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Updated: June 15, 2025
Away down yonder, they have driven two rows of piles straight through the middle of a dry bar half a mile long, which is forty foot out of the water when the river is low. What do you reckon that is for? If I know, I wish I may land in-HUMP YOURSELF, YOU SON OF AN UNDERTAKER! OUT WITH THAT COAL-OIL, NOW, LIVELY, LIVELY! And just look at what they are trying to do down there at Milliken's Bend.
It was plain he was from the country, for his reddish whiskers were untrimmed, his hair long and straggling, his clothes of an extraordinary and antique design; and, moreover, under his arm he carried a coal-oil box, slatted across the front, which contained a live rooster.
But for a man who has known the delight of planting and reaping to retire to a city or a small town, and "hang around," doing nothing, is surely a retrograde step. The retired farmer is seldom interested in community matters they usually vote against any by-law for improvement. Coal-oil lamps were good enough on the farm why should a town have electric light?
And he did have a curiosity to see just what Judith would look like in a real party-dress. "Poor little wild Indian," he grumbled. "She's got the making of a wonder in her, and she doesn't even know it. What's worse, doesn't care." He sat with a dead cigarette between his fingers, staring at the wind-blown flame of his coal-oil lamp.
He fills up the tin cup into which he draws that Valley Tan with coal-oil karoseen you-all calls it an' leaves it, temptin' like, settin' on top a whiskey bar'l. Shore! it's the first thing Black Feather notes. He sees his chance an' grabs an' downs the karoseen; an' Stocton sort o' startin' for him, this Black Feather gulps her down plump swift.
"Have you met him yet?" asked Mrs. Billy, after a pause. "Not yet," he answered. "He's a character," said she. "I've heard Davy tell about the first time he struck New York as a miner, with huge wads of greenbacks in his pockets. He spent his money like a 'coal-oil Johnny, as the phrase is a hundred-dollar bill for a shine, and that sort of thing.
Coal-oil, just come from America, was regarded as a dangerous innovation. I remember buying a bottle of "Pennsylvania oil" at the grocer's for eight skilling, as a doubtful domestic experiment. Steel pens had not crowded out the old-fashioned goose-quill, and pen-knives meant just what their name implies. Matches were yet of the future. We carried tinder-boxes to strike fire with.
When he returned he was carrying a can of coal-oil. The contents he poured over the shavings, then against the wall. Next, over the shavings, he heaped three or four newspapers. Jack Benson didn't ask questions. Millard went at it all in such a business-like way that the submarine boy felt the words sticking in his throat; they couldn't be uttered.
So I took my coal-oil lantern, lighted and suspended it under the rear springs of the buggy in such a way that it would throw its light back on the road. Having the light away down, I expected to be able to see at least whether I was on a road or not.
"But he was there at the time of the fire?" "Yes. He was there." He had suddenly ceased to be communicative, and she instinctively asked no more questions, except as to the cause of the conflagration. "Probably an explosion of coal-oil. It was sometimes used to light the fire with in the morning." "How very, very terrible!" she said gently, after a moment, as though she felt it.
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