Harper's Round Table, September 17, 1895 Part 2

"Well, I don't really believe I would like to be a Lion, after all," the Gopher went on to say. "If I could make myself all over again, I should be part Elephant, part Camel, and part Giraffe."

"What a funny-looking creature you would be!"

"Oh, I would not mind that. I don't care much about appearances. Eating is what interests me."

"I should think so," commented Tommy.

"And then think of the advantages of such a combination," pursued the Gopher. "If I were part Elephant I should be as big as any animal; and if I were part Camel I should have four stomachs; and then I should want a Giraffe's neck. Just think of how long things taste good in a Giraffe's throat. Why, it's two yards long! And mine is only about half an inch. How many times better does a piece of pie taste to a Giraffe than it does to me?"

"I don't know," answered Tommy Toddles, very promptly.

"Well, I've figured it all out many a time," added the Gopher, "and I can tell you. A throat two yards long is twice thirty-six inches long, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That's seventy-two inches. And if my throat is only half an inch long, the Giraffe's throat is one hundred and forty-four times as long as mine, and so the pie tastes one hundred and forty-four times as good."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LION CALLED THE a.s.sEMBLED MULt.i.tUDE TO ORDER.]

Tommy marvelled at the Gopher's proficiency in arithmetic, but his mind soon reverted to the question at hand, and he began to wonder how much better pie would taste if his own neck was one hundred and forty-four inches long. He was going to ask his neighbor for further information on the subject, but when he turned around toward the Gopher he saw that the little animal had in some way gotten possession of the soup-tureen, and had thrust his head into it, and was almost drowning because he could not get it out. And then, just as the ex-Pirate and Tommy had rescued the Gopher from a soupy grave, the Lion arose at the head of the table, and pounded loudly on the board and called the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude to order.

When silence had spread over the room, the King of Beasts announced that the Goat had eaten the pa.s.senger list and other important notices off the bulletin board, and that it was thus impossible for him as toast-master to know who was present and who was not, and so he could not call on any one by name to make a speech. He added, however, that any one who desired to make a speech might do so, or, instead of a speech, any animal could sing a song or tell a story. Having made this announcement, the Lion sat down again; and all the animals glared frowningly upon the Goat, who stroked his whiskers nervously and looked embarra.s.sed, either because of these rebuking glances or possibly because of the antediluvian ink on the pa.s.senger list.

"I feel awfully sorry for that Goat," whispered the Gopher to Tommy.

"Why don't you get up and make a speech then, and distract the general attention?"

"I don't know any speech," answered the Gopher; "but I know a joke."

"Tell the joke," urged Tommy; and so the Gopher stood up in his chair, and took off his pink sun-bonnet, and said he wanted to tell his joke.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A STORY OF CORN-BREAD AND CROWS.

BY DORA READ GOODALE.

Two sportsmen one morning, right das.h.i.+ng to view In velvet and buckskin from helmet to shoe.

Were pa.s.sing the field where the river runs by, When they chanced in the distance a figure to spy-- Such a figure as farmers, from time out of ken, Convinced that in clothes is the measure of men, Have fas.h.i.+oned in spring-time of brushwood and hay For the cheating of Solons more crafty than they.

"Sir Scarecrow; behold him!" the first hunter cries-- "What a marvel of rags which a Jew would despise!

Here's a fig for the bird that so witless appears When he's lived among Yankees a good fifty years-- If the fowl really flies that his corn-bread would miss For a wooden-legged, broken-backed puppet like this!

Come, choose a few nubbins to roast on the spot, While I pepper his crown with a capful of shot."

Now the farmer that morning was tilling his soil, Flushed, ragged, and sunbrowned, and grimy with toil, When pausing a moment, as all farmers will, He spied our two friends coming over the hill.

"Good land!" quoth the rustic, "a nice thing it is Fer two city fellers to ketch me like this!"

Then, dropping his hoe, he exclaims with a grin, "Young chaps, I'll be blessed ef I don't take you in!"

So, urging his slow wits to cope with the case, He jerks his old hat down to cover his face, Stretches limb like a windmill that spreads to the breeze, Draws his fists up like turtles and stiffens his knees; Yet a tremor of fun through the homespun appears As the sound of that parley floats back to his ears, And the honest ears burn as it calls up the words Which declare that in plumes is the making of birds!

One moment the huntsman his target surveys, While his laughing companion is gleaning the maize, When that fetich of b.u.mpkins, that burlesque in bran, Starts, twitches, grows limber, shouts, moves--is a man; "Git enough fer a roast, while ye're gittin'," drawls he.

"Ef I ain't quite the blockhead you tuk me to be.

W'y, it's nater sence Adam to run arter clo'es, But _I'd go sort o' slow as to corn-bread an' crows_!"

HOW REDDY GAINED HIS COMMISSION.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES A. CURTIS, U.S.A.

Part II.

When Reddy found himself in the water, he realized the impossibility of swimming to the sh.o.r.e, and began to struggle in an effort to reach the jam. This jam had its origin in a group of sandstone bowlders in the centre of the river, on the edge of the rapids. The river debris had collected and compacted about them into several square yards of solid surface. To the corporal and his fellow soldiers, now gathered on the sh.o.r.e and watching the swimmer, it seemed that the boy must be carried past to certain death.

They were about giving him up for lost when they saw him s.n.a.t.c.h at a branch attached to the edge of the jam and swing himself about, then reach a protruding log and climb out. Instantly he ran to the outer end of the log and reached his floating oar. With the oar he caught the prow of the boat, and swinging it within reach of his hands, drew it out of the water.

The soldiers gazed at the stranded boys in perplexity. There seemed no chance of rescuing them. They knew of no other boat nearer than the next government post, nor would a raft be of use at the head of the roaring fall. The stream was too deep for wading and too near the plunge for swimming. The corporal quickly mounted the mule and rode to the fort to report the lads' plight to the commanding officer.

As soon as possible an ambulance containing the officers and Mrs.

Maloney started for the river. They brought some tools, a spare oar, and several coils of rope. A few moments later nearly all the men of the garrison not on duty lined the southern sh.o.r.e. Mrs. Maloney's worst fears seemed to be realized when she saw her son clinging helplessly to the snag in mid-stream. Her anguish was heart-rending.

"Ah, Teddy b'y!" she screamed, oblivious to the fact that he could not hear her voice above the roar of the water, "don't ye let go the tray, darlint! Howld on till hilp gets t' yez!"

But how to get to them, or to get anything to them, was a serious question. The soldiers were brave and willing men, but they did not possess the skill of river-drivers nor the appliances and tools of the craft. If the boys were only a mile farther up stream, clear of the rapids, a score of swimmers could take lines out to them; or, for that matter, the boys could swim ash.o.r.e without a.s.sistance. The close vicinity of the snag to the plunging and tumultuous descent in the river made all the difference.

Experiment after experiment was tried. Several brave fellows in turn tied the end of the rope to their waists and swam out; but the current pulling at the slack between them and the sh.o.r.e drew them back. Another went far up stream and swam out, while the sh.o.r.e end of the rope was carried down by comrades at the same rate as the flow of the current. He succeeded in grasping the snag; but the instant he paused the t.i.tanic force of the water tore him away, burying him beneath the surface. He was drawn ash.o.r.e nearly drowned.

The commanding officer was about to send to the fort for material for a raft and an anchor, when his attention was called to the boy on the jam.

After the failure of the last attempt to rescue his friend, Reddy was seen to approach the boat and launch it. He then drew it to the end of the log previously mentioned, held it by the stern, with the prow pointed downward, and appeared to be looking for a pa.s.sage through the submerged bowlders. Presently he turned towards his friends on sh.o.r.e, swung the oar over his head, stepped on board, and was quickly out of sight.

A cry of alarm went up from the soldiers when Reddy disappeared, and they with one accord started on a run down the sh.o.r.e. At the foot of the steep descent they found the brave boy paddling his skiff into a quiet eddy.

He was greeted with vociferous enthusiasm, and a dozen men shouldered him and the boat, and carried them back to the landing. There a line was attached to the stern of the skiff, and a strong man rowed out toward the snag, but the current dragged it back precisely as it had the swimmers. Captain Bartlett next ordered the boat to be towed a quarter of a mile up stream, and as it floated down and was rowed outward he directed the sh.o.r.e end of the line to be carried along with it.

It became quickly evident to the spectators that the skiff would reach the snag, and an involuntary cheer went up, Mrs. Maloney waving her ap.r.o.n and screaming with tearful joy. But through some blunder, or lack of skill, the original accident was repeated. The wherry dropped sideways against the tree and was swamped. This time, however, a line being attached, the skiff was drawn free, and swung back to the sh.o.r.e by the pull of the current. The man clung to the boat and was landed at the crest of the rapid.

The anguish of the poor mother at the failure of what had promised to be a certain rescue of her son was pitiful. She fell upon her knees, wrung her hands, and sobbed in abject despair. Reddy approached, stooped beside her, and placing an arm about her neck, said:

"Do not cry, Mrs. Maloney; I'm going to ask the Captain to let me go to Teddy, and I'll have him here with you in no time."

"No, no, child. Don't ye be dhrownded, too. Nothing can save me b'y now ahl the min have failed."