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 dooryards 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 red-headed, but that don't make no
difference, she was most awful beautiful, and her face
and her eyes was all lit up like glory, she was so glad
her uncles was come. The king he spread his arms, and
Marsy Jane she jumped for them, and the hare-lip jumped
for the duke, and there they HAD it! Everybody most,
leastways 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 a hand across each other's shoulder, and
t'other hand to their eyes, walked slow and solemn over
there, everybody dropping back to give them room, and all
the talk and noise stopping, people saying "Sh!"
and all the men taking their hats off and drooping their
heads, so you could a heard a pin fall. And when they got
there they bent over and looked in the coffin, and took
one sight, and then they bust out a-crying so you could a
heard them to Orleans, 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 see 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 t'other on t'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
woman 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 its being a sore
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 kind
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 doxolojer, 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
sound 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 wit, as
follows, vizz.: — Rev. 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.
Rev. 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 t'other world, and the
preacher was pinting 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 bobbing their heads like a passel of sapheads whilst
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'd go and fetch it up, and have
everything square and aboveboard; and told me to come
with a candle. We shut the cellar door behind us, and
when they found the bag they spilt it out on the floor,
and it was a lovely sight, all them yaller-boys. My, the
way the king's eyes did shine! He slaps the duke on the
shoulder and says:
"Oh, THIS ain't bully nor noth'n! Oh, no, I
reckon not! Why, Biljy, it beats the Nonesuch, DON'T it?"
The duke allowed it did. They pawed the yallerboys,
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 representatives of furrin heirs that's
got left is the line for you and me, Bilge. Thish yer
comes of trust'n to Providence. It's the best way, in the
long run. I've tried 'em all, and ther' ain't no better
way."
Most everybody would a 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:
"Dern him, I wonder what he done with that four
hundred and fifteen dollars?"
They worried over that awhile, 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's to let it go, and keep still about it. We can spare
it."
"Oh, shucks, yes, we can SPARE it. I don't k'yer
noth'n 'bout that — it's the COUNT I'm thinkin' about.
We want to be awful square and open and above-board here,
you know. We want to lug this h-yer money up stairs and
count it before everybody — then ther' ain't noth'n
suspicious. But when the dead man says ther's six thous'n
dollars, you know, we don't want to —"
"Hold on," says the duke. "Le's make up
the deffisit," and he begun to haul out yaller-boys
out of his pocket.
"It's a most amaz'n' good idea, duke — you HAVE
got a rattlin' clever head on you," says the king.
"Blest if the old Nonesuch ain't a heppin' us out
agin," 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.
"Say," says the duke, "I got another
idea. Le's go up stairs and count this money, and then
take and GIVE IT TO THE GIRLS."
"Good land, duke, lemme hug you! It's the most
dazzling idea 'at ever a man struck. You have cert'nly
got the most astonishin' head I ever see. Oh, this is the
boss dodge, ther' ain't no mistake 'bout it. Let 'em
fetch along their suspicions now if they want to — this
'll lay 'em out."
When we got up-stairs everybody gethered around 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 vale
of sorrers. He has done generous by these yer poor little
lambs that he loved and sheltered, and that's left
fatherless and motherless. Yes, and we that knowed him
knows that he would a done MORE generous by 'em if he
hadn't ben afeard o' woundin' his dear William and me.
Now, WOULDN'T he? Ther' ain't no question 'bout it in MY
mind. Well, then, what kind o' brothers would it be that
'd stand in his way at sech a time? And what kind o'
uncles would it be that 'd rob — yes, ROB — sech poor
sweet lambs as these 'at he loved so at sech a time? If I
know William — and I THINK I do — he — well, I'll jest
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 leatherheaded 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 'll convince
anybody the way HE feels about it. Here, Mary Jane,
Susan, Joanner, take the money — take it ALL. It's the
gift of him that lays yonder, cold but joyful."
Mary Jane she went for him, Susan and the hare-lip
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 bein' partickler friends o' the diseased.
That's why they're invited here this evenin'; but
tomorrow we want ALL to come — everybody; for he
respected everybody, he liked everybody, and so it's
fitten that his funeral orgies sh'd 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; so he writes on a little scrap of paper, "OBSEQUIES,
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
aluz right. Asks me to invite everybody to come to the
funeral — wants me to make 'em all welcome. But he
needn't a worried — it was jest what I was at."
Then he weaves along again, perfectly ca'm, 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 — obsequies bein' the common term —
but because orgies is the right term. Obsequies ain't
used in 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 a word that's
made up out'n the Greek ORGO, outside, open, abroad; and
the Hebrew JEESUM, to plant, cover up; hence inTER. So,
you see, funeral orgies is an open er public funeral."
He was the WORST I ever struck. Well, the ironjawed
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 Wilks."
The king he smiled eager, and 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, DON'T you? It's the
worst imitation I ever heard. YOU Peter Wilks's brother!
You're a fraud, that's what you are!"
Well, how they all took on! They crowded around the
doctor and tried to quiet him down, and tried to explain
to him and tell him how Harvey 'd showed 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 warn't 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 girls 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
Wilks, 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 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 hare-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 coming when you're going to
feel sick whenever you think of this day." And away
he went.
"All right, doctor," says the king, kinder
mocking him; "we'll try and get 'em to send for you;"
which made them all laugh, and they said it was a prime
good hit.