Pettifogger

“ For the first time in the memory of man, Peterson became imbued with a combative spirit. He knocked the man down, and kicked him until a crowd gathered and dragged him off. The fact that a prison cell circumscribed the freedom of his move- ments shortly after the affray with the stranger did not disturb the sullen equanimity of Peter- son’s mind, and when Henry Fogle, the wiliest lawyer on the western frontier, entered his apartment, he took no more notice of him than if it had been his jailer bearing his evening meal. ”

“ Petulengro say that to be cast into the earth is the natural end of man.' 'Who is Mr. Petulengro?' said Peter, interrupting his wife, as she was about to speak. 'Master of the horse-shoe,' said I; 'and, according to his own account, king of Egypt.' 'I understand,' said Peter, 'head of some family of wandering Egyptians—they are a race utterly godless. Art thou of them?—but no, thou art not, thou hast not their yellow blood. ”

“ Civic authorities had deliberately chosen a moonless night for this experiment. Mother Nature had collaborated by veiling the sky with a thick overcast, making the night starless as well. The street upon which Peter stood was as black as a whale's belly. Except for—
"Oh, mercy me!" bleated Peter, "this will never do!"
And his panic subsiding in the face of this unallowable thing, he scurried down the street to a dwelling beneath the lowered blinds of which escaped one lone, betraying slant of light. Hastily he ascended its steps, more hastily rapped on the door. ”

“ In fact, he is only mentioned once or twice in the whole of ancient literature. I have been dipping into my Homer"—he indicated the familiar volume in his hand—"and I find—"
"May I look for myself?" asked Pettigrew suddenly; and before even Ada could spring to the old man's side he had snatched the book and opened it. Baxter put out his hand anxiously.
"Let me find the passage for you, Mr. Pettigrew," he said. "I do not know whether you are familiar with ancient Greek—"
"No," said Mr. Pettigrew grimly, looking up from the book, "I am not. But I am familiar with modern German. ”

“ Petulengro. ‘Why, the one which I have lately been engaged in, or my original one, which I confess I should like better, that of a kaulo-mescro.’ ‘Ah, I have frequently heard you talk of making horse-shoes,’ said Mr. Petulengro; ‘I, however, never saw you make one, and no one else that I am aware; I don’t believe—come, brother, don’t be angry, it’s quite possible that you may have done things which neither I nor any one else has seen you do, and that such things may some day or other come to light, as you say nothing can be kept secret. ”

“ The old man drew a deep breath of relief.
“I am going to tell you the whole story,” declared Carl. “You will see then that you ought to pity me, and not take revenge upon me. I can’t tell you how I have suffered. My happiness did not last long. I lived in a veritable hell. Your wife has the face of an angel—but all the devils there are, dwell in her heart. She is the worst tempered woman I have ever known in my life. I could not stand it a day longer—I had to run away and leave her—”
“My poor nephew—I do pity you from the bottom of my heart. ”

“ Mr. Fogg was speaking.
"You quite understand me, Watson, I think," he said, "as concerns that little viper, Tobias Ragg; he is too cunning, and much too dangerous to live long. He almost staggered old superannuated Popplejoy."
"Oh, confound him!" replied Watson, "and he's quite staggered me."
"Why, certainly your face is rather scratched."
"Yes, the little devil! but it's all in the way of business, that, Mr. Fogg, and you never heard me grumble at such little matters yet; and I'll be bound never will, that's more." ”

“ The sinister stranger was an enemy agent, and this soldier in Uncle Sam's khaki was a dupe, a hireling, a Fifth Columnist! With a swift movement he grasped the guard's rifle, levelled it at its owner.
"So!" hissed Peter Pettigrew, patriot. "You thought you could get away with it, eh? Well, the jig's up! Over my dead body you'll pull one of your dastardly Nazi tricks! Not a move, now! Move a muscle and I—I'll shoot—"
And his finger tensed on the trigger. But the other man's face did not draw into the lines of hatred and violence Peter half expected. Instead, the soldier grinned amiably at him. ”

“ Even at the time I gave Pethel due credit for risking his own life, for having doubtless risked it—it and none other—again and again in the course of his adventurous (and abstemious) life by field and flood. I was even rather touched by memory of his insistence last night on another glass of that water which just might give him typhoid; rather touched by memory of his unsaying that he "never" touched alcohol—he who, in point of fact, had to be always gambling on something or other. ”

“ Pettigrew, can never love where she can't idealize, nor marry where she can't love; she's too true a woman for that. I expect you to consider this talk confidential, of course. Now, I don't know, sir, that she could ever idealize you, but against the bare possibility that she might, I must ask you not to call again. Hm! That's all, sir."
Mr. Pettigrew rose up ashen and as mad as an adder. His hair puffed out, his eyes glistened. John rose more leisurely, stepped to the hearth, picked up a piece of box stuff and knocked a nail out of one end. ”

“ Pettigrew whispered a similar desire.
"Yes, sir," said John, and was silent. Then: "It's about my mother, sir. Your last call was your fourth, I believe." He frowned and waited while the pipe-clay of Mr. Pettigrew's complexion slowly took the tint of old red sandstone. Then he resumed: "You used to tell us boys it was our part not so much to accept the protection of the laws as to protect them—from their own mistakes no less than from the mistakes of those who owe them reverence—much as it becomes the part of a man to protect his mother. ”

“ Morgridge used to believe in Santa Klaus, and that the queer fellow only visited boys: besides, he thought it might be owing to the snuff that he disbelieved in him now; for it was by that Peter usually explained Mr. Morgridge's eccentricities. [Pg 68]
But Peter was tired and drowsy, and clambering down from his perch, set out for his bed, groping his way up the steep staircase that led to the half-story above, where he had his cot. He never went up that staircase in the dark—and a light was a luxury not to be thought of—without imagining all manner of horrors which he might see at the top. ”

“ Petulengro. “I should esteem your allowing me a great mark of condescension. You are very beautiful, madam, and I think you doubly so, because you are so fair; I have a great esteem for persons with fair complexions and hair; I have a less regard for people with dark hair and complexions, madam.”
“Then why did you turn off the lord, and take up with me?” said Mr. Petulengro; “that same lord was fair enough all about him.”
“People do when they are young and silly what they sometimes repent of when they are of riper years and understandings. ”

“ Think hard! Many lives and much valuable property depend on your prompt action. What do you do? What is the first thing your hand must seek?"
The room was warm, but a cold perspiration moistened Peter Pettigrew's brow. His eyes roved, his collar strangled him. His tongue was a wad of cotton.
"Why—er—" he muttered feverishly.
"Wrong!" Sergeant McCurdle seized the word, worried it as a terrier worries a rubber bone. "Never wire! Wire is the last thing you should touch, Pettigrew. Under conditions such as those described, wire would be melting-hot. It would burn the flesh off your bones! ”

“ Mr. Pettigrew was a most estimable man in private life, and will be greatly missed in the circles to which he had endeared himself. He leaves a widow and a small family. It may be worth adding that when discovered dead, there was a smile upon his face, as if he had at last found peace. He must have suffered great agony that forenoon, and his death is best looked upon as a happy release.
Marriot, Scrymgeour and I awarded the tin of Arcadia to Pettigrew, because he alone of the competitors seemed to believe that his dream might be realized. ”

“ MR. FOGG FINDS THAT ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS. We feel that we ought not entirely to take leave of that unfortunate, who failed in escaping with Tobias Ragg, from Mr. Fogg's establishment at Peckham, without a passing notice. It will be recollected that Tobias had enough to do to get away himself, and that he was in such a state of mind that it was quite a matter of new mechanical movement of his limbs that enabled him to fly from the madhouse. ”

“ On the morrow, I dragged him to an editor. The great man read, and, rising, gave Pettit his hand. That was a decoration, a wreath of bay, and a guarantee of rent.
And then old Pettit smiled slowly. I call him Gentleman Pettit now to myself. It’s a miserable name to give a man, but it sounds better than it looks in print.
“I see,” said old Pettit, as he took up his story and began tearing it into small strips. “I see the game now. You can’t write with ink, and you can’t write with your own heart’s blood, but you can write with the heart’s blood of some one else. ”

“ And with a movement so swift, so deft, that no human eye could follow it, his hand dipped into the sack, grasped a handful of the slumber-producing dust—and flung it squarely into Peter's face!
For a moment, sheer shock immobilized Peter. He had expected cringing capitulation; he had met defiance, instead. It is a different matter to dream of slaughtering hundreds of charging enemies than to pull the trigger on one, small antagonist armed with only a gunnysack. So Peter did nothing. ”

“ My memory instantly flew back to the scene on the coral island where Jack and I had caught our friend holding a quiet conversation with the old cat, and I laughed internally as I thought on the proverb, “The boy is the father of the man.”
“Frog,” said Peterkin, in a low, earnest voice, at the same time shaking his finger slowly and fixing his eyes on the plethoric creature before him—“frog, you may believe it or not as you please, but I do solemnly assure you that I never did behold such a great, big, fat monster as you are in all—my—life! ”

“ On legs that felt suddenly hollow, he raced forward, hurled himself at the Armory door and pounded frantically. A uniformed private of the regular Army opened it for him. The soldier looked faintly surprised.
"What—Oh, hello, there! You're the warden on duty here, aren't you? What's up? Blackout over?"
"It's an all night practice," snapped Peter, "as you ought to know. But never mind that now. That stranger—who was he? Where did he go?"
"Huh?" The soldier stared at him curiously. "Is it a gag, buddy? What stranger?"
"The one," rasped Peter, "you just admitted. ”

“ The word wrenched itself unbidden from Peter's lips. Like a blinding flash of light, the truth hit him. Of course! The saboteurs wore no ultra-violet glasses. They saw no Ole Luk Oie standing and watching this typically "human" drama with detached disinterest. Peter gulped. "Oh! Oh, yes. A-lone. I was just—"
"Come closer, little man!" taunted the Nazi captain. "I would pinch your scrawny arm to test if you are a man or a mouse. ”

“ Ada Weeks settled the question by wrenching the volume out of Pettigrew's hand and locking it into the “liberry.”
“You can go,” she announced. “We only entertain gentlemen here.”
Pettigrew took up his hat. Mould rose and did likewise. The rest of the company fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats. It was a particularly unpleasant moment.
“Good night, Mr. Baxter,” said Pettigrew, moving towards the door, which Miss Weeks was obligingly holding wide open for him. ”

“ I'm invisible, you know."
"N-not to me," quavered Peter Pettigrew.
"That," frowned Ole Luk Oie, "is obvious. But—Ah! Those dark things you're wearing over your eyes? What do you call them?"
"They—they're special glasses," said Peter meekly, "to cut down ultra-violet radiation."
"So that's it?" Ole Luk Oie nodded sagely. "Now it begins to make sense. We're in the infra-red, you know. All of us immortals. And you humans have been leading us a merry chase ever since your scientists discovered how to photograph our wave-length. ”

“ It did not matter that the glasses—speaking from a purely physical standpoint—could not conceivably strengthen Peter's vision. He thought they did, and that is what really counts. Great is the influence of mind over matter.
With increased assurance, he stalked down the silent street to assume his post of duty before the Armory's portal. And it was then he saw the sinister stranger.
The stranger was hurrying up the street toward Peter. This was not, in itself, cause for alarm. Thousands of good, solid, liberty-loving Americans had doubtless been caught off guard by the wail of the sirens. ”

“ Once Peter thought about it so much that Grandfather Frog noticed how sober he was and asked Peter what the trouble was. When Peter told him that it seemed to him that Old Mother Nature had not been fair in giving him such a foolish little tail when she had given others such beautiful ones, Grandfather Frog just opened his big mouth and laughed until he had to hold his sides. ”

“ At other times Pettigrew steals along the curb-stone, dropping his skeletons one by one. Nevertheless, his cupboard beneath the bookcase is so crammed that he dreams the lock has given way. The key is always in his pocket, yet when his children approach the cupboard he orders them away, so fearful is he of something happening. When his wife has retired he sometimes unlocks the cupboard with nervous hand, when the door bursts gladly open, and the things roll on to the carpet. ”

“ He set about his task of making up the berths in the stateroom with the air of a high priest performing a sacerdotal ritual. His big pink hands gently smoothed the crinkles from the linen pillow cases; the woolen blankets he arranged in neat, folded triangles and stood off to survey the effect as an artist might. And, indeed, Monsieur Pettipon considered himself an artist.
To him the art of being a steward was just as estimable as the art of being a poet; he was a Shelley of the dustpan; a Keats of the sheets. To him the making up of a berth in one of the cabins he tended was a sonnet ”