The Mascot of Sweet Briar Gulch

By Henry Wallace Phillips

DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "The Mascot of Sweet Briar Gulch" by Henry Wallace Phillips. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Sep 4, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547208372

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Henry Wallace Phillips

The Mascot of Sweet Briar Gulch

EAN 8596547208372

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

Table of Contents

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Table of Contents

The passenger agent saw the performance with astonishment. So you had the boy tucked away all the time? said he. Just what kind of a game is this?

Dunno, returned Jim. Let the boy speak for himself. Now, young man, what’s the matter?

The urchin stood before them, taking them in thoroughly with his sharp little eyes. More big men strolled up. As a particularly fine foil to the boy’s diminutive form, Benny, the baggage smasher, whose overhanging shoulders testified whence came the power that had reduced many a proud Saratoga to elemental conditions, and Happy Jack, the mammoth, soot-black, loose-jointed negro porter, placed themselves on either side of him. They made the boy look more like an insect than ever.

Wot’s de matter? he cried in a voice at once hoarse and shrill, with a cursing note in it, and accompanying the words with an extravagant, dramatic gesture of his skinny claw. I’ll tell yer wot’s der matter—dey beat me—dey beat me bad. I don’t ast youse to take me word fur it—look at me back—dat’s all I ast yer—jes’ look at dat!

He ripped the shirt from his shoulders. An angry growl went up from all those big-bearded men when they saw the horrible stripes and welts—raw, blue and swollen—on the poor little back.

Happy Jack threw up both his gorilla arms. Lord Jesus! Who done you like dat, boy? he cried. ’F I got m’ hookers on him, cuss me ’f I wudden’ put bumps on him bigger’n yer hull body.

Now yer talkin’, shrieked the boy. He raised himself to the tips of his toes, bared his teeth to the gum, and with clutching talons, gripping at the air, yelled: Aggh! If I had me growth! I’d bite his heart out! I’d tear his neck for ’im!

The men looked astounded on this mighty fury, pent in so small and miserable a cage. The voice had a peculiar alarming call to it, like the note of a fire-gong.

Suddenly the boy’s head dropped on the crook of his arm. Treated me wuss’n a dog, he sobbed out. Done me so it makes even dat nigger holler when he sees it.

Happy Jack was taken aback. The other men smoothed down their faces forcibly.

Say, lil’ boy, you think dat’s a p’lite way to talk to people? inquired Jack.

The boy wiped his eyes on his sleeve and went over to him. Say, don’t yer holt nothin’ ag’in me fur der word, said he. Dey’ve got me looney—dat’s wot—yer’ve used me liker fren’; and if it hoits yer, yer can kick me pants fur me, and I won’t say nuthin’.

Well, there’s two-pound-and-a-half of dead game sport for you, all right! cried Benny. Good eye, kid!

Happy Jack smiled a mollified smile eight inches wide. You is all right, beau, said he. An’ as fur as my bein’ a nigger’s concerned, I’ll admit my kerplection ain’t light. He slapped his ham and brought down a foot on the platform. Hyah, hyah! he roared, you bet dere ain’t no dam’ blond ’bout me!

The infectious darky laugh started the others off, and brought matters to a common-sense footing.

The passenger agent took up the interrogation.