My name is Boffer Bings. I was
born of honest parents in one of the humbler walks
of life, my father being a manufacturer of dog-oil
and my mother having a small studio in the shadow
of the village church, where she disposed of unwelcome
babes. In my boyhood I was trained to habits
of industry; I not only assisted my father in procuring
dogs for his vats, but was frequently employed by
my mother to carry away the debris of her work in
the studio. In performance of this duty I sometimes
had need of all my natural intelligence for all the
law officers of the vicinity were opposed to my mother’s
business. They were not elected on an opposition
ticket, and the matter had never been made a political
issue; it just happened so. My father’s
business of making dog-oil was, naturally, less unpopular,
though the owners of missing dogs sometimes regarded
him with suspicion, which was reflected, to some extent,
upon me. My father had, as silent partners,
all the physicians of the town, who seldom wrote a
prescription which did not contain what they were pleased
to designate as Ol. can. It is really the
most valuable medicine ever discovered. But
most persons are unwilling to make personal sacrifices
for the afflicted, and it was evident that many of
the fattest dogs in town had been forbidden to play
with me a fact which pained my young sensibilities,
and at one time came near driving me to become a pirate.
Looking back upon those days, I cannot
but regret, at times, that by indirectly bringing
my beloved parents to their death I was the author
of misfortunes profoundly affecting my future.
One evening while passing my father’s
oil factory with the body of a foundling from my mother’s
studio I saw a constable who seemed to be closely
watching my movements. Young as I was, I had
learned that a constable’s acts, of whatever
apparent character, are prompted by the most reprehensible
motives, and I avoided him by dodging into the oilery
by a side door which happened to stand ajar.
I locked it at once and was alone with my dead.
My father had retired for the night. The only
light in the place came from the furnace, which glowed
a deep, rich crimson under one of the vats, casting
ruddy reflections on the walls. Within the cauldron
the oil still rolled in indolent ebullition, occasionally
pushing to the surface a piece of dog. Seating
myself to wait for the constable to go away, I held
the naked body of the foundling in my lap and tenderly
stroked its short, silken hair. Ah, how beautiful
it was! Even at that early age I was passionately
fond of children, and as I looked upon this cherub
I could almost find it in my heart to wish that the
small, red wound upon its breast the work
of my dear mother had not been mortal.
It had been my custom to throw the
babes into the river which nature had thoughtfully
provided for the purpose, but that night I did not
dare to leave the oilery for fear of the constable.
“After all,” I said to myself, “it
cannot greatly matter if I put it into this cauldron.
My father will never know the bones from those of
a puppy, and the few deaths which may result from
administering another kind of oil for the incomparable
ol. can. are not important in a population
which increases so rapidly.” In short,
I took the first step in crime and brought myself
untold sorrow by casting the babe into the cauldron.
The next day, somewhat to my surprise,
my father, rubbing his hands with satisfaction, informed
me and my mother that he had obtained the finest quality
of oil that was ever seen; that the physicians to whom
he had shown samples had so pronounced it. He
added that he had no knowledge as to how the result
was obtained; the dogs had been treated in all respects
as usual, and were of an ordinary breed. I deemed
it my duty to explain which I did, though
palsied would have been my tongue if I could have
foreseen the consequences. Bewailing their previous
ignorance of the advantages of combining their industries,
my parents at once took measures to repair the error.
My mother removed her studio to a wing of the factory
building and my duties in connection with the business
ceased; I was no longer required to dispose of the
bodies of the small superfluous, and there was no need
of alluring dogs to their doom, for my father discarded
them altogether, though they still had an honorable
place in the name of the oil. So suddenly thrown
into idleness, I might naturally have been expected
to become vicious and dissolute, but I did not.
The holy influence of my dear mother was ever about
me to protect me from the temptations which beset
youth, and my father was a deacon in a church.
Alas, that through my fault these estimable persons
should have come to so bad an end!
Finding a double profit in her business,
my mother now devoted herself to it with a new assiduity.
She removed not only superfluous and unwelcome babes
to order, but went out into the highways and byways,
gathering in children of a larger growth, and even
such adults as she could entice to the oilery.
My father, too, enamored of the superior quality
of oil produced, purveyed for his vats with diligence
and zeal. The conversion of their neighbors
into dog-oil became, in short, the one passion of
their lives an absorbing and overwhelming
greed took possession of their souls and served them
in place of a hope in Heaven by which,
also, they were inspired.
So enterprising had they now become
that a public meeting was held and resolutions passed
severely censuring them. It was intimated by
the chairman that any further raids upon the population
would be met in a spirit of hostility. My poor
parents left the meeting broken-hearted, desperate
and, I believe, not altogether sane. Anyhow,
I deemed it prudent not to enter the oilery with them
that night, but slept outside in a stable.
At about midnight some mysterious
impulse caused me to rise and peer through a window
into the furnace-room, where I knew my father now
slept. The fires were burning as brightly as
if the following day’s harvest had been expected
to be abundant. One of the large cauldrons was
slowly “walloping” with a mysterious appearance
of self-restraint, as if it bided its time to put
forth its full energy. My father was not in
bed; he had risen in his night clothes and was preparing
a noose in a strong cord. From the looks which
he cast at the door of my mother’s bedroom I
knew too well the purpose that he had in mind.
Speechless and motionless with terror, I could do nothing
in prevention or warning. Suddenly the door
of my mother’s apartment was opened, noiselessly,
and the two confronted each other, both apparently
surprised. The lady, also, was in her night clothes,
and she held in her right hand the tool of her trade,
a long, narrow-bladed dagger.
She, too, had been unable to deny
herself the last profit which the unfriendly action
of the citizens and my absence had left her.
For one instant they looked into each other’s
blazing eyes and then sprang together with indescribable
fury. Round and round, the room they struggled,
the man cursing, the woman shrieking, both fighting
like demons she to strike him with the
dagger, he to strangle her with his great bare hands.
I know not how long I had the unhappiness to observe
this disagreeable instance of domestic infelicity,
but at last, after a more than usually vigorous struggle,
the combatants suddenly moved apart.
My father’s breast and my mother’s
weapon showed evidences of contact. For another
instant they glared at each other in the most unamiable
way; then my poor, wounded father, feeling the hand
of death upon him, leaped forward, unmindful of resistance,
grasped my dear mother in his arms, dragged her to
the side of the boiling cauldron, collected all his
failing energies, and sprang in with her! In
a moment, both had disappeared and were adding their
oil to that of the committee of citizens who had called
the day before with an invitation to the public meeting.
Convinced that these unhappy events
closed to me every avenue to an honorable career in
that town, I removed to the famous city of Otumwee,
where these memoirs are written with a heart full of
remorse for a heedless act entailing so dismal a commercial
disaster.