``He's got a new manager. Watch him pitch
now!'' That was what Nan Brown said to me
about Rube Hurtle, my great pitcher, and I took
it as her way of announcing her engagement.
My baseball career held some proud moments,
but this one, wherein I realized the success of my
matchmaking plans, was certainly the proudest
one. So, entirely outside of the honest pleasure
I got out of the Rube's happiness, there was
reason for me to congratulate myself. He was a
transformed man, so absolutely renewed, so wild
with joy, that on the strength of it, I decided the
pennant for Worcester was a foregone conclusion,
and, sure of the money promised me by the
directors, Milly and I began to make plans for
the cottage upon the hill.
The Rube insisted on pitching Monday's game
against the Torontos, and although poor fielding
gave them a couple of runs, they never had a
chance. They could not see the ball. The Rube
wrapped it around their necks and between their
wrists and straight over the plate with such
incredible speed that they might just as well have
tried to bat rifle bullets.
That night I was happy. Spears, my veteran
captain, was one huge smile; Radbourne quietly
assured me that all was over now but the shouting;
all the boys were happy.
And the Rube was the happiest of all. At the
hotel he burst out with his exceeding good
fortune. He and Nan were to be married upon the
Fourth of July!
After the noisy congratulations were over and
the Rube had gone, Spears looked at me and I
looked at him.
``Con,'' said he soberly, ``we just can't let him
get married on the Fourth.''
``Why not? Sure we can. We'll help him get
married. I tell you it'll save the pennant for us.
Look how he pitched today! Nan Brown is our
salvation!''
``See here, Con, you've got softenin' of the
brain, too. Where's your baseball sense? We've
got a pennant to win. By July Fourth we'll be
close to the lead again, an' there's that three
weeks' trip on the road, the longest an' hardest
of the season. We've just got to break even on
that trip. You know what that means. If the
Rube marries Nan--what are we goin' to do? We
can't leave him behind. If he takes Nan with us
--why it'll be a honeymoon! An' half the gang
is stuck on Nan Brown! An' Nan Brown would
flirt in her bridal veil! . . . Why Con, we're up
against a worse proposition than ever.''
``Good Heavens! Cap. You're right,'' I
groaned. ``I never thought of that. We've got
to postpone the wedding. . . . How on earth can
we? I've heard her tell Milly that. She'll never
consent to it. Say, this'll drive me to drink.''
``All I got to say is this, Con. If the Rube
takes his wife on that trip it's goin' to be an all-
fired hummer. Don't you forget that.''
``I'm not likely to. But, Spears, the point is
this--will the Rube win his games?''
``Figurin' from his work today, I'd gamble
he'll never lose another game. It ain't that. I'm
thinkin' of what the gang will do to him an' Nan
on the cars an' at the hotels. Oh! Lord, Con, it
ain't possible to stand for that honeymoon trip!
Just think!''
``If the worst comes to the worst, Cap, I don't
care for anything but the games. If we get in the
lead and stay there I'll stand for anything. . . .
Couldn't the gang be coaxed or bought off to let
the Rube and Nan alone?''
``Not on your life! There ain't enough love or
money on earth to stop them. It'll be awful.
Mind, I'm not responsible. Don't you go holdin'
me responsible. In all my years of baseball I
never went on a trip with a bride in the game.
That's new on me, an' I never heard of it. I'd be
bad enough if he wasn't a rube an' if she wasn't
a crazy girl-fan an' a flirt to boot, an' with half
the boys in love with her, but as it is----''
Spears gave up and, gravely shaking his head,
he left me. I spent a little while in sober reflection,
and finally came to the conclusion that, in my
desperate ambition to win the pennant, I would
have taken half a dozen rube pitchers and their
baseball-made brides on the trip, if by so doing
I could increase the percentage of games won.
Nevertheless, I wanted to postpone the Rube's
wedding if it was possible, and I went out to see
Milly and asked her to help us. But for once in
her life Milly turned traitor.
``Connie, you don't want to postpone it. Why,
how perfectly lovely! . . . Mrs. Stringer will go
on that trip and Mrs. Bogart. . . . Connie, I'm
going too!''
She actually jumped up and down in glee. That
was the woman in her. It takes a wedding to get
a woman. I remonstrated and pleaded and commanded,
all to no purpose. Milly intended to go
on that trip to see the games, and the fun, and the
honeymoon.
She coaxed so hard that I yielded. Thereupon
she called up Mrs. Stringer on the telephone, and
of course found that young woman just as eager
as she was. For my part, I threw anxiety and
care to the four winds, and decided to be as happy
as any of them. The pennant was mine! Something
kept ringing that in my ears. With the
Rube working his iron arm for the edification of
his proud Nancy Brown, there was extreme likelihood
of divers shut-outs and humiliating defeats
for some Eastern League teams.
How well I calculated became a matter of
baseball history during that last week of June. We
won six straight games, three of which fell to the
Rube's credit. His opponents scored four runs
in the three games, against the nineteen we made.
Upon July 1, Radbourne beat Providence and
Cairns won the second game. We now had a
string of eight victories. Sunday we rested, and
Monday was the Fourth, with morning and afternoon
games with Buffalo.
Upon the morning of the Fourth, I looked for
the Rube at the hotel, but could not find him. He
did not show up at the grounds when the other
boys did, and I began to worry. It was the Rube's
turn to pitch and we were neck and neck with Buffalo
for first place. If we won both games we
would go ahead of our rivals. So I was all on
edge, and kept going to the dressing-room to see
if the Rube had arrived. He came, finally, when
all the boys were dressed, and about to go out for
practice. He had on a new suit, a tailor-made suit
at that, and he looked fine. There was about him
a kind of strange radiance. He stated simply
that he had arrived late because he had just been
married. Before congratulations were out of our
mouths, he turned to me.
``Con, I want to pitch both games today,'' he
said.
``What! Say, Whit, Buffalo is on the card
today and we are only three points behind them.
If we win both we'll be leading the league once
more. I don't know about pitching you both
games.''
``I reckon we'll be in the lead tonight then,''
he replied, ``for I'll win them both.''
I was about to reply when Dave, the ground-
keeper, called me to the door, saying there was a
man to see me. I went out, and there stood Morrisey,
manager of the Chicago American League
team. We knew each other well and exchanged
greetings.
``Con, I dropped off to see you about this new
pitcher of yours, the one they call the Rube. I
want to see him work. I've heard he's pretty
fast. How about it?''
``Wait--till you see him pitch,'' I replied. I
could scarcely get that much out, for Morrisey's
presence meant a great deal and I did not want
to betray my elation.
``Any strings on him?'' queried the big league
manager, sharply.
``Well, Morrisey, not exactly. I can give you
the first call. You'll have to bid high, though.
Just wait till you see him work.''
``I'm glad to hear that. My scout was over
here watching him pitch and says he's a wonder.''
What luck it was that Morrisey should have
come upon this day! I could hardly contain myself.
Almost I began to spend the money I would
get for selling the Rube to the big league manager.
We took seats in the grand stand, as Morrisey
did not want to be seen by any players, and
I stayed there with him until the gong sounded.
There was a big attendance. I looked all over
the stand for Nan, but she was lost in the gay
crowd. But when I went down to the bench I
saw her up in my private box with Milly. It took
no second glance to see that Nan Brown was a
bride and glorying in the fact.
Then, in the absorption of the game, I became
oblivious to Milly and Nan; the noisy crowd; the
giant fire-crackers and the smoke; to the presence
of Morrisey; to all except the Rube and my team
and their opponents. Fortunately for my hopes,
the game opened with characteristic Worcester
dash. Little McCall doubled, Ashwell drew his
base on four wide pitches, and Stringer drove the
ball over the right-field fence--three runs!
Three runs were enough to win that game. Of
all the exhibitions of pitching with which the Rube
had favored us, this one was the finest. It was
perhaps not so much his marvelous speed and
unhittable curves that made the game one memorable
in the annals of pitching; it was his perfect
control in the placing of balls, in the cutting
of corners; in his absolute implacable mastery of
the situation. Buffalo was unable to find him at
all. The game was swift short, decisive, with
the score 5 to 0 in our favor. But the score did
not tell all of the Rube's work that morning. He
shut out Buffalo without a hit, or a scratch, the
first no-hit, no-run game of the year. He gave
no base on balls; not a Buffalo player got to first
base; only one fly went to the outfield.
For once I forgot Milly after a game, and I
hurried to find Morrisey, and carried him off to
have dinner with me.
``Your rube is a wonder, and that's a fact,'' he
said to me several times. ``Where on earth did
you get him? Connelly, he's my meat. Do you
understand? Can you let me have him right
now?''
``No, Morrisey, I've got the pennant to win
first. Then I'll sell him.''
``How much? Do you hear? How much?''
Morrisey hammered the table with his fist and
his eyes gleamed.
Carried away as I was by his vehemence, I was
yet able to calculate shrewdly, and I decided to
name a very high price, from which I could come
down and still make a splendid deal.
``How much?'' demanded Morrisey.
``Five thousand dollars,'' I replied, and gulped
when I got the words out.
Morrisey never batted an eye.
``Waiter, quick, pen and ink and paper!''
Presently my hand, none too firm, was signing
my name to a contract whereby I was to sell my
pitcher for five thousand dollars at the close of
the current season. I never saw a man look so
pleased as Morrisey when he folded that contract
and put it in his pocket. He bade me good-bye
and hurried off to catch a train, and he never
knew the Rube had pitched the great game on his
wedding day.
That afternoon before a crowd that had to be
roped off the diamond, I put the Rube against
the Bisons. How well he showed the baseball
knowledge he had assimilated! He changed his
style in that second game. He used a slow ball
and wide curves and took things easy. He made
Buffalo hit the ball and when runners got on
bases once more let out his speed and held them
down. He relied upon the players behind him
and they were equal to the occasion.
It was a totally different game from that of
the morning, and perhaps one more suited to the
pleasure of the audience. There was plenty of
hard hitting, sharp fielding and good base
running, and the game was close and exciting up to
the eighth, when Mullaney's triple gave us two
runs, and a lead that was not headed. To the
deafening roar of the bleachers the Rube walked
off the field, having pitched Worcester into first
place in the pennant race.
That night the boys planned their first job on
the Rube. We had ordered a special Pullman
for travel to Toronto, and when I got to the depot
in the morning, the Pullman was a white fluttering
mass of satin ribbons. Also, there was a
brass band, and thousands of baseball fans, and
barrels of old foot-gear. The Rube and Nan
arrived in a cab and were immediately mobbed.
The crowd roared, the band played, the engine
whistled, the bell clanged; and the air was full
of confetti and slippers, and showers of rice like
hail pattered everywhere. A somewhat dishevelled
bride and groom boarded the Pullman and
breathlessly hid in a state room. The train
started, and the crowd gave one last rousing
cheer. Old Spears yelled from the back platform:
``Fellers, an' fans, you needn't worry none
about leavin' the Rube an' his bride to the tender
mercies of the gang. A hundred years from now
people will talk about this honeymoon baseball
trip. Wait till we come back--an' say, jest to put
you wise, no matter what else happens, we're
comin' back in first place!''
It was surely a merry party in that Pullman.
The bridal couple emerged from their hiding place
and held a sort of reception in which the Rube
appeared shy and frightened, and Nan resembled
a joyous, fluttering bird in gray. I did not see
if she kissed every man on the team, but she kissed
me as if she had been wanting to do it for ages.
Milly kissed the Rube, and so did the other women,
to his infinite embarrassment. Nan's effect upon
that crowd was most singular. She was sweetness
and caprice and joy personified.
We settled down presently to something
approaching order, and I, for one, with very keen
ears and alert eyes, because I did not want to
miss anything.
``I see the lambs a-gambolin','' observed McCall,
in a voice louder than was necessary to convey
his meaning to Mullaney, his partner in the
seat.
``Yes, it do seem as if there was joy aboundin'
hereabouts,'' replied Mul with fervor.
``It's more spring-time than summer,'' said
Ashwell, ``an' everything in nature is runnin' in
pairs. There are the sheep an' the cattle an' the
birds. I see two kingfishers fishin' over here.
An' there's a couple of honey-bees makin' honey.
Oh, honey, an' by George, if there ain't two
butterflies foldin' their wings round each other. See
the dandelions kissin' in the field!''
Then the staid Captain Spears spoke up with
an appearance of sincerity and a tone that was
nothing short of remarkable.
``Reggie, see the sunshine asleep upon yon
bank. Ain't it lovely? An' that white cloud
sailin' thither amid the blue--how spontaneous!
Joy is a-broad o'er all this boo-tiful land today
--Oh, yes! An' love's wings hover o 'er the little
lambs an' the bullfrogs in the pond an' the dicky
birds in the trees. What sweetness to lie in the
grass, the lap of bounteous earth, eatin' apples in
the Garden of Eden, an' chasin' away the snakes
an' dreamin' of Thee, Sweet-h-e-a-r-t----''
Spears was singing when he got so far and
there was no telling what he might have done if
Mullaney, unable to stand the agony, had not
jabbed a pin in him. But that only made way for
the efforts of the other boys, each of whom tried
to outdo the other in poking fun at the Rube and
Nan. The big pitcher was too gloriously happy
to note much of what went on around him, but
when it dawned upon him he grew red and white
by turns.
Nan, however, was more than equal to the
occasion. Presently she smiled at Spears, such a
smile! The captain looked as if he had just partaken
of an intoxicating wine. With a heightened
color in her cheeks and a dangerous flash in her
roguish eyes, Nan favored McCall with a look,
which was as much as to say that she remembered
him with a dear sadness. She made eyes at every
fellow in the car, and then bringing back her gaze
to the Rube, as if glorying in comparison, she
nestled her curly black head on his shoulder. He
gently tried to move her; but it was not possible.
Nan knew how to meet the ridicule of half a dozen
old lovers. One by one they buried themselves
in newspapers, and finally McCall, for once utterly
beaten, showed a white feather, and sank back
out of sight behind his seat.
The boys did not recover from that shock until
late in the afternoon. As it was a physical
impossibility for Nan to rest her head all day upon
her husband's broad shoulder, the boys toward
dinner time came out of their jealous trance. I
heard them plotting something. When dinner
was called, about half of my party, including the
bride and groom, went at once into the dining-car.
Time there flew by swiftly. And later, when we
were once more in our Pullman, and I had gotten
interested in a game of cards with Milly and
Stringer and his wife, the Rube came marching
up to me with a very red face.
``Con, I reckon some of the boys have stolen
my--our grips,'' said he.
``What?'' I asked, blankly.
He explained that during his absence in the
dining-car someone had entered his stateroom
and stolen his grip and Nan's. I hastened at once
to aid the Rube in his search. The boys swore
by everything under and beyond the sun they had
not seen the grips; they appeared very much
grieved at the loss and pretended to help in
searching the Pullman. At last, with the assistance
of a porter, we discovered the missing grips
in an upper berth. The Rube carried them off to
his stateroom and we knew soon from his
uncomplimentary remarks that the contents of the
suitcases had been mixed and manhandled. But he
did not hunt for the jokers.
We arrived at Toronto before daylight next
morning, and remained in the Pullman until seven
o'clock. When we got out, it was discovered that
the Rube and Nan had stolen a march upon us.
We traced them to the hotel, and found them at
breakfast. After breakfast we formed a merry
sight-seeing party and rode all over the city.
That afternoon, when Raddy let Toronto down
with three hits and the boys played a magnificent
game behind him, and we won 7 to 2, I knew at
last and for certain that the Worcester team had
come into its own again. Then next day Cairns
won a close, exciting game, and following that, on
the third day, the matchless Rube toyed with the
Torontos. Eleven straight games won! I was in
the clouds, and never had I seen so beautiful a
light as shone in Milly's eyes.
From that day The Honeymoon Trip of the
Worcester Baseball Club, as the newspapers
heralded it--was a triumphant march. We won
two out of three games at Montreal, broke even
with the hard-fighting Bisons, took three straight
from Rochester, and won one and tied one out of
three with Hartford. It would have been wonderful
ball playing for a team to play on home
grounds and we were doing the full circuit of
the league.
Spears had called the turn when he said the
trip would be a hummer. Nan Hurtle had brought
us wonderful luck.
But the tricks they played on Whit and his girl-
fan bride!
Ashwell, who was a capital actor, disguised
himself as a conductor and pretended to try to
eject Whit and Nan from the train, urging that
love-making was not permitted. Some of the
team hired a clever young woman to hunt the
Rube up at the hotel, and claim old acquaintance
with him. Poor Whit almost collapsed when the
young woman threw her arms about his neck just
as Nan entered the parlor. Upon the instant Nan
became wild as a little tigress, and it took much
explanation and eloquence to reinstate Whit in
her affections.
Another time Spears, the wily old fox, succeeded
in detaining Nan on the way to the station,
and the two missed the train. At first the Rube
laughed with the others, but when Stringer
remarked that he had noticed a growing attachment
between Nan and Spears, my great pitcher
experienced the first pangs of the green-eyed
monster. We had to hold him to keep him from
jumping from the train, and it took Milly and Mrs.
Stringer to soothe him. I had to wire back to
Rochester for a special train for Spears and Nan,
and even then we had to play half a game without
the services of our captain.
So far upon our trip I had been fortunate in
securing comfortable rooms and the best of
transportation for my party. At Hartford, however,
I encountered difficulties. I could not get a special
Pullman, and the sleeper we entered already
had a number of occupants. After the ladies of
my party had been assigned to berths, it was
necessary for some of the boys to sleep double in
upper berths.
It was late when we got aboard, the berths were
already made up, and soon we had all retired.
In the morning very early I was awakened by a
disturbance. It sounded like a squeal. I heard
an astonished exclamation, another squeal, the
pattering of little feet, then hoarse uproar of
laughter from the ball players in the upper berths.
Following that came low, excited conversation
between the porter and somebody, then an angry
snort from the Rube and the thud of his heavy
feet in the aisle. What took place after that was
guess-work for me. But I gathered from the
roars and bawls that the Rube was after some of
the boys. I poked my head between the curtains
and saw him digging into the berths.
``Where's McCall?'' he yelled.
Mac was nowhere in that sleeper, judging from
the vehement denials. But the Rube kept on digging
and prodding in the upper berths.
``I'm a-goin' to lick you, Mac, so I reckon you'd
better show up,'' shouted the Rube.
The big fellow was mad as a hornet. When he
got to me he grasped me with his great fence-
rail splitting hands and I cried out with pain.
``Say! Whit, let up! Mac's not here. . . .
What's wrong?''
``I'll show you when I find him.'' And the
Rube stalked on down the aisle, a tragically comic
figure in his pajamas. In his search for Mac he
pried into several upper berths that contained
occupants who were not ball players, and these
protested in affright. Then the Rube began to
investigate the lower berths. A row of heads
protruded in a bobbing line from between the
curtains of the upper berths.
``Here, you Indian! Don't you look in there!
That's my wife's berth!'' yelled Stringer.
Bogart, too, evinced great excitement.
``Hurtle, keep out of lower eight or I'll kill
you,'' he shouted.
What the Rube might have done there was no
telling, but as he grasped a curtain, he was
interrupted by a shriek from some woman assuredly
not of our party.
``Get out! you horrid wretch! Help! Porter!
Help! Conductor!''
Instantly there was a deafening tumult in the
car. When it had subsided somewhat, and I considered
I would be safe, I descended from my
berth and made my way to the dressing room.
Sprawled over the leather seat was the Rube
pommelling McCall with hearty good will. I would
have interfered, had it not been for Mac's
demeanor. He was half frightened, half angry, and
utterly unable to defend himself or even resist,
because he was laughing, too.
``Dog-gone it! Whit--I didn't--do it! I swear
it was Spears! Stop thumpin' me now--or I'll
get sore. . . . You hear me! It wasn't me, I tell
you. Cheese it!''
For all his protesting Mac received a good
thumping, and I doubted not in the least that he
deserved it. The wonder of the affair, however,
was the fact that no one appeared to know what
had made the Rube so furious. The porter would
not tell, and Mac was strangely reticent, though
his smile was one to make a fellow exceedingly
sure something out of the ordinary had befallen.
It was not until I was having breakfast in
Providence that I learned the true cause of Rube's
conduct, and Milly confided it to me, insisting
on strict confidence.
``I promised not to tell,'' she said. ``Now you
promise you'll never tell.''
``Well, Connie,'' went on Milly, when I had
promised, ``it was the funniest thing yet, but it
was horrid of McCall. You see, the Rube had
upper seven and Nan had lower seven. Early
this morning, about daylight, Nan awoke very
thirsty and got up to get a drink. During her
absence, probably, but any way some time last
night, McCall changed the number on her
curtain, and when Nan came back to number
seven of course she almost got in the wrong
berth.''
``No wonder the Rube punched him!'' I declared.
``I wish we were safe home. Something'll
happen yet on this trip.''
I was faithful to my promise to Milly, but the
secret leaked out somewhere; perhaps Mac told
it, and before the game that day all the players
knew it. The Rube, having recovered his good
humor, minded it not in the least. He could not
have felt ill-will for any length of time. Everything
seemed to get back into smooth running
order, and the Honeymoon Trip bade fair to wind
up beautifully.
But, somehow or other, and about something
unknown to the rest of us, the Rube and Nan
quarreled. It was their first quarrel. Milly and
I tried to patch it up but failed.
We lost the first game to Providence and won
the second. The next day, a Saturday, was the
last game of the trip, and it was Rube's turn to
pitch. Several times during the first two days
the Rube and Nan about half made up their
quarrel, only in the end to fall deeper into it.
Then the last straw came in a foolish move on the
part of wilful Nan. She happened to meet Henderson,
her former admirer, and in a flash she
took up her flirtation with him where she had left
off.
``Don't go to the game with him, Nan,'' I
pleaded. ``It's a silly thing for you to do. Of
course you don't mean anything, except to torment
Whit. But cut it out. The gang will make
him miserable and we'll lose the game. There's
no telling what might happen.''
``I'm supremely indifferent to what happens,''
she replied, with a rebellious toss of her black
head. ``I hope Whit gets beaten.''
She went to the game with Henderson and sat
in the grand stand, and the boys spied them out
and told the Rube. He did not believe it at first,
but finally saw them, looked deeply hurt and
offended, and then grew angry. But the gong,
sounding at that moment, drew his attention to
his business of the day, to pitch.
His work that day reminded me of the first
game he ever pitched for me, upon which occasion
Captain Spears got the best out of him by
making him angry. For several innings Providence
was helpless before his delivery. Then
something happened that showed me a crisis was
near. A wag of a fan yelled from the bleachers.
``Honeymoon Rube!''
This cry was taken up by the delighted fans
and it rolled around the field. But the Rube
pitched on, harder than ever. Then the knowing
bleacherite who had started the cry changed it
somewhat.
``Nanny's Rube!'' he yelled.
This, too, went the rounds, and still the Rube,
though red in the face, preserved his temper and
his pitching control. All would have been well
if Bud Wiler, comedian of the Providence team,
had not hit upon a way to rattle Rube.
``Nanny's Goat!'' he shouted from the coaching
lines. Every Providence player took it
up.
The Rube was not proof against that. He
yelled so fiercely at them, and glared so furiously,
and towered so formidably, that they ceased for
the moment. Then he let drive with his fast
straight ball and hit the first Providence batter
in the ribs. His comrades had to help him to the
bench. The Rube hit the next batter on the leg,
and judging from the crack of the ball, I fancied
that player would walk lame for several days.
The Rube tried to hit the next batter and sent
him to first on balls. Thereafter it became a
dodging contest with honors about equal between
pitcher and batters. The Providence players
stormed and the bleachers roared. But I would
not take the Rube out and the game went on with
the Rube forcing in runs.
With the score a tie, and three men on bases
one of the players on the bench again yelled
``Nanny's Goat!''
Straight as a string the Rube shot the ball at
this fellow and bounded after it. The crowd rose
in an uproar. The base runners began to score.
I left my bench and ran across the space, but not
in time to catch the Rube. I saw him hit two or
three of the Providence men. Then the policemen
got to him, and a real fight brought the big
audience into the stamping melee. Before the
Rube was collared I saw at least four blue-coats
on the grass.
The game broke up, and the crowd spilled itself
in streams over the field. Excitement ran
high. I tried to force my way into the mass to
get at the Rube and the officers, but this was
impossible. I feared the Rube would be taken from
the officers and treated with violence, so I waited
with the surging crowd, endeavoring to get
nearer. Soon we were in the street, and it seemed
as if all the stands had emptied their yelling occupants.
A trolley car came along down the street,
splitting the mass of people and driving them back.
A dozen policemen summarily bundled the Rube
upon the rear end of the car. Some of these
officers boarded the car, and some remained in
the street to beat off the vengeful fans.
I saw some one thrust forward a frantic young
woman. The officers stopped her, then suddenly
helped her on the car, just as I started. I
recognized Nan. She gripped the Rube with both
hands and turned a white, fearful face upon the
angry crowd.
The Rube stood in the grasp of his wife and
the policemen, and he looked like a ruffled lion.
He shook his big fist and bawled in far-reaching
voice:
``I can lick you all!''
To my infinite relief, the trolley gathered
momentum and safely passed out of danger. The
last thing I made out was Nan pressing close to
the Rube's side. That moment saw their reconciliation
and my joy that it was the end of the
Rube's Honeymoon.
_________
-THE END-
Zane Grey's short story: The Rube's Honeymoon
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