Sandburrs and Others. Lewis Alfred Henry
with the Four Legs.
There was no danger of Hamilton Finnerty dying, not in a thousand years. But he was woozy and tumbled not to events about him. He knew neither his name, nor his nativity, Nor could he speak, for his tongue was on a spree with the Gin and the Dog’s Head.
CHAPTER V
As Hamilton Finnerty stood holding the lamp-post, and deeming it his “only own,” two of the Queen’s constabulary approached.
“‘Ere’s a bloomin’ gow, Jem!” said the one born in London. “Now ‘00 d’ ye tyke the gent to be?”
They were good police people, ignorant but innocent; and disinclined to give Hamilton Finnerty the collar.
“Frisk ‘un, Bill,” advised the one from Yorkshire; “it’s loike th’ naime bees in ‘uns pawkets.”
The two went through the make-up of Hamilton Finnerty. Jagged as he was, he heeded them not. They struck the steamer tickets and noted the steamer’s name, but not the day of sailing.
As if anxious to aid in the overthrow of Hamilton Finnerty, the steamer was still at her dock, with preparations all but complete for the return slide to New York.
“Now ‘ere’s a luvely mess!” said London Bill, looking at the tickets. “The bloody bowt gows in twenty minutes, an’ ‘ere’s this gent a-gettin’ ‘eeself left! An’ th’ tickets for ‘ees missus, too! It’s punds t’ peanuts, th’ loidy’s aboard th’ bowt tearin’ ‘er blessed heyes out for ‘im. Hy, say there, kebby! bear a ‘and! This gent’s got to catch a bowt!”
Hamilton Finnerty, dumb with Gin and Dog’s Head, was tumbled into the cab, and the vehicle, taking its hunch from the excited officers, made the run of its life to the docks. They were in time.
“It tak’s th’ droonken ‘uns t’av th’ loock!” remarked Yorkshire Jem cheerfully to London Bill, as they stood wiping their honest faces on the dock, while the majestic steamer, with Hamilton Finnerty aboard, worked slowly out.
CHAPTER VI
When Hamilton Finnerty came to his senses he was one hundred miles on his way to New York. For an hour he was off his trolley. It was six days before he landed, and during that period he did naught but chew the rag.
Hamilton Finnerty chased straight for Harlem and sought refuge in the Ville Finnerty. He must think; he must reorganise his play! He would compile a fake calculated to make a hit as an excuse with Isabelle Imogene McSween, and cable it. All might yet be well.
But alas! As Hamilton Finnerty opened the door of the Ville Finnerty the butler sawed off a cablegram upon him. It was from Isabelle Imogene McSween to Hamilton Finnerty’s cable address of “Hamfinny.”
As Hamilton Finnerty read the fatal words, he fell all over himself with a dull, sickening thud. And well he might! The message threw the boots into the last hope of Hamilton Finnerty. It read as follows:
Hamfinny: – Miscreant! Villain! A friend put me onto your skip from Liverpool. It was a hobo trick. But I broke even with you. I was dead aware that you might do a sneak at the last minute, and was organised with a French Count up me sleeve; see! Me wedding came off just the same. Me hubby’s a bute! I call him Papa, and he’s easy money. Hoping to see you on me return, nit, and renew our acquaintance, nit, I am yours, nit.
Isabelle Imogene McSween-Marat de Rochetwister.
Outside the Ville Finnerty swept the moaning winds, dismal with November’s prophecy of snow. At intervals the election idiot blew his proud horn in the neighbouring thoroughfare. It was nearly morning when the doctor said, that, while Hamilton Finnerty’s life would be spared, he would be mentally dopey the balance of his blighted days.
SHORT CREEK DAVE
Short Creek Dave was one of Wolfville’s leading citizens. In fact his friends would not have scrupled at the claim that Short Creek Dave was a leading citizen of Arizona. Therefore when the news came over from Tucson that Short Creek Dave, who had been paying that metropolis a breezy visit, had, in an advertant moment, strolled within the radius of a gospel meeting then and there prevailing, and suffered conversion, Wolfville became spoil and prey to some excitement.
“I tells him,” said Tutt, who brought the tidings, “not to go tamperin’ ‘round this yere meetin’. But he would have it. He simply keeps pervadin’ about the ‘go-in’ place, an’ it looks like I can’t herd him away. Says I: ‘Dave, you don’t onderstand this yere game they’re turnin’ inside. Which you keep out a whole lot, you’ll be safer!’ But warnin’s ain’t no good; Short Creek don’t regard ‘em a little bit.”
“This yere Short Creek is always speshul obstinate that a-way,” said Dan Boggs, “an’ he gets moods frequent when he jest won’t stay where he is nor go anywhere else. I don’t marvel none you don’t do nothin’ with him.”
“Let it go as it lays!” observed Cherokee Hall, “I reckons Short Creek knows his business, an* can protect himse’f in any game they opens on him. I ain’t my-se’f none astonished by these yere news. I knows him to do some mighty locoed things, sech as breakin’ a pair to draw to a three-flush; an’ it seems like he’s merely a pursooin’ of his usual system in this relig’ous lunge. However, he’ll be in Wolfville to-morry, an’ then we’ll know a mighty sight more about it; pendin’ of which let’s irrigate. Barkeep, please inquire out the beverages for the band!”
Those of Wolfville there present knew no cause to pursue the discussion so pleasantly ended, and drew near the bar. The debate took place in the Red Light, so, as one observed on the issuance of Cherokee’s invitation: “They weren’t far from centres.”
Cherokee himself was a suave suitor of fortune who presided behind his own faro game. Reputed to possess a “straight” deal box, he held high place in the Wolfville breast.
Next day; and Wolfville began to suffer an increased exaltation. Feeling grew nervous as the time for the coming of the Tucson stage approached. An outsider might not have detected this fever. It found its evidence in the unusual activity of monte, high ball, stud and kindred relaxations. Faro, too, displayed some madness of spirit.
At last out of the grey and heat-shimmer of the plains a cloud of dust announced the coming of the stage. Chips were cashed and games cleaned up, and presently the population of Wolfville stood in the street to catch as early a glimpse as might be of the converted one.
“I don’t reckon now he’s goin’ to look sech a whole lot different neither!” observed Faro Nell. She stood near Cherokee Hall, awaiting the coming stage.
“I wonder would it ‘go’ to ask Dave for to drink?” said Tutt, in a tone of general inquiry.
“Shore!” argued Dan Boggs; “an’ why not?”
“Oh, nothin’ why not!” replied Tutt, as he watched the stage come up; “only Dave’s nacherally a peevish person that a-way, an’ I don’t reckon now his enterin’ the fold has redooced the restlessness of that six-shooter of his’n, none whatever.”
“All the same,” said Cherokee Hall, “p’litenes ‘mong gents should be observed. I asks this yere Short Creek to drink so soon as ever he arrives; an’ I ain’t lookin’ to see him take it none invidious, neither.” With a rattle of chains and a creaking of straps the stage and its six high-headed horses pulled up at the postoffice door. The mail bags were kicked off, the express boxes tumbled into the street, and in the general rattle and crash the eagerly expected Short Creek Dave stepped upon the sidewalk.
There was possibly a more eager scanning of his person in the thought that the great inward change might have its outward evidences; a more vigorous shaking of his hand, perhaps; but beyond these, curious interest did not go. Not a word nor a look touching Short Creek’s religious exploits betrayed the question tugging at the Wolfville heart. Wolfville was too polite. And, again, Wolfville was too cautious. Next to horse-stealing, curiosity is the greatest crime. It’s worse than crime, it’s a blunder. Wolfville