Produced by Roger Frank
LETTERS OF THE MOTOR GIRL
BY
ETHELLYN GARDNER
BRILLIANT, THRILLING, STARTLING
The breeziest bunch of letters ever published
Distributed to the trade by
The New England News Co.
14 to 20 Franklin Street
Boston, Mass.
Letters of the Motor Girl
BY
Ethellyn Gardner
Copyright, 1906
By Ethellyn Gardner
Colonial Press
C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A.
LETTERS OF THE MOTOR GIRL
LETTER I
I am fourteen years old to-day, June 17th, 1905. Pa said he hoped I
would live to be at least one hundred, because my Aunt Annie wanted me
to be a boy, so she could name me Jack; she had a beau by that name and
then married him, and he married some one else, so had two wives at
once, and got put in jail. Pa says he's a live wire. I have seen his
picture, but I thought he looked too stupid to get two wives at once. I
would think a man would have to be very smart and step lively to get two
wives at once. Pa says he has stepped over all the good he had in him he
reckons.
I am learning to drive a big touring car, the Franklin, Model G. It's a
cracker jack car, just let me tell you. The manager is the nicest man I
ever saw. He said I looked like Pa--that's why I think he is so nice--my
Pa is the very nicest man I ever saw. Then Levey Cohen comes next to the
Franklin car manager. If you want a good car that can pick up her feet
and fly on the road, you get a Franklin, and you will find that the
finest car made is the Franklin. I am in love with my car. Pa says I
know a whole lot for my age, almost as much as a boy. I am glad I am a
girl, boys are horrid sometimes; they don't like to spend all their
money to buy chocolates for the girls. Ma says Pa sent her a five-pound
box every Sunday. Pa says nearly all boys are good for is to play ball,
and smash windows, and cry, if they have to pay for them. Pa says I will
change my mind when I grow up, but I am not going to grow up. I have
seen Peter Pan, and I like wings, and angel cake, very much indeed. Next
to my Pa, comes chocolates--I like all the good ones. Levey Cohen says I
am a sugar-plum, but Pa says I need a whole lot of sugar yet, to be very
sweet. I told him I knew flies could tell the boys that were sweet,
because some of their mothers put molasses on their hair to keep it
smooth,--Johnnie Alton has lots of flies around his head,--and I wondered
why, so one day I put my finger on his hair when he wasn't looking, and
pressed just a little, and the hair cracked. My, he was mad. He said,
"Cut-it-out," and I said, "Oh, Johnnie, you would look too funny."
Now about my motor car. I took my first lesson of the manager the other
day; he says I will be going up the sides of the houses before long if I
don't look to the wheel more. I like to let the machine go after she
starts. Surely those lights ought to show the way. My, how she will go.
Levey Cohen says I am a nice girl and when I get big he is going to
marry me. Well, I don't think I will get married. Pa says I had better
stick to him and Ma, and, anyway, I am having lots of fun. I went out
alone in my car. I went all right for awhile, but there always comes a
time when a car won't go, and I got that time out in Brookline near Dr.
Jones' house. I went in and telephoned for the manager to come for me--he
came in another car and towed me home. I don't like that. I told Pa I
hoped that car wouldn't lose its breath again, and now in four weeks she
has done fine.
I can't write always every day. I write a whole lot when I feel like it,
then I don't think of it again for weeks. Pa says he nearly died
laughing reading the diary Ma made. I shall give my diary to Levey Cohen
when we are married--I suppose I shall have to marry him some day, just
to prove to him that I don't like him any too well. Pa says that you had
better not marry any one you really care for, then you won't need to
expect to find any letters in their pockets--Pa's pockets are always full
of letters, he never thinks to mail them--and every week Ma and I take
them to the post-office in a bag. When Pa begins to look like a bundle
of straw with a string tied in the middle, Ma will say, "Elsie, it's
mail-time." Sure as you live, Pa says he's a walking post-office, but Ma
says, "Yes, a dead-letter office out of date." Now I will go for a spin
in my car. It's a fine day and the sooner I get started the longer I can
be out, so bye-bye till later on, as we are going to see Barnum's
circus.
* * * * *
Pa and Levey Cohen and Ma and I all went to the circus. Really, it was
very good--we all enjoyed it very much. Ma fed chocolates to the pet
elephant and so did I. Pa and I took in some of the side-shows. What an
awful cheat they are! We saw a sign that read: "Come in and see the
$50,000 Horse, his tail where his head ought to be." We paid our money
and went in, and we saw the wonderful horse turned around in his
stall--true, his head where his tail ought to be. Pa said he knew it was
a big sell, and he laughed; said he would try again. A little further on
we saw another sign that read: "See the wonder Dog--half bear." Pa said
that must be a novelty, so we went in, and saw a big Newfoundland black
dog standing on a box half-shaved close. Pa said, "Which half is bear?"
and the man said, "The half that was shaved, mister." We looked up and
saw a sign that read "Sciddoo!" We did. Pa said Barnum was a smart
man--said he had fooled more people than any one man on earth, but the
best of it all was they were just as eager to be fooled the next year.
Pa says if that law about whiskers gets into force it will be mighty
interesting for some good men like Dr. Parkhurst and Anthony Comstock.
Neither of them poor devils will dare go out, except in the evening, and
then the cop may get them for carrying about nude faces. Pa says it's a
bad place for microbes to settle down in a man's beard. All the wise men
I know goes smooth face and that's the best way, I think. We have a
Frenchman who is our gardener. He can't talk very good English. He told
Pa the other day, speaking of his memory of his childhood, that he could
remember backwards very far. When he tried to harness the horse on our
little farm he said to the horse: "You, good huss, just open your face
now and take in your harness." Pa says, brush away and come to dinner,
so,
So long,
ELSIE.
P. S. Pa says here are some questions that half of the Public are asking
the other half: Question--What is an automobile? Answer--A wagon with big
rubbers on its feet. Name two uses of the automobile? Ans. To run people
down and to run them in. What is the horn used for? Ans. To frighten the
life out of one, so he will stand still and get run over. What's the
difference in running over a dog and a man? Ans. If you run over a dog
it costs you $5, or if a man, 5 years. What is a constable? A man with
the hoe who is too lazy to work, so arrests every man he sees in an
automobile.
Pa says these are all for now.
E.
LETTER II
Well, what do you think! I have been to Atlantic City for the Automobile
races. Had I been older Pa says I could have entered my Franklin car for
the race, but he said "no use for a girl to try," so I just looked on. I
fell in love with Miss Rogers, she is a smart woman, a real
thoroughbred, Pa says. Ma don't dare to drive a car; she is a
'fraid-cat, won't even shoot the shoots at Coney Island. Why, they don't
make anything I wouldn't try! I got old Deacon Weston to ride the flying
horses with me at Coney Island, and the band played "There will be a Hot
Time in the Old Town To-night." Deacon Weston's coat-tails blew out
behind him like the American flag in a gale of wind, and the boys nearly
died to see how hard he held on. It's jolly fun to live! I heard Pa say
Mrs. Pat Campbell and her poodle had solved the joy of living, but I
don't believe she has half the fun I do. Why, I can climb a tree if I
like to. Pa says I shouldn't, else I'll be a tomboy. I don't see how I
can be a tomboy when I am a girl, but Pa says that there are lots of
things you don't learn in school. I like school pretty well, but like
most girls, I am more fond of vacations. In vacation, in summer, we go
to grandpa's in the country, out in Pennsylvania. I stepped on a
bumblebee one day--that is, I tried to, but I didn't step heavy. He saw
my foot coming and it was bare, and he made me dance good, for a little.
I don't think I'll walk in the dewy grass any more in the morning. Pa
told Ma it would keep me always young, and as I don't want to grow up I
just went out to try it, but I believe I will even be willing to wear
long dresses and grow up, if I have to dance to a bumblebee sting; I
don't like the music at all, too much pain in it, for harmony.
My grandma has a pet little cow. Pa says it's a calf, and I got the
pony's harness and put it on the calf, and he didn't like to be a pony
at all. He just kicked and tipped me all over the yard. Ma screamed and
Pa laughed. Pa said, "Let them alone, both those kids are just alike,"
meaning me and the calf. We are better friends than when I first came
here, for he would run when I came in sight, but now he runs to meet me,
'cause he expects me to give him some sugar. He likes it just as well as
my pony does. I often feel sad to think that I can't feed sugar to my
automobile--don't it seem a real shame?--but they are built to live on
electricity or gasoline. I just pity them. Think of not being able to
eat ice-cream and chocolates. My Uncle Smith is coming to see me from
Buffalo. He is the dearest man. He has a camera and the first time I saw
him he had on a brown suit and his camera slung over his shoulder, and
oh, my! but he looked the professional. I was almost scared of him, but
he is a mighty nice man. He has taken lots of pictures of me with my
Franklin car, and he got a snap shot of Deacon Weston on the flying
horses, and I nearly died myself when I saw it. He looked worse than a
scotcher after a highball, Pa said. I never saw a highball, but Pa says
it's a live wire, so I shall keep in the middle of the good path. I
heard a Salvation Army man say that, so it is on the level. Pa says
slang forms too great a part of the present-day conversation, but I
don't think I am any joke, only I know my Pa knows all that is worth
knowing. My Pa is a very wise man for his years--he's been married twice,
and he says two marriages will either make or break a man, depends on
his disposition. Pa says he made a mess of his first marriage, but the
second one was good. I belong to the second house. Pa says a man who is
married twice can learn to manage the worst kind of an automobile. He
says none of them could have more kinks than some women, and do such
unexpected stunts. I guess the man I read about in the automobile
magazine that never swears under any condition has been married twice.
Pa says two marriages will smooth out a man's disposition as nice as a
hot iron will a shirt-bosom. They asked Pa to run for Governor of New
York State; said he could govern anything, but Pa is very modest. He
said his wife didn't like society and he considered her happiness first;
said all men should. Pa knows which side his bread is buttered on, Ma
has all the money I I sang that song one night called "Everybody Works
but Father," and Pa nearly lost his temper. He took it personally to
himself, so for the last few days he gets up at five o'clock and goes up
Commonwealth Ave. with his car and blows his Gabriel horn for all he is
worth all the way. Once I heard him say as he went out: "Yes, everybody
works but Father, do they? Well, I guess they will think Father's
working some to-day."
Isn't life a queer problem? My, I wonder what it all means! Sometimes it
seems like a continuous vaudeville show, then it changes and becomes
serious, clouds and tears, and, oh, dear, I don't understand it at all.
I will try to be a good girl, but being a real Sunday girl isn't any
fun. I think I am a little related to Buster Brown, anyway, I would like
to have his dog. Levey Cohen said he would get him for me, but I thought
Buster would be lonesome, and I have my Pa, and automobile. Why is it
that girls like their Pas so much? I have got a beautiful mother, she is
too handsome and queenly for anything, but I seem to be Pap's own girl.
He says I am the light of his eyes. Pa's as much of a boy as I am, only
he's grown up. He has beautiful brown hair; he isn't bald on the top of
his head. I have always been told when a man is bald-headed it was
because his wife was a tartar and robbed his pockets while he slept, and
pulled his hair out, if he noticed the loss of his money. Pa has plenty
of money. Pa said he settled the money question with Ma's Pa before they
were married; he said all men making second marriages should see about
the financial end of the game. I never knew just how it ended, but I do
know that Pa is considered very swell, and rich, and he says Levey Cohen
has his eyes on his pocketbook, but I don't see how that is, for Pa
never carries it out of the house. It's in the safe in the billiard-room
and Pa has never asked Levey to play billiards because he always calls
in the late afternoon, and Pa always plays billiards at noon, or early
in the day. Pa says the ice man would be as much of a gentleman as an
actor, if he had the free advertising that some of them get. I like
actors because they can be anything they like from a beggar to a king,
and all they do is to put on different clothes. One would think it was
an easy thing to be an actor, but I guess they have their ups and downs;
they are not all kings, but I like some of them tip-top, say, for
instance, Mr. Edmund Breese and Mr. George Coen. All the girls like
them. I heard Pa say that they understood the real act of impersonating
as well as any he knew of on the boards--and the women on the stage are
all fine, that I have seen. I think Elsie Janis is a darling. I just
love her. I would be almost willing to let her marry Levey Cohen if I
didn't think I really wanted him myself. I am pretty willing he should
take her out in his car. Levey Cohen is a very handsome chap; he is four
years older than I am, and Pa says he's doing well for a kid. I don't
like to be called a kid, and I don't think Levey does either, but it's
Pa's way of talking. My Pa is a cousin to Bill Nye that used to write
for the papers so much. Pa said he was better than he looked in the
papers; I hope he was, because he looked in the papers, poor man, like a
bean-pole with a rubber ball on the top of it for a head. He was a funny
man, on paper, but Pa says in his home he was Mr. Edgar Nye, loved and
respected by all, and that's saying a good deal in this age of rush and
tear.
Well, good-bye, little book, I have told you all my secrets for four
weeks past now, and I will say good night. It's 6 P. M. and we are going
to the Touraine for dinner as the cook got dopy, Pa says, and let the
fire go out in the kitchen. Ma, poor dear, can't cook, so we are going
out to dine and then to see some circus on Mars they have here. Pa says
I must learn to cook if I want to keep Levey at home after we get
married, and I am going to learn. I boiled some eggs for Pa the other
morning when the cook went to market. I thought they would cook in three
hours, most meats will, in that time, but Pa said, "Nay, nay, Pauline,
make it three minutes," so I did. My Pa can cook, but he won't. He says
it's the cook's work. Pa objects to doing other people's work for them;
he says they must all do it some time, and why not begin here, now, so
that's how we stand on the cook-book question.
ELSIE.
P. S. Pa says he's from Missouri when the cook says the air is bad and
the coal won't burn. He says it's more likely it's her breath that stuns
even the coal and that it's 23 for ourn, as far as dinner goes, that's
why we go to a hotel.
ELSIE.
LETTER III
Well, here I am again, little book. Pa and I went to Harvard Class Day,
out to Cambridge. I took him in my Franklin car. I have never had any
trouble since that Brookline adventure, and was towed home. My! but I
felt cheap. I would have sold that car that day for 99 cents, but she's
all right ever since--has just been making up for past bad behavin', just
like a naughty little girl I know of. Pa says of all the colleges in the
land Haryard is the best. Pa graduated from Harvard and Levey Cohen is a
junior, and they are worse than ten old women about the old days Pa
spent at Harvard. Of course I like Harvard because Pa does; I never
question Pa's judgment because he says it's so, and there is nothing to
do but believe him, especially when Levey Cohen always backs him up.
It's two men against one little girl, and I don't have a bit of a show
if I don't side in. Pa is a Democrat and Levey and I are both staunch
Republicans--so is Ma--Pa don't dare mention politics in the house, he
goes over to South Boston or down to Salem Willows when he feels a
political spell coming on. He don't have our company then. Ma says two
marriages ought to change any man from a Democrat to a Republican, but
it hasn't worked on Pa's constitution yet. Harvard is just a dear, so
many really handsome men, and fine fellows. Lots of them have
automobiles and they make them hum. They say it's lots more fun driving
a car above the speed limit and being chased by a policeman than it is
to steal barber poles and store signs; they all have drop numbers on
their cars, so no one has ever been caught yet. I have one on my
Franklin. I had to use it one day, for I run a race with Harold Hill, of
Brookline, and beat him by two miles, but I also beat the policeman, and
Pa said he would give me credit for being my father's daughter. But you
will laugh when I tell you Pa has been fined three times for fast
speeding, but he has forgotten all about that and I haven't the heart to
refresh his memory, Pa's such a dear. I went to a football game a year
ago, and Alice Roosevelt was there, and a big crowd beside. I don't care
for football. I think it's too much of a mush for comfort. I like golf.
Pa is a cracker jack on golf; he has friends in New Jersey who are fine
players. Pa won a cup one year. It's a beauty. I like that sport. I can
beat Levey Cohen every time. I rather play with him because I always get
the game. Pa says Levey knows his business, but I don't care, so long as
I get the game. Pa says: "Just wait, little girl, till you are married,
and you will be surprised how much faster Levey will pick up his feet in
golf than he does now." That's about the meanest thing Pa ever said to
me in all his life. He won't get but two kisses, for saying that, this
day. I usually count 80, but he will see that kisses have had a big
slump since this morning, and he will be out altogether. He won't have
margin enough to cover, I'll bet you, he'll be taken so off his feet. Pa
has dabbled in stocks enough to know all the points of loss. He says he
was a hoodoo on the market; when he sold stock went up, and when he
bought they slumped, so he will say it's his regular luck. Poor, dear
Pa, no one will ever know how much I love my father. He's the dearest
man on earth--except Levey Cohen--he is next best. It would be an awfully
bad thing if I didn't marry Levey Cohen, after all, but I will; he's the
only right sort. I know others are good, but--he is goodiest of all. He
always lets me have my own way and any girl likes that. My Pa thinks
it's just awful to put any money on a horse, but my Uncle Smith from
Buffalo is a live wire, and he took me to a race at Readville this
spring and he put a thousand, 10 to 1, on Bumshell, for me, and a
thousand dollars for himself. When he gave me the $10,000 I took it home
and showed it to Pa and he said: "Elsie, where did you get that money?"
and I said, "Off Bumshell, he won the race." "Did your Uncle Smith back
you?" "Sure he did, Pa" "Thunder! What does he mean? My daughter
learning to gamble on the racetrack? Your Uncle Smith ought to know
better than that." "Well, Pa, he said if we lost it would be a gamble,
but if we won, why, it was O. K., so we won." Well, Pa put the money in
the Charity box on Sunday and said he hoped it would do some poor cuss
good, for I didn't need it, neither did he. I don't know what he will
say to Uncle Smith when he sees him, but I am going to write and tell
him to wait a little till Pa cools off. Ma said I had better tell Uncle
Smith that Pa had suddenly gone up above par in gambling stock, and to
wait till the excitement was over before he came in. Well, I telephoned
him instead, and he waited two weeks and then asked me to ask Pa how the
market was. That was too much for Pa. He laughed and said, "Tell Uncle
Smith to come over to dinner now the cook's breath don't put the fire
out." So we will have a jolly dinner and go to Keith's this evening.
So good-bye, for I hear Pa asking where his little girl is.
ELSIE.
LETTER IV
Well, dear little book, here I am again. We have all been down in Maine
for six weeks. What a fine place "In the Good Old Summer Time." We went
first to Rockland, then to Portland and Bangor. We used the Eastern
Steamship Co. boats. They are certainly very nice, and have all the
comforts of home, except bath-tubs. Pa says if they would only put in
bath-tubs the public would call them blessed forever. At Bangor we were
introduced to Mr. Lorison Appletree Booker; he is one of the youngest
and smartest lawyers in New England. Pa says he knew his father and they
were of fine stock. I had my Franklin car, so Pa asked Mr. Booker to
show us about the city. Bangor is a nice city, but it don't have any
barrooms in sight like most cities do. Pa says it's a matter of
legislation whether they are in sight or not. Pa says a glass of their
whiskey down there will make a man think he owns the State. Pa says he
has never delivered any lectures on the temperance question, so he won't
begin now. Pa says if you want to shoot big game go to Maine; if you
want the finest trout in the world you will find them at Moosehead Lake,
Maine; and if you want to tramp miles over hills and dales after golf
balls, go to Kineo, Maine, it's one of the grandest of all places in New
England. If you want to see the ugliest woman on earth go to Lowell,
Mass., she's there. I saw some fine automobiles in Bangor and Portland.
The people down there are all up-to-date; they know a good thing when
they see it advertised. Pa says you can't do anything, these days, in
business, if you don't advertise. Pa is great on advertising business of
all sorts, he has helped many a firm out on ads to sell and display
goods. Pa has his own ideas, and when he has sold them they have come
high, but the one that followed them got a big pile of dough. Pa says
the business man to-day must spend money to make money, and the one who
places the best and most judicious advertising gets the most business.
Pa says even a business that's no good can be made good by advertising.
Advertising makes people think--some think right, some wrong, some look
and wonder. Pa says there is only one sure way to get rich quick, and
that is to marry a rich woman, any other way is a snare and delusion. Pa
knows by experience that this is true, so he gives his knowledge free to
save others from expensive experiences. Pa says that women should be
very careful about getting married to strangers that can't really
account for their silver and their business. He says to especially
beware of any slick good talker you might meet in a bank where your hard
earnings are deposited and you are afterwards made acquainted with the
same man you saw hanging around at the bank. You remember noticing him
because he looked pleasant and dressed nice. Well, Pa says look out and
don't think of getting married to such a man, for he's only another
hawk, and is after your bank-book; perhaps he's had twenty or fifty
wives, one cannot tell. If you want to marry, grow up with the man, Pa
says, as I have with Levey Cohen. I have known him ever since I was five
years of age and I know he's the best and dearest boy that was ever--even
Pa thinks Levey is a sparkling light, and I know I do, for he brings so
many boxes of chocolates. I don't know which kind I like best yet, but
sometime I will decide.
Well, so long, we are going to Bar Harbor in our car from here, so I
won't write again for some days.
ELSIE.
LETTER V
We didn't go to Bar Harbor; we came back to Boston, for Pa had to see
about one of his inventions--Pa's a wonderful man, he has invented lots
of things--I don't dare record the name of his motor car, for he has
arranged by phonography and electricity a whole band, and when he goes
out by himself always turns on the power and a band plays wonderfully
clear--sounds as if it were just coming up the street. People rush to the
doors and throw up the windows, and look up and down the street, but no
band appears, and as Pa rides up the street the sound gets fainter and
fainter, till it vanishes into silence; then he will put on the echo,
and they hear it all over again as distinct as before. They never
connect Pa with the band, and I have been with him several times early
in the morning and Levey Cohen has gone in the evening, and people are
wondering what it all means. They wrote it up in the papers, but no one
has yet found out what it is, or where it comes from. When they do I
don't know what will happen. I am very sure I don't want to be around.
The other night we were coming home real late from a trip to Wonderland
(say, that's a good name for that place; I have wondered a whole lot
since I saw it). We had had a wonderful day, Pa and I (Pa is a dear. He
will shoot the shoots, ride the roller coaster or stand on his head if I
say so to have fun). Well, we were riding real slow in Pa's automobile,
the nameless wonder, when all of a sudden I heard something that scared
me. I heard a man's rough voice shout, "Hi, there! stop or I'll shoot!"
Pa stopped so quick that it shook the machine good and the band struck
up "Where Is My Wandering Boy To-night?" The burglar listened for a
moment, spellbound, took off his hat and bowed his head and said,
"That's my sainted mother's favorite song, I have always been bad and my
poor mother has died of a broken heart." Then as he proceeded with his
story, Pa pulled out a second stop and the cornet played the second
verse and a fine sweet tenor voice sang with such feeling that I nearly
cried myself. The burglar was entirely broken up, and when the song
ended and one of Sousa's marches began, the man pulled himself together
and said, "Well, that song saved your garl darned neck, for I intended
murder to get money. Good-bye, that band will be in sight in a minute
and I don't care to be seen." So off he went; then we moved on. Pa put
on the echo and it all came back, the moon came out and it was the most
dreamy thing you ever heard. The burglar waited some moments by the
roadside in the bushes for the band to appear, but none came. He
pondered a moment, then said, "Strung, by gosh." When I got home I told
Ma she had missed the best fun of her life, for I had had dreamland all
day and all the way home besides. We didn't tell Ma about the burglar,
she would have had a real fit. Pa says Ma is too timid for a real modern
1906 woman--said she should have been born in ye olden days, but I don't
think so, my Ma is a darling and no one knows it better than Pa, either.
Sometimes I sing, "Where Is My Wandering Boy To-night," and Pa always
laughs, and Ma don't see the point at all. She says it's sad, but Pa
gets a fit of the giggles just like a girl and Levey Cohen and I have
our hands full to keep Ma pleasant, for she thinks Pa is making fun of
that poor wandering boy, when in reality Pa's only giving thanks in a
vocal way of his scalp and pocketbook being saved by his wonderful
invention of a band. We have a fine burglar-alarm, Pa made it. It's a
cracker jack, I tell you what. When it is set, woe be to the one who
tries to rob our house, he won't try only once. A stranger is sure to
bump into a wire, but they are very small, yet they work wonders; they
run about the walls and floors so close that no one sees them, but we
put down the plates under the rugs at each door. When one steps on one
of them plates it turns on the lights, opens the telephone to the police
station and in three seconds any burglar would wish himself electrocuted
for the things that happen before he can say Jack Robinson. If he isn't
out of the house before three minutes the police get him, and there you
are. Our gate has a red mark on it, small, but distinct. Pa says it is a
warning for tramps and burglars to go by and not take the trouble to
call. No one of that profession has ever called on us but once, and the
police got them. They got 20 years and it is not time for them to call
again for 19 years, they won't be out till then. All of that profession
know that, and they think that the Shaw Mansion is a very nice place to
let alone, so we surely are blessed. We don't put the silver away at
night, for we feel sure it will be right where it was left the night
before, even if that were out on the piazza.--or under the trees. Pa is a
big man so he can do anything he likes.
We all went fishing out in a catboat and I love that sport. I caught 10
fish all myself, except Levey Cohen baited my hook and took off the
fish. I don't like to do that part. Pa got more than I did, and bigger
ones, too, one weighed 20 pounds--it was a cod. I got small fish, mostly,
for I didn't think I could handle a big one, so I told the little fishes
to bite my hook and for all the big ones to go to Pa's side, and they
did. Ma don't fish, she says she never went but once and that's when she
caught Pa. She said it was easy to land him and I said, "What bait did
you use, Ma?" and she said, "I just baited the hook with five million
dollars." Pa says that's the biggest fish story he ever heard, so does
Levey Cohen, and Pa says he has been on exhibition ever since, as a good
catch. Ma says Pa is the only man she ever could love, so I am glad she
married him. We are all very happy and have such jolly times, all the
time. It's a picnic for four all the time. When Uncle Smith and Levey
Cohen is here I have heaps of friends that we see once in awhile, but I
am too much taken up with my dear Pa to be much away from him. I go
along with him everywhere I can because he likes to have me so much.
He is calling me now for a drive in my Franklin car, so
Bye-bye,
ELSIE.
LETTER VI
Well, little book, it has been some few days since I made you a call. Pa
and I went over to New York City. We went in Pa's nameless motor, and
such a trip, I won't forget in a hurry. Pa had the misfortune to kill a
Jersey cow and had to pay $60 in hard cash for the privilege. Pa said he
was more sorry for the cow than for the man who owned her. He said the
cow looked like a good one, while the man looked altogether to the bad.
When we got to New York City we went to the New Astor House,
up-town--that's a very decent place to stop at, Pa says. Ma seemed
pleased with our suite of three rooms and bath. We stayed three days--Ma
had some shopping to do and Pa and I had some sightseeing to do--so we
were all busy. Pa and I started to walk up Broadway a little below the
Herald Building, when we came to a poor, old blind beggar playing a very
squeaky organ. I gave him some pennies, so did Pa, and asked him how
business was. The beggar said, "Bad, very bad, haven't taken 10 cents
all day." I told Pa I would sing if he would grind the organ. I thought
Pa would choke for a moment, but he concluded he would grind the organ
while I sang. We moved up a little from the old man and then tuned up. I
sang "Pickles for Two," and Pa ground out "Sally in Our Alley" on the
organ. The singing and the playing didn't go on very well together, so I
told Pa to play and I would dance. Well, that went better. The organ
piped out, "Coming through the Rye," and I danced the Highland dance;
some swell guys went by and dropped in several silver pieces and some
that wasn't so swell did the same. One asked how long I had been in the
business, and I told him about a half-hour. I had my automobile veil
over my face so they couldn't see me much. Pa had on a false mustache
and goggles, so his own mother would not have known him. Well, any way,
we had the fun of earning eight dollars for the beggar man. Pa said it
wasn't a good example, but I told him we were commanded in the Good Book
to help the poor. Pa never objects to do anything when I tell him it's
in the Good Book. He says he don't know the Book any too well at best
and is always glad to have me remind him when he does anything it says
to do. A man tried to steal my purse in New York, but he didn't get it.
Pa gave him a cut that changed his mind quick. He picked up his feet and
flew. Pa said that was just the way, help a beggar on one corner and be
knocked down on the next one. I told Pa, yes, it seemed so, but not to
mind, as long as the thief didn't get my purse. Pa said all he minded
was because the policeman didn't arrest him and get his dollar
commission in court the next morning. I never saw so many pails and
pitchers in commission as we saw in New York the three days we were
there. Pa says if all the beer was put together, sold those three days,
it would cause the Charles River here in Boston to be a Johnstown flood,
and if all the cigarettes were put in a line that they smoke over there
in a week they would belt the globe. Pa says beer and cigarettes ought
to be cut off the map. Pa don't smoke because Ma objects to the odor of
tobacco, and Pa says a model husband won't make himself a weed to please
some man. Pa says it will count for more in the end to please one's
wife--I wouldn't think Pa was half so sweet to kiss if he smoked--Pa is
such a darling; I wish every little girl had such a nice Pa as mine. Pa
tells such fine stories; Pa says when he was a little boy he lived with
his grandma and he went to the edge of the woods to get some berries
that grew there and he heard a growl and looked up and saw a big black
bear as big as a horse--he ran like fun for home and told his grandma a
bear chased him. He looked out of the window and told his grandma the
bear was coming down the road. Well, grandma looked out and said, "Why,
my dear boy, that's Green's black dog." Pa says that's all the bear he
ever was chased by, and I guess it was enough as it nearly scared him to
death. Pa and I have heaps of fun flying kites. We have had some
splendid ones and they go up like the wind. Pa fills them with a new
discovery he has, and they go up like a shot. Pa won't tell what he puts
in, and no one can find out. We rented a balloon and we went up till I
thought I could see people on Mars, then we came slowly down to earth
again--we had a glorious time among the stars, seemed as if they were
very near, and we could almost touch them. I am fond of everything Pa
is, I guess, and he has splendid taste.
Well, good-bye, little book, it's time for dinner.
ELSIE.
LETTER VII
Well, I have been having a very remarkable experience, and not only
myself and Pa, but all the United States as well; the excitement spread
all over the country. I am going to put this down to tell my
grandchildren about, for I hope they never will have such a time as we
all have had for the past few weeks. I went with Pa to do a little
shopping because my dearest girl friend, Mary Potter, of Brookline, had
a birthday, and I did, at last, but such a time. I went to the counter
where diamond rings were displayed and selected a beauty--Pa said he
could not have picked out a better one for the money himself--and I took
my purse, opened it to get the $200 to pay for my friend's present, when
I found my purse empty but for a few small silver pieces. I gasped for
breath and told Pa. He looked at the purse and declared he knew it was
clasped tight when he took it from his pocket inside his vest to give
me, and I knew I placed three hundred in one hundred dollar bills in the
purse before I started. Pa got the three new bills at my bank that very
morning, but they were gone, and no sign of how, or when.
Pa said: "Never mind, Elsie, I have some money myself, also I happen to
have my check-book, so you can have the ring just the same. I don't care
for the loss of that three hundred dollars so much as the peculiar way
of its disappearance, but perhaps you left it at home in your room." The
clerk said I could telephone and ask, which I did. Ma answered the phone
and looked in my room and asked the servants, but no money was found, or
had been seen. Well, Pa took out his pocketbook and said I could have
what bills he had, which was one hundred and fifty dollars, and give a
check for the other fifty, so while he was talking he was opening his
pocketbook, and he too started, and gasped for breath, for no bills were
to be found, nothing but two silver quarters did Pa's pocketbook
contain, and they were as mum as oysters. Pa said: "Elsie, I don't
understand this. Child, we have been robbed since we left home, but I am
at a loss how and when; I am also sure I had one hundred and fifty
dollars, besides these quarters, in my pocketbook, but they are all that
is left to tell the tale, and they don't tell it." We both laughed like
two kids--I felt like crying, and Pa said the cold shivers were playing
up and down his spine. So he wrote a check for the two hundred dollars
and I took the ring and we went directly home and told Ma. Poor Ma
couldn't understand it any more than we did.
Pa went to the police station and reported his loss, also my loss, too.
The sergeant said it did look queer. However, we looked all over the
house, but not a sign of the missing bank-notes. Before twelve o'clock
that day the police were nearly wild, for hundreds had reported losses
of from five dollars to one thousand in bills, no one had a sign of a
bill on his person--people seemed to be going mad, for every one would
swear they had so much money in the morning and some time during the day
it disappeared like the dew before a hot August sun. The police were at
work on the case, so were the newspapers.
Hearst's "American" got the real first news; said a man in a big house
in the suburbs had all the money that had been lost, but not much came
to light till some days later, for the house had a high stone wall and
was guarded by big men, who said Mr. Worthington, the author, was busy
writing a book on his European travels and could not be disturbed, so no
one was let into the author's house. Mr. Worthington was also a clever
scientist--although no one knew that except his servants. He was always
seeking to find some new hidden power he believed to be attraction, that
was yet unsolved, so he spent his life among his books in study, also
making experiments and writing when nothing of greater interest came to
hand. For a few days he had been operating a peculiar machine that in
appearance looked like a telegraph instrument, with the result that had
caused all the commotion in town those few days. It seemed he had
dreamed that a combination of chemicals, used with the peculiar machine,
would attract money to it on account of the silk in the paper money was
made of. It would go through everything except a vault; leather was no
protection at all, and no one could explain it, and when the servants
waited till ten A. M. on the fifth day, not having seen or heard of the
author after leaving his food in the dining-room that was eaten always,
till the dinner the night before--which was the general cause of
alarm--they pushed in the door. Well, they tried. It would not yield
much, but it was dark and stuffy, so they got a ladder and went to the
window. They could see nothing but one solid mass of green, with now and
then a gleam of yellow. What to do they did not know, so they telephoned
the police, and they came and saw--what? Why, the poor man actually dead
in the middle of a room crowded, packed down, with greenbacks, of all
denominations from one dollar to one thousand dollars. The police said
there were millions of bills; some of them went crazy looking at it, and
some wondered how it could have been done. No one had an idea. The
servants declared that Mr. Worthington had not left his house in ten
days, and had not left his room except to go to the dining-room for five
days, but he was in the midst of millions, and it had smothered him to
death. A man was found who tried to explain how the machine attracted
that silk in the money. Some believed him, others said he was a fool.
The money was restored, as far as it could be. Pa and I got ours back
because we had the first experience, but oh, my! such excitement I never
heard or witnessed before. People didn't dare carry any greenbacks in
their purses or pockets for weeks after the whole thing was over. Pa
said his check-book would be his closest friend for a time; said that
infernal machine might go off any minute and make another collection,
and he was going, for one, to be on the safe side. I am glad it couldn't
attract automobiles, for Pa would have lost his Brass Band and the whole
business, and my car might have gone, too, then I would have had a good
cry, for I most surely love my dear old Franklin. She is such a flyer,
and I have had so much fun touring in that car.
I am glad, however, to be settled down once more to our normal life, and
I feel much better. I, with many more, have had a horrible nightmare. I
have related these facts as well as one could expect of a girl fourteen
years of age; anything one may wish to know more about, my Pa can tell
them, he's a very learned and wise man, and he says he fully understands
all about the attraction of the money to that machine--but I am sure I
don't and Levey Cohen says he don't see any sense in it at all, and so I
don't feel so awfully alone in not understanding all such high science.
Pa is way up in science.
I hear Pa calling for his girlie, so
Good-bye,
ELSIE.
LETTER VIII