Short stories; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
"Hole on yere a minute, boy! Lemme tek' nuther look at dat thing." He
took it, then burst forth with a volley of derisive chuckling. "Huh,
huh, well ef dat ain't de beatenes' part of it all!" wheezed Daddy
Hannah. "Red Hoss, you sho' muster been in one big hurry to git away
f'um dat spot whar you kilt your rabbit and ketched your charm. Looky
yere at dis yere shank j'int! Don't you see nothin' curious about de
side of de leg whar de hock sticks out? Well den, cullid boy, ef you
don't, all I got to say is you mus' be total blind ez well ez monst'ous
ignunt. Dis ain't no lef' hind foot of no rabbit."
"Whut is it den?"
"It's de right hind foot, dat's whut 'tis!" He tossed it away
contemptuously.
After a long minute Red Hoss, standing at Daddy Hannah's doorstep with
his hands rammed deep in pockets, which were both empty, spoke in tones
of profound bitterness. He addressed his remarks to space, but Daddy
Hannah couldn't help overhearing.
"Fust off, I gits fooled by de right laig of de wrong rabbit. Den a
man-eatin' mule come a-browsin' on me an' gnaw a suit of close right
offen my back. Den I runs into a elephint in a fog an' busts one of
Mist' Lee Farrell's taxiscabs fur him an' he busts my jaw fur me. Den I
gits tuk advantage of by a fool lion dat can't chamber his licker lak a
gen'l'man, in consequence of which I loses me a fancy job an' a chunk of
money. Den Melissa, she up an'--well, suh, I merely wishes to say dat
f'um now on, so fur ez I is concerned, natchel history is a utter
failure."
CHAPTER IV
IT COULD HAPPEN AGAIN TO-MORROW
"Sorry, ma'am," said the Pullman conductor, "but there's not a bit of
space left in the chair car, nor the sleeper neither."
"I'm sorry too," said the young woman in the tan-colored tailor-mades.
She was smartly hatted and smartly spatted; smart all over from
toque-tip to toe-tip. "I didn't know until almost the last minute that
I'd have to catch this train, and trusted to chance for a seat."
"Yes'm, I see," commiserated the man in blue. "But you know what the
rush is this time of year, and right now on top of all that so many of
the soldiers getting home from the other side and their folks coming
East to meet 'em and everything. I guess though, miss, you won't have
much trouble getting accommodated in one of the day coaches."
"I'll try it," she said, "and thank you all the same."
She picked up her hand bag.
"Wait a minute," he suggested. "I'll have my porter carry your valise on
up to the other cars."
Men of all stations in life were rather given to offering help to Miss
Mildred Smith, the distinguished interior decorator and--on the
side--amateur investigator for Uncle Sam with a wartime record for
services rendered which many a professional might have envied. Perhaps
they were the more ready to offer it since the young woman seemed so
rarely to need it.
This man's reward was a brisk little nod.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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