The
result of the visit was briefly told by Whisky Dick. "Well, sir,
we went in, and I sot the old man down in a front seat, and kinder
propped him up with some other of the fellers round him, and there
he sot as silent and awful ez the grave. And then that fancy
dancer, Miss Grace Somerset, comes in, and dern my skin, ef the old
man didn't get to trembling and fidgeting all over, as she cut them
pidgin wings. I tell ye what, boys, men is men, way down to their
boots,--whether they're crazy or not! Well, he took on so, that
I'm blamed if at last that gal HERSELF didn't notice him! and she
ups, suddenly, and blows him a kiss--so! with her fingers!"
Whether this narration were exaggerated or not, it is certain that
the old man Downey every succeeding night of the performance was a
spectator. That he may have aspired to more than that was
suggested a day or two later in the following incident: A number
of the boys were sitting around the stove in the Magnolia saloon,
listening to the onset of a winter storm against the windows, when
Whisky Dick, tremulous, excited, and bristling with rain-drops and
information, broke in upon them.
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