The Rich Little Poor Boy Part 52

Then straddling the lighter man, who was blowing hoa.r.s.ely, Big Tom cuffed him leisurely.

As Father Pat listened to all this, leaned against the door with his ear c.o.c.ked, he hoped with all his heart for the triumph of right over might.

"And I can but stand by t' give consolation and bear witness!" he mourned, though how he was bearing witness was not apparent.

"Oh, stop them! Stop them!" pleaded Cis, a hand over each ear, for her courage was lessening. "Oh, I'm afraid he's hurting One-Eye awful! Oh, Barber'll kill him, Father! And what good'll that do _us_?"

Thus implored, the priest took a swift survey of the hall. But, "Oh, don't go!" Cis begged. "And shut it! Shut it!"

"Who's on top?" Johnnie wanted to know.

"They're wrastlin'," announced the Father. "So don't be alarmed. And Mr.

Gamboni's out there, and he'll not see bloodshed!"

"_I_ don't worry!" boasted Johnnie. "Cis, what makes y' talk the way y'

do? Barber, _he_ can't lick a _cowboy_!"

"Y' pesky critter!"--this from the hall, in unmistakable westernese.

"Y' hear?" joyously demanded Johnnie, recognizing One-Eye's voice. "Y'

hear, Father Pat? Oh, I don't have t' look! I know how it's goin'! I can _see_ it! One-Eye's got him down! He's hammerin' him good!--Oh, go for him, One-Eye! Go for him! _Go_ for him!"

Slap! slap! slap!

To judge from these sounds, the cowboy was carrying out Johnnie's wish.

So with that rapt look, and that moving of the nostrils which betokened excited day-dreaming, Johnnie gladdened himself with a soul-satisfying picture of the contest: Big Tom p.r.o.ne on his face, spent, helpless, cowering, pleading, bleeding, while the das.h.i.+ng One-Eye rained blow after blow upon him--bing! bing! bing! ("Makin' a meal outen him," as the man from the West would say). Next, he saw the longsh.o.r.eman stretched upon a bed of pain, admitting all of his shortcomings to Father Pat in weak whispers.

It was all so real to Johnnie that he fell to pitying Big Tom!

He pitied him more as the scene changed swiftly to that of a funeral (Barber's, of course), at which he--Johnnie--in a new suit, with Cis beside him, made one carriageful in an extended line of carriages, all rolling circ.u.mspectly along. That One-Eye's plight, under such circ.u.mstances, might be trying, to say the least, Johnnie forgot to consider, wholly pa.s.sing over the small matter of an inquiry on the part of the police authorities! What he did antic.i.p.ate, however, was a flat that, in the future, would be a peaceful, happy, quiet place--the home of just Grandpa, Cis, and himself.

"Oh, Father Pat, by now One-Eye's dead!" wailed Cis. "Oh, why didn't some one stop them! Oh! Oh, dear!"

This interruption to Johnnie's visioning was followed by a loud laugh, and the turning of the hall doork.n.o.b. Johnnie raised himself on an elbow, lifting a hopeful face. "One-Eye!" he cried. "Hooray! Hooray!"

But it was Barber who strode into the room.

He was grinning from one huge, outstanding ear to the other. "Ha! ha!

ha! ha! ha!" he chortled triumphantly. "Guess I'll have t' go t' the Hospital! Look how I'm all beat up! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

As he stood laughing, his bristling face split across by the brown line that was his teeth, his bulging eyes shut with merriment, his wide, fat nose giving its sidewise jerk with each guffaw, Johnnie, staring up at him, thought of the terrible African magician: of the murderous, cruel Magua: of wicked Tom Watkins and all the man-eating savages whom the valiant Crusoe fought.

Here was a man worse than them all! Also--there was no doubt of it--here was the victor!

But what about One-Eye?

"One-Eye!" wailed Johnnie, in terror. For suddenly his imagination furnished him with a new picture, this time of the Westerner. And, oh, it was a sadly different picture from that other! It showed the cowboy, torn, broken, beaten, stretched dead in his own lifeblood.

"Oh, _Dio mio!_--Oy! oy! oy! oy! oy!--He oughta be pinched!"

The opening door let in this much of the heated opinion of a portion of the building. The opening door also admitted the cowboy. Slowly, soberly, almost crawling, he came.

He was mournfully changed. That single eye was puffing redly. His straw-colored hair was almost dark with sweat, and inclined to lie down.

From either shoulder hung woefully a half of his vest, which had ripped straight down its back! And, yes, there was blood in evidence!--on the knuckles of both hands! This bright decoration was from a nose which dripped scarlet spots upon the front sections of the vest.

"Oh, One-Eye!" moaned Cis, yet not without relief. At least he was alive--could stand--could walk!

"Goodness!" Johnnie's exclamation had in it a note of pure chagrin. His cowboy had not won! "What did he do t' y'?" the boy wanted to know, almost blamefully.

"Do?" repeated the cowboy, wrathfully. "Say! He went and busted my fountain pen!" He began feeling his way toward the stove. When he got as far as the mattress, he first hunted his handkerchief and applied it to the stopping of that nasal stream, then, grunting painfully, he lay down.

"Git all y' wanted?" inquired the longsh.o.r.eman.

"My land!" returned the Westerner. "I got a hay-wagonful!"

"Man dear!" gasped Father Pat, making for the wash basin.

Johnnie felt suddenly heartsick. Would not the tale of One-Eye's defeat scatter in the neighborhood? and if it did, would not his own proud position be threatened along with the cowboy's? Whipped by Tom Barber!

That was all right for a kid! But for a man who wore hair on his breeches----!

The boy sank back in the morris chair. "I'd sooner Big Tom'd whip _me_ again!" he declared under his breath.

Barber was mocking One-Eye. "Yes, man dear!" he said. "Heaven didn't make y'r arm as strong as y' wanted it, eh?" He was very c.o.c.ky, and pushed out either cheek importantly with his tongue.

Father Pat was now was.h.i.+ng a rapidly closing eye on a sadly battered countenance. "Shure, Heaven'll deal with ye in its own good time!" he promised, nodding a portentous head.

Big Tom snorted. "He's been waitin' and waitin'," he observed; "--ever since he first met me. That's why he give me such a hidin'!"

One-Eye, the stains of carnage wiped from lip and chin, peered up through a tiny slit between those puffing lids. "Big as a barn," he a.s.serted, but without temper. "Big as a Poland Chinee pig! All beef! All fat!" And to Johnnie, sunk in his quilt, "Don't y' beller, sonny, _I_ ain't got no grunt comin'. I done my best. But he's stronger'n me, that's all they is _to_ it, and heftier. But it all goes to show that if _I_ ain't no match for him, he's lower'n a sheep-eatin' greaser t' go hit a kid--'r a _girl_!" Before that eye slit closed, he crawled to where his hat, coat and gauntlets were, took them up, and fell to warping them into shape again. "But y'r time'll come, sonny!" he vowed.

"Y'r time'll come! Jes' y' wait!"

"Well, I didn't keep you waitin'," bragged Barber, with another loud laugh. "And if there's anybody else--" His look sought the priest. "Why, say! You're a fighter, ain't y', Father Pat? Wasn't y' in the trenches?

I wonder y' don't lick me y'reself. Ho! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

At that, the red anger spread itself among the stubble of the same hue on the Father's still unshaved jaws. "No," he answered grimly, speaking with the thicker brogue that always came into his English along with his wrath. "No, Oi can't give ye the dustin' that's comin' t' ye, Barber."

"It'll take a man t' lick me," declared the longsh.o.r.eman proudly. He thumped his chest. "Yes, sir, a reg'lar-sized man! Now, Furman, he says that, barrin' the World Champion, 'r some guy like that, there ain't a man standin' on two feet in this whole country that can down me!" He thrust out his lower lip.

"Ha-a-a-a!" breathed the priest, scornful. He helped guide One-Eye to the kitchen chair. "Well, the man Oi once was, Oi presinted him t' me counthry. So here's what's left av me. But, Barber, punishment's comin'

t' ye! Mar-rk me wor-r-rd!"

Suddenly Big Tom gave a shout. "Say!" he cried. "Maybe _here's_ a gent that'd like t' try his hand at lickin' me!" For the hall door had opened again, and another visitor was entering--breathlessly, anxiously, swiftly. "What'd d' y' say, Mister Eye-Gla.s.sy, White-Spatty, Pinky-Face?"

"Yes, sir! I'll try to do just that! In fact, that's why I've come.

Can't have you strike a girl, you know, Mr. Barber, or a little chap like Johnnie; not without trying to punish you. So if you'll oblige me----"

Thus, with one wave of a gloved hand, was Big Tom once more bidden to fight, this time by Mr. Perkins.

"_Oblige?_" repeated the longsh.o.r.eman, delighted. "Dear Mister Perkins, y're one person that I'm jus' achin' t' spank!" Then once more showing his pipe-stained teeth in a grin, "Oh, but I hate awful t' muss y' up! I hate t' spoil y', Perksie! Y' look so nice and neat and sweet! Almost like a stick o' candy! And, n.o.body'll want t' look at y' after I git done with y'!"