[Sam P. Davis, Andy Munroe's Funeral, from Short Stories (1886)]

 

ANDY MUNROE'S FUNERAL.

            Andy Munroe was a man who years ago was popular in Virginia City. He went to Napa for his health, and died there a few weeks afterward.

            Two warm friends of the deceased went down to assist at the funeral. Seeking the consolation granted by a flask of old rye, they became a trifle tumultuous on the way, and reached the house recently occupied by the deceased just as the coffin was about to be closed up.

            " Hold on," they shouted as they trotted up the yard breathless, " give us a look at the corpse."

            The accommodating undertaker, who was about to screw down the lid, allowed the newcomers to inspect the remains.

            " It's Andy, sure enough," remarked one.

            " Don't look as if he died hard," said the other.

            " He was the boss," murmured the first speaker. Then the two men looked on the face of the dead for several minutes with glistening eyes.

            The undertaker suggested that the procession was forming, and the pallbearers were waiting.

            " We'll take him out ourselves," said one of the Com-

164      SHORT STORIES.

stockers, with the air of a man who wanted to save trouble.

            " Yes, that's what we come down for,' said the second man. " We knew him up on the ledge."

            The undertaker called attention to the fact that eight leading citizens had been selected as pallbearers.

            " Where are they ? " asked one of the visiting mourners excitedly.

            The undertaker waved his hand toward a group of men in white gloves and black broad-cloth, who were grouped in one corner of the room enveloped with an atmosphere of dignified melancholy.

            " What ! those fellows in the corner ? --- those spindleshanked affairs over there, packing Andy's remains ? Hardly. We've come all the way from Virginia City to plant Andy in the right shape. If we'd a been here early there'd a been a funeral what was a funeral. What kind of a half-horse town is this anyhow ?" asked the biggest of the two.

            " Where's your brass band ? " chimed in the other in tones of lowest disgust.

            " Glad you mentioned the band, Bill. But these crows don't look like men that would put up much for a funeral. They're runnin' it on the cheap lay. Go up town and git a band right away ; tell 'm to bring down a couple of dead marches, and I'll pay for both. One started off for a band, and was only induced to come back when he was told there was no band in town.

            " Now, don't lie to us for any economical motives. The expense ain't anything. We'll settle the bills. We've got enough to give him a regular benefit if you just say the word. We'll pile the flowers on his grave as high as a hay-stack."

SCRAPS.         165

            The man was finally induced to go back to the house. On entering the room he called out to his partner :

            " Here, Bill, take the other end and we'll take him out."

            The two men seized the coffin, when the other pallbearers stepped up to assist.

            " Keep your hands off. We're able to take care of this business."

            The undertaker explained that the coffin was a very heavy one, and two men could not lift it.

            " You — crane-faced, valley-bred son of a gun, what do you know about mountain muscle?" shouted one of the Comstockers, waving a No. 16 fist under his nose. "I can't lift it myself;" and rushing to the head of the coffin, he raised it up three times by the handles and slammed it down vigorously on its supports. " When it comes to heavy lifting I'm there."

            The two men then proceeded to shoulder the coffin, and staggered under their load to the hearse, in which they thrust their burden with little ceremony, and closed the doors with a slam.

            They next strode back to the gentlemen who had been selected as pall-bearers, and the biggest remarked :

            " Gentlemen, those who wish to take exceptions to the part we've taken in this funeral will find us at the hotel just across the street. Here's my card."

            No one seemed anxious to take exceptions; and the speaker, laying his card down on the top of the gate post, turned to the driver of the hearse and remarked :

            " Start up the horses."

            The funeral then proceeded without further interruption, and the fact that the two "intruders" left a check for $1,000 with the widow of the deceased, would indi-

166      SHORT STORIES.

cate that their sympathy for the living was on a par with their regrets for the dead.

            " We'd give ye more, but we shorted some Savage last week and it d— near cinched us in two. I never went short before, and blast me if I ever will again. I never met a man I liked so well as Andy. My partner here doted on him."

            " He was the boss," murmured the partner, sorrowfully ; "and when the angels see him step through the gate they'll know somebody's come that don't drop in there every day."

            They pressed the widow's hand with a genuine heartiness, and, as they went down the walk, one said to the other :

            " Bill, I felt like I could crawl through one of the cracks in the porch when we handed her that check. It was so blamed small after the big bluff we made yesterday."