PART VI.
VILLAGE CRONIES: A GAME OF CHECKERS AT THE GROCERY
The village life abounds with jokers, Shiftless, conscienceless and shrewd.
SOME VILLAGE CRONIES.
Colonel Peavy had just begun the rubber with Squire Gordon, of CerroGordo County. They were seated in Robie's grocery, behind the rusty oldcannon stove, the checkerboard spread out on their knees. The Colonelwas grinning in great glee, wringing his bony yellow hands in nervousexcitement, in strong contrast to the stolid calm of the fat Squire.
The Colonel had won the last game by a large margin, and was sure he hadhis opponent's dodges well in hand. It was early in the evening, and thegrocery was comparatively empty. Robie was figuring at a desk, and oldJudge Brown stood in legal gravity warming his legs at the red-hotstove, and swaying gently back and forth in speechless content. It was atough night outside, one of the toughest for years. The frost hadcompletely shut the window panes as with thick blankets of snow. Thestreets were silent.
"I don't know," said the Judge, reflectively, to Robie, breaking thesilence in his rasping, judicial bass, "I don't know as there has beensuch a night as this since the night of February 2d, '59; that was thenight James Kirk went under--Honorable Kirk, you remember--knew himwell. Brilliant fellow, ornament to Western bar. But whisky downed him.It'll beat the oldest man--I wonder where the boys all are to-night?Don't seem to be any one stirring on the street. Ain't frightened out bythe cold?"
"Shouldn't wonder." Robie was busy at his desk, and not in humor forconversation on reminiscent lines. The two old war-dogs at the board hadsettled down to one of those long, silent struggles which ensue when twochampions meet. In the silence which followed, the Judge was lookingattentively at the back of the Colonel, and thinking that the old thiefwas getting about down to skin and bone. He turned with a yawn to Robie,saying:
"This cold weather must take hold of the old Colonel terribly, he's sodamnably thin and bald, you know,--bald as a babe. The fact is, the oldColonel ain't long for this world, anyway; think so, Hank?" Robie makingno reply, the Judge relapsed into silence for awhile, watching the cat(perilously walking along the edge of the upper shelf) and listening tothe occasional hurrying footsteps outside. "I don't know _when_ I'veseen the windows closed up so, Hank; go down to thirty below to-night;devilish strong wind blowing, too; tough night on the prairies, Hank."
"You bet," replied Hank, briefly.
The Colonel was plainly getting excited. His razor-like back curvedsharper than ever as he peered into the intricacies of the board to spythe trap which the fat Squire had set for him. At this point the squealof boots on the icy walk outside paused, and a moment later Amos Ridingsentered, with whiskers covered with ice, and looking like a huge bear inhis buffalo coat.
"By Josephus! it's cold," he roared, as he took off his gloves and beganto warm his face and hands at the fire.
"Is it?" asked the Judge, comfortably, rising on his tiptoes, only tofall back into his usual attitude legal, legs well spread, shouldersthrown back.
"You bet it is!" replied Amos. "I d'know when I've felt the cold more'nI have t'-day. It's jest snifty; doubles me up like a jack-knife, Judge.How do you stand it?"
"Toler'ble, toler'ble, Amos. But we're agin', we ain't what we wereonce. Cold takes hold of us."
"That's a fact," answered Amos to the retrospective musings of theJudge. "Time was you an' me would go t' singing-school or sleigh-ridingwith the girls on a night like this and never notice it."
"Yes, sir; yes, sir!" said the Judge with a sigh. It was a littleuncertain in Robie's mind whether the Judge was regretting the lostability to stand the cold, or the lost pleasure of riding with thegirls.
"Great days, those, gentlemen! Lived in Vermont then. Hot-blooded--lungslike an ox. I remember, Sallie Dearborn and I used to go a-foot tosinging-school down the valley four miles. But now, wouldn't go ridingto-night with the handsomest woman in America, and the best cutter inRock River."
"Oh! you've got both feet in the grave up t' the ankles, anyway," saidRobie, from his desk, but the Judge immovably gazed at the upper shelfon the other side of the room, where the boilers and pans and washboardswere stored.
"The Judge is a little on the sentimental order to-night," said Amos.
"Hold on, Colonel! hold on. You've _got_'o jump. Hah! hah!" roaredGordon from the checkerboard. "That's right, that's right!" he ended,as the Colonel complied reluctantly.
"Sock it to the old cuss!" commented Amos. "What I was going to say," heresumed, rolling down the collar of his coat, "was, that when my wifehelped me bundle up t'night, she said I was gitt'n' t' be an oldgranny. We _are_ agin', Judge, the's no denyin' that. We're both gray asNorway rats now. An' speaking of us agin' reminds me,--have y' noticedhow bald the old Kyernel's gitt'n'?"
"I have, Amos," answered the Judge, mournfully. "The old man's head isshowing age, showing age! Getting thin up there, ain't it?"
The old Colonel bent to his work with studied abstraction, and even whenAmos said, judicially, after long scrutiny: "Yes, he'll soon be as baldas a plate," he only lifted one yellow, freckled, bony hand, and brushedhis carroty growth of hair across the spot under discussion. Gordonshook his fat paunch in silent laughter, nearly displacing the board.
"I was just telling Robie," pursued Brown, still retaining hisreminiscent intonation, "that this storm takes the cake overanything"----
At this point Steve Roach and another fellow entered. Steve was Ridings'hired hand, a herculean fellow, with a drawl, and a liability for takingoffense quite as remarkable.
"Say! gents, I'm no spring rooster, but this jest gits away withanything in line of cold _I_ ever see."
While this communication was being received in ruminative silence, Stevewas holding his ears in his hand and gazing at the intent champions atthe board. There they sat; the old Squire panting and wheezing in hisexcitement, for he was planning a great "snap" on the Colonel, whosered and freckled nose almost touched the board. It was a solemn battlehour. The wind howled mournfully outside, the timbers of the storecreaked in the cold, and the huge cannon stove roared in steady bass.
"Speaking about ears," said Steve, after a silence, "dummed if I'd liket' be quite s' bare 'round the ears as Kernel there. I wonder if any o'you fellers has noticed how the ol' feller's lost hair this last summer.He's gittin' bald, they's no coverin' it up--gittin' bald as a plate."
"You're right, Stephen," said the Judge, as he gravely took his standbehind his brother advocate and studied, with the eye of an adept, thefield of battle. "We were noticing it when you came in. It's a sadthing, but it must be admitted."
"It's the Kyernel's brains wearin' up through his hair, I take it,"commented Amos, as he helped himself to a handful of peanuts out of thebag behind the counter. "Say, Steve, did y' stuff up that hole in frontof ol' Barney?"
A shout was heard outside, and then a rush against the door, andimmediately two young fellows burst in, followed by a fierce gust ofsnow. One was Professor Knapp, the other Editor Foster, of the _MorningCall_.
"Well, gents, how's this for high?" said Foster, in a peculiar tone ofvoice, at which all began to smile. He was a slender fellow withclose-clipped, assertive red hair. "In this company we now have themajesty of the law, the power of the press, and the underpinning of theAmerican civilization all represented. Hello! There are a couple of oldroosters with their heads together. Gordon, my old enemy, how are you?"
Gordon waved him off with a smile and a wheeze. "Don't bother me now.I've got 'im. I'm laying f'r the old dog. Whist!"
"Got nothing!" snarled the Colonel. "You try that on if you want to.Just swing that man in there if you think it's healthy for him. Just aslike as not, you'll slip up on that little trick."
"Ha! Say you so, old True Penny? The Kunnel has met a foeman worthy ofhis steel," said Foster, in great glee, as he bent above the Colonel. "Iknow. _How_ do I know, quotha? By the curve on the Kunnel's back. Thesize of the parabola described by that backbone accurately gauges hi
sadversary's skill. But, by the way, gentlemen, have you--but that's anice point, and I refer all nice points to Professor Knapp. Professor,is it in good taste to make remarks concerning the dress or features ofanother?"
"Certainly not," answered Knapp, a handsome young fellow with a yellowmustache.
"Not when the person is an esteemed public character, like the Colonelhere? What I was about to remark, if it had been proper, was that theold fellow is getting wofully bald. He'll soon be bald as an egg."
"Say!" asked the Colonel, "I want to know how long you're going to keepthis thing up? Somebody's dummed sure t' get hurt soon."
"There, there! Colonel," said Brown, soothingly, "don't get excited;you'll lose the rubber. Don't mind 'em. Keep cool."
"Yes, keep cool, Kunnel; it's only our solicitude for your welfare,"chipped in Foster. Then, addressing the crowd in a general sort of way,he speculated: "Curious how a man, a plain American citizen like ColonelPeavy, wins a place in the innermost affections of a whole people."
"That's so!" murmured the rest.
"He can't grow bald without deep sympathy from his fellow-citizens. Itamounts to a public calamity."
The old Colonel glared in speechless wrath.
"Say! gents," pleaded Gordon, "let up on the old man for the present.He's going to need all of himself if he gets out o' the trap he's innow." He waved, his fat hand over the Colonel's head, and smiled blandlyat the crowd hugging the stove.
"My head may be bald," grated the old man with a death's-head grin,indescribably ferocious, "but it's got brains enough in it to skunk anyman in this crowd three games out o' five."
"The ol' man rather gits the laugh on y' there, gents," called Robiefrom the other side of the counter. "I hain't seen the old skeesix playbetter'n he did last night, in years."
"Not since his return from Canada, after the war, I reckon," said Amos,from the kerosene barrel.
"Hold on, Amos," put in the Judge warningly, "that's outlawed. Talkingabout being bald and the war reminds me of the night Walters and I----By the way, where is Walters to-night?"
"Sick," put in the Colonel, straightening up exultantly. "I waxed himthree straight games last night. You won't see him again till spring.Skunked him once, and beat him twice."
"Oh, git out."
"Hear the old seed twitter!"
"Did you ever notice, gentlemen, how lying and baldness go together?"queried Foster, reflectively.
"No! Do they?"
"Invariably. I've known many colossal liars, and they were all as baldas apples."
The Colonel was getting nervous, and was so slow that even Gordon (whocould sit and stare at the board a full half hour without moving) beganto be impatient.
"Come, Colonel, marshal your forces a little more promptly. If you'regoing at me _echelon_, sound y'r bugle; I'm ready."
"Don't worry," answered the Colonel, in his calmest nasal. "I'llaccommodate you with all the fight you want."
"Did it ever occur to you," began the Judge again, addressing the crowdgenerally, as he moved back to the stove and lit another cigar, "did itever occur to you that it is a little singular a man should get bald onthe _top_ of his head first? Curious fact. So accustomed to it we nolonger wonder at it. Now see the Colonel there. Quite a growth of hairon his clapboarding, as it were, but devilish thin on his roof."
Here the Colonel looked up and tried to say something, but the Judgewent on imperturbably:
"Now, I take it that it's strictly providential that a man gets bald ontop of his head first, because, if he _must_ get bald, it is best to getbald where it can be covered up."
"By jinks, that's a fact!" said Foster, in high admiration of theJudge's ratiocination. Steve was specially pleased, and, drawing aneck-yoke from a barrel standing near, pounded the floor vigorously.
"Talking about being bald," put in Foster, "reminds me of a scheme ofmine, which is to send no one out to fight Indians but bald men. Thinkhow powerless they'd be in"----
The talk now drifted off to Indians, politics and religion, edged roundto the war, when the grave Judge began telling Ridings and Robie justhow "Kilpatrick charged along the Granny White Turnpike," and, on asheet of wrapping-paper, was showing where Major John Dilrigg fell. "Iwas on his left, about thirty yards, when I saw him throw up hishand"----
Foster in a low voice was telling something to the Professor and two orthree others, which made them whoop with uncontrollable merriment, whenthe roaring voice of big Sam Walters was heard outside, and a momentlater he rolled into the room, filling it with his noise. Lottridge, thewatchmaker, and Erlberg, the German baker, came in with him.
"_Hello_, hello, _hello_! All here, are yeh?"
"All here waiting for you--and the turnkey," said Foster.
"Well, here I am. Always on hand, like a sore thumb in huskin' season.What's goin' on here? A game, hey? Hello, Gordon, it's you, is it?Colonel, I owe you several for last night. But what the devil yo' gotyour cap on fur, Colonel? Ain't it warm enough here for yeh?"
The desperate Colonel, who had snatched up his cap when he heard Walterscoming, grinned painfully, pulling his straggly red and white beardnervously. The strain was beginning to tell on his iron nerves. Heremoved the cap, and with a few muttered words went back to the game,but there was a dangerous gleam in his fishy blue eyes, and the grizzledtufts of red hair above his eyes lowered threateningly. A man who isgetting swamped in a game of checkers is not in a mood to bearpleasantly any remarks on his bald head.
"Oh! don't take it off, Colonel," went on his tormentor, hospitably."When a man gets as old as you are, he's privileged to wear his cap. Iwonder if any of you fellers have noticed how the Colonel is sheddinghis hair."
The old man leaped up, scattering the men on the checkerboard, whichflew up and struck Squire Gordon in the face, knocking him off hisstool. The old Colonel was ashy pale, and his eyes glared out from underhis huge brow like sapphires lit by flame. His spare form, clothed in aseedy Prince Albert frock, towered with a singular dignity. His featuresworked convulsively a moment, then he burst forth like the explosion ofa safety valve:
"Shuttup, damyeh!"
And then the crowd whooped, roared and rolled on the counters andbarrels, and roared and whooped again. They stamped and yelled, and ranaround like fiends, kicking the boxes and banging the coal scuttle in aperfect pandemonium of mirth, leaving the old man standing therehelpless in his wrath, mad enough to shoot. Steve was just preparing toseize the old man from behind, when Squire Gordon, struggling to hisfeet among the spittoons, cried out, in the voice of a colonel of Fourthof July militia:
"H-O-L-D!"
Silence was restored, and all stood around in expectant attitudes tohear the Squire's explanation. He squared his elbows, shoved up hissleeves, puffed out his fat cheeks, moistened his lips, and beganpompously: "Gentlemen"----
"You've hit it; that's us," said some of the crowd in applause.
"Gentlemen of Rock River, when, in the course of human events, rumor hadblow'd to my ears the history of the checker-playing of Rock River, andwhen I had waxed Cerro Gordo, and Claiborne, and Mower, then, when I sayto my ears was borne the clash of resounding arms in Rock River, theemporium of Rock County, then did I yearn for more worlds to conquer,and behold, I buckled on my armor and I am here."
"Behold, he is here," said Foster, in confirmation of the statement."Good for you, Squire; git breath and go for us some more."
"Hurrah for the Squire," etc.
"I came seekin' whom I might devour, like a raging lion. I sought foemanworthy of my steel. I leaped into the arena and blew my challenge tothe four quarters of Rock"----
"Good f'r you! Settemupagin! Go it, you old balloon," they allapplauded.
"Knowing my prowess, I sought a fair fout and no favors. I met theenemy, and he was mine. Champion after champion went down before melike--went down like--Ahem! went _down_ before me like grass before themighty cyclone of the Andes."
"Listen to the old blowhard," said Steve.
"P
ut him out," said the speaker, imperturbably. "Gentlemen, have I thefloor?"
"You have," replied Brown, "but come to the point. The Colonel isanxious to begin shooting." The Colonel, who began to suspect himselfvictimized, stood wondering what under heaven they were going to donext.
"I am a-gitt'n' there," said the orator with a broad and sunnycondescension. "I found your champions an' laid 'em low. I waxedWalters, and then I tackled the Colonel. I tried the _echelon_, the'general advance,' then the 'give away' and 'flank' movements. But theColonel _was there_! Till this last game it was a fair field and nofavor. And now, gentlemen of Rock, I desire t' state to my deeplyrespected opponent that he is still champion of Rock, and I'm not surebut of Northern Iowa."
"Three cheers for the Kunnel!"
And while they were being given the Colonel's brows relaxed, and thechampion of Cerro Gordo continued earnestly:
"And now I wish to state to Colonel the solemn fact that I had nothingto do with the job put up on him to-night. I scorn to use such means ina battle. Colonel, you may be as bald as an apple, or an egg, yes, or a_plate_, but you can play more checkers than any man I ever met; morecheckers than any other man on God's green footstool. With one single,lone exception--myself."
At this moment, somebody hit the Squire from Cerro Gordo with a decayedapple, and as the crowd shouted and groaned Robie turned down the lightson the tumult. The old Colonel seized the opportunity for putting ahandful of salt down Walters' neck, and slipped out of the door like aghost. As the crowd swarmed out on the icy walk, Editor Foster yelled:
"Gents! let me give you a pointer. Keep your eye peeled for the nextedition of the Rock River _Morning Call_."
And the bitter wind swept away the answering shouts of the pitilessgang.
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