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The Abyss.. with marshmallows
Jul. 22nd, 2018 09:44 pmI came back here to be with my thoughts. I think it's because the other place has everybody else's thoughts, for good or bad, for brilliant or stupid. Sometimes immensely stupid. I had to get out. I had to. I was in danger of becoming the very thing that I detested... argumentatively moronic. One cannot win an argument on FB. One cannot change anyone's mind because by the time the words hit the interwebs, the mind, she is already made up and it would take an act of congress to get that mind to change. Act of Congress? In this day and age? Hahahahaha. It is to laugh.
*****
So... this is forward in to the story.. let's take a future look at Lockwell and Hart. Needless to say, they met on the train, under auspicious circumstances, one might say. There was an attempted robbery, as these were common enough to even be expected. Lockwell outdrew one desperado and was saved by Hart when, thinking quickly, as only Hart can do, he side kicked a carpet bag into the sneaking shins of the other desperado.
Said move didn't disable the evil doer, but it did delay him long enough for Hart to pull his derringer out and cover Lockwell's back. With a tip of his hat, the lanky cowboy tied both of the bad guys up, gift wrapped for the authorities.
"Say," Lockwell said. "You did that right smartly, for someone who dresses so poorly."
Hart nodded back. He'd heard worse. "For someone who dresses like a dancing dandy, you certainly handled yourself well, as well."
"My daddy always said that clothes make the man, sir." Lockwell brushed something invisible from the bib of his shirt. "If I look like a dandy, it's because I take great care of how I look."
"And my father said that a golden trap was still a trap." Hart stood up and extended his hand. "Milton Hart, sir. At your service."
Lockwell shook hands with a firm grip, saying, "John James Lockwell, at yours. Where you heading Milt?"
Milton pushed his spectacle up on his nose and shrugged. "Westerly, I suspect. Or perhaps back easterly. No particular place, just some where quiet. I seek solitude to think."
Lockwell slapped a meaty hand on Harts shoulder. "An egghead, huh? Well, we could certainly use some of those around here, that's for sure. Not enough brains in the last four towns to spark a decent fire, if you ask me."
Hart sat back down and rearranged his luggage so that they were ordered by height. "No argument there, Mr. Lockwell. The vacuum surrounding that last hamlet was quite evident. It was time to leave that place, and quickly."
Lockwell sat across the aisle from Hart. "You mind if we travel together, Milt? I don't find many folks talkable on this trip, and to be honest, there's just something about you that I find I trust. My daddy always said that if you can find a man you can trust, hold onto him like a prized steer."
Hart smiled thinly. "Very well. I admit that you have a certain... rough joie de vivre ... as it were. John... do you mind if I call you John?"
Lockwell tipped his hat back. "Not at all, sir, not at all. I feel we are going to be companions... compadres... the best of friends, in the long run. You may call me what ever suits."
"Ah. Then, John. Please don't call me Milt. You can call me Milton. Or you can call me Hart. Perhaps, when and if we become, as you say, the best of friends in the long run, you may call me Milt. Please, however, until such a time as I am comfortable with you, call me Hart. Or Milton."
"Hart." Lockwell tasted the name. "Milton... not the same at all. I suspect that once we get you a bit loosened up, you'll find that your real name is supposed to be Milt. But until then, my good compadre, I will call you Hart." This time he tipped his hat forward, over his eyes. "Hart, I'm going to get bit of shut-eye. Wake me when we get to ... whatever the next station is, so we can hand over those thieves. Keep an eye out for more shenanigans. Wake me if you need me." And with that, the long lanky form of John James Lockwell started snoring softly.
"Hmph", hmphed Milton Hart. "Ordering me about as if I were his servant." He stared across the aisle. "Not a servant, then. A partner, perhaps." Lockwell shifted in his sleep. "A compadre. More than just a compadre, a trusted compadre." Hart shifted his luggage again, until the fronts were lined up. He smiled again, a thin line. "Trusted compadre." He shot a glance back at the cowboy. "I've been many, many things. Never a trusted compadre. Might be nice, for a change."
He tilted his Bowler hat back. "Lockwell and Hart. Hart and Lockwell? No, that doesn't quite scan right..." He nodded to himself. "Lockwell and Hart, then." His small smile twisted into a sad frown. "At least until it is only Hart again."
*****
So... we have a clumsy meeting, but a meeting none the less. Who knows how much of it is true? More than likely, Hart didn't speak that much, and perhaps Lockwell didn't say anything at all. Maybe there was only one robber and Lockwell took him out with a shot to the heart? Regardless, this tale needs to be moving forward, and to do that, the two had to meet. So now they have.
So... this is forward in to the story.. let's take a future look at Lockwell and Hart. Needless to say, they met on the train, under auspicious circumstances, one might say. There was an attempted robbery, as these were common enough to even be expected. Lockwell outdrew one desperado and was saved by Hart when, thinking quickly, as only Hart can do, he side kicked a carpet bag into the sneaking shins of the other desperado.
Said move didn't disable the evil doer, but it did delay him long enough for Hart to pull his derringer out and cover Lockwell's back. With a tip of his hat, the lanky cowboy tied both of the bad guys up, gift wrapped for the authorities.
"Say," Lockwell said. "You did that right smartly, for someone who dresses so poorly."
Hart nodded back. He'd heard worse. "For someone who dresses like a dancing dandy, you certainly handled yourself well, as well."
"My daddy always said that clothes make the man, sir." Lockwell brushed something invisible from the bib of his shirt. "If I look like a dandy, it's because I take great care of how I look."
"And my father said that a golden trap was still a trap." Hart stood up and extended his hand. "Milton Hart, sir. At your service."
Lockwell shook hands with a firm grip, saying, "John James Lockwell, at yours. Where you heading Milt?"
Milton pushed his spectacle up on his nose and shrugged. "Westerly, I suspect. Or perhaps back easterly. No particular place, just some where quiet. I seek solitude to think."
Lockwell slapped a meaty hand on Harts shoulder. "An egghead, huh? Well, we could certainly use some of those around here, that's for sure. Not enough brains in the last four towns to spark a decent fire, if you ask me."
Hart sat back down and rearranged his luggage so that they were ordered by height. "No argument there, Mr. Lockwell. The vacuum surrounding that last hamlet was quite evident. It was time to leave that place, and quickly."
Lockwell sat across the aisle from Hart. "You mind if we travel together, Milt? I don't find many folks talkable on this trip, and to be honest, there's just something about you that I find I trust. My daddy always said that if you can find a man you can trust, hold onto him like a prized steer."
Hart smiled thinly. "Very well. I admit that you have a certain... rough joie de vivre ... as it were. John... do you mind if I call you John?"
Lockwell tipped his hat back. "Not at all, sir, not at all. I feel we are going to be companions... compadres... the best of friends, in the long run. You may call me what ever suits."
"Ah. Then, John. Please don't call me Milt. You can call me Milton. Or you can call me Hart. Perhaps, when and if we become, as you say, the best of friends in the long run, you may call me Milt. Please, however, until such a time as I am comfortable with you, call me Hart. Or Milton."
"Hart." Lockwell tasted the name. "Milton... not the same at all. I suspect that once we get you a bit loosened up, you'll find that your real name is supposed to be Milt. But until then, my good compadre, I will call you Hart." This time he tipped his hat forward, over his eyes. "Hart, I'm going to get bit of shut-eye. Wake me when we get to ... whatever the next station is, so we can hand over those thieves. Keep an eye out for more shenanigans. Wake me if you need me." And with that, the long lanky form of John James Lockwell started snoring softly.
"Hmph", hmphed Milton Hart. "Ordering me about as if I were his servant." He stared across the aisle. "Not a servant, then. A partner, perhaps." Lockwell shifted in his sleep. "A compadre. More than just a compadre, a trusted compadre." Hart shifted his luggage again, until the fronts were lined up. He smiled again, a thin line. "Trusted compadre." He shot a glance back at the cowboy. "I've been many, many things. Never a trusted compadre. Might be nice, for a change."
He tilted his Bowler hat back. "Lockwell and Hart. Hart and Lockwell? No, that doesn't quite scan right..." He nodded to himself. "Lockwell and Hart, then." His small smile twisted into a sad frown. "At least until it is only Hart again."
So... we have a clumsy meeting, but a meeting none the less. Who knows how much of it is true? More than likely, Hart didn't speak that much, and perhaps Lockwell didn't say anything at all. Maybe there was only one robber and Lockwell took him out with a shot to the heart? Regardless, this tale needs to be moving forward, and to do that, the two had to meet. So now they have.
