Belknap-Jackson. I had a doubtless
absurd fear that he would seek the gentleman out and do him a
mischief, though for the moment he was merely urging me to do this. It
would, he asserted, vastly entertain the Indian Tuttle and the
cow-persons if I were to come upon Mr. Belknap-Jackson and savage him
without warning, or at least with only a paltry excuse, which he
seemed proud of having devised.
"You go up to the guy," he insisted, "very polite, you understand, and
ask him what day this is. If he says it's Tuesday, soak him."
"But it is Tuesday," I said.
"Sure," he replied, "that's where the joke comes in."
Of course this was the crudest sort of American humour and not to be
given a moment's serious thought, so I redoubled my efforts to detach
him from our honest but noisy friends, and presently had the
satisfaction of doing so by pleading that I must be up early on the
morrow and would also require his assistance. At parting, to my
embarrassment, he insisted on leading the group in a cheer. "What's
the matter with Ruggles?" they loudly demanded in unison, following
the query swiftly with: "He's all right!" the "he" being eloquently
emphasized.
But at last we were away from them and off into the darker avenue, to
my great relief, remembering my garb.
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