Miss Mink's Soldier and Other Stories

								

we'll have to depend on a hand-out for breakfast. And, Corp," he added
apologetically, "you know I told you we was going to ride regular like
gentlemen? Well, I've been compelled to change my plans. We are going to
turf it twelve miles down to the watering tank, and sit out a couple of
dances till the midnight freight comes along. If a side door Pullman
ain't convenient, I'll have to go on the bumpers, then what'll become of
you, Mr. Corporal Harrihan?"
The coming ordeal cast no shadow over Corporal. He was declaring his
passionate devotion, by wild tense springs at Phelan's face, seeking in
vain to overcome the cruel limitation of a physiognomy that made kissing
well-nigh impossible.
Phelan picked up his small bundle and started down the track with the
easy, regular swing of one who has long since gaged the distance of
railroad ties. But his step lacked its usual buoyancy, and he forgot to
whistle, Mr. Harrihan was undergoing the novel experience of being
worried. Of course he would get to Nashville,--if the train went, he
could go,--but the prospect of arriving without decent clothes and with
no money to pay for a lodging, did not in the least appeal to him. He
thought with regret of his well-laid plans: an early arrival, a Turkish
bath, the purchase of a new outfit, instalment at a good hotel,
then--presentation at the fraternity headquarters of Mr. Phelan
Harrihan, Gentleman for a Night. He could picture it all, the dramatic
effect of his entrance, the yell of welcome, the buzz of questions, and
the evasive, curiosity-enkindling answers which he meant to give. Then
the banquet, with its innumerable courses of well-served food, the
speeches and toasts, and the personal ovation that always followed Mr.
Harrihan's unique contribution.
Oh! he couldn't miss it! Providence would interfere in his behalf, he
knew it would, it always did. "Give me my luck, and keep your lucre!"
was a saying of Phelan's, quoted by brother hoboes from Maine to the
Gulf.
All the long afternoon he tramped the ties, with Corporal at his heels.
As dusk came on the clouds that had been doing picket duty, joined the
regiment on the horizon which slowly wheeled and charged across the sky.
Phelan scanned the heavens with an experienced weather eye, then began
to look for a possible shelter from the coming shower. On either side,
the fields stretched away in undulating lines, with no sign of a
habitation in sight. A dejected old scarecrow, and a tumble-down shed in
the distance were the only objects that presented themselves.
Turning up his coat-collar Phelan made a dash for the shed, but the
shower overtook him half-way. It was not one of your gentle little
summer showers, that patter on the shingles waking echoes underneath; it
was a large and instantaneous breakage in the celestial plumbing that
let gallons of water down Phelan's back, filling his pockets, hat brim,