The Water Goats and Other Troubles
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Ellis Parker Butler >> The Water Goats and Other Troubles
THE WATER GOATS AND OTHER TROUBLES
BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Pigs is Pigs
The Great American Pie Company
Mike Flannery On Duty and off
The Thin Santa Claus
That Pup, Kilo, etc.
THE WATER GOATS AND OTHER TROUBLES
BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER
CONTENTS
I. THE WATER GOATS
II. MR. BILLINGS'S POCKETS
III. OUR FIRST BURGLAR
I
THE WATER GOATS
"And then," said the landscape gardener, combing his silky,
pointed beard gently with his long, artistic fingers, "in the
lake you might have a couple of gondolas. Two would be sufficient
for a lake of this size; amply sufficient. Yes," he said firmly,
"I would certainly advise gondolas. They look well, and the
children like to ride on them. And so do the adults. I would have
two gondolas in the lake."
Mayor Dugan and the City Council, meeting as a committee of the
whole to receive the report of the landscape gardener and his
plan for the new public park, nodded their heads sagely.
"Sure!" said Mayor Dugan. "We want two of thim--of thim gon--
thim gon--"
"Gondolas," said the landscape gardener. "Sure!" said Mayor
Dugan, "we want two of thim. Remimber th' gondolas, Toole."
"I have thim fast in me mind," said Toole. "I will not let
thim git away, Dugan."
The landscape gardener stood a minute in deep thought, looking
at the ceiling.
"Yes, that is all!" he said. "My report, and the plan, and what
I have mentioned, will be all you need."
Then he shook hands with the mayor and with all the city
councilmen and left Jeffersonville forever, going back to New
York where landscape gardeners grow, and the doors were opened
and the committee of the whole became once more the regular
meeting of the City Council.
The appropriation for the new park was rushed through in twenty
minutes, passing the second and third readings by the reading of
the title under a suspension of the by-laws, and being
unanimously adopted. It was a matter of life and death with Mayor
Dugan and his ring. Jeffersonville was getting tired of the
joyful grafters, and murmurs of discontent were concentrating
into threats of a reform party to turn the cheerful rascals out.
The new park was to be a sop thrown to the populace--something to
make the city proud of itself and grateful to its mayor and
council. It was more than a pet scheme of Mayor Dugan, it was a
lifeboat for the ring. In half an hour the committees had been
appointed, and the mayor turned to the regular business. Then
from his seat at the left of the last row little Alderman Toole
arose.
"Misther Mayor," he said, "how about thim--thim don--thim don--
"Golas!" whispered Alderman Grevemeyer hoarsely, "dongolas."
"How about thim dongolas, Misther Mayor?" asked Alderman Toole.
"Sure!" said the mayor. "Will annyone move that we git two
dongolas t' put in th' lake for th' kids t' ride on? Will annyone
move that Alderman Toole be a conmittee of wan t' git two
dongolas t' put in th' lake?"
"I make dot motions," said Alderman Greveneyer, half raising
his great bulk from his seat and sinking back with a grunt.
"Sicond th' motion," said Alderman Toole.
"Moved and siconded," said the mayor, "that Alderman Toole be a
committee t' buy two dongolas t' put in th' lake for th' kids t'
ride on. Ye have heard th' motion."
The motion was unanimously carried. That was the kind of City
Council Mayor Dugan had chosen.
When little Alderman Toole dropped into Casey's saloon that
night on his way home he did not slip meekly to the far end of
the bar, as he usually did. For the first time in his aldermanic
career he had been put on a committee where he would really have
something to do, and he felt the honour. He boldly took a place
between the big mayor and Alderman Grevemeyer, and said: "One of
th' same, Casey," with the air of a man who has matters of
importance on his mind. He felt that things were coming his way.
Even the big mayor seemed to appreciate it, for he put his hand
affectionately on Toole's shoulder.
"Mike," said the mayor, "about thim dongolas, now; have ye
thought anny about where ye would be gettin' thim?"
"I have not," said Toole. "I was thinkin' 'twould be good t'
think it over a bit, Dugan. Mebby 'twould be best t' git thim at
Chicagy." He looked anxiously at the mayor's face, hoping for
some sign of approval or disapproval, but the mayor's face was
noncommittal. "But mebby it wouldn't," concluded Toole. As a
feeler he added: "Would ye be wantin' me t' have thim made here,
Dugan?"
The big mayor patted Toole on the shoulder indulgently.
"It's up t' you, Mike," he said. "Ye know th' way Dugan does
things, an' th' way he likes thim done. I trust thim that I kin
trust, an' whin I put a man on committee I'm done wid th' thing.
Of coorse," he added, putting his mouth close to Toole's ear, and
winking at Grevemeyer, "ye will see that there is a rake-off for
me an' th' byes."
"Sure!" said Toole.
The big mayor turned back to the bar and took a drink from his
glass. Grevemeyer took a drink from his glass, also. So did
Toole, gravely. Dugan wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and
turned to Toole again.
"Mike," he said, "what do ye think? Mebby 'twould do as well t'
git a couple of sicond-hand dongolas an' have thim painted up. If
they was in purty good shape no wan would know th' difference,
an' 'twould make a bit more rake-off fer th' byes, mebby."
"Th' same word was on th' ind o' me tongue, Dugan," said Toole,
nodding his head slowly. "I was considerin' this very minute
where I could lay me hand on a couple of purty good dongolas that
has not been used much. Flannagan could paint thim up fine!"
"Or Stoltzenau could do such paintings," interposed Grevemeyer.
"Sure!" agreed the big mayor. He toyed with his glass a moment.
"Mike," he said suddenly, "what th' divil is a dongola, anyhow?"
Mike Toole was just raising his glass to his lips with the
movements of one accustomed to hold conversation with the mayor.
His left hand rested on his hip, with his arm akimbo, and his hat
was tipped carelessly to the back of his head. The hand raising
his glass stopped short where it was when he heard the mayor's
question. He frowned at the glass--scowled at it angrily.
"A dongola, Dugan"--he said slowly, and stopped. "A dongola"--
he repeated. "A dongola--did ye ask me what a dongola might be,
Dugan?"
The big mayor nodded, and Grevemeyer leaned forward to catch
the answer. Casey, too, leaned on his bar and listened. Alderman
Toole raised his glass to his lips and filled his mouth with the
liquor. Instantly he dashed the glass furiously to the floor. He
jerked off his hat and cast it into a far corner and pulled off
his coat, throwing it after his hat. He was climbing on to the
bar when the big mayor and Grevemeyer laid their hands on the
little man and held him tightly. The big mayor shook him once and
set him on the floor.
"Mike!" said the big mayor. "What's th' matter wid ye? What are
ye goin' afther Casey that way for? Is it crazy ye are? Or have
ye gone insane?"
"Knock-out drops!" shouted Toole, shaking his fist at Casey,
who looked down at him in astonishment. "Knock-out drops! I will
have th' law on ye, Casey. I will have th' joint closed! I'll
teach ye t' be givin' knock-out drops t' th' aldermin of th'
city!"
"Mike!" cried the big mayor, giving him another vigorous shake.
"Shut up wid ye! Casey wouldn't be givin' ye annything that
wasn't good for ye. Casey wouldn't be givin' ye knock-out drops."
"No?" whispered Mike angrily. "No? Wouldn't he, Dugan? An' what
has he done t' me mimory, then, Dugan? What has he put in th'
drink t' rob me of me mimory? Wan minute ago I knew as well anny
other man what a dongola is like, an' now I have no mimory of
anny dongolas at all. Wan minute ago I could have told ye th'
whole history of dongolas, from th' time of Adam up till now, an'
have drawed a picture of wan that annywan could recognize--an'
now I wouldn't know wan if ye was show it t' me! I was about t'
tell ye th' whole history of dongolas, Dugan; 'twas on th' ind of
me tongue t' give ye a talk on dongolas, whin I took a drink. Ye
saw me take a drink, Grevemeyer?"
"Ya!" said Grevemeyer. nodding his head solemnly. "You took
such a drink!"
"Sure," said Toole, arranging his vest. "Grevemeyer saw me take
th' drink--an now I have no mimory of dongolas at all. If ye was
t' show me a chromo of wan I wouldn't know was it a dongola or
what. I'm ashamed of ye, Casey!"
"If ye done it, Casey, ye hadn't have ought t' have done it,"
said Dugan reprovingly. "Th' mind of him might be ruined
intirely."
"Stop, Dugan!" said Toole hastily. "I forgive him. Me mind will
likely be all right by mornin'. 'Tis purty good yit, ixcipt on
th' subjict of dongolas. I'm timporarily out of remimbrance what
dongolas is. 'Tis odd how thim knock-out drops works,
Grevemeyer."
"Ya!" said the alderman unsuspectingly, "gifing such a
forgetfulness on such easy things as dongolas."
"Sure! You tell Dugan what dongolas is, Grevemeyer," said Toole
quickly.
Grevemeyer looked at his glass thoughtfully. His mind worked
slowly always, but he saw that it would not do for him to have
knock-out drops so soon after Toole.
"Ach!" he exclaimed angrily. "You are insulting to me mit such
questions Toole. So much will I tell you--never ask Germans what
is dongolas. It is not for Germans to talk about such things.
Ask Casey."
Casey scratched his head thoughtfully.
"Dongolas?" he repeated. "I have heard th' word, Grevemeyer.
Wait a bit! 'Tis something about shoes. Sure! I remimber, now!
'Twas dongola shoes wan of me kids had, last winter, an' no good
they were, too. Dongolas is shoes, Grevemeyer--laced shoes --
dongolas is laced shoes."
The big mayor leaned his head far back and laughed long and
loud. He pounded on the bar with his fist, and slapped Toole on
the back.
"Laced shoes!" he cried, wiping his eyes, and then he became
suddenly serious. "'Twould not be shoes, Casey," he said gravely.
"Thim dongolas was ricomminded by th' landscape-gardener from New
Yorrk. 'Twould not be sinsible t' ricommind us put a pair of
laced shoes in th' park lake fer th' kids t' ride on."
"'Twould not seem so," said Toole, shaking his head wisely. "I
wisht me mind was like it always is. 'Tis a pity--"
"Stop!" cried Casey. "I have it! Thim was kid shoes. Thim
dongolas was kid shoes."
"So said, Casey," said Duo'an "For th' kid."
"No," said Casey, "of th' kid."
"Sure!" said Gravemeyer. So it is--the shoes of the child."
"Right fer ye!" exclaimed Casey. "Th' kid shoes of th' kid.
'Twas kid leather they were made out of, Dugan. Th' dongola is
some fancy kind of a goat. Like box-calf is th' skin of th' calf
of th' box-cow. Th' dongola is some foreign kind of a goat,
Dugan."
"Ho, ho-o-o!" cried Toole, suddenly, knocking on his forehead
with the knuckles of his fist. The three men turned their eyes
upon him and stared.
"What ails ye now, Mike?" asked Dugan, disgustedly.
"Ho-o-o!" he cried again, slapping himself on the top of his
head. "Me mind is comm' back t' me, Dugan! Th' effects of th'
knock-out drops is wearin' off! I recall now that th' dongola is
some fancy kind of a goat. 'Twill all come back t' me soon.
"Go along wid ye!" exclaimed Dugan. "Would ye be puttin' a goat
in th' lake for th' kids t' ride on?"
"Sure!" said Toole enthusiastically. "Sure I would, Dugan. Not
th' common goat I wouldn't. But dongola goats I would. Have ye
heard of dongola water goats, Casey? Was thim dongola goat skin
shoes warranted t' be water-proof?"
Casey wrinkled his brow.
"'Tis like they was, Toole," he said doubtfully. "'Tis like
they was warranted t' be, but they wasn't."
"Sure!" cried Toole joyously. " 'Tis water-proof th' skin of
th' dongola water goats is, like th' skin of th' duck. An' swim?
A duck isn't in it wid a water goat. I remimber seein' thim in
ould Ireland whin I was a bye, Dugan, swimmin in th' lake of
Killarney. Ah, 'twas a purty picture."
"I seem t' remimber thim mesilf," he said. "Not clear, but a
bit."
"Sure ye do!" cried Toole. "Many's the time I have rode across
th' lake on th' back of a dongola. Me own father, who was a big
man in th' ould country, used t' keep a pair of thim for us
childer. 'Twas himself fetched thim from Donnegal, Dugan. 'Twas
from Donnegal they got th' name of thim, an' 'twas th' name ye
give thim that misled me. Donnegoras was what we called thim in
th' ould counry--donnegoras from Donnegal. I remimber th' two of
thim I had whin I was a kid, Dugan--wan was a Nanny, an' wan was
a Billy, an'--"
"Go on home, Mike," said Dugan. "Go on home an' sleep it off!"
and the little alderman from the Fourth Ward picked up his hat
and coat, and obeyed his orders.
Instituting a new public park and seeing that in every purchase
and every contract there is a rake-off for the ring is a big job,
and between this and the fight against the rapidly increasing
strength of the reform party, Mayor Dugan had his hands more than
full. He had no time to think of dongolas, and he did not want to
think of them--Toole was the committee on dongolas, and it was
his duty to think of them, and to worry about them, if any worry
was necessary. But Toole did not worry. He sat down and wrote a
letter to his cousin Dennis, official keeper of the zoo in
Idlewild Park at Franklin, Iowa.
"Dear Dennis," he wrote. "Have you any dongola goats in your
menagery for I want two right away good strong ones answer right
away your affectionate cousin alderman Michael Toole."
"Ps monny no object."
When Dennis Toole received this letter he walked through his
zoo and considered his animals thoughtfully. The shop-worn brown
bear would not do to fill cousin Mike's order; neither would the
weather-worn red deer nor the family of variegated tame rabbits.
The zoo of Idlewild Park at Franklin was woefully short of
dongola goats--in fact, to any but the most imaginative and
easily pleased child, it was lacking in nearly every thing that
makes a zoo a congress of the world's most rare and thrilling
creatures. After all, the nearest thing to a goat was a goat, and
goats were plenty in Franklin. Dennis felt an irresistible
longing to aid Mike--the longing that comes to any healthy man
when a request is accompanied by the legend "Money no object." He
wrote that evening to Mike.
"Dear Mike," he wrote. "I've got two good strong dongola goats
I can let you have cheap. I'm overstocked with dongolas to-day. I
want to get rid of two. Zoo is getting too crowded with all kinds
of animals and I don't need so many dongola goats. I will sell
you two for fifty dollars. Apiece. What do you want them for?
Your affectionate cousin, Dennis Toole, Zoo keeper. PS. Crates
extra."
"Casey," said Mike to his friend the saloon keeper when he
received this communication, "'tis just as I told ye--dongolas is
goats. I have been corrispondin' with wan of th' celibrated
animal men regardin' th' dongola water goat, an' I have me eye on
two of thim this very minute. But 'twill be ixpinsive, Casey,
mighty ixpinsive. Th' dongola water goat is a rare birrd, Casey.
They have become extinct in th' lakes of Ireland, an' what few of
thim is left in th' worrld is held at outrajeous prices. In th'
letter I have from th' animal man, Casey, he wants two hundred
dollars apiece for each dongola water goat, an' 'twill be no easy
thing for him t' git thim."
"Hasn't he thim in his shop, Mike?" asked Casey.
"He has not, Casey," said the little alderman. "He has no place
for thim. Cages he has, an' globes for goldfish, an' birrd cages,
but th' size of th' shop l'aves no room for an aquarium, Casey.
He has no tank for the preservation of water goats.
Hippopotamuses an' alligators an' crocodiles an' dongola water
goats an' sea lions he does not keep in stock, Casey, but sinds
out an' catches thim whin ordered. He writes that his agints has
their eyes on two fine dongolas, an' he has tiligraphed thim t'
catch thim."
"Are they near by, Mike?" asked Casey, much interested.
"Naw," said Toole. "'Twill be some time till I git thim. Th'
last he heard of thim they were swimmin' in th' Lake of Geneva."
"Is it far, th' lake?" asked Casey.
"I disremimber how far," said Toole. "'Tis in Africa or Asia,
or mebby 'tis in Constantinople. Wan of thim countries it is,
annyhow."
But to his cousin Dennis he wrote:
"Dear Dennis--I will take them two dongolas. Crate them good
and solid. Do not send them till I tell you. Send the bill to me.
Your affectionate cousin alderman Michael Toole. Ps Make bill for
two hundred dollars a piece. Business is business. This is
between us two. M. T."
A Keeper of the Water Goats had been selected with the utmost
care, combining in the choice practical politics with a sense of
fitness. Timothy Fagan was used to animals--for years he had
driven a dumpcart. He was used to children--he had ten or eleven
of his own. And he controlled several votes in the Fourth Ward.
His elevation from the dump-cart of the street cleaning
department to the high office of Keeper of the Water Goats was
one that Dugan believed would give general satisfaction.
When the goats arrived in Jeffersonville the two heavy crates
were hauled to Alderman Toole's back yard to await the opening of
the park, and there Mayor Dugan and Goat Keeper Fagan came to
inspect them. Alderman Toole led the way to them with pride, and
Mayor Dugan's creased brow almost uncreased as he bent down and
peered between the bars of the crates. They were fine goats.
Perhaps they looked somewhat more dejected than a goat usually
looks--more dirty and down at the heels than a goat often looks--
but they were undoubtedly goats. As specimens of ordinary Irish
goats they might not have passed muster with a careful buyer, but
no doubt they were excellent examples of the dongola.
"Ye have done good, Mike," said the mayor. "Ye have done good!
But ain't they mebby a bit off their feed--or something?"
"Off their feed!" said Toole. "An' who wouldn't be, poor
things? Mind ye, Dugan, thim is not common goats--thim is
dongolas--an' used to bein' in th' wather con-continuous from
mornin' till night. 'Tis sufferin' for a swim they be, poor
animals. Wance let thim git in th' lake an' ye will see th'
difference, Dugan. 'Twill make all th' difference in th' worrld
t' thim. 'Tis dyin' for a swim they are."
"Sure!" said the Keeper of the Water Goats. "Ye have done good,
Mike," said the mayor again. "Thim dongolas will be a big
surprise for th' people."
They were. They surprised the Keeper of the Goats first of all.
The day before the park was to be opened to the public the goats
were taken to the park and turned over to their official keeper.
At eleven o'clock that morning Alderman Toole was leaning
against Casey's bar, confidentially pouring into his ear the
story of how the dongolas had given their captors a world of
trouble, swimming violently to the far reaches of Lake Geneva and
hiding among the bulrushes and reeds, when the swinging door of
the saloon was banged open and Tim Fagan rushed in. He was mad.
He was very mad, but he was a great deal wetter than mad. He
looked as if he had been soaked in water over night, and not
wrung out in the morning.
"Mike!" he whispered hoarsely, grasping the little alderman by
the arm. "I want ye! I want ye down at th' park."
A chill of fear passed over Alderman Toole. He turned his face
to Fagan and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Tim," he demanded, "has annything happened t' th' dongolas?"
"Is annything happened t' th' dongolas!" exclaimed Fagan
sarcastically. "Is annything wrong with thim water goats? Oh, no,
Toole! Nawthin' has gone wrong with thim! Only they won't go into
th' wather, Mike! Is annything gone wrong with thim, did ye say?
Nawthin'! They be in good health, but they are not crazy t' be
swimmin'. Th' way they do not hanker t' dash into th' water is
marvellous, Mike. No water for thim!"
"Hist!" said Toole uneasily, glancing around to see that no one
but Casey was in hearing. "Mebby ye have not started thim right,
Tim."
"Mebby not," said Fagan angrily. "Mebby I do not know how t'
start th' water goat, Toole! Mebby there is one way unbeknownst
t' me. If so, I have not tried it. But th' forty-sivin other ways
I have tried, an' th' goats will not swim. I have started thim
backwards an' I have started thim frontwards, an' I have took
thim in by th' horns an' give thim lessons t' swim, an' they will
not swim! I have done me duty by thim, Mike, an' I have wrastled
with thim, an' rolled in th' lake with thim. Was it t' be
swimmin' teacher t' water goats ye got me this job for?"
"Hist!" said Toole again. "Not so loud, Tim! Ye haven't told
Dugan have ye?"
"I have not!" said Tim, with anger. "I have not told annybody
annything excipt thim goats an' what I told thim is not dacint
hearin'. I have conversed with thim in strong language, an' it
done no good. No swimmin' for thim! Come on down an' have a chat
with thim yersilf, Toole. Come on down an' argue with thim, an
persuade thim with th' soft sound of yer voice t' swim. Come on
down an' git thim water goats used t' th' water."
"Ye don't understand th' water goat, Tim," said Toole in gentle
reproof. "I will show ye how t' handle him," and he went out,
followed by the wet Keeper of the Water Goats.
The two water goats stood at the side of the lake, wet and
mournful, tied to two strong stakes. They looked weary and meek,
for they had had a hard morning, but as soon as they saw Tim
Fagan they brightened up. They arose simultaneously on their hind
legs and their eyes glittered with deadly hatred. They strained
at their ropes, and then, suddenly, panic-stricken, they turned
and ran, bringing up at the ends of their ropes with a shock that
bent the stout stakes to which they were fastened. They stood
still and cowered, trembling.
"Lay hold!" commanded Toole. "Lay hold of a horn of th' brute
till I show ye how t' make him swim."
Through the fresh gravel of the beach the four feet of the
reluctant goat ploughed deep furrows. It shook its head from side
to side, but Toole and Fagan held it fast, and into the water it
went."
"Now!" cried Alderman Toole. "Git behind an' push, Tim! Wan!
Two! Three! Push!"
Alderman Toole released his hold and Keeper of the Water Goats
Fagan pushed. Then they tried the other goat. It was easier to
try the other water goat than to waste time hunting up the one
they had just tried, for it had gone away. As soon as Alderman
Toole let it go, it went. It seemed to want to get to the other
end of the park as soon as possible, but it did not take the
short cut across the lake--it went around. But it did not mind
travel--it went to the farthest part of the park, and it would
have gone farther if it could. So Alderman Toole and Keeper Fagan
tried the other water goat. That one went straight to the other
end of the park. It swerved from a straight line but once, and
that was when it shied at a pail of water that was in the way. It
did not seem to like water.
In the Franklin Zoo Dennis Toole had just removed the lid of
his tin lunch-pail when the telegraph boy handed him the yellow
envelope. He turned it over and over, studying its exterior,
while the boy went to look at the shop-worn brown bear. The zoo
keeper decided that there was no way to find out what was inside
of the envelope but to open it. He was ready for the worst. He
wondered, unthinkingly, which one of his forty or more cousins
was dead, and opened the envelope.
"Dennis Toole, Franklin Zoo," he read, "Dongolas won't swim.
How do you make them swim? Telegraph at once. Michael Toole."
He laid the telegram across his knees and looked at it as if it
was some strange communication from another sphere. He pushed his
hat to one side of his head and scratched the tuft of red hair
thus bared.
"'Dongolas won't swim!"' he repeated slowly. "An' how do I make
thim swim? I wonder does Cousin Mike take th' goat t' be a fish,
or what? I wonder does he take swimmin' to be wan of th'
accomplishments of th' goat?" He shook his head in puzzlement,
and frowned at the telegram. "Would he be havin' a goat regatta,
I wonder, or was he expectin' th' goat t' be a web-footed animal?
'Won't swim!' he repeated angrily. 'Won't swim!' An' what is it
to me if they won't swim? Nayther would I swim if I was a goat.
'Tis none of me affair if they will not swim. There was nawthin'
said about 'swimmin' goats.' Goats I can give him, an' dongola
goats I can give him, an jumpin' goats, an' climbin' goats, an'
walkin' goats, but 'tis not in me line t'furnish submarine goats.
No, nor goats t' fly up in th' air! Would anny one," he said with
exasperation, "would anny one that got a plain order for goats
ixpict t' have t' furnish goats that would hop up off th' earth
an' make a balloon ascension? 'Tis no fault of Dennis Toole's
thim goats won't swim. What will Mike be telegraphin' me nixt, I
wonder? 'Dear Dennis: Th' goats won't lay eggs. How do ye make
thim?' Bye, have ye a piece of paper t' write an answer t' me
cousin Mike on?"
The Keeper of the Water Goats and Alderman Toole were sitting
on a rustic bench looking sadly at the water goats when the
Jeffersonville telegraph messenger brought them Dennis Toole's
answer. Alderman Toole grasped the envelope eagerly and tore it
open, and Fagan leaned over his shoulder as he read it: