Part 5

I was so overcome with emotion that I could hardly find voice to say a word. I finally managed, however, to give a brief eulogy of the dead man, revolving chiefly around the incident that happened in the San Francisco gambling-house on the occasion when I met Jim for the first time. My remarks were received with a running fire of muttered eulogies of the deceased hero, which were as sincere as they were inelegant.

Dixie now mustered up the necessary courage, mounted a stump and began:

“Feller citizens, we air hyar ter do a solemn dooty. One uv our most prom’nent an’ respected citizens is a lyin’ hyar dead, an’ we, ez his fren’s, air hyar ter give him a good send off. Poker Jim hez passed in his checks; he hez cashed in fer the las’ time, an’ thar aint nobody hyar whut’ll say that his last deal wasn’t a squar one. Sum mout say ez how Jim was a d--d fool, ter play agin sich a dead open-an’-shut game, with a d--d Chinaman fer stakes, but, my feller citizens, Jim cut the cards on the squar’, an’ he died ez squar’ ez enny man that ever stepped in shoe leather.

“An’ Jim died game, an’ with his boots on. He wasn’t no white-livered coyote, Jim wasn’t. Ef thar was enny yaller streaks in him, w’y nobody ever knowed it. He wuz a sandy man frum way up the creek, y’u bet! He wuz a dead-game cock fer fair.

“I wish we knowed whut Jim’s States’ name was, but thar aint nobody hyar ter tell us, an’ ez we hev allus knowed him as Poker Jim, w’y that’s the name we’ll bury him by. It was good ’nuff fer him, livin’, an’ it’s good ’nuff fer us, now that he’s dead.

“I aint no speechifier, ez y’u all know, an’ Doc, hyar, hez done the hansum thing by Jim in that line, so I aint a goin’ ter spile a good thing, but I’m jes’ goin’ ter say one thing, an’ say it plain. We all made mistakes on the diseased. He mout hev been a gambler--I don’t say ez he wasn’t--but, my fren’s, Poker Jim was a gentleman, an’ he died like one, d--d ef he didn’t!” And Dixie looked about him defiantly, as though challenging dissent and stamping it as hazardous.

A white head-board, rather more pretentious than was the prevailing fashion in Jacksonville, was erected at Jim’s grave. I was consulted regarding an epitaph, but could find no fault with the rudely carved inscription suggested by Dixie--

“HERE LIES THE BODY OF POKER JIM--GENTLEMAN.”

A few days later, the flood had subsided sufficiently to warrant an attempt at crossing the river. Having succeeded in procuring a large boat from one of the neighboring towns, a party of us crossed over to Toppy’s cabin in quest of Jim’s family.

There had been no sign of life about the place since the day of Jim’s death, hence I was not surprised to find the cabin empty. Not a trace of the dead man’s wife or child could be found! Nor were they ever heard of again. Whether the poor little woman had witnessed the disaster that made her a widow, and the raging Tuolumne had received the sorrowing, despairing mother and her innocent child, we never knew. I have always entertained a vague hope that Jim had already conveyed them to a place of safety when he met his death.

As our party was searching the cabin for clews to the disappearance of Jim’s family, Big Brown found upon a shelf in the little cupboard where Toppy’s rather primitive supply of dishes was kept, a letter, carefully sealed, and addressed to me. He handed me the letter, and I fancied his voice trembled a little as he said--

“Well, Doc, Jim never forgot his fren’s. I don’t know what Toppy’ll say when he gits back ter town.”

“Poor Toppy,” I said, “It will grieve him sorely, when he learns that the gallant Jim is gone forever.”

The burly miner watched me curiously as I opened and read the letter. The expression of my face as I read must have startled him, for he grasped me by the arm and exclaimed, “What’s the matter, Doc; air y’u sick?” I handed him the letter and staggered to a chair.

Big Brown laboriously read the letter through to the end; When he came to the signature he put his huge hand gently on my shoulder and said:

“Doc, ye needn’t be ashamed uv relations like him, even if he was a gambler. Who was he, anyhow?”

And I was not ashamed as I answered--

“My brother--little Jim.”

TOMMY THE OUTCAST

“Hello, Fido!”

“I beg pardon, sir; did you speak to me?”

“Why, don’t you know me, Fido?”

“Great heavens! Tommy Baker, as I’m alive! Why, what on earth--?”

“I don’t wonder that you are surprised, Fido, old boy--for I’m not the same Thomas Baker as of yore. Four years away from the old farm have wrought great changes in me. Four years of life in a large city, with its ups and downs, its luxuries and its hardships, are enough to demoralize anybody. And still, you look sleek and comfortable enough.”

“Oh, thank you, Tommy,” replied Fido, “I am doing tolerably well, that’s a fact. You see, I’m living with Mrs. Geeswillem--she’s the wife of old Geeswillem the brewer, you know, who bought me just after you ran away from home. I’ve got a mighty soft job, and don’t you forget it. I have only one complaint to make, and that is that my mistress insists on making me wear this measly red blanket, and this stiff collar with its confounded bells. Then, too, I have to ride out with her every pleasant afternoon, and she stuffs me with _bon bons_ and such truck until I feel like a corner in sugar stock. Why, Tommy, old chap--do--you--know--I haven’t even _smelled_ a rat since I took my present place!”

“Ah, me!” said Tommy, “I haven’t had many chances to smell anything else for the last two years, and the rats I _have_ had, haven’t been the corn-fed article we used to hunt together down at Baker’s farm, I can tell you. How I miss ’em! And the cream, and buttermilk, and sausages and--”

“Great Scott! Tommy,” cried Fido, “don’t ever mention sausage to me again! If you only knew--!”

“Pardon me, Fido. In my glowing recollection of pleasures past, I forgot that you have been living in the city for some time and have probably long since discovered that all is not gold that glitters. There’s many a tragedy imprisoned within the cover of the city sausage. And yet, Fido, such reflections should be valuable to you as inculcating a lesson of Christian humility. If this be not enough, look at me, and think how ephemeral is terrestrial glory. I was once as thou art--fat, pampered, happy, and with never a thought of the morrow. Ah, my boy! who can control his own destiny; who can govern the mysterious workings of fate?”

“Well, Tommy,” said Fido, “you evidently haven’t regulated yours to any large extent. If you have, you’d better let somebody else take the job, for you don’t seem to be making a brilliant success of it. But tell me, what has brought you to this? You were as sleek and dandified a fellow as ever wore whiskers when I saw you last. Don’t you remember the time the boys got up that serenade for you and sang ‘Oh he’s a dude, a dandy dude!’ until the roofs were covered with boot jacks a foot deep? Whew! but weren’t you mad though?”

“Heigho!” sighed Tommy, “if anybody should serenade me in that fashion nowadays, I don’t think I could accuse him of being personal--I look like ‘the last run o’ shad.’ But you have asked me for my history since we were on the farm together. If you have patience to listen to the yarn of a miserable outcast, I’ll gladly tell you my story. My appearance makes it unnecessary for me to remark that I am no longer Thomas Baker, Esquire, but Tommy the Tramp, as the haughty young Duchesse de Maltesa, who lives in the next block, calls me, and you are likely to lose caste if you are seen talking with me in public. Let’s make a sneak into the alley over yonder. There’s a big dry-goods box over there behind that brick barn where we can talk without fear of interruption.”

“Why, Tommy Baker!” said Fido indignantly, drawing himself up to his full height, his eyes flashing fire. “What do you take me for--a man? I’ll have you to understand that I never went back on a friend in my life. Do you suppose I care a straw for other people’s opinions? Not a bit of it! I’m all wool and a yard wide, and don’t you forget it. If it wasn’t necessary to wear this dandy trash in order to hold my job, I’d tear it off in a holy minute. Not another word, sir!--or I’ll roll in the mud and prove to you that I am your old pard--_semper fidelis_, and all that--even if I go to the pound for it.”

“Dear old Fido!” cried Tommy, his eyes filling with tears. “You are indeed worthy of your name. Greater love than this hath no dog, that he loseth his job for a friend. But, old fellow, to be candid with you, I don’t feel as easy as I might. An awful accident happened this morning to some dear, sweet, tender little chickens in that big yard on the corner, and while my lean and hungry appearance shows my innocence only too plainly, it’s best not to take any chances. Besides, I couldn’t talk freely in this public place.”

“Well, Tommy,” said Fido, “if that’s the way you feel, we will do as you suggest. So far as the chickens are concerned, however, I don’t think you need any X ray to prove an alibi.” And Fido glanced pityingly at poor Tommy’s spectre-like frame and diaphanous hide.

“A little slower, please,” said Tommy, as he limped along after his friend. “You see, my left fore-foot is a bit lame--I cut it on a piece of broken glass the other night. There’s a lot of miserable, depraved, medical students in a boarding house over on Ashland Boulevard, who amuse themselves by throwing beer bottles at respectable people on the roofs. They never throw any full ones at a fellow though, you can just bet on that. It isn’t really safe to venture out on a roof after dark in that neighborhood. Why, those cruel devils struck a lady friend of mine, Mrs. Felida Black, the other night, and almost broke her tail off!”

“Horrible!” cried Fido. “Why is it that those two-legged brutes can’t be suppressed? Well, that comes of being born without a soul. Such fellows really don’t know any better. There is a so-called Humane Society here, the business of which is to look after decent four-footed people, but it doesn’t do much but pay big salaries to its officers. The society winks whenever a ragamuffin throws a brickbat at a fellow, but just let some doctor operate on us under chloroform and--My God! Tommy, old fellow, what’s the matter? Here, lean on my shoulder. Never mind the blanket--who cares for that?”

“It’s nothing, Fido, just a little temporary faintness, that’s all. You see, I--well, I’ll tell you all about it by and by.”

“Well, Tommy, your dry-goods box is quite cozy, after all.”

“I fear it hardly comes up to your usual accommodations,” replied Tommy, “but it is at least safe, and that’s a very important point with me. Take a seat on that piece of carpet over yonder; it’s clean and may be homelike to you. I? Oh, this straw will do for me. It’s a trifle musty, but we can’t be too particular in these democratic times. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you,” replied Fido, “You must remember that I am a country dog in spite of my cloth.”

“Very well, then,” said Tommy, “not being habituated to that nasty tobacco used by humans, we will, not light a weed first. I will begin my story without any such offensive preliminary.

“As you are well aware, my dear Fido, I was a decent enough fellow in my youth, save for my somewhat foppish tendencies. Being--ahem!--a rather handsome chap, you will recollect that I was quite popular with the ladies. As is usually the case with such young fellows, I was at first pampered and then--spoiled. I remember with keen remorse that practically all my friends eventually became estranged from me through my self-conceit. You alone were loyal, and always ready to defend and advise me. As for my own family--they had long since ceased to recognize me when I left the old place.

“It was the old story--I became very unhappy, and felt that no one understood or appreciated me. I did not have sense enough to understand that it was my own failings that had caused me to lose my former popularity. I believed that the coldness of my friends was due to their jealousy and malicious envy.

“It was not long before I determined, with an ‘I’ll show ’em’ desire for revenge, that I would leave the old farm at the first opportunity, and seek a field where my talents would be appreciated at their true value. And then came the tempter.

“One day while you were away with little Tod Baker on a fishing excursion, I received a call from Pete Tucker of Posyville--I don’t think you ever met him. Pete had seen a good deal of the world, and his stories of adventure were perfectly fascinating to me. He had been to sea several times, had spent a couple of seasons doing the happy family act with a circus and, at the time of his visit to me, was living in Chicago--having come home for a few days’ vacation. He said a great deal about the pleasures of city life, and informed me that he had a most delightful situation where he mingled with the best society and had very little to do to earn what he described as an enormous salary.

“‘Tommy, my boy,’ he said, slapping me familiarly on the shoulder, ‘you are a blamed fool to bury yourself out here in the country! Come back to the city with me, and I’ll get you a nice soft berth where you can make something of yourself.’ I yielded only too readily to the tempter and long before you returned home, my dear Fido, I was on my way to Chicago.

“I had never before been in a large city, hence Chicago unfolded a new world to me--a world that seemed as fair as I have since found it to be corrupt.

“Pete had told me the truth, in some respects, regarding his situation. He was employed as chief mouser in the bar-room of a fashionable hotel, and living on the fat of the land. I was soon installed as assistant mouser, the rat department being under the management of a terrier gentleman named Foxy. And now came my initiation into the mysteries of office-holding.

“It was with all the honest enthusiasm of youth that I began my duties, and without noting the methods of my superiors in office I worked hard day and night in the conscientious effort to secure the approbation of my employers. Pete and Foxy observed my industry with great curiosity at first, and then seemed to be somewhat amused by my actions. I finally discovered that they were actually laughing at me. This bewildered me, and I finally ventured to ask for an explanation.

“‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed my colleagues. ‘What a young innocent it is, to be sure!’ ‘Why,’ said Pete, ‘you couldn’t see through a millstone with a hole in it! We used to work ourselves to death just as you are doing, but we’ve got a little sense nowadays, eh, Foxy?’

“‘You bet your boots, pardner!’ replied the terrier.

“‘Now, see here, Tommy,’ continued Pete, ‘I’ll tell you just how the thing stands. We found out long ago that hard work didn’t pay, and made up our minds to do as little work and have as good a time as we possibly could.

“‘Among the patrons of this place is a number of politicians and policemen. I tell you what, Tommy, those are the boys who are on to their jobs! Chancing to overhear some of their conversation at various times, I speedily discovered that I was making a blamed fool of myself. I then resolved to hold my job just as politicians and policemen do.

“‘Foxy and I have come to an understanding with our rodent friends, and with a little care on their part, we have managed to avoid all suspicion that we are not attending strictly to business.

“‘Once in a while I pick up a dead rat or mouse in the alley somewhere, and leave him around where the old man is sure to notice him--see? Sometimes a strange rodent blows in here, and forgets to bring his pull with him, and we nail _him_ to the earth in great shape. I tell you what, Tommy, work was never made for gentlemen--and Foxy and I are gents from way back. We’ve got a soft thing here, and you’re in on it. Plenty to eat, drink enough to float a ship, and a soft warm bed. What more could anybody ask?’

“Alas! Fido, old friend, how alluring to unwary youth is gilded temptation! I followed the dishonest advice of my companions and fell into their evil ways, and like most young persons of little experience, I was soon anxious to outdo my models in the extent and variety of my dissipation. I ate, drank and made merry with all the abandon of an old timer.

“The example of my associates, bad as it was, could not be compared with that set for me by some of the two-legged patrons of the place. Pete may have been right about their social position, but of all the vulgar, profane, beastly fellows I ever saw, the young bloods who frequented that bar were the worst. But my prejudices were soon overcome, and I came to believe that such qualities were absolutely essential to fellowship in the smart set of a great city. And so I continued in my evil ways, my life being one continual round of hilarious and intemperate pleasure.

“The outcome was precisely what was to have been expected. I fell seriously ill, and had it not been for a splendid constitution derived from my early life in the country, I most certainly would have died. I finally became convalescent and was speculating on how soon I would likely be able to get to business again, when an unlooked for complication set in. I caught the mange, and in a few weeks was a perfect fright. My hide looked as if it had been plucked out in spots. It was not long before some of the patrons of the place noticed my condition and commented sarcastically upon it to my employer. One man said I ought to go to the Springs and boil out, whatever that may mean.

“I received but little consolation from Pete and Foxy; indeed, they were quite shy of me after my skin trouble developed, and, as you might suppose, my life was most miserable.

“But my troubles had only begun. A short time after this I overheard my employer conversing with a rough-looking man, who used to hang about the place doing odd jobs for drinks. To my consternation, the boss was making arrangements with that infamous rowdy to take my life that very night! I listened to the foul plot with my heart in my mouth. I nearly fainted, so great was my horror and agitation. What to do I hardly knew at first. I no longer had confidence in Pete and Foxy, and would not ask their advice. I finally determined to try to make my escape before the fatal moment should arrive.

“Evening came, and with it my opportunity to escape. Just at dusk, before the gas was lighted, I sneaked out of the alley door between the heels of a customer, and arriving in the open air, ran as fast as my trembling legs could carry me until I reached a part of the city far distant from the hotel where my would-be assassins were probably even then searching for their intended victim.

“For some weeks after my escape, I led a paw-to-mouth existence. Half-starved, despondent, set upon by strange dogs, stoned by cruel vicious boys--I often regretted that I had not permitted my life to be taken by that ruffian at the hotel. He would have drowned me, most likely, and death by drowning would have been far pleasanter than the life I subsequently led. You may wonder why I did not commit suicide, but frankly, I hadn’t courage enough for that. Some folks say that only cowards commit suicide, but don’t you ever believe it.

“The horror of my transition from the easy life at the hotel to that of a homeless, despised wanderer, was something of which you can have no conception, my dear Fido, and I sincerely hope you may never pass through so terrible an experience as I had at that time and have been having since I--but I am getting ahead of my story.

“I don’t know how I lived through the terrible ordeal of starvation and abuse to which I was subjected. I was inexperienced and very sensitive to hardships. Nothing could disturb me now, but then--ah me! How tender is youth!

“After some weeks of terrible privation and physical torture, I began to believe that the fates were against me, when the tide of my affairs unexpectedly turned.

“I had crawled into an open basement window in the rear of a modest and unpretentious-looking house over on Adams Street one stormy night, hoping to find something to satisfy my terrible hunger. To my despair, everything was under lock and key. Noticing a number of rat holes about, I determined to make an attempt to capture a rodent or two for my supper, and posted myself at the hole that looked most promising.

“Game was scarce; in my then weakened state my vigil was too fatiguing and I fell asleep at my post. When I finally awoke I was horrified to find myself in the hands of a woman!

“You better believe I was frightened! Why, my dear Fido, I never had such a scare in my life. But fortunately I had no cause for alarm; my captor--who proved to be the cook--was most kind to me. She took me up stairs to the kitchen and gave me a good, substantial meal and a warm, soft bed. For the first time in many weeks I passed a comfortable night, free from the pangs of hunger and unrest.

“When morning came, I of course supposed I would be told to go. To my delight I was not only given a sumptuous breakfast, but nothing was said about my departure, and I began to hope that I might be able to secure a permanent position with the family.

“After I had finished my breakfast, the cook disappeared for a few moments. She soon returned accompanied by two children, whom she called Johnny and Ethel. They spoke to me kindly, and Ethel said:

“‘Oh, Johnny, let’s ask mamma if we can’t keep the poor thing!’

“‘Let’s do,’ cried Johnny, delightedly, ‘and I’ll ask papa to give us some liniment for him, too, he looks just like he was havin’ the measles.’

“‘Pshaw! me darlints,’ said the cook, ‘d’ye shpose yer pa’ll be afther docthorin’ cats?’

“‘Of course he will,’ replied Ethel, ‘didn’t he fix Willie Thompson’s dog when he broke his leg?’

“Sure enough, my dear Fido, the children’s papa was a doctor, and he soon cured my skin trouble. After I was myself again, there was no longer any danger of being asked to leave, for the children became very fond of me; even the baby seemed to take a great fancy to me.

“I got along famously with the children, although they were a little rough at times. Johnny was somewhat inclined to be gay once in a while, but I came out all right. I remember one close call I had, though. Ethel wanted to play I was sick one day, and that Johnny was a doctor. They gave me some of the worst stuff a fellow ever tasted--just held me and poured it down my neck! Then Master Johnny suddenly discovered that I had ‘tonsillitis,’ whatever that is. He’d heard his papa use the word, I s’pose. I must be ‘operated,’ the little rascal said, and going into the doctor’s surgery he got a vicious looking instrument. Ethel held me, and the amateur doctor proceeded to plunge his devilish contrivance down my throat! After fishing up a few chunks of spleen, and liver, and things, Johnny let me go, saying, ‘Madam, your child will get well now.’ I did get well, but my internal revenue and things have never since felt just right.

“But Johnny was my friend just the same. Gosh!--how he did lick a rude, vulgar boy who threw stones at me one day! ’Twould have done your heart good to see him.

“Ethel and I used to have some awfully nice times together. She used to dress me up in doll’s clothes and play I was a baby. And then she would put me in a little cradle and rock me to sleep. The dear child used to be so pleased because I lay so still, and she used to say I was ‘a dear, good, sweet little kitty.’ To tell the truth, though, I just had to lie still, for those long clothes used to trip me up every time I tried to walk. I did try to sneak away one time, and fell down stairs and almost broke my neck.