I was beginning to generate Ethereal Vapor. Hereafter I shall order
the vulgar Tradespeople to deliver all Marshmallows at the Servants'
Entrance."
He began to write again, reviving himself at the end of each Word,
by means of Smelling Salts. He did not see the Artist standing in the
Doorway.
The Artist was a muscular Person with an Ashen Complexion and a Suit
that was not large enough to show the entire Pattern. He carried a
Bludgeon with a Horse's Head on it. In order to attract the Attention
of Mr. Swinburne, he whistled through his Teeth, whereupon the
Author jumped over the Table and fell among the Rugs, faintly calling
"Mother! Mother!"
"Cut it out!" exclaimed the Artist. "What's matter? Huh?"
"Oh, how you startled me," said the Author sitting up among the Rugs.
"Just as you came in I was writing about the Fays and the Elfins. I
was in the deep Greenwood, the velvet Sward kissing my wan Cheek and
the Leaves whispering overhead."
[Illustration: _The Author._]
"I see," said the Artist. "A Dark Change from an Interior to a Wood
Set. That's all right if you can do it quick. Who did you say you was
doing it for--the Fays?"
"I mentioned the Fays and Elfins," replied the Author.
"I've heard of the Fays," said the Artist. "They're out on the Orpheum
Circuit now. But the Elfins--no. What kind of a Turn do they do?"
"Ah, the Elfins!" said the Author. "They dance in the Moonlight and
skip from Tree to Tree.
"Acrobatic Stuff with Light Effects, eh? Well, you're on a couple of
Mackerels. I never see any Benders that could get away with a Talking
Act. You want to give your Piece to somebody that can Boost you. You
write a good gingery Skit for me and Miss Fromage and we'll put your
Name on a Three-Sheet in Letters big enough to scare a Horse."
"I gather from the somewhat technical Character of your Conversation,
my dear sir, that you are associated with the Drama," said the Author.
"Is it a Kid?" asked the Artist. "Wuzn't you ever in Front? Don't you
look at the Pictures in the Windows? I'm Rank, of Rank and Fromage.
Miss Fromage is the other half this Season, and if you seen her a
Block off you'd say, 'Is it or ain't it Lillian Russell?' We've just
closed with McGoohan's Boisterous Burlesquers. We was so strong that
we killed the rest of the Bill, so we got the Blue Envelope. Now
they're using all our Business, including the Gag about the Custard
Pie."
"To what am I indebted for the Honor of this Visit?" asked the Author.
"I heard that you was a Litry Mug and I'm around here to see you about
a Sketch for me and Miss Fromage. The one I've got now is all right,
but in it I've got to eat 8 hard-boiled Eggs, and with 4 shows a Day
that's askin' too much of any Artist. This Sketch was wrote for us by
the Man that handles the Transfer Baggage at Bucyrus. He fixed it up
while we was waitin' for a Train. I've been using it since 1882 and
it goes just as strong as ever, but I like to get new Stuff once in
a while. So I want you to fake up something that'll kill 'em right
in their Seats. Here's the Scenario: My Wife's a Society Girl and I'm
supposed to be a Dead Swell that's come to take her to a Masquerade.
With that to work on, all you need to do is to fill in the Talk."
"I have recently prepared a One-Act Play, but I am not sure that it
will meet your Requirements," said the Author. "It is called 'The
Language of Flowers.' There are three Characters in the Play--a young
Shepherd named Ethelbert, the Lady Gwendolin and a Waiting Maid."
"We couldn't carry three People," said the Artist. "You'd better use
a Dummy instead of the Hired Girl. I do an awful funny Wrassle with a
Dummy. Go ahead and slip me the Plot."
"It is an idyllic Thing," said the Author. "Ethelbert is in love with
Gwendolin, but he is not certain that his Love is reciprocated. So
he sends her the Flowers. The waiting-maid brings them into the Bower
where Lady Gwendolin is seated and with them a Scroll of Verses from
Ethelbert. The Lady Gwendolin unrolls the Scroll and reads:
"'Traced in the Veins of the Petals
Are the Lines I fain would speak
And breathing low in the perfumed Leaves
Is the Name--'"
"Hold on," said the Artist. "That's a Cinch. Have a Stage-Hand come on
with the Flowers. Lottie says, 'I know who sent these,' and so on and
so on, and his Nobs gets off. Then her alone with the big arm-load
of Hollyhawks, that I'm supposed to be sendin' her--savvy? She says,
'Well, there's no three ways about it, I've got this Gazabo dead to
Rights.' She goes on to talk about Me, leading up to her song, 'John
L. will be our Champion once again.' Bing! The Door-Bell rings. Then,
me on quick, see? I've thought out a Make-Up that's sure to get a
Holler the Minute I come on. I wear a pair of Pants made out of Tin
Foil, a Fur Coat with Lace around the Bottom and on my Head I wear
a Coal-scuttle with some Sleigh-Bells fastened to it. As I come down
Stage I make some crack about just escapin' from a Business College.
When I see the Doll, I go over and slap her on the Back, pull out a
Sprinklin' Can and water the Flowers. You'll have to fix me up a Line
to introduce the Sprinkler. As soon as she sees me, she gets stuck,
so she hands me one of the Flowers. I say, 'Ah, a night-blooming
Pazizum'--then I take a Salt-Cellar out of my Vest and shake some Salt
on the Flower and eat it. I done that with a Piece called 'A Boiled
Dinner,' and it always went big. When she sees me eat the Flower, that
makes her sore, understand? She comes at me with a right-hand Pass. I
fall over a Chair and do a Head Spin. You fix up a strong Line for me
just as I go over the Chair. Then--What's the matter, Cull? Here, Bud,
open your Eyes!"
The Author had fallen in a Heap on the Antique Writing Desk. "Hully
Chee!" exclaimed the Artist. "He's Croaked."
* * * * *
MORAL: A Classic is never Safe Except in the Church Parlor.
* * * * *
_THE TWO OLD PALS AND THE CALL FOR HELP_
Once there was a Married Man who had two Friends whom he had not given
up, even to oblige the Missus. They were two Men whom he had known
since Boyhood's Happy Days away back in Sleepy Hollow. Once in a while
the Man would have the Two around to the House for Dinner.
Of these two Friends, one was a Gusher and the other a Grouch.
The Gusher was eternally bubbling over with Compliments and Kind
Wishes. Whenever he met an Acquaintance he handed him a rhetorical
Yard of Daisies and then smeared him with Sweet Endearments. His talk
never had any specific Purport. It was unadulterated Con. The Gusher
should have been in the Diplomatic Service. One of his hot Specialties
was to get up at Dinner Parties and propose Toasts. He would hot-air
the Ladies until they flushed Crimson from the Joy of being hot-aired.
Even if the Speech was known to be cut-and-dried Blarney, it never
failed to swell the Adorable Creatures, as he called them.
[Illustration: _The Gusher._]
He had a pump-handle Shake for every Man he met, and after the second
Day he called him Old Fellow and inquired as to his Health in a Tone
of trembling Solicitude and picked little pieces of Lint off his Coat.
"I know it's Guff," the Man would say after the Gusher had passed on,
"but my Stars! He can ladle out that Soothing Syrup and never spill a
Drop."
The Grouch, on the other Hand, gave a correct Imitation of a Bear with
a Sore Toe. His Conversation was largely made up of Grunts. He carried
a Facial Expression that frightened little Children in Street Cars
and took all the Starch out of sentimental Young Ladies. He seemed
perpetually to carry the Hoof-Marks of a horrible Nightmare. Some
said that he had been Blighted in Love and had soured on the Universe.
Others imagined that his Liver was out of Whack. At any rate, he was
shy on Sweetness and Light. His Dial suggested a Map of the Bad Lands
and he was just out of Kind Words. He could Knock better than he could
Boost.
When the Gusher would arise at the Dinner Table to blow Bubbles and
distribute Candy, the Grouch would slide down in his Chair until he
was resting on his Shoulder Blades. He seemed to have a Calomel Taste
in his Mouth as he listened to the musical drip of the Mush-and-Milk.
That kind of Language went with some People, but nix for Sweeney!
The Wife of the Married Man liked the Gusher and tolerated the Grouch.
Every time the Gusher came into the Flat, he held her Hand a little
longer than necessary and looked into her Hazel Eyes and told her she
was becoming Younger and more Charming every Day. After a Woman turns
the 30 Corner, those Speeches are worth a Dollar a Word, because she
finds herself Guessing at times. Husband never was jealous. He knew
that the Gusher told every Woman the same thing, playing no Favorites.
When the Grouch came to see them, he said "How are you?" and then
began to kick on the Weather and tell about his Rheumatism. One thing
was certain. The Grouch never would break up any Happy Homes. And it
was predicted that he would never get a Wife unless he took her on a
Mortgage.
Every Husband has a few Friends who come in for hard Raps from the
Wife. And the Grouch got all that was coming to him. She used to
declare up and down that she was going to break his Plate and revoke
his License. Husband would remind her that he and the Grouch had
roomed together at College and done the Comrades Act ever since they
were Boys. He would assure her that the Grouch was a Good Fellow, but
you had to know him thirty or forty years before you found it out. He
would smooth her down and straighten out her Feathers and she would
agree to give the Grouch just one more Chance.
[Illustration: _The Grouch._]
It came about that one Year the Married Man got Gay and swam out
to where it was over his Head. In his keen Anxiety to enlarge his
Business he took on about three Tons of Liabilities. Ninety days make
but a fleeting Span when Notes are falling due. One day the Married
Man found himself hanging on the edge of the Gully, with a Choice
of jumping to the Rocks below or waiting to be Scalped. It was not
a dignified thing to do, but he had to yell for Assistance and yell
plenty.
He hot-footed to the Gusher, friend of his Youth and God-Father to
his Children. He explained that his Heels were beating a Tattoo on
the Ragged Edge of Insolvency, and unless he could raise the Wind,
it meant a Receiver over at the Works, his Credit evaporated and the
Pianola to the Hock-Shop.
The Gusher listened with Tears in his Eyes. In a Voice all choked with
Sobs he tendered his Sympathy and his Sincere Hope that all would
yet be Well. He told him it grieved him to see a Friend go under
the Rollers. It tore his Heart. It did for sure. In fact it had so
upset him that he would have to go out into the Air. So he did an
Olga Nethersole Exit with one Hand over his streaming Eyes, and the
life-long Friend sat there with Salt Water spattered all over him and
nothing in his Hand.
As soon as he had dried his Clothes he went to the Grouch and candidly
owned up that he was on the Waiting List for the Poor House unless he
could borrow enough to tide him over.
As might have been expected, the Grouch began to Roast him. He told
him that he didn't have as much Business Gumption as a Belgian Hare
and a Chump who would walk into Debt with his Eyes open deserved to
get it right in the Collar.
"If you're looking for Sympathy, you've barked up the wrong Tree,"
said the Grouch.
"I'm not," was the Reply. "I've just received enough Sympathy to last
me all Winter."
The Grouch snarled and reached for his Check Book.
"You can have whatever you need, but you don't deserve it," he said,
and he signed it, leaving it Blank above.
"In view of the Fact that you have saved my Life, I will try to
forgive you for lacerating my Feelings," said the Married Man.
They retained the Flat, but the Grouch is just as Unpopular as ever.
* * * * *
MORAL: A Friend who is very Near and Dear may in Time become as
useless as a Relative.
* * * * *
_THE REGULAR KIND OF A PLACE AND THE USUAL WAY IT TURNED OUT_
Once there was a home-like Beanery where one could tell the Day of the
Week by what was on the Table.
The Stroke Oar of this Food Bazaar had been in the Business for 20
years, and she had earned her Harp three times over. The Prune Joke
never touched her, and she had herself trained so as not to hear any
sarcastic Cracks about the Oleo. She prided herself on the Atmosphere
of Culture that permeated the Establishment, and on the Fact that
she did not harbor any Improper Characters. A good many Improper
Characters came around and sized up the Lay-Out and then blew.
It was a sure-enough Boarding-House, such as many of our Best People
know all about even if they won't tell.
The Landlady was doing what she could to discourage the Beef Trust,
but she carried a heavy line of Oatmeal. She had Oatmeal to burn and
sometimes she did it. And she often remarked that Spinach had Iron in
it and was great for the Blood. One of her pet Theories was that Rice
contained more Nutriment than could be found in Spring Chicken, but
the Boarders allowed that she never saw a Spring Chicken.
In the Cast of Characters were many of the Old Favorites. There was
the lippy Boy with the Williams and Walker Shirts, who knew the Names
of all the Ball-Players and could tell when there was a good Variety
Show in Town.
Then there was the other kind, with a straw-colored Mustache and a
prominent Adam's Apple, who was very careful about his Pronunciation.
He belonged to a Social Purity Club that had a Yell. His Idea of a
Hurrah was to get in a Parlor with a few Sisters who were under the
Age Limit and sing the Bass Part of "Pull for the Shore."
[Illustration: _The Lippy Boy._]
Then there was the Old Boarder. He was the Land-Mark. Having lived
in Boarding-Houses and Hotels all his Life, he had developed a Gloom
that surrounded him like a Morning Fog. He had a Way of turning Things
over with his Fork, as if to say, "Well, I don't know about this." And
he never believed anything he saw in the Papers. He said the Papers
printed those things just to fill up. The Circassian Princess that
brought in the Vittles paid more attention to him than to any one
else, because if he didn't get Egg on his Lettuce he was liable to cry
all over the Table Cloth.
Then there was the chubby Man who came in every Evening and told what
had happened at the Store that Day, and there was a human Ant-Eater
who made Puns.
One of the necessary Features of a refined Joint is the Slender Thing
who is taking Music and has Mommer along to fight off the Managers
and hush the Voice of Scandal. This Boarding-House had one of these
Mother-and-Child Combinations that was a Dream. Daughter was full of
Kubelik and Josef Hoffman. Away back in the Pines somewhere there was
a Father who was putting up for the Outfit. Mother's Job seemed to be
to sit around and Root. She was a consistent little Booster. If what
Mother said was true, then Effie's Voice was a good deal better than
it sounded. She said the Teachers were just crazy about it and all of
them agreed that Effie ought to go to Paris or Milan. The slangy Boy
with the rag-time Shirt went them one better, and said that _all_ of
the phoney Melbas in the country ought to pull for the Old Country and
wait until they were sent for.
[Illustration: _The Old Boarder._]
In this same Boarding-House there was a Widow whose husband had
neglected to die. Being left all alone in the World she had gone out
to make her Way, since which time she had gained about 30 pounds and
was considered Great Company by the Young Men.
Necessarily there was a Pale Lady who loved to read, and who stuck to
the Patterns that appeared in Godey's Magazine soon after the War.
Then there was the Married Couple, without any Children or Furniture
of their own, and the only reason they didn't take a House was that
Henry had to be out of Town so often. Henry's Salary had been whooped
$500 a Year and she was just beginning to say Gown instead of Dress.
She had the Society Column for Breakfast and things looked Dark for
Henry.
For many months this conventional Group of ordinary 6-7/8 Mortals had
lived in a Rut. At each meal-time they rounded up and mechanically
devoured what was doled out to them and folded their Napkins and broke
Ranks. Each day was the Duplicate of another and Life had petered down
to a Routine.
One Evening just as they had come in for their Vermicelli, a new
Boarder glided into their midst. She was a tall Gypsy Queen with about
$1,200 worth of Clothes that fit her everywhere and all the time, and
she had this watch-me kind of a Walk, the same being a Cue for all the
other Girls to get out their Hardware.
When she moved up to the Table and began to distribute a few sample
Smiles, so as to indicate the Character of her Work, the musical Team
went out with the Tide, the Grass Widow curled up like an Autumn Leaf,
the touch-me-not Married Lady dropped into the Scrub Division. The
Lady who read was shy a Spoon and afraid to ask for it. The Men were
all google-eyed, and the Help was running into Chairs and dropping
important parts of the Menu.
Presently the Landlady came in and explained. She said that Mrs.
Williams was in the City to shop for a couple of Days, and her Husband
would be up on the Night Train. Whereupon five men fell under the
Table.
* * * * *
MORAL: Nothing ever happens at a Boarding House.
* * * * *
_THE MAN WHO HAD A TRUE FRIEND TO STEER HIM ALONG_
Once there was a well-meaning Soul who was handicapped by a true and
lasting Friendship.
Sometimes he suspected that if he could be left to himself he would
struggle along from one Saturday Night to another and keep out of the
Way of the Cars and possibly extract some Joy from this Life in his
own Simple Rube Fashion.
But every time he turned around, Friend was right there to tell him
what to do.
Friend was somewhat of a Shell-Fish in the regulation of his own
Private Affairs, but he knew just how to manage for some one else.
So he used to tell the Victim where to have his clothes made, and he
would pick out his Shirt Patterns for him and tell him how often he
needed a Drink, and in other ways relieve him of all Responsibilities.
[Illustration: _The True Friend._]
If the poor Mark wanted to remain in his Room and read something
by William Dean Howells, the Friend would compel him to put on his
Low-Front and go out to a War-Dance and meet a Bunch of Kioodles who
wore No. 6 Hats and talked nothing but Piffle.
The Friend was always making Business Engagements for him and then
letting him know about it later on.
And sometimes Friend would try to choke him and take his Money away
from him and invest it in some shine Enterprise that was going to pay
40 per cent Dividend every thirty Days.
Friend always meant well at that. When he selected the Girl that the
Victim was to marry he was prompted by the most unselfish Motives.
Notwithstanding which, the Victim did the tall Duck.
A Policeman found him hiding under a Bridge and asked, "Are you a
Fugitive from Justice?"
"No," was the Reply. "This is merely a case of Friend."
* * * * *
MORAL: They never seem to be properly Thankful for all that we do in
their Behalf.
* * * * *
_THE YOUNG NAPOLEON WHO WENT BACK TO THE STORE ON MONDAY MORNING_
Once there was a feverish Sure-Thinger who started for the Track with
a Roll about the size of a Lady's Pencil. He wanted to parlee a $2
Silver Certificate and bring home enough to pay the National Debt.
When he stayed at home and marked the Card and made Mind Bets he could
beat five out of six. He estimated that he was losing a Thousand
a Month by fooling around the Store when he might be out at the
Merry-Go-Round showing the Ikeys how to take a Joke.
And now Saturday Afternoon had come and Percy M. Piker was hanging on
the rear end of the Choo-Choo with $7 sewed up in the inside Pocket
of his Vest, while in his Hand there fluttered a batch of Clippings,
written by the Smoke Brothers, showing which ones were sure to win
unless something happened.
Mr. Piker, the amateur Gam, closed his Eyes and saw himself buying
a real Panama and a dozen or so George H. Primrose Shirts. He had a
Vision of riding in a Machine called the Pink Demon, with Claire at
his side and an imported Chiffonier working the Jigger and mowing down
the Common People.
Percy had two or three Good Things that were guaranteed to go through.
They had been slipped to him by a Cigar Salesman who knew an Owner.
They looked to be the real Candy.
When he arrived at the Track he gave up for a Badge and a Dope-Sheet
and a couple of Perfectos, and this left him with 5 and a little
something on the side for Red Hots. He fought his way to the
Black-Board and demanded $2 worth of Bright Eyes at 9 to 1. While
he was struggling to get to the Fence he heard some one say that
Appendicitis was right and would win by a City Block. A Low Moan
escaped him. He climbed over a large mass of Colored People so as to
get $3 down on Appendicitis. The Odds were 7 to 5. He got balled up
in his Arithmetic, and while he was waiting for the Figures to shift
so that he could butt in with his 3, a Bell rang and the Mob tore for
the Fresh Air. He climbed a Pole and saw Bright Eyes doing a Solo.
He let go and fell in a Faint. Bright Eyes had beaten the Gate and
spread-eagled his Field. It was a Case of winning on the Chin Strap.
Mr. Piker was first in the Line, shaking like a Corn-Starch Pudding.
He wanted to cash before the Book failed.
A few Moments later he went out behind the Grand Stand and counted up
and found that he had $23. He had the Panama and one Shirt. The still,
small Voice said, "Duck!" but he thought of Claire and his coming
Vacation. There grew within him a high resolve to clean up the Betting
Ring and quit the Mercantile Life.
In the Second Race there was a Brown Mare by High-Low-Dreamy Eyes
at 97 with Fogarty up, whatever that meant. He heard a Hickey in a
Striped Sweater tell a red-headed Man that Josie Jinks would roll in.
Accordingly he gnawed his way up to the Workman with the Pencil and
laid Twenty at 3½ to 1. Then he wished that he hadn't, for he met
a Friend who whispered "Sassafras" to him. Also he heard some one say
that Josie Jinks was three-legged and a bad Actress. After which he
went and put Cold Water on his Head and died several Deaths.
[Illustration: _Getting Down._]
Josie Jinks carried on her Back something just out of the Cradle that
had number 3 marked on it. Mr. Piker had his Chin over the Fence and
was wondering if any one would gather up his Body and put it on the
Train. His Pulse was up to 180 and he couldn't hear the Band play.
He saw them come past the first time. Sassafras had a piece of
Daylight between himself and the Bunch. The Boy was going along under
Double Wraps with a lot up his Sleeve. Away back in the Pocket there
was something with a 3 on it. Percy clung to the Fence and he felt
the Chill come up his Legs. Sassafras had them smothered. He heard the
Roar behind him and knew that an Awful Thing was being pulled off, but
he did not have the Heart to look. As they pounded up the Stretch he
lifted a dying Gaze and saw a figure 3 move out of the horrible Mix-Up
and it was all over but the Cashing.
[Illustration: _"Come On!"_]
A bug-eyed Maniac with his Collar to the bad was found wandering
hither and thither with $90 in his Left Hand. The Tout had to shake
him a couple of times before he came to. The Tout had some Goods of
a very superior Quality. In the next Race there was a Collie that had
enough Hop in him to convert a Selling Plater into a Reina. It was
like making change with a Blind Man. Rinkaboo was the Name. Breathe it
softly, as very few were Next.
The Tout said to play it across the Board, forward and back, up and
down. He said that Rinkaboo would breeze in, that he would win on the
Bit, doing Buck and Wing Steps, that all the others would seem to be
Hitched.
So, Mr. Piker allowed the Tout to take him by the Hand, for he was too
weak to resist, and together they wandered off into Dreamland. Piece
by Piece the happy Sesterces went up. Rinkaboo was played in all the
Books, straight, place and to peep. Mr. Piker found himself up in the
Grand Stand holding his Head with one Hand while in the other Hand was
a Pinochle Deck, suitable for framing. If Rinkaboo finished at all,
Mr. Piker was a Wealthy Person. If he happened in toward the head of
the Procession, Mr. Piker would have to send for a Furniture Van. If
he came First, it would be a case of Hoboken for every Book inside of
the Fence.