The Missing Link - Edward Dyson (distant reading txt) 📗

and I've got a broken rib and a cut head," answered Nickie; "but losing my clothes is the worst. What is a man to do without his clothes?"

"You get up to the house, Billy, and bring down my Sunday things," said the settler. "We'll fix you up all right, mister," he added, addressing Nickie the Kid, and Nickie smiled warily, and uttered feeble thanks.

They dressed Nickie and took him up to the house and fed him, and then drove him back to Bullfrog in their spring cart, delivering him into the hands of Madame Marve, who manifested great joy on receiving back the unparalleled Missing Link in fairly good condition.

Nickie had explained to the settler that he believed the orang-outang that attacked him had escaped from Professor Thunder's Museum of Marvels and that he intended claiming damages.

Later in the day Nickie and the Professor drove out and recovered Mahdi's outfit from the hollow log, and that evening the Missing Link was again on view, and exciting much interest, although he sullenly refused to any further demonstration for the edification of the people of Bullfrog.


CHAPTER XIII.

THE WIDOW AND THE LINK.

THE Museum of Marvels was "resting" at Devil's Head. The Professor was resting, personally and particularly, on a stretcher bed in a small, hot, fly-infested room in "The Devil's Head" Hotel, pending the mending of divers injuries sustained in a disaster that put the show temporarily out of action. Thunder did not travel with his own horses, finding it much cheaper to hire a team to pull his caravan from one pitch to another. The pair of bays engaged to tow the museum, and traps and wares from Field Hill to Corner Stone had been so upset by the eccentric conduct of a frenzied inebriate, who fled along the stone road in a woman's nightdress, being pursued by purely imaginary griffins, dodoes, unicorns and dragons, all in primary colours, that they wheeled and bolted with the whole caboodle, and running into a bridge railing upset Professor Thunder and Professor Thunder's Museum of Marvels into Billy's Creek, greatly to the detriment of the show, and to the serious discomfort of the Professor who was pulled from under Ammonia, the gorilla, just when that amusing animal had almost succeeded in stifling him in the slurry for which Billy's Creek was famous.

While the Professor rested and underwent repairs, and whiled his time negotiating for damages with the owner of the horses and the frantic person in the woman's nightdress, Matty Cann, the' Living Skeleton, and Nicholas Crips, the Missing Link, were allowed their liberty. The Living Skeleton went home to the bosom of his affectionate family, with stern instructions to carefully regulate his diet, and Nickie went on to Winyip, sworn to preserve professional secrets, and bound to hold himself in readiness for resumption of duties at a day's notice.

Nickie wore a good suit of store clothes, he bore on his rascally head quite a reputable hat, his linen was fairly meritorious, his boots were above reproach, he wore socks like a man accustomed to luxuries, he was clean-shaven, he jingled money in his pocket. In his varied career Nickie had had ups and downs; true, his "ups" had been brief, but they were frequent enough to keep him almost in touch with respectability. At Winyip, a considerable township in its way, he passed quite easily for a dramatic artist taking rest and change to dissipate brain fag, the result of too studious application to his art.

When the Professor was himself again he called his company together and descended upon Corner Stone. The caravan remained at Corner Stone for a night and a day, and then moved on to Winyip. Nickie the Kid, for some reason of his own, strongly opposed the trip to Winyip; possibly because he was reluctant to appear as a mere man-monkey with a demoralised head and a rudimentary tail in a township in which he had recently figured to great advantage as Crips Nicholas, the eminent Shakespearean actor.

Winyip proved to be an excellent show town and Mahdi, the Missing Link, came in for a good deal of attention, although his performance was more subdued than ordinarily, and he showed little of the actor's natural anxiety to monopolise the limelight, but a local moral reformer wrote to the "Winyip Advertiser and Porkkakeboorabool Standard" enlaring on the shocking action of a depraved showman in keeping this poor heathen, which was "almost a human creature," confined in a cage like a beast of the field. The disputation that followed was kept alive by Professor Thunder.

People flocked to see the wonderful man-monkey, and on the afternoon of the second day came a tall, stern woman of about forty. She was nearly six feet high, her nose was large, her chin small and sliding, and she wore glasses. Across her left arm she nursed a large, shabby umbrella, and her habitual expression was that of one who has discovered a smell of drains.

This big woman was very curious. She peered into every hole and corner, she examined Bonypart, the Living Skeleton, very closely through her glasses, looking critically at his features, and was equally curious with the monkeys. She even inspected Professor Thunder with such minuteness, and with such an air of one who has at last detected a shameful imposition, that at length the celebrated showman exclaimed with some grandeur: "Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm not an exhibit."

"Oh," gasped the female, "I beg your pardon. My name is Martha Spink; I live at 'The Nook.' Do you happen to know a--eh--theatrical person named Nicholas--Crips Nicholas?"

Professor Thunder had learned caution. "I fancy I have heard the name," he said.

"You haven't such a person in your employ?" said the lady.

"No," said the Professor, thoughtfully, as if mentally running over the names of numerous celebrities on his long pay-roll. "No, I am sure there is no artist of that name in my company."

"I'll find him," said Mrs. Spink, decisively, firing up, and making dangerous gestures with her umbrella. "Mark me, I'll find him, and when I do--" The sweep of her bulky gamp nearly knocked Bonypart off his platform.

"Carefully, ma'am, carefully," said the Professor, "you came near breaking a valuable exhibit then. Living Skeletons have to be handled gingerly, madam. I am sure the ruffian deserves all you can give him. May I inquire what villain's work he is guilty of?"

"He's been proposin' marriage, that's what he's been doin'," cried Mrs. Spink. "I'm a widder lady, and he's been proposin' marriage to Me."

"Dangerous, dangerous--very dangerous," said the Professor.

The Living Skeleton looked apprehensively to wards the cage of the Missing Link, and Mahdi growled fiercely and retreated into the shadows.

"He stayed at my house two weeks," continued the widow, "paid nothing for board and residence, but made me an honourable proposal of marriage, and then ran off. But I'll find him."

The Professor was called away to give his scholarly address on the Darwinian hypothesis for the edification of his patrons, and the fierce female hung on the outskirts of the audience, and examined the exhibits suspiciously. When Thunder came to that scale of creation represented by the Missing Link, Nickie exhibited great ferocity, growling and gnashing his teeth in a most terrifying manner, but keeping sedulously to the shadows at the back of the cage. Madame Marve stirred him up with the long stick kept for the purpose, and the Professor dwelt with feeling on the worst features of the animal's character. Mrs. Spink peered with especial eagerness.

Mrs. Martha Spink paid twice for admission before sundown, and at night she came again. She betrayed extraordinary curiosity concerning the characteristics and peculiarities of missing links, and her concern had a powerful effect upon Mahdi. His diffidence was so marked that the Professor was constrained to excuse it in his descriptive address. "The poor animal is afflicted with toothache to-day," he said. "Like the best of us he has his morbid moments."

"S'pose she'll be lookin' yeh up agen t'day, Nickie," whispered the Living Skeleton through Mahdi's bars next morning.

The Missing Link snorted. "I wish the Professor would bet out of this hole," he said. "If that terrific creature discovers the truth, I am lost."

Nickie had not left the cage all night, preferring to sleep in his skin rather than risk a sudden descent on the part of the enemy.

"What'd yeh do it fer?" said the Skeleton; "a great lath-an'-plaster she-emu like that, too."

"Not having anything else to do, Matthew," moaned the Missing Link. "I always was tender with women."

"Well, yiv gotter look out, ol' man. If she nails yer, yer a gone link, that's er cert."

"For two pins I'd retire from the profession," said Nickie. "It exposes a man to too much temptation."

The lorn widow did not appear that morning. The afternoon passed, and Mrs. Spink had not been heard from. There was a good crowd in at half-past eight, and Professor Thunder was giving his instructive and entertaining description of the life and habits of the Missing Link in the dark jungles of Central Africa. The Link had recovered confidence somewhat. He ventured to show himself at the front of the cage, he capered and gibbered, and at that point where Thunder dwelt upon the courage and fierceness of the man-monkey in fighting for his young, Nickie jumped forward, clawing through the bars, and uttering blood-curling growls.

At that moment his eye fell upon a face that thrust itself forward out of the press; his gaze encountered the eager scrutiny of a grim, green eye, behind glass. It was the eye of Widow Spink.

"It's him," cried the widow. She rushed for ward; she battered at the Missing Link with her umbrella, and the terrified animal retreated to his straw. "You villain!" screamed Mrs. Spink, "you double-dyed, lyin' villain, I've got you!" She was reaching as far as possible through the bars, prodding at the man-monkey, and the audience were gazing in stupid surprise.

"Madam, madam, my dear madam!" expostulated the Professor, "you must not irritate the animals."

He pulled her back from the cage.

"Don't tell me," cried the justly-indignant widow. "I know him I'd know him out of a thousand, robber of the widow and the orphan that he is."

The Professor spoke to her soothingly.

"There, there, madam, do not excite yourself, you'll be all right in the morning."

"Meanin' I'm drunk!" shrieked the widow, raising her gingham threateningly. "I know what I'm talking about. He promised me marriage."

She made another lunge at the Missing Link.

"Yes, he did; he said we'd be married in a fortnight, the villain, and I'll have the law on him."

"Most distressing hallucination," said the Professor, pressing Mrs. Spink through the crowd. "Will nobody take charge of the poor lady?"

He pushed her towards the door, the crowd following, delighted with the unexpected diversion, confident that Mrs. Spink was drunk or mad. The widow retired, fighting, the people pressing her.

"I'll have the law on him," screamed Mrs. Spink. "I'll have a thousand pounds damages for breach of promise. I'll teach him, deceivin' a lone widder, the villain!"

Outside she enlarged upon her wrongs, telling the crowd of the infamous conduct of these actors, who go about the country imposing upon innocence and virtue. She went off, still flourishing her sturdy gamp, and reiterating her determination to have the law on the infamous Missing Link.

"That widow means business, Crips, my boy," said the Professor after the show; "somethin's got to be done. She swears she'll see