Puck — December 24, 1879 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

684 PUCK. _A CHRISTMAS CARRYALL. BOOM ONE. THE SPIRIT OF THE BOTTLE BLACK, soi OLONEY was drunk! No one with a M nose on his face could have had a doubt of that fact. In other words, Moloney smelled of rum in a way not to be mistaken! Charitably inclined people might suggest that Moloney was merely “full” or “half seas over,” but they would be mistaken. Moloney was drunk. Nota doubt of that. Moloney was as drunk as a‘ biled owl.” It was Christmas Eve! All over the city, in the modest beer-saloons of the east side, and in the gilded gin-palaces of Broadway, the boys were raffling for turkeys. Moloney had intended to raffle for turkeys on that Christmas eve, but he had started on the business too early in the day. At twoo'clock he had started out to find a matinée raffle. He had visited 20 saloons in search of such a performance, but had failed miserably in finding what he sought, However, he had felt bound, at each of those saloons, to interview the spirit of the bottle black, vulgarly called whiskey. When Molo- ney staggered, at about half-past seven, into Sandy Smith’s Snuggery, he was decidedly how-come-you-so, and though Moloney could not have told how he came so, yet somehow he felt that the spirit of the bottle black had possession of him, ; Moloney sat down near the stove in the Snuggery, and managed somehow to dispose of three or four drinks before the raffle com- menced. When the raffie did commence, Mo- loney was nodding, but the noise made by the rafflers half aroused him; and he began to shout and make objectionable noises, until finally, after endeavoring to hurrah and suc- cceding in uttering a series of hics, he fell out of his chair flat on the floor. BOOM TWO. THE SPIRIT OF THE HELPING HAND, Behind the bar at the Snuggery stood a tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed, hard-featured man, All day long he stood there in his shirt- sleeves helping those who were athirst to drinks. 'Twas Mike, the spirit of the helping hand. Never had he been known to object to helping a thirsting soul to a beverage, if the thirsty soul had the wherewithal to pay for his drink. Sometimes, when a person, whose drinkitite did not bear a proper relation to his pocketbook, would delude Mike into helping him to a drink he could not pay for, the spirit of the helping hand would be somewhat over-liberal in helping such a person to a dose of his hand in a clasped position. Usually, however, he was mild- ness personified, Sandy Smith had been over seeing the raffles, while the spirit of the helping hand dealt out the beer; but Sandy had been an- noyed by the interruptions of Moloney. As Moloney slipped on the floor, Sandy looked at the fel- low with an expression of disgust on his face. “Mike!” said Sandy, turning to his bar-keeper. The spirit of the helping hand turned his eyes on his employer. ‘Bounce him!” said Sandy, nodding his head towards Moloney. The spirit of the helping hand came out from behind the bar, moved swiftly to the stove, took hold of Moloney’s coat-collar, and dragged Moloney towards the MisTRESS— Au “1 door. Moloney struggled some, but when the spirit of the helping hand had opened the door, he gave Moloney a helping kick, and Moloney gracefully settled down on the side- walk in a heap to enjoy a Christmas Eve snooze. BOOM THREE. THE SPIRIT OF 1HE LOCUST BRANCH. Scarcely had Moloney decently composed his limbs in his new resting-place, when Police- man Z, sauntered up. Policeman Z. is the well known masher of Seventh Avenue, and whenever he is on the beat, the heart of every *cook in the neighborhood is on the beat also. Policeman Z, was sauntering along with his eye fixed on Mary Ann Magee, who was hanging out of a third story window, when he suddenly stumbled over Moloney’s prostrate form, and fell flat in the gutter. Policeman Z. was en- raged. Not only had his dignity been com- promised, but Mary Ann Magee had laughed at him. Policeman Z. swore roundly as he rose to his feet, and then, with his locust, soundly whacked Moloney. Poor Moloney, who probably was dreaming of raffles in which he threw sixes every time, sbegan to mumble somewhat incoherently when thus summarily beaten. “What!” cried Policeman Z, as he again beat the drunken man, “‘ You'll talk back to me, will you?” “ Hic—hic—hic!" rumbled Moloney. “T'll take you in,” cried Policeman Z, as he seized Moloney by the neck and dragged him to a half erect position. “ Stand up, you drunken loafer!" cried Po- liceman Z., and he used his locust freely about Moloney’s body. Moloney lurched towards the policeman. “What!” cried Policeman Z. “ Resist the police, will you?” Then he used his locust freely about Molo- ney’s head, until he sank with a bleeding skull to the ground. Policeman Z. rapped on the pavement, and another spirit of the locust branch came up. Together they carried poor Moloney to a dungeon cell and left him there. BOOM FOUR. THE SPIRIT OF THE BALANCED SCALES. Christmas morning! What a clear, bright, sunshiny morning it was! Just as good a day, too, as any other day in the year for sending to jail those poor devils who have broken the A MUTUAL WATCH; oR, WHAT NEITHER COULD SEE. “<I wish I could see if she’s stealing I could see if she's look law. ‘Twas Christmas morning even in the Tombs, and many a poor sinner hoped he might get a lighter sentence that day because it was Christmas morning. Into the Tombs police court tntered a short, fat man, who looked ds if he had dccidedly more abdomen than brains. He was the Justice, the spirit of the balanced scales. “Merry Christmas, gentlemen!” said the | Justice, rubbing his hands and looking cheer- fully at the court officers. « Merry Christmas, your Honor!” came from all sides, as the Justice, with his face wreathed in smiles, took his seat on the bench, “Many plums in our Christmas pudding, Sergeant ?” asked the Justice facetiously. “Quite a batch, your Honor,” said the of- ficer, “Bring them in,” said the Justice, “as quick as you can,” They were brought in, and a sorry looking set they were. However the Judge found some- thing funny in their appearance; and his hu- morous remarks about the poor devils were funny enough to excite the laughter of the court attendants, As the Justice was anxious to get away, he disposed of the culprits rapidly. Presently Moloney was pushed forward. He was not yet entirely sober, and his brain was still in a mud- dled condition from the blows of the locust. “ What's the charge, officer?” asked the spirit of the balanced scales, in his usual rapid manner, Policeman Z, rattled off the complaint in a glib manner. “Hum!” said the spirit of the balanced scales. “ Drunk, disorderly and resisting the officer,eh? Young man,” he continued, turn- ing to Maloney, “ it’s evident you want some- thing appropriate to the season; you want a Christmas present. Such a nice young man as you are ought to have a Christmas present, and I am going to give you one. I give you ten days on Blackwell's Island for your Christmas present, young man.” Of course the court attendants laughed, and Moloney was led back to his cell. BOOM FIVE. THE END OF IT, It was still early in the day when the Christ- mas carryall, which belonged to the city, rolled up to the door of the Tombs. ‘This carryall is better known as the Black Maria, Moloney was led out and placed therein, As the carryall rolled up Broadway, on its way to the Is- land, Moloney gazed out of the barred window upon the bright . sky. It was a glorious day, clear, bright, stirring, cold. Mvloney heaved a sigh. “Christmas morning,” murmur- ed he, “and I was going to have such a good time with the boys. Paid my entrance fee to the target company, too. I didn’t expect to find myself in this carryall till to- morrow morning. I'll never get full on Christmas Eve again.” Moloney lived many years, but he kept his word; he never again was drunk on Christmas Eve. He always thereafter waited to get full till Christmas Day, and he never thereafter was placed in the carryall till the morning of De- cember 26th. May that be truly said of us and all of us, and may the spirit of the balanced scales not give us too many Christmas