Shorty McCabe | Page 8

underneath. Before they
could untangle we comes up, snakes Homer off the top of the heap, and
skiddoos for all we had left in us.
By the time that crowd of jay-hawkers comes boomin' down to Mother
Bickell's to view the remains we had the old girl up and settin' at the
front window with a light behind her. They asked each other a lot of
foolish questions and then concluded to go home.
While things was quietin' down we were making a grand rush to get
Homer into bed before he passed in altogether. Neither Leonidas nor

me looked for him to last more'n an hour or two after that stunt, and we
were thinkin' of taking him back in a box. But after he got his breath he
didn't say much except that he was plumb tired. We were still
wonderin' whether to send for a doctor or the coroner, when he rolls
over with his face to the wall and goes to sleep as comfortable as a
kitten in a basket.
It was in the middle of the forenoon before any of us shows up for
breakfast. We'd inspected Homer once, about eight o'clock, and found
him still sawin' wood, so we didn't try to get him up. But just as I was
openin' my second egg down he comes, walkin' a little stiff, but
otherwise as good as ever, if not better.
"How far was it that I ran last night, Mr. Dodge?" says he.
"About a mile and a half," says Leonidas, stating it generous. "And it
was as good amateur sprinting as I ever saw."
Homer cracked the first smile I'd seen him tackle and pulled up to the
table.
"I'm beginning to think," says he, "that there can't be much of a leak in
my heart, after all. When we get back to town to-night, Mr. McCabe,
we'll have another talk about those boxing lessons. Eggs? Yes, thank
you, Mrs. Bickell; about four, soft. And by the way, Dodge, what was
the date on that gravestone, anyway?"
CHAPTER II
What did we do with Homer, eh? Ah, forget it! Say, soon's he got back
to town and found he could navigate 'round by himself, he begins to
count up expenses. Then he asks us to put in a bill.
"Bill!" says I. "What for? I'm no hired man. I've been doin' this for
fun." Leonidas says the same.
But Homer wouldn't have it that way. He says we've done him a lot of
good, and lost our valuable time, and he'll feel hurt if we don't let him

make us a little present. With that he pries open a fat leather green
goods case, paws over a layer of yellow backs two or three inches
thick--and fishes out a couple of ten spots.
"Stung!" says Leonidas, under his breath.
"Homer," says I, shovin' 'em back at him, "if you're as grateful as all
that, I'll tell you what you'd better do--keep these, and found a Home
for Incurable Tight-wads."
Then we loses him in the crowd, and each of us strikes out for himself.
Blessed if I know where Leonidas strayed to, but I'm dead sure of the
place I fetched up at. It was It'ly, North It'ly. Ever been there? Well,
don't. Nothin' but dagoes and garlic and roads that run up hill. Say,
some day when my roll needs the anti-fat treatment, I'm goin' to send
over there and have 'em put a monument that'll read: "Here's where
Shorty McCabe was buried alive for five weeks."
Doing? Wasn't a blamed thing doing there. We were just assassinatin'
time, that's all. But the Boss thought he liked it, for a while, so I had to
hang on. The Boss? Oh, he's just the Boss. Guess you wouldn't know
him--he hasn't been cured by three bottles of anything, and isn't much
for buyin' billboard space. But he's a star all right. He's got a mint
somewhere, a little private mint of his own, that runs days and nights
and overtime. Scotty mine? No, better'n that--defunct grandmothers and
such. It's been comin' his way ever since he was big enough to clip a
coupon. Don't believe he knows how much he has got, but that don't
worry him. He don't even try to spend the gate receipts; just uses what
he wants and lets the rest pyramid.
Course, he's out of my class in a way; but then again, he ain't. The way
we come to hook up was like this: You see, when I quits Homer, I takes
the first thing that comes along, which happens to be the Jericho Lamb.
He wants me to train him for his go with Grasshopper Jake, and I did.
Well, we pulls it off in Denver. The Lamb