even have carried him on their shoulders, but that people might think they were carrying Luigi.
Far into the night the citizens continued to discuss and wonder over the strangely mated pair of incidents that had distinguished and exalted the past twenty-four hours above any other twenty-four in the history of their town for picturesqueness and splendid interest; and long before the lights were out and burghers asleep it had been decided on all hands that in capturing these twins Dawson’s Landing had drawn a prize in the great lottery of municipal fortune.
At midnight Angelo was sleeping peacefully. His immersion had not harmed him, it had merely made him wholesomely drowsy, and he had been dead asleep many hours now. It had made Luigi drowsy, too, but he had got only brief naps, on account of his having to take the medicine every three-quarters of an hour-and Aunt Betsy Hale was there to see that he did it. When he complained and resisted, she was quietly firm with him, and said in a low voice:
“No-no, that won’t do; you mustn’t talk, and you mustn’t retch and gag that way, either—you’ll wake up your poor brother.”
“Well, what of it, Aunt Betsy, he—”
“‘Sh-h! Don’t make a noise dear. You mustn’t forget that your poor brother is sick and—”
“Sick, is he? Well, I wish I—”
“‘Sh-h-h! Will you be quiet, Luigi! Here, now, take the rest of it—don’t keep me holding the dipper all night. I declare if you haven’t left a good fourth of it in the bottom! Come—that’s a good—
“Aunt Betsy, don’t make me! I feel like I’ve swallowed a cemetery; I do, indeed. Do let me rest a little—just a little; I can’t take any more of the devilish stuff now.”
“Luigi! Using such language here, and him just baptized! Do you want the roof to fall on you?”
“I wish to goodness it would!”
“Why, you dreadful thing! I’ve a good notion to—let that blanket alone; do you want your brother to catch his death?”
“Aunt Betsy, I’ve got to have it off, I’m being roasted alive; nobody could stand it—you couldn’t yourself.”
“Now, then, you’re sneezing again—I just expected it.”
“Because I’ve caught a cold in my head. I always do, when I go in the water with my clothes on. And it takes me weeks to get over it, too. I think it was a shame to serve me so.”
“Luigi, you are unreasonable; you know very well they couldn’t baptize him dry. I should think you would be willing to undergo a little inconvenience for your brother’s sake.”
“Inconvenience! Now how you talk, Aunt Betsy. I came as near as anything to getting drowned you saw that yourself; and do you call this inconvenience?—the room shut up as tight as a drum, and so hot the mosquitoes are trying to get out; and a cold in the head, and dying for sleep and no chance to get any—on account of this infamous medicine that that assassin prescri—”
“There, you’re sneezing again. I’m going down and mix some more of this truck for you, dear.”
Chapter IX.
The Drinkless Drunk
During Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday the twins grew steadily worse; but then the doctor was summoned South to attend his mother’s funeral, and they got well in forty-eight hours. They appeared on the street on Friday, and were welcomed with enthusiasm by the new-born parties, the Luigi and Angelo factions. The Luigi faction carried its strength into the Democratic party, the Angelo faction entered into a combination with the Whigs. The Democrats nominated Luigi for alderman under the new city government, and the Whigs put up Angelo against him. The Democrats nominated Pudd’nhead Wilson for mayor, and he was left alone in this glory, for the Whigs had no man who was willing to enter the lists against such a formidable opponent. No politician had scored such a compliment as this before in the history of the Mississippi Valley.
The political campaign in Dawson’s Landing opened in a pretty warm fashion, and waxed hotter every week. Luigi’s whole heart was in it, and even Angelo developed a surprising amount of interest-which was natural, because he was not merely representing Whigism, a matter of no consequence to him; but he was representing something immensely finer and greater—to wit, Reform. In him was centered the hopes of the whole reform element of the town; he was the chosen and admired champion of every clique that had a pet reform of any sort or kind at heart. He was president of the great Teetotalers’ Union, its chiefest prophet and mouthpiece.
But as the canvass went on, troubles began to spring up all around—troubles for the twins, and through them for all the parties and segments and fractions of parties. Whenever Luigi had possession of the legs, he carried Angelo to balls, rum shops, Sons of Liberty parades, horse-races, campaign riots, and everywhere else that could damage him with his party and the church; and when it was Angelo’s week he carried Luigi diligently to all manner of moral and religious gatherings, doing his best to regain the ground he had lost before. As a result of these double performances, there was a storm blowing all the time, an ever-rising storm, too—a storm of frantic criticism of the twins, and rage over their extravagant, incomprehensible conduct.
Luigi had the final chance. The legs were his for the closing week of the canvass. He led his brother a fearful dance.
But he saved his best card for the very eve of the election. There was to be a grand turnout of the Teetotalers’ Union that day, and Angelo was to march at the head of the procession and deliver a great oration afterward. Luigi drank a couple of glasses of whisky—which steadied his nerves and clarified his mind, but made Angelo drunk. Everybody who saw the march, saw that the Champion of the Teetotalers was half seas over, and noted also that his brother, who made no hypocritical pretensions to extra temperance virtues, was dignified and sober. This eloquent fact could not be unfruitful at the end of a hot political canvass. At the mass-meeting Angelo tried to make his great temperance oration, but was so discommoded—by hiccoughs and thickness of tongue that he had to give it up; then drowsiness overtook him and his head drooped against Luigi’s and he went to sleep. Luigi apologized for him, and was going on to improve his opportunity with an appeal for a moderation of what he called “the prevailing teetotal madness,” but persons in the audience began to howl and throw things at him, and then the meeting rose in wrath and chased him home.
This episode was a crusher for Angelo in another way. It destroyed his chances with Rowena. Those chances had been growing, right along, for two months. Rowena had partly confessed that she loved him, but wanted time to consider. Now the tender dream was ended, and she told him so the moment he was sober enough to understand. She said she would never marry a man who drank.
“But I don’t drink,” he pleaded.
“That is nothing to the point,” she said, coldly, “you get drunk, and that is worse.”
(There was a long and sufficiently idiotic discussion here, which ended as reported in a previous note.)
Chapter X.
So They Hanged Luigi
