Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
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She was a dream, all right.]
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SHORTY McCABE
BySewell Ford
Illustrated byFrancis Vaux Wilson
New YorkGROSSET & DUNLAPPublishers
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Copyright, 1906, by Mitchell Kennerley.
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SHORTY McCABE
CHAPTER I
Excuse me, mister man, but ain't you--Hello, yourself! Blamed if Ididn't think there was somethin' kind of natural about the looks, as youcome pikin' by. How're they runnin', eh?
Well say, I ain't seen you since we used to hit up the grammar schooltogether. You've seen me, eh? Oh, sure! I'd forgot. That was when youshowed up at the old Athletic club the night I got the belt away fromthe Kid. Doin' sportin' news then, wa'n't you? Chucked all that now, Is'pose?
Oh, I've kept track of _you_, all right. Every time I sees one of yourpieces in the magazines I reads it. And say, some of 'em's kind of punk.But then, you've got to sling out somethin' or other, I expect, or getoff the job. Where do you dig up all of them yarns, anyway? That's whatalways sticks me. You must knock around a whole bunch, and have lotshappen to you. Me? Ah, nothin' ever happens to me. Course, I'm generallyon the move, but it's just along the grub track, and that ain'texcitin'.
Yes, it's been a couple of years since I quit the ring. Why? Say, don'tever put that up to a has-been. It's almost as bad as compoundin' afelony. I could give you a whole raft of reasons that would sound well,but there's only one that covers the case. There's a knockout comin' tothe best of 'em, if they hang to the game long enough. Some ain'tsatisfied, even after two or three. I was. I got mine, clean and square,and I ain't ashamed of it. I didn't raise any holler about a chanceshot, and I didn't go exhibitin' myself on the stage. I slid into aquiet corner for a month or so, and then I dropped into the only thing Iknew how to do, trainin' comers to go against the champs. It ain't likepullin' down your sixty per cent of the gate receipts, but there's worsepayin' jobs.
Course, there's times when I finds myself up against it. It was durin'one of them squeezes, not so long ago, that I gets mixed up withLeonidas Dodge, and all that foolishness. Ah, it wa'n't anything worthwastin' breath over. You would? Honest? Well, it won't take long, Iguess.
You see, just as my wad looks like it had shrunk so that it would rattlearound in a napkin ring, someone passes me the word that Butterfly wasdown to win the third race, at 15 to 1. Now as a general thing I don'tmonkey with the ponies, but when I figured up what a few saw-buckswould do for me at those odds, I makes for the track and takes the highdive. After it was all over and I was comin' back in the train, withonly a ticket where my roll had been, me feelin' about as gay as a Zuluon a cake of ice, along comes this Mr. Dodge, that I didn't know fromnext Tuesday week.
"Is it as bad as that?" says he, sizin' up the woe on my face. "Becauseif it is they ought to give you a pension. What was the horse?"
"Butterfly," says I. "Now laugh!"
"I've got a right to," says he. "I had the same dope."
Well, you see, that made us almost second cousins by marriage and westarted to get acquainted. I looked him over careful but I couldn'tplace him within a mile. He had points enough, too. The silk hat was aveteran, the Prince Albert dated back about four seasons, but the graygaiters were down to the minute. Being an easy talker, he might havebeen a book agent or a green goods distributor. But somehow his eyesdidn't seem shifty enough for a crook, and no con. man would have lastedlong wearing the kind of hair that he did. It was a sort of lemonyellow, and he had a lip decoration about two shades lighter, taggin'him as plain as an "inspected" label on a tin trunk.
"I'm a mitt juggler," says I, "and they call me Shorty McCabe. What'syour line?"
"I've heard of you," he says. "Permit me," and he hands out a pasteboardthat read:
LEONIDAS MACKLIN DODGE Commissioner-at-Large
"For what?" says I.
"It all depends," says Mr. Dodge. "Sometimes I call it a brass polisher,then again it's a tooth-paste. It works well either way. Also it cleanssilver, removes grease spots, and can be used for a shaving soap. It isa product of my own lab'ratory, none genuine without the signature."
"How does it go as a substitute for beef and?" says I.
"I've never quite come to that," says he, "but I'm as close now as it'scomfortable to be. My gold reserve counts up about a dollarthirty-nine."
"You've got me beat by a whole dollar," says I.
"Then," says he, "you'd better let me underwrite your next issue."
"There's a friend of mine up to Forty-second Street that ought to begood for fifty," says I.
"I've had lots of friendships, off and on," says he, "but never one thatI could cash in at a pinch. I'll stay by until you try your touch."
Well, the Forty-second Street man had been gone a month. There wasothers I might have tried, but I didn't like to risk gettin' my fingersfrost-bitten. So I hooks up with Leonidas and we goes out with a gripfull of Electro-Polisho, hittin' the places where they had nickel-platedsigns and brass hand rails. And say! I could starve to death doing that.Give me a week and two pairs of shoes and I might sell a box or so; butDodge, he takes an hour to work his side of the block and shakes out afist full of quarters.
"It's an art," says he, "which one must be born to. After this you carrythe grip."
That's the part I was playin' when we strikes the Tuscarora. Sounds likea parlor car, don't it? But it was just one of those swell bachelorjoints--fourteen stories, electric elevators, suites of two and threerooms, for gents only. Course, we hadn't no more call to go there thanto the Stock Exchange, but Leonidas Macklin, he's one of the kind thatdon't wait for cards. Seein' the front door open and a crowd of men inthe hall, he blazes right in, silk hat on the back of his head, hands inhis pockets, and me close behind with the bag.
"What's up; auction, row or accident?" says he to one of the mob.
Now if it had been me that butted in like that I'd had a row on myhands in about two minutes, but in less time than that Leonidas knowsthe whole story and is right to home. Taking me behind a hand-made palm,he puts me next. Seems that some one had advertised in a mornin' paperfor a refined, high-browed person to help one of the same kind kill timeat a big salary.
"And look what he gets," says Leonidas, wavin' his hand at the push."There's more'n a hundred of 'em, and not more'n a dozen that youcouldn't trace back to a Mills hotel. They've been jawing away for anhour, trying to settle who gets the cinch. The chap who did theadvertising is inside there, in the middle of that bunch, and I reckonhe wishes he hadn't. As an act of charity, Shorty, I'm going tostraighten things out for him. Come on."
"Better call up the reserves," says I.
But that wa'n't Mr. Dodge's style. Side-steppin' around to the off edgeof the crowd, just as if he'd come down from the elevator, he calls outgood and loud: "Now then, gentlemen; one side, please, one side! Ah,thank you! In a moment, now, gentlemen, we'll get down to business."
And say, they opened up for us like it was pay day and he had the cashbox. We brought up before the saddest-lookin' cuss I ever saw out ofbed. I couldn't make out whether he was sick, or scared, or both. Hehad flopped in a big leather chair and was tryin' to wave 'em away withboth hands, while about two dozen, lookin' like ex-bath rubbers or mennurses, were telling him how good they were and shovin' references athim. The rest of the gang w
as trying to push in for their whack. It wasa bad mess, but Leonidas wasn't feazed a bit.
"Attention, gentlemen!" says he. "If you will all retire to the room onthe left we will get to work. The room on the left, gentlemen, on theleft!"
He had a good voice, Leonidas did, one of the kind that could go againsta merry-go-round or a German band. The crowd stopped pushin' to listen,then some one made a break for the next room, and in less than a minutethey were all in there, with the door shut between. Mr. Dodge tips methe wink and sails over to the specimen in the chair.
"You're Mr. Homer Fales, I take it," says he.
"I am," says the pale one, breathing hard, "and who--who the devil areyou?"
"That's neither here nor there," says Leonidas. "Just now I'm alife-boat. Do you want to hire any of those fellows? If so--"
"No, no, no!" says Homer, shakin' as if he had a chill. "Send them allaway, will you? They have nearly killed me."
"Away they go," says Leonidas. "Watch me do it."
First he has me go in with his hat and collect their cards. Then I calls'em out, one by one, while he stands by to give each one the long-lostbrother grip, and whisper in his ear, as confidential as if he wastelling him how he'd won the piano at a church raffle: "Don't say aword; to-morrow at ten." They all got the same, even to the Hickey-boyshoulder pat as he passed 'em out, and every last one of 'em faded awaytrying to keep from lookin' tickled to death. It took twenty minutes bythe watch.
"Now, Mr. Fales," says Leonidas, comin' to a parade rest in front of thechair, "next time you want to play Santa Claus to the unemployed I'dadvise you to hire Madison Square Garden to receive in."
That seemed to put a little life into Homer. He hitched himself up off'nthe middle of his backbone, pulled in a yard or two of long legs andpried his eyes open. You couldn't call him handsome and prove it. He hadone of those long, two-by-four faces, with more nose than chin, and apair of inset eyes that seemed built to look for grief. The corners ofhis mouth were sagged, and his complexion made you think of cheese pie.But he was still alive.
"You've overlooked one," says he, and points my way. "He wouldn't do atall. Send him off, too."
"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Fales," says Leonidas. "This gentlemanis a wholly disinterested party, and he's a particular friend of mine.Professor McCabe, let me introduce Mr. Homer Fales."
So I came to the front and gave Homer's flipper a little squeeze thatmust have done him as much good as an electric treatment, by the way hesquirmed.
"If you ever feel ambitious for a little six-ounce glove exercise," saysI, "just let me know."
"Thanks," says he, "thanks very much. But I'm an invalid, you see. Infact, I'm a very sick man."
"About three rounds a day would put you on your feet," says I. "There'snothing like it."
He kind of shuddered and turned to Leonidas. "You are certain that thosemen will not return, are you?" says he.
"Not before to-morrow at ten. You can be out then, you know," says Mr.Dodge.
"To-morrow at ten!" says Homer, and slumps again, all in a heap. "Oh,this is awful!" he groans. "I couldn't survive another!"
It was the worst case of funk I ever saw. We put in an hour trying tobrace him up, but not until we'd promised to stay by over night couldwe get him to breathe deep. Then he was as grateful as if we'd pulledhim out of the river. We half lugs him over to the elevator and takeshim up to his quarters. It wasn't any cheap hang-out, either--nothingbut silk rugs on the floor and parlor furniture all over the shop. Wehad dinner served up there, and it was a feed to dream about--oysters,ruddy duck, filly of beef with mushrooms, and all the frills--whileHomer worries along on a few toasted crackers and a cup of weak tea.
As Leonidas and me does the anti-famine act Homer unloads his hard-luckwheeze. He was the best example of an all-round invalid I ever stackedup against. He didn't go in for no half-way business; it was neck ornothing with him. He wasn't on the hospital list one day and bumping thebumps the next. He was what you might call a consistent sufferer.
"It's my heart mostly," says he. "I think there's a leak in one of thevalves. The doctors lay it to nerves, some of them, but I'm certainabout the leak."
"Why not call in a plumber?" says I.
But you couldn't chirk him up that way. He'd believed in that leakyheart of his for years. It was his stock in trade. As near as I couldmake out he'd began being an invalid about the time he should have beenhunting a job, and he'd always had some one to back him up in it untilabout two months before we met him. First it was his mother, and whenshe gave out his old maid sister took her turn. Her name was Joyphena.He told us all about her; how she used to fan him when he was hot, wraphim up when he was cold, and read to him when she couldn't think ofanything else to do. But one day Joyphena was thoughtless enough to gooff somewhere and quit living. You could see that Homer wouldn't everquite forgive her for that.
It was when Homer tried to find a substitute for Joyphena that histroubles began. He'd had all kinds of nurses, but the good ones wouldn'tstay and the bad ones he'd fired. He'd tried valets, too, but none of'em seemed to suit. Then he got desperate and wrote out that ad. thatbrought the mob down on him.
He gave us a diagram of exactly the kind of man he wanted, and from hisplans and specifications we figured out that what Homer was looking forwas a cross between a galley slave and a he-angel, some one who wouldknow just what he wanted before he did, and be ready to hand it outwhenever called for. And he was game to pay the price, whatever it mightbe.
"You see," says Homer, "whenever I make the least exertion, or undergothe slightest excitement, it aggravates the leak."
I'd seen lots who ducked all kinds of exertion, but mighty few with soslick an excuse. It would have done me good to have said so, butLeonidas didn't look at it in that way. He was a sympathizer fromheadquarters; seemed to like nothin' better'n to hear Homer tell how badoff he was.
"What you need, Fales," says Leonidas, "is the country, the calm,peaceful country. I know a nice, quiet little place, about a hundredmiles from here, that would just suit you, and if you say the word I'llship you off down there early to-morrow morning. I'll give you a letterto an old lady who'll take care of you better than four trained nurses.She has brought half a dozen children through all kinds of sickness,from measles to broken necks, and she's never quite so contented as whenshe's trotting around waiting on somebody. I stopped there once when Iwas a little hoarse from a cold, and before she'd let me go to bed shemade me drink a bowl of ginger tea, soak my feet in hot mustard water,and bind a salt pork poultice around my neck. If you'd just go downthere you'd both be happy. What do you say?"
Homer was doubtful. He'd never lived much in the country and was afraidit wouldn't agree with his leak. But early in the morning he was upwantin' to know more about it. He'd begun to think of that mob of snaphunters that was booked to show up again at ten o'clock, and it made himnervous. Before breakfast was over he was willing to go almost anywhere,only he was dead set that me and Leonidas should trail along, too. Sothere we were, with Homer on our hands.
Well, we packed a trunk for him, called a cab, and got him loaded on aparlor car. About every so often he'd clap his hands to his side andgroan: "Oh, my heart! My poor heart!" It was as touchin' as theheroine's speeches to the top gallery. On the way down Leonidas gave usa bird's-eye view of the kind of Jim Crow settlement we were headingfor. It was one of those places where they date things back to the timewhen Lem Saunders fell down cellar with a lamp and set the house afire.
The town looked it. There was an aggregation of three men, two boys anda yellow dog in sight on Main Street when we landed. We'd wired ahead,so the old lady was ready for us. Leonidas called her "Mother" Bickell.She was short, about as thick through as a sugar barrel, and wore twokinds of hair, the front frizzes bein' a lovely chestnut. But she was anice-spoken old girl, and when she found out that we'd brought along agenuine invalid with a leak in his blood pump, she almost fell on ournecks. In about two shakes she'd hustled Homer
into a rocking-chair,wedged him in place with pillows, wrapped a blanket around his feet, andshoved him up to a table where there was a hungry man's layout of clamfritters, canned corn, boiled potatoes and hot mince pie.
There wasn't any use for Homer to register a kick on the bill-of-fare.She was too busy tellin' him how much good the things would do him, andhow he must eat a lot or she'd feel bad, to listen to any remarks of hisabout toasted crackers. For supper there was fried fish, apple sauce andhot biscuit, and Homer had to take his share. He was glad to go to bedearly. She didn't object to that.
Mother Bickell's house was right in the middle of the town, with agrocery store on one side and the postoffice on the other. Homer had abig front room with three windows on Main Street. There was a strip ofplank sidewalk in front of the house, so that you didn't miss anyfootfalls. Mother Bickell could tell who was goin' by without lookin'.
Leonidas and me put in the evening hearin' her tell about some of thethings that had happened to her oldest boy. He'd had a whirl out ofmost everything but an earthquake. After that we had an account of howshe'd buried her two husbands. About ten o'clock we started for bed,droppin' in to take a look at Homer. He was sittin' up, wide awake andlookin' worried.
"How many people are there in this town?" says he.
"About a thousand," says Leonidas. "Why?"
"Then they have all marched past my windows twice," says Homer.
"Shouldn't wonder," says Leonidas. "They've just been to the postofficeand back again. They do that four times a day. But you mustn't mind.Just you thank your stars you're down here where it's nice and quiet.Now I'd go to sleep if I was you."
Homer said he would. I was ready to tear off a few yards of reposemyself, but somehow I couldn't connect. It was quiet, all right--inspots. Fact is, it was so blamed quiet that you could hear every roosterthat crowed within half a mile. If a man on the other side of town shuta window you knew all about it.
I was gettin' there though, and was almost up to the droppin'-off place,when some folks in a back room on the next street begins to indulge in afamily argument. I didn't pay much notice to the preamble, but as theywarmed up to it I couldn't help from gettin' the drift. It was allabout the time of year that a feller by the name of Hen Dorsett had beenrun over by the cars up to Jersey City.
"I say it was just before Thanksgivin'," pipes up the old lady. "I know,'cause I was into the butcher's askin' what turkeys would be likely tofetch, when Doc Brewswater drops in and says: 'Mornin', Eph. Heard aboutHen Dorsett?' And then he told about him fallin' under the cars. So it_must_ have been just afore Thanksgivin'."
"Thanksgivin' your grandmother!" growls the old man. "It was in March,along the second week, I should say, because the day I heard of it wasjust after school election. March of '83, that's when it was."
"Eighty-three!" squeals the old lady. "Are you losin' your mindaltogether? It was '85, the year Jimmy cut his hand so bad at thesawmill."
"Jimmy wasn't workin' at the mill that year," raps back the old man. "Hewas tongin' oysters that fall, 'cause he didn't hear a word about Henuntil the next Friday night, when I told him myself. Hen was killed on aMonday."
"It was on a Saturday or I'm a lunatic," snaps the old lady.
Well, they kept on pilin' up evidence, each one makin' the other out tobe a fool, or a liar, or both, until the old man says: "See here,Maria, I'm goin' up the street and ask Ase Horner when it was that HenDorsett was killed. Ase knows, for he was the one Mrs. Dorsett got to goup after Hen."
"Yes, and he'll tell you it was just before Thanksgivin' of '85, sowhat's the use?" says the old lady.
"We'll see what he says," growls the old man, and I heard him strike alight and get into his shoes.
"Who're you bettin' on?" says Leonidas.
"Gee!" says I. "Are you awake, too? I thought you was asleep an hourago."
"I was," says he, "but when this Hen Dorsett debate breaks loose I cameback to earth. I'll gamble that the old woman's right."
"The old man's mighty positive," says I. "Wonder how long it'll bebefore we get the returns?"
"Perhaps half an hour," says Leonidas. "He'll have to thrash it all outwith Ase before he starts back. We might as well sit up and wait. AnywayI want to see which gets the best of it."
"Let's have a smoke, then," says I.
"Why not go along with the old man?" says Leonidas. "If he finds he'swrong he may come back and lie about it."
Well, it _was_ a fool thing to do, when you think about it, but somehowLeonidas had a way of lookin' at things that was different from otherfolks. He didn't know any more about that there Hen Dorsett than I did,but he seemed just as keen as if it was all in the family. We hadhustled our clothes on and was sneakin' down the front stairs as easy aswe could when we hears from Homer.
"I heard you dressing," says he, "so I got up, too. I haven't beenasleep yet."
"Then come along with us," says Leonidas. "It'll do you good. We're onlygoing up the street to find out when it was that the cars struck HenDorsett."
Homer didn't savvy, but he didn't care. Mainly he wanted comp'ny. Hewhispered to us to go easy, suspectin' that if we woke up Mother Bickellshe'd want to feed him some more clam fritters. By the time we'dunlocked the front door though, she was after us, but all she wanted wasto make Homer wrap a shawl around his head to keep out the night air.
"And don't you dare take it off until you get back," says she. Homer wasglad to get away so easy and said he wouldn't. But he was a sight,lookin' like a Turk with a sore throat.
The old man had routed Ase Horner out by the time we got there, andthey was havin' it hot and heavy. Ase said it wasn't either November norMarch when he went up after Hen Dorsett, but the middle of October. Heknew because he'd just begun shingling his kitchen and the line stormcame along before he got it finished. More'n that, it was in '84, forthat was the year he ran for sheriff.
"See here, gentlemen," says Leonidas, "isn't it possible to find someofficial record of this sad tragedy? You'll excuse us, being strangers,for takin' a hand, but there don't seem to be much show of our gettingany sleep until this thing is settled. Besides, I'd like to know myself.Now let's go to the records."
"I'm ready," says Ase. "If this thick-headed old idiot here don't thinkI can remember back a few years, why, I'm willing to stay up all nightto show him. Let's go to the County Clerk's and make him open up."
So we started, all five of us, just as the town clock struck twelve. Wehadn't gone more'n a block, though, before we met a whiskered old relicstumpin' along with a stick in his hand. He was the police force, itseems. Course, _he_ wanted to know what was up, and when he found out hewas ready to make affidavit that Hen had been killed some time in Augustof '81.
"Wa'n't I one of the pall bearers?" says he. "And hadn't I just drawn myback pension and paid off the mortgage on my place, eh? No use routin'out the Clerk to ask such a fool question; and anyways, he ain't tohome, come to think of it."
"If you'll permit me to suggest," says Leonidas, "there ought to be allthe evidence needed right in the cemetery."
"Of course there is!" says Ase Horner. "Why didn't we think of thatfirst off? I'll get a lantern and we'll go up and read the date on theheadstun."
There was six of us lined up for the cemetery, the three natives jawin'away as to who was right and who wasn't. Every little ways some onewould hear the racket, throw up a window, and chip in. Most of 'em askedus to wait until they could dress and join the procession. Before we'dgone half a mile it looked like a torchlight parade. The bigger thecrowd got, the faster the recruits fell in. Folks didn't stop to ask anyquestions. They just jumped into their clothes, grabbed lanterns andpiked after us. There was men and women and children, not to mention agood many dogs. Every one was jabberin' away, some askin' what it wasall about and the rest tryin' to explain. There must have been a goodmany wild guesses, for I heard one old feller in the rear ranksquallin' out: "Remember, neighbors, nothin' rash, now; nothin' rash!"
I couldn't figure o
ut just what they meant by that at the time; butthen, the whole business didn't seem any too sensible, so I didn'tbother. On the way up I'd sort of fell in with the constable. Hecouldn't get any one else to listen to him, and as he had a lot ofunused conversation on hand I let him spiel it off at me. Leonidas andHomer were ahead with Ase Homer and the old duffer that started the row,and the debate was still goin' on.
When we got to the cemetery Homer dropped out and leaned up against thegate, sayin' he'd wait there for us. We piled after Ase, who'd made adash to get to the headstone first.
"It's right over in this section," says he, wavin' his lantern, "and Iwant all of you to come and see that I know what I'm talking about whenI give out dates. I want to show you, by ginger, that I've got a mem'rythat's better'n any diary ever wrote. Here we are now! Here's the graveand--well, durn my eyes! Blessed if there's any sign of a headstunhere!"
And there wa'n't, either.
"By jinks!" says the old constable, slappin' his leg. "That's one on me,boys. Why, Lizzie Dorsett told me only last week that her mother hadthe stun took up and sent away to have the name of her second husbandcut on't. Only last week she told me, and here I'd clean forgot it."
"You're an old billy goat!" says Ase Horner.
"There, there!" says Leonidas, soothing him down. "We've all enjoyed thewalk, anyway, and maybe----" But just then he hears something that makeshim prick up his ears. "What's the row back there at the gate?" he asks.Then, turnin' to me, he says: "Shorty, where's Homer?"
"Down there," says I.
"Then come along on the jump," says he. "If there's any trouble lyingaround loose he'll get into it."
Down by the gate we could see lanterns by the dozen and we could hearall sorts of yells and excitement, so we makes our move on the double.Just as we fetched the gate some one hollers:
"There he goes! Lynch the villain!"
We sees a couple of long legs strike out, and gets a glimpse of a headwrapped up in a shawl. It was Homer, all right, and he had the gangafter him. He took a four-foot fence at a hurdle and was streakin' offthrough a plowed field into the dark.
"Hi, Fales!" sings out Leonidas. "Come back here, you chump!"
But Homer kept right on. Maybe he didn't hear, and perhaps he was tooscared to stop if he did. All we could do was to get into thefree-for-all with the others.
"What did he do?" yells Leonidas at a sandy-whiskered man who carried aclothes-line and was shoutin', "Lynch him! Lynch him!" between jumps.
"Do!" says the man. "Ain't you heard? Why, he choked Mother Bickell todeath and robbed her of seventeen dollars. He's wearin' her shawl now."
As near as we could make out, the thing happened like this: When thetail enders came rushin' up with all kinds of wild yarns about robbersand such, they catches sight of Homer, leanin' up in the shadow of thegate. Some one holds a lantern up to his face and an old woman spots theshawl.
"It's Mother Bickell's," says she. "Where did he get it?"
That was enough. They went for Homer like he'd set fire to a synagogue.Homer tried to tell 'em who he was, and about his heart, but he talkedtoo slow, or his voice wa'n't strong enough; and when they began to planon yankin' him up then and there, without printin' his picture in thepaper, or a trial, he heaves up a yell and lights out for theboarding-house.
Ten hours before I wouldn't have matched Homer against a one-legged man,but the way he was gettin' over the ground then was worth the price ofadmission. I have done a little track work myself, and Leonidas didn'tshow up for any glue-foot, but Homer would have made the tape ahead ofus for any distance under two miles. He'd cleared the crowd and was backinto the road again, travelin' wide and free, with the shawl streamin'out behind and the nearest avenger two blocks behind us, when out jumpsa Johnny-on-the-spot citizen and gives him the low tackle. He was apussy, bald-headed little duffer, this citizen chap, and not bein' usedto blockin' runs he goes down underneath. Before they could untangle wecomes up, snakes Homer off the top of the heap, and skiddoos for all wehad left in us.
By the time that crowd of jay-hawkers comes boomin' down to MotherBickell's to view the remains we had the old girl up and settin' at thefront window with a light behind her. They asked each other a lot offoolish questions and then concluded to go home.
While things was quietin' down we were making a grand rush to get Homerinto bed before he passed in altogether. Neither Leonidas nor me lookedfor him to last more'n an hour or two after that stunt, and we werethinkin' of taking him back in a box. But after he got his breath hedidn't say much except that he was plumb tired. We were still wonderin'whether to send for a doctor or the coroner, when he rolls over with hisface to the wall and goes to sleep as comfortable as a kitten in abasket.
It was in the middle of the forenoon before any of us shows up forbreakfast. We'd inspected Homer once, about eight o'clock, and found himstill sawin' wood, so we didn't try to get him up. But just as I wasopenin' my second egg down he comes, walkin' a little stiff, butotherwise as good as ever, if not better.
"How far was it that I ran last night, Mr. Dodge?" says he.
"About a mile and a half," says Leonidas, stating it generous. "And itwas as good amateur sprinting as I ever saw."
Homer cracked the first smile I'd seen him tackle and pulled up to thetable.
"I'm beginning to think," says he, "that there can't be much of a leakin my heart, after all. When we get back to town to-night, Mr. McCabe,we'll have another talk about those boxing lessons. Eggs? Yes, thankyou, Mrs. Bickell; about four, soft. And by the way, Dodge, what _was_the date on that gravestone, anyway?"