the story of a bad boy-第12节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



The　Captain　heard　me　through　in　profound　silence；　pocketed　the　bank…notes；　and　walked　off　without　speaking　a　word。　He　had　punished　me　in　his　own　whimsical　fashion　at　the　breakfast　table；　for；　at　the　very　moment　be　was　harrowing　up　my　soul　by　reading　the　extracts　from　the　Rivermouth　Barnacle；　he　not　only　knew　all　about　the　bonfire；　but　had　paid　Ezra　Wingate　his　three　dollars。　Such　was　the　duplicity　of　that　aged　impostor

I　think　Captain　Nutter　was　justified　in　retaining　my　pocketmoney；　as　additional　punishment；　though　the　possession　of　it　later　in　the　day　would　have　got　me　out　of　a　difficult　position；　as　the　reader　will　see　further　on。　I　returned　with　a　light　heart　and　a　large　piece　of　punk　to　my　friends　in　the　stable…yard；　where　we　celebrated　the　termination　of　our　trouble　by　setting　off　two　packs　of　fire…crackers　in　an　empty　wine…cask。　They　made　a　prodigious　racket；　but　failed　somehow　to　fully　express　my　feelings。　The　little　brass　pistol　in　my　bedroom　suddenly　occurred　to　me。　It　had　been　loaded　I　don't　know　how　many　months；　long　before　I　left　New　Orleans；　and　now　was　the　time；　if　ever；　to　fire　it　off。　Muskets；　blunderbusses；　and　pistols　were　banging　away　lively　all　over　town；　and　the　smell　of　gunpowder；　floating　on　the　air；　set　me　wild　to　add　something　respectable　to　the　universal　din。

When　the　pistol　was　produced；　Jack　Harris　examined　the　rusty　cap　and　prophesied　that　it　would　not　explode。

〃Never　mind；〃　said　I；　〃let's　try　it。〃

I　had　fired　the　pistol　once；　secretly；　in　New　Orleans；　and；　remembering　the　noise　it　gave　birth　to　on　that　occasion；　I　shut　both　eyes　tight　as　I　pulled　the　trigger。　The　hammer　clicked　on　the　cap　with　a　dull；　dead　sound。　Then　Harris　tried　it；　then　Charley　Marden；　then　I　took　it　again；　and　after　three　or　four　trials　was　on　the　point　of　giving　it　up　as　a　bad　job；　when　the　obstinate　thing　went　off　with　a　tremendous　explosion；　nearly　jerking　my　arm　from　the　socket。　The　smoke　cleared　away；　and　there　I　stood　with　the　stock　of　the　pistol　clutched　convulsively　in　my　hand…the　barrel；　lock；　trigger；　and　ramrod　having　vanished　into　thin　air。

〃Are　you　hurt？〃　cried　the　boys；　in　one　breath。

〃N…no；〃　I　replied；　dubiously；　for　the　concussion　had　bewildered　me　a　little。

When　I　realized　the　nature　of　the　calamity；　my　grief　was　excessive。　I　can't　imagine　what　led　me　to　do　so　ridiculous　a　thing；　but　I　gravely　buried　the　remains　of　my　beloved　pistol　in　our　back　garden；　and　erected　over　the　mound　a　slate　tablet　to　the　effect　that　〃Mr。　Barker　formerly　of　new　Orleans；　was　killed　accidentally　on　the　Fourth　of　July；　18　in　the　2nd　year　of　his　Age。〃1　Binny　Wallace；　arriving　on　the　spot　just　after　the　disaster；　and　Charley　Marden　（who　enjoyed　the　obsequies　immensely）；　acted　with　me　as　chief　mourners。　I；　for　my　part；　was　a　very　sincere　one。

As　I　turned　away　in　a　disconsolate　mood　from　the　garden；　Charley　Marden　remarked　that　he　shouldn't　be　surprised　if　the　pistol…butt　took　root　and　grew　into　a　mahogany…tree　or　something。　He　said　he　once　planted　an　old　musket…stock；　and　shortly　afterwards　a　lot　of　shoots　sprung　up！　Jack　Harris　laughed；　but　neither　I　nor　Binny　Wallace　saw　Charley's　wicked　joke。

We　were　now　joined　by　Pepper　Whitcomb；　Fred　Langdon；　and　several　other　desperate　characters；　on　their　way　to　the　Square；　which　was　always　a　busy　place　when　public　festivities　were　going　on。　Feeling　that　I　was　still　in　disgrace　with　the　Captain；　I　thought　it　politic　to　ask　his　consent　before　accompanying　the　boys。

He　gave　it　with　some　hesitation；　advising　me　to　be　careful　not　to　get　in　front　of　the　firearms。　Once　he　put　his　fingers　mechanically　into　his　vest…pocket　and　half　drew　forth　some　dollar　bills；　then　slowly　thrust　them　back　again　as　his　sense　of　justice　overcame　his　genial　disposition。　I　guess　it　cut　the　old　gentleman　to　the　heart　to　be　obliged　to　keep　me　out　of　my　pocket…money。　I　know　it　did　me。　However；　as　I　was　passing　through　the　hall；　Miss　Abigail；　with　a　very　severe　cast　of　countenance；　slipped　a　brand…new　quarter　into　my　hand。　We　had　silver　currency　in　those　days；　thank　Heaven！

Great　were　the　bustle　and　confusion　on　the　Square。　By　the　way；　I　don't　know　why　they　called　this　large　open　space　a　square；　unless　because　it　was　an　oval…an　oval　formed　by　the　confluence　of　half　a　dozen　streets；　now　thronged　by　crowds　of　smartly　dressed　towns…people　and　country　folks；　for　Rivermouth　on　the　Fourth　was　the　centre　of　attraction　to　the　inhabitants　of　the　neighboring　villages。

On　one　side　of　the　Square　were　twenty　or　thirty　booths　arranged　in　a　semi…circle；　gay　with　little　flags　and　seductive　with　lemonade；　ginger…beer；　and　seedcakes。　Here　and　there　were　tables　at　which　could　be　purchased　the　smaller　sort　of　fireworks；　such　as　pin…wheels；　serpents；　double…headers；　and　punk　warranted　not　to　go　out。　Many　of　the　adjacent　houses　made　a　pretty　display　of　bunting；　and　across　each　of　the　streets　opening　on　the　Square　was　an　arch　of　spruce　and　evergreen；　blossoming　all　over　with　patriotic　mottoes　and　paper　roses。

It　was　a　noisy；　merry；　bewildering　scene　as　we　came　upon　the　ground。　The　incessant　rattle　of　small　arms；　the　booming　of　the　twelve…pounder　firing　on　the　Mill　Dam；　and　the　silvery　clangor　of　the　church…bells　ringing　simultaneously…not　to　mention　an　ambitious　brass…band　that　was　blowing　itself　to　pieces　on　a　balcony…were　enough　to　drive　one　distracted。　We　amused　ourselves　for　an　hour　or　two；　darting　in　and　out　among　the　crowd　and　setting　off　our　crackers。　At　one　o'clock　the　Hon。　Hezekiah　Elkins　mounted　a　platform　in　the　middle　of　the　Square　and　delivered　an　oration；　to　which　his　〃feller…citizens〃　didn't　pay　much　attention；　having　all　they　could　do　to　dodge　the　squibs　that　were　set　loose　upon　them　by　mischievous　boys　stationed　on　the　surrounding　housetops。

Our　little　party　which　had　picked　up　recruits　here　and　there；　not　being　swayed　by　eloquence；　withdrew　to　a　booth　on　the　outskirts　of　the　crowd；　where　we　regaled　ourselves　with　root　beer　at　two　cents　a　glass。　I　recollect　being　much　struck　by　the　placard　surmounting　this　tent：



ROOT　BEER

SOLD　HERE



It　seemed　to　me　the　perfection　of　pith　and　poetry。　What　could　be　more　terse？　Not　a　word　to　spare；　and　yet　everything　fully　expressed。　Rhyme　and　rhythm　faultless。　It　was　a　delightful　poet　who　made　those　verses。　As　for　the　beer　itself…that；　I　think；　must　have　been　made　from　the　root　of　all　evil！　A　single　glass　of　it　insured　an　uninterrupted　pain　for　twenty…four　hours。

The　influence　of　my　liberality　working　on　Charley　Marden…for　it　was　I　who　paid　for　the　beer…he　presently　invited　us　all　to　take　an　ice…cream　with　him　at　Pettingil's　saloon。　Pettingil　was　the　Delmonico　of　Rivermouth。　He　furnished　ices　and　confectionery　for　aristocratic　balls　and　parties；　and　didn't　disdain　to　officiate　as　leader　of　the　orchestra　at　the　same；　for　Pettingil　played　on　the　violin；　as　Pepper　Whitcomb　described　it；　〃like　Old　Scratch。〃

Pettingil's　confectionery　store　was　on　the　corner　of　Willow　and　High　Streets。　The　saloon；　separated　from　the　shop　by　a　flight　of　three　steps　leading　to　a　door　hung　with　faded　red　drapery；　had　about　it　an　air　of　mystery　and　seclusion　quite　delightful。　Four　windows；　also　draped；　faced　the　side…street；　affording　an　unobstructed　view　of　Marm　Hatch's　back　yard；　where　a　number　of　inexplicable　garments　on　a　clothes…line　were　always　to　be　seen　careering　in　the　wind。

There　was　a　lull　just　then　in　the　ice…cream　business；　it　being　dinner…time；　and　we　found　the　saloon　unoccupied。　When　we　had　seated　ourselves　around　the　largest　marble…topped　table；　Charley　Marden　in　a　manly　voice　ordered　twelve　sixpenny　icecreams；　〃strawberry　and　verneller　mixed。〃

It　was　a　magnificent　sight；　those　twelve　chilly　glasses　entering　the　room　on　a　waiter；　the　red　and　white　custard　rising　from　each　glass　like　a　church…steeple；　and　the　spoon…handle　shooting　up　from　the　apex　like　a　spire。　I　doubt　if　a　person　of　the　nicest　palate　could　have　distinguished；　with　his　eyes　shut；　which　was　the　vanilla　and　which　the　strawberry；　but　if　I　could　at　this　moment　obtain　a　cream　tasting　as　that　did；　I　would　give　five　dollars　for　a　very　small　quantity。

We　fell　to　with　a　will；　and　so　evenly　balanced　were　our　capabilities　that　we　finished　our　creams　together；　the　spoons　clinking　in　the　glasses　like　one　spoon。

〃Let's　have　some　more！〃　cried　Charley　Marden；　with　the　air　of　Aladdin　ordering　up　a　fresh　hogshead　of　pearls　and　rubies。　〃Tom　Bailey；　tell　Pettingil　to　send　in　another　round。〃

Could　I　credit　my　ears？　I　looked　at　him　to　see　if　he　were　in　earnest。　He　meant　it。　In　a　moment　more　I　was　leaning　over　the　counter　giving　directions　for　a　second　supply。　Thinking　it　would　make　no　difference　to　such　a　gorgeous　young　sybarite　as　Marden；　I　took　the　liberty　of　ordering　ninepenny　creams　this　time。

On　returning　to　the　saloon；　what　was　my　horror　at　finding　it　empty！

There　were　the　twelve　cloudy　glasses；　standing　in　a　circle　on　the　sticky　marble　slab；　and　not　a　boy　to　be　seen。　A　pair　of　hands　letting　go　their　hold　on　the　window…sill　outside　explained　matters。　I　had　been　made　a　victim。

I　couldn't　stay　and　face　Pettingil；　whose　peppery　temper　was　well　known　among　the　boys。　I　hadn't　a　cent　in　the　world　to　appease　him。　What　should　I　do？　I　heard　the　clink　of　approaching　glasses…the　ninepenny　creams。