Owned a pair o' skates onc't.--Traded Fer 'em,--stropped 'em on and waded Up and down the crick, a-waitin'

Tel she'd freeze up fit fer skatin'.

Mildest winter I remember-- More like Spring- than Winter-weather!-- Did n't _frost_ tel bout December- Git up airly ketch a' feather Of it, mayby, 'crost the winder-- Sunshine swinge it like a cinder!

Well--I _waited_--and _kep_' waitin'!

Couldn't see my money's w'oth in Them-air skates and was no skatin', Ner no hint o' ice ner nothin'!

So, one day--along in airly Spring--I swopped 'em off--and barely Closed the d.i.c.ker, 'fore the weather Natchurly jes slipped the ratchet, And crick--tail-race--all together, Froze so tight cat couldn't scratch it!

THE RIVALS; OR THE SHOWMAN'S RUSE

A TRAGI-COMEDY, IN ONE ACT.

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

BILLY MILLER ) The Rivals JOHNNY WILLIAMS )

TOMMY WELLS Conspirator

TIME--Noon: SCENE--Country Town--Rear-view of the Miller Mansion, showing Barn, with practical loft-window opening on alley-way, with colored-crayon poster beneath, announcing:--"BILLY MILLER'S Big Show and Monstur Circus and Equareum! A shour-bath fer Each and All fer 20 pins.

This Afternoon! Don't fer git the date!" Enter TOMMY WELLS and JOHNNY WILLIAMS, who gaze awhile at poster, TOMMY secretly smiling and winking at BILLY MILLER, concealed at loft-window above.

TOMMY (to JOHNNY).

Guess 'at Billy haint got back,-- Can't see nothin' through the crack--- Can't hear nothin' neither--No!

. . . Thinks he's got the dandy show, Don't he?

JOHNNY (scornfully)-- 'Course' but what _I_ care?-- He haint got no show in there!-- What's _he_ got in there but that Old hen, cooped up with a cat An' a turkle, an' that thing 'At he calls his "circus-ring?"

"_What a circus-ring_!" I'd _quit_!

Bet mine's twic't as big as it!

TOMMY-- Yes, but _you_ got no machine Wat you bathe with, painted green, With a string to work it, guess!

JOHNNY (contemptuously)-- Folks don't _bathe_ in _circuses_!-- _Ladies_ comes to _mine_, you bet!

I' got seats where girls can set; An' a dressin'-room, an' all, Fixed up in my pony's stall-- Yes, an' I' got _carpet_, too, Fer the tumblers, and a blue Center-pole!

TOMMY-- Well, Billy, he's Got a tight-rope an' trapeze, An' a hoop 'at he jumps through Head-first!

JOHNNY-- Well, what's _that_ to do-- Lightin' on a pile o' hay?

Haint no _actin_' thataway!

TOMMY-- Don't care what you say, he draws Bigger crowds than you do, 'cause Sense he started up, I know All the fellers says his show Is the best-un!

JOHNNY-- Yes, an' he Better not tell things on me!

His old circus haint no good!-- 'Cause he's got the neighborhood Down on me he thinks 'at I'm Goin' to stand it all the time; Thinks ist 'cause my Pa don't 'low Me to fight, he's got me now.

An' can say I lie, an' call Me ist anything at all!

Billy Miller thinks I am 'Feared to say 'at he says "dam"-- Yes, and worser ones! and I'm Goin' to tell his folks sometime!-- An' ef he don't shet his head I'll tell worse 'an _that_ he said When he fighted Willie King-- An' got licked like ever'thing!-- Billy Miller better shin Down his Daddy's lane agin, Like a cowardy-calf, an' climb In fer home another time!

Better--

[Here BILLY leaps down from the loft upon his unsuspecting victim; and two minutes, later, JOHNNY, with the half of a straw hat, a bleeding nose, and a straight rent across one trouser-knee, makes his inglorious--exit.]

WHAT CHRIS'MAS FETCHED THE WIGGINSES.

Wintertime, er Summertime, Of late years I notice I'm, Kindo'-like, more subjec' to What the _weather_ is. Now, you Folks 'at lives in town, I s'pose, Thinks its bully when it snows; But the chap 'at chops and hauls Yer wood fer ye, and then stalls, And snapps tuggs and swingletrees, And then has to walk er freeze, Haint so much "stuck on" the snow As stuck _in_ it--Bless ye, no!-- When its packed, and sleighin's good, And _church_ in the neighborhood, Them 'at's _got_ their girls, I guess, Takes 'em, likely, more er less, Tell the plain facts o' the case, No men-folks about our place On'y me and Pap--and he 'Lows 'at young folks' company Allus made him sick! So I Jes don't want, and jes don't try!

c.h.i.n.kypin, the dad-burn town, 'S too fur off to loaf aroun'

Either day er night--and no Law compellin' me to go!-- 'Less 'n some Old-Settlers' Day, Er big-doin's thataway-- _Then_, to tell the p'inted fac', I've went more so's to come back By old Guthrie's 'still-house, where Minors _has_ got licker there-- That's pervidin' we could show 'em Old folks sent fer it from home!

Visit roun' the neighbors some, When the boys wants me to come.-- c.o.o.n-hunt with 'em; er set traps Fer mussrats; er jes, perhaps, Lay in roun' the stove, you know, And parch corn, and let her snow!

Mostly, nights like these, you'll be (Ef you' got a writ fer _me_) Ap' to skeer me up, I guess, In about the Wigginses.

Nothin' roun' _our_ place to keep Me at home--with Pap asleep 'Fore it's dark; and Mother in Mango pickles to her chin; And the girls, all still as death, Piecin' quilts.--Sence I drawed breath Twenty year' ago, and heerd Some girls whispern' so's it 'peared Like they had a row o' pins In their mouth--right there begins My first rickollections, built On that-air blame old piece-quilt!

Summertime, it's jes the same-- 'Cause I've noticed,--and I claim, As I said afore, I'm more Subjec' to the weather, _sh.o.r.e_, 'Proachin' my majority, Than I ever ust to be!

Callin' back _last_ Summer, say,-- Don't seem hardly past away-- With night closin' in, and all S' lonesome-like in the dew-fail: Bats--ad-drat their ugly muggs!-- Flickern' by; and lightnin'-bugs Huckstern' roun' the airly night Little sickly gasps o' light;-- Whip-poor-wills, like all possessed, Moanin' out their mournfullest;-- Frogs and katydids and things Jes clubs in and sings and sings Their _ding-dangdest_!--Stock's all fed, And Pap's washed his feet fer bed;-- Mother and the girls all down At the milk-shed, foolin' roun'-- No wunder 'at I git blue, And lite out--and so would you!

I caint stay aroun' no place Whur they haint no livin' face:-- 'Crost the fields and thue the gaps Of the hills they's friends, perhaps, Waitin' somers, 'at kin be Kindo' comfertin' to me!

Neighbors all 'is plenty good, Scattered thue this neighberhood; Yit, of all, I like to jes Drap in on the Wigginses.-- Old man, and old lady too, 'Pear-like, makes so much o' you--, Least, they've allus pampered me Like one of the fambily.-- The boys, too, 's all thataway-- Want you jes to come and stay;-- Price, and Chape, and Mandaville, Poke, Chasteen, and "Catfish Bill"-- Poke's the runt of all the rest, But he's jes the beatinest Little schemer, fer fourteen, Anybody ever seen!-- "Like his namesake," old man claims, "Jeems K. Poke, the first o' names!

Full o' tricks and jokes--and you Never know what _Poke's_ go' do!"

Genius, too, that-air boy is, With them awk'ard hands o' his: Gits this blame pokeberry-juice, Er some stuff, fer ink--and goose- Quill pen-p'ints: And then he'll draw Dogdest pictures yevver saw!

Er make deers and eagles good As a writin'-teacher could!

Then they's two twin boys they've riz Of old c.o.o.nrod Wigginses 'At's deceast--and glad of it, 'Cause his widder's livin' yit!

Course _the boys_ is mostly jes'

Why I go to Wigginses.--- Though _Melviney_, sometimes, _she_ Gits her slate and algebry And jes' sets there ciphern' thue Sums old Ray hisse'f caint do!-- Jes' sets there, and tilts her chair Forreds tel, 'pear-like, her hair Jes' _spills_ in her lap--and then She jes' dips it up again With her hands, as white, I swan, As the apern she's got on!

Talk o' hospitality!-- Go to Wigginses with me-- Overhet, or froze plum thue, You'll find welcome waitin' you:-- Th'ow out yer tobacker 'fore You set foot acrost that floor,-- "Got to eat whatever's set-- Got to drink whatever's wet!"

Old man's sentimuns--them's his--- And means jes the best they is!

Then he lights his pipe; and she, The old lady, presen'ly She lights her'n; and Chape and Poke.

I haint got none, ner don't smoke,-- (In the crick afore their door-- Sorto so's 'at I'd be sh.o.r.e-- Drownded mine one night and says "I won't smoke at _Wigginses_!") Price he's mostly talkin' 'bout Politics, and "thieves turned out"-- What he's go' to be, ef he Ever "gits there"--and "we'll see!"-- Poke he 'lows they's blame few men Go' to hold their breath tel then!

Then Melviney smiles, as she Goes on with her algebry, And the clouds clear, and the room's Sweeter 'n crabapple-blooms!

(That Melviney, she' got some Most surprisin' ways, I gum!-- Don't 'pear like she ever _says_ Nothin', yit you'll _listen_ jes Like she was a-talkin', and Half-way seem to understand, But not quite,--_Poke_ does, I know, 'Cause he good as told me so,-- Poke's her favo-rite; and he-- That is, confidentially-- He's _my_ favo-rite--and I Got my whurfore and my why!)

I haint never ben no hand Much at talkin', understand, But they's _thoughts_ o' mine 'at's jes Jealous o' them Wigginses!-- Gift o' talkin 's what they got, Whether they want to er not-- F'r instunce, start the old man on Huntin'-sc.r.a.pes, 'fore game was gone, 'Way back in the Forties, when Bears stold pigs right out the pen, Er went waltzin' 'crost the farm With a bee-hive on their arm!-- And--sir, _ping_! the old man's gun Has plumped-over many a one, Firin' at him from afore That-air very cabin-door!

Yes--and _painters_, prowlin' 'bout, Allus darkest nights.--Lay out Clost yer cattle.--Great, big red Eyes a-blazin' in their head, Glittern' 'long the timber-line-- Shine out some, and then _un_-shine, And shine back--Then, stiddy! whizz!

'N there yer Mr. Painter is With a hole bored spang between Them-air eyes! Er start Chasteen, Say, on blooded racin'-stock, Ef you want to hear him talk; Er tobacker--how to raise, Store, and k-yore it, so's she pays: The old lady--and she'll cote Scriptur' tel she'll git yer vote!

Prove to you 'at wrong is right, Jes as plain as black is white: Prove when you're asleep in bed You're a-standin' on yer head, And yer train 'at's goin' West, 'S goin' East its level best; And when bees dies, it's their wings Wears out--and a thousand things!

And the boys is "chips," you know; "Off the old block"--So I go To the Wigginses, 'cause--jes 'Cause I _like_ the Wigginses-- Even ef Melviney _she_ Hardly 'pears to notice me!

Rid to c.h.i.n.kypin this week-- Yisterd'y.--No snow to speak Of, and didn't have no sleigh Anyhow; so, as I say, I rid in--and froze one ear And both heels--and I don't keer!-- "Mother and the girls kin jes Bother 'bout their Chris'mases _Next_ time fer _theirse'vs_, I jack!"

Thinks-says-I, a-startin' back,-- Whole durn meal-bag full of things Wrapped in paper-sacks, and strings Liable to snap their holt Jes at any little jolt!

That in front o' me, and _wind_ With _nicks_ in it, 'at jes skinned Me alive!--I'm here to say Nine mile' hossback thataway Would a-walked my log! But, as Somepin' allus comes to pa.s.s, As I topped old Guthrie's hill.

Saw a buggy, front the 'Still, P'inted home'ards, and a thin Little chap jes climbin' in.

Six more minutes I were there On the groun's'--And course it were-- It were little Poke--and he Nearly fainted to see me!-- "You ben in to c.h.i.n.ky, too?"

"Yes; and go' ride back with you,"

I-says-I. He he'pped me find Room fer my things in behind-- Stript my hoss's reins down, and Put his mitt' on the right hand So's to lead--"Pile in!" says he, "But you 've struck pore company!"

Noticed he was pale--looked sick, Kindo-like, and had a quick Way o' flickin' them-air eyes 0' his roun' 'at didn't size Up right with his usual style-- s' I, "You well?" He tried to smile, But his chin shuck and tears come.-- "_I've run 'Viney 'way from home_!"