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Updated: May 25, 2025
That was a glorious summit which sang to the new sun, but no higher than his own elation at the moment. Had he not come off with his dollar? He found balm and a tender stimulus in the morning air an air for dreams and revolt. Boogles felt this as thousands of others must have felt it who were yet tamely issuing from subway caverns and the Brooklyn Bridge to be wage slaves.
Yet he only said or started to say: "Little Sure Shot'll get that Chink yet! I tell you, now, that old boy is sure the real Peruvian " This was absurdly too much. I then and there opened on Boogles, opened flooding gates of wrath and scorn on him for him and for his idol of clay who, I flatly told him, could not be the real doughnuts of any sort. As for his being the real Peruvian Faugh!
I would risk no defeat there. I passed resolutely on to Boogles, who now most diligently trained up tender young bean vines in the way they should go. "Why does he hide in there?" I demanded in a loud, indignant voice. I was to have no nonsense about it.
Of course Jimmie was far descended into the vale of years, and even Boogles was forty but adults! It is three o'clock of a warm spring morning. The two legal adults converse in whispers, like bad boys kept after school. They whisper so as not to waken the manager, a blasé, mature youth of twenty who sleeps expertly in the big chair back of the railing.
Made to pick these up, the result was still a droning monotony burdened with many irrelevancies. I am loath to transcribe his speech. It were better reported with an eye strictly to salience. You may see, then and I hope with less difficulty than I had in seeing Jimmie Time and Boogles on night duty at the front of the little Western Union Office off Park Row in the far city of New York.
They are powerless against these aggressions. They can but whisper their indignation. Boogles eyed the sleeping manager. "I struck it fine to-night, Jimmie!" he whispered. Jimmie mutely questioned. "Got a whole case note. You know that guy over to the newspaper office the one that's such a tank drama he had to send a note up to a girl in a show that he couldn't be there." "That tank drama?
Boogles turned on me the slow, lofty, considering regard of a United States senator submitting to photography for publication in a press that has no respect for private rights. He lacked but a few clothes and the portico of a capitol. Speech became immanent in him. One should not have been surprised to hear him utter decorative words meant for the rejoicing and incitement of voters.
It went back easily, having been built for a larger head than his. He found the place he had marked at the end of his previous half-hour with literature. Boogles leaned eagerly toward him. He loved being read to. Doing it himself was too slow and painful: "'No, said our hero in a clear, ringing voice; 'all your tainted gold would not keep me here in the foul, crowded city.
"'Our first offishul act after reachin' the Rio Grande is to lay for a passel of Yank cavalry thar's two thousand of 'em I reckons. We rides up on these yere lively persons as we sounds a halt for the evenin'. It looks like our boogles is a summons, for they comes buttin' into view through a dry arroya an' out onto the wide green bottoms of the Rio Grande at the first call.
Often I had wished to test in speech the widely alleged merits of this vocable. I found it do all that has been claimed for it. Its effect on Boogles was so withering that I used it repeatedly in the next three minutes. I even faughed him twice in succession, which is very insulting and beneficial indeed, and has a pleasant feel on the lips.
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