The Wit and Humor of America Volume VIII Part 30

"Explain nothin'!" was the cry; "you'll explain right here! Do you think Blowout is a-goin' to stand this kind o' thing?"

"Who put you up to run this blazer on us? Them fellers at Plain View? Er them scrubs at Cinche? This town ain't a-goin' to stand it!"

"Gentlemen," came Frosty's pipe again, "gentlemen, let me out--jest let me git to my daughter--let me git out o' here before it's too late! This is some o' that scoundrel Kid Barringer's doin's. Let me out, gentlemen!"

But the old man had gone the wrong way about it. Kid was one of them, a good fellow, and much liked. Even those who knew nothing now scented a romance. The big crowd hemmed old Frosty in and held him there with pretended wrath and resentment.

At the back door of the Wagon-Tire House, just before the wooden Columbia appeared to the eyes of Blowout, a meeting had taken place.

From that door Aunt Huldah had stepped with Minnie clinging to her arm.

In the dense shadow Kid Barringer was waiting with two of the best ponies in Wild Horse County. He came eagerly forward.

"Kid," said Aunt Huldah's heartsome voice, "here's Minnie--I've brung her to you. I b'lieve we're doin' right. You're a good boy, Kid. An' I know you love her an' will take keer o' her. Ef you wasn't to, you'd sh.o.r.e have me to fight!" and she chuckled genially.

"Good-by, honey. Ye needn't to look skeered. We-all have got ye now, an'

we'll take keer of ye--the hull kit an' bilin' o' us. Good-by, bless your sweet little heart!"

With the word Minnie was in her saddle, swung there by her lover's strong arms, and away across the levels beside him.

And while, back in Blowout, the Signorina fairly clawed, cat-like, to get through that wall of cowboys and across the street to where (believing Kid Barringer to be as far away as Fort Worth) she had left Minnie scarce half an hour before--while the old man shouted and swore and protested and fairly wept with rage and apprehension; Kid Barringer reached his left hand out to his companion, saying:

"Slack him down a little, honey; we're safe now. Mr. Ferguson, the Presbyterian preacher--he's promised me--I told him--an' he's a-goin' to marry us. His place ain't half a mile further on, an' he's lookin' fer us. We're safe now, my poor little girl."

The cowboys, with roars of delight, fished down the remains of the dangling Columbia, while the original performer, to whom Columbia's figure was understudy, stood in Mr. Ferguson's little parlor, waiting for that gentleman to bring in a second witness. Her little fair head was resting on Kid's broad shoulder; Kid's arm was around her slender figure; and she was saying, between laughter and tears:

"Kid, how do you reckon that old machine Columbia is getting along with my turn, back there at Blowout?"

And the happy bridegroom made blissful answer: "I don't know--or keer--honey. She can go it on her head for all of us, can't she? She give us our chance to get away, and that was all we wanted. Aunt Huldy is the Lord's own people. I'll never forget her. You wouldn't hardly 'a'

thought I was good enough, if Aunt Huldy hadn't a-recommended me, I don't believe. My little girl ain't never a-goin' to get to walk no more wires."

ONE OF THE PALLS

BY DOANE ROBINSON

I were a pall to the burrying, Joe's finally out of the way, Nothing 'special ailing of him, Just old age and gen'ral decay.

Hope to the Lord that I'll never be Old and decrepit and useless as he.

Cuss to his family the last five year-- Monstrous expensive with keep so dear-- 'Sides all the fuss and worrying.

Terrible trial to get so old; Cur'us a man will continue to hold So on to life, when it's easy to see His chances for living, tho' dreadfully slim, Are better than his family are lotting for him.

Joe was that kind of a hanger on; Hadn't no sense of the time to quit; Stunted discretion and stall-fed grit Helped him unbuckle many a cinch, Where a sensible man would have died in the pinch.

Kind of tickled to have him gone; Bested for once and laid away, Got him down where he's bound to stay; I were a pall to his burrying.

Knowed him for more than sixty year back-- Used to be somewhat older than him Fought him one night to a husking bee; Licked him in manner uncommon complete; Every one said 'twas a beautiful fight; Joe he wa'n't satisfied with it that way, Kept dinging along, and when he got through The worst looking critter that you ever see Were stretched on a bed rigged up in the hay-- They carted me home the following day.

Got me a sweetheart purty and trim, Told me that I was a heap likelier than Joe; Mittened him twict; he kept on the track, Followed her round every place she would go; Offered to lick him; says she, "It's a treat, Let's watch and find out what the poor critter will do."

Watched him, believing the thing was all right-- That identical girl is Joe's widow to-night.

Run to be justice, then Joe he run, too; Knowed I was pop'lar and he hadn't a friend, So there wa'n't no use of my hurrying.

The 'lection came off, we counted the votes; I hadn't enough; Joe had them to lend.

Now all the way through I had been taking notes Of his disagreeable way, And it tickles me now to be able to say He's bested for good in the end; Got him down where he's bound to stay; I were a pall to his burrying.

THE V-A-S-E

BY JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE

From the madding crowd they stand apart, The maidens four and the Work of Art;

And none might tell from sight alone In which had Culture ripest grown--

The Gotham Million fair to see, The Philadelphia Pedigree,

The Boston Mind of azure hue, Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo--

For all loved Art in a seemly way, With an earnest soul and a capital A.

Long they wors.h.i.+pped; but no one broke The sacred stillness, until upspoke

The Western one from the nameless place, Who, blus.h.i.+ng, said: "What a lovely vase!"

Over three faces a sad smile flew, And they edged away from Kalamazoo.

But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred To crush the stranger with one small word.

Deftly hiding reproof in praise, She cries: "'T is, indeed, a lovely vaze!"

But brief her unworthy triumph when The lofty one from the house of Penn,

With the consciousness of two grandpapas, Exclaims: "It is quite a lovely vahs!"

And glances round with an anxious thrill, Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill.

But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee And gently murmurs: "Oh, pardon me!

"I did not catch your remark, because I was so entranced with that charming vaws!"

_Dies erit proegelida Sinistra quum Bostonia._