The other day a lady canvasser came up into the _Post_ editorial room
with a book she was selling. She went into the editor-in-chief's
office, and her little five-year-old girl, who came up with her,
remained in the outer rooms, doubtless attracted by the brilliant and
engaging appearance of the staff, which was lolling about at its
various desks during one of its frequent intervals of leisure.
She was a bright, curly-haired maiden, of a friendly disposition, so
she singled out the literary editor for attack, no doubt fascinated by
his aristocratic air, and his peculiarity of writing with his gloves
on.
"Tell me a 'tory," she demanded, shaking her curls at him, and gazing
up with eyes of commanding brown.
"A story, little one?" said the literary editor, with a sweet smile,
as he stroked her shining curls. "Most assuredly. What shall it be?"
"Tell me Dack, de Diant Killer."
"Jack, the Giant Killer? little sunbeam; with all my heart."
The literary editor helped the little lady upon a stool and began:
"Once upon a time, in immediate proximity to a primeval forest, in an
humble abode, where pleasures of a bucolic existence were profitably
mingled with the more laborious task of agricultural pursuits, dwelt
Jack, the hero of my tale, with his widowed maternal progenitor.
Scarcely of a parsimonious nature, yet perforce of economic character,
the widow was compelled to resort to numerous expedients in order to
prolong existence. She was the possessor of a bovine quadruped of most
excellent virtues. Her generous store of lacteal fluid, her amicable
and pacific nature, and her gentleness of demeanor had endeared her to
both Jack and his mother. But, alas, the exigencies of the situation
soon demanded that they part with their four-footed friend, and to
Jack the sorrowful duty was delegated to lead with lacerated bosom and
audible lamentations their bovine benefactor to the market, to be
bartered for the more indispensable necessaries of life. So Jack--"
"Say," said the little girl, "when is 'ou doin' to tell me dat 'tory?"
"See here," said the sporting editor, coming over from his desk, "you
can't expect a kid like that to get a place on such a heavy track as
yours. Your talk is all right for the grandstand, but you outclass
that five-year-old. What's the lay you're on, anyway?"
"Tan 'ou tell me Dack, the Diant Killer?" asked the little girl,
apparently favorably impressed with the goodhumored smile of the
sporting editor.
"You can gamble on that, sissy," said that cheerful gentleman, taking
her on his knees. "And I'll put it to you low down, right over the
plate, without any literary curve to it."
* * * * *
"Now you see," said the sporting editor, "Jack and his mother were
short on dough, and the old girl gave him the tip to sling a running
noose around the hooker end of the old cow and steer her up against
some guy who was willing to put up the scads for a genuine Jersey
creamery. So Jack lined up early one morning with the cow in tow, and
when the flag dropped he was on the three-quarters stretch for town.
Presently a guy came along and offered to plank down a bag of blue
beans for the cow. Jack was inclined to give him the marble face at
first, but finally called him and the strange bloke got his gaffles in
dead easy. Jack was a regular peach pie for a flim-flammer, and no
mistake. Jack then slid for home base, and when he worked his chin at
the old girl about what he had done she knocked him over the ropes in
a pair of seconds. So he--"
"When is 'ou doin' to begin dat 'tory?" asked the little girl, looking
up at him in wonder.
"Well, I'll be turned out to grass!" said the sporting editor. "I
thought I had begun it, sissy," he said, "but it must have been a
foul."
"What are you fellows teasing that little girl about?" asked the
railroad editor, as he came in and hung his cuffs on the gas burner.
"She wants to hear about Jack the Giant Killer," said the sporting
editor, "but doesn't seem to greet our poor efforts with much
hilarity. Do you speak English, or only railroad?"
"It's not likely she would be able to flag down your cockpit dialect,"
said the railroad editor with fine scorn. "Clear the track and let me
show you how to interest the youthful mind."
"Will 'ou tell me dat 'tory?" said the little maiden with a hopeful
look in her eyes.
"I will that," said the railroad editor, seating himself on a pile of
exchanges. "You fellows waste too much steam in pulling out of the
station. You want to get right into the exciting part from the first.
* * * * *
"Now, little one," said the railroad editor, "you see Jack woke up one
morning and looked out of the window, and the right of way was
blockaded by a bean stalk that had run a grand trunk air line that
went clear up out of sight. Jack took on coal and water, and, without
waiting to see if he had the track, grabbed hold and steamed off up
grade without even whistling at way stations. When he got to the end
of the run he found a castle as big as a union depot. So he put on
brakes and--"
"Tan 'ou tell me de 'tory about Dack de Diant Killer?" asked the
little girl.
Just then the lady came out, and the little girl jumped down and ran
to her. They had a little consultation, and as they went out the door
the staff heard the lady say:
"B'ess um's heart, muzzer will tell ums all about Jack when us gets
home."
(_Houston Daily Post_, Sunday morning, January 19, 1896.)