Can Such Things Be [35]
guilty of the affectation of winding my watch at that unusual hour, and with needless care and delibera- tion. Then I approached my mystery. The grave--a rather short one--was in some- what better repair than was consistent with its obvious age and isolation, and my eyes, I dare say, widened a trifle at a clump of unmistakable garden flowers showing evidence of recent watering. The stone had clearly enough done duty once as a door- step. In its front was carved, or rather dug, an in- scription. It read thus:
AH WEE--CHINAMAN.
Age unknown. Worked for Jo. Dunfer.
This monument is erected by him to keep the Chink's memory green. Likewise as a warning to Celestials not to take on airs. Devil take 'em! She Was a Good Egg.
I cannot adequately relate my astonishment at this uncommon inscription! The meagre but suffi- cient identification of the deceased; the impudent candour of confession; the brutal anathema; the ludicrous change of sex and sentiment--all marked this record as the work of one who must have been at least as much demented as bereaved. I felt that any further disclosure would be a paltry anti-climax, and with an unconscious regard for dramatic effect turned squarely about and walked away. Nor did I return to that part of the county for four years.
2: Who Drives Sane Oxen Should Himself be Sane
'Gee-up, there, old Fuddy-Duddy!' This unique adjuration came from the lips of a queer little man perched upon a wagonful of fire- wood, behind a brace of oxen that were hauling it easily along with a simulation of mighty effort which had evidently not imposed on their lord and master. As that gentleman happened at the moment to be staring me squarely in the face as I stood by the roadside it was not altogether clear whether he was addressing me or his beasts; nor could I say if they were named Fuddy and Duddy and were both sub- jects of the imperative mood 'to gee-up.' Anyhow the command produced no effect on us, and the queer little man removed his eyes from mine long enough to spear Fuddy and Duddy alternately with a long pole, remarking, quietly but with feeling: 'Dern your skin,' as if they enjoyed that integu- ment in common. Observing that my request for a ride took no attention, and finding myself falling slowly astern, I placed one foot upon the inner circumference of a hind wheel and was slowly ele- vated to the level of the hub, whence I boarded the concern, sans ceremonie, and scrambling for- ward seated myself beside the driver--who took no notice of me until he had administered another in- discriminate castigation to his cattle, accompanied with the advice to 'buckle down, you derned In- capable!' Then, the master of the outfit (or rather the former master, for I could not suppress a whim- sical feeling that the entire establishment was my lawful prize) trained his big, black eyes upon me with an expression strangely, and somewhat un- pleasantly, familiar, laid down his rod--which neither blossomed nor turned into a serpent, as I half expected--folded his arms, and gravely de- manded, 'W'at did you do to W'isky?' My natural reply would have been that I drank it, but there was something about the query that suggested a hidden significance, and something about the man that did not invite a shallow jest. And so, having no other answer ready, I merely held my tongue, but felt as if I were resting under an imputation of guilt, and that my silence was be- ing construed into a confession. Just then a cold shadow fell upon my cheek, and caused me to look up. We were descending into my ravine! I cannot describe the sensation that came upon me: I had not seen it since it unbosomed itself four years before, and now I felt like one to whom a friend has made some sorrowing confession of crime long past, and who has basely deserted him in consequence. The old memories of Jo. Dunfer, his fragmentary revelation, and the unsatisfying explanatory note by the headstone, came back with singular distinctness. I wondered what had become of Jo., and--I turned sharply round and asked
AH WEE--CHINAMAN.
Age unknown. Worked for Jo. Dunfer.
This monument is erected by him to keep the Chink's memory green. Likewise as a warning to Celestials not to take on airs. Devil take 'em! She Was a Good Egg.
I cannot adequately relate my astonishment at this uncommon inscription! The meagre but suffi- cient identification of the deceased; the impudent candour of confession; the brutal anathema; the ludicrous change of sex and sentiment--all marked this record as the work of one who must have been at least as much demented as bereaved. I felt that any further disclosure would be a paltry anti-climax, and with an unconscious regard for dramatic effect turned squarely about and walked away. Nor did I return to that part of the county for four years.
2: Who Drives Sane Oxen Should Himself be Sane
'Gee-up, there, old Fuddy-Duddy!' This unique adjuration came from the lips of a queer little man perched upon a wagonful of fire- wood, behind a brace of oxen that were hauling it easily along with a simulation of mighty effort which had evidently not imposed on their lord and master. As that gentleman happened at the moment to be staring me squarely in the face as I stood by the roadside it was not altogether clear whether he was addressing me or his beasts; nor could I say if they were named Fuddy and Duddy and were both sub- jects of the imperative mood 'to gee-up.' Anyhow the command produced no effect on us, and the queer little man removed his eyes from mine long enough to spear Fuddy and Duddy alternately with a long pole, remarking, quietly but with feeling: 'Dern your skin,' as if they enjoyed that integu- ment in common. Observing that my request for a ride took no attention, and finding myself falling slowly astern, I placed one foot upon the inner circumference of a hind wheel and was slowly ele- vated to the level of the hub, whence I boarded the concern, sans ceremonie, and scrambling for- ward seated myself beside the driver--who took no notice of me until he had administered another in- discriminate castigation to his cattle, accompanied with the advice to 'buckle down, you derned In- capable!' Then, the master of the outfit (or rather the former master, for I could not suppress a whim- sical feeling that the entire establishment was my lawful prize) trained his big, black eyes upon me with an expression strangely, and somewhat un- pleasantly, familiar, laid down his rod--which neither blossomed nor turned into a serpent, as I half expected--folded his arms, and gravely de- manded, 'W'at did you do to W'isky?' My natural reply would have been that I drank it, but there was something about the query that suggested a hidden significance, and something about the man that did not invite a shallow jest. And so, having no other answer ready, I merely held my tongue, but felt as if I were resting under an imputation of guilt, and that my silence was be- ing construed into a confession. Just then a cold shadow fell upon my cheek, and caused me to look up. We were descending into my ravine! I cannot describe the sensation that came upon me: I had not seen it since it unbosomed itself four years before, and now I felt like one to whom a friend has made some sorrowing confession of crime long past, and who has basely deserted him in consequence. The old memories of Jo. Dunfer, his fragmentary revelation, and the unsatisfying explanatory note by the headstone, came back with singular distinctness. I wondered what had become of Jo., and--I turned sharply round and asked