Sandburrs. Alfred Henry Lewis
mug.
“An' Billy goes d' limit. He orders d' beers; an' when he pays, Billy springs his wad on Mary an' counts d' bills off slow, Linkin' it'll razzle-dazzle her. Then Billy tells Mary he's out to be her steady.
“'I've got money to boin,' says Billy, 'an' what you wants you gets, see!' An' Billy pulls d' long green ag'in to show Mary he's dead strong, an 'd' money aint no dream.
“But Mary says 'Nit! couple of times nit!' She says she's on d' level, an' no steady goes wit' her. It's either march or marry wit' Mary. An' so she lays it down.
“That's how it stands, when d' nex' news we hears Billy an' she don't do a t'ing but chase off to a w'ite-choker; followin' which dey grabs off a garret in d' Astorbilt tenement, an' goes to keepin' house.
“But Mary breaks in on Billy's graft. She says he's got to go to woik; he'll get lagged if he don't; an' she won't stand for no husband who spends half d' time wit' her an 'd' rest on d' Island. So he cuts loose from d' fly mob an' leaves d' suckers alone, an' hires out for a tinsmith, see!
“An' here's d' luck Billy has. It's d' secont day an' he's fittin' in d' tin flashin' round a chimbley on a five-story roof; an' mebby it's because he aint used to woik, or mebby he gets funny in his cupolo, bein' up so high; anyhow he dives down to d' pavement, an' when he lands, you bet your life! Billy's d' deadest t'ing that ever happened.
“Mary goes wild an' wrong after that. In half of no time Mary takes to chasin' up to Mott Street an' hittin' d' pipe. There's a Chink up there who can cook d' hop out o' sight, an' it aint long before Mary is hangin' 'round his joint for good. It's then dey quits callin' her Mulberry Mary, an' she goes be d' name of Mollie d' Dope.
“Mary don't last in d' Chink swim more'n a year before there's bats in her belfry for fair; any old stiff wit' lamps could see it; an' so folks gets leary of Mary.
“It runs on mebby two years after Billy does that stunt from d' roof, see! when there's a fire an' all d' kids run an' screeched, an' all d' folks hollered, an' all d' engines comes an' lams loose to put it out. D' fire's in a tenement, an 'd' folks who was in it has skipped, so it's just d' joint itself is boinin'.
“All at onct a kid looks out d' fort' story window wit 'd' fire shinin' behint him. You can see be d' little mark's mug he's got an awful scare t'run into him, t'inkin' he's out to boin in d' buildin*.
“'It's McManuses' Chamsey!' says one old Tommy, lettin' her hair down her back an' givin' a yell, 'Somebody save McManuses' Chamsey!'
“'Let me save him!' says Mary, at d' same time laughin' wild. 'Let me save him; I want to save him! I'm only Mollie d' Dope—Mollie d' hop fiend—an' if I gets it in d' neck it don't count, see!'
“Mary goes up in d' smoke an 'd' fire, no one knows how, wit' d' water pourin' from d' hose, an 'd' boards an' glass a-fallin' an' a-crashin', an' she brings out McManuses' Chamsey, Saves him; on d' dead! she does; an' boins all d' hair off her cocoa doin' it.
“Well, of course d' fire push stan's in an' gives Mary all sorts of guff an' praise. Mary only laughs an' says, while d' amb'lance guy is doin' up her head, that folks ain't onto her racket; that she d' soonest frail that ever walks in d' Bend.”
At this juncture Chucky desired another mixed ale. He got it, and after a long, damp pause he resumed his thread.
“Now what do youse t'ink of this for a finish? It's weeks ago d' fire is. Mary meets up wit' McManuses' Chamsey to-day—she's been followin' him a good deal since she saves him—an' as Chamsey is only six years old, he don't know nothin', an' falls to Mary's lead. It's an easy case of bunk, an' Chamsey only six years old like that!
“Mary gives Chamsey d' gay face an' wins him right off. She buys him posies of one Dago an' sugar candy of another; an' then she passes Chamsey a strong tip, he's missin' d' sights be not goin' down to d' East River.
“Here's what Mary does—she takes Chamsey down be d' docks—a longshoreman loafin' hears what she says. Mary tells Chamsey to look at all d' chimbleys an 'd' smoke comin' out!
“'An' in every one there's fire makin 'd' smoke,' says Mary. 'T'ink of all d' fires there must be, Chamsey! I'll bet Hell ain't got any more fires in it than d' woild! Do youse remember, Chamsey, how d' fire was goin' to boin you? Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, so d' fire never will boin us; we'll jump in,—you an' me!'
“An' wit' that, so d' longshoreman says, Mary nails Chamsey be d' neck wit' her left hook an' hops into d' drink. Yes, dey was drowned—d' brace of 'em. Dey's over to d' dead house now on a slab—Mary an' McManuses' Chamsey.
“What makes me so wet? I gets to d' dock a minute too late to save 'em, but I'm right in time to dive up d' stiffs. So I dives 'em up. It's easy money. That's what makes me cuffs look like ruffles an' me collar like a corset string.” And here Chucky called for a third mixed ale, as a sign that his talk was done.
SINGLETREE JENNINGS
It was evening in Jordan Hollow, and Singletree Jennings stood leaning on his street gate. Singletree Jennings was a coloured man, and, to win his bread, played many parts in life. He was a whitewasher; he sold fish; he made gardens; and during the social season he was frequently the “old family butler,” in white cotton gloves, at the receptions of divers families.
“I'm a pore man, honey!” Singletree Jennings was wont to say; “but dar was a time when me an' my ole Delia was wuf $1,800. Kase why? Kase we brought it at auction, when Marse Roundtree died—didn't we, Delia?”
This was one of Singletree Jennings's jokes.
“But pore man or no!” Singletree Jennings would conclude, “as de Lamb looks down an' sees me, I never wronged a man outen so much as a blue-laiged chicken in my life.”
This evening Singletree Jennings was a prey to dejection. Nor could he account for his gloom. His son opened the gate and went whistling up the street.
“Clambake Jennings, whar yo' gwine?” asked Singletree Jennings.
“Gwine ter shoot craps.”
“Have yo' got yer rabbit's foot?
“Yassir.”
“An' de snake's head outen de clock?”
“Yassir.”
Singletree Jennings relapsed into moody silence, and Clambake passed on and away.
The shouts and cries of some storm-rocked multitude was heard up the street. The Columbia College boys were taking home their new eight-oared boat. The shouts settled into something like the barking of a dog. It was the crew emitting the college cry.
“What's dat?” demanded Delia Jennings, coming to the door.
“De Lawd save us ef I knows!” said Singletree Jennings; “onless it's one of dem yar bond issues dey's so 'fraid'll happen.”
The tones of Singletree Jennings showed that he was ill at ease.
“What's de matter, Daddy Singletree?” demanded the observant Delia.
“I've got a present'ment, I reckon!” said Singletree Jennings. “I'm pow'ful feard dar'll somethin' bust loose wrong about dat Andrew Jackson goat.”
Singletree Jennings was the owner and business manager of a goat named Andrew Jackson. In the winter Singletree Jennings never