[Dan De Quille, Growler and Jowler, from the Virginia City Enterprise, reprinted in the Daily Alta California, January 31, 1880]

 

Growler and Jowler.

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A Fiendish Pair Who Exult In Human Misery.

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From the Virginia Enterprise.

PART I.

            Old Growler was seated in his cosy little parlor reading the accounts of the troubles and starvation in Ireland and other congenial pieces of news in the evening paper—read, chewed the end of a fragrant Havana, puffed and fumed, working himself up into a towering passion with everything and everybody. Old Growler's wealth is reckoned by millions, still he growls.

            As he still chewed the end of his cigar and read, and puffed and scowled, Jowler, his factotum, entered the room, seated himself, and stretched his feet out to the comfortable fire that was burning in the grate.

            Growler paid no attention to the entrance of Jowler, and Jowler hardly glanced at old Growler.

            Presently Jowler spoke, but much as though talking to himself. "Such people ought not to live !" cried he, with great vehemence.  "They have no business to live—they ought to have died in their infancy; in fact, ought never to have been born !"

            Old Growler pricked up his ears and said nothing.

            "Yet to think of their not only being born but also living, arriving at maturity, then marrying and perpetuating their kind !"

            Old Growler half-glances from his paper and gives a snort, as though smelling the battle afar.

            "They ought to be killed even now," pursues Jowler, "their being allowed to live is setting a bad example to the rising generation. Could I have my way I'd hang the old man and drown the old woman for a witch and strangle the whole brood of brats !"

            "More of the infernal villains, hey, Jowler ?" snorted old Growler, unable longer to restrain his curiosity.

            "A whole nest of 'em."

            "What are they like ?"

            "An old cobbler and his wife, with six young ones. As miserable a set of wretches as I ever saw out of a workhouse. They live in a miserable little shanty in the first place, and in the second, have nothing to keep that warm."  

            "The beggars !" snorted Growler.

            "The old woman has been sick about six months and is now but just able to crawl about the house, and the old man has been working day and night when he could get work, but with all the sickness of his wife has got into debt as far in every direction, as it is possible, in this town, for any man in his circumstances to go."

            About at the end of their string, eh ?"

            "Quite, they can't get credit for two bits worth of  anything in town. I shouldn't wonder if they were now burning what little rattle-trap furniture they have in order to keep them warm.''

            "No, Jowler, no ; they are stealing wood somewhere, you may depend, Keep an eye on 'em and if you catch 'em about anybody's wood pile we'll have 'em up for it. We'll run 'em out of town."

            "I took a peep at 'em a while ago, and I think they are studying up something desperate. The old man and the old woman were sitting about a little black lump of a stove, with their chins upon their knees, and the brats were all huddled round them in a heap. It was just like a nest of rats—ha, ha ! —just like a nest of rats !"

            "Ought to be exterminated, don't you think so, Jowler? They appear to be of the dangerous class."

            "Certainly ; they are a kind of people one hates to look at or know about. Their presence seems to impregnate the air unpleasantly ; at all events, one feels uncomfortable when anywhere near them."

            "I don't know why you come and tell me these things, Jowler ; it makes me sick to hear about such people—why not turn 'em all over in a lump as vagrants, paupers, incendiaries, thieves, cut-throats, or something of the kind ? Not another word about them."

PART II.

Growler's Sanctum Again.

            Again Growler is seated in his sanctum, regaling himself with accounts of war, pestilence and famine ; again Jowler enters and seats himself before the fire.

            Growler looks at him out of the corners of his eyes, but still pretends to be reading his paper.

            "Astonishing !" at length grunts Jowler.

            Growler is more intent than ever on his paper.

            "Incomprehensible, abominable !" continues Jowler.

            Growler finally takes his eyes from his paper and says : "What is the matter now?"

            "That old cobbler again."

            "Ha ! whole tribe has been arrested for stealing, I hope ?"

            "Not yet, but I'm not sure but they ought to be. Regular diabolical doings up there—a hellish jubilee going on in the house !"

            "Damnable, no doubt. A sort of witches' Sabbath, is it, or are they all drunk ?"

            "This is Christmas Eve, you know, and by chance I was passing that way when I heard a fearful racket, the old woman that pretended to be sick, you know ?"

            "Yes, I know."

            "Well, she was actually singing what sounded like a hymn—humming it like as she tore about the house—and the young ones were all cackling like a lot of geese, while that abominable old wretch, the cobbler, was actually grinning !"

            "No !"

            "It's a fact. I had a good look at his face as I passed the window and the old fellow was grinning like a fiend."

            "Jowler !"

            "Yes, sir, like a fiend. Then the whole house is full of provisions, goods and finery of every kind. There is a store of fuel about and all manner of things useful for comfort and the maintenance of life. There's also—"

            "Jowler !"

            "Sir."

            "Have you heard of anybody being murdered and robbed?"

            "No, sir ; but I think something of the kind is liable to come out."

            "Sure to—sure to, Jowler !"  It seemed a sort of forced grin—forced merriment that the old fellow displayed, didn't it, Jowler—rather put on ?"

            "Looked very natural, sir—oh, he's an old one at it, you may depend."

            "Any talk in the neighborhood?"

            "Neighborhood's all in an uproar. Strange stories afloat, sir."

            "What do they say—the neighbors ?"

            "Wonderful cock-and-bull stories that the cobbler and his family have been spreading."

            "As a blind, doubtless, but it don't go with us—hey, Jowler ?"

            "I should say not, sir'"

            "Sudden wealth—a fortune of half a million or so left to the family, I suppose ?"

            "No, sir ; even thinner than that.'

            "What could be thinner ?"

            "Why, the story they tell. You shall judge for yourself, sir. Their story is the flimsiest and most unreasonable rubbish I ever heard. They have actually told the neighbors that the doctor that attended the old woman came there and gave them a receipt in full for his bill, and that when they tried to thank him he said, 'Not to me, not to me,' and when they asked, "who then ?' the doctor shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and marched away. Next, they say, came a man who deals in groceries and provisions, and who not only gave them their bill paid in full, but who also left a whole wagon-load of grub of all kinds. A dealer in wood and coal came with a whole cord of wood, which he left, saying it was paid for and the old score wiped out A dry goods man came in the same way and left a lot of stuff, also a clothing and sorts of people. They all told about the same story —everything paid for, no old scores—but knew nothing about who was doing all these things. Why they even assert that their landlord has acknowledged the receipt of not only arrears of rent, but also of a year's rent in advance."

            "And the neighbors tell these stories, and say they had them from the cobbler's family?"

            "Yes, and they say they have actually seen all the provisions, fuel and other stuff I have told you about taken to the house. The whole neighborhood are wagging right merrily."

            "All a set of liars, Jowler— as bad as the old cobbler himself, hey ?"

            "I don't know about that. You must know that I myself saw some of the things said to have been brought as they fell about."

            "It ain't possible, Jowler, that there is any old fool in town who has been doing all these things just as a sort of lark ?"

            "No ; impossible !  You don't find any such imbeciles in those times. We do not live in the times of the Arabian Nights, sir."

            "It's certainly a curious business. If anything ever comes out about it, Jowler, let me know."

            "I shall do so, sir, but my opinion is that it will never be explained—that is except in one way."

            "Which is?"

            "That the old cobbler has murdered and robbed some one."

            "Whatever may have happened to change his fortune, I think the thing is greatly to be regretted they would all have died in a lump in another week, Jowler— hey?"

            "Sure, sir. Now they are liable to go on and breed more of their kind—to increase and multiply."

            "That's too bad, Jowler. Never mention the villainous thieves to me again, unless you can tell me that they are starving like caged rats. The account you give me of their late unreasonable hilarity sickens and disgusts me."

            "We might have them arrested on suspicion of something, sir."

            "There is some consolation in that, Jowler. Keep a bright look out, and see what you can get against them," and Old Growler turned to his paper to refresh himself with the famine in Silesia.

DAN DE QUILLE.