  Once upon a time a man, call him P.o1, was Marshal at a big picnic and cavorted around in a gorgeous scarf, riding an ancient but fiery untamed Mexican bronco, blanco I mean, which had lots of action, particularly forward. This man had been yarning with another, call him P.o2, who had also been in the golden South Americas and who, being in that frivolous state of mind, often found in travelers, insisted on climbing up behind P.o1 whenever he got a chance, and inciting the blanco till the action became worse than ever, and the three nearly got seasick. They did not though, but feasted sumptiously on part of a whole bullock barbecued, which was so good that they wished they had known him when alive; might have been better men. Picnic was a success but P.o2 was not satisfied with one day, and carried on till a couple of weeks later P.o1 got a message to come to the St. C. hotel. P.o2 had got D.T.'s and was amusing himself trying to get out of a three-story window. The St. C. people sent for P.o1 who took the maniac away and kept him in his bedroom for four abandoned nights. P.o2 was big and wiry and strong withal, and in the lengua del pais it was "no circus". P.o2 got better and two years after P.o1 had a telegram from him saying their ship went down in the Atlantic and took his twenty thousand draft with her, and he was busted. Now he is in England with a title and estate and P.o1 has neither, and this is the reward of virtue—but P.o1 was a Marshal once—and "The world goes up, and the world goes down, And the sunshine follows the rain; And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown never come over again." "La vie est vaine: Un peu d'amour, Un peu de haine ... Et puis—bon-jour! La vie est brÈve: Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de rÈve ... Et puis—bonsoir." ... Transcriber's Notes |
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