Puck — March 1877 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

We saw him enter the mysterious chamber, and heard him lock himself in. “Mrs, Gruesome,” said I, ‘we will go to bed. He, poor fellow, is harmless, but to-mor- row I will see the agent, who must provide a keeper. I do not want Mr. Briareus removed until I have heard his stories. It will save my eyesight, not reading at night. Good night, Janet. Say nothing of this to the servants, and do not be afraid. He is quite a gentleman, and harmless.” .I retired to my apartment, double-locked the door,,and barricaded it, in case of acci- dents, Next morning I arose late, and descended to breakfast, which ought to have been ready at least an hour earlier. Judge my astonishment at finding the room in confusion, and Janet Gruesome in even greater confusion than the apartment. “‘He has gone, sir!” she cried, as I entered the parlor. “Who has gone?" I demanded. “The mad gentleman, He must have left the house in the middle of the night.” “Well, well,” I replied, ‘‘ perhaps it is better so. He was a nuisance. If he has drowned himself, it is no fault of ours: we were not his keepers; so let me have breakfast. Get the tea and coffee service my uncle left me.” “Your uncle left them, sir, but the mad gentleman didn’t,” sobbed Janet; ‘he’s taken ‘em, sir, and the silver spirit-stand as well.” “What ! taken my silver service?” “Yes, sir; and every other piece of silver, dnd all the jewelry he could find, as well —_" I could hear no more, but, rushing to the house agent, told him all about it. “You have been doné,” he said, quietly; “there never was a Mr. Briareus Balcombe. The room only contained pictures and some old furniture of no particular value, but favor- ites of Mr. Balcombe, so he locks them up. Come to the police." He hurried me off to the police inspector, to whom I related this sad history. “That's Solemn Smith's work, for a wager,” cried the inspector, laughing. “T heard he had been in this neighborhood. Deuced clever fellow; cotld have made a fortune on the stage if he liked. No doubt he found out all about the room, and also heard—asking your pardon, sir--that you had queer crotchets, so got into the house when it was empty, picked the lock of the room, and played the madman, I know him, sir, and will be after him.” ‘This was four years ago. And the police are after my Mad Tenant still. Axrrep R, PHILLIPS. THE FIRST MAN. Tre Sun contained the following story last week. Its quaintness charmed Puck to such an extent, that he republishes it. Some repairs were needed to the engine when the train reached Reno, and while most of the passengers were taking a philosophical view of the delay, and making themselves as comfortable as possible in the depot, in walked a native. He wasn’t a native Indian, nor a native grizzly, but native Nevadian, and he was ragged out in imperial style. He wore a bearskin-coat and cap, buckskin leggins and moccasins, and in his bele was a big knife and two revolvers. There was lightning in his eye, destruction in his walk, and as he sauntered up to the red-hot stove and scattered tobacco-juice over it, a dozen passengers looked pale with fear. Among the travelers was a car-painter from Jersey City, and after surveying the native for a moment, he coolly inquired: “Aren't you afraid you'll fall down and hurt yourself with those weapons?” PUCK. “‘W—what!"" gasped the native, in astonish- ment. : “I suppose ‘they sell such outfits as you've got on at auction out here, don’t they?” con- tinued the painter. “W—what d’ye mean—who ar’ ye?” whis- pered the native, as he walked around the stove and put on a terrible look. “My name is Logwood,” was the calm reply, “and I mean that, if I were you, I'd crawl out of those old duds, and put on some decent clothes!” “Don’t talk that way to me, or you won't live a minit! exclaimed the native as he hopped around, ‘Why, you homesick coyote, I'm Grizzly Dan, the heaviest Indian fighter in the world! I was the first white man to scout for Gen, Crook! I was the first white man in the Black Hilis!’ I was the first white man among the Modocs!”” is “I don’t believe it!” flatly replied the painter. “You look more like the first white man down to the dinner-table!” The native drew his knife, put it back again, looked around, and then softly asked: “Stranger, will ye come over behind the ridge, and shoot and slash till this thing is settled ?” “You bet I will!” replied the man from Jer- sey, as he rose up. “Just pace right out and T'll follow!” Every man in the room jumped to his feet in wild excitement, The native started for the back-door, but when he found the car-painter at his heels, with a six-barreled Colt in his hand, he halted and said: “Friend, come to think of it; I don’t want to kill you and. have your widow come on me for damages.” “Go right ahead—I'm not a married man!” replied the painter. “But you've got relatives, and I don’t want no law suits to bother me just as spring is coming.” “I'm'an orphan, without a relative in the world!” shouted the Jerseyite. “Well, the law will make me bury you, and it would be a week’s work to dig a grave at this season of the year. I think I'll break a rib or two for you, smash your nose, gouge out your left eye, and let it go at that!” “That suits me to a dot!” said the painter. “Gentlemen, please stand back, and some of you shut the door to the ladies’ room!” “T was the first man to attack a grizzly bear with the bowie-knife!” remarked the native as he looked around. ‘I was the first man to discover silver in Nevada. I made the first scout up Powder river. 1 was the first man to make hunting-shirts out of the skins of Pawnee Indians. I don’t want to hurt this man, as he seems kinder sad and down-hearted, but he must apologize to me.” “T won't do it!” cried the painter. “Gentlemen, I never fight without taking off my coat, and I don’t see any najl here to hang it on,” said the native. “T'll hold it—I'll hold it!” shouted a dozen voices in chorus. “And another thing,” softly continued the native, “I never fight in a hot room. I used to do it years ago, but I found it was running me into the consumption. I always do my fighting out-doors now.”” * “T'll go out with you, you old rabbit-killer !” exclaimed the painter, who had his coat off. “That's another deadly insult, to be wiped out in blood, and I see I must finish you. I never fight around a depot, though, I go out on the’ prairie, where there is a chance to throw myself.”” “Where is your prairie? lead the way !” howled the crowd. “It wouldn’t do any good,” replied the native, as he leaned against the wall. ‘I al- ways hold a ten-dollar gold piece in my mouth when I fight, and I haven't got one to-day—in fact, I'm dead-broke.”” “Here's a gold piece!’ called a tall man, holding up the metal. “T'ma thousand times obleeged,” mournfully replied the native, shaking his head. “TI never 0 intoa fight without putting red paint on my left ear for luck; and Ihaven’t any red paint by me, and there isn’t a bit in Reno.” “ Are—you—going—to—fight ?”” demanded the car-painter, reaching out for the bear-skin cap. . “T took a solemn oath when a boy never to fight without painting my left ear,” protested the Indian-killer. ‘You wouldn't want me to go back on my solemn oath, would you?” “You're a cabbage, a squash, a pumpkin dressed up in leggings |” contemptuously re- marked the car-painter, as he put on his coat. “Yes, he’s a great coward!” remarked several others, as they turned away. “Tl give ten thousand dollars for ten drops of red paint!” shrieked the native. ‘“ Oh! why is it that I have no paint for my ear when here is such a chance to go in and kill!” A big blacksmith from Illinois took him by the neck and run him out, and he was seen no more for an hour. Just before the train started, and after all the passengers had taken seats, the “first man” was'seen on the platform.. He had another bowie-knife, and had also put a toma- hawk in his belt. ‘There was red paint on his left ear, his eyes rolled, and, in a terrible voice, he called out : “Where is that man Logwood? Let him come out here and meet his doom !” “Ts that you? Count me in!” replied the car- painter, as he opened a window. He rushed for the door, leaped down, and was pulling off his overcoat again, when the native began to retreat, calling out: “Til get my hair cut and be back here in seventeen seconds. I never fight with long hair. I promised my dying mother not to.” When the train rolled away he was seen flour- ishing his tomahawk around his head in the wildest manner, PATRIOTIC. A suBscrIBER down in the country writes to inquire “why George Washington’s birthday was not more generally observed?” Well, we can’t say, we are sure. We presume it was ob- served with as much form and ceremohy as Mr. and Mrs. Washington are able to expend upon a boy’s birthday party. We never interfere in family affairs, especially when, as in the present instance, we are wholly unacquainted with the parties mentioned. If the Washing- tons are neighbors of our correspondent, he will probably be able to find out more about it by personal inquiry than he can by writing to us. ‘They may be, and probably are, very ex- cellent people, but we never heard of them be- fore, didn’t know they had a son, didn’t know when his birthday was, nor, in fact, that they were married.— Burlington Hawkeye, RATHER A Poser.—A Dublin magistrate, re- cently censuring some boys for loitering in the | thoroughfares, asked, “If everybody were to stand in the streets, how could anybody get by?” A whole division of police has been’ thinking the matter over, but up to the present time has not found an answer.—/udy. AnoTHER VictiM.—A bi-weekly journal hms been produced in Paris called Zhe Grenouille— The Frog. One need not bea prophet to an- nounce that, like a good many of its London contemporaries, this new paper will speedily | croak.—Jwdy.