But ev'rybody got hees fault, as far as I can see--
An' all de t'ing I'm doin', I do it for de bes',
Dough w'en I'm bettin' on a race, dat's offen loss for me--
"Oho!" I say, "Alphonse, ma frien', to-day is not your day,
For more you got your money up, de less your trotter go--
But never min' an' don't lie down," dat's w'at I alway say,
An' sing de sam' ole song some more, mebbe a leetle slow--
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
S'pose ma uncle die an' lef me honder dollar, mebbe two--
An' I don't tak' hees advice--me--for put heem on de bank--
'Stead o' dat, some lot'rie ticket, to see w'at I can do,
An' purty soon I'm findin' put dey're w'at you call de blank--
Wall! de bank she might bus' up dere--somet'ing might go wrong--
Dem feller, w'en dey get it, mebbe skip before de night--
Can't tell--den w'ere's your money? So I sing ma leetle song
An' don't boder wit' de w'isky, an' again I feel all right.
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
If you're goin' to mak' de marry, kip a look out on de eye,
But no matter how you're careful, it was risky anyhow--
An' if you're too unlucky, jus' remember how you try
For gettin' dat poor woman, dough she may have got you now--
All de sam', it sometam happen dat your wife will pass away--
No use cryin', you can't help it--dere's your duty to you'se'f--
You don't need to ax de neighbor, dey will tell you ev'ry day
Start again lak hones' feller, for dere's plaintee woman lef'--
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
Poor man lak me, I'm not'ing: only w'en election's dere,
An' ev'rybody's waitin' to ketch you by de t'roat--
De money I be makin' den, wall! dot was mon affaire--
An' affer all w'at diff'rence how de poor man mak' de vote?
So I do ma very bes'--me--wit' de wife an' familee--
On de church door Sunday morning, you can see us all parade--
Len' a frien' a half a dollar, an' never go on spree--
So w'en I'm comin' die--me--no use to be afraid--
"Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."
HOW I SPOKE THE WORD
FRANK L. STANTON
The snow come down in sheets of white
An' made the pine trees shiver;
'Peared like the world had said good night
An' crawled beneath the kiver.
The river's shiny trail wuz gone--
The winds sung out a warnin';
The mountains put their nightcaps on
An' said: "Good-by till mornin'!"
'Twuz jest the night in fiel' an' wood
When cabin homes look cozy,
An' fine oak fires feel mighty good,
An' women's cheeks look rosy.
An' that remin's me. We wuz four,
A-settin' by the fire;
But still it 'peared ten mile or more
Betwixt me an' Maria!
"No, sir!" (I caught that eye of his,
An' then I fit and floundered!)
"The thing I want to tell you is--"
Says he: "The old mare's _foundered_?"
"No, sir! it ain't about no hoss!"
(My throat begin to rattle!)
"I see," he said, "another loss
In them fine Jersey cattle!"
An' then I lost my patience! Then
I hollered high and higher
(You could 'a' heard me down the glen):
"_No, sir! I want Maria!_"
"An' now," says I, "the shaft'll strike:
He'll let _that_ statement stay so!"
He looked at me astonished-like,
Then yelled: "_Why didn't you say so?_"
THE UNIVERSITY INTELLIGENCE OFFICE
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
"Mr. Brief," said the Idiot the other morning as the family of Mrs.
Smithers-Pedagog gathered at the breakfast table, "don't you want to be
let in on the ground floor of a sure thing?"
"I do if there's no cellar under it to fall into when the bottom drops
out," smiled Mr. Brief. "What's up? You going into partnership with Mr.
Rockefeller?"
"No," said the Idiot. "There isn't any money in that."
"What?" cried the Bibliomaniac. "No money in a partnership with
Rockefeller?"
"Not a cent," said the Idiot. "After paying Mr. Rockefeller his dividend
of 105 per cent. of the gross receipts and deducting expenses from
what's left, you'd find you owed him money. My scheme is to start an
entirely new business--one that's never been thought of before
apparently--incorporate it at $100,000, of which I am to receive $51,000
in stock for the idea, $24,000 worth of shares to go to Mr. Brief for
legal services and the balance to be put on the market at 45."
"That sounds rich," said Mr. Brief. "I might devote an hour of my time
to your scheme some rainy Sunday afternoon when there is nothing else to
do, for that amount of stock, provided, of course, your scheme has no
State's Prison string tied to it."
"There isn't even a county jail at the end of it," observed the Idiot.
"It's clean, clear and straight. It will fill a long felt want, and, as
I see it, ought to pay fifty percent dividends the first year. They say
figures don't lie, and I am in possession of some that tell me I've got
a bonanza in my University Intelligence Office Company."
"The title sounds respectable," said Mr. Whitechoker. "What is it, Mr.
Idiot--a sort of University Settlement Scheme?"
"Well--yes," said the Idiot. "It is designed to get University graduates
settled, if you can call that a University Settlement Scheme. To put it
briefly, it's an Intelligence Office for College graduates where they
may go for the purpose of getting a job, just as our cooks, and butlers
and valets and the rest do. If there's money in securing a place at good
wages for the ladies who burn our steaks and promote indigestion for us,
and for the gentlemen who keep our trousers pressed and wear out our
linen, I don't see why there wouldn't be money in an institution which
did the same thing for the struggling young bachelor of arts who is
thrown out of the arms of Alma Mater on to the hands of a cold and
unappreciative world."
"At last!" cried the Doctor. "At last I find sanity in one of your
suggestions. That idea of yours, Mr. Idiot, is worthy of a genius. I
have a nephew just out of college and what on earth to do with him
nobody in the family can imagine. He doesn't seem to be good for
anything except sitting around and letting his hair grow long."
"That isn't much of a profession, is it," said the Idiot. "What does he
want to do?"
"That's the irritating part of it," observed the Doctor. "When I asked
him the other night what he intended to do for a living he said he
hadn't made up his mind yet between becoming a motor-man or the Editor
of the South American Review. That's a satisfactory kind of an answer,
eh? Especially when the family income is hardly big enough to keep the
modern youth in neckties."
"I don't believe any Intelligence Office in creation could do anything
for a man like that," sneered the Bibliomaniac. "What that young man
needs is a good sound spanking, and I'd like to give it to him."
"All right," said the Doctor with a laugh. "I'll see that you have the
chance. If you'll go out to my sister's with me some time next week I'll
introduce you to Bill and you can begin."
"Why don't you do it yourself, Doctor?" asked the Idiot, noting the
twinkle in the Doctor's eye.
"I'm too busy," laughed the Doctor. "Besides I only weigh one hundred
and twenty pounds and Bill is six feet two inches high and weighs two
hundred and ten pounds stripped. I think if I were armed with a
telegraph pole and Bill with only a tooth-pick as a weapon of defense he
could thrash me with ease. However, if Mr. Bib wants to try it--"
"Send Bill to us, Doctor," said the Idiot. "I sort of like Bill and I'll
bet the University Intelligence Office will get him a job in forty-eight
hours. A man who is willing to mote or Edit has an adaptability that
ought to locate him permanently somewhere."
"I don't quite see," said Mr. Brief, "just how you are going to work
your scheme, Mr. Idiot. I must confess I should regard Bill as a pretty
tough proposition."
"Not at all," said the Idiot. "The only trouble with Bill is that he
hasn't found himself yet. He's probably one of those easy-going, popular
youngsters who've devoted their college days to growing. Just at present
he's got more vitality than brains. I imagine from his answer to the
Doctor that he is a good-natured hulks who could get anything he wanted
in college except a scholarship. I haven't any doubt that he was beloved
of all his classmates and was known to his fellows as Old Hoss, or
Beefy Bill or Blue-eyed Billie and could play any game from Muggins to
Pit like a hero of a Bret Harte romance."
"You've sized Bill up all right," said the Doctor. "He is just that, but
he has brains. The only trouble is he's been saving them up for a rainy
day and now when the showers are beginning he doesn't know how to use
'em. How would you go about getting him a job, Mr. Idiot?"
"Bill ought to go into the publishing business," said the Idiot. "He was
cut out for a book-agent. He has a physique which, to begin with, would
command respectful attention for anything he might have to say
concerning the wares he had to sell. He seems to have, from your brief
description of him, that suavity of manner which would surely secure his
admittance into the houses of the _elite_, and his sense of humor I
judge to be sufficiently highly developed to enable him to make a sale
wherever he felt there was the remotest chance. Is he handsome?"
"I am told he looks like me," said the Doctor, pleasantly.
"Oh, well," rejoined the Idiot, "good looks aren't essential after all.
It would be better though if he were a man of fine presence. If he's big
and genial, as you suggest, he can carry off his deficiencies in
personal pulchritude."
The Doctor flushed a trifle. "Oh, Bill isn't so plain," he observed
airily. "There's none of your sissy beauty about Bill, I grant you,
but--oh, well"--here the Doctor twirled his mustache complacently.
"I should think the place for Bill would be on the trolley," sneered the
Bibliomaniac.
"No, sir," returned the Idiot. "Never. Geniality never goes on the
trolley. In the first place it isn't appreciated by the Management and
in the second place it is a dangerous gift for a motor-man. I had a
friend once--a college graduate of very much Bill's kind--who went on
the trolley as a Conductor at seven dollars a week and, by Jingo, would
you believe it, all his friends waited for his car and of course he
never asked any of 'em for their fare. Gentlemen, he used to say,
welcome to my car. This is on me."
"Swindled the Company by letting his friends ride free, eh?" said the
Bibliomaniac.
"Never," said the Idiot. "Pete was honest and he rung 'em up same as
anybody and of course had to settle with the Treasurer at the end of the
trip. On his first month he was nine dollars out. Then he couldn't bring
himself to ask a lady for money, and if a passenger looked like a sport
Pete would offer to match him for his fare--double or quits. Consequence
was he lost money steadily. All the hard luck people used to ride with
him, too, and one night--it was a bitter night in December and everybody
in the car was pretty near frozen--Pete stopped his car in front of the
Fifth Avenue Hotel and invited everybody on board to come in and have a
wee nippy. All except two old ladies and a Chinaman accepted and of
course the reporters got hold of it, told the story in the papers and
Pete was bounced. I don't think the average college graduate is quite
suited by temperament for the trolley service."
"All of which is intensely interesting," observed the Bibliomaniac, "but
I don't see how it helps to make your University Intelligence Office
Company convincing."
"It helps in this way," explained the Idiot. "We shall have a Board of
Inspectors made up of men with some knowledge of human nature who will
put these thousands of young graduates through a cross-examination to
find out just what they can do. Few of 'em have the slightest idea of
that and they'll gladly pay for the assistance we propose to give them
when they have discovered that they have taken the first real step
toward securing a useful and profitable occupation. If a Valedictorian
comes into the University Intelligence Office and applies for a job
we'll put him through a third degree examination and if we discover in
him those restful qualities which go to the making of a good plumber,
we'll set about finding him a job in a plumbing establishment. If a
Greek Salutatorian in search of a position has the sweep of arm and
general uplift of manner that indicates a useful career as a
window-washer, we will put him in communication with those who need just
such a person."
"How about the coldly supercilious young man who knows it all and wishes
to lead a life of elegant leisure, yet must have wages?" asked the
Bibliomaniac. "Our Colleges are turning out many such."
"He's the easiest proposition in the bunch," replied the Idiot. "If they
were all like that our fortunes would be established in a week."
"In what way?" persisted the Bibliomaniac.
"In two ways," replied the Idiot. "Such persons are constantly in demand
as Janitors of cheap apartment houses which are going up with marvelous
rapidity on all sides of us, and as Editors of ten-cent magazines, of
which on the average there are, I believe, five new ones started every
day of the year, including Saturdays, Sundays and legal holidays."
"I say, Mr. Idiot," said the Doctor later. "That was a bully idea of
yours about the University Intelligence Office. It would be a lot of
help to the thousands of youngsters who are graduated every year--but I
don't think it's practicable just yet. What I wanted to ask you is if
you could help me with Bill?"
"Certainly I can," said the Idiot.
"Really?" cried the Doctor.
"Yes, indeed," said the Idiot. "I can help you a lot."
"How? What shall I do?" asked the Doctor.
"Take my advice," whispered the Idiot. "Let Bill alone. He'll find
himself. You can tell that by his answer."
"Oh!" said the Doctor, lapsing into solemnity. "I thought you could give
me a material suggestion as to what to do with the boy."
"Ah! You want something specific, eh?" said the Idiot.
"Yes," said the Doctor.
"Well--get him a job as a Campaign Speaker. This is a great year for the
stump," said the Idiot.
"That isn't bad," said the Doctor. "Which side?"
"Either," said the Idiot. "Or both. Bill has adaptability and, between
you and me, from what I hear on the street _both_ sides are going to win
this year. If they do, Bill's fortune is made."
THE COUNTRY SCHOOL
ANONYMOUS
Put to the door--the school's begun--
Stand in your places every one,--
Attend,----
* * * * *
Read in the Bible,--tell the place,--
_Job twentieth and the seventeenth varse_--
Caleb, begin. _And--he--shall--suck_--
_Sir,--Moses got a pin and stuck_--
Silence,--stop Caleb--Moses! here!
What's this complaint? _I didn't, Sir_,--
Hold up your hand,--What, is't a pin?
_O dear, I won't do so again._
Read on. _The increase of his h-h-horse_--
Hold: H,O,U,S,E, spells house.
_Sir, what's this word? for I can't tell it._
Can't you indeed! Why, spell it. _Spell it._
Begin yourself, I say. _Who, I?_
Yes, try. Sure you can spell it. _Try._
Go, take your seats and primers, go,
You sha'n't abuse the Bible so.
_Will pray Sir Master mend my pen?_
Say, Master, that's enough.--Here Ben,
Is this your copy? Can't you tell?
Set all your letters parallel.
_I've done my sum--'tis just a groat_--
Let's see it.--_Master, m' I g' out?_
Yes, bring some wood in--What's that noise?
_It isn't I, Sir, it's them boys._--
Come, Billy, read--What's that? _That's A_--
_Sir, Jim has snatch'd my rule away_--
Return it, James.--Here rule with this--
Billy, read on,--_That's crooked S._
Read in the spelling-book--Begin--
_The boys are out_--Then call them in--
_My nose bleeds, mayn't I get some ice,_
_And hold it in my breeches?_--Yes.
John, keep your seat. _My sum is more_--
Then do't again--Divide by four,
By twelve, and twenty--Mind the rule.
Now speak, Manasseh, and spell tool.
_I can't--Well try--T,W,L._
Not wash'd your hands yet, booby, ha?
You had your orders yesterday.
Give me the ferule, hold your hand.
_Oh! Oh!_ There,--mind my next command.
The grammar read. Tell where the place is.
_C sounds like K in cat and cases._
_My book is torn._ The next--_Here not_--
E final makes it long--say note.
What are the stops and marks, Susannah?
_Small points, Sir._--And how many, Hannah?
_Four, Sir._ How many, George? _You look:_
_Here's more than fifty in my book._
How's this? Just come, Sam? _Why, I've been_--
Who knocks? _I don't know, Sir._ Come in.
"Your most obedient, Sir?" and yours.
Sit down, Sir. Sam, put to the doors.
What do you bring to tell that's new!
"Nothing that's either strange or true.
What a prodigious school! I'm sure
You've got a hundred here, or more.
A word, Sir, if you please." I will--
You girls, till I come in be still.
"Come, we can dance to-night--so you
Dismiss your brain-distracting crew,
And come--for all the girls are there,
We'll have a fiddle and a player."
Well, mind and have the sleigh-bells sent,
I'll soon dismiss my regiment.
Silence! The second class must read.
As quick as possible--proceed.
Not found your book yet? Stand--be fix'd--
The next read, stop--the next--the next.
You need not read again, 'tis well.
Come, Tom and Dick, choose sides to spell.
_Will this word do?_ Yes, Tom spell dunce.
Sit still there all you little ones.
_I've got a word_,--Well, name it. _Gizzard._
You spell it, Sampson--_G_,_I_,_Z_.
Spell conscience, Jack. _K_,_O_,_N_,
_S_,_H_,_U_,_N_,_T_,_S_.--Well done!
Put out the next--_Mine is folks._
Tim, spell it--_P_,_H_,_O_,_U_,_X_.
O shocking. Have you all tried? _No._
Say Master, but no matter, go--
Lay by your books--and you, Josiah,
Help Jed to make the morning fire.
EVAN ANDERSON'S POKER PARTY
BY BENJAMIN STEVENSON
"Evan Anderson called you up this afternoon," said Mrs. Tom Porter,
laying down the evening paper. "Is his wife still away?"
"Yes, I think she is. What did he want?"
"He did not say, but he said for you to call him as soon as you came
home. I forgot to tell you." Mrs. Porter paused and fingered her paper
with embarrassment. "Tom," she began again, "if it is another of those
men parties he has been having since his wife has been away, I wish you
wouldn't go."
"Why not, dear?"
"I don't think they are very nice. Don't they drink a good deal?"
"Some men will drink a good deal any way--any time, but those that don't
want to do not."
"Tom, do they"--Mrs. Porter's eyes were on the paper in her lap--"do
they play--play poker?"
"Why what made you ask me that question?" Tom answered with some
embarrassment.
"Mrs. Bob Miller said her husband told her they did."
"Nobody but Mrs. Miller would believe all that Bob says."
"But you know it is wicked to gamble?"
"Of course it is, to gamble for any amount, but just a little game for
amusement, that's not bad."
"How much does any one win or lose?"
"Oh, just a few dollars."
"That would buy a dinner for several poor families that need it; but the
worst of it is the principle; it is gambling, no matter how little is
lost or won."
"But, dear, you brought home a ten-dollar plate from a card party the
other afternoon."
"That is different. One is euchre, the other is poker."
"I see there is a difference; but wouldn't the plate have bought a few
dinners?"
"Yes, but if I had not won it some one else would. And it was too late
to spend it for charity. I don't believe it cost ten dollars anyway."
"You said then it would."
"But I have looked it over since and do not believe it is genuine. I
should think any one would be _ashamed_ to give an imitation," she added
with something like a flash in her blue eyes.
"It was a shame," Tom admitted, "a ten-dollar strain for a two-dollar
plate."
But Mrs. Porter merely raised her eyebrows at this rather mean remark.
"The Tad-Wallington dance is to-night, isn't it? Do you want to go to
that?" Tom asked.
"No, I'm not going."
"If you do," Tom went on, "I will take you and cut out whatever Evan
wants."
"No, I don't care to," she repeated. "You can go to the other if you
want to. I am not going to say any more on the subject. I do not ask you
to humor my little whims, but I wanted to say what I did before you
telephoned."
Mrs. Porter looked at her husband with such a wistful, pathetic little
smile that Tom came over and kissed her on the cheek.
"I'll not _go_," he exclaimed, "if that _is_ what he wants. I'll stay at
home with you."
"You are too good, Tom. I suspect I am silly, but it seems so wicked.
Now you had better call him up."
When Tom got upstairs, he placed the receiver to his ear.
Telephone: ("Number?")
Tom: "Give me seven-eleven, please."
("Seven-double-one?")
"Yes, please." Tom whistled while he waited.
Telephone: ("Hello.")
"Is that you, Evan?"
("Yes. Hello, Tom. Say, Tom, I am going to have a little bunch around
here after a bit to see if we can't make our books balance, and I want
you to come. And say, bring around that forty-five you took away with
you last time. We want it. We are after you. We are going to strip you.
Perhaps you had better bring an extra suit in a case.")
"I am sorry, old man, but I can't come."
("Can't what?")
"Can't come."
("'Y, you tight wad. You'd better come.")
"Can't do it, Andy. I'm sorry."
("Are you going to the Tad-Wallington dance?")
"No, not that. Mis'es doesn't want to go, but I simply can't come."
Sarcastically. ("I guess the Mis'es shut down on this, too.")
"No, I'm tired."
("Well, maybe we're not tired--of you taking money away from us. And now
when we've all got a hunch that you are going to lose you get cold
feet.")
"No, I'd like to, but I _just can't_."
("Well, admit, like a man, it's the Mis'es said no and I'll let you
off.")
"Are you a mind-reader?"
("No, but I'm married.")
"You win."
("Well, I'm sorry you can't be with us. Christmas will be coming along
bye and bye, and you will need the money.")
"I expect."
("Mis'es will want a present, and she ought to let you get a little more
ahead.")
"That's true."
("Well, so long. Toast your feet before you go to bed. And you'd better
put a cloth around your neck.")
"Here, don't rub it in. It hurts me worse than you."
("All right. I know you are as sorry as we are. I know how it is. My
Mis'es will be at home next week and this will be the last one, so I
wanted you to come. Good-by.")
"Good-by. Oh, say! Wait a minute. I've got an idea."
("Good; use it.")
"Wait now. Wait now, I am thinking." Tom was trying to recall if he had
closed the parlor door when he came upstairs. "Yes, I think I did."
("Think you did what?")
"Nothing. I wasn't talking to you. I was thinking. Say, put your ear
close to the telephone. I've got to talk low."
("Why, I have got the thing right against my ear anyway. What are you
talking about?")
"Listen. This is the scheme. I'll come if I can," he whispered into the
receiver. "I don't think the Mis'es wants to go to the Tad-Wallington
dance, and I'll work it so that I shall go alone. If I succeed I'll be
with you."
("What? What's that?")
"I say," he repeated more distinctly, "if Mrs. P. doesn't want to go to
the dance I'll try to go by myself and shall be with you."
("You say that you and Mrs. P. are going to the dance.")
"Oh, you deaf fool! No! I say that if she _doesn't_ go to the dance
maybe I shall--_be_--_with_--_you_."
("Oh, I understand you. Good. If you are as clever as you are at getting
every one in against a pat full-house you will succeed. Come early. Luck
to you. Good-by.")
If Tom were right in thinking he had closed the parlor door he was
considerably surprised and flustered to find it ajar when he came down
stairs. But Mrs. Porter was still reading the evening paper and did not
look as if she had been disturbed by the telephoning. There was a slight
flush on her cheeks, however, that he had not noticed before, but that
may have been caused by the noble sacrifice of his own wishes for hers.
"I am glad, Tom, you told him you could not come," Mrs. Porter said,
looking at him affectionately. "It is so good of you to give up to my
little whims."
Tom said mentally: "I guess she did not hear it all, at least."
"I know," she went on, "that I was brought up on a narrow plane, and any
sort of gambling seems wicked."
"But at first you would not play cards at all, and then you learned
euchre. All games of cards look alike to me."
"I suppose they do, but euchre is a simple, interesting pastime; whist
is a scientific--a--a--mental--exercise, developing the mind, and so
forth, while poker cheats people out of their money,--at least, they
lose money they ought to use other ways,--or else they win some and then
have ill-gotten gains, which is worse."
"But poker is a great nerve developer," Tom protested feebly.
"But it's gambling."
"Well, how about playing euchre for a prize?"