The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VI. (of X.) by Marshall P. Wilder (best e book reader txt) đź“•
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"Well, anyhow, I reckon it didn't be much value," Peggy insisted.
"I saw that young lady come back,"—Johnny-Ivan had switched on to a new track leading to grisly possibilities—"maybe she'll find it!"
"Well, we're gone, all right."
Peggy gave an unprincipled giggle; "Maybe she'll think it was him."
"Then we got to tell," moaned Johnny.
"No, we ain't. He'll run off and so she won't ask him questions."
"But she'll think it's him. It'll be mean."
"No it won't."
"It's mean to have somebody else take your blame or your punishment; mamma said so."
The small casuist was too discreet to attack Johnny's oracle; she only pouted her pretty lips and quibbled:
"'Tain't mean if the people who get blamed are mean themselves—like him. I don't care how blamed he gets; I wouldn't care if he got licked."
But Johnny's conscience was not so elastic. "I don't care, either," he protested. "I—I wouldn't care if he was deaded"—anxious to propitiate—"but it would be mean just the same. I got to tell papa, Peggy, I truly have."
Peggy grew very cross. "You are just the foolest, obsternatest little boy I ever did see," she grumbled; "you're a plumb idiot! I'd like to slap you! Your papa'll be awful mad."
Johnny-Ivan essayed an indifferent mien, but his eyes were miserable.
"Say, Jo'nivan,"—her voice sank to a whisper that curdled his blood—"were you ever spanked?"
"Only Hilma sorter kinder—not really spanking, you know," confessed Johnny with a toss of his head. "I just made faces at her; I didn't cry!" he bragged.[Pg 1071]
"Never your mamma or your papa?"
"Course not," said Johnny with a haughty air; "but, Peggy," he said very low, "were you—did—"
"Oh, my, yes! Mammy did when I was little. I'm too big now."
"I'm too big, too, now, ain't I?"
"I don't know," said Peggy. "Wulf Greiner was licked by teacher, and he's thirteen. It's whether it's mighty bad, you know."
Johnny-Ivan caught his breath and his legs shook under him; the horror of his father's "licking" him came over him cold; it was not the pain; he had never minded Hilma's sturdy blows and he had let Michael cut a splinter out of his thumb with a pocket-knife, and never whimpered; it was the ignominy, the unknown terror of his father's wrath that looked awful to him. As he looked down the crowded room and suddenly beheld Winslow's face bent gravely over Miss Hopkins, who was talking earnestly, he could hardly move his feet. Yet he had no thought of wavering. "I got to tell," he said, and walked as fast as he could, with his white face, straight to the group.
Winslow looked down and saw the two children; and one could discover the signals of calamity in their faces: Peggy's a fine scarlet and Johnny-Ivan's grayish-white.
"What's the matter, Johnny?" asked Winslow.
Johnny's eyelids were glued tight—just as they were when he pulled Peggy's tooth—he blurted everything out breathlessly: "I've done something awful, papa! It'll cost thousands of dollars."
Emma Hopkins had considered Winslow an unattractive man, of a harsh visage, but now, as he looked at his little son, she changed her mind.
"What did you do, son?" said he quietly; his hand found Johnny's brown curls and lay on them a second.[Pg 1072]
"He didn't do it, really; it was me," Peggy broke in, too agitated for grammar. "I was playing with the little tricks on the table, the models, sah, and I was making the v'losipid run round and he was 'fraid I'd break it; but I did it, really, sah."
"And the model fell on to something valuable? I see."
"But he wasn't playing with it, he was only trying to keep me from breaking—"
"Well, young lady, you two are evidently in the same boat; but you aren't a bit sneaky, either of you. Let's see the wreckage; I suppose you got into trouble because you wanted to see how things worked, and Johnny, as usual, couldn't keep out of other folks' hot water. Where's the ruin?"
"The show-case is broked, too," said Johnny-Ivan in a woeful, small voice.
"But it was cracked before," interjected Peggy.
Winslow looked at her with a little twist. "That's a comfort," said he, "and you have horse sense, my little Southerner. I guess you didn't either of you mean any harm—"
"Indeed, no, sah, and Johnny was just as good; never touched a thing—"
"But you see your intentions didn't protect you. Distrust good intentions, my dears; look out for the possible consequences. However, I think there is one person to blame you haven't mentioned, and that is one Josiah C. Winslow, who let two such giddy young persons explore by themselves. Contributory negligence is proved; and said Winslow will pay the bill and not kick."
So saying, he took Peggy's warm, chubby little fingers in one of his big white hands and Johnny-Ivan's cold little palm in the other, and nodded a farewell to Emma.[Pg 1073]
THE BALLAD OF GRIZZLY GULCH[1] BY WALLACE IRWINThe forest lies before,
As madly, madly to the hunt
Rides good King Theodore
With woodsmen, plainsmen, journalists
And kodaks thirty-four.
"He sure is after us!"
As by his side lopes Bill, the Guide,
A wicked-looking cuss—
"Chee-chee!" the little birds exclaim,
"Ain't Teddy stren-oo-uss!"
King Ted he doesn't care,
Till, cracking peanuts on a rock,
Behold, a Grizzly Bear!
King Theodore he shows his teeth,
But he never turns a hair.
The genial monarch saith,
"Be quick to snap your picture-trap
As I do yon Bear to death."
"Dee-lighted!" cries the smiling Bear,
As he waits and holds his breath.
[Pg 1074]
And a handy guy is he,
"First let me wind my biograph,
That the deed recorded be."
"A square deal!" saith the patient Bear,
With ready repartee.
For slaughter raise his gun;
A flash, a bang, an ursine roar—
The dready deed is done!
And now the kodaks thirty-four
In chorus click as one.
And in his juices lies;
His blood is spent, yet deep content
Beams from his limpid eyes.
"Congratulations, dear old pal!"
He murmurs as he dies.
Gun Gulch and Gunnison,
A-foot, a-sock, the people flock
To see that deed of gun;
And parents bring huge families
To show what they have done.
And takes a hand of each,
As loud and long the happy throng
Cries, "Speech!" again and "Speech!"
Which pleaseth well King Theodore,
Whose practice is to preach.[Pg 1075]
And Fame you yet may see—
Just look at Lincoln, Washington,
And great Napoleon B.;
And after that take off your hats
And you may look at me!"
Cries, "Sire, a telegraft!"
The king up takes the wireless screed
Which he opens fore and aft,
And reads: "The Venezuelan stew
Is boiling over. TAFT."
In anger drops his gun
And turns his flashing spectacles
Toward high-domed Washington.
"O tush!" he saith beneath his breath,
"A man can't have no fun!"
From every rock and tree.
"Good-by, good-by!" the grizzlies cry
And wring their handkerchee.
And a sad bob-cat exclaims, "O drat!
He never shot at me!"
The monarch lopes once more.
The Constitution rides behind
And the Big Stick rides before
(Which was a rule of precedent
In the reign of Theodore).
[Pg 1076] MY PHILOSOFY BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
Much posted on philosofy;
But thare is times, when all alone,
I work out idees of my own.
And of these same thare is a few
I'd like to jest refer to you—
Pervidin' that you don't object
To listen clos't and rickollect.
Who does about the best he can
Is plenty good enugh to suit
This lower mundane institute—
No matter ef his daily walk
Is subject fer his neghbor's talk,
And critic-minds of ev'ry whim
Jest all git up and go fer him!
The yeller-janders mighty bad,—
And each and ev'ry friend he'd meet
Would stop and give him some receet
Fer cuorin' of 'em. But he'd say
He kindo' thought they'd go away
Without no medicin', and boast
That he'd git well without one doste.[Pg 1077]
Perdictin' that he'd die some day
Before he knowed it! Tuck his bed,
The feller did, and lost his head,
And wundered in his mind a spell—
Then rallied, and, at last, got well;
But ev'ry friend that said he'd die
Went back on him eternally!
When some gits more and some gits less,
Fer them-uns on the slimmest side
To claim it ain't a fare divide;
And I've knowed some to lay and wait,
And git up soon, and set up late,
To ketch some feller they could hate
Fer goin' at a faster gait.
A-findin' fault with Providence,
And balkin' 'cause the earth don't shake
At ev'ry prancin' step they take.
No man is grate tel he can see
How less than little he would be
Ef stripped to self, and stark and bare
He hung his sign out anywhare.
Contensions, and be satisfied:
Jest do your best, and praise er blame
That follers that, counts jest the same.
I've allus noticed grate success
Is mixed with troubles, more or less,
And it's the man who does the best
That gits more kicks than all the rest.
[Pg 1078] THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS BY BRET HARTE
I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games;
And I'll tell in simple language what I know about the row
That broke up our society upon the Stanislow.
For any scientific man to whale his fellow-man,
And, if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,
To lay for that same member for to "put a head" on him.
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society,
Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones.
From those same bones, an animal that was extremely rare;
And Jones then asked the Chair for a suspension of the rules,
Till he could prove that those same bones was one of his lost mules.[Pg 1079]
It seemed he had been
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