Books: Happy Hawkins
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Robert Alexander Wason >> Happy Hawkins
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"It's 'cause the' 's so many people here," sez I; "that's easy
enough."
"It's 'cause the preachers ain't got the nerve to explain what the
commandments mean," sez he.
It was an awful curious little man, an' I kind o' straightened up
an' give him a searchin' look: "I've met a heap like you," sez I.
"Some folks think that preachers is paid to make the world better,
but they ain't. They're paid so that when a feller's conscience
hurts him he can just lay all the sins of the whole world on the
preachers."
"They deserve 'em," sez the little man. "What does it mean to
steal?"
"Why, any fool knows what stealin' is," sez I. "It's takin'
something that don't belong to you."
"How can you tell what does belong to you," he sez, leanin' forward
as if he was makin' a point.
I looked at him an' saw that he really thought he was talkin' sense,
so I sez: "You go talk to some one else. I'm too sleepy an' I'm too
blame sore to bother with such nonsense."
"It ain't nonsense," sez he. "I'm an edicated man, an' I been
studyin' life ever since I been born. My father was a preacher
across the water, an' I got arrested for stealin' a bottle of
whiskey when I wasn't nothin' but a boy. The whole family was
disgraced on account of me, an' my father told 'em to go ahead an'
give it to me hard. Now I stole that whiskey on a dare, an' I stole
it from a good church member; but all the rest of my life I been
stretchin' that there commandment until I tell you the whole human
race is one set o' thieves."
Well, I was purty sleepy, but the little old man had an eye in him
like a headlight, an' he just made you listen to him. "The' ain't no
sense in your slingin' mud that way," sez I. "The' 's lots of men
'at wouldn't steal, if they had a chance."
"If I ruin my constitution through depravity, is it stealin'?" sez
he.
"No," sez I, "it's darn foolishness."
"It is stealin'," sez he, "just as much as if I help to waste
natural products what can't be replaced--stealin' from the children
of the next generation, an' all the followin' generations."
"What rights have they got?" I sez, losin' my patience. "They ain't
even born yet."
"Did you ever see a baby?" sez he.
"Yes," I sez, "I bet I've seen a dozen of 'em."
"Well," sez he, "was they polite? Did they beg for what they wanted?
Did they have any doubt but that they'd be plenty of everything to
go around?"
"Not them what I saw," sez I. "They'd give one little coo, to see if
any one was handy, an' then they'd holler an' yell an' scold an'
fuss until they got what they wanted."
"Do you suppose if they didn't have any rights they'd have the nerve
to carry on that way?" sez he.
"Rights!" sez I. "They didn't have to have rights--they had
mothers."
Well, that set him back a good ways, an' by the time he had thought
up some new stuff I was asleep; but he shook me awake an' sez, "Of
course the child's mother will do all she can; but supposin' she
ain't got what the child wants--how'll she explain it to him?"
"She won't bother explainin' nothin' to a baby," sez I. "She'll just
send the old man out to get it."
He looked sort o' disgusted like, as if he wasn't used to arguin'
with a man what could handle logic an' make points. "You're just
like the rest," sez he. "What I mean is, that every man who has ever
been on earth is just sort of an overseer for them what is yet to
come. We have the right to use everything we want in the right way,
but we haven't any right to waste it or destroy it, or hog it up so
that all can't enjoy it. Why, when you start to savin' an' draw in
what ought to be circulatin', you steal from them what haven't had
the chance 'at you've had. It's wicked to be thrifty."
"Well, you're the craziest one I've seen yet," sez I, laughin'.
"Why, if you had your way you'd utterly ruin business."
"Business!" he yells, gettin' excited. "Do you know what business
is?"
I thought a moment. "I don't know all the' is to know about it," sez
I, "but I expect to give it a fair good work-out before I'm through
with it."
"Business," he sez, leanin' across the table an' hittin' it with his
finger-nail, "business is simply havin' the laws fixed so you can
steal without havin' to pay any fine. What is business? Ain't it
figgerin' an' schemin' to get away from a man whatever he happens to
have? That's nothin' but stealin'."
"Confound you," sez I, "do you mean to say that just because I'm
goin' to engage in business I'm a thief?"
He looked at me a moment an' then he shook his head. "No," he sez,
"you won't never be that kind, you'll be some other kind; but that's
about all business is--just thievery. Why, I once knew two men 'at
was the best friends 'at ever lived; an' they just ruined their
lives 'cause they couldn't resist the temptation of each tryin' to
grab all. It was over the Creole Belle--" "Yes, but she was a
woman!" I yells, jumpin' to my feet, an' leanin' over the table.
"No, it was a mine," sez he, sittin' still.
"A Creole is a cross-breed woman 'at came from New Orleans," sez I;
"an' when they're good lookin' enough, they call 'em belles."
"Well this here mine 'at I'm goin' to tell you about was called the
Creole Belle," he sez. "For a longtime it didn't pay to amount to
anything, an' then it began to pay; an' the two friends got
covetous, an' first George had Jack killed an' then he gets killed
himself by Jack's--"
"No, he wasn't killed," I snaps in like a blame fool.
The old man looked at me with his little shiny eyes all scrouged up.
"Who wasn't killed?" he sez, slow an' cautious. "Why, George Jordan
wasn't killed," I sez.
"What would a kid like you know about it" sez he.
"Well, I do know 'at he wasn't killed," I sez. "I been workin' for
him; he don't live but a short way from here. Tell the the whole
story. I'll make it worth your while. Come on, what'll you have to
drink?"
He leaned forward with his hand clutchin' at his side, an' his pink
checks gray an' twisted. He coughed a dry, short cough, an' groans
out between his set teeth. "It 's my heart; I got a bum pump. You
tell George Jordan that I never breathed a word of it, but that Jack
Whitman--Oh, my God! Get me a drink of whiskey! Get me a drink of
hell-fire!"
He doubled up, grabbin' an' clawin' at his breast while I jumped to
the bar yellin' for whiskey. I grabbed the bottle an' hustled back
to him, but he was all crumpled up on the floor. We straightened him
out an' rubbed his wrists an' poured whiskey down his throat, an'
after a while he opened his eyes. The minute his senses got back to
him he clutched at his heart again, rollin' an' writhin', an' makin'
noises like a wounded beast. "I knew it would end this way," he
gasped. "I'm goin' out now, but listen to what I say"--he helt his
breath to keep from coughin'--"the' ain't no sin but stealin'. Don't
never take nothin' that don't belong to ya."
All his muscles grew rigid an' twisted, an' then a smile came on his
face an' he sank back. They had the doctor there by that time, but
the' wasn't anything to be done, except to give a big heathen name
to what had been the matter with him. There he lay on the bar-room
floor; the' was filth an' refuse all around him, but the smile on
his face was just plumb satisfied, an' yet it was a knowledgeable
smile too. I could 'a' cried when I thought that this man, who could
have told little Barbie what she wanted to know, had wasted all that
time tryin' to convince me that business an' stealin' was all one.
What he knew wouldn't do him a mite o' good, wherever he was; an'
yet the' wasn't any way on earth to bring him back long enough to
have him tell it.
They told me his name was Sandy Fergoson, an' that he was harmless
crazy. He used to float around doin' odd jobs an' talkin' nonsense
about stealin'; but nobody knew where he had come from, so I chipped
in a little something to help bury him, an' gave up the rest of my
money for a ticket to Frisco.
I didn't enjoy that trip to Frisco; business didn't seem so
attractive when you once set out to find her, an' then again, I was
broke. I don't mind bein' broke when I 'm on the range 'cause a
feller can pick up a job anywhere; but I wasn't city-wise, an' I
didn't know how long it would take me to track down the kind o'
business I wanted to engage in.
I suppose cities must suit some folks, or they wouldn't keep on
livin' in 'em; but cities sure don't suit me. I allus had a kind of
an idea from what Slocum had told me that I'd enjoy the bankin'
business, so I applied to the banks first. They're a blame offish
set, bankers. They didn't laugh at me,--leastwise not until after
I'd gone out,--but they didn't offer much encouragement. I tramped
around that city for four days, an' by the time I finally got
located in business my appetite was tearin' around inside my empty
body till I couldn't sleep nights. Oh, it was not joyful! I had
taken the position of porter in a mammoth big drygoods store, an' I
was some glad when noon arrived; but no one called me to partake of
dinner, so I went up to a young lad, an' sez, "Where do they spread
it?"
"Spread what?" sez he.
"Dinner," sez I.
"I bring mine with me," sez he.
"Is the grub that rotten?" sez I.
"What grub?" sez he. "You surely don't think they serve meals here,
do you?"
"Do you mean to tell me that I got to find myself, out of forty a
month?" sez I.
He started to make up a joke, but I looked too famished to trifle
with; so he explained to me that all we got was wages, an' we
couldn't even sleep in the store. I was gettin' purty disgusted with
business, but he told me that the man what owned the whole store had
started in as a porter; so I went back an' portered harder than ever
that afternoon, wonderin' what in thunder kind of a man it was who
could save enough out of a porter's wages to buy a store like that.
I was dressed some different from the rest o' the folks around
there, so I attracted a lot of attention, an' the' wasn't much I did
that wasn't enjoyed by more or less of a crowd. When quittin' time
came I hustled up to the feller what had hired me an' told him I'd
like to have my day's pay. "We don't pay until Saturday night," sez
he, hustlin' out o' the store. I stood on the sidewalk thinkin'; an'
what I was thinkin' of, was the nonsense 'at Sandy Fergoson had been
talkin'. It didn't sound so foolish now.
The' was a little restaurant across the street, an' the owner of it
had noticed me washin' the windows--he had seemed to enjoy it too. I
went over an' told him that I would like to board with him if he
would make me rates. He sized me up an' sez he would board me for
six dollars a week. I didn't see how I could save enough to buy a
store out of four dollars a week, an' after I got tired o' seein'
the sights I'd have to rent a bed somewheres too; but what I needed
then was food, so I agreed.
I sat down an' begun to eat slow, 'cause it's always best to warm up
careful on a long job. I et away peaceful an' contented until I got
good an' used to it again, an' then I kept the waiters hoppin' purty
lively. The proprietor took a deep interest in me, an' dodged around
so he could have an unobstructed view; while the rest of the guests
got to noticin' too, an' when they'd finish they'd just stick around
an' keep cases, until after a while things began to jam, an' every
time I'd order in some new food they'd make bets on whether I'd be
able to finish it or not. When I finally quit, the proprietor came
up to me on a run an' sez, "Are you sure you have had all you wish?"
"Yes," I sez, "an' I ain't no fault to find with the cookin'
either."
He eyed me all over, an' then he drew me to one side. "I don't want
to go back on my word," sez he, "an' I don't intend to charge you a
cent for this meal; but Great Scott, man, I wouldn't board you for
six dollars a day, let alone six dollars a week."
I didn't intend to let him know that I was stone broke, 'cause it
didn't seem the thing in a business man; but I did tell him that I
hardly ever et quite so much as I had that night. Still, he wouldn't
take any chances, so I took my blankets an' went on. I was purty
sleepy after my meal, an' it was just all I could do to stagger up
an' down the hills, before I found a place to flop in. It was under
a little tree in a big yard, an' I got out at sun-up 'cause I didn't
want any one to see a business man occupyin' such quarters as that.
I didn't miss breakfast much that day, an' I went about my work
singin' an' whistlin'. Just before noon I found a hundred dollars on
the floor close to the door.
I asked every one around if they had lost any money, an' most of 'em
said no, an' them what bad lost any--an' the' was a purty high
average that mornin'--had all lost the wrong amount, or else it was
in a different kind of a sack; so I knocked off at noon, went to a
new restaurant, an' et a fair meal, which they charged me one dollar
for. I thought that was goin' a little stout for a porter, but I
knew I'd find a place where I could live on my income as soon as I
got better acquainted, an' I was purty light-hearted when I got back
that noon.
"You're nineteen minutes late," sez the floor boss.
"Is that so; what's happened?" sez I, pleasantly.
"You are not supposed to take more than an hour for lunch," sez he.
"Well, you can just take the nineteen minutes out of the time I
saved up yesterday," sez I.
"You must understand right at the start that business depends on
method," sez he, sour like. "Mr. Hailsworth wishes to see you at
once."
Hailsworth was the capital letter o' that outfit, an' I was glad o'
the chance to see him, 'cause the' was some several changes I wanted
to make in the porterin' department. I follered the floor boss
upstairs an' back to a private room, where a little wizen-faced old
man sat up an' looked at me over his spectacles. "I understand you
found some money?" sez he.
"I did," sez I. "Do you know who lost it?"
"Well, no, not yet," sez he; "but of course you understand that any
money that is found in this building belongs to the firm, unless its
rightful owner claims it."
"Well that's a new wrinkle" sez I. "Why don't it belong to me?"
"'Cause you have hired your time to me, an' whatever you find here
you find in my time, so it's mine. This is the law, an' I am very
busy. Just hand it over at once."
"That ain't right," sez I, "an' I don't intend to hand over a nickle
of it."
"Then we'll have to arrest you," sez he. I put my hand down to my
leg, but both my guns was rolled up in my blankets. "I'm goin' out
to see a lawyer," sez I, thinkin' that would be more business-like
than to tell him I 'd blow the top of his head off. The' was lots
more things I wanted to tell him, but it took most o' my strength to
manage my self-control; an' I allus like to have good footin' when I
make my spring. I didn't feel at home, either, an' that's a heap. It
kind o' got on my nerves to see that little shrimp squattin' there
behind his spectacles an' tellin' me what I had to do, the same as
if I was a hoss. I turned on my heel and strode out o' that store
head up an' I was some glad that Hammy had taught me what strodin'
was, 'cause the rest o' the gang opened up a path you could 'a'
drove a street-sprinkler through.
I didn't like the looks o' that lawyer, he reminded me of a rat. I
don't care much for the law anyhow. All the law is fit for is to
take care o' the weak an' the ignorant--an' they can't afford it.
I've noticed that much, the little time I've been penned up in
cities. This lawyer o' mine had full command o' the kind o' talk
that bottles up a man an' keeps him from expressin' himself. He said
I had a good case an' that he would save me my findin's, but that I
had to give him half of it for his services--in advance. If you
don't tell a lawyer the truth he can't fight your case; an' if you
do you put yourself in his power. Course I don't claim to be
authority, but I just actually don't like the law.
When I came away from the law office, a nice friendly feller got
into conversation with me, an' after I'd bought him a couple o'
drinks, he grew confidential an' told me his troubles. He was owner
of a whole block of buildin's an' a lot o' residence houses, but he
was stone broke. He had had a quarrel with the banks, an' couldn't
raise a penny, an' he had lost ten thousand dollars the night
before, gamblin'. He said it would take forty dollars for him to go
to Los Angeles, where he had friends who would lend him any amount.
Otherwise they would foreclose the little mortgage he had on the
business block.
He talked along until I couldn't stand it any longer, so I give him
the forty on the condition that I was to be his collecting agent at
wages of two hundred a month, as soon as he got back from Los
Angeles.
I went down to the station with him and then I hunted up a place
where I took board and lodging for a week at six dollars in advance.
This left me purt' nigh two dollars to go on until the real estate
owner got back. I called around at my lawyer's every day, an' he
told me just to lay low an' he'd keep me out o' trouble. Then the
sixth day passed without the real estate owner I told the lawyer
about it an' asked him if he thought anything might have happened.
He got awful mad an' said he'd ought to be kicked for not chargin'
me ninety-five dollars for his services in the first place; an' by
Jinks that was the truth: that rascally real-estate owner wasn't
nothing but a flim-flammer.
At first I couldn't believe that the block he had showed me over
didn't belong to him; but when I did I was ready to wreak vengeance.
The lawyer said that wreakin' vengeance wasn't a thing that paid in
city life, but that if I ever met up with that flim-flammer I could
scare a lot of money out of him. My lawyer was a purty good sort of
a feller, after all, an' he gave me a lot of high-class advice. He
told me that it might be years before my case came up, an' that the'
wasn't any use of me waitin' around for it. Then he talked about
business, an' he an' Sandy Fergoson had about the same ideas of it,
though they used different words. He told me that it was all right
for a boy to start in in some old business an' learn the trade, but
that the thing for a man to do was to get a start in a smaller town,
an' then after he'd learned the ropes to come to the big town an'
cut things wide open.
The more I thought over this the better it looked to me; but I
hardly knew where to start in. Then the thought struck me that about
the best business move I could make was to go to Los Angeles an'
scare enough money out of the flim-flammer to give me a good start
in some little business of my own. My board bein' out an' my cash
bein' likewise, I had to travel on foot; but as my back was pointed
toward Frisco, I didn't mind that much.
I trudged along for several days, an' the' was enough people along
the line to welcome me to my meals, so I begun to get more resigned
to bein' a human again. The farther I got from Frisco the nearer I
got to Los Angeles, an' though I was some anxious to meet up with
the flim-flammer, I finally began to doubt if he was worth the
bother, an' besides, he might not be there anyway.
I was beginnin' to get good an' sick of business; an' I was more
than convinced that gettin' a feller's own consent to engage in it
wasn't the hardest step he'd ever have to take. Wayside friends was
beginnin' to get mighty scarce, an' I was feelin' lonesome above the
average one mornin', when I came to a pause in front of one o' these
little six-acre ranches where they raise lawn grass an' fresh air.
It was a purty, restful sort of a place, with a double row of trees
leadin' up to the house, an' somethin' seemed to be drawin' me in at
the front gate, although I couldn't smell any food cookin', either.
I only waited about a minute, an' then I followed the draw.
I'm a firm believer in Fate. Fate is a funny word: leave the first
letter off, an' it 's the cause; leave the last letter off, an' it's
the result. Barbie found this out one night when we was discussin'
Fate. But I mean the sober side o' Fate, when I say I believe in it.
A train starts out o' New York city just the same time that a fool
cow puncher ropes a pony so he can ride to town for a big time. The
puncher reaches the washed-out railroad bridge five minutes before
the train--what do you call that?
I was thinkin' o' these things while I was walkin' up the drive-way;
an' when I raised up my hand to knock, I felt just as if I'd been
sent for.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE CHINESE QUESTION
It happened just like I thought it would. I hadn't more than struck
the fourth or fifth tap before the door was opened by the finest
little woman you ever saw. She had a worried lock on her face, but
when she saw me the clouds rolled away an' she smiled clear into my
heart. She was a real lady--it stuck out all over her, like a keep-
off-the-grass sign.
"Are you the man?" sez she.
"Well, I'm one of 'em," sez I.
"You know I sent clear to San Francisco for a man," sez she, "an' I
suppose you're the man."
"To tell you the honest truth," sez I, "I was so preoccupied in
Frisco that I clean forgot to stop around for my mail, but as long
as we're conversin' on this subject, I'll just be bold enough to say
'at I'll take the job, without askin' what it is."
"Have you had a wide experience?" sez she.
"Wide?" sez I. "Wide, only just begins to give you a hint at it. I
ain't filled with the lust of vanity, nor I ain't overly much given
to tootin' my own horn; but in my humble an' modest way I guarantee
to be able to do anything on this good, green earth 'at don't
require a book edication."
"Can I trust you?" sez she, lookin' into my face mighty searchin'.
"If you sell me anything," sez I, smilin' as near like a baby as I
could, "you'll have to trust me, 'cause I'm dead broke." She just
stood an' looked in through my face; an' I tell ya, boys, I was
mighty glad that in all this rip-snortin' world the' wasn't one
single woman who could rise up an' say that I hadn't played fair.
She kept on lookin' into me, until I knew she was readin' everything
I had ever done or said or thought, an' the sweat was tricklin' down
my back like meltin' snow.
"Yes," she sez finally, "I can trust you."
"Don't you never doubt it," sez I. "All you need to do is to issue
the orders, an' if I don't carry 'em out, why, just tell the folks
not to send flowers. I ain't long on talk, but I'll agree to carry
out any plan you've got, from ditchin' a limited to shootin' up a
Methodist Church. That's me," sez I, "an' now let's have the news."
Talk about bein' surprised! I thought she had a fence war on her
hands at the least; but what she wanted me to do was to take care of
a gentle old pair o' hosses, milk a cow, tend a garden, cut the
grass, an' help around the house. By the time she finished the
program, I felt like a fightin' bulldog when a week-old kitten spits
at him. Here I was, willin' to leave my hide tacked up on her barn,
an' all she wanted was a kind of lady-gardener. I just sort o'
wilted down on the steps, an' I must 'a' turned pale, 'cause she
said to me, "Why, you must be hungry. Haven't you had your
breakfast?"
"Oh, yes," sez I, "day before yesterday."
Then she begun to rustle about an' fix me up a snack, an' I was glad
I had followed the finger o' Fate. The bill o' fare seemed
altogether adapted to my disposition.
While I was fillin' up the chinks an' crevices, she dealt out a
varigated assortment of facts. It seemed they lived there on account
o' the health o' the baby. Her husband had had to go East, an' would
be there some six weeks longer. When he had left, she had an Irish
cook, an' a Chinaman as polite as an insurance agent; but as soon as
he was gone, the Chink began to take liberties, the cook packed up
her brogue an' headed for an inhabited community, an' then the Chink
concluded that all he saw was his'n. She finally took a brace a'
told him to hit the trail, an' he had gone off, vowin' to come back
an' burn down the whole place. This was her first year there, an'
the closest neighbor was seven miles across country, an' not well
acquainted.
She expected her cousin in a week or so, but as it was, she was
beginnin' to have trouble with her nerves. Then I was glad that I
had made her my little openin' address, 'cause she had joyfulled up
like a desert poney when he smells water.
Well, I put in a rich an' useful day, as the preacher sez. First, I
rode one o' the veterans over to the station about ten miles away,
an telegraphed the other man not to bother; then I came back an' wed
the onions, washed the dishes, ran the washin' machine--say, I was
bein' entertained all right, but every minute I felt like reachin'
to see if my back hair wasn't comin' down.
Me an' the cow had the time of our life that night. She had missed a
couple o' milkin's, an' didn't seem to care much about resumin'
payment; so I finally had to rope an' tie her, an' milk up hill into
a fruit-jar. Talk about bein' handy? I didn't know but what next day
I'd be doin' some plain sewin', or tuckin' the crust around a
vinegar pie.
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