CHAPTER XXIII.
WHAT HAPPENED TO ABE.
“Abe,” said the sailor, as they reached the street, “I entertain palpitating fears that I shall never place my lily-white hands on the balance due me from William. I am afraid he will not settle. I shall have to charge it up to profit and loss.”
“Why, cap’n,” said the boy wonderingly, “I believe he expected you to give him something. I think he was disappointed.”
"Haven’t a doubt of it, my boy; but this world is full of bitter disappointments. I have encountered a number of them in my time. A person gets used to it after a while. Disappointments roll from me like water off a duck’s back. Once on a time they filled me with bitterness, and heartburning, and other painful emotions too numerous to mention. Once on a time I had a girl who threw me down for a homelier chap. Abe, it then seemed that for me the sun had eternally set and Stygian night lay spread before me for all time. I even thought of taking a shotgun and discharging it into that vacuum where my brains are supposed to be. I longed to rest in my cold, cold grave, where all would be peace, and silence, and relief. In my mind’s eye I saw above me a little mound of earth, with daisies, forget-me-nots, hollyhocks, cowslips, and other aristocratic flowers growing all over it. I saw the cruel, cruel girl weeping above that mound, and it gave me untold satisfaction.
“The only thing that saved me from destruction was my thirst. I was seized by an awful thirst, and when I had quenched it I felt a great deal better. What I drank helped me to forget my sorrows, and the next day I had another girl. As I inspected this other girl with my critical eye, I arrived at the conclusion that she just about knocked the spots off number one. And ever since that time I have faced disappointments with philosophical complaisance, firm in my belief that every disappointment and fizzle I made is simply a blessing in disguise. That’s why I stroll through life with such serene urbanity. That’s why I smile in the face of the finger of scorn and the tongue of gossip. Excuse me if my metaphor is slightly mixed.”
“What are you talking about, anyway, captain?”
“I don’t know, Abe. I often wonder what I am talking about. At one time I engaged a cultured person to translate my language for me. But when he explained[explained] it to me, some of the things I said so shocked me that I immediately discharged him. I concluded that it was better for me to pass through life in blissful ignorance of the real meaning of my own fluent conversation. But stay, Abe, stay! Methinks I have forgotten something. Even so, I have left my hundred-dollar meerschaum pipe in that restaurant. I placed it on the table at my elbow, and came away without it. It’s ten chances to one that the waiter has already gathered it unto his person, and is now chortling with glee over his good fortune. Pause here a moment, while I hasten back to recover my property. I will return before any elongated amount of time has evaporated.” Saying which, Wiley quickly dashed back into the restaurant, leaving the boy waiting upon the sidewalk.
Barely had the sailor disappeared when a closed cab stopped at the curb, and from it sprang two black-bearded men, whose slouch hats were pulled low down over their eyes. Before Abe could dream that he was in the slightest danger, these men seized him. One of them clapped a broad hand over his mouth, to prevent him from making an outcry, and in a most astonishing manner he was snapped up, carried to the cab, and lifted into it. If passing pedestrians observed this daring piece of work it was completed before one of them thought of interfering. The cab door closed with a bang. The driver whipped up his horses, and the astonished and frightened hunchback was borne swiftly away.
“Keep still, boy!” growled one of the bearded men. “If you raise a yell you’ll be sorry. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Abe had managed to cling to his fiddle, which was a habit of his at all times. He was terrified, shocked, and almost smothered.