by John McElroy
CHAPTER VIII. SHORTY WRITES A LETTER TO MARIA KLEGG
AND ENTERS UPON HIS PARENTAL RELATIONS TO LITTLE PETE SKIDMORE.
THE self-sufficient, self-reliant Shorty had never before had anythingto so completely daze him. "Ackchelly a letter from Maria Klegg. Writof her own free will and accord. And she wants to hear from me," hemurmured, reading the letter over and over again, and scanning theenvelope as if by intensity of gaze he would wring more from the mutewhite paper. The thought was overpowering that it had come directly fromher soft hand; that she had written his name upon it; that her lips hadtouched the stamp upon it. He tenderly folded up the letter and replacedit in the envelope. His thoughts were too tumultuous for him to sitstill. He would walk and calm himself. He wrapped the piece of Maria'sdress around the letter, rose and started off. He had gone but a fewsteps when it seemed to him that he had not caught the full meaning ofsome of the words in the letter. He sought a secluded place where hecould sit down, unseen by any eyes, and read the letter all over againseveral times. Then came the disturbing thought of how he was to carefor and protect the precious missive? He could not bear to part with itfor a single minute, and yet he did not want to carry the sacred thingaround exposed to the dirt and moil of daily camp-life and the dangerof loss. He thought long and earnestly, and at last went down to a largesutler's store, and purchased the finest morocco wallet from his stock.Even this did not seem a sufficiently rich casket for such a gem, and hebought a large red silk bandana, in which he carefully wrapped letter,dress fragment and wallet, and put them in the pocket of his flannelshirt, next his breast. Next came the momentous duty of writing ananswer to the letter. Yesterday he was burning with a desire to make anopportunity to write. Now the opportunity was at hand, the object of hisdesires had actually asked him to write her, and the completeness of theopportunity unnerved him.
"The first thing I have got to do," said he, "is to git some paper andenvelopes and ink. I don't s'pose they've got anything here fit for agentleman to write to a lady with." He turned over the sutler's stockof stationery disdainfully, and finally secured a full quire of heavy,gilt-edged paper, and a package of envelopes, on which was depicted ared-and-blue soldier, with a flag in one hand and a gun in the other,charging bayonets through a storm of bursting shells.
"It's true I ain't one o' the color-guard yit," mused Shorty, studyingthe picture, "but the Colonel sorter hinted that I might be, if CapMcGillicuddy could spare me from Co. Q, which ain't at all likely. Now,Mister, le'me see some pens."
"Here's some--Gillott's--best quality," said the sutler's clerk.
"Naw," said Shorty contemptuously. "Don't want no common steel pens.Goin' to write to a lady. Git me your best gold ones."
Shorty made quite a pretense of trying, as he had seen penmen do,the temper of the pens upon his thumb-nail, but chose the largest andhighest priced one, in an elaborate silver holder.
"I'm very partickler 'bout my pens," said he to the clerk. "I must have'em to just suit my hand. Some folks's very keerless about what theywrite with, but I wasn't brung up that way."
"If you'd ask my advice," said the clerk, "I'd recommend this thing asthe best for you to use. It'd suit fine Italian hand better'n any penever made."
And he held up a marking-pot and brush.
"Young man," said Shorty, solemnly, as he paid for his purchases, "thecondition o' your health requires you not to try to be funny. It's oneo' the dangerousest things in the army. You're exposed to a greatmany complaints down here, but nothin' 'll send you to the hospital assuddenly as bein' funny."
The next thing was a studio where he could conduct his literary taskwithout interruption, and Shorty finally found a rock surrounded bybushes, where he could sit and commune with his thoughts. He got thecover of a cracker-box, to place on his knees and serve for a desk, laidhis stationery down beside him, re-read Maria's letter several times,spoiled several sheets of paper in trying to get his fingers limberenough for chirography, and then, begun the hardest, most anxiousafternoon's work he had ever done, in writing the following letter:
"Camp ov the 2 Hunderdth Injianny
"Voluntear Infantry,
"Mishun Rij, nere Chattynoogy, April the 10, 1864.
"Miss Maria Klegg,
"Respected Frend.
(This part of the letter had cost Shorty nearly an hour of anxiousthought. He had at first written "Dere Miss Maria," and then recoiled,shuddered and blushed at the thought of the affectionate familiarityimplied. Then he had scrawled, one after another, the whole gamut ofbeginnings, before he decided upon addressing her, as was her right, asformally as he would the wife of the President.)
"Yore letter was welcomer to me than the visit ov the Pamaster, after six months exclipse ov hiz cheerful mug."
("I think 'mug' is the word they use for face in good society," musedShorty, with the end of the penholder in his mouth. "At least I heardthe Kurnel use it one day. She can't expect no man to be much gladder ofanything than the comin' o' the Paymaster, and that orter please her.")
"Thankee for yore kind inkwiries az to mi helth? Ime glad to say that Ime all rite, and sound in lung, body and runnin' gear, and--"
(Shorty was on the point of adding "Hope that you are enjoying the sameblessing," when a shiver passed through him that it might be improper toallude to a young lady's locomotory apparatus. After deep meditation, hetook safety's side and added):
"So's Si. I sinserely hoap that you are injoyin' the blessin's ov helth, and the konsolashuns ov religion."
("I'm not certain about that last," thought Shorty, "but I heard apreacher say it once, and it ought to be all right to write to a younglady.")
"We are still layin' in camp, but expectin' every day orders to move out for a little soshable with Mister Joe Johnston, whose roostin over on Pigeon Mountain. When we git at him, there won't be no pigeon about it, but a game ov fox-and- geese with us for the foxes.
("There," mused Shorty, complacently; "that'll amuse her. Girls like alittle fun throwed into letters, when it's entirely respectful.)
"Little Pete Skidmore is in the company, all rite. He is wun ov the nicest boys that ever lived, but he needs half- killin' nerely every day. All real nice boys do. Woodent give much for them if they diddent. Tel his mother He look out for him, and fetch him up in the way he shood go, if I haf to break every bone in his body. She needent worry. I no awl about boys. Thair like colts--need to be well-broke before thair enny akount."
("Now," commented Shorty, as he read what he had written, "that'll makeMaria and his mother feel easy in their minds. They'll think they're ingreat luck to git a man who'll be a second father to Pete, and not riskspilin the child by sparin the rod.")
("Great Jehosephat, what work writing to a young lady is. I'd muchruther build breastworks or make roads. Now, if it was some ordinarywoman, I wouldn't have to be careful about my spelin' and gramer, butwith sich a lady as Maria Klegg--great Cesar's ghost! a man must do thevery best that's in him, and then that ain't half enough. But I musthurry and finish this letter this afternoon. I can't git another day offto work at it.")
"Respected Miss Maria, what a fine writer you are. Yore handwritin' is the most beautiful I ever seen. Jeb Smith, our company clerk, thinks that he can slink ink to beat old Spencerian System hisself, but he ain't once with you. Ide ruther see one line ov your beautiful ritin' than all that he ever writ."
("That's so," said Shorty, after judicially scanning the sentence. "Jebkin do some awful fancy kurlys, and draw a bird without takin' his penfrom the paper, but he never writ my name a thousandth part as purty asMaria kin.")
"And how purty you spel. Ime something ov a speler myself, and can nock out most ov the boys in the company on Webster's Primary, but I aint to be menshuned in the saim day with you.
"With best respecks to your family, and hoapin soon to here from you, I a
m very respeckfully, your friend,
W. L. Elliot.
Corpril, Company Q, 2 Hundsrdth Injiamiy Volintear Infantry."
By the time he had his letter finished, and was wiping the sweat ofintense labor from his brow, he heard the bugle sounding the first callfor dress parade. "I must go and begin my fatherly dooties to littlePete Skidmore," he said, carefully sealing his letter and sticking astamp on it, to mail at the Chaplain's tent as he went by. "It'sgoin' to be extry fatigue to be daddy to a little cuss as lively as aschoolhouse flea, and Corpril of Co. Q, at the same time, but I'm goingto do it, if it breaks a leg."
He was passing a clump of barberry bushes when he overheard PeteSkidmore's voice inside:
"I'll bet $10 I kin pick it out every time. I'll bet $25 I kin pick itout this time. Don't tech the cards."
"I don't want to lose no more money on baby bets," replied a tantalizingvoice. "I'll make it $40 or nothin'. Now, youngster, if y're a man--"
Shorty softly parted the bushes and looked in. Two of the well-knownsharpers who hung around the camps had enticed little Pete in there, andto a game of three-card monte. They had inflamed his boyish conceit byallowing him to pick out two cards in succession, and with small bets.
"I hain't got but $40 left o' my bounty and first month's pay," saidlittle Pete irresolutely, "and I wanted to send $35 of it home tomother, but I'll--"
"You'll do nothin' o' the kind," shouted Shorty, bursting through thebushes. "You measly whelps, hain't you a grain o' manhood left? Ain'tyou ashamed to swindle a green little kid out o' the money that he wantsto send to his widowed mother?"
"Go off and 'tend to your own business, if you know what's good foryou," said the larger of the men threateningly. "Keep your spoon outo' other folks' soup. This young man knows what he's about. He kin takecare o' himself. He ain't no chicken. You ain't his guardeen."
"No he ain't," said Pete Skidmore, whose vanity was touched as well ashis cupidity aroused. "Mind your own business, Mister Elliott. You'reonly a Corpril anyway. You hain't nothin' to do with me outside thecompany. I kin take care o' myself. I've beat these men twice, and kindo it again."
"Clear out, now, if you don't want to git hurt," said the larger man,'moving his hand toward his hip.
Shorty's response was to kick over the board on which the cards werelying, and knock the man sprawling with a back-handed blow. He made along pass at the other man, who avoided it, and ran away. Shorty tookPete by the collar and drew him out of the bushes, in spite of thatyoungster's kicks and protestations.
He halted there, pulled out his pocket-knife, and judicially selected ahickory limb, which he cut and carefully pruned.
"What're you goin' to do?" asked Pete apprehensively.
"I'm goin' to give you a lesson on the evils of gamblin', Pete,especially when you don't know how."
"But I did know how," persisted Pete. "I beat them fellers twice, andcould beat them every time. I could see quicker'n they could move theirhands."
"You little fool, you knowed about as much about them cards as they knowof ice-water in the place where Jeff Davis is goin'. Pete, I'm goin' tobe a second father to you."
"Dod dum you, who asked you to be a daddy to me? I've had one already.When I want another, I'll pick one out to suit myself," and Pete lookedaround for a stone or a club with which to defend himself.
"Pete," said Shorty solemnly as he finished trimming the switch, andreplaced the knife in his pocket, "nobody's allowed to pick out his owndaddy in this world. He just gits him. It's one o' the mysterious wayso' Providence. You've got me through one o' them mysterious ways o'Providence, and you can't git shet o' me. I'm goin' to lick you stillharder for swearin' before your father, and sayin' disrespeckful wordsto him. And I'm goin' to lick you till you promise never to tech anothercard until I learn you you how to play, which'll be never. Come here, myson."
The yells that soon rose from that thicket would have indicated thateither a boy was being skinned alive or was having his face washed byhis mother.
