down he 'peared to keer mighty little 'bout playin' and wisht he hadn't
come. He tweedle-leedled a little on a treble, and twoodle-oodled some
on the base,--just foolin' and boxin' the thing's jaws for bein' in his
way. And I says to a man sittin' next to me, says I, "What sort of fool
playin' is that?" And he says, "Heish!" But presently his hands
commenced chasin' one another up and down the keys, like a passel of
rats scamperin' through a garret very swift. Parts of it was sweet,
though, and reminded me of a sugar squirrel turnin' the wheel of a candy
cage.
"Now," I says to my neighbor, "he's showin' off. He thinks he's a-doin'
of it, but he ain't got no idee, no plan of nothin'. If he'd play me a
tune of some kind or other, I'd--"
But my neighbor says, "Heish!" very impatient.
I was just about to git up and go home, bein' tired of that
foolishness, when I heard a little bird waking up away off in the woods
and call sleepy-like to his mate, and I looked up and see that Rubin was
beginning to take some interest in his business, and I sit down again.
It was the peep of day. The light came faint from the east, the breezes
blowed gentle and fresh, some more birds waked up in the orchard, then
some more in the trees near the house, and all begun singin' together.
People began to stir, and the gal opened the shutters. Just then the
first beam of the sun fell upon the blossoms a leetle more, and it techt
the roses on the bushes, and the next thing it was broad day; the sun
fairly blazed, the birds sung like they'd split their little throats;
all the leaves was movin', and flashin' diamonds of dew, and the whole
wide world was bright and happy as a king. Seemed to me like there was a
good breakfast in every house in the land, and not a sick child or woman
anywhere. It was a fine mornin'.
And I says to my neighbor, "That's music, that is."
But he glared at me like he'd like to cut my throat.
Presently the wind turned; it begun to thicken up, and a kind of gray
mist came over things; I got low-spirited directly. Then a silver rain
began to fall. I could see the drops touch the ground; some flashed up
like long pearl ear-rings, and the rest rolled away like round rubies.
It was pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls gathered themselves into
long strands and necklaces, and then they melted into thin silver
streams, running between golden gravels, and then the streams joined
each other at the bottom of the hill, and made a brook that flowed
silent, except that you could kinder see the music, especially when the
bushes on the banks moved as the music went along down the valley. I
could smell the flowers in the meadow. But the sun didn't shine, nor the
birds sing: it was a foggy day, but not cold.
The most curious thing was the little white angel-boy, like you see in
pictures, that run ahead of the music brook and led it on, and on, away
out of the world, where no man ever was, certain, I could see the boy
just as plain as I see you. Then the moonlight came, without any sunset,
and shone on the graveyards, where some few ghosts lifted their hands
and went over the wall, and between the black, sharp-top trees splendid
marble houses rose up, with fine ladies in the lit-up windows, and men
that loved 'em, but could never get anigh 'em, who played on guitars
under the trees, and made me that miserable I could have cried, because
I wanted to love somebody, I don't know who, better than the men with
the guitars did.
Then the sun went down, it got dark, the wind moaned and wept like a
lost child for its dead mother, and I could 'a' got up then and there
and preached a better sermon than any I ever listened to. There wasn't a
thing in the world left to live for, not a blame thing, and yet I didn't
want the music to stop one bit. It was happier to be miserable than to
be happy without being miserable. I couldn't understand it. I hung my
head and pulled out my handkerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep me
from cryin'. My eyes is weak anyway; I didn't want anybody to be
a-gazin' at me a-sniv'lin', and it's nobody's business what I do with my
nose. It's mine. But some several glared at me mad as blazes. Then, all
of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. He ripped out and he rared, he
tipped and he tared, he pranced and he charged like the grand entry at a
circus. 'Peared to me that all the gas in the house was turned on at
once, things got so bright, and I hilt up my head, ready to look any man
in the face, and not afraid of nothin'. It was a circus and a brass band
and a big ball all goin' on at the same time. He lit into them keys like
a thousand of brick; he give 'em no rest day or night; he set every
livin' joint in me a-goin', and, not bein' able to stand it no longer, I
jumped spang onto my seat, and jest hollered,--
_"Go it, my Rube!"_
Every blame man, woman and child in the house riz on me, and shouted,
"Put him out! put him out!"
"Put your great-grandmother's grizzly gray greenish cat into the middle
of next month!" I says. "Tech me if you dare! I paid my money, and you
jest come anigh me!"
With that some several policemen run up, and I had to simmer down. But I
would 'a' fit any fool that laid hands on me, for I was bound to hear
Ruby out or die.
He had changed his tune again. He hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine
from end to end of the key-board. He played soft and low and solemn. I
heard the church bells over the hills. The candles of heaven was lit,
one by one; I saw the stars rise. The great organ of eternity began to
play from the world's end to the world's end, and all the angels went to
prayers.... Then the music changed to water, full of feeling that
couldn't be thought, and began to drop--drip, drop--drip, drop, clear
and sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of glory. It was
sweeter than that. It was as sweet as a sweet-heart sweetened with white
sugar mixed with powdered silver and seed-diamonds. It was too sweet. I
tell you the audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, like he wanted to
say, "Much obleeged, but I'd rather you wouldn't interrup' me."
He stopped a moment or two to catch breath. Then he got mad. He run his
fingers through his hair, he shoved up his sleeve, he opened his
coat-tails a leetle further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, and,
sir, he just went for that old pianner. He slapped her face, he boxed
her jaws, he pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he scratched her
cheeks, until she fairly yelled. He knocked her down and he stamped on
her shameful. She bellowed like a bull, she bleated like a calf, she
howled like a hound, she squealed like a pig, she shrieked like a rat,
and _then_ he wouldn't let her up. He run a quarter stretch down the low
grounds of the base, till he got clean in the bowels of the earth, and
you heard thunder galloping after thunder through the hollows and caves
of perdition; and then he fox-chased his right hand with his left till
he got 'way out of the treble into the clouds, whar the notes was finer
than the p'ints of cambric needles, and you couldn't hear nothin' but
the shadders of 'em. And _then_ he wouldn't let the old pianner go. He
for'ard two'd, he crost over first gentleman, he chassade right and
left, back to your places, he all hands'd aroun', ladies to the right,
promenade all, in and out, here and there, back and forth, up and down,
perpetual motion, double twisted and turned and tacked and tangled into
forty-eleven thousand double bow-knots.
By jinks! it was a mixtery. And then he wouldn't let the old pianner go.
He fetcht up his right wing, he fetcht up his left wing, he fetcht up
his center, he fetcht up his reserves. He fired by file, he fired by
platoons, by company, by regiments, and by brigades. He opened his
cannon,--siege-guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve-pounders
yonder,--big guns, little guns, middle-sized guns, round shot, shells,
shrapnels, grape, canister, mortar, mines and magazines, every livin'
battery and bomb a-goin' at the same time. The house trembled, the
lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come up, the ceilin' come down,
the sky split, the ground rocked--heavens and earth, creation, sweet
potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, tenpenny nails, Samson in a
'simmon-tree, Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle-oodle-oodle-oodle-
ruddle-uddle-uddle-uddle--raddle-addle-eedle--riddle-iddle-iddle-
iddle--reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle--p-r-r-r-rlank! Bang!!! lang! perlang!
p-r-r-r-r-r!! Bang!!!!
With that bang! he lifted himself bodily into the a'r, and he come down
with his knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his elbows, and his nose,
striking every single solitary key on the pianner at the same time. The
thing busted and went off into seventeen hundred and fifty-seven
thousand five hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi-quivers, and I know'd
no mo'.
When I come to, I were under ground about twenty foot, in a place they
call Oyster Bay, treatin' a Yankee that I never laid eyes on before and
never expect to ag'in. Day was breakin' by the time I got to the St.
Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my word I did not know my name. The man
asked me the number of my room, and I told him, "Hot music on the
half-shell for two!"
PLAGIARISM
BY JOHN B. TABB
If Poe from Pike The Raven stole,
As his accusers say,
Then to embody Adam's soul,
God _plagiarised_ the clay.
GO LIGHTLY, GAL
(THE CAKE-WALK)
BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON
Sweetes' li'l honey in all dis lan',
Come erlong yer an' gimme yo' han',
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Cawn all shucked an' de barn flo' clear,
Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Fiddles dey callin' us high an' fine,
"Time fer de darnsin', come an' jine,"
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
My pooty li'l honey, but you is sweet!
An' hit's clap yo' han's an' shake yo' feet,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Hit's cut yo' capers all down de line,
Den mek yo' manners an' tiptoe fine,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Oh, hit's whu'll yo' pardners roun' an' roun',
Twel you hyst dey feet clean off de groun',
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Oh, hit's tu'n an' twis' all roun' de flo',
Fling out yo' feet behime, befo',
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Gre't Lan' o' Goshen! but you is spry!
Kain't none er de urr gals spring so high,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Oh, roll yo' eyes an' wag yo' haid
An' shake yo' bones twel you nigh most daid,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Doan' talk ter me 'bout gittin' yo' bref,
Gwine darnse dis out ef hit cause my def!
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Um-humph! done darnse all de urr folks down!
Skip erlong, honey, jes' one mo' roun'!
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Fiddles done played twel de strings all break!
Come erlong, honey, jes' one mo' shake,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Now teck my arm an' perawd all roun',
So dey see whar de _sho'-nuff_ darnsers foun',
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
Den gimme yo' han' an' we quit dish yer,
Come erlong, come erlong, come erlong, my dear,
Go lightly, gal, go lightly!
THE GOLFER'S RUBAIYAT[1]
BY H.W. BOYNTON
Wake! for the sun has driven in equal flight
The stars before him from the Tee of Night,
And holed them every one without a miss,
Swinging at ease his gold-shod Shaft of Light.
Now the fresh Year, reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Pores on this Club and That with anxious eye,
And dreams of Rounds beyond the Rounds of Liars.
Come, choose your ball, and in the Fire of Spring
Your Red Coat, and your wooden Putter fling;
The Club of Time has but a little while
To waggle, and the Club is on the swing.
Whether at Musselburgh or Shinnecock,
In motley Hose or humbler motley Sock,
The Cup of Life is ebbing Drop by Drop,
Whether the Cup be filled with Scotch or Bock.
A Bag of Clubs, a Silver-Town or two,
A Flask of Scotch, a Pipe of Shag--and Thou
Beside me caddying in the Wilderness--
Ah, Wilderness were Paradise enow.
They say the Female and the Duffer strut
On sacred Greens where Morris used to put;
Himself a natural Hazard now, alas!
That nice hand quiet now, that great Eye shut.
I sometimes think that never springs so green
The Turf as where some Good Fellow has been,
And every emerald Stretch the Fair Green shows
His kindly Tread has known, his sure Play seen.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Jamie and His, and heard great argument
Of Grip and Stance and Swing; but evermore
Found at the Exit but a Dollar spent.
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand sought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reaped:
"You hold it This Way, and you swing it So."
The swinging Brassie strikes; and, having struck,
Moves on: nor all your Wit or future Luck
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Stroke,
Nor from the Card a single Seven pluck.
And that inverted Ball they call the High--
By which the Duffer thinks to live or die,
Lift not your hands to IT for help, for it
As impotently froths as you or I.
Yon rising Moon that leads us Home again,
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising wait for us
At this same Turning--and for One in vain.
And when, like her, my Golfer, I have been
And am no more above the pleasant Green,
And you in your mild Journey pass the Hole
I made in One--ah! pay my Forfeit then!
[Footnote 1: By permission of Fox, Duffield and Company. From _The
Golfer's Rubaiyat_. Copyright, 1901, by Herbert S. Stone and Company.]
MR. DOOLEY ON REFORM CANDIDATES
BY FINLEY PETER DUNNE
"That frind iv ye'ers, Dugan, is an intilligent man," said Mr. Dooley.
"All he needs is an index an' a few illusthrations to make him a
bicyclopedja iv useless information."
"Well," said Mr. Hennessy, judiciously, "he ain't no Soc-rates an' he
ain't no answers-to-questions colum; but he's a good man that goes to
his jooty, an' as handy with a pick as some people are with a cocktail
spoon. What's he been doin' again ye?"
"Nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "but he was in here Choosday. 'Did ye
vote?' says I. 'I did,' says he. 'Which wan iv th' distinguished bunko
steerers got ye'er invalu'ble suffrage?' says I. 'I didn't have none
with me,' says he, 'but I voted f'r Charter Haitch,' says he. 'I've been
with him in six ilictions,' says he, 'an' he's a good man,' he says.
'D'ye think ye're votin' f'r th' best?' says I. 'Why, man alive,' I
says, 'Charter Haitch was assassinated three years ago,' I says. 'Was
he?' says Dugan. 'Ah, well, he's lived that down be this time. He was a
good man,' he says.
"Ye see, that's what thim rayform lads wint up again. If I liked
rayformers, Hinnissy, an' wanted f'r to see thim win out wanst in their
lifetime, I'd buy thim each a suit iv chilled steel, ar-rm thim with
raypeatin' rifles, an' take thim east iv State Sthreet an' south iv
Jackson Bullyvard. At prisint th' opinion that pre-vails in th' ranks
iv th' gloryous ar-rmy iv ray-form is that there ain't anny-thing worth
seein' in this lar-rge an' commodyous desert but th' pest-house an' the
bridewell. Me frind Willum J. O'Brien is no rayformer. But Willum J.
undherstands that there's a few hundherds iv thousands iv people livin'
in a part iv th' town that looks like nawthin' but smoke fr'm th' roof
iv th' Onion League Club that have on'y two pleasures in life, to
wur-ruk an' to vote, both iv which they do at th' uniform rate iv wan
dollar an' a half a day. That's why Willum J. O'Brien is now a sinitor
an' will be an aldherman afther next Thursdah, an' it's why other people
are sinding him flowers.
"This is th' way a rayform candydate is ilicted. Th' boys down town has
heerd that things ain't goin' r-right somehow. Franchises is bein'
handed out to none iv thim; an' wanst in a while a mimber iv th' club,
comin' home a little late an' thryin' to riconcile a pair iv r-round
feet with an embroidered sidewalk, meets a sthrong ar-rm boy that pushes
in his face an' takes away all his marbles. It begins to be talked that
th' time has come f'r good citizens f'r to brace up an' do somethin',
an' they agree to nomynate a candydate f'r aldherman. 'Who'll we put
up?' says they. 'How's Clarence Doolittle?' says wan. 'He's laid up with
a coupon thumb, an' can't r-run.' 'An' how about Arthur Doheny?' 'I
swore an oath whin I came out iv colledge I'd niver vote f'r a man that
wore a made tie.' 'Well, thin, let's thry Willie Boye.' 'Good,' says th'
comity. 'He's jus' th' man f'r our money.' An' Willie Boye, after
thinkin' it over, goes to his tailor an' ordhers three dozen pairs iv
pants, an' decides f'r to be th' sthandard-bearer iv th' people. Musin'
over his fried eyesthers an' asparagus an' his champagne, he bets a polo
pony again a box of golf-balls he'll be ilicted unanimous; an' all th'
good citizens make a vow f'r to set th' alar-rm clock f'r half-past
three on th' afthernoon iv iliction day, so's to be up in time to vote
f'r th' riprisintitive iv pure gover'mint.
"'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other candydates
in th' field. But th' other candydates know it. Th' sthrongest iv
thim--his name is Flannigan, an' he's a re-tail dealer in wines an'
liquors, an' he lives over his establishment. Flannigan was nomynated
enthusyastically at a prim'ry held in his bar-rn; an' befure Willie Boye
had picked out pants that wud match th' color iv th' Austhreelyan ballot
this here Flannigan had put a man on th' day watch, tol' him to speak
gently to anny raygistered voter that wint to sleep behind th' sthove,
an' was out that night visitin' his frinds. Who was it judged th' cake
walk? Flannigan. Who was it carrid th' pall? Flannigan. Who was it sthud
up at th' christening? Flannigan. Whose ca-ards did th' grievin' widow,
th' blushin' bridegroom, or th' happy father find in th' hack?
Flannigan's. Ye bet ye'er life. Ye see Flannigan wasn't out f'r th' good
iv th' community. Flannigan was out f'r Flannigan an' th' stuff.
"Well, iliction day come around; an' all th' imminent frinds iv good
gover'mint had special wires sthrung into th' club, an' waited f'r th'
returns. Th' first precin't showed 28 votes f'r Willie Boye to 14 f'r
Flannigan. 'That's my precin't,' says Willie. 'I wondher who voted thim
fourteen?' 'Coachmen,' says Clarence Doolittle. 'There are thirty-five
precin'ts in this ward,' says th' leader iv th' rayform ilimint. 'At
this rate, I'm sure iv 440 meejority. Gossoon,' he says, 'put a keg iv
sherry wine on th' ice,' he says. 'Well,' he says, 'at last th'
community is relieved fr'm misrule,' he says. 'To-morrah I will start in
arrangin' amindmints to th' tariff schedool an' th' ar-bitration
threety,' he says. 'We must be up an' doin',' he says. 'Hol' on there,'
says wan iv th' comity. 'There must be some mistake in this fr'm th'
sixth precin't,' he says. 'Where's the sixth precin't?' says Clarence.
'Over be th' dumps,' says Willie. 'I told me futman to see to that. He
lives at th' cor-ner iv Desplaines an' Bloo Island Av'noo on Goose's
Island,' he says. 'What does it show?' 'Flannigan, three hundherd an'
eighty-five; Hansen, forty-eight; Schwartz, twinty; O'Malley, sivinteen;
Casey, ten; O'Day, eight; Larsen, five; O'Rourke, three; Mulcahy, two;
Schmitt, two; Moloney, two; Riordon, two; O'Malley, two; Willie Boye,
wan.' 'Gintlemin,' says Willie Boye, arisin' with a stern look in his
eyes, 'th' rascal has bethrayed me. Waither, take th' sherry wine off
th' ice. They'se no hope f'r sound financial legislation this year. I'm
goin' home.'
"An', as he goes down th' sthreet, he hears a band play an' sees a
procission headed be a calceem light; an', in a carredge, with his plug
hat in his hand an' his di'mond makin' th' calceem look like a piece iv
punk in a smokehouse, is Flannigan, payin' his first visit this side iv
th' thracks."
AN EVENING MUSICALE
BY MAY ISABEL FISK
Scene--_A conventional, but rather over-decorated, drawing-room. Grand
piano drawn conspicuously to center of floor. Rows of camp-chairs. It is
ten minutes before the hour of invitation._ The Hostess, _a large woman,
is costumed in yellow satin, embroidered in spangles. Her diamonds are
many and of large size. She is seated on the extreme edge of a chair,
struggling with a pair of very long gloves. She looks flurried and
anxious._ Poor Relative, _invited as a "great treat," sits opposite. Her
expression is timid and apprehensive. They are the only occupants of the
room._
HOSTESS--No such thing, Maria. You look all right. Plain black is always
very genteel. Nothing I like so well for evening, myself. Just keep your
face to the wall as much as you can, and the worn places will never
show. You can take my ecru lace scarf, if you wish, and that will cover
most of the spots. I don't mean my new scarf--the one I got two years
ago. It's a little torn, but it won't matter--for you. I think you will
find it on the top shelf of the store-room closet on the third floor. If
you put a chair on one of the trunks, you can easily reach it. Just wait
a minute, till I get these gloves on; I want you to button them. I do
hope I haven't forgotten anything. Baron von Gosheimer has promised to
come. I have told everybody. It would be terrible if he should
disappoint me.
MASCULINE VOICE FROM ABOVE--Sarah, where the devil have you put my
shirts? Everything is upside down in my room, and I can't find them. I
pulled every blessed thing out of the chiffonier and wardrobe, and
they're not there!
HOSTESS--Oh, Henry! You _must_ hurry--I'm going to use your room for the
gentlemen's dressing-room, and it's time now for people to come. You
_must_ hurry.
HOST (_from above, just as front door opens, admitting_ Baron von
Gosheimer _and two women guests_)--Where the devil are my shirts?
HOSTESS (_unconscious of arrivals_)--Under the bed in my room. Hurry!
(HOST, _in bath gown and slippers, dashes madly into wife's room, and
dives under bed as women guests enter. Unable to escape, he crawls
farther beneath bed. His feet remain visible. Women guests discover
them._)
GUESTS (_in chorus_)--Burglars! burglars! Help! help!
(Baron von Gosheimer, _ascending to the next floor, hears them and
hastens to the rescue._)
BARON--Don't be alarmed, ladies. Has either of you a poker? No? That is
to be deplored. (_Catches_ Host _by heels and drags him out. Tableau._)
HOSTESS (to Poor Relative, _giving an extra tug at her gloves_)--There,
it's all burst out on the side! That stupid saleslady said she knew they
would be too small. Oh, dear, I'm that upset! And these Louis Quinze
slippers are just murdering me. I wish it were all over.
(_Enter_ Baron von Gosheimer _and women guests._)
HOSTESS--Dear baron, how good of you! I was just saying, if you didn't
come I should wish my musicale in Jericho. And, now that you are here, I
don't care if any one else comes or not. (_To women guests._) How d'ye
do? I must apologize for Mr. Smythe--he's been detained down-town. He
just telephoned me. He'll be in later. Do sit down; it's just as cheap
as standing, I always say, and it does save your feet. You ladies can
find seats over in the corner. (_Detaining_ Baron.) Dear baron--(_Enter
guests._)
GUEST--So glad you have a clear evening. Now, when _we_ gave _our_
affair, it _poured_. Of course, _we_ had a crowd, just the same. People
_always_ come to _us_, whether it rains or not. (_Takes a seat. Guests
begin to arrive in numbers._)
HOSTESS--So sweet of you to come!
GUEST--So glad you have a pleasant evening. I am sure to have a bad
night whenever I entertain--
HOSTESS--(_to another guest_)--So delightful of you to come!
GUEST--Such a perfect evening! I'm _so_ glad. I said as we started out,
"Now, this time, Mrs. Smythe can't help but have plenty of people.
Whenever I entertain, it's sure to--" (_More guests._)
(_Telegram arrives, announcing that the prima donna has a sore throat,
and will be unable to come. Time passes._)
MALE GUEST (_to another_)--Well, I wish to heaven, something would be
doing soon. This is the deadest affair I was ever up against.
OMNIPRESENT JOKER (_greeting acquaintance_)--Hello, old man!--going to
sing to-night?
ACQUAINTANCE--Oh, yes, going to sing a solo.
JOKER--So low you can't hear it? Ha, ha! (_Guests near by groan._)
VOICE (_overheard_)--Madame Cully? My dear, she always tells you that
you haven't half enough material, and makes you get yards more. Besides,
she never sends your pieces back, though I have--
FAT OLD LADY (_to neighbor_)--I never was so warm in my life! I can't
imagine why people invite you, just to make you uncomfortable. Now, when
I entertain, I have the windows open for hours before any one comes.
JOKER (_aside_)--That's why she always has a frost! Ha, ha!
(HOST _enters, showing traces of hasty toilette--face red, and a
razor-cut on chin._)
HOST (_rubbing his hands, and endeavoring to appear at ease and
facetious_)--Well, how d'ye do, everybody! Sorry to be late on such an
auspicious--
JOKER (_interrupting_)--Suspicious! Ha, ha!
HOST--occasion. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves.