menu_book Chapter 25

CHAPTER XXV. The news was all over town in two minutes, and you could see the people tearing down on the run from every which way, some of them putting on their coats as they come. Pretty soon we was in the middle of a crowd, and the noise of the tramping was like a soldier march. The windows and

dolyards was full, and every minute somebody would say, over a fence, Is it them? And somebody trotting along with the gang would answer back and say, You bet it is! When we got to the house the street in front of it was packed, and the three girls was standing in the door. Mary Jane was redheaded, but that don't make no difference, she was most awful

beautiful, and her face and her eyes were all lit up like glory. She was so glad her uncles was come. The King he spread his arms, and Mary Jane she jumped for them, and the hair-lip jumped for the duke, and there they had it. Everybody most, least ways women, cried for joy to see them meet again at last and have such good times. Then the King he

hunched the duke private—I see him do it—and then he looked around and see the coffin over in the corner on two chairs, so then him and the duke, with the hand across each other's shoulder and the other hand to the eyes, walked slow and solemn over there, everybody dropping back to give them room, and all the talk and noise stopping, people saying

shh, and all the men taking their hats off and drooping their heads, so you could have heard a pin fall. And when they got there they bent over and looked in the coffin and took one side, and then they bust out a crying so you could have heard them to all ease most, and then they put their arms around each other's necks, and hung their chins over each

other's shoulders, and then for three minutes, or maybe four, I never seen two men leak the way they done. And mind you, everybody was doing the same, and the place was that damp I never see anything like it. Then one of them got on one side of the coffin and on the other side, and they kneeled down and rested their foreheads on the coffin and let on

to pray all to themselves. Well, when it come to that it worked the crowd like you never see anything like it, and everybody broke down and went to sobbing right out loud. The poor girls, too, and every woman nearly, went up to the girls without saying a word, and kissed them solemn on the forehead, and then put their hand on their head, and

looked up towards the sky with the tears running down, and then busted out and went off sobbing and swabbing, and give the next women a show. I never see anything so disgusting. Well, by and by the king he gets up and comes forward a little, and works himself up and slobbers out a speech all full of tears and flapdoodle about it being a sole trial for

him and his poor brother to lose the diseased, and to miss seeing diseased alive after the long journey of four thousand mile. But it's a trial that's sweetened and sanctified to us by this dear sympathy and these holy tears, and so he thanks them out of his heart and out of his brother's heart, because out of their mouths they can't—words being

too weak and cold, and all that sort of rot and slush, till it was just sickening—and then he blubbers out a pious goody-goody, Amen, and turns himself loose and goes to crying fit to bust. And the minute the words were out of his mouth somebody over in the crowd struck up the doxologyer, and everybody joined in with all their

might, and it just warmed you up and made you feel as good as church letting out. Music is a good thing, and after all that soul-butter and hogwash I never see it freshen up things so, and sounds so honest and bully. Then the king begins to work his jaw again, and says how him and his nieces would be glad if a few of the main principal friends of the

family would take supper here with them this evening, and help set up with the ashes of the diseased, and says if his poor brother laying yonder could speak he knows who he would name, for they was names that was very dear to him, and mentioned often in his letters, and so he will name the same to it as follows, viz. Reverend Mr. Hobson and

Deacon Lot Hovey, and Mr. Ben Rucker, and Abner Shackleford, and Levi Bell, and Dr. Robinson, and their wives, and the widow Bartley. Reverend Hobson and Dr. Robinson was down to the end of the town a hunting together, that is, I mean the doctor was shipping a sick man to the other world, and the preacher was pointing him right. Lawyer Bell

was away up to Louisville on business, but the rest was on hand, and so they all come and shook hands with the king, and thanked him, and talked to him, and then they shook hands with the duke, and didn't say nothing but just kept a-smiling and bopping the heads like a passela sap-heads, while he made all sorts of signs with his hands and said,

GOO, GOO, GOO, GOO, GOO, all the time, like a baby that can't talk. So the king he blattered along, and managed to inquire about pretty much everybody and dog in town by his name, and mentioned all sorts of little things that happened one time or another in the town, or to George's family, or to Peter. And he always let on that Peter wrote

him the things, but that was a lie, he got every blessed one of them out of that young flathead that we canoed up to the steamboat. Then Mary Jane she fetched the letter her father left behind, and the king he read it out loud and cried over it. It give the dwelling-house and three thousand dollars gold to the girls, and it give the tanyard,

which was doing a good business, along with some other houses and land worth about seven thousand, and three thousand dollars in gold to Harvey and William, and told where the six thousand cash was hid down cellar. So these two frauds said they go and fetch it up, and have everything square and above board. Told me to come with a candle. We

shut the cellar door behind us, and when they found the bag they spilled it out on the floor, and it was a lovely sight, all them yeller boys. My, the way the king's eyes did shine! He slaps the duke on the shoulder and says, Oh, this ain't bullin' or nothin', oh no, I reckon not. Why, Billy,

it beats the nuns such, don't it? The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yeller boys and sifted them through their fingers and let them jingle down on the floor. And the king says, It ain't no use talkin', bein' brothers to a rich dead man and representin' us a fur and airs that gots left is the line for you and

me, Bilge. This year comes of trustin' to Providence. It's the best way in the long run. I've tried them all, and there ain't no better way. Most everybody would have been satisfied with the pile and took it on trust, but, no, they must count it. So they counts it, and it comes out

four hundred and fifteen dollars short, says the king. Durn him, I wonder what he done with that four hundred and fifteen dollar. They worried over that a while, and ransacked all around for it. Then the duke says, Well, he was a pretty sick man, and likely he made a mistake. I reckon

that's the way of it. The best way is to let it go, and keep still about it. We can spare it. Oh, shucks, yes, we can spare it! I don't care nothin' about that. It's the count I'm thinkin' about. We want to be awful square and open above board here, you know. We want to lug this here money upstairs and count

it before everybody. Then there ain't nothin' suspicious. But when the dead man says there's six thousand dollars, you know, we don't want to— Hold on, says the duke. Let's make up the deficit. And he begun to haul out yaller boys out of his pocket.

It's a most amazing good idea, duke. You have got a rattlin' clever head on you, says the king. Blessed if the old non-such ain't a-hippin' us out again. And he begun to haul out yaller jackets and stack them up. It most busted them, but they made up the six thousand clean and clear. Hey, says the duke, I got another idea. Let's go upstairs and count

this money, and then take and give it to the girls. Good land, duke, let me hug you. It's the most dazzling idea ever a man struck. You have certainly got the most astonishing head I ever see. Oh, this is the boss dodge. There ain't no mistake about it. Let him fetch along their suspicions now, if they want to. This'll lay

him out. When we got upstairs everybody gathered round the table, and the king he counted it and stacked it up. Three hundred dollars in a pile. Twenty elegant little piles. Everybody looked hungry at it, and licked their chops. Then they raked it into the bag again, and I see the king begin

to swell himself up for another speech. He says— Friends all, my poor brother that lays yonder has done generous by them that's left behind in the valourous sorrows. He has done generous by these here poor little lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him knowed that

he would a done more generous by them if he hadn't been afeared of wounding his dear William and me. Now wouldn't he? There ain't no question about it in my mind. Well, then, what kind of brothers would it be that'd stand in his way at such a time? And what kind of uncles would it be that'd rob—yes, rob—such poor sweet lambs as these that

he loved so at such a time? If I know William—and I think I do—he—well, I'll just ask him. He turns around and begins to make a lot of signs to the duke with his hands, and the duke he looks at him stupid and leather-headed a while. Then all of a sudden he seems to catch his meaning and jumps for the king, goo-gooing with all his might for joy,

and hugs him about fifteen times before he lets up. Then the king says, I knowed it, I reckon that it convinced any by the way he feels about it. Here, Mary Jane, Susan, Joanna, take the money. Take it all. It's the gift to him that lays yonder, cold but joyful. Mary Jane, she went for him. Susan and the hairlip went for the duke, and then such another

hugging and kissing I never see yet. And everybody crowded up with the tears in their eyes, and most shook the hands off of them frauds, saying all the time, You dear good souls! how lovely! how could you! Well, then, pretty soon all hands got to talking about the diseased again, and how good he was, and what a loss he was, and all

that. And before long a big iron-jawed man worked himself in there from outside, and stood a-listening and looking, and not saying anything, and nobody saying anything to him either, because the king was talking, and they was all busy listening. The king was saying, in the middle of something he'd started in on, They be in particular

friends of the diseased. That's why they're invited here this evening. But to-morrow we want all to come, everybody, for he respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's fitting that his funeral orgies to be public. And so he went a-mooning on and on, liking to hear himself talk. And every little while he fetched in his

funeral orgies again, till the duke he couldn't stand it no more, and he writes on a little scrap of paper, "'Obsiequeese, you old fool!' and folds it up, and goes to goo-gooing and reaching it over people's heads to him. The king he reads it and puts it in his pocket, and says,

"'Poor William! afflicted as he is, his heart's always right. Asked me to invite everybody come to the funeral. Wants me to make them all welcome. But he needn't a worried, it was just what I was at.' Then he weaves along again, perfectly calm, and goes to dropping in his funeral orgies again every now and then, just like he done before. And

when he done it the third time, he says, "'I say orgies, not because it's the common term, because it ain't, ob-si-quees being the common term, but because orgies is the right term. Ob-si-quees ain't using England no more now, it's gone out. We say orgies now in England. Orgies is better, because it means the thing

you're after, more exact. It's the word that's made up out of the Greek orgo—outside, open, abroad—and the Hebrew jizm—to plant, cover up, hence in ter. So, you see, funeral orgies as an open or public funeral.' He was the worst I ever struck. Well, the iron-jawed man he laughed

right in his face. Everybody was shocked. Everybody says, Why, Doctor! And Abner Shackleford says, Why, Robinson, hain't you heard the news? This is Harvey Wilkes. The king he smiled eager, shoved out his flapper, and says, Is it my poor brother's dear good friend and physician? I— Keep your hands off of me, says the doctor. You talk like an Englishman,

you. It's the worst imitation I ever heard. You, Peter Wilkes' brother—you're a fraud, that's what you are. Well, how they all took on! They crowded round the doctor and tried to quiet him down, and tried to explain to him and tell him how Harvey did shewed in forty ways that he was Harvey, and knowed everybody by name,

and the names of the very dogs, and begged and begged him not to hurt Harvey's feelings and the poor girl's feelings and all that. But it walked no use. He stormed right along, and said any man that pretended to be an Englishman and couldn't imitate the lingo no better than what he did was a fraud and a liar. The poor girl was hanging to the king and

crying, and all of a sudden the doctor ups and turns on them. He says, I was your father's friend, and I'm your friend, and I warn you as a friend, and an honest one that wants to protect you and keep you out of harm and trouble, to turn your backs on that scoundrel and have nothing to do with him. The ignorant tramp, with his idiotic Greek and Hebrew,

as he calls it, he is the thinnest kind of an impostor, has come here with a lot of empty names and facts which he picked up—somewheres—and you take them for proofs, and are helped to fool yourselves by these foolish friends here who ought to know better. Mary Jane Wilkes, you know me for your friend, and for your unselfish friend too. Now listen

to me. Turn this pitiful rascal out. I beg you to do it. Will you? Mary Jane straightened herself up, and my, but she was handsome. She says, Here is my answer. She hove up the bag of money and put it in the king's hands, and says,

Take this six thousand dollars and invest it for me and my sisters any way you want to, and don't give us no receipt for it. Then she put her arm around the king on one side, and Susan and the hair-lip done the same on the other. Everybody clapped their hands and stomped on the floor like a perfect storm, whilst the king held up his head and smiled

proud. The doctor says, All right, I wash my hands of the matter, but I warn you all that a time's a-comin' when you're going to feel sick whenever you think of this day. And away he went. All right, doctor, says the king, kind of mocking him. We'll try and

get him to send for you, which made them all laugh, and they said it was a prime good hit. End of chapter.