Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 February 1915 — The Impromptu Cousin [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Impromptu Cousin

By MONTAGUE GLASS

Author of POTASH & PERLMUTTER

At three o’clock of a mild October morning two dusty, brown objects, one large and one small, were cast from the Harrisburg Limited at Columbia Crossroads. The limited was making-a good twenty miles an hour, and. both packages bounced violently and then sagged together into a small heap on the station platform. Each suffered from the impact. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the larger object, which was St. Louis Pete; while the smaller one,, which was a United States mail-pouch, sustained a rent in its side and most of its contents were scattered under an adjacent baggage-truck. At a quarter past three Pete sat up and gingerly felt the end of his nose with his finger-tips. “Youse kin maim me," he murmured, “but youse can’t kill me!" Then, with a groan, he rose to his feet and tentatively shook out his legs.

“No bones cracked,” he said, "and —holy cripes, wot’s dis?” He stopped and grabbed the torn pouch, whereat two letters and a postal card tumbled upon the platform. These he gathered up, together with the three envelopes beneath the truck, and thrust them into the bosom of his ragged shirt. “Dey sure gits a heavy mail in dis burg!” he continued, and slunk down the track to where a switch-lamp gleamed on the freight-siding. There he crouched beside the light and carefully drew the letters from his shirt. The first two bore the imprint of a mail-order house, and these he laid to one side. An oath of pleasurable surprise marked the opening of the third, for a crisp dollar bill reposed inside. He pulled out the greenback, together with its accqmpany|ng message, and spread the letter on his knee. It was headed “Denmark Center,” and read: Dear Sir:

I am sending you a i&pllar this week not two because my wife is sick and I ain’t got the two. This makes a balance of five dollars on the third note, and three dolsi interest what we agreed on. Respectful, ANSON BURRITT. Pete picked up the envelope. It was addressed to'“Hiram Towners, Columbia X-Roads.” The next missive was a postal card directed to Miss Ethel Towners, and reading as follows: \ Cyprus, Pa. Dear Niece: Expect your aunt and me home on Saturday. I must tell you that our cousin, Charles Parshall, who you have never seen, is visiting East from Oklahoma, and will probably stop off to the X-Roads on No. 2 tomorrow, Friday. He is a bit hearty and rough in his manner, but give him the spare room and get Eleeza Wouters to sleep with you. He will wait till we come. Your uncle, HIRAM TOWNERS. Pete next examined the remaining envelope, and the chuckle with which he recognized the name of Hiram Towners merged into a grunt of disappointment when he found no money enclosed. Again he applied himself to the deciphering of the script—which,' for Pete, was a. task of no mean proportion. He made it out thus: Dear Cousin Hiram: When I seen you In Cyprus yesterday I thought as how I would pass through Columbia Crossroads on Friday. Well, Hiram, I can’t do it, but must be In N. Y. City on Friday, so I write to tell you that I can’t. I am Sorry about It, but will write yon before I leave for Okla. I am your cousin, CHARLES PARSHALL. Pete looked up Into the sky, where a fat October moon was paling to the dawn. “‘I am your cousin, Charles Parshall,’ ”he quoted. “Dere ain’t narten de matter with dat idea, neider! M Sounds of tuneless whistling came down the road which skirted the track, and Pete gathered up his plunder. He limped hastily toward the station platform and replaced the two mail-order letters and the postal card addressed to Miss' Ethel Towners In the tom sack. Then he dodged behind the small shanty that served as a waiting room and ticket-office. The tuneless whistle drew nearer, and at length embodied itself in the person of Henry Wouters, the postmaster of Columbia Crossroads. *v “Busted agin! 1 * said Henry in mat-tar-of-t&fct tones, ashepicfcedup the pouch, v ; " He slid the two letters and the

postal out of the bag, which he slung over his shoulder, and, resuming his musical exercise, slouched off up the road. Pete emerged from his hiding place and sighed hekvily. Oh, the luxury of & clean, sweet-smelling bed for just one night! he reflected. "An’ I bet she cooks good pancakes, too,” he said aloud. He hung his head irresolutely. i “Wid real maple sirup,” tie went on, “wid real— By ginger, HI do it, if 1 got to blow in dat whole dollar for soap!"

• a v IL ~ True, the hat, an old broad-brimmed Stetson, had been intended for a head two sizes larger than Pete’s; but when he cocked it to one side the effect was rakish and the misfit barely apparent. He had been bathed and shaved and his shoes had been polished, so there was nothing about him that suggested the hobo. He had discreetly effaced himself during the ninety-second stop at Columbia Crossroads, and it was only when the train had gained some headway as it left the station that he jumped nimbly to the side of the track. In his right hand he,grasped a brand-new valise, which two hours before had hung from the front of a trunk store in Denmark while the proprietor was ’ busy Inside. It was now weighted with two bricks and securely locked, and as Pete stepped on the station platform Henry Wouters rushed forward to relieve him of it “Could youse direct me, now, to Hr. Hiram Towner’s place?” he asked aloud. “I suttinly kin,” he replied. ‘Ton be Mr. Towner’s cousin from Oklyhomy?” “Dat’s me,” Pete said. “Well, now,” Henry went on, “that's wot .4 thought. I got my buggy outside, and I’m a goin’ to drive you up.” Ten minutes later they drew up at the Towners’ side porch; and twenty minutes later Pete was regaling himself with fried ham and hot biscuit, and Miss Ethel Towners and Eleeza Wouters, Henry's sister, with as blood-curdling yams of fighting Indians down in Oklahoma as his imagination and a dim recollection of his dime novel days could supply. “Yes, ma’am,” he said through a heavy mouthful of creamed potatoes; “dere wuz fifty of ’em, an’ I fought my way t’rough de hull bunch.” “And did you kill any of them?” Miss Towners asked.

She was a timid spinster of thirty, with a pleasant face and large gray eyes, and she hung on Pete’s every word like a second Desdemona. —“Only six,” said Pete modestly. Miss Towners gave a little cry and Eleeza Wouters gasped. Miss Wouters was stout and forty, and her red face fairly glistened her interest in Pete’s moving tale. He continued to rehash old Beadle novels sos the benefit of the two women until the kitchen clock chimed ten. “Mercy me!” Miss Towners cried, "It’s bedtime!” When the house was locked up Eleeza Wouters showed 'the guest up to the spare room on the second floor. “You’ll practically have the whole house to yourself,” she said. “Miss Towners an’ me will sleep in the wing.” “I hope you ain’t goin' ter have no nightmare,” said Pete. “I hope not,” Eleeza replied doubtfully. “I guess you won’t.” Pete looked at the snowy bed and

the neat, homelike furnishing of the room. “No,” he said, heaving a great sigh, T gpess I won’t!" 111. For a minute Pete listened to the retreat of Eleeza’s ponderous tread on the stairs; but after a door slammed in the distance he stretched himself luxuriously. “Dis,” he ehuekled, “is a little bit of all right I could stand dis tree hundred an’ seventy-five nights in de He tiptoed around the room and opened and closed closet doors. At

length the faint murmur of the two women’s conversation ceased and, shading his lamp with his hand, Pete explored the mysteries of the hall. The next room, evidently that of his host, contained, in addition to the ordinary furniture of a bedroom, a small safe and a roll-top desk. By force of habit Pete whipped out his knife and forthwith attacked the lock of the desk. It yielded almost Immediately and Pete lost no time in investigating the neat little bundle of papers in the pigeonholes. He drew up a chair and set himself to systematic and thorough examination of each envelope. There was much correspondence, of a sort which indicated Mr. Towners’ business of note-shaving and money lending to be in a flourishing condition. One pile of envelopes contained nothing but letters from Anson Burritt. They disclosed that a debt originally contracted for fifty dollars one year before had swollen to almost two hundred dollars by process of interest on interest and fees for drawing legal papers. In addition, there were six promissory notes for varying amounts. Pete thrust all of them, together with the correspondence, into his breastpocket.

Thence he passed to the perusal ot other letters. So Interested was he in the tales of usury they recounted that he entirely failed to notice the light creak of a footstep on the stair outside. Nor did he so much as lift his eyes from the absorbing page until a cold sensation in the back of his neck made him straighten up. “Not a peep,” said a horse, familiar voice, “or I'll blow yer nut awff!” Mechanically Pete raised his hands above his head and faced slowly round. “Hole-in-de-Cheek!” he exclaimed.

“St. Louis Pete!” the other gasped, lowering his revolver. “Wot in Sam Hill are youse doin’ here?” “Put down dat gun an’ I’ll tell yer,” Pete replied. Hole-in-the-Cheek laughed softly. “It ain’t loaded,” he said. He was short and thin, as becomes a porch-climber, and when he spoke he thrust his chin forward after the fashion of Chatham square. “Oh, it ain’t loaded, ain’t it?” Pete jeered, and stepped back nimbly. The next moment two dull smacks announced the impact of Pete’s left and right on Hole-In-the-Cheek's Jaw. It was a clean knockout, and the yeggman crumpled up on the carpeted floor. Pete stood over him with his eyes ablaze. “Had to butt in, hadn’t yer T he isaid bitterly, addressing the prostrate and unconscious, burglar. “Couldn't take de hint when I chalked it up on de gate for yer!" , , Vigorously he Jerked the sheets from Hiram Towners’ bed and ripped them into long strips with his Jackknife. Never was there so complete, a job of trussing as Pete made of ? it. When he finished Hole-in-the-Ch&ek lay effectually bound in double-knot-ted thongs and gagged with an inkwell and a towel. As a finishing touch Pete drew a pillow slip over his unconscious victim’s head. “Under de bed fer yours!” he muttered, and rolled Hole-in-the-Cheek over the carpet

~ - >■ IV. At seven the next morning Pete awoke to the sound of a vigorous bellringing below stairs. He scrambled out of bed and opened the door. ' "I knew ut!” he muttered, sniffing a current of air which came'up the starway. “Pancakes ’n’ sassidges ’ll’ cawffee!” He performed his toilet with the rapidity of a city fireman and in five minutes he seated himself at the breakfast stable in front of a pile of smoking - - .. - ... “Tuck right in, Mr. Parshall,” said n “It ain’t often ye get real

Cyprus county buckwheat and surrup.” Pete needed no further invitation, and the luscious cakes followed one another down his throat as if they were affixed to a patent belt-conveyer. Little pork sausages to the number ot ten accompanied the pancakes, and three cups of coffee helped to wash It all down. At length he drew his chair back, stretched his legs and heaved a contented sigh. “Well, ladies," he said, “I must say dat—” But the remainder of the compliment remained unuttered, for at this Juncture a tremendous banging on the floor above brought down small flakes of plaster on Miss Towners’ table and the house rocked with the commotion. Eleeza shrieked and clutched at the tablecloth, while Miss Towners sat bolt upright and turned white. “Land o’ Goshen!” she cried in a hill of the noise. “What Is that?” Pete rose to his feet in a carefully devised attitude of strained attention. “It sounds to me,” he said, after another series of bangs, “like dere wuz somebody up dere. Have youse gqt a revolver in de house?” Miss Towners pointed tremblingly to a shelf in the kitchen and Pete at once seized the firearm from between the tea-caddy and the saltbox. Its six chambers were loaded. # Thrusting It into his coat pocket, Pete took the stairs three at a jump. Immediately thereafter Miss Towners and Eleeza ran into the front yard and, standing at the gate, uttered scream after scream. “Jest as if dey wuz paid fer it,” Pete thought. He entered his host’s bedroom and carefully fired three shots through the front window, whereat the quality of Miss Towners’ screams became doubly piercing. Then Pete tore the sheets, mattress and springs from the bed and exposed the bound and half-suffocated yeggman. Hole-in-the-Cheek wriggled like a snake, but his thongs held fast.

“Youse do wot I tell yer,” Pete cried, “or I’ll i>ut a slug inter yer an’ finish de Job!” He lifted Hole-in-the-Cheek from the bottom of the bed and set him against the wall. Then he removed the gag. As soon as the burglar could enunciate a stream of profanity Issued forth, all of which caused a broad grin on ? "KeepfiTup!” he said. "Keep it up! Ye’re boostin’ me game.” For five minutes Pete turned over chairs and knoeked down -pictures in dramatic counterfeit of a struggle to the death. After this there was a stillness of about ten minutes, during which he rocked and wheezed in an ecstasy of mirth. Then he seized the mummy-wrapped Hole-in-the-Cheek and bore him wriggling down the stairs. When he appeared at tfie front door Miss Towners lay on the grass-plot in a swoon, while Eleeza was opening and closing her mouth with spasmodic regularity. No sound came from her lips, however, for she had shrieked herself into complete silence. .Pete cast bis burden on the ground. “Dat’s wot we do to ’em in Oklahoma!” he said. Aided by Eleeza, he harnessed Hiram Towners’ best mare to the family wagon and in ten minutes he was driving rapidly down the highway toward the station with Hole-in-the-Cheek doubled up under the rear seat, as Incapable of motion as a sack of potatoes. The jolting of the wagon, however, seemed to revive the yeggman’s vocal powers, and he gushed out blasphemy jin such profusion that it made his first ungagged efforts m the bedroom seem like the small talk of a mothers’’ meeting. “Hole-in-the-Cheek,” he said solemnly,. “youse . wouldn’t, daat gimme dat line of talk if youse was untied.” Hole-in-the-Cheek’s reply to this oh-

serration was at first an incoherent frothing at the month. Later, by eliminating the expletives, which outnumbered the significant words by ten to one, Pete gathered that the yegg' man Invited anyone to unwind him and try. Pete whipped out his Jackknife and, leaning over the back of his seat, with & few deft slashes rid Hole-in-tlie-Cheek of his many wrappings. "Now come on, you four-flushing, hobo!" he said, and danced in circles around Pete. “Come on! Youse can put me to sleep when I ain’t lookin'. Do it now, when I’m ready for yer!” Pete clinched and unclinched his fists. It might, after all, he reflected, lend the necessary air of verisimilitude . if he went back to the Towners’ house with a bleeding nose or a black eye. A stinging blow in the ear crystallized his indecision, and he faced Hole-in-the-Cheek, confident, with his superior height and reach, of his ability to knock out the yeggman In one round. There was blood in the yeggman’s eyes as he feinted and circled around his opponent, and Pete had all he could do to ward off the nasty little jabs that Hole-in-the-Cheek aimed at him. It was at this juncture that Towners’ mare, the instrument and agent of poetic Justice, emitted a strident neigh. Pete’s eyes shifted from the direction of his antagonise for just one instant, but in that brief moment the mischief was done. Five blows smacked on his jaw with the precision and noise of an automatic pistol. Earth and heaven reeled for the hobo and vanished into darkness, taking with them —to complete the metaphor—Pete's every chance of chicken fricassee with beaten biscuit; for it was not until an hour later that he came out of his stupor and scrambled painfully to his feet. Simultaneously, in the town of Denmark, ten miles distant, Hole-in-the-Cheek emerged from the Blue Front Livery and Sale stables and carefully tucked away a fifty dollar bill, the exact price he had received for the Towners mare and family wagon.

V. A week later Pete sat in one of the Metropolitan Army shelters and gazed mournfully at a large sign over the clerk’s desk. It read thus: "Square yourself with the home folks, and write now. Stamped envelope and sheet of paper at the desk for the asking." "Home folks!” he muttered bitterly to himself. "Home folks!” The words started a turbulent train of reflection, and step by step he went over his experience with the only home folks he ever knew. At length he reviewed the period when he examined the contents of Hiram Towners’ desk; and, thrusting his hand into his breast pocket, he drew forth the

six promissory notes of Anson BnrrftL He turned them over one by one and sighed heavily. "Home folks be blowed!” he burst out at length. “Dele's one way I kin square meself, even if I ain’t got no home folks." He shuffled up to the desk and addressed the captain in charge. "Gimme one of dem stamped envelopes an’ sheets of paper, boss," bo said. "Well, well, Pete," the captain said good-naturedly, as he handed out the

stationery, "I didn’t know you had any home folks." Pete grunted in reply and took his booty to a nearby table. Here he squared his elbows and, with lolling tongue and a furrowed brow, directed the envelope to "Anson Burrltt, Denmark Center, Pa." Then he Inclosed the six notes, after carefully tearing off the signatures, and finally addressed himself to the writing of the following letter: “Deer Sir: Inclose is the notes you give Hiram Towners. i tore off the names. He slrtenly dun you good, if you pay him enny more you are a bigger fool than 1 am —and that’s goin* sum. Your friend, “ST. LOOEY PETE."

Gingerly Felt the End of His Nose.

“Dat’s Me,” Pete Said.

Lost No Time in inveetigating.

“Keep It Up! Ye’re Boostin’ Me Game."