"There wasn't nobody tryin' to take my place--not while I was there!"asserted Danny belligerently.
"That's no lie, either," laughed the sergeant. "He had the office tiedup tight."
Danny swelled with pride at this testimonial to his prowess. Then itsuddenly occurred to him that the sergeant did not act as he talked.
"What'd you butt in for, then?" he demanded.
"It was his duty," said the captain.
"Ho!" exclaimed Danny. "It's your business to protect the public, ain'tit?"
"Of course," admitted the captain.
"Well, ain't we the public?"
The captain laughed uneasily. His experience as a policeman had left himvery much in doubt as to who were the public. Both sides to acontroversy always claimed that distinction, and the law-breaker wasusually the louder in his claims. Danny's inability to see anything buthis own side of the case was far from unusual.
The captain took Danny into his private office and talked to him. Thecaptain did not wish to lock up the boy, so he sent for Danny's fatherand also for the manager of the branch messenger-office. Meanwhile hetried to explain the matter to Danny, but Danny was obtuse. Why shouldnot he do as his father and his father's friends did? When they had adisagreement with the boss, they picketed the plant, and ensuingincidents sent many people to the hospitals. Why was it worse for oneboy to do this than it was for some hundreds or thousands of men? Dannywas confident that he was within his rights.
"Dad knows," he said in conclusion. "Dad'll say I'm right. You got nobusiness mixin' in."
"Dad's coming," the captain told him.
The manager came first. "The boy ought to be punished," said he. "He hitme with a rock."
"I wish you'd seen him," said the beaming Danny to the captain, for therecollection of that victory made all else seem trivial. "Say! hedoubled up like a clown droppin' into a barrel."
"If he isn't punished," asserted the glowering manager, "he'll get worseand worse and end by going to the devil."
"Perhaps," replied the captain. "But just stand beside him a moment,please. Don't dodge, Danny. He'll go behind the bars if he touches you.Stand side by side."
They did so.
"Now," said the captain to the manager, "how do you think you'll look,standing beside him in the police court and accusing him of assault andbattery?"
"Like a fool," replied the manager promptly, forced to laugh in spite ofhimself.
"And what kind of a story--illustrated story--will it be for thepapers?" persisted the captain.
"Let him go," said the manager; "but he ought to be whaled."
It was at this point that Dan arrived, accompanied by his wife.
"F'r why sh'u'd he be whaled?" demanded the latter aggressively.
The matter was explained to her.
"Is that thrue, Danny?" she asked.
"Sure," replied the boy.
"Well, I'd like to see anny wan outside the fam'ly whale ye," she said,with a defiant look at the manager, "but I'll do it mesilf."
Danny was astounded. In this quarter at least he had expected support.He glanced at his father.
"I'll take a lick or two at ye mesilf," said Dan. "The idee of breakin'the law an' makin' all this throuble."
"You've done it yourself," argued Danny.
"Shut up!" commanded Dan. "Ye don't know what ye're talkin' about. Asthrike's wan thing an' disordherly conduct's another."
"This was a strike," insisted Danny.
"Where's the union?" demanded Dan.
"I'm it," replied Danny. "I was organizin' it."
"If ye'll let him go, Captain," said Dan, ignoring his son's reply,"I'll larrup him good."
"For what?" wailed Danny. "I was only doin' what you said was right, an'what mom said was right, an' what you've all been talkin' for years.You've been a picket yourself, an' I've heard you laughin' over the waymen who wouldn't strike was done up. We got to organize. Wasn't Iorganizin'? We got to enforce our rights. Wasn't I enforcin' them? Wegot to discourage traitors to the cause of labor. Wasn't I discouragin'them? Didn't the union tie up a plant once when you was discharged?What's eatin' you, dad?"
Danny's own presentation of the case was so strong that it gave himcourage. But the last question made Dan jump, although he was notaccustomed to any extraordinary show of respect from his son.
"The lad has no sinse," he announced, "but I'll larrup him plenty. Yeget an exthry wan f'r that, Danny. I'll tache ye that ye're not runnin'things."
"Makin' throuble f'r father an' mother an' th' good man that's payin' yewages we need at home," added Mrs. Burke.
"Now, what do you think of that?" whimpered Danny, as he was led away."I'm to be licked fer doin' what he does. Why don't he teach himself thesame, an' stop others from doin' what he talks?"
"Danny," said the commiserating captain, "you're to be licked forlearning your lesson too well, and that's the truth."
But that did not make the situation any the less painful for Danny.
SIMON STARTS IN THE WORLD
BY J.J. HOOPER
Until Simon entered his seventeenth year he lived with his father, anold "hard-shell" Baptist preacher, who, though very pious and remarkablyaustere, was very avaricious. The old man reared his boy--or endeavoredto do so--according to the strictest requisitions of the moral law. Buthe lived, at the time to which we refer, in Middle Georgia, which wasthen newly settled; and Simon, whose wits were always too sharp for hisfather's, contrived to contract all the coarse vices incident to such aregion. He stole his mother's roosters to fight them at Bob Smith'sgrocery, and his father's plow-horses to enter them in "quarter" matchesat the same place. He pitched dollars with Bob Smith himself, and could"beat him into doll rags" whenever it came to a measurement. To crownhis accomplishments, Simon was tip-top at the game of "old sledge,"which was the fashionable game of that era, and was early initiated inthe mysteries of "stocking the papers." The vicious habits of Simonwere, of course, a sore trouble to his father, Elder Jedediah. Hereasoned, he counseled, he remonstrated, and he lashed; but Simon was anincorrigible, irreclaimable devil. One day the simple-minded old manreturned rather unexpectedly to the field, where he had left Simon andBen and a negro boy named Bill at work. Ben was still following hisplow, but Simon and Bill were in a fence corner, very earnestly engagedat "seven up." Of course the game was instantly suspended as soon asthey spied the old man, sixty or seventy yards off, striding towardsthem.
It was evidently a "gone case" with Simon and Bill; but our herodetermined to make the best of it. Putting the cards into one pocket, hecoolly picked up the small coins which constituted the stake, and fobbedthem in the other, remarking, "Well, Bill, this game's blocked; we'd aswell quit."
"But, Mass Simon," remarked the boy, "half dat money's mine. Ain't yougwine to lemme hab 'em?"
"Oh, never mind the money, Bill; the old man's going to take the barkoff both of us; and besides, with the hand I helt when we quit, I should'a' beat you and won it all, any way."
"Well, but Mass Simon, we nebber finish de game, and de rule--"
"Go to the devil with your rule!" said the impatient Simon. "Don't yousee daddy's right down upon us, with an armful of hickories? I tell you,I helt nothin' but trumps, and could 'a' beat the horns off abilly-goat. Don't that satisfy you? Somehow or another, you're d--d hardto please!" About this time a thought struck Simon, and in a lowtone--for by this time the Reverend Jedediah was close at hand--hecontinued, "But may be daddy don't know, _right down sure_, what we'vebeen doin'. Let's try him with a lie--'twon't hurt, noway: let's tellhim we've been playin' mumble-peg."
Bill was perforce compelled to submit to this inequitable adjustment ofhis claim to a share of the stakes; and of course agreed to swear tothe game of mumble-peg. All this was settled, and a pig driven into theground, slyly and hurriedly, between Simon's legs as he sat on theground, just as the old man reached the spot. He carried under his leftarm several neatly-trimmed sprouts of formidable length, while in hisleft hand he held on
e which he was intently engaged in divesting of itssuperfluous twigs.
"Soho, youngsters!--_you_ in the fence corner, and the _crap_ in thegrass. What saith the Scriptur', Simon? 'Go to the ant, thou sluggard,'and so forth and so on. What in the round creation of the yearth haveyou and that nigger been a-doin'?"
Bill shook with fear, but Simon was cool as a cucumber, and answered hisfather to the effect that they had been wasting a little time in thegame of mumble-peg.
"Mumble-peg! mumble-peg!" repeated old Mr. Suggs. "What's that?"
Simon explained the process of _rooting_ for the peg: how the operatorgot upon his knees, keeping his arms stiff by his sides, leaned forward,and extracted the peg with his teeth.
"So you git _upon your knees_, do you, to pull up that nasty littlestick! You'd better git upon 'em to ask mercy for your sinful souls andfor a dyin' world. But let's see one o' you git the peg up now."
The first impulse of our hero was to volunteer to gratify the curiosityof his worthy sire, but a glance at the old man's countenance changedhis "notion," and he remarked that "Bill was a long ways the best hand."Bill, who did not deem Simon's modesty an omen very favorable tohimself, was inclined to reciprocate, compliments with his youngmaster; but a gesture of impatience from the old man set him instantlyupon his knees, and, bending forward, he essayed to lay hold with histeeth of the peg, which Simon, just at that moment, very wickedly pusheda half inch further down. Just as the breeches and hide of the boy werestretched to the uttermost, old Mr. Suggs brought down his longesthickory, with both hands, upon the precise spot where the tension wasgreatest. With a loud yell, Bill plunged forward, upsetting Simon, androlled in the grass, rubbing the castigated part with fearful energy.Simon, though overthrown, was unhurt; and he was mentally complimentinghimself upon the sagacity which had prevented his illustrating the gameof mumble-peg for the paternal amusement, when his attention wasarrested by the old man's stooping to pick up something--what is it?--acard upon which Simon had been sitting, and which, therefore, had notgone with the rest of the pack into his pocket. The simple Mr. Suggs hadonly a vague idea of the pasteboard abomination called _cards_; andthough he decidedly inclined to the opinion that this was one, he was byno means certain of the fact. Had Simon known this he would certainlyhave escaped; but he did not. His father, assuming the look of extremesapiency, which is always worn by the interrogator who does not desireor expect to increase his knowledge by his questions, asked:
"What's this, Simon?"
"The Jack-a-dimunts," promptly responded Simon, who gave up all as lostafter this _faux pas_.
"What was it doin' down thar, Simon, my sonny?" continued Mr. Suggs, inan ironically affectionate tone of voice.
"I had it under my leg, thar to make it on Bill, the first time it cometrumps," was the ready reply.
"What's trumps?" asked Mr. Suggs, with a view of arriving at the importof the word.
"Nothin' ain't trumps now," said Simon, who misapprehended his father'smeaning, "but _clubs_ was, when you come along and busted up the game."
A part of this answer was Greek to the Reverend Mr. Suggs, but a portionof it was full of meaning. They had, then, most unquestionably, been"throwing" cards, the scoundrels! the "oudacious" little hellions!
"To the 'mulberry' with both on ye, in a hurry," said the old mansternly. But the lads were not disposed to be in a "hurry," for the"mulberry" was the scene of all formal punishment administered duringwork hours in the field. Simon followed his father, however, but made,as he went along, all manner of "faces" at the old man's back;gesticulated as if he were going to strike him between the shoulderswith his fists, and kicking at him so as almost to touch his coat tailwith his shoe. In this style they walked on to the mulberry-tree, inwhose shade Simon's brother Ben was resting.
It must not be supposed that, during the walk to the place ofpunishment, Simon's mind was either inactive, or engaged in suggestingthe grimaces and contortions wherewith he was pantomimically expressinghis irreverent sentiments toward his father. Far from it. The movementsof his limbs and features were the mere workings of habit--theself-grinding of the corporeal machine--for which his reasoning half wasonly remotely responsible. For while Simon's person was thus, on its ownaccount "making game" of old Jed'diah, his wits, in view of theanticipated flogging, were dashing, springing, bounding, darting about,in hot chase of some expedient suitable to the necessities of the case;much after the manner in which puss--when Betty, armed with the broom,and hotly seeking vengeance for pantry robbed or bed defiled, has closedupon her the garret doors and windows--attempts all sorts of impossibleexits, to come down at last in the corner, with panting side and glaringeye, exhausted and defenseless. Our unfortunate hero could devisenothing by which he could reasonably expect to escape the heavy blows ofhis father. Having arrived at this conclusion and the "mulberry" aboutthe same time, he stood with a dogged look, awaiting the issue.
The old man Suggs made no remark to any one while he was sizing upBill,--a process which, though by no means novel to Simon, seemed toexcite in him a sort of painful interest. He watched it closely, as ifendeavoring to learn the precise fashion of his father's knot; and whenat last Bill was swung up a-tiptoe to a limb, and the whippingcommenced, Simon's eye followed every movement of his father's arm; andas each blow descended upon the bare shoulders of his sable friend, hisown body writhed and "wriggled" in involuntary sympathy.
"It's the devil, it is," said Simon to himself, "to take such awallopin' as that. Why, the old man looks like he wants to git to theholler, if he could,--rot his old picter! It's wuth, at the least,fifty cents--je-e-miny, how that hurt!--yes, it's wuth three-quarters ofa dollar to take that 'ere lickin'! Wonder if I'm 'predestinated,' asold Jed'diah says, to git the feller to it? Lord, how daddy blows! I dowish to God he'd bust wide open, the durned old deer-face! If 'twa'n'tfor Ben helpin' him, I b'lieve I'd give the old dog a tussel when itcomes to my turn. It couldn't make the thing no wuss, if it didn't makeit no better. 'Drot it! what do boys have daddies for anyhow? 'Tain'tfor nuthin' but jist to beat 'em and work 'em. There's some use inmammies. I kin poke my finger right in the old 'oman's eye, and keep itthar; and if I say it ain't thar, she'll say so, too. I wish she washere to hold daddy off. If 'twa'n't so fur I'd holler for her, anyhow.How she would cling to the old fellow's coat-tail!"
Mr. Jedediah Suggs let down Bill and untied him. Approaching Simon,whose coat was off, "Come, Simon, son," said he, "cross them hands; I'mgwine to correct you."
"It ain't no use, daddy," said Simon.
"Why so, Simon?"
"Jist bekase it ain't. I'm gwine to play cards as long as I live. When Igo off to myself, I'm gwine to make my livin' by it. So what's the useof beatin' me about it?"
Old Mr. Suggs groaned, as he was wont to do in the pulpit, at thisdisplay of Simon's viciousness.
"Simon," said he, "you're a poor ignunt creetur. You don't know nothin',and you've never been nowhars. If I was to turn you off, you'd starve ina week."
"I wish you'd try me," said Simon, "and jist see. I'd win more money ina week than you can make in a year. There ain't nobody round here kinmake seed corn off o' me at cards. I'm rale smart," he added with greatemphasis.
"Simon! Simon! you poor unlettered fool. Don't you know that allcard-players and chicken-fighters and horse-racers go to hell? Youcrack-brained creetur, you! And don't you know that them that playscards always loses their money, and--"
"Who wins it all, then, daddy?" asked Simon.
"Shet your mouth, you imperdent, slack-jawed dog! Your daddy's a-tryin'to give you some good advice, and you a-pickin' up his words that way. Iknowed a young man once, when I lived in Ogletharp, as went down toAugusty and sold a hundred dollars' worth of cotton for his daddy, andsome o' them gambollers got him to drinkin', and the _very first_ nighthe was with 'em they got every cent of his money."
"They couldn't get my money in a _week_," said Simon. "Anybody can gitthese here green feller's money; them's the sort I'm a-gwine to watchfor myse
lf. Here's what kin fix the papers jist about as nice asanybody."
"Well, it's no use to argify about the matter," said old Jed-diah. "Whatsaith the Scriptur'? 'He that begetteth a fool, doeth it to his sorrow.'Hence, Simon, you're a poor, misubble fool,--so cross your hands!"
"You'd jist as well not, daddy; I tell you I'm gwine to follow playin'cards for a livin', and what's the use o' bangin' a feller about it? I'mas smart as any of 'em, and Bob Smith says them Augusty fellers can'tmake rent off o' me."
The Reverend Mr. Suggs had once in his life gone to Augusta; an extentof travel which in those days was a little unusual. His considerationamong his neighbors was considerably increased by the circumstance, ashe had all the benefit of the popular inference that no man could visitthe city of Augusta without acquiring a vast superiority over all hisuntraveled neighbors, in every department of human knowledge. Mr. Suggs,then, very naturally, felt ineffably indignant that an individual whohad never seen any collection of human habitations larger than alog-house village--an individual, in short, no other or better than BobSmith--should venture to express an opinion concerning the manners,customs, or anything else appertaining to, or in any wise connectedwith, the _Ultima Thule_ of backwoods Georgians. There were twopropositions which witnessed their own truth to the mind of Mr. Suggs:the one was that a man who had never been at Augusta could not knowanything about that city, or any place, or anything else; the other,that one who _had_ been there must, of necessity, be not only wellinformed as to all things connected with the city itself, but perfectly_au fait_ upon all subjects whatsoever. It was therefore in a tone ofmingled indignation and contempt that he replied to the last remark ofSimon.
The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V. (of X.) Page 7