Southern Stories, Page 2

  JERICHO BOB

  BY ANNA EICHBERG KING

  Jericho Bob, when he was four years old, hoped that one day he might beallowed to eat just as much turkey as he possibly could. He was eightnow, but that hope had not been realized.

  Mrs. Jericho Bob, his mother, kept hens for a living, and she expectedthat they would lay enough eggs in the course of time to help her son toan independent career as a bootblack.

  They lived in a tumble-down house in a waste of land near the steamcars, and besides her hens Mrs. Bob owned a goat.

  Our story has, however, nothing to do with the goat except to say he wasthere, and that he was on nibbling terms, not only with Jericho Bob,but with Bob's bosom friend, Julius Caesar Fish, and it was surprisinghow many old hat-brims and other tidbits of clothing he could swallowduring a day.

  As Mrs. Bob truly said, it was no earthly use to get something new forJericho, even if she could afford it; for the goat browsed all over him,and had been known to carry away even a leg of his trousers.

  Jericho Bob was eight years old, and the friend of his bosom, JuliusCaesar Fish, was nine. They were both of a lovely black; a tallow-dipcouldn't take the kink out of their hair, and the hardest whipping didnot disturb the even cheerfulness of their spirits. They were so muchalike that if it hadn't been for Jericho's bow-legs and his turn-upnose, you really could not have told them apart.

  A kindred taste for turkey also united them.

  In honor of Thanksgiving day Mrs. Bob always sacrificed a hen whichwould, but for such blessed release, have died of old age. One drumstickwas given to Jericho, whose interior remained an unsatisfied void.

  Jericho Bob had heard of turkey as a fowl larger, sweeter, and moretender than hen; and about Thanksgiving time he would linger around theprovision stores and gaze with open mouth at the noble array of turkeyshanging, head downward, over bushels of cranberries, as if even at thatuncooked stage, they were destined for one another. And turkey was hisdream.

  It was spring-time, and the hens were being a credit to themselves. Thegoat in the yard, tied to a stake, was varying a meal of old shoe andtomato-can by a nibble of fresh green grass. Mrs. Bob was laid up withrheumatism.

  "Jericho Bob!" she said to her son, shaking her red and yellow turban athim, "Jericho Bob, you go down an' fetch de eggs to-day. Ef I find yerdon't bring me twenty-three, I'll--well, never mind what I'll do, butyer won't like it."

  Now, Jericho Bob meant to be honest, but the fact was he foundtwenty-four, and the twenty-fourth was so big, so remarkably big.

  Twenty-three eggs he brought to Mrs. Bob, but the twenty-fourth hesinfully left in charge of the discreet hen.

  On his return he met Julius Caesar Fish, with his hands in his pocketsand his head extinguished by his grandfather's fur cap.

  Together they went toward the hen-coop and Julius Caesar Fish spoke, orrather lisped (he had lost some of his front teeth):

  "Jericho Bobth, that 'th a turkey'th egg."

  "Yer don't say so?"

  "I think i'th a-goin' ter hatch." No sooner said than they heard a pickand a peck in the shell.

  "Pick!" a tiny beak broke through the shell. "Peck!" more beak. "Crack!"a funny little head, a long, bare neck, and then "Pick! Peck! Crack!"before them stood the funniest, fluffiest brown ball resting on two weaklittle legs.

  "Hooray!" shouted the woolly heads.

  "Peep!" said turkeykin.

  "It's mine!" Jericho shouted excitedly.

  "I'th Marm Pitkin'th turkey'th; she laid it there."

  "It's mine, and I'm going to keep it, and next Thanksgiving I'm goingter eat him."

  "Think your ma'll let you feed him up for thath?" Julius Caesar asked,triumphantly.

  Jericho Bob's next Thanksgiving dinner seemed destined to be a dream.His face fell.

  "I'll tell yer whath I'll do," his friend said, benevolently; "I'll keep'm for you, and Thanksgivin' we'll go halvth."

  JERICHO BOB AND JULIUS CAESAR FISH PLANNING THEIRTHANKSGIVING DINNER.]

  Jericho resigned himself to the inevitable, and the infant turkey wasborne home by his friend.

  Fish, Jr., lived next door, and the only difference in the premises wasa freight-car permanently switched off before the broken-down fence ofthe Fish yard; and in this car turkeykin took up his abode.

  I will not tell you how he grew and more than realized the hopes of hisfoster-fathers, nor with what impatience and anticipation they sawspring, summer, and autumn pass, while they watched their Thanksgivingdinner stalk proudly up the bare yard, and even hop across the railroadtracks.

  But, alas! the possession of the turkey brought with it strife anddiscord.

  Quarrels arose between the friends as to the prospective disposal of hisremains. We grieve to say that the question of who was to cook him ledto blows.

  It was the day before Thanksgiving. There was a coldness between thefriends which was not dispelled by the bringing of a pint of cranberriesto the common store by Jericho, and the contributing thereto of a coupleof cold boiled sweet potatoes by Julius Caesar Fish.

  The friends sat on an ancient wash-tub in the back yard, and there was amomentary truce between them. Before them stood the freight-car, andalong the track beyond an occasional train tore down the road, which sofar excited their mutual sympathy that they rose and shouted as one man.

  At the open door of the freight-car stood the unsuspecting turkey, andlooked meditatively out on the landscape and at the two figures on thewash-tub.

  One had bow-legs, a turn-up nose, and a huge straw hat. The other wore afur cap and a gentleman's swallow-tail coat, with the tails caught upbecause they were too long.

  The turkey hopped out of the car and gazed confidingly at hisprotectors. In point of size he was altogether their superior.

  "I think," said Jericho Bob, "we'd better ketch 'im; to-morrow'sThanksgiving. Yum!"

  And he looked with great joy at the innocent, the unsuspecting fowl.

  "Butcher Tham 'th goin' ter kill 'im for uth," Julius Caesar hastened tosay, "an' I kin cook 'im."

  "No, you ain't. I'm goin' to cook 'im," Jericho Bob cried, resentfully."He's mine."

  "He ain'th; he'th mine."

  "He was my egg," and Jericho Bob danced defiance at his friend.

  The turkey looked on with some surprise, and he became alarmed when hesaw his foster-fathers clasped in an embrace more of anger than of love.

  "I'll eat 'im all alone!" Jericho Bob cried.

  "No, yer sha'n't!" the other shouted.

  The turkey fled in a circle about the yard.

  "Now, look yere," said Julius Caesar, who had conquered. "We're goin' tobe squar'. He wath your egg, but who brought 'im up? Me! Who'th got afriend to kill 'im? Me! Who'th got a fire to cook 'im? Me! Now you gitup and we'll kitch 'im. Ef you thay another word about your egg I'lljeth eat 'im up all mythelf."

  Jericho Bob was conquered. With mutual understanding they approached theturkey.

  "Come yere; come yere," Julius Caesar said, coaxingly.

  For a moment the bird gazed at both, uncertain what to do.

  "Come yere," Julius Caesar repeated, and made a dive for him. The turkeyspread his tail. Oh, didn't he run!

  "Now I've got yer!" the wicked Jericho Bob cried, and thought he hadcaptured the fowl; when with a shriek from Jericho Bob, as the turkeyknocked him over, the Thanksgiving dinner spread his wings, rose in theair, and alighted on the roof of the freight-car.

  The turkey looked down over the edge of the car at his enemies, and theygazed up at him. Both parties surveyed the situation.

  "We've got him," Julius Caesar cried at last, exultantly. "You git on theroof, and ef you don't kitch 'im up thar, I'll kitch 'im down yere."

  With the help of the wash-tub, an old chair, Julius Caesar's back, andmuch scrambling, Jericho Bob was hoisted on top of the car. The turkeywas stalking solemnly up and down the roof with tail and wings halfspread.

  "I've got yer now," Jericho Bob said, creeping softly after him. "I'vegot yer now
, sure," he was just repeating, when with a deafening roarthe express-train came tearing down the road.

  For what possible reason it slowed up on approaching the freight-carnobody ever knew; but the fact remains that it did, just as Jericho Boblaid his wicked black paw on the turkey's tail.

  The turkey shrieked, spread his wings, shook the small black boy'sgrasp from his tail, and with a mighty swoop alighted on the roof of thevery last car as it passed; and in a moment more Jericho Bob'sThanksgiving dinner had vanished, like a beautiful dream, down the road!

  What became of that Thanksgiving dinner no one ever knew. If you happento meet a traveling turkey without any luggage, but with a smile on hiscountenance, please send word to Jericho Bob.

  Every evening he and Julius Caesar Fish stand by the broken-down fenceand look up and down the road, as if they expected some one.

  Jericho Bob has a turn-up nose and bow-legs. Julius Caesar still wearshis dress-coat, and both are watching for a Thanksgiving dinner that ranaway.