Читать книгу: «Frank Merriwell's Triumph: or, The Disappearance of Felicia», страница 3

“The pirate vessel came straight on. When she was near enough, I hailed her through my speaking trumpet and asked her what she wanted. She made no answer. Soon we could see those yellow-skinned, pigtailed wretches, and every man of them was armed with deadly weapons. Having heard the fearful tales of butcheries committed by those monsters, I knew the fate in store for us unless we could repulse them somehow. Again I appealed to my men, and again I saw it was useless.

“The pirate swung alongside and fastened to us. Then those yellow fiends came swarming over the rail with their weapons in their teeth, intent on carving us up. The whole crew boarded us as one man. Just as they were about to begin their horrid work a brilliant thought flashed through my brain. I opened the rat cage and let those rats loose upon the deck. As the Chinamen saw hundreds of rats running around over the deck they uttered yells of joy and started in pursuit of them.

“When they yelled they dropped their cutlasses and knives from their teeth, and the clang of steel upon the deck was almost deafening. It was a surprising sight to see the chinks diving here and there after the rats and trying to capture them. To them those rats were far more valuable than anything they had expected to find on board. For the time being they had wholly forgotten their real object in boarding us.

“Seeing the opening offered, at the precise psychological moment I seized a cutlass and fell upon them. With my first blow I severed a pirate’s head from his body. At the same time I shouted to my crew to follow my example. They caught up the weapons the pirates had dropped, and in less time than it takes to tell it that deck ran knee-deep in Chinese gore. Even after we had attacked them in that manner they seemed so excited over those rats that they continued to chase the fleeing rodents and paid little attention to us.

“If was not more than ten minutes before I finished the last wretch of them and stood looking around at that horrible spectacle. With my own hand I had slain forty-one of those pirates. We had wiped out the entire crew. Of course, I felt disappointed in having to lose the rats in that manner, but I decided that it should not be a loss, and straightway I began shaving the pigtails from the Chinamen’s heads. We cut them off and piled them up, after which we cast the bodies overboard and washed the deck clean.

“When I arrived in New York I made a deal with a manufacturer of hair mattresses and sold out that lot of pigtails for a handsome sum. It was one of the most successful voyages of my life. When Congress heard of the wonderful things I had done in destroying the pirates, it voted me a leather medal of honor. That’s the whole story, Mr. Merriwell. I was dreaming of that frightful encounter when you aroused me. Perhaps you may doubt the veracity of my narrative; but it is as true as anything I ever told you.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” laughed Frank. “It seems to me that the most of your wonderful adventures are things of dreams, cap’n. According to your tell, you should have been a rich man to-day. You have had chances enough.”

“That’s right,” nodded the sailor. “But my bountiful generosity has kept me poor. In order to get ahead in this world a fellow has to hustle. He can’t become a Rockefeller or a Morgan if he’s whole-souled and generous like me. I never did have any sympathy with chaps who complain that they had no chance. I fully agree with my friend, Sam Foss, who wrote some touching little lines which it would delight me to recite to you. Sam is the real thing when it comes to turning out poetry. He can oil up his machine and grind it out by the yard. Listen, and I will recite to you the touching stanzas in question.”

In his own inimitable manner Wiley began to recite, and this was the poem he delivered:

 
“Joe Beall ’ud set upon a keg,
Down to the groc’ry store, an’ throw
One leg right over t’other leg,
An’ swear he’d never had a show.
‘O, no,’ said Joe,
‘Hain’t hed no show;’
Then shift his quid to t’other jaw,
An’ chaw, an’ chaw, an’ chaw, an’ chaw.
 
 
“He said he got no start in life,
Didn’t get no money from his dad
The washing took in by his wife
Earned all the funds he ever had.
‘O, no,’ said Joe,
‘Hain’t hed no show;’
An’ then he’d look up at the clock,
An’ talk, an’ talk, an’ talk, an’ talk.
 
 
“‘I’ve waited twenty year – let’s see —
Yes, twenty-four, an’ never struck,
Altho’ I’ve sot roun’ patiently,
The fust tarnation streak er luck.
‘O, no,’ said Joe,
‘Hain’t hed no show;’
Then stuck like mucilage to the spot,
An’ sot, an’ sot, an’ sot, an’ sot.
 
 
“‘I’ve come down regeler every day
For twenty years to Piper’s store;
I’ve sot here in a patient way,
Say, hain’t I, Piper?’ Piper swore.
‘I tell yer, Joe,
Yer hain’t no show;
Yer too dern patient’ – ther hull raft
Just laffed, an’ laffed, an’ laffed, an’ laffed.”
 

“That will about do for this morning,” laughed Frank. “We will have breakfast now.”

That day Frank set about a systematic search for some method of getting into the Enchanted Valley, as he had called it. Having broken camp and packed everything, with the entire party he set about circling the valley. It was slow and difficult work, for at points it became necessary that one or two of them should take the horses around by a détour, while the others followed the rim of the valley.

Midday had passed when at last Merry discovered a hidden cleft or fissure, like a huge crack in the rocky wall, which ran downward and seemed a possible means of reaching the valley. He had the horses brought to the head of this fissure before exploring it.

“At best, it is going to be a mighty difficult thing to get the horses down there,” said Bart.

“We may not be able to do it,” acknowledged Merry; “but I am greatly in hopes that we can get into the valley ourselves at last.”

When they had descended some distance, Frank found indications which convinced him that other parties had lately traversed that fissure. These signs were not very plain to Bart, but he relied on Merry’s judgment.

They finally reached a point from where they could see the bottom and look out into the valley.

“We can get down here ourselves, all right,” said Hodge. “What do you think about the horses?”

“It will be a ticklish job to bring them down,” acknowledged Merry; “but I am in for trying it.”

“If one of the beasts should lose his footing and take a tumble – ”

“We’d be out a horse, that’s all. We must look out that, in case such a thing happens, no one of us is carried down with the animal.”

They returned to the place where Wiley, Worthington, and little Abe were waiting. When Frank announced that they could get into the valley that way, the deranged man suddenly cried:

“There’s doom down there! Those who enter never return!”

“That fellow is a real cheerful chap!” said the sailor. “He has been making it pleasant for us while you were gone, with his joyful predictions of death and disaster.”

They gave little heed to Worthington. Making sure the packs were secure on the backs of the animals, they fully arranged their plans of descent and entered the fissure. More than an hour later they reached the valley below, having descended without the slightest mishap.

“Well, here we are,” smiled Merry. “We have found our way into the Enchanted Valley at last.”

“Never to return! Never to return!” croaked Worthington.

“It’s too late to do much exploring to-night, Merry,” said Hodge.

“It’s too late to do anything but find a good spot and pitch our tent.”

“Where had we better camp?”

After looking around, Merriwell suggested that they proceed toward the northern end of the valley, where there was timber.

“It’s up that way we saw smoke, Frank,” said Hodge.

“I know it.”

As they advanced toward the timber they came to a narrow gorge that cut for a short distance into the side of a mighty mountain. The stream which ran through the valley flowed from this gorge, and further investigation showed that it came from an opening in the mountainside itself. Beside this stream they found the dead embers of a camp fire.

“Who built it, Frank?” asked Bart, as Merry looked the ground over. “Was it Indians, do you think?”

Merriwell shook his head.

“No; it was built by white men.”

Hodge frowned.

“It makes little difference,” he said. “One is likely to be as dangerous as the other.”

“We will camp here ourselves,” decided Merry.

The animals were relieved of their packs, and they busied themselves in erecting a tent and making ready for the night. Little Abe was set to gathering wood with which to build a fire. Darkness came on ere they had completed their tasks, but they finished by the light of the fire, which crackled and gleamed beside the flowing stream.

Wiley had shown himself to be something of a cook, and on him fell the task of preparing supper. He soon had the coffeepot steaming on a bed of coals, and the aroma made them all ravenous. He made up a batter of corn meal and cooked it in a pan over the fire. This, together with the coffee and their dried beef, satisfied their hunger, and all partook heartily.

“Now,” said Wiley, as he stretched himself on the ground, “if some one had a perfecto which he could lend me, I would be supinely content. As it is, I shall have to be satisfied with a soothing pipe.”

He filled his pipe, lighted it, and lay puffing contentedly. Bart and Merry were talking of what the morrow might bring forth, when suddenly Worthington uttered a sharp hiss and held up his hand. Then, to the surprise of all, from some unknown point, seemingly above them, a voice burst forth in song. It was the voice of a man, and the narrow gorge echoed with the weird melody. Not one of them could tell whence the singing came.

 
“Where dead men roam the dark
The world is cold and chill;
You hear their voices – hark!
They cry o’er vale and hill:
‘Beware!
Take care!
For death is cold and still.’”
 

These were the words of the song as given by that mysterious singer. They were ominous and full of warning.

“That certainly is a soulful little ditty,” observed Wiley. “It is so hilariously funny and laughable, don’t you know.”

Frank kicked aside the blazing brands of the fire with his foot and stamped them out, plunging the place into darkness.

“That’s right,” muttered Hodge. “They might pick us off any time by the firelight.”

A hollow, blood-chilling groan sounded near at hand, and Wiley nearly collapsed from sudden fright. The groan, however, came from the lips of Worthington, who was standing straight and silent as a tree, his arms stretched above his head in a singular manner.

“The stars are going to fall!” he declared, in a sibilant whisper that was strangely piercing. “Save yourselves! Hold them off! Hold them off! If they strike you, you will be destroyed!”

“Say, Worth, old bughouse!” exclaimed Wiley, slapping the deranged man on the shoulder; “don’t ever let out another geezly groan like that! Why, my heart rose up and kicked my hair just about a foot into the air. I thought all the ghosts, and spooks, and things of the unseen world had broken loose at one break. You ought to take something for that. You need a tonic. I would recommend Lizzie Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.”

“Keep still, can’t you!” exclaimed Hodge, in a low tone. “If we hear that voice again, I’d like to locate the point from whence it comes.”

“Oh, I will keep still if you will guarantee to muzzle Worth here,” assured the sailor.

The deranged man was silent now, and they all seemed to be listening with eager intentness.

“Why doesn’t he sing some more, Merry?” whispered Bart.

After some moments, the mysterious voice was heard again. It seemed to come from the air above them, and they distinctly heard it call a name:

“Frank!”

Merry stood perfectly still, but, in spite of himself, Bart Hodge gave a start of astonishment.

“Frank Merriwell!”

Again the voice called.

“Great Cæsar’s ghost!” panted Hodge in Merry’s ear. “Whoever it is, he knows you! He is calling your name. What do you think of that?”

“That’s not so very strange, Bart.”

“Why not?”

“Since we came into the valley, either you, or Wiley, or Abe have spoken my name so this unknown party overheard it.”

“Frank Merriwell!” distinctly spoke the mysterious voice; “come to me! You must come! You can’t escape! You buried me in the shadow of Chaves Pass! My bones lie there still; but my spirit is here calling to you!”

“Booh!” said Wiley. “I’ve had more or less dealings with spirits in my time, but never with just this kind. Now, ardent spirits and spritis fermenti are congenial things; but a spooky spirit is not in my line.”

“I tell you to keep still,” whispered Hodge once more.

“I am dumb as a clam,” asserted the sailor.

“Do you hear me, Frank Merriwell?” again called the mysterious voice. “I am the ghost of Benson Clark. I have returned here to guard my mine. Human hands shall never desecrate it. If you seek farther for it, you are doomed – doomed!”

At this point Worthington broke into a shriek of maniacal laughter.

“Go back to your grave!” he yelled. “No plotting there! No violence – nothing but rest!”

“Now, I tell you what, mates,” broke in Cap’n Wiley protestingly; “between spook voices and this maniac, I am on the verge of nervous prostration. If I had a bottle of Doctor Brown’s nervura, I’d drink the whole thing at one gulp.”

Having shouted the words quoted, Worthington crouched on the ground and covered his face with his hands.

“What do you think about it now?” whispered Bart in Frank’s ear. “Whoever it is, he knows about Benson Clark and his claim. He knows you buried Clark. How do you explain that?”

“I can see only one explanation,” answered Frank, in a low tone. “This man has been near enough at some time when we were speaking of Clark to overhear our words.”

“This man,” muttered Wiley. “Why, jigger it all! it claims to be an ethereal and vapid spook.”

“Don’t be a fool, Wiley!” growled Hodge. “You know as well as we do that it is not a spook.”

“You relieve me greatly by your assurance,” said the sailor. “I have never seen a spook, but once, after a protracted visit on Easy Street, I saw other things just as bad. I don’t think my nerves have gained their equilibrium.”

“What will we do about this business, Merry?” asked Hodge.

“I don’t propose to be driven away from here by any such childish trick,” answered Frank grimly. “We will not build another fire to-night, for I don’t care to take the chances of being picked off by any one shooting at us from the dark. However, we will stay right here and show this party that he cannot frighten us in such a silly manner.”

“That’s the talk!” nodded Hodge. “I am with you.”

“Don’t forget me,” interjected the sailor.

“You!” exclaimed Frank sharply. “How can we depend on a fellow who sleeps at his post when on guard?”

“It’s ever thus my little failings have counted against me!” sighed Wiley. “Those things have caused me to be vastly misunderstood. Well, it can’t be helped. If I am not permitted to take my turn of standing guard to-night, I must suffer and sleep in silence.”

Having said this in an injured and doleful manner, he retreated to the tent and flung himself on the ground.

Frank and Bart sat down near the tent, and listened and waited a long time, thinking it possible they might hear that voice once more. The silence remained undisturbed, however, save for the gurgle of the little brook which ran near at hand.

CHAPTER V.
WILEY’S DISAPPEARANCE

Night passed without anything further to disturb or annoy them. The morning came bright and peaceful, and the sun shone pleasantly into the Enchanted Valley. Wiley turned out at an early hour, built the fire, and prepared the breakfast.

“Seems like I had an unpleasant dream last eve,” he remarked. “These measly dreams are coming thick and fast. Night before last it was pirates; last night it was spooks. It seems to be getting worse and worse. If this thing keeps up, I will be in poor condition when the baseball season opens in the spring.”

“Then you intend to play baseball again, do you, cap’n?” asked Merry.

“Intend to play it! Why, mate, I cannot help it! As long as my good right arm retains its cunning I shall continue to project the sphere through the atmosphere. To me it is a pleasure to behold a batter wildly swat the empty air as one of my marvelous curves serenely dodges his willow wand. I have thought many times that I would get a divorce from baseball and return to it no more. But each spring, as the little birds joyfully hie themselves northward from their winter pilgrimage in the Sunny South, the old-time feeling gets into my veins, and I amble forth upon the turf and disport myself upon the chalk-marked diamond. Yes, I expect to be in the game again, and when little Walter gets into the game he gets into it for keeps.”

“What if some one should offer you a prominent position at a salary of ten thousand a year where you would be unable to play baseball?” inquired Merry, with a sly twinkle in his eye. “You’d have to give it up then.”

“Not on your tintype!” was the prompt retort.

“What would you do?”

“I’d give up the position.”

Frank laughed heartily.

“Cap’n, you’re a confirmed baseball crank. But if you live your natural life, there’ll come a time when your joints will stiffen, when rheumatism may come into your good arm, when your keen eye will lose its brightness, when your skill to hit a pitched ball will vanish – then what will you do?”

The sailor heaved a deep sigh.

“Don’t,” he sadly said, wiping his eye. “Talk to me of dreadful things – funerals, and deaths, and all that; but don’t ever suggest to me that the day will dawn when little Walter will recognize the fact that he is a has-been. It fills my soul with such unutterable sadness that words fail me. However, ere that day appears I propose to daze and bewilder the staring world. Why, even with my wonderful record as a ball player, it was only last year that I failed to obtain a show on the measly little dried-up old New England League. I knew I was a hundred times better than the players given a show. I even confessed it to the managers of the different teams. Still, I didn’t happen to have the proper pull, and they took on the cheap slobs who were chumps enough to play for nothing in order to get a chance to play at all.

“I knew my value, and I refused to play unless I could feel the coin of the realm tickling my palm. I rather think I opened the eyes of some of those dinky old managers. But even though Selee, McGraw, and others of the big leagues have been imploring me on their knees to play with them, I have haughtily declined. What I really desire is to get into the New England League, where I will be a star of the first magnitude. I had much rather be a big toad in a little puddle than a medium-sized toad in a big puddle. The manager who signs me for his team in the New England League will draw a glittering prize. If I could have my old-time chum, Peckie Prescott, with me, we’d show those New England Leaguers some stunts that would curl their hair.

“Speaking of Peckie, Mr. Merriwell, reminds me that there is a boy lost to professional baseball who would be worth millions of dollars to any manager who got hold of him and gave him a show. Play ball! Why, Peckie was born to play ball! He just can’t help it. He has an arm of iron, and he can throw from the plate to second base on a dead line and as quick as a bullet from a rifle. As a backstop he is a wizard. And when it comes to hitting – oh, la! la! he can average his two base hits a game off any pitcher in the New England League. To be sure, the boy is a little new and needs some coaching; but give him a show and he will be in the National or American inside of three seasons.”

“Are you serious about this fellow, cap’n?” asked Frank. “I am aware that you know a real baseball player when you see him, but you have a little way of exaggerating that sometimes leads people to doubt your statements.”

“Mr. Merriwell, I was never more serious in all my life. I give you my word that everything I have said of Prescott is true; but I fear, like some sweet, fragile wild-woods flower, he was born to blush unseen. I fear he will never get the show he deserves. While these dunkhead managers are scrabbling around over the country to rake up players, he remains in the modest seclusion of his home, and they fail to stumble on him. He is a retiring sort of chap, and this has prevented him from pushing himself forward.”

“You should be able to push him a little yourself, cap’n.”

“What! When I am turned down by the blind and deluded managers, how am I to help another? Alas! ’tis impossible! Coffee is served, Mr. Merriwell. Let’s proceed to surround our breakfast and forget our misfortunes.”

After breakfast Frank and Bart discussed the programme for the day. They decided to make an immediate and vigorous search for the lost mine. It was considered necessary, however, that one of the party should remain at the camp and guard their outfit. Neither Abe nor Worthington was suitable for this, and, as both Frank and Bart wished to take part in the search, Wiley seemed the only one left for the task.

“Very well,” said the sailor, “I will remain. Leave me with a Winchester in my hands, and I will guarantee to protect things here with the last drop of my heroic blood.”

In this manner it was settled. The sailor remained to guard the camp and the two pack horses, while the others mounted and rode away into the valley.

Late in the afternoon they returned, bringing with them a mountain goat which Merry had shot. As they came in sight of the spot where the tent had stood they were astonished to see that it was no longer there.

“Look, Frank!” cried Bart, pointing. “The tent is gone!”

“Sure enough,” nodded Merriwell grimly. “It’s not where we left it.”

“What do you suppose has happened?”

“We will soon find out.”

Not only had the tent and camping outfit disappeared, but the two pack horses were missing. Nor was Wiley to be found.

Hodge looked at Merry in blank inquiry.

“Where is this fellow we left to guard our property?” he finally exclaimed.

“You know as well as I,” confessed Frank.

“As a guard over anything, he seems to be a failure.”

“We can’t tell what has happened to him.”

“What has happened to him!” cried Bart. “Why, he has taken French leave, that’s what has happened! He has stolen our horses and piked out of the valley.”

Merry shook his head.

“I don’t believe that, Hodge,” he said. “I don’t think Wiley would do such a thing.”

“Then, why isn’t he here?”

“He may have been attacked by enemies.”

“If that had been the case, we would see some signs of the struggle. You can see for yourself that no struggle has taken place here.”

“It’s true,” confessed Merry, “that there seem to be no indications of a struggle.”

“Do you know, Frank, that I never have fully trusted that chap.”

“I know, Bart, you made a serious mistake on one occasion by mistrusting him. You must remember that yourself.”

“I do,” confessed Hodge, reproved by Merry’s words. “All the same, this disappearance is hard to explain. Our tent and outfit are gone. We’re left here without provisions and without anything. In this condition it is possible we may starve.”

“The condition is serious,” Frank acknowledged. “At the same time, I think it possible Wiley decided this location was dangerous and transferred the camp to some other place. That’s a reasonable explanation of his disappearance.”

“A reasonable one perhaps; but if that had happened! he should be here on the watch for our return.”

“Perhaps we have returned sooner than he expected.”

“Well, what’s to be done, Merry?”

“We will sit here a while and see if he doesn’t turn up. At least, we can make some sort of a meal off this mountain goat.”

“A mighty poor meal it will be!” muttered Hodge disgustedly.

A fire was built, however, and the mountain goat served to appease their hunger somewhat, although without salt it was far from palatable. There was plenty of feed and drink for the horses, therefore the animals did not suffer. In vain they waited for Wiley to return. Afternoon faded into nightfall and the sailor came not.

“Do you propose to remain here all night, Merry?” inquired Bart.

Frank shook his head.

“I don’t think it advisable. We will find another spot.”

With the gloom of night upon them, they set out, Frank in the lead. He had taken notice of a clump of thick timber in another part of the valley, and toward this he rode. In the timber they ensconced themselves and prepared to pass the night there. Worthington was strangely silent, but seemed as docile and as harmless as a child. When all preparations to spend the night in that spot were made, Frank announced to Bart that he proposed to go in search of their missing companion.

“What can you do in the night?” questioned Hodge. “You can’t find him.”

“Perhaps not,” said Merry; “but I am going to try.”

“I hate to have you do it alone.”

“You must remain here to look out for Abe and Worthington.”

When this was settled, Merry set out on foot. During their exploration of the valley he had observed a deep, narrow fissure near the southern extremity, into which the stream plunged before disappearing into the underground channel. To him on discovering this it had seemed a possible hiding place for any one seeking to escape observation. Something caused him to set his course toward this spot.

An hour later, from a place of concealment high up on a steep bank, Frank was peering into the fissure. What he discovered there surprised and puzzled him not a little. On a little level spot close by the stream a tent had been pitched. Before the tent a small fire was burning, and squatted around this fire were three persons who seemed to be enjoying themselves in fancied security. The moment Merry’s eyes fell on two of them he recognized them as having been members of the Terrible Thirty. They were the ruffians Hank Shawmut and Kip Henry. The third person, who seemed perfectly at his ease as he reclined on the ground and puffed at a corn-cob pipe, was Cap’n Wiley!

Was Wiley a traitor? This question, which flashed through Frank’s mind, seemed answered in the affirmative by the behavior of the sailor, who was chatting on intimate terms with his new associates.

Of course Frank had decided at once that Shawmut and Henry had somehow learned of his expedition in search of Benson Clark’s lost mine and had followed him. Henry’s left hand was swathed in a blood-stained bandage, the sight of which convinced the watching youth that it was this fellow who had snatched the map and who afterward had been winged in the pursuit. In spite of appearances, Frank did not like to believe that Cap’n Wiley had played him false. From his position he was able to hear the conversation of the trio, and so he lay still and listened.

“We sartain is all right here fer ter-night,” observed Shawmut. “We will never be disturbed any afore morning.”

“Perchance you are right, mate,” said the sailor; “but in the morning we must seek the seclusion of some still more secure retreat. My late associate, the only and original Frank Merriwell, will be considerable aroused over what has happened. I am positive it will agitate his equipoise to a protracted extent. My vivid imagination pictures a look of supine astonishment on his intellectual countenance when he returns and finds his whole outfit and little Walter vanished into thin, pellucid air.”

Shawmut laughed hoarsely.

“I certain opine he was knocked silly,” he said.

“But he is a bad man,” put in Henry. “To-morrow he rakes this valley with a fine-toothed comb. And he is a heap keerless with his shooting irons. Look at this yere paw of mine. He done that, and some time I’ll settle with him.”

The fellow snarled the final words as he held up his bandaged hand.

“Yes,” nodded the sailor, “he has a way of shooting in a most obstreperous manner. The only thing that is disturbing my mental placitude is that he may take to the war path in search of my lovely scalp.”

“Confound you!” thought Frank, in great anger. “So you are a traitor, after all! Hodge was right about you. You’re due for a very unpleasant settlement with me, Cap’n Wiley.”

“What binds me to you with links of steel, mates,” said the sailor, “is the fact that you are well supplied with that necessary article of exuberancy known to the vulgar and unpoetical as tanglefoot. Seems to me it’s a long time between drinks.”

“You certain must have a big thirst,” observed Shawmut, as he produced a cold bottle and held it toward the sailor, who immediately arose and clutched it with both hands.

“Mates, it has been so long since I have looked a drink in the face that it seems like a total stranger to me. Excuse me while I absorb a small portion of mountain dew.”

His pipe was dropped, and he wiped the mouth of the bottle with his hand after drawing the cork. He then placed the bottle to his lips and turned its bottom skyward.

“So it is for that stuff you sell your friends, is it?” thought Frank.

Having remained with his eyes closed and the bottle upturned for some moments, the sailor finally lowered it and heaved a sigh of mingled satisfaction and regret.

“My only sorrow,” he said, “is that I haven’t a neck as long as a giraffe’s. If the giraffe should take to drink, what delight he would enjoy in feeling the ardent trickle down his oozle! Have something on me, boys.”

He then returned the bottle, and the ruffians drank from it.

“There,” said Wiley, picking up his pipe, “my interior anatomy glows with golden rapture. I am once more myself. Oh, booze, thou art the comforter of mankind! You cause the poor man to forget his sorrows and his misfortunes. For him you build bright castles and paint glorious pictures. For him you remove far away the cares and troubles of life. You make him a king, even while you make him still more of a pauper. You give him at first all the joys of the world and at last the delirium tremens.

“Next to women, you are the best thing and the worst thing in this whole wide world. Mates, you see I am both a poet and a philosopher. It’s no disparagement to me, for I was born that way, and I can’t help it. Ever since my joyful boyhood days on Negro Island I have looked with a loving eye on the beauties of nature and on the extracted fluid of the corn. But what of this world’s riches has my mighty intellect and my poetic soul brought me? I am still a poor man.”