Elbow-Room: A Novel Without a Plot

by Charles Heber Clark

  CHAPTER X.

  _OUR CIVIL SERVICE_.

  Some of the public officers of Millburg are interesting in their way.The civil service system of the village is based upon the principlethat if there is any particular function that a given man is whollyunfitted to perform he should be chosen to perform it. The result isthat the business of our very small government goes plunging along inthe most surprising manner, with a promise that it will end some dayin chaos and revolution--of course upon a diminutive scale.

  A representative man is Mr. Bones, the solitary night-watchman of thetown. One of the duties of Mr. Bones is to light the street-lamps. Itis an operation which does not require any very extraordinary effortof the intellect; but during a part of the summer the mind of Mr.Bones did not seem to be equal to the strain placed upon it by thisduty. It was observed that whenever there were bright moonlight nightsMr. Bones would have all the lamps burning from early in the eveninguntil dawn, while upon the nights when there was no moon he would notlight them at all, and the streets would be as dark as tar. At lastpeople began to complain about it, and one day one of the supervisorscalled to see Mr. Bones about it. He remarked to him,

  "Mr. Bones, people are finding fault because you light up on moonlightnights and don't light the lamps when it is dark. I'd like you tomanage the thing a little better."

  "It struck me as being singular, too, but I can't help it. I've gotinstructions to follow the almanac, and I'm going to follow it."

  "Did the almanac say there'd be no moon last night?"

  "Yes, it did."

  "Well, the moon was shining, though, and at its full."

  "I know," said Mr. Bones, "and that's what gits me. How in the thunderthe moon kin shine when the almanac says it won't beats me out.Perhaps there's something the matter with the moon; got shoved off hercourse may be."

  "I guess not."

  "Well, it's changed off somehow, and I've got to have somethingregular to go by. I'm going by what the almanac says; and if themoon's going to shuffle around kinder loose and not foller thealmanac, that's its lookout. If the almanac says no moon, then I'mbound to light the lamps if there's millions of moons shining in thesky. Them's my orders, and I'll mind 'em."

  "How d'you know the almanac is not wrong?"

  "Because I know it ain't. It was always right before."

  "Let's look at it."

  "There it is. Look there, now. Don't it say full moon on the 20th? andthis yer's only the 9th, and yet it's full moon now."

  "That's so; and--Er--er--Less--see Er-er--Mr. Bones, do you know whatyear this almanac is for?"

  "Why, 1876, of course."

  "No, it isn't; it's for 1866. It's ten years old."

  "Oh no! 1866! Well, now, it is. I declare! 1866! Why, merciful Moses!I got the wrong one off the shelf, and I've been depending on itfor three months! No wonder the lamps was wrong. Well, that beatseverything."

  Then Mr. Bones tore up the almanac and got one for 1876, and eversince that time the lamp-lighting department has given tolerablesatisfaction.

  But it is as a night-watchman that Mr. Bones shines with surpassingsplendor. When he first entered the service, he was very anxious tomake a good impression on Colonel Coffin, the burgess and head of thevillage government; and the first night upon which he went on dutyColonel Coffin was awakened about half-past twelve by a furious ringat his door-bell. He looked out of the window and perceived thewatchman, who said,

  "She's all right. Nobody's broke in. I've got my eye on things. Youkin depend on me."

  The colonel thought he was one of the most faithful watchmen he eversaw, and he returned serenely to bed. On the following night, justafter twelve, there was another energetic ring at the bell; and whenthe burgess raised the window, the watchman said,

  "Your girls ain't left the window-shutters open and the house is notafire. All right as a trivet while I'm around, you bet!"

  "Louisa," said the colonel to his wife as he returned to his couch,"that is a splendid watchman, but I think he's just the least bit tooenthusiastic."

  A couple of nights later, when the door-bell rang at half-past one,the colonel felt somewhat angry, and he determined to stay in bed; butthe person on the step below at last began to kick against the frontdoor, when the colonel threw up the window and exclaimed,

  "What do you want?"

  It was the watchman, and he said,

  "You know old Mrs. Biles up the street yer? Well, I've just rung Bilesup, and he says her rheumatism ain't no better. Thought you might wantto know, so I called. I felt kinder lonesome out here, too."

  As Colonel Coffin slammed the sash down he felt mad and murderous. Thenext night, however, that faithful guardian applied the toe of hisboot to the front door with such energy that the colonel leaped frombed, and protruding his head from the window said,

  "I wish to _gracious_ you'd stop kicking up this kind of fuss aroundhere every night! What do you mean, anyhow?"

  "Why, I only stopped to tell you that Butterwick has two setter pups,and that I'd get you one if you wanted it. Nothing mean about that, isthere?"

  The colonel uttered an ejaculatory criticism upon Butterwick and thepups as he closed the window, and a moment later he heard the watchmancall up Smith, who lives next door, and remark to him,

  "They tell me it's a splendid season for bananas, Mr. Smith."

  When Coffin heard Smith hurling objurgations about bananas andwatchmen out upon the midnight air, he knew it was immoral, but hefelt his heart warm toward Smith. The next time the watchman triedto get the colonel out by ringing and kicking the colonel refused torespond, and finally the watchman banged five barrels of his revolver.Then Coffin came to the window in a rage.

  "You eternal idiot," he said, "if you don't stop this racket at night,I'll have you put under bonds to keep the peace."

  "Oh, all right," replied the watchman. "I had something important totell you; but if you don't want to hear it, very well; I kin keep itto myself."

  "Well, what is it? Out with it!"

  "Why, I heard to-day that the kangaroo down at the Park in the citycan't use one of its hind legs. Rough on the Centennial, ain't it?"

  Then, as the colonel withdrew in a condition of awful rage, thewatchman sauntered up the street to break the news to the rest of thefolks. On the next night a gang of burglars broke into Coffin's houseand ransacked it from top to bottom. Toward morning Coffin heard them;and hastily dressing himself and seizing his revolver, he proceededdown stairs. The burglars heard him coming and fled. Then the colonelsprang his rattle and summoned the neighbors. When they arrived, thecolonel, in the course of conversation, made some remarks about theperfect uselessness of night-watchmen. Thereupon Mr. Potts said,

  "I saw that fellow Bones only an hour ago two squares above here, atMcGinnis's, routing McGinnis out to tell him that old cheese makes thebest bait for catfish."

  Mr. Bones was reprimanded, but he remained upon what is facetiouslyknown as "the force." The borough cannot afford to dispense with theservices of such an original genius as he.

  Our sheriff is a man of rather higher intelligence, but he also has asingular capacity for perpetrating dreadful blunders. Over in the townof Nockamixon one of the churches last year called a clergymannamed Rev. Joseph Striker. In the same place, by a most unfortunatecoincidence, resides also a prize-fighter named Joseph Striker, andrumors were afloat a few weeks ago that the latter Joseph was about toengage in a contest with a Jersey pugilist for the championship. Oursheriff considered it his duty to warn Joseph against the proposedinfraction of the laws, and so he determined to call upon theprofessor of the art of self-defence. Unhappily, in inquiring the wayto the pugilist's house, somebody misunderstood the sheriff, and senthim to the residence of the Rev. Joseph Striker, of whom he had neverheard. When Mr. Striker entered the room in answer to the summons, thesheriff said to him familiarly,

  "Hello, Joe! How are you?"

  Mr. Striker was amazed at this address, but he politely said,

  "G
ood-morning."

  "Joe," said the sheriff, throwing his leg lazily over the arm of thechair, "I came round here to see you about that mill with Harry Dingusthat they're all talking about. I want you to understand that it can'tcome off anywheres around here. You know well enough it's against thelaw, and I ain't a-going to have it."

  "Mill! Mill, sir? What on earth do you mean?" asked Mr. Striker, inastonishment. "I do not own any mill, sir. Against the law! I do notunderstand you, sir."

  "Now, see here, Joe," said the sheriff, biting off a piece of tobaccoand looking very wise, "that won't go down with me. It's pretty thin,you know. I know well enough that you've put up a thousand dollars onthat little affair, and that you've got the whole thing fixed, withBill Martin for referee. I know you're going down to Pea Patch Islandto have it out, and I'm not going to allow it. I'll arrest you as sureas a gun if you try it on, now mind me!"

  "Really, sir," said Mr. Striker, "there must be some mistake about--"

  "Oh no, there isn't; your name's Joe Striker, isn't it?" asked thesheriff.

  "My name is Joseph Striker, certainly."

  "I knew it," said the sheriff, spitting on the carpet; "and you seeI've got this thing dead to rights. It sha'n't come off; and I'm doingyou a favor in blocking the game, because Harry'd curl you all up anyway if I let you meet him. I know he's the best man, and you'd justlose your money and get all bunged up besides; so you take my advicenow, and quit. You'll be sorry if you don't."

  "I do not know what you are referring to," said Mr. Striker. "Yourremarks are incomprehensible to me, but your tone is very offensive;and if you have any business with me, I'd thank you to state it atonce."

  "Joe," said the sheriff, looking at him with a benign smile, "you playit pretty well. Anybody'd think you were innocent as a lamb. But itwon't work, Joseph--it won't work, I tell you. I've got a duty toperform, and I'm going to do it; and I pledge you my word, if you andDingus don't knock off now, I'll arrest you and send you up for tenyears as sure as death. I'm in earnest about it."

  "What do you mean, sir?" asked Mr. Striker, fiercely.

  "Oh, don't you go to putting on any airs about it. Don't you try anystrutting before me," said the sheriff; "or I'll put you under bailthis very afternoon. Let's see: how long were you in jail the lasttime? Two years, wasn't it? Well, you go fighting with Dingus andyou'll get ten years sure."

  "You are certainly crazy!" exclaimed Mr. Striker.

  "I don't see what you want to stay at that business for, anyhow," saidthe sheriff. "Here you are, in a snug home, where you might livein peace and keep respectable. But no, you must associate with lowcharacters, and go to stripping yourself naked and jumping into a ringto get your nose blooded and your head swelled and your bodyhammered to a jelly; and all for what? Why, for a championship! It'sridiculous. What good'll it do you if you're champion? Why don't youtry to be honest and decent, and let prize-fighting alone?"

  "This is the most extraordinary conversation I ever listened to," saidMr. Striker. "You evidently take me for a--"

  "I take you for Joe Striker; and if you keep on, I'll take you tojail," said the sheriff; with emphasis. "Now, you tell me who's gotthose stakes and who's your trainer, and I'll put an end to the wholething."

  "You seem to imagine that I am a pugilist," said Mr. Striker. "Let meinform you, sir, that I am a clergyman."

  "Joe," said the sheriff, shaking his head, "it's too bad for you tolie that way--too bad, indeed."

  "But I _am_ a clergyman, sir--pastor of the church of St. Sepulchre.Look! here is a letter in my pocket addressed to me."

  "You don't really mean to say that you're a preacher named JosephStriker?" exclaimed the sheriff, looking scared.

  "Certainly I am. Come up stairs and I'll show you a barrelful of mysermons."

  "Well, if this don't beat Nebuchadnezzar!" said the sheriff. "This isawful! Why, I mistook you for Joe Striker, the prize-fighter! I don'tknow how I ever--A preacher! What an ass I've made of myself! I don'tknow how to apologize; but if you want to kick me down the frontsteps, just kick away; I'll bear it like an angel."

  Then the sheriff withdrew unkicked, and Mr. Striker went up stairsto finish his Sunday sermon. The sheriff talked of resigning, but hecontinues to hold on.

  * * * * *

  Mr. Slingsby, our assessor and tax-collector, holds on too. Heis another model member of our civil service. The principalcharacteristic of Mr. Slingsby is enthusiasm. He has an idea thatwhenever a man gets anything new it ought to be taxed, and he isalways on hand to perform the service. I had about fifteen feet addedto one of my chimneys last spring; and when it was done, Slingsbycalled and assessed it, under the head of "improved real estate," ateighty dollars, and collected two per cent. on it. A few days later,while I was standing by the fence, Slingsby came up and said,

  "Beautiful dog you have there."

  "Yes; it's a setter."

  "Indeed! A setter, hey? The tax on setters is two dollars. I'llcollect it now, while I have it on my mind."

  I settled the obligation, and the next day Slingsby came around again.He opened the conversation with the remark,

  "Billy Jones told me down at the grocery-store that your terrier hadhad pups."

  "Yes."

  "A large litter?"

  "Four."

  "Indeed! Less see: tax is two dollars; four times two is eight--yes,eight dollars tax, please. And hurry up, too, if you can, for theyhave a new batch of kittens over at Baldwin's, and I want to ketchold Baldwin before he goes out. By the way, when did you put thatweathercock on your stable?"

  "Yesterday."

  "You don't say! Well, hold on, then. Four times two is eight, andfour--on the weathercock, you know--is twelve. Twelve dollars is theexact amount."

  "What do you mean by four dollars tax on a weathercock? I never heardof such a thing."

  "Didn't, hey? Why, she comes in under the head of 'scientificapparatus.' She's put up there to tell which way the wind blows, ain'tshe? Well, that's scientific intelligence, and the apparatus is liableto tax."

  "Mr. Slingsby, that is the most absurd thing I ever heard of. Youmight just as well talk of taxing Butterwick's twins."

  "Butter--You don't mean to say Butterwick has twins? Why, certainlythey're taxable. They come in under the head of 'poll-tax.' Threedollars apiece. I'll go right down there. Glad you mentioned it."Then I paid him, and he left with Butterwick's twins on hismemorandum-book.

  A day or two afterward Mr. Slingsby called to see me, and he said,

  "I've got a case that bothers me like thunder. You know Hough thetobacconist? Well, he's just bought a new wooden Indian to stand infront of his store. Now, I have a strong feeling that I ought to taxthat figure, but I don't know where to place it. Would it come in as'statuary'? Somehow that don't seem exactly the thing. I was going toassess it under the head of 'idols,' but the idiots who got up thislaw haven't got a word in in reference to idols. Think of that, willyou? Why, we might have paganism raging all over this country, and wecouldn't get a cent out of them. I'd a put that Indian under 'gravenimages,' only they ain't mentioned, either. I s'pose I could tax thebundle of wooden cigars in his fist as 'tobacco,' but that leaves outthe rest of the figure; and he's not liable to poll-tax because hecan't even vote. Now, how would it strike you if I levied on him as an'immigrant'? He was made somewheres else than here, and he came herefrom there, consequently he's an immigrant. That's my view. What doyou think of it?"

  I advised him to try it upon that plan, and the next morning Mr.Slingsby and Mr. Hough had a fight on the pavement in front of theIndian because Mr. Slingsby tried to seize the immigrant for unpaidtaxes. Slingsby was taken home and put to bed, and the business ofcollecting taxes was temporarily suspended. But Slingsby will bearound again soon with some new and ingenious ideas that he hasthought of during his illness.