i 
 
 rim 
 
 '« 
 

 
 mJ. 
 
 
 KX 
 
 H 
 
 *.. 
 
 
 I 
 
Roswell M. Field 
 
 HE PLAYED WITH THOMAS 
 
 *8 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 ILL LIBRARY 
 
 AT t VCHAMPAIGN 
 
 ILLZXOIB HIBTORICAZ 6VBTBY 
 
Ifer 
 
 DigitizecTby the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 V 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/heplayedwiththomOOfiel 
 
Rosweli. Martin Field 
 
Roswell M. Field 
 
 HE PLAYED WITH THOMAS 
 
 A Story 
 
 of 
 God's Own Country 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 In Sunflower Land 
 
 (Chicago, 1892) 
 
 Chicago 
 Christmas 1929 
 
Stye ©orcly P«»b 
 
 CEDAR RAPIDS 
 IOWA 
 
„ 
 
 He Played With Thomas 
 
 HHHE BOYS had gathered in John 
 ■*■ Kingman's grocery. It wasn't 
 much of a grocery, but, for that matter, 
 Elk Grove wasn't much of a town; so 
 accounts balanced. Why Elk Grove was 
 called Elk Grove is a question as hard 
 to answer as the fair Juliet's impatient 
 query, "Wherefore art thou Romeo?" 
 Some people ask foolish questions with 
 no expectation of a satisfactory answer. 
 The few houses that composed the town 
 were dumped out on a wide and cheer- 
 less prairie in Western Kansas, and, 
 while it is possible that in bygone ages 
 an elk may have passed along on its 
 way to a more congenial stamping- 
 ground, there never was any scientific 
 reason for supposing that a grove could 
 by any chance have been a feature of 
 the place. One argument was that the 
 town originally was Elk Grave, so 
 5 
 
 * 
 
 >r;< 
 
 52<K50 
 
called from the discovery of bones sup- 
 posed to belong to the cervine family, 
 and that when the Santa Fe road put 
 up a little station and made out a 
 new time-table a typographical error 
 changed the Grave to Grove, an indig- 
 nity which the haughty and autocratic 
 magnates refused to rectify. This ex- 
 planation may be taken for what it is 
 worth, but it is cited merely to show 
 how the railroad power in Kansas has 
 ridden arbitrarily over the intentions 
 and desires of the people. 
 
 Evidently the road favored not only 
 offering a slight, but rubbing it in as 
 well, for it persisted in treating Elk 
 Grove as a whistling-station, and trains 
 seldom stopped save to put off a tramp 
 or repair the engine. Indeed, it began 
 to be whispered about that the conduc- 
 tors saved up their tramps for Elk 
 Grove, and it was noticed that when the 
 engineer pulled out he wore a grin hide- 
 ous in its malignant cunning. Several 
 indignation meetings were called, and 
 it was resolved to carry the matter to 
 Topeka, but the subsequent reflection 
 6 
 
that the railroad owned the legislature 
 and the entire machinery from Gover- 
 nor down to janitor put an end to that 
 scheme. So the boys soothed their feel- 
 ings by rallying at John Kingman's 
 grocery store and drinking success to 
 prohibition and confusion to tramps 
 and railroad conductors. 
 
 On the night sacred to the incidents 
 of this tale the rally was a little larger 
 than usual. The Hanks boys were there, 
 and the Blilers ; Bill Cook and his cou- 
 sin Tom; Sam Chesney, the toughest 
 man in the district; Joe Ardway, with 
 a record of three men; Captain Mat- 
 thews, the marshal, and two cowboys 
 visiting the town and always agreeable 
 to anything that promised exercise and 
 relaxation. John Kingman was in good 
 spirits, and as he shoved the dried 
 apples behind the counter and put a few 
 more boards on the cracker boxes, he 
 intimated that liquor was accessible. 
 
 As might have been expected from 
 so sprightly and jovial an assemblage, 
 the conversation turned humorously on 
 the attitude of the railroad toward Elk 
 
Grove, and the still more perplexing 
 attitude of the town toward tramps. 
 Joe Ardway contended that Captain 
 Matthews, as town marshal, was dere- 
 lict in his duty in failing to take ex- 
 treme measures against the output of 
 through travel. The marshal replied 
 that his duties were circumscribed ; that 
 he regreted to say that tramps as a rule 
 had been perfectly peaceable, and that 
 he would not be justified under the 
 statutes and his oath of office in shoot- 
 ing a man whose only offense was 
 breathing. 
 
 To this position one of the visiting 
 cow gentlemen, in a perfectly calm and 
 dignified tone, took exception. He 
 pointed out that a tramp without home 
 and money was a necessarily wretched 
 being, whom it would be kindness to 
 put out of his misery. He believed it 
 was the duty of mankind to alleviate 
 pain and suffering, and he knew of no 
 medicine so quick and sure in action as 
 a bullet administered with a steady 
 hand and an unerring eye. 
 
 This opinion excited a general dis- 
 8 
 
cussion. It was cordially endorsed by 
 Sam Chesney and the Blilers, and 
 gently criticised by Bill Cook. Mr. 
 Cook believed that it was the sense of 
 the community to breathe a spirit of 
 toleration. He admitted that tramps 
 were no good, and deserved a little 
 touching up, but he couldn't counte- 
 nance anything worse for a first offence 
 than hanging — not hanging to death, 
 of course, but just long enough to give 
 a good choking and a scare. And he 
 quoted from the beatitudes: "Blessed 
 are the merciful, for they shall obtain 
 mercy." For Mr. Cook was quite a 
 scholar, in his way, and, rumor said, 
 had taught in Sunday-schooi back east. 
 The calm judicial manner and scrip- 
 tural quotation were not without a 
 quieting effect upon the audience, al- 
 ready slightly inflamed by the potency 
 of Mr. Kingman's hospitality, and the 
 convention had settled down to the dis- 
 cussion of the minor penalties of mob 
 law, when three sharp whistles signaled 
 the approach of the night express from 
 the west. Bill Cook shrugged his 
 9 
 
shoulders, the Bliler boys laughed, and 
 Joe Ardway looked significantly at 
 Captain Matthews and grunted : 
 
 "Tramps!" 
 
 Mr. Kingman was equal to the emer- 
 gency. He lighted the lantern and 
 passed it to the marshal, who took it 
 and walked out without a word, the 
 boys falling in in single file. When 
 fifty yards from the station, they saw 
 the conductor on the platform raise his 
 foot, give a careless, easy swing, and a 
 dark object shot from the train and 
 rolled over into the ditch. Somebody 
 called out, "Go ahead"; a sardonic 
 laugh floated back from the cab; the 
 bell rang, and the express puffed off to 
 the east. 
 
 The night was dark, and the marshal 
 flashed his lantern vigorously before 
 the dark object was seen wiggling up 
 the sides of the ditch like a copperhead 
 in a cactus. "I've got him," said Sam 
 Chesney. "Come up to the hotel, 
 young feller, and join the festivities 
 you've interrupted." 
 
 So back to the grocery the party 
 
 10 
 
went, the shivering tramp surrounded 
 by his captors, who regaled him with 
 fragmentary discourse touching the 
 last public execution in Elk Grove. 
 And when Kingman had lighted an- 
 other lamp in honor of the occasion, 
 they shoved him into the middle of the 
 room for general examination. 
 
 He was not a young fellow after all, 
 but a middle-aged man, the picture of 
 woe and degradation. He was emaci- 
 ated, ragged and dirty beyond the usual 
 limitations of the tramp. His clothes 
 were marvelous in their infinite variety. 
 Hunger and disease showed in his 
 sunken eyes and cheeks, and he tenderly 
 passed a trembling hand over the contu- 
 sions produced by his fall and the con- 
 ductor's boot. 
 
 "Well," said Joe Ardway, "what do 
 you want?" 
 
 "It occurs to me, gentlemen," replied 
 the tramp, "that it is not what I want, 
 but what you want. However, since 
 you are so kind as to put it that way, I 
 will say, without delay, that I would 
 like a drink." 
 
 11 
 
The boys were immediately im- 
 pressed with the reasonableness and 
 good sense of this request, and King- 
 man poured out a grown man's supply, 
 which the tramp seized eagerly and 
 gulped down to the last drop. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Ardway, winking 
 at the boys, "p'r'aps you don't know 
 that there is a law ag'in tramps in this 
 town?" 
 
 The tramp smiled in a sickly manner 
 that might have been a confession 
 either of ignorance or indifference. 
 
 "Well, there is, a very good and just 
 law. It passed this house ten minutes 
 before your train got in, and it means 
 death." 
 
 Still the tramp sat silent and un- 
 moved. After a moment he spoke, with 
 a sort of weary despondency of tone : 
 
 "I don't suppose it would make any 
 difference to me or anybody else how 
 soon death comes to me, and a few 
 days more or less don't matter." 
 
 Mr. Ardway gave the boys another 
 wink. "I'm glad to see you resigned, 
 and we'll make it as easy for you as we 
 
 12 
 
can. There ain't no particular hurry, 
 and if there's anythin' you'd like to say 
 or do special before we begin, you can 
 go ahead." 
 
 The tramp looked listlessly about 
 him. On the shelf behind the counter, 
 just over George Bliler's head, was a 
 violin. It belonged to Kingman's oldest 
 boy, who played for his father's cus- 
 tomers whenever they were musically 
 inclined. A flash of joy came into the 
 tramp's eyes, and he said, in a tone that 
 was almost tender : 
 
 "I see a violin up there. It has been 
 many months since I have held one in 
 my hands. I think I should like to play 
 again tonight." 
 
 "Oh, come off," said Mr. Chesney; 
 "this ain't no musical conservatory." 
 
 "That's all right, Sam," interposed 
 Mr. Ardway; "if he wants to give a 
 concert it ain't gentlemanly to object." 
 Then to the tramp: "We didn't know 
 when we saw you gettin' off at our 
 humble depot that you was a concert 
 artist." 
 
 "I played the violin for many years," 
 13 
 
said the tramp, ''when I was with 
 Thomas." 
 
 "Oh, see here, what are you givin' 
 us? There wasn't no violin-playing in 
 the army, and you don't look as if 
 you'd ever had spunk enough to fight a 
 rabbit." 
 
 The boys looked at Tom Hanks ap- 
 provingly. Tom had a war record, and 
 knew every division and brigade com- 
 mander by name and history. 
 
 "I didn't say I ever was in the 
 army," said the tramp, humbly. "I 
 meant that I played with Thomas, the 
 orchestra leader, you know." 
 
 "Oh, that's different," grunted Mr. 
 Hanks, and he looked at the boys as if 
 to intimate that he was on personal 
 terms with the Thomases of all crea- 
 tion. 
 
 "I was a happy fellow in those days, 
 gentlemen," went on the tramp, almost 
 caressing the fiddle that George handed 
 to him. "It was back in New York, 
 and I was young and ambitious. Per- 
 haps you don't care for music. At all 
 
 14 
 
events, you've probably never played 
 in a great orchestra with your blood 
 tingling and the crash of harmony all 
 around you." 
 
 "I'm sorry to say," put in Mr. Ard- 
 way, dryly, "as how most of us gave 
 up our music when we were young, 
 although we are reckoned right lively 
 connysuers." 
 
 "It was glorious," said the tramp, 
 without seeming to notice the apology. 
 "Here stood Thomas, waving the ba- 
 ton, and here I sat at his left, in the first 
 row of violins. Down below me, and 
 stretching back to the right and to the 
 left, is the brilliant audience, with eyes 
 fastened on us, and not a rustle to dis- 
 turb the music. We open with the over- 
 ture to Rienzi." 
 
 The tramp had been tuning the in- 
 strument as he talked. Then he squared 
 back and fiddled away with such rapid- 
 ity and vehemence that the boys looked 
 on astonished. 
 
 "Your tekneek seems to be allright," 
 said Bill Cook, who had acquired a 
 
 15 
 
musical education at concerts in Dodge 
 City, "but I ain't much stuck on that 
 tune." 
 
 The criticism appeared to bring the 
 tramp back to a realization of his posi- 
 tion. He laid down the fiddle and 
 sighed. "I don't know why it is, but 
 when the fit strikes me I feel like play- 
 ing a whole programme. But what's 
 the use? If you don't have the brass 
 and the reeds and the great volume be- 
 hind you, how can you convey the 
 grand inspiration of Wagner?" 
 
 "Sure," said Mr. Cook, who felt that 
 his reputation demanded that he should 
 say something. 
 
 "This may be very choice," broke in 
 Mr. Chesney, impatiently, "but if you 
 had such a soft snap why didn't you 
 freeze to it?" 
 
 "That's just it," bitterly replied the 
 tramp. "What did it? Why, whisky, 
 of course. I don't preach any temper- 
 ance sermon, but whisky cost me my 
 place and reputation, set me adrift, 
 brought me west, subjected me to hun- 
 ger and cold and exposure, and brought 
 16 
 
on the disease that's about finished me. 
 I was trying to get back home when 
 the brakeman caught me. It was a 
 chance anybody might take. The long- 
 ing to go home was too strong to re- 
 sist, and I thought if I could reach To- 
 poka I might find friends to help me. 
 But perhaps it doesn't make any differ- 
 ence, for I can't last long, anyway." 
 
 If anybody had looked in Mr. Cook's 
 face he would have seen a sort of 
 twitching around the corners of Mr. 
 Cook's mouth and a pitying expression 
 in Mr. Cook's eyes. Mr. Ardway, too, 
 had a much gentler tone when he said : 
 
 "It's the opinion of this meeting 
 that your tunes are out of date. You 
 ain't up to the times, and you ain't no 
 credit to Kansas. It wouldn't be right 
 to send you back without some signs of 
 progress. Can't you play the Washer- 
 woman's Dance or a heel and toe, or 
 something with music in it?" 
 
 The tramp struck up a lively air, 
 
 and the boys grinned and kept time 
 
 with their feet on Kingman's barrels. 
 
 Then the music came slower and 
 
 17 
 
slower, and the boot accompaniments 
 stopped. The tramp's eyes were closed 
 and his mind had wandered again. It 
 was a simple melody he played, but it 
 touched the boys, and no city audience 
 could have listened with more profound 
 attention to the orchestra of which the 
 tramp had been a part. Twice he 
 played it with increasing fervor, and 
 then he changed the theme and played, 
 one after another, the airs that are 
 popular in all sections of the country, 
 and that, somehow, are always associ- 
 ated with home and childhood and bet- 
 ter days. And old John Kingman lis- 
 tened in amazement. He could not 
 believe that the beautiful tones he heard 
 came from his boy's old riddle. Still 
 the tramp played on, until Captain Mat- 
 thews, who sat near him, swore that he 
 saw two tears come from his closed 
 eyes and roll down his cheeks. 
 
 Sam Chesney drew a long breath. 
 "That's the sort," said Mr. Chesney. 
 Mr. Ardway held a hurried consulta- 
 tion with the Blilers and the Hanks 
 
 18 
 
boys and Bill Cook. Then he said, with 
 great gravity : 
 
 "Stranger, it's the vote of this meet- 
 ing that you've had a run of uncom- 
 mon hard luck, and been imposed on 
 by circumstances. If a man wants to 
 go home and die, there ain't no kick 
 coming to Elk Grove. So we've de- 
 cided to make pool and buy a ticket 
 to Topeka, and start you off in style. 
 Kingman's got a store-room back here, 
 where there ain't nothing portable, and 
 you can get a shake-down tonight and 
 a square meal in the morning. You'll 
 be expected to turn up after breakfast 
 and fiddle us a few of them good old 
 tunes, and we'll have the ladies down 
 to hear you. Then we'll fix you out 
 and flag the train and start you off." 
 
 If there was any doubt about the 
 tears in the tramp's eyes when Cap. 
 Matthews watched him, there was none 
 now. "Believe me, gentlemen," he 
 said, "I am not entirely unworthy of 
 your kindness, even if I never repay 
 you. I wasn't always what I am now, 
 
 19 
 
and what I am you can see I shall not 
 be very long." 
 
 Mr. Chesney escorted the tramp to 
 his lodging in the rear of the grocery, 
 and Mr. Kingman and Mr. Ardway 
 brought in a quilt and a pile of empty 
 sacks, with an old army coat for a pil- 
 low. After the others had gone out, 
 Mr. Chesney lingered. 
 
 "I say, stranger," he said; "what 
 was that tune you played just after the 
 
 jig?" 
 
 The tramp pondered a moment. His 
 face brightened. "That was Ave Ma- 
 
 ria." 
 
 "What's the Avvy Mareea?" asked 
 the puzzled Mr. Chesney. 
 
 "The Ave Maria," replied the tramp, 
 "is a prayer to the Mother. I played 
 it a hundred times when I was with 
 Thomas." 
 
 Mr. Chesney helped old John lock 
 up that night. Then the two men took 
 the lantern and went around and looked 
 in at the window. The tramp was ly- 
 ing on the quilts, and a peaceful look 
 was on his thin face. Once he stirred 
 
 20 
 
and smiled in his sleep. "He thinks 
 he's playing- the Avvy Mareea," said 
 Mr. Chesney. 
 
 And they tiptoed away, lest their 
 presence might alarm the Mother. 
 
 21 
 
M akers 
 
 Svracuse, N. Y. 
 
 
 
 J 
 
 * it 
 

 
 8,3 f 458r ERS,Ty ° FILLIN0ISURMN * 
 
 HEPMVEDWITHTHOMMCHSO 
 
 ,JPL 
 
 3 0112 025324101