“‘Here you,” Hole-in-the-Face,’ “says I, fiercely, ‘what do mean by runnin’ away? Come up here an’ explain yerself!’
“Now, Hole-in-the-Face is one o’ the bravest Sioux outside o’ Sioux Falls, an’ he come up kinder sad an’ says: ‘Don’t hurt us, Miss’ Bilkins, an’ we’ll never do it agin.’
“‘Why should I hurt you?’ says I.
“‘Why,’ says he, ‘the scouts is all bringin’ in word that the whites is all risin’ agin’ the Injins an’ so I was kinder afraid when I saw your complexion.’
“‘Hole-in-the-Face,’ says I, sternly, ‘do I look as if I’d hurt a pore Injin?’
“‘No,’ says he, ‘but Candidate-afraid-of-his-Pocketbook was in the camp this mornin’ an’ said the rumors o’ the whites risin’ that we’d heard was all true. He said that the whites was all starvin’ in Dakota, an’ the government wouldn’t give ‘em any rations, an’ so they was cornin’ to rob us Injins of what we had. I tell you the Injins is pritty badly skeert an’ they’re leavin’ their homes an’ bandin’ together fer mutual pertection.’
“‘What about them oxes what I saw the remains of at the camp?’ says I.
“‘Oh,’ says he, ‘ifwe hadn’t killed ‘em the whites would, an’ self-preservation is the lust law of a good politician.’
“‘But about that ghost-dance,’ says I suspicious like.
“‘Why,’ says he, ‘we live in a free country. We Injins can vote an’ you wimmen can’t, an’ don’t you fergit that. Religion is free as water an’ much more plenty. If there’s any fault found with our runnin’ our religion to suit ourselves we’ll jest join the independents, an’ then I guess you’ll be sorry you spoke.’
“‘Hole-in-the-Face,’ says I, ‘is this a square deal?’
“‘It is,’ says he; ‘jest look at it yourself. Here we Injins has been drawin’ rations from the government an’ layin’ by our savin’s till we’ve got in pritty fair shape, an’just when we least expect it, here comes a risin’ of the starved whites, an’ they’re liable to swoop down on us at any minute an’ rob us o’ all we possess.’
“‘No,’ says I, ‘they’re afraid o’ your swoopin’ down on them.’
“He laughed sourkastically. ‘What have they got as we want?’ says he; ‘Nothin’! But the Injuns has got lots that the government has guv ‘em that the whites would like to have for themselves. No, Miss Bilkins, you can’t fool me like that! But my braves is gettin’ anxious to remove their property out o’ harm’s way, so good day to ye, as the legislater said to Gid. Moody.’
“I saw it were no good arguin’ with him, so I druv sadly back. Wherever I went the Injuns was fleein’ in one direction and the settlers in another. I’ve telegraphed the truth to all the papers, but they ansered an’ said:
“‘We ain’t lookin’ fer truth — can get all we want fer a cent a line, but a good lie is wuth a dollar a word to us any minnit.’
“‘You’re a set o’ rascals!’ I telegraphed back.
“‘If it was a news item,’ they answered, ‘we’d give ye a cent a line fer that assertion, but it ain’t, so shet up!’
“Well, I shet, an’ come home, a sadder but a hungrier woman. This gittin’ at the truth ain’t what it’s cracked up to be, an’ the next time I mix up in the Injin troubles I’ll let somebody else do the mixin’ an’ devote my time to economizin’ on coupon books.”
She Enjoys a pleasant chat with the Boarders
20 December 1890
“This coffee,” remarked our landlady, as she poured out the colonel’s cup and adding the skim milk stirred it vigorously with her own spoon, — for she liked the colonel; “this coffee is the Crushed Politician brand, an’ I bought it yisterday of a agent fer a quarter with a diamond necklace set in tin throwed in.”
“It tastes of crushed politician,” said Tom, moodily.
“Named after the republican county committee, probably,” added the doctor, sipping it warily.
“The necklace were worth a quarter any day,” declared our landlady, “an’ the agent said if the coffee weren’t good he’d refund the money. Now, Kurnel, tell me the solid artesian truth, is that ‘air coffee any good?”
“Well,” replied the colonel, sadly, for he knew that a woman is ever sensitive about her coffee, “I believe that I’d get my money back — that is, if you ever expect to see him again — which you probably don’t.”
“No,” sighed Mrs. Bilkins, “I’m alius gittin’ fooled. It’s jest like the time I went to the Curmess, wich some feller said would a been a dog-gone mess if the cur had been left off; but I heered Tom say as there was goin’ to be a quart ‘et an’ a quint ‘et an’ I wanted to go an’ help eat ‘em. But the lunch was pritty high fer the kind an’ there weren’t a quart of it altogether, much less a quint. But there! I ain’t got nothin’ to say agin’ the show, fer these church doin’s is gen’ally wuth the money an’ goes to a good cause, — that is, the receipts nearly alius pay the expenses. When they don’t, them that’s worked the hardest has to put up the rest o’ the shuks, an’ imagine they’ll find their reward in Heving, where church sociables are at a bigger discount than Crismus presents in a barber shop. Now I’ve got to work all my spare time to turn my lavender silk fer the Charity Ball, fer I wouldn’t miss it fer a farm. You’d have to go with me, Kumel, fer it ain’t proper fer a lady to go alone, an’ you can borry George Cadwell’s swaller-tail, that he ain’t wore sence the prize fight. I hope Narre, will be there so’s I can jest grab him around the neck an’ swing him in a good old-fashioned waltz, fer Narre, is a great dancer an’ loves to spin.”
“It’s almost too warm for a dance,” said the colonel, with a troubled face.
“Well, it is rather summery. I got a letter from my brother in Oshkosh the other day, an’ he says in it, says he, ‘here you’ve ben slavin’ fer six year in Dakoty an’ what have you got?’
“An’ I ansered an’ says: ‘we’ve got the beautifullest weather in Ameriky,’ says I.
“‘Then,’ he writ back, ‘send me two barrels an’ a hogshead, for it’s so rainy an’ nasty here that I ain’t gone to the bank fer three days, an’ my money drawers is runnin’ over!’ That’s jest like my brother, he alius liked a joke. But speakin’ o’jokes, a feller walked inter Salsberry’s yisterday an’ says, ‘hev you got a dairy fer sale?”No,’ says Skip, with a grin, ‘but Mr. Leavitt hes got one he’d like to dispose of.’ O’ course the feller meant a writin’ cullender, but Skip is nothin’ if he ain’t funny. He’s goin’ down to Pierre this week to see if they won’t make him United States Senator. I’d rather see Kernel Evans there, myself, but the town can’t hardly spare him. Well, Christmas is cornin’ mighty quick now, an’ everybody’ll be jest as happy as if we was all Senators. The only thing that worries me is that all the stores is sellin’ for less nor cost an’ I expect we’ll have all the merchants on the town after New Years. But I s’pose it can’t be helped unless everyone insists on payin”em a fair profit, an’ it ain’t in human natur’ to do that.”
She Fills the Colonel’s Stocking and Talks of the Charity Ball
27 December 1890
“I say, Kernel,” shouted our landlady, at the head of the head of the front stairs, “if ye want to see wat’s in your sock an’ eat the pancakes while their smokin’ jest rustle a little an’ come down to breakfus’!”
“What’s that?” demanded Tom, as he came down stairs, “has the Colonel been hanging up his stocking?”
“Nothing of the kind,” growled the veteran, making his appearance, “don’t let Mrs. Bilkins make a fool of you.”
They entered the dining-room, and there, sure enough, was a military looking stocking hung by the mantel and bulging out in a suspicious way.
“Ahem!” remarked the Colonel, turning red, “where did that sock come from?”
“Well,” replied our landlady, reluctantly, as she looked fondly upon the Colonel’s manly form, “it might ‘a come outer the mendin’, but t
he presincts is from Santa Claus sure!”
“Open it,” said the doctor, entering the room.
“Open it,” laughed Tom, “and we’ll see what the Saint has sent you.”
The Colonel looked from one to the other with a puzzled air.
“If this is a brutal joke,” he suggested, “someone will die, but if it is a kind remembrance of Mrs. Bilkins, why I’m bound to accept it gratefully.”
Our landlady smiled and blushed, and blew her nose on her apron with an embarrassed air.
“You know, Kernel,” she murmured, “that you alius was my favrite; not as you pays your board so mighty reglar as you might, but you allus treats me as a gentleman should treat his landlady, an’ I flatters myself I know a good man when I sees him.”
The Colonel bowed mechanically.
“Examine it, do!” urged Tom, referring to the stocking, “for we’re getting hungry.”
The Colonel unpinned the neatly-mended sock and took out a small parcel which he opened with a trembling hand.
It contained a yellowish looking cigar which he laid upon the table and Tom pocketed promptly.
The next production was a gaily-decorated blotter, bearing the inscription:
“If you love me
As I love you,
No nife shall cut
Our love in to.”
Tom laughed, the doctor coughed and the Colonel wiped the perspiration from his brow and made another dive at the sock.
“This,” said he, “must be meant for a pen-wiper.”
“Nothing of the kind!” protested Tom, indignantly, “it’s a lock of hair, and it looks awfully like Mrs. Bilkins’.”
The colonel darted a fierce glance at him and dropped the memento into the coal hod. Our landlady stopped giggling and looked solemnly out of the window.
“Boys,” said the colonel desperately, “let’s postpone the rest till new years.”
“By no means,” replied the doctor, “I am very interested and you know ‘hope deferred maketh the heart sick.’”
“An’ there’s no good doctor in the neighborhood to cure it,” murmured our landlady.
“Go on,” said Tom, “I think the next is a doll.”
“No,” said the colonel, examining the article musingly, “it’s a picture of Ed. Lowe.”
“What on earth makes his pockets bulge out so?” inquired the doctor.
“I suppose,” replied the colonel, “that he was still secretary of the county committee when that was taken.”
“That ‘air,” broke in our landlady, “was all a mistake, I — that is — Santa Claus, must’ a got hold o’ the wrong pictur in the dark.”
“Then he should certainly apologize,” said the colonel. “What’s this?”
“That,” replied our landlady, with interest, “is a great thing. You can use it fer a watch key, a can-opener, a manicure set, a bread toaster, a watch charm or a corkscrew. I bought it at 33 1/3 per cent off, an’ — ”
“You bought it!” shouted the colonel. “Now let me ask you, madam, by what right you inflict blotters and cigars and watch charms and locks of hair upon an inoffensive man? Have I ever done anything to warrant — ”
But our landlady had flown to the kitchen, and when she came back with red eyes and a plate of steaming cakes a quarter of an hour afterwards, the donations of Santa Claus had disappeared and the doctor was reading the paper and Tom teasing the cat and the colonel looking out of the window with an air as if wholly unconscious of the late unpleasantness. For they all liked Mrs. Bilkins, and a truce had been patched up with the colonel — at least until after breakfast was over.
“How did you like the Charity Ball?” inquired the doctor, as our landlady poured out the coffee.
“Well, it were considerable high jinks,” she replied, as the sunshine of her smile broke through her clouded face (copyrighted), “but I didn’t stay long because it were so mixed an’ Cholly Howard jumped on my toe so hard that I could not dance another step. But Miss. Joneses hired gal she said she never had so much fun in her life, and there was all the high toned an’ the low toned jest mixed up like a hasty puddin’ fer sweet Charity’s sake, an’ the sassiety made a heap o’ money, too, altho’ some cranky ones said the orchestra got half the receipts an’ Hazeltine half an’ the poor the other half. I seed a good many there that I know ain’t paid their board bills fer weeks, but as long as it were for charity they’re excusable for blowing in a dollar that way.”
She Visits the Great Downditch Farm and tells the Boarders of its Wonders
3 January 1891
“Gentlemen,” said our landlady as she entered the room at which the boarders were at supper, and threw her hat on the side-board and hung her shawl over the doctor’s head; “this kind o’ life ain’t worth the livin’, an’ if ever I were sick o’ this ‘air boardin’ house I am this minute!”
“What’s wrong?” inquired the colonel, wonderingly, “I thought you had been on a visit to the Updyke farm, and to have you come home in such a humor as this is astonishing.”
“Updyke!” cried our landlady, with an unmistakable sneer; “I hain’t been near that wretchid hole; but I’ve been to a much more wonderful place.”
“Indeed,” quoth Tom, “here — sit right down in this chair and let me feed you ‘scalloped oysters while you tell us all about it.”
“All right, but don’t interrupt me, for every word I’m goin’ to say is gospel truth. Well, you know I sot out fer the Updyke farm. I got the best directions I could, an’ travelled over the prairie till I most thought I’d lost my way. Bimeby I come to a feller ridin’ swiftly along in a waggin. I rubbed my eyes in amazement fer a minit, ‘cause there was no hoss or beast o’ any kind hitched to it. Then I yells out, ‘hullup.’ He did, cornin’ to a period right by me.”
“A period?”
“Well, a full stop. I asked him how in blazes he made his waggin go by itself.” “Lectricity,’ says he; ‘ye see, the machinery is stored under the seat. All I have to do when I want to go is press a button, an’ she rushes.’
“‘How do you guide it?’ says I.
“‘By this little wheel — like steerin’ a ship. It beats bicycles ‘cause you can carry a load an’ it ain’t no exertion.’
“‘Who inwented it?’ says I.
“‘Downditch,’ says he.
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘can ye tell me where the Updyke farm is?’
“‘Updyke,’ says he, thinkitively, ‘why, he used to work for Downditch, but his farm’s a good ways off — on the other side of Aberdeen.’
“‘Dear me,’ says I, ‘then I’ve walked all this ways fer nothin’. I wanted to see all the wonders he does with ‘lectricity an’ a artesian well.’
“‘Humph!’ says he, ‘why don’t you go on to Downditch’s? Beats Updyke’s all holler. Jest take that trail ter the right an’ it’ll fetch ye there. So long!’
“He teched his button an’ the waggin whirled away, an’ I thought my best plan was to foller his advice, so I took the path ter the right, an’ bimeby I come to a lot o’ buildin’s all clustered together an’ painted pure white. The biggest one, all wings an’ angles an’ coverin’ about a acre o’ ground, I tuk to be the house, so I meandered up to the front door, an’ seein’ a electric button, I pushed it. Instanter the door flew open an’ I started to step inside, but my feet went out from under me an’ I went kerflop inter a big arm chair, which was on rollers an’ started to once to move down the hall with me in it. A door opened as we come to it, an’ as we passed through some little steel arms jumped down an’ ontied an’ tuk off my bunnit and jerked off my shawl, an’ away we glided to another door. This opened automatic’ly, too, an’ we entered a small room as I took to be a study. In it was a thoughtful lookin’ man, who looked up an’ bowed pleasantly as my chair stopped alongside o’ his’n.
“‘How do, Mrs. Bilkins,’ says he.
“‘Howdy,’ says I, ‘but how did ye know my name?’
“‘It wa
s writ inside yer shawl,’ says he, ‘an’ the machine as took it off read it an’ telephoned it to me.’
“I looked at him in wonder. He smiled an’ touched a button on his vest.
Instantly a handkercher flew out of his pocket, wiped his nose an’ went back agin, all of its own accord.
“‘May I ask your name?’ says I.
“He touched another button on his vest an’ a card flopped out of his buzzum which read: ‘Aesop Downditch, Scientist, Bom at Ipswich, 1821, graduated at Redfield College; fer ferther particulars, see autobiography, price $1. Fer sale here.’
“‘You must be my guest until termorrer, Mrs. Bilkins,’ says he, ‘let me interduce ye to my wife an’ dorter.’ He teched a button on the table an’ instantly two doors opened on opposite sides o’ the room an’ his wife an’ darter rolled in on chairs an’ smiled an’ bowed. Mr. Downditch interduced me an’ soon we was all buzzum friends.
“‘It’s time fer dinner, papa,’ says Clarabel, his dorter.
“Mr. Downditch touched a button on his vest an’ his watch flew outer a pocket an’ opened in front o’ him.
“‘So it is,’ says he, ‘how tempus does fugit.’
“He an’ his wife an’ darter then all teched a little button that was on the outside o’ the arm o’ their chairs, an’ a wash rag o’ satin came out an’ washed an’ dried their faces quickly an’ gently. I did the same an’ I must say such an’ inwention removes all the terrors o’ wash day.
“‘How is this did?’ says I.
“‘All’ lectricity,’ says he, smilin’. ‘The power to run the motor is furnished by our artesian well, an’ by a little inwention I have arranged so that all the little household an’ personal duties are performed by ‘lectrical apparatus, an’ it saves us no end o’ trouble.’ He teched another button on the table as he spoke an’ at once the table sank through the floor an’ another rose in its place, all set fer dinner an’ kivered by the most luxuriousest meal you ever heard of. There was nineteen courses an’ eatables of every description, from peaches an’ cream to fried manna with nectar sauce. I tell you, fellers, such board is wuth a hundred dollars a week. We eat an’ drunk all we could — that is, I did, an’ when we was through the table disappeared through the floor agin.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 809