The Jimmyjohn Boss, and Other Stories by Owen Wister (ebook reader library TXT) 📖

was not a stranger in Sharon. If my friend Dean Drake was still here—” “But he ain't. Now you might as well help folks, and eat later. This town will trust you. And if you quit us—” Once more he wiped the heavy drops away, while in a voice full of appeal his friend finished his thought: “If we lose you, we'll likely have to wait till this train comes in to-morrow for a man satisfactory to this town. And the show is costing us a heap.” A light hand tapped my arm, and here was Mrs. Brewton saying: “For shame! Show your enterprise.” “I'll hold this yere train,” shouted Gadsden, “if necessary.” Mrs. Brewton rose alertly, and they all hurried me out. “My slippers will stay right on when I'm down the steps,” said Mrs. Brewton, and Gadsden helped her descend into the blazing dust and sun of Sharon. “Gracious!” said she, “what a place! But I make it a point to see everything as I go.” Nothing had changed. There, as of old, lay the flat litter of the town—sheds, stores, and dwellings, a shapeless congregation in the desert, gaping wide everywhere to the glassy, quivering immensity; and there, above the roofs, turned the slatted wind-wheels. But close to the tracks, opposite the hotel, was an edifice, a sort of tent of bunting, from which brass music issued, while about a hundred pink and blue sun-bonnets moved and mixed near the entrance. Little black Mexicans, like charred toys, lounged and lay staring among the ungraded dunes of sand. “Gracious!” said Mrs. Brewton again. Her eye lost nothing; and as she made for the tent the chintz peonies flowed around her, and her step was surprisingly light. We passed through the sunbonnets and entered where the music played. “The precious blessed darlings!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “This will do for the Golden Daughters,” she rapidly added; “yes, this will distinctly do.” And she hastened away from me into the throng.

I had no time to look at much this first general minute. I could see there were booths, each containing a separate baby. I passed a whole section of naked babies, and one baby farther along had on golden wings and a crown, and was bawling frightfully. Their names were over the booths, and I noticed Lucille, Erskine Wales, Banquo Lick Nolin, Cuba, Manilla, Ellabelle, Bosco Grady, James J. Corbett Nash, and Aqua Marine. There was a great sign at the end, painted “Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness,” and another sign, labelled “Shot-gun Smith's twins.” In the midst of these first few impressions I found myself seated behind a bare table raised three feet or so, with two boxes on it, and a quantity of blank paper and pencils, while one of the men was explaining me the rules and facts. I can't remember them all now, because I couldn't understand them all then, and Mrs. Brewton was distant among the sun-bonnets, talking to a gathering crowd and feeling in the mouths of babies that were being snatched out of the booths and brought to her. The man was instructing me steadily all the while, and it occurred to me to nod silently and coldly now and then, as if I was doing this sort of thing every day. But I insisted that some one should help me count, and they gave me Gadsden.

Now these facts I do remember very clearly, and shall never forget them. The babies came from two towns—Sharon, and Rincon its neighbor. Alone, neither had enough for a good show, though in both it was every family's pride to have a baby every year. The babies were in three classes: Six months and under, one prize offered; eighteen months, two prizes; three years, two prizes. A three-fourths vote of all cast was necessary to a choice. No one entitled to vote unless of immediate family of a competing baby. No one entitled to cast more than one vote. There were rules of entry and fees, but I forget them, except that no one could have two exhibits in the same class. When I read this I asked, how about twins? “Well, we didn't kind of foresee that,” muttered my instructor, painfully; “what would be your idea?” “Look here, you sir,” interposed Mrs. Brewton, “he came in to count votes.” I was very glad to have her back. “That's right, ma'am,” admitted the man; “he needn't to say a thing. We've only got one twins entered,” he pursued, “which we're glad of. Shot-gun—“, “Where is this Mr. Smith?” interrupted Mrs. Brewton. “Uptown, drinking, ma'am.” “And who may Mr. Smith be?” “Most popular citizen of Rincon, ma'am. We had to accept his twins because—well, he come down here himself, and most of Rincon come with him, and as we aimed to have everything pass off pleasant-like—” “I quite comprehend,” said Mrs. Brewton. “And I should consider twins within the rule; or any number born at one time. But little Aqua Marine is the finest single child in that six months class. I told her mother she ought to take that splurgy ring off the poor little thing's thumb. It's most unsafe. But I should vote for that child myself.” “Thank you for your valuable endorsement,” said a spruce, slim young man. “But the public is not allowed to vote here,” he added. He was standing on the floor and resting his elbows on the table. Mrs. Brewton stared down at him. “Are you the father of the child?” she inquired. “Oh no! I am the agent. I—” “Aqua Marine's agent?” said Mrs. Brewton, sharply. “Ha, ha!” went the young man. “Ha, ha! Well, that's good too. She's part of our exhibit. I'm in charge of the manna-feds, don't you know?” “I don't know,” said Mrs. Brewton. “Why, Mrs. Eden's Manna in the Wilderness! Nourishes, strengthens, and makes no unhealthy fat. Take a circular, and welcome. I'm travelling for the manna. I organized this show. I've conducted twenty-eight similar shows in two years. We hold them in every State and Territory. Second of last March I gave Denver—you heard of it, probably?” “I did not,” said Mrs. Brewton. “Well! Ha, ha! I thought every person up to date had heard of Denver's Olympic Offspring Olio.” “Is it up to date to loll your elbows on the table when you're speaking to a lady?” inquired Mrs. Brewton. He jumped, and then grew scarlet with rage. “I didn't expect to learn manners in New Mexico,” said he. “I doubt if you will,” said Mrs. Brewton, and turned her back on him. He was white now; but better instincts, or else business, prevailed in his injured bosom. “Well,” said he, “I had no bad intentions. I was going to say you'd have seen ten thousand people and five hundred babies at Denver. And our manna-feds won out to beat the band. Three first medals, and all exclusively manna-fed. We took the costume prize also. Of course here in Sharon I've simplified. No special medal for weight, beauty, costume, or decorated perambulator. Well, I must go back to our exhibit. Glad to have you give us a call up there and see the medals we're offering, and our fifteen manna-feds, and take a package away with you.” He was gone.

The voters had been now voting in my two boxes for some time, and I found myself hoping the manna would not win, whoever did; but it seemed this agent was a very capable person. To begin with, every family entering a baby drew a package of the manna free, and one package contained a diamond ring. Then, he had managed to have the finest babies of all classes in his own exhibit. This was incontestable, Mrs. Brewton admitted, after returning from a general inspection; and it seemed to us extraordinary. “That's easy, ma'am,” said Gadsden; “he came around here a month ago. Don't you see?” I did not see, but Mrs. Brewton saw at once. He had made a quiet selection of babies beforehand, and then introduced the manna into those homes. And everybody in the room was remarking that his show was very superior, taken as a whole they all added, “taken as a whole”; I heard them as they came up to vote for the 3-year and the 18-month classes. The 6-month was to wait till last, because the third box had been accidentally smashed by Mr. Smith.