CHAPTER I. ITCHING FOR ADVENTURE.

I was a beautiful baby, even though, like most babies, I was born without any hair or teeth to speak of; and if I had had them I probably wouldn’t have spoken of them at the time, which I offer as absolute proof of my natural modesty. I was also a most precocious baby, absolutely remarkable, in evidence of which I will state that at the age of six months I was distinctly heard to say “boo” and “oog.”

On hearing these pearls of intelligence and wisdom fall from my rosebud lips my mother became quite convinced that I was doomed to a wonderful career as a statesman, a diplomap, or a street-car conductor. Chauffeurs were not in vogue at the time.

It may be well to skim over the days of my childhood and early youth, and plunge at once into the seething vortext of adventures which befell me when, at the tender age of sweet sixteen, I fared forth with an eager heart, and a father’s good riddance, to face the world and grapple with fortune. Perhaps it is not strictly accurate to say that I fared forth, as, not having the necessary wampum with which to pay my fare by rail, I locomoted per Shank’s mare.

It was at the witching hour of midnight that I bade the ancestral rooftree so long, sincerely hoping that it would be so long before I beheld it again that I might forget to remember what it looked like. The discerning reader will divine by this naïve confession of my feelings at the time, that my life up to that date had not exactly been one grand, sweet song.

When I crept down the back stairs and let myself out of the Wiley tepee by the kitchen door, I took with me a more or less elaborate cuisine of extra clothing tied up in a bandanna handkerchief. I was followed by little Fido, my faithful dog. Little Fido was a cross between a Skioodle and an Angostora goat, and he weighed about three pounds and seven ounces, when trained down to fighting condition. I’ve seen him chaw up a forty-pound bulldog quicker than a woodchuck could whip a bear.

Between little Fido and myself there existed an affection that was deep and tender and touching. He was an animal of high intelligence, and I was perfectly convinced by the stealthy and syruptitious manner in which he slunk from the house at my heels that he was fully aware of the fact that I was running away, and he was determined to flee with me.

You understand, it is not difficult for a dog to flea with any one, and we had slept together many a night. Is it any wonder that I had an itching for adventure? When the time came to set forth in quest of that for which I itched I certainly came up to the scratch.

And so, behold me, gentle reader, on that dark and gloomy midnight, making my get-away with faithful little Fido gamboling at my heels. Dark it was, indeed--so dark that a load of coal that had been dumped outside the back door of the Wiley domicile looked like a snowdrift. Nevertheless, also, and likewise, I knew the lay of the land, and the points of the compass, and, having reached the highway, I hastened to hie away.

It must not be thought for a single fleeting zodiac of time that I was taking this nocturnal departure from home without feeling as much as a transient emotion of regret, for I have a naturally tender and touching nature, in proof of which I might call upon hundreds of persons whom I have touched on various occasions.

I shed tears at the thought of all I was leaving behind me--tears of sincere regret; for there were about ten or a dozen persons in that town whom I had sworn to thrash within an inch of their lives, and I was saddened by the thought that I was leaving the work unaccomplished.

Blinded by these tears, as well as the intense darkness, I came near meeting with a frightful disaster while taking a short cut across a back yard; for I fell about twenty-five feet into an old well, and landed in water that was at least umsteen feet deep. Perhaps it is not precisely accurate to say that I _landed_ in that water; suffice it to say that I dropped into it casually up to my pompadore, and found it extremely wet.

“Ah-ha!” I exclaimed, coughing up about a gallon of _aqua pura_ which I had thoughtlessly swallowed. “I’m in a hole now.”

I began to feel of the wet and slippery rocks around me, and I must assert that, in spite of my unpleasant predicament, I was feeling well. In vain I tried to fasten my flippers on those slippery rocks; they were smoother than a con man. I couldn’t obtain a sustaining hold anywhere, and I was compelled to tread water to keep my head above the surface.

Now, treading water in a well about twenty-five feet below the level of _terra firma_ is an occupation that becomes monotonous in the course of time. If you don’t believe me, just try it once. It will make you tired. It did me. I sought to brace my hands and feet against opposite sides of the well, and to crawl upward in that manner, but every time I attempted it I slipped down. If I could only have slipped up I should have been very happy indeed.

I could hear little Fido howling dolefully and despairingly above me. The intelligent beast knew, beyond doubt, the full extent of my frightful peril.

Gradually I was growing benumbed by the icy chill of the water and exhausted by my efforts, and I realized that unless I could soon find some method of extricating myself from that well my bath was going to disagree with me very extensively. So, while still treading water, I put my colossal intellect at work upon the problem.

It seemed a terrible thing to have the career of adventure upon which I had set forth cut short at such an early date. The prospect was far from pleasing.

“Water death to die!” I groaned, in anguish.

Luckily for me, no one heard the remark, for if any one had he might have been tempted to drop a brick upon my head.

No one heard me except little Fido, and he howled worse than ever.

At last I was struck by a bright idea--an idea that made me chortle with glee and wonder why it had not occurred to me before. It was so simple!

I will explain for the edification of the unsuspecting reader that I have always been a great athlete, and the possessor of scandalous strength. I once lifted a horse and buggy. I had quite a time over it, I acknowledge; the judge gave me three months.

When the happy thought came over me I was almost overcome. As soon as I could find my breath I proceeded to put it into execution. More than one person has lost his breath by putting it into execution, but what’s the use of being hanged if you can help it? While treading water I reached down with both hands, secured a good, firm grip on the later portion of my trowserloons, took a long breath, and lifted with all my enormous strength.

The result justified my agreeable expectations. I felt myself rising! I kept on rising faster and faster, straining every nerve in the tremendous effort. In this manner I lifted myself clean out of that twenty-five-foot well, and fell, panting and exhausted, upon the solid earth, my strength failing me just as I was fully and fairly above ground.

If the skeptical reader doesn’t believe this I can show him the well.