Chapter II: Part 2

Once there was a Kid who wore a Uniform that fit him too Soon and a Cap on one Ear. His Job was to answer the Buzzer and take Orders from any one who could show 25 Cents.

In the Morning he might be acting as Pack-Pony for some Old Lady on a Shopping Spree and in the Afternoon he would be delivering a Ton of Coal.

He had been waved aside by Butlers and ordered about by Blond Stenographers and joshed by Traveling Salesmen until his Child-Nature was hard and flinty.

In answering the Call of Duty he had gone to the Dressing Room and taken a private Flash at the Magazine Beauty before she began to attach the hair or spread the Enamel.

He had been in the private Lair of the Sure-Thingers when they were cooking up some new Method of collecting much Income without moving out of their Chairs.

He had been by while Husbands, with the Scotch standing high in the Gauge, collaborated on the Lie which was to pacify little Katisha, waiting in the Flat.

Before delivering this Masterpiece of Fiction he would have to do a little Sherlocking and finally locate Katisha in one of those Places where they serve it in Tea-Cups.

In the Homes of the Rich and Great where he delivered Orchids and Invitations and perfumed Regrets he would overhear Candid Expressions which indicated that every Social Leader was trying to slip Knock-Out Drops into somebody else's Claret Cup.

Around the Haunts of Business he would stand on one Foot while the Boss carefully worded the Message which was to read like a Contract while leaving a Loop-Hole about the size of the Hudson Tunnel.

One night the Kid was returning homeward with a Comrade in Misery. As the Trolley carried them toward that portion of the City where Children are still in Vogue, they fell to talking of the Future and what it might have in Store for a Bright Boy who could keep on the Trot all day and sustain himself by eating Cocoa-Nut Pie.

The Comrade hoped to be a Vaudeville Actor, but the Kid said, after some Meditation: "During the past Two Years I have mingled in all Grades of Society and I have decided to round out my Career by being a Deep-Sea Diver."

MORAL: A little Learning is a dangerous thing and a good deal of it is Suffocating.

THE HONEYMOON THAT TRIED TO COME BACK

Once there was an undivorced Couple that would get up every G. M. and put on the five-ounce Mitts and wait for the Sound of the Gong.

Each was working for the Championship of the Flat and proved to be a Glutton for Punishment.

Every time he landed a crushing Hay-Maker on her Family History she countered with a short-arm Jolt on his Personal Appearance.

Both would retire to the Corners breathing heavily, but still full of Combat.

He loved to start out the Day by finding in the Paper what a Professor connected with the University of Chicago had said about the American Woman being a vain and shallow Parasite with a Cerebrum about the size of an English Walnut.

She would retaliate by reading aloud a Special in regard to a Husband going after Wife with Axe, while under the Influence of Liquor.

After which, for 15 or 20 minutes, the Dining Room would be just as peaceful and quiet as a Camorra Trial.

Sometimes he would get First Blood, but just as often she would fiddle around for an Opening and then Zowie!--right on the Conk and him Stalling to escape further Punishment.

When Nightfall came they would still be edging around the Ring, whanging away, for each was too Game to be a Quitter.

Their Married Life, which started out with American Beauty Roses in every Vase and a long Piece in the Paper, now settled down to a Thirty Years' War.

The only time when the Dove of Peace really Lit was when they had Company.

Then they would Dear each other until the Premises became Sticky and she would even coax up a Ripple of Fake Laughter when he pulled some Wheeze that used to go Great the Year they were engaged. But the Moment the last Guest closed the Front Door, the Dove of Peace would beat it and another domestic Gettysburg would drive the Servants to Cover.

After this had been going on for several Seasons he happened to get hold of a Powerful Work, written by a Popular Novelist (Unmarried), who made a psychological Dissection of a Woman's Soul and then preached a Funeral Sermon over the Dead Love that once blossomed in the Heart of the Heroine.

After he read this Tragedy of flickered Romance, he felt like a Pup.

He perceived that he had been in the Wrong.

The Novelist taught him that his Cue was to bear with the Weaker Vessel and to keep the Honeysuckle of True Affection pruned and watered by Devotion and Sacrifice.

Therefore, he made one large Vow to cut out the Rough Stuff.

Next Morning when the Queen of the Amazons put on her Paint and Feathers and began to beat the big War Drum there was Nothing Doing.

He refused to enter the blood-stained Arena, and when she came after him he fell over and took the Count before a Punch had been delivered.

Before starting for the Office he Kissed her a couple of times and gave her some Massage Treatment around the Shoulder Blades and called her "Toots"--a Term of Endearment which had been rusting on the Shelf ever since they used it at Niagara Falls.

She was so dazed by this Reversal of Form that she peeked from the Front Window and watched him clear to the Corner, convinced that he was on his way to meet Another Woman.

He came home that Evening with a Jar of Candied Nuts, and when Mrs. Simon Legree demanded the Name of the Hussy he simply pulled a Yearning Smile and invited her to go ahead and use him as a Punching-Bag.

Next day she put a Newspaper around the Bird Cage and tied up the Geraniums and took the unfinished Tatting and Blew.

When she walked in on her Own People, with the Declaration that all Bets were off, they wanted to know all about it, and she said a Spirited Woman couldn't keep on rooming with a Guinea-Pig.

MORAL: Contempt breeds Familiarity.

THE LOCAL PIERPONT

One day a regularly appointed Bank Inspector went into a Stronghold of Finance situated in a One-Night Stand and found the President of the Institution crying all over the Blotter.

"Why these tears?" asked the Official. "Are the Farmers paying off their Mortgages?"

"Worse than that," replied the Elderly Man, whose Side Whiskers were a Tower of Strength in the Community. "We are entering upon an Era of Extravagance. The Tillers of the Soil are no longer Hewing Wood and Drawing Water. They are now hewing Holes in the Atmosphere and drawing Gasoline. Not many Years ago [the] Simple Agriculturist drove into Town in a South Bend Wagon with Red Roses painted on the Dash- Board and stopped at the Bank long enough to tie a Chattel Mortgage on his Cow, with Interest at 2 Per Cent. a Month, payable in Advance. Nowadays he comes zipping up in a This Year's Model of the Kokomobile with Torpedo Body, Fore-Doors and Red Cushions and draws out his Balance so that he can get Extra Tires and a Speedometer. Every Hired Hand has become a Chauffeur, and the Jay that used to wear Gosh-dingits and drive a $80 Pelter now wears Goggles and drives a Roadster with four Lamps hung out in front of it."

"Why are you annoyed by these Evidences of Prosperity?" asked the Official. "The humble Farmer has been the Goat for 2,000 Years. Now he is catching Even by burning up the Turnpike, while the City People who feel sorry for him are sleeping on the Fire Escapes and saving up to see the Movies."

"You do not grasp the full Horror of the Situation," said the President of the Bank. "If all the Reubs withdraw their Deposits in order to buy these expensive $1,200 Cars, our Reserve will be so badly depleted and Normal Conditions so badly disturbed that possibly I will have to Cancel my Order for that $7,000 French Limousine which I picked out at the New York Show."

Whereupon he resumed his Weeping.

MORAL: It is Time to call a Halt.

THE LIFE OF THE PARTY

One Night a Complimentary Dinner was given to a Captain of Industry by some Friends looking for Orders.

The Chairman of the Arrangements Committee was a popular Wine-Pusher, consequently the volunteer Search Parties were out for Three Days after, gathering up the Dead.

Along about 10:30, when every Perfect Gentleman was neatly Stewed, a Man connected with the Jobbing Trade got up to say a Few Words.

He was keyed to Concert Pitch and the Audience was Piped and all the old sure-fire Bokum of a Sentimental Nature simply Killed them in their Seats.

When he Concluded, the hilarious Bun Brothers, with the mussed-up Hair and the twisted Shirt Bosoms, arose to their Feet and waved Napkins and gave the Orator what he described to his wife at 2 A. M. as A Novation.

Another Good Man was spoiled.

After Herman made this goshawful Hit with the Souses he became convinced that he was an After-Dinner Wit.

Gus Thomas and Simeon Ford had nothing on him.

Whenever he found himself seated at a Table with other People and Food being served, he began to suck Lozenges and classify his Anecdotes and try to appear Unconcerned.

All the time he was simply waiting for the Main Fluff to come up from behind the Chrysanthemums and say, "We have with us this evening."

He knew he was a Dinger, because he remembered how the Magnificent Assemblage stood and cheered him for five minutes.

Therefore his Voice sounded to him a good deal like the Boston Symphony Orchestra playing Rubinstein's Melody in F.

Whenever People sat down in front of the decorative Canape Caviar and got ready to endure the Horrors of another Hotel Gorge, they would glance across the Snowy Expanse of White, dotted with plump California Olives and cold, unfeeling Celery, and seeing Herman seated opposite, would remark, "Stung!"

He could not have been kept in his Chair with a Ton of Coal in each Tail-Pocket.

And if The Ladies were present, that was when he worked in the Bird- Calls and ordered out the Twinkling Stars.

According to the Expectation Tables of the Insurance Actuaries, probably he will Stick Around for 32 years more and never find out that he is a Pest.

MORAL: Those who bemoan the Decline of Oratory should remember that Oratory never was known to Decline.

THE GALUMPTIOUS GIRL

Once there was a kittenish Senorita condemned to dwell in a Piccolo Town out on a Spur Division of the Dinkusville Short Line.

It was one of those not-dead-but-sleeping Settlements with a Sheet-Iron Cornice on every Store Building and the Hack in which Gen. Sherman once rode still meeting the Trains.

All the older Residents were sitting back on their Surplus trying to hatch out 7 per cent. Any one suggesting a Public Improvement was led into Court House Square and publicly Beheaded.

A Girl with real Jamaica Ginger coursing through her Arteries did not have a Look-In so long as she was hung up at this Whistling Post, where every Meeting of the Research Club was a Poultry Exhibit and the local Astor played a Brown Derby in conjunction with the extreme Soup and Fish.

So the Senorita, by name Madeline, used to burst into Tears every time she saw a Train pulling away from the Depot, for she certainly had laid the Soubrette's Curse on Home, Sweet Home.

She had read those large explosive articles in the Family Department of the Sunday Paper telling how the Smart Set hang by their Toes from Chandeliers and jump into Public Fountains, and she panted for the wild free life of the Idle Rich.

Now it happened that Madeline had a married Female Cousin living at the corner of Easy Street and Epicurian Avenue up in the Big Town where People hated the sight of a Brass Bedstead.

Cousin invited Madeline to come and see her, out of mere Politeness, for she had the Country Lass sized up as a Myrtle Killjoy, whose Limit probably would be a Burton Holmes Lecture or a rollicking Afternoon at the Tea Shop.

Madeleine saw that she was down to Class B and would have to make an immediate Demonstration of Form to avoid being permanently Benched or sent back to the Bush League.

Consequently, as soon as she found herself in the Main Drawing Room among the Ruperts and Rosalinds, she began to break Furniture and do Head-Spins on the Bokharas. Thereupon she was elected a full Sister of the gladsome Bunch known as the Young Married Set.

She sent Home for all of her Things and more Coin and applied for an advanced Degree in the Grand Lodge of the Knights and Ladies of Insomnia.

In one month she had entirely remodeled her Figure and landscaped her Hair into a new Design and carefully picked each broad Western "R" out of her Vocabulary, and she could walk right up to a French Bill of Fare without the quiver of an Eye-Lash. Also she could hand out that Dear Boy line of Polite Guff to all of those rugged and self-made Bucks who get back to Earth every day at 5 P. M. and begin calling feebly for Barbers and Masseurs and Manicures and Nerve Specialists and Barkeeps.

She learned that Rough House lost all Social Stigma if pulled off at 2 A. M. in a Private Resort with a Striped Awning in front and a Carpet leading down to the Landing Stage.

Her Folks kept writing her to come back Home because the Ladies of the Guild were about to have a Bazaar, but she Stalled as long as she could, and when she finally packed up the Wardrobe Trunks and the eight kinds of Massage Cream, she extracted a promise from Cousin and several other Desperate Characters that they would come out into the Wilderness and give the Rummies a Touch of High Life.

It was the first time that Madeleine had spread her Wings and hit the rarified Strata. For a Beginner she was there with the Spread. She made the American Eagle look like an English Sparrow.

As soon as she arrived back in Sleepy Hollow she began to turn the Old Family Residence upside down and get it stocked up, just like a Club, for the Hot Babies from the Metropolis.

The Real Things arrived on a Special Car with their Hats down over their Ears and were more or less obscured by Dogs and English Help and Cigarette Smoke. As they rode up Main street there was a Pale Face at every Window. Just as the Parade passed the High School, the tall Smoke-Stack over at the Hominy Mills fell with a Loud Crash.

That Afternoon there was a smell of Moth Balls in many a Refined Home, for all who had learned to take Soup from the side of the Spoon were under Royal Command to come up and get a private Peek at the imported Gentry.

It was to be a Dinner followed by a Small Dance. If it had been a full-sized Affair, no doubt Father would now be working by the Day.

Instead of the customary 3 Carnations and 1 Maiden-Hair Fern gracing the center of the Board, the terrified Guests saw a Wagon-Load of tropical Bloom which pleased them very much as soon as each had secreted a new kind of Cocktail, served in a Goblet, with a Stick of Dynamite substituted for the Olive.

The Orchestra did a lot of those "Oh! Oh!" Rags, while strange Foods kept descending to the Table and a Special Corps of waiters tried to give an Imitation of the Johnstown Flood.

Conversation became epidemic and many Local Characters who had remained in Obscurity for Years came out of their Pods and began to hop about and sing in the Sunlight.

Members of the Married Woman's Safety League were hanging out Signs of Distress and trying to give Warning Signals, but Madeleine would not permit them to crab her Little Party. She wanted to show the Boobs just how these Recherche Functions are stage-managed in Upper Circles.

Accordingly they all felt their Way to the Front Room, where they Found awaiting them a Bowl of Artillery Punch about the size of Lake Erie, and no more Harm in a full Bumper than there is in a Rattle-Snake.

Madeleine headed off a Two-Step and told Friends and Neighbors to sit back close to the Wall with a Piece of Ice in each Hand and get Wise to the latest Stuff.

The She and her Friends pinned up their Garments and put Resin on their Hands and cut loose. They did the Grizzly Bear and the Mountain Goat and the Turkey Trot and the Bunny Hug and the Kangaroo Flop and the Duck Waddle and the Giraffe Jump and the Rhinoceros Roll and the Walrus Wiggle and the Crocodile Splash and the Apache and the Comanche and the Bowery Twist and the Hula Hula Glide, etc., etc., etc.

The Fire Department began carrying out Bodies at 12:30 A. M.. Some of the Survivors were hurrying Home through the Alleys, wondering if they could fix up Alibis. At Daybreak many Prominent Citizens were found Miles from their Homes wandering aimlessly in Roadways and shouting, "Take it away!"

Next afternoon the Male Parent of Madeleine crawled out from under the Wreckage and said to his Only Daughter: "You are too Progressive for us Farmers. Take your Trained Troupe of Society Acrobats and get out of Town. The White Caps are now gathering in the Outskirts."

Madeleine simply retorted that the Dances were being done in the most Exclusive Homes.

An Exclusive Home is one from which the Police are Excluded.

Of course she never dared to return to her Birthplace after this Scandalous Performance.

She had to remain in the Cruel City as the free and unrestricted Wife of a Cotillion Leader with an Income of $22.00 a Minute.

MORAL: The Pioneer must ever brave Hardships.

EVERYBODY'S FRIEND AND THE LINE BUCKER

In a sequestered Dump lived two Urchins, Edgar and Rufus, who went to the Post with about an equal Handicap.

They got away together down the broad Avenue of Hope which leads one Lad over the hills and far away to the United States Senate Chamber and guides another unerringly to the Federal Pen near Leavenworth, Kansas.

When Edgar was a Tootsey he received a frequent dusting with Extreme Violet Talcum Powder.

About the same time Rufus was propped up to look at Pictures of Napoleon and John L. Sullivan and Sitting Bull.

At School each was a trifle Dumb.

If Edgar fell down on an Exam, his Relatives would call a Mass Meeting to express Regrets and hang Crape all over the Place.

If Rufus got balled up in his Answers, his immediate Kin would pat him on the Back and tell him he was right and the Text-Book was wrong.

Edgar would emerge from the Feathers every morning to find his Parents all lined up to wish him a new set of Police Regulations.

They held up the Rigid Forefinger and warned him that he was merely a Grain of Dust and a Weakling and a poor juvenile Mutt whose Mission in Life was to Lie Down and Behave.

Rufus would be aroused each Sunrise by a full Military Band of 60 Pieces playing "Hail to the Chief who in Triumph Advances."

Whenever Edgar was forced into a Battle and came home smeared and disarranged, his Mother would go to her Room and Cry softly and Father would paint a vivid Word-Picture of a Wretch standing on the Gallows with a Black Cap over his Head.

Then Edgar would crawl to the Hay Mow and brood over his Moral Infirmities and try in a groping way to figure out his Relation to Things in General.

But, when Rufus appeared all dripping with Gore, his Seconds would cool him out and rub him with Witch Hazel and pin Medals on him.

No wonder he became as pugnacious as U. S. Grant, as conceited as a Successful Business Man and as self-assured as a Chautauqua Lecturer.

Every one disliked him intensely. But just the same, they stepped off into the Mud and gave him the entire double width of the Cement Sidewalk.

Edgar, on the other hand, was one of the most popular Door-Mats that ever had "Welcome" marked up and down his Spinal Column.

All those who scratched Matches on him and used him as a Combination Hall-Tree and Hitching Post used to remark that he didn't have an Enemy in the World.

They had corralled his Goat, so he had to play the Part himself.

It had been dinged into him that True Politeness means to wait until every one else has been Served and then murmur a few Thanks for the Leavings.

Besides, his Parents had convinced him that if he went Fishing he wouldn't get a Nibble, and if he climbed a Tree he would fall and break his Leg, and if he tried to manipulate more than Two Dollars at one time, he would go Blind.

Therefore, when both were in College, Rufus acted as plunging Half- Back, with Blue Smoke coming from his Nostrils, and achieved the undying Distinction of being singled out by Walter Camp.

Edgar sat up on the Bleachers with 2,000 other Mere Students and lent a quavering Tenor to a Song about Alma Mater.

Even the Undergrads could not take the Tuck out of Rufus.

He was fresher than Green Paint and his Work was Raw, but he was so Resilient that no one could pin him to the Mat and keep him there.

When a Boy has been told 877 times a Day for many Years that he is the Principal Feature of the Landscape, it takes more than an ordinary Doctoring to Cure him.

He left College thoroughly convinced that the World was his Oyster and he had an Opener in every Pocket.

He began grabbing Public Service Utilities by Strong-Arm methods, whereupon a lot of Uplifters became excited and wanted some one else to head him off.

He put things Across because when he tucked the Ball under his Arm and began to dig for the Goal of his Immediate Ambition all the Friends of Public Weal were scared Blue and retired behind the Ropes.

Edgar took his Degree out into the Cold World and began to make apologetic Inquiries regarding Humble Employment which would involve no Responsibilities.

He became an Office Lawyer of the dull gray Variety with a special Aptitude for drawing up Leases and examining Abstracts.

He could not face a Jury or fight a Case because the fond Parents had put the Sign on him and robbed him of all his Gimp.

But a Nice Fellow?

You know it.

Any one who had a Book to sell, or a Petition to be signed, or a Note that needed endorsing came dashing right into Edgar's Office and hailed him as the Champion Patsy.

Not one of these ever ventured into the Lair of the Street Railway Czar, for he knew that Rufus might jump over the Mahogany Table and bite him in the Arm.

Even Edgar, when he made a Business Call on Boyhood Friend and loving Classmate, was permitted to wait in the Outer Room, resting his Hat on his knees, and mingling on terms of Equality with the modish Typist and the scornful Secretary.

And when they went away to look at some Properties, Rufus took the Stateroom while Edgar drew an Upper.

Every one at the Club referred to Edgar as a Good Old Scout, but when all the Push gathered at the Round Table and some one let fall the Name of the High-Binder, they would open up on Rufus and Pan him to a Whisper.

Then Rufus would enter in his Fur Coat, upsetting Furniture and Servants as he swept through the Lounging Room.

Immediately there would be an Epidemic of Goose Pimples and a Rush to shake hands with him.

Rufus was sinfully Rich, but nevertheless Detestable, because his Family had drilled into him the low-down Habit of getting the Jump on the Other Fellow.

Edgar may live in a Rented House, but he will always have the inward Satisfaction of knowing that he is a sweet and courteous Gentleman with Pink Underwear, and a Masonic Charm on his Watch Chain.

When Edgar answers the Call, the Preacher will speak briefly from the Text, "Blessed are the Meek."

If the Death Angel succeeds in pulling down Rufus, the same Minister will find a suggestion for his Remarks in those inspiring Words, "I have fought the Good Fight."

MORAL: The Scrapper is seldom beloved, but he gets a Run for his Ticket.

THE THROUGH TRAIN

Two High School Heliotropes named Lib and Angie were very Thick.

Each Girl kept a Nightie at the Other Girl's House and, long after they had retired, the Inmates would hear smothered Giggles, interspersed with Fragments of what He said to Her and what She said to Him.

The Period of their Adolescence was about 20 years ago, when Romance was still alive and Knighthood was in Flower around every Dancing Academy west of Pittsburgh.

The two Chums had made a Pact. They were to be Friends for ever and ever and ever and neither was to hold out anything from the other.

Each carried in a Locket a Four-Leaf Clover presented by One to whom she had bared her Soul.

After supplementing the Graded Schools with a full course of Mrs. Southworth and learning to play "The Battle of Prague" on the Melodeon, naught remained for them in the way of passionate Diversion except to go ahead and get Married.

They waited three years for the Fairy Prince of their Dreams to come clattering down Main Street in his Coach all White and Gold, and then began to mistrust the Schedule. So they effected the usual Compromise, falling gracefully into the awkward Embraces of two cornfed Lizards named Otis and Wilbur.

In the Shake-off it befell that Angie got Wilbur and Lib drew Otis. The two Brides were somewhat envied, as Wilbur was a Good-Looker with raven Pompadour and large snappy eyes, while Otis was supposed to possess the Faculty of copping the Mazume.

However, the purpose of this Fable is to indicate that each Gal found out too late that she had Dutched her Book and backed into the wrong Paddock.

Fate separated the Young Couples and many a Full Moon deflated itself before Lib and Angie had another chance to get away by themselves and fill up on Oolong and cautiously exhibit their Wounds.

Wilbur was a Hustler who lacked Terminal Facilities. He was full of St. Vitus Activity and was always transferring a lot of Papers from one Pocket to another and getting ready to invest Capital in some Megatherian Enterprise paying 20 per cent. per Annum, but somehow he never Arrived.

While negotiating for a Rubber Plantation in Yucatan he would hear about Two Million Acres waiting to be Irrigated in Colorado, but before he could turn on the Water he would be lured away by the Prospect of developing some Monte Carlo Proposition up in the Mesaba Range.

In the meantime he wore Celluloid Collars and owed for every round Steak that he had carried home during the preceding Five Years.

Otis, on the Other Hand, played nothing but Cinches. He was out for the Pastry. It was not his Fault if the Widows and Orphans who invested on his Tips all wound up as Department Store Employees.

He double-crossed his Partners and whip-sawed his Customers and bluffed the Courts and bullied his way into the Strongholds of Finance.

While the U. S. Grand Jury would be in Session, trying to get him with the Goods, he would be motoring in Normandy and tossing Showers of Silver to the Peasantry.

Do not mistrust the Tale, for every Buccaneer from Broad Street, N. Y., to the St. Francis Bar at the Golden Gate, was once a Poor Boy with Store Clothes on his Back and Grand Larceny in his Heart.

When Angie went to visit Lib, after the Lapse of Many Years, you can Gamble that they had Some Talk to unload.

Angie carried a Wicker Suit-Case costing $1.98 and her General Get-Up was that of the Honest Creature who may be found in any Hotel Corridor at 2 A. M. massaging the Mosaic Floor with a Hot Cloth.

"Get me!" said Wilbur's wife, dropping wearily to a Divan in the Style of Louis Quatorze. "Pipe the Lid! It is a 1906 Model and the Aigrette is made of Broom Straw. Take a Peek at the shine Tailor-Made and the Paper Shoes. Ever since they wished that False Alarm on to me I have been giving a correct Imitation of Lizzie the Honest Working Girl. Each Evening he comes home to give me a Sweet Kiss and promises me a Trip to Europe and a Set of Gray Squirrels, and next Morning, when I get up to remove the Oatmeal from the Fireless Cooker, I find on the Back Porch a large Rough-neck in a Sweater who has come to shut off the Gas or take away the Parlor Furniture. Then I think of You, with your Closets hanging full of fluffy Frocks and your Man rushing in every few Minutes to slap you in the Face with a Hundred Dollar Bill. You can take it from me, Dearie, I would jump the whole Game were it not for the Children. I have put in my whole Life trying to realize something on a Promissory Note that was a Bloomer to begin with. He has kidded me along ever since the World's Fair at Chicago, feeding me on Canned Stuff and showing me pictures of Electric Runabouts and Country Places on Long Island. In the Meantime I am playing in Great Luck if I can get a Trolley Car to Stop for me."

At this point the Wife of Otis arose and, pulling the rose-colored Silk Wrapper more closely about her made-to-order Form, interrupted with an Imperious Gesture.

"Back up, Angie!" she exclaimed. "You should be a Happy Woman. You have your Husband's Love and you have your Children, both of which are denied a Woman of my Assured Position in the Two Minute Class of the Terrible Spenders. Talk about Hardships! Do you know what it is to lead the Grand March, surrounded by 800 Assegai-Throwers, Harpooners and Cannibal Queens, who are pointing you out as the Wife of the Malefactor who is about to the Tried in the Federal Courts! Did you ever Stagger around all Evening with $100,000 worth of Tiffany Merchandise fastened on to you--expecting every Minute to be hit in the Coiffure by some Raffles? Did you ever, during a Formal Dinner, hear the Door Bell tinkle and find in the Hallway a Reporter from a Morning Paper who wishes to ask your Husband if he denies his Guilt or can give any Reason why Sentence of Death should not be passed upon him? Are you Wise to the Fact that the Wife of a Successful Business Man now occupies a Niche in the Hall of Fame right next to the Sister of Jesse James? You are in Great Luck. No one takes a Shot at a Failure."

Having arrived at this cordial Understanding, each leaned against the other and had a Good Cry, after which they chircked up and paid a lot of Attention to a well-preserved Bachelor who dropped in to get warm and take a slight Fall out of the Side-Board.

MORAL: When Wealth walks in the Door, the Press Agent comes in through the Window.

THE LONG AND LONESOME RIDE

One pleasant morning the President of the Society for Promoting the Importation of Scotch Merchandise awoke after a Balloon Voyage which began 6 Feet below Sea Level in a Rathskeller and finished 2,000 feet above the Altitude recorded by Lincoln Beachey, the Man-Bird.

When he Came To he discovered that the Pillow had climbed over on top of him and was trying to work the Half-Nelson, while a large Pile- Driver was beating a rhythmical Tattoo on the tender Bean.

He had a Temperature of 102 and his Ears were hanging down. Also, during the Period of Coma some one had extracted the Eyes and substituted two hot Door-Knobs.

After he had decanted a miniature Niagara on to the smoking Coppers and removed his Collar, he felt his way over to the window and denounced in unmeasured Terms an English Sparrow that had perched on the Sill, merely to annoy him.

In a little while he remembered that he was a Resident of the Planet known as Earth. Soon after that his Name came back to him and then he recalled his Boyhood and the Fact that when he passed the Parsonage the Presbyterian Minister would ask him to pick some of the Lilacs and Snowballs and take them home to his Sister Alice.

From that Point he groped through his Life History up to the Twilight on which the Regulars had arranged a Send-Off for Old Buck, who was pulling out for Seattle. In order that Buck should remember them as True Friends, they had covertly planned to get him Saturated to the Eye-Balls and then ship him on to his new Home, spread out in Stateroom B, with long-stemmed Roses laid across the Remains. This form of homicidal Gayety is perpetuated under the name of American Hospitality.

Our Hero remembered the polite Get-away on the Low Speed with everybody Respectable, after which the Fountains started to gush and Waiters began to come up out of the Ground bearing Fairy Gifts of a Liquid Variety. Somewhat later in the Evening he found himself balanced on one Toe on a swiftly-moving Cloud, announcing to the Stars of Night that he was a True Sport.

In other words, he realized, as he sat humped over in the Morris Chair, holding on to the Head, lest it should fall off and roll across the floor, that he had been Snooted for Fair, Plastered, Ossified, Benzoated, Piped, Pickled, Spifficated, Corned, Raddled, Obfuscated, Soused and Ory-Eyed.

Six hours before, he had stood on a Table and declared for the Brotherhood of Man, and now he craved but one Companion and that was old Colonel R. E. Morse.

Standing over in the Sunlight by the Window, where he could see the innocent Shop-Girls going blithely to their $6 a week, he lifted the trembling Right Mitt clear above his Head and then and there declared himself to be on the Cart until the great Celestial Bodies should skid in their Orbits and the Globe itself dissolve into Vapor.

Just as he pronounced the Words, "nev-ER A-gen," he felt a great Flood of worthy Resolutions arising in his new Moral Nature. He would buy a Winchester Automatic and devote the remainder of his wasted Life to shooting up Barkeeps. And when he died, the whole Estate would go to the W. C. T. U.

Just after he had double-strapped himself to the Wagon and started up Seltzer Avenue, he realized that an immediate Absinthe Frappe would be worth $15,000 to him, but instead of ordering one, he resolved to write Doc Wiley a Letter advising him that while he was putting the Nixey Mark on that Green Magoo he should include all other Colors bestowed upon the Essence of Tribulation.

That afternoon the Survivors of the Midnight Massacre got together at a Club to compare Hang-Overs and find out what had happened after the Roof fell in.

Our Hero appeared just as the Boy was getting ready to throw a Life Line. He was greeted with a ribald Shout and told to come running and Save Himself.

The Moment had arrived for him to be a Man. Surrounded by Ice and Squirters and Mixing Spoons and Orange Peel and Jiggers and Jaggers, he drew himself together and made the Announcement.

For a Moment they were stunned by the Impact and then every Son of Peoria leaned back and let out a Yowl. To think that a real up-to-date Fellow would pull any of that Old Stuff! A puny Mortal trying to get a Toe-Hold on the Demon!

They told him to forget it and quit his Spoofing and remove his Overshoes and ease a couple of Gills into his Reservoir and try to be a Human Being, however painful the Effort.

He came back with a few Gems from the Family Medicine Book about the Effect of the Accursed Stuff on various Organs. He did not propose to feed himself anything that would cut the Varnish off of Wood-Work. The Hard Stuff had passed out of his Life.

The Cackles died away and were succeeded by looks of Blank Dismay. They saw that one whom they had long regarded as a reliable bench- working Union Lush had turned in his Card and deliberately made himself an Outcast.

They saw him order Vichy and go to it as if it were a Beverage, and then they tore up his Credentials and burned his Photograph and told him to go out to a 3-days Cure and take a Hypodermic of Hot Mush.

He sat back and pulled the Grim Smile which Savanarola wore when they piled the Fagots around him. He was a Martyr and proud of his Job. By the same Token there is no Brand of Rectitude that grades so pure and spotless as that exhibited by the disinfected Dove who has not touched a Drop for nearly 24 hours.

They saw him go home with a Magazine under his Arm, and then they sat around until all Hours, lapping it up and progging his Finish. They said he never would last a Week, and when the Fell it would be Some Splash.

They began to issue daily Bulletins and watched the Case with much Anxiety because they really liked the Old Scout in spite of his Eccentricities. When they learned, at the End of a Week, that he had played Buttermilk to a Standstill all up and down the Quick Lunch Circuit and was at his Desk every Morning with his Face clean and a Flower in his Coat, they called a Meeting of the Vigilantes and decided that the Joke had been carried far enough.

In the meantime, Our Hero had learned two new kinds of Solitaire and began to call around for a Dish of Tea with some distant Female Relatives who had long supposed him Dead. Along about the Cocktail Hour he would find himself sitting first in one Chair and then in another, but he Cashed big every Morning when he awoke and found that Henry Katzenjammer was not sitting on the Foot-Board making Faces at him.

Only, sometimes he would stop on a Corner and look all about him and up at the Buildings and wonder if the Town had always been as Quiet as at Present.

After he had stuck for a Fortnight, the desperate Envoys from the Indian Camp went after him for Keeps. They held it in front of him and splashed it on his Clothes and begged him to step aboard with them and go right up to the 18th Floor.

Probably if they had let him alone he would have come sneaking back into the Reservation to watch the red Whirligigs and pick a few of those Night-Blooming Martinis, but when they tried to Stampede him, the old New England Stock asserted itself; so he substituted Rivets for Straps.

He is now the honored Associate of those who play Cribbage in their own Homes and eat Apples before turning in. But if you want to get a Line on his Real Character, just ask the Wet Brothers. They will tell you that he wasn't there with the Strength of Character, so he simply sank out of sight.

MORAL: The Way of the Ex-Transgressor is Hard.

OUT OF CLASS B INTO THE KING ROW

Once there was a side street Quartet consisting of Papa and Mamma and Gordon and Ethel.

The ostensible Stroke Oar of this Domestic Combination was a Graduate of one of those Towns in which the Occidental Hotel faces the Depot and all Trains are met by a Popular Drayman wearing a Black Sweater.

When he elbowed his Way into the City, years before, his Assets consisted of a Paper Valise, a few home-laundered Garments and a small Volume telling how to win at Cards.

In the refined Home where he obtained his Liver and Macaroni paved with Cheese, he met the daughter of the Household. When there was a Rush she would sometimes put on all of her Rings and help wait on the Table, although her Star Specialty was to get the Stool at the right Elevation and tear the Vital Organs out of "Pansy Blossom" and "White Wings."

The young Shipping Clerk used to fly to his Kennel and get himself all Gussied up and then edge into the Parlor and turn the Music for Miss Livingstone, who looked to him like Lily Langtry and sounded like Adelina Patti.

They went to Housekeeping in a stingy Flat with a Bed that could be stood on End during the Daytime and made to resemble a Book-Case, also a Plaster-of-Paris Lion on the Mantel.

About the time Gordon was first tethered on the Fire-Escape, the Provider got a Taste of Soft Collateral and began to wear Gold Bracelets on his Cigars.

When Ethel was large enough to take into the Park, the Graft had developed until the whole Outfit moved to an Apartment where Goods had to be delivered in the Rear. Mother began to use Hacks which were not numbered.

So they went along for Years, riding on L Trains, calling up the Janitor to ask for more Heat, trying to find a good Maid, and experimenting with new Cereals, all of these Romantic Adventures combining to make what is known as City Life.

They were simply four scrambling Units in the Great Ant-Hill; four tiny Tadpoles in the great Schools that wiggled up and down the main Thoroughfares. It seemed that their only Chance to make an Impression on the huge and callous City was to die and then hold up a line of Street Cars while the Hearse and the five Carriages moved slowly in the direction of Calvary.

But Destiny had them spotted.

Father was very busy trying to run a Shoe String up to a National Bank. He would rush into his Office and open the Desk and push Buttons and send Hurry-Up Wires and dictate Letters to trembling Myrtle with the Small Waist and keep People waiting outside, just like the Whales who control the Sugar Trust.

He had a Front like the new Pennsylvania Station and the soft Personal Attributes of a Numidian Lion.

When he was sued in the Courts by a Victim who wanted a final look at his Money, the Reporters came around and he was so stiff-necked and defiant that all of them referred to him as the Millionaire Promoter.

It was easier to be this kind of a Millionaire than stand for a Search. Every Office Building is coagulated with Millionaires who never will be Caught until the Tin Box is opened in the Probate Court. Then the Widow will get ready to take Boarders.

As soon as Father was bawled out as a Millionaire, it was up to Mother to join a new kind of Club and have a Handle put on her Eye-Glasses. She would practise in her room for Hours at a time, gripping the Rocking Chair with both Hands and trying to get the real Bostonian sound of "A" as in Lard.

Her efforts were not in Vain, for one Day when the Club Meeting broke up, with the Lady President throwing Fits and a Copper guarding the Ballot Box, the principal Insurgent was mentioned in the Public Prints as a Popular Society Matron and Leader in the New Movement among Women. They had to call her that or the Story of her shooting the Ink-Stand at the Recording Secretary would not have been worth playing up on the First Page.

It was a proud Morning for Gordon and Ethel when they saw all the Pictures and learned that they were the immediate Descendants of the Millionaire Promoter and the Popular Society Matron.

Gordon found himself endowed with a Social Status which enabled him, at the Age of 23, to gain admission to an exclusive Club of 3,000 Members, the object of which was to serve a 40-cent Table d'Hote every Noon to as many as were willing to take a Chance.

Therefore, when he was yanked out of his 6-cylinder Car and stood up before the Magistrate, charged with smearing up the Boulevard with the Working Classes, the whole Reading Public was thrilled to hear of what had happened to a Well-Known Clubman whose Father was a Millionaire Promoter and whose Mother was a Popular Society Matron.

By this time Ethel was merely a Relation.

She had not come across in any Particular.

As a matter of Fact, she was not pulling down any Ribbons at Beauty Shows, and toed in when she walked.

However, she was not discouraged. She eloped with a Chauffeur employed in an 8-car Garage and next Day she was a Beautiful Heiress whose Brother was a Well-Known Man about Town, the Mother being very prominent in Club Work and remembered as the Wife of the Millionaire Promoter.

After all this came out, Father still had between $3,000 and $4,000 and the whole Family, including the Chauffeur, sat down to Prunes every Morning.

But they were very Happy, for they were recognized in almost every Cafe and their Relatives in the East were sending Christmas Cards.

MORAL: Some achieve Greatness and others have it Rubbed in.

THE BOY WHO WAS TOLD

Once there was a Boy who had been told twice a Day ever since he could remember that if he started to go into one of those Doggeries with swinging Doors in front and Mirrors along the Side, a Blue Flame would shoot out and burn him to a Cinder.

Also he had been warned that every Playing Card in the whole Deck was a Complimentary Ticket admitting one to a Hot Griddle in the Main Parquette of the Fiery Furnace.

And every little Paper Cigar was another Spike in the Burial Casket.

With seven or eight Guardians trailing him Day and Night to keep him away from the Lures of the Wicked World it looked like a Pipe that he would grow up to be the Dean of a Theological Seminary.

Across the Street lived a poor unfortunate Lad whose Father was making the Futile Endeavor to take it away faster than the Revenue Officers could put Stamps on it. He was the original Blotter. When they were trying to pry him away from it, he would take a chance on anything from Arnica to Extract of Vanilla.

According to all the Laws of Heredity the only Son was cast for the Part of Joe Morgan.

He is now the Head of a Mail-Order House. When he sees a Corkscrew he pulls his Hat firmly over his Ears and runs a Mile.

The Graduate of the Lecture Bureau may be found in a swagger Club any evening with a Bourbon H. B. at his Right, a stack of Student Lamps at his Left and Two Small Pair pressed closely against his Bosom.

MORAL: The Modern Ambition seems to be to vary the Program.

THE NIGHT GIVEN OVER TO REVELRY

All those who had Done Time at a certain endowed Institution for shaping and polishing Highbrows had to close in once a Year for a Banquet. They called it a Banquet because it would have been a Joke to call it a Dinner.

The Invitations looked like real Type-Writing and called upon all the Loyal Sons of Old Bohunkus to dig up 3 Sesterces and get ready for a Big Night.

To insure a Riot of spontaneous Gaiety the following Organization was effected:

Committee on Invitation. Committee on Reception. Committee on Lights and Music. Committee on Speakers. Committee on Decorations. Committee on Police Protection. Committee on First Aid to Injured. Committee on Maynew. Committee on Liquid Nourishment.

Each Committee held numerous Meetings, at the Call of the Chairman, and discussed the impeding Festivities with that solemn regard for piffling Detail which marked the Peace Conference at The Hague.

The Frolic was to be perpetrated at a Hotel famous for the number of Electric Lights.

The Hour was to be 6:30, Sharp, so that by 6:45, four old Grads, with variegated Belshazzars, were massed together in the Egyptian Room trying to fix the Date upon which Doctor Milo Lobsquosset became Emeritus Professor of Saracenic Phlobotomy.

Along about 7:30, a Sub-Committee wearing Satin Badges was sent downstairs to round up some recent Alumni who were trying to get a Running Start, and at 7:45 a second Detachment was sent out to find the Rescue Party.

Finally at 8 o'clock the glad Throng moved into the Main Banquet Hall, which was a snug Apartment about the size of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, done in Gold and various shades of Pink, to approximate the Chambermaid's Dream of Paradise. The style of Ornamentation was that which precipitated the French Revolution.

Beside each Plate was a blond Decoction named in honor of the Martini Rifle, which is guaranteed to kill at a Distance of 2,000 Yards. The compounding had been done in a Churn early that morning and the Temperature was that of the Room, in compliance with the Dictates of Fashion.

Those who partook of the Hemlock were given Courage to battle with the Oysters. These came in Sextettes, wearing a slight Ptomaine Pallor. On the 20th Proximo they had said good-bye to their Friends in Baltimore and for Hours they had been lying naked and choked with thirst in their little Canoes and now they were to enter the great Unknown, without pity from the Votaries of Pleasure.

Luckily the Consomme was not hot enough to scald the Thumbs of the jovial Stevedores who had been brought in as Extras, so the Feast proceeded merrily, many of the Participants devoting their spare Moments to bobbing for Olives or pulling the Twine out of the Celery.

The Fish had a French Name, having been in the Cold Storage Bastile for so long. Each Portion wore a heavy Suit of Armor, was surrounded by Library Paste and served as a Tee for two Golf Balls billed as Pommes de Terre.

It was a regular Ban-quet, so, there was not getting away from Filet de Biff aux Champignons. It was brought on merely to show what an American Cook with a Lumber-Camp Training could do to a plain slice of Steer after reading a Book written by a Chef.

Next, in accordance with honored Traditions, a half-melted Snowball impregnated with Eau de Quinine.

Just about the time that the White Vinegar gave way to the Aniline Dye, a nut headed Swozzie, who could get into Matteawan without Credentials, moved down the Line of Distinguished Guests asking for Autographs. His Example was followed by 150 other Shropshires, so that for the next 30 Minutes the Festal Chamber resembled the Auditing Department of a large Mercantile Establishment.

During this Period, the Department of Geology in the University was honored by the appearance of a genuine petrified Quail. And the Head Lettuce carried the Personal Guarantee of the Goodyear Rubber Co.

Between the Rainbow Ice Cream and the Calcareous Fromage, a member of the class of '08, who could not Sing, arose and did so.

Then each Guest had to take a Tablespoonful of Cafe Noir and two Cigars selected by a former Student who had promised his Mother never to use Tobacco.

It was now 10 o'clock and time to go Home. Those who had started to tune up along in the Afternoon were dying on the Vine. Others, who had tried to catch even on the $3 Ticket, felt as if they had been loaded with Pig Iron. Up at the Long Table enough Speakers to supply a Chautauqua Circuit were feeling of themselves to make sure that the Manuscript had not been lost. Each thought that he was the Orator of the Evening.

The Committee had put on the Toast Program every one who might possibly take Offense at not being Asked.

Also they had selected as Toastmaster a beaming Broncho whose Vocal Chords were made of seasoned Moose-Hide and who remembered all the black-face Gravy that Billy Rice used to lam across to Lew Benedict when Niblo's Garden was first opened.

After every 30-minute Address he would spend ten minutes in polite kidding of the Last Speaker and then another 10 Minutes in climbing a Mountain Height from which to present the Next Speaker.