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Back Anything for Billy Save as PDF
Chapters (127)
  1. Cover Page
  2. ANYTHINGFOR BILLY
  3. Dedication
  4. PART I
  5. 1.
  6. 2.
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. 5.
  10. 6.
  11. 7.
  12. 8.
  13. 9.
  14. 10.
  15. 11.
  16. 12.
  17. 13.
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. PART II
  24. 1.
  25. 2.
  26. 3.
  27. 4.
  28. 5.
  29. 6.
  30. 7.
  31. 8.
  32. 9.
  33. 10.
  34. 11.
  35. 12.
  36. 13.
  37. 14.
  38. 15.
  39. 16.
  40. 17.
  41. 18.
  42. 19.
  43. 20.
  44. 21.
  45. 22.
  46. 23.
  47. 24.
  48. 25.
  49. 26.
  50. 27.
  51. 28.
  52. 29.
  53. 30.
  54. 31.
  55. PART III
  56. 1.
  57. 2.
  58. 3.
  59. 4.
  60. 5.
  61. 6.
  62. 7.
  63. 8.
  64. 9.
  65. 10.
  66. 11.
  67. 12.
  68. 13.
  69. 14.
  70. 15.
  71. 16.
  72. 17.
  73. 18.
  74. 19.
  75. 20.
  76. 21.
  77. 22.
  78. 23.
  79. PART IV
  80. 1.
  81. 2.
  82. 3.
  83. 4.
  84. 5.
  85. 6.
  86. 7.
  87. 8.
  88. 9.
  89. 10.
  90. 11.
  91. 12.
  92. 13.
  93. 14.
  94. 15.
  95. 16.
  96. PART V
  97. 1.
  98. 2.
  99. 3.
  100. 4.
  101. 5.
  102. 6.
  103. 7.
  104. 8.
  105. 9.
  106. 10.
  107. 11.
  108. 12.
  109. 13.
  110. 14.
  111. 15.
  112. 16.
  113. 17.
  114. 18.
  115. PART VI
  116. 1.
  117. 2.
  118. 3.
  119. 4.
  120. 5.
  121. 6.
  122. 7.
  123. 8.
  124. 9.
  125. 10.
  126. 11.
  127. 12.

But he had stuck himself with two skeptics, Billy Bone and me. Perhaps he realized that we would rip his nice hopes to ribbons, so he switched to a question about boats.

“I won’t cross much water,” Billy said nervously. “You can’t see through it. How would you know if a big fish was waiting to bite you?”

“A fish couldn’t bite you on a boat,” Joe pointed out.

“No, but the boat could sink,” Billy said. “Then where would you be? If I have a bad dream tonight it’ll be your fault, Joe. I’ve had more than one bad dream about big fish.”

Not wishing to increase his risk of scary dreams, I waited until he was snoring to describe my little boat ride down to Galveston.

14.

I boarded that boat with high hopes, thinking I was free at last—free of Dora and her disquieting questions, free of the boring lawns and dilute light of Chestnut Street, and, perhaps, even free of dime novels.

Why would I need cheap tales, once I was bound for the real—even, by some standards, the mighty real—West? I had jettisoned my sedate habits; why not also jettison my gaudy dreams?

Fortunately the boat—it was called the Texas Moon—was more seaworthy than my hopes. A slow cruise to Galveston was not necessarily the best cure for dime-novel mania. We had barely cleared the harbor before I was ransacking the ship for reading matter, cursing myself for my own high-minded neglect of the many excellent newsstands I had passed in New York.

The Texas Moon was not exactly a floating library. It was an old cattle boat, returning empty to Texas with only her crew, myself, and a light load of dry goods. I turned up a sea tale called Sailor Dan; or, The Waterspout, but most of the crew sailors just looked confused when I asked them if they had any reading matter. The first mate rather grudgingly loaned me a well-thumbed copy of Rose, the Frontier Angel, and the little Yankee captain yielded up three Red Charlie adventures; but unfortunately, Red Charlie (The Chippewa Scout) was one of my own inventions, and not one of my favorites, either.

So, once I had gobbled down Sailor Dan and The Frontier Angel, there was nothing to do but to write. The Beadle and Adams firm had just started a series of half-dime domestic tales, and I decided—since I’d left it forever—to have my say about married life.