_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ REGULAR CUSTOMER _AND THE_ COPPER-LINED ENTERTAINER
One day the Main Works of a Wholesale House was Jacking Up the Private
Secretary and getting ready to close his desk for the Day, when in blew
a Country Customer. The Head of the Concern would have given Seven
Dollars if he could have got out and caught the Elevated before the
Country Customer showed up. However, he was Politic, and he knew he must
not throw down a Buyer who discounted his Bills and was good as Old
Wheat. So he gave a Correct Imitation of a Man who is tickled nearly to
Death. After calling the Country Customer "Jim," he made him sit down
and tell him about the Family, and the Crops, and Collections, and the
Prospects for Duck-Shooting. Then, selecting an opportune moment, he
threw up Both Hands. He said he had almost forgotten the Vestry Meeting
at Five O'clock, and going out to Dinner at Six-Thirty. He was about to
Call Off the Vestry Meeting, the Dinner, and all other Engagements for a
Week to come, but Jim would not Listen to it. As a Compromise the Head
of the Concern said he would ask their Mr. Byrd to take charge of the
Country Customer. They could surely find some Way of putting in the
Evening. He said the Oratorio Club war going to sing at Music Hall, and
also there was a Stereopticon Lecture on India. Jim said he would prefer
the Stereopticon Show, because he loved to look at Pictures.
The Head of the Concern said that the Country Customer would be sure to
like their Mr. Byrd. Everybody liked Byrd. His Full Name was Mr. Knight
Byrd.
He pushed on a few Buttons and blew into several snaky Tubes and put the
whole Shop on the Jump to find Mr. Byrd. The latter happened to be in a
Rathskeller not far away. When he heard that there was Work to be done
in his Department he brushed away the Crumbs and Hot-Footed up to see
the Boss.
In presenting Mr. Byrd to the Country Customer the Head of the Concern
laid it on with a Shovel. He said that Jim Here was his Friend, and the
House considered it an Honor to Entertain him. The Country Customer sat
there feeling Sheepish and Unworthy but a good deal Puffed Up just the
same. Then the Head of the Firm made his Escape and the Country Customer
was in the Hands of Mr. Byrd.
Mr. Byrd was known in the Establishment as the Human Expense Account. No
one had ever accused him of being a Quitter. He was supposed to be
Hollow inside. Whenever any Friend of the Firm showed up, Mr. Byrd was
called upon to take charge of him and Entertain him to a Stand-Still.
The Boss was troubled with Dyspepsia, and Conscientious Scruples, and a
Growing Family, and a few other Items that prevented him from going out
at Night with the Visiting Trade. He had it arranged to give each one of
them a choice Mess of Beautiful Language and then pass him along to Mr.
Byrd.
Mr. Byrd was a Rosy and Red-Headed Gentleman, with a slight Overhang
below the Shirt Front. He breathed like a Rusty Valve every time he had
to go up a Stairway, but he had plenty of Endurance of another Kind. For
Years he had been playing his Thirst against his Capacity, and it was
still a Safe Bet, whichever Way you wanted to place your Money. His
Batting Average was about Seven Nights to the Week. He discovered that
Alcohol was a Food long before the Medical Journals got onto it.
Mr. Byrd's chief value to the Wholesale House lay in the Fact that he
could Meet all Comers and close up half the Places in Town, and then
show up next Morning with a Clean Collar and a White Carnation, and send
in word to lead out another Country Customer.
Mr. Byrd's first Move was to take Jim to a Retreat that was full of
Statuary and Paintings. It was owned by a gray-haired Beau named Bob,
who was a Ringer for a United States Senator, all except the White Coat.
Bob wanted to show them a new Tall One called the Mamie Taylor, and
after they had Sampled a Couple Jim said it was all right and he
believed he would take one. Then he told Bob how much he had taken in
the Year before and what his Fixtures cost him, and if anybody didn't
think he was Good they could look him up in Bradstreet or Dun, that was
all. He said he was a Gentleman, and that no Cheap Skate in a Plug Hat
could tell him where to Get Off. This last Remark was intended for an
inoffensive Person who had slipped in to get a Rhine Wine and Seltzer,
and was pronging about Forty Cents' Worth of Lunch.
They got around Jim and Quieted him, and Mr. Byrd suggested that they go
and Eat something before they got too Busy. The Country Customer would
not leave the Art Buffet until Bob had promised to come down and Visit
him sometime. When they got into the Street again the Country Customer
noticed that all the Office Buildings were set on the Bias, and they
were introducing a new style of spiral Lamp-Post.
They dined at a Palm-Garden that had Padding under the Table-Cloth and a
Hungarian Orchestra in the Corner. Mr. Byrd ordered Eleven Courses, and
then asked Jim what Kind he usually had with his Dinner. This is an
Awful Question to pop at a Man who has been on Rain Water and Buttermilk
all his Life. Jim was not to be Fazed. He said that he never ordered any
Particular Label for fear People might think he was an Agent. That was
the Best Thing that Jim said all Evening.
Mr. Byrd told the Waiter to stand behind Jim and keep Busy. When Jim
began to Make Signs that he could not Stand any more, the Entertainer
told him to Inhale it and rub it in his Hair.
[Illustration: "HOORAY! HOORAY!"]
Along toward Dessert Jim was talking in the Tone used by Muggsy McGraw
when he is Coaching the Man who is Playing Off from Second. He was
telling how much he Loved his Wife. She would have been Pleased to hear
it.
Mr. Byrd paid a Check that represented One Month's Board down where Jim
lived. They fell into a Horseless Hansom and went to see the Hity-Tity
Variety and Burlesque Aggregation in a new Piece entitled "Hooray!
Hooray!" Jim sat in a Box for the First Time, and wanted to throw Money
on the Stage. The Head Usher had to come around once in a while to ask
him not to let his Feet hang over, and to remember that the Company
could do all the Singing without any Help from him. Mr. Byrd sat back
slightly Flushed and watched the Country Customer make a Show of
himself. It was an Old Story to him. He knew that the quiet School
Trustee kind of a Man who goes Home at Sundown for 364 Days in the Year,
with the Morning Steak and a Roll of Reading Matter under his Arm, is
the worst Indian in the World when he does find himself among the Tall
Houses and gets it Up his Nose.
He allowed Jim to stand and Yell when the Chorus struck the Grand
Finale, and a little later on, when they had chartered a low-necked
Carriage and Jim wanted to get up and Drive, he Stood for it, although
he had to make a Pretty Talk to a couple of Policemen before he landed
Jim at the Hotel.
If this were a Novel, there would be a Row of Stars inserted right here.
The Sun was high in the Heavens when the Country Customer opened his
Eyes and tried to Remember and then tried to Forget. Some one was
sitting at his Bedside. It was Mr. Byrd, the Long-Distance Entertainer,
looking as Sweet and Cool as a Daisy.
"Before I give you the Photograph of Myself which you requested last
Night, would you care for anything in the way of Ice Water?" he asked.
Jim did a sincere Groan, and said he could use a Barrel of it.
"Did I request a Photograph?" he asked, as he felt for the Boundaries of
his Head.
[Illustration: JIM]
"You did," replied the Entertainer. "And you gave me your Watch as a
Keepsake. I have brought the Watch and all the Money you had left after
you bought the Dog."
"What Dog?"
"The Dog that you gave to Bob."
"Did we go back there again? I remember the First Time."
"Yes, it was In There that you wanted to Run a Hundred Yards with any
Man Present for Chalk, Money, or Marbles."
"Where are we now--at the Hotel?"
"Yes, and Everything is Smoothed Over. The Night Clerk has agreed not to
swear out a Warrant."
Jim did not Comprehend, but he was afraid to Ask.
"It may be that I was a mite Polluted," he suggested.
"You were a teeny bit Pickled about Two, when you tried to upset the
Lunch Wagon, but I don't think any one Noticed it," said Mr. Byrd.
"Take me to the Noon Train," requested the Country Customer. "Tell the
Conductor where I live, and send me the Bills for all that I have
Broken."
"Everything is Settled," responded the Entertainer. "But why Tear
yourself away?"
"I am Through," replied Jim, "So why Tarry?"
Mr. Byrd took him to the Train and arranged with the Porter of the
Parlor Car for a Pillow.
When the Country Customer arrived at Home he accounted for the Eyes by
saying that the Night Traffic makes so much Noise on these Hard Stone
Pavements, it is almost impossible to get the usual amount of Sleep.
The Head of the Concern put his O.K. on a Voucher for $43.60, and it
occurred to him that Stereopticon Lectures seemed to be Advancing, but
he asked no Questions.
Ever after that Jim bought all his Goods of this one House. He had to.
MORAL: _Scatter Seeds of Kindness_.
_THE_ FABLE _OF_ LUTIE, _THE_ FALSE ALARM, _AND_ HOW SHE FINISHED ABOUT
_THE_ TIME _THAT_ SHE STARTED
Lutie was an Only Child. When Lutie was eighteen her Mother said they
ought to do something with Lutie's Voice. The Neighbors thought so, too.
Some recommended killing the Nerve, while others allowed that it ought
to be Pulled.
But what Mamma meant was that Lutie ought to have it Cultivated by a
Professor. She suspected that Lutie had a Career awaiting her, and would
travel with an Elocutionist some day and have her Picture on the
Programme.
Lutie's Father did not warm up to the Suggestion. He was rather Near
when it came to frivoling away the National Bank Lithographs. But pshaw!
The Astute Reader knows what happens in a Family when Mother and the
Only Child put their Heads together to whipsaw the Producer. One Day
they shouldered him into a Corner and extorted a Promise. Next Day Lutie
started to Take.
She bought a red leather Cylinder marked "Music," so that people would
not take it to be Lunch. Every Morning about 9 o'clock she would wave
the Housework to one side and tear for a Trolley.
Her Lessons cost the Family about twenty cents a Minute. She took them
in a large Building full of Vocal Studios. People who didn't know used
to stop in front of the Place and listen, and think it was a Surgical
Institute.
There were enough Soprani in this one Plant to keep Maurice Grau stocked
up for a Hundred Years. Every one thought she was the Particular One who
would sooner or later send Melba back to Australia and drive Sembrich
into the Continuous. Lutie was just about as Nifty as the Next One.
When she was at Home she would suck Lemons and complain about Draughts
and tell why she didn't like the Other Girls' Voices. She began to act
like a Prima Donna, and her Mother was encouraged a Lot. Lutie certainly
had the Artistic Temperament bigger than a Church Debt.
Now before Lutie started in to do Things to her Voice she occasionally
Held Hands with a Young Man in the Insurance Business, named Oliver.
This Young Man thought that Lutie was all the Merchandise, and she
regarded him as Permanent Car-Fare.
But when Lutie began to hang out at the Studios she took up with the
Musical Set that couldn't talk about anything but Technique and Shading
and the Motif and the Vibrato. She began to fill up the Parlor with her
new Friends, and the first thing Oliver knew he was in the Side Pocket
and out of the Game.
In his own Line this Oliver was as neat and easy-running as a Red Buggy,
but when you started him on the topic of Music he was about as light and
speedy as a Steam Roller. Ordinarily he knew how to behave himself in a
Flat, and with a good Feeder to work back at him he could talk about
Shows and Foot-Ball Games and Things to Eat, but when any one tried to
draw him out on the Classics, he was unable to Qualify.
[Illustration: LUTIE]
When Lutie and her Musical acquaintances told about Shopan and Batoven
he would sit back so quiet that often he got numb below the Hips. He was
afraid to move his Feet for fear some one would notice that he was still
in the Parlor and ask him how he liked Fugue No. II, by Bock. He had
never heard of any of these People, because they did not carry Tontine
Policies with his Company.
Oliver saw that he would have to Scratch the Musical Set or else begin
to Read Up, so he changed his Route. He canceled all Time with Lutie,
and made other Bookings.
Lutie then selected for her Steady a Young Man with Hair who played the
'Cello. He was so wrapped up in his Art that he acted Dopey most of the
time, and often forgot to send out the Laundry so as to get it back the
same Week. Furthermore, he didn't get to the Suds any too often. He
never Saw more than $3 at one time; but when he snuggled up alongside of
a 'Cello and began to tease the long, sad Notes out of it, you could
tell that he had a Soul for Music. Lutie thought he was Great, but what
Lutie's Father thought of him could never get past the Censor. Lutie's
Father regarded the whole Musical Set as a Fuzzy Bunch. He began to
think that in making any Outlay for Lutie's Vocal Training he had bought
a Gold Brick. When he first consented to her taking Lessons his Belief
was that after she had practiced for about one Term she would be able to
sit up to the Instrument along in the Dusk before the Lamps were lit,
and sing "When the Corn is Waving, Annie Dear," "One Sweetly Solemn
Thought," or else "Juanita." These were the Songs linked in his Memory
with some Purple Evenings of the Happy Long Ago. He knew they were
Chestnuts, and had been called in, but they suited him, and he thought
that inasmuch as he had put up the Wherewith for Lutie's Lessons he
ought to have some kind of a Small Run for his Money.
Would Lutie sing such Trash? Not she. She was looking for Difficult
Arias from the Italian, and she found many a one that was Difficult to
sing, and probably a little more Difficult to Listen To.
The Voice began to be erratic, also. When father wanted to sit by the
Student's Lamp and read his Scribner's, she would decide to hammer the
Piano and do the whole Repertoire.
But when Mother had Callers and wanted Lutie to Show Off, then she would
hang back and have to be Coaxed. If she didn't have a Sore Throat, then
the Piano was out of Tune, or else she had left all of her Good Music at
the Studio, or maybe she just couldn't Sing without some one to
Accompany her. But after they had Pleaded hard enough, and everybody was
Embarrassed and sorry they had come, she would approach the Piano
timidly and sort of Trifle with it for a while, and say they would have
to make Allowances, and then she would Cut Loose and worry the whole
Block. The Company would sit there, every one showing the Parlor Face
and pretending to be entranced, and after she got through they would
Come To and tell her how Good she was.
She made so many of these Parlor Triumphs that there was no Holding her.
She had herself Billed as a Nightingale. Often she went to Soirees and
Club Entertainments, volunteering her Services, and nowhere did she meet
a Well-Wisher who took her aside and told her she was a Shine--in fact,
the Champion Pest.
[Illustration: CRITIC]
No, Lutie never got out of her Dream until she made a bold Sashay with a
Concert Company. It was her Professional Debut.
Father fixed it. The Idea of any one paying Real Money to hear Lutie
sing struck him as being almost Good enough to Print. But she wouldn't
be Happy until she got it, and so she Got It right where the Newport
Lady wears the Rope of Pearls.
On the First Night the mean old Critics, who didn't know her Father or
Mother, and had never been entertained at the House, came and got in the
Front Row, and defied Lutie to come on and Make Good. Next Morning they
said that Lutie had Blow-Holes in her Voice; that she hit the Key only
once during the Evening, and then fell off backward; that she was a Ham,
and her Dress didn't fit her, and she lacked Stage Presence. They
expressed Surprise that she should be attempting to Sing when any bright
Girl could learn to pound a Type-Writer in Four Weeks. They wanted to
know who was responsible for her Appearance, and said it was a Shame to
String these Jay Amateurs. Lutie read the Criticisms, and went into
Nervous Collapse. Her Mother was all Wrought Up, and said somebody ought
to go and kill the Editors. Father bore up grimly.
Before Lutie was Convalescent he had the Difficult Italian Arias carted
out of the house. The 'Cello Player came to call one Day, and he was
given Minutes to get out of the Ward.
By the time Oliver looked in again Lutie was more than ready to pay some
Attention to him. She is now doing a few quiet Vocalizations for her
Friends. When some one who hasn't Heard tells her that she is good
enough for Opera, they have to open the Windows and give her more Air.
MORAL: _When in Doubt, try it on the Box-office_.
_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ COTILLON LEADER _FROM THE_ HUCKLEBERRY DISTRICT
_WITH THE_ INTERMITTENT MEMORY
A Young Man who had made a Sudden Winning, and was beginning to act as
Shawl-Holder and Emergency Errand-Boy for the Society Queens, seemed to
have a great deal of Trouble with his Memory. If he met Any One who had
started with him a few Years before, and who used to Stake him to a
Meal-Ticket now and then, or let him have a Scarf-Pin when he had to go
out and make a Front, he could not appear to remember the Man's Name or
tell where he had seen him before. When he was in a Loge at the
Play-House with Exclusive Ethel and her Friends, he might look down in
the Parquette and see the Landlady who had carried him through a Hard
Winter and accepted a Graceful Wave of the Hand when she really needed
the Board Money, but he found it impossible to Place her. Even the
People who came from his own Town, and who knew him when he was getting
Five a Week and wearing Celluloid Cuffs, and who could relate the Family
History if they wanted to Knock, they couldn't make him Remember, even
when they stopped him on the Street and recalled such Humiliations as
the Time he used to pick Cherries on the Shares, and how Odd he looked
in his Brother's Made-Over Clothes.
[Illustration: AFFECTIONATE MASSAGE]
This Young Man buried the Dead Past until his Memory was a Blank for the
whole Period up to the Time that the President of the Fidelity National
invited him to Dinner and he got his first Peek at a sure-enough Butler.
He had been a Genuine Aristocrat for about Eighteen Months, when he made
a Mis-step and landed with his Face in the Gravel. The Gigantic
Enterprise which he had been Promoting got into the Public Prints as a
Pipe Dream. There was no more Capital coming from the Angels. He was
back at the Post, with nothing to Show for his Bold Dash except a
Wardrobe and an Appetite for French Cooking. Society gave him the Frozen
Face, and all those who had been speaking of him as a Young Napoleon
agreed that he was a Dub. The Banks were trying to Collect on a lot of
Slow Notes that he had floated in his Palmy Days, and they had a Proud
Chance to Collect. He went into the Bankruptcy Court and Scheduled
$73,000 of Liabilities, the Assets being a Hat-Box and a Set of
Theatrical Posters.
When he had to go out and Rustle for a Job he was a Busy Hand-Shaker
once more. The Blow seemed to have landed right on the Bump of Memory,
and put his Recollecting Department into full Operation again. He could
spot an Old Pal clear across the Street. He was rushing up to Obscure
Characters that he had not seen in Eight Years, and he called each one
of them "Old Man." It was now their Turn to do the Forgetful Business.
The Tablets of his Memory read as clear as Type-Writing. Upon meeting
any Friend of his Boyhood he did the Shoulder-Slap, and rang in the Auld
Lang Syne Gag. He was so Democratic he was ready to Borrow from the
Humblest. The same Acquaintances who had tried to Stand In with him when
Things were coming his Way, were cutting off Street-Corners and getting
down behind their Newspapers to escape the Affectionate Massage,
beginning at the Hand and extending to the Shoulder-Blade. It was No
Use. He remembered them all, and no one got Past him.