An Embarrassment of Riches (29 page)

“Where are you fine folk coming from?” Bilbo inquired pleasantly.

“Virginny,” the husband said, squinting at Bilbo with suspicion.

“Ah! The Old Dominion! Where going to?”

“Illinois Territory.”

“Your names, sir?”

The father shifted his weight impatiently. “Huggins,” he said.

“What a coincidence,” Bilbo rejoined. “I knew a Huggins at the University of Heidelberg, where I took my doctoring. Brilliant student. Any relation per chance?”

The husband shook his head glumly. “We ain't got no docturs in the family. Kin you cure ague?”

“Verily, sir, you may depend on it.”

“Grandpaw got it.”

“How unfortunate. Where is the old gentleman?”

The husband jerked his head toward the cabin. “Down b'low.”

“You are in luck, Mr. Huggins. I have no other appointments for the nonce. Show me the patient.”

Bilbo climbed aboard and disappeared inside the cabin. He reemerged only minutes later with the white-bearded grandfather, to the amazement of the family. In full view of everybody Bilbo administered another spoonful of his physic to the old man, who promptly leaped onto the roof with the spring of a billygoat and commenced to dance a jig. It was a most persuasive demonstration of the tonic's potency. Next, Bilbo dosed the entire family, save the infant, and it was astonishing to see the gaunt, listless group come alive, like drought-withered weeds returning to vigor after a nourishing rain.

“Sakes alive! What's in that stuff?” exclaimed Mrs. Huggins, a forbidding blade of a woman prematurely aged from poverty and childbirth, with skin the color of tallow.

“The formula must remain secret, madam,” Bilbo told her. “A precaution lest it fall into the hands of hostile powers. Why, just think what a cask or two would do for the doddering Spanish empire—”

“What ye got in that'ere tent?” one of the boys interrupted Bilbo, while he and his brothers goggled at the alarming portraits on the flaps.

“'Tis the Museum of Western Rarities, my bold stripling. Wonders and curiosities garnered from the four corners of El Dorado.”

“Maw, Paw, it's a raree show!”

“Kin we go in, mistur?” his brother asked.

“You are all welcome inside,” Bilbo declared grandiloquently.

“Do it cost money?” Mr. Huggins asked.

“The museum is free of charge. In fact, you are in luck again, friends, for the afternoon performance is about to commence. By the by, sir, what are your little ones' names and their ages?”

“That'ere's Henry, he's nine year. T'other's Thomas, he's seven. Thishyere's John, he's four. An' the baby's a infant.”

“How nice,” Bilbo patted the boys' heads and kissed the grubby suckling. His gifts as a politician were on a par with his talent as an actor. “Step inside, everyone.”

We followed the clan within. They perused the exhibits,
oohing
and
ahing
as Bilbo explained the provenance of each item. They were especially taken with the dead pygmy and Satan's toenail. Next, Neddy mounted a packing crate while Bilbo put him through his paces as Bungo the Dogboy. He barked, howled, sat up and begged, leaped through a hoop, rolled over, and caught a ball in his mouth. How sad it was to see the little fellow recreate this humiliating chapter of his youth, though he seemed to enjoy his capers. Finally, Bessie the Far-seeing Girl was presented in her veil and Turkish pantaloons.

“During this demonstration of her remarkable oracular powers, utter silence must prevail, ladies and gentlemen, so as not to obstruct the philosophical ethers that emanate betwixt human minds. Tell us, Far-seeing Girl, the names and ages of these boys here before you.”

Bessie peered over her veil at the lesser Hugginses, her long-lashed eyes darting in concentration. At length, she replied.

“Hwonk, pwee hungmwah nwum. Hunga pwee hingwam. Hwan hwong pwee hungapwonkmuh.”

“She says they are Henry, nine, Thomas, seven, and John, four,” Bilbo translated.

The family traded stupefied glances.

“How do she do that?” the grandfather asked.

“'Tis a power of mind few men understand,” Bilbo explained. “Go ahead, ask her anything you like.”

“Kin you say whar we is bound for, gal?” the wife put it to Bessie.

“Hwonk hwingwhum hweepwee,” Bessie said.

“Illinois Territory,” Bilbo relayed the information.

“I'll be!” the grandmother declared. “It's a sure enough marvel!”

“Kin you prophesy what our fortune'll be thar, gal?” Mr. Huggins next asked.

Bessie here expounded at considerable length as the family looked on raptly. When she was done, Bilbo cleared his throat and commenced the “translation.”

“You shall prosper in Illinois beyond your wildest imaginings. The soil of your new homestead will bring forth munificent crops and colossal fruits. Winter there will be unknown. You shall strike a treasure of buried gold in the sod. Your son Henry shall grow up to be President. The baby will be the greatest general that the hemisphere has ever known, conquering both Mexico and Canada—”

“But it's a girl-child.”

“No matter, sir. Does not the name Joan of Arc ring synonymous with the words ‘victory' and ‘valor'? I tell you, this family is destined for great things!”

The Hugginses looked at one another much pleased.

“Dear friends,” Bilbo continued in a sugar-coated tone of voice. “This is indeed your lucky day, for the Western Museum of Rarities has this very afternoon just acquired the services of a genuine idiot-savant.”

“What kind o'idiot is that?” Mr. Huggins asked.

“A very special sort,” Bilbo said. “For he is perfectly stupid in some respects and a genius in others. Permit me to demonstrate. Your Majesty….” He bowed to Louis and gestured to the packing crate. Louis mounted it, happy to be included in what he no doubt took to be a kind of game. Uncle and I could only look on in helpless dismay.

“I am ready, monsieur doctor,” Louis said.

“Very well. Now, Mr. Huggins, go ahead and ask him any question you wish so as to satisfy yourself of his idiocy.”

“What month o'the year air it?” Huggins asked.

Louis puzzled his brains a minute. “I don't know,” he admitted at length.

Bilbo patted him on the head. “Ask him another, friends.”

“Who air president o'the Yoonited States?”

“I … I don't know.”

“How miny quarts to a gallon?”

Louis shrugged his shoulders.

“What sort o'tree do a acorn come from?”

“What's catgut made outer?”

“Who was Adam's wife?”

“What's the dif'rence 'twixt a crabapple and a road apple?”

“Which is yer left foot?”

Louis threw up his hands. “I do not know!” he cried.

Bilbo stepped forward and silenced the Huggins throng.

“Satisfied?” he asked them.

“He sure air stupid,” the grandmother avouched.

“Dumb as a p'tater,” the grandfather concurred.

“A durned idiot,” Mrs. Huggins nodded her head in agreement.

“What's the genius part?” Mr. Huggins asked.

“He speaks French,” Bilbo told them. “And in that tongue he knows the answers not only to all your questions but to many that heretofore have baffled the world's greatest philosophers.”

The family's jaws dropped as one.

“No!” Mrs. Huggins said.

“I don't believe it,” said Grandpapa.

“I'll be swoggled!”

“Kin such a thing be so?”

“Behold, ladies and gentlemen….” Bilbo gave the stage back to Louis. “Speak, my boy.”

“Je suis charmé de faire votre connaissance.”

The family recoiled in amazement.

“Land sakes!”

“It's a wonder!”

“How do we know he ain't dumb in French too?” Mrs. Huggins inquired with knife-edged skepticism.

“Does he sound stupid, madam?” Bilbo challenged her. “Go ahead: ask him something yourself in the French tongue.”

She pursed her lips and squinted, then shook her head.

“I reckon I'll take yer word for't,” she gave in.

“I sure never seed sich a dadburn curiosity,” the grandfather scratched his head. “Say, mistur doctur, kin we git some more o'that'ere ague remedy of yourn?”

“Why, certainly, friend. How many bottles do you suppose you shall require?”

He glanced back to his loved ones. “I reckon five might see us through t'Illinois.”

Bilbo hastened to a shelf at the rear of the museum and brought forward the requested number of bottles.

“Here you are, old fellow. That will be twenty dollars.”

“What!” the grandfather winced.

“The house call was gratis.”

“Mistur doctur,” Huggins replied sheepishly, “we ain't got that kind o'money.”

“Well, how much have you got?”

The gaunt settler dug into the pocket of his tattered kersey breeches and produced a greasy leather purse. He opened it and peered inside as though it were four feet deep, then shook it upside down into his palm. Two coins spilled out: a Spanish gold dollar and an American dime.

“Thishyear's alls we got.”

“It won't do, friend. Why, it doesn't even cover the cost of the containers—”

“Bilbo, thou villain!” Uncle finally exploded. “Thee stole every bottle from us!”

“Stole, sir! I beg your pardon. You entered into a business consociation with me and took flight when the going got hard. These capital assets thus reverted to myself, your partner in the venture, who has endured untold tribulation to make the scheme the success it has become. Your claim has no merit. I dismiss it. Now, Mr. Huggins, surely you have a few more dollars hidden somewhere upon yonder barge.”

The family traded anxious looks.

“Honest, mistur doctur, we ain't.”

“I reckon we could give'm old Bossy,” the grandfather suggested.

“You propose to fob off that bovine bag of bones upon me, sir?” Bilbo laughed derisively. “This is a cash business, not a livestock mart. Return the merchandise, if you please.”

“But … but … what if we die?”

“The sun will yet rise, I assure you,” Bilbo crossed his arms. “The goods, please.”

Huggins looked longingly down at the bottles in his hands and then back up at the hulking, implacable Bilbo.

“Ye kin have my personal I.O.U.,” he proposed in desperation. “We're gonna strike treasure when we git whar we're goin'. You said so yerse'f. Please…?”

Bilbo fluttered his eyelids and shook his head.

“O, come now, Bilbo,” I pleaded in the poor pilgrims' behalf. “Let them have a few jars, for goodness' sake.”

“This is not a charity, sir. Every day the river sends me ague victims by the score. Were I to treat them all free of charge, I would be bankrupt tomorrow, the venture would go up in a vapor, and all mankind would be deprived this boon of medical science. I am adamant. Pay or be gone.”

The wife began to sniffle. The children looked up with reddened, watery eyes. Mr. Huggins sighed and made as though he were about to hand the jars back to Bilbo, then apparently thought better of it, cried, “Run for th' boat, ever'body!” and bolted out of the tent in the direction of the river. The family were right behind him—all except the grandmother, that is, for Bilbo had collared the wizened crone and was now escorting her down to the landing with a pistol held to her ear.

“Look! He got Grandmaw!” one of the boys cried.

“Let'm blow me t'tarnation,” the old woman squawked. Bilbo made ready to oblige by cocking the hammer of his weapon.

“What do you say, friend,” he called to Huggins up on the boat.

“I say you best lay yer mangy hooks off'n my maw,” Huggins replied, “for my Pa's has got a holt to his squirrel rifle and is about to send a ball through yer ornery liver, less'n you trade her up here and back off.”

As a matter of fact, the black muzzle of a rifle now protruded from the flatboat's cabin door. Then, a gnarled thumb appeared and wiped the front sight. Bilbo slowly lowered his pistol and unhanded the frail old woman.

“Go on, git back.”

“Heh heh,” Bilbo laughed unconvincingly as he retreated. “'Twas all a jest.”

“We ain't laughin', mistur.”

“Let us say the price is negotiable.”

A shot rang out and the pistol flew out of Bilbo's hand. It discharged upon hitting the ground and shot the hat off his head.