It was a swift squad of sports that climbed into a coach and allowed
themselves to be yanked over the rails in the direction of Chicago
one morning last week.
A bunch of brisk boys--believe me!
[Illustration: "A bunch of brisk boys--believe me!"]
Nick Dalrymple, Tod Stone, Slim Barnes--say! do you remember Slim?
Travels for a clothing house in Cincinnati and they call him Slim
because he's so fat that every time he turns around he meets himself
coming back.
He's all to the good--that boy is!
And such a cut-up!
Slim knows more "look-out!--there's - a - lady - over - there!"
stories than any other drummer in the business.
Nick goes after the gilt things for a hardware house in Columbus and
he knows everybody in the world--bar no one living.
Nick has only one trouble, he will paddle after the ponies.
Whenever he makes a town where there's a pool room his expense
account gets fat and beefy, and Nick begins to worry for fear he may
win something.
He won $12 in Cleveland once and he spent $218 at a boozeologist's
that night getting statistics on how it happened.
Tod Stone cuts ice for a match factory in Newark and he's the life of
a small party.
Tod's main hold is to creep into the "reading room" of a Rube hotel
after the chores are done of an evening and throw salve at the
come-ons.
Tod tells them that their town is the brightest spot on the map and
they warm up to him and want to buy him sarsaparilla and root beer.
Then when he gets them stuck on themselves he sells them matches.
"Pipe the gang to quarters and all rubber!" said Slim, about half an
hour after the train pulled out.
In the seat ahead of us a somewhat demure looking Proposition in
rainbow rags had been sampling the scenery ever since we started.
We had all given her the glad glance but she was very much Cold
Storage, so we passed it up.
As Slim spoke, the Proposition was joined by a young chap with a
loose face who had been out in the smoking room working faithfully on
one of those pajama panatella cigars that bite you on the ringer if
you show the least sign of fear.
Just then the train stopped for a few minutes and we were put wise to
the fact that it was an incurable case of bride and groom.
"Oh! Boozey is back to his Birdie!" said the brand new wife; "did
Boozey like his smoky woky?"
Boozey opened a bunch of grins and sat down while wifey patted his
cheek and cooed:
"Is ums glad to get back to ums 'ittle wifey-pifey?"
Nick Dalrymple and Tod Stone began to scream inwardly and Slim was
chuckling like a pet porpoise.
"Sweetie mustn't be angry with Petie, but Sweetie is sitting on
Petie's 'ittle hand!" said the bride, whereupon Tod exploded and Slim
began to grab for his breath.
A Dutch brewer and his wife sat right ahead of Boozey and Birdie and
every once in a while the old hop puncher would turn around and beam
benignly over the gold rims at the bride.
"Boozie must snuggy-wuggy up closer to his Coozie and skeeze her
'itty arm--no, no, not her waist! you naughty! naughty!"
The brewer was back at the bride with another gold-rimmed goo-goo
when his wife got nervous and cut in:
"Is id you turn your face to see someding--yes?" she snapped, and the
foam builder ducked to the window and began to eat scenery.
Dalrymple was almost out; Tod was under the seat sparring for wind;
Slim was giving an imitation of a coal-barge in a heavy sea, and the
rest of the passengers were in various stages from hiccoughs to
convulsions.
"Is Boozey comfy wif his 'itty weeny teeny Birdie?" chirped the bride.
"Boozey is so happy wif his izzy-wizzy!" gurgled the husband; "how's
my 'ittle girley wirly?"
"Oh! she's such a happy wappy 'ittle fing!" giggled the dotty dame,
pinching her piggie's ear, whereupon the brewer tried to hand the
bride another gasoline gaze, but the old lady caught him with the
goods:
"Is id to my face you go behind my back to make googley-googley eyes
ad somevun--yes?" she growled, and in a minute the brewer's brow was
busy with the window pane.
"Sweetie looks at Petie and Sweetie sees that Petie's p'etty face is
getting sunburned, so it is!" cuckooed Mrs. Daffy; "and Sweetie has a
dood mind to tiss him, too!"
They opened a newspaper, crawled under cover and began to bite each
other on the chin.
"Go as far as you like!" said Slim, then he went down and out.
The man who helped to make Weehawken famous had his head out the
window watching for an ice-wagon, and Mrs. Brewer was industriously
muttering "Du bist ein Narr. Du bist ein Narr!"
Just then the train pulled out and saved our lives.
Nick, Tod, Slim and I went over near the water-cooler to rest up, and
in a minute the three of them were fanning each other with fairy
tales about the goods they sold.
I'll back these three boys to dream longer than any other drummers on
the track.
It's a pipe that they can sell bills to each other all day and never
wake up.
Slim turned the gas on to the limit about hypnotizing a John
Wanamaker merchant prince in Pikesville, Indiana, to the extent of
$200 for open-work socks, farmer's size, and Todd Stone sent his
balloon up by telling us how he sold the Siegel-Coopers of Bugsport,
Iowa, $300 worth of Panama hats for horses.
The Hot Air Association was in full session when Buck Jones caromed
over from the other end of the car and weighed-in with us.
Buck is a sweller.
He thinks he strikes twelve on all occasions, but his clock is all to
the bad.
Buck isn't a drummer--nay! nay! take back your gold!
He'll look you straight in the eye and tell you he's a _travelling
salesman_--nix on the drummer!