The Birmingham age-herald., 1907-09-29
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By Henry Wallace Phillips
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 Cs.0.C.<s.o.0.0.<o.Ss.o.3.G.<3.o MicL Murphy as a thing of beauty. Lit
 tie bits of eyes, near hid with whisky
 bloat, big puffy lips, stained with tobacco juice till they looked like the blood was
 coming through; dirty handed, dirty ! clotted and dirty mcuthed-yah Let me
 spit.
 And still Well, when I remember
 how that bulldozing lummox went up q
 burning flight of stairs, tore a burning door off it's hinges with them big, dirty l hands and brought little girl down through wallow of flames, taking the coat off his back to wrap around her, while he was scorched from head to heel; and how the pride of the man come cut
 when the mother stumbled toward him,
 calling on God to reward him, and he , strengthened under the pain and said, An, that's all right, ledy! r your ol' manll stand a drink an new shirt we'll ! call it square. The son-of-a-gun never left his bed for six weeks-why, he was
 broiled all down one side-why. when l
 remember that l cant call mp such disgust for old Mick, and I'm darned glad l reformed him, without ever mean ing to, or knowing the first thing about It. l reformed Mick with both hands,
 applied hard and frequent as pos i sible.
 Nothing could be further from the
 thoughts of either party than reform while the process was in operation. As |
 said, l see Mick Murphy leaning back in f his chair at the tavern. Of course, he ! had a word to say about me and Miss Hitty Now, the bare sight of Mick used to make the hair stand up on the back , of my neck and growls boil inside of me. l just naturally dsliked that man. So 1 I sassed him plenty. He got mad and | tD my l n1SSpl some sweet thought or other, and he did ] slap my face I caught him on his rum
 bouquet and sent him plumb off his feet
 not bad for 16-year-old. when you con-
 sider the other party was an accom-
 plished rough-holfser. Yes, sir, he went
 right down, clean. more from the quick
 ness than the stuff behind the blow as
 l hadn't anywheres near grew into my
 strength yet. The tavern crowd set up
 a roar and then jumped to interfere for
 Mick he roared too. and made to pull me
 apart The onlookers wouldn't stand for 1t.
 The weren't such hgh-toned gents, but
 contest between leggy kid and pow i erful man looked too far off the level
 You run, says one fellow to me. Well ! hold him., but hanged if l was going to
 run. My thoughts was a mix, as usual
 in such cases-most of it hardly thinking
 d all and the rest a kind of white hot
 yearning to damage something, and de-
 sire to hustle away from there before 1
 got hurt Then, too it had reached the
 limit about Miss Hitty-I sure wasn't go-
 ing to stand hearing her name mishan-
 dled by tavern loafers Yet the principal
 cause for my staying was my anxiety to
 leave. That great, big, believing Irish
 man, dragging a half dozen men around
 to get at me, the blood streaming down
 his face and his expression far from
 agreeable, put a crimT in my soul, and ! IQttt I a1 tO ln- 1 derstand that this my first man
 size proposition. and that if l didn't take
 my licking like a man l never could prop l erly respect myself afterward. So whilst my legs were pleading, come. Willie, let trot and see mother-it will be pleasant l err | raked my system for sand and | stood pat I knew a trick CT two about i assaulting your fellow man as well as
 Mick when you come to that Fighting ! Is really as good an education, for fight" ing as practising boxing is. and perhaps little better. It aint so much ques- ton of how you make your props and parries as how much damage you lnthct upon the party of the second part. "Let him comen I says; what you holding him for s if he was ragn'
 lion or something? Let go of him!
 "' You skip, you darn fool" says my l first friend. Hell eat you raw. well, it will be my funeral I says. ! If you will see he don't put me down
 and gouge my eye out I'll take him as | he comes.
 ] focusing was a great trick with that I gang-I feared it more than death itself. l "Just at that minute old Eli drove up. What in tarnatiors thisI says he. When he found out he tried to make me go home, but all this advice 'lidn't want had made me more determined gof crying mad. 'Gol-ding it all to thunder! I.tx on get fair play and turn him loose Eli, want one more swat at him-just let me hit him once more, and I'll go home. Eli was a tall round-shouldered man, who looked like a cross between pros porous minister and a busted lawyer. He had a consumptive cough and an easy, smoothing way with his hands, always sort of apologizing. Several men had been led astray by these appearance and picked a quarrel with Eli. Two weeks in bed was the average for making that mistake.
 'He looked at me with his head side ways pulling his chin whisker. 'Billy.' says he, I hev experienced them senu- ments myself. It shell be as you say He went to his wagon and drew out A muzzle-loading pistol from under the seat. The pistol was loaded with buckshot and four fingers of powder to push it. as every one around knew. He walked mp to Mick and put the touch of a cold, gray Yankee eye on him. Young man. he says. I ain't for your clawin', chawin'. kickin' style of conducin' a row, so l tell you this: you fight that boy fair. or I'll buckshot with your whisky. Turn your bullock loose."
 '"The men let go of him. and here he come Fortunately I remember every detail of that scrapp clear as crys- tai. l led with my left and Mick coun- tered with his chin A thunder storm hit me in the left ear. Ker-bank. fer-swot. Scurry-scurry Diff -bif- Diff. Somebody hit somewhere Somebody with a pain in the neck. No time to find out who 1t IS. Zip. smash. rip; more pains; streaks of fire on the horizon must have run aground Roar-roar- -bump-ah bully for you. Billy, Slam him. Mick, Hit him again. sonny, You got him. Now you got him. A-aay-hooray, The switch is open: here we go, pumping over the tie Gee How 1t jars right over the edge of the trestle-bing, C'm off him. you big black whelp. aggh! le'go Twist his thumb, Kick the brute, Get up. boy. Roooor swshz Where in thunder did the big black bird come from? And what's he doing here? Never mind. No time to stop Lovely Peter. how she rolls' Who is it that's sick at his stomach?-Mick. probably Lightning truck him. that