
 book might be more interestin to you than the readin 
 of it would be to anybody else." 
 
 " Doubtless," retorted the young lawyer, " you are 
 right. Some dull plodder might attempt to spell 
 it out and bruise his alleged mind on unlooked-for, 
 sharp corners." 
 
 " Young feller, what is your name ? " the intruder 
 asked ; and the young fellow, nerer afraid to make him 
 self known, answered : 
 
 " I am George Miles, sir." 
 
 " Ah, hah ! George Miles. Where do you live? " 
 
 " Nashville, sir." 
 
 " Ah, hah I I know that town putty well. I went 
 along with the army some little durin the war, 
 
NOT FOR THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND. 185 
 
 and bought up the hides of the cattle that were 
 killed for the soldiers, and made a pretty good thing 
 out of it in the Nashville market. I used to know an 
 old soap boiler there named Josh Miles. Any kin to 
 him?" 
 
 The ladies tittered and the old fellow looked at them 
 in astonishment, knowing that he had not uttered a 
 witticism. 
 
 " I never heard of your friend Miles," said the 
 lawyer, " although he might have made a fair article of 
 soap." 
 
 " Pity for you then, I reckon, as all men were cleaner 
 for havin knowed old Josh." The men laughed, the 
 ladies tittered again, and the old fellow, conscious this 
 time that he must have said something to the point, 
 bowed his acknowledgments. Just then his daughter 
 appeared, standing in a door. "Father," sits called, 
 " I am read} r ." 
 
 " I am ready, too," he answered, and withdrew with 
 clumsy haste. 
 
 That evening, while Miles and several other men sat 
 under a tree, smoking, the old fellow came out with an 
 enormous cigar in his mouth and " squashed " himself 
 down on a bench. 
 
 " Boys," said he, breaking into the conversation, 
 "I m gittin so I ruther like this here one-hoss place. 
 I did think that it would be a little too much for me to 
 
186 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 stay out here, and I wa n t keen to come nuther, but 
 Minnie set her heart on it and away we come. My 
 name is Beck." 
 
 No one said anything, and Mr. Beck continued : 
 " I reckon I ve done about as much hus lin in my time 
 as the most of men. I was a pore boy, but instead of 
 foolin away my time with books I went to work and 
 ain t sorry for it. I have noticed, in my knockin 
 round, that money is putty nigh the boss. It may not 
 be happiness in itself, but without it there ain t very 
 much enjoyment. Larnin may command the respect 
 of the few, but money employs the services of the many, 
 and to challenge the complete respect of men you must 
 make em serve you." 
 
 " I don t know but you are right," said one of the 
 men. 
 
 " Of course I m right, and what is the use of people 
 shuttin their eyes against the fact, or ruther pretendin 
 that they do ? I know that there s a sort of respecta 
 bility, or I mout say aristocracy that money sometimes 
 ain t got, but just wait awhile and money 11 git it all 
 right" 
 
 " What business are you in ?" some one asked. 
 
 "Well, I ain t in any business now have retired, 
 you might say. I made my money in different sorts of 
 speculation and have got it well invested. I live in 
 Georgia and am putty much at home when I m there, I 
 
NOT FOR THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND. 187 
 
 can tell you. My wife has been dead a good while, and 
 about all I ve got to look after is the enjo} r ment of my 
 daughter. Her will is law with me and I am straight 
 forward enough to say right here, or right anywhere, 
 for that matter, that the man who wins her love will be 
 fortunate. There s about two hundred thousand dollars 
 waitin for him." 
 
 George Miles looked up quickly and, with a sneer, 
 said : " I wouldn t marry her for three hundred 
 thousand." 
 
 The old man seized his cane, which he had leaned 
 against the bench and, springing to his feet, glared at 
 Miles, who, without changing his position, sat placidly 
 smoking. 
 
 "Do you mean to insult me, sir? " Beck roared. 
 
 " Not in the least," Miles answered. " You ex 
 pressed your opinion and I merely expressed mine. 
 You introduced your daughter s name in a way not 
 only unnecessary to the force of your former state 
 ment concerning the power of money, but with a nar 
 row-minded vulgarity that was disgusting. If you 
 want to strike me, do so. I have said nothing in 
 disparagement of the young lady I said that I 
 wouldn t marry her for three hundred thousand, and I 
 wouldn t; not that she is not worthy of me, but be 
 cause our tastes are, doubtless, wholly dissimilar. 
 Jfow, if you want to hit me with that stick, all right," 
 
188 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " I won t hit you," Beck replied. " What you say 
 may be right from your standp int, but no matter what 
 you thought about my daughter you ought to have 
 kept it to yourself. It looks to me like I would have 
 studied a long time before I would have made any such 
 remark and I would have thought that any true gentle 
 man would have done the same. I am a rough-and- 
 ready sort of a man, and admit that I don t always 
 do the proper thing, and if my room is worth more 
 to you than my company, why, I wish you good- 
 
 evenin ." 
 
 "Oh, no," several of the men cried, but he brusquely 
 hastened away. 
 
 " George, you ought not to have said that," a friend 
 remarked. "You can t blame him for thinking so 
 much of his daughter, nor for his determination to 
 give her future husband two hundred thousand dol 
 lars." 
 
 "My clear fellow," Miles answered, "I don t blame 
 him for thinking so much of her, and I commend his 
 determination to reward her future husband, but I do 
 despise his vulgar show. He is an old bear, and I want 
 none of him." 
 
 " I wouldn t mind marrying the girl," said a young 
 fellow named Hicks; "I could put up with the girl s 
 possible bad taste and with the old man s vulgarity. 
 Yonder go the old man and the girl. He is looking 
 
NOT FOR THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND. 189 
 
 this way, and I warrant he is telling her about you, 
 George." 
 
 " I don t care if he is," Miles replied. " His ill-will 
 and her prejudice can t hurt me." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SEVERAL days later Miles, whose friends had left 
 the place, was strolling along the mountain s side when 
 suddenly, upon turning a sharp point of rock that 
 jutted out over the path, he met Miss Beck. The path 
 was too narrow to admit of his passing the girl, and he 
 was about to turn back, when she pleasantly remarked : 
 
 " Oh, don t turn back on my account. I will swing 
 over to one side and let you pass. I shouldn t have far 
 to fall, you see." 
 , " I ll hang over," said he, bowing. 
 
 " Oh, no," she interposed. " I am afraid you might 
 hurt yourself, and then " 
 
 "And then what ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nothing, only you might be disfigured if you should 
 chance to fall, and you might afterward consent to 
 marry a girl for less than three hundred thousand 
 dallars." 
 
 " Ah, your father repeated my remark," he said, 
 slightly coloring. 
 
190 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " Yes, or I shouldn t have known of it, as I wasn t 
 eavesdropping." 
 
 He would gladly have tumbled off to let her pass, 
 but she detained him with this remark : 
 
 " You place a pretty high estimate upon yourself, 
 don t you?" 
 
 " Yes, rather," he answered, now determined to be 
 bold. 
 
 "It is strange that I never heard of you," she said. 
 " I was looking over a sort of encyclopedia of great 
 men just before I came here, and it is singular that 
 your picture was not in it." 
 
 "The compiler of the book called on me," he re 
 plied, " but I refused to become the victim of a cheap 
 print. He wanted my picture, and had intended that 
 it should fill one page and run over on the second, but 
 I refused." 
 
 "And I suppose," said the girl, "that if he had 
 thought of putting in your self-importance, he would 
 have counted on filling the entire book." 
 
 " I don t know, but if he had done so, his volume 
 would have been more respectable." 
 
 " Oh, it must be delightful to be so respectable," she 
 exclaimed, with enthusiasm. " By the way, who was 
 your father ? " 
 
 " His name is Andrew Miles." 
 
 " What does he do ? " 
 
NOT FOE THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND. 191 
 
 " He is a lawyer." 
 
 " Ah ! A strange country this, where the aristocracy 
 is composed mainly of lawyers. What was your 
 grandfather, or did you ever hear of him ? " 
 
 Miles blushed. He had heard more or less vaguely, 
 of one of his grandfathers had heard that he was a 
 cobbler and that he had deserted from the army dur 
 ing the war of 1812. 
 
 " Oh, don t tax your memory with trying to recall 
 his name. I am so glad to have met you," she sud 
 denly exclaimed. " I like to see gentleness and con 
 sideration joined with greatness. Now, sir, if you feel 
 disposed to scramble down you would oblige me by 
 doing so." 
 
 The season was growing late, and there were but few 
 visitors remaining. Miles continued to linger, partly 
 because it made but little difference where he was, and 
 partly because he didn t want that Miss Beck to think 
 that she had driven him off. He met her every day, 
 and spoke, in reply to her, his little piece of sarcasm. 
 One day while the girl was playing on the piano he 
 strode into the parlor. She ceased playing upon see 
 ing him, and turning, said : 
 
 ." I don t object to mild punishment, but I will not 
 torture you with my music." 
 
1S2 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " You are becoming considerate as the days pass by." 
 " Yes, and I am tired of playing, anyway. Isn t it a 
 great pity that father isn t worth four hundred thou 
 sand dollars." 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because he mignt then be able to marry me off." 
 " Possibly. Some men are not very particular." 
 " And," said she, " I am convinced that the majority 
 of women are not particular at all." 
 
 The old man appeared in the door. His face was 
 haggard and a wild look was in his eyes. 
 " Minnie," he called, " Minnie, come here." 
 She ran to him and Miles heard him say, "I am 
 ruined. That iron company is busted up and I am 
 ruined." 
 
 It was rather late at night. The Becks were arrang 
 ing their departure. Miles was sitting in the parlor 
 when Miss Beck entered. Seeing him, she drew back 
 jiiid was about to withdraw, when he bade her stay a 
 moment. 
 
 " You must excuse me," she said. " I do not care to 
 hear any sarcasm to-night; I don t believe I could 
 stand it. I am very wretched on my father s account. 
 He has been victimized and is now a pauper." 
 
 " Arid are you not wretched on your own account? " 
 he asked. 
 
NOT FOB THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND. 193 
 
 "Please don t gibe me now," she pleaded. 
 
 He got up and moving slowly toward her, said: 
 " I am no better than one of my grandfathers, and he 
 was shot for desertion. I have been a prig, a brute, 
 and now I will give you the opportunity to humiliate 
 me. I love you." 
 
 She said nothing she stood as if stunned, but her 
 eyes spoke and he put his arms about her. 
 
 "It it will mnke that poor old man happy again," 
 she said. " It will make him happy for he knows that 
 I love you." 
 13 
 
HER SWEET DREAM. 
 
 MANY a season had passed since any one had ven 
 tured to teach a school in the Black-Haw neighborhood. 
 The old log house wherein so many droning voices had 
 in times gone by parsed " John found his hat in the 
 road," had begun to squat with the weight of time rest 
 ing upon it ; hazel-bushes grew about the doorstep, and 
 a grape-vine, crawling on the ground, passed a dozen 
 sassafras saplings to droop over the window. It is said 
 that Henry Clay once " taught a term " in this house, 
 but of this there is no direct proof, though it is well 
 authenticated that Tom Marshall came hither at night 
 to join in debate with the wiseacres of the community. 
 After the war the Black-Haw community lost its ambi 
 tion ; the old men were cowed, and the young men 
 went West, and during ten years the schoolhouse was 
 idle. Then came along a spry young man who said 
 that he wanted to earn money enough to finish his own 
 education. He mounted a horse and circulated a paper. 
 Some families subscribed a scholar, some a half, and 
 
 some but a third ; but he gathered what might have 
 (194) 
 
HER SWEET DREAM. 195 
 
 been regarded as a fair sprinkling, and opened up his 
 school. Perhaps his own education was finished, 
 though of this nothing is known, but it is known that 
 he did not earn the money in that neighborhood ; for 
 on the third morning after he took his place beside the 
 great flagstone hearth, a lout of a youngster clothed in 
 brown jeans came up and declared that it was all right 
 to study and make pot-hooks with pokeberry ink, but 
 that the time to treat had come. 
 
 " Treat ! " exclaimed the teacher, and his eyes stuck 
 out. " I haven t enough money to buy a handker 
 chief: so don t come to me with a proposition to 
 treat." 
 
 The boy said that he was sorry that the teacher had 
 no handkerchief; he reckoned that every educated man 
 ought to have one, but at the same time if education 
 couldn t furnish a man with a handkerchief, what was 
 the use of spending half a lifetime in getting an educa 
 tion ? 
 
 The teacher ordered him to sit down. He was rather 
 a polite boy, and he did not positively refuse, but he 
 demurred. He said that he wasn t at all tired; said 
 that he had been sitting down all day. No, he didn t 
 want to sit down ; he wanted to eat. 
 
 The crossroads grocer, not more than five miles 
 away, had cove oysters and cheese, and a council of 
 four had decided that the teacher must trudge over to 
 
196 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 the store, accompanied by an escort of honor, and pur 
 chase specified material for a small feast. The council 
 knew that times were hard, and therefore would not 
 insist that the entire school be invited to the feast; 
 indeed, the council insisted upon a feast for the 
 council. 
 
 The teacher s smile was yellowish and sickly ; he 
 said that he appreciated the generosity of the council, 
 but that modesty compelled him to decline the escort 
 of honor. 
 
 A few more remarks were made, and then an an 
 cient dust began to arise from the floor. Along to 
 ward noon the young man stepped out of the school 
 room, with the back of his coat sliced like a gridiron ; 
 after that, year after year, the old house was empty. 
 
 One afternoon, not long ago, a young woman called 
 at the house of Clab Morris, and said that she had 
 come to teach school in the old house. The visitor had 
 just sat down upon a bench which Clab had drawn out 
 from the wall, and she did not see him when he turned 
 his face away to laugh ; but she must have heard his 
 snicker, for she looked at him sharply when he gave her 
 his attention again. She was young, rather frail and 
 pretty. She was dressed in bright colors, and looked 
 like a part of the springtime, just come, and just be 
 ginning to green the hillsides. 
 
 " Well," said Clab, " I ve got no objections." 
 
HER SWEET DREAM. 197 
 
 " I thank you. I was told that you were about the 
 most influential man in the neighborhood " 
 
 " Yes," he broke in ; "I reckon I am. Don t know 
 Lit Smith, I guess ? " 
 
 " No, sir." | 
 
 " Well, I can fling him down three times outen five, 
 any day, and a man that can do that has got influence, 
 I tell you. Still, I ain t proud, and you neenter hesitate 
 to talk to me jest as you feel." 
 
 She smiled, arid replied : " It is rare that one meets 
 with such modesty." 
 
 " Yes, I reckon it is. Folks these days brag a mon- 
 st us sight; but I allus made it a p int to be modest. 
 You ll sorter have to excuse things around here ; wife 
 has gone over to one of the neighbor s, and won t 
 be back for an hour or so; children all growed up 
 and gone. Now, what is your idee of teachin of a 
 school?" 
 
 She explained that she would teach good manners, 
 as well as reading and writing, and he nodded his head 
 in approval. 
 
 " Good manners," he said, " is a mighty fine thing. 
 Goin along the road the other day, and one of Phil 
 Mayhew s boys flung a rock at me, and pecked a hole 
 in my old mar s head. And I should think that sich a 
 youngster was somewhat lackin in good manners, 
 wouldn t you?" 
 
398 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 She agreed that she thought so, and the affinity thus 
 established greatly pleased him. He said he would do 
 all he could to assist her in getting up the school. 
 
 " But I don t see why you want to teach school," he 
 added. " I allus thought women that couldn t git 
 married was the ones that teached school ; but it 
 strikes me that you could marry about any man that 
 might happen to come along. Them eyes of your n 
 look like violets a-peepin outen the snow. Thar, now, 
 skuze me ; didn t mean no harm. But I mean it when 
 I say you could marry most anybody. Why, my son 
 Zeb, the hoss doctor, would break his neck atter you, 
 cause he s a good jeclge of fine stock, and I want to 
 tell you that a hoss has to be monst us sick to git 
 away from him. Yes, you d ketch any man s eye, and 
 ef I wa n t married but I don t want to brag. Now 
 tell me a leetle somethin about yourself." 
 
 " Must I be perfectly frank with you ? " 
 
 " I don t know what you mean, but I think you 
 ought to." 
 
 " I will. I live quite a distance from here. A 
 young man and I had a quarrel, and I have come away 
 to teach school." 
 
 " Ah, ha ! and I don t reckon the young man was yo 
 brother. That s all right. I ve got a good deal of sym 
 pathy for folks that have quarrels. Don t say nothin 
 about it, but some time ago wife an me had a quarrel, 
 
HER SWEET DEE AM. 1" 
 
 and I m big enough to say that it was mostly my fault. 
 I tuck a lot of her carpet-rags to wash off a hoss with, 
 and she felt insulted, and I did, too, when she did, 
 and so we had it. Well, I didn t go off to teach school, 
 but I went out into the woods and swore that I d 
 sleep thai behind a log till she pologized, and she 
 lowed that ef I waited for that I d lay thar as long 
 as the log did, and so we had it. I raked up some 
 leaves and lay down behind the log, and that evenin 
 she brought my supper, and I lay thar and eat it, and 
 wiped my hands on the leaves, and lowed that every 
 thing was all right. I slept first-rate, and the next 
 mornin I went about my business as usual, and the 
 next night I tuck my place behind the log. About 
 nine o clock she come out and asked me ef I had 
 kiver enough, and I told her that I believed not ; so 
 she raked up a few more leaves and put em on me, 
 and went on back to the house. Well, I got along all 
 right till about twelve o clock, and then come the 
 coldest rain you ever seed ; and jest about the time I got 
 soakiu wet it turned off into a freeze, and then 1 
 lowed that it was about time for me to pologize, and I 
 got outen that pile of leaves and walked home like a 
 board, and since then I ve let her carpet-rags alone, I 
 tell you. Why, bless my life, and your n, too, yander 
 she comes now," 
 
200 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 Again on the playground there were shouts of 
 laughter and the soft patter of bare feet, and a favor 
 ite with everyone was Miss Elmer, the teacher. The 
 larger boys were at work in the fields, hastening to 
 plant the crops, and there among the hazel-bushes and 
 the vines the young woman worked and dreamed. 
 Nearly every day, at playtime, sitting where the light 
 was mellow, she would write a letter, but she always 
 tore it to pieces when " books " were called. 
 
 " What makes you write so much and tear it up? " a 
 little girl asked. " Why don t you come and play with 
 us?" 
 
 And the teacher answered, " I am writing a dream 
 that came to me and went away again." 
 
 " And do you keep on writing it, hoping it will come 
 back ? " an older girl asked. 
 
 But the young woman shook her head, and told 
 them that they must talk no more about it. But the 
 next day she would write another letter. Once she 
 put her writing into an envelope, and gave it to old 
 Clab to post ; but she ran after him, took it, and tore it 
 into pieces, red with blushes, as she scattered the frag 
 ments in the road. 
 
 Clab s wife knew that a man was at the bottom of 
 the young woman s trouble. 
 
 " My dear," she said one morning, just as Miss El 
 mer was getting ready for school, * I wouldn t pester 
 
HER SWEET DREAM. 201 
 
 myself with writin so much ; it s about a fetch-taked 
 man, and I know it ; and I want to tell you that there 
 is hardly one of them that s worth the powder and lead 
 to kill em. They do provoke a body so, a-sp ilin 
 carpet-rags and a-wallerin behind logs in the pouts ; so 
 ef I was you I would jest go ahead with my school, and 
 let him alone, whoever he may be. Here comes Sam 
 Briley." 
 
 Briley was the mental mystery of the neighborhood ; 
 he was called inoffensive, but Miss Elmer was afraid of 
 him. Often at night he would come to the house, and 
 sitting with his eyes fastened on her, would say the 
 oddest things. 
 
 "I ll walk down to the schoolhouse with you," he 
 said, nodding at old Clab s wife, and then shooting a 
 gaze at the teacher. 
 
 She was afraid to refuse, so she walked on, saying 
 nothing. He walked beside her. 
 
 "Did you write you long letter yistidy ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "What for? * 
 
 " To tear up." 
 
 " What you want to write it fur, if you tear it up ? " 
 
 " Because I feel like writing it, and then I feel like 
 tearing it up." 
 
 " I don t like it." 
 
 " You don t libe it ! " 
 
202 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 " That s what I said." 
 
 " What have you to do with it ? " 
 
 " A good deal ; don t want you to write to a man." 
 
 She looked at him, walking along ; she moved fur 
 ther away from him, but he stepped up close beside 
 her. 
 
 "I ain t told you yet," he said, " but I had a dream, 
 too. Heard you say that you had one. And in my 
 dream I heard a voice say that you was made for me, 
 and not for the man that you write letters to." 
 
 " Mr. Briley, will you please go away ? " 
 
 " Yes, I ll do that ; but you musri t expect me to stay 
 away. They say that I went crazy on religion, and I 
 lowed that they might be right, but now I know they 
 was wrong. I went crazy about you, years before I 
 saw you, and my dream tells me that you can bring my 
 mind back and make me happy. Will you ? " 
 
 She looked at him. They were standing still, facing 
 each other. His face was pale, and his eyes looked like 
 coals of fire in a bed of ashes. She was frightened. 
 
 " Don t try to run away from me," he said ; " I can 
 run faster than you can, but I won t pass you ; I ll 
 keep up with you, and we ll run on to the end of the 
 rainbow together. I ll let you go now, but to-night 
 I ll come to the house and tell you more about my 
 plans." 
 
 He turned away, and she hastened to the school. At 
 
HER SWEET DREAM. 203 
 
 playtime she sat alone, dreaming her dream, but it was 
 fitful with the image of the crazy man flitting through 
 it. A little girl came up to her, hanging back, and 
 stammering. 
 
 " What is the trouble, Mollie ? " she asked. 
 
 " If I tell you you ll whip me," the child replied. 
 
 " No, I won t." 
 
 " It was awful bad, but I did it." 
 
 "Did what?" 
 
 " Sent the pieces of letter. You took the letter from 
 old Caleb and tore it to pieces and threw the pieces in 
 the road ; but you didn t tear the envelope very much, 
 and I took all the pieces and found the name on the 
 envelope, and put all the pieces in another envelope, 
 and wrote the name on it, and put it in the post office 
 because it made me sorry to see you writing all the 
 time. And now are you going to whip me ? " 
 
 The teacher could scarcely speak. " Run on away," 
 she sobbed. 
 
 The children were dismissed and in a corner where 
 the light was soft the teacher sat dreaming. But in 
 the dream was the image of the insane man, and she 
 felt that he was at the house, waiting for her. She 
 dreaded to meet him again. An hour passed but she 
 did not write she sat there dreaming. During the 
 day there had been a hoarse wind in the tree tops; now 
 it was a whisper among the bushes. Suddenly she was 
 
204 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 startled by a footstep at the door. She sprung to her 
 feet to run away, but a voice commanded her to stay. 
 The insane man stood at the threshold ; in his hand lie 
 held an enormous bludgeon. 
 
 " Stand right where you are," he commanded, ad 
 vancing into the room. 
 
 She stood there, trembling. He halted in front of 
 the long writing table and placed his club upon it. 
 
 " Don t move," he said. For a time he was silent 
 and then he continued : " I have had another dream 
 and this time it was perfectly clear. At first I thought 
 that to save my life you had to be my wife, but my 
 dream tells me better." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," she cried. 
 
 " But hold on. You are not to save me that way, 
 but you are to save me after all. The blood of the 
 lamb taketh away the sin of the world. You are the 
 lamb and I am the world. And your blood must wash 
 away my sins. You are saved already for you are a 
 lamb, but I am condemned for I am the world and 
 therefore full of sin. But even a lamb must pray, and 
 now With his finger nail he made a mark in the 
 
 soft wood of the table. " And now, when the sun gets 
 here, you must die." 
 
 She was a brave little creature. She did not scream ; 
 she would argue with him. The sun was going fast 
 and the light had but an inch to move. She looked 
 
SEE SWEET DREAM. 205 
 
 at the light looked at the club which he had taken 
 up. 
 
 " When it reaches this mark there will be two blows," 
 he said, " one on the table as the signal and the other 
 on " 
 
 " I understand," she interrupted, " but you must 
 know that it is not necessary for me to die in order to 
 save you. I can save you better by living." 
 
 "No," he replied, shaking his head, "my dream tells 
 me not." 
 
 "But I have had a dream, and it tells me that I must 
 live for you, not die for you." 
 
 " Your dream is a lie ; mine is the truth." 
 
 "But," she persisted, "my dream says that yours is 
 a lie. Let us go to the house and compare them." 
 
 He shook his head. " No, dreams are nothing when 
 you begin to compare them." 
 
 " Why, they told me that you were a half-wit and 
 here you are talking wisdom," she cried. 
 
 He nodded his head and looked down at the mark. 
 
 "They told you the truth," he said. "But some 
 times a half-wit is better than a whole wit. Let me 
 see." He unbuttoned his coat. "I must dye the 
 bosom of my shirt with your blood and it will be 
 beautiful. Don t you wish you could see it ? Oh, you 
 are a beautiful creature. And ain t it right that you 
 should pay the penalty for such beauty? How things 
 
206 ODD FOLKS. 
 
 do change. This morning I wanted you for my wife, 
 but now I want your beautiful blood. Yesterday I 
 was a fool, spluttering a fool s words, but now I am a 
 wise man with a strange fire in my breast. And I be 
 lieve that when I go out of here with my bosom dyed 
 with your precious blood He hesitated, gazing 
 
 down upon the table, but the light was gone ; a fleck 
 of cloud had dimmed the sun. " It will be back in a 
 moment," he said. 
 
 The light came back. It was almost touching the 
 mark. "Let me pray," she said, sinking upon her 
 knees as she saw him grasp the club. After all it was 
 not so hard to die. She had nothing to live for. The 
 madman struck the desk. The next blow it did not 
 fall. She waited, praying, afraid to look up. The ter 
 rific blow upon the table had deafened her, and she 
 heard nothing more, no footsteps, no struggle, no fall 
 upon the floor nothing. Something touched her hair. 
 She sprung to her feet and a young man seized her in 
 his arms. 
 
 At the door they halted and looked back. The 
 madman lay sprawled upon the floor with his arms 
 spread out. They did not speak, both silently wonder 
 ing if he were dead. The madman groaned, and the 
 young man and the teacher, with a look of relief, 
 hastened away. 
 
 " Your torn letter " 
 
HER SWEET DREAM. 207 
 
 "The mischief of a blessed child," she broke in. 
 " But let us say nothing now." 
 
 They passed a log house and a little girl ran out. 
 The teacher, with tears in her eyes, took the little 
 thing in her arms and kissed her passionately. " Oh, 
 you have brought back my sweet dream," she said. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Read Opj 
 
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