F. Colburn (Francis Colburn) Adams
Chapter 7
sea of fire, "and yet I'm my mother's friend. I love her still-yes,
I love her still!" and he shakes his head, as his bleared eyes fill
with tears. "She is my mother," he interpolates, and again gives
vent to his frenzy: "fellows! bring me brandy-whiskey-rum-anything
to quench this flame that burns me up. Bring it, and when I'm free
of this place of torment, I will stand enough for you all to swim
in."
"Shut your whiskey-pipe. You don't appreciate the respectability of
the company you've got among. I've heard of you," ejaculates a voice
in the crowd of lookers-on.
"What of a citizen are you?" inquires Tom, his head dropping
sleepily.
"A vote-cribber-Milman Mingle by name; and, like yourself, in for
formal reform," retorts the voice. And the burly figure of a red,
sullen-faced man, comes forward, folds his arms, and looks for some
minutes with an air of contempt upon the poor inebriate.
"You're no better than you ought to be," incoherently continues Tom,
raising his glassy eyes as if to sight his seemingly querulous
companion.
"Better, at all events, than you," emphatically replies the man.
"I'm only in for cribbing voters; which, be it known, is commonly
called a laudable enterprise just before our elections come off, and
a henious offence when office-seekers have gained their ends. But
what use is it discussing the affairs of State with a thing like
you?" The vote-cribber, inclined to regard the new-comer as an
inferior mortal, shrugs his shoulders, and walks away,
contemplatively humming an air.
"If here ain't Tom Swiggs again!" exclaims a lean, parchment-faced
prisoner, pressing eagerly his way through the circle of bystanders,
and raising his hands as he beholds the wreck upon the floor.
"Fate, and my mother, have ordered it so," replies Tom, recognizing
the voice, and again imploring the jailer to bring him some brandy
to quench the fires of his brain. The thought of his mother floated
uppermost, and recurred brightest to the wandering imagination of
this poor outcast.
"There's no rum here, old bloat. The mother having you for a son is