§ 242 Regarding the Brooklyn Boys
It would seem that a person named George customarily patronized a certain bar wherein gathered nightly a group of men whose highest ambition was to be on their feet when all the others were under the table, and whose proudest boast was that they had never been known to “pass out of the picture.” To these ambitions George subscribed.
One night they missed George. Nor did he come the next evening, nor the next, nor the next. It was a month before he reappeared; and then he was so swathed in bandages, so painfully hopping on crutches, that they swarmed around him with excited questionings.
“How did I get this way?” said George. “Well, I’ll tell you. Y’ remember that las’ night I was here? Drinkin’ pretty heavy that night, but you know how it is with me.... When I left, the ol’ bean was as clear as a bell. Actually, I might just as well not a’ had anything. Well, somehow I knew the Brooklyn Boys were going to show up that night: I sort of felt it. And when I turned out the light an’ hopped into the ol’ bed, sure enough there was two of them—one on each corner, down by my feet.”
“The Brooklyn Boys?” somebody queried.
“Yeh, sure,” said George. “You know ’em, don’t you? Little men about so high”—with his hands he indicated a span of four or five inches—“in bright yellow shirts.
“Well, as I said, there they were, two of ’em. I laid still for awhile, pretendin’ I was asleep, an’ watched ’em lookin’ at me and then at each other, and noddin’ their heads an’ sayin’: ‘That’s him. That’s the guy.’ Then all of a sudden I made a spring at them. But they got away... one hopped over the transom and one oozed out through the keyhole.
“‘Well,’ I said to myself, ‘that settles ’em for to-night.’ An’ I got back in bed.
“D’ye know, I hadn’t been there a minute when I looked around and saw, there in the middle of the floor, seven of those Brooklyn Boys, all lookin’ up at me and noddin’ among themselves and sayin’: ‘That’s the guy there—that’s him.’
“Well, I jumped out of bed like a flash but they were too quick for me. They all scooted—under the door, over the door, through the keyhole an’ everywheres.
“Well, I thought I’d sure finished ’em for a while. But I’d no sooner got back in bed when I heard a sound and I looked around and there was sixty Brooklyn Boys! I knew they was up to something because they’d look up at me and then nod among themselves and whisper: ‘That’s him, all right. Uh-huh, that’s him.’
“All this time, y’understand, the ol’ head was clear as a bell. I knew perfectly well what I was doing.
“So I jumped right at them—because that’s the best way to get rid of the Brooklyn Boys, y’know. But they all got away, every single one, and I got back in bed again, thinkin’ I was safe now for sure. Well, d’ye know what?”
“What?” asked somebody.
“Why, I hadn’t but barely got back in bed when I looked down and there on the floor was thirty-five thousand Brooklyn Boys! And this time each one had a little musket over his shoulder. Well, the leader he lines them all up and waved his sword up toward me in the bed and yelled: ‘That’s him, boys! That’s the guy, up there!’
“Then he yelled: ‘Ready!’...
“Then he yelled: ‘Aim!’...
“Well, now, as I said, all this time the ol’ bean was workin’ beautifully. I saw just what they was up to and before that Brooklyn Boy that had the sword could yell, ‘Fire!’ I’d jumped clean out of bed and through the window.”
George paused, and wetted his throat with an appropriate liquid.
“Of course,” he added, “my room is on the third floor an’ I got sort o’ banged up—as you fellas notice. But just think what might have happened if I’d been drunk and couldn’t a’ made that jump in time!”