Part 17 (1/2)
”Is that a secret society?” inquired Towhead, lifting a finger at the badge.
Mr. McLean nodded. ”Turruble,” said he.
”You're a Wells & Fargo detective,” a.s.serted the leader.
”Play your harp,” said Lin.
”Are you a--a desperaydo?” whispered Towhead.
”Oh, my!” observed Mr. McLean, sadly; ”what has our Jack been readin'?”
”He's a cattle-man!” cried Billy. ”I seen his heels.”
”That's you!” said the discovered puncher, with approval. ”You'll do.
But I bet you can't tell me what we wearers of this badge have sworn to do this night.”
At this they craned their necks and glared at him.
”We--are--sworn--don't yu' jump, now, and give me away--sworn--to--blow off three bootblacks to a dinner.”
”Ah, pshaw!” They backed away, bristling with distrust.
”That's the oath, fellows. Yu' may as well make your minds up--for I have it to do!”
”Dare you to! Ah!”
”And after dinner it's the Opera-house, to see 'The Children of Captain Cant'!”
They screamed shrilly at him, keeping off beyond the curb.
”I can't waste my time on such smart boys,” said Mr. McLean, rising lazily to his full height from the window-sill. ”I am goin' somewhere to find boys that ain't so turruble quick stampeded by a roast turkey.”
He began to lounge slowly away, serious as he had been throughout, and they, stopping their noise short, swiftly picked up their boxes, and followed him. Some change in the current of electricity that fed the window disturbed its sparkling light, so that Santa Claus, with his arms stretched out behind the departing cow-puncher seemed to be smiling more broadly from the midst of his flickering brilliance.
On their way to turkey, the host and his guests exchanged but few remarks. He was full of good-will, and threw off a comment or two that would have led to conversation under almost any circ.u.mstances save these; but the minds of the guests were too distracted by this whole state of things for them to be capable of more than keeping after Mr.
McLean in silence, at a wary interval, and with their mouths, during most of the journey, open. The badge, the pistol, their patron's talk, and the unusual dollars, wakened wide their bent for the unexpected, their street affinity for the spur of the moment; they believed slimly in the turkey part of it, but what this man might do next, to be there when he did it, and not to be trapped, kept their wits jumping deliciously; so when they saw him stop, they stopped instantly too, ten feet out of reach. This was Denver's most civilized restaurant--that one which Mr. McLean had remembered, with foreign dishes and private rooms, where he had promised himself, among other things, champagne. Mr. McLean had never been inside it, but heard a tale from a friend; and now he caught a sudden sight of people among geraniums, with plumes and white s.h.i.+rt-fronts, very elegant. It must have been several minutes that he stood contemplating the entrance and the luxurious couples who went in.
”Plumb French!” he observed at length; and then, ”Shucks!” in a key less confident, while his guests ten feet away watched him narrowly. ”They're eatin' patty de parley-voo in there,” he muttered, and the three bootblacks came beside him. ”Say, fellows,” said Lin, confidingly, ”I wasn't raised good enough for them dude dishes. What do yu' say! I'm after a place where yu' can mention oyster stoo without givin' anybody a fit. What do yu' say, boys?”
That lighted the divine spark of brotherhood!
”Ah, you come along with us--we'll take yer! You don't want to go in there. We'll show yer the boss place in Market Street. We won't lose yer.” So, shouting together in their shrill little city trebles, they cl.u.s.tered about him, and one pulled at his coat to start him. He started obediently, and walked in their charge, they leading the way.
”Christmas is comin' now, sure,” said Lin, grinning to himself. ”It ain't exactly what I figured on.” It was the first time he had laughed since Cheyenne, and he brushed a hand over his eyes, that were dim with the new warmth in his heart.
Believing at length in him and his turkey, the alert street faces, so suspicious of the unknown, looked at him with ready intimacy as they went along; and soon, in the friendly desire to make him acquainted with Denver, the three were patronizing him. Only Billy, perhaps, now and then stole at him a doubtful look.
The large Country Mouse listened solemnly to his three Town Mice, who presently introduced him to the place in Market Street. It was not boss, precisely, and Denver knows better neighborhoods; but the turkey and the oyster stew were there, with catsup and vegetables in season, and several choices of pie. Here the Country Mouse became again efficient; and to witness his liberal mastery of ordering and imagine his pocket and its wealth, which they had heard and partly seen, renewed in the guests a transient awe. As they dined, however, and found the host as frankly ravenous as themselves, this reticence evaporated, and they all grew fluent with oaths and opinions. At one or two words, indeed, Mr.
McLean stared and had a slight sense of blus.h.i.+ng.