“Well,” commenced he, “that cup does the business. We are not allowed to
receive any tips, and we tell everybody so, and we also tell them about
the fancy cup, and tell them we cannot help it if they want to send a
present to our baby, and it is a nervy guy who will toss in less than a
quarter on a plea like that. It looks small, you know. Besides, my baby
has not been feeling well for the past few days.”
“So you are married and got children?” said I.
“Well, no; not exactly. I am not married, and of course haven’t any
children, but I have the sweetest baby you ever saw. She is about
twenty-seven summers old, and if any one should ask you, she is about
the warmest baby in the bunch, and she does need money. Say, my friend,
a chap came in here yesterday that put a dollar into that fancy little
dish and he said, as he did it:
“That’s for the baby.”
I got out of the chair. As I did so he handed me the fancy cup. This
made me mad, and I said to him:
“Look here, you tonsorial lobster, you and your baby will be obliged to
worry along without anything from me for a while longer,” and I looked
him fair in the eye that he might understand I meant business.
“That’s all right, my friend. You do exactly as you please, of course.
Should be pleased to have you call again, and will treat you the best I
know.”
He certainly was the limit and was trying hard to make me feel like a
two-cent piece. As I turned my eyes from him they encountered a very
fetching pair of eyes that belonged to the manicure lady. She not only
had a fine pair of eyes, but she knew how to use them. I had always
thought I would like to have one of those chiropodist ladies hold my
hand for me, but I always hated to have it happen before a lot of
barbers; but this one was different. She could have held my hands
sitting on the sidewalk on Chestnut Street, with all the shoppers loose
on the street. She made me put one of my hands in water and soak it up
for a while, and then she commenced to get in her work. Say, but she had
the softest hands and the most delicate touch. Oh, my! It just took my
breath away for a minute. After a while I began to get a little used to
it and found myself able to talk.
“You are an awfully sweet girl to be wasting your time sitting around a
barber shop,” said I; “holding people’s hands that you have never been
introduced to.”
“Oh, I don’t know!” said the Queen. “This is no ordinary shop, and my
customers are all very nice.”
“They can’t be nice enough to you,” said I, “and it’s a wonder to me you
stay here.”
“What do you think I ought to do?”
“You ought to get a position where you would only have one pair of hands
to take care of,” said I; and then for fear she would not understand me
I said:
“Why don’t you get married?” She laughed.
“I don’t know any one who would have me.”
“Did you ever advertise?”
“No,” said she. “I never thought of that. I am doing pretty well here.”
“How much do you get for holding hands like this?”
“Fifty cents is the regular price, but sometimes I put in a little more
work and then my customers give me more.”
“Then” said I; “you just throw in a squeeze or two and I will make this
job two dollars.”
She smiled, which showed her dimples in good shape, and when she caught
hold of me again I could feel the effect clear up my back. This was a
new deal for me, but it was worth the money.
“Look here, little queen,” said I. “Why can’t you meet me after you get
out tonight and have a nice little supper somewhere?”
“I would like to awful well, but I am afraid I couldn’t do it. You see,
I have a steady, and I couldn’t afford to break with him just for one
evening with a stranger.”
“Just my luck,” said I, “I never saw anything yet that I really wanted
that some guy didn’t have a prior claim to it.”
Just at this time Dug pulled away from the barber who had him under
control and coming over to where I was, said:
“Cut that out, Jack; let’s get out of this.”
The queen cut her work short, but she froze on to the two dollars just
the same, and worse than that she handed it to the barber whom I had
refused to tip, saying as she handed it to him:
“Here’s two bucks for you, Charlie,” and then turning to me she added,
“that’s my steady.”
The d— lout of a barber got my money after all. I met the queen on the
street once afterwards. Her eyes were not working, some one had bruised
them for her.
“What’s the matter, little one,” said I, “who has been trying to put
your lamps out?”
“That steady of mine,” said she, “he accused me of holding out on him.”
“Why don’t you quit him, little one?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. You see he is always good to me when he doesn’t
booze or he gets it into his fool head that I am flirting with some
one.”
And still we wonder at crime.
The little queen has passed out of my life, and me—have I sworn off on
queens? Well, not exactly, but if I know it I have sworn off on barber’s
queens.
Dug and I were out on the Germantown road the other evening. We were out
to see some friends and had taken a few bowls with Hank and a few bowls
with Jim, and when we got ready to start home we were feeling rich, good
natured and prosperous, and Germantown road, Billy, doesn’t run the same
as the other streets in Philadelphia, but looks as though it had been
taken from some other city and dropped into Philadelphia crossways. This
plays hob with the street corners and a fellow never knows where the
street cars are going to stop.
We stationed ourselves at a corner, where we figured they ought to stop,
and waited. When the car came it went by us like the wind and the
motorman was motioning us to get to the next corner. By the time we got
to the next corner, the car was half way down town. Dug was mad, but I
reminded him that we had all night to get to the hotel in, and that we
were safe for the next car. It was late and the cars did not run often,
but one came at last. The first thing I noticed when the car hove in
sight was the motorman gesticulating with all his might for us to get
back to the corner where we were before. This made Dug madder than ever
and he would not stir and, of course, the car went by us again. I
laughed, which did not improve Dug’s temper.
“Think you are smart, don’t you?” said he. “Now, I am going to make you
pay for this. I will bet you a sawbuck that the next car stops right
between these points,” indicating the two corners where we had missed
before.
I took the bet, taking a chance that his scheme, whatever it was, would
fail. We both took our places at the point where Dug said the car would
stop and awaited results. In a few minutes another headlight showed us
that another car was coming. There was a cab standing by the curb with a
tag on it marked “Public Cab,” and when the car was about a block and a
half away, Dug grabbed the whip out of the socket and caught the horse
by the bridle, and with a little cussing and whipping, brought the cab
directly across the car track. Unbeknown to us the driver was sleeping
inside the cab, the movement of the cab awakened him and about the time
the wheels struck the car track, the driver fell out of the door of the
cab and landed on all fours in the street. He regained his feet and as
soon as he saw Dug at the horse’s head a sulphuric string of oaths
rolled out of his mouth that it is not often the privilege of a white
man to hear.
“You blankety blank fool,” said the driver, “what are you trying to
steal my horse for?”
“Hold on there, young fellow,” said Dug, “your horse was running away
and I caught him at the risk of my life. You ought to thank me, not
curse me.”
“You are a liar,” said the cabbie, “that horse can’t run.”
This was too much for Dug and he promptly knocked the cabbie down. By
this time the car had stopped with the fender touching the wheels of the
cab. The cabbie had regained his feet and was hollowing “Bloody murder”
at the top of his voice. Dug let go of the bridle and hit the horse a
couple of cuts across the rump. This set him off on a dog trot down the
road and the cabbie took after him. Dug and I boarded the car, the
conductor gave the signal to go ahead and this closed the incident so
far as we were concerned. I guess the cabbie caught his horse, anyway he
wouldn’t be much loss.
It cost me ten dollars, but it put Dug in good humor and he tells now
that if I want something else to swear off on I can swear off on betting
against a sure thing.
Yours,
Jack.
[Illustration: “A DUFFER WINKED AT HER.”]
Grafting.
Jack
Henderson.
Grafting.
Indianapolis, Ind., 19—.