LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2046, 14 September 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A MO3TE FLAT PASTORAL. HOW OLD MAN PLTJNKETT WENT HOME. Bv Beet Haute. ( Continued.) Every method known to the Flat of beguiling the time until the advent of this long-looked-for phenomenon had been tried. It ia true the methods were not many—being limited chiefly to that form of popular facetiae known as practical joking; and even this had assumed the seriousness of a business pursuit. Tommy Roy, who had spent two hours in digging a ditch in front of his own door—into which a few friends casually dropped during the evening—looked eimnye and dissatisfied ; the four prominent citizens, who, disguised as footpads, had stopped the County Treasurer on the Wingdam road, were jaded from their playful efforts, next morning; the principal physician and lawyer of Monte Flat who had entered into an unhallowed conspiracy to compel the Sheriff of Caldveras and his posse to serve a writ of ejectment on a grizzly bear, feebly disauiaed under the name of " one Major Braus," who haunted the groves of Heavy tree Hill, wore an expression of resigned weariness. Even the editor of the " Monte Flat Monitor " who had that morning written a glowing account of a battle with the Wipneck Indians for the benefit of Eastern readers—even he looked grave and worn. When, at last, Abnsr Dean of Angel's, who had been on a visit to San Francisco, walked into the room, he was, of course, victimised in the usual way by one or two apparently honest quesiions which ended in his answering them, and then filling into the trap of askiag another to his utter and complete shame and mortification—but that was all. Nobody laughed, and Abner, although a victim, did not lote his good humour. He turned quietly on his tormentors and said.

'l've got something better than that—you know old man Plunkett ?'

Everybody simultaneously spat at the stove and nodded his head.

' You know he went home three years ago V Two or three changed the position of their legs from the backs of different chairs, and one man said ' Yes.'

' Had a good time home ?' Everybody looked cautiously a, the man who had said ' yes,' and he, accepting the responsibility with a faint hearted smile, said ' yes' again, and breathed hard. ' Saw his wife and child—purty gal V said Abner, cautiously. 'Yes,' answered the man doggedly. 'Saw her photograph, perhaps?' continued Abner Dean, quietly. The man looked hoplessly round for supsupport. Two or three had been sitting near him and evidently encouraging him with a look of interest, now shamelessly abandoned him and looked another way. Henry York flushed a little and veiled his brown eyes. The man hesitated, and then with a Bickly smile that was intended to convey the fact that he was perfectly aware of the object of this questioning, and waa only humoring it from abstract good feeling, returned ' yes' again. ' Sent homo—let's see—lo,oooiol., wasn't it?' Abner Dean went on.

'Yes,'reiterated the man, with the same smile.

Everybody it red at Abner ia genuine surprise and interest, as with provoking calmness and a half lazy manner ha went on.

' You see thar was a man down in 'Frisco as knowed him and saw him in Sonora during the whole of that three years. He was herding aheep or tending cattle, or spekilattng all that time, and hadn't a red cent. Well it 'mounts to this—that 'ar Plunkett ain't been east of the Rocky mountains since '49.'

The laugh which Abner Dean had the right to confidently expect came, but it was bitter and sardonic. I think indignation was apparent in the minds of hi 3 hearers. It was felt for the first time that there was a limit to praotical joking. A deception

carried on for a year, compromising thesagacity of Monte Flat, was deserving the severest reprobation. Of conrse nobody had believed Piankett; but then the »upposition ' that it might be believed in adjacent camps that they had believed him was gall and bitterness. The lawyer thought that an indictment for obtaining miiney under false pretences might be found. The physician had locg suepeoted him of insanity, and waa not certain but that he ought to be confined. The fonr prominent merchants thought that the business interests of Monte Plat dema ded that something should be done. lathe midst of an excited and angr> discaEston the door slowly opened and old man Plunkett staggered into the room. He had changed pitifully in the last six months. His hair was a dusty yellowish gray, like th* chimisal on the flanks of Heavytree Hill; his face wa3 waxen white, and blue and puffy under the eyes; his clothes wers soiled and ehabby—streaked in. front with the stains of hurried luncheons ea'ea Btar.rling, and fluffy behind with the wool and hair of hurriedly extemporised couches. In obedience to that odd law that the more ssedy and toiled a mai*'s garments become the \ein does he eeemed inclined to pirt with them, oven during that portion of the twenty four hours when they are deemed least essential, Piunkett'a slothes had gradually taken on the ai.pearancs of a kind of bark or an outgrowth from within for which their possessor waa not entirely responsible. Howbeit aa he entered the room he attempted to button his coat over a dirty shirt, and passed his fingers, after the manner of some animal, over his cracker-strewn beard —in recognition of a cleanly public sentiment. But even as he did so the weak smile faded from his lip 3, and his hand, after fumbling aimlessly around a button, dropped helplessly at his side. For as he leaned his back against the bar and faced the group he for the first time became aware taat every eye bat one was fixed upon him. His quick nervous apprehension at once leaped to the truth. Big miserable secret waa out and abroad in the vary air about him. As a last resort ha glanced despairingly at Henry York, but his flushed face turned toward the windows.

No word was spoken. 4s the barkeeper s'-lently swung a decanter and glass before him. ha took a cracker from a dish and mumbled it with affected unconcern. He liugered over his liquor until its potency stiffened his relaxed sinews, and dulled the nervous edge of his apprehension, and then, he suddenly faced araund.

' It doa'fc look as if were goia' to hev any rain much afore Christmas.* he said with. defiant esse.

No one made any reply. • Just like this ia '52 and again in '6O. It', always been my opinion that these dry seasons come reg'lar. I've said it afore. I say it again. It's jiet as I had said about going home, you know,' he added with desperate recklessn«Sß.

* Thar's a man,' said Abner Dean, lazily, 'ez sez you never went home. Thar's a man, ez sez you've been three years in Sonora. Thar's a man ez sez you haint seen your wife and daughter since '49. Thar's a man ex sez you've been playiu' this camp for six months.' There was a dead silence, Then a. voice said, quite as quietly, * That man lies.' It wag not the old man's voice. Everybody turned as Henry York slowly rose, stretching out his 6ft of length, and, brushing away the ashes that had fallen frc m his pipe upon his breast, deliberately placed himself beside Plunke-t, and faced the others. ' That man ain't here,' continued Abaer Dean, with listless indifference of voice and a gentle pre-occupation of manner as he carelessly allowed his right hand to rest on his. hip near his revolver. 'lhat man ain't here, but >f I'm ca'lei upon to make good what he says, why I'm on hand.' All rose as the two men—perhaps the least externally agitated of them all—apapproached each other. The lawyer stepped in between them. ' Perhaps there' some mistake here. York, do yen know that the old man has been home ? ' Yes.'

• How do you know it ?' York turned hia clear, honest, frank eyes on hia questioner, and without a tremor told the only direct and unmiiigated lie of bis life. ' Because I've seen him there' The answer was conclusive. It was knows. that York had been visitipg the East daring the old man's absence. The colloquy had diverted attention from Flunkett, who, pale and breathless, was staring at his unexpected deliverer. As he turned again toward his tormentors there was something in the expression of his eye that caueed'those that were nearest to bim to fall back, and sent a strange indefinable thrill through the boldest and must rsckhss. As he made a step forward the physician almost unconsciously raised his hand with a warning gesture, and old man Flnnkett, with hiseyes fixed upon the red-! ot stove, and an. odd amile playing about his mouth, bagan. 4 Yes—of course you did. Who says yon didn't ? It ain't no lie; I said I was goin' home, and I've been home. Haven't I ? My God 1 I have. Who says I've been lyin'! Who says I'm dreamin'! Is it tras —why don't you speak ? It is true after all. You say you saw me there, why don't you apeak again, Say ! gay ! —is it true ? it's going now, O my God—it's going again. It's going now. Save me!' and with a tierce cry he fell forware in a fit upou the floor. When the old man regained his senses he found himsdf ia York's cabin. A flickering fire of pine boughs lit up the rude rafters and fell npnn a photograph tastefully framed with fir cones and hung above the brash whereon he lay. It was the portrait of a young girl. It was the first object to meet the old man's gaze, and it brought with it a flush of such painful consciousness that he started and glanced quickly around. Bat his eyes only encountered those of York —clear, gray, critical and patient—and they fell again. 'Tell me, old man,' said York, not unkindly, bat with tie same cold, clear tone in his voice that hi 3 eye betrayed a moment ago, 'tell me, ia that a lie too,' and he pointed to the picturj. The old man closed his eyes and did not reply. Two hours before the question would have stung him into some evasion of bravado. But the revelation contained in the question, as well as the tone of York's voice, was to. him now, in his pitiable condition, a relief. It was plain even to his confused brain that York had lied when he had endorsed hia story in the b<»r room —it was clear to him now that he had not been home—that he was not, as he had begun to fear, going mad. It was inch a relief that, with characteristic weakness, hia former rejklessness and extravagance returned. He began to chuckle—finally to laugh uproariously. York, with his eyes still fixed on the old man, withdrew the hand with which he had taken his.

* Dida't we fool 'em nicely, eh, Yorky ? He. he ! The biggest thing yet ever played in this camp. I always said I'd play 'em, all so:ne day, and I have—played em' for six mo-iths. Ain't it rich—ain't it the richest thing you ever seed ? Did you fiee Aimer's face when he spoke 'bout that man a? sesd me in Sonora ?—wara't it good as the minstrels ? O, it's too much!' and striking his leg with the palm of his hand, he almost threw himself from the bed in a paroxysm of laughter—a paroxysm that, nevertheless, appeared to be half real and half affected.

1 Is teat photograph hers ?' said York in a low voice, after a slight pause. ' Her 3 ? No ! It's one of the San Francisco Heiresses, he !he ! Don't you see—l bought it for two bits ia one of the bookstores. I never thought tht-.y'd awalier that too I but *hey did ! Oh, but the old man played 'era this time, didn't he—eh T and he peered curiously in York's face. 'Yts, and he played me ton, said York, looking steadily in the old man's eye. 'Yes, of course,' iaterposed Plunkett, hastily, 'but you know, Yorkey, you got out of it well! You've sold 'em too. We've both got 'era on a string now—you and me —got to stick together now. You did it well, Yorkey, you did it well. Why when you said you'd seen mi in York city,—l'm d d i'. I did'nt *

* Didn't what ?' said York, gently, for the ild man had stopped with a pale face and wardering eye. 'Eh?' *\ oa say when I said I had seen yos in. New York you thought ' * You lie!'said the old man fiercely, 'I didn't say I thought anything. TV hat are you trying to go back on me fort Eh?' His kinds were trembling a 3 he rose mutteririj (rem the bed and aiade his way t .wardo. the. liearth. [To be continues}