Stephen Crane - Ultimate Collection: 200+ Novels, Short Stories & Poems - Stephen Crane

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affable in all directions. Kelcey saw old Bleecker go to them, and heard him whisper:

      ‘Come, we must git th’ thing started. Git th’ thing started.’

      Kelcey saw that the host was fearing that all were not having a good time. Jones conferred with O’Connor, and then O’Connor went to the man named Zeusentell. O’Connor evidently proposed something. Zeusentell refused at once. O’Connor beseeched. Zeusentell remained implacable.

      At last O’Connor broke off his argument, and going to the centre of the room, held up his hand.

      ‘Gentlemen!’ he shouted loudly, ‘we will now have a recitation by Mr. Zeusentell, entitled “Patrick Clancy’s Pig!” He then glanced triumphantly at Zeusentell and said: ‘Come on!’

      Zeusentell had been twisting and making pantomimic appeals. He said in a reproachful whisper:

      ‘You son of a gun!’

      The men turned their heads to glance at Zeusentell for a moment, and then burst into a sustained clamour.

      ‘Hurray! Let ‘er go! Come—give it t’ us! Spring it! Spring it! Let it come!’

      As Zeusentell made no advances, they appealed personally.

      ‘Come, ol’ man, let ‘er go! Whatter yeh ‘fraid of? Let ‘er go! Go ahn! Hurry up!’

      Zeusentell was protesting with almost frantic modesty. O’Connor took him by the lapel and tried to drag him; but he leaned back, pulling at his coat and shaking his head.

      ‘No, no! I don’t know it, I tell yeh! I can’t! I don’t know it! I tell yeh I don’t know it! I’ve forgotten it, I tell yeh! No—no—no—no! Ah, say, lookahere, le’ go me, can’t yeh? What’s th’ matter with yeh? I tell yeh I don’t know it!’

      The men applauded violently. O’Connor did not relent. A little battle was waged until all of a sudden Zeusentell was seen to grow wondrously solemn. A hush fell upon the men. He was about to begin. He paused in the middle of the floor and nervously adjusted his collar and cravat. The audience became grave.

      ‘“Patrick Clancy’s Pig,”’ announced Zeusentell in a shrill, dry, unnatural tone. And then he began in a rapid sing-song:

      ‘“Patrick Clancy had a pig Th’ pride uv all th’ nation, The half uv him was half as big As half uv all creation—”’

      When he concluded the others looked at each other to convey their appreciation. They then wildly clapped their hands or tinkled their glasses. As Zeusentell went toward his seat a man leaned over and asked:

      ‘Can yeh tell me where I kin git that?’

      He had made a great success. After an enormous pressure he was induced to recite two more tales. Old Bleecker finally led him forward and pledged him in a large drink. He declared that they were the best things he had ever heard.

      The efforts of Zeusentell imparted a gaiety to the company. The men having laughed together were better acquainted, and there was now a universal topic. Some of the party, too, began to be quite drunk.

      The invaluable O’Connor brought forth a man who could play the mouth-organ. The latter, after wiping his instrument upon his coat-sleeve, played all the popular airs. The men’s heads swayed to and fro in the clouded smoke. They grinned and beat time with their feet. A valour, barbaric and wild, began to show in their poses and in their faces, red and glistening from perspiration.

      The conversation resounded in a hoarse roar. The beer would not run rapidly enough for Jones; so he remained behind to tilt the keg. This caused the black shadow on the wall to retreat and advance, sinking mystically, to loom forward again with sudden menace—a huge dark figure, controlled as by some unknown emotion. The glasses, mugs, and cups travelled swift and regular, catching orange reflections from the lamp-light. Two or three men were grown so careless that they were continually spilling their drinks. Old Bleecker, cackling with pleasure, seized time to glance triumphantly at Jones. His party was going to be a success.

      CHAPTER IX

       Table of Contents

      Of a sudden Kelcey felt the buoyant thought that he was having a good time. He was all at once an enthusiast, as if he were at a festival of a religion. He felt that there was something fine and thrilling in this affair, isolated from a stern world, and from which the laughter arose like incense. He knew that old sentiment of brotherly regard for those about him. He began to converse tenderly with them.

      He was not sure of his drift of thought, but he knew that he was immensely sympathetic. He rejoiced at their faces, shining red and wrinkled with smiles. He was capable of heroisms.

      His pipe irritated him by going out frequently. He was too busy in amiable conversations to attend to it. When he arose to go for a match he discovered that his legs were a trifle uncertain under him. They bended, and did not precisely obey his intent.

      At the table he lit a match, and then, in laughing at a joke made near him, forgot to apply it to the bowl of his pipe. He succeeded with the next match, after annoying trouble. He swayed so that the match would appear first on one side of the bowl and then on the other. At last he happily got it directly over the tobacco. He had burned his fingers. He inspected them, laughing vaguely.

      Jones came and slapped him on the shoulder.

      ‘Well, ol’ man, let’s take a drink fer ol’ Handyville’s sake!’

      Kelcey was deeply affected. He looked at Jones with moist eyes.

      ‘I’ll go yeh,’ he said.

      With an air of profound melancholy, Jones poured out some whisky. They drank reverently. They exchanged a glistening look of tender recollections, and then went over to where Bleecker was telling a humorous story to a circle of giggling listeners. The old man sat like a fat, jolly god.

      ‘And just at that moment th’ old woman put her head out of th’ window an’ said: “Mike, yez lezy divil, fer phwat do yez be slapin’ in me new geranium bid?” An’ Mike woke up an’ said: “Domn a wash-woman thot do niver wash her own bid-clues. Here do I be slapin’ in nothin’ but dhirt an’ wades.”’

      The men slapped their knees, roaring loudly. They begged him to tell another. A clamour of comment arose concerning the anecdote, so that when old Bleecker began a fresh one nobody was heeding.

      It occurred to Jones to sing. Suddenly he burst forth with a ballad that had a rippling waltz movement, and, seizing Kelcey, made a furious attempt to dance. They sprawled over a pair of outstretched legs and pitched headlong. Kelcey fell with a yellow crash. Blinding lights flashed before his vision, but he arose immediately, laughing. He did not feel at all hurt. The pain in his head was rather pleasant.

      Old Bleecker, O’Connor, and Jones, who now limped and drew breath through his teeth, were about to lead him with much care and tenderness to the table for another drink, but he laughingly pushed them away and went unassisted. Bleecker told him: ‘Great Gawd, your head struck hard enough t’ break a trunk.’

      He laughed again, and with a show of steadiness and courage he poured out an extravagant portion of whisky. With cold muscles he put it to his lips and drank it. It chanced that this addition dazed him like a powerful blow. A moment later it affected him, with blinding and numbing power.

      Suddenly unbalanced, he felt the room sway. His blurred sight could only distinguish a tumbled mass of shadow through which the beams from the light ran like swords of flame, The sound of the many voices was to him like the roar of a distant river.

      Still, he felt that if he could only annul the force of these million winding figures that gripped his senses, he was capable of most brilliant and entertaining things.

      He was at first of the conviction that his feelings were only temporary. He waited for them to pass away, but the mental and

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