A First Family of Tasajara

by Harte, Bret

  "Hush!" said Peters, indicating Grant, who had just entered quietly.

  "That be d--d," said Peters, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and startling the lazy resignation of his neighbors by taking his feet from the stove and sitting upright. "I tell ye, gentlemen, I'm sick o' this sort o' hog-wash that's been ladled round to us. That gal Clementina Harcourt and that feller Fletcher had met not only once, but MANY times afore-yes! they were old friends if it comes to that, a matter of six years ago."

  "You know, gentlemen," said Peters, "I never took stock in this yer story of the drownin' of 'Lige Curtis. Why? Well, if you wanter know-in my opinion-there never was any 'Lige Curtis!"

  Billings lifted his head with difficulty; Wingate turned his face to the speaker.

  "There never was a scrap o' paper ever found in his cabin with the name o' 'Lige Curtis on it; there never was any inquiry made for 'Lige Curtis; there never was any sorrowin' friends comin' after 'Lige Curtis. For why?-There never was any 'Lige Curtis. The man who passed himself off in Sidon under that name-was that man Fletcher. That's how he knew all about Harcourt's title; that's how he got his best holt on Harcourt. And he did it all to get Clementina Harcourt, whom the old man had refused to him in Sidon."

  It was Billings's time to rise, and, under the influence of some strong cynical emotion, to even rise to his feet. "Gets for 'em!- GETS for 'em! I'll tell you WHAT he gets for 'em! It beats this story o' Peters's,-it beats the flood. It beats me! Ye know that boy, gentlemen; ye know how he uster lie round his father's store, reading flapdoodle stories and sich! Ye remember how I uster try to give him good examples and knock some sense into him? Ye remember how, after his father's good luck, he spiled all his own chances, and ran off with his father's waiter gal-all on account o' them flapdoodle books he read? Ye remember how he sashayed round newspaper offices in 'Frisco until he could write a flapdoodle story himself? Ye wanter know what he gets for 'em. I'll tell you. He got an interduction to one of them high-toned, highfalutin', 'don't-touch-me' rich widders from Philadelfy,- that's what he gets for 'em! He got her dead set on him and his stories, that's what he gets for 'em! He got her to put him up with Fletcher in the 'Clarion,'-that's what he gets for 'em. And darn my skin!-ef what they say is true, while we hard-working men are sittin' here like drowned rats-that air John Milton, ez never did a stitch o' live work like me yere; ez never did anythin' but spin yarns about US ez did WORK, is now 'gittin' for 'em'-what? Guess! Why, he's gittin' THE RICH WIDDER HERSELF and HALF A MILLION DOLLARS WITH HER! Gentlemen! lib'ty is a good thing-but thar's some things ye gets too much lib'ty of in this country-and that's this yer LIB'TY OF THE PRESS!"