Elbow-Room Part 24

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOE MIDDLES]

"Who are you?" asked Keyser.

"Who am I? Why, Joe Middles, of course. Who'd you think I was?"

remarked the fisherman.

"You ain't Joe Middles, for he's dead. I went to his funeral yesterday."

"Funeral!" exclaimed the fisherman as he stepped ash.o.r.e. "Well, now, by George! maybe that explains the thing. I've been bothering myself the worst kind to understand something. You know that I remember being at home in bed, and then I went to sleep somehow; and when I woke up, it was dark as pitch. I gave a kick to stretch myself, and knocked the lid off of this thing here--a canoe I thought it was; and then I set up and found myself out here in the river. I took the lid to split into paddles, and I saw on it a plate with the words 'Joseph Middles, aged sixty-four;' and I couldn't imagine how in thunder that ever got on that lid. Howsomdever, I pulled over to the shanty and got some lines and bait and floated out again, thinking while I was here I might as well get a mess of fish before I got home. And so it's a coffin, after all, and they buried me yesterday. Well, that beats the very old Harry, now, don't it? I'm going to row right over to the house. How it'll skeer the old woman to see me coming in safe and sound!"

Then the resurrected Mr. Middles paddled off. The cemetery company failed the following month, from inability to sell the lots.

CHAPTER XXII.

_JUSTICE, AND A LITTLE INJUSTICE_.

The administration of justice in this county is chiefly in the hands of Judge Twiddler; and while his methods generally are excellent, he sometimes makes unpleasant mistakes. Mr. Mix was the victim of one such blunder upon a recent occasion. Mr. Mix is bald; and in order to induce his hair to grow again, he is using a very excellent article of "hair vigor" upon his scalp. Some time ago he was summoned as a juryman upon a case in the court, and upon the day of the trial, just before the hour at which the court met, he remembered that he had not applied the vigor to his head that morning. He had only a few minutes to spare, but he flew up stairs and into the dark closet where he kept the bottle; and pouring some fluid upon a sponge, he rubbed his head energetically. By some mishap Mr. Mix got hold of the wrong bottle, and the substance with which he inundated his scalp was not vigor, but the black varnish with which Mrs. Mix decorated her shoes. However, Mix didn't perceive the mistake, but darted down stairs, put on his hat and walked off to the courtroom. It was a very cold morning, and by the time Mix reached his destination the varnish was as stiff as a stone. He felt a little uncomfortable about the head, and he endeavored to remove his hat to discover the cause of the difficulty, but to his dismay it was immovable. It was glued fast to the skin, and his efforts to take it off gave him frightful pain.

Just then he heard his name called by the crier, and he had to go into court to answer. He was wild with apprehension of coming trouble; but he took his seat in the jury-box and determined to explain the situation to the court at the earliest possible moment. As he sat there with a guilty feeling in his soul it seemed to him that his hat kept getting bigger and bigger, until it appeared to him to be as large as a shot-tower. Then he was conscious that the lawyers were staring at him. Then the clerk looked hard at him and screamed, "Hats off in court!" and Mix grew crimson. "Hats off!" yelled the clerk again, and Mix was about to reply when the judge came in, and as his eye rested on Mix he said,

"Persons in the court-room must remove their hats."

"May it please Your Honor, I kept my hat on because--"

"Well, sir, you must take it off now."

"But I say I keep it on because I----"

"We don't want any arguments upon the subject, sir. Take your hat off instantly!" said the judge.

"But you don't let me--"

"Remove that hat this moment, sir! Are you going to bandy words with me, sir? Uncover your head at once!"

"Judge, if you will only give me a chance to--"

"This is intolerable! Do you mean to insult the court, sir? Do you mean to profane this sacred temple of justice with untimely levity?

Take your hat off, sir, or I will fine you for contempt. Do you hear me?"

"Well, it's very hard that I can't say a word by way of ex--"

"This is too much," said the judge, warmly--"this is just a little too much. Perhaps you'd like to come up on the bench here and run the court and sentence a few convicts? Mr. Clerk, fine that man fifty dollars. Now, sir, remove your hat."

"Judge, this is rough on me. I----"

"Won't do it yet?" said the judge, furiously. "Why, you impudent scoundrel, I've a notion to--Mr. Clerk, fine him one hundred dollars more, and, Mr. Jones, you go and take that hat off by force."

Then the tipstaff approached Mix, who was by this time half crazy with wrath, and hit the hat with his stick. It did not move. Then he struck it again and caved in the crown, but it still remained on Mix's head.

Then he picked up a volume of Brown _On Evidence_, and mashed the crown in flat. Then Mix sprang at him; and shaking his fist under the nose of Jones, he shrieked,

"You miserable scullion, I've half a notion to kill you! If that jacka.s.s on the bench had any sense, he could see that the hat is glued fast. I can't take it off if I wanted to, and I wouldn't take it off now if I could."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A COURT SCENE]

Then the judge removed the fines and excused him, and Mix went home.

He slept in his hat for a week; and even when it came off, the top of his head looked as black as if mortification had set in.

But if the judge is too particular, our sheriff is hardly careful enough. The manner in which he permits our jail to be conducted always seemed to me interesting and original.

One day I wanted to hire a man to wheel half a dozen loads of rubbish out of my garden, and after looking around a while I found a seedy chap sitting on the end of a wharf fis.h.i.+ng. When I asked him if he would attend to the job, he replied thus:

"I really can't. I'm sorry; but the fact is I'm in jail for six months for larceny--sentenced last December. I don't mind it much, only they don't act honest with me up at the jail. The first week I was there Mrs. Murphy--she's the keeper's wife--wanted to clean up, and so she turned me out, and I had to hang round homeless for more'n a week.

Then, just as I was getting settled agin comfortably, the provisions ran short, and Murphy tried to borrow money of me to feed the convicts; and as I had none to lend, out I had to go agin. In about two weeks I started in fresh and got everything snug and cheerful, when Murphy's aunt stepped out. Then what does that a.s.s do but put me out agin and lock up the jail and put c.r.a.pe on the door, while he went off to the funeral.

"So, of course, I had to browse around, huntin' up meals where I could get them, sometimes nibblin' somethin' at the tavern and other times takin' tea with a friend. Well, sir, hardly was that old woman buried, and me once more in the cell with the home-like feelin' beginnin' to creep over me, but Murphy, he says he and his wife's got to go up to the city to get a hired girl; and when I refused to quit, Murphy grabbed me by the collar and pushed me into the street, and said he'd sick his dog on me if I came around there makin' a fuss.

"I hung about a few days; and when I went to the jail, the boy said Murphy hadn't got back and I'd have to call agin. Next time I applied the boy hollered from the window that he was 'engaged' and couldn't see me. Murphy was still rummagin' for that hired girl. I went there eight times, and there was always some jacka.s.s of an excuse for crowdin' me out, and I don't know if I'll ever get in agin. Night afore last I busted a window with a brick and tried to crawl in through the hole, but the boy fired a gun at me, and said if I'd just wait till Mr. Murphy came back he'd have me arrested for burglary.

"Now, I think I've been treated mighty bad. I've got a right in that jail, and it's pretty mean in a man like Murphy to shove me off in weather like this; and I'm bound to live six months in the prison some time or other, whether he likes it or not. I don't mind puttin' myself to some trouble to oblige a friend, but I hate like thunder to be imposed on.

"'Pears to me it's no way to run a penal inst.i.tution any way. There's Botts; he's in jail for perjury for nine years, and Murphy's actually turned that convict out so often and made him run 'round after his meals that Botts has lost heart, and has gone to canva.s.sin' for a life insurance company--gone to perambulatin' all over the country tryin'

to do a little somethin' to keep clothes on his back, when he ought to be layin' serenely in that jail. But I ain't goin' to do that. If the law keeps me in custody, it's got to support me; and that's what Simpson says, too. Ketch him workin' for his livin'. He's in for four years for a.s.sault and battery; and when they turn him out of the jail, he puts up at a hotel and has the bills sent in to Murphy.

"Murphy don't have consideration for the prisoners, any way. You know he raises fowls in the jail-yard; and just after Christmas he had a big lot of turkeys left on his hands, and do you believe that man actually kept feedin' us on those turkeys for more than a month?

Positively refused to allow us anything else until they was gone. I had half a notion to quit for good. I was disgusted. And Simpson said if that is the way they were goin' to treat convicts, why, civilization is a failure. All through Lent, too, wouldn't allow us an oyster; kept stuffin' us with beef and such trash, although Botts said he'd never been used to such wickedness, for his parents were very particular. Wouldn't even give us fish-b.a.l.l.s twice a week. But what does Murphy care? He's perfectly enthusiastic when he can tread on a man's feelin's and stamp all the moral sensibility out of him.

"And Mrs. Murphy, she's not much better. All the warm days she's home she hustles that baby of hers onto me. Makes me take the little sucklin' out in his carriage for an airin', and then gets mad if he falls out while I'm conversin' for a few minutes with a friend. I'd a slid him into the river long ago, only I know well enough they'd sentence me for life, and then I'd maybe have to stand Murphy's persecution for about forty years; and that'd kill me. It would indeed. He's so inconsiderate.

"He used to give me the key of the jail to keep while he'd go over to Barnes' to fight roosters or to play poker, and one day I lost it.

He raised an awful fuss, and even Botts was down on me because they couldn't keep the boys out, and they used to come in and tickle Botts with straws while he was sleepin' in his cell. I believe they expect Murphy back day after to-morrow, but I know mighty well I'm not goin'

to have much satisfaction when he does come. He'll find some excuse for shufflin' me out 'bout as soon as I get stowed away in my old quarters. If he does, I've got a notion to lock him out some night and run the jail myself for a while, so's I kin have some peace. There's such a thing as carryin' abuses a little too far. Excuse me for a minute. I think I have a bite."

Then I left to hunt for another man. I feel that the Society for the Alleviation of the Sufferings of Prisoners has a great work to perform in our town.

CHAPTER XXIII.

_THE TRAMP WITH GENIUS AND WITHOUT IT_.

The tramp is as familiar a figure in the village and the surrounding country as he is in other populous rural neighborhoods. The ruffian tramp, of course, is the most constant of the cla.s.s, but now and then appears one of the fraternity who displays something like genius in his attempts to impose himself upon people as a being of a higher order than an idle, worthless vagabond. A fellow of this description came into the editorial room of the _Patriot_ one day while I was sitting there, and announced in a loud voice that he was a professor of pisciculture and an aspirant for a position upon the State Fish Commission. As the statement did not attract the attention of anybody, he seated himself in a chair, placed his feet upon the table, and aiming with surprising accuracy at a spittoon, said his name was Powell. Still n.o.body paid any attention to him, but the fact did not seem to depress his spirits, for he talked straight ahead fluently and with some vehemence:

"What are they doing for the fishery interest, any way, these commissioners? What do they know about fis.h.i.+ng? More'n likely when they go out they hold the hook in their hands and let the pole float in the water. Why, one of 'em was talking with me the other day, and says he, 'Powell, I want the Legislature to make an appropriation for the cultivation of canned lobsters in the Susquehanna.' 'How are you going to do it?' says I. 'Why,' says he, 'my plan is to cross the original lobster with some good variety of tin can, breed 'em in and in, and then feed the animal on solder and green labels.'