Elbow-Room Part 19

Then Mr. Fogg arose in wrath and went down to see about it. He ascertained that the shutters were closed, as usual, and as he returned to bed he resolved that his aunt should leave the house for good in the morning, or he would. However, he thought he might as well give the almanac-plan another trial; and setting the sheep in motion, he began to count. This time he reached two hundred and forty, and would probably have got to sleep before the three hundredth sheep jumped, had not Mix's new dog, in the next yard, suddenly become home-sick and begun to express his feelings in a series of prolonged and exasperating howls.

Mr. Fogg was indignant. Neglecting the sheep, he leaped from bed and began to bombard Mix's new dog with boots, soap-cups and every loose object he could lay his hands on. He hit the animal at last with a plaster bust of Daniel Webster, and induced the dog to retreat to the stable and think about home in silence.

It seemed almost ridiculous to resume those sheep again, but he determined to give the almanac-man one more chance, and soon as they began to jump the fence he began to count, and after seeing the eighty-second sheep safely over he was gliding gently in the land of dreams, when Mrs. Fogg rolled out of bed and fell on the floor with such violence that she waked the baby and started it crying, while Mr.

Fogg's aunt came down stairs four steps at a time to ask if they felt that earthquake.

The situation was too awful for words. Mr. Fogg regarded it for a minute with speechless indignation, and then, seizing a pillow, he went over to the sofa in the back sitting-room and lay down.

He fell asleep in ten minutes without the a.s.sistance of the almanac, but he dreamed all night that he was being b.u.t.ted around the equator by a Cotswold ram, and he woke in the morning with a terrific headache and a conviction that sheep are good enough for wool and chops, but not worth anything as a narcotic.

Mr. Fogg has a strong tendency to exaggeration in conversation, and he gave a striking ill.u.s.tration of this in a story that he related one day when I called at his house. Fogg was telling me about an incident that occurred in a neighboring town a few days before, and this is the way he related it:

"You see old Bradley over here is perfectly crazy on the subject of gases and the atmosphere and such things--absolutely wild; and one day he was disputing with Green about how high up in the air life could be sustained, and Bradley said an animal could live about forty million miles above the earth if--"

"Not forty millions, my dear," interposed Mrs. Fogg; "only forty miles, he said."

"Forty, was it? Thank you. Well, sir, old Green, you know, said that was ridiculous; and he said he'd bet Bradley a couple of hundred thousand dollars that life couldn't be sustained half that way up, and so--"

"Wilberforce, you are wrong; he only offered to bet fifty dollars,"

said Mrs. Fogg.

"Well, anyhow, Bradley took him up quicker'n a wink, and they agreed to send up a cat in a balloon to decide the bet. So what does Bradley do but buy a balloon about twice as big as our barn and begin to--"

"It was only about ten feet in diameter, Mr. Adeler; Wilberforce forgets."

"--Begin to inflate her. When she was filled, it took eighty men to hold her; and--"

"Eighty men, Mr. Fogg!" said Mrs. F. "Why, you know Mr. Bradley held the balloon himself."

"He did, did he? Oh, very well; what's the odds? And when everything was ready, they brought out Bradley's tomcat and put it in the basket and tied it in, so it couldn't jump, you know. There were about one hundred thousand people looking on; and when they let go, you never heard such--"

"There was not one more than two hundred people there," said Mrs.

Fogg; "I counted them myself."

"Oh, don't bother me!--I say, you never heard such a yell as the balloon went scooting up into the sky, pretty near out of sight.

Bradley said she went up about one thousand miles, and--now, don't interrupt me, Maria; I know what the man said--and that cat, mind you, howling like a hundred fog-horns, so's you could a heard her from here to Peru. Well, sir, when she was up so's she looked as small as a pin-head something or other burst. I dunno know how it was, but pretty soon down came that balloon, a-hurtling toward the earth at the rate of fifty miles a minute, and old--"

"Mr. Fogg, you know that the balloon came down as gently as--"

"Oh, do hush up! Women don't know anything about such things.--And old Bradley, he had a kind of registering thermometer fixed in the basket along with that cat--some sort of a patent machine; cost thousands of dollars--and he was expecting to examine it; and Green had an idea he'd lift out a dead cat and take in the stakes. When all of a sudden, as she came pelting down, a tornado struck her--now, Maria, what in the thunder are you staring at me in that way for? It was a tornado--a regular cyclone--and it struck her and jammed her against the lightning-rod on the Baptist church-steeple; and there she stuck--stuck on that spire about eight hundred feet up in the air, and looked as if she had come there to stay."

"You may get just as mad as you like," said Mrs. Fogg, "but I am positively certain that steeple's not an inch over ninety-five feet."

"Maria, I wish to _gracious_ you'd go up stairs and look after the children.--Well, about half a minute after she struck out stepped that tomcat onto the weatherc.o.c.k. It made Green sick. And just then the hurricane reached the weatherc.o.c.k, and it began to revolve six hundred or seven hundred times a minute, the cat howling until you couldn't hear yourself speak.--Now, Maria, you've had your put; you keep quiet.--That cat stayed on the weatherc.o.c.k about two months--"

"Mr. Fogg, that's an awful story; it only happened last Tuesday."

"Never mind her," said Mr. Fogg, confidentially.--And on Sunday the way that cat carried on and yowled, with its tail pointing due east, was so awful that they couldn't have church. And Sunday afternoon the preacher told Bradley if he didn't get that cat down he'd sue him for one million dollars damages. So Bradley got a gun and shot at the cat fourteen hundred times.--Now you didn't count 'em, Maria, and I did.--And he banged the top of the steeple all to splinters, and at last fetched down the cat, shot to rags; and in her stomach he found his thermometer. She'd ate it on her way up, and it stood at eleven hundred degrees, so old--"

"No thermometer ever stood at such a figure as that," exclaimed Mrs.

Fogg.

"Oh, well," shouted Mr. Fogg, indignantly, "if you think you can tell the story better than I can, why don't you tell it? You're enough to worry the life out of a man."

Then Fogg slammed the door and went out, and I left. I don't know whether Bradley got the stakes or not.

CHAPTER XVII.

_HOW WE CONDUCT A POLITICAL CAMPAIGN_.

The people of Millburg feel a very intense interest in politics, and during a campaign there is always a good deal of excitement. The bitterest struggle that the town has had for a long while was that which preceded the election of a couple of years ago, when I was not a resident of the place. One incident particularly attracted a good deal of attention. Mr. Potts related the facts to me in the following language:

"You know we nominated Bill Sloc.u.m for burgess. He was the most popular man in the place; everybody liked him. And a few days after the convention adjourned Bill was standing talking to Joe Snowden about the election, and Bill happened to remark, 'I've got to win.'

Mrs. Martin was going by at the time; and as Bill was speaking very rapidly, he p.r.o.nounced it like this: 'I've got t'win;' and Mrs. Martin thought he was telling Snowden that he'd got _twins_. And Mrs. Martin, just like all women about such matters, at once went through the village spreading the report that Mrs. Sloc.u.m had twins.

"So, of course, there was a fuss right off; and the boys said that as Bill was a candidate, and a mighty good fellow anyhow you took him, it'd be nothing more than fair to congratulate him on his good luck by getting up some kind of a public demonstration from his fellow-citizens. Well, sir, you never saw such enthusiasm. The way that idea took was wonderful, and all hands agreed that we ought to have a parade. So they ran up the flags on the hotels and the town-hall, and on the two schooners down at the wharf, and Judge Twiddler adjourned the court over till the next day, and the supervisors gave the public schools a holiday and got up a turkey dinner for the convicts in the jail.

"And some of the folks drummed up the bra.s.s band, and it led off, with Major Slott following, carrying an American flag hung with roses. Then came the clergy in carriages, followed by the Masons and Odd Fellows and Knights of Pythias. And the Young Men's Christian a.s.sociation turned out with the Sons of Temperance, about forty strong, in full regalia. And General Trumps pranced along on a white horse ahead of the Millburg Guards. After them came the judges on foot, followed by the City Council and the employes of the gas-works, and the members of the Bible Society and Patriotic Sons of America. Then came citizens walking two and two, afoot, while a big crowd of men and boys brought up the rear.

"The band, mind you, all this time playing the most gorgeous music--'Star-Spangled Banner,' 'Life on the Ocean Wave,' 'Beautiful Dreamer,' 'Home Again,' and all those things, with cymbals and Jenkins' colored man spreading himself on the big drum. And Bill never knew anything about it. It was a perfect surprise to him. And when the procession stopped in front of his house, they gave him three cheers, and he came rushing out on the porch to see what all the noise was about. As soon as he appeared the band struck up 'See, the Conquering Hero Comes,' and Major Slott lowered the flag, and General Trumps waved his hat, and the guard fired a salute, and everybody cheered.

"Bill bowed and made a little speech, and said how honored he was by such a demonstration, and he said he felt certain of victory, and when he was in office he would do his best to serve his fellow-citizens faithfully. Bill thought it was a political serenade; and when he got through, General Trumps cried,

"'Bring out the twins.'

"Bill looked puzzled for a minute, and then he says,

"'I don't think I understand you. What d'you say?'

"'Bring out the twins,' said Judge Twiddler. 'Less look at 'em.'

"'Twins!' says Bill. 'Twins! Why, what d'ye mean, judge?'

"'Why, the twins. Rush 'em out. Hold 'em in the window, so's we can see 'em,' said Major Slott.

"'Gentlemen,' said Bill, 'there must be some little, some slight mistake respecting the--that is, you must have been misinformed about the--the--er--er--Why, there are no twins about this house.'

"Then they thought he was joking, and the band broke in with 'Listen to the Mocking-bird,' and Bill came down to find out the drift of Judge Twiddler's remarks. And when he really convinced them that there wasn't a twin anywhere about the place, you never saw a worse disgusted crowd in your life. Mad as fury. They said they had no idea Bill Sloc.u.m would descend to such trickery as that.

"So they broke up. The judge went back to the court-room so indignant he sentenced a prisoner for twenty years, when the law only allowed him to give ten. The supervisors, they took their spite out by docking the school-teachers half a day and cutting off the cranberry sauce from the turkey dinner at the jail. General Trumps got drunk as an owl. The City Councils held an adjourned meeting and raised the water rent on Sloc.u.m, and Jenkins' n.i.g.g.e.r burst in the head of the big drum with a brick. Mad's no word for it. They were wild with rage.

"And that killed Bill. They beat him by two hundred majority at the election, just on account of old Mrs. Martin misunderstanding him.

Rough, wasn't it? But it don't seem to me like the fair thing on Bill."