9. Inmates who have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make
Puns shall be permitted to repeat such as may be selected for them by
the Chaplain out of the work of _Mr. Joseph Miller_.

10. Violent and unmanageable Punsters, who interrupt others when
engaged in conversation, with Puns or attempts at the same, shall be
deprived of their _Joseph Millers_, and, if necessary, placed in
solitary confinement.

SECT. III. OF DEPORTMENT AT MEALS.

4. No Inmate shall make any Pun, or attempt at the same, until the
Blessing has been asked and the company are decently seated.

7. Certain Puns having been placed on the _Index Expurgatorius_ of the
Institution, no Inmate shall be allowed to utter them, on pain of
being debarred the perusal of _Punch_ and _Vanity Fair_, and, if
repeated, deprived of his _Joseph Miller_.

Among these are the following:

Allusions to _Attic salt_, when asked to pass the salt-cellar.

Remarks on the Inmates being _mustered_, etc., etc.

Associating baked beans with the _bene_-factors of the Institution.

Saying that beef-eating is _befitting_, etc., etc.

The following are also prohibited, excepting to such Inmates as may
have lost their faculties and cannot any longer make Puns of their
own:

"----your own _hair_ or a wig"; "it will be _long enough_," etc.,
etc.; "little of its age," etc., etc.; also, playing upon the
following words: _hos_pital; _mayor_; _pun_; _pitied_; _bread_;
_sauce_, etc., etc., etc. _See_ INDEX EXPURGATORIUS, _printed for use
of Inmates_.

The subjoined Conundrum is not allowed: Why is Hasty Pudding like the
Prince? Because it comes attended by its _sweet_; nor this variation
to it, _to wit_: Because the _'lasses runs after it_.

The Superintendent, who went round with us, had been a noted punster
in his time, and well known in the business world, but lost his
customers by making too free with their names--as in the famous story
he set afloat in '29 _of four Jerries_ attaching to the names of a
noted Judge, an eminent Lawyer, the Secretary of the Board of Foreign
Missions, and the well-known Landlord at Springfield. One of the _four
Jerries_, he added, was of gigantic magnitude. The play on words was
brought out by an accidental remark of Solomons, the well-known
Banker. "_Capital punishment_!" the Jew was overheard saying, with
reference to the guilty parties. He was understood, as saying, _A
capital pun is meant_, which led to an investigation and the relief of
the greatly excited public mind.

The Superintendent showed some of his old tendencies, as he went round
with us.

"Do you know"--he broke out all at once--"why they don't take steppes
in Tartary for establishing Insane Hospitals?"

We both confessed ignorance.

"Because there are _nomad_ people to be found there," he said, with a
dignified smile.

He proceeded to introduce us to different Inmates. The first was a
middle-aged, scholarly man, who was seated at a table with a
_Webster's Dictionary_ and a sheet of paper before him.

"Well, what luck to-day, Mr. Mowzer?" said the Superintendent.

"Three or four only," said Mr. Mowzer. "Will you hear 'em now--now I'm
here?"

We all nodded.

"Don't you see Webster _ers_ in the words cent_er_ and theat_er_?

"If he spells leather _lether_, and feather _fether_, isn't there
danger that he'll give us a _bad spell of weather_?

"Besides, Webster is a resurrectionist; he does not allow _u_ to rest
quietly in the _mould_.

"And again, because Mr. Worcester inserts an illustration in his text,
is that any reason why Mr. Webster's publishers should hitch one on in
their appendix? It's what I call a _Connect-a-cut_ trick.

"Why is his way of spelling like the floor of an oven? Because it is
_under bread_."

"Mowzer!" said the Superintendent, "that word is on the Index!"

"I forgot," said Mr. Mowzer; "please don't deprive me of _Vanity Fair_
this one time, sir."

"These are all, this morning. Good day, gentlemen." Then to the
Superintendent: "Add you, sir!"

The next Inmate was a semi-idiotic-looking old man. He had a heap of
block-letters before him, and, as we came up, he pointed, without
saying a word, to the arrangements he had made with them on the table.
They were evidently anagrams, and had the merit of transposing the
letters of the words employed without addition or subtraction. Here
are a few of them:

    TIMES.          SMITE!
    POST.           STOP!

    TRIBUNE.        TRUE NIB.
    WORLD.          DR. OWL.

    ADVERTISER.  {  RES VERI DAT.
                 {  IS TRUE. READ!

    ALLOPATHY.      ALL O' TH' PAY.
    HOMOEOPATHY.    O, THE ----! O! O, MY! PAH!

The mention of several New York papers led to two or three questions.
Thus: Whether the Editor of _The Tribune_ was _H.G. really_? If the
complexion of his politics were not accounted for by his being _an
eager_ person himself? Whether Wendell _Fillips_ were not a reduced
copy of John _Knocks_? Whether a New York _Feuilletoniste_ is not the
same thing as a _Fellow down East_?

At this time a plausible-looking, bald-headed man joined us, evidently
waiting to take a part in the conversation.

"Good morning, Mr. Riggles," said the Superintendent, "Anything fresh
this morning? Any Conundrum?"

"I haven't looked at the cattle," he answered, dryly.

"Cattle? Why cattle?"

"Why, to see if there's any _corn under 'em_!" he said; and
immediately asked, "Why is Douglas like the earth?"

We tried, but couldn't guess.

"Because he was _flattened out at the polls_!" said Mr. Riggles.

"A famous politician, formerly," said the Superintendent. "His
grandfather was a _seize-Hessian-ist_ in the Revolutionary War. By the
way, I hear the _freeze-oil_ doctrines don't go down at New Bedford."

The next Inmate looked as if he might have been a sailor formerly.

"Ask him what his calling was," said the Superintendent.

"Followed the sea," he replied to the question put by one of us. "Went
as mate in a fishing-schooner."

"Why did you give it up?"

"Because I didn't like working for _two mast-ers_," he replied.

Presently we came upon a group of elderly persons, gathered about a
venerable gentleman with flowing locks, who was propounding questions
to a row of Inmates.

"Can any Inmate give me a motto for M. Berger?" he said.

Nobody responded for two or three minutes. At last one old man, whom I
at once recognized as a Graduate of our University (Anno 1800) held up
his hand.

"Rem _a cue_ tetigit."

"Go to the head of the class, Josselyn," said the venerable patriarch.

The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way,
pushing against two or three of the Class.

"How is this?" said the Patriarch.

"You told me to go up _jostlin'_," he replied.

The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too much
to be angry.

Presently the Patriarch asked again:

"Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the
Prince?"

The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself:

"Because every one of his carroms was a _tick-it_ to the ball."

"Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in
Italy?" asked the Patriarch.

Here again the Class failed.

"The war-cloud's rolling _Dun_," he answered.

"And what is mulled wine made with?"

Three or four voices exclaimed at once:

"_Sizzle-y_ Madeira!"

Here a servant entered, and said, "Luncheon-time." The old gentlemen,
who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely
asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of bread and a little
mite of cheese.

"There is one thing I have forgotten to show you," said the
Superintendent, "the cell for the confinement of violent and
unmanageable Punsters."

We were very curious to see it, particularly with reference to the
alleged absence of every object upon which a play of words could
possibly be made.

The Superintendent led us up some dark stairs to a corridor, then
along a narrow passage, then down a broad flight of steps into another
passageway, and opened a large door which looked out on the main
entrance.

"We have not seen the cell for the confinement of 'violent and
unmanageable' Punsters," we both exclaimed.

"This is the _sell_!" he exclaimed, pointing to the outside prospect.

My friend, the Director, looked me in the face so good-naturedly that
I had to laugh.

"We like to humor the Inmates," he said. "It has a bad effect, we
find, on their health and spirits to disappoint them of their little
pleasantries. Some of the jests to which we have listened are not new
to me, though I dare say you may not have heard them often before. The
same thing happens in general society, with this additional
disadvantage, that there is no punishment provided for 'violent and
unmanageable' Punsters, as in our Institution."

We made our bow to the Superintendent and walked to the place where
our carriage was waiting for us. On our way, an exceedingly decrepit
old man moved slowly toward us, with a perfectly blank look on his
face, but still appearing as if he wished to speak.

"Look!" said the Director--"that is our Centenarian."

The ancient man crawled toward us, cocked one eye, with which he
seemed to see a little, up at us, and said:

"Sarvant, young Gentlemen. Why is a--a--a--like a--a--a--? Give it up?
Because it's a--a--a--a--."

He smiled a pleasant smile, as if it were all plain enough.

"One hundred and seven last Christmas," said the Director. "Of late
years he puts his whole Conundrums in blank--but they please him just
as well."

We took our departure, much gratified and instructed by our visit,
hoping to have some future opportunity of inspecting the Records of
this excellent Charity and making extracts for the benefit of our
Readers.



THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY

By Mark Twain (1835-1910)

[From _The Saturday Press_, Nov. 18, 1865. Republished in _The
Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches_
(1867), by Mark Twain, all of whose works are published by Harper &
Brothers.]

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from
the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and
inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to
do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that
_Leonidas W_. Smiley is a myth; and that my friend never knew such a
personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler
about him, it would remind him of his infamous _Jim Smiley_, and he
would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating
reminiscence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to
me. If that was the design, it succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of the
dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel's, and I
noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of
winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He
roused up, and gave me good-day. I told him a friend had commissioned
me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood
named _Leonidas W_. Smiley--_Rev. Leonidas W._ Smiley, a young
minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of
Angel's Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about
this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to
him.

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his
chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which
follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never
changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned his
initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of
enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a
vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly
that, so far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or
funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter,
and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in _finesse_.
I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once.

"Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le--well, there was a feller here once
by the name of _Jim_ Smiley, in the winter of '49--or may be it was
the spring of '50--I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though what
makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big
flume warn't finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he
was the curiousest man about always betting on anything that turned up
you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if
he couldn't he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would
suit _him_--any way just so's he got a bet, _he_ was satisfied. But
still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He
was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no
solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and
take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a
horse-race, you'd find him flush or you'd find him busted at the end
of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a
cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on
it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you
which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be
there reg'lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best
exhorter about here, and he was, too, and a good man. If he even see a
straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would
take him to get to--to wherever he _was_ going to, and if you took him
up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find
out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of
the boys here has seen that Smiley and can tell you about him. Why, it
never made no difference to _him_--he'd bet on _any_ thing--the
dangest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good
while, and it seemed as if they warn't going to save her; but one
morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how she was, and he
said she was considerable better--thank the Lord for his inf'nit'
mercy--and coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov'dence
she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, ‘Well, I'll
risk two-and-a-half she don't anyway.'"

Thish-yer Smiley had a mare--the boys called her the fifteen-minute
nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was
faster than that--and he used to win money on that horse, for all she
was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the
consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or
three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at
the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate-like, and come
cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber,
sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the
fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with
her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose--and always fetch up at
the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it
down.

And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think he
warn't worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a
chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him he was a
different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'-castle
of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover and shine like the
furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag him, and bite him,
and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew
Jackson--which was the name of the pup--Andrew Jackson would never let
on but what _he_ was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else--and
the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time,
till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that
other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it--not
chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till they throwed
up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that
pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs,
because they'd been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing
had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to
make a snatch for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he'd been
imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak,
and he 'peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like,
and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out
bad. He gave Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and
it was _his_ fault, for putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for
him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and
then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup,
was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if
he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius--I know it,
because he hadn't no opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to
reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them
circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always makes me feel sorry
when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the way it turned out.

Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and
tom-cats and all of them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and
you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He
ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'lated to
educate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in
his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he _did_
learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next
minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut--see
him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start,
and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so
in the matter of ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so constant,
that he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he could see him. Smiley
said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do 'most
anything--and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down
here on this floor--Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog--and sing
out, "Flies, Dan'l, flies!" and quicker'n you could wink he'd spring
straight up and snake a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on
the floor ag'in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the
side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no
idea he'd been doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a
frog so modest and straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so
gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level,
he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his
breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you
understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on
him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog,
and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been
everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever _they_ see.

Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to
fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller--a
stranger in the camp, he was--come acrost him with his box, and says:

"What might be that you've got in the box?"

And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, "It might be a parrot, or it
might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't--it's only just a frog."

And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round
this way and that, and says, "H'm--so 'tis. Well, what's _he_ good
for?"

"Well," Smiley says, easy and careless, "he's good enough for _one_
thing, I should judge--he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."

The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look,
and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, "Well," he
says, "I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any
other frog."

"Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "Maybe you understand frogs and maybe
you don't understand 'em; maybe you've had experience, and maybe you
ain't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got _my_ opinion and
I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras
County."

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like,
"Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog; but if I had
a frog, I'd bet you."

And then Smiley says, "That's all right--that's all right--if you'll
hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog." And so the feller
took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and
set down to wait.

So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to his-self, and
then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon
and filled him full of quail shot--filled! him pretty near up to his
chin--and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and
slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a
frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:

"Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his forepaws
just even with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word." Then he says,
"One--two--three--_git_!" and him and the feller touched up the frogs
from behind, and the new frog hopped off lively, but Dan'l give a
heave, and hysted up his shoulders--so--like a Frenchman, but it
warn't no use--he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid as a church,
and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a
good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no
idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out
at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder--so--at
Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "_I_ don't
see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog."

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long
time, and at last says, "I do wonder what in the nation that frog
throwed off for--I wonder if there ain't something the matter with
him--he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l up
by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, "Why blame my cats
if he don't weigh five pounds!" and turned him upside down and he
belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and
he was the maddest man--he set the frog down and took out after that
feller, but he never ketched him. And----

(Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got
up to see what was wanted.) And turning to me as he moved away, he
said: "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy--I ain't going
to be gone a second."

But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history
of the enterprising vagabond _Jim_ Smiley would be likely to afford me
much information concerning the Rev. _Leonidas W._ Smiley, and so I
started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed
me and recommenced:

"Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller, one-eyed cow that didn't have no
tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and----"

However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear
about the afflicted cow, but took my leave.



ELDER BROWN'S BACKSLIDE

By Harry Stillwell Edwards (1855- )

[From _Harper's Magazine_, August, 1885; copyright, 1885, by Harper &
Bros.; republished in the volume, _Two Runaways, and Other Stories_
(1889), by Harry Stillwell Edwards (The Century Co.).]

Elder Brown told his wife good-by at the farmhouse door as
mechanically as though his proposed trip to Macon, ten miles away, was
an everyday affair, while, as a matter of fact, many years had elapsed
since unaccompanied he set foot in the city. He did not kiss her. Many
very good men never kiss their wives. But small blame attaches to the
elder for his omission on this occasion, since his wife had long ago
discouraged all amorous demonstrations on the part of her liege lord,
and at this particular moment was filling the parting moments with a
rattling list of directions concerning thread, buttons, hooks,
needles, and all the many etceteras of an industrious housewife's
basket. The elder was laboriously assorting these postscript
commissions in his memory, well knowing that to return with any one of
them neglected would cause trouble in the family circle.

Elder Brown mounted his patient steed that stood sleepily motionless
in the warm sunlight, with his great pointed ears displayed to the
right and left, as though their owner had grown tired of the life
burden their weight inflicted upon him, and was, old soldier fashion,
ready to forego the once rigid alertness of early training for the
pleasures of frequent rest on arms.

"And, elder, don't you forgit them caliker scraps, or you'll be
wantin' kiver soon an' no kiver will be a-comin'."

Elder Brown did not turn his head, but merely let the whip hand, which
had been checked in its backward motion, fall as he answered
mechanically. The beast he bestrode responded with a rapid whisking of
its tail and a great show of effort, as it ambled off down the sandy
road, the rider's long legs seeming now and then to touch the ground.

But as the zigzag panels of the rail fence crept behind him, and he
felt the freedom of the morning beginning to act upon his well-trained
blood, the mechanical manner of the old man's mind gave place to a
mild exuberance. A weight seemed to be lifting from it ounce by ounce
as the fence panels, the weedy corners, the persimmon sprouts and
sassafras bushes crept away behind him, so that by the time a mile lay
between him and the life partner of his joys and sorrows he was in a
reasonably contented frame of mind, and still improving.

It was a queer figure that crept along the road that cheery May
morning. It was tall and gaunt, and had been for thirty years or more.
The long head, bald on top, covered behind with iron-gray hair, and in
front with a short tangled growth that curled and kinked in every
direction, was surmounted by an old-fashioned stove-pipe hat, worn and
stained, but eminently impressive. An old-fashioned Henry Clay cloth
coat, stained and threadbare, divided itself impartially over the
donkey's back and dangled on his sides. This was all that remained of
the elder's wedding suit of forty years ago. Only constant care, and
use of late years limited to extra occasions, had preserved it so
long. The trousers had soon parted company with their friends. The
substitutes were red jeans, which, while they did not well match his
court costume, were better able to withstand the old man's abuse, for
if, in addition to his frequent religious excursions astride his
beast, there ever was a man who was fond of sitting down with his feet
higher than his head, it was this selfsame Elder Brown.

The morning expanded, and the old man expanded with it; for while a
vigorous leader in his church, the elder at home was, it must be
admitted, an uncomplaining slave. To the intense astonishment of the
beast he rode, there came new vigor into the whacks which fell upon
his flanks; and the beast allowed astonishment to surprise him into
real life and decided motion. Somewhere in the elder's expanding soul
a tune had begun to ring. Possibly he took up the far, faint tune that
came from the straggling gang of negroes away off in the field, as
they slowly chopped amid the threadlike rows of cotton plants which
lined the level ground, for the melody he hummed softly and then sang
strongly, in the quavering, catchy tones of a good old country
churchman, was "I'm glad salvation's free."

It was during the singing of this hymn that Elder Brown's regular
motion-inspiring strokes were for the first time varied. He began to
hold his hickory up at certain pauses in the melody, and beat the
changes upon the sides of his astonished steed. The chorus under this
arrangement was:

  I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_,
  I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_,
  I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_ for _all_,
  I'm _glad_ salvation's _free_.

Wherever there is an italic, the hickory descended. It fell about as
regularly and after the fashion of the stick beating upon the bass
drum during a funeral march. But the beast, although convinced that
something serious was impending, did not consider a funeral march
appropriate for the occasion. He protested, at first, with vigorous
whiskings of his tail and a rapid shifting of his ears. Finding these
demonstrations unavailing, and convinced that some urgent cause for
hurry had suddenly invaded the elder's serenity, as it had his own, he
began to cover the ground with frantic leaps that would have surprised
his owner could he have realized what was going on. But Elder Brown's
eyes were half closed, and he was singing at the top of his voice.
Lost in a trance of divine exaltation, for he felt the effects of the
invigorating motion, bent only on making the air ring with the lines
which he dimly imagined were drawing upon him the eyes of the whole
female congregation, he was supremely unconscious that his beast was
hurrying.

And thus the excursion proceeded, until suddenly a shote, surprised in
his calm search for roots in a fence corner, darted into the road, and
stood for an instant gazing upon the newcomers with that idiotic stare
which only a pig can imitate. The sudden appearance of this
unlooked-for apparition acted strongly upon the donkey. With one
supreme effort he collected himself into a motionless mass of matter,
bracing his front legs wide apart; that is to say, he stopped short.
There he stood, returning the pig's idiotic stare with an interest
which must have led to the presumption that never before in all his
varied life had he seen such a singular little creature. End over end
went the man of prayer, finally bringing up full length in the sand,
striking just as he should have shouted "free" for the fourth time in
his glorious chorus.

Fully convinced that his alarm had been well founded, the shote sped
out from under the gigantic missile hurled at him by the donkey, and
scampered down the road, turning first one ear and then the other to
detect any sounds of pursuit. The donkey, also convinced that the
object before which he had halted was supernatural, started back
violently upon seeing it apparently turn to a man. But seeing that it
had turned to nothing but a man, he wandered up into the deserted
fence corner, and began to nibble refreshment from a scrub oak.

For a moment the elder gazed up into the sky, half impressed with the
idea that the camp-meeting platform had given way. But the truth
forced its way to the front in his disordered understanding at last,
and with painful dignity he staggered into an upright position, and
regained his beaver. He was shocked again. Never before in all the
long years it had served him had he seen it in such shape. The truth
is, Elder Brown had never before tried to stand on his head in it. As
calmly as possible he began to straighten it out, caring but little
for the dust upon his garments. The beaver was his special crown of
dignity. To lose it was to be reduced to a level with the common
woolhat herd. He did his best, pulling, pressing, and pushing, but the
hat did not look natural when he had finished. It seemed to have been
laid off into counties, sections, and town lots. Like a well-cut
jewel, it had a face for him, view it from whatever point he chose, a
quality which so impressed him that a lump gathered in his throat, and
his eyes winked vigorously.

Elder Brown was not, however, a man for tears. He was a man of action.
The sudden vision which met his wandering gaze, the donkey calmly
chewing scrub buds, with the green juice already oozing from the
corners of his frothy mouth, acted upon him like magic. He was, after
all, only human, and when he got hands upon a piece of brush he
thrashed the poor beast until it seemed as though even its already
half-tanned hide would be eternally ruined. Thoroughly exhausted at
last, he wearily straddled his saddle, and with his chin upon his
breast resumed the early morning tenor of his way.


II


"Good-mornin', sir."

Elder Brown leaned over the little pine picket which divided the
bookkeepers' department of a Macon warehouse from the room in general,
and surveyed the well-dressed back of a gentleman who was busily
figuring at a desk within. The apartment was carpetless, and the dust
of a decade lay deep on the old books, shelves, and the familiar
advertisements of guano and fertilizers which decorated the room. An
old stove, rusty with the nicotine contributed by farmers during the
previous season while waiting by its glowing sides for their cotton to
be sold, stood straight up in a bed of sand, and festoons of cobwebs
clung to the upper sashes of the murky windows. The lower sash of one
window had been raised, and in the yard without, nearly an acre in
extent, lay a few bales of cotton, with jagged holes in their ends,
just as the sampler had left them. Elder Brown had time to notice all
these familiar points, for the figure at the desk kept serenely at its
task, and deigned no reply.

"Good-mornin', sir," said Elder Brown again, in his most dignified
tones. "Is Mr. Thomas in?"

"Good-morning, sir," said the figure. "I'll wait on you in a minute."
The minute passed, and four more joined it. Then the desk man turned.

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"

The elder was not in the best of humor when he arrived, and his state
of mind had not improved. He waited full a minute as he surveyed the
man of business.

"I thought I mout be able to make some arrangements with you to git
some money, but I reckon I was mistaken." The warehouse man came
nearer.

"This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You
are not in often to see us."

"No; my wife usually 'tends to the town bizness, while I run the
church and farm. Got a fall from my donkey this morning," he said,
noticing a quizzical, interrogating look upon the face before him,
"and fell squar' on the hat." He made a pretense of smoothing it. The
man of business had already lost interest.

"How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?"

"Well, about seven hundred dollars," said the elder, replacing his
hat, and turning a furtive look upon the warehouse man. The other was
tapping with his pencil upon the little shelf lying across the rail.

"I can get you five hundred."

"But I oughter have seven."

"Can't arrange for that amount. Wait till later in the season, and
come again. Money is very tight now. How much cotton will you raise?"

"Well, I count on a hundr'd bales. An' you can't git the sev'n hundr'd
dollars?"

"Like to oblige you, but can't right now; will fix it for you later
on."

"Well," said the elder, slowly, "fix up the papers for five, an' I'll
make it go as far as possible."

The papers were drawn. A note was made out for $552.50, for the
interest was at one and a half per cent. for seven months, and a
mortgage on ten mules belonging to the elder was drawn and signed. The
elder then promised to send his cotton to the warehouse to be sold in
the fall, and with a curt "Anything else?" and a "Thankee, that's
all," the two parted.

Elder Brown now made an effort to recall the supplemental commissions
shouted to him upon his departure, intending to execute them first,
and then take his written list item by item. His mental resolves had
just reached this point when a new thought made itself known.
Passersby were puzzled to see the old man suddenly snatch his
headpiece off and peer with an intent and awestruck air into its
irregular caverns. Some of them were shocked when he suddenly and
vigorously ejaculated:

"Hannah-Maria-Jemimy! goldarn an' blue blazes!"

He had suddenly remembered having placed his memoranda in that hat,
and as he studied its empty depths his mind pictured the important
scrap fluttering along the sandy scene of his early-morning tumble. It
was this that caused him to graze an oath with less margin that he had
allowed himself in twenty years. What would the old lady say?

Alas! Elder Brown knew too well. What she would not say was what
puzzled him. But as he stood bareheaded in the sunlight a sense of
utter desolation came and dwelt with him. His eye rested upon sleeping
Balaam anchored to a post in the street, and so as he recalled the
treachery that lay at the base of all his affliction, gloom was added
to the desolation.

To turn back and search for the lost paper would have been worse than
useless. Only one course was open to him, and at it went the leader of
his people. He called at the grocery; he invaded the recesses of the
dry-goods establishments; he ransacked the hardware stores; and
wherever he went he made life a burden for the clerks, overhauling
show-cases and pulling down whole shelves of stock. Occasionally an
item of his memoranda would come to light, and thrusting his hand into
his capacious pocket, where lay the proceeds of his check, he would
pay for it upon the spot, and insist upon having it rolled up. To the
suggestion of the slave whom he had in charge for the time being that
the articles be laid aside until he had finished, he would not listen.

"Now you look here, sonny," he said, in the dry-goods store, "I'm
conducting this revival, an' I don't need no help in my line. Just you
tie them stockin's up an' lemme have 'em. Then I _know_ I've _got_
'em." As each purchase was promptly paid for, and change had to be
secured, the clerk earned his salary for that day at least.

So it was when, near the heat of the day, the good man arrived at the
drugstore, the last and only unvisited division of trade, he made his
appearance equipped with half a hundred packages, which nestled in his
arms and bulged out about the sections of his clothing that boasted of
pockets. As he deposited his deck-load upon the counter, great drops
of perspiration rolled down his face and over his waterlogged collar
to the floor.

There was something exquisitely refreshing in the great glasses of
foaming soda that a spruce young man was drawing from a marble
fountain, above which half a dozen polar bears in an ambitious print
were disporting themselves. There came a break in the run of
customers, and the spruce young man, having swept the foam from the
marble, dexterously lifted a glass from the revolving rack which had
rinsed it with a fierce little stream of water, and asked
mechanically, as he caught the intense look of the perspiring elder,
"What syrup, sir?"

Now it had not occurred to the elder to drink soda, but the
suggestion, coming as it did in his exhausted state, was overpowering.
He drew near awkwardly, put on his glasses, and examined the list of
syrups with great care. The young man, being for the moment at
leisure, surveyed critically the gaunt figure, the faded bandanna, the
antique clawhammer coat, and the battered stove-pipe hat, with a
gradually relaxing countenance. He even called the prescription
clerk's attention by a cough and a quick jerk of the thumb. The
prescription clerk smiled freely, and continued his assaults upon a
piece of blue mass.

"I reckon," said the elder, resting his hands upon his knees and
bending down to the list, "you may gimme sassprilla an' a little
strawberry. Sassprilla's good for the blood this time er year, an'
strawberry's good any time."

The spruce young man let the syrup stream into the glass as he smiled
affably. Thinking, perhaps, to draw out the odd character, he ventured
upon a jest himself, repeating a pun invented by the man who made the
first soda fountain. With a sweep of his arm he cleared away the swarm
of insects as he remarked, "People who like a fly in theirs are easily
accommodated."

It was from sheer good-nature only that Elder Brown replied, with his
usual broad, social smile, "Well, a fly now an' then don't hurt
nobody."

Now if there is anybody in the world who prides himself on knowing a
thing or two, it is the spruce young man who presides over a soda
fountain. This particular young gentleman did not even deem a reply
necessary. He vanished an instant, and when he returned a close
observer might have seen that the mixture in the glass he bore had
slightly changed color and increased in quantity. But the elder saw
only the whizzing stream of water dart into its center, and the rosy
foam rise and tremble on the glass's rim. The next instant he was
holding his breath and sipping the cooling drink.

As Elder Brown paid his small score he was at peace with the world. I
firmly believe that when he had finished his trading, and the little
blue-stringed packages had been stored away, could the poor donkey
have made his appearance at the door, and gazed with his meek,
fawnlike eyes into his master's, he would have obtained full and free
forgiveness.

Elder Brown paused at the door as he was about to leave. A
rosy-cheeked school-girl was just lifting a creamy mixture to her lips
before the fountain. It was a pretty picture, and he turned back,
resolved to indulge in one more glass of the delightful beverage
before beginning his long ride homeward.

"Fix it up again, sonny," he said, renewing his broad, confiding
smile, as the spruce young man poised a glass inquiringly. The living
automaton went through the same motions as before, and again Elder
Brown quaffed the fatal mixture.

What a singular power is habit! Up to this time Elder Brown had been
entirely innocent of transgression, but with the old alcoholic fire in
his veins, twenty years dropped from his shoulders, and a feeling came
over him familiar to every man who has been "in his cups." As a matter
of fact, the elder would have been a confirmed drunkard twenty years
before had his wife been less strong-minded. She took the reins into
her own hands when she found that his business and strong drink did
not mix well, worked him into the church, sustained his resolutions by
making it difficult and dangerous for him to get to his toddy. She
became the business head of the family, and he the spiritual. Only at
rare intervals did he ever "backslide" during the twenty years of the
new era, and Mrs. Brown herself used to say that the "sugar in his'n
turned to gall before the backslide ended." People who knew her never
doubted it.

But Elder Brown's sin during the remainder of the day contained an
element of responsibility. As he moved majestically down toward where
Balaam slept in the sunlight, he felt no fatigue. There was a glow
upon his cheek-bones, and a faint tinge upon his prominent nose. He
nodded familiarly to people as he met them, and saw not the look of
amusement which succeeded astonishment upon the various faces. When he
reached the neighborhood of Balaam it suddenly occurred to him that he
might have forgotten some one of his numerous commissions, and he
paused to think. Then a brilliant idea rose in his mind. He would
forestall blame and disarm anger with kindness--he would purchase
Hannah a bonnet.

What woman's heart ever failed to soften at sight of a new bonnet?

As I have stated, the elder was a man of action. He entered a store
near at hand.

"Good-morning," said an affable gentleman with a Hebrew countenance,
approaching.

"Good-mornin', good-mornin'," said the elder, piling his bundles on
the counter. "I hope you are well?" Elder Brown extended his hand
fervidly.

"Quite well, I thank you. What--"

"And the little wife?" said Elder Brown, affectionately retaining the
Jew's hand.

"Quite well, sir."

"And the little ones--quite well, I hope, too?"

"Yes, sir; all well, thank you. Something I can do for you?"

The affable merchant was trying to recall his customer's name.

"Not now, not now, thankee. If you please to let my bundles stay
untell I come back--"

"Can't I show you something? Hat, coat--"

"Not now. Be back bimeby."

Was it chance or fate that brought Elder Brown in front of a bar? The
glasses shone bright upon the shelves as the swinging door flapped
back to let out a coatless clerk, who passed him with a rush, chewing
upon a farewell mouthful of brown bread and bologna. Elder Brown
beheld for an instant the familiar scene within. The screws of his
resolution had been loosened. At sight of the glistening bar the whole
moral structure of twenty years came tumbling down. Mechanically he
entered the saloon, and laid a silver quarter upon the bar as he said:

"A little whiskey an' sugar." The arms of the bartender worked like a
faker's in a side show as he set out the glass with its little quota
of "short sweetening" and a cut-glass decanter, and sent a
half-tumbler of water spinning along from the upper end of the bar
with a dime in change.

"Whiskey is higher'n used to be," said Elder Brown; but the bartender
was taking another order, and did not hear him. Elder Brown stirred
away the sugar, and let a steady stream of red liquid flow into the
glass. He swallowed the drink as unconcernedly as though his morning
tod had never been suspended, and pocketed the change. "But it ain't
any better than it was," he concluded, as he passed out. He did not
even seem to realize that he had done anything extraordinary.

There was a millinery store up the street, and thither with uncertain
step he wended his way, feeling a little more elate, and altogether
sociable. A pretty, black-eyed girl, struggling to keep down her
mirth, came forward and faced him behind the counter. Elder Brown
lifted his faded hat with the politeness, if not the grace, of a
Castilian, and made a sweeping bow. Again he was in his element. But
he did not speak. A shower of odds and ends, small packages, thread,
needles, and buttons, released from their prison, rattled down about
him.

The girl laughed. She could not help it. And the elder, leaning his
hand on the counter, laughed, too, until several other girls came
half-way to the front. Then they, hiding behind counters and suspended
cloaks, laughed and snickered until they reconvulsed the elder's
vis-à-vis, who had been making desperate efforts to resume her demure
appearance.

"Let me help you, sir," she said, coming from behind the counter, upon
seeing Elder Brown beginning to adjust his spectacles for a search. He
waved her back majestically. "No, my dear, no; can't allow it. You
mout sile them purty fingers. No, ma'am. No gen'l'man'll 'low er lady
to do such a thing." The elder was gently forcing the girl back to her
place. "Leave it to me. I've picked up bigger things 'n them. Picked
myself up this mornin'. Balaam--you don't know Balaam; he's my
donkey--he tumbled me over his head in the sand this mornin'." And
Elder Brown had to resume an upright position until his paroxysm of
laughter had passed. "You see this old hat?" extending it, half full
of packages; "I fell clear inter it; jes' as clean inter it as them
things thar fell out'n it." He laughed again, and so did the girls.
"But, my dear, I whaled half the hide off'n him for it."

"Oh, sir! how could you? Indeed, sir. I think you did wrong. The poor
brute did not know what he was doing, I dare say, and probably he has
been a faithful friend." The girl cast her mischievous eyes towards
her companions, who snickered again. The old man was not conscious of
the sarcasm. He only saw reproach. His face straightened, and he
regarded the girl soberly.

"Mebbe you're right, my dear; mebbe I oughtn't."

"I am sure of it," said the girl. "But now don't you want to buy a
bonnet or a cloak to carry home to your wife?"

"Well, you're whistlin' now, birdie; that's my intention; set 'em all
out." Again the elder's face shone with delight. "An' I don't want no
one-hoss bonnet neither."

"Of course not. Now here is one; pink silk, with delicate pale blue
feathers. Just the thing for the season. We have nothing more elegant
in stock." Elder Brown held it out, upside down, at arm's-length.

"Well, now, that's suthin' like. Will it soot a sorter redheaded
'ooman?"

A perfectly sober man would have said the girl's corsets must have
undergone a terrible strain, but the elder did not notice her dumb
convulsion. She answered, heroically:

"Perfectly, sir. It is an exquisite match."

"I think you're whistlin' again. Nancy's head's red, red as a
woodpeck's. Sorrel's only half-way to the color of her top-knot, an'
it do seem like red oughter to soot red. Nancy's red an' the hat's
red; like goes with like, an' birds of a feather flock together." The
old man laughed until his cheeks were wet.

The girl, beginning to feel a little uneasy, and seeing a customer
entering, rapidly fixed up the bonnet, took fifteen dollars out of a
twenty-dollar bill, and calmly asked the elder if he wanted anything
else. He thrust his change somewhere into his clothes, and beat a
retreat. It had occurred to him that he was nearly drunk.

Elder Brown's step began to lose its buoyancy. He found himself
utterly unable to walk straight. There was an uncertain straddle in
his gait that carried him from one side of the walk to the other, and
caused people whom he met to cheerfully yield him plenty of room.

Balaam saw him coming. Poor Balaam. He had made an early start that
day, and for hours he stood in the sun awaiting relief. When he opened
his sleepy eyes and raised his expressive ears to a position of
attention, the old familiar coat and battered hat of the elder were
before him. He lifted up his honest voice and cried aloud for joy.

The effect was electrical for one instant. Elder Brown surveyed the
beast with horror, but again in his understanding there rang out the
trumpet words.

"Drunk, drunk, drunk, drer-unc, -er-unc, -unc, -unc."

He stooped instinctively for a missile with which to smite his
accuser, but brought up suddenly with a jerk and a handful of sand.
Straightening himself up with a majestic dignity, he extended his
right hand impressively.

"You're a goldarn liar, Balaam, and, blast your old buttons, you kin
walk home by yourself, for I'm danged if you sh'll ride me er step."