“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, in his mild voice, “that you see fit to criticise people who are only endeavoring to turn an honest penny. But the capital fight is only a small part of the campaign. Now, in politics — ”
“It’s worse!” she yelled, slamming down the potatoes so fiercely that the dish separated gracefully into several portions, “it’s enuff sight worse. The republicans is chokin’ the pore injipendents, an’ the demicrats is boostin’ up the farmers an’ laughin’ in their sleeve at the muddle things is in. It ain’t their picnic. This ‘ere fight is’ atween the injipendents and the republicans, an’ if the grand ole party didn’t have that ole war reckerd ter back ‘em they’d come outer the little end o’ the horn, too.”
“I am aware,” said the colonel, sarcastically, “that you favor the independents, but don’t forget that in the hour of the nations’ peril — ”
“Fiddlesticks!” cried Mrs. Bilkins, glaring at her opponent, while she brought her clenched fist down plump into the butter dish, “that fight’s been fit thirty year ago! W’ats that got ter do with that ‘air McKinley an’ that Silver bill an’ such nonsense? The injipendents is in the right, only I don’t like their kind o’ mud-slingin’ any more’n I do the republicans. It’s a shame fer them to write sech mean things about Johnnie Adams an’ Frank Raymond an’ Jump’ an’ Hank Williams, as has never done no harm to a livin’ critter, an’ only works for the interests o’ their feller men. But it’s just as bad on the other side. Slosser’s paper is so dirty nowadays that you kin hardly read it, an’ the republicans calls my pore friend, Feelyerpaw, a villin an’ pritty near proves it, too! They’ve found out all the wicked things as Loucks an’ Scattergood an’ the other fellers has done when they wasn’t thinkin’ an’ told folks all about it, without considerin’ their feelin’s, an’ even nice, innercent Tom Campbum is gittin’ so he tells stories. Now then, let me ask ye, if there should happen, by any chance to be an honest man left in South Dikoty, what’s he goin’ ter vote fer?”
“The grand old party!” exclaimed the colonel.
“Independence and the Farmers’ rights!” declared the doctor.
“Democracy,” said Tom, “first, last and — ”
“Nothin’ o’ the sort,” interrupted our landlady, “if he’s really honest, he’ll jest vote fer ekal suffridge, Bath fer capital, an’ — ”
“Well?”
“An’ put the rest o’ the tickets inter the fire.”
She has her Last Say concerning Politics, and Criticises a Society Event
8 November 1890
“Anything new?” inquired our landlady, as she dumped the buckwheat cakes upon the table and salted the butter well so that the boarders would not eat of it too freely.
“Yes,” replied the doctor, briskly, “Mrs. Oleson has presented her husband — ”
“I mean about election,” explained Mrs. Bilkins, straining the coffee through a piece of flour sack.
“No,” replied the colonel, who had just come in, “no one can tell anything about the result of the election.”
“Well,” replied our landlady, “as far as that goes there’s several results as I knows of, myself, although the county c’mitte may be in blissful ignoramus. Ye see I was ‘pinted to go ter the polls and hold the voters in line fer ekal suffridge an”injipendence.’ So I goes over to our ward an’ sets to work. I had ‘em all put a cross on the’ yes,’ so’s the counters would know as they was votin’ fer ekal suffridge, an’ when Elder McBride come in he wouldn’t do it nohow, ‘cause, he said, women had sufferin’ enough. So he put a cross on the ‘no’ an’ chucked it in the box. Pritty soon Frank Brown, that knows everything about politics, come in an’ says we was all wrong an’ that the elder had voted fer ekal suffridge. An’ the elder was so skeert he dasen’t go home till midnight, an’ then he wished he hadn’t gone home at all. I’m sorry I made such a mistake. Cap. Hauser he begun to explain to me how it was early in the mornin’, but the polls closed before he got through, so it didn’t do no good. I think I seed more scandalous things done on ‘lection day than ever Ed. Lowe dreamed of in all his philology, as Shookspear says. A man would walk in and loaf around a little while, an’ then some Pierre feller would take him inter a corner an’ talk ter him a minit, an’ the man would put his hand behind him and then put it in his pocket an’ walk up ter the polls an’ vote while the other feller watched him like a cat does a mouse. Oh, I tell you, this is a great country, and jest about as free as a dictionary is that you git by buyin’ forty dollars wuth o’ goods at a store. Instid o’ havin’ one king, we’ve got hundreds, an’ they run the government for what money there is in it, an’ the people fer what money they can git out of’em. I think the reason they calls these politicians ‘rings’ is because there ain’t anything square about ‘em. But there, I’ve had enough of politics to last me a life-time, an’ if you boarders don’t give the sujec’ a rest you can find some other boardin’ house.”
“I’m sure,” exclaimed the colonel, “that I’ve not said a word.”
“No, you republicans don’t say much jest now.”
Tom smiled sweetly and our landlady caught him at it. “Oh, you injipendents is as lively as Narregang at a ‘fantom party,’ but when you’ve been in politics a year or so you’ll be as corrupt as a pail o’ sour kraut. It takes politics to knock the honesty out of a person.”
“Yes,” remarked the doctor, dreamily, “you’ve had some experience yourself and you ought to know.”
Mrs. Bilkins looked at him rather sharply, but said nothing. She simply poured a half-frozen fly out of the milk pitcher into his second cup of coffee, and handed it to him with a sigh.
“That ‘Phantom Party’ seems to have been a great success,” said Tom, to change the drift of conversation.
“P’raps it were,” retorted our landlady, “but it don’t seem ter me to be proper fer gals and fellers ter galivant around in their night-dresses an’ sheets an’ sich things. There’s a place fer everything an’ the place fer sheets is on the beds; fer night gownds also. It must a been a funny thing. They say George Kimberly made frantic love ter another man’s wife, thinkin’ it were his own, an’ the married wimmen never got so many chances to dance at a party in their lives because the fellers didn’t know who they were. Quincy Braden couldn’t understand why everybody was onter his disguise until he took his sheet off an’ found ‘Braden’ marked on it in big letters in indellible ink. Narre, he found a fantom as jest suited him an’ danced all the evenin’ with her, an’ he told me in confidence he really thought he was falin’ in love with her. His feelin’s was like mixed pickles when she unmasked an’ he found it were his wife all the time. This here maskeradin’ may be all right, but as fer me, I’d rather go to a temperance oyster supper or a experience meetin’ any time.”
She Organizes a Reading Club in the Most Approved Style of the Art
15 November 1890
“I never thought,” declared our landlady, as she sharpened the carver on one of the doctor’s old boots, preparatory to an attack on the beefsteak, “that I should ever be drawed into the gaudy whirl o’ sassiety.”
“You mean the giddy whirl,” remarked Tom.
“Perhaps, young man, you knows what I means better than I do myself, but I doubt it. If I’m to be a sassiety woming I’ll be a out an’ outer, and don’t you fergit it, nuther!”
“That’s right, Mrs. Bilkins,” said the colonel, soothingly, “but may I ask what branch of society you are at present shining in?”
“Why, cert, Kurnel, o’ course you may,” replied our landlady, beaming again. “Ye see, the thing as is the cheesejust now is them ‘air readin’ clubs, an’ so Miss Smithers an’ I, we made up our minds we’d have one, too. You ain’t anybody in Aberdeen if you ain’t joined a readin’ club. So we called a meetin’ of all the prominent boardin’ house keepers ‘xcept Jim Ringrose, an’ talked it over. When the meetin’ were assembled I did like Jump alius does, and made myself Chairm
an. When I’d stated the objec’ o’ the meetin’ Miss Johnsing got up an’ said as readin’ were a art she never buckled to, an’ she thought she was too old to learn now.
“‘Tain’t ne’ssary to read,’ says I; ‘I never heerd that they did that at the readin’ clubs.’
“‘What do they do, then?’ says Miss Johnsing.
“‘Why, eat, you fool!’ says I, slightly losin’ my temper at so much ignorance in the nineteenth centenary.
“‘Then,’ says Miss Johnsing, ‘I’m your huckleberry.’
“At that Miss Smithers slapped her face, an’ quiet was restored.
“‘O’ course,’ says I, ‘we’ve got to have a name. There’s the West Hill Readin’ Club, an’ the We’n’sdy Readin’ Club, an’ The Pleasant Hour Readin’ Club an’ the Bildin’ an’ Loan Readin’ Club, an’ we’ve got to be jest as high toned as any of ‘em.’
“‘An’ don’t any o’ them ‘air clubs do no readin’?’ asked Mirandy Jenkins. Miss Smithers raised the back o’ her hand to her, but I stopped the row with a look an’ answered perlitely:
“‘No, you ijut, they don’t. Some has luncheons an’ some grand dinners an’ some refreshments — but they all eat. An’ once a year they invites their husbunds to a feast.’
“‘That lets me out,’ says Miss Jones — the one as is crossed-eyed, ‘I ain’t got no husband, an’ I never will have, so there!’
“Well, I saw the thing would bust up in a fight yet if I didn’t interfere, so I says, soothin’ly, ‘my dear, you can invite Doc. Fowler. We’ll make a by-law to that effec’.’
“‘Doc. he’s alius been mad about these wimmin’s parties, an’ once threatened to git up a” afternoon beer” fur the men, but prohibition throtded the skeme. Now we’ll put Doc. on our list an’ one more misguided man will be saved by a woman’s smile — Miss Joneses smile!’
“Miss Jones was so tickled she larfed, an’ quiet was restored.
“‘I perpose,’ said Miss Smithers, ‘that we call this here club the Bilkins Readin’ Club.’
“Everybody hoorayed, but I knew Miss Smithers did it so she could borrow my clothes line of a Monday, so I thunk twice ‘afore I accepted the honor. But a woman likes fame as well as a man, so I smiled sweedy an’ said: ‘Thanks, I accept with reciprocity. An’ I move that Miss Smithers has the fust meetin’ at her house.’
“Everybody yelled approval excep’ Miss Smithers, an’ I knew by the way her back humped that she saw I’d got even with her.”
“So the reading club is an accomplished fact,” remarked the doctor, with an amused air.
“Yes, and you can bet you collar it’s a daisy an’ a reg’lar sassiety deal. Miss Smithers has so much pride that she’ll do it up brown, an’ I think the thing’ll be a success. We’re going to announce that we’re reading Ella Wheeler Wilcox’es works, but o’ course everybody’ll know that’s jest a perlite lie, an’ that we don’t read nuthin’. I hear the West Hill Club wants to cunsolidate with us, but the Bilkins Club must sink or swim on its own merrits, an’ as long as I’m the chairman, you can gamble your socks it’ll swim!”
She gives the Boarders a Thanksgiving Dinner and Discusses her Blessings
29 November 1890
“There’s an old sayin’,” remarked our landlady, impressively, as she plunged the fork into the turkey and waved the carving knife gracefully in the air to point her remarks, “that sufficient to the day is the evil of tomorrer; therefore, eat, drink and be gay, fer tomorrer we go back to hash agin.”
“That is a noble bird,” declared the colonel, eying the turkey in a friendly manner, “and worthy to be the emblem of a Thanksgiving feast.”
“Yes,” replied our landlady, “an’ it cost nine cents a pound. We’ve got this much to be thankful for, anyhow, that turkeys is cheap — an’ very fillin’, too.”
“I suppose,” remarked the doctor, reflectively, that we have many other things to give thanks for, if we could only remember them.”
“To be sure,” returned our landlady. “We can give thanks that the Injins haven’t tommyhawked us yet, an’ that the county seat is where it can set fer keeps, an’ that the weather keeps mild so’s the coal will last longer, an’ that the capital fight is over at last, an’ that the injipendents is skeert to find ‘emselves in power at last, an’ that every merchant is sellin’ goods cheaper than anyone else, an’ that Harvey Jewett is still outer the poor house, an’ that boardin’ houses has all got good credit at the grocers yit, an’ that there’s so many tea-parties that folks can economize on grub at home, an’ that the mayor ain’t struck fer higher wager because he works so hard for the good o’ the city, an’ that the newspapers are able to run, whether folks pays their subscription or not, an’ that opera companies is scarce at $2 apiece, an’ that turnips is cheap if pertaters is dear, an’ a good many other things. More turkey, doc?”
“Well, a little,” he replied, taking a shoe-button that had been concealed in the dressing out of his mouth, “but the blessings you enumerate are the blessings of a community. Now do you think that individually we have anything to be thankful for?”
“In course I do! If we hadn’t we’d a moved inter some community a leetle better off ter eat our thanksgiving dinner. Now, fer my part, I’m thankful that I got a week’s board outer Tom, here, yesterday.”
“And well you may be,” replied that young man, helping himself to the last of the gravy, notwithstanding he discerned a hairpin in the bottom of the bowl; “and the doctor can be thankful for all the patients he’ll get tomorrow because they will overeat today.”
The doctor brightened up.
“To be sure,” he exclaimed, “I had forgotten that.”
“What,” said Tom, “have I got to be thankful for?”
“That you ain’t a bigger fool than you air,” retorted Mrs. Bilkins, as she brought in the mince pie; “for any feller that’ll deny his blessin’s a day like this ain’t fit to be outer a loonatix asylum.”
“I suppose that you are right,” replied the youth, “for misfortune is only comparative after all, and no one is so badly off that he mightn’t be worse. It’s hard to be called a fool, but I remember that I did pay you the board and so I won’t resent it.”
“That’s right; we’ll leave resentment to Loucks an’ the minister that didn’t get invited out to dinner today — if there is any. But say, Kernel, you seem to be kind o’ thoughtful, — what have you to be thankful for?”
“I was thinking,” replied the veteran; as he took a tooth out of the mince pie and laid it on the side of his plate, “that I ought to be thankful because when I bought my last suit of clothes I got two pair of pants instead of one — otherwise I should have to parade the streets this winter in my natural-wool underware.”
“There!” cried our landlady, triumphantly, “ye see we’ve all got suthin’ to be thankful for if we only stop to think it out. I make no doubt but people in the effet yeast thinks us Dakota sufferers won’t give no thanks today, but that’s where they’re off their belt. This thanksgivin’ is a glorious instertution, an’ I for one am glad as I live in a state where there’s still suthin’ to be thankful for, an’ turkeys is cheaper nor beefsteak!”
Our Landlady (3)
6 December 1890
“Well, here I am again,” cried our landlady, as she threw open the door and walked in upon the startled boarders, “an’ you can bet I’m glad to get back, fer I’m nearly starved to death.”
“Glad to see you, ma’am,” said the colonel, “sit down and have some dinner. The hired girl don’t feed us quite as well as you did, but we’ve managed to get along.”
“Oh, I see!” exclaimed Mrs. Bilkins, eying the spread upon the table critically.
“Fried chicken, ‘scalloped oysters, sweet pertaters, an’ — Great Scott! I’ll bet that girl ain’t got two cents left in that ten dollar coupon book I give her jest ‘afore I went away!”
“Probably not,” returned the doctor, “as I had to or
der the dinner today on my own responsibility. But here you are, fresh from the reservations and you haven’t told us anything about the Indians yet.”
“That’s so,” exclaimed our landlady, “but this reckless prodigalness clean druv the Injins outer my head. Oh, yes, I’ve been to the reservation all right enough — bearded the lion in his whiskers so to speak, an’ I’m alive yit to tell the tale.”
“Tell us all about it,” urged Tom, as he drew his chair to the stove and lit a cigar.
“I will. Ye see, arter the president wouldn’t let Buffalo Bill run this campaign ter suit hisself an’ General Miles, I made up my mind I’d take the thing inter my own hands and find out what the red demons intended to do, or not to do, as Ham expresses it. Fer this skare is like the bile on a man’s tenderloins, it assumes tremenjous proportions without amountin’ to anything, an’ is more of a nuisance that it is a bother. So I tuk the President’s Message, and the Life o’ Buffalo Bill an’ the Cranmer Contest Case an’ put ‘em in my reticule along with some crackers an’ cheese an’ my knittin’ an’ started fer the seat o’ war. I thought if I struck anything rich I’d telegraph it to the New York papers an’ make my expenses an’ a reckerd as a female correspondint. Well, I struck the reservation about noon. I hired a boy to drive me half way, but he took to his heels an’ so I druv on alone. Pritty soon I come to the camp an’ found it deserted and the bones o’ some of the government cattle strewed about the ground. But the fire was still smolderin’ an’ so I pushed on rapidly, as they say in the novels. Arter awhile I caught sight of a large body of Injinsjest ahead o’ me. ‘Hoi’ up!’ I yelled, but they turned and saw me, an’ givin’ a whoop o’ terrer they run fer their lives. But my nag was a good one, an’ arter I’d begun to read the President’s Message to him he run so fast that he caught up with the Injins in no time an’ they threw ‘emselves on their knees an’ begged fer mercy.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 808
