_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ SLIM GIRL _WHO_ TRIED _TO_ KEEP _A_ DATE _THAT WAS_
NEVER MADE
Once upon a Time there was a slim Girl with a Forehead which was Shiny
and Protuberant, like a Bartlett Pear. When asked to put Something in an
Autograph Album she invariably wrote the Following, in a tall,
dislocated Back-Hand:
"Life is Real; life is Earnest,
And the Grave is not its Goal."
That's the kind of a Girl she was.
In her own Town she had the Name of being a Cold Proposition, but that
was because the Primitive Yokels of a One-Night Stand could not Attune
Themselves to the Views of one who was troubled with Ideals. Her Soul
Panted for the Higher Life.
Alas, the Rube Town in which she Hung Forth was given over to Croquet,
Mush and Milk Sociables, a lodge of Elks and two married Preachers who
doctored for the Tonsilitis. So what could the Poor Girl do?
In all the Country around there was not a Man who came up to her Plans
and Specifications for a Husband. Neither was there any Man who had any
time for Her. So she led a lonely Life, dreaming of the One--the Ideal.
He was a big and pensive Literary Man, wearing a Prince Albert coat, a
neat Derby Hat and godlike Whiskers. When He came he would enfold Her
in his Arms and whisper Emerson's Essays to her.
[Illustration: COLD PROPOSITION]
But the Party failed to show up.
Often enough she put on her Chip Hat and her Black Lisle Gloves and
Sauntered down to look at the Gang sitting in front of the Occidental
Hotel, hoping that the Real Thing would be there. But she always saw the
same old line of Four-Flush Drummers from Chicago and St. Louis, smoking
Horrid Cigars and talking about the Percentages of the League Teams.
She knew that these Gross Creatures were not prone to chase mere
Intellectual Splendor, so she made no effort to Flag them.
[Illustration: FOUR-FLUSH DRUMMER]
When she was Thirty-Four years of age and was able to recite "Lucile"
without looking at the Book she was Married to a Janitor of the name
of Ernest. He had been kicked in the Head by a Mule when young and
believed everything he read in the Sunday Papers. His pay was
Twenty-Three a month, which was high, if you knew Ernest.
His Wife wore a red Mother Hubbard all during the Remainder of her Life.
This is invariably a Sign of Blasted Hopes.
MORAL: _Never Live in a Jay Town_.
_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ NEW YORK PERSON _WHO_ GAVE _THE_ STAGE FRIGHT _TO_
FOSTORIA, OHIO
A New York man went to visit a Cousin in the Far West.
The name of the Town was Fostoria, Ohio.
When he came into Town he had his Watch-Chain on the outside of his
Coat, and his Pink Spats were the first ever seen in Fostoria.
"Have you a Manicure Parlor in this Beastly Hole?" asked the New York
Man, as they walked up from the Train.
"What's that?" asked the Cousin, stepping on his own Feet.
"Great Heavens!" exclaimed the New York Man, and was silent for several
Moments.
At Dinner he called for Artichokes, and when told that there were none,
he said, "Oh, very well," in a Tone of Chastened Resignation.
After Dinner he took the Family into the Parlor, and told the Members
how much they would Enjoy going to Weber and Fields'. Seeing a Book on
the Table, he sauntered up to It and said, "Ah, one of Dick Davis'
Things." Later in the Evening he visited the only Club House in Town.
The Local Editor of the Evening Paper was playing Pin-Pool with the
Superintendent of the Trolley Line. When the New York Man came into the
Room, they began to Tremble and fell down on their Shots.
[Illustration: NEW YORK MAN]
The Manager of the Hub and Spoke Factory then asked the New York Man to
have a Drink. The New York Man wondered if a Small Bottle was already
cold. They said Yes, but it was a Lie. The Boy had to go out for it.
He found One that had been in the Window of the Turf Exchange since the
Grand Opening, the Year after Natural Gas was discovered. The New York
Man drank it, remarking that it was hardly as Dry as he usually got it
at Martin's.
The Club Members looked at Him and said Nothing. They thought he meant
Bradley-Martin's.
Next Day the New York Man was Interviewed by the Local Editor. He said
the West had a Great Future. In the Evening he attended the Annual
Dinner of the Bicycle Club, and went Home early because the Man sitting
next to him put Ice in his Claret.
[Illustration: SNAKE CHARMER]
In due time he returned to New York, and Fostoria took off its White
Shirt.
Some Weeks after that, the Cousin of the New York Man had an Opportunity
to visit the Metropolis. He rode on an Extra Ticket with a Stockman who
was shipping three Car-Load of Horses, and got a Free Ticket for every
Car-Load.
When the Cousin arrived at New York he went to the address, and found
the New York Man at Dinner.
There was a Sheaf of Celery on the Table.
Opposite the New York Man sat a Chiropodist who drank.
At his right was a Large Woman in a Flowered Wrapper--she had been
Weeping.
At his left was a Snake-Charmer from Huber's Museum.
The New York Man asked the Cousin to wait Outside, and then explained
that he was stopping there Temporarily. That Evening they went to
Proctor's, and stood during the Performance.
MORAL: _A New York Man never begins to Cut Ice until he is west of
Rahway_.
_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ KID _WHO_ SHIFTED _HIS_ IDEAL
An A.D.T. Kid carrying a Death Message marked "Rush" stopped in front of
a Show Window containing a Picture of James J. Jeffries and began to
weep bitterly.
A kind-hearted Suburbanite happened to be passing along on his Way to
the 5:42 Train. He was carrying a Dog Collar, a Sickle, a Basket of Egg
Plums and a Bicycle Tire.
The Suburbanite saw the A.D.T. Kid in Tears and it struck him that here
was a Bully Chance to act out the Kind-Hearted Pedestrian who is always
played up strong in the Sunday School Stories about Ralph and Edgar.
"Why do you weep?" he asked, peering at the Boy through his
concavo-convex Nose Glasses.
"Oh, gee! I was just Thinking," replied the Urchin, brokenly. "I was
just Thinking what chance have I got to grow up and be the Main Stem,
like Mr. Jeffries."
[Illustration: THE KID]
"What a perverted Ambition!" exclaimed the Suburbanite. "Why do you set
up Mr. Jeffries as an Ideal? Why do you not strive to be like Me? Is it
not worth a Life of Endeavor to command the Love and Respect of a Moral
Settlement on the Outskirts? All the Conductors on our Division speak
pleasantly to Me, and the Gateman has come to know my Name. Last year
I had my Half-Tone in the Village Weekly for the mere Cost of the
Engraving. When we opened Locust avenue from the Cemetery west to
Alexander's Dairy, was I not a Member of the Committee appointed to
present the Petition to the Councilmen? That's what I was! For Six Years
I have been a Member of the League of American Wheelmen and now I am a
Candidate for Director of our new four-hole Golf Club. Also I play Whist
on the Train with a Man who once lived in the same House with T. DeWitt
Talmage."
Hearing these words the A.D.T. Kid ceased weeping and cheerfully
proceeded up an Alley, where he played "Wood Tag."