Once, when I was in Frisco, I saw a parade of the Friendly Order of Hindu Cats, and the Grand Thomas Cat o’ Creation rode in front on an old gray hoss. This hoss had feet like worn-out brooms, and the’ was knots all over his legs. All he asked in the way of entertainment was to pass a peaceful day in a quiet stable, face to face with a bale of hay; but they had clipped his mane an’ tail, hung a beaded belt across his brisket, put a scarlet blanket on him, and jabbed him with spurs until he was irritated to a degree.
The feller ridin’ him had learned to ride in a barber’s chair; but he had a heavy frown, and a lot o’ gold lace, and a big canoe-shaped hat; and I have to admit that if they had tied him fast to the saddle, and put rubber spurs on him, he would have looked the part like a picture. Every time he’d see one of his friends he’d stab the hoss on the off side, then jerk back on the curb, and smile benevolent, as though he intended to save the populace from that fiery steed or sprain every bone in his face.
The old gray was as forgivin’ a hoss as I ever see; but he had his limits as well as the rest of us. For the first ten or fifteen blocks, he’d only swish his tail and prance when his rider jabbed him an order for a little more fire; but finally his flanks got touchy, and his sense o’ justice began to write the declaration of independence on his patience. This would have been the time an intelligent human would have traded off his spurs for an apple or a lump o’ sugar, or some other welcome little peace-offerin’; but just then the parade passed under a window jammed full o’ the Grand Thomas Cat’s closest friends, and o’ course, they had to see a little fire.
He straightened out his legs, and then clamped the spurs into the old gray’s flanks. I had fought my way through the crowd for fifteen squares just to see it happen, and it was well worth it. The gray was stiff and awkward, but in his youth he had taken a few lessons in buckin’, and what he lacked in speed and practice, he made up in earnestness. The Thomas Cat didn’t know any more about balancing than a ball, and the grip of his knees wouldn’t have put a dent in a pullet’s egg; the’ was no horn to the saddle, and the mane had been clipped, so all he had to hang on with was the spurs and the curb bit; and things certainly did happen.
The old gray pitched and kicked and reared and backed and snorted and got mixed up with flags and citizens and umbrellas and red-lemonade stands and policemen; until finally he scraped off the Grand Thomas Cat of Creation on an awning, and tore off home, jumpin’ and kickin’; while the population threw their hats in the air and yelled their palates loose. They threw fruit and popcorn and friendly advice at the Grand Cat as he hung from the awning; but friend or foe, the’ wasn’t a soul in that crowd to help him get down; so as soon as he got calm enough to remember what he was, he dropped the three feet to the sidewalk, and ran into the store and hid.
If ya want to fill a crowd with content and satisfaction and joy and felicity and such-like items, just have some terrible accident happen to a popular hero, and all the joy-wells’ll overflow and gush forth like fountains—But what made me think o’ this little incident was the fact that this girl at Skelty’s put the spurs to her feminine charms a leetle too continuous.
Dixon, the Cross-brander, was one o’ these lean, skinny ones, and as a rule, I don’t crave to make their acquaintance. His Adam’s apple ran up and down in his neck like a dumbwaiter, and the’ was plenty o’ distance for consid’able of a run. If ya looked at just the part of him between his chin and his shoulders, he resembled an ostrich, chokin’ on an orange; but I decided to be as friendly as possible; so as soon as I’d filled a cigarette paper, I offered him my sack o’ tobacco. He took it, and while he was rollin’ himself a cigarette, he sez: “I see you’ve cut loose from your preacher.”
“Nope,” sez I, “he cut loose from me.”
“How come you fellers spend so much time out this way?” sez he.
“Nice country and pleasant folks,” sez I.