But the one thing of which he was proud, the one picture of his
life he most delighted to recall, was himself as manager of a
negro minstrel troupe, in a hired drum-major's uniform, marching
down the streets of Sacramento at the head of the brass band in
burnt cork and regimentals.
"The star of the troupe," he told them, "was the lady with the
iron jore. We busted in Stockton, and she gave me her diamonds to
pawn. I pawned 'em, and kept back something in the hand for
myself and hooked it to San Francisco. Strike me straight if she
didn't follow me, that iron-jored piece; met me one day in front
of the Bush Street Theatre, and horsewhipped me properly. Now,
just think of that"--and he laughed as though it was the best kind
of a joke.
"But," hazarded Blix, "don't you find it rather dull out here--
lonesome? I should think you would want to have some one with you
to keep you company--to--to do your cooking for you?"
But Condy, ignoring her diplomacy and thinking only of possible
stories, blundered off upon another track.
"Yes," he said, "you've led such a life of action, I should think
this station would be pretty dull for you. How did you happen to
choose it?"
"Well, you see, answered the Captain, leaning against the smooth
white flank of the surf-boat, his hands in his pockets, "I'm lying
low just now. I got into a scrape down at Libertad, in Mexico,
that made talk, and I'm waiting for that to die down some.
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