Public-domain ebook
by W. C. Tuttle
Language: en371 downloads on Project Gutenberg
Subjects
In: Short Stories·Humour·Adventure
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #66976.
The opening · free to read
Author of “Mary’s Little Lamb,” “With the Joker Wild,” etc.
“Well, she ain’t changed an awful lot since I left,” remarks Magpie Simpkins, as he cuddles his long legs up under his chin and tilts his chair against the side of the cabin.
“You can’t expect no big changes in uh wilderness like this in thirty days,” says I, and he nods emphatic like and spits at uh lizard.
“The East looks good, Ike,” he proclaims.
“Did the East look good to you or did you look good to the East?” I asks. “Seems to me that you gets uh heap civilized in thirty days. What’s the idea uh that hard hat?”
“Last word in head-gear, Ike,” he states, picking the yaller, pot-shaped thing off the ground, and patting it affectionate like. “They calls ’em Darby hats. Did yuh notice that green and red shirt in my valise? I annexes that in Chicago, Ill., U. S. A., and she sure is uh humdinger. Got uh necktie pin in that valise, too, that only assessed me ten dollars and eighty-five cents, and nobody what never seen uh real diamond could tell the difference.”
“Being as ignorance is bliss around here yuh may make uh hit, Magpie,” I replies. “The fact that yuh hangs your person full uh Christmas tree ornaments don’t lessen my hankering to hear yuh tell about how much capital yuh got interested in the Silver Threads.”
Magpie Simpkins is Ike Harper’s pardner, and I’m Ike Harper. We owns the Silver Threads mine, four burros, uh little grub and uh desire to find somebody with money to promote us.
Magpie’s physique is impressing, unless yuh views him edgeways, when yuh can’t get more’n uh glimpse. He’s six feet several inches tall, wears uh kind look and uh long mustache, and has the ability to let me into more trouble than man is heir to.
When we gets nine hundred dollars’ worth uh gold out of our placer mine on Plenty Stone Crick, Magpie gets the promoting itch. He orates that in the East is uh tribe uh philanthropists who spend their time hunting for uh shaft to sink their money in.
Also he opines that as uh hunter and finder uh this certain person he can’t be beat or even tied. I protests audibly and often that we ought to let gold enough alone, but when Magpie gets an idea like that it’s all off until he’s proved that my objections were well founded.
Therefore and immediate he packs his valise—or rather one he borrows from Buck Masterson, the saloon-keeper at Piperock, and pilgrims East.
I holds down uh chair on the shady side of our cabin for thirty days, and tries to figure out how long it will take ’em to get Magpie’s nine hundred away from him. He indicates in his departing words that his stay is indefinite and his destination problematical, but he comes back on the thirtieth day.
He pilgrims up from Piperock, with the taste uh ashes in his mouth, uh yaller, hard hat on his head and kid gloves on his hands. I hands him uh welcome and uh cigaret, and he humps up in my chair.
“She’s uh hard drag, Ike,” he states. “The tribe I mentioned is either getting scarce or somebody has declared uh closed season on ’em. I invades Pittsburg and Chicago and other places too numerous to mention, but all I could find was folks who were kind enough to listen while they took uh drink on me. When the drink was gone they all lost their hearing, Ike.”
“Did yuh expect to find capitalists in grog shops?” I asked, chiding like. “Moneyed men don’t get drunk—they gets intoxicated. Didn’t yuh do uh thing to be thankful for, Magpie?”
He shakes his head, sad-like, and fumbles in his pocket. After searching through all his clothes he comes back to the first pocket he looks in, where it was all the time and he knowed it, and pulls out uh letter.
“Ike, this is uh mystery,” he proclaims. “Honest to grandma, I don’t know what it means, but this letter says it was paid for and is on its way here. I didn’t think I got so drunk that I bought anything except more drinks, but—well, take uh look at this.”
He hands me the letter. At the top it proclaims to be from the Fur and Feathers Pet Shop, of Chicago. They orates that they handles each and everything what wears fur and feathers, and will supply same with cheer and great speed. The letter reads like this:
As per your request and purchase we are shipping you today one cassowary. This is a male, and, in case you desires uh female, we can secure you one inside of thirty days. Thanking you for past and future favors, we begs to remain—and so forth.
I hands the letter back to Magpie, and rolls uh smoke.
“The letter was waiting for me when I got here,” he explains.
“You don’t need to apologize, Magpie. How much did yuh pay for this male bird, beast or reptile?”
“That’s what I don’t know, Ike. I’m sorry.”
“You always are, Magpie,” says I. “You can be sorry more times, hand running, than any man I ever seen. You were born to sorrow. Some folks are born to sorrow, but some are like me—they has sorrow forced upon ’em. What’ll we do with the danged thing?”
“How do I know?” he snaps at me. “Cassowary! What in —— is uh cassowary, Ike?”
“I ought to know!” I snaps right back at him. “You must uh been pretty blamed drunk, Magpie Simpkins.”
He nods, solemn-like, and spits at uh lizard again.
“Maybe. That Eastern hooch is awful stuff, Ike. I don’t remember no pet store. I must uh bought it the night I left Chicago for St. Louis. I wakes up in the morning and went to uh ticket office.”
“Give me uh ticket to St. Louis,” says I to the clerk.
“He looks queer like at me, and calls in uh policeman, and Ike, I had uh —— of uh time convincing that officer that I wasn’t crazy. He explained to me that I’m already in St. Louis.”
“Them policemen must be uh nearsighted bunch,” says I. “You’d have uh nice time trying to prove that to an officer west uh Dakota.”
“Don’t chide me, Ike,” says he. “I was uh stranger in uh strange land, and they took me in. Anyway I got uh green and red shirt, uh civilized hat and uh necktie pin to show for my trip.”
“Don’t forget Cassie,” says I. “Didn’t you talk mines uh-tall?”
“Uh-huh. There was uh fat bartender in Chicago who sympathized with me uh heap. Said he wished I’d uh showed up sooner with my proposition, cause he’d sunk all his money in uh new diving apparatus. He sure was uh good old scout, Ike. Doggone, that feller could fix up uh drink uh hooch until she tastes almost temperance, but she sure was uh sheep in wolf’s clothes. I rode all the way from Chicago to St. Louis on three of ’em and didn’t know it.”
“The big question before the house is this, Magpie: is this here purchase uh yours uh singer, uh beast, uh burden or uh nuisance?”
“Must be uh useful utensil, Ike, or I’d never bought it. I may get red-eyed from wobble water but I never loses my sense uh useful and ornamental things. I’m what you’d call uh discerning person—drunk or sober.”
All uh which shows that there ain’t no use arguing with Magpie Simpkins. He can do no wrong. Uh course he might do things that he’d be sorry for, but he never figures that he’s wrong—just uh little mistaken for the time being.
“Come back broke?” I asks.
“Uh-huh. My gosh, Ike, I must uh spent money like uh timber Willie. If I knowed what that animile cost me I could figure how much the trip cost me.”
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