Peck's bad boy abroad : $b Being a humorous description of the bad boy and his dad in their journeys through foreign lands: 1904Peck, George W. (George Wilbur)
General
Peck's bad boy abroad : $b Being a humorous description of the bad boy and his dad in their journeys through foreign lands: 1904
Peck, George W. (George Wilbur)
American wit and humor; Boys -- Fiction; Practical jokes -- Fiction; Voyages and travels -- Fiction
The old groceryman was in front of the grocery, bent oyer a box of
rutabagas, turning the decayed sides down to make the possible customer
think all was not as bad as it might be, when a shrill whistle down the
street attracted his attention. He looked in the direction from which it
came, and saw the bad boy coming with a suit case in one hand and a sole
leather hat box in the other, and the old man went in the store to say
a silent prayer, and to lay a hatchet and an ax handle where he could
reach them if the worst came.
“Well, you want to get a good look at me now,” said the bad boy, as he
dropped the valise on the floor, and put the hat box on the counter,
“for it will be months and maybe years, before you see me again.”
“Oh, joy!” said the old groceryman, as he heaved a sigh, and tried to
look sorry. “What is it, reform school, or have the police ordered you
out of town? I have felt it coming for a long time. This is the only
town you could have plied your vocation so long in and not been pulled.
Where are you going with the dude suit case and the hat box?”
“Oh, dad has got a whole mess more diseases, and the doctors had a
conversation over him Sunday, and they say he has got to go away again,
right now, and that a sea voyage will brace him up and empty him out so
medicine over in Europe can get in its work and strengthen him so he can
start back after a while and probably die on the way home, and be buried
at sea. Dad says he will go, for he had rather die at sea than on land,
'cause they don't have to have any trouble about a funeral, 'cause all
they do is to sew a man up in a piece of cloth, tie a sack of coal to
his feet, slide him off a board, and he goes kerplunk down into the salt
water about a mile, and stands there on his feet and makes the whales
and sharks think he is a new kind of fish.”
“Gee! but that is a programme that appeals to me as sort of uncanny,”
said the old man. “Is your dad despondent over the outlook? What new
disease has he got?”
[Illustration: Pasted a tomato can label on the suitcase 31]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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