Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“When we did go in, there stood as spruce a young gent of a
hundred or so as ever you see. That Injun had on a cheap but
decent light hand-me-down suit, b’iled shirt and paper collar, red
necktie, canvas shoes--mighty small they were; he had feet like a
lady--pocket-handkercher with red border sticking out of his pocket,
cane in his hand, a white plug hat on his head and a pair of specs on
his nose. We were simply dumfounded; that’s the only word for it. The
old cuss carried himself pretty well. Darned if you’d find a white man
of his years that had as much style to him. And proud! Well, that don’t
give you any idea of it. He strutted around like a squint-eyed girl
that’s just hooked a feller.
“When he started off down the street to give the folks a benefit, we
had our laugh out.
“Into every store of the place goes Mr. Rip. Walks up and down and says
‘Huh!’ After he thinks the folks have had a fair show to take in his
glory, ‘Huh!’ says he again, and tries next door. The whole town was
worked up over it. The fellers would shake him by the hand, bowing and
scraping and giving him all sorts of steers.
“Well, we had our mascot now, so there was no particular reason why we
shouldn’t try to get somebody’s scalp.
“We sent a challenge to the Maroons, which they accepted, too quick.
The game was to be played on our grounds, and with the eyes of our
friends on us, you bet we meant to do our little best; but luck was
against us. Our second base, the Hoodoo, had got snake bit. Rattler
struck him in the right hand. He had a mighty close squeak for his
life. The right field, Doctor Andis, the nicest gentleman that ever
wore shoes, was coming down with the fever that carried him off.
“To crown all, just when I should have been rustling around the
liveliest, I had one of my headaches--the worst I ever had. Lord! For
three days I couldn’t see, and then a fool of a man told me whisky was
good for it, and I took his advice. When the drink started my heart up,
darned if I didn’t think the top of my head was coming off. I ought to
have been in bed the day of the game, but of course that wasn’t to be
thought of.
“Well, the boys were nervous, and I was sick, and though I tried my
best to put a good foot forward, I’m afraid I didn’t help matters any.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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