Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 107: what you’re looking at

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

RESURRECTING Mr. Fatty Trigg guffawed aloud but good-humoredly, as a banker might laugh at a poet. ‘““You’re a funny man, Slim. I don’t see nothin’ funny about life. Me, I’m used to it.” III. EvERY dog must have his day, and they say that even a puppy should have an hour. The day of Bill Thompson and his friend Tom Trigg was sweet while it lasted, and they never once dreamed but it would last forever. But all days, whether they be crowded with funerals or picnics, are followed by nights; and the night of the two watchmen was drawing near. One evening Fatty Trigg came in with the information that the new bank was “busted.” The news, so terrifying to many, did not disturb his or Slim’s equanimity. They had no money to lose, and a crash of all the banks in the world would not affect them. Nor were they agitated over the closing down of the other industries. So long as the foundry and the cooperage ran, and they received their two dollars per, with free fowl, eggs, and whisky, they had no kick at the world. After a few weeks their wages were cut to one dollar a night. Both men were in- dignant. Shm proposed to strike. ‘'You’re a fool, Slim,” spat out his prac- tical friend. “It’s outrageous, but they got us. If we strike, the’s a hunnerd men ready an’ waitin’ to step in our shoes.” They grumbled about the cut and com- plained not a little of the scarcity of whisky. Still they remained. The mines, the rolling mill, the brick plant, and most of the other industries had closéd down. On every side were beginning to appear scenes of desolation. And not only in Nebo City: the whole country was facing the greatest financial panic in its history. There were no more dances in Nebo City —there were hardly enough people left to dance. Whisky no longer came in barrels, but in short pints. Men who had held 7 ARGOsY ALABAMA SLIM. 97 steady positions at big wages were begin- ning to look for odd jobs at any sort of price. The two remaining industries cut down their force to half; and the fortunate work- men were nervous and constrained, as men are who stand on uncertain gtounds. The cooperage company closed down in July. Fatty Trigg denounced the manage- ment roundly, but he made the best of the situation by staying nights at the foundry with Slim, with whom he divided work and wages. off its hands and closed its doors. That was the last straw. The town was as dead as a door-nail, Hector, and the sailor’s pet name for Hades. The crash found the two friends in a poor condition to weather any prolonged tur- bulent panic. They had exactly three dol- Jars and forty-six cents between them, which had its purchasing limits even in a day of high money and cheap commodities. By the middle of the week they were down to the price of a can of oysters, which lasted just five minutes. “Don’t worry,” said Fatty Trigg. “ Jes? hang aroun’ the big ditch behind the foun- dry about supper-time, an’ I'll bring you some eats from the shack.” At sundown Fatty showed up at the big ditch with a substantial meal in his va- rious pockets. He sat with Slim while the latter ate, and then they strolled off to town together. Twice a day after that Fatty Trigg car- ried food to his friend. Very often it was crushed out of its original form into the shape of Mr. Trigg’s pockets, but little did Slim care so long as it retained its savor and sustaining power. Whisky was not to be had; otherwise, for Slim, times were even better than during his work at the foundry. Freed from his petty duties, he had noth- ing to do but sit and whittle at the street corners and play checkers with his old friend. It was a strange experience—sit- ting, playing, talking, day after day, with people whom he had known intimately all his life, and yet not one of whom recognized him. Three weeks later the stove foundry paid LAOO a) ©) > G SS (C@)