Pittsburg, Pa., August 1, 1899.
Dear Jim:
Just got back from New York this morning. Bud Hathaway stopped
off here on his way from Chicago, and coaxed Johnny Black and me
to go over East with him. We went, and a pretty mess we made of
it. Bud is sore on both of us, I got touched for ninety, and
Johnny is lost.
Nothing of interest occurred going over on the train, excepting
that when I turned in I took off my trousers without spilling my
money all over the Pullman floor. This is done by sewing the human
pocket shut. We landed at Twenty-third Street, in good shape, early
in the morning of the day before yesterday. When we reached the
Pennsylvania cab-stand some one had taken the hansom, so we had to
hire a carriage. They are building another hansom, and then there
will be plenty of hansoms for all. At the hotel Johnny claimed I
had a drag because I drew a room with a window in it. Breakfast
was hardly over until Bud, without consulting us at all, commenced
arrangements for giving a swell dinner to a couple of heiresses
who lived on Eighteenth Street and who were worth eight millions,
or who lived in Eighth Street and were worth eighty millions--
Johnny and I didn't know which. Bud gave us a lot of hot air about
his mother's cousin standing fifteen balls in the New York Four,
and how that made him a nonresident member, and if we did just
as he said, he would put us in right. He told us that there were
thousands of people right in New York City, any one of whom would
give a cool million for our opportunity. Johnny immediately began
to figure, on how he would treat certain people over in Pittsburg
who had given him the eye in bygone days; and I got so struck on
myself that I cut the head waiter dead, although I had known him
intimately for years. Along about 11 A.M. the deal went through
by 'phone for seven o'clock that evening. Bud went to get shaved,
and Johnny and I retired to the bar to wait until it was time to
get ready for the dinner.
Well, sir, I never met so many people in all my life as we met
in that bar. There was a wine agent whom everybody called Dick,
and I'm for Dick. He sapped up all kinds of booze except wine,
like four dollars' worth of blue blotters, and every time he took
a drink he raised his salary a thousand dollars a year. Once I
weakened, and went outside and watched the hotel lobby go around
for a while. When I returned, Johnny Black, Dick the wine agent,
and a large red-faced man who looked as though he had helped to
make Milwaukee famous, and who said he was from K. C., Mizzoo,
were doing some close harmony that was great. The three of them
were bunched with their arms resting on each others' shoulders,
singing "She May Have Seen Better Days," and the way they all
looked up toward heaven was something pathetic. Whenever they
came to a barber-shop minor they would hold it for a full minute,
and then they would all stop and tell each other how good they
were. Suddenly a fellow rushed in through the street door and
breathlessly exclaimed: "My goodness gracious, sakes alive! the
undertow almost carried me beyond the bar." The newcomer still
wore his dress suit from the evening before, and his shirt front
was all spattered with egg. He was promptly named "His Chickens."
His Chickens did a trick with a wine glass and a half-dollar, and
finally succeeded in cutting a gash in his wrist an inch long.
Johnny Black, who was rapidly becoming normal, remarked that His
Chickens was the village cut-up. I laughed so loud at Johnny's
shine joke that the manager of the hotel called me, and the whole
tribe got insulted and told the man his place was no good anyhow.
We started out, and the first thing we did was to strike one of
those foolish cabs. We made a bargain for a dollar and a half
the first hour and a dollar each succeeding hour, and then we
fell in and told the pilot to take us all over New York. He said
he would, and from the way I feel, he did. K. C. started an awful
argument in one place by declaring that a straight should beat a
flush because there were only eight chances to fill a straight,
while with a flush there were nine. I never figured it out before,
but K. C. is right.
In another place we met a Philadelphia-looking sort of a fellow
with a soft hat, a Prince Albert coat with narrow braid on it,
and a couple of those little bow-legged dogs with the long ears
and their stomachs away down on the ground. They call them Dasch
hounds, or something, and I can't for the life of me see what
anybody would want with such fool-looking dogs. They look as
though they had been born under a bureau or in a New York hotel
room, where you have to close the folding bed to find your clothes,
or in the Boston baseball grounds. The dog man said he used to know
a George Black years ago in Johnstown, Pa., who was a puddler in
the mills there. Johnny answered, "That's my father. He is manager
of those mills now, and what's more, he can lick any man in Cambria
County, just the same as I can lick any man in New York City." The
last was announced in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard all over
the place. Jim, I got it four times just from the overflow. Now,
you know merely because Johnny's father can lick any man in Cambria
County, is that any reason why I should land out in the middle of
the car track? Not at all.
Along about ten in the evening Bud wanted to keep the seven-o'clock-
dinner date with the heiresses, but the rest of the gang were too
busy. We blew into one of those concert halls over on Eighth Avenue
where they have sand on the floor, red-white-and-blue tissue paper
around the edge of the ceiling, no programme because it costs too
much, and a bum piano for an orchestra. The Professor wore no coat,
but he certainly knew his way around the ivories. A sad-looking,
thin guy, with a four days' growth and a large near-diamond stud,
came out and announced that the next turn was the feature of the
evening--the winsome Sisters Montclair, who would sing a lovely
waltz ballad written expressly for them, entitled, "The Check
Was Forged--He Had Went Too Far." Johnny Black set 'em up to the
Professor right in the middle of the song, and the Professor bowed
his regards, blew the froth off his beer, drank it, and lit a
cigarette without losing a note. Immediately after the act the
Professor presented Miss Alice Montclair of the famous "Sisters
Montclair." Barring the fact that Miss Montclair had a mouth like
a cave, she wasn't a bad looker. Old K. C. gave what was intended
for a tender, loving look, and asked her if he could call her
Alice; then without waiting for an answer, passed into a Rip Van
Winkle that looked good for a hundred years.
We told the lady it was up to her, and she said she would take a
Brandy and soda. Brandy and soda being fifty a throw and beer five
a copy, we told her to behave, and ordered the waiter to back her up
a tub of suds, Texas size. I noticed Miss Montclair's handkerchief
was marked "Mary Burke." Probably some mistake on the part of the
laundry. Careless laundry! Alice told us what lovely people her
folks were; she said her father was mayor of his town, and if we
only knew her real name it would surprise us all. Johnny Black
started to guess it, but was interrupted by having to settle for
the last round His Chickens had ordered. It seems His Chickens
would madly order, and then when the waiter would kind of hang
around for the price, he would do the earnest conversation gag
until some one else had made good. Alice, who was now getting a
trifle weary, went on to tell us that the girl who appeared with
her was not her sister, and that the only reason she stood for her
at all was because she had once been good to her when she was sick.
All of a sudden old K. C., who had been leaning over farther and
farther, did a Brodie out of his chair and lit on his eye. We dug
him out of the sand and put him back where he belonged, and he
immediately departed into another dreamless but jumpy slumber. At
this juncture somebody sold Dick six tickets at a dollar per for a
ball that had been given over a month ago by the Varnish Makers'
Union, K. of L., No. 229. Upon learning that he had been bunked,
Dick became very dignified, and said he would remember the fellow
perfectly, and that the day would come when they would be brought
face to face.
We were all getting along great; everybody was calling Alice
by her first name, and Alice was saying, "I'll leave it to Bill
if it ain't right," and speaking of Manager Frohman as Charley,
when Johnny Black, the president of all the trouble-makers,
spoiled the whole business. It appears that Alice's eyelids were
slightly granulated. It was barely noticeable, and nobody but a
dog like Johnny would have mentioned such a thing. Anyway, Johnny
suggested that the lady's granulated eyelids were probably caused
by looking for a rise in "Sugar." Jim, you should have seen Alice
go up! Johnny certainly cut her weights fine and proper. Of course,
Johnny was batting under two hundred, but for some unknown reason
we all got the blue pencil. She called Johnny an illy bred, low-
born, undersized, cavery-faced Protestant pup. Johnny was so
excited he couldn't get back at all. He just sputtered and spit
and made motions with his mouth. It was grand and touching and
refined. I cut in and tried to square it, and the lady told me
I was a spangle-eyed big dub. I'll bet that's one of the worst
things a fellow can be. Dick was then told what he was, and he
put it down in a book, after which Alice finished it all up with
a flood of tears. The head waiter came up and said: "Look a here,
Mary, what ails you, anyway? You're getting so lately you turn
them tears on every night. Be a good fellow, and don't make a
lot of gents think we're running a morgue. You've blowed half
your make-up as it is." Mary, alias Alice, gave the head waiter
one withering look, and left the place. We started to move on,
but found it was impossible to bring old K. C. back. We pounded
him and yelled at him for ten minutes, but there wasn't a leaf
stirring, except once, when he came to long enough to remark that
he was sweating like a June bride. We finally took his watch and
all his money but two dollars, and left him like a dog. A fellow
is perfectly safe in New York without any money.
We then mounted our deep-sea-going cab, and told the skipper
we were for the eats. He took us to a big restaurant on upper
Sixth Avenue. We told the waiter to bring us everything that
was good. When the waiter returned with the knives and forks,
he also brought us some Dill pickles. I took a bite at one of
them, and she squirted and hit a fellow at the next table in the
eye. I guess a Dill pickle must smart right pert--however, I won't
bore you with any details. Jim, I can remember that just at the
start of it a waiter happened to be passing with a very large
order on his tray, and for a while the air was literally crowded
with oyster stews, Welsh rarebits, glasses, showers of booze,
frogs' legs, and everything that wasn't chained down. When the
smoke cleared away I was occupying my regular position in the
center of the car track. They wouldn't let me in again, and the
rest of the fellows were too hungry to come out; so there I was
"Alone in New York." The cabman then asked for his money for the
whole day. I told him that the lack of money was the least of my
troubles, and I went down after ninety dollars that I had pinned
in my trousers watch-pocket with a safety pin. Exit money. Whoever
got to me hadn't even left the safety pin. The cabman made some
remarks about taking it out of my hide, and I spent all of twenty
minutes proving to him that the rest of the bunch would settle when
they came out. I then walked all the way down to the hotel, alone
and hungry. In my whole life I never met such a quarrelsome lot
of people. You know yourself, Jim, that any one who can guess
when a Dill pickle is going to squirt is entitled to the barrel
of flour, or the gold-plated oil stove; and as far as that ninety
is concerned, I suppose I went in front of the City Hall and
presented it to somebody. I'll bet, all told, I've been in a
hundred scraps in New York, and have never won a battle. I'll
win out yet, if I have to go out and beat up a poor old apple-woman.
Say, Jim, the greatest game in New York is to walk into some hotel
Palm-room with a particularly swell girl and watch all the rest
of them get jealous. You know that Harper girl from Louisville?
Well, I showed her around New York a couple of months ago, and
she made them all look like a summer resort on a rainy day. When
we entered any of the big restaurants I would send her along ahead,
and I would trail to hear the cracks. It was grand to see them
rubber and hear the women say, "She isn't so much," or "My, isn't
she padded frightfully!" and hear the men say, "Gee! A dream," or
"Pipe, Dan, I guess she's perfectly miserable, eh?" I lost two or
three sets of studs that trip just from swelling up.
Well, I'm home, and here I am going to stay. Just on the quiet,
I never felt so bad in my life. I'm all sore and stiff from that
car-track habit, and talk about your jumps! Why, a minute ago I
was sitting as quiet as a lamb, when, without the slightest warning
I did a leap straight up into the air about four feet. I wonder what
causes that? Coming down to the office this morning somebody kept
calling me continually, and when I would look around there wouldn't
be a soul near, and I am all the time hearing bands of music, and
maybe I am not perspiring!
If I ever get over this, that narrow-path gag for your Uncle Bill
for a long time to come. When you get to throwing your money away
there is nothing doing. Far be it from me casting up, neither am I
a hard loser, but I certainly could use that ninety. Well, that'll
be about all.
Yours as ever,
Billy.
P. S.--Just received the following telegram from Johnny Black,
dated New York, 1:50 P. M.: "Old K. C. has just been sighted.
She's a little dismantled, but game. She's arranging for a
foolisher for a whole week, and I am going to stay with him.
Dick sends best. Chickens has a roll."
I wired Johnny as follows: "If you see a safety pin anywhere
around Chickens, that roll belongs to me."