An Idyl of the Road

Dramatis Person     First Tourist     Second Tourist     Yuba Bill, Driver     A Stranger First Tourist     Look how the upland plunges into cover,     Green where the pines fade sullenly away.     Wonderful those olive depths! and wonderful, moreover Second Tourist     The red dust that rises in a suffocating way. First Tourist     Small is the soul that cannot soar above it,     Cannot but cling to its ever-kindred clay:     Better be yon bird, that seems to breathe and love it Second Tourist     Doubtless a hawk or some other bird of prey.     Were we, like him, as sure of a dinner     That on our stomachs would comfortably stay;     Or were the fried ham a shade or two just thinner,     That must confront us at closing of the day:     Then might you sing like Theocritus or Virgil,     Then might we each make a metrical essay;     But verse just now I must protest and urge ill     Fits a digestion by travel led astray. Chorus of Passengers     Speed, Yuba Bill! oh, speed us to our dinner!     Speed to the sunset that beckons far away. Second Tourist     William of Yuba, O Son of Nimshi, hearken!     Check thy profanity, but not thy chariots play.     Tell us, O William, before the shadows darken,     Where, and, oh! how we shall dine? O William, say! Yuba Bill     It aint my fault, nor the Kumpeneys, I reckon,     Ye cant get ez square meal ez any on the Bay,     Up at you place, whar the senset pears to beckon     Ez thet sharp allows in his airy sort o way.     Thar woz a place wor yer hash ye might hev wrestled,     Kept by a woman ez chipper ez a jay     Warm in her breast all the morning sunshine nestled;     Red on her cheeks all the evenings sunshine lay. Second Tourist     Praise is but breath, O chariot compeller!     Yet of that hash we would bid you farther say. Yuba Bill     Thar woz a snipe like you, a fancy tourist     Kem to that ranch ez if to make a stay,     Ran off the gal, and ruined jist the purist     Critter that lived Stranger (quietly)     Youre a liar, driver! Yuba Bill (reaching for his revolver).     Eh!     Here take my lines, somebody Chorus of Passengers     Hush, boys! listen!     Inside theres a lady! Remember! No affray! Yuba Bill     Ef that man lives, the fault aint mine or hisn. Stranger     Wait for the sunset that beckons far away,     Then as you will! But, meantime, friends, believe me,     Nowhere on earth lives a purer woman; nay,     If my perceptions do surely not deceive me,     She is the lady we have inside to-day.     As for the man you see that blackened pine tree,     Up which the green vine creeps heavenward away!     He was that scarred trunk, and she the vine that sweetly     Clothed him with life again, and lifted Second Tourist     Yes; but pray     How know you this? Stranger     Shes my wife. Yuba Bill     The h-ll you say!