ASSORTED YARNS 
 
 by . - Illustrated 
 
 PUCKS -AUTHORS PUCK'S-ARTISTS 
 
L. B. Baldessareli & Co 
 Booksellers, 
 
 521 K:ist Houston St 
 
 SAN ANTONIO, Trx. 
 
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HANKS; 
 ASSORTED YARNS FROM PUCK. 
 

 LUELLA. 
 
Ajjorfed -Yarns 
 
 BV. 
 
 New York 
 
 Keppler- ^ S c hw.rzm.nn. 
 1893 
 
Copyright, 1893, by KBPHLER & SCHWAKZMANN. 
 
TO PUCK'S READERS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 The Senator i 
 
 H. C. Ititiinrr. 
 
 A Prairie Blossom 13 
 
 Madeline .V. Bridges. 
 
 The Jigs of Abner Peabody 27 
 
 C. S. Montgomery. 
 
 The Career of a Society Actress 39 
 
 J. L. Ford. 
 
 The Story of Shiftless Smith 49 
 
 C. H. Augur. 
 
 A Fin de Siecle Genie; or, Arabian Nights Up to Date 61 
 II'. ,/. Henderson. 
 
 The Mosquitoville Club 73 
 
 R. K. Mutikittrick. 
 
 The Story of William 83 
 
 H. L. Wilson. 
 
 His Lucky Night 91 
 
 Harry Romaine. 
 
 Foiled Again ; or, The Banker's Vengeance 103 
 
 Tudor Jeiiks. 
 
 Van Gibber and the Street-car in 
 
 Robert />". I'edttic. 
 
 Suing for Damages 119 
 
 G. H. Jessop. 
 
 Why the Reverend Edward Atkins Changed His Parish 127 
 \Vardon Allan Curtis. 
 
 Willy and The Missionary 145 
 
 H. G. Paine. 
 
 A Slave to Fancy 155 
 
 l-'Lii't'l S. Mines. 
 
 George Byers 165 
 
 WMiston Fish 
 
THE SENATOR. 
 
" Yotir health, sir!" 
 
THE SENATOR. 
 
 R. T. Gilmartin Hone stood at the 
 entrance to the Senate Press Gal- 
 lery, in the Capitol at Washing- 
 ton. He held a telegram in one 
 hand; and he scowled at vacan- 
 cy with an expression of per- 
 plexity and annoyance. The telegram read thus : 
 
 S/. Jo., Feb. 4, 1892. 
 7o T. Gilmartin Hone, 
 
 Washington, D. C. 
 
 Send four columns R. R. Subsidy Case for 
 Sunday. Old board of directors indicted to-day. 
 Gc't best /t'giil opinion. Rush .' 
 
 Rubicon. 
 
 Mr. Hone read it again, and the scowl on 
 his brow deepened. 
 
 What 's the matter, Gil?" asked a friend, 
 coming out of the comfortable writing-room, with 
 his overcoat on, and an exasperating day's-work- 
 done expression in his very walk. 
 
 Mr. Hone simply held up the telegram. 
 
 Well, that 's all right, is n't it?" said the 
 friend. 
 
Mr. Hone, still deep in perplexed thought, 
 pointed silently to the words "best legal opinion." 
 
 " Well," said the friend, " what 's the matter 
 with that? There 's only 
 one person to go to. 
 You '11 have to buzz 
 old man Creep. He 
 knows more about 
 it than any man in 
 Washington. Been 
 carrying it round 
 under his hat for 
 ten years. They call 
 him the Father of 
 the Case, in the Su- 
 preme Court. Go 
 and interview him." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Hone, 
 
 meditatively, "that 's all very well. But I ain't 
 interviewing Senator Creep very much nowadays." 
 
 "Why not?" inquired his friend, in wonder- 
 ment. Then a thought seemed to strike him. 
 "Oh, yes," he said; "it was you who wrote up 
 his four-o'clock drunks, last year, was n't it? What 
 the devil did you do that for, anyhow? That was 
 a queer sort of break for you to make." 
 
 " Oh, it was the paper ! " exclaimed Mr. Hone. 
 "Our people would sell their eye-teeth for a sen- 
 sation, you know. / was n't anxious for the job, 
 but they would have it." 
 
 " H'm ! And how many stories did you write 
 about the old man?" 
 
 " Eight," said Mr. Hone, dismally. 
 
 "Well, this is a queer biz of ours," said his 
 friend. "But I would n't let that stand in my 
 
^ IJarns from Puck, ^ 
 
 way. When a man gets to be of Creep's age and 
 Greep's pull, it 's powerful little he cares what the 
 newspapers say about him. Ten to one he 's for- 
 gotten where he saw them, if he saw them at all. 
 Anyhow, you can't help yourself. Old Greep 
 knows the whole Subsidy Case business, and no- 
 body else. If you hurry up, you '11 catch him 
 leaving his committee -room they've just ad- 
 journed." 
 
 They walked slowly forward, Mr. Hone pre- 
 serving a gloomy silence. As they got out of the 
 elevator, they saw the tall figure of the Senator 
 stalking ahead of them, the tails of his black 
 broadcloth frock coat flapping as he went. He 
 
 stared straight before him as he walked, caressing 
 his long, white beard. 
 
 " Now is your time, Gil," said his friend ; 
 "catch him! I rather think you '11 find him in a 
 good humor. He 's been working off enough pure 
 cussedness for ten men in the Senate all day. I 
 guess he 's feeling good." 
 
 And, truly, something that looked like a smile 
 
-V fjanlts; V 
 
 softened the hard, straight line of Senator Greep's 
 mouth. He was thinking, perhaps, of the artistic 
 manner in which he had broken up a new Senator 
 from a Reform State in his maiden speech. 
 
 "Well, so long!" said his friend, walking on; 
 and Mr. Hone reluctantly approached the great 
 Senator. Mr. Hone was probably the only man 
 in Washington who was heartily glad that the cor- 
 ridors of the Capitol are dark to the point of dis- 
 comfort. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Senator," he began, feeling 
 an unwonted heat rising in his cheeks. " I sup- 
 pose you Ve heard that the St. Jo. and Painted 
 Falls Board of Directors were indicted to-day. 
 Could you spare me the time to give me a little 
 talk about that point that Judge Bagley brought 
 up? Our people are taking special interest in the 
 case, you know, and I 'd be very much obliged if 
 you 'd give me as much as you can." 
 
 The Senator had laid his lean, muscular hand 
 on Mr. Hone's shoulder. 
 
 " Ah, yes ; " he said, in his abstracted way ; 
 "the St. Jo. and Painted Falls? Yes, yes. Very 
 interesting case very interesting, indeed. Yes, 
 I shall be very glad to have a talk with you about 
 that case. Come right into my room, young man ; 
 come right into my room. You are quite right. 
 It 's a case that ought to be properly presented to 
 the public." 
 
 And with dignified old-time courtesy, but with 
 his blue-gray eyes staring absent-mindedly before 
 him, the Senator ushered the newspaper man into 
 the deserted committee-room. 
 
 "Sit down," he said, cordially; "sit down, 
 sir. I am very glad to have the opportunity of 
 
 4 
 
clearing the public mind in regard to that point 
 that Judge Bagley raised. Very able man, Judge 
 Bagley very able, indeed ; but decidedly young 
 yes, decidedly young. Now, as to this case, 
 the main point at issue is whether the Act of 1868 
 supplemented or superseded the Act of 1849. 
 Now it has been held " 
 
 And for ten minutes, during which time the 
 warm feeling gradually subsided in Hone's cheeks, 
 the old Senator talked on, pouring out of the 
 boundless reservoir of his legal knowledge a steady 
 stream of minute technicalities. Then, suddenly, 
 with a sharp conversational bump, like a train 
 when the air-brakes are shut off short, he inter- 
 rupted himself to say : 
 
 " By the way, sir, by the way of course, I 
 recognize your face as one of the gentlemen of 
 the Press. But to what paper are you attached?" 
 
 "To the St. Jo. Rubicon" said Hone, softly, 
 feeling trouble in his cheek-bones again. 
 
"Ah, yes," said Senator Greep, pleasantly; 
 "the St. Jo. Rubicon. A very able paper! A very 
 able paper, indeed ! You ought to be making a 
 very great success of that paper; and I have no 
 doubt you are. Very happy, indeed, to tell the 
 St. Jo. Rubicon anything I know about this case. 
 And, as I was saying, if we regard the law of 
 1849 as mandatory in its provisions, why ," 
 and he plunged once more into the great Subsidy 
 Case, while Mr. Hone nursed his startled nerves. 
 He found it rather a difficult job. It was sev- 
 eral minutes before he got the hang of the case 
 again. Then, suddenly, just as he 
 was getting his mind clear as to the 
 Act of 1849, the air-brakes went 
 down again with a jounce worse 
 than before. 
 
 "Yes," said the Senator, 
 " you may say to your paper 
 and a very fine paper it is, Mr. 
 ; by the way, I believe you 
 did n't mention your name?" 
 
 " Mr. Hone," said the news- 
 paper man, in a voice suitable 
 for the chamber of death. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the Senator, " I 
 did n't quite catch the name." 
 
 Mr. Hone repeated it, a shade less feebly. 
 He was glad it was a short name. 
 
 "Hone? Ah, yes, Mr. Hone. Well. Mr. 
 Hone, I hope, whenever I can be of any service 
 to the St. Jo. Rubicon you will have no hesitation 
 in calling on me. An admirable paper, sir. A 
 great medium for spreading popular knowledge. 
 I am a very busy man, Mr. Hone, and I read few 
 
 6 
 
^ I)arns from puck, V 
 
 papers, but I always read the St. Jo. Rubicon. 
 Now, as to that case " 
 
 The train was off again; but poor Mr. Gil- 
 martin Hone was too dazed to know whether he 
 was in it or not. He was conscious of only one 
 thing that the Senator had him, and had him 
 cornered. He was hot all over now, but more 
 particularly about the temples. He came to him- 
 self when the train stopped again. The Senator 
 had laid a firm hand upon his knee. 
 
 "I must tell 'you once more, Mr. Hone," he 
 said, " how much I admire the work your paper is 
 doing. It is an able paper throughout, and its 
 Washington department is particularly well man- 
 aged. I must say what was it that clock struck ? 
 Four o'clock ? Yes ? Thank you. My sight 
 is not so good as it was. Four o'clock, is it ? 
 Well, Mr. Hone, I am in the habit, at this hour, 
 of taking a glass of whiskey. Do you ever drink 
 it, Mr. Hone ? Occasionally ? Yes ! It is my 
 opinion that whiskey, used in extreme moderation, 
 is a very valuable stimulant. Of course its abuse 
 is in the highest degree improper, and I may 
 say dangerous. The abuse of whiskey, Mr. Hone, 
 has ruined many a fine career. But, in modera- 
 tion, I find it beneficial ; and I have some here 
 that is said to be very good. I should like, Mr. 
 Hone, I should very much like to have your opin- 
 ion of it." And without taking his nervous grasp 
 from Hone's knee the Senator reached to a little 
 cupboard the thought passed through Hone's 
 mind that he had arms like an orang-outang 
 and extracted a demijohn and two small glasses. 
 "There," he went on, "give me your opinion of it. 
 Your health, sir! Do you find it to your liking? 
 
 7 
 
Will you have another glass, Mr. Hone ? I am 
 sure an occasional glass of good whiskey will hurt 
 no one. Well, we were discussing the Act of 
 1868." 
 
 The whiskey was probably the best Hone had 
 ever tasted in his life; but it burned all the way 
 down his throat, and it lay inside of him and 
 burned. He knew he was red all over, but he felt 
 as if the pit of his stomach must be the reddest 
 place in his whole system. The clock ticked away 
 ten hideously long minutes; and then he felt the 
 Senatorial grasp tighten on his knee a signal for 
 the air-brakes. 
 
 "I must interrupt these remarks, Mr. Hone," 
 said the Senator, in sweet but impressive tone>. 
 "to tell you how much I really think of your work 
 on the St. Jo. Rubicon. It is very delightful work 
 indeed. As I told you, I am a busy man ; but 
 I take so much interest in your work that I have 
 had all of it cut out and preserved all that re- 
 lates to me. I have it right here, Mr. Hone." 
 
 And with one hand still grasping the young 
 man's knee Senator Greep shot out the other orang- 
 outang arm, turned a key in the drawer of the big 
 table and drew forth eight long newspaper clip- 
 pings. 
 
 "I have them all here, Mr. Hone, and, in 
 case you have forgotten them, Mr. Hone, / id 11 
 READ them to you.'" 
 
 But Mr. T. Gilmartin Hone gave one wild 
 desperate wrench for liberty, and flung himself 
 out of the room. As he passed through the door- 
 way, he cast one horror-stricken glance over his 
 shoulder, and saw Senator Greep lying back in his 
 chair, his tall frame shaking with one great, huge, 
 8 
 
"V" ^arns from Puck, "V 
 
 resounding laugh of perfect and glorious satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 This, really, is not my story. It 's the Sena- 
 tor's. It is true. 
 
 H. C. Bunner. 
 
A PRAIRIE BLOSSOM. 
 
f 'S/U' reappeared with a glass of milk. 
 
A PRAIRIE BLOSSOM. 
 
 V N my search over the boundless West 
 for a tract of arable land upon which 
 my friend, Ayer Cassell, could raise 
 unlimited quantities of wheat, I had 
 stumbled upon the little town of Stryk- 
 upp, near Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Its 
 one street lay between two short, straggling rows 
 of stores, saloons and blacksmith shops, and at 
 either end widened out into a limitless expanse of 
 prairie, dotted plentifully with good, comfortable- 
 looking ranch houses and barns. I decided to 
 recommend the place the first day I saw it ; but 
 I had lingered along, enjoying the pure air and 
 the broad freedom of local customs, in order to 
 give the impression of a deliberate and not a 
 rash choice. 
 
 So, on that morning, I strolled, as usual, 
 over to the store, where, in the three days, I had 
 formed a deep intimacy with Bob, the clerk. In 
 the West, friendship is like the growth of the 
 prairie flowers sudden and vivid. In front of 
 the door I noticed an amiable-looking broncho, 
 which some one had taken the apparently un- 
 necessary precaution to tie to a post. When I 
 entered the store, a young lady was conversing 
 13 
 
V $anlts; V 
 
 with Bob. She wore a dark blue dress, the waist 
 fitting her trim figure neatly, and the skirt short 
 enough to show small feet and a pair of ankles 
 merging into some bewildering curves. A coquet- 
 tish cap covered her fine, wavy, black hair, under 
 which her face showed a lovely 
 fairness, like that of a pale, 
 new-opened flower. She 
 had the sweet delicacy 
 of extreme youth, and 
 the promise of still more 
 beautiful womanhood. 
 She had dark eyes, small, 
 white teeth, and lips like 
 scarlet thread. With an 
 Eastern man's quick tact, I 
 arranged a look of fascinating 
 abstraction in the depths of a pair of eyes which, 
 although they are mine but no matter. And it 
 did not matter to her. She looked through me for 
 a second, with that far-reaching look we learn to 
 know in the eyes of those people whose vision is 
 adjusted to magnificent distances, and resumed 
 her conversation with Bob; but her oblivion to 
 me was so charming in its childish simplicity that 
 I was more distracted than ever. Determined to 
 make an impression, I addressed Bob as " Robert," 
 in a superior, deep-chested tone, and asked per- 
 mission to write a letter on the desk. 
 
 His reply of "Why, cert, old man!" had a 
 somewhat too familiar fluency. I wrote my note 
 to nobody with a thoughtful brow, occasion- 
 ally passing my hand through my hair, in deep 
 reflection, and presenting the utterly unconscious 
 air of a man who feels he is being observed, 
 14 
 
V i)arns 
 
 The fair unknown continued her conversa- 
 tion with Bob. Her voice was soft and pleasant 
 and her use of English much choicer than the 
 current vernacular. Still, her intonation was un- 
 mistakably Western. 
 
 During those moments I determined, with 
 the readiness of twenty-four, to remain at Stryk- 
 upp up to Cassell's limit of time, though for a 
 purpose of which that unsuspecting capitalist was 
 in complete ignorance. 
 
 When she had finished her business with Bob, 
 she went out, mounted the broncho, and started 
 off toward the broad expanse of prairie. 
 
 Keeping the well-behaved broncho in view, 
 I followed him and his attractive burden out from 
 the beaten road into a prairie path, which length- 
 ened into miles. 
 
 The air was cool and bracing, and I enjoyed 
 the expedition in which my sweet, unconscious 
 guide led the way, to what ? An adventure of 
 some sort, I felt assured. 
 
 Our destination appeared to be a large, sub- 
 stantial farm-house, situated near an extensive 
 sheep corral. When I satisfied myself of this, I 
 lay down flat in the grass, fearing that the young 
 lady, in turning into her gate, might turn her eyes 
 in my direction ; and I lay there, to rest and to 
 consider what my next move would be. I con- 
 strained myself to this retirement for full half an 
 hour, never losing sight of the gate through which 
 my fellow traveler had vanished. I arose at last, 
 and moved briskly toward the house. 
 
 Two or three sheep dogs came down the 
 path to meet me, with their noses suspiciously 
 pointed; but, as I entered boldly, whistling and 
 
talking to them, they contented themselves with 
 sniffing audibly at my heels as I walked toward 
 the door. It stood open, and she stood just with- 
 in it. This time, when her eyes met mine, they 
 did not pass beyond me, and she blushed cleli- 
 ciously all over the delicate pallor of her face and 
 neck. I could see that, whatever might be my 
 pretext, she understood cjuite well the meaning of 
 my visit, and her look seemed to say: "Ho\v 
 could you ? This is very rash." 
 
 " Pardon me," I began timidly ; I am a 
 stranger, an Eastern man allow me," I handed 
 my card, "and as I am traveling in this region to 
 gain information " 
 
 I did not find it necessary to finish my sen-, 
 tence, as a sweet voice interrupted : 
 
 ' Are you, indeed ? That 's very nice ; and, 
 of course, I shall be very glad to but, please 
 be seated." (We were in the cosy parlor by this 
 time.) "Mr. er Daudler" reading from my 
 card. "My name is Currie, Luella Currie. You 
 are staying at Strykupp?" 
 
 " For a few days," I rejoined ; " I think I had 
 the pleasure of seeing you in the village this 
 morning." 
 
V Darns fa Puck, V 
 
 "Yes? I ride in once or twice a week. But 
 make yourself at home, and let me bring you a 
 glass of milk." 
 
 This charming Western hospitality ! Could 
 anything be more gracious ? 
 
 She disappeared, and reappeared almost im- 
 mediately with a glass of milk, which I quaffed 
 thankfully. She seated herself near me, and 
 throwing truth to the winds, I began to talk. My 
 interest in Western life and habits seemed to 
 bring us at once into sympathy ; but I was wary, 
 and, after making a few pretended notes in impos- 
 sible shorthand, I thanked her, and begged the 
 privilege of seeing her brother or father, in refer- 
 ence to cattle raising and subjects of like nature. 
 She said, brightly: "Oh, I have no brothers, and 
 father lives in Chicago ! This is my place." 
 
 "You run it alone?" I asked, in surprise. 
 
 " Not alone. My cousin and his wife are 
 with me. He attends to things; but I can tell 
 you all he can tell ; I shouhl hope so ! " A pretty 
 toss of her head. 
 
 "And your mother is dead?" 
 
 " No " with a suddenly grave look. 
 "Mother is married again. She is living in 
 Toledo, and Father is married again, too. They 
 were divorced a year ago. They both seem 
 very happy, now." 
 
 A sigh crossed her lips. I was silent, for in 
 that sigh I heard a history. I understood, now, 
 the meaning of her lonely life. And, because of 
 her loneliness and her trusting innocence, I felt 
 all the more bound to protect her. It seemed 
 difficult to know what to say. I could not con- 
 sistently condole with her on the loss of her 
 n 
 
parents, nor could I offer any form of congratula- 
 tions. She appeared to perceive my embarrass- 
 ment, and continued pleasantly: 
 
 " I shall be very glad, however, to give you 
 any information you may need." 
 
 Her utter unconsciousness of the strange in- 
 formality of our interview gave me courage, and 
 I plunged into a series of business-like questions, 
 keeping my note-book prominently in use. Jn 
 short, I spent a most delightful afternoon the 
 first of a series of daily visits. I was introduced 
 to her cousin and his wife blunt, hearty people 
 who added their hospitality to hers, and made 
 me feel trebly welcome. 
 
 The remainder of the week passed on wings. 
 I was due in New York on the 2oth of October, 
 and the lyth found me deliberating between tak- 
 ing the train home and telegraphing to Cassell for 
 an extension of time. 
 
 At length, I resolved that Fate should decide 
 this point for me, and I started out to the pleas- 
 ant house on the prairie to pay my farewell visit, 
 or a visit that would make farewell impossible. 
 
 I shall never forget that delightful afternoon, 
 which lengthened through a glorious sunset into 
 a cloudless, moonlight night. I had walked with 
 Luella round the greater part of her possessions, 
 and was impressed anew by their magnitude; and, 
 after supper, we strolled to and fro on the prairie 
 path, and talked confidingly. Rather, she seemed 
 to have little to confide. Her young life was yet 
 in bud. She spoke far more of the future than of 
 the past. The thought of leaving her in that 
 prairie solitude, and seeing her no more, began to 
 assume the proportions of a cruel tragedy, as I 
 
^ l)arns from Puck. ^ 
 
 glanced sidewise at her sweet, appealing face, and 
 felt the light pressure of her fingers on my arm. 
 Half jesting I said, out of a silence that was mak- 
 ing my heart beat strangely : 
 
 "I suppose when I come West again, in a 
 year or so, I shall find you married, Luella ? " 
 
 " Ye-es," she said softly, with a sort of flutter- 
 ing, indrawn breath. 
 
 Down went my heart like lead. 
 
 " Why you 're not engaged ? " I man- 
 aged to stammer. 
 
 "No," she replied slowly; "but, I must 
 marry;" and then she added, with singular irrele- 
 vancy, I thought : " I always spend my Winters 
 in the city." 
 
 "Oh!" I said, trying to rally. "And, of 
 course, you have many admirers there ? " 
 
 "Yes," she said simply; "of course." 
 
 "And one, perhaps, who is especially dear?" 
 I ventured to ask. 
 
 3 /<> 
 
I thought her lip trembled. 
 
 "There's no one there I care for," she re- 
 plied, looking away from me sadly. 
 
 "Yet, you speak of of being married." 
 My lip was certainly trembling, and my voice 
 also. 
 
 " What can I do ? " she asked piteously ; 
 " you see how I am situated. If I had brothers 
 or sisters, or even " 
 
 I gave myself up for lost ; and, with my right 
 hand I took possession of the little fingers that 
 clasped my left arm. They turned themselves 
 warmly to meet my clasp; but at that instant an 
 approaching figure, which we had been too ab- 
 sorbed to perceive, hailed us from the near dis- 
 tance. 
 
 "Hello! Is that you ?" asked a rough voice. 
 
 As I did not know whether it was or not, I 
 forbore to answer ; but Luella called promptly : 
 " Yes ; what 's the matter ? " 
 
 "Telegraph for him'' was the response, as 
 the form came nearer. " Thought I 'd holler 
 along, an' let ye know." 
 
 The speaker was a ranchman with whom I 
 had spent some conversational hours in the early 
 part of my stay at Strykupp. I withdrew my 
 hand from Luella's 
 
 "A telegram for me! Let me see it." 
 
 "I ain't got it. It 's to the hotel. But Hob 
 seen it, and he reckoned I 'd better hunt ye up 
 and tell ye; an' he tole me to tell ye, ye best 
 hurry back, in case you want to answer it. Mose, 
 the telegraph operator, is goin' to a dance 
 up creek, 'bout ten o'clock. Like as not he won't 
 git back till to-morra mornin' " 
 
I)arns from Puck. 
 
 So Fate, indeed, had strangely interposed, 
 and there was nothing for it but to say good night 
 to Luella, with a murmured hope of meeting her 
 on the morrow, and to start back to town with 
 my envoy. 
 
 We chatted pleasantly as we trudged along 
 in the moonlight, and I led the conversation at 
 once to the subject of my thoughts. 
 
 "She 's a right down nice little woman, an' 
 no mistake," said Reub, heartily; "an' well fixed, 
 I tell ye. OP man Curry, he might 'a' hed faults, 
 but, all things kensidered, he clone 
 well by her. No mistake." 
 
 " It seems odd to call her a 
 woman" I remonstrated; "she 
 can't be over eighteen." 
 
 " She ? She 's risin' twenty, 
 L'el Curry is. Why, lemme see. 
 She were sixteen past, the fust 
 time she were married." 
 
 " The first time what ? " 
 I stood still in amazement. 
 
 " She runned away, the fust 
 time," said Reub, impartially; 
 "an' she were sixteen, then." 
 
 "Man, you don't mean to 
 tell me that Luella Curry is 
 was married? " 
 
 Reub nodded. " Why, sir, for a fact ; ain't 
 you knowed it ? Yes ; course ! Fust, she married 
 Abie Sayres; runned away with him when she 
 was a visitin' in Chicago an' then they were 
 divorced ; an' then she married oF man Curry, an' 
 they divorced. I dunno whose fault 't was. She 
 's a nice woman, L'ella is / kensider her so." 
 
 21 
 
"This is a surprise to me," I said, when I 
 could say anything; "she never told me she was 
 married." 
 
 " Lookin' out for another, mebbe. Likely 't 
 is. I hearn she 's goin' to Chicago this Winter. 
 She always gets married when she goes to Chi- 
 cago." 
 
 "And are both her husbands living?" 1 
 asked. 
 
 " I guess they be. Abie Sayres, he never left 
 her nothin'. He went East. She would n't go. 
 That 's how they come to sep'rate. But Currie ; 
 well, he sor a woman that suited him better; a 
 widda 'bout his own age. Why, bless ye, he was 
 good twenty years older 'n L'ella ! So he jes' give 
 her this place out an' out jes' as ye see it." 
 I telegraphed to Cassell : 
 
 "Shall start East on the 
 5:30 train, to-morrow A. M." 
 My friend Bob, who al- 
 ways rose early on account 
 of having to open the store, 
 walked with me in the gray 
 dawn to the station. As In- 
 wrung my hand at parting, 
 he said significantly : 
 
 "Need n't say nothin' 
 about it, but dunno as I '11 
 keep store another year." 
 "How is that? " I asked, with in- 
 terest. 
 
 "Wai, I 'm thinkin' of makin' up a match 
 with Luella Currie. She ain't bin married for 
 quite a while back, an' I kinder guess she 's agree- 
 able " 
 
^ IJarns fa" 1 P ucft ^ 
 
 "Good-by, Bob," I said fervently; "here 's 
 the train. God bless you, my boy ! " 
 " Good-by, old man ! " said Bob. 
 
 Madeline S. Bridges. 
 
THE JIGS OF ABNER PEABODY. 
 
" ' The, misthrcss have sint me up 
 ?v id yer fay, sor'." 
 
 20 
 
THE JIGS OF ABNER PEABODY. 
 
 iQBODY could dance more fluently 
 than Abner Peabody. Time and 
 place mattered little, so that he had 
 inspiration in the form of music. He 
 floated into a dance, then, as naturally 
 as boarders float into the dining-room 
 when the bell rings. 
 
 And speaking of boarders recalls the fact 
 that Mr. Peabody was a favorite in his boarding- 
 house. He was not a funny man, hardly a genial 
 one ; as a card-player he was ordinary ; as a banjo- 
 player he was a failure, mainly because he beat 
 time so hard with his feet that he threw himself 
 out of tune ; he did not dress flagrantly ; he was 
 disposed to be reserved in speech and conduct ; 
 he did not .give away many cigars; he seldom 
 bought candy. 
 
 Nevertheless, the landlady liked him because 
 he was a light eater of meat, and paid regularly ; 
 Bridget, the maid, liked him because she often 
 found keys and pennies strewn about the floor, as 
 if shaken from his pockets though she always 
 returned the keys; most of the boarders liked him 
 because he was always \\illing to resign the last 
 chop, and could be counted on to dance when 
 27 
 
festivities occurred in the parlor ; but two regarded 
 him wifrh dislike. 
 
 'Emanuel Hennessy had taken offense at some 
 strictures that Mr. Peabody once made as to the 
 desirability of the lyth of March, and Matilda 
 Greer was jealous of the landlady. Miss Greer 
 
 had come to an age when she no longer expected 
 attentions from gentlemen, but by the same token 
 she was exacting in the matter of food, and what 
 she paid for she intended to have. 
 
 Things came to a pass one evening when 
 chicken soup was announced for dinner. Miss 
 Greer came late to table, and she was willing to 
 make affidavit that the chicken in her soup was 
 veal; but she had looked into Peabody's plate, 
 and had seen feathers. (It should be remarked in 
 parentheses that when the landlady discovered this 
 cause of complaint, the soup was always afterward 
 decorated from the pillows.) If there was any- 
 
^ partis from puck. V 
 
 thing that Miss Greer disliked it was a partial 
 boarding-house, and she said so that evening at 
 the tiddledy-winks meeting in Miss Mulsifer's room. 
 Oddly enough, on the same night, Mr. Hennessy 
 had a rock-and-rye party in his chamber on the 
 fourth floor back, and the sins of Mr. Peabody, in 
 respect of the xyth of March, were laid before 
 the body in their shameless daring. 
 
 Each t>f these conspirators held a quiet 
 tongue at meals, a thing easy to do where there is 
 work for jaws ; but kept a deal of thinking as to 
 how Mr. Peabody might be reproved; white he, 
 poor innocent, continued to enjoy the favor of his 
 keepers, and could call for a second plate of pie 
 with a confidence that few others in the room 
 either felt or affected. 
 
 Shortly after, in the middle of a dinner, Clara 
 Casteyne, who had just been to Maillard's with 
 her young man and had left her appetite there, 
 began to practice on the piano in the parlor over- 
 head. As the music struck into a brisk measure, 
 Mr. Peabody was visibly agitated. His legs be- 
 came restless and irresponsible, and he clung to 
 his chair with one hand, while eagerly plying his 
 knife with the other. At last he dropped the knife, 
 arose, and with a blitheness of step that made the 
 gravity of his face seem deeper, he went upstairs 
 in time to the music, sighing regretfully all the 
 way. This incident did not pass unnoticed by 
 Miss Greer and Mr. Hennessy, and they com- 
 mented on it when the other boarders had drifted 
 away. 
 
 Discussion led to an exchange of confidences 
 between them, and they were talking in low tones 
 when the music stopped, and Mr. Peabody unex- 
 29 
 
pectedly descended into the dining-room, and 
 asked if he could have his dessert. The landlady 
 brought it from the kitchen with her own hands, 
 and set it before him, expressing a hope that he 
 was not ill. 
 
 " Not at all, Madam. Only a turn a few 
 turns. I ah would regard it as a favor, 
 Madam, if Miss Casteyne would practice before 
 dinner." 
 
 " I will speak to her. Do you like the short- 
 cake?" 
 
 "Excellent, Madam." 
 
 " She gave him five," muttered Miss Greer, 
 at the other end of the table. 
 
 "Five pieces?" gasped Mr. Hennessy. 
 " No; berries." 
 
 " I '11 wager it 's two more than any 
 of the rest of us had," grumbled 
 Mr. Hennessy. 
 
 " She 's actually giving 
 him a second plate," said Miss 
 Greer, starting to her feet. " It 
 's favoritism; that 's what it is." 
 A hard light came into her 
 eyes ; she flung out of the room, 
 and half a minute later the piano 
 was going again. As the air of 
 " The Irish Washerwoman " rang 
 out, Mr. Peabody groaned and tried to finish his 
 second helping of shortcake ; but though he used 
 his utmost speed, his agitation increased so fast 
 that the spoon fell from his fingers, he sprang to 
 his feet, and went careering up the stairs. 
 
 After the door had shut, a rhythmic jar was 
 audible in his room, and the china vases on his 
 
^ parns from Puck, ^ 
 
 mantel could be heard to jingle. " The Irish 
 Washerwoman " was rollicking from the piano 
 louder and more briskly than ever. Bridget 
 presently knocked at the Peabody chamber, and 
 asked : 
 
 " Is it sick ye are, sor ? " 
 
 " Nope," came in a labored tone from 
 within. 
 
 " The misthress have sint me up wid yer 
 tay, sor." 
 
 "All right. Come in." 
 
 As Bridget opened the door, she was so 
 astonished that the tea-cup almost fell from her 
 hand, for Mr. Peabody had thrown off his coat, 
 kicked his shoes into opposite corners, and was 
 removing his necktie while dancing furiously. 
 His face was sorrowful and sweaty. 
 
 " It is quite warm," he puffed, still danc- 
 ing. " Will you please open the window ? 
 Thanks. I would like that tea-he very 
 mu-u-u-ch, if I thought I could manage ; " 
 and with an all-hancls-around movement he caught 
 the cup as he passed, and tried to drink ; but at 
 that instant the player in the parlor started afresh, 
 louder and livelier than ever, and Mr. Peabody, 
 keeping time, spilled half of the tea on his 
 trousers. 
 
 "Dear! Dear! It 's quite unpleasant! 
 Whew! But I really can not take it while 
 I 'm going on like this at least, from a 
 cup. Do you sup-pose there 's a nursing-bottle 
 in the house?" 
 
 " I '11 see, sir." 
 
 "And who is play-ing on the piano, 
 this time ? " 
 
' Miss Greer, sor." 
 
 " O-o-oh ! Why will she do it ? " 
 
 " I don't know, sor. Will I bring yer lay in 
 a bottle, sor ? " 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 And it was so administered. These facts 
 were drawn from Bridget by a limited but judi- 
 cious outlay of coin and sympathy after the piano 
 had become silent, about nine o'clock. At break- 
 fast next morning " The Irish Washerwoman " 
 broke forth again with vicious energy. Mr. Pea- 
 body, taken unaware, was seized with a jig at the 
 table, and his coffee went into the hash. He \va-. 
 confused by the stern regard of Mr. Hennessy, 
 and assuming a calm that he did not feel, he tried 
 to- eat deliberately ; but as his feet were dancing 
 under the table his movements were erratic, and 
 twice he dipped marmalade into the bosom of his - 
 shirt. At last, as he was rising, with a groan, the 
 music stopped and he sadly finished his meal. 
 
 The November elections were at hand, and 
 it was well known that Mr. Peabody was not 
 without a hope of being able to serve his country 
 as an alderman. He needed the place, because 
 the hosiery trade, in which he was embarked, had 
 been suffering depression. As a matter of fact, 
 he received the Republican nomination, and, as 
 the Second Ward was strongly Republican, the 
 district boss told him that he was as good as 
 elected, and assessed him two hundred dollars 
 for campaign expenses. But there was an ob- 
 stacle of which he had not wotted. He had 
 never dreamed of wotting it. This obstacle was 
 Mr. Hennessy. That gentleman had called at 
 the office of the Democratic committee and had 
 
f rom 
 
 spent an hour in secret converse with the owner 
 of the city, with results that apparently put Mr. 
 Hennessy into a state of content. 
 
 Two nights before election a meeting was 
 held in Pentagon Square to indorse the can- 
 didates, the platform being enlivened with lan- 
 terns, bunting and orators. There were also a 
 throng and twenty dollars' worth of fireworks. 
 
 When Mr. Peabody's turn came to address 
 the multitude, he was allowed barely time to 
 allude to the Constitution, and the grand old 
 war-horse of the party who had just spoken, 
 before a band, concealed in the crowd, disclosed 
 itself with " The Irish Washerwoman," played 
 forte and scherzo. Mr. Peabody jumped, his jaw 
 fell and his eyes started. Then he clutched the 
 rail, but he could not keep himself down. He 
 began to dance. 
 
 "Hold my legs!" he said, in a loud and 
 urgent whisper to the grand old war-horses of the 
 party who sat behind him; but the horses did 
 not move; in fact, one of them said, audibly, 
 that the misuse of liquor was to be regretted. 
 
 " Hold my legs, will you ? " repeated Mr. 
 Peabody, hanging to the rail, and now dancing 
 so high that his coat-tails came to the level of 
 his ears. 
 
 " Oh, will some of you stop me, or else stop 
 that band?" he continued, with anger now min- 
 gled in his regret. 
 
 But none seemed to understand the situation, 
 and as the music continued faster and faster, the 
 dance went on with greater fury, Mr. Peabody 
 clinging to the bar and occasionally reaching 
 such an elevation that his legs, hanging in space, 
 
 33 
 
seemed to form with his arms an inverted letter Y. 
 The populace gazed with surprise at his actions, 
 and several people ventured remarks of dis- 
 approval. The beating of Mr. Peabody's feet 
 on the boards raised a dust that made the war- 
 horses cough. 
 
 Suddenly, a voice was heard above the din 
 of the band and dance: "Ye '11 cast asper-r-rsions 
 on the Sivinteenth of March, will ye, ye milk 
 livered divil ? Dance, now, to a good old St. 
 Pathrick's Day tune. Jig it lively." 
 
 "Is that you, Hen-nessy?" cried Mr. 
 Peabody, with a shuffle and a jump. "(Jet 'em 
 to stop it, that 's a good fel-low." 
 
 " I 'm not a good fellow to the like of you. 
 Dance, will you ! Look at that, now ! " he added 
 in affected admiration as the soloist on the plat- 
 form almost flung a somersault. 
 
 34 
 
^ l)arns from Puck. ^ 
 
 " It 's a con-spiracy ! " panted Mr. Peabody. 
 " I hope, gentle-men, that you will not con- 
 sider me guilty of frivolous con-duct. Please, 
 kill that band. The fact is, my father and 
 mother were dancing tea-chers, and I was born 
 at a ball. My birth-mark is jigs. Where 
 are the po-lice ? I did hope that I 
 should be able to get through this campaign 
 without making an ex-hibition of myself; but it 
 is impos-sible for me to hear music without 
 dancing so the mischief is done, and Hen- 
 nessy has done it. 
 
 The music stopped. Mr. Peabody stopped. 
 He was not elected. 
 
 C. S. Montgomery. 
 
 35 
 
THE CAREER OF A SOCIETY 
 ACTRESS. 
 
V 
 
 " The 'English Society Oiteeti'.' 
 
THE CAREER OF A SOCIETY ACTRESS. 
 
 TOLD IN CABLE DISPATCHES AND PARAGRAPHS. 
 SPECIAL CABLE DISPATCH FROM LONDON. 
 
 N the breach-of-promise case 
 brought by the Hon. Mrs. 
 Winkerton Getthere against 
 Lord Algernon Rocks, the 
 jury yesterday awarded the 
 fair plaintiff 10,000 dam- 
 ages. The story that Mrs. 
 
 Getthere intends to star in a piece written ex- 
 pressly for her is indignantly denied by the lady's 
 friends, who include such people as the Prince 
 of Wales, the Duke of Winks, Lord Malodor, 
 Captain Seesaw Fowraces, late of the Guards, and 
 Lady Queer. 
 
 SPECIAL CABLE DISPATCH, No. 2. 
 Mr. Benjamin Lively Hustle, of the well- 
 known American firm of managers, Hustle & 
 Hardup, yesterday signed a contract with the 
 Hon. Mrs. Winkerton Getthere, for a ten weeks' 
 tour in America. Mrs. Getthere will star in a 
 play written expressly for her by a leading play- 
 
 39 
 
V 
 
 wright, and founded on Mrs. Gettheres recent 
 romantic and interesting experiences in Society 
 and the courts. The distinguished lady stated 
 to your correspondent, yesterday, that she had 
 consented to take this important step, not for the 
 sake of pecuniary gain, but in order that she 
 might vindicate her honor as a woman. Mr. 
 Hustle declares that he heard his new star read 
 "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night," at Lady 
 Malodor's garden party, and is confident that he 
 has secured a second Neilson. He believes that 
 
 the amount of interest awakened in America by 
 the printed reports of the persecutions to which 
 this sainted lady has been subjected, will insure 
 for her large audiences from the start. 
 
 FROM THE Morning Ho-wlcr. 
 Manager Hardup and a hundred invited 
 guests, including a great many well-known jour- 
 nalists and members of the dramatic profession, 
 went down the Bay yesterday to welcome the 
 Hon. Mrs. Winkerton Getthere, who arrived on 
 40 
 
^ IJarns f rom 
 
 the City of Hoboken, accompanied by Manager 
 Hustle, who will give his personal attention to 
 her forthcoming American tour. The new star 
 was attired in a plaid traveling suit, which set 
 off her figure to the best advantage. She wel- 
 comed the Press representatives and other of 
 Manager Hardup's guests with a gracious savoir 
 fain- which stamped her at once as one of the 
 recherche monde of which she has long been a dis- 
 tinguished ornament. 
 
 " I am more than delighted with America," 
 said the famous Society Queen, when an oppor- 
 tunity offered for a quiet chat with the reporter. 
 "As for my art well, you must be judges of 
 that ; but, then, you Americans are so generous 
 and brave that I know you will be kind to a 
 woman who has suffered so terribly as I have." 
 
 The tears came to her eyes as she uttered 
 these words ; but she dashed them away with a 
 quick motion of her hand, and said, with a smile 
 of exquisite, winning sweetness : 
 
 " Now, let us choose some brighter, happier 
 topic for conversation my new dresses for ex- 
 41 
 
ample. They are all from Worth's, and are 
 simply dreams of delight. There is one of pale 
 green, which -I shall wear in the second act of 
 ' Stainless and Free,' that 1 think is the loveliest 
 thing I ever saw." 
 
 Mrs. Getthere will appear at Messrs. Hustle 
 & Hardup's handsome theatre on the 3oth inst., 
 in her new play, "Stainless and Free," which 
 depicts in a vivid manner many of the exciting 
 scenes in the much maligned lady's career. 
 
 PRESS COMMENTS FROM_THK PAPERS OF THE 31 ST. 
 
 FROM THE Morning Scorcher. 
 A certain Mrs. Winkerton Getthere appeared 
 last night at Messrs. Hustle & Hardup's Theatre, 
 in what that enterprising firm of managers have 
 the audacity to describe as a "comedy drama," 
 and which served admirably as a vehicle for the 
 display of the lady's incompetency and vulgarity. 
 Nothing but the charity of the audience saved her 
 and her comedy drama from being hissed from 
 the stage. 
 
 FROM THE Daily Screamer. 
 
 We have had English actresses before this, 
 and bad ones, too ; but never before has a human 
 automaton of Mrs. Getthere's calibre ventured to 
 appear before a New York audience. Even the 
 large assemblage of deadheads thinned out per- 
 ceptibly before the three acts of what she calls 
 her play were finished. 
 
 Owing to the indulgence of the audience, 
 
^ pants from puck. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Getthere was allowed to occupy the stage 
 until the bitter end. The new " English Society 
 Queen" is a miracle of incompetence, and the 
 sooner she returns to the exalted circles of. which 
 according to the advertisements she has long 
 
 been a distinguished ornament, the better it will 
 be for the American Stage. 
 
 FROM THE Daily Puffer. 
 
 Art has its limitations. 
 
 A beautiful woman has none. 
 
 Mrs. Winkerton Getthere, roaming like a 
 graceful gazelle through the flower- strewn meads 
 of rhetoric of which "Stainless and Free" is 
 composed, is like a breath from the far-off Spice 
 Islands. 
 
 When she speaks, we hear the voice of peer- 
 less Adelaide Neilson. When she walks, or, rather, 
 glides across the stage, we see before us, in the 
 flesh, the realization of the dream of a Greek 
 artist. 
 
 And yet we doubt if Mrs. Getthere's divine 
 art will appeal to the great ruck of humanity who 
 pour into our play-houses, reeking with the in- 
 
 43 
 
^ f?atiks> v 
 
 toxicating perfumes of Sardou, and with the hide- 
 ous din of Hartley Campbell still ringing in their 
 ears. 
 
 Be that as it may, Mrs. Getthere's debut last 
 night was an artistic event which will long be 
 remembered. 
 
 PRESS COMMENTS. 
 
 (Arranged by ^Messrs. Hustle 6 Hard up, for use 
 "O/i the Road.") 
 
 READ WHAT THE NEW YORK PAPERS 
 
 SAY OF ENGLAND'S PEERLESS 
 
 SOCIETY QUEEN! 
 
 The Scorcher says: "A comedy drama which 
 served admirably as a display for the lady." 
 
 The Daily Screamer says : "The new English 
 Society Queen is a miracle." 
 
 The Daily Puffer says : "Mrs. Getthere's 
 debut last night was an artistic event which will 
 long be remembered." 
 
 FROM THE Evening Ghost (Two WEEKS LATER). 
 
 Another English "Society Actress," so called, 
 has come to grief, to the great surprise of her 
 managers, one of whom remarked, with charming 
 naircte to a reporter, that, although he had 
 "worked her London scandal for all it was worth, 
 still you could n't club people up to the box- 
 office." When Mr. Hustle was asked what he 
 thought of her acting, he made answer: "Act! 
 Why, I guess she can act alongside of most of 
 them Society amateurs; but we did n't figure on 
 that at all. We supposed, of course, that this 
 
^ IJarns from puck, ^ 
 
 business about Rocks and we had the Duke of 
 Winks scandal to fall back on would pull 
 people into the house like an exhaust pump. But 
 the popular taste is fickle, and the lady was a 
 frost from the word go." 
 
 It is positively refreshing to read these 
 breezy words. It is delightful to think that al- 
 though the "lady," as Mr. Hustle 
 calls her, came to us with the 
 prestige of two aristocratic 
 scandals, still the discerning 
 American public could not 
 be "clubbed up to the 
 box-office." And while 
 we can not refrain from 
 admiring the tireless en- 
 ergy and ingenuity with 
 which our two famous 
 managers "worked the Lon- 
 don scandal for all it was 
 worth," still our pity for them is drowned in the 
 delightful reflection that the play-going public is 
 emerging from swaddling clothes, and putting on 
 the toga of manhood and wisdom. 
 
 FROM THF, Morning Howler (Two WEEKS LATER). 
 The Hon. Mrs. Winkerton Getthere sailed 
 yesterday on the Anchoria. It is rumored that 
 her passage money was paid with a check signed 
 by Mr. Palmidays Broke, acting treasurer of the 
 Actors' Fund. 
 
 J. L. Ford. 
 
 45 
 
THE STORY 
 OF SHIFTLESS SMITH. 
 
"7 couldn't sit still and tell it, 
 but I had to walk the /Aw and act 
 as though I was going through the 
 whole thing again." 
 
THE STORY OF SHIFTLESS SMITH. 
 
 IROQUOIS HOTEL, 
 
 BUFFALO, N. Y., November 4th, 18 . 
 DEAR WIFE: 
 
 When you get this long letter 
 you will be astonished to see 
 that I am away out here in Buf- 
 falo ; and when I tell you how I 
 came to be here and what I am 
 doing here, I am afraid you will 
 not believe me. You will say I am out of my 
 head. But all I shall tell you, my dear wife, is 
 perfectly true. 
 
 For some time before I left home I had 
 been nearly distracted from thinking of our con- 
 dition there on the farm ; of how I had let the 
 property dwindle away, a few acres every year, 
 until there was so little of it left that there seemed 
 to be nothing ahead of us but the poor-house. 
 
 Everybody said it was on account of my 
 laziness, and I suppose they were right. But oh! 
 how many times I have tried to overcome that 
 hatred of mine for farm work. I would start out 
 in the morning full of firm resolve, but when I 
 would sit down on the log under the cherry-tree 
 by the well for a moment's rest, the children 
 
would see me from across the street ; and when 
 they came over, I would begin telling them 
 stories, and fool and play with them while you 
 went about your housework with a solemn face, 
 looking at me from time to time, but saying noth- 
 ing. And afterward, all my morning resolutions 
 melted away. I would get an old 
 book and read, read, read until 
 the sun got low. 
 
 I saw this Fall that my 
 miserable little crops would 
 not keep us through half the 
 Winter. I did not know 
 what could be done. I told 
 you that I would go to 
 Bridgeport and try to find 
 work in the shops there. 
 
 I did go to Bridgeport, but they laughed at 
 me. What could they do with an old farmer 
 like me? So I thought I would try South Nor- 
 walk ; but I got on a fast express train by mistake 
 and was carried through to New York. 
 
 You never can think how I felt when I found 
 myself in that big city. It was getting late, and 
 I put up in a cheap lodging-house for the night. 
 Next morning, my first thought was to urt 
 away from New York. I was an object of ridi- 
 cule, I felt, because of my long hair and my out- 
 landish clothes. I was pointed at and laughed 
 at everywhere. 
 
 I was walking hurriedly toward the railroad 
 
 station when some one touched me on the arm 
 
 and asked me if he could speak with me a minute. 
 
 " I don't think you can have any business 
 
 with me," I said. ' 
 
Dams f rom 
 
 "That will depend upon yourself altogether," 
 he replied; "but if 't will not be giving offence, 
 1 '11 state the business I 'd like to have with you." 
 
 " You 're right," said I, " to take me for a 
 countryman ; but you are wrong if you think I 
 don't read the papers. The trouble with me has 
 always been that I read too much. Now, I have 
 just fifty cents," said I, " and these old clothes." 
 
 The man laughed and put his hand on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Ye make my business easy," he said, with 
 a sort of brogue. " 'T is the clothes that arrested 
 my attention, sir; I want them." 
 
 I thought he was making fun of me and 
 turned to go on ; but he would not let me. To 
 make the story short, I found that he was in 
 earnest, and did want my old clothes for some 
 special use. I agreed to let him have them, and 
 he took me to a clothing store where I 
 exchanged them for a new suit, new 
 shoes, a new hat and a white shirt. 
 He paid the bill. 
 
 When I was dressed in the 
 new clothes the man looked at me 
 with a jolly twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " 'T is all in the duds," said 
 he. " With the clothes you 've 
 shed I '11 make an actor, and with 
 those you 've just put on I 've 
 made another. Get a shave and a bit of a clip 
 with the scissors around the neck, my boy, and 
 ye '11 be the picture of Mister Jeffson. Good-by 
 good loock." 
 
 He shook my hand and left me. I was sorry 
 to part with him ; I think we could have had 
 s si 
 
some fun together. A hundred miles from home 
 and no way to get back but to walk. No money, 
 no work, and Winter coming on ; all these things 
 on my mind, and yet I could have told stories 
 and cracked jokes with this stranger for half a 
 day if he had given me the chance. The old 
 story, Martha. 
 
 I took the man's advice and got shaved ; 
 and the barber trimmed my hair just a little. 
 This took thirty-five of my fifty cents. Perhaps 
 I ought not to have spent the money, but with 
 my new clothes I thought I needed the trim- 
 ming up. 
 
 No one guyed me after this, but people 
 noticed me a good deal in a different way. Most 
 of those I met turned their heads to look at me ; 
 some halted, as though they recognized my face; 
 two or three well-dressed gentlemen bowed and 
 touched their hats. I did the same, and could 
 not help but think what my friend had said : 
 " T is all in the duds." 
 
 Then I turned toward the station, and my 
 spirits were down again. Dressed like a gentle- 
 man, it seemed hard to have to walk so many 
 miles on the track. " I don't believe this Mr. 
 Jeffson, who looks like me, would do that," I 
 thought; and it made me laugh to think how 
 I might be taken for him while walking on the 
 ties. It is strange that I will have these light 
 thoughts, no matter what trouble I may be in. 
 
 Some ladies, dressed in silks and furs, passed 
 out of the station-door and smiled and bowed 
 as they stepped into their carriage, but I did not 
 realize that they were bowing to me until they 
 were gone. I was considering whether I had 
 52 
 
better ride a little way or begin my walk at once, 
 and save the fifteen cents for sandwiches. How 
 I dreaded that walk ! 
 
 I raised my head, and over near where the 
 carriage had stood I saw a little white card lying 
 on the walk. I stepped over and picked it up. 
 It was a ticket to Buffalo. I suppose one of 
 the ladies had dropped it. Of course, I could 
 not find the lady, and I did not think of such 
 a thing as selling the ticket, although I have 
 learned since that I might easily have done so. 
 
 I decided to go to Buffalo. I could ride 
 there in less time than I could walk to South 
 Norwalk. I could find work in one place as 
 easily as in the other. I could send you money 
 from Buffalo as well as from Norwalk, I thought. 
 I suppose it was a foolish thing to do, but no 
 one knows better than you do, Martha, that I 
 would be all the more likely to do it on that 
 account. 
 
 I walked to the train and found every seat 
 filled. I was passing into what they call a parlor- 
 car, when a conductor asked me if I had a seat 
 ticket, and I was obliged to tell him no. 
 
 S3 
 
But just then a man who was stepping out 
 turned to the conductor and said : " Let the gen- 
 tleman have my seat. I can not go on this train. 
 I am called back to the city." He had a tele- 
 graph-message in his hand. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, sir," I 
 said; but I did not know that he had paid two 
 dollars for the seat, or I should not have taken it 
 so freely. 
 
 "You are quite welcome to the seat," he 
 said, and he turned directly toward me for the 
 first time. He was more of a city-raised man 
 than I am, and perhaps he was a little older, but 
 we looked almost exactly alike. I knew that he 
 must be Mr. Jeflfson. It was plain that he did 
 not know who I was, though, for he seemed sur- 
 prised enough, and turned twice to look at me 
 before he passed back into the waiting-room. 
 
 We had a splendid ride to Buffalo. I sat in 
 my easy-chair by a great, wide window and looked 
 out at the beautiful Hudson River, and the moun- 
 tains still covered with all the colors of the 
 Autumn foliage; and we moved along so swiftly 
 and silently that I seemed to be flying through a 
 new world. I thought it was not much like going 
 a-foot to South Norwalk. 
 
 There were half a dozen children in the car, 
 and you can imagine that I made friends with 
 them quickly with my stories and nonsensical talk 
 that all children love so well. 
 
 When the train began to wind around 
 through Buffalo, the passengers put on their 
 coats and wraps and chatted pleasantly, glad 
 to be near their journey's end. The children 
 came to say good-by, and I kissed them all. 
 
 54 
 
One of the mothers shook hands with me, too, 
 and thanked me for making the long day pass 
 so pleasantly for the little ones. 
 
 When the train had come to a stop, I step- 
 ped off the car and stood looking up and down 
 the station, not knowing where to go, when a. 
 gentleman rushed up and took me by the hand. 
 
 "Ah, you tfid come! " said he. " I got your 
 telegram ; but I knew you 'd be here if 
 you could. Got to hurry up now- 
 come along I '11 explain in a 
 minute ! " 
 
 He hurried me along to a car- 
 riage, got in with me and told 
 the driver to go to the Iroquois 
 Hotel. "You 've saved the snap," 
 he said. " Fact is, Mr. Jeffson, 
 that boy of yours is awfully clever, 
 you know, and all that but he 't 
 just dead rattled, sir; and though he 's got the 
 business down fine, he ain't in any shape to 
 understudy you, sir not in Buffalo, anyway. 
 Wait till we get to Erie to try him!" 
 
 I tried two or three times to tell him of his 
 mistake, but he kept talking so fast, and the car- 
 riage made so much noise, that I thought I would 
 explain it all when we reached the hotel. 
 
 As soon as we got into the lighted rooms, he 
 looked at me surprised, and exclaimed: 
 
 " Why, this is n't Mr. Jeffson ! " 
 
 " I know it," said I ; "it is Obed Smith." 
 
 He kept looking at me and saying he was 
 
 damned. He said it fifteen or twenty times. He 
 
 could not seem to think of anything else to say 
 
 for some minutes; then he began to ask questions. 
 
 33 
 
I told him everything that had happened to 
 me since I left home; about my adventures in 
 Bridgeport and New York; about the man who 
 had got my clothes; about finding the ticket to 
 Buffalo and meeting Mr. Jeffson on the train, and 
 all the rest. You know how I tell such things, 
 Martha. You know what a dcni monkey fool I 
 am. I could n't sit still and tell it, but I had to 
 walk the floor and act as though I was going 
 through the whole thing again. The man quit 
 damning, and laughed harder and harder as 1 
 went on with the story. When I had finished, he 
 slapped me on the back. 
 
 " Ned Larrigan made the mistake of his 
 life," said he, " when he took your clothes instead 
 of yourself. You are a born actor, Smith." 
 
 You remember, Martha, that as much as ten 
 years ago you found me in the barn one day 
 reading a play. It was a play that had for its 
 principal character a jolly, worthless old fellow 
 as worthless as I was myself. You found me, not 
 only reading the play, but trying to act this old 
 fellow's part. And that was the firct and only 
 time you ever upbraided me for my laziness and 
 neglect of the farm. Your words stung and 
 shamed me, and I threw the book away, but 
 I never forgot it. I seemed to love that miser- 
 able fellow, somehow or another, and I could n't 
 get him out of my mind. 
 
 Well, when this man said I was a born actor, 
 I thought of that. 
 
 The man was looking at me curiously. " If 
 you knew anything about Trip Twinkle," said he, 
 " I think you could play the part. You seem to 
 have been a sort of Trip Twinkle yourself." 
 
IJarns from Puck. 
 
 My heart gave a jump at these words, for he 
 had named the old vagabond himself. 
 
 " I do know it, by heart," I said. 
 
 The man started and said he was damned 
 again. Than he got excited and clapped rny hat 
 on my head and grabbed me by the arm and 
 rushed me out of the hotel to the theatre. He 
 got his actors there, too, and made me go through 
 the play with them. Then it was time for the 
 performance to begin, and we went through it 
 again before a big audience. I played old Trip 
 Twinkle, and I guess by what the papers said the 
 next morning that I played it all right. It seems 
 that a good many at first wanted their money 
 back if they could not see Jeffson; but by 
 the time the play was half over they were 
 stamping their feet and clapping their 
 hands and calling for me to come 
 before the curtain. The papers say 
 that Mr. Jeffson's substitute gave 
 them an entirely new Trip Twinkle, 
 with a new manner and a new ac- 
 cent; but that he was a wonderfully 
 realistic actor and his performance 
 was a triumph. They could learn 
 nothing about him and he was not 
 to be found after the performance. 
 It was said that he had fainted and 
 had left the theatre in a very weak 
 state. 
 
 That was true; but a big beefsteak and 
 some fried onions fixed me all right. I had n't 
 eaten anything since a roll that I bought at six 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 Mr. Jeffson came the next day, and last 
 
 57 
 
V fjrnite; V 
 
 night he played the part himself; but I am en- 
 gaged to stay with the company. If I should 
 name the salary I get, you would not believe ativ- 
 thing I have told you; but twenty dollars goes 
 with this ; and next week I will send twenty more. 
 And twenty every week till April. If you still 
 doubt, you will have to wait two months. Then 
 we are to be in New Haven, and I can see you 
 and convince you that your shiftless, worthless 
 old husband tells the truth. 
 
 I 've got to work hard if I 'm going to act, 
 they say; but I don't feel any lump in my throat. 
 I think I can work at this. 
 
 Write me at Cleveland, Ohio, care of the 
 Weddell House, and tell me all the news. 
 
 Your loving husband, 
 
 OBED SMITH. 
 
 P. S. I don't know what we will do by and 
 by, Martha, but for the present take things a little 
 easier. Don't bother to nail more boards on that 
 old hen-house ; you 've had trouble enough with 
 that. Sell the hens. 
 
 C. H. Augur. 
 
A FIN DE SIECLE GENIE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 ARABIAN NIGHTS UP TO DATE. 
 

 " 'What will Monsieur have?'" 
 
A FIN DE SIECLE GENIE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 ARABIAN NIGHTS UP TO DATE. 
 
 BDUL K ART AH was blase. There is 
 no use attempting to disguise the 
 fact. He was born in Damascus, 
 had been brought up in Damas- 
 cus, and was Damascene to the 
 backbone. That alone was enough 
 to make a man blase, for Damas- 
 cus is one of the oldest cities on 
 earth. But Abdul Kartah had tasted the cup of 
 life. He had even drunk it to the dregs, and 
 looked closely at the bottom to see if there was 
 any more left. He had made up his rnind that 
 there was not, when one day at the flower market 
 he saw Marshmallah. 
 
 She was a flower girl from some fourteen- 
 syllabled village near the Red Sea, and from time 
 immemorial flower-girls have been destructive 
 of the peace of gentlemen of high degree. As 
 soon as he had seen Marshmallah, Abdul was a 
 changed man. No more did he go to the hang- 
 ing gardens at night, listen to the low, lascivious 
 
 6/ 
 
n, 
 
 tooting of the bulbul, smoke hookahs and drink 
 palm-tree wine, which, you will remember, Xeno- 
 phon says is " exceedingly headachy." No more 
 did he go out for midnight rides on the Jerusalem 
 mule tramway. He even gave up polo and ab- 
 jured checkers at a dollar a game. 
 
 Abdul swore off generally, and 
 took to expending his monthly al- 
 lowance of rupees, scudi, piastres, 
 or whatever they call them, on 
 yellow chrysanthemums and hot- 
 house violets. Marshmallah liked 
 it first-rate, and began to have 
 visions of a sealskin peplum (or 
 some such garment) and a team 
 of donkeys. But about this time old 
 Kunnel Kartah, Abdul's father, rose up 
 and said in his beard : 
 "There 's something wrong with Ab; he 's 
 reformed." 
 
 So the old man, not having a grand vizir (be- 
 cause they went out of fashion along with califs), 
 sent for his private secretary and said to him : 
 
 " Pete," the secretary was an Englishman 
 and his name was Peter Thompson "Pete, what 
 's up with Ab ? " 
 
 " Don't know," said Pete; "but I'll find out." 
 That evening Peter returned and looked seri- 
 ously at Kunnel Kartah. 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " said the old man ; 
 " speak out." 
 
 " Mashed," said Pe.ter, sententiously. 
 " Mashed ! Is she rich ? " 
 " No. Flower-girl." 
 
 " O Allah ! " exclaimed Kunnel Kartah ; 
 62 
 
r 
 
 ^ i)arns from Puck, ^ 
 
 " this comes of being a member of an old blue- 
 blooded family that goes back to the days of the 
 Sultan Sahib. The princes always were spooning 
 on the wrong girls. Well, well ; get down the 
 oracle and let 's see what the idiots did under the 
 circumstances." 
 
 Peter went to the book-case and got down 
 
 a magnificent unexpurgated edition of " Arabian 
 Nights." Kunnel Kartah thumbed the index. 
 
 "Um um ah, here it is; page 327. Um 
 um they sent the prince to a desert isle where 
 there were no women, to stay until he reached 
 the age of discretion. What blooming rot ! " 
 
 "Well, sir," said Peter; "Abdul ought to 
 have reached the age of discretion ; but it seems 
 that he has n't, and I think that foreign travel 
 would be a good thing for him. He 'd forget 
 this silly flower-girl business." 
 
 " I don't know but you 're. right," said 
 
 t>3 
 
^ fjanks; ^ 
 
 Kunnel Kartah. "We '11 try it. do down and 
 get a ticket to Calcutta, and we '11 pack him off 
 on to-morrow's steamer." 
 
 Peter left the house, and just before dinner 
 Abdul came in. 
 
 "Well, sir," said his father; " what have you 
 to say for yourself? Fallen in love with a flower- 
 girl, eh? " 
 
 Abdul started and then salaamed very low. 
 
 " Commander of the Faithful," he began, but 
 his father shouted : 
 
 " Don't you commander-of-the-faithful me, 
 you blockhead ! I won't have it ! It 's out of 
 date ! " 
 
 " Well, guv'nor, Marshmallah is a good girl, 
 and I 'm sure if you would only see her, you 'd 
 love her yourself." 
 
 "Ah-h-h! I don't want to love her! Con- 
 found your impudence ! You go and pack your 
 trunk. You start for India to-morrow." 
 
 Abdul knew that there was no escape, and 
 he did as he was ordered. He contrived to send 
 a message to Marshmallah, assuring her of his 
 eternal constancy, and received an answer beg- 
 ging him not to keep her waiting too long, as she 
 had other advantageous offers. He sailed away 
 the next day on a Mediterranean fruit steamer 
 that carried three passengers. They had not left 
 the Red Sea when a big storm arose, and the 
 vessel was wrecked on a small island. Abdul, 
 who could swim like a wild duck, was the only 
 person who escaped. He was cast by a huge 
 wave upon a rock, where he clung until the 
 tempest subsided. 
 
 t>4 
 
^ tjarns f* o 
 
 When Abdul regained his senses, he mourned 
 grievously over his misfortune, for the island had 
 the appearance of being uninhabited. He arose 
 and began to move forward in the hope of find- 
 ing a place more inviting than the rocks, when 
 he beheld a curious growth upon the side of a 
 tree. It looked like a box with a crank protrud- 
 
 ing from the side. He turned the crank and a 
 bell rang. Then he heard a hollow voice saying : 
 
 "Hello! hello!" 
 
 Abdul staggered and rubbed his eyes, fearing 
 that he dreamed. But again the voice said : 
 
 Hello ! What 's that ? " 
 
 " Sir," answered Abdul ; " I know not who 
 you are, nor whence you speak." 
 
 " You blooming chump ! " exclaimed the 
 voice ; " did you never see a telephone before ? 
 What are you shipwrecked ? " 
 t>5 
 
^ fjatiks; V" 
 
 "Sir, I am, indeed, a shipwrecked voyager." 
 
 " First turn to the left beyond the rocks till 
 you come to the gate. Good-by." 
 
 Abdul, marvelling greatly, set forward on his 
 path. Turning as the voice had bidden him, he 
 came to a gate covered with green cloth. He 
 knocked, but none answered. Then perceiving 
 a small knob at one side, he laid hold of it, when 
 instantly a bell rang within. He started back in 
 alarm as the gate opened and a man appeared. 
 
 " Holy ginger ! " exclaimed the man ; 
 " anoth?r case of shipwreck!" 
 
 "Sir," said Abdul; "I perceive that you 
 are a person of understanding." 
 
 "You bet your boots! Here, take this, and 
 when you need anything, rub it." 
 
 And the gatekeeper handed Abdul a gold 
 ring. 
 
 " Now come in. Don't stand out there," 
 said the gatekeeper. 
 
 Abdul entered, and found himself in the 
 court-yard of a spacious and magnificent palace. 
 He looked about him, and found that the gate- 
 keeper had departed. He went forward, and 
 entered an apartment of inviting aspect. He sat 
 down and gazed about him. On one side of the 
 room was a bookcase, filled with the latest stories 
 of Kipling, De Maupassant, Stevenson, Howdls. 
 Crawford, and other writers of whom Abdul had 
 never heard. On a large table were all the lead- 
 ing magazines and weeklies of England, France 
 and the United States. On another side was a 
 buffet laden with California grapes and other 
 fruits, and with bottles of various sizes and colors. 
 Abdul folded his hands and rubbed them gently 
 
 66 
 
^ l)arns from Puck, ^ 
 
 in his satisfaction. He unconsciously rubbed the 
 ring. Instantly he heard a rumbling sound, and 
 looking in the direction whence it came, saw a 
 sort of car rise till it was opposite a door. The 
 door opened, and a man stepped forward. He 
 wore a swallow-tailed coat, and carried a napkin 
 over his arm. He bowed and said : 
 
 " What will Monsieur have ? We are your 
 servants, I and the other slaves of the ring." 
 
 "Allah is great," said Abdul; "my stomach 
 is uneasy with salt water." 
 
 " Monsieur should try a creme de menthe." 
 
 ' A what ? " 
 
 "A creme de menthe Paris-green cock- 
 tail." 
 
 The man stepped to the buffet and returned 
 with a glass full of something green, which he 
 gave to Abdul to drink. 
 
 "Allah is great greater than I thought," 
 said Abdul, looking at the empty glass with much 
 respect. "And now, friend, who are you, and 
 where am I ? " 
 
 " Don't you know ? Why, where on earth 
 do you come from?" 
 
 "Even from Damascus." 
 
 " Oh, that 's worse than Philadelphia. They 
 're centuries behind the times in Damascus." 
 
 " Not so. We have a faro bank and a mule 
 tramway." 
 
 " Gee-whizz, man ! Why, have you any 
 opium dens, or policy shops, or cable railways, or 
 electric rapid-transit lines, or pool rooms, or roof- 
 garden concerts?" m 
 
 " I know not what these things may be." 
 
 " Well, then, you 're not in it ! " 
 
 6 t>7 
 
^ fjattks, ^ 
 
 " Not in what ? " 
 
 "Oh not in the century! You're not 
 fin de siecle. Now, as for me, why, I 'm the 
 king of the genii." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 " King of the genii. I Ye been running this 
 island ever since the old original sultan sent his 
 son here to live out of sight of women till he was 
 twenty-one. You must have read about it in the 
 'Arabian Nights.'" 
 
 ' Then that was true ? " 
 
 "You bet your sweet life! Why, that 's 
 Aladdin's ring you 're wearing ! " 
 
 " But those things told in the tales of Sche- 
 hezerade were all impossible." 
 
 "Yes, they were then; but not now. Why, 
 with steam, electricity and cheek, we can do 
 things that her royal nibs would n't have dared to 
 tell Schahariar!" 
 
 "Then you may be able to aid me." 
 
 "I can. I know what's the matter. You 
 are in love with a flower-girl or something of that 
 sort, and your sire has sent you off to get cured. 
 Of course, you came ashore here. They all do. 
 We get them. That 's what we are here for. 
 We 're running a retreat for eligible sons who are 
 in danger of contracting mesalliances." 
 
 "Oh, but you must not help me that way. 
 I do not wish to be cured of my love. I want 
 my Marshmallah." 
 
 'Well, you're going to get your Marsh- 
 mallah. That 's the cure." 
 
 " I don't quite understand." 
 
 "You will after you 've been married two or 
 three months." 
 
 68 
 
V 
 
 So saying, the genie pressed a button and 
 a messenger appeared. The genie wrote out a 
 brief message and handed it to the messenger, 
 saying : 
 
 " Take your electro-magnetic flying-machine 
 and carry that message to Damascus. Bring back 
 the girl, or an answer. Rush now ! " 
 
 Three hours later the answer came. It read 
 thus : 
 
 " Marshmallah Mul Kahi, Sister of the 
 Nightingale, Daughter of the Moon, and Cousin 
 of the Date-palm, presents her compliments to 
 Abdul Kartah and begs leave to inform him that 
 she has just accepted an offer of 200 per week 
 to appear in London in a new comic opera. The 
 manager guarantees that she shall marry a real 
 lord at the end of the season. She regrets, there- 
 fore, that she must indefinitely postpone her un- 
 certain engagement with Abdul Kartah." 
 
 Abdul burst into tears, and handed the note 
 to the genie to read. 
 
 " Phew ! " exclaimed he. " Young man, the 
 sex, as you perceive, is always fin de sie't'/e." 
 
 " What shall I do, then ? My life is now 
 hopeless ; but let me at least become fin de siecle 
 before I die." 
 
 " You are sure that you have nothing else to 
 live for ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Abdul, sadly. 
 
 The genie went to the book-shelves and got 
 down complete editions of the works of W. D. 
 Howells and of Henry James. 
 
 " There," said the genie ; " find the soul in 
 these, and the plots in those, and you '11 be the 
 fin de siedest man on the face of the earth." 
 
 69 
 
Abdul Kartah withered with the grapes in 
 the golden Autumn. 
 
 IV. J. Henderson. 
 
 70 
 
THE MOSQUITOVILLE CLUB. 
 
" < Won't you have a drop of whiskey 
 in iff 1 " 
 
THE MOSQUITOV1LLE CLUB. 
 
 HEN it was first proposed to have 
 a club in the quiet, sleepy little 
 town of Mosquitoville, the en- 
 tire population declared itself 
 greatly pleased. 
 
 Mosquitoville was what might 
 be termed at once a religious and 
 a sporting town. It contained spots that were 
 noted for their piety, and spots that might be 
 characterized as directly the opposite; and it 
 may seem strange, at first, that two elements so 
 heterogeneous as the religious and sporting fac- 
 tions of Mosquitoville should meet upon com- 
 mon ground, and declare the Mosquitoville Club 
 an institution without which Mosquitoville could 
 never hope to become a centre of refinement and 
 social life. 
 
 The pious people looked with favor upon the 
 club only because it would enable them to find a 
 golden opportunity for the exercise of their efforts 
 to suppress intemperance. On the other hand, 
 the people who drank rationally saw at once a 
 splendid chance to labor with the prohibition 
 cranks, and to use their best endeavors to cause 
 them to shake off the galling fetters of water, in 
 
 73 
 
which the demon Typhoid lingers to lure men on 
 to destruction and death. 
 
 While each element was making preparations 
 to save the other, and, while each was totally un- 
 aware of the fact that it was about to be rescued 
 and placed upon the pedestal of life and happi- 
 ness, the Mosquitoville Club was duly formed and 
 ushered into existence. When the people met at 
 the club, it was pleasant to note the pains with 
 which they attempted to be polite and courteous 
 to each other; for each one was bent upon saving 
 
 Y> 
 
 his brother, and unaware of his brother's intention 
 toward himself. 
 
 " I should think that that whiskey would con- 
 sume your insides," a prohibition light would 
 remark. 
 
 "It is really not so apt to injure one as that 
 cold, clammy lemonade you are now imbibing," 
 the drinker would reply. "Won't you have a 
 drop of whiskey in it, to take the chilly edge off?" 
 
 "Thank you very much," the prohibition ad- 
 vocate would reply, "but I can not consistently 
 
 74 
 
^ Darns from puck, ^ 
 
 accept. I will put some of my lemonade in your 
 whiskey, if you will have it." 
 
 "Certainly," the drinker would remark. "To 
 show you that I am not at all prejudiced against 
 this impressionistic beverage, I will accept." 
 
 Thereupon the pious soul would put some 
 lemonade into the blue-grass whiskey of the sin- 
 ner, which the latter would drink with an expres- 
 sion of well dissembled delight. 
 
 " I tell you," the drinker would remark, in a 
 soft, missionary tone ; " temperance is a truly beau- 
 tiful thing, when not carried to excess. But alcohol 
 is also a good thing in its place. Like water, it 
 should be taken with great discretion. I am will- 
 ing to admit that alcohol sometimes ruins the 
 digestion, and sometimes aids and strengthens it; 
 occasionally it destroys the appetite, and occa- 
 sionally it improves it. If I were stout and had 
 a purple countenance, I would pin my faith to 
 water; if I were sallow and cadaverous, I would 
 shun water as I would poison. You do not look 
 over-strong. Permit me to send you a bottle of 
 blue-grass, to be taken as a tonic. And, while 
 you imbibe it as a medicine, I will agree to con- 
 fine myself entirely to your favorite tipple, water." 
 
 " I could n't enter into such an agreement," 
 the prohibitionist would reply; "but I must admit 
 the fairness of your proposed bargain. If I could 
 keep you on water for a month, I might have the 
 satisfaction of knowing you as one of my con- 
 verts ; but, on the other hand, I might take such a 
 liking to the liquids which I now avoid, that I 
 could not shake off the desire for them. I appre- 
 ciate the kind interest you take in me; and will 
 tell you that my hatred and fear of rum are based 
 
 7S 
 
V 
 
 upon the fact that I had several uncles and two 
 grandfathers who lived and died in the chains of 
 the demon." 
 
 " I can feel for you," the other would say 
 softly; "but in my case it was entirely different; 
 all my uncles and both my grandfathers were 
 strict prohibitionists; and I have been drinking 
 all my life. Yet I have never been drunk. You 
 can drink rationally, if you will, just as I do; 
 and I will suggest a plan upon which we can 
 meet half way. We will split a bottle of ginger 
 ale with a glass of whiskey in it. That will be a 
 mixture of prohibition and tolerance that ought 
 to fill any fair-minded man with joy." 
 
 The prohibitionist concluded to meet his 
 fallen brother half way, in the hope of being 
 able to save him ultimately, and, at the 
 same time, let him see that he was lib- 
 eral. So they split the ginger ale and 
 whiskey, and became like brothers, 
 each one feeling that he was leading 
 the other into the light, until the sinner 
 had to lead the prohibitionist home. 
 
 Shortly after the club was estab- 
 lished, the factions would meet sepa- 
 rately and apart to report progress. 
 At the prohibition headquarters, an 
 ancient deacon would remark: 
 
 "I saw Col. Smith drink a glass of ginger 
 pop at the club to-day, and his eye looked clear 
 and indicated a great falling off in the Colonel's 
 consumption of alcoholic liquids." 
 
 "Old Jason Funk left half his beer in his 
 glass," another great teetotaler would say j "and 
 that means a good deal for old Jason." 
 76 
 
V ^orns from puck, V 
 
 And at the other headquarters a broker 
 would say : 
 
 " I reasoned with elder Bullfinch for three 
 hours to-day, before I could get him to put a 
 little claret in his lemonade. He seemed to like 
 it, and by unflagging perseverance I hope to get 
 him to the point of drinking a claret-punch in a 
 week and a straight whiskey in a month. The 
 elder is a pretty good man at heart, and is quite 
 worthy of being saved and raised from his present 
 ignominious position in the community. The 
 associations of youth and early training are*" the 
 causes of his loyalty to the coy enchantress that 
 steals away his brains and digestion, and makes a 
 monkey of him." 
 
 "Only a week ago," a merchant would re- 
 mark, "I felt a brotherly compassion and sym- 
 pathy for Jonathan Squidmire. I detected him 
 in the act of sipping water from a clam-shell at 
 the town pump. I remembered the services he 
 rendered at the public school fire, and my heart 
 went out to him, for I felt that he was too good 
 and pure to wear the shackles of total abstinence 
 and thus be alienated from us. So I gave the 
 boy who delivers the morning papers, twenty-five 
 cents to go around to his kitchen door and pour 
 half a pint of whiskey in the pail of milk. I 
 knew this would benefit him, because he has weak 
 lungs. I have had the act repeated several times, 
 each time increasing the quantity of whiskey. Old 
 Jonathan is looking better already, and I con- 
 fidently believe that in a fleeting moon or two he 
 will walk proud and erect in the light of day and 
 be one of us in heart and soul." 
 
 And so the Mosquitoville Club continued to 
 77 
 
V 
 
 flourish. Each side struggled for supremacy, and 
 never allowed a chance for victory to slip. 
 
 " If you will take lemonade instead of 
 brandy," a prohibitionist would say to a drinking 
 man, " I '11 sell you that five-hundred dollar lot on 
 Chestnut Street for four hundred and fifty." 
 
 And the drinking man would reply : 
 
 "If you will try a good stiff absinthe cock- 
 tail instead of that insufferable mead you have 
 before you, I will drink five glasses of water and 
 give you a receipt for the money you owe me 
 for a cord of wood." 
 
 The grand result of this controversy was 
 that at the end of six months all hands were 
 converted. The prohibition army had made 
 total abstainers of all the drinkers, and the 
 drinking men had triumphed over the scruples 
 of the teetotalers, until each of the latter had 
 become a rational drinker. In other words, the 
 two factions had simply changed places. And, 
 strange as this may seem, it only resulted in 
 another war that was even more warmly con- 
 tested than the first. These contests were face- 
 tiously termed Mosquitoville's first and second 
 Punic wars. When the drinking people had 
 stopped drinking entirely, they began to feel 
 the good effects of their move at once. They 
 lost superfluous flesh, had better appetites, and 
 felt so rejuvenated that they at once tried to con- 
 vert the ex-prohibition party to its former prin- 
 ciples out of pure gratitude. And the ex-prohi- 
 bition people felt so happy and hilarious in their 
 cups, that they generously did all in their power 
 to bring the ex-drinkers around to their way of 
 thinking, that they might enjoy the pleasures of 
 
I) arns f rom 
 
 the flowing bowl together and be like a big 
 family of brothers. 
 
 The club is still in a prosperous, healthy 
 condition. But, despite the noblest and most 
 self-sacrificing efforts of the others, the hard 
 
 drinkers, who were its charter members, can not 
 be coaxed to take a drink by those who at the 
 outset would sip nothing stronger than stickless 
 drug-store soda-water. And the people who at 
 the beginning did their best to make the total 
 abstainers learn the subtle virtue of a cocktail are 
 now struggling in vain to induce them to sign the 
 pledge, and to wear the sky-blue ribbon of prohi- 
 bition. Thus did the Brandyites and the Sodaites 
 go to war, and both used their best art for vic- 
 tory, and both were victorious, having gained the 
 triumph for which they set out. And they that 
 were the Brandyites are now the Sodaites ; and 
 they that were the Sodaites are now the Brandy- 
 ites ; and all is as merry as a marriage-bell. Opin- 
 ions are divided as to which party is the real 
 
 79 
 
gainer. But while the new temperance men are 
 said to take a drink at home upon the sly, it is 
 also stated, and, perhaps, with equal truth, that 
 the new drinking men are so far beyond reforma- 
 tion that they can not pass an urban sample room 
 unless they are on an elevated train. 
 
 Jt. K. Mutikittrick. 
 
 So 
 
THE STORY OF WILLIAM. 
 
THE STORY OF WILLIAM. 
 
 is one of a group of boys 
 who have assembled in the 
 outer office of Messrs. Peters 
 Plunkett, wholesale gro- 
 cers, in answer to an adver- 
 tisement for an office-boy, 
 "bright and of good habits." 
 Eight boys are here to be 
 chosen from, and seven of 
 them are far more generously 
 endowed than William with the 
 requisite qualification of brilliancy, 
 if not of rectitude. To be frank, 
 William is stupid. He has a chunky little body, 
 giving rich promise of mature amplification, red 
 hair and cheeks, light-colored eyes, and lashes 
 still lighter. He is the least promising of the 
 applicants. 
 
 The latter part of the firm enters briskly to 
 make the selection ; he runs his eye over the 
 group, allows it to rest upon a neat-looking youth, 
 whose age he inquires. 
 
 "I s'pose if you get the job, you '11 expect to 
 be made one of the firm in a couple of weeks," 
 says Mr. Plunkett, in that bantering and grimly 
 
 7 83 
 
humorous way that he knows boys can not ap- 
 preciate. 
 
 The lad is giving utterance to an awkward 
 but sincere disclaimer, when a laugh shatters the 
 silence in William's vicinity. It is not the abash- 
 ed, uneasy, placative chuckle of awed juvenility, 
 but a sustained, appreciative laugh of inimitable 
 fluency, apparently expressing rare discernment 
 and ready sympathy, the kind of laugh we so 
 frequently miss after saying one of our best things. 
 Its effect on Plunkett is electrical. As the last 
 grateful cadence expires, he dismisses the seven 
 expectants, and consummates a business alliance 
 
 with William. 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 Plunkett had always been a facetious man, 
 and, thenceforth, encouraged by William, he de- 
 veloped amazingly. The spontaneous expressions 
 of approval which his sallies invariably elicited, 
 not only explained what had at times perplexed 
 Plunkett, namely, the precise nature of his superi- 
 ority to the general run of humanity, but they 
 exalted William in his estimation as a youth pos- 
 sessing mental fibre of unusual excellence. 
 
 Plunkett treated William with marked con- 
 sideration in their business intercourse, and to his 
 commercial brethren spoke of his office-boy as a 
 prodigy. The environments of the grocery trade 
 may not seem adapted to the development of a 
 humorous vein ; but Plunkett said a surprising 
 number of funny things during the day, and Wil- 
 liam's tuneful and sympathetic laughter thereat 
 was always satisfying. He never laughed at the 
 wrong time; he knew what to expect when 
 
^ ijarns f rom 
 
 Plunkett relaxed his facial rigidity, crossed his 
 hands leisurely over his stomach, and looked 
 down at him in an unctuous, fatherly sort of way, 
 expressing perfect confidence in William's risible 
 complaisance. 
 
 William's laugh never grated; true, you 
 could analyze it as a contortion of the labial 
 muscles, a rolling of the eyes, and a sonorous and 
 rhythmically interrupted expulsion of air from the 
 lungs; but that gives no idea of the subtle and 
 elusive sympathy, the expression of keen enjoy- 
 ment that enlivened its every intonation, and 
 justified Plunkett's self-confessed belief in his own 
 genius. 
 
 Being a stupid boy, William never made any 
 personal attempts at humor, and thus retained his 
 employer's respect. His remarks were few, and 
 as brief as was consistent with a reasonably intel- 
 ligent exposure of the exigencies of the moment. 
 Consequently, Plunkett said: "There is a deep 
 fellow for you." 
 
 Parkers was head book-keeper, and main- 
 tained inimical relations with William until the 
 day he utilized him for the delivery of a message, 
 adjuring him, under penalty of acquiring a suc- 
 cessor, "don't let the grass grow under your 
 heels." William's violent and uncontrollable mirth, 
 provoked by this Ion mot, brought out Plunkett 
 from the inner office, who aggravated the parox- 
 ysm by a timely and characteristic jest; and Wil- 
 liam departed upon his errand in ebullient enjoy- 
 ment of the privilege that marks man's superiority 
 over the beasts of the field, or any beasts, for that 
 85 
 
matter. Parkers and Plunkett were wonderfully 
 drawn together by this episode; each wanted to 
 grasp the other's hand, but neither braved the 
 initiative. Parkers said : " Mighty bright boy, 
 that;" and Plunkett said: "He is that; help 
 him along, here in the office, whenever you can, 
 
 Parkers." 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 Parkers's sudden discovery of himself as a 
 humorist received daily confirmation from William. 
 True, the remark above quoted was his only real 
 pleasantry; but, then, he was busy with columns 
 of figures all day, and had no leisure to study the 
 columns of comic journals and try to be original ; 
 and, besides, he ascertained that frequent iteration 
 did not impair the efficiency of his jest, for Wil- 
 liam's enjoyment of the same was always plenary. 
 So William discharged many errands whose sole 
 animus was Parkers's desire to revel in that in- 
 sidious laugh. In return, he educated William, 
 who, though moderate in his absorption of 
 business principles, was patient, and possessed a 
 retentive mind. William was never loquacious, 
 never boisterous, and never called " Bill." 
 
 As the years passed on, William laughed 
 his way to success. He labored at Parkers's 
 ledgers and accounts with zealous rigor, until he 
 could easily distinguish an invoice from a bill of 
 lading. Plunkett had him invited to banquets, 
 and soon Plunkett was known as a witty after- 
 dinner speaker. In due time he married Plunkett's 
 
V $ams from puck, ^f 
 
 daughter. To-day he is middle-aged, portly, and 
 a member of the firm. He has a comfortable 
 home, with the most elegant red-plush furniture in 
 the parlor, the doors of which 
 are draped with costly yellow 
 portieres, while the walls 
 are decorated with some 
 lovely landscapes re- 
 ceived from the tea 
 company in San Fran- 
 cisco; also with an oil 
 painting for which Wil- 
 liam reverently confess- 
 es to have paid an en- 
 ormous figure. He usually 
 wears a Prince Albert coat 
 and a white lawn tie, as 
 these are his ideals of per- 
 sonal elegance; and, altogether, he has nothing 
 to wish for. 
 
 His laugh has mellowed and matured some- 
 what, but is as readily excited as ever, because it 
 is due to a nervous affection. When he laughs 
 now, his eyes show a mystical light that seems to 
 imply some secret enjoyment of your joke, some 
 point that only he could discover, which convinces 
 you that you are a sly one. In reality, William 
 is wondering why he laughs. 
 
 The moral of this little tale is plain : Let us 
 cultivate a strong and obvious disposition to spon- 
 taneous risibility. Observe my friend, as I favor 
 him with one of my choice witticisms. If his 
 87 
 
T* $anks; "V 
 
 friendship is sincere, and he has no ulterior design 
 upon me or my purse, he greets it with a look of 
 jaded apathy, or, perchance, emits three dry, 
 abbreviated chuckles which are merged into an 
 elongated "Y-e-s"with falling in- 
 flection, that says : " Thought of 
 the same thing, myself, thousand 
 times, I assure you; but never 
 thought it worth saying." 
 
 If, however, he has a point 
 to make with me, he laughs a 
 halting, constrained, chest laugh 
 that hints at a secret and gnawing 
 sorrow, and if prone to dissimula- 
 tion, he contorts his face fearfully, and shakes his 
 sides with palpable inconvenience. 
 
 Let us discard this amateur and mechanical 
 cachinnation that must irritate our friends, and 
 cultivate that hearty, sympathetic, soulful laugh 
 that brought William his reward, striving to 
 mingle delicately with it a mute confession of 
 our own inability to say anything half so witty 
 as that which engages us. 
 
 H. L. Wilson. 
 
 88 
 
HIS LUCKY NIGHT. 
 
''A stylishly appointed coupe drew 
 up in front of the portico." 
 
HIS LUCKY NIGHT. 
 
 */'^ is not many months since "Jimmy" 
 if Hickey, as we all used to call him 
 in his less palmy days, got his first 
 
 real start in life. 
 
 Now, he can wear sealskin 
 i I suspenders with diamond buckles, 
 1^ if he wants to; then, the white 
 
 lawn ties which encircled his throat 
 every evening were a serious drain 
 on his income. 
 
 At that time Jimmy was a light- 
 hearted and light-waisted young So- 
 ciety Man, and spent most of his 
 leisure moments in fluttering around 
 the outskirts of the Four Hundred, 
 without, however, becoming seriously 
 affected by the sycophantic taint of 
 McAllisterism. 
 
 He was slender and graceful in figure. Thin 
 enough to slip through the stage door, and broad 
 enough to attract the attention of the chorus girls 
 when he sat in the front row; tall enough, just 
 about, to enable him to keep his chin above 
 water; and short enough to be obliged to stand 
 off his wash-lady, occasionally. 
 
 9' 
 
For his mode of living was a little pre- 
 carious, as he depended largely on the "buns" lie 
 was able to pick up in "The Street." 
 
 But Jimmy's lucky star was burning with 
 ten-million-candle power on the evening he went 
 to the Horse Show. 
 
 He had put in his time with his back to the 
 arena, looking at the girls in the boxes. At half 
 past eleven, Fashion began to gather up her skirts 
 and shake the tan bark from off her feet, and 
 Jimmy began to lose his interest in the show. 
 
 So he followed the crowd out into the lobby, 
 and laying his check on the shelf in front of the 
 coat-room window, called out to the attendant in 
 a jocular tone of voice: "A fur-lined overcoat, 
 please." 
 
 "Fur-lined overcoat, sir? Here you are, sir: 
 Number 99," answered the man, briskly, as he 
 handed Jimmy a royally splendid garment. 
 
 Now, Jimmy's check was number 66, and he 
 saw in a moment that the man had read the 
 figures upside-down. 
 
 His first impulse was to rectify the mistake, 
 and claim his more modest box-coat ; but on 
 second thoughts he decided to take advantage of 
 the error, and astonish the boys at the club with 
 his new magnificence. 
 
 The return of the borrowed coat in the 
 morning would straighten matters out. He was 
 an expert on loans of every description, and con- 
 sidered this a " call loan ; " at least he knew he 
 had the call. 
 
 Then he sauntered leisurely through the ves- 
 tibule, and allowed the apparel to proclaim the 
 man, for, as he reached the sidewalk a uniformed 
 
V IJarns fa P<k T" 
 
 functionary touched his cap respectfully and in- 
 quired the number of his carriage. 
 
 "Call 411;" said Jimmy, and chuckled as 
 he thought of the way the policeman and chorus 
 of hangers on would make the night hideous in 
 the effort to discover his mythical conveyance. 
 
 But the shouts had scarcely reached the ears 
 of Diana On The Tower before a stylishly ap- 
 pointed coupe drew up in front of the portico, 
 and there was nothing for Jimmy to do but press 
 a coin (which he had found in the pocket of the 
 ulster) into the hand of the nearest loafer and step 
 inside the carriage. The coachman who had been 
 trying to control his excited team let them have 
 their heads as soon as he heard the door slam, 
 and Jimmy found that he had effected a second 
 loan. 
 
 "Well, I hope this carriage does n't belong 
 to the same man as the fur-lined overcoat ; the 
 poor beggar will catch his death of cold walking 
 home in a dress-suit," he commented thoughtfully. 
 
 As he spoke, he pushed his hand down into 
 the pocket of the ulster. It touched a cold, hard 
 substance, which his instinct told him was a silver 
 pocket-flask filled with brandy. After he had 
 proved the correctness of this impression, he also 
 discovered a pair of gloves, two cigars and some 
 small change. He lit one of the cigars and found 
 it equal to those Jack Lever sometimes gave him. 
 
 He thought with a little amusement of the 
 simple-mindedness of a man who could trust such 
 things as brandy, cigars and money within the 
 reach of the coat-room people. " Confound him ! 
 He had no business to throw temptation into the 
 way of men of that class of life. But this will 
 
 93 
 
^ $anks; V 
 
 teach him a lesson. By Jove, he '11 be more 
 careful, next time!" 
 
 But Jimmy's moral reflections were broken 
 in upon by the carriage, which had turned the 
 corner, coming to a stop before a four-story house 
 in the centre of the block. 
 
 " I '11 get out and run up the steps until the 
 coachman drives away," thought he ; " and then 
 I '11 slide around to the club." But this strata- 
 gem was not fated to be a success, for as he 
 entered the vestibule he heard footsteps behind 
 him, and on turning around confronted an old 
 gentleman, who exclaimed: "Why, Frank, my 
 boy, you 're home early to night; oh, I beg your 
 pardon, sir ; I thought it was my son ! " 
 
 " I wanted to see Mr. John Newberry," said 
 Jimmy, readily; "but you are not he." 
 
 "No; Newberry lives on 53d Street; this 
 is 52d." 
 
 " Then my coachman must have made a 
 mistake in the street; and now he has driven 
 off, as I told him he need n't wait for me. I> 
 Mr. Newberry's number the same as this?" 
 
 "H'm! I don't recollect. Just step inside 
 and I will look it up in my address book," said 
 the old gentleman, holding the door open. 
 
 " It seems a strange hour to call on a man," 
 remarked Jimmy, as he followed his host through 
 the hall into the library and selected an easy- 
 chair; "but I have an appointment to meet Mr. 
 Newberry in regard to some Granger Car Trust 
 Stock. He leaves for the West early in the 
 morning, and as he said he was going to a big 
 banquet this evening, he said he would see me 
 any time after twelve o'clock." 
 
 9-t 
 
^ tyarns from Puck, ^ 
 
 Granger Car Trust had been in Jimmy's 
 head all day, and that was the reason he came 
 to speak of it. It was a stock which had never 
 paid any dividends, and had consequently sold 
 at a low figure for a number of years. Now, 
 Jimmy had discovered that the President of one 
 of the big Western roads, with which the Car 
 Trust had a very disadvantageous contract, had 
 secretly acquired a controlling interest in its stock. 
 And the inference which Jimmy's Wall Street 
 training enabled him to draw from this move was 
 that before many moons the boot would be on 
 the other leg, and the Car Trust would get the 
 cream of the road's earnings, and the stock- 
 holders of the Great Divide & South Western 
 would get 
 
 "Naught but wishes, hopes and promises; 
 The currency of idiots." 
 
 He had been skirmishing around all day, 
 trying to get hold of some Car Trust stock before 
 his tip became public property ; and as he had 
 spoken at random, for the purpose of saying some- 
 thing and to kill time, his pet hobby had popped 
 out of his mouth before he knew it. 
 
 At the mention of this security, his host 
 looked up from the book where he was engaged 
 in searching for Mr. Newberry's address. 
 
 " I have a block of that stock myself. What 
 do you want to do in it?" he asked. 
 
 "Sell it!" answered Jimmy, promptly, scent- 
 ing trade and approaching it backward in the 
 regulation Stock Exchange way. 
 
 " I 'd like to sell mine, too, if I could get 
 anything for it," sighed the old gentleman. 
 
 9S 
 
" I think Mr. Newberry wants more than I 
 have; perhaps I can sell yours also." 
 
 "I hold a thousand shares, and I '11 give 
 you a liberal commission if you can get twenty 
 for them." 
 
 " I never work for commissions and I 'm 
 offering mine for less money," said Jimmy, grandly; 
 "but I '11 buy your stock at fifteen, and take my 
 chances of squeezing a couple of points out of it." 
 
 " I guess I '11 let you have it," said the old 
 gentleman; "that 's the best bid I Ve ever had 
 on it." 
 
 "Got it here?" asked Jimmy; "I want to 
 turn it over to Newberry to-night." 
 
 "Yes; it 's here in my safe." 
 
 "All right; I '11 give you a check on my 
 private account in the Knickerbocker Trust Co.," 
 said Jimmy, as he pulled out a little pocket check- 
 book which represented an actual balance of 
 $79.48. 
 
 In his eagerness to get rid of a dubious 
 stock at a fair profit, the old gentleman never 
 thought of requesting a certified check. No one 
 
^ J)arns from puck, ^ 
 
 could be expected to get his check certified at 
 midnight; and, besides, a man who owned such 
 a swell turnout, and wore such expensive clothes, 
 and spoke so coolly of drawing on his private 
 bank account for $15,000, was good enough 
 for him. 
 
 And the fact that Jimmy knew Mr. New- 
 berry, stamped him as a man of means. 
 
 Mr. Newberry's friends were of the pluto- 
 cratic class. An acquaintance with him was 
 better than Bradstreet's highest rating. 
 
 So Jimmy took the coveted stock, and 
 
 made a hurried exit on the plea that he was 
 keeping the billionaire waiting. 
 
 As Jimmy lay awake that night, thinking 
 of some means of making his check good, a 
 new difficulty confronted him. 
 
 If " Frank" and his father should meet, 
 they might compare notes about the loss of the 
 
 97 
 
carriage and the sale of the stock, with disas- 
 trous results. 
 
 But Frank had attached no importance to 
 his failure to find his carriage. To him it was 
 only one of the queer events of a very hazy even- 
 ing. He did not return home until five o'clock, 
 and when he arose at noon, the next day, his 
 father had long since left the house. 
 
 The next morning, vague rumors about 
 Granger Car Trust began to circulate through the 
 Street. 
 
 It was whispered that there was "a hen on," 
 and under the eager bidding of a horde of buyers 
 the price jumped up to forty. 
 
 So Jimmy had no trouble in making a loan 
 to take care of his check. 
 
 This was Jimmy's first ten-strike. 
 
 He eventually disposed of his stock at one 
 
If jparas from puck. V 
 
 hundred and five, and since then his judicious 
 speculations have increased his pile, until he has 
 become quite a capitalist. 
 
 Now, I don't envy Jimmy his good luck, but 
 when I hear him holding himself up as a brilliant 
 example of the value of honest industry and plod- 
 ding economy, I am inclined to call him down 
 and to remind him that he is conducting his part 
 of the .conversation through his new and always 
 glossy silk hat. 
 
 Harry Romaine. 
 
 99 
 
FOILED AGAIN; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BANKER'S VENGEANCE. 
 
"'/ blush to confess //,' answered 
 the banker, bursting into tears." 
 
FOILED AGAIN; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BANKER'S VENGEANCE. 
 
 IR, may I trespass upon your time 
 for a few moments?" said the 
 smug gentleman in a white 
 necktie to the whole-souled 
 Bank President, Mr. Thyme 
 Locke. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Mr. 
 Locke, pausing for a moment in 
 his occupation of trying to see how 
 the cashier had done it. "Are you 
 from Montreal?" 
 
 " No," answered the other. " I am here on 
 a charitable errand." 
 
 " Go ahead," said Mr. Locke, lighting a cigar. 
 " I represent, this morning, the United Em- 
 ployment Furnishing Aid and Relief Society." 
 
 " Good name ! " said Mr. Locke, dryly ; 
 "what is it for?" 
 
 "To provide fitting homes and suitable labor 
 for deserving and indigent females of temperate 
 habits." 
 
 103 
 
" Did Mr. Evarts draw up your constitution 
 and by-laws?" asked the Banker, meditatively. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, go ahead. What of it ?" 
 
 "We should be glad to offer you the op- 
 portunity of making such fitting contribution to 
 our society as would seem to you " 
 
 "Ah! yes; I see. But what do you spend 
 it for?" 
 
 "For the furtherance of the object of " 
 
 "Yes, yes. Well, I believe in doing things 
 in the easiest way. I don't care for middle- 
 men where I can get rid of them. I '11 tell you 
 what I '11 do. You send around one of the 
 the objects, the raw material, so to speak, 
 and I. '11 make a contribution in kind. Under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 104 
 
^ yarns from puck, ^ 
 
 " Not precisely." 
 
 "Send one of the indigent 'females' a 
 woman, if you can and I '11 see that she gets 
 a place. Do you get me ? " 
 
 "Ah! yes." 
 
 " Good-morning." 
 
 " Good-morning." 
 
 "Send at two-thirty, sharp." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Locke." 
 
 Just as the hands of the bank clock reached 
 fifteen minutes past three, a timid knock was 
 
 heard upon the ground glass behind which the 
 banker was still engaged upon the pretty puzzle 
 which the Canadian had left him. 
 
 Mr. Locke had just discovered another miss- 
 
ing five thousand dollars, and so he looked up 
 sharply, and said abruptly : 
 
 "Come!" 
 
 The door opened creepingly and a figure in 
 black inserted itself. 
 
 "Who are you, Madam?" asked the Pre- 
 sident. 
 
 "I 'm the lady from the United Emp " 
 
 "Ah! Sit down." 
 
 "Thank you, sir." 
 
 " Well, what can you do ? " 
 
 "All kinds of work, sir." 
 
 "Widow?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What did he die of?" 
 
 "The doctor said he could n't digest his 
 food." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why did n't you come at two- 
 thirty?" 
 
 "I was a little late, sir. I met a friend " 
 
 "Well, no matter. My wife needs a woman 
 to do general work about the house, and I thought 
 perhaps you might do." 
 
 "Thank you, sir. You 're very kind, I 'm sure." 
 
 " Can you cook ? " 
 
 " Plain cooking yes, sir." 
 
 " Wash ? " 
 
 " Do you expect the cook to do the 
 washing ? " 
 
 " Well, we have at times." 
 
 " Do you have stationary tubs ? " 
 
 "I think so yes. Why, of course! Oh, 
 yes! We must, I think." 
 
 " Would you expect to put out the collars 
 and cuffs?" 
 
 706 
 
^ IJarns from puck, ^ 
 
 " I suppose we could." 
 
 " Do you have a man to attend to the 
 furnace ? " 
 
 "Ah, yes! Oh, yes!" 
 
 "Would I have my Sundays and Thurs- 
 days ? " 
 
 " Quite so. Why, to be sure ! Oh, yes ! " 
 
 " Do you have early dinner, Sunday ? " 
 " Never have; but we could easily." 
 
 " Other girls kept ? " 
 
 "A whole regiment of 'em." 
 
 " Do you sift your ashes ? " 
 
 "No; I don't. Must we?" 
 
 " Can I wear bangs ? " 
 
 "We adore them! Pray, do." 
 
 " Do you expect us to wear caps ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! Not unless you prefer." 
 
 " Well, it seems like a nice place." 
 
 " Delighted that you 're pleased ! " 
 
 " How many in the family?" 
 
 " Oh several !" 
 
 " Any children ? " 
 
 " A few, I think." 
 
 " And where is it ? " 
 
 " About a half-mile out of town." 
 
 " In the country ! / /" 
 
 " I blush to confess it," answered the banker, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 The door closed with a bang, and a moment 
 later the unhappy man sank fainting to the floor. 
 
 When he had finished the examination of the 
 cashier's accounts, Mr. Locke called for the stock- 
 book, and with nervous eagerness conveyed a 
 large number of shares to the United Employ- 
 ment Furnishing Aid and Relief Society. The 
 
certificates were transferred and accepted the 
 same day. 
 
 The exuberant gratitude of the society was, 
 however, somewhat chilled upon the following 
 day, when the bank went down with a sickening 
 crash. 
 
 At last accounts the society was meeting 
 assessments upon the stock. 
 
 T. J. 
 
 108 
 
VAN GIBBER AND THE 
 STREET-CAR. 
 
" With a steel-like grip he caught 
 the loafer and flung him to the fur- 
 ther end of the car." 
 
 1 IO 
 
VAN GIBBER AND THE STREET-CAR. 
 
 'AN GIBBER was terribly bored. He 
 had been kept in town two weeks 
 after the season had opened and 
 everybody worth knowing had left for 
 the seaside or Europe, by a plaguy 
 law suit involving a paltry $250,000. 
 Time and again he had told his lawyer 
 not to bother with any financial difference of less 
 than $500,000; but the attorney, who was one 
 of the old school (he was Van Schaick, and a 
 Van Twiller oh his mother's side), and had been 
 Van Gibber's father's and Van Gibber's grand- 
 father's attorney and agent, had flown into a pro- 
 fessional fury at the young man, and talked to 
 him like a Dutch uncle (literally) about his loose 
 business habits, till Van, rather than aggravate 
 the testy old fellow, agreed to remain in town 
 after June 8th, for the first time in his life. 
 
 He was terribly ashamed of the plebeian 
 act, however, so much so that his man, noticing 
 his mortification and divining its cause, assured 
 him on the honor of an English man that he 
 would never divulge his disgrace; and Van Gib- 
 ber was so overcome by this evidence of his 
 servitor's devotion that for a moment or two he 
 
^ $attksj ^ 
 
 almost thought of thanking him. But he re- 
 frained, and simply turned a cold Knickerbocker 
 look upon him that greatly increased the man's 
 respect for his master. 
 
 Van Gibber's perplexity was to know how to 
 live and not be seen by any who might report his 
 presence in town at such an unfashionable date. 
 He could not ride or drive, for some 
 of the old men, who were reckless 
 and still staid in town till June 
 20, to the great scandal of 
 the set, would be sure to see 
 him and report the fact. He 
 might walk. He had once 
 walked six blocks down 
 Broadway, but that 
 was when he was in 
 training, during his 
 college days. The ef- 
 fort would be too much 
 for him now. It was out of the question. So 
 was the elevated road. A friend of his at the 
 Club had told him of a wild trip he had taken on 
 the "L" road from Wall Street to Twenty-third 
 Street, and how his head had ached for a week 
 afterward. 
 
 Suddenly an idea struck him tlie street- 
 cars. There were horse-cars running on certain 
 streets in the city. He had never seen them, but 
 he knew they existed, because his father had left 
 him a block of stock in the line, and he dimly 
 recollected his lawyer telling him a short time 
 before, that he had been elected president, or 
 manager, or something, of the company. He 
 rang for his man and asked where the nearest 
 
^ IJarns from Puck ^ 
 
 horse-car line was. The man nearly choked with 
 astonishment, but he answered. Van Gibber shud- 
 dered at the name of the street. He had never 
 heard of it before. It must be very unfashionable. 
 He half repented of his determination; but he 
 finally made a mental note of the place. He de- 
 clined the man's offer to call a horse, and to that 
 person's great amazement actually walked out of 
 sight around the corner. Van Gibber hired the 
 first small boy he saw, to conduct him to his 
 destination. It was much nearer his house than 
 he imagined, and the boy was dumbfounded when 
 Van Gibber handed him a dollar. 
 
 He had not long to wait, for presently, with 
 a prodigious noise and jangling of bells, a car 
 hove in sight. Van Gibber raised his umbrella; 
 but the car rushed furiously past him, and the 
 driver angrily motioned him to follow. He per- 
 ceived the car stop at the farther crossing. 
 
 " Back up, my good fellow," said Van Gibber. 
 "How the deuce do you expect me " 
 
 "Back nothing, you Macy dude! If you 
 want this car, come a-hoppin'," was the reply. 
 To say Van Gibber was astonished is putting it 
 mildly. His first impulse was to thrash the im- 
 pudent fellow ; but he saw that this would do no 
 good, so he picked his way across the street and 
 stepped upon the platform. The car started with 
 a savage jerk, and the conductor muttered some- 
 thing about "monkeys in men's clothes," which 
 Van Gibber did not catch the drift of. Several 
 men paid their fare, and Van Gibber was very 
 much interested in the manner in which the con- 
 ductor registered them. That person tapped Van 
 Gibber on the arm and the latter saw that his 
 
fare was required. He handed the conductor a 
 dollar and turned away. The conductor began 
 counting out a vast quantity of small coins of a 
 denomination unknown to Van Gibber. A hand- 
 ful of these were put into his palm. He looked 
 at them blankly and then at the conductor. 
 
 "That's your change!" the' latter said con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 "Change? Oh, keep 'it for your trouble!" 
 said Van Gibber, passing back the nickels and 
 
 dusting his hands with his handkerchief. He 
 entered the car and took the only seat left. This 
 was not done without an inward shudder, for in 
 all his life Van Gibber had never been in such 
 miscellaneous company before. There was a negro 
 in one corner and a Chinaman on the front-plat- 
 
^ l)arns 
 
 form, and right across from him sat a very large 
 woman holding on her lap a basket from under 
 the lid of which stuck the head of a live hen. 
 There was not another gentleman in the car 
 not a man who wore a gardenia in his button- 
 hole, or whose collar and cuffs were indigenous to 
 his shirt. 
 
 They were coarse and common-looking, and 
 Van Gibber wondered if they really had names, 
 or if they were just numbered. The car stopped, 
 and two women entered. Van Gibber was on 
 his feet in an instant, and, hat in hand, showed 
 the first comer to his seat. She was a portly 
 woman with a large, brown-paper parcel. The 
 other, a distinguished-looking young person at- 
 tired in a black broadcloth dress, took a strap 
 which hung from a bar running lengthwise of the 
 car, and stood up! 
 
 Van Gibber looked about him in consterna- 
 tion. No one seemed to think the lady was doing 
 anything but what was proper. Among others in 
 the car were several rough fellows, who looked 
 as if they might work for a living. They con- 
 tinued to read papers, or look out of the window. 
 Van Gibber touched one on the shoulder. He 
 looked up. 
 
 " Beg pardon," said Van Gibber; " this lady 
 is standing." 
 
 " What of it ? " asked the man brutally. 
 
 " But you don't seem to understand. She 
 wants a seat." 
 
 " Well, where is it ? I don't see it," said the 
 fellow with a laugh. 
 
 " Well, I do," said Van Gibber, as with a 
 steel-like grip he caught the loafer and flung him 
 
 9 "5 
 
to the further end of the car. " Madam, allow 
 me," and he bowed gracefully to the standing 
 woman. The man picked himself up, and with a 
 howl of rage flew at Van Gibber. Two com- 
 panions simultaneously attacked him from behind. 
 Van Gibber's terrible left swung out and caught 
 the assailant with an upper cut which sent him to 
 the ground again, while at the same time his right 
 came around with an awful sweep on the nose of 
 No. 2. He clinched with No. 3, and, getting a 
 half- Nelson, flung him with two broken ribs upon 
 the floor. By this time the car had stopped, and 
 the passengers fled to the street. The woman, 
 the seating of whom had caused trouble, arose 
 and left also. Outside she began to tap lightly 
 on the pavement with her parasol. Van Gibber 
 followed her to the curb. He had not even 
 ruffled his necktie. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said, "but that call 
 you are giving is for the Board of Public Works 
 not the Police. Allow me to escort you to 
 your home before they arrive;" and, in spite of 
 her protests, he handed her into a cab. She gave 
 him an address. 
 
 " Why, that is Mrs. Van Holler's, is it not ? " 
 he said. 
 
 " Y-e-s" hesitatingly. 
 
 " That is strange I beg your pardon, but 
 my name is Van Gibber, and Mrs. Van Holler is 
 my dearest friend. You are stopping with her, I 
 presume." 
 
 "Yes; for the present." 
 
 " But she is out of town Newport, I 
 think." 
 
 Yes." 
 
puck ^ 
 
 Her shyness was very charming to Van 
 Gibber. He thought her exquisite. How strange 
 he had never met her before ! Her presence 
 on the street -car was probably accountable to 
 the same reason as his own. They talked of 
 various things, and she seemed to know many 
 of his friends. Really, he must follow this up. 
 At the house he bade her good-by, and ventured 
 to press her hand slightly as he handed her from 
 the cab, and hazarded the hope that he might see 
 her again at Newport or Lenox. 
 
 Two weeks later he ran across Mrs. Van 
 Holler in the Casino at Newport. She took him 
 up to lunch at her cottage, and he saw his cab 
 companion in a side room sewing upon one of 
 Mrs. Van Holler's gowns. 
 
 Van Gibber went back to New York. He 
 told his man to go and see his lawyer about pass- 
 ing a law to compel common people to ride in 
 street-cars only at certain hours, or else to abolish 
 street-cars altogether. 
 
 PUCK'S Patent Davis. 
 
 117 
 
SUING FOR DAMAGES. 
 
SUING FOR DAMAGES. 
 
 ! RS. MULRANEY passed across her 
 heated brow a new handkerchief 
 trimmed with imitation lace; she 
 adjusted her green ribbons, and 
 gave the front of her dress -an ap- 
 proving pat; she exchanged smiles 
 with another approving Pat who was 
 seated far back among the spectators, for on the 
 successful termination of this suit the speedy 
 happiness of the pair depended. She felt that 
 she had passed handsomely through the ordeal, 
 and was by no means prepared for her counsel's 
 concluding words. "You may have the witness," 
 he had remarked with a friendly nod toward the 
 attorney for the defense. "Can he, indade? an' 
 much good may she do him," retorted Mrs. Mul- 
 raney, wheeling around to confront the enemy. 
 Pat, in the background, hitched uneasily on his 
 seat. It was a settled thing that he should have 
 the witness when these lawyers were done with her. 
 "You are a widow, I believe, Mrs. Mul- 
 raney ?" began the opposing counsel in a pleasant, 
 conversational tone. 
 
 "That 's what I am, an' I can call witnesses 
 to prove it," answered the plaintiff; and Pat half 
 
fjanhs; V 
 
 rose from his chair. This was a point to which 
 he could speak from personal knowledge. 
 
 "Now, how do you know that it was the 
 hose cart attached to Engine 31 that ran over 
 you at Eighth Avenue and 23d Street 
 on the day in question?" proceeded 
 the cross-examiner. 
 
 " Beca'se I heerd the b'ys 
 yellin' it out: 'There she goes 
 with her hose strealin' ! ' And 
 at first I thought it was me 
 own stockin's they meant, 
 for who 's to know how the 
 likes would be, an' a body 
 knocked down wid horse 
 power? But sure it was 
 the engine's stockin' 
 hose, I mane they had 
 riference to." 
 
 "Exactly; so it is from 
 hearsay you accuse the engine " 
 
 " Sorra taste ; it was from feelin', wid me 
 back bruk, an' all me vallybles ground into 
 me!" 
 
 " Please allow me to finish my question. 
 Where were you going at the' time the accident 
 occurred ? " 
 
 " I was goin' home, as a dacent woman 
 should, close on to tin at night, which is always 
 me hour on me Sunday out." 
 
 " So you had been spending the day out ! 
 Now, where were you coming from ? " 
 
 " I object," interjected plaintiff's counsel, 
 springing to his feet. 
 
 "An" so do I !" echoed Mrs. Mulraney. " I 
 
^ ^arns from puck, ^ 
 
 object strong! What call has he axin' the like o' 
 them questions, anyhow ? " 
 
 A short tilt between the lawyers brought out 
 that counsel for the defense was seeking to impugn 
 plaintiff's sobriety. The question was allowed. 
 
 " Well, then, I was spendin' the evenin' wid 
 Pat was n't I, Pat? and did ere a sup pass 
 me two lips, barrin' that little tint o' beer what 
 ye 'd be to have me to drink ? an' now may be 
 it 's goin' to cost me thousands o' dollars ! Spake 
 up, Pat, yer sowl ye, an tell His Honor I niver 
 looked the side of as much liquor as 'u'd drown'd 
 a flea that blissid day." 
 
 Thus adjured, Pat rose; but his answer was 
 not admitted by the court. The cross-examina- 
 tion continued, and by this time Mrs. Mulraney 
 was in a highly excited and nervous state. 
 
 " I have been given to understand," pursued 
 the lawyer, after a glance at his notes, " that with 
 regard to the damages sought in this action, the 
 plaintiff has already executed a conveyance " 
 
 " Is it me ? " shrieked Mrs. Mulraney, horri- 
 fied at this monstrous allegation ; " is it me exe- 
 cuted a conveyance, when it 's only by special 
 mercy the conveyance did n't execute me ? I 
 tell you I 'd come uptown in a car wid Pat, 
 there beyant, and I towld him good-by at the 
 corner, an' started to cross the strate, an' " 
 
 " In what did you cross the street?" inter- 
 posed the examining lawyer. 
 
 " In the mud ! More betoken, I wish ye 
 cud ha' seen me Sunday gown, afther me bein' 
 rowled in it, an' only for the dacency of the 
 policeman what 's placed there to protect the 
 furious drivers, sorra cross iver I 'd ha' crossed." 
 t*3 
 
" I mean, did you ride or walk ? " inter- 
 rupted the lawyer, impatiently. 
 
 " Faix, I done nayther, sir. I run, an kep' 
 a-runnin' till I was knocked down." 
 
 " This was at the crossing of Eighth Avenue 
 and Twenty-third Street ? " 
 
 " That 's where it was, an' aisier an' safer 
 I 'd find it to cross the siven oceans in a horse- 
 car that same night ! " 
 
 " From what direction did the hose cart ap- 
 proach ? " 
 
 " There were maychines comin' from all 
 sides, an' I think it come out o' the skies ; it 
 struck me that suddint." 
 
 " There are no engine houses in that direc- 
 tion," remarked the lawyer with a smile. 
 
 " I don't doubt but what the fires do be 
 mostly the other way," assented the witness. 
 
 What is your profession, or calling?" 
 
 " I 'm a cook, sir, which same is a necessary 
 aivil, as ye '11 own, for ye look like a gintleman 
 who 'd enjoy a good dinner yersilf, an' I don't say 
 but the same 'u'd do ye good; an' I 've ivery 
 second Sunday to meself, as a lady has a right, to 
 walk out wid or widout company that same 's 
 Pat, beyant an' to go abroad an' be run over at 
 will by vehicles an' convaynincies which go harm- 
 less and often unprotected through the strates of 
 this city, which have no other place to walk an' 
 have ivery right to, widout bein' ground down an' 
 bruk up so as I can't make me livin' a thing 
 I 've always done honest, an' niver failed till now 
 to have a few dollars to send home to me oukl 
 father round about Christmas time." 
 
 "A very proper feeling, Mrs. Mulraney; but, 
 124 
 
^ IJarns ftotn Puck, ^ 
 
 surely, this- trifling accident has not debarred you 
 from the exercise of your honorable profession." 
 
 " Thriflin' ? wid me lift rib impressin' on me 
 heart, as the doctor towld me ! ' Ma'am,' says he, 
 <it 's only astonishin' that you 're alive this minnit;' 
 an' not a day but it takes the biggest part of a 
 bottle o' brandy to kape up me spirits at all, 
 to say nothin" of a dacent b'y 
 that was axin' to marry me; 
 an' how can I ax him to 
 take an ould sack o' crushed 
 bones, whin it was a pur- 
 fessed cook he was coort- 
 in' ? " 
 
 " I do not think your 
 accident will cost you 
 your sweetheart," 
 remarked the law- 
 yer, with a quizzi- 
 cal glance at Pat, 
 who had remained 
 a deeply interested 
 spectator, " nor do you 
 seem to have suffered in 
 
 other ways. I can not learn that either your 
 salary or your perquisites are in abeyance " 
 
 " They 're in the bank, led up for a green 
 ould age! Where else 'd they be?" 
 
 "That 's all, Madam; you can stand 
 down." 
 
 . "Thank Yer Honor; I 'd liefer sit down, av 
 ye plaze." 
 
 " Just as you like, Ma'am." 
 
 " An' me damages don't I git them ? " 
 
 " That is a question for the jury to decide." 
 
$artlts> 
 
 " Ah ! an' av that 's the way of it, I Ve no 
 call to be afeard. It 's not in this town that 
 ye '11 find any twelve men who won't know the 
 dangers an' perils av the strates; and it 's not in 
 unther the skin av any o' thim fine looking, cliver, 
 good gintlemen to take the bread out o' a poor 
 widdy's mouth, whin they can make her an' a 
 dasent b'y happy, widout its costin' wan o' thim 
 a cint ! Yer sarvent, good gin- 
 tlemen, an' may all sorts o' 
 good luck attend ye, an' " 
 " Come, come, my 
 good woman ! " 
 
 "Yis, Yer Honor; an' 
 may the wish o' yer hearts 
 niver fail ye, an' may ye 
 niver die till ye see great- 
 grand-children 'round ye, 
 as handsome as yersilves! 
 Yis, Your Honor, I hear 
 ye ! " and Mrs. Mulraney 
 joined her counsel. 
 
 Owing to the justice 
 of her cause, to her judi- 
 cious application of blar- 
 ney to the jurors, or to 
 her masterly resistance dur- 
 ing a severe cross - exami- 
 nation, Mrs. Mulraney collected two thousand 
 dollars from the city, abandoned her professional 
 career, and is now living in affluence with " the 
 b'y of her ch'ice." 
 
 G. H. Jessop. 
 
 izb 
 
WHY THE 
 
 REVEREND EDWARD ATKINS 
 CHANGED HIS PARISH. 
 
"1 "^1 
 
 JQ 
 
 >> s 
 s 
 
WHY THE REVEREND EDWARD 
 ATKINS CHANGED HIS PARISH. 
 
 |HE Reverend Edward Atkins was 
 a good young clergyman who 
 presided over a country parish 
 in Vermont. His salary was 
 not large, and he sometimes 
 wondered if it was net pos- 
 sible to add to it in some le- 
 gitimate way. Among his par- 
 ishioners was a Mrs. Sober, a lady 
 who wrote books and short stories that contained 
 an underlying substratum of moral purpose. The 
 interest often suffered thereby, and the books did 
 not find a ready sale, a sad and undeniable fact, 
 which Mrs. Sober attributed to the equally sad and 
 undeniable fact that there are so many wicked 
 people in the world nowadays; nevertheless, the 
 little stories which she occasionally wrote for 
 the religious papers brought her small sums of 
 money, and, among her fellow-townspeople, un- 
 limited glory. 
 
 The Reverend Edward Atkins was not ambi- 
 tious in a worldly way, nor was he a grasping 
 man, yet he cherished a mild desire for the five- 
 
 I2Q 
 
dollar checks and the goodly amount of honor 
 which he could obtain by having a story in some 
 religious weekly. He bought himself a small 
 compendium of information for authors, and 
 therein finding several recipes for concocting 
 stories, set himself about what promised to be an 
 easy task. 
 
 "Take so much good young man," said he 
 to himself, "simmer him gently in some stock 
 temptation, pour grated moral reflections over 
 him, and there you are." 
 
 However, the paper which he had selected 
 to write his stories for, only published stories suit- 
 able for children ; so he concluded to try another 
 recipe. He looked over the table of contents of 
 several children's magazines, and was struck by 
 the large number of stories that bore the title, 
 " Chased by Wolves," or, at all events, slight varia- 
 tions of that title. 
 
 " Here is a popular subject," said Atkins 
 to himself; "and about all I have to do is to 
 have a man, some wolves, have the wolves 
 chase the man, and have the man get away. 
 Have the man skate away, run away, swim away, 
 climb a tree, or have him tip six cords of wood 
 off a bob-sled, and the horses, lightened of the 
 load, carry him away at a furious speed. It is 
 very simple. The man and the wolves are the 
 main thing, the rest will come of itself." And he 
 laid on his desk a plain white writing tablet, such 
 as the author's compendium had advised him to 
 get, and gently chewed the end of a medium soft 
 pencil, another suggestion of the compendium. 
 
 The story must convey a moral, and here 
 was the only difficulty, for it was not altogether 
 130 
 
^ l) arns 
 
 an easy task to make a wolf story convey a moral. 
 He might have two bad little boys, who had been 
 told by their mother to stay home evenings, go 
 off skating and be chased by the wolves; but the 
 complete production of a moral effect would de- 
 mand that the wolves eat up the bad little boys, 
 and this would be altogether too disagreeable an 
 ending for the story and the bad little boys. He 
 looked in the compendium, and, under the head- 
 ing "Plot," read, "Suggestions for plots may often 
 be found in the daily newspapers." He did not 
 take a daily, but was a subscriber to the local 
 weekly, and he picked up the latest issue and 
 glanced over the village items : 
 
 " Adam Pease's cow was sick the fore part of the week." 
 "Stephen Hancock went to Boston the fore part of the 
 
 week." 
 
 " Mrs. Hiram Hutchinson has been enjoying poor health 
 
 of late." 
 
 He glanced down the column, over the items 
 concerning bad roads ; deaths and marriages ; sur- 
 prise parties and quilting bees; the squashes, 
 pumpkins, onions, and large eggs that had been 
 presented to the editor, and at the end found an 
 item that attracted his attention : 
 
 " Royal P. Harvey called at our office last week, and 
 showed us something which he prizes highly. It was a Testa- 
 ment with a round hole going through the cover and part way 
 through the book. Opening it, he showed us what made the 
 hole, a bullet embedded in the leaves. He carried this Testa- 
 ment in his breast pocket during the war, and at the Battle of 
 the Wilderness it saved his life, for the bullet, which otherwise 
 would have penetrated his breast, was effectually stopped by 
 the Testament." 
 
 Ah ! here was a suggestion. He would have 
 the hero of his story carry a Testament. When 
 
 10 fjf 
 
-y fyinks > V 
 
 the wolf leaped at the hero's breast pocket to bite 
 at his heart, after the manner of all savage ani- 
 mals, the creature's teeth would be caught in the 
 Testament and the hero would be saved. 
 
 But did savage animals make for the heart 
 of their victims? Was it not the throat that 
 they sought ? He could not have his hero wear 
 the Testament about the neck. Moreover, would 
 so small a book as a Testament be a sufficient 
 protection ? for if, perchance, the wolf miss the 
 breast pocket in his leap, he might do the hero 
 much harm in some other place. No; an atlas 
 of goodly dimensions would be the only sure pro- 
 tection, and this would necessitate that the hero 
 be a depraved book agent, with the sample of his 
 wares concealed beneath his coat to beguile the 
 wary, and such a person would never do for the 
 hero of a moral tale. 
 
 At last, the plot and the attendant incidents 
 formulated themselves in his mind. The hero was 
 a young clergyman living upon the banks of a 
 large lake in the Maine woods, who, presiding 
 over several congregations, in Winter-time was 
 accustomed to skate to and from his various 
 preaching places. As the exigencies of the 
 chosen plot demanded that there be but one 
 pursuing wolf, the hero was described as a man 
 small in stature, and mild, but .great in virtue 
 and valiant in good deeds, and the wolf was 
 described as an exceedingly large and ferocious 
 beast of a terrifying aspect. The first two-thirds 
 of the story was taken up by a description of the 
 virtues of the hero and a short account of his 
 pedigree, thus furnishing the moral pabulum 
 necessary for a story of this kind, and preparing 
 132 
 
the reader's mind for the great enjoyment of 
 hearing how this good young man escaped from 
 the wolf. We will not bother ourselves with the 
 first part of the tale, but will come to the wolf 
 episode at once. We will take up the hero as he 
 is slowly skating homeward over the surface of 
 Lake Mahopog, one Sunday afternoon, after hav- 
 ing held services at Mahopog Village : 
 
 " The ice was as smooth as glass. Over- 
 head, a few fleecy clouds drifted in the deep blue 
 sky. As Mr. Higginbotham sped over the ice 
 toward home, he revolved in his mind many plans 
 for raising money to build the church which the 
 now thriving congregation at Mahopog Village 
 needed so badly. In his hands he held a bulky 
 volume of Baxter's Saints' Rest, which he pe- 
 rused as he sped over the smooth expanse. It 
 was his custom to ever carry some good books 
 and read them as he wended his way. But his 
 mind was now so full of thoughts of the Mahopog 
 church, and, as the slowly declining orb of day 
 gradually sinking toward the western horizon 
 warned him that the day was dying, and he had 
 many miles yet to go, he put the Saints' Rest in 
 the left side lower pocket of his overcoat, and 
 skated more vigorously. 
 
 '33 
 
" A low, ominous howl caught his attention. 
 He turned his head, and saw speeding toward 
 him, over the ice, at a distance of a quarter of a 
 mile, an enormous wolf. Four miles lay between 
 him and the place where the lake flowed into the 
 Mahopog River. On the banks of the river was 
 a logging camp, and his cries would call the 
 loggers to his rescue if the beast should come 
 upon him before he could have time to unstrap 
 his skates and dash for the protection of a logger's 
 cabin. Could he outstrip the wolf? Merrily 
 rang his skates. He looked back. The wolf 
 was surely gaining. He could see the gaping 
 red mouth, and the flashing eyes of the ferocious 
 animal, and every little while a terrible howl 
 smote upon his ear. Fear lent wings to his feet ; 
 but on came the wolf, faster than ever. He had 
 no weapon about him to defend himself; but if 
 his strength would only hold out longer than the 
 wolf's, he would escape yet. 
 
 " The bottom of his overcoat, rendered 
 heavy on the left side by the bulky volume of 
 the Saints' Rest low down in the side pocket. 
 flapped against his legs and impeded his move- 
 ments. He started to throw the book away; but 
 paused, and thought it would be wrong to throw 
 so good a book away. If he could get to the 
 logging camp and get into a cabin before the 
 wolf overtook him, he would escape yet. 
 
 "On came the wolf, his mouth gaping open 
 as he gave vent to frequent howls. The Saints' 
 Rest flapped against Mr. Higginbotham's legs 
 more than ever. He said to himself that if he 
 threw it away, perhaps the wolf would stop to see 
 what the thing fluttering on the ice was, and he 
 
V Darns from puck, V 
 
 would gain time; but he thought of the wicked 
 Russian woman who threw her children out to 
 the pursuing wolves in order to save her own life, 
 and concluded that it would be wrong to sacrifice 
 such a good book as the Saints' Rest. After all, 
 if the wolf should abandon the chase, he would 
 escape yet. 
 
 "On came the wolf, nearer, nearer, nearer, 
 and a stiff breeze sprung up directly in Mr. Hig- 
 ginbotham's face. The Saints' Rest side of his 
 overcoat flaps against his legs worse than ever; 
 but he puts aside temptation and struggles against 
 the wind. The wolf gains upon him. He fears 
 he will be lost ; but he sees far ahead of him a 
 long, slender, black object lying on the ice; per- 
 haps it is a gun or something of the sort. If he 
 can only get there before the wolf overtakes him, 
 he may be able to. defend himself and escape yet. 
 Nearer comes the wolf. Mr. Higginbotham 
 struggles against the wind and gets nearer to the 
 long, black thing. On, on, pant, pant, goes the 
 wolf; flap, flap, goes the left side of Mr. Higgin- 
 botham's overcoat with the Saints' Rest in the 
 pocket. He is almost upon the black thing when 
 the wolf makes a mighty leap, seizes the left side 
 of the overcoat in his powerful jaws ; Mr. Higgin- 
 botham staggers; there is a tearing sound, the 
 overcoat parts, leaving the lower left side in the 
 wolf's mouth ; Mr. Higginbotham, released by 
 the sudden tear, slides forward, falls upon the 
 black object, leaps to his feet with it in his hands. 
 It is a stout, oaken sled stake ; he turns to face 
 his enemy with this trusty weapon. 
 
 Behold ! the wolf is rolling on his back, 
 pawing convulsively at his mouth. He had bitten 
 rjS 
 
<V fjattte; -V 
 
 the overcoat just over the pocket where the Saints' 
 Rest was, and his teeth had stuck in the book 
 and he could n't get them out. With one blow 
 of the sled stake, Mr. Higginbotham killed the 
 wolf, and then he felt thankful that he had not 
 yielded to temptation and thrown away the Saints' 
 Rest, for it had saved his live. More, he received 
 ten dollars bounty for killing the wolf, and eleven 
 dollars for its skin." 
 
 Such was the dramatic wind-up of the other- 
 wise prosaic and meandering tale written by the 
 Reverend Edward Atkins. In the first two-thirds 
 of the story, he had described a model young 
 man ; in the last third he had pictured the young 
 man beset at once by temptation and a large wolf, 
 triumphantly overcoming the former and therein- 
 escaping the latter, and winning twenty-one dol- 
 lars. The most critical could find no fault with 
 the story and it was at once sent to a large 
 religious weekly. 
 
 It happened that in the building containing 
 the editorial rooms of the religious weekly, there 
 were also the editorial rooms of a weekly of a far 
 different sort, a weekly whose columns were in- 
 tended to excite merriment in its readers, and 
 which, beyond printing colored political cartoons, 
 did not pretend to influence the populace, save to 
 laughter. By some mistake of the postman, Mr. 
 Atkins's manuscript was dumped upon the table 
 of the humorous editor and lay there in the secular 
 companionship of jokes, funny stories, and light 
 lyrics. The humorous editor opened the envelope 
 without noticing the address, but he had not read 
 far before he decided that the story must have 
 
been intended for the paper across the passage, 
 and reading the address, saw he was right. How- 
 ever, his paper frankly told everyone that ac- 
 cepted manuscripts must be subject to editorial 
 revision, and he believed that this manuscript, 
 with a little editorial revision, could be made suit- 
 able for his paper. He left the first part of the 
 story just as Mr. Atkins had written it, but the 
 part relating the adventure with the wolf, he 
 changed a little. 
 
 A few days later, Mr. Atkins was amazed 
 and pleased by receiving a check for twenty-five 
 dollars from a paper whose name he had never 
 heard. He did not understand why the check 
 should come from this paper instead of the re- 
 ligious weekly, but as the compensation was five 
 times as large as he had hoped to receive, he had 
 no objections to make. Two months passed and 
 he received a copy of the paper. It contained 
 his story. As he looked through the pages to see 
 in what company the story had fallen, he won- 
 dered that this paper should have abandoned its 
 137 
 
levity enough to publish his story. Full of the 
 thoughts of other stories that were to bring him 
 twenty-five dollar checks, he read his story in 
 calm content. He read of the good young hero 
 and his pedigree, and, I regret to say, skipped a 
 little to come to the less elevating, but more inter- 
 esting account of the wolf adventure. And here, 
 alas, he came upon evidences of editorial revision : 
 
 "In his hands he held a bulky volume of 
 Baxter's Saints' Rest, which he perused as he 
 sped over the smooth expanse. It was his custom 
 to ever carry some good books and read them as 
 he wended his way, and he had in the lower right 
 pocket of his overcoat, a copy of Jeremy Taylor's 
 Holy Living, and in the rear pocket, the com- 
 panion volume on Holy Dying; in his breast 
 pocket, a small copy of Fox's Martyrs without 
 illustrations, and his inner overcoat pockets, and 
 his coat and vest pockets, were wadded full of 
 tracts, Sunday School leaflets, Quarterly Reports 
 of the Methodist Missionary Society, and other 
 documents of the sort." 
 
 Mr. Atkins gasped. The story would go on 
 as he had written it for a few lines at a time, and 
 then there would be editorial revision. Three 
 wolves were introduced instead of one, as the 
 editor had placed a good book in each of the 
 hero's lower pockets, and so again the hero was 
 thrice tempted by the three books banging against 
 his legs. In one thing was the revision inapt, Mr. 
 Atkins was a Baptist, but of course the editor did 
 not know this and could be pardoned having the 
 hero provided with Methodist Quarterly Reports. 
 
^ IJarns f rom 
 
 " On came the wolves, their mouths gaping 
 open as they gave vent to frequent howls. The 
 Saints' Rest, the Holy Living and Holy Dying, 
 flapped against Mr. Higginbotham's legs worse 
 than ever, and the Book of Martyrs, and the 
 missionary reports, lesson leaves, and tracts, 
 weighed heavily about him. He said to him- 
 self that if he threw them away, perhaps the 
 wolves would stop to see what the things flutter- 
 
 ing on the ice were, and he would gain time; 
 but he thought of the wicked Russian woman 
 who threw her children out to the pursuing 
 wolves in order to save her own life, and con- 
 cluded that it would be wrong to sacrifice such 
 good literature. After all, if the wolves should 
 keep on holding their mouths open in this cold 
 air, howling, there was a strong possibility that 
 
V fjanksj V 
 
 they would contract sore throat, which would 
 develop into diphtheria, pneumonia, or lung 
 fever, and they would die, and he would 
 escape yet. 
 
 "On came the wolves, nearer, nearer, 
 nearer, and a stiff breeze sprung up directly 
 in Mr. Higginbotham's face. The Saints' Rest, 
 the Holy living and the Holy Dying, flap against 
 his legs worse than ever, but he puts aside temp- 
 tation and struggles against the wind. The 
 wolves gain. He fears he will be lost, but sees 
 far ahead of him a long, slender black object 
 lying on the ice. Perhaps it is a gun or some- 
 thing of the sort; a big sausage, perhaps. If he 
 can only get there before the wolves overtake 
 him, he may be able to defend himself and escape 
 yet; or, if it is a sausage, the wolves will stop to 
 eat it and he will escape yet. 
 
 " Nearer came the wolves. Mr. Higgin- 
 botham struggles against the wind and gets nearer 
 the long, black thing. On, on, pant, pant, go the 
 wolves; flap, flap, goes Mr. Higginbotham's over- 
 coat. He is almost upon the black thing when 
 the wolves make mighty leaps; one seizes the left 
 side of the overcoat in his powerful jaws, another 
 seizes the right side, the third seizes the tail ; 
 Mr. Higginbotham staggers; there is a tearing 
 sound, the overcoat parts, leaving the bottom in 
 the wolves' mouths; Mr. Higginbotham, released 
 by the sudden tear, slides forward, falls upon the 
 black object, leaps to his feet with it in his hands. 
 It is a stout imitation ebony cane with a gold- 
 plated head, the property of Selectman Johnson, 
 to him presented by the freeholders of Mahopog 
 township, and dropped by him on the ice while 
 14.0 
 
^ IJarns fro P ucb TP 
 
 going home from Dawson's tavern. Mr. Higgin- 
 botham turns to face his enemies with his trusty 
 weapon. 
 
 " Behold ! the wolves are rolling on their 
 backs, pawing convulsively at their mouths. One 
 had bitten through the overcoat just over where 
 the Saints' Rest was, and his teeth had stuck in 
 the book and he could n't get them out ; another 
 wolf had met a like misfortune with the Holy 
 Living, and the teeth of the third were encum- 
 bered with the Holy Dying. Mr. Higginbotharn 
 rushed upon the first wolf, thrust a handful of 
 Sunday School leaflets into his mouth, and, using 
 the cane as a ramrod, rammed down the Saints' 
 Rest and the leaflets, and the wolf gave a kick or 
 two and lay calm and beautiful in death. He 
 rushed upon the second and filled him full of 
 Quarterly Missionary Reports. The third wolf 
 had partially succeeded in extricating his jaws 
 from the Holy Dying, but Mr. Higginbotham fell 
 upon him and rammed down the Martyrs, a few 
 tracts, and a pair of embroidered slippers pre- 
 sented to him that very day by Miss Mahala 
 Brown, teacher of the infant class in the Sunday 
 School at Mahopog Village. As he looked at the 
 three dead wolves, he was thankful that he had 
 not yielded to temptation and thrown away his 
 portable library, for it had saved his life. He was 
 also thankful that he had bought a cheap five- 
 dollar overcoat that Fall, for a better one might 
 not have parted so easily, and in that case he 
 would not have had much use for an overcoat." 
 
 The congregation immediately took up the 
 matter, and when the question of requesting Mr. 
 
Atkins to resign came to a vote, Mr. Israel Pea- 
 body expressed the sentiment of the majority 
 when he said : " I don't think it looks very well 
 for a Baptist parson to write stories about fellers 
 killin' wolves with Methodist Missionary Reports. 
 It don't look like he was loyal to his own 
 church." 
 
 And this was why the Reverend Edward 
 Atkins changed his parish. 
 
 U'anion Allan Curtis. 
 
 142 
 
WILLY AND THE MISSIONARY. 
 
if 
 
WILLY AND THE MISSIONARY. 
 
 ILLY was a bright, active boy of 
 fifteen. 
 
 He had previously been younger, and 
 no less bright and active than he was at the time 
 this narrative begins. But, unfortunately, owing 
 to the lack of interest taken in him by his father, 
 and the awe and admiration of his brightness 
 which were characteristic of his mother, the direc- 
 tion of his activities had generally been such as 
 to render him distinctly distasteful to those, espe- 
 cially persons of maturer years, with whom he was 
 thrown in contact notably his school-teacher, a 
 somewhat nervous young man who was paying his 
 way through the theological seminary by under- 
 going a course of torture as a teacher in a public 
 school where Willy was the chief inquisitor. 
 
 The most exasperating thing about Willy was 
 his brightness, which always enabled him to avoid 
 the punishment that the perverse nature of his 
 activities should naturally have brought down 
 upon him. But it was in vain that his teacher 
 sought for occasion to discipline him. Willy had 
 always so hedged himself in that, although his 
 
 '45 
 
V 
 
 teacher might be absolutely certain, morally, that 
 Willy was responsible for any and almost every 
 act of disorder that occurred in his room, he had 
 never been able to catch him at any specific act 
 that could not be passed off as an accident. In 
 fact, his teacher realized that he had met his 
 match in Willy, who was provoking enough always 
 to know his lessons perfectly, which gave him a 
 pull with the principal, which added to the diffi- 
 culty of the situation. 
 
 But "Every dog has his day," even the 
 under dog, and the teacher's came at last. A 
 young man was wanted by the Foreign Board to 
 go at once as a Missionary to Moribundha, one 
 of the Friendly Islands, to take the place of a 
 gentleman who had fallen a dietetic victim to the 
 too friendly attentions of the natives. 
 
 Willy's teacher gladly , offered his services 
 and was promptly accepted, ordained and pro- 
 vided with a ticket to his destination. The 
 steamer which stopped at Moribundha only sailed 
 once every two years, and, in order to make con- 
 nections, he was compelled to leave before the 
 end of the school session. I am sorry to say that, 
 so weak is human nature, the young minister's 
 one anxiety was that he might not be able to get 
 even with Willy before he went away. He had 
 said nothing of his intended departure, but for 
 some reason Willy had been unusually circum- 
 spect, and for a whole week had behaved in the 
 most exemplary manner. Finally the last day 
 came; still no breach of deportment had been 
 committed in the classroom, when, of a sudden, a 
 pane of glass was shattered, and a half a brick 
 landed within six inches of Willy's desk. 
 14(3 
 
"Aha! Now I 've got you, Willy!" shouted 
 the teacher. In his desperation he was deter- 
 mined, somehow, to connect his young tormentor 
 with the first act of disorder that occurred. 
 
 "Well, the brick nearly got me, sure," said 
 Willy, who, oddly enough, had not been con- 
 cerned in this apparent attack upon his life 
 and happiness, as he glanced apprehensively 
 at the window. 
 
 " Come here, sir, and receive the punish- 
 ment for your outrageous conduct ! " ex- 
 claimed the teacher. He was in for it now, 
 and could not retreat. 
 
 " Outrageous nothing ! " responded Willy ; 
 " what do you want to punish me for ? " 
 
 " For breaking that window ! " cried the 
 teacher, fighting for time. 
 " How could I 'a' broken 
 the window ? Here 's the 
 brick that did it ! " 
 
 "Yes, there 's half 
 the brick that did it," 
 the teacher declared 
 feeling wildly about for 
 any excuse to fasten the 
 crime on his selected 
 victim; "the half that 
 you dropped on the floor 
 when you threw the other 
 half through the glass. 
 Come here, sir!" 
 The audacity of this suggestion 
 positively baffled Willy. For an instant he could 
 think of nothing to say; and that instant the 
 teacher did not allow to go unimproved. 
 
 ii J47 
 
It is customary to draw a veil at this point 
 over the subsequent proceedings, but it would re- 
 quire a large sized circus tent adequately to screen 
 the scene that now ensued. But the teacher was 
 twenty-two and Willy at this period was only 
 eleven, and Willy received the first and last lick- 
 ing he ever got. 
 
 The next morning early, the teacher left for 
 Moribundha. 
 
 Four years later he came back. 
 
 The young Missionary had been extraordi- 
 narily successful. Many a time had he faltered; 
 many a time nearly given up trying to make any 
 impression on the obdurate natives. Then he 
 would think of Willy, and the thought would give 
 him new courage, new determination to per- 
 severe. And now he had returned to raise funds 
 for the erection of a church edifice, a parsonage 
 and a parish house on his distant island for his 
 devoted flock. 
 
 The method that occurred to him was to 
 give lectures on the strange manners and customs 
 of the wild tribe among whom his lot had been 
 cast ; and in pursuance of that idea he an- 
 nounced : "An evening with the Moribundhans," 
 at the very school-house where he had taught 
 previous to his departure. Inquiry on his part 
 had elicited the information that, since his depar- 
 ture, Willy had never been concerned in any act 
 of disorder, but had become the model pupil in 
 deportment as he had always been in his studies. 
 He had even gone to the principal and told him 
 14* 
 
"V IJarns ftom puck 'V 
 
 with tears in his eyes that although he was not 
 guilty of the offence for which he had been pun- 
 ished, he had often so exasperated and annoyed 
 his teacher that he richly deserved the thrashing 
 he had received. 
 
 The night of the lecture came, and the 
 school-room was crowded to hear the interesting 
 narration of the young Missionary. What espe- 
 cially caught the eyes of the boys was the array 
 of curious costumes, implements and weapons that 
 adorned the platform. The young Missionary 
 told them the uses of all. He even put on some 
 of the strange garments of the natives. Then he 
 said that he could show the audience the method 
 of courtship that had prevailed among the isl- 
 anders previous to their conversion, if some gen- 
 tleman would kindly volunteer to step upon the 
 platform. No Moribundhan maiden, he explained, 
 could marry unless she had two suitors. At a 
 given time, usually the full of the moon, these 
 suitors would fight a duel. The successful duelist 
 would marry his lady-love and all the sisters 
 of his opponent, who, poor fellow, was always 
 served hot to grace the wedding festivities. If 
 some gentleman in the audience would kindly 
 volunteer to step upon the platform, he would be 
 glad to show how the lovers fought on such oc- 
 casions. 
 
 For a little while no one made any move. 
 All the men seemed overcome with that sense of 
 bashfulness and dislike of making bally idiots of 
 themselves that is common and natural to self- 
 respecting persons under such circumstances. And 
 it was not until he had made his request for a 
 third time that a tall, good looking lad of about 
 
 '49 
 
fifteen, rose up from his seat half-way back in the 
 hall and modestly went forward. 
 
 With a pleased smile the young Missionary- 
 stepped to meet him. Something familiar in his 
 appearance caused the smile to broaden into one 
 of half recognition, which, it must be confessed, 
 masked a slight feeling of uneasiness as, on the 
 lad's closer approach, he realized that his assistant 
 was to be his old friend Willy. 
 
 " Why, Willy, this is quite a surprise ! I 'm 
 glad to see you," said the young Missionary. 
 
 " Well, I 'm glad to see you," replied Willy, 
 with a bright smile, as he walked up to the col- 
 lection of weapons and selected a long-handled 
 spear with a wicked-looking three-pointed head 
 that seemed like a compromise between Neptune's 
 trident and an eel-fork. " Now, do you want me 
 to be the man who is killed, or do you want to be 
 killed?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't think we need go so far as 
 that," said the Missionary with a nervous laugh. 
 " By the way, don't you find that long spear rather 
 awkward? Suppose you take this short club, it 
 is a very favorite weapon oh, be careful, Willy ; 
 there you see, you Ye caught one of the prongs in 
 my collar." 
 
 " Why, so I have excuse me," said Willy. 
 " It is very long. No, I don't believe I '11 change 
 it for the club; I '11 soon get the knack of it." 
 
 " Now," said the Missionary, retiring to the 
 extreme edge of the platform, " the two oppo- 
 nents usually approach from opposite sides, shout- 
 ing like this: 'Wahoo! wahoo! hoowa! hoowa ! ' 
 and brandishing their weapons do be careful, 
 Willy ! yes, you Ye got the words all right, but 
 150 
 
"V" ^arns from Puck, V 
 
 you scratched my ear that time the natives 
 . generally hold the spear somewhere about the 
 middle of the handle, not at the extreme end. 
 The two men then circle around each other, still 
 uttering the same weird cry, and prodding their 
 weapons at each other. No, no, no ! they don't 
 really poke each other yet Willy. Then, they 
 turn their backs on each other and pretend to 
 run away a few steps but one of them sud- 
 denly turns and pursues the other No, not so 
 quick, Willy ; eh I ow ! / was going to 
 pursue you, Willy. Willy, he does n't pursue him 
 so far! Willy, you must n't stick that into me so 
 hard! Willy, that hurts " 
 
 " So did that Wahoo ! wahoo ! licking 
 you hoowa ! hoowa ! gave me four years 
 ago," said Willy, loud enough to be heard by the 
 Missionary, but not by the audience, which was 
 applauding vigorously the life-like representation 
 of wild life at Moribundha, as rendered by Willy 
 and the Missionary. 
 
 "If I 'd have wahoo! hoowa! had this 
 spear then, you would n't have hoowa ! wahoo ! 
 clubbed me so easy. How do yon wahoo ! 
 like it ? It seems to tickle the audience 'most to 
 death hoowa ! " said Willy as he gave the Mis- 
 sionary an extra sharp dig in the ribs, as they 
 circled the platform for the third time. 
 
 The Missionary was now on the dead run, 
 his hair flying, his cheeks red, his breath coming 
 in quick gasps, while, holding the club behind 
 him with both hands, he endeavored by whirling 
 it round and round, like a cow's tail in fly-time, 
 to ward off the sharp and painful stabs with which 
 Willy pointed his disagreeable reminiscences. 
 
f?ariks> 
 
 A sharp cut across his knuckles caused the 
 Missionary to drop his club, and, suddenly finding 
 himself utterly defenseless, he fell to the ground 
 and rolled over and over with the intention of 
 precipitating himself into the audience. But Willy- 
 was too quick for him ; and, planting one foot on 
 his former teacher's head, he held 
 the three points of the spear at 
 his throat as he lay upon his 
 side, amid the cheers and 
 plaudits of the assemblage, 
 as he had seen pictures in 
 his Robinson Crusoe and 
 other books of adven- 
 tures in savage lands. 
 
 " Are we square ? : 
 asked Willy. 
 
 "Yes," said m 
 
 the Missionary. 
 
 "And if I 
 decide to let you 
 up, you will thank 
 
 me before all these people, and tell them that 1 
 have given a very accurate representation of a 
 magnanimous Young Native whom you knew, 
 who spared his rival's life, and afterwards they 
 became very good friends?" 
 
 "Yes," said the Missionary. 
 
 And he did so. 
 
 H. G. Paine. 
 
 152 
 
A SLAVE TO FANCY. 
 
"'S/te blushes prettily and thanks 
 me with downcast eyes. ' " 
 
 TS4 
 
A SLAVE TO FANCY. 
 
 was a time when I found 
 pleasure in my wonderful imagi- 
 nation, but now that I can no 
 longer control it, I am misera- 
 ble. For some years, while in 
 pursuit of my literary labors 
 and incidental bread and butter 
 I indulged my fancy to its 
 fullest extent. I would send it forth into the 
 world and allow it to wander here and there in 
 pursuit of the beautiful. 
 
 The exercise proved beneficial to its growth, 
 and, as time went on, my imagination advanced 
 in strength until I was able to call up phantoms 
 from the misty deep and to have those phantoms 
 appear in answer to the summons. 
 
 As you well know, phantoms are mere pro- 
 ducts of the imagination, and I was well pleased 
 with that fancy of mine which could produce 
 such wonderful effects. I gave my fancy wider 
 scope restraining it less and less until my 
 imagination became an invisible power having 
 dominion over me. It was a non-corporate en- 
 tity, so to speak : a Thing without substance. 
 
 One night, after having retired at nine 
 
*y fjanlts; ^ 
 
 o'clock because I had nothing better to do, I 
 lay awake dreaming, and the battle for supremacy 
 began. Up to that time I had control of my 
 exuberant fancy, and so, that night, I bade it 
 amuse me. My thought was bound by my per- 
 sonal limitations, but my fancy was a thing apart 
 and knew no confines. So, having called my 
 fancy as an adjunct to my thought, I pictured 
 myself in receipt of a letter from a well-known 
 law-firm announcing the fact that some maiden 
 
 lady in the Far West, having received benefit 
 from my writings, had remembered me in her 
 will and died, leaving me 
 
 " Fifty thousand dollars," suggested my im- 
 agination, which, as yet had not been called upon. 
 
 " Pooh," I protested; "it 's only in fun 
 make it a million." 
 
 But my imagination was obdurate, and after 
 a tussle we compromised on one hundred thousand 
 dollars. I say "we," because at that time 1 first 
 
*V Darns from pu<b, "V 
 
 recognized the power of my imagination Ima- 
 gination would be proper as apart from myself. 
 
 " Well," I went on in thought, " this old and 
 sweet lady left me one hundred thousand dollars 
 and a brown-stone house on the Avenue." 
 
 At this point Fancy again asserted itself with 
 an objection. Finally I was allowed to retain the 
 house, but obliged to place it on one of the side 
 streets. Even then I was a man of wealth, and I 
 thought of a trip to Europe an ocean voyage 
 in June. 
 
 "No; March," put in my Imagination. 
 
 ."Now, look here," 1 said; "who's doing 
 this? This trip has got to take place in June. 
 How can you sit on the deck in the moonlight on 
 a cold March night?" 
 
 "What 's that for?" asked my Imagination, 
 that was no longer mine in the possessive sense. 
 
 " Why ! " I exclaimed, " there 's a girl on 
 board the ship." 
 
 " Oh, no ; there is n't," protested this assert- 
 ive Fancy. 
 
 "But I say there is," I replied; "there 's a 
 girl on board this ship to whom I 'm going to 
 make love." 
 
 "A short, stout girl," said my Imagination. 
 Secretly I was glad that the existence of the girl 
 was conceded without further trouble, for I hated 
 to think of making the trip all alone, but, being 
 allowed a sweet companion, I was going to have 
 her as I pleased. 
 
 "A tall, slender girl," I said, positively ; "one 
 of those willowy creatures, with hair the color 
 of" 
 
 "A sunset," interrupted that irrepressible 
 rs? 
 
fjariks; 
 
 Imagination. I laughed at the idea. " What ! a 
 girl with sunset hair on a moonlight night?" 1 
 retorted. "No; this girl has dark brown hair." 
 " No tresses ? " came the whisper. 
 "No; hair. Eyes dark and brown as well, 
 and a complexion " 
 
 "Also dark and brown," was the sug- 
 gestion next advanced by Imagination. 
 
 But I paid no attention to it 
 " A complexion like peaches and cream," 
 I thought. 
 
 "Now put in a rival," said my 
 Imagination. 
 
 Again I rebelled. I wanted that 
 girl all to 'myself. What was the use 
 of having a mythical fortune and a 
 shadowy girl if you had to destroy 
 the harmony of the dream by introduc- 
 ing a rival ? 
 
 "But it would be so much more of a vic- 
 tory," insinuated my Imagination, "if you have 
 to fight against odds." 
 
 "I won't have a rival," I said; "you would 
 make him interrupt me at every turn." 
 
 "Oh, no!" protested Fancy; "I would n't 
 be so mean as all that. We '11 just have that pre- 
 tended rival and keep him in his stateroom the 
 entire voyage." 
 
 I yielded for there was something pleasant 
 in the idea of that miserable youth unable to cope 
 with Fate and Love. 
 
 " This girl and I meet on the evening of the 
 first day," I thought. " She is reading a book, 
 when suddenly the wind tears it from her hand 
 and I catch it " 
 
^ I)arns from Puck. "V 
 
 " Better have the wind take off her hat," 
 broke in Fancy at this moment; "she would be 
 more grateful then." 
 
 I granted the point. "I catch the hat and 
 return it to her. She blushes prettily and thanks 
 me with downcast eyes. Suddenly she looks up 
 and remembers having met me the Summer before 
 in the mountains." 
 
 " No ; " protested Fancy. 
 
 "Yes;" said I, angry at the interruption to 
 my thought. 
 
 "Wouldn't do," argued Fancy. "She knew 
 you the Summer before, when you were poor? 
 No no why should she care for you now? 
 If she loves you, it will be on account of your 
 money ; make her a stranger." 
 
 There was something in this suggestion. 
 
 "Looking up at me," ran my romance in 
 thought, "she asks my name and is pleased when 
 I mention it, for she is familiar with my writings." 
 
 " That 's too egotistical," asserted Fancy ; 
 "she never heard of you before, and you are hum- 
 bled you want to begin to love in a lowly spirit." 
 
 I had to succumb to Fancy's argument. 
 "Well," I thought, "we become good friends at 
 once and henceforth I am her devoted cavalier. 
 I read to her, I talk to her, walk with her, sit next 
 to her at table, and grow to regard her as the one 
 goal of my life." 
 
 " Humph," said Fancy ; " that 's going it 
 pretty strong." 
 
 I continued my dream regardless of the 
 interruption: 
 
 "One night while we are seated on the 
 deck " 
 
"The rival appears," put in Fancy. 
 
 "You promised to keep him in his state- 
 room," I retorted; "and so he does n't appear." 
 
 "While seated on the deck I suddenly take 
 her hand and say I love her, and she" I went 
 on " looks steadily at me a moment and 
 whispers " 
 
 " No ! " cried Fancy, exultingly. 
 
 " She says 'Yes!' " I answered. 
 
 " She says ' No ! ' " retorted my Imagination, 
 "because she is engaged to the rival. For what 
 reason was he introduced, if not to make trouble ? 
 Staying in his stateroom did n't interfere with 
 your romance, if there had n't been some previous 
 understanding; she says 'No!' she's got to 
 say ' No ! '" 
 
 " She has n't," I said, sulkily. 
 
 " Yes, sir-ee," continued Fancy ; " she says 
 ' No ! ' Do you expect to marry her ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I do," was my reply; "why did 
 I begin with the legacy ? " 
 
 " Dunno," replied my Fancy, " but you are 
 not to marry you are not even to be engaged." 
 
 " Why ? " was my indignant query. 
 
 " Because it 's altogether too serious a ques- 
 tion," said my Imagination; "and when thought 
 becomes serious, I am stagnant. I am set aside 
 to wilt. When you are engaged, I am forgotten 
 for the sake of the girl; and when you marry, 
 Imagination dies. The two can not exist in 
 common I can not permit it / will not! 
 You can not become engaged to my undoing 
 and as to marriage " if there had been any- 
 thing of it to produce a sound, Fancy would then 
 have laughed. 
 
 160 
 
IP l)arns from puck, V^ 
 
 " Dream as much as you will," continued 
 my Imagination, " but I am going to control 
 those dreams. Imagination has its limits, and 
 matrimony is the extreme. I can not permit it, 
 as I have remarked before. You have a good, 
 well-developed Imagination, now, in me, and I 
 desire to continue in existence. And I am going 
 to ! That girl says ' No / ' do you understand ? 
 Spend your money as you will indulge in all 
 possible flights propose as often as you feel like 
 it, but I am going to assert myself when neces- 
 sary. Henceforth, young man, 
 I am assertive. I rule." 
 
 " No, you don't," 
 I answered ; " that 
 girl says ' Yes ! ' ' 
 
 " Does she ?" 
 sneered Fancy ; "very 
 well I 'm going to 
 get out of it ; what 's 
 it all about, anyway ? 
 
 I had forgotten ut- 
 terly. The dream had vanished with the departure 
 of my Imagination. 
 
 " Now go to sleep," said Fancy, coming 
 back, "and remember that I set my own limits. 
 What did the girl say ? " 
 
 " ' No ! ' " I answered feebly. 
 
 Flavel S. Mines. 
 
 ibi 
 
GEORGE BYERS. 
 
"In the thickest toiled George Byers*" 
 
 164 
 
GEORGE BYERS. 
 
 FEELING of superiority is a feeling 
 of blind, unquestioning happiness. 
 How fortunate, then, that for almost 
 all of us kind Nature, by a tour de 
 force, provides objects to look 
 down upon ! 
 
 Small, slow, forgotten Elm- 
 ville had rapture in looking down 
 upon George Byers. George was an 
 out-and-out loafer. He was the foil to 
 industry, the contrast to forehandedness, the 
 shadow to ambition. How George got to be as 
 complete a loafer as he was it would be hard and 
 perhaps useless to tell. For of what avail is it 
 painfully to scan the footsteps of human prodi- 
 gies ? Suffice it to say that when George was 
 twenty-five years old, when he had loafed away 
 from home, and when, after loafing here and 
 there oblivious of all else in his absorption in 
 loafing, he had loafed into Elmville, a stray and 
 a stranger, he was a complete and perfect loafer. 
 George was a slim, shambling fellow, and he 
 had acquired that suppleness of the loafing-joints 
 which enabled him to loaf easily and pictur- 
 esquely in many attitudes : and this was a good 
 
V 
 
 thing for George, for changing his position was 
 the only rest he ever got. He used to look down 
 at the ground a good deal, and to stand and look 
 at the horizon a good deal, and to He down and 
 look up at the sky a good deal. To lie thus prob- 
 ably irked George, for he must have 
 foreseen that some time he would 
 have to get up when night fell, 
 or when it rained; or, at any 
 rate, when Winter came on. 
 But we all have our trials. 
 George wore faded clothes, 
 and country wits said that 
 his hair and whiskers "looked 
 like the breaking up of a hard 
 Winter." To be made the butt of a 
 Welsh goat is hard ; to be made the mark of the 
 country wit is harder. The weapon of the coun- 
 try wit is like that peculiar pop-gun which has 
 a cork bullet attached by a string, and which, 
 though it has but one charge, is never out of am- 
 munition. What George thought of the world, I 
 do not know. 
 
 One hot morning in August, George was loaf- 
 ing along the road that ran out of the village, 
 when old Granger, a slaving, bow-backed farmer, 
 rattling along in a farm wagon, drew up on him. 
 Old Granger's first idea when he saw George 
 ahead was, of course, to say nothing to him, but 
 to push on the lines, and to drive nobly by, like 
 a float of Industry Scorning Indolence. But he 
 had another idea, and he stopped his team. 
 
 "Whoa, there; whoa! Say, George, git in 
 and go along with me. I 'm going to start thrash- 
 in' this mornin', and I 'm kind o' short-handed." 
 
^ parns from Puck, ^ 
 
 "I don't know anything about threshing," 
 said George, desperately. 
 
 "Why, you 've allus lived in the country!" 
 
 " Yes," said George ; " but threshing 's a 
 thing that I don't know that I ever 
 give much attention to. No. I 'd just bother 
 you. I Ve seen threshing - machines different 
 times but I never give 'em much attention." 
 
 It was a hurrying time. Granger could n't 
 wait for George to decide to go (especially as, 
 if George ever decided anything, it would be not 
 to go alive under any circumstances), so Granger 
 chanced a ruse, and said brightly : 
 "Well, git right in." 
 
 And George put his foot on the step, and 
 at the same time Granger hit his horses and 
 there George was. To avoid injury, he had to 
 finish getting into the wagon, where he sat on 
 a pile of bags, held onto the sides of the box for 
 dear life, and was bounced and jounced and 
 bumped and thumped over the rough road which 
 led to Granger's farm. 
 
 Here a word from me about farming might 
 not be amiss. What I say is always good. There 
 is tilling the soil, and there is farming; the one 
 comes under the head of agriculture, the other 
 under the head of derniers resorts. In tilling the 
 soil there are the charming details of " garnering 
 and threshing the golden grain ; " in farming there 
 are the details of harvesting and threshing. 
 Threshing is tough; anybody knows that who has 
 ever threshed or been thrashed. But to return to 
 George, although he had as yet scarcely returned 
 to himself. 
 
 By the time George arrived at the moated 
 
grange, all the other men had chosen their phu-es 
 about the threshing-machine, and the worst place 
 was left for George. George did not know the 
 difference, but it was undoubtedly the worst place. 
 It was right behind the bat. 
 
 Toot, toot! The gifted agricultural steam- 
 engineer yanked the string; the whistle sounded 
 (however) as if controlled by some superior intelli- 
 gence. The game was called. 
 
 And now men threw sheaves called bun- 
 dles, in farming into the teeth of the cylinder, 
 which roared and shrieked. The air became full 
 of dust and lint and powder. Imagine a feather- 
 factory in a cyclone, a dust-cart in March, a 
 simoom in the desert, a war-cloud in Africa. After 
 filling the air with dust, the cylinder still roared at 
 horrible speed, and gulping bundle after bundle, 
 shook out more dust and more dust and 
 more dust, as a wet dog shakes out water. But 
 the cylinder never pauses, while sometimes the 
 dog must pause for he is only human. 
 
 While the dust poured out, the noise shook 
 
from 
 
 the earth. The heat of Summer settled around 
 like a great burning suffocation. Men's eyes and 
 noses were full of green dust. Their whiskers 
 looked like 2 Ibs. of tea. 
 
 In the thickest toiled George Byers toiled 
 George Byers ! He was on the straw-stack at the 
 funnel's mouth ; and if he had not toiled, the straw 
 would have covered him. The noise was so great 
 that he could not expostulate. He could not 
 pause to think. He could not open his mouth to 
 breathe. 
 
 For hours the struggle lasted. When the 
 gifted agricultural steam -engineer yanked the 
 whistle for dinner, the cylinder stopped. Then 
 George climbed down from the stack the monu- 
 ment of his unwilling industry and made a sneak 
 for home. 
 
 It was three weeks before he recovered his 
 old tranquil frame of vacuity. During that time 
 he had nervous intervals of thought, and in these 
 he whittled out a labor-saving device for thresh- 
 ing machines. When the period of mental, dis- 
 turbance was past, he recalled his contrivance 
 with indifference. Of course, the idea of a patent 
 occurred to him, for he was an American, but he 
 only thought that sometime he would think about 
 thinking about it. 
 
 But that the contrivance had been made 
 became known to a man in the village named 
 Hinchman, whose delight it w#.s to regard himself 
 as a speculator. He used to think if he knew that 
 wool, say, was going to take a rise of a straight 
 ten cents, how he 'd like quietly to step in and 
 buy all he could borrow, or beg money to carry. 
 He was full of such schemes. But so far he had 
 769 
 
not speculated, except in a speculative way. Now, 
 recognizing his opportunity, he agreed with George 
 who said nothing to furnish money to pat- 
 ent the threshing-machine device on condition of 
 receiving the first $200 that the patent earned. 
 The patent was obtained, and in due time it 
 appeared in the patent reports. George was not 
 unduly moved at the time; but, undoubtedly, he 
 intended to rejoice as soon as he got around to it. 
 
 Now, when George had his patent, he would, 
 had he been active, have started out to sell his in- 
 vention to the threshing-machine men; and the 
 threshing-machine men would have seen no merit 
 in George's device; but, on the contrary, they 
 would have said that it was old and worthless, 
 and that, although first-rate, they had the same 
 device themselves; and George might have ended 
 by being discouraged, and falling into slothful 
 ways. 
 
 But George had a habit of never starting 
 out to do anything. He simply continued to loaf. 
 
 The threshing-machine men, on their part, 
 after allowing George a decent interval in which 
 to come in and surrender, began to write to 
 George A. Byers. George continued to loaf. 
 The men wrote more. George loafed more. 
 
 On a day, Mr. Keen of the Ajax Thresher 
 Co. came to Elmville. He asked Mr. Davis of 
 the Eagle House if there was n't a Mr. Byers 
 living in Elmville. 
 
 "No," said Davis; but added : -What! you 
 mean Georgebyers ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Keen. 
 
 " Yes*' said Davis, aghast. 
 
 " Where can I find him ? " asked Keen. 
 170 
 
^ IJarns from Puck. ^T 
 
 " There," said Davis, pointing out at the 
 porch; for it happened that at that moment 
 George sat on the lower step, resting. 
 
 Keen went out, leaving Davis wondering 
 that anyone should ask for Georgebyers. 
 
 "Is this Mr. Byers^or Myers?" began 
 Keen, craftily. 
 
 " Yes," said George. . He was not particular 
 about the name, but he hoped that this stranger 
 would not take the liberty of proposing a job of 
 work to him. 
 
 " I have written you about a little device of 
 yours, and, being in Elmville, it occurred to me 
 that this was your address. I don't know whether 
 you answered my letter or not as I have been 
 away " 
 
 " No," said George, after a long pause. 
 
 Keen was somewhat discouraged by the care- 
 less tone ; but he began to talk of the patent, and, 
 
warming into the accustomed work of robbing 
 patentees, he was soon speaking so lightly and 
 even depreciatingly of George's patent, that any 
 other man than George would have made an 
 immediate apology for the affront of offering the 
 patent to a superior world. Probably George, 
 who was not a bad fellow, felt the obligation of 
 making an apology, and if given time he would 
 have make it; but, of course, he could n't get 
 around to it in a minute. While he was grinding 
 his heel in the sand at the foot of the step, Keen 
 asked for a proposition for the use of the device. 
 George could answer this. He said : 
 
 " It 's a thing that I don't know as 
 I Ve thought much about." 
 
 Then, much relieved, George took a well- 
 earned rest. 
 
 Mr. Keen considered that he had received 
 two buffets; but, determined to do his whole duty 
 and exhaust every resource for properly robbing 
 George, he said : 
 
 "This device might be worth trying, and I 
 might undertake to introduce it; of course, get- 
 ting the use of it myself free, and getting half the 
 royalty from other makers." 
 
 George took no responsibility about this, but 
 ground his heel in the sand, so that Keen was 
 staggered ; but he rallied enough to say : 
 
 " Of course, I am offering you a splendid 
 thing, but I always believe in giving patentees 
 every cent there is in it." 
 
 George changed his position with ease, and 
 looked at the horizon. Keen's heart sank at sight 
 of so obdurate a trader, and, resuming the talk, he 
 offered to be content with but one-quarter of out- 
 
^ tyarns from Puck, ^ 
 
 side royalties and then, with no outside royalty. 
 But while Keen talked, George loafed unvexedly. 
 and he kept loafing until Keen found himself 
 forced (as he thought) to offer to pay a royalty 
 from his own works. 
 
 " Now, when I say a royalty from our own 
 works, the question is, how much. Of course, it 
 would be only nominal (George yawned) ; well, 
 say $i. This is very high " Keen talked of 
 the extravagance of this figure till George crossed 
 his legs, when he said he might make it $2. He 
 reproached himself for offering this price; but 
 George leaned on his elbow, and Keen made 
 
 it $3- 
 
 At one o'clock George, who had to ring the 
 church-bell for school, rose and started off. 
 
 " You will be back ? " said Keen. 
 
 " I will be around somewhere," replied 
 George. 
 
 In the afternoon Mr. Keen had difficulty in 
 rounding George up, for George desired to repose; 
 but he rounded him up, and, starting in afresh, bid 
 himself up very handsomely. George had hardly 
 had such a disturbing day since the threshing, 
 and he was forced to loaf in self-defense. His old 
 skill did not now desert him, and he loafed as if 
 he had been condemned to live for life. Keen 
 tried to protect himself against George's evidently 
 extravagant notions by threatening to use the 
 invention of a gifted inventor named Morrison. 
 George did not seem to mind it. Keen bid him- 
 self up again, but said that George's invention was 
 crude and would have to be changed at great ex- 
 pense by practical men. George was not affected. 
 Then Keen surrendered. He mounted to his 
 
 '73 
 
highest figure, $10. Even then George was 
 silent, and Keen said in despair, "Well, what do 
 you say ? " 
 
 " There 's a man named Hinchman here 
 that 's got to have $200," said George. 
 
 "Well, of course you will pay that?" 
 
 " I ?" George fell to loafing again. 
 
 Keen yielded the point, and said he would. 
 At this George showed some faint surprise. 
 
 " Can't we settle this to-night?" asked Keen, 
 anxiously. " I want to get away." Thereupon 
 Keen drew papers. It just happened that he had 
 
 a form of contract with him. He put up the 
 $200 for Hinchman. 
 
 The next day George gave Hinchman his 
 money. 
 
 "How much do you get?" asked Hinch- 
 man, delighted with speculation. 
 174 
 
^ t)arns from Puck, ^ 
 
 " Ten dollars," said George. George was 
 glad enough, but he did not show it much. 
 
 - \Vhy, you blamed idiot," said Hinchman, 
 after reading the contract, " you get ten dollars 
 (7 machine ! " 
 
 " Is that so ? " said George. George felt 
 mortified. He could feel the mortification even 
 then. " Well," he said in explanation, " that was 
 something I did n't give much attention to." 
 
 George is now rich ; and this story shows 
 how a man's being perfectly worthless may be 
 worth a good deal to him; and it ought to en- 
 courage us. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Abe Granger still lives on the old farm. 
 Hinchman's wife is still living, and Hinchman 
 has never married again. The paths that led 
 from the old manse ran only as far as the road. 
 
 Willis ton fish. 
 
THE NEW JERSEY ARABIAN NIGHTS. 
 
 By R. K. MUNKITTRICK. 
 
 This is the latest volume of the new 
 series of short stories which PUCK makes 
 distinctively its own, and does it so well that 
 every one wonders what is coming next. 
 The relator of the stories in this book is not 
 a charming young woman, but a tramp 
 plumber who has reached the depths of im- 
 pecuniosity by being conscientious, and the 
 scene of the story is the home of a mil- 
 lionaire dyspeptic in the State of New 
 Jersey. The man of money needs to be 
 amused, and the plumber can tell stories as 
 long as he is sure of three square meals a 
 day, so the arrangement goes on for a dozen 
 nights, and the millionaire's charming daugh- 
 ter sits by to listen, with the usual result to 
 both man and maiden. The stories are 
 serious and improbable a combination 
 which makes them quite funny, and they 
 are liberally besprinkled with pictures by 
 
 PUCK'S best artists. Godefs Magazine. 
 
 In Boards, $1.00. In Paper, jc Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 By Mail, front the Publishers, on receipt of price. 
 
HALF-TRUE TALES. 
 
 " Half- True Tales ; Stories Founded 
 on Fiction," by C. H. Augur, forms a new 
 volume in PUCK'S series of short stories. 
 The stories are very lively, and all the 
 more effective because they leave some- 
 thing to the imagination of the reader. 
 They are short, which is another thing 
 in their favor ; and they are cleverly illus- 
 trated by C. J. Taylor. The volume is 
 
 charmingly printed. The (London) Daily Chronicle. 
 
 In Cloth, $1,00. In Paper, 50 Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 By .I/?//, from the Publishers, on receipt of price. 
 
One of the special weekly attractions 
 of our humorous contemporary PUCK, is a 
 short story which does n't much resemble 
 short stories published elsewhere. 
 
 " MAVERICKS " 
 
 they have been called of late, and " Maver- 
 icks " is the title of a pretty volume just 
 published, containing about twenty of them 
 by as many writers. Among the contribu- 
 tors are W. J. Henderson, Brander Mat- 
 thews, Madeline Bridges, George H. Jessop, 
 Tudor Jenks, Flavel S. Mines, R. K. Mun- 
 kittrick, and PUCK'S editor, Mr. Bunner, 
 whose " Short Sixes " formed the initial 
 volume of the series of which " Mavericks " 
 is the latest issue. To any one in search 
 of something which will make him laugh 
 this little book may be safely commended. 
 The pictures, of which there are many, are 
 quite as funny as the tales, and are all by 
 PUCK'S artists. - At x /Arott 
 
 In Boards, $1.00. In Paper, jo Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 By Mail, from the Publishers, on receipt of pi ice. 
 
"THE RUNAWAY BROWNS," 
 
 by H. C. Bunner, illustrations by C. J. Tay- 
 lor ; publishers, Keppler & Schwarzmann. 
 The experiences of Paul Brown and his wife, 
 who escape a tame, adventureless life, with a 
 view of having " things happen to them," 
 and to this end leave a pleasant home to be 
 gone a year and a day, are just the reading 
 for a Summer's afternoon, and there is still 
 enough of Summer in the air to make it en- 
 joyable to its fullest. How the Browns fell 
 in with a band of barn-storming profession- 
 als ; how they became tin peddlers ; how 
 they took charge of a lone hotel, and how 
 they finally and gladly reached their trim 
 cottage, is told in these clever and amusing 
 pages, and will bring more than one hearty 
 laugh even from those unused to smile. 
 
 N., P. 6* S. Bulletin. 
 
 In Boards, $1.00. In Paper, jo Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 By Mail, from the Publishers, on receipt of price. 
 
Nobody can afford to miss the short stories H. C. 
 Bunner is writing in PUCK. The series is called 
 
 "SHORT SIXES," 
 
 in allusion to the candles which are sold six to a pound, 
 I believe. Two stories have appeared, "Col. Brereton's 
 Aunty" and "The Love-Letters of Smith." Both of 
 them are full of delicate humor, and the illustrations by 
 Mr. Taylor are conceived and drawn in thorough sym- 
 pathy with the text. " The Love Letters of Smith" in 
 PUCK No. 698 ought to please you almost as much as 
 if they were your own. Mr. Bunner's stories always 
 have had much to recommend them ; but these trifles in 
 size are treasures in literary art. Because they are true 
 to nature, and to what is most pleasant in human nature, 
 they will delight all sorts and conditions of readers. 
 Pittsburgh Dispatch. 
 
 The beauty of James L. Ford's 
 
 "HYPNOTIC TALES" 
 
 is that they are intensely full of modern New York. 
 Those who read them simply because they suspect that 
 they are humorous will find to their surprise a lot of 
 admirable satire. It is hard to imagine a better presen- 
 tation of certain blemishes on the police department 
 than "The Detective's Tale." In "The Genial's Tale," 
 he has for the first time classified a type and given it a 
 name ; so that now when you speak of a Genial, every- 
 body knows what you mean. Among the other sketches 
 the best are "The Rich Presbyterian's Tale," and "At 
 the Chromo Reception " the latter a perfect picture 
 of the sort of thing that the "New York Correspondent" 
 of the Bttngtotvn Bugle revels in. Life. 
 
 In Boards, $1.00. In Paper, jo Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 By Mail, from the Publishers, on receipt of price. 
 
PUCK'S LIBRARY. 
 
 32 Pages. Issued on the 15th of each Month. 
 
 The following numbers of PUCK'S LIBRARY 
 have appeared ; they can aliuays be obtained 
 from Newsdealers or from the Publishers : 
 
 No. 
 1. " Ttie National Game." Iking PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About Base-Ball. 
 '*. "The Summer- Boarder." Being PUCK'S Best 
 
 Things About That Afflicted Creature. 
 
 3. "Just Dog." Being PUCK'S Best Things About That 
 
 Amoosin' Animile. 
 
 4. "Hayseed Hits." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 the Merry Rustic and His Ways. 
 
 5. "The Funny Baby." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About Our Household Angels. 
 
 6. "Sassiety." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The 
 
 World of Fashion and Frivolity. 
 
 7. "Our Foreign Fellow-Citizens. 7 ' Being PUCK'S 
 
 Best Things About Americans of All Nationalities. 
 
 8. " Tile Great American Boarding-House." Be- 
 
 ing PUCK'S Best Things About That Abode of Happiness. 
 
 9. " Freddy's Slate." Being His Own Record of His 
 
 Doings and Sayings. 
 
 10. "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp." Being PUCK'S Best 
 
 Things About The Great American Traveler. 
 
 11. "Shop." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The Busy 
 
 World of Trade. 
 
 13. "Suburban." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The 
 Country of the Commuter. 
 
No. 
 
 13. "Help." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The Great 
 
 American Servant Girl. 
 
 14. " Brudder Shinbones." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About Our Colored Sassiety. 
 
 15. _" City Sketches." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 The Merry Metropolis. 
 16. "The Small Boy." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 The Ubiquitous Younger Brother. 
 IT. "Is Marriage a Failure I " Being PUCK'S Best 
 
 Things About Mothers-in-law and Other Matrimonial 
 
 Matters. 
 
 18. "Out West." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The 
 
 Wild and Wooly Wilderness. 
 
 19. " Chin." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Barbers, 
 
 Book-agents and other Bores. 
 
 ao. " Hi' Art." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The Ec- 
 centric and Interesting Children of Genius, 
 
 81. "Very Young Man." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 About lhat Fresh and Frolicsome Citizen. 
 
 aa. "Show Business." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 Artistes and Fakirs. 
 
 a3. "Best Girl." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Other 
 Fellows' Sisters. 
 
 a*. " On The Road." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 Travelers, Tourists, and Their Tribulations. 
 
 85. "Out Doors." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Sum- 
 mer Sports. 
 
 26. "Fly-Time." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The 
 Torrid Term. 
 
 a?. "All at Sea." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 Fresh-Water Fairies and Sad Sea-Dogs. 
 
 38. " Snap-Shots." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Any 
 Thing and Everything. 
 
 a9. "'Round Town." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 Those Who Go Up and Down in the Great Big Town. 
 
 30. " Fun at Zero." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 Winter Sports. 
 
 31. "Household Happenings." Being PUCK'S Best 
 
 Things About the Fun and Fancy of Home Life. 
 32. " Job Lots." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Business 
 
 Busts and Booms. 
 33. " Freaks." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Fantastic 
 
 Folks and Fads. 
 
MOV 27 1985 
 
 No. 
 
 34. "Ups and Downs. ' Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 Life, Luck and Lucre. 
 
 35. " Profesh." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Intellec- 
 
 tual Individuals and Their Idiosyncrasies. 
 
 36. "Darktown Doings." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About Afro(and other)-Americans. 
 
 37. " Kids." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The Junior 
 
 Generation. 
 
 38. "Bunco." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Crooks 
 
 and Uprights. 
 
 39. " Human NaturV Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 That Curious Customer, Man. 
 
 40. " Dumb Critters." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 The Humorous Side of Animal Life. 
 
 41. "Just lianded." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 Folks from Faraway. 
 4J4. "Chow CHow." Being PUCK'S Best Things About 
 
 This and That. 
 43. "Cold Days." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Chilly 
 
 Chunks of Frosty Fate. 
 44. "Dollars and Cents." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About The Scramble for Scads. 
 
 45. "All in the Family." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About Our Happy Households. 
 
 46. "Togs." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Rags, Tags 
 
 and Velvet Gowns. 
 
 47. "Here and There." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About Happenings in Both Places. 
 
 48. "Across the Ranch." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 
 About The World on Wheels. 
 
 49. "Fads and Fancies." Being PUCK'S Best Things 
 About Various Vanities. 
 
 50. "Spoons." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Moony 
 
 Mortals. 
 
 51. "Whiskers." Being FUCK'S Best Things About Our 
 
 Country Cousins. 
 
 5)4. " Fresh." Being PUCK'S Best Things About the Un- 
 salted Generation. 
 
 53. "Tips." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Some Mighty 
 
 Interesting Matters. 
 
 54. "Emeralds." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Sons 
 
 of the Ould Sod. 
 
 55. "Young Uns." Being PUCK'S Best Things About The 
 
 Kid in Various Stages of Development. 
 
 56. "Patchwork." Being PUCK'S Best Things About One 
 
 Thing and Another. 
 
 57. "Cranks." Being PUCK'S Best Things About Peculiar 
 
 People. 
 
A 000 571