The Claim Jumpers

The conversation, of which he was the eavesdropper, was carried on by

fits and starts. First a sentence would be delivered by one of the

Leslies; then would ensue a pause as though for a reply, inaudible to

any but the interlocutors themselves; then another sentence; and so on,

like a man at a telephone. After a moment's puzzling over it,

Bennington understood that Jim Leslie was talking to one of the

prisoners down the shaft.

"You have the true sporting spirit, sir," cried the voice of Jeems. "I

honour you for it. But so philosophical a resignation, while it

inclines our souls to know more of you personally, nevertheless renders

you much less interesting in such a juncture as the present. I would

like to hear from Mr. Davidson."

Pause.

"That was a performance, Mr. Davidson, which I can not entirely

commend. It is fluent, to be sure, but it lacks variety. A true artist

would have interspersed those finer shades and gradations of meaning

which go to express the numerous and clashing emotions which must

necessarily agitate your venerable bosom. You surely mean more than

damn. Damn is expressive and forceful, because capable of being

enunciated at one explosive effort of the breath, but it is monotonous

when too freely employed. To be sure, you might with some justice reply

that you had qualified said adjective strongly--but the qualification

was trite though blasphemous. And you limited it very nicely--but the

limitation to myself is unjust, as it overlooks my brother's equitable

claims to notice."

Pause.

"I beg pardon! Kindly repeat!"

Pause.

"Delicious! Mr. Davidson, you have redeemed yourself. Bertie, did you

hear Mr. Davidson's last remark?"

"No!" replied another voice. "Couldn't be bothered. What was it?"

"Mr. Davidson, with a polished sarcasm that amounted to genius, advised

me in his picturesque vernacular 't' set thet jaw of mine goin', and

then go away an' leave it!'"

Pause.

"I beg you, Mr. Slayton, do not think of such a thing. I would not have

him repressed for anything in the world. As you value our future

acquaintanceship, do not end our interview. Thank you! I appreciate

your compliment, and in return will repeat that, though in a pretty

sharp game, you are a true sport. Our friend Arthur is strangely

silent. I have never met Mr. Arthur. I have heard that either his face

or his hat looks like a fried egg, but I forget for the moment which

was so characterized."

Pause.

"Fie, fie! Mr. Arthur. Addison, in his most intoxicated moments, would

never have used such language."

And then the man in the cabin, lying on the bed, began to laugh in a

low tone. His laugh was not pleasant to hear. He was realizing how

funny things were to other people--things that had not been funny to

him at all. For the first time he caught a focus on his father, with

his pompous pride and his stilted diction; on his mother's social

creed. He cared as much for them as ever and his respect was as great,

but now he realized that outsiders could never understand them as he

did, and that always to others they must appear ridiculous. So he

laughed.