Chapter V (3)

The Major shoved back his papers and arose, but hesitated; and Gid stood looking on, fanning himself. The Major stepped out and Gid's face was split asunder with a broad smile.

"I gad. I've been up town and had a set-to with old Baucum and the rest of them. Pulled up fifty winner at poker and jumped. Devilish glad to see you; miss you every minute of the time I'm away. Let's go over here and sit down on that bench."

They walked toward a bench under a live-oak tree, and upon Gid's shoulder the Major's hand affectionately rested. They halted to laugh, and old Gid shoved the Major away from him, then seized him and drew him back. They sat down, still laughing, but suddenly the Major became serious.

"Gid, I'm in trouble," he said.

"Nonsense, my boy, there is no such thing as trouble. Throw it off. Look at me. I've had enough of what the world calls trouble to kill a dozen ordinary men, but just look at me--getting stronger every day. Throw it off. What is it anyway?"

"Louise declares that she is going to marry Pennington."

"What!" old Gid exclaimed, turning with a bouncing flounce and looking straight at the Major. "Marry Pennington! Why, she shan't, John. That's all there is of it. We object and that settles it. Why, what the deuce can she be thinking about?"

"Thinking about him," the Major answered.

"Yes, but she must quit it. Why, it's outrageous for as sensible a girl as she is to think of marrying that fellow. You leave it to me; hear what I said? Leave it to me."

This suggested shift of responsibility did not remove the shadow of sadness that had fallen across the Major's countenance.

"You leave it to me and I'll give her a talk she'll not forget. I'll make her understand that she's a queen, and a woman is pretty devilish skittish about marrying anybody when you convince her that she's a queen. What does your wife say about it?"

"She hasn't said anything. She's out visiting and I haven't seen her since Louise told me of her determination to marry him."

"Don't say determination, John. Say foolish notion. But it's all right."

"No, it's not all right."

"What, have you failed to trust me? Is it possible that you have lost faith in me? Don't do that, John, for if you do it will be a never failing source of regret. You don't seem to remember what my powers of persuasion have accomplished in the past. When I was in the legislature, chairman of the Committee on County and County Lines, what did my protest do? It kept them from cutting off a ten-foot strip of this county and adding it to Jefferson. You must remember those things, John, for in the factors of persuasion lie the shaping of human life. I've been riding in the hot sun and I think that a mint julep would hit me now just about where I live. Say, there, Bill, bring us some mint, sugar and whisky. And cold water, mind you."

"Ah," said old Gideon, sipping his scented drink, "virtue may become wearisome, and we may gape during the most fervent prayer, but I gad, John, there is always the freshness of youth in a mint julep. Pour just a few more drops of liquor into mine, if you please--want it to rassle me a trifle, you know. Recollect those come-all ye songs we used to sing, going down the river? Remember the time I snatched the sword out of my cane and lunged at a horse trader from Tennessee? Scoundrel grabbed it and broke it off and it was all I could do to keep him from establishing a close and intimate relationship with me. Great old days, John; and I gad, they'll never come again."

"I remember it all, Gid, and it was along there that you fell in love with a woman that lived at Mortimer's Bend."

"Easy, now, John. A trifle more liquor, if you please. Thank you. Yes, I used to call her the wild plum. Sweet thing, and I had no idea that she was married until her lout of a husband came down to the landing with a double-barrel gun. Ah, Lord, if she had been single and worth money I could have made her very happy. Fate hasn't always been my friend, John."

"Possibly not, Gid, but you know that fate to be just should divide her favors, and this time she leaned toward the woman."

"Slow, John. I gad, there's your wife."

A carriage drew up at the yard gate and a woman stepped out. She did not go into the house, but seeing the Major, came toward him. She was tall, with large black eyes and very gray hair. In her step was suggested the pride of an old Kentucky family, belles, judges and generals. She smiled at the Major and bowed stiffly at old Gid. The two men arose.

"Thank you, I don't care to sit down," she said. "Where is Louise?"

"I saw her down by the river just now," the Major answered.

"I wish to see her at once," said his wife.

"Shall I go and call her, madam?" Gid asked.

She gave him a look of surprise and answered: "No, I thank you."

"No trouble, I assure you," Gid persisted. "I am pleased to say that age has not affected my voice, except to mellow it with more of reverence when I address the wife of a noble man and the mother of a charming girl."

She had dignity, but humor was never lost upon her, and she smiled. This was encouraging, and old Gid proceeded: "I was just telling the Major of my splendid prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and I feel that with this blessing of Providence I shall soon be able to meet all my obligations. I saw our rector, Mr. Mills, this morning, and he spoke of how thankful I ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and I told him that I would not only assert my gratitude, but would prove it with a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season."

In the glance which she gave him there was refined and gentle contempt; and then she looked down upon the decanter of whisky. Old Gideon drew down the corners of his mouth, as was his wont when he strove to excite compassion.

"Yes," he said with a note of pity forced upon his voice, "I am exceedingly thankful for all the blessings that have come to me, but I haven't been very well of late; rather feeble to-day, and the kind Major noticing it, insisted upon my taking a little liquor, the medicine of our sturdy and gallant fathers, madam."

The Major sprawled himself back with a roaring laugh, and hereupon Gid added: "It takes the Major a long time to get over a joke. Told him one just now and it tickled him mighty nigh to death. Well, I must be going now, and, madam, if I should chance to see anything of your charming daughter, I will tell her that you desire a conference with her. William," he called, "my horse, if you please."

* * * * *

The Major's wife went into the house as Batts came up, glancing back at him as she passed through the door; and in her eyes there was nothing as soft as a tear. The old fellow winced, as he nearly always did when she gave him a direct look.

"Are you all well?" Gideon asked, lifting the tails of his long coat and seating himself in a rocking chair.

"First-rate," the Major answered, drawing forward another rocker; and when he had sat down, he added: "Somewhat of an essence of November in the air."

"Yes," Gid assented; "felt it in my joints before I got up this morning." From his pocket he took a plug of tobacco.

"I thought you'd given up chewing," said the Major. "Last time I saw you I understood you to say that you had thrown your tobacco away."

"I did, John; but, I gad, I watched pretty close where I threw it. Fellow over here gave me some stuff that he said would cure me of the appetite, and I took it until I was afraid it would, and then threw it away. I find that when a man quits tobacco he hasn't anything to look forward to. I quit for three days once, and on the third day, about the time I got up from the dinner table, I asked myself: 'Well, now, got anything to come next?' And all I could see before me was hours of hankering; and, I gad, I slapped a negro boy on a horse and told him to gallop over to the store and fetch me a hunk of tobacco. And after I broke my resolution I thought I'd have a fit there in the yard waiting for that boy to come back. I don't believe that it's right for a man to kill any appetite that the Lord has given him. Of course, I don't believe in the abuse of a good thing, but it's better to abuse it a little sometimes than not to have it at all. If virtue consists in deadening the nervous system to all pleasurable influences, why, you may just mark my name off the list. There was old man Haskill. I sat up with him the night after he died, and one of the men with me was harping upon the great life the old fellow had lived--never chewed, never smoked, never was drunk, never gambled, never did anything except to stand still and be virtuous--and I couldn't help but feel that he had lost nothing by dying."

THE TWO YOUNG MEN

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time there were Two Young Men of Promising Capabilities.

One pursued no Especial Branch of Education, but Contented himself with a Smattering of many different Arts and Sciences, exhibiting a Moderate Proficiency in Each. When he Came to Make a Choice of some means of Earning a Livelihood, he found he was Unsuccessful, for he had no Specialty, and Every Employer seemed to Require an Expert in his Line.

The Other, from his Earliest Youth, bent all his Energies toward Learning to play the Piano. He studied at Home and Abroad with Greatest Masters, and he Achieved Wonderful Success. But as he was about to Begin his Triumphant and Profitable Career, he had the Misfortune to lose both Thumbs in a Railway Accident.

Thus he was Deprived of his Intended Means of Earning a Living, and as he had no other Accomplishment he was Forced to Subsist on Charity.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches that a Jack of all Trades is Master of None, and that It Is Not Well to put All our Eggs in One Basket.

THE TWO HOUSEWIVES

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time there were Two Housewives who must Needs go to Market to purchase the Day's Supplies.

One of Them, who was of a Dilatory Nature, said:

"I will not Hurry Myself, for I Doubt Not the Market contains Plenty for all who come."

She therefore Sauntered Forth at her Leisure, and on reaching the Market she found to her Dismay that the Choicest Cuts and the Finest Produce had All been Sold, and there remained for her only the Inferior Meats and Some Withered Vegetables.

The Other, who was One of the Hustling, Wide-awake Sort, said:

"I will Bestir myself Betimes and Hasten to Market that I may Take my Pick ere my Neighbors appear on the Scene."

She did so, and when she Reached the Market she Discovered that the Fresh Produce had not yet Arrived, and she must Content herself with the Remnants of Yesterday's Stock.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches that The Early Bird Gets the Worm, and that There Are Always as Good Fish In the Sea as Ever were Caught.

IN PHILISTIA

BY BLISS CARMAN

Of all the places on the map,
Some queer and others queerer,
Arcadia is dear to me,
Philistia is dearer.

There dwell the few who never knew
The pangs of heavenly hunger
As fresh and fair and fond and frail
As when the world was younger.

If there is any sweeter sound
Than bobolinks or thrushes,
It is the _frou-frou_ of their silks--
The roll of their barouches.

I love them even when they're good,
As well as when they're sinners--
When they are sad and worldly wise
And when they are beginners.

(I say I do; of course the fact,
For better or for worse, is,
My unerratic life denies
My too erotic verses.)

I dote upon their waywardness,
Their foibles and their follies.
If there's a madder pate than Di's,
Perhaps it may be Dolly's.

They have no "problems" to discuss,
No "theories" to discover;
They are not "new"; and I--I am
Their very grateful lover.

I care not if their minds confuse
Alastor with Aladdin;
And Cimabue is far less
To them than Chimmie Fadden.

They never heard of William Blake,
Nor saw a Botticelli;
Yet one is, "Yours till death, Louise,"
And one, "Your loving Nelly."

They never tease me for my views,
Nor tax me with my grammar;
Nor test me on the latest news,
Until I have to stammer.

They never talk about their "moods,"
They never know they have them;
The world is good enough for them,
And that is why I love them.

They never puzzle me with Greek,
Nor drive me mad with Ibsen;
Yet over forms as fair as Eve's
They wear the gowns of Gibson.

THE DYING GAG

BY JAMES L. FORD

There was an affecting scene on the stage of a New York theater the other night--a scene invisible to the audience and not down on the bills, but one far more touching and pathetic than anything enacted before the footlights that night, although it was a minstrel company that gave the entertainment.

It was a wild, blustering night, and the wind howled mournfully around the street corners, blinding the pedestrians with the clouds of dust that it caught up from the gutters and hurled into their faces.

Old man Sweeny, the stage doorkeeper, dozing in his little glazed box, was awakened by a sudden gust that banged the stage door and then went howling along the corridor, almost extinguishing the gas-jets and making the minstrels shiver in their dressing-rooms.

"What! You here to-night!" exclaimed old man Sweeny, as a frail figure, muffled up in a huge ulster, staggered through the doorway and stood leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

"Yes; I felt that I couldn't stay away from the footlights to-night. They tell me I'm old and worn out and had better take a rest, but I'll go on till I drop," and with a hollow cough the Old Gag plodded slowly down the dim and drafty corridor and sank wearily on a sofa in the big dressing-room, where the other Gags and Conundrums were awaiting their cues.

"Poor old fellow!" said one of them, sadly. "He can't hold out much longer."

"He ought not to go on except at matinees," replied another veteran, who was standing in front of the mirror trimming his long, silvery beard, and just then an attendant came in with several basins of gruel, and the old Jests tucked napkins under their chins and sat down to partake of a little nourishment before going on.

The bell tinkled and the entertainment began. One after another the Jokes and Conundrums heard their cues, went on, and returned to the dressing-room, for they all had to go on again in the after-piece. The house was crowded to the dome, and there was scarcely a dry eye in the vast audience as one after another of the old Quips and Jests that had been treasured household words in many a family came on and then disappeared to make room for others of their kind.

As the evening wore on the whisper ran through the theater that the Old Gag was going on that night--perhaps for the last time; and many an eye grew dim, many a pulse beat quicker at the thought of listening once more to that hoary Jest, about whose head were clustered so many sacred memories.

Meanwhile the Old Gag was sitting in his corner of the dressing-room, his head bowed on his breast, his gruel untasted on the tray before him. The other Gags came and went, but he heeded them not. His thoughts were far away. He was dreaming of old days, of his early struggles for fame, and of his friends and companions of years ago. "Where are they now?" he asked himself, sadly. "Some are wanderers on the face of the earth, in comic operas. Two of them found ignoble graves in the 'Tourists'' company. Others are sleeping beneath the daisies in Harper's 'Editor's Drawer.'"

"You're called, sir!"

The Old Gag awoke from his reverie, started to his feet, and, throwing aside his heavy ulster, staggered to the entrance and stood there patiently waiting for his cue.

"You're hardly strong enough to go on to-night," said a Merry Jest, touching him kindly on the arm; but the gray-bearded one shook him off, saying hoarsely:

"Let be! Let be! I must read those old lines once more--it may be for the last time."

And now a solemn hush fell upon the vast audience as a sad-faced minstrel uttered in tear-compelling accents the most pathetic words in all the literature of minstrelsy:

"And so you say, Mr. Johnson, that all the people on the ship were perishing of hunger, and yet you were eating fried eggs. How do you account for that?"

For one moment a deathlike silence prevailed. Then the Old Gag stepped forward and in clear, ringing tones replied:

"The ship lay to, and I got one."

A wild, heartrending sob came from the audience and relieved the tension as the Old Gag staggered back into the entrance and fell into the friendly arms that were waiting to receive him.

Sobbing Conundrums bore him to a couch in the dressing-room. Weeping Jokes strove in vain to bring back the spark of life to his inanimate form. But all to no avail.

The Old Gag was dead.

IN ELIZABETH'S DAY

BY WALLACE RICE

Who would not give the treasure
Of very many lives
If some kind fate would pleasure
To let him be where Ben is
A-playing Kit at tennis,
Or playing Will at fives?

The racquet ne'er so deftly
Is turned, whoever strives,
The ball flies ne'er so swiftly
As thought and tongue where Ben is
A-playing Kit at tennis,
Or playing Will at fives.

THE TWO AUTOMOBILISTS

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time there were Two Young Men, each of whom Bought an Automobile.

One Young Man, being of a Bold and Audacious nature, said:

"I will make my Machine go so Fast that I will break all Previous Records."

Accordingly, he did So, and he Flew through the Small Town like a Red Dragon Pursuing his Prey.

Unheeding all Obstacles in his Mad Career, his Automobile ran into a Wall of Rock, and was dashed to Pieces. Also, the young Man was killed.

The Other Young Man, being of a Timorous and Careful Disposition, started off with great Caution and Rode at a Slow Pace, pausing now and then, Lest he might Run into Something.

The Result was, that Two Automobiles and an Ice Wagon ran into him from behind, spoiling his Car and Killing the Cautious Young Man.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches Us, The More Haste The Less Speed, and Delays Are Dangerous.

THE NEW VERSION

BY W.J. LAMPTON

A soldier of the Russians
Lay japanned at Tschrtzvkjskivitch,
There was lack of woman's nursing
And other comforts which
Might add to his last moments
And smooth the final way;--
But a comrade stood beside him
To hear what he might say.
The japanned Russian faltered
As he took that comrade's hand,
And he said: "I never more shall see
My own my native land;
Take a message and a token
To some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Smnlxzrskgqrxzski,
Fair Smnlxzrskgqrxzski on the Irkztrvzkimnov."

SOUTHERN SKETCHES

BY BILL ARP

JIM ALLCORN

I was only thinkin' how much better it is to be in a lively humor than be goin' about like a disappointed offis seeker. Good humor is a blessed thing in a family and smooths down a heap of trubble. I never was mad but a few times in my life, and then I wasn't mad long. Foaks thought I was mad when I fout Jim Allcorn, but I wasent. I never had had any grudge agin Jim. He had never done me any harm, but I could hear of his sayin' around in the naborhood that Bill Arp had played cock of the walk long enuf. So one day I went over to Chulio court ground to joak with the boys, and shore enuf Jim was there, and I soon perseeved that the devil was in him. He had never been whipped by anybody in the distrikt, and he outweighed me by about fifteen pounds. A drink or two had made him sassy, and so he commenced walkin' around first to one crowd, and then to another, darin' anybody to fite him. He would pint to his forrerd and say, "I'll give anybody five dollars to hit that." I was standin' tawkin' to Frank Air and John Johnsin, and as nobody took up Jim's offer, thinks says I to myself, if he cums round here a huntin' for a fite he shall have one, by golly. If he dares me to hit him I'll do it if it's the last lick I ever strike on this side of Jordin. Frank Air looked at me, and seemed to know what I was a thinkin', and says he, "Bill, jest let Allcorn alone. He's too big for you, and besides, there ain't nothin' to fite about." By this time Jim was makin' rite towards us. I put myself in position, and by the time he got to us every muscle in my body was strung as tite as a banjo. I was worked up powerful, and felt like I could whip a campmeetin' of wild cats. Shore enuf Jim stepped up defiantly, and lookin' me rite in the eye, says he, "I dare anybody to hit that," and he touched his knuckles to his forrerd. He had barely straightened before I took him rite in the left eye with a sock-dolyger that popped like a wagin' whip. It turned him half round, and as quick as lightnin' I let him hav another on the right temple, and followed it up with a leap that sprawled him as flat as a foot mat. I knowed my customer, and I never giv him time to rally. If ever a man was diligent in business it was me. I took him so hard and so fast in the eyes with my fists, and in his bred basket with my knees, that he didn't hav a chance to see or to breathe, and he was the worst whipped man in two minets I ever seed in my life. When he hollered I helped him up and breshed the dirt off his clothes, and he was as umble as a ded nigger and as sober as a Presbyterian preacher. We took a dram on the strength of it, and was always good frends afterwards.

But I dident start to tell you about that.

JIM PERKINS (COUSIN OF ELI)

I jist wanted to say that I wasent mad with Jim Allcorn, as sum peepul supposed; but it do illustrate the onsertainty of human kalkulashuns in this subloonery world. The disappintments of life are amazin', and if a man wants to fret and grumble at his luck he can find a reesunable oppertunity to do so every day that he lives. Them sort of constitutional grumblers ain't much cumpany to me. I'd rather be Jim Perkins with a bullit hole through me and take my chances. Jim, you know, was shot down at Gains' Mill, and the ball went in at the umbilikus, as Dr. Battey called it, and cum out at the backbone. The Doktor sounded him, and sez he, "Jeems, my friend, your wound is mortal." Jim looked at the Doktor, and then at me, and sez he, "That's bad, ain't it?" "Mighty bad," sez I, and I was as sorry for him as I ever was for anybody in my life. Sez he, "Bill, I'd make a will if it warn't for one thing." "What's that, Jim?" sez I. He sorter smiled and sez, "I hain't got nothin' to will." He then raised up on his elbow, and sez he, "Doktor, is there one chance in a hundred for me?" and the Doktor sez, "Jest about, Jim." "Well, then," sez he, "I'll git well--I feel it in my gizzard." He looked down at the big hole in his umbilikus, and sez he, "If I do get well, won't it be a great _naval_ viktry, Doktor Battey?" Well, shore enuff he did git well, and in two months he was fitin' the Yanks away up in Maryland.

But I didn't start to tell you about that.

IKE MACKOY

I jest stuck it in by way of illustratin' the good effeks of keepin' up one's spirits. My motto has always been to never say die, as Gen. Nelson sed at the battle of Madagascar, or sum other big river. All things considered, I've had a power of good luck in my life. I don't mean money luck, by no means, for most of my life I've been so ded poor that Lazarus would hev been considered a note shaver compared with me. But I've been in a heap of close places, and sumhow always cum out rite side up with keer. Speakin' of luck, I don't know that I ever told you about that rassel I had with Ike McKoy at Bob Hide's barbyku. You see Ike was perhaps the best rasler in all Cherokee, and he jest hankered after a chance to break a bone or two in my body. Now, you know, I never hunted for a fite nor a fuss in my life, but I never dodged one. I dident want a tilt with Ike, for my opinyun was that he was the best man of the two, but I never sed anything and jest trusted to luck. We was both at the barbyku, and he put on a heap of airs, and strutted around with his shirt collar open clean down to his waist, and his hat cocked on one side as sassy as a confedrit quartermaster. He took a dram or two and stuffed himself full of fresh meat at dinner time. Purty soon it was norated around that Ike was going to banter me for a rassel, and, shore enuff, he did. The boys were all up for some fun, and Ike hollered out, "I'll bet ten dollars I can paster the length of any man on the ground, and I'll giv Bill Arp five dollars to take up the bet." Of course there was no gittin' around the like of that. The banter got my blood up, and so, without waitin' for preliminaries, I shucked myself and went in. The boys was all powerfully excited, and was a bettin' evry dollar they could raise; and Bob Moore, the feller I had licked about a year before, jumped on a stump and sed hed bet twenty dollars to ten that Ike would knock the breath out of me the first fall. I jest walked over to him with the money and sed, "I'll take that bet." The river was right close to the ring, and the bank was purty steep. I had on a pair of old breeches that had been sained in and dried so often they was about half rotten. When we hitched, Ike took good britches hold, and lifted me up and down a few times like I was a child. He was the heaviest, but I had the most spring in me, and so I jest let him play round for sum time, limber like, until he suddenly took a notion to make short work of it by one of his backleg movements. He drawed me up to his body and lifted me in the air with a powerful twist. Just at that minit his back was close to the river bank, and as my feet touched the ground I giv a tremenjius jerk backwards, and a shuv forwards, and my britches busted plum open on the back, and tore clean off in front, and he fell from me and tumbled into the water, kerchug, and went out of sight as clean as a mud turtle in a mill pond. Such hollerin' as them boys done I rekon never heard in them woods. I jumped in and helped Ike get out as he riz to the top. He had took in a quart or two of water on top of his barbyku, and he set on the bank and throwed up enuf vittels to feed a pack of houns for a week. When he got over it he laffd, and sed Sally told him before he left home he'd better let Bill Arp alone--for nobody could run agin his luck. Ike always believed he would hav throwd me if britches holt hadent broke, and I rekon may be he would. One thing is sertin, it cured him of braggin', and that helps anybody. I never did like a braggin' man. As a genrul thing they ain't much akkount, and remind me of a dog I used to have, named Cesar.

DOGS

But I dident start to tell you a dog story--only now, since I've mentioned him, I must tell you a circumstance about Cees. He was a middlin' size broot, with fox ears and yaller spots over his eyes, and could out bark and out brag all creation when he was inside the yard. If another dog was goin' along he'd run up and down the palins and bark and take on like he'd give the world if that fence wasent there. So one day when he was showin' off in that way I caught him by the nap of the neck as he run by me, and jest histed him right over and drapped him. He struck the ground like an injun rubber ball, and was back agin on my side in a jiffy. If he had ever jumped that fence before I dident know it. The other dog run a quarter of a mile without stoppin'. Now, that's the way with sum foaks. If you want to hear war tawk jest put a fence between 'em; and if you want it stopped, jest take the fence away. Dogs is mighty like peepul anyhow. They've got karacter. Sum of em are good, honest, trusty dogs that bark mity little and bite at the right time. Sum are good pluk, and will fite like the dickens when their masters is close by to back em, but ain't worth a cent by themselves. Sum make it a bizness to make other dogs fite. You've seen these little fices a runnin' around growlin' and snappin' when two big dogs cum together. They are jest as keen to get up a row and see a big dog fite as a store clerk or a shoemaker, and seem to enjoy it as much. And then, there's them mean yaller-eyed bull terriers that don't care who they bite, so they bite sumbody. They are no respekter of persons, and I never had much respekt for a man who kept one on his premises. But of all mean, triflin', contemptible dogs in the world, the meanest of all is a country nigger's houn--one that will kill sheep, and suck eggs, and lick the skillet, and steal everything he can find, and try to do as nigh like his master as possibul. Sum dogs are filosofers, and study other dogs' natur, just like foaks study foaks. It's amazin' to see a town dog trot up to a country dog and interview him. How quick he finds out whether it will do to attack him or not. If the country dog shows fite jest notis the consequential dignity with which the town dog retires. He goes off like there was a sudden emergency of bisness a callin' him away. Town dogs sumtimes combine agin a country dog, jest like town boys try to run over country boys. I wish you could see Dr. Miller's dog Cartoosh. He jest lays in the piazzer all day watchin' out for a stray dog, and as soon as he sees him he goes for him, and he can tell in half a minit whether he can whip him or run him; and if he can, he does it instanter, and if he can't he runs to the next yard, where there's two more dogs that nabor with him, and in a minit they all cum a tarin' out together, and that country dog has to run or take a whippin', shore. I've seen Cartoosh play that game many a time. These town pups remind me powerfully of small editurs prowlin' around for news. In my opinyun they is the inventors of the interview bisness.

INTERVIEWERS

If it ain't a doggish sort of bisnes I'm mistaken in my idees of the proprietes of life. When a man gits into trubble, these sub editurs go fur him right strait, and they force their curosity away down into his heart strings, and bore into his buzzom with an augur as hard and as cold as chilld iron. Then away they go to skatter his feelins and sekrets to the wide, wide world. You see the poor feller can't help himself, for if he won't talk they'll go off and slander him, and make the publik beleeve he's dun sumthing mean, and is ashamed to own it. I've knowd em to go into a dungeon and interview a man who dident have two hours to live. Dot rot em. I wish one of em would try to interview me. If he didn't catch leather under his coat tail it would be bekaus he retired prematurely--that's all. But I like editurs sorter--especially sum. I like them that is the guardeens of sleepin' liberty, and good morals, and publik welfare, and sich like; but there's sum kinds I don't like. Them what makes sensation a bizness; feedin' the peepul on skandal, and crime, and gossip, and private quarrels, and them what levies black mail on polytiks, and won't go for a man who won't pay em, and will go for a man that will. Them last watch for elekshun times jest like a sick frog waitin' for rain.

As Bill Nations used to say, I'd drather be a luniak and gnaw chains in an asylum, than to be an editur that everybody feard and nobody respekted.

THE TWO BUSINESS MEN

BY CAROLYN WELLS

Once on a Time two Business Men were Each Confronted with what seemed to be a Fine Chance to Make Money.

One Man, being of a Cautious and Prudent Nature, said: "I will not Take Hold of this Matter until I have Carefully Examined it in All its Aspects and Inquired into All its Details."

While he was thus Occupied in a thorough Investigation he Lost his Chance of becoming a Partner in the Project, and as It proved to be a Booming Success, he was Much Chagrined.

The Other Man, when he saw a Golden Opportunity Looming Up Before him, Embraced it at once, without a Preliminary Question or Doubt.

But alas! after he had Invested all his Fortune in it, the Scheme proved to be Worthless, and he Lost all his Money.

MORALS:

This Fable teaches that you should Strike While the Iron is Hot, and Look Before you Leap.

THE RETORT

BY GEORGE P. MORRIS

Old Nick, who taught the village school,
Wedded a maid of homespun habit;
He was stubborn as a mule,
She was playful as a rabbit.

Poor Jane had scarce become a wife,
Before her husband sought to make her
The pink of country polished life,
And prim and formal as a Quaker.

One day the tutor went abroad,
And simple Jenny sadly missed him;
When he returned, behind her lord
She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him.

The husband's anger arose--and red
And white his face alternate grew.
"Less freedom, ma'am!"--Jane sighed and said,
"Oh dear! I didn't know 'twas you!"

_A Book about Indians, Animals, and the Woods_

Kuloskap, the Master

AND OTHER ALGONKIN LEGENDS AND POEMS

By Charles Godfrey Leland, F.R.S.L., _and_ John Dyneley Prince, Ph.D.

In the first four cantos are told the legends of the Indian god, Kuloskap, narrating how he created the Indians' world, cared for the interests of his children, dealt with the animal kingdom, and punished the sorcerers. Following these cantos will be found the witchcraft lore, lyrics, and miscellany. The stories take the reader into the heart of nature. In the innermost recesses of the forest he follows the strange doings of wizards, goblins, and witches, and revels in such exquisite lyrics as those that tell of "The Scarlet Tanager and the Leaf," "The Story of Nipon the Summer," "Lox, the Indian Devil," "The Song of the Stars," and others.

_Dan Beard_ says: "It is the American Indian's 'King Arthur's Round
Table,' 'Robin Hood,' and 'The Arabian Nights.'"

_Ernest Thompson-Seton_ says: "... Priceless, unique,
irreplaceable."

_San Francisco Bulletin_: "It is a valuable contribution to the
folk-lore of the world, and of intense interest."

_The Independent_: "... Dainty in its woodsy freshness ... has the
same beauty as the Norse myths."

_12mo, Cloth, 359 pp., Ornamental Cover, Profusely Illustrated with Half-tones by F. Berkeley Smith, Ten Birchbark Tracings by Mr. Leland after Indian Designs, and a Frontispiece in Color by Edwin Willard Deming. $2.00, post-paid._

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK and LONDON

_A Charming Book_

My Musical Memories

By REV. H.R. HAWEIS, A.M., _Author of "American Humorists," Etc., Etc._

A volume of personal reminiscences, dealing with early Life and Recollections, Hearing Music, Old Violins, Paganini, Liszt, Wagner, "Parsifal," and other kindred subjects, in a manner both artistic and pleasing, which shows the author to be a person of great critical ability in the realm of music. He is an enthusiast, for music hath charms, so hath its memories; but his enthusiasm never carries him beyond the bounds of good sense and fair judgment.

"Of all Mr. Haweis' contributions to musical literature none is
richer or more readable than 'My Musical Memories'; in short, it is
a treasury of musical intelligence such as only a critical taste
and an almost infallible instinct could have gathered."--_The
Musical Herald, Boston._

"Those who know the charm and clearness of Mr. Haweis' style in
descriptive musical essays will need no commendation of these
'Memories,' which are not only vivid but critical."--_The Public
Ledger, Phila._

_12mo, Cloth. Price, $1, Post-paid._

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers, NEW YORK and LONDON