The Redemption of David Corson | Page 7

t-t-tried everything. Even my 'universal p-p-panacea' won't do it, and what that can't do can't be d-d-done. Incurable d-d-disease. Get along all right when I go slow like this; but when I open the throttle, get all b-b-balled up. Bad thing for my business. Give any man a thousand d-d-dollars that'll cure me," the quack replied, slapping his trousers pocket as if there were millions in it.
"Co-co-couldn't go q-q-quite as high as that; but wouldn't mind a hu-hu-hundred," responded the landlord cordially.
"Ever hear the story about the landlord's troubles in the Mexican war?" asked one of the by-standers turning to the quack.
"Tell it," he responded laconically.
Several members of the group looked at each other and exchanged significant winks as the narrator began his tale.
"They made him sergeant of a company, but had to reduce him to the ranks, because when he was drilling the boys one day they all marched into the river and got drowned before he could say h-h-halt."
The doctor laughed and the others joined him out of courtesy, for the story was worn threadbare in the bar-room.
"Tell about his going on picket duty," suggested some one.
"Captain ordered him out on the line," said the first speaker, "and he refused. 'T-t-tain't no use,' says he.
"'Why not?' says the captain.
"'C-c-cause,' says he, 'if some d-d-dirty Mexican g-g-greaser should c-c-come along, he'd run me through the g-g-gizzard before I could ask him for the c-c-countersign.'"
More tipsy laughter followed.
"Tell you what it is, b-b-boys," said the quack, growing communicative under the influence of the liquor and the fellowship, "if it wasn't for this b-b-blankety-blanketed impediment in my s-s-speech, I wouldn't need to work more'n about another y-y-year!"
"How's that?" asked someone in the crowd.
"C-c-cause if I could talk as well as I c-c-can think, I could make a fortune 'side of which old John Jacob Astor's would look like a p-p-penny savings b-b-bank!"
"You could?"
"You bet your sweet life I c-c-could. And I'm just keeping my eyes open for some young f-f-fellow to help me. For 'f I can find a man that can do the t-talking (I mean real talk, you know; talk a crowd blind as b-b-bats), I've got something better'n a California g-g-gold mine."
"Better get Dave Corson," said the village wag from the rear of the crowd, and up went a wild shout of laughter.
"Who's D-D-Dave Corson?" asked the doctor.
"Quaker preacher. Young feller 'bout twenty years old."
"Can he t-t-talk?"
"Talk! He kin talk a mule into a trottin' hoss in less'n three minutes."
"He's my man!" exclaimed the doctor, at which the crowd laughed again.
"What the d-d-deuce are you laughing at?" he asked, turning upon them savagely, his loud voice and threatening manner frightening those who stood nearest, so that they instinctively stepped back a pace or two.
"No offence, Doc," said one of them; "but you couldn't get him."
"Couldn't get him! Why couldn't I g-g-get him?"
"He's pious."
"Pious! What do I care?"
"Well, these here pious Quakers are stiff in their notions. But you kin jedge fer yourself 'bout his talkin', fer there's goin' ter be an appinted Quaker meetin' to-morrow night, and he'll speak. You kin go an' listen, if you want to."
"I'll be there, boys, and d-d-don't you forget it. I'll hook him! Never saw anything I couldn't buy if I had a little of the p-p-proper stuff about me. Drink to my l-l-luck, boys, and watch me!"
The landlord filled their glasses once more, and low gurglings, smothered swallows, and loud smacking of lips filled the interim of interrupted conversation.
"I say, Doc, that daughter of yours knows her biz when it comes to telling fortunes," ventured a young dandy, whose head had been turned by Pepeeta's beauty.
"D-d-daughter!" snapped the quack, turning sharply upon him; "she's not my daughter, she's my wife!"
"Wife! Gosh! You don't say?" exclaimed the crestfallen dandy.
"Yes, wife! And I'll j-j-just warn any of you young f-f-fellers that if I catch you trying to p-p-plow with my heifer, you'll be food for buzzards before sun-up!"
He swept his eyes savagely round the circle as he spoke, and the subject dropped.
The conversation turned into other channels, and flowed in a maudlin, sluggish manner far into the night. Every member of the bibulous party was as happy as he knew how to be. The landlord's till was full of money, the loafers were full of liquor, and the doctor's heart was full of vanity and trust in himself.
CHAPTER III.
THE EGYPTIANS
"Steal! to be sure they may; and egad, serve your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children,--disfigure them to make them pass for their own."
--Sheridan.
In order to comprehend the relationship of this strangely mated pair, we must go back five or six years to a certain day when this same Doctor Aesculapius rode slowly down the main street of a small city in Western Pennsylvania, and then out along a rugged country highway. A