The Best American Humorous Short Stories - Various
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About half a mile from the town there stood a small cottage where
house-cleaning was going on, and on a fence, not far from the canal,
there hung a carpet gaily adorned with stripes and spots of red and
yellow.
When the drowsy tow-horse came abreast of the house, and the carpet
caught his eye, he suddenly stopped and gave a start toward the canal.
Then, impressed with a horror of the glaring apparition, he gathered
himself up, and with a bound dashed along the tow-path. The astounded
boy gave a shout, but was speedily left behind. The boat of Mr. Buller
shot forward as if she had been struck by a squall.
The terrified horse sped on as if a red and yellow demon were after
him. The boat bounded, and plunged, and frequently struck the grassy
bank of the canal, as if it would break itself to pieces. Mr.
Podington clutched the boom to keep himself from being thrown out,
while Mr. Buller, both hands upon the tiller, frantically endeavored
to keep the boat from the bank.
"William!" he screamed, "he is running away with us; we shall be
dashed to pieces! Can't you get forward and cast off that line?"
"What do you mean?" cried Podington, as the boom gave a great jerk as
if it would break its fastenings and drag him overboard.
"I mean untie the tow-line. We'll be smashed if you don't! I can't
leave this tiller. Don't try to stand up; hold on to the boom and
creep forward. Steady now, or you'll be overboard!"
Mr. Podington stumbled to the bow of the boat, his efforts greatly
impeded by the big cork life-preserver tied under his arms, and the
motion of the boat was so violent and erratic that he was obliged to
hold on to the mast with one arm and to try to loosen the knot with
the other; but there was a great strain on the rope, and he could do
nothing with one hand.
"Cut it! Cut it!" cried Mr. Buller.
"I haven't a knife," replied Podington.
Mr. Buller was terribly frightened; his boat was cutting through the
water as never vessel of her class had sped since sail-boats were
invented, and bumping against the bank as if she were a billiard-ball
rebounding from the edge of a table. He forgot he was in a boat; he
only knew that for the first time in his life he was in a runaway. He
let go the tiller. It was of no use to him.
"William," he cried, "let us jump out the next time we are near enough
to shore!"
"Don't do that! Don't do that!" replied Podington. "Don't jump out in
a runaway; that is the way to get hurt. Stick to your seat, my boy; he
can't keep this up much longer. He'll lose his wind!"
Mr. Podington was greatly excited, but he was not frightened, as
Buller was. He had been in a runaway before, and he could not help
thinking how much better a wagon was than a boat in such a case.
"If he were hitched up shorter and I had a snaffle-bit and a stout
pair of reins," thought he, "I could soon bring him up."
But Mr. Buller was rapidly losing his wits. The horse seemed to be
going faster than ever. The boat bumped harder against the bank, and
at one time Buller thought they could turn over.
Suddenly a thought struck him.
"William," he shouted, "tip that anchor over the side! Throw it in,
any way!"
Mr. Podington looked about him, and, almost under his feet, saw the
anchor. He did not instantly comprehend why Buller wanted it thrown
overboard, but this was not a time to ask questions. The difficulties
imposed by the life-preserver, and the necessity of holding on with
one hand, interfered very much with his getting at the anchor and
throwing it over the side, but at last he succeeded, and just as the
boat threw up her bow as if she were about to jump on shore, the
anchor went out and its line shot after it. There was an irregular
trembling of the boat as the anchor struggled along the bottom of the
canal; then there was a great shock; the boat ran into the bank and
stopped; the tow-line was tightened like a guitar-string, and the
horse, jerked back with great violence, came tumbling in a heap upon
the ground.
Instantly Mr. Podington was on the shore and running at the top of his
speed toward the horse. The astounded animal had scarcely begun to
struggle to his feet when Podington rushed upon him, pressed his head
back to the ground, and sat upon it.
"Hurrah!" he cried, waving his hat above his head. "Get out, Buller;
he is all right now!"
Presently Mr. Buller approached, very much shaken up.
"All right?" he said. "I don't call a horse flat in a road with a man
on his head all right; but hold him down till we get him loose from my
boat. That is the thing to do. William, cast him loose from the boat
before you let him up! What will he do when he gets up?"
"Oh. he'll be quiet enough when he gets up," said Podington. "But if
you've got a knife you can cut his traces---I mean that rope--but no,
you needn't. Here comes the boy. We'll settle this business in very
short order now."
When the horse was on his feet, and all connection between the animal
and the boat had been severed, Mr. Podington looked at his friend.
"Thomas," said he, "you seem to have had a hard time of it. You have
lost your hat and you look as if you had been in a wrestling-match."
"I have," replied the other; "I wrestled with that tiller and I wonder
it didn't throw me out."
Now approached the boy. "Shall I hitch him on again, sir?" said he.
"He's quiet enough now."
"No," cried Mr. Buller; "I want no more sailing after a horse, and,
besides, we can't go on the lake with that boat; she has been battered
about so much that she must have opened a dozen seams. The best thing
we can do is to walk home."
Mr. Podington agreed with his friend that walking home was the best
thing they could do. The boat was examined and found to be leaking,
but not very badly, and when her mast had been unshipped and
everything had been made tight and right on board, she was pulled out
of the way of tow-lines and boats, and made fast until she could be
sent for from the town.
Mr. Buller and Mr. Podington walked back toward the town. They had not
gone very far when they met a party of boys, who, upon seeing them,
burst into unseemly laughter.
"Mister," cried one of them, "you needn't be afraid of tumbling into
the canal. Why don't you take off your life-preserver and let that
other man put it on his head?"
The two friends looked at each other and could not help joining in the
laughter of the boys.
"By George! I forgot all about this," said Podington, as he unfastened
the cork jacket. "It does look a little super-timid to wear a
life-preserver just because one happens to be walking by the side of a
canal."
Mr. Buller tied a handkerchief on his head, and Mr. Podington rolled
up his life-preserver and carried it under his arm. Thus they reached
the town, where Buller bought a hat, Podington dispensed with his
bundle, and arrangements were made to bring back the boat.
"Runaway in a sailboat!" exclaimed one of the canal boatmen when he
had heard about the accident. "Upon my word! That beats anything that
could happen to a man!"
"No, it doesn't," replied Mr. Buller, quietly. "I have gone to the
bottom in a foundered road-wagon."
The man looked at him fixedly.
"Was you ever struck in the mud in a balloon?" he asked.
"Not yet," replied Mr. Buller.
It required ten days to put Mr. Buller's sailboat into proper
condition, and for ten days Mr. Podington stayed with his friend, and
enjoyed his visit very much. They strolled on the beach, they took
long walks in the back country, they fished from the end of a pier,
they smoked, they talked, and were happy and content.
"Thomas," said Mr. Podington, on the last evening of his stay, "I have
enjoyed myself very much since I have been down here, and now, Thomas,
if I were to come down again next summer, would you mind--would you
mind, not----"
"I would not mind it a bit," replied Buller, promptly. "I'll never so
much as mention it; so you can come along without a thought of it. And
since you have alluded to the subject, William," he continued, "I'd
like very much to come and see you again; you know my visit was a very
short one this year. That is a beautiful country you live in. Such a
variety of scenery, such an opportunity for walks and rambles! But,
William, if you could only make up your mind not to----"
"Oh, that is all right!" exclaimed Podington. "I do not need to make
up my mind. You come to my house and you will never so much as hear of
it. Here's my hand upon it!"
"And here's mine!" said Mr. Buller.
And they shook hands over a new compact.
COLONEL STARBOTTLE FOR THE PLAINTIFF
By Bret Harte (1839-1902)
[From _Harper's Magazine_, March, 1901. Republished in the volume,
_Openings in the Old Trail_ (1902), by Bret Harte; copyright, 1902, by
Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of Bret Harte's
complete works; reprinted by their permission.]
It had been a day of triumph for Colonel Starbottle. First, for his
personality, as it would have been difficult to separate the Colonel's
achievements from his individuality; second, for his oratorical
abilities as a sympathetic pleader; and third, for his functions as
the leading counsel for the Eureka Ditch Company _versus_ the State of
California. On his strictly legal performances in this issue I prefer
not to speak; there were those who denied them, although the jury had
accepted them in the face of the ruling of the half-amused,
half-cynical Judge himself. For an hour they had laughed with the
Colonel, wept with him, been stirred to personal indignation or
patriotic exaltation by his passionate and lofty periods--what else
could they do than give him their verdict? If it was alleged by some
that the American eagle, Thomas Jefferson, and the Resolutions of '98
had nothing whatever to do with the contest of a ditch company over a
doubtfully worded legislative document; that wholesale abuse of the
State Attorney and his political motives had not the slightest
connection with the legal question raised--it was, nevertheless,
generally accepted that the losing party would have been only too glad
to have the Colonel on their side. And Colonel Starbottle knew this,
as, perspiring, florid, and panting, he rebuttoned the lower buttons
of his blue frock-coat, which had become loosed in an oratorical
spasm, and readjusted his old-fashioned, spotless shirt frill above it
as he strutted from the court-room amidst the hand-shakings and
acclamations of his friends.
And here an unprecedented thing occurred. The Colonel absolutely
declined spirituous refreshment at the neighboring Palmetto Saloon,
and declared his intention of proceeding directly to his office in the
adjoining square. Nevertheless the Colonel quitted the building alone,
and apparently unarmed except for his faithful gold-headed stick,
which hung as usual from his forearm. The crowd gazed after him with
undisguised admiration of this new evidence of his pluck. It was
remembered also that a mysterious note had been handed to him at the
conclusion of his speech--evidently a challenge from the State
Attorney. It was quite plain that the Colonel--a practised
duellist--was hastening home to answer it.
But herein they were wrong. The note was in a female hand, and simply
requested the Colonel to accord an interview with the writer at the
Colonel's office as soon as he left the court. But it was an
engagement that the Colonel--as devoted to the fair sex as he was to
the "code"--was no less prompt in accepting. He flicked away the dust
from his spotless white trousers and varnished boots with his
handkerchief, and settled his black cravat under his Byron collar as
he neared his office. He was surprised, however, on opening the door
of his private office to find his visitor already there; he was still
more startled to find her somewhat past middle age and plainly
attired. But the Colonel was brought up in a school of Southern
politeness, already antique in the republic, and his bow of courtesy
belonged to the epoch of his shirt frill and strapped trousers. No one
could have detected his disappointment in his manner, albeit his
sentences were short and incomplete. But the Colonel's colloquial
speech was apt to be fragmentary incoherencies of his larger
oratorical utterances.
"A thousand pardons--for--er--having kept a lady waiting--er!
But--er--congratulations of friends--and--er--courtesy due to
them--er--interfered with--though perhaps only heightened--by
procrastination--pleasure of--ha!" And the Colonel completed his
sentence with a gallant wave of his fat but white and well-kept hand.
"Yes! I came to see you along o' that speech of yours. I was in court.
When I heard you gettin' it off on that jury, I says to myself that's
the kind o' lawyer _I_ want. A man that's flowery and convincin'! Just
the man to take up our case."
"Ah! It's a matter of business, I see," said the Colonel, inwardly
relieved, but externally careless. "And--er--may I ask the nature of
the case?"
"Well! it's a breach-o'-promise suit," said the visitor, calmly.
If the Colonel had been surprised before, he was now really startled,
and with an added horror that required all his politeness to conceal.
Breach-of-promise cases were his peculiar aversion. He had always held
them to be a kind of litigation which could have been obviated by the
prompt killing of the masculine offender--in which case he would have
gladly defended the killer. But a suit for damages!--_damages!_--with
the reading of love-letters before a hilarious jury and court, was
against all his instincts. His chivalry was outraged; his sense of
humor was small--and in the course of his career he had lost one or
two important cases through an unexpected development of this quality
in a jury.
The woman had evidently noticed his hesitation, but mistook its cause.
"It ain't me--but my darter."
The Colonel recovered his politeness. "Ah! I am relieved, my dear
madam! I could hardly conceive a man ignorant enough to--er--er--throw
away such evident good fortune--or base enough to deceive the
trustfulness of womanhood--matured and experienced only in the
chivalry of our sex, ha!"
The woman smiled grimly. "Yes!--it's my darter, Zaidee Hooker--so ye
might spare some of them pretty speeches for _her_--before the jury."
The Colonel winced slightly before this doubtful prospect, but
smiled. "Ha! Yes!--certainly--the jury. But--er--my dear lady, need
we go as far as that? Cannot this affair be settled--er--out of
court? Could not this--er--individual--be admonished--told that he
must give satisfaction--personal satisfaction--for his dastardly
conduct--to --er--near relative--or even valued personal friend?
The--er--arrangements necessary for that purpose I myself would
undertake."
He was quite sincere; indeed, his small black eyes shone with that
fire which a pretty woman or an "affair of honor" could alone kindle.
The visitor stared vacantly at him, and said, slowly:
"And what good is that goin' to do _us_?"
"Compel him to--er--perform his promise," said the Colonel, leaning
back in his chair.
"Ketch him doin' it!" said the woman, scornfully. "No--that ain't wot
we're after. We must make him _pay_! Damages--and nothin' short o'
_that_."
The Colonel bit his lip. "I suppose," he said, gloomily, "you have
documentary evidence--written promises and protestations--er--er--
love-letters, in fact?"
"No--nary a letter! Ye see, that's jest it--and that's where _you_
come in. You've got to convince that jury yourself. You've got to show
what it is--tell the whole story your own way. Lord! to a man like you
that's nothin'."
Startling as this admission might have been to any other lawyer,
Starbottle was absolutely relieved by it. The absence of any
mirth-provoking correspondence, and the appeal solely to his own
powers of persuasion, actually struck his fancy. He lightly put aside
the compliment with a wave of his white hand.
"Of course," said the Colonel, confidently, "there is strongly
presumptive and corroborative evidence? Perhaps you can give me--er--a
brief outline of the affair?"
"Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon," said the woman; "what
I want to know first is, kin you take the case?"
The Colonel did not hesitate; his curiosity was piqued. "I certainly
can. I have no doubt your daughter will put me in possession of
sufficient facts and details--to constitute what we call--er--a
brief."
"She kin be brief enough--or long enough--for the matter of that,"
said the woman, rising. The Colonel accepted this implied witticism
with a smile.
"And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?" he asked, politely.
"Well, I reckon as soon as I can trot out and call her. She's just
outside, meanderin' in the road--kinder shy, ye know, at first."
She walked to the door. The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly
accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called,
shrilly, "You Zaidee!"
A young girl here apparently detached herself from a tree and the
ostentatious perusal of an old election poster, and sauntered down
towards the office door. Like her mother, she was plainly dressed;
unlike her, she had a pale, rather refined face, with a demure mouth
and downcast eyes. This was all the Colonel saw as he bowed profoundly
and led the way into his office, for she accepted his salutations
without lifting her head. He helped her gallantly to a chair, on which
she seated herself sideways, somewhat ceremoniously, with her eyes
following the point of her parasol as she traced a pattern on the
carpet. A second chair offered to the mother that lady, however,
declined. "I reckon to leave you and Zaidee together to talk it out,"
she said; turning to her daughter, she added, "Jest you tell him all,
Zaidee," and before the Colonel could rise again, disappeared from the
room. In spite of his professional experience, Starbottle was for a
moment embarrassed. The young girl, however, broke the silence without
looking up.
"Adoniram K. Hotchkiss," she began, in a monotonous voice, as if it
were a recitation addressed to the public, "first began to take notice
of me a year ago. Arter that--off and on----"
"One moment," interrupted the astounded Colonel; "do you mean
Hotchkiss the President of the Ditch Company?" He had recognized the
name of a prominent citizen--a rigid ascetic, taciturn, middle-aged
man--a deacon--and more than that, the head of the company he had just
defended. It seemed inconceivable.
"That's him," she continued, with eyes still fixed on the parasol and
without changing her monotonous tone--"off and on ever since. Most of
the time at the Free-Will Baptist church--at morning service,
prayer-meetings, and such. And at home--outside--er--in the road."
"Is it this gentleman--Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss--who--er--promised
marriage?" stammered the Colonel.
"Yes."
The Colonel shifted uneasily in his chair. "Most extraordinary!
for--you see--my dear young lady--this becomes--a--er--most delicate
affair."
"That's what maw said," returned the young woman, simply, yet with the
faintest smile playing around her demure lips and downcast cheek.
"I mean," said the Colonel, with a pained yet courteous smile, "that
this--er--gentleman--is in fact--er--one of my clients."
"That's what maw said, too, and of course your knowing him will make
it all the easier for you," said the young woman.
A slight flush crossed the Colonel's cheek as he returned quickly and
a little stiffly, "On the contrary--er--it may make it impossible for
me to--er--act in this matter."
The girl lifted her eyes. The Colonel held his breath as the long
lashes were raised to his level. Even to an ordinary observer that
sudden revelation of her eyes seemed to transform her face with subtle
witchery. They were large, brown, and soft, yet filled with an
extraordinary penetration and prescience. They were the eyes of an
experienced woman of thirty fixed in the face of a child. What else
the Colonel saw there Heaven only knows! He felt his inmost secrets
plucked from him--his whole soul laid bare--his vanity, belligerency,
gallantry--even his medieval chivalry, penetrated, and yet
illuminated, in that single glance. And when the eyelids fell again,
he felt that a greater part of himself had been swallowed up in them.
"I beg your pardon," he said, hurriedly. "I mean--this matter may be
arranged--er--amicably. My interest with--and as you wisely
say--my--er--knowledge of my client--er--Mr. Hotchkiss--may affect--a
compromise."
"And _damages_," said the young girl, readdressing her parasol, as if
she had never looked up.
The Colonel winced. "And--er--undoubtedly _compensation_--if you do
not press a fulfilment of the promise. Unless," he said, with an
attempted return to his former easy gallantry, which, however, the
recollection of her eyes made difficult, "it is a question of--er--the
affections?"
"Which?" said his fair client, softly.
"If you still love him?" explained the Colonel, actually blushing.
Zaidee again looked up; again taking the Colonel's breath away with
eyes that expressed not only the fullest perception of what he had
_said_, but of what he thought and had not said, and with an added
subtle suggestion of what he might have thought. "That's tellin'," she
said, dropping her long lashes again. The Colonel laughed vacantly.
Then feeling himself growing imbecile, he forced an equally weak
gravity. "Pardon me--I understand there are no letters; may I know the
way in which he formulated his declaration and promises?"
"Hymn-books," said the girl, briefly.
"I beg your pardon," said the mystified lawyer.
"Hymn-books--marked words in them with pencil--and passed 'em on to
me," repeated Zaidee. "Like 'love,' 'dear,' 'precious,' 'sweet,' and
'blessed,'" she added, accenting each word with a push of her parasol
on the carpet. "Sometimes a whole line outer Tate and Brady--and
_Solomon's Song_, you know, and sich."
"I believe," said the Colonel, loftily, "that the--er--phrases of
sacred psalmody lend themselves to the language of the affections. But
in regard to the distinct promise of marriage--was there--er--no
_other_ expression?"
"Marriage Service in the prayer-book--lines and words outer that--all
marked," said Zaidee. The Colonel nodded naturally and approvingly.
"Very good. Were others cognizant of this? Were there any witnesses?"
"Of course not," said the girl. "Only me and him. It was generally at
church-time--or prayer-meeting. Once, in passing the plate, he slipped
one o' them peppermint lozenges with the letters stamped on it 'I love
you' for me to take."
The Colonel coughed slightly. "And you have the lozenge?"
"I ate it," said the girl, simply.
"Ah," said the Colonel. After a pause he added, delicately:
"But were these attentions--er--confined to--er---sacred precincts?
Did he meet you elsewhere?"
"Useter pass our house on the road," returned the girl, dropping into
her monotonous recital, "and useter signal."
"Ah, signal?" repeated the Colonel, approvingly.
"Yes! He'd say 'Kerrow,' and I'd say 'Kerree.' Suthing like a bird,
you know."
Indeed, as she lifted her voice in imitation of the call the Colonel
thought it certainly very sweet and birdlike. At least as _she_ gave
it. With his remembrance of the grim deacon he had doubts as to the
melodiousness of _his_ utterance. He gravely made her repeat it.
"And after that signal?" he added, suggestively.
"He'd pass on," said the girl.
The Colonel coughed slightly, and tapped his desk with his pen-holder.
"Were there any endearments--er--caresses--er--such as taking your
hand--er--clasping your waist?" he suggested, with a gallant yet
respectful sweep of his white hand and bowing of his head;--"er--
slight pressure of your fingers in the changes of a dance--I mean,"
he corrected himself, with an apologetic cough--"in the passing of
the plate?"
"No;--he was not what you'd call 'fond,'" returned the girl.
"Ah! Adoniram K. Hotchkiss was not 'fond' in the ordinary acceptance
of the word," said the Colonel, with professional gravity.
She lifted her disturbing eyes, and again absorbed his in her own. She
also said "Yes," although her eyes in their mysterious prescience of
all he was thinking disclaimed the necessity of any answer at all. He
smiled vacantly. There was a long pause. On which she slowly
disengaged her parasol from the carpet pattern and stood up.
"I reckon that's about all," she said.
"Er--yes--but one moment," said the Colonel, vaguely. He would have
liked to keep her longer, but with her strange premonition of him he
felt powerless to detain her, or explain his reason for doing so. He
instinctively knew she had told him all; his professional judgment
told him that a more hopeless case had never come to his knowledge.
Yet he was not daunted, only embarrassed. "No matter," he said,
vaguely. "Of course I shall have to consult with you again." Her eyes
again answered that she expected he would, but she added, simply,
"When?"
"In the course of a day or two," said the Colonel, quickly. "I will
send you word." She turned to go. In his eagerness to open the door
for her he upset his chair, and with some confusion, that was actually
youthful, he almost impeded her movements in the hall, and knocked his
broad-brimmed Panama hat from his bowing hand in a final gallant
sweep. Yet as her small, trim, youthful figure, with its simple
Leghorn straw hat confined by a blue bow under her round chin, passed
away before him, she looked more like a child than ever.