A Stranger to Luck

"A Stranger to Luck" by Charles Battell Loomis is a whimsical and adventurous tale that follows the story of an unlikely protagonist who finds himself navigating a world filled with chance encounters and unexpected twists. The narrative explores themes of fortune, fate, and the unpredictability of life as the protagonist encounters a cast of eccentric characters. With a blend of humor and introspection, Loomis crafts a narrative that highlights the importance of resilience and the serendipity that can arise even in the most challenging situations.

• Short story

								
When I got off the train at Darbyville, which, as all will remember,
is the junction of the L. M. & N. and O. P. & Q. railroads, and found
that, owing to an accident, it would be an hour before the train
came in on the latter road, I was vexed. Although ordinarily my own
thoughts are agreeable companions, yet events of the past week, in
which my good judgment had not borne a conspicuous part, made it
likely that for the nonce these thoughts of mine would be more or
less unpleasant, and so I cast about for some human nature to study.

At one end of the platform three or four farmers were seated
upon trunks. They were alert-looking men, and, like me, were
waiting for the train. As I neared them, one of their number, a
tall, lanky, sharp-boned, knife-featured fellow, imperturbably
good-natured-looking, and with an expression of more than ordinary
intelligence in his eyes, left them and sauntered off down the road
with long, irregular strides.

It was one of those calm, clear, dry days when sounds carry well,
and although I did not join them, yet I heard every word of the
conversation. Indeed, as their glances from time to time showed, they
were not averse to having an auditor.

“It’s cur’us,” said one of them, a ruddy-faced man with a white
beard, “how unlucky a man c’n be an’ yit manage to live.” His eyes
followed the shambling figure that had just left them. “I’ll help
myself to some of thet terbacker, Jed. Left mine to hum, an’ I have
the teethache--awful.” This to a short, stout man with a smooth face,
who had just taken a liberal mouthful of tobacco from a paper that he
drew from his hip-pocket.

“He’p ’se’f!” said the one addressed. Then he added, “Meanin’ Seth, I
s’pose?”

“Yes,” replied the other. “I b’lieve thet ef Seth was to hev anythin’
really fort’nit happen to him, it would throw him off his balance.”

“’N’ yit ther’ never was a feller thet better deserved good luck than
Seth. Most obligin’ man I ever saw. Ain’t no fool, nuther,” remarked
the third and last member of the group, a typical Uncle Sam in
appearance, with prominent front teeth, and a habit of laughing dryly
at everything that he or any one else said.

“He don’t suffer fer the actooal needs of life, doos he?” asked the
stout man whom the others called Jed.

“No--oh, no,” answered Sam (for it turned out that so the typical
Yankee was called). “No; he gits enough to eat and wear, but he never
hez a cent to lay by, and never will.”

“Don’t drink, doos he?” asked Jed, who seemed to belong to a
different town from the one wherein the others and Seth abode. His
acquaintance with the one under discussion was evidently by no means
intimate.

“No; he ain’t got no vices ’t I know of. Jes’ onlucky.”

“It’s s’prisin’ haow tantalizin’ly clus good fortin hez come to
him--different times,” said the one who had asked for the tobacco,
and whom the others called Silas.

“You’re right, Silas,” assented Sam. “He c’n come nearer to good
luck ’thout techin’ it ’an any man I ever see.”

“Don’t seem to worrit him much,” said Jed. “He seems cheerful.”

“Don’t nothin’ worrit him,” Sam continued. “Most easy-goin’ man on
the face of the airth. He don’t ask fer sympathy. He takes great
doses of bad luck ’s ef ’twas good fer his health.”

“Never fergit,” said Silas, “the time when he bought a fine new milch
Jarsey at auction fer five dollars. Why, he hed two offers fer her
nex’ day, an’ I know one of ’em was forty dollars--”

“Well, naow I call that purty lucky,” interrupted Jed.

“Wait!” continued Silas, seating himself more comfortably on a
trunk. “Seth he wouldn’t sell. Said he never did hev his fill of
milk, an’ he was goin’ to keep her. Very nex’ day, b’ George!
she choked on a turnip, an’ when he faound her she was cold. Man
sympathized with him. ‘Too bad, Seth,’ says he; ‘ye ’r’ aout forty
dollars.’ ‘Five’s all I figger it at,’ says Seth. ‘Didn’t keer to
sell.’

“Closest call ’at fortune ever made him was time his uncle Ralzemon
aout West died and left him $5000. Everybody was glad, fer every one
likes Seth. I was with him when he got the letter f’om the lawyer
sayin’ it was all in gold, an’ hed be’n expressed to him, thet bein’
one of the terms of the will. Mos’ shif’less way of sendin’ it, I
thought,” declared Silas, compressing his lips. “‘What ye goin’ to do
with it, Seth?’ says I. ‘Put it in the bank?’ ‘Ain’t got it yit,’
says he; ‘an’, what’s more, I never will.’ ‘Why d’ ye think so?’
says I. ‘On gin’al principles,’ says he, a-laafin’.

“Sure ’nough, a few days later it was printed in the paper thet a
train aout in Wisconsin hed be’n held up by robbers. I was in the
post-office when I saw it in the paper, an’ Seth was there too. ‘Bet
ye a cooky thet my $5000 was on thet train,’ says he. ‘Won’t take
ye,’ says I; ‘fer I’ll bet ye five dollars ’twas, myse’f.’ ‘I’ll take
ye,’ says he. B’ George! he lost the five and the $5000 too, fer
’twas on the train, an’ they never could git a trace of it. The
robbers hed took to the woods, an’ they never found ’em.”

“Well, I swan!” ejaculated Jed, chewing hard, and regarding with
ominous look a knot-hole in the platform.

Silas continued: “I says, ‘I’m sorry fer ye, Seth.’ Says he: ‘I ain’t
no poorer ’an I was before I heard he’d left it to me.’”

“He was aout the five dollars he bet, though,” said Jed.

“Wa’n’t, nuther,” said Silas, rather shamefacedly. “I told him thet
the bet was off.”

“Why didn’t he sue the comp’ny?” asked Jed.

“’At’s what I advised him doin’, but he said ’twa’n’t no use.”

“I think I heard ’baout his havin’ a fortin left him at the time, but
I thought it was f’om a cousin down in South America,” Jed went on,
looking inquiringly at Sam.

“Heh, heh! thet was another time,” said Sam, with his dry little
laugh. “Good nation! ef all the luck thet’s threatened to hit him hed
done it, he’d be the richest man in this caounty. I tell ye, good
luck’s allers a-sniffin’ at his heels, but he don’t never git bit.
This time he got a letter f’om his cousin, tellin’ him he’d allers
felt sorry he hed sech poor luck, an’ he’d made him sole heir of
his estate, prob’ly wuth a couple o’ thousand dollars. He hed some
oncurable disease, he wrote, an’ the doctors didn’t give him over
three months to live--”

“S’pose he lived forever,” put in Jed, chuckling.

“No, sir; he died in good shape, an’ in fac’ he bettered his word,
for he didn’t live two months f’om the time he wrote to Seth; but I’m
blessed ef they didn’t find there was some claim against the estate
thet et it all up. Well, sir, I never saw any one laugh so hard ez
Seth when he heard the news. It struck him ez a dretful good joke.”

“He must hev a purty paowerful sense of the ridikerlus,” said Jed,
dryly.

“Well, he hez,” assented Sam, rubbing his knees with his horny hands.
“Ain’t no better comp’ny ’an Seth. Ain’t never daownhearted.”

After a moment’s silence Silas smiled, and, closing his eyes, pinched

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