I’m in trouble again--awful trouble, but this time it’s desperate.
I’ve lost the best pal in the world; I have forfeited the respect
of the whitest white man in Manhattan; I have ruined, blighted,
dynamited, sold out, and Judas-Iscarioted my best friend. I shall
never face him again, never look into his reproachful eyes. I
couldn’t--I couldn’t. It would break me all up; I should crumble
and weep like a maiden. He has forgiven me much, but he will
never, _never_ forgive this. I shall never return unless a scheme
I am looking into here turns out big money and I can come back
proudly, with my wallet cracking, ready to make amends. It’s all
about the pride of Tootles’ heart, the masterpiece which was to
create a new art, to dignify the advertising profession and put
a dress suit into the home of every flat-climber. But first--The
address may surprise you. You’re not as surprised as me; I’ve been
here about five days--I think. Just how I came is also hazy, but
the evidence is I came in a smoker, under a smoker, or on top of
a smoker. Likewise, somewhere up or down the road is a collection
of trunks, boxes, and barrels belonging to me and containing
heaven knows what. I likewise annexed a coon-dog. He is with me.
I admire him because he manages to get several square meals a
day. I don’t know how he does it, but he does. I have named him
Remorse--it’s the way he looks at me. The last city I remember
is Wilmington. I likewise have some faint recollections of a
milkman--a charming fellow, in West Philadelphia.
At any rate, I’m here--until I make enough to get out. I
could take all the money away from these rubes, only there
isn’t any money to take. My best chance is selling a
Wimpheimer & Goldfinch, silklined, pointed cuff, velvet collar,
two-button-and-braid-down-the-trousers dress suit for one week’s
board and ten dollars flat to Jiggstown’s chief of police, who’s
hankering at the chance of a lifetime to wear one but’s afraid of
being REMARKED! Which brings me to the point.
How did I acquire thirty-two dress suits, sizes 38 to 42, 18
white-piqué vests, three winter overcoats, and one golf suit? At
least I did have them, because I’ve got a little paper that tells
me so in my pocket. How it got in my pocket I don’t know. Where
these are at present, I don’t know, with the exception of three
dress suits and a winter ulster that seem to have stuck by me. If
it would only snow I might sell the overcoats and go after the
dress suits. I’ve got two checks for Chattanooga, three for Miami
and one for Oscaloosa. Where I acquired all those trunks, I don’t
know. I suppose the dress suits are in them. I can’t imagine where
else they can be.
It all began so peacefully too. I’d played Wimpheimer & Goldfinch
backward and forward and three times around the corner until
I had them feeding out of my hand. When everything was set,
I hired an open-face dray and tucked the Well-dressed Man in
it--_uncovered_--with a bunch of palms at the head and the foot
and started down Broadway. Say, we gathered a mob about us
that had to be beaten apart! I’d tipped off the reporters--a
few particular friends of mine--that this was something new in
publicity about to be pulled off, and when they saw us floating
down the mob, they began to pull the coat off me to get the inside
story. All I would give them was a bouquet of dark and mysterious
hints. Picture by famous artist, identity profound secret,
fabulous price, every figure supposed to be a close portrait of
some of the swells higher up (which was true--six flights up).
That started them on a fine guessing-bee. Well, when Wimpy and
Goldy looked out the windows and saw what was coming, it was all
off. They wanted to pin a medal on me and take me into the firm.
We set the canvas up in the main showrooms, and business was over
for the day. At this point, there came upon the scene a little
gink by the name of Steinwilly or something close to that name.
“Our purchasing agent,” says Mr. Goldfinch, with his eyes still
bulging at the Well-dressed Man.
“Shall we talk business over a little gentle lunch,” says
Steinwilly pleasantly.
’Course that’s a way they have down there; they think if they buy
you a five-dollar meal you’re going to come down a thousand or
two. So I nodded and we sauntered out.
“Ever try a royal-smile cocktail?” says Steinwilly.
I knew that game, too, but I looked him over and sized up his
capacity, and I said to myself, “Two can play at that.” There’s
where I was wrong--besides it was a hot day. Well, we sat down
and I plumped out my terms. Twelve hundred outright and three
hundred extra if it took on and they ran it another year. I was
figuring on falling back to a flat thousand, you see. Steinwilly
looked terribly distressed at this, but I knew that game, too,
so I proposed another flock of royal smiles. He brightened up at
once--reckon he must have been living on them for the past year.
So we matched, and I won. Then we decided to take in a show, and
we matched for the taxi, and then for the tickets.
“Would you match twelve hundred or nothing for the picture,” he
said smoothly.
“Nothin’ doin’,” I said.
He sort of sized me over and decided to wait a little longer. Now,
I don’t know just exactly what happened after this. I know we
stayed together for a good part of the night, for all I remember
is seeing royal smiles (they’re pink, you know) blooming on every
bar. Whether I left him or he left me, I don’t know. Fact there’s
a good deal I don’t know, or why, or when, or where, but the awful
outstanding fact is Steinwilly and I must have matched and I must
have sold Tootles’ masterpiece for a bunch of dress suits. The
worst of it is: Where are the dress suits? The memorandum I’ve got
is signed “Steinwilly,” and there’s an awful scrawl “per special
agreement” but if I got the dress suits, did I keep them? I don’t
like the appearance of Remorse on the scene. Did I swap a dress
suit for this bandy-legged pup, I wonder? I’ll have to work down
to Chattanooga before I’ll know.
Honest, I’m all broke up--what will Tootles say? I don’t dare
write him.
Chattanooga (later).
There’s no doubt about it--The dress suits are here, most of them.
I met a conductor on the way who greeted me like a long-lost
brother. Seems I paid my fare by contributing one to his beautiful
appearance. I wonder how many more are roaming the sunny South?
Couldn’t work the sheriff in Jiggstown, but as I was eating on
tick, he concluded he’d save money by buying me a railroad ticket
out. Remorse is here with me.
Miami.
Located more dress suits, likewise ran into a traveling man
whom I swapped two dress suits with, for about half a ton of
patent bottle-openers. I found half the dress suits gone and all
kinds of junk in their place, folding tooth-brushes, histories
of the South, etc. Guess I must have gotten into a traveling
man’s convention. Am at work selling out the stock, slow
business--weather against me.
Wonder what I’ll find at Oscaloosa.
Break the news to Tootles, won’t you? The way I’m headed now it
looks as though I’d reach the Arcade via Panama and Japan. Let me
know what really did happen with that body-snatcher Steinwilly.
Honest, I’m sick over it. I shall never, _never_ forgive myself.