CHAPTER XIIWHIMPERMETER
IN the vernacular of the road the John Yegg was trying to snare Joshua, and Joshua knew it. Still, he had little fear of the man. He was perhaps too inexperienced to fear anybody who did not threaten to thrust his head into a bathtub filled with water. He knew himself to be a novice at tramping over the country. Also he was lonesome, for he had had friends of a sort in the House of Refuge. He studied the man who termed himself The Whimperer, and wondered if, despite the fellow’s repulsiveness, it might not be well to consider his proposal. The tramp could help him over the rough places in his journey westward. It might even be possible that he would be an asset when it came to inducing people to look through the telescope at ten cents a look, for Joshua was not a forward young man and knew that he would find difficulty in selling his knowledge to the public. Then, could he not contrive to steal away and leave The Whimperer whenever the association became irksome? He did not like the man’s face. But, then, he had not liked the face of Beaver Clegg when first he saw it; and what a change that ugly man had wrought in his life! Joshua could read the stars, but he had not the experience in life to read the faces of his fellowmen. It was the fact that The Whimperer might help him to get out West, above everything else, that caused him to consider this strange offer of partnership.
For Joshua was determinedly bound for the West. Locked up for so long in the House of Refuge, he had metno girls at all, and the picture of Madge Mundy was still fresh in his memory. She was the last girl that he had met before his commitment, the girl who had aroused in him the first whisperings of the male’s desire for the society of the opposite sex. He still thought of Madge as he had seen her last, Oriental-topaz eyes aglow, bronze hair streaming down her youthful shoulders. And, boy though he yet was, he was seriously intent on seeking her, out there somewhere in the West. Perhaps the man called The Whimperer could help him find her.
Their orders were set before them, and the tramp talked as he ate greedily. He told of adventures on the road, covering a period of many years of vagabondage. His speech was quaint and in great part unintelligible to Joshua, but the boy listened despite secret warnings that came again and again.
“Dere’s a lotta t’ings a plug c’n folly if he’s wise,” observed The Whimperer. “Don’t worry—youse’n’ me’ll always get our scoffin’s. And if de telescope racket fails and de woist comes to de woist I c’n slip whimpermeter to de Ezras and get us lumps.”
“I don’t always understand you,” said Joshua. “What’s a lump?”
“A lump,” explained The Whimperer, inwardly gloating over the boy’s innocence, “is wot a kin’ lady slips youse w’en youse batter de back door. If she invites youse in and lets youse t’row yer feet unner de table, it’s a set-down. If she slips youse a lunch in a poiper bag, it’s a lump. See? Get me, Jack?”
“And what is whimpermeter?”
“Dat’s a woid dat I coined meself,” proudly proclaimed the John Yegg. “I’m kinda educated, youse see, Jack. Dat is, w’ile I ain’t got any schoolin’, I see t’ings. Get me? I use me nut, and I read quite a lot. Wot I callwhimpermeter is a line o’ patter dat I hand out w’en I’m moochin’ fer de eats. I c’n twist up me face till it looks like I’m geed-up fer good. See dis here scar?” He indicated the smooth, red mark on his cheek. “Dat’s wot youse’d call an artificial scar, Jack. I had dat boined dere wid acid, an’ I had ’er run down into de corner o’ me mout’ apoipus. Den w’en I twist me mout’ towards it—like dis—an’ close de eye on dat side—like dis—dey all kinda run togedder, an’ me face looks like I been t’rough some terrible experience. Hey? Get me?”
Joshua did get him, for his face, twisted as it was, looked hideous.
“Den,” The Whimperer continued, “I was an acerbat in a little circus onct, until de booze got me. An’ I c’n t’row me arms outa joint an’ make it look like I’m all crippled up. Jes’ watch!”
On the stool, he twisted himself sidewise, and there came a succession of bony clicks along his left arm. Through his coatsleeve, even, Joshua could see the knots where bones had jumped their sockets, and his fingers, every one out of joint, were monstrously contorted. The entire arm looked as if it had been rendered useless in grinding machinery.
“Dat wing is me livin’, Jack,” he proudly observed. “How ’bout it? Didn’t I look like I needed some kin’ lady’s help? Den I play like I’m dumb, too—see?—an’ I twist meself up like dat and point to me mout’ an’ shake me head, an’ slip ’em one o’ dese here pomes dat I wrote meself an’ had printed in Chicago.”
He fished in an inside pocket of his greasy coat and produced a dirty card, which he proudly handed to his prospective neophyte.
“Read dat,” he offered.
And Joshua read:
A blighted life, a broken soul,Sir or Madam, here you see.Once my limbs were sound and whole,Then no beggar could I be.Pride I had, and children too,A fond wife and a home unmarred.Every Sunday in my pewI sat; and other days worked hard.A miner I, and honestlyI strove to do my best in life.A great explosion suddenlyWrecked home and self and wife.This useless arm, this sightless eyeWere mine, when from the fragmentsThey bore me to my cot to dieWith my wife’s tears upon my garments.One look into my ruined faceAnd the poor girl swooned away.Without her care so kind and chasteMy little ones soon knew decay.For my wife passed—of shock, they said—And one by one my lisping totsWere also laid in caskets. Flowers redThey placed about their graves in pots.But I lived on, the wreck you see.No hard work can I do.O Sir or Madam, pity meAs I would pity you—Ifyouwere thus by Fate subduedAndIwas strong and whole!O help me to a bed and food,And Heaven bless your soul!
A blighted life, a broken soul,Sir or Madam, here you see.Once my limbs were sound and whole,Then no beggar could I be.Pride I had, and children too,A fond wife and a home unmarred.Every Sunday in my pewI sat; and other days worked hard.A miner I, and honestlyI strove to do my best in life.A great explosion suddenlyWrecked home and self and wife.This useless arm, this sightless eyeWere mine, when from the fragmentsThey bore me to my cot to dieWith my wife’s tears upon my garments.One look into my ruined faceAnd the poor girl swooned away.Without her care so kind and chasteMy little ones soon knew decay.For my wife passed—of shock, they said—And one by one my lisping totsWere also laid in caskets. Flowers redThey placed about their graves in pots.But I lived on, the wreck you see.No hard work can I do.O Sir or Madam, pity meAs I would pity you—Ifyouwere thus by Fate subduedAndIwas strong and whole!O help me to a bed and food,And Heaven bless your soul!
A blighted life, a broken soul,Sir or Madam, here you see.Once my limbs were sound and whole,Then no beggar could I be.
A blighted life, a broken soul,
Sir or Madam, here you see.
Once my limbs were sound and whole,
Then no beggar could I be.
Pride I had, and children too,A fond wife and a home unmarred.Every Sunday in my pewI sat; and other days worked hard.
Pride I had, and children too,
A fond wife and a home unmarred.
Every Sunday in my pew
I sat; and other days worked hard.
A miner I, and honestlyI strove to do my best in life.A great explosion suddenlyWrecked home and self and wife.
A miner I, and honestly
I strove to do my best in life.
A great explosion suddenly
Wrecked home and self and wife.
This useless arm, this sightless eyeWere mine, when from the fragmentsThey bore me to my cot to dieWith my wife’s tears upon my garments.
This useless arm, this sightless eye
Were mine, when from the fragments
They bore me to my cot to die
With my wife’s tears upon my garments.
One look into my ruined faceAnd the poor girl swooned away.Without her care so kind and chasteMy little ones soon knew decay.
One look into my ruined face
And the poor girl swooned away.
Without her care so kind and chaste
My little ones soon knew decay.
For my wife passed—of shock, they said—And one by one my lisping totsWere also laid in caskets. Flowers redThey placed about their graves in pots.
For my wife passed—of shock, they said—
And one by one my lisping tots
Were also laid in caskets. Flowers red
They placed about their graves in pots.
But I lived on, the wreck you see.No hard work can I do.O Sir or Madam, pity meAs I would pity you—
But I lived on, the wreck you see.
No hard work can I do.
O Sir or Madam, pity me
As I would pity you—
Ifyouwere thus by Fate subduedAndIwas strong and whole!O help me to a bed and food,And Heaven bless your soul!
Ifyouwere thus by Fate subdued
AndIwas strong and whole!
O help me to a bed and food,
And Heaven bless your soul!
Joshua’s lips were twitching over the unconscious humor of this weird verse, but he straightened them when he noted that the author’s keen little eyes were watching him defiantly.
“Ain’t dat a nifty sob-squeezer, Jack?” he wanted to know.
“It’s very good,” Joshua lied placidly.
“It gets de coin,” remarked The Whimperer, recovering the card. “Dat’s wot I call whimpermeter. I make up dem voises meself, an’ sometimes I peddle ’em to udder stiffs dat ain’t got de savvy an’ wot I calls de capacity to compose ’em fer demselves. Dat’s w’y dey call me De Whimperer—whimperin’ is me graft. See? And I make more money dan any stiff on de road, I’ll bet. But if youse’re t’rough scoffin’, le’s get outa here an’ beat it down to de jungles. We’ll build a fire an’ wait fer de eleven-o’clock t’rough freight, bound west. She stops here fer woter. Rap on a dish fer de lady to come out o’ de kitchen—and youse pay fer me, too. Wot d’ye say, Jack? I’m a little short dis evenin’, but I’ll slip youse it to-morrow.”
This was more than Joshua had bargained for, but when the proprietress came at his signal he meekly paid for his own and the John Yegg’s meal. Then, scarce knowing why he did it, he shouldered his telescope and followed the tramp out into the soft summer night, steeped in the perfume of roses and serenaded by choirs of frogs.
The Whimperer shuffled along toward the river at the side of Joshua. Joshua really had no place to go unless he rented a room in the town’s one hotel, and if he could catch a train westward-bound at eleven o’clock that night he preferred to do so. He therefore accompanied the tramp, curious to learn more of the strange life into which he hadventured as mysteriously as man is born upon the earth, willy nilly.
In the river bottom, some distance from the village, The Whimperer built a fire—after Joshua had collected twigs and driftwood.
“It ain’t cold,” said the tramp, “but a fire’s nice. Now youse lay down an’ get a little sleep, an’ I’ll wake youse up w’en de freight is ramblin’ in. Go on—do wot I tell youse. If youse’re gonta be me kid, youse’ve gotta min’ me.”