Back Aa

On A Donkey's Hurricane Deck

Close

<h3>CHAPTER XLVII. Pod kissed by sweet sixteen</h3> TOC BY MAC A'RONY. <div class="poembox"> Very good; well kissed! an excellent courtesy.<cite>—Othello.</cite> </div> By the time our caravan reached St. Johns, Pye Pod was bewailing his failure to discover the key to his typewriter's character, the non-production of his newspaper letter, and the forfeiture of the check it would have brought him; besides, he was borrowing trouble by deploring his prospective desert journey ere it had begun. "What a sleepy old hamlet in which to bid farewell to earth!" he muttered dejectedly, as we passed the first house. "I'll bet 13 to 1 that there isn't a soul in the whole settlement to welcome us. The great and only Pythagoras Pod, D. D. (donkey driver), passeth through with his stately train and entereth the seared and thorny purgatory of the desert without the perfume of a single rose to waft to him its balm of comforting sympathy." Suddenly a happy cheer greeted our ears in the distance. The sound was sweetly feminine, and Pod said that to his sensitive ear the angelic chimes swelled and died and softly returned, like the tender notes of the nightingale in an echo vale. (Pod is often swelled by the divine inflatus). At this time not a soul beyond our outfit was visible, but soon we discovered in the foreground of a kennel-shaped schoolhouse a bevy of girls, all clad in white and garnished with flowers and delicate vines. As we drove near, the whole band of pretty maidens, led by the tallest of them, approached and surrounded us. I knew not whether Pod was frightened or elated; he fell off my back in an effort to dismount gracefully. The pretty chieftess made a bow, and looked at the sky, and played nervously with her skirt, and turned side-ways, and finally began to intone her "Him of the Asinine Pilgrimage." "Noble and valorous courtier," she began softly—and a donk of the party brayed, "Speak louder!"—"we daughters of St. Johns, Queen of the Desert, come to greet you with kind and admiring hearts." (Coxey brayed boisterously, "Here, Here!") "We hail your brilliant achievement, as the planets hail the sun"—("What a Venus that middle one," I confided to Pod)—"Your courage, your fortitude, your manly sacrifice of the associations of your nativity and of the affectionate kisses of dear ones left behind you. These, we deem, should be recognized. Therefore, having learned that you and your stately caravan were coming by this highway and that your trusty charger, Mac A'Rony, was still standing faithfully by you" (I bowed at the compliment)—"and your poultroon of long-eared cavalry"—"For Balaam's sake! What's that she calls us?" I questioned my mute master. "She means 'Platoon,' not 'poultroon,'" he explained—"St. Johns has befittingly chosen the flowers of her desert garden—thirteen comely virgins—to be presented to you on this momentous occasion. And so, in honor of your famous exploits," continued the chieftess, composedly, "we now come to meet the lion fearlessly in his desert haunts. Here, take these flowers" (she handed Pod a bunch) "and wear them. They will prove a talisman to conduct you and your party in safety to the farther desert shore." And with the most exalted, sweet-scented nerve Pod accepted the bokay. He smelled of it, and examined it, and then disappointedly yet courageously replied: "I see no tulips among the flowers, and I love two-lips so much." "Indeed? Well, then you shall not be disappointed," said the pretty speaker; and, s'help me Balaam! If that girl didn't step forward and give my surprised master her two lips. And every one of the dozen others, except the last one, gave hers too, or drown me in an alkali pond. The last girl sensibly boxed his ears. Pod just kissed every mouth of them, from the eldest to the youngest, save the one. The touching ceremonies over, I rather expected my master to respond eloquently in a few well-chosen words, but he was speechless. "Speech!" cried Cheese, and every donkey of us repeated, "Speech, Speech!" Then Pod found his tongue and began: "Beautiful and spicy sage-flowers," he bungled; and the maidens' sweet faces colored,—"I am completely overcome with this splendid ovation. As frogs dive into a crystal pool, you have disturbed the morbid surface of my present feelings with radiating ripples which shall widen and cease to fade into oblivion only when I shall have reached the desert's opposite strand. The honey you have left on my lips shall sweeten my ertswhile bitter hours, and the milk of your human kindness will quench my thirst when the last drop in my canteen has evaporated. Now I must bid you all a fond and affectionate farewell." At once the silver-tongued orator went down the line again, kissing each and every one of the dozen he had sampled before; then he got into my saddle. The thirteen foolish virgins backed sorrowfully against the barbed wire fence with handkerchiefs to their eyes; the blushing, crimson sun hid his phiz behind the distant mountains; a dumb weathercock tried to crow as he tucked himself to roost on a neighboring barn; and our caravan moved on toward the desert waste. "A complete triumph," remarked the Professor, swelled with pride; "but for that eldest prude who slapped my face." "The incident points a moral," I returned. "Don't attempt to pet every cat that purrs." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2