The Just and the Unjust | Page 3

Mr. Shrimplin cleared his throat.
"He was called one-eye Murphy because he had only one eye--he'd lost
the other in a rough-and-tumble fight; it had been gouged out by a
feller's thumb. Murphy got the feller's ear, chewed it off as they was

rolling over and over on the floor, so you might say they swapped
even."
"I wonder you'd pick on an afflicted person like that," observed Mrs.
Shrimplin.
"Afflicted! Well, he could see more and see further with that one eye
than most men could with four!"
"I should think four eyes would be confusin'," said Mrs. Shrimplin.
Mr. Shrimplin folded his arms across his narrow chest and permitted
his glance to follow Mrs. Shrimplin's ample figure as she moved to and
fro about the room; and when he spoke again a gentle melancholy had
crept into his tone.
"I dunno but a man makes a heap of sacrifices he never gets no credit
for when he marries and settles down. The ladies ain't what they used to
be. They look on a man now pretty much as a meal-ticket. I guess if a
feller chewed off another feller's ear in Mount Hope he'd never hear the
last of it!"
As neither Mrs. Shrimplin nor Custer questioned this point, Mr.
Shrimplin reverted to his narrative.
"I started in to tell you how I put Murphy out of business, didn't I, son?
The facts brought out by the coroner's jury," embarking on what he
conceived to be a bit of happy and elaborate realism, "was that I'd shot
him in self-defense after he'd drawed a gun on me. He had heard I was
at Fort Worth--not that I was looking for trouble, which I never done;
but I never turned it down when any one was at pains to fetch it to me;
I was always willing they should leave it with me for to have a merry
time. Murphy heard I'd said if he'd come to Fort Worth I'd take him
home and make a pet of him; and he'd sent back word that he was
looking for a man with two ears to play with; and I'd said mine was on
loose and for him to come and pull 'em off. After that there was just
one thing he could do if he wanted to be well thought of, and he done it.
He hit the town hell-snorting, and so mad he was fit to be tied." Mr.

Shrimplin paused to permit this striking phrase to lay hold of Custer's
imagination. "Yes, sir, hell-snorting, and so bad he was plum scairt of
himself. He said he was looking for a gentleman who had sent him
word he had two ears to contribute to the evening's gaiety, by which I
knowed he meant me and was in earnest. He was full of boot-leg
whisky--"
"What kind of whisky's that, pa?" asked Custer.
"That," said Mr. Shrimplin, looking into the round innocent face of his
son, "that's the stuff the traders used to sell the Indians. Strong? Well,
you might say it was middling strong--just middling--about three drops
of it would make a rabbit spit in a bulldog's face!"
It was on one memorable twenty-seventh of November that Mr.
Shrimplin reached this height of verbal felicity, and being
Thanksgiving day, it was, aside from the smell of strong yellow soap
and the fresh-starched white shirt, very like a Sunday.
He and Custer sat before the kitchen stove and in the intervals of his
narrative listened to the wind rise without, and watched the sparse
flakes of fine snow that it brought coldly out of the north, where the
cloud banks lay leaden and chill on the far horizon.
[Illustration: "I started to tell you how I put Murphy out of business."]
Mr. Shrimplin had risen early that day, or, as he told Custer, he had
"got up soon", and long before his son had left his warm bed in the
small room over the kitchen, was well on his rounds in his high
two-wheeled cart, with the rack under the seat which held the great
cans of gasolene from which the lamps were filled. He had only paused
at Maxy Schaffer's Railroad Hotel to partake of what he called a
Kentucky breakfast--a drink of whisky and a chew of tobacco--a simple
dietary protection against the evils of an empty stomach, to which he
particularly drew Custer's attention.
His father's occupation was entirely satisfactory to Custer. Being
employed by the town gave him an official standing, perhaps not so

distinguished as that of a policeman, but still eminently worth while;
and Mr. Shrimplin added not a little to the sense of its importance by
dilating on the intrigues of ambitious rivals who desired to wrest his
contract from him; and he impressed Custer,