Butte semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1886-1890, 1886-11-27
Mr.. TUCKER A-FISHING,

Mr.. Richard Tucker, q most respectable
Gentleman of IS well fed years, sat in his
HHlsasant library one afternoon. Never, be il
understood, was there a plumper. softer
hearted old bachelor in all the world, unless
II were my Uncle Toby himself. His phil
oophy-everyone has one or something that
answers for twas as somber and hopeless
rs the most devote pessimist could wish for.
Schopenhauer and Van Hartman jostled
elbows on his library shelf, and all the French
narrots who have piped the same note were
ranged soberly side by side. But MI. Tucker
was peculiar.
1t was only in the morning that he took
this black and tan view of life. When the
noon bell struck he felt that his duty was
done. and, crossing his broadclothed legs.
slipped his toddy, smoked his long, black pipe,
and was the most frivolous old gentleman in
Tho world. He cared no more about ego and
the non-ego than if he had been a school
Girl with her first lover. S~chopenhauer was
T,ceremonioIsly showed aside and Dick
steele, Congreve, or some other rascally
writer took his place. DR.. Jekyll never made
completer change than Mr.. Tucker did
ovorv day at II o'clock.
On this particular occasion he decided to
commune with that lovable r~eprobate Trist-
ram Shandy.
ayu read about the Widow Wadman," he
eo;d reaching out his hand to take down the
Lnol, As fate-stage manager of human af-
tn;rS-wouId have it, all his books were
Io,,nd alike, and he took down that tender.
hearted murderer 1zaak Walton. ats lust
&C well" he murmured, sinking back in the
biq leatlern chair and crossing his black silk
CATERS.
What a n eddling scoundrel is this fellow
rate. The first sentence he turned to-some.
where in the middle of the first book-con-
tanned a thought that played the mischief in
his sober life.
"When every Illusion" he repeated, lis
zone, when hopes and ambitions flutter about
one like leaves sent a wool gathering by the
wind, then the love for the hook and line is
born"
Bless me-. how true" he unused, slipping at
his toddy, show very true. Fishing is q snedi-
tative pleasure that the young and happy can
never appreciate. To muse by a shady brook,
watching the bobbing of a red and yellow
cork, requires a matured view of life. Sandy"
be concluded pounding vigorously on the bell
ut his elbow.
Rome Corners, No., consists of a tavern, a
smithv, a general" store, a pubic pump with
goose pond attachment and "The Place."
The Place, as well as 100 acres of land,
a fat horse, two fat negroes and Sandy,
were the u~ndisputed property of MI. Richard
Tucker. The place itself was a square,
weather beaten clapboard house, set on a
small hill and surrounded by a p%retentious
cnriageway and a few trees.
When Mr.. Tucker was leading a Jolly life
+o p+ba. ciIo Df Tho x,ouJL nor&ln~,,
soldiers, southern soldiers and soldiers of
Gen. Guerilla were shooting bullets through
his ~paternal walls. When the little difficulty
had adjusted itself he returned to find the
place deserted save for Nine. Smith, who sat
by the south porch, coddling her fat black
baby, Moses Pharaoh, and a red haired, snub
nosed youngster swinging on the gate, whom
he captured and dubbed Sandy. Sandy was
an accident; no one knew whence he came,
and there seemed to be no especial reason why
any one should care.
He graduated from petticoats to trousers,
and at last was made hostler, butler, gardener
and valet to Mr.. Richard Tucker.
Sandy" said Mr.. Tucker, as this young
man thrust his freckled face through the
door, I'm going fishing"
"Lawd!" returned Sandy, "wha's Mass Dick
goin'" Sandy always spoke in the third per-
son; it was a modest way he had of suggest
ing that he was an orphan. "Where's the
best placer
"Tuckah's dip amt no good, nothin' but
bullheads; but de crick is jes' noble"
Mr.. Tucker remembered the dip. 1t was a
small, muddy pond, held in the hills "like a
yellow rose between q girls breasts" as he
had expressed it in a poetic moment.
As for the creek, it was a lazy stream, ram /
bling through the woods, two miles away,
the trees overhung it, and the pickerel and
perch haunted its reedy bottom.
Mass Dick, who didn't know a reel from a
French dancing master, sent Sandy to make
preparations.
Having put a flask of Glenlivet in one
pocket and Izaak Walton in the other, he
tucked his fishing gear under his arm and
tripped along the sunny road oward the
creek. The distance has never been accu-
rately measured, but it is probable that he
had walked a mile and a half when he came
to a green, cool dell by the roadside. The
sun was beginning to slant through the thin
trees on either side of the roadway, and he
paused to consider, throwing his pole and a
tangle of hooks and lines down by the fence.
A moment later one might have seen a
plump, elderly gentleman in black broad
cloth settle down in the thick grass with a
comfortable sigh. After deciding to read
Izaak Walton awhile he took a few sips of
whisky. and then concluded to snatch a short
nap.
Mr.. Stage Manager Fate had been watch
ing him all the while, however, and just as
Mr. Tucker was between doing and dream
ing shouted "cue."
A trim little girl tripped along the road,
and for the life of him Mr.. Tucker couldn't
helm seeing her. He saw the loose faded calico
Gown that crept down to her brown little
feet: the white sun bonnet, bright with a
bunch of ribbons, that failed to hide the
brown hair. tumbled about her face and neck;
and, worst of all, he couldn't help seeing the
bluest pair of eyes that were ever called olack.
Bless mel" said he, and said nothing more.
In fact, such a picture, framed in the oid,
gray trees, might well have set the heart nut
tering in a much more stoical bosom tnan
that of Mr.. Richard Tucker.
Don't you remember me-" said the trim
little girl; Tn Peggy Spivens."
In truth he did remember a little tomDoy
by that name who ten years ago or more used
to tumble about with Sandy, eat the grapes
before they were ripe, n SUCK tne lfesn i"Ho
eggs he counted on for breakfast.
@Tve been living with Aunt Mary, and I've
just come home," she added, hiding a small
brown foot in the tangled grass; "good-oy'
Mass Dick"
sDear me. !" exclaimed Mr.. Tucker, shoulder
ing his fishing gear, II was just going 10 see
your father"
1t was a naughty lie: but there was no
doubt of the fact that Peggy was q lovely
young OF course he knew Spiveos;
every one did. His lean hogs and un1ed
mus were famous. The worst OF poverty Is
that it makes one ridiculous. 1t had treated
Spiyens in this way. He was the laughing
stock of & land of poverty. His mortgagea
billy farm was a mixture of rocks, ~eeos
and gophers, and Spivcns himself was q
shiftless d%runkard. 4.o
Let's 20 across" said Peggy, leading tne
way through the scant woods.
&Row old are you, Peggy" MIR. tucker
asked, putting a bit in the endeaV0r 70 keep
step with her rapid young feet.
"Goin' on IS, Mass Dick" o,d
Bless me, your father must be gettlns o'o'
Pesgy!'