The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1903-04-25
NYE AND THE pEM1JoHN.
A joke the Humsrlst Played " &c
What He Wanted.

ION what was called the frontier
there were in the early '7Os number
Of characters who later became cele-
brated," said the old scout, Colonel
John S. Crawford, who recently came
to Chicago. zone Of the men whom
knew very well was William Edgar
Nye, universally known as Bill Nye.
When l knew him best he was editor
Of the Laramie Boomerang, a wonder
full paper, which appeared whenever
Bill could rake together enough money
and enough determination to publish
it. 1t looked more like a handful than
a newspaper, but Nye took a justifable
pride in it. He had no more idea Of
the value Of dollar than a pig has
of Sunday, but he saw so little money
that he could not be held accountable
for this shortening.
ut always seemed strange to me that
Nye's wit should have blossomed as
it did in that lonely country. first
met him at Laramie. He was one Of
the great figures Of the camp, and was
indeed a picturesque character, sur
rounded as he was by the cowboy, the
scout, the broncho breaker, the pony
express rider, and all that class Of
rough and ready men. And Bill was
the quaintest Of the lot. In appear
ance he was enough to burst ones
head with laughter. He looked ex-
actly like the bald-headed caricatures
with which his stories were illustrat-
ed, and no one ever saw him smile. He
was single at the time met him, but
1 did not know that.
"Bill Nye would play a joke upon
a new-found friend as quickly as he
would on an old one, and he was
most ingenious actor. One morning
1 was riding into Laramie from the
independence region, and I met Bill
coming along the street. He hailed
me, calling, Good morning, jack
"'Good morning, Bill said I. How
are you to-day?'
can expression of agony crossed
Bills face as he answered.: 4 am
heartbroken. The child is dead
"Bill looked so much the picture Of
despair that was greatly touched.
I asked to know how could help
him in the hour of his extreme Attic
ton. He didn't know that could be
Of any assistance. asked him If he
intended getting an undertaken. He
said he didn't know what to do.
81 don't think anything can be done,
jack said Bill. 1T is dead beyond
redemption he went on as he shifted
and wiped his left eye with an old,
torn bandanna handkerchief. He told
me then that the dead child lay at his
cabin, a place had never visited.
I'VE walked together across the
prairie, passed a few 'dugouts' and
huts, and finally reached a dilapidated
cabin, built of rejected railroad ties
and old boards, none of which were
nailed on straight. He swung the
door open on it's leather hinges and
babe me enter. Inside I saw an old,
broken bed, three-legged chair, dry
goods box, which served for a wash
stand, and an armless rocker. didn't
see Mrs. Nye, of course, for Bill was
unmarried, but didn't know it. The
idea that there should be a woman in
the house never entered my head.
"The tumble-down bed was covered
with knit spread of wonderful and
hideous design. In the center and I'M
derneath the coverlid was hump
about the size Of child. With the ut
most sorrow depicted in his face, and
with faltering voice, he said, as he
pointed to the humped-up coverlid:
There it is. Turn down the spread
II leaned respectfully over the
broken bed and slowly lifted the cover.
I found, to my establishment, not
child, but five-gallon demijohn, with
the cork out and every drop of whisky
gone. Without cracking smile I
stood gazing for several minutes at the
empty demijohn, the wreck Of Bills
Spiritual hopes, and then, in voice
full of pathos, exclaimed: William,
the child shall live again.
II picked up the demijohn, carried
it to town, and had it filled. There
was no laughter or joking about the
affair. 1t was Bill Nye's simple con-
fession that he was too poor to pro-
vide himself with Proctor Knott. He
would not beg, but through his jokes
he got what he wanted without asking
for it,