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Updated: June 5, 2025
Surely something had gone very wrong with the William Shrimplin of Custer's fancy, the young Bill Shrimplin of Texarcana and similar centers of crime and hardihood. "Custer " began Mr. Shrimplin, in a shaking voice. "I am wondering if it wouldn't be best to drive on into town and get a cop Oh, my God, why don't you quit hollering!" "Maybe they're killing him now!" cried Custer breathlessly.
Shrimplin had now become a public servant, for certain gasolene lamps in the town of Mount Hope were his proud and particular care. Any night he could be seen seated in his high two-wheeled cart drawn by a horse large in promise of speed but small in achievement, a hissing gasolene torch held between his knees, making his way through that part of the town where gas-lamps were as yet unknown.
"Go on, pal" begged Custer. He felt that his mother's interruptions were positively cruel, and so like a woman! "Me and young John North passed the time of day," continued Mr. Shrimplin, thus abjured, "and I started around the north side of the Square to light the lamp on old man McBride's own corner. If I'd knowed then " he paused impressively, "if I'd just knowed then, that was my time!
Shrimplin's horrified gaze was able to trace another discoloration that crossed in a thin red line the dead man's white collar; for the man was dead past all peradventure. Mr. Shrimplin saw and grasped the meaning of it all in an instant. Then with a feeble cry he turned and fled down the long room, pursued by a million phantom terrors.
A second attempt was made in which they were aided by Custer from above, and this time the injured man was drawn to the top of the bank, where he collapsed in a heap. "He's fainted!" said Custer. "Strike a match and see who it is!" Mr. Shrimplin obeyed, bringing the light close to the bloody and disfigured face. "Why, it's Marsh Langham!" he cried. "Custer " began Mr.
"That was a choice one to hand out to an eldest son, wasn't it, your Honor?" said the little lamplighter, tugging at his flaxen mustache. "I just manage to keep a roof over our heads," went on Nellie, "and without any thanks to him; but he has plenty of money, and where it comes from I'd like to know, for he ain't done a lick of work in weeks!" "Fact, Judge!" remarked Mr. Shrimplin.
When they reached the head of the stairs Custer pushed open the first door; the room thus disclosed was in darkness, and the colonel, with a whispered caution to his companions, released his hold on Langham, and striking a match, stepped into the room where, having found the chandelier, he turned on the gas. As the light flared up, Shrimplin and Watt advanced with their helpless burden.
"If only pa has not driven off!" But the senior Shrimplin had not moved from the spot where Custer had left him five minutes before. "Is that you, son?" he asked, as Custer appeared at the fence. "Come here, quick!" commanded the boy. "For what?" inquired Mr. Shrimplin. "You needn't be afraid, it's only a man who's fallen off the iron bridge. He's down in the bed of the slaughter-house run.
To hear you talk any one would think I'd been to a church picnic; I look like I'd been to a picnic, don't I? Yes, I do like hell!" "They said you would never come back to me," moaned Nellie. "Who said that?" asked Mr. Montgomery aggressively. "Everybody the neighbors Shrimplin they all said it!"
The little lamplighter was dressed in those respectable garments which in the Shrimplin household were adequately described as his "other suit," and as if to remove any doubt from the mind of the beholder that he had failed to prepare himself for the occasion, he wore a clean paper collar, but no tie, this latter being an adornment Mr. Shrimplin had not attempted in years.
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