Life — June 28, 1883 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- LIFE: 1000 Ib. weight and trifled with it as easily as a boy with a base-ball. Pitching it to the ceiling in a grace- ful curve, he caught it nimbly on the back of his neck, and then went through all the tricks common to can- non-ball tossers. He then assured me that he was out of politics altogether. At this moment a liveried servant brought up a card. It read : | Jokn L. Sullivan, “Ah! one of my dearest friends! Show him up,” said Mr. Tilden, a rare twinkle agitating his left eye. Mr. Sullivan entered, and immediately stripped fora friendly contest with the sage. The servant and I pro- vided ourselves with sponges and fans, and then called “Time.” With a movement so quick that no eye could follow it, Mr. Tilden’s left duke shot out, caught Mr. Sullivan on the brisket and sent him whirling to the extreme end of the room, where the well trained servant immediately threw up the sponge. Medical attendance was then summoned, and in a few hours Mr. Sullivan regained consciousness and was pro- nounced out of immediate danger. Meanwhile Mr. Tilden convinced me that he had no inténtion what- ever of allowing his name to be used in-the coming campaign. I now descended to the lawn by the staircase, while Mr. Tilden slid down the lightning rod and leapt lightly over the paling to join me. For several minutes " he stood gazing gazing southward as in pleasant con- templation. I asked him what he was looking at. Just then I heard a terrific bellow and turning saw a large Durham bull pawing the earth not 100 yards away, maddened by the sight of my inflamed bandana, which I had left incautiously hanging out of my coat- tail pocket. I called Mr. Tilden’s attention. The great man only smiled. “The bull is not afraid of us,’*he said, 311 winking at me seventeen consecutive times in his light-hearted way. “T know he isn’t,” said 1; but don’t you think he would be more comfortable if we were on the other side of that fence?” Mr. Tilden laughed merrily. “We have both been on the other side of the fence too often,” said he. I admitted the fact, but begged him for the sake of old times just to try it once more for luck. Meanwhile the bull was foaming at the mouth and carrying on with shameful violence. “T shall not stir,” said Mr. Tilden with a dry smile, chewing a straw which he had plucked from my Mackinaw. “Nothing — can move me, once I_ make up my mind.” “ But suppose,” I suggested, “the bull makes up his.” “That is the bull’s lookout,” he replied, a slightly incredu- lous expression stealing into his off eye. Just then the bull gave a terri- fic roar, and I spied a_ lovely rose on the other side of the fence, which I desired to get. I moved in direction of the rose, and he moved in mine. The fence being somewhat high, the bull courteously assisted me over, and I secured the rose as I came down. I am certain that Mr. Tilden could not be urged into public life again. When I recovered consciousness, Mr. Tilden waved me a courtly salutation and then, seeing I was some- what averse to annoying the bull by invading his pas- ture again, he caught up that angered pet, twirled him lightly by the tail and swung him over the Hudson into New Jersey. I was then certain that no thought of public honcrs ever crossed his mind. When I again clambered over the fence, Mr. Tilden was gazing Southward as before. I strained my sight, but could see nothing but the tame Yonkers horizon. “What are you looking at ?” said I. “Can't you see it?” said he. “Blessed if I can,” said I. The well trained servant brought me a powerful tel- escope. “Now,” said Mr. Tilden. comicbooks.com