The second dinner of the Dreamers had been served, all but the coffee,
when Mr. Billy Jones, of the _Oracle_, rapped upon the table with a
dessert-spoon and called the members to order.
"Gentlemen," said he, when all was quiet, "we have reached the crucial
crisis of our club career. We have eaten the stuff of which our dreams
were to be made, and from what I can gather from the reports of those
who are now seated about this festal board--and I am delighted to note
that the full membership of our organization is here represented--there
is not a single one of you who is unprepared for the work we have in
hand, and, as master of ceremonies, it becomes my pleasant duty to
inform you that the hour has arrived at which it behooveth us to begin
the narration of those tales which--of those tales which I am
certain--yes, gentlemen, very certain--will cause the unlaid ghosts of
those masters of the story-tellers' art--"
"Is this a continued story Billy is giving us?" observed Tenafly
Paterson.
"No," replied Bedford Parke, with a laugh; "it is only a life sentence."
"Get him to commute it!" ejaculated Hudson Rivers.
"Order, gentlemen, order!" cried the master of ceremonies, again rapping
upon the table. "The members will kindly not interrupt the speaker. As I
was saying, gentlemen," he continued, "we are now to listen to the
narration of tales which I am convinced will cause the unlaid ghosts of
the past grand masters of the story-tellers' art to gnash their spirit
teeth with anguish for that they in life failed to realize the
opportunities that were theirs in not having told the tales to which we
are about to listen, and over which, when published, the leading living
literary lights will writhe in jealousy."
When the applause which greeted these remarks had subsided, Mr. Jones
resumed:
"That there may be no question of precedence among the gifted persons
from whom we are now to hear, I have provided myself with a small
leathern bottle, such as is to be seen in most billiard-parlors, within
which I have placed twelve numbered ivory balls. These I will now
proceed to distribute among you. When you receive them, I request that
you immediately return them to me, that I may arrange the programme
according to your respective numbers."
Mr. Jones thereupon distributed the ivory balls, and when the returns
had been made, according to his request, he again rose to his feet and
announced that to Mr. Thomas Snobbe, of Yonkers, had fallen the lot of
telling the first story, adding that he took great pleasure in the
slightly supererogative task that devolved upon him of presenting Mr.
Snobbe to his audience. Mr. Snobbe's health was drunk vociferously,
after which, the stenographer having announced himself as ready to
begin, the distinguished son of Yonkers arose and told the following
story, which he called