The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1901-06-07
THE GRlNGO
BY Frederic C. Thompson.
INSIDE Manuel's cantina the Amer

Copyright, 1901, by Authors Syndicate.)

INSIDE Manuel's cantina the Amer
lean music box was playing. That
was nothing unusual, for, from morn
ing to night, the music box was going.
At a table drawn close to the one on
which the box stood sat old man
Chamberlain. His eyes were closed
and he was seemingly half-asleep. But
with an almost automatic action he
now and then lifted a glass to his lips
and slipped the fiery mescal which it
contained. And that was nothing I'M
usual, for, from morning to night for
many a year, old man Chamberlain sat
beside the box and the bottle in the
dark Mexican saloon.
Between the box and the man were
two points of resemblance. Each had
come from the United States and each
was wearing it's life out in ManueIs
cantina. There the resemblance end
ed. Of the two the music box was a
more respectable member of society.
"The Drunken Gringo" the paisanos
called him. It was double contempt
because he was foreigner and a sot.
And yet, once each month, they well
coined him as one of themselves. For,
then, there came to the old man a
check from a far-off city in gringo-
land. and that strange check, convert
ed into cash, speedily found it's way
over ManuePs bar. On the day that
it came there was free mescal for all
who cared, and they were few who
would not leave the tiresome scratch
ing of the soil for a time of intoxicated
hilarity. Then "The Drunken Gringo"
became Gel Senor," and his tottering
steps were steadied by willing hands.
1t was not big check-only for $50
United States currency. But that makes
almost roomful of Mexican pesos, and,
besides, so far as results went, it was
worthy the respect it received. For, in
one way or another, it was one of the
supports of the village. On it old man
Chamberlain lived entirely. To him
it was board, lodging, clothing, and
what was more-drunken forgetful-
ness. To Manuel-two-third of it
found it's way to his pocket-it was
prosperity in business. What sifted
by him directly or indirectly support
ed half the village. So it was that for
one day in the month the old town had
a fiesta when Bacchus was king and
the Drunken Gringo his premier.
Old man Champerlain had not al
ways been the Drunken Gringo.'
Once-it was before his music box was
invented-he had been young and the
f,,+nro bod caor,oI 20 H. I,o5 loJ ~;
sions of a prosperous and honored life.
Then had come his dark days, and Mex
icowas his refuge, as it is that of many
another American. Once across the
border he had been seized with long
ing for his native land. The scenes
which had been so prosaic and COM
mon in the days he lived among them
were transformed into dreams of par
adise. To see them again in reality
was forbidden by the laws he had
broken. To dream of them over mes
cal bottle was resource left him,
and in this he found his solace. Little
by little the reality of the past was
forgotten; little by little he became
the Drunken Gringo," and all that
was IclG "dS CIlc DOA, Inc mes
cal bottle and the monthly check.
The last fiesta of the check had been
unusually exciting. It was the holt
day time, and the spirit of the season
had covered the disgrace of the grin
go so that the check was larger than
ordinary, and brought with it mes
sage of Christmas greeting. For a
time the old man had shaken off his
stupor. But now the music box was
grinding away as usual, the mescal
in the bottle had been reduced by half,
and Manuel was doing on the bench
outside the door.
Then came crash. The music box
went tumbling to the floor. Through
the open doorway came flying the
metal disc in which were punched the
notes of "Home, Sweet Home," and on
which the box had been at work.
Manuel! Manuel! Come here, Man
uel! I tell you will go. No one shall
stop me. I will go. say, Manuel
Old man Chamberlain was standing
In the doorway grasping the wall to
support his trembling legs and shout
ing wildly.
Reused from his nap by the unwont-
ed disturbance and the cries of his
usually speeches. patron, Manuel
stood half-frightened before him.
What is it, senor?" he gasped.
II tell you I will go,' repeated old
man Chamberlain. 81 don't care for
the law. I don't care if they do get
me. I'm going home again"
But, senor," protested Manuel, as
the old mans idea became apparent
to him, "if you cross the river they
will get you. You have said so many
time. And you have said, too, that
it is better to live here than die in
the prison"