Doc - Mary Doria Russell [134]
The strange thing was, he didn’t even know that he’d been avoiding the Commie-Q before he got his teeth fixed. If anybody had asked, he’d have said he didn’t spend any time at the theater because there hadn’t been much trouble there since he got back from chasing Dave Rudabaugh around, though Morgan said there’d been a ruckus at the beginning of the season when some drovers had threatened to lynch Eddie Foy because he was telling jokes on Texas, and they took it wrong.
According to Morg, even when those boys had a rope around his neck, Eddie kept smart-mouthing them, and they admired his nerve so much, they let him live. Word of the event had passed along the trail as the Texans drifted home, and now the Commie-Q was every cowboy’s destination, along with the brothels and the gambling halls of Dodge.
Eddie’s act was a lively combination of Irish step dancing and Negro hambone mixed with songs and patter. Drovers would go see the show over and over until they knew all the jokes and could yell out the punch lines with him.
“Everything in Texas is big,” Eddie was hollering now. “I met a Texan with ears so big—”
“He wore his hat sidesaddle!” the cowboys yelled, laughing their heads off when Eddie twisted his own hat around and crossed his eyes.
“Texans grow the biggest potatoes in the world! I told a storekeeper in Dallas, I’d like to buy a hundred pounds of potatoes. No, sir, he said—”
“I don’t cut my potatoes in half for nobody!” the crowd shouted.
Wyatt thought that one was pretty good, but he didn’t like some of the others.
“Any of you boys go with that blind prostitute?” Eddie asked.
“You really have to hand it to her!”
“Last night, me girl Verelda asked, Have you been screwin’ around behind me back?”
“Well, who in hell did she think it was?” the cowboys hollered.
“They say money can’t buy happiness,” Eddie remarked, and three hundred whooping drunks yelled in unison, “But it’ll buy Verelda!”
Which was comical at first, but then seemed kind of mean-spirited to Wyatt, after what Doc Holliday said about working girls and how brave they were. That was strange when you thought about it, because the dentist had made it possible for Wyatt to laugh at the jokes, but Doc took some of the fun out of them, too.
Eddie was singing now: “I’ll take you home again, Kathleen …” There was nothing going on in the street, so Wyatt eased back toward the swing door to look around. Over in a corner, Doc was dealing faro, one hand sliding cards off the shoe, the other holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He was doing pretty good lately—dealing a few hours a night, getting some rest, taking patients for a few hours in the morning, sleeping through the heat of the day. That fall Doc took on the Fourth might have been a blessing in disguise. The dentist had been more sensible since then. Living regular. Working less, eating more. Even Kate seemed happier.
Bat had a poker game going in the back of the hall. His waistcoat was green and pink and yellow tonight, the brocade straining a bit over his gut. He’d be built like a barrel by the time he was thirty.
While Eddie sang in his high, sweet voice, Wyatt watched Bat, wondering how much a new suit would cost.
“If you’re goin’ to run against Masterson,” Doc had told Wyatt a few days ago, “wear black, to make the contrast more notable. Black frock coat, white shirt, black trousers. Simple but elegant. Get some decent boots, too. And keep them polished!”
Until Doc said that about wearing black, Wyatt hadn’t seriously considered running for sheriff, but that must have been what Big George meant, about how going to the Republican convention could lead to other things. So Wyatt asked Dog Kelley what he thought of the idea. Dog was a Democrat, but he’d always been square with Wyatt.
“May as well run,” Dog said. “Bob Wright already hates you.”
What’s Bob got to do with it? Wyatt wondered. Sure, Bob was sore about that arrest on the Fourth, but he got over it. Before Wyatt