BOHeniR 
 
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 BOHEMIA INVADED.
 
 ^bc Bijou Seriee^ 
 
 B :fi3ubble. l. b. walford. 
 
 B (HuCBtion of Color. F. C. Philips. 
 
 CbittotVs /Dbarrlage. gyp. 
 private G^infier, etc. 
 
 John Strange Winter. 
 :fi3obemia ITnvaDeD. James l. ford. 
 B TIClbite 3i3abg. James Welsh. 
 ^be IReD Spell. Francis Gribble. 
 
 From The Inttrtiational Dictionary : 
 
 " Bijou ; a word applied to anything small and of ele- 
 gant workmanship." 
 
 ffre^ertcft H. Stores Company, 
 
 publiebers, l^ew ]9orlt.
 
 Bohemia Invaded 
 
 BnD ©tbcr Stories 
 
 By JAMES L. FORD 
 
 Author of '''■ Hypnotic Tales,''^ " The Literary 
 Shop,'' Etc. 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE 
 
 BY A. W. B. LINCOLN 
 
 Iftew liJocft anO XonDon 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1895, by 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY. 
 
 PRINTED IN AMERICA
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE. 
 
 These Stories are reprhtted by permission^ from 
 PUCK, TRUTH, THE NEW YORK HERALD 
 
 and other publications. 
 
 2061657
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BOHEMIA INVADED I 
 
 WEDDED BLISS I9 
 
 HIGH ETIQUETTE IN HARLEM 37 
 
 THE TALENT IN THE NAPKIN 53 
 
 A DINNER IN POVERTY FLAT 57 
 
 THE BETTER ELEMENT 73 
 
 THE SQUARER 81 
 
 THE JOKE THAT FAILED 97 
 
 DAN BRIORDY'S GITAWAY SHADDER. . . I05 
 
 THE WARDMAN's WOOING 125 
 
 THE CHANGE OF THE LUCK . . I47 
 
 MR. SYNICK'S anti-bad-break 163 
 
 FREAKS AND KINGS 169
 
 BOHEMIA INVADED. 
 
 They all say that if it had not been 
 for my uncalled-for foolishness in 
 bringing young Etchley down to the 
 Garibaldi table iVhbte last winter, that 
 exclusive and delightful salon would 
 never have lost one iota of the pres- 
 tige which it had enjoyed for fully a 
 year previous to my entirely inexcus- 
 able and thoughtless act. 
 
 I believe that I have flitted through 
 every table d^hbte that has reared its 
 head in the town since the days of 
 Martinelli, and I doubt if there has 
 ever been one which equalled in point 
 of exclusiveness and austere social 
 tone the little 40-cent dinner which 
 " Garibaldi," as we call him, his real 
 
 I
 
 2 :®obemia 1[n\>aDe&. 
 
 name being unpronounceable, serves 
 every evening to his patrons in his 
 snug little basement below Washing- 
 ton Square. 
 
 Everybody who is familiar with 
 table d'hote life knows that exclusive- 
 ness is possible only in those establish- 
 ments where the dinner is served at a 
 very low price. Half a dollar opens 
 the doors to the common herd, and as 
 for the dollar dinners they are com- 
 pletely given over to the Philistines 
 who chop their spaghetti into a pulp 
 and eat it with a spoon. 
 
 It is true that we " Garibaldians " 
 are easily recognized by the white lint 
 which comes off the tablecloths and 
 napkins and sticks to our garments in 
 such liberal quantities as to impart to 
 us a sort of resemblance to a drove 
 of Angora goats, but that is something 
 that no one but a Philistine would 
 ever complain of. 
 
 Now, a Philistine will not of his own
 
 JBobemia f nvaDcD. 3 
 
 volition venture into one of the humble 
 basements or cool backyards in which 
 the artistic soul seeks refreshment. 
 When he is lured into such a place he 
 sniffs audibly and suspiciously, and 
 when he learns that the dinner costs 
 but 35 or 40 cents he wants to know 
 why they keep the place so dirty and 
 why that waiter doesn't bring the 
 powdered sugar along with the lettuce. 
 But to return to Garibaldi's. For a 
 long time a score of us had the big 
 oval table to ourselves, and very pleas- 
 ant indeed were the dinners we used 
 to enjoy there. From my experience 
 then I should say that the ideal table 
 d'hote company should be composed 
 of the following ingredients in the 
 proportions indicated : Art, plastic, 
 pictorial and illustrative, 25 percent. ; 
 letters, poesy, prosody, typewriting 
 and journalism, 25 per cent. ; the 
 stage, lyric, protean and classic, 20 
 per cent. ; Arctic explorers, tropical
 
 4 JBobemia f nvaJJcO. 
 
 travellers and illustrious exiles, loper 
 cent. ; ladies, bound by marital or 
 other fragile ties to and usually es- 
 corted by atoms of the ingredients 
 already named, 20 per cent. 
 
 The oval table held 15 comfortably, 
 and by squeezing we could make room 
 for 18, or even 20 if the last comers 
 happened to stand well in our little 
 commune. 
 
 It was into this Eden that I intro- 
 duced Etchley one fateful night about 
 six months ago, and it happened that 
 we found but two vacant places — one 
 at the lower end of the table, where 
 half a dozen artists were congregated, 
 and the other directly opposite and 
 between two comedians. 
 
 I deposited my friend in the first 
 named of the two places, and, having 
 introduced him to his neighbors, left 
 him to his own devices, confident 
 that he would readily assimilate with 
 those about him, for young Etchley
 
 JBobcmia f nvaDcD. 5 
 
 is well known in New York society 
 as the " rising young artist," and has 
 a rare collection of antiques and rugs 
 on the walls and floor of the hand- 
 somely furnished room which he calls 
 his "studio." 
 
 I remember very little of the con- 
 versation that went on about the table 
 on the night of young Etchley's debut, 
 but I recall with vivid distinctness the 
 reproachful howls which greeted me 
 when I appeared in the Garibaldi the 
 following evening. 
 
 " That was a nice sort of a duck you 
 brought down here last night." 
 
 "What do you want to spoil a good 
 crowd for by bringing in such fellows 
 as that ? " 
 
 I was thunderstruck and could only 
 exclaim, " What's the matter with my 
 friend ? Wasn't he all right ? " 
 
 " What's the matter with him ! " 
 cried Charley Clay indignantly. " He 
 talked about the spontaneity of
 
 6 :©obemfa f nvaDc^. 
 
 art. That's what's the matter with 
 him ! " 
 
 A sudden understanding of what 
 had happened the night before came 
 upon me with crushing force, and the 
 mere thought of the hideous enormity 
 of my friend's offence caused me to 
 sink, speechless, into a chair. 
 
 Now, you may search New York 
 from one end to the other without 
 finding a finer artist — for social pur- 
 poses, I mean — than my accomplished 
 young friend, Mr. Walter Etchley. 
 His " studio teas," of which he gives 
 at least three every season, are admit- 
 ted by all whose privilege it is to 
 attend them to be " most delightful 
 affairs and so thoroughly Bohemian, 
 you know," while his stock of art 
 phrases in French, English and Italian 
 is the envy of every connoisseur who 
 ever said a word about " art for art's 
 sake." 
 
 That Etchley was a poseur and an
 
 :fi3obcmfa UnvaDcO. 7 
 
 adept in the use of kettledrum art 
 talk was a fact well known to me, but 
 that he would attempt to project any 
 of his miserable balderdash' about the 
 premier coup and the " divine art of 
 Velasquez" into a circle of artists of 
 the kind who know how to draw never 
 once entered my mind. However, 
 the deed was done, and I thought it 
 politic just then to call for refresh- 
 ments and humbly ask my friends to 
 forget and forgive. 
 
 But before the week was out Etch- 
 ley appeared again on the scene, 
 accompanied by two stock-brokers, 
 who called for champagne and came 
 near ruining Philippe, the waiter, 
 for life, by giving him a tip of 35 
 cents. 
 
 A few days later other gentlemen 
 of unmistakably commercial aspect 
 bore down upon us, and it was not 
 long before the olden charm of the 
 Garibaldi had completely vanished.
 
 8 JSobemla f nvaDe&. 
 
 The Philistines or " floor-walkers," as 
 we called them, not only sat at our 
 table, laughed at our jokes, forced 
 themselves upon us under every pos- 
 sible pretext, but also whispered to 
 one another about us, pointing us out 
 as if we had been so many animals in 
 a cage. 
 
 " That girl with the red hair used 
 to be in the Casino chorus, and that 
 fellow talking to her makes pictures 
 for Puck and Judge. He was fearfully 
 funny the other evening. There's 
 another funny man over there ; he 
 does all those jokes in Life and 
 Truths and that girl next to him is a 
 typewriter and just as bright as they 
 make 'em. I tell you it's great fun 
 to come here and see all the Bohe- 
 mians ; but somehow they're not as 
 lively to-night as they generally are. 
 Hulloa ! There comes Johnny Roach, 
 our linen buyer. Come over here, 
 John. I guess these ladies and gents
 
 asobemia f nva^eD. 9 
 
 will move up a bit so as to give you 
 room." 
 
 Then there were those financial 
 fleas who make a living by dashing 
 through Wall and Broad Streets at a 
 profit of a quarter of an eighth of a 
 cent a jump. 
 
 What unhallowed bores those fel- 
 lows are. 
 
 " The bottom's all out of Lacka- 
 wanna, but Manhattan'U be up in a 
 French roof before the week's out. 
 Hear Charley Opdyke's latest ? He 
 said if Dickey Daredevil got too 
 drunk to go the Union Club they'd 
 have to bring the Union Club to him. 
 Haw ! haw ! haw ! haw ! I tell you 
 that's a great Charley. I'd oughter 
 taken that tip he gave me yesterday 
 and played Clothesrack one, two, 
 three for the Van Dyke House Stakes, 
 but instead of that I played Cough- 
 drop, and I'll be hanged if I don't 
 think the old plug is running yet ! "
 
 lo JBobcmla fnva&e&. 
 
 That was the sort of talk we were 
 compelled to listen to, and it was 
 with feelings of bitter humiliation 
 that I realized that it was I who had 
 spoiled the place by introducing 
 Etchley. 
 
 Half a dozen of us were talking the 
 matter over late one night, and dis- 
 cussing the advisability of moving in 
 a body to some other table dWiote^ 
 when Kitty Bracebridge, who had just 
 returned from her tour with the 
 " Merry Idlers " Company, remarked, 
 " I suppose those people will fill the 
 whole place up when Garibaldi gives 
 us his birthday blowout next week. 
 Do you remember what an elegant 
 time we had last year all by ourselves ? 
 And maybe Billy Wells didn't get a 
 jag though ? Somehow he always 
 gets loaded when the drinks are free. 
 But say, boys, aren't you going to do 
 something so we can have the place 
 to ourselves, or at least our own table,
 
 :©obcmia fnvaDeD. n 
 
 the night of the big blowout, or shall 
 we all get here at five o'clock so as 
 to keep our seats ? There's a fearful 
 drought here to-night, Charley. Can't 
 you do something for us, or do you 
 want to have me go out and pray for 
 rain ? " 
 
 " Of course they'll be here in full 
 force then," growled Tony Steele, 
 " but, by Jove ! " — his face lit up sud- 
 denly, and his eyes flashed with 
 excitement — " I've got a scheme to 
 knock them out, and if you'll help me 
 we'll put it through in great shape on 
 Garibaldi's birthday." 
 
 " Help you ? Well if it's a scheme 
 to down those counter-jumpers we're 
 with you every time. Let's have it 
 without delay." 
 
 Garibaldi's little basement dining- 
 room was swept and garnished in 
 honor of the fete day, which he ob-
 
 12 :Sobemta 1Fnx>aOeD. 
 
 served every year by giving a free 
 dinner to his patrons. As Kitty 
 Bracebridge had predicted, the out- 
 siders turned out in full force, and if 
 we, the aboriginal settlers, had not 
 taken the precaution of securing a 
 table for ourselves at a very early 
 hour, we should have found ourselves 
 shut out completely. As it was, the 
 mercantile contingent not only filled 
 every other chair in the room, but cast 
 anxious glances at those in which we 
 sat, as if they grudged us possession 
 of even the one stronghold that re- 
 mained to us in what we had formerly 
 regarded as our own exclusive terri- 
 tory. 
 
 Now, Garibaldi's has a back-yard — 
 a tiny place, littered with old wine 
 casks, bottles, jars, empty boxes, 
 broken chairs and other rubbish of 
 the sort that might be expected to 
 accumulate about the kitchen door 
 of an Italian restaurant. A window,
 
 JiSobemla irnva&c&. 13 
 
 guarded with thick iron bars, opens 
 from the yard to the dining-room and, 
 except in bitter cold weather, is left 
 open in deference to the Anglo-Saxon 
 fondness for fresh air and in defiance 
 of all established Latin customs. 
 
 But, although the dinner was free 
 that night and the room was filled to 
 its utmost capacity, we were not a par- 
 ticularly lively company, and at about 
 half-past seven I heard from another 
 part of the room : " I don't know 
 what's the matter with those people 
 to-night. Generally they're full of 
 fun and get off a lot of jokes. That 
 fellow with the long hair and the eye- 
 glasses I was talking to you about 
 hasn't shown up yet, but maybe he'll 
 come later, and then you'll see some 
 sport. He's an artist and fearfully 
 funny. Why, just look there, will 
 you 1 What the deuce does that 
 mean ? " 
 
 At the same moment I saw Tony
 
 14 3Bobcmia irn\?a&e&, 
 
 and Charley Clay peering in at us 
 through the open yard window, with 
 their faces flattened against the iron 
 bars. 
 
 " I like this place because of the peo- 
 ple you see here ! " exclaimed Tony, 
 in a loud voice, and a murmur of sur- 
 prise, accompanied by a sudden mov- 
 ing of chairs and creaking of necks, 
 ran through the room and was fol- 
 lowed by a solemn hush, which was 
 broken only by Tony, who continued 
 in the most unconcerned way to point 
 out to his friend the guests who were 
 enjoying Garibaldi's hospitality. 
 
 " Why, this place is fairly alive with 
 commercial talent to-night," he re- 
 marked, cheerfully. " If you want to 
 get the kings of finance and the mer- 
 chant princes together just set out a 
 free feed, and they'll come all the way 
 from Yonkers for it. Do you see that 
 man with the mayonnaise whiskers ? 
 You'd never think to look at him that
 
 :iBobemta IFnpaOcD. 15 
 
 he holds a very responsible position 
 in one of our largest retail emporiums. 
 Well, he does all the same, and he's got 
 as many as twenty cash-boys to an- 
 swer to his beck and call. You can see 
 at a glance that he was born to com- 
 mand, and yet he's perfectly unassum- 
 ing and affable to everybody." 
 
 Mr. Garibaldi's guests looked at one 
 another in amazement and then turned 
 their eyes upon the unfortunate gentle- 
 man with the " mayonnaise whiskers," 
 who at once rose from his chair and 
 with a face that now wore a livelier 
 hue than his hair, hastily withdrew, 
 while some of his friends began to 
 look for their overcoats and rubbers. 
 
 *' There's Clara, too," cried Tony, 
 excitedly, as his eye fell upon a tall, 
 blonde youth, whose clothes had evi- 
 dently been made to set off his long 
 hair in an appropriate and harmonious 
 fashion. 
 
 " He's just too dainty and sweet for
 
 1 6 asobcmia ITnvaDeD. 
 
 this part of the town. He's got a 
 studio up town and the cunningest 
 little brushes and paints that are all 
 his own, and there's not one of the 
 other girls that dares to touch them. 
 And he makes the prettiest pictures 
 you ever saw, too, for he's chock full 
 of talent. All he wants is a Figaro 
 Ilhcst7-^ and a little tracing paper, and 
 he'll turn out some of the nicest pict- 
 ures you ever saw in your life. But 
 Clara won't be long with us, I'm 
 afraid, because Garibaldi is going to 
 catch and cook him some day and 
 serve him up as an e?itree with tomato 
 sauce. What ! Going so soon. 
 Clara ? Well, good-night, but you 
 needn't bang the door so loud." 
 
 There was some merriment at our 
 table as the "gifted young society 
 illustrator," as the fashion writers 
 usually call him, beat a hasty retreat, 
 and then the irrepressible Tony pro- 
 ceeded :
 
 JBobcmfa f nva^et). 
 
 17 
 
 " There's another man there that I 
 want you to notice/^ he continued in 
 a loud voice as he thrust a long arm 
 through the bars and pointed, with im- 
 pressive skinny forefinger, at one of 
 the financiers who was trying to es- 
 cape unobserved : " that man has been 
 hanging to the curbstone of Broad 
 Street so long that his feet have turned 
 into claws and he can perch over the 
 limb of a tree just as if he were a 
 crow or a pigeon. Vanderbilt gets all 
 his points from that man, because he 
 is one of the kings of finance. He 
 knows what it is to make as high as 
 $4.83 a day when he's on the right side 
 of the market. I tell you, old man, 
 there's no place in town where you 
 can meet as many solid men as you 
 can right here, and I'm sorry they're 
 all going away so early, because I'd 
 like to have you see more of them." 
 
 The Philistines were going, there 
 was no mistake about it, and the 
 2
 
 i8 3Bobemia ITnvaDeD. 
 
 snicker which had gone round our 
 table, changed to a roar in which even 
 the Italian contingent at the table 
 nearest the stove joined heartily 
 as the last " floor-walker " vanished 
 through the door. 
 
 And then Tony and Charley Clay 
 came in from the little back-yard and 
 sat down with us at our own table, and 
 we feasted and drank until far into 
 the morning, and from that day to 
 this no Philistine has ever presumed 
 to show his face in Garibaldi's.
 
 WEDDED BLISS. 
 
 I REMEMBER now that when, as a 
 small boy, I learned in our history 
 class of that Athenian who proved 
 his fitness for the ballot by voting for 
 the banishment of Aristides, I in- 
 stantly thought of Herbert Preston. 
 At that time he always kept his face 
 and hands clean and his hair combed, 
 and it was at that time that my female 
 relations began a practice, which they 
 have kept up to the present day, of 
 continually holding him up to me as 
 a young man whose example was to 
 be followed by reprobates like myself. 
 And this long-drawn-out praise cul- 
 minated in a burst of enthusiasm 
 when Herbert, at the age of twenty- 
 
 19
 
 20 'QdeDDeD 3BUS0. 
 
 three, made what they all declared 
 was " a most judicious and desirable 
 marriage." 
 
 "There's a fine young man for 
 you ! " exclaimed my worthy Aunt 
 Susan ; " he's married a good girl, a 
 domestic girl, and a girl who will 
 make him happy and keep him in the 
 right path, too. Besides that she's 
 got $5,000 a year in her own right, 
 and will have more some day if she 
 keeps on the right side of the old 
 lady — which she knows enough to do, 
 being a girl of high principle — and I 
 must say, James, that I wish you 
 would follow your friend's example 
 and settle down instead of living 
 the way you do — Heaven knows how 
 or where." 
 
 It was six years after this that I 
 next met Herbert Preston, and then 
 I accepted his invitation to spend 
 Sunday at his house in Westchester 
 county, if only to contrast my sorrow-
 
 MeO^eD J5U6S. 21 
 
 ful bachelor state with the sunshine 
 of a home to which the wife brings 
 $5,000 a year, is looking for more 
 when her mother dies, and continues 
 meantime to keep her husband in the 
 right path and make him happy too. 
 
 It was dark when I alighted from 
 the train the following Saturday after- 
 noon, but Herbert was waiting for me 
 at the depot, and we started together 
 to walk to his house, a quarter of a 
 mile away. 
 
 " Here we are," said Preston cheer- 
 ily, as he opened the front door with 
 his night-key and ushered me into 
 the house. " I guess Mrs. Preston's 
 upstairs with the baby. Just step 
 into the dining-room a minute," and 
 I followed him with alacrity. 
 
 Now when, at the end of a long and 
 cold journey on a winter's evening, a 
 man invites a friend to " step into the 
 dining-room," he can have but one 
 purpose in view. At least that is the
 
 22 mcDOeD JBlise. 
 
 way I reasoned then, as I dropped my 
 bag in the hall and followed Her- 
 bert over the threshold into a region 
 of cavernous darkness. 
 
 " Sit down," said my host in a 
 pleasant, genial way, and I did so, 
 smacking my lips while he lit the gas. 
 " Just wait here a moment while I go 
 up and see if your room is ready. I'd 
 take you in the parlor, but the chil- 
 dren's toys are all over the floor," and 
 with these words he disappeared, 
 leaving me there to study my new 
 surroundings. 
 
 I glanced about the room and a 
 terrible suspicion came upon me. 
 No implements of hospitality were 
 visible, but on the wall hung a tem- 
 perance motto worked in red worsted 
 on white cardboard, and beside it an 
 illuminated certificate of membership 
 in the Order of the Sons of the 
 Crystal Fount, while on the sideboard 
 stood a flat bottle with a rubber tube
 
 attachment — one of those noisome 
 domestic objects which ought to be 
 kept in a dark room like a sensitized 
 photographic plate. 
 
 It was after seven when Mrs. Pres- 
 ton appeared upon the scene to 
 welcome me. She was a fairly good- 
 looking woman, with serious dark 
 eyes, set rather close together in her 
 head, and suggesting, in fact, almost 
 betraying, her complete lack of 
 humorous sense, while certain lines 
 about the corners of her mouth indi- 
 cated Calvinistic severity and thrift. 
 
 As she shook my hand she remarked 
 carelessly that baby had been so cun- 
 ning and sweet that night that she had 
 played with him an hour longer than 
 she usually did. Then we sat down 
 at table and Mrs. Preston asked a 
 blessing which we didn't get. 
 
 Now I am a bit of a philosopher in 
 my way, and whenever I find myself 
 in an uncomfortable position I always
 
 24 meDDcD mi66. 
 
 try to turn the situation to some prof- 
 itable account instead of yielding 
 to the melancholy of the occasion. 
 Therefore I said to myself : — " I will 
 strive to make myself agreeable to 
 this woman, who appears to have 
 fewer interests in the world than any- 
 body I have ever met. I do not wish 
 to break up this happy five-thousand 
 a-year home, but if I can win this one's 
 heart no woman will be able to resist 
 me, and henceforth the boundless con- 
 tinent will be mine — that is to say, 
 so far as the gentler sex is concerned." 
 Therefore, as soon as dinner was over 
 and we were all seated in the parlor, 
 I sprang to my task with renewed 
 vivacity. 
 
 Grasping the conversational oar 
 firmly in both hands and bracing my- 
 self firmly in my seat, I asked her if 
 she had read Mr. Howells' last novel. 
 No, she did not think she had. She 
 did not read novels. Did she like
 
 Mr. Irving as well as Mr. Booth ? 
 She gaped at me a moment and then 
 inquired if Irving was not a play- 
 actor. No, she did not approve of 
 going to the theatre. 
 
 At this juncture I almost lost my 
 stroke by pausing to ask her why she 
 did not approve of theatres. She 
 replied, after a moment's hesitation, 
 that it was because she had never 
 been to one herself. From which it 
 will be seen that Mrs. Preston pos- 
 sessed a logical and well-balanced 
 mind. 
 
 Having passed literature and the 
 drama in a few swift strokes, I wiped 
 my forehead and turned my prow 
 toward the safe and placid shoals of 
 society, where I judged I should find 
 easy paddling. 
 
 Was there much good society in the 
 town ? Yes, indeed, there was a very 
 pleasant social circle, composed ex- 
 clusively of the members of Dr.
 
 26 llCle&DeD J8li65. 
 
 Dillar's First Congregational Church, 
 to which, fortunately enough, the 
 Preston family belonged. Her mother, 
 she added, had gone out to visit one 
 of these desirable families that 
 composed the congregation, and she 
 expected her back every moment. In 
 fact, she was only sitting up on her 
 account, for she usually went upstairs 
 soon after eight. She smiled in an 
 agreeable manner, and then a tramp- 
 ing and clattering on the piazza 
 denoted the old lady's return, and 
 Herbert flew with suspicious alacrity 
 to open the door. 
 
 I recognized her the moment I saw 
 her — the ideal mother-in-law of hu- 
 morous fiction — for, back in the early 
 seventies I was one of a small and 
 devoted band of paragraphers who 
 were engaged in holding her up to 
 the delighted gaze of the American 
 public. 
 
 I had made many a dollar out of
 
 her in the old days, but it was the 
 first time I had ever seen her in the 
 flesh. She was even more severe of 
 aspect than her daughter, and the 
 hand which she extended to me was 
 cold and heavy and lifeless, like a bar 
 of lead. In memory of the old days 
 of "acrobatic" humor and with a 
 lively sense of gratitude for the money 
 she used to put into my flat purse, I 
 endeavored respectfully to draw her 
 into conversation. But she was not 
 responsive, and I was not sorry when 
 she and her daughter departed for the 
 upper regions. 
 
 Soon afterward Herbert returned 
 and remarked that he usually " re- 
 tired " at nine o'clock. I took the 
 hint and observed that my customary 
 bedtime was half-past eight, so we 
 went upstairs together. 
 
 Now I don't want to be put down 
 as a crusty old bachelor, nor do I 
 wish to appear in the light of one
 
 28 TICleDDeD JBliee. 
 
 despising and ridiculing the domestic 
 hearthstone and hating little children. 
 On the contrary, I am very fond of 
 little children, and, when I was awak- 
 ened shortly before daybreak by a 
 screaming chorus in the nursery next 
 to me, I felt sorry for the youngsters 
 who were getting such a bad bringing 
 up. 
 
 As I lay in my bed, unable to sleep 
 because of the awful racket, I com- 
 forted myself grimly by thinking of 
 all the pleasant and beautiful things 
 that the Prestons were missing in this 
 world by reason of what they are fond 
 of terming their "principles," and 
 their squalid custom of keeping early 
 hours, a practice of which I have 
 always seriously disapproved. 
 
 And then my thoughts roamed ofif 
 to the numberless good times that I 
 have enjoyed in this vale of tears, 
 and I chuckled as I thought how many 
 of them I would have missed had I in
 
 •Qme^^eC) mi66. 
 
 29 
 
 early life cultivated the pernicious 
 habit of going to bed early. 
 
 Then I sank into an uneasy slumber, 
 and dreamed that I had become truly 
 good myself, and that the bells were 
 beginning to toll for my marriage to 
 Mrs. Preston's younger sister, and 
 then I awoke and found that it was 
 the rising bell which I had heard, and 
 I arose, greatly relieved, and pro- 
 ceeded to dress. 
 
 The three children sat opposite to 
 me at breakfast, and bright, lively, and 
 vigorous specimens of humanity they 
 were, too. I must say, however, that 
 a fistful of oatmeal mush hurled across 
 the table by an excited infant is apt 
 to prove a formidable projectile, as I 
 discovered to my cost that morning. 
 It was Master Herbert, junior, who 
 performed this feat in a sudden gust 
 of fury, caused by his mother's putting 
 the sugar-bowl out of his reach. 
 
 " My darling," said Mrs. Preston at
 
 30 lICleDOeD mis6* 
 
 this exploit, " you must remember 
 that it is Sunday, and God won't love 
 you if you make so much noise to- 
 day." 
 
 "I don't want God to love me! 
 Gimme that sugar-bowl ! " howled the 
 child, and he had his way. 
 
 As it was Sunday the children v/ere 
 not allowed to play with their toys, 
 so they kept the day holy by scream- 
 ing for them and quarrelling with each 
 other and with the nurse until the 
 church bells began to ring, and the 
 mother-in-law asked us rather point- 
 edly if we were ready for church. I 
 replied with alacrity that I was, and 
 joyfully closed a volume on the con- 
 version of the Jews which I had 
 been reading at her suggestion. We 
 sallied forth, and entered the church 
 in a procession headed by Herbert, 
 who escorted his mother-in-law with 
 a meekness and deference that must 
 have made it apparent to the entire
 
 IKfleDDcD 3BUS6. 31 
 
 congregation that there was still sonie 
 property in the family to divide. Mrs. 
 Preston and I followed, and the nurse 
 and eldest child brought up the rear. 
 
 When the parson announced his 
 text, Master Herbert, who had be- 
 haved like a fried snake up to that 
 moment, was carried out, and I leaned 
 back in the corner of the pew, pre- 
 pared to be bored. But I was not 
 bored. On the contrary, I listened to 
 one of the very best sermons I had 
 ever heard in my life — and one that 
 applied perfectly to my own condition. 
 
 He preached about the virtue of 
 patience under affliction, and remind- 
 ed us of the fact that the ills of this 
 life, no matter how hard they might 
 be to bear, were visited upon us for 
 our own good, and that it was our 
 duty to derive benefit from them 
 whenever we could. 
 
 I was introduced to the preacher 
 after church and contrived to tell him
 
 32 We&Oe& m\63, 
 
 in an undertone how much I had en- 
 joyed his sermon, adding that I really 
 believed that it had given me new 
 strength to endure the troubles which 
 beset me. 
 
 " Indeed," said the clergyman, 
 assuming his professional "sympa- 
 thetic " look, and preparing to escape, 
 for I suppose the poor man had 
 enough to bore him within his own 
 congregation and could not extend 
 his practice among outside sinners. 
 
 "Yes," I replied meekly, "we all 
 have our trials in this vale of tears, 
 and now I am staying over Sunday 
 with the Prestons." 
 
 A broad and singularly winning and 
 humorous smile chased the sympa- 
 thetic look from the preacher's face and 
 told me that our sentiments were in 
 accord. " I see that Mrs. Preston's 
 mother is still with them," he said 
 quietly, but I thought meaningly, and 
 then we both laughed and shook
 
 hands cordially, and I thought what 
 a hard time he must be having in that 
 church. 
 
 After dinner Herbert and 1 went 
 out for a walk, by special permission 
 of Mrs. Preston, and I took particu- 
 larly good care to stay out until tea- 
 time, for I needed all possible strength 
 and refreshment for the work which 
 lay before me that evening. I had 
 determined — even if it became neces- 
 sary to sit up all night — to make a 
 favorable impression on the Prestons, 
 and I felt that to do that I must sur- 
 pass all my previous records as a man 
 of tact and a fascinating talker. 
 
 I took my text from the motto on 
 the dining-room v/all, and, as soon as 
 we had adjourned to the parlor, made 
 inquiries concerning the local temper- 
 ance society. 
 
 This aroused the old lady, and she 
 told me that the local branch had 
 accomplished a great deal of good 
 3
 
 34 "QClcDDct) JSIiBS. 
 
 and was in a very flourishing condi- 
 tion. For the past six months it had 
 devoted its entire energies to the task 
 of inducing Dr. Dillar, the clergyman 
 whom we had heard that morning, to 
 have none but teetotalers in the 
 Board of Trustees. So successful 
 had they been in this righteous crusade 
 that they had already caused a serious 
 split in the church — a split which might 
 eventually drive Dr. Dillar from the 
 pulpit and some of his supporters 
 from the congregation. 
 
 Of course I congratulated Mrs. 
 Preston and her mother on the amount 
 of good they were accomplishing, and 
 observed sadly that it had often 
 pained me to see deacons and trustees 
 of churches reeling down the fashion- 
 able thoroughfares of the city and 
 falling down the steps of the chief 
 places of worship. 
 
 It became apparent to me now that 
 I was making a most excellent impres-
 
 sion on the company, so I went on 
 to say in a mysterious whisper, that I 
 happened to know of the existence of 
 a gigantic conspiracy to restore the 
 Tweed ring to New York and remove 
 the Vatican, Pope and all, from Rome 
 to Milwaukee, Wis. 
 
 To all this the Preston family lis- 
 tened eagerly, but their faces positively 
 beamed with delight when I went on 
 to describe in a vivid, blood-curdling 
 manner the iniquities practised by 
 Roman Catholics and Unitarians — it's 
 always safe to pitch into the members 
 of either of those sects — and con- 
 cluded with a magnificent peroration, 
 in which I declared that we ought to 
 be thankful that we were not like 
 others — in darkness and sin — but 
 enlightened and liberal Christians 
 who could do no wrong. Then I saw 
 by the delight that beamed on me 
 from every eye that the field was won. 
 And, indeed, the next morning on the
 
 36 TKIleDDcD Mies. 
 
 train Herbert told me that his wife 
 and his mother-in-law were very much 
 pleased with me. He also added 
 rather significantly that Mrs. Preston 
 had an unmarried sister with five 
 thousand a year in her own right and 
 a chance at the old lady's estate. 
 
 Is that so ? Well, I have an enemy 
 who has often done me wrong and 
 who wishes to make a good match. 
 If I could only bring those two to- 
 gether !
 
 HIGH ETIQUETTE IN HARLEM. 
 
 *' Now I want you to remember that 
 these are very elegant people we're 
 going to call on to-night, even if they 
 do live in a little Harlem flat. Their 
 father was worth half a million, but 
 he lost all his money, and so, of 
 course, they don't get around among 
 the four hundred as they used to. 
 But their manners are just as high- 
 toned and elegant as they ever were, 
 and, what's more, nobody can catch 
 on there unless his deportment is gilt- 
 edged. If you've got a pair of gloves 
 about you, you'd better draw one of 
 them on and hold the other in your 
 hand. It's best to look as genteel as 
 you possibly can." 
 
 37
 
 38 fbiQh Btiquettc in Ibarlem. 
 
 It was Mr. Job Pincheck who 
 addressed these words to me as we 
 alighted from one of the upper stations 
 of the elevated railroad and started 
 down a cross street in which dwelt 
 the once wealthy and always high- 
 toned family to whom I was to be in- 
 troduced by ^Ir. Pincheck. The hint 
 on the subject of gloves I acted upon 
 promptly, and the inference conveyed 
 in the delicate emphasis on the word 
 " look '' I accepted with becoming 
 meekness, for was not Mr. Pincheck 
 an authority on all matters of fashion 
 and etiquette } And is there any 
 social circle on the face of the earth 
 where Etiquette — yes, with a big E — 
 rules with such an arbitrary sway as it 
 does in those adorned by !Mr. Pin- 
 check and people of his class } 
 
 I am sure that if the Orleans 
 princes were to be introduced into the 
 society of which Mr. Pincheck is a 
 shining light they would be voted dis-
 
 f5lQb Btiquettc in fjarlcm. 39 
 
 tinctly low and devoid of elegance 
 and " style." 
 
 In offering to present me to this 
 coterie of gifted and charming people 
 to which he has long enjoyed the 
 entree^ Mr. Pincheck paid me a high 
 honor, and I was visibly conscious of 
 it. I was conscious of it myself, and 
 realized, with deep humility, that I 
 was sadly lacking in the essential 
 qualifications of a society favorite of 
 the Pincheck type. So I resolved to 
 watch my friend closely and learn 
 the real cause of his phenomenal 
 popularity. 
 
 It was Mrs. De Cay herself who 
 admitted us to the little front parlor 
 of the apartment in which she and 
 her daughters dwelt. A meek, faded, 
 little woman, with a false front of 
 brown hair and a perpetual smirk, she 
 greeted us with elaborate courtesy, 
 apologized for opening the door in 
 person — a formula, by the way, which
 
 40 1bigb jetiquctte in Ibarlem. 
 
 must never be omitted in the society 
 of which I am treating — then asked 
 us to be seated while she went in 
 search of her daughters. 
 
 No sooner had she disappeared into 
 the region of cavernous darkness, 
 whence issued the sound as of the fur- 
 tive washing of muffled dishes, than 
 Mr. Pincheck tip toed over to the 
 looking-glass and, after leering at 
 himself complacently, took a small 
 comb from his vest pocket and, with 
 the aid of that instrument and his 
 own long and bony fingers, proceeded 
 to claw his coarse, reddish hair into a 
 fantastic feathery shape, which made 
 me blush for my own sparse, straight 
 locks. His toilet finished, he be- 
 stowed upon me a critical glance, 
 conjured me to not forget that real 
 elegance and style were the distin- 
 guishing traits of the family whom I 
 was to meet, then had just time to 
 hurl himself into the nearest chair
 
 •fclgb Btlquctte In Ibarlcm. 41 
 
 when the door opened and Mrs. De 
 Cay entered the room, followed by 
 her two daughters, to whom I was 
 presented with an elaborate degree 
 of pomp and ceremony. 
 
 Of course we both rose at the en- 
 trance of the ladies, while Mr. Pin- 
 check's features broke into a smile of 
 winning sweetness and I grinned as 
 pleasantly as I could, and bowed fully 
 as low as did my companion. The 
 elder Miss De Cay said she was 
 " pleased to meet me ; " the younger 
 Miss De Cay said, "Won't you be 
 seated .'' Let me take your hats 
 please," thus obeying one of the first 
 laws of fashion prevailing in that 
 grade of society. As for Mrs. De 
 Cay, she smiled weakly upon us, and 
 hoped we would make ourselves quite 
 at home. 
 
 Then we all sat down, I in a red 
 plush arm-chair, and Mr. Pincheck 
 on the other side of the room, with
 
 42 l)i0b etiquette in Ibarlem. 
 
 a young lady on either side of 
 him. I was led to suspect that he 
 chose this position so that he might 
 have an excuse for saying something 
 about " a thorn between two roses," 
 for he speedily enunciated that novel 
 bit of pleasantry, accompanying it 
 with an inane chuckle which woke an 
 answering titter from the ladies, and 
 then the elder Miss De Cay tapped 
 him playfully with her fan and said, 
 " Always so quick at repartee, Mr. 
 Pincheck ! We're positively afraid to 
 open our mouths while you're here." 
 
 It was just at this moment that ]\Irs. 
 De Cay, who had been feebly leering 
 at us from a low rocking-chair, arose, 
 and with an apologetic murmur dis- 
 appeared into the dark depths whence 
 she had come. 
 
 All eyes, including my own, were 
 now fixed on the irresistible Mr. Pin- 
 check, who had become metamor- 
 phosed into something between a
 
 tblgb Etiquette in tbarlem. 43 
 
 barber's assistant of the simian type 
 and a jumping-jack. His face was 
 wreathed with smiles, he bowed to the 
 right and the left as he murmured 
 compliments in the ears of the two 
 young girls, and as for his language, 
 it seemed to suddenly blossom out 
 with a crop of long words and elegant 
 sentences, such as I had never heard 
 him use before. 
 
 The fact was Mr. Pinchecls: had on 
 his society manners and was " show- 
 ing off," with the view of dazzling the 
 company with his brilliancy and let- 
 ting me know, incidentally, that he 
 held a social trick or so in reserve 
 that could be played whenever occa- 
 sion demanded it. I am sure he made 
 a tremendous impression on all of us, 
 for the young ladies giggled and 
 laughed and said, " Get away, now ! " 
 incessantly, while I sat literally spell- 
 bound with admiration at his ease of 
 manner and steady flow of idiocy.
 
 44 ■fiJiflb JBtiqncttc in Iharlem. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Pincheck," cried the 
 younger Miss De Cay, " we really 
 must do something to stop your 
 mouth ; I never saw you in such a 
 wicked, satirical mood as you are to- 
 night. There ! Take some of the 
 caramels, and don't make us all laugh 
 any more this evening." 
 
 " No, thanks," exclaimed Mr. Pin- 
 check, with a captivating bow, " there's 
 such a profusion of sweetness here 
 already that I really could not think 
 of eating any candy." 
 
 As he said this he cast a languish- 
 ing glance at the younger Miss De 
 Cay, to which she responded, looking 
 at him over the top of her fan, " I 
 don't believe you mean what you say 
 half the time." 
 
 " Ah, how cruel you are. Miss 
 Mamie," returned the other, rising 
 from his seat and taking his hat from 
 the piano, "but once in a while I 
 mean what I say, so if you'll just ex-
 
 1bigb Btiquette in "fcarlcm. 45 
 
 cuse me a moment I'll prove to you 
 that sometimes my deeds are better 
 than my words," and to my great 
 astonishment he withdrew, taking 
 with him a richly ornamented pitcher 
 which I had noticed standing rather 
 conspicuously on the centre table. 
 
 No sooner had the door closed be- 
 hind him than the young ladies burst 
 into paeans of praise, declaring that 
 of all their gentlemen friends who 
 visited them there was none to com- 
 pare in elegance of diction, refine- 
 ment of manner or quickness of re- 
 partee with Mr. Job Pincheck. 
 
 " And what I like most about him," 
 exclaimed the elder Miss De Cay, " is 
 that there's nothing common about 
 him. Every action you see him make 
 is refined. Just look at how elegant 
 he took the pitcher and stepped out. 
 Not a word about chasing the duck 
 or rolling the rock, nor any of them 
 fearful low expressions."
 
 46 Ibisb :i6tiquette In "fcarlem. 
 
 "Yes indeed," chimed in her sister, 
 " it's easy to see that Mr. Pincheck's 
 been used to good society. Very dif- 
 ferent from that Mr. Polkadot, who 
 came here once or twice, and used 
 such common, slang terms that we 
 were all mortified to death. Why, 
 one night he was here, and we had 
 two young lady friends visiting us. 
 And what do you think he said .'' He 
 turned to me as cool as you please 
 and said, ' Let's get together ten 
 cents and push the can.' Well, I 
 never was so ashamed in all my life. 
 I just turned to him and says, very 
 quiet and very sarcastical, ' Mr. Pol- 
 kadot, when the time comes that we 
 have to take up a collection for a 
 pitcher of beer I'll pass the hat my- 
 self.' But it's very seldom any of our 
 gentlemen friends calls here with- 
 out the price of a pint in their pock- 
 ets." 
 
 "Yes, and you ought to have seen
 
 IbfSb etiquette In Ibarlem. 47 
 
 the way Mamie looked when she said 
 it to him," exclaimed the elder Miss 
 De Cay. " But you'll never hear a 
 real gentleman like Mr. Pincheck say 
 anything like that. With him it's 
 generally, ' Perhaps these ladies will 
 partake of some refreshments,' and 
 then pour it out without making any 
 remarks about the collar on it." 
 
 At this moment the subject of this 
 glowing eulogy re-entered the parlor 
 and placed on the centre table the 
 pitcher, which was now full of beer. 
 Glasses were produced by the younger 
 Miss De Cay, and the cheering bev- 
 erage was gracefully and speedily 
 served by the engaging Pincheck. 
 
 I now determined to establish my- 
 self by one bold coup in the esteem 
 and affection of the family, and as the 
 beer began to run low, and finally 
 ceased altogether, I arose, took my 
 hat and the richly decorated pitcher, 
 and withdrew from the scene with a
 
 48 fbigb Btiquette in Ibarlem. 
 
 pleasant smile and a bow, which I 
 felt sure must have their effect. 
 
 " Leave the door open so you can 
 see, and mind the broken rail," called 
 the younger Miss De Cay, as I groped 
 my way down the dark staircase. 
 
 '' I'll light a match ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Pincheck, following me out into 
 the hall and whispering: — "On the 
 middle of the block above ; a little 
 Dutch place across the street : you 
 can't miss it. And while you are 
 about it you might as well get a 
 quart ; it'll last longer." 
 
 Following these instructions I found 
 the '' little Dutch place " indicated by 
 Mr. Pincheck, had the pitcher filled 
 to the brim with foaming beer, and 
 then bent my steps toward the De 
 Cay tenement. 
 
 As I walked I reflected upon my 
 good fortune in having, through my 
 friend's kindness, obtained the entree 
 to a circle in which eleo:ance and
 
 •fcifib Etiquette in Ibarlem. 49 
 
 true refinement were the guiding stars. 
 With the adorable Mr. Pincheck to 
 copy and learn from I felt certain 
 that in a very short time I could be- 
 come a veritable ornament to the 
 society into which I had been intro- 
 duced. 
 
 Occupied with these pleasant re- 
 flections, I entered the dark hallway 
 of the apartment house and began 
 the toilsome ascent to the third floor. 
 I climbed slowly and paused for 
 breath at the foot of the last flight. 
 The door of the De Cay apartment 
 was still open and the sound of voices 
 reached my ear. And this is what 
 I heard : — 
 
 Mr. Pincheck — Well. I'm afraid 
 it's no use trying to make a society 
 man out of him. I've had him out 
 once before, but he didn't catch on at 
 all. He just saved himself this time 
 by going out for the beer, but I don't 
 think I'll try it with him again. The 
 4
 
 50 1bigb Etiquette In Ibarlem. 
 
 poor chap means well, but he hain't 
 got no style. 
 
 Elder Miss De Cay — Well, anyway, 
 Mr. Pincheck, he ain't so bad as 
 that fearful Polkadot, with his low, 
 common expressions. 
 
 Younger Miss De Cay — Oh, mercy, 
 no ; nothing half so awful as that 
 man was. The only trouble with 
 this one is that you can see at once 
 he hain't never been in no society to 
 speak of. He hain't had the ad- 
 vantages you have, Mr. Pincheck, and 
 I'm ::ure if he was to go about 
 oftener with you he'd improve a great 
 deal. 
 
 Mr. Pincheck (and I knew he was 
 shaking his head sadly) — No use, 
 I'm afraid ; he hain't got society in 
 his blood, and he won't never be any 
 good. Hush ! here he comes up the 
 stairs. (A moment later) — Well, old 
 man, back again? Pretty tough 
 climbing for a fat man like you.
 
 *23fgb lEtlquette in Ibarlcm. 51 
 
 Just go to the glass and look at 
 your cheeks. 
 
 Since that evening I have given up 
 trying to shine in a circle for which 
 Nature never intended me.
 
 THE TALENT IN THE NAPKIN. 
 
 Now a certain man who was about 
 to journey into a far country called 
 his brokers unto him and gave unto 
 one of them five talents, unto another 
 two and unto the third one talent, 
 and bade them go forth and operate 
 during his absence. 
 
 And after a time the customer re- 
 turned and, calling his brokers 
 around him, said unto the one to 
 whom he had given the live talents : 
 " Where is the money I entrusted to 
 you ? " 
 
 And the broker replied : " My 
 lord, I went short on Western Union 
 and long on Omaha until the five 
 
 53
 
 54 <^t)c C^alent in tbe "flapmn. 
 
 talents became ten talents, and 
 then " 
 
 '• And then ? '" exclaimed the rich 
 man. 
 
 " And then the commissions ate it 
 all up.'' responded the broker, 
 placidly. 
 
 •• I am glad," observed the cus- 
 tomer, *' that you did not go any 
 longer on Omaha, because if you had 
 there is no telling how much the 
 commissions would have devoured 
 besides the ten talents. And you," 
 he continued, addressing the second 
 broker. " where are the two talents 
 which I gave unto you ? " 
 
 '• I put them into puts and calls 
 until they became four talents, and 
 then — — " 
 
 '• And then ? " cried the rich man, 
 hopefully. 
 
 " And then they were called for,'*' 
 was the rejoinder. 
 
 "And vou." said the customer.
 
 Zbc Calent In tbe "Rapftin. 55 
 
 sadly, turning to the third broker, 
 "where is the single talent which 
 I left with you ? " 
 
 And the broker straightway re- 
 plied : " My lord, I knew that you 
 were an unreasonable man and 
 desired to reap where you had sown, 
 so I hid the talent in a napkin, so 
 that you might have it again on you*- 
 return. Here it is/' 
 
 " Is it possible that I have got 
 something back ? " cried the delighted 
 customer. "I am glad that you did 
 not place it in a bank '' 
 
 " No, I have been a bank director 
 myself," said the broker. 
 
 And then the rich man knew that 
 the broker was a great financier and 
 he gave him all his business, so that 
 he entered into the joy and pocket- 
 book of his customer.
 
 A DINNER IN POVERTY FLAT. 
 
 " Fifth floor ; you can't miss it, 
 because there is a dispossess notice 
 stuck on the door ! " and with a 
 cheerful salute, my friend, Mr. 
 William Buskin, bounded to the front 
 platform of a passing horse-car, and 
 left me standing on the curb, fully 
 committed to take dinner with him 
 in Poverty Flat the following Sun- 
 day. 
 
 It was the middle of a hot sum- 
 mer. My friend Buskin and salary 
 had been strangers to one another 
 for two months to my certain knowl- 
 edge, and the chance of renewing the 
 acquaintance for two months to come 
 was very slender. He lived with two 
 
 57
 
 58 B ©inner in poverty Jflat. 
 
 or three friends, as needy as himself, 
 in a small flat west of Sixth Avenue. 
 The apartment in which the thespians 
 dwelt was situated in a tall building 
 called the Gilt-Edge, which also 
 sheltered a large number of ladies 
 and gentlemen identified with Litera- 
 ture, Art, jNIusic, and the Drama. 
 By reason of the jovial proclivities of 
 most of the tenants, their proficiency 
 in vocal and instrumental music, and 
 the number of pianos and violins main- 
 tained on the premises, the Gilt-Edge 
 Apartment House was frequently on 
 summer evenings the fountainhead 
 of mirth and melody, and a note- 
 worthy feature of the block on which 
 it stood. 
 
 I could not for the life of me, com- 
 prehend how Mr. Buskin, with noth- 
 ing in his pockets but the dollar I 
 had just lent him, and with a dis- 
 possess notice hanging on the outer 
 walls of his abode, could have the
 
 B Dinner in tovcxt^ ^lat. 59 
 
 hardihood to give a dinner-party; 
 but, then, his was one of those bright 
 volatile natures that are never cast 
 down by adverse circumstances ; so 
 I simply gave up wondering, and 
 made up my mind to accept the in- 
 vitation, and to hope for the best. 
 
 When I entered the Gilt-Edge 
 Apartment House on Sunday after- 
 noon, I found that building com- 
 pletely given over to the Muses. It 
 seemed to me, as I clambered slowly 
 upstairs, that there was a farce-com- 
 edy company reliearsing in every 
 room. The vibrant melody of the 
 banjo filled the second floor ; the oc- 
 cupants of the floor above were 
 uniting their forces in a terrific song 
 and dance ; while the fourth floor 
 fairly rang with the discordant notes 
 of the piano and a violin, blending 
 with half a dozen voices in '^ Com- 
 rades." On the fifth floor I easily 
 found the door with the dispossess
 
 6o B Dinner in ipovcrts Jflat. 
 
 notice, knocked on it, and was ad- 
 mitted to Poverty Flat. 
 
 " Glad to see you, old man ! " cried 
 Mr. Buskin, taking his heels off the 
 table, and grasping me cordially by 
 the hand. " Step right in, and let 
 me introduce you to my old friend 
 Horatio Rungdown, my first manager, 
 who is staying with us for a few 
 days ; and this is Charley Props, who 
 'was out with us last season." 
 
 Mr. Rungdown, a smooth-shaven 
 gentleman of advanced years, arose 
 and greeted me with punctilious 
 courtesy. His eyes were bright, his 
 linen clean but frayed, and his black 
 coat buttoned tightly across his breast. 
 He impressed me, somehow, as being 
 in straitened circumstances, and yet 
 he carried himself with an air of 
 martial dignity that was imposing, to 
 say the least. 
 
 " I am glad to make your acquaint- 
 ance, sir," he said in tones of mingled
 
 B Dinner in povctt^ jplat. 6r 
 
 dignity and deference. ** I am under 
 very great obligations to the Press for 
 its hearty recognition of my efforts 
 from the very moment of my arrival in 
 this country, forty years ago. In fact, 
 sir, if it had not been for the generous 
 treatment accorded me by the Ameri- 
 can Press, I doubt if I ever would 
 have reached the place in my pro- 
 fession which I can now call my own : 
 and during my career of forty years 
 in this country, playing a wide range 
 of parts, from the humblest to the 
 highest, I have never denied that it 
 is the enlightened and discerning 
 critics who have made me what I am." 
 At the conclusion of this address — - 
 delivered as if it had been accom- 
 panied by the freedom of the City of 
 London — Mr. Rungdown resumed his 
 chair, and took up the work on which 
 he had been engaged when I entered. 
 That was tying a large steel fork 
 securely to the end of a long pole.
 
 62 21 Dinner in {poverty ^lat. 
 
 Mr. Props, who had been gazing 
 intently out at the window, as if 
 watching for some one, nodded 
 pleasantly to me without relaxing his 
 vigilance. Nor did he turn his head 
 when, at the close of Mr. Rungdown's 
 harangue, he remarked : 
 
 *' Billy, hadn't you better offer 
 your friend something to drink ? It's 
 dry work listening, such weather as 
 this." 
 
 While Mr. Buskin w^as rummaging 
 in some far-away closet for a clean 
 glass, I saw Mr. Props suddenly 
 leave his post by the window, tip- 
 toe out into the hall, and then sus- 
 pend himself head-down in a listening 
 attitude over the balusters. As he 
 re-entered the room a moment later, 
 Mr. Rungdown looked up from his 
 work inquiringly, and the other 
 nodded. 
 
 " Hurry up, Billy ! " he called to 
 his friend, who was now looking for
 
 B Dinner in jpovcrtg jflat. 6^ 
 
 the whisky bottle ; " the coast's all 
 clear, they've both gone out." 
 
 " Perhaps," suggested Mr. Rung- 
 down, "your friend would like to go 
 into the front parlor, and entertain 
 himself with the books and engrav- 
 ings while we prepare the repast." 
 
 This apparently commonplace re- 
 mark threw the others into convul- 
 sions of laughter, on their recovery 
 from which my friend Buskin said : 
 
 " The fact is, my dear boy, we 
 shall need your assistance not only 
 in preparing the repast, but in pro- 
 curing it; and, besides, I doubt if the 
 books and encjravings in the front 
 parlor would interest you as much as 
 the study of still life that you can ob- 
 tain at the rear end of the apartment. 
 You must remember that you are 
 now in Poverty Flat, where the meals 
 at this time of the year are seldom., 
 and are obtained, when obtained, by 
 the most artistic hustling imagin-
 
 64 21 Dinner in poverty jflat. 
 
 able. Is that fork all right, Rung- 
 down ? " 
 
 The fork was all right, and Mr. 
 Props called me to the window, which 
 opened on a wide, light air-shaft, and 
 pointed downward to the window of 
 the opposite apartment on the floor 
 below. This window, like ours, was 
 open, and just inside it stood a good- 
 sized ice-chest. 
 
 " That box," said ^Ir. Props, dra- 
 matically, " contains our dinner, and 
 we've got just ten minutes to get it 
 in. Billy, give me that spear, and all 
 of you take hold of me, and see to it 
 that I don't fall." 
 
 He leaned far out over the window- 
 ledge, while we grasped him by the 
 legs and ankles, and held on for dear 
 life — that is to say, his dear life — and 
 our dinners. By a quick lunge of the 
 pole the fork was embedded in the 
 lid of the ice chest, and as quickly 
 pulled back, leaving the chest open,
 
 B Dinner In porertis Iflat. 65 
 
 and revealing a feast which brightened 
 the eyes and quickened the pulses of 
 old Mr. Rungdown in a way that was 
 almost pathetic. 
 
 " I say, Charley ! " cried the old 
 man, "you'd better make sure of 
 that beefsteak the first thing you 
 do. That's too good a thing to be 
 missed." 
 
 It was a magnificent-looking steak, 
 to be sure ; and beside it were half 
 a peck of sweet potatoes, half a dozen 
 huge Spanish onions, two pine- 
 apples, and any number of bottles of 
 beer. Charley "made sure of " the 
 beefsteak with one fell swoop of the 
 steel prongs, and I know I almost 
 yelled with delight as old Rungdown 
 seized it with trembling fingers, and 
 hauled it in over the window-sill. 
 "The onions next, my boy!" ex- 
 claimed the worthy histrion ; " they go 
 beautifully with a steak like that ; " 
 and up came the onions one after 
 5
 
 66 B Dinner in poverty? 3flat. 
 
 another, followed quickly by the sweet 
 potatoes and pine-apples. Then Mr. 
 Props hauled himself in, black in the 
 face from his exertions while sus- 
 pended in mid-air. " It's your turn 
 now, Billy," he gasped, as he sank 
 into a chair ; " you're the lasso ex- 
 pert in the crowd." 
 
 Mr. Buskin therefore took his stand 
 at the window with a long piece 
 of twine in his hand, and, making a 
 slip-noose at one end, deftly guided 
 it by aid of the pole to a snug posi- 
 tion round the neck of one of the 
 beer bottles, and a moment later it 
 was drawn up and added to the re- 
 cently acquired larder. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Rungdown had not 
 been idle. No longer needed as a 
 sheet anchor to the piratical Mr. 
 Props, he had busied himself in the 
 little kitchen, and now the smoke that 
 filled the whole apartment told us 
 that he had succeeded in lighting a
 
 B Dinner in ipovcrti? iflat. 67 
 
 fire in the range. Mr. Rungdown, to 
 do him justice, always strove to make 
 his " visits " as agreeable to his host 
 and fellow-guests as he possibly 
 could, by lending a hand at the stove 
 or following the precarious chase of 
 food with a skill and zest that were 
 really remarkable in one of his age. 
 
 And now, the fire having been in- 
 duced to burn lustily and cheerily, 
 Mr. Rungdown proceeded to the table, 
 going about the task with a stately 
 dignity befitting an impersonation of 
 Juliics Ccesar. The last bottle of beer 
 having been drawn up, the lid of the 
 ice-chest was closed by Mr. Buskin, 
 and we all set to work to prepare the 
 dinner. The sweet potatoes were em- 
 bedded in the hot embers and the 
 onions placed in a stew-pan. The 
 steak, the piece de resistance of the 
 banquet, was entrusted to Mr. Rung- 
 down, the most accomplished cook in 
 the company, and appetizing odors
 
 68 a 2>inncr in povertis ^lat. 
 
 presently began to pervade the 
 room. 
 
 It was Mr. Rungdown, himself, who 
 gave us the signal to begin by depos- 
 iting the steak on a well-heated 
 platter, and placing it in the centre 
 of the table with the remark : " Now, 
 gentlemen, if you will take your places 
 and divide the steak into four equal 
 portions, I will rake out the other 
 delicacies from the ashes." 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said Tvlr. 
 Props, gravely, as he marked the 
 thick, juicy piece of meat for dissec- 
 tion, " it's lucky our neighbors down- 
 stairs have not only the means, but 
 the good taste, as well, to provide us 
 with such an excellent repast. Now, 
 just look at this steak — juicy, tender 
 and cut thick, as it ought to be. I 
 tell you it pays to get the best when 
 you're out marketing." 
 
 " Especially when you do your 
 marketing with a lasso and a spear,"
 
 21 ©Inner In poverty? flat. 69 
 
 remarked Mr. Buskin, whereat we all 
 laughed uproariously. We could well 
 afford to, with the odor of the steak as- 
 cending to our nostrils, and Mr. Rung- 
 down dishing the onions and sweet 
 potatoes with his usual adroitness. 
 
 The meal progressed merrily, and 
 just as we reached the dessert the 
 door opened and in walked a gentle- 
 man with a high silk hat, a heavy 
 moustache, a gaudy waistcoat and a 
 look of annoyance on his face. 
 
 From the alacrity and deference 
 with which my hosts rose to greet him 
 I concluded that he must be a person 
 of considerable importance in their 
 immediate circle. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Dates ! " exclaimed 
 Charley, with smiling cordiality ; " I 
 hope you've come to see us about 
 that engagement. Well, we're just 
 ready to sign with you for next season, 
 and very glad " 
 
 " Engagement be blowed ! " ex-
 
 70 B Dinner in t>ovcvt^ J^lat. 
 
 claimed Mr. Dates, testily ; " I want 
 to know what sort of a place this 
 Gilt-Edge Apartment is, anyhow. 
 My wife and I just moved in yester- 
 day down on the floor below. Stepped 
 out for a little walk this afternoon, 
 and took care to lock the door be- 
 hind us. Had our dinner put care- 
 fully away in the ice-chest, fine beef- 
 steak '' 
 
 Just at this point !Mr. Dates stopped, 
 for his glance had fallen upon I\Ir. 
 Rungdown who, in the most natural 
 and careless way in the world, was 
 conveying two large pine-apples from 
 the table to his lap. 
 
 I felt a cold chill run down my 
 back as the manager advanced to the 
 table — just as ^^Ir. Rungdown disap- 
 peared under it in the most easy and 
 graceful manner imaginable — picked 
 up the pole with the fork lashed to 
 it, and then cast an avv-ful, withering 
 glance about our little group.
 
 B Btnner in poverty flat, 71 
 
 " So that's the way you get 
 your dinners, is it ? " he exclaimed, 
 while his face turned almost white, 
 and Mr. Props and I mentally cal- 
 culated our chances of getting past 
 him and through the door, in case of 
 necessity. 
 
 " Yes," he continued, glancing at 
 the window, " you have an excellent 
 location here for doing your market- 
 ing. I guess I'll get a ham, myself," 
 and he made a violent lunge at Mr. 
 Buskin. The actor avoided the spear- 
 thrust, and the fork was imbedded in 
 the wall. Before the manager could 
 extricate it, Mr. Props had opened 
 the door, and all three of us were out 
 on the landing. As we sped down 
 the stairs, I glanced between the rails 
 and caught a glimpse of 'Sir. Dates 
 plunging his spear under the table ; 
 but Vv'hen we reached the street, a 
 cheerful shout revealed the aged 
 Rungdown, who, with a nimbleness
 
 72 B Dinner in poverty fflat. 
 
 which must have been the fruit of 
 long experience, was descending the 
 fire-escape, where the irate manager 
 dared not follow him. 
 
 I will mention, in conclusion, the 
 fact that not one of my friends was 
 engaged to go out that season under 
 the management of Mr. Augustus 
 Dates.
 
 THE BETTER ELEMENT. 
 
 Over on the east side of the town, 
 in the populous region which lies a 
 little to the north of Cherry Hill, and 
 within hearing of the roar and rumble 
 of the Second and Third Avenue Ele- 
 vated Railroads, stands a building 
 which has sheltered beneath its roof 
 many of the greatest statesmen in the 
 city, and which, during those autumn 
 days when the political cauldron is 
 seething and bubbling, is the Mecca 
 toward which are forever turned the 
 eyes of those who wish to sell tickets 
 for clambakes, to get advertisements 
 for ball programmes, or to obtain for 
 a brother, a father, or a cousin a job 
 
 73
 
 74 ^bc :©ctter :!£lement. 
 
 in the Custom House, on the big 
 pipes, or perhaps only on a broom. 
 
 Far and wide through the land this 
 building is celebrated as the saloon 
 of William (better known as " Ash 
 Barrel ") Snyder ; and at the moment 
 of which I write, three men, each 
 one a power in local statecraft, were 
 seated in the private room of the 
 saloon, engaged in a discussion of 
 weighty political matters. 
 
 The host was a small, wiry man of 
 German extraction and New York 
 bringing up, who owed his sobriquet 
 to the bill which he once introduced 
 in the Assembly at a critical moment 
 in his career, and which served to at- 
 tach to him at once the votes of hun- 
 dreds of his old-time followers who 
 were at that moment w^avering in their 
 allegiance. 
 
 This bill, Vv'hich gave him the pseu- 
 donym which he has ever since 
 borne, was one well-calculated to
 
 Zbe JBettcr Element. 75 
 
 awaken the enthusiasm of the labor- 
 ing classes. It made it a felony for 
 any city contractor to allow an ash 
 barrel, either full or empty, to be 
 moved unless at least three citizens 
 and voters had hold of it at the same 
 time. 
 
 The other men in the party were 
 Elisha (better known as " Sewer Job ") 
 Dusenbury, and Patrick (commonly 
 called " St. Patrick ") Moriarty. The 
 former owed his name and a great 
 part of his fame to his immortal 
 measure in behalf of the downtrodden 
 workingmen of New York — a bill 
 which provided for the taking up and 
 reversing of every gas and water main 
 in the city. Mr. Mori arty 's chief claim 
 to popular notice was based on his 
 famous amendment to Mr. Dusen- 
 bury's sewer bill, and which made it a 
 misdemeanor to sell oranges on the 
 route of the St. Patrick's Day parade 
 on the seventeenth of March. The
 
 76 ^be JBettec Element, 
 
 three statesmen were seated about a 
 round table, on which stood glasses, 
 sugar, and one or two corpulent bot- 
 tles, when the door opened and a 
 stranger entered and closed it behind 
 him. Throwing aside the heavy 
 ulster in which he was muffled, he ad- 
 vanced to the table and held out his 
 hand. The three men leaped to their 
 feet and gave him a hearty welcome. 
 
 " Sit down, sir ! " cried Mr. 
 Snyder ; " and if it is not against 
 your principles, join us in a drink." 
 
 " I don't care if I do have some- 
 thing," replied the visitor. " For, 
 although you gentlemen well know it 
 is against my public principles, as 
 expressed in the halls of legislation, 
 to drink anything stronger than water, 
 still it's not against my private New 
 York principles." 
 
 The presence of the newcomer at 
 the same table with the three men 
 with whom he was apparently on
 
 Zbc :©etter ^element. 77 
 
 familiar terms was a realization of the 
 old saying, " Politics makes strange 
 bedfellows." He was a young man 
 of not much more than thirty, with 
 a clear-cut, intelligent face, and it 
 was evident from his well-groomed 
 appearance that he belonged to what 
 his companions would have called 
 " the swallow-tail crowd." 
 
 " And what brings you here to- 
 night ? " inquired Mr. Moriarty, as 
 their glasses clinked. 
 
 " I came here to get advice from 
 you gentlemen, for I am sure that 
 after pulling together as well as we 
 have for the last two or three years 
 you are the best men I can go to for 
 friendly counsel." 
 
 " Right you are ! " cried Mr. 
 Snyder. " If it wasn't for you I do 
 not know how we would have been 
 able to get through the last session. 
 It is not every year that the Brown- 
 stone District sends up a man like
 
 78 ^be 3Bettcr Element. 
 
 you. There was that scallawag of a 
 Straightcut that was in Albany five 
 years ago. He not only wouldn't 
 take anything for his vote himself, 
 but he was always pounding them as 
 did. Now, of course, you never got 
 anything for your vote — no more than 
 the rest of us did, for that matter — 
 but, then, I never knew you to raise a 
 word to make it unpleasant for any 
 one who needed a thousand-dollar 
 note and took it where it would be 
 the least missed. But what can we 
 do for you now ? " 
 
 " Well," said the young man, *'' I 
 have got to get up some scheme for 
 getting through that bill to turn 
 Washington Square into a repair shop 
 for the Elevated Railroad, or else 
 another man will be sent to Albany 
 in my place. Now, what would you 
 advise .'' " 
 
 Half an hour later the young man
 
 Zbc Better JElement. 79 
 
 rose to leave, shaking hands as he did 
 so with his three friends, and assur- 
 ing them that he was only too grate- 
 ful for their counsel and promise of 
 assistance, and would certainly recip- 
 rocate as soon as the opportunity 
 offered itself. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The four friends stood together 
 shoulder to shoulder at the next 
 session of the Legislature, and so 
 successful were they that the young 
 man's influential New York friends 
 promised that his devotion to the 
 interests of the great corporations of 
 his native city should never be for- 
 gotten, and declared that he had 
 taken a good start on the path that 
 leads direct to the gubernatorial chair. 
 
 Did he introduce the Washington 
 Square bill himself ? No, he did not. 
 He introduced a bill well calculated to 
 meet the approval of the Silk Stock- 
 ing District, and which made it a penal
 
 8o ^be aBetter Blement. 
 
 offence to use profane language 
 during church hours on Sunday. 
 And under cover of the discussion 
 created by this bill, his trusted friend, 
 Assemblyman Dusenbury, introduced 
 the Washington Park bill, and it 
 passed almost unnoticed. And, in 
 return for this kindness, the young 
 man made the most eloquent speech 
 of his life in favor of Ash Barrel 
 Snyder's amendment to his own 
 original measure, and providing that 
 there should be two men to every 
 broom in the Street Cleaning Depart- 
 ment — one man to lift it up and the 
 other to put it down. 
 
 But who was this young man ? 
 Why, he is simply what is usually 
 termed " the better element in 
 politics."
 
 THE SQUARER. 
 
 By a fortunate provision of nature 
 a balm is supplied for every wound, 
 a redress for every wrong, an antidote 
 for every poison, and, as the march 
 of time adds to the existing complica- 
 tions of life new dilemmas, so does 
 nature at the same time offer new 
 ways of avoiding them. 
 
 The Squarer is by no means a 
 modern product. He has existed, in 
 a primitive form, it is true, at all 
 times and in every climate, but it is 
 doubtful if he ever reached such a 
 high state of development as in the 
 present period in which his services 
 are in almost constant demand. 
 
 I take it for granted that most of 
 6 8i
 
 82 ^be Squart^r. 
 
 my readers know what I mean when I 
 speak of a Squarer, and, indeed, there 
 are many happy households in which 
 he is a familiar figure, but for the 
 sake of the few who have never been 
 brought in direct contact with this 
 unique and useful character I will 
 state that the Squarer is the high- 
 minded philanthropist whose sole mis- 
 sion in life is to succor those unfortu- 
 nates who, having pledged the wine- 
 cup with convivial spirits until an un- 
 earthly hour in the morning, are afraid 
 to go home unless accompanied by 
 some diplomatic friend who can by 
 sheer force of tact, good-humor, and 
 adroitness, restore them partially to 
 the place which they ought to occupy 
 as the heads of their respective house- 
 holds — in short, to "square them" 
 with their wives. 
 
 The difficulties and dangers which 
 beset the Squarer in the performance 
 of his self-imposed duties are apparent
 
 Zbc Squarer. s$ 
 
 to every one with the slightest expe- 
 rience in life and its vicissitudes, and 
 the fact that his labor is never done 
 for hire and is invariably a matter of 
 pure charity redounds all the more to 
 his credit. 
 
 My own opinion is that a coming 
 century will see the greater part of 
 the domestic " squaring " entrusted to 
 professionals, but at present it is ex- 
 clusively an amateur calling, just as 
 baseball was some years ago. And as 
 the amateur photographers are said to 
 surpass their professional brethren in 
 artistic skill, so have the amateur 
 Squarers raised their delicate and 
 humane art to a plane so high that it 
 will be difficult for any mere money- 
 getting professional to ever hope to 
 rival them. They may, however, sur- 
 pass the amateurs in the matter of 
 mechanical appliances and devices 
 designed to facilitate their work, but 
 of this I will speak later.
 
 84 ^be Squarer. 
 
 The Squarer who follows his calling 
 for pure love of it is invariably a 
 bachelor, living in rooms which are in 
 most cases on the ground floor, and 
 invariably contain as a necessary arti- 
 cle of furniture an immense horse- 
 hair sofa or lounge, soft enough to 
 induce slumber and long and broad 
 enough to accommodate the tallest 
 and most corpulent inebriate that ever 
 waked a friend from a sound sleep 
 at half-past four in the morning by 
 throwing snow-balls against his win- 
 dow and begging to be let in. 
 
 The professional Squarer will proba- 
 bly sleep like a fireman, with a '* turn- 
 out " beside his bed, and slide down 
 a greased pole in his anxiety to admit 
 the caller who requires his services. 
 Perhaps the competition will be so 
 sharp that other Squarers will attempt 
 to wrest his client from his grasp, and 
 I am positive that each client will be 
 provided with a comfortable bed and
 
 XLbc Squacer. 85 
 
 the very best of attendance. Never- 
 theless, the squaring that will be ac- 
 complished by the fee-seeking profes- 
 sional, aided though he be by the 
 finest machinery and a complete 
 system of electric signals, will no more 
 compare in results with the loving 
 work of the zealous amateur than that 
 onion-scented abomination known as 
 fricatelle will compare with good home- 
 made corned beef hash. 
 
 Nor will the sleep of honest ine- 
 briety be any sweeter or more restful 
 behind pink silk curtains and beneath 
 an eider-down quilt than on the old 
 horse-hair lounge with a cushion for 
 a pillow and an old ulster, carefully 
 spread and tucked in by the Squarer, 
 for a covering. 
 
 The Squarer is, as I have said 
 before, a bachelor, and he always 
 possesses a wide circle of friends of 
 convivial tendencies who seem to 
 have some mysterious claim upon his
 
 86 Zbc Squarer. 
 
 services and are liable to call upon 
 him at any hour of the day or night 
 — chiefly in the gray hours of the 
 early morning. As a general thing a 
 Squarer remains single to the day of 
 his death, partly because marriage 
 would interfere seriously with the 
 practice of the profession to which he 
 has given his life, and partly because 
 the mere fact of his being actively 
 engaged in squaring serves to awaken 
 a bitter prejudice against him and a 
 keen suspicion of his motives in the 
 minds of the various wives, aunts, 
 mothers-in-law, and other feminine 
 relatives of the men whom he has be- 
 friended. I am positive that if any 
 young woman were to receive marked 
 attentions from a notorious Squarer 
 every other woman would warn her 
 against marrying a man of such ter- 
 ribly dissipated habits — the one who 
 kept your Uncle George out so late 
 that dreadful night and had the im-
 
 Zbc Squarer. 87 
 
 pudence to come home with him and 
 stay to breakfast, too." 
 
 In order that my readers may gain 
 some idea of the nature, extent, and 
 variety of the duties which the Squarer 
 performs as a matter of love and 
 with a zeal akin to that with which a 
 Rothschild enters upon a transaction 
 in three per cent, bonds, let us picture 
 to ourselves a scene in the residential 
 quarter of the town on a cold Sunday 
 morning just as the dawn is beginning 
 to streak the eastern horizon with 
 streaks of pale gray light. 
 
 The figure of a man clad in paja- 
 mas may be seen peering cautiously 
 out from behind thick curtains through 
 the partially opened window of the 
 room on the ground floor. Two or 
 three snowballs, hurled by a strong 
 arm, are flattened against the panes of 
 glass, and the gentleman who leans 
 rather unsteadily on the fence railing 
 holds another in his hand and is say-
 
 88 ^be Squarcr. 
 
 ing plaintively to the gentleman in- 
 side : " Yes, it's me, old man, and I 
 want you to go home with me and 
 square it with my wife. You've gotter 
 come ! I tell you I dassent show up 
 without you." 
 
 Whereupon the pajamaed one — who 
 is none other than the Squarer him- 
 self — admits his unsteady friend to his 
 room, puts him to bed on the horse- 
 hair lounge, and then sits down to 
 scrape the mud off his ulster and re- 
 store that much abused garment to 
 something like its normal appearance. 
 
 At nine o'clock the Squarer's client 
 awakens, refreshed in body and mind, 
 and clamors hoarsely for a cocktail, 
 which he is apt to get if he insists 
 upon it with sufficient obstinacy, al- 
 though the Squarer will try to con- 
 vince him that a little acid phosphate 
 in a glass of water is much better for 
 his health. 
 
 At ten o'clock they will start for
 
 trbe Squarer» 89 
 
 the home of the client, who generally 
 lives at some distant point, like Har- 
 lem or Brooklyn. They will reach 
 their destination a short time before 
 noon, and their reception is sure to be 
 chilly and discouraging. It is pre- 
 cisely at this moment that the Squarer 
 begins to get in his really fine work 
 in behalf of his unfortunate friend. 
 
 On entering the house he places 
 the object of his solicitude in a verti- 
 cal position in an obscure corner of 
 the hall, and then proceeds to shake 
 hands with every member of the family 
 in turn, evincing at the same time the 
 utmost cordiality and utterly ignoring 
 the cold looks of suspicion which will 
 be directed toward him. The mother- 
 in-law, it is true, will press forward 
 eagerly to return his salutation, but 
 that will be because she hopes to catch 
 the odor of a cocktail on his breath. 
 Failing in this, she will resume her 
 customary attitude of frigid reserve.
 
 90 ^be Squarec. 
 
 Sometimes she will go so far as to 
 send the children upstairs, when the 
 Squarer, whose heart is yearning for 
 a little human tenderness and sympa- 
 thy, gathers them about his knee and 
 tells them delightful fairy stories, in 
 which difficult art he is absolutely 
 without a master. 
 
 He excels also in the kindred art 
 of giving a connected, coherent and 
 plausible account of the remarkable 
 chain of circumstances which brought 
 his friend to his rooms, and finally re- 
 sulted in their joint appearance in 
 the Brooklyn (or Harlem) home at 
 such a very early hour in the day. 
 
 It is while the Squarer is telling his 
 story in tones of great earnestness 
 and sincerity to an audience of the 
 sort described in the dramatic depart- 
 ments of newspapers as " coldly criti- 
 cal," that his client first ventures in- 
 to the parlor. No attention whatever 
 is paid to him when he oifers to sub-
 
 Zbc Squarcr. 91 
 
 Stantiate every detail of the narrative, 
 and even the Squarer looks at him in 
 a way that means, " You'd better stay 
 in the hall where I put you until you're 
 sent for. I've got all I can do to 
 make them swallow this story we 
 cooked up without having you come 
 in and queer me right in the middle 
 of it." 
 
 As a matter of fact, the client's 
 word carries no more weight with the 
 domestic jury convened in that parlor 
 than that of a convicted murderer at 
 the bar of justice. 
 
 A great many accomplishments and 
 rare personal qualities enter into the 
 composition of the successful Squarer, 
 and none of these is of greater import- 
 ance than his ability to compel the 
 family to believe at least half of the 
 straightforward, unvarnished, and 
 highly interesting account of his 
 friend's adventures, which he tells in 
 such a pleasant and confidential man-
 
 92 vibe Sciuarec» 
 
 ner. Indeed, it may be truthfully 
 said that that story is the very key- 
 stone of the arch on which the future 
 peace and happiness of the convivial 
 client must rest. At the close of his 
 narration signs of a slight thaw are 
 usually visible in the home circle, and 
 the Squarer is likely to be asked to 
 stay to dinner. 
 
 This invitation he accepts with be- 
 coming humility and gratitude, some- 
 times throwing out a remark about 
 the loneliness of a bachelor's life and 
 his great fondness for simple home 
 cooking. It is absolutely essential to 
 the success of the .Squarer's under- 
 taking that he should remain to din- 
 ner, if for nothing more than to do the 
 carving. His client will, it is true, 
 make one or two ineffectual efforts in 
 that direction, but the other will quick- 
 ly take the knife and fork out of his 
 hands with a " Here, old man, you'd 
 better let me attend to that," and then
 
 (Bbc Squarer. 93 
 
 will follow an exhibition of expert 
 meat slicing which will go a long way 
 toward restoring the client to his 
 rightful status in the household. 
 
 This is the critical point of the 
 Squarer's progress, for if he fails here 
 all his previous good work will be un- 
 done. He must carve in such a way as 
 to give every one an apparent abun- 
 dance and yet leave enough of the fowl 
 or joint to make glad the heart of the 
 housewife as she calculates the num- 
 ber of breakfasts and luncheons that 
 still remain on the dish. Let him spill 
 a single drop of gravy on the table- 
 cloth, and his unfortunate client will 
 have all he can do to square his 
 friend. 
 
 It is customary in well regulated 
 families to have a pair of ducks for 
 dinner on such occasions as this, and 
 an accomplished Squarer will display 
 a degree of skill which can be likened 
 only to that of a surgeon in the oper-
 
 94 ^be Squarer. 
 
 ating theatre, cutting away delicate 
 slices of the meat and leaving the 
 bone as clean and white as a piece of 
 celluloid. 
 
 Unless the disgraced member of 
 the household contrives to make some 
 unfortunate " break " during the meal 
 the end of the dinner will find every- 
 body in a much happier frame of 
 mind than before, and unless the 
 Squarer happens to possess musical 
 accomplishments of some sort he will 
 take a speedy departure. His client 
 will probably weep over him and beg 
 him to prolong his visit till the next 
 day, but he will finally resist his im- 
 portunities and depart after having 
 shaken hands all round with much 
 cordiality and lively expressions of 
 gratitude for the hospitality which has 
 been extended to him. 
 
 If squaring should ever become one 
 of the learned professions and cease 
 to be the labor of love which it is
 
 ^be Squarer. 95 
 
 now, it will be found that the hired 
 Squarer will never acquire one-half 
 the skill or perform his duties with 
 nearly as much success as the dis- 
 tinguished amateur whom I have in 
 my mind's eye as I write.
 
 THE JOKE THAT FAILED 
 
 New York possesses a practical 
 joker in the person of a gentleman 
 who is widely known to the class that 
 brighten upper Broadway as " Gus " 
 and often as " Gussie." For nearly a 
 score of years this merry sprite has 
 floated like a cork on the waves of 
 life that sweep through the Tender- 
 loin District, and many are the tales 
 that are told of his exploits in the al- 
 most forgotten art of practical joking. 
 Now, it must be said in justice to him 
 that Gus despises that form of humor 
 which consists of pulling a chair from 
 under some person who contemplates 
 sitting down on it. To be sure, his 
 jokes often result more disastrously 
 7 97
 
 98 ^be 5ofte tbat 3faile&. 
 
 to the victim, but there's always a 
 certain original turn to them which 
 commends them to the attention of the 
 philosophic student of contemporan- 
 eous life and manners. 
 
 Now, if there is one thing in which 
 this gifted creature is absolutely with- 
 out a peer, it is in the art of making 
 a profound impression on newl3^-ar- 
 rived foreigners, and particularly on 
 Germans, who are invariably suspi- 
 cious of people who tell them the 
 truth, and repose a sublime confi- 
 dence in the statements of all irre- 
 sponsible, untrustworthy and humor- 
 ous characters. 
 
 Some time ago, a German, a type 
 of the class who call themselves 
 Frenchmen, arrived in New York, 
 and of course speedily made the ac- 
 quaintance of Gus, the practical joker 
 of upper Broadway. The two became 
 very intimate, and the " Baron," as 
 the new arrival called himself and was
 
 Zbc 5ofte tbat jfaileD. 99 
 
 called by his acquaintances, soon de- 
 veloped a profound and abiding faith 
 in the sagacity, veracity, and high 
 social standing of the brilliant wit 
 and famous man-about-town whose 
 acquaintance he had been fortunate 
 enough to form. It was Gus who 
 ushered him into the theatres by the 
 simple expedient of nodding blandly 
 to the doorkeeper. It was Gus who 
 took him to walk on Fifth Avenue, 
 and pointed out to him the most 
 famous statesmen, millionaires, poets 
 and warriors, who all seemed to turn 
 out on the days when Gus took his 
 afternoon stroll, and who (the celebri- 
 ties) invariably returned his salute 
 in the most cordial and friendly man- 
 ner. 
 
 One day while sitting with Gus and 
 three or four congenial friends in a 
 hostelry kept by one Engel, the Baron 
 expressed a longing to attend some 
 festivity in New York society, in
 
 loo XLbc 5ofte tbat jfalleD. 
 
 order that he might compare our deau 
 ■mo7ide with those exalted circles of 
 the Faubourg St. Germain to which 
 he had been accustomed since his 
 earliest years. 
 
 " If I only knew one of these big 
 American swells," remarked the 
 Baron, " I would ask him to intro- 
 duce me to all the others, and then, 
 of course, if he came to Paris, I'd do 
 the same for him ; but I've neglected 
 to bring any letters of introduction, 
 and so I don't see any chance of go- 
 ing to any of their parties. There's a 
 big blowout at the Astorbilts' to- 
 night, and I tell you I'd like mighty 
 well to see what it's like." 
 
 " Why don't you get Gus to fix 
 you .'' " said one of the company ; ''he 
 knows all those nobs." 
 
 "Why, certainly," cried the oblig- 
 ing Gus. " Why in the world didn't 
 you ask me before, dear boy t I very 
 seldom go into societ}' myself, but I'd
 
 XLbc Jofte tbat jfaileD. iot 
 
 be delighted to introduce you to some 
 of my bong-tong friends. Here, 
 waiter, bring me a sheet of notepaper 
 and an envelope — a white one, not a 
 yellow one." 
 
 An hour later, the confiding Ger- 
 man was on his way to the scene 
 of festivities, holding tightly clutched 
 in his hand the following note of in- 
 troduction : 
 
 *' Friend Astorbilt, this will make 
 you acquainted with my friend, Baron 
 Blank, the society reporter of the 
 Organ-grinder' s Gazette. I trust that 
 you will extend to him the usual 
 courtesies, and thereby confer a per- 
 sonal favor on your old friend 
 Gussie." 
 
 It was nearly midnight when Gus 
 and his merry men assembled, ac- 
 cording to previous agreement, at Mr. 
 Engel's place of refreshment to greet
 
 I02 ^be 5oTic tbat 3fallc&. 
 
 the Baron, and learn from his own 
 lips the story of his adventures in 
 New York society. 
 
 " I don't think he'll be here at all," 
 remarked one of the company ; " he 
 probably got fired down the steps so 
 hard that he's lying in the hospital. 
 I must say, Gus, you've got the nerve 
 of an ox to send him up there with 
 that letter of introduction." 
 
 "That's all right," rejoined the 
 practical joker, merrily. " If he has 
 the nerve to make a good front 
 he'll get in, and he'll be back here 
 before midnight." 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his 
 mouth when the Baron entered, at- 
 tired in his Bavarian dress-suit, with 
 a large butterfly cravat flapping about 
 his collar button, and bore down 
 upon the party, his face aglow with 
 exultation. 
 
 " Everybody have something with 
 me," he cried, as he seized Gus by
 
 XLbc ^o\{c tbat J'ailcD. 103 
 
 the hand. " I'm ever so much obliged 
 to you, old man, for that letter, and I 
 tell you those Astorbilts are elegant 
 people, and know how to treat a 
 gentleman when they see him. I 
 never was treated so well anywhere 
 in all my life." 
 
 " Well, tell us all about it," said 
 the joker, who could scarcely conceal 
 his surprise at the unexpected turn 
 which his joke had taken. 
 
 " I went up there and a man 
 opened the door, a nice-looking, well- 
 dressed man, probably one of the 
 family. I gave him your letter and 
 told him I was a reporter, and he 
 didn't even read the letter, but told 
 me to go to another door downstairs 
 under the front steps. When I went 
 in there another gentleman came 
 along, probably the other man's 
 brother. He asked me if I was a 
 reporter, and when I told him yes, he 
 gave me a long list of names, and
 
 I04 ^be 5ofte tbat jpallcD* 
 
 invited me to sit down and have some 
 supper. Down I sat at a nice table 
 in the kitchen, and had a beautiful 
 supper, wdth a whole bottle of wine 
 to myself. That wasn't all. When 
 I w^as ready to go away, Mr. Astorbilt 
 came along and asked me if I had had 
 a good time and plenty to eat, and I 
 said I had. Then he handed me a 
 lobster patty — here it is ; a chicken 
 patty — here it is, and a bottle of cham- 
 pagne as well." He fished up these 
 delicacies from the recesses of his 
 ulster as he spoke, and laid them on 
 the table before his amazed friends. 
 
 " I tell you gentlemen," he said in 
 conclusion, " if there are any people 
 in this town who know a gentleman 
 when they see him and treat him as 
 such, it's that same Astorbilt family, 
 and I'm much obliged to Gus for 
 making: me solid there."
 
 DAN BRIORDY'S GITAWAY 
 SHADDER. 
 
 From late May until early October 
 Dan Briordy may be found at the 
 " Crystal Gem," a sort of dancing 
 pavilion and variety show combined, 
 which he has conducted for several 
 seasons past in the very heart of the 
 most popular quarter of Coney 
 
 Island. 
 
 The equinoctial storms which prac- 
 tically give the deathblow to the sum- 
 mer merriment at this most famous 
 of all American watering places 
 usually leave Mr. Briordy in a con- 
 dition of mental and financial depres- 
 sion similar to that of a butterfly who 
 
 105
 
 io6 38rfor&i2'0 ©Itawag Sba&Der» 
 
 is reminded by the first chill breezes 
 of early fall that sunshine and honey 
 and the sweet flowers of the field are 
 not to be had the whole twelve 
 months through, and that there are 
 many weeks of ice and snow and cold 
 to be bridged over before spring will 
 come again. 
 
 Now, Dan Briordy is essentially a 
 creature of summer. The first breath 
 of April warmth sends the blood 
 coursing through his veins and causes 
 his heart to expand and his face to 
 assume that look of joviality and 
 good cheer which, although he prob- 
 ably does not realize it himself, is a 
 powerful factor in attracting strangers 
 to his " Crystal Gem." That smile 
 remains with him until the wailing of 
 the equinoctial gales drives the few 
 remaining customers away from his 
 bar, and gives him time to think 
 about the long, cold winter that lies 
 before him, and for which period of
 
 X>xioxt>^'e (3itawai2 SbaOOcr. 107 
 
 uncertainty he has, Uke his prototype, 
 the butterfly, made no provision. 
 
 It was at one of these moments 
 that I chanced to encounter him on 
 a bright morning immediately after a 
 three days' September storm of wind 
 and rain. He was sitting entirely 
 alone at a small table in front of his 
 bar. The " Crystal Gem " is open to 
 three of the four winds of heaven, 
 and its proprietor was really a pictur- 
 esque figure in his red flannel shirt, 
 with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, 
 and with his rough slouch hat pushed 
 back from his freckled, good-natured 
 and essentially humorous face. 
 
 If he had been a poseur he could 
 not have selected a better background 
 against which to display himself than 
 the broad expanse of snow-white sand 
 which melted a few hundred feet 
 away into a sea of deep blue, orna- 
 mented with white caps of snowy 
 foam. A long clothes line, from
 
 io8 JBrior^s's Gitawa^ Sba^Der. 
 
 which hung bathing suits of different 
 shapes, colors and degrees of ragged- 
 ness, heightened rather than marred 
 the effect of the sea and sand. 
 
 " Come over here and lend me 
 some of them brains you've got," 
 was my friend's salutation, and as I 
 dropped into a chair beside him he 
 continued : " I'm going to get up a 
 little racket for next week, an' I'd like 
 you to fix up a card of invite that I 
 can send round to me friends."' 
 
 " What sort of a racket are you ar- 
 ranging for ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Well, I think it'll be a shadder 
 ball. All I want is to see what some 
 of these fronts are good for and to try 
 and make a little gitaway stake to use 
 as a starter at the Waverly Fair." 
 
 Further conversation with Mr. 
 Briordy elicited the intelligence that 
 the " gitaway stake " is simply a sum 
 of money made at the close of the 
 season in one coup and used as a
 
 J3r(ocO\>'0 6itawas SbaODer. 109 
 
 means of getting away from the island 
 to winter quarters in New York or 
 elsewhere. I also learned that a 
 *' shadder ball " is an entertainment 
 which begins at nine in the evening 
 with a variety show, for which the 
 " talent " of the different nearby places 
 of amusement usually volunteer, and 
 which ends in a grand ball, a feature 
 of which is the use of colored lights, 
 which are thrown on the dancers 
 with weird and exciting results. 
 
 It is customary to sell tickets for 
 an event of this sort, despite the fact 
 that the admittance is free and that 
 the beneficiary expects to make all 
 his money from the sale of refresh- 
 ments, and it was in order that I 
 might prepare a suitable legend for 
 those tickets that Mr. Briordy invited 
 me to take a seat opposite him at the 
 table and give him the benefit of my 
 talent and experience. With our two 
 heads put together it is not surprising
 
 no JBriorD^'s (3itawai2 Sba&&er» 
 
 that an hour later an invitation of 
 my own composition was considered 
 not only appropriate, but elegant and 
 refined, and the tickets were conse- 
 quently ordered of the printer. 
 
 The evening selected for the enter- 
 tainment found Dan standing near 
 the end of his own bar, where he 
 could have an eye on the cashier, 
 take frequent drinks with his friends, 
 and maintain a general supervision 
 over the festivities. I found him so 
 engaged when I reached the " Crys- 
 tal Gem " at the fashionably late 
 hour of half-past eleven. 
 
 *'I thought you'd given me the cold 
 shake ! " he exclaimed as his eye fell 
 upon me. (I will remark here that 
 Dan is not a " dis and dat " ruffian.) 
 I've been holding back the grand 
 march in the hope you'd show up, 
 and Taggert's near wild for fear there 
 won't be nobody down here when he 
 starts it. He's dead stuck on him
 
 :©rforO^'6 (Bitawa^ SbaODer. m 
 
 self as a dancing-master, and he's a 
 strong card at this place when you get 
 him to lead." 
 
 While he was speaking a gentleman 
 whom I recognized as Mr. George 
 Taggert, the leader of the smart danc- 
 ing set of West Brighton, came up to 
 us and remarked " that they'd better 
 begin the march if they expected to 
 have anybody in it." Now Mr. Tag- 
 gert is not only a society man, but 
 he is a prominent merchant as well, 
 and has long been recognized as a 
 skillful dealer in and manipulator of 
 ice. Indeed it is because his morn- 
 ings are spent in dalliance with the 
 tongs and pick and his nights as the 
 director of these difficult and graceful 
 manoeuvres which have long been a 
 feature of the most exclusive seaside 
 circles, that he has become the extra- 
 ordinary combination of herculean 
 strength and fawn-like grace that he 
 is to-day.
 
 112 JBrior^^'s (5itavvai2 SbaOJ)er» 
 
 " Let 'er go, then, George," re- 
 marked Dan carelessly, and the 
 master of ceremonies stood up on a 
 chair and announced that there would 
 be a grand march, followed by a 
 prize waltz for a massive gold sofa, 
 and that, prior to the beginning of 
 the ball, he wished them to under- 
 stand that he stood ready to enforce 
 with main strength if necessary the 
 rigid code of etiquette which ought 
 to prevail at high-toned affairs of that 
 class. He closed his speech with the 
 significant remark that a " sovereign- 
 eer would be give out " to every lady 
 who took part in the grand march 
 and conducted herself as a lady 
 should until the close of the ball. 
 
 Then the dancers formed in a long 
 double line on the floor of the pavil- 
 ion, and those wha were present 
 merely as spectators ranged them- 
 selves about in various convenient 
 places, and took particular care not
 
 JBriort)^'5 6it3was Sba^der. 113 
 
 to interfere in any way with Mr. Tag- 
 gert or his corps of dancers. The 
 line having been formed in accord- 
 ance with the great leader's ideas of 
 social precedence, the " professor " 
 struck a sharp chord on a piano 
 which had become entirely accli- 
 mated to the sea air, and an asth- 
 matic orchestra of three pieces burst 
 into enlivening melody. 
 
 " Gents ter de right ! Ladies ter 
 de left ! I'll break yer eye, Paddy 
 Gilligan, if yer git too fresh ! " were 
 the words of command, uttered in 
 strident tones by Mr. Taggert, and 
 the memorable march began. The 
 first couple consisted of a gentleman 
 who has long enjoyed great social 
 prestige in West Brighton, because 
 he was once John Y. McKane's coach- 
 man, and a lady named Miss Lottie 
 Reeves, who occupies the same posi- 
 tion there that Mme. Emma Eames 
 does in New York, being prominent 
 8
 
 114 ^riorO^'s 01tawai5 SbaDDer. 
 
 as a professional singer and enjoying 
 much popularity in society as well. 
 
 After these came a lady who is 
 known professionally to the summer 
 visitors as the " Wild Woman of 
 Coney Island," but who retires at 
 the close of the dime museum season 
 to the peaceful obscurity of the kitchen 
 in Pete Vulney's hotel. The wild 
 lady, who is also a great social favor- 
 ite, was escorted by an undersized 
 jockey from the Brighton track, who 
 was known to have had at least a 
 dozen winning mounts during the 
 previous fortnight, and was therefore 
 treated with the same degree of 
 deference which it is customary on 
 this planet to show to those who are 
 playing in luck. 
 
 A great many of the guests de- 
 clared that the wild woman was fairly 
 entitled to the place of honor in the 
 procession, because she had attained 
 greater fame than Miss Reeves, and
 
 J3rlorOs's ©Itawa^ SbaOOer. 115 
 
 had been made the subject of one of 
 the highest examples of pictorial art 
 ever seen on the island. In this 
 canvas, which is from the brush of a 
 native Gravesend artist, she is repre- 
 sented as standing in the depths of a 
 jungle near Norton's Point, clad in a 
 single tastefully designed garment of 
 skin, and bidding defiance to a score 
 of men, who look like Gravesend 
 election inspectors, and are evidently 
 desirous of effecting her capture. 
 
 It is probable that some other 
 artist will some day portray this 
 accomplished lady in her capacity 
 of a skilled cook, tossing flapjacks 
 high in air, or else as .a queen of 
 Coney Island fashion, leading the 
 revels on the arm of a prosperous 
 jockey. 
 
 In my mind's eye I can still see 
 the gay procession as it sweeps past 
 me, and can recognize all the familiar 
 forms and faces. There is Miss Vir-
 
 ii6 :©r(orD^'5 (Bitawa^ SbaDDer. 
 
 ginia Woodruff, light of foot and 
 merry of face. 'J'o see her tripping 
 gayly along in the conventional dress 
 of the period, which one of us would 
 dream of the wealth of exquisite tat- 
 tooing that covers her person from 
 head to foot and makes her one of 
 the loveliest human curiosities ever 
 exhibited to a wondering throng of 
 sightseers ? 
 
 Jake Vanderlip walks besides her, 
 as proud of his fair partner as he 
 is of his ancient Gravesend lineage. 
 He is telling her of the profit he has 
 made from his cane board this sum- 
 mer, and rumor declares that when 
 another season dawns upon the beach 
 the beautiful red, blue, and yellow 
 pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge, the 
 Twelve Apostles, and the American 
 eagle will have been withdrawn from 
 popular gaze, and that the proud 
 wearer of these precious insignia of 
 art will sit, chastely robed, beside the
 
 JSriorD^'s Oftawai? SbaDDer. 1 17 
 
 ancestral Vanderlip cane board, to be 
 known no longer as the " Tattooed 
 Queen of the South Seas," but as 
 Mrs. Vanderlip, the leader of the 
 haiit tofi of West Brighton. 
 
 And after her come the merchant 
 princes of Coney Island, men who 
 know how few clams should be in- 
 terred in a chowder and how long an 
 ear of corn should be boiled before it 
 becomes a possibility to browse upon 
 it. There are men here, too, who 
 have been renting bathing suits — to 
 gents as well as to ladies — for so 
 many summers that there is no detail 
 in that important branch of commerce 
 that they have not at their fingers' 
 ends. And last of all, marching all 
 alone, about five feet in the rear of 
 the procession, scorned by the ladies 
 and shunned by the men, comes one 
 of the happiest inebriates that it has 
 ever been my lot to behold and envy. 
 
 " That feller," remarked Dan apolo-
 
 ii8 J5rior&i2'6 ©Itawaig SbaDDer. 
 
 getically, " was a bartender at the Sea 
 Beach Hotel till this morning, but he 
 got bounced for gettin' full. I'd fire 
 him for being drunk only he's got 
 twenty-nine dollars wages in his 
 pocket and he's blowin' it all in in 
 great style." 
 
 Just at this moment the ex-bar- 
 tender passed us with a merry whoop, 
 paused a moment to execute a few 
 fancy steps for our special delecta- 
 tion, and then swept on at the rear 
 of the procession. 
 
 "Yes," admitted Mr. Briordy, 
 " there's a lot of people here to- 
 night, but the spenders ain't come 
 yet. And to tell the truth, there's 
 not much money spent over the bar 
 while the grand march goes on." 
 
 At this moment Mr. Taggert came 
 over to us and exclaimed indignantly, 
 " Dat bum has got ter be fired or der 
 dance don't go on. I've pasted him 
 once or twict already, but it don't do
 
 3j8norDi2'6 Gitawais SbaODer. 119 
 
 him no good, and unless he gets off 
 de floor der'll be trouble." 
 
 Mr. Briordy went at once to the 
 intoxicated bartender, who, during a 
 brief pause in the music, was prac- 
 tising a few picturesque and intricate 
 steps all by himself in the centre of 
 the room, holding up his coat-tails 
 with his hands as he did so, and 
 watching intently the movements of 
 his feet. A moment later Dan re- 
 joined us and said to the floor man- 
 ager, " Leave him be a little longer. 
 He's got $15 left out of his pile, and 
 he might just as well spend it here as 
 be robbed of it somewhere else." 
 
 With this understanding, and with 
 a sharp warning to the too demonstra- 
 tive guest, the revels were resumed in 
 such a graceful and fascinating man- 
 ner that all the bibulous guests de- 
 serted the bar and drinking tables in 
 spite of the efforts of the waiters to 
 restrain them, and gathered in an
 
 I20 3Brlor&i5's Oitawais SbaD^er. 
 
 awestruck circle to gaze upon the 
 great Taggert and his marching co- 
 horts. 
 
 " I'll have to put a stop to this busi- 
 ness," said Mr. Briordy disconsolately. 
 *' The trouble with that fellow Taggert 
 is that he leads too well, and when 
 he's leading the march they don't 
 spend no money over the bar. 
 They'd all rather watch him than 
 buy drinks. Hullo, there comes a 
 couple of wine openers now," and he 
 hurried off to greet the new arrivals. 
 
 At this moment the bartender, who 
 had been engaged in scattering his 
 accrued wealth, proved so refractory 
 that the director of the march seized 
 him by the throat and sent him spin- 
 ning across the floor, over a table and 
 against a whitewashed wall, where he 
 remained poised for a full moment, 
 and then fell to the floor. In a few 
 moments he was himself again, but 
 before he could return to the dance
 
 3BrforDi2's (Sltawag SbaDDer. 121 
 
 Mr. Taggert had, in obedience to 
 orders, but with great reluctance, 
 brought the grand march to a close, 
 and the festivities were suspended for 
 a few moments to permit the guests to 
 spend a little money at the bar. 
 
 The newcomers now set a good 
 example to the others by ordering 
 champagne in the most liberal man- 
 ner, and Dan Briordy's face fairly 
 beamed as he hustled actively about 
 with a word here, a handshake there, 
 and a drink somewhere else, encour- 
 aging the hilarity, or, as he himself 
 expressed it, "giving the gang the 
 grand jolly." 
 
 When the shadow dance began I 
 happened to be partaking of an ear 
 of hot corn in company with the ele- 
 gant Miss Lottie Reeves, and we re- 
 entered the pavilion, cob in hand, to 
 find the company gayly waltzing in 
 the glare of everchanging colored 
 lights.
 
 122 :©rlorDB'g (3itawas SbaDOer. 
 
 Ah, that moonlight night, with 
 the fresh breeze in our faces and the 
 sullen roar of the sea in our ears ! 
 That bar-room, with its flood of gaudy 
 calcium lights and scores of fleet- 
 footed, joyous inebriates ! That beer 
 that lurked coyly beneath the froth 
 at the very bottom of the glass ! 
 That hot corn, with its delicious sea- 
 soning of rancid butter ! These are 
 a few of the memories that come to 
 me when I recall Dan Briordy and 
 his " Gitaway Shadder." 
 
 So the moments sped by until nearly 
 two o'clock, when we were warned by 
 the sound of approaching footsteps, 
 accompanied by strains of martial 
 music and the shouts of an enrapt- 
 ured populace, that there were other 
 diversions on the island that night 
 besides ours. 
 
 Dan started up anxiously and 
 stepped out on the board walk to see 
 if it could be possible that some rival
 
 JBrfocDg's ©ttawa^ Sbat)Der. 125 
 
 manager had started another " shad- 
 der " in opposition to his. No ; the 
 approaching revellers were from the 
 " Glass Pavilion," and they were 
 marching with their manager at their 
 head to pay a friendly visit to the 
 proprietor of the *' Crystal Gem." 
 Into the pavilion they marched, a 
 double column of fully two score, and 
 twice did they circle about the floor 
 to the strains of their own band, and 
 amid the welcoming plaudits of every 
 one assembled. Then they seated 
 themselves at the long table and 
 called for Milwaukee beer, which 
 costs twenty cents a bottle, and is 
 looked upon at Coney Island as the 
 beverage of opulence and effete 
 luxury. 
 
 This accession to the number of 
 Mr. Briordy's guests gave a fresh im- 
 petus to the hilarity, and from that 
 moment on the fun was fast and 
 furious, until the wandering bartender,
 
 124 3Qxioxt>^'6 ©itawag SbaDDcr. 
 
 having spent the last of his $29, and 
 endeavored to procure a final round 
 of beer on credit, was seized by the 
 indignant Mr. Taggert, who had been 
 biding his time for several hours, and 
 cast into outer darkness. Soon after 
 this daylight began to appear in the 
 east, and I took my departure, thank- 
 ful to learn at the final moment that 
 "Dan" Briordy's "Gitaway Shad- 
 der" had proved an overwhelming 
 financial success, and that the " sov- 
 ereigneers " would be distributed an 
 hour later.
 
 THEWARDMAN'S WOOING. 
 
 " No, William,'' said Mary Double- 
 fare, gently, yet with a note of unmis- 
 takable firmness in her voice, " it is 
 useless for you to urge me. While 
 you were in this precinct I learned to 
 respect you for your many good quali- 
 ties, and I shall always hold you in 
 high esteem, but I do not love you, 
 and although I believe that you have 
 a golden future before you — a future 
 which any young girl ought to be 
 proud to share — I cannot marry 
 you. Where my hand goes my heart 
 must go too." 
 
 "One word more," said William 
 Cinch, the dashing and accomplished 
 wardman of the merriest precinct in 
 
 125
 
 126 ^be MarDman'5 Woolna» 
 
 the town, " before the curtain is rung 
 down forever on the little drama, or 
 comedy, in which we have been the 
 principal actors. Tell me, I implore 
 you, has any other man come between 
 us ? I have heard it said more than 
 once that Walter Dealbrace was your 
 devoted admirer, and besides," — and 
 here his voice grew hard and cold — 
 " it's only last week that I seen you 
 talking in a doorway with Rupert 
 Flimflam." 
 
 The young girl's lip curled con- 
 temptuously as she made answer : 
 " Mr. Dealbrace will have to do some- 
 thing to change his luck before he 
 presumes to say anything about love 
 to me. It is not likely that we will 
 meet again for some time." 
 
 " What ! Have you parted for- 
 ever ? " cried the detective, eagerly. 
 
 "We have," rejoined the maiden, 
 icily, " unless he happens to bring 
 back those four bones I let him have
 
 Zbc THIlarDman's Mooing. 127 
 
 a month ago. As for Rupert Flim- 
 flam/' she continued, carelessly, but 
 with no trace of contempt or bitter- 
 ness in her voice, " my feelings to- 
 ward him are only those which any 
 lady might entertain toward a gentle- 
 man whom she had met but three 
 times in her life, once at the Gold 
 Brick Coterie's moonlight, and twice, 
 casually, in doorways. 
 
 " I will be frank with you, William, 
 however, and say that I have been 
 strongly attracted by Mr. Flimflam, 
 not so much on account of the way in 
 which he has been putting out those 
 new fives, but because of his high 
 sense of honor and engaging person- 
 ality as well." 
 
 " But it is scarcely probable," she 
 continued, " that Mr. Flimflam, with 
 his golden prospects, will deem it 
 worth his while to pay court to the 
 daughter of poor old Jack Doublefare, 
 for, as you well know, cab-driving in
 
 128 Zbe MarOman's IKHoofng. 
 
 the old Tenderloin is by no means 
 what it was before these reformers, as 
 they are called, ruined the precinct 
 and reduced so many of us to beg- 
 gary." 
 
 " Ah, Mary ! " exclaimed the young 
 wardman, sympathetically, " it breaks 
 my heart to think of you and your 
 father, now that the Tenderloin is 
 dried up, and there's no elephant for 
 the jays to see. This winter is going 
 to be an easy one for the jays, though 
 they won't appreciate their blessings, 
 but a very cold one for the smart peo- 
 ple, and between you and me, this 
 very Tenderloin, where you've been 
 born and brought up, ain't going 
 to be much warmer than the North 
 Pole ! Think of all this, Mary, ere 
 you refuse the home which I offer to 
 you both." 
 
 At this allusion to her father, once 
 the wealthiest night-hawk in the pre- 
 cinct, but now a gray-haired, poverty-
 
 tCbc mardman's "CGlooinfl. 129 
 
 stricken man, every trace of coldness 
 and haughty pride disappeared from 
 Mary Doublefare's face, and a big 
 tear coursed down her cheek as she 
 exclaimed in broken accents : 
 
 "William — Mr. Cinch — do not, I 
 implore you, speak of that. My poor, 
 dear father," — and burying her head 
 in her hands she wept bitterly. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, presently, " the 
 future is indeed dark before us, and I 
 can scarcely restrain my grief when I 
 contrast our bitter poverty of to-day 
 with the affluence which we enjoyed 
 but a few short years ago, when good, 
 kind Captain Fatwad ruled in the 
 precinct, and free trade and protec- 
 tion went hand in hand. 
 
 "There was scarcely a morning 
 then when dear papa did not come 
 home after his night's work with dia- 
 mond pins and watches and rolls of 
 bills that he had found on his fares, 
 and we were — oh, so happy. The 
 9
 
 130 Zbc llClarDman's Mooing. 
 
 streets were full of guys then, and by 
 nightfall there was hardly a sober one 
 to be found among them all. I know 
 but little of political economy or so- 
 ciology, William. I have not read 
 much of John Stuart Mill or Herbert 
 Spencer, but surely heaven never 
 sent a more precious gift to one of 
 its well beloved precincts than a 
 plentiful crop of drunks. Why, they 
 are the very life of trade of every sort. 
 It is the drunks who keep on buying 
 more drinks, who play the wheel on 
 a system, who keep on opening the 
 same bottle of wine until the waiter 
 brings in a check for $65, who hire 
 cabs by the hour and go to sleep in 
 them — in short, the drunks are to a 
 community all that the rain, the fer- 
 tilizer and the seed are to the soil 
 which the farmer tills. Ah, why do 
 these cruel reformers keep all the tip- 
 plers away from the precinct in which 
 they used to be so happy .? I am sure
 
 ^be MarC>man's 'tmooing. 131 
 
 that if they only knew how terribly 
 poor papa has suffered, even their 
 hard hearts would be touched. His 
 cough has been very bad of late. He 
 has been accustomed all his life to the 
 bracing night air, and when he at- 
 tempted to drive his cab about in the 
 daytime the sunshine proved too 
 much for him, and he caught cold, 
 which settled on his lungs, and now, 
 although the doctor has forbidden 
 him to go out until after dark, he 
 finds that he is sensitive to even the 
 moonlight, and he has suffered ter- 
 ribly during the clear nights we have 
 had lately. 
 
 " But it is useless for us to discuss 
 this matter further. You must leave 
 me now, William, and I sincerely hope 
 that you will find some one who will 
 make you very, very happy. Good- 
 bye, and thank you for all the kind- 
 ness you have shown me." 
 
 And with these words in his ears
 
 132 ^be MarDman'6 liCloomg. 
 
 the stalwart young ward man walked 
 away, sorrowfully, and with bowed 
 head. 
 
 A cold, dreary, rainy autumnal 
 night. The whole town seems 
 weighted down with the gloom and 
 wretchedness of the soggy atmos- 
 phere, but nowhere is the desolation 
 so awful and depressing, and at the 
 same time so pathetic, as in the de- 
 serted village called the Tenderloin. 
 
 Here the chill wind sweeps in 
 moaning gusts through streets whose 
 gravelike silence only serves as a re- 
 minder of those joyous nights of old, 
 when they resounded to the popping 
 of champagne corks, the rattle of 
 ivory chips, the cheerful hiss of the 
 electric light, the melody from a score 
 of pianos and the shrill cry of the 
 nighthawk as he fell upon his prey. 
 
 At a Sixth Avenue corner stands a
 
 XLbc "CClarDman's Ittfloolna. 133 
 
 hack whose forlorn and dilapidated 
 appearance is in perfect accord with 
 the deserted precinct in which it has 
 been for two decades a familiar ob- 
 ject. The ancient white horse in the 
 shafts, and the driver on the box — an 
 old man, bent and gray — are as mo- 
 tionless as if they were posing in a 
 living picture, and as indifferent to 
 the elements as if they were carved 
 out of stone. 
 
 The equipage attracts the attention 
 of William Cinch, who has come up 
 town from his own happy, prosperous 
 precinct in company with a gentleman 
 of rural aspect who wears long gray 
 whiskers and has sawdust sprinkled 
 over his clothes. It is apparent to 
 every old Tenderloiner who notices 
 the pair that the bucolic gentleman is 
 a " come-back " whom William, the 
 ever alert and faithful public servant, 
 is chasing out of town for being a 
 counterfeiter, and as the unfortunate
 
 134 ^t>e liClarOman'6 "UGlooing. 
 
 man starts for the Pavonia ferry the 
 wardman fixes his eyes upon the old 
 hack driver and murmurs compassion- 
 ately : — 
 
 " Poor old Jack Doublefare ! I can 
 remember the time when hardly a week 
 went by without some jay waking up 
 in that old cab to find that his watch 
 and pin and roll had been took away 
 while he was asleep. He always made 
 a clean job of it, did old Jack. But 
 now he's only a wreck of what he 
 was." 
 
 Then, as he strolled slowly along 
 through the rain, his thoughts turned 
 to gentle Mary Doublefare, whom he 
 had not seen since that memorable 
 evening, three months before, when 
 she had definitely and finally refused 
 his proffered hand. 
 
 He thought of her with infinite sad- 
 ness and longing, but without a trace 
 of bitterness, remembering the gra- 
 cious, innocent smile with w'hich she
 
 ^be mari^man's mooing. 135 
 
 used to greet him, and the delight that 
 used to illumine her sweet face when 
 he brought her the choicest fruits 
 that could be found on any stand that 
 he permitted to obstruct the sidewalk 
 in his precinct, or placed in her hand 
 some trinket that had served as a 
 souvenir in a wealthy family. 
 
 And he remembered, too, how they 
 used to sit side by side on the sofa 
 in her little parlor and merrily invent 
 names to fit the initials which were 
 graven on his simple gifts, and then 
 search the " Lost and Stolen " column 
 to see if there was any reference to 
 them there. 
 
 Ah ! those were happy days, and 
 now he wondered if Mary's heart 
 were still her own to bestow upon 
 some fortunate suitor. His face 
 hardened as he thought of Rupert 
 Flimflam, nimble of finger and per- 
 suasive of tongue — just the man to 
 enchain the fancy of a high-spirited,
 
 136 tibe WacDman's TKIloolng. 
 
 romantic and altogether " fly " young 
 girl. 
 
 And Walter Dealbrace — he of the 
 clean-cut profile and cold gray eye — 
 but no, Walter was in no condition 
 now to pay his addresses to any 
 woman brought up amid the luxuri- 
 ous surroundings to which, as the 
 daughter of one of the wealthiest of 
 the Tenderloin's old-time nighthawks, 
 she had been accustomed from the 
 moment of her birth until that of the 
 destruction of the precinct. Time 
 was when Walter dressed in the height 
 of fashion, and when his high-bred, 
 sensitive nature recoiled from contact 
 with anything but blue chips. But 
 now he was sadly changed. 
 
 William had seen him but once in 
 six months. It was on the night 
 when he had dropped in at the club- 
 rooms of Colonel Endsqueeze to no- 
 tify him of an intended raid on his 
 premises, and he had found it hard to
 
 XLbc "OaarDman's xmoofng. 137 
 
 recognize the once prosperous faro 
 scientist in the dejected figure that he 
 saw seated before a consumptive 
 looking stack of whites, which soon 
 melted away before his gaze like a 
 stereopticon advertisement in Broad- 
 way. 
 
 No, he need not fear Walter Deal- 
 brace as a rival, but his brow dark- 
 ened once more as he thought of 
 Rupert Flimflam, and his eyes flashed 
 as the idea came to him that it would 
 be an easy matter to "pinch" the 
 bright and entertaining young man 
 w^ho was so merrily flooding the town 
 with his new fives. But to do that he 
 must betray his superior officer, Cap- 
 tain Fatwad, under whose protection 
 Rupert pursued his calling, and never 
 in the course of his whole career as a 
 detective had William Cinch been 
 found wanting in allegiance to the 
 department which gave him employ- 
 ment.
 
 138 Zbc WlarDman'6 XCloolnQ, 
 
 It would be far better for him to 
 give up all hope of winning Mary 
 Doublefare than to interfere with the 
 business of a man who had paid fairly 
 for his protection, and was fairly en- 
 titled to something for his money. 
 
 " Poor Mary ! " he said to himself 
 with a sorrowful shake of the head, 
 " I'm afraid that things are not coming 
 her way to any fabulous extent just 
 now, and she is too proud to accept 
 assistance from me. If I could only 
 help her in such a way that she would 
 not find out that it was me who done 
 it!" 
 
 And at that moment William Cinch 
 stopped suddenly in his walk, stood 
 for a moment wrapped in intense 
 thought, then turned, and, with a low- 
 muttered " I'll do it to-night ! " hur- 
 riedly retraced his steps down the 
 avenue. 
 
 The changing scenes of this little
 
 Zbc TaaarC)man'9 MooinQ. 139 
 
 drama bring us once more to the hum- 
 ble home of the Doublefares. It is 
 half-past six in the morning, and 
 Mary has arisen early, according to 
 her invariable custom, that she may 
 prepare breakfast for her father on 
 his return from his night's labors. A 
 slow step in the hall followed by the 
 opening of the door, and the young 
 girl is in her aged parent's arms. 
 
 " Father ! " she cried with an in- 
 finite yearning in her voice, " did that 
 same fellow turn up again and ask 
 you to take him around and show him 
 all the sights ? " 
 
 In reply the old nighthawk took 
 from the inner pocket of his overcoat 
 and placed in his daughter's hand a 
 roll of bills, a diamond pin and a 
 handsome gold watch and chain. 
 
 " I never see such a persistent guy 
 nor one with so many new outfits of 
 solid stuff in all the years I've been 
 driving hack," he remarked with some-
 
 I40 Zbc MacDman's IKaooino. 
 
 thing like reverence in his voice. 
 " You'd oughter seen the other drivers 
 racin' for him when he showed up in 
 Sixth Avenue with his load aboard. 
 Drunk ? Well, I should say so. Why, 
 what ails ye, gal ? " 
 
 " Nothing, father. Only it was so 
 cold waiting here for you," she re- 
 sponded quickly. But as she busied 
 herself about the breakfast-table he 
 noticed that her face was pale, while 
 her lips trembled, as if from some 
 deep emotion. 
 
 That afternoon, while the white- 
 haired hack driver was sleeping 
 noisily in the adjoining room, Mary 
 Doublefare sat in a rocking-chair by 
 the window, holding in her hand a 
 simple cluster pin, now wet with her 
 tears. She wondered why it was that 
 she did not suspect from the very first 
 the identity of the stranger who for 
 three successive nights had entered 
 her father's cab, artfully disguised as
 
 Xlbc iKflacOman'a iKaooing. 141 
 
 an inebriated Syracuse merchant, and 
 permitted himself to be shorn of 
 money, watch and jewels under the 
 pretence of being taken to see the 
 elephant. 
 
 Had it not been for that cluster 
 pin, which she had seen him wear so 
 many, many times, she would never 
 have guessed that it was to William 
 Cinch, the rejected lover, that they 
 owed their recent burst of good fort- 
 une. But the pin had told the 
 story, and the watch — the gift of a 
 pawnbroker — she also recalled, for 
 William had proudly shown it to her 
 the very day after the big burglary in 
 New Rochelle. 
 
 Yes, the inexhaustible fountain of 
 good stuff was none other than 
 the noble, high-minded wardman, 
 whose hand she had refused, kindly, 
 it is true, but none the less firmly. 
 With what exquisite tact and delicacy 
 had he sought to do her and her
 
 142 ^be maarOman's Wooing. 
 
 father a kindness ! Could anything 
 have been better calculated to win a 
 woman's love and admiration than a 
 generosity which, while accomplishing 
 its purpose, avoided all appearance of 
 charity ? 
 
 And how much good it had done 
 her father — the excitement of follow- 
 ing once more his old calling ! Never 
 since the passing of the old precinct 
 had her sire seemed so vigorous and 
 hearty, so full of hope for the future 
 and enjoyment of the present, as he 
 had since his first meeting with the 
 mysterious victim, who always fell 
 sound asleep in the cab and never 
 seemed to know or care what hap- 
 pened to him. 
 
 And now, with her tears falling 
 swiftly on the cluster pin and blotting 
 out the inscription — " Wentworth 
 from Uncle Jabez " — in the inside of 
 the watch, poor Mary Doublefare 
 realized the true worth of the death-
 
 ^be lailarOman's TlClooinQ. 143 
 
 less love which this noble wardman 
 had placed at her feet, and which she 
 had spurned. If she could but see 
 him for a moment, if onh' to thank 
 him — to tell him, before they parted 
 forever, that she knew all that he had 
 done for her and that she appreciated 
 the exquisite tact with which he had 
 performed what was, after all, an act 
 of simple charity. 
 
 And then the awful fear that per- 
 haps he had found solace for his 
 wounded heart came upon her with 
 crushing force. She had heard, since 
 their last meeting, that he had become 
 attentive to Susan Knockout, the 
 daughter of the celebrated chemist, 
 Percival Knockout, well known as a 
 replater of gold bricks and the dis- 
 coverer of the famous elixir of sleep, 
 called in his honor " knockout 
 drops." 
 
 She had paid but little heed to that 
 rumor at the time, knowing that as
 
 144 ^^^ "UaarDman's liClooins. 
 
 wardman of his precinct it was but 
 natural for him to have business deal- 
 ings with Susan's father which might 
 occasion frequent visits to the chem- 
 ist's house. But now the thought of 
 Susan fell upon her heart with a dead, 
 leaden weight, and she would have 
 given the world for a chance to see, 
 if but for a single moment, the hand- 
 some young official whom she had at 
 last learned to love. 
 
 But how to accomplish this ! Just 
 at this moment her eyes fell upon 
 " Marcella," which she had just fin- 
 ished, and in a moment she had 
 reached a decision. 
 
 " Papa," she said, that evening, as 
 the old cabman was starting out for his 
 night's work, '' if you have that fellow 
 again for a fare I want you to say to 
 him, just as if you were giving him a 
 jolly, * I've got a daughter at home 
 who's dead gone on you, and thinks 
 you'd make a splendid husband.'
 
 XTbe 'QXflar&man'0 Mooine. 145 
 
 Just say that to him, papa, and let 
 me know what answer he gives you." 
 
 The old man promised and kept 
 his word. 
 
 The rest of this little tale may be 
 told in a few words. William Cinch 
 heard the message, and hastened to 
 respond. Mary Doublefare met him 
 on the threshold, and within a very 
 short time the compact had been 
 sealed which bound them together 
 for life. 
 
 Christmas time found the loving 
 couple established in a home of their 
 own in the beautiful precinct over 
 which their former friend, Captain 
 Fatwad, ruled with a benign sway. 
 As for old Jack Doublefare, he 
 secured, through the influence of his 
 son-in-law, the exclusive right to drive 
 " guys " through Central Park, and his 
 carriage is now known as the " joint 
 on wheels," in which many a neat 
 trick has been turned. 
 10
 
 THE CHANGE OF THE LUCK. 
 
 A COLD, Stormy night in November, 
 the wind sweeping through the streets 
 in fitful gusts and the rain beating 
 down in chilly, penetrating torrents 
 on the few belated pedestrians who 
 hurried through the streets, thinking 
 longingly of the light and warmth of 
 saloon or home. A cheerless, dreary 
 night throughout the whole city, and 
 nowhere gloomier than in the once 
 merry and wide-open precinct over 
 which the excellent Captain Fatwad 
 had reigned for three sunny, prosper- 
 ous years, and above which now hung 
 the dark, ominous clouds of depression 
 and disaster, which threatened to 
 
 147
 
 148 ^be Cbangc ot tbe Xucft. 
 
 crush out all the life and activity 
 from the Captain's fair domain. 
 
 Wet and cheerless in the storm- 
 beaten streets, and dry and desolate 
 in the brightly-lighted saloons, where 
 melancholy citizens huddled about 
 the stove and thought with fond 
 regret of the kindly drink-buying 
 politicians who used to drop in so 
 frequently with hospitable intent in 
 the old glad days — the days that were 
 gone forever. But there were warmth 
 and light and good cheer, as well, in 
 the comfortable room where Percival 
 Knockout, the gray-haired alchemist 
 sat before the fire with his little boy, 
 WiUie, on his knee and his fair 
 daughter, Susan, by his side. 
 
 Far and wide throughout the pre- 
 cinct was the aged man of science 
 known and honored, not only for his 
 professional skill and learning, but 
 also as a humanitarian — one whose 
 pocket was ever open to relieve dis-
 
 Zbc Gbange ot tbe Xucft. 149 
 
 tress, whose cunning hand and knowl- 
 edge of drugs and potions were ever 
 at the disposal of the weak and un- 
 fortunate. It was he who had in- 
 vented the delicious nepenthe named 
 in his honor " knockout drops," and 
 of which but a single globule sufficed 
 to bring about a profound, painless 
 slumber, broken only by dreams of 
 fast-accruing wealth — a mysterious, 
 fateful potion which had, in the 
 estimation of such men as Captain 
 Fatwad and William Cinch, his 
 faithful wardman, added more largely 
 to the material prosperity of the pre- 
 cinct than had any other invention of 
 the age. 
 
 But to-night, as the little family sat 
 before the glowing grate fire, their 
 talk was not of the secrets of the lab- 
 oratory, the wonderful discoveries 
 which had brought fame to the gray- 
 haired sire and would have brought 
 wealth, too, had it not been for the
 
 150 ^be Cbange of tbe XucI?. 
 
 open-handed charity and philanthropy 
 which had always kept him poor. 
 Their thoughts were of their old 
 friends and neighbors on whom the 
 blight of poverty and misfortune had 
 fallen with crushing weight. 
 
 " I called on poor Mary Sawdust 
 to-day, papa," said Susan, " and it 
 made me heartsick to see what dis- 
 tress they are in. The plating is all 
 worn off their gold brick, and Henry 
 has no dye for his mustache. I prom- 
 ised Mary that you would replate 
 the brick for them and send them a 
 little of our best purple hair-dye to- 
 morrow morning. Was I right, 
 papa ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my child," responded 
 the father cheerfully, " I am sure that 
 the talents which Providence has 
 bestowed upon me can be put to no 
 better use than that of giving aid to 
 those of our friends who have suf- 
 fered."
 
 ^be Cbansc ot tbe %\xc\{, 151 
 
 " I met Rupert Flimflam in the 
 street to-night,"' continued Susan, 
 " and he, too, is playing in hard luck. 
 I promised him something to make 
 his silk hat shiny again. We must 
 see to it the first thing in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " These are terrible times, my 
 daughter," said the father sadly. 
 " While you were out this morning I 
 had a call from our old friend Colonel 
 Endsqueeze. He has aged terribly 
 since I last saw him, and when I asked 
 him what he was doing he seemed 
 ashamed to tell me, but before he left 
 he confessed to me that he had ac- 
 tually been obliged to go to work and 
 had accepted a position in a shoe 
 store. 
 
 " And his beautiful long white 
 hands ! What will become of them ? " 
 exclaimed the young girl. " Oh ! 
 papa, it is too terrible to think of. 
 How thankful I am that we still have
 
 152 ^be Cbange of tbe Xucft. 
 
 our own house, humble as it is, and 
 enough to keep want from our door." 
 
 " Poor child," said the old alchemist 
 to himself, as his daughter left her 
 place by the fireside to attend to her 
 household duties, " she little dreams 
 of the blow that has fallen upon us 
 too. I dare not tell her just now. 
 She will know the truth only too 
 soon." 
 
 Well might Percival Knockout feel 
 dispirited, for that very day Captain 
 Fatwad had called to tell him that 
 little Willie had lost his position under 
 the city government and that his name 
 would be withdrawn from the payrolls, 
 where it had figured ever since he 
 was six months old as inspector of 
 moonshine at a salary of $60 a month. 
 It w^as the kind Captain himself wdio 
 had secured the child's appointment 
 as a mark of affection for the old 
 alchemist, whom all loved and vener- 
 ated, and it was a bitter grief to the
 
 Zbc Cbanac of tbe Xuch. 153 
 
 gallant officer when the awful polit- 
 ical upheaval compelled his removal. 
 
 Filled with sad forebodings for the 
 future, the old chemist rose from his 
 seat and retired to his laboratory in 
 the adjoining room, and there, sur- 
 rounded by his well-loved retorts and 
 crucibles, he strove to efface from his 
 mind all recollection of the great 
 sorrow that had come upon him. 
 
 Such was Percival Knockout's 
 mental training that he could at all 
 times find distraction from the tem- 
 poral ills of life by immuring himself 
 in his laboratory and delving deep 
 into the mysterious science of alchemy, 
 whose occult secrets were to him as 
 an open book. At the time of which 
 I write he was engaged in the devel- 
 opment of an invention, on which he 
 had already expended years of patient, 
 scientific research, and which he 
 finally hoped would be the crowning 
 triumph of his life. This invention
 
 154 ^^^ Cbange ot tbe Xucft. 
 
 was nothing less than an instantaneous 
 process for removing the red and 
 black spots from cards. By its use 
 the value of a card could be instantly 
 changed, so that a player holding two 
 fours and a five spot could, by means 
 of a forefinger dipped in this solution, 
 secure three fours, while the simple 
 process of shuffling the pack was 
 sufficient to rub off the preparation 
 and restore the card to its normal 
 condition. 
 
 With this important discovery the 
 inventor firmly believed that the game 
 of poker, which was looked upon by 
 the citizens of the precinct as one of 
 the exact sciences, could be com- 
 pletely revolutionized, and his own 
 name handed down to posterity, 
 crowned with an everlasting fame. 
 
 Deeply engrossed in the final tests 
 of his invention, the hoary man of 
 science did not hear a modest tap on 
 the outer door, nor his daughter's ex-
 
 XLbc Cbanflc ot tbe Xucft. 155^ 
 
 clamation of surprise as the new-comer 
 entered the parlor. 
 
 " You here, Walter ! " she cried. 
 " I thought that when we parted last 
 it was to meet no more. Have you 
 no fear of my father's wrath ? He 
 has never forgiven you for turning 
 him down as you did the last time 
 you were here. But you seem to be 
 playing in great luck now, Walter. 
 Can it be that things are running your" 
 way again ? " 
 
 The young man drew from his 
 pocket a handful of blue celluloid 
 disks about an inch and a half in 
 diameter. 
 
 *' I'm playing nothing but blue 
 chips this season, Susan," he answered 
 briefly. 
 
 The young girl's eyes flashed with 
 a sunny, tender light as they beheld 
 the familiar symbols of wealth. 
 
 " Why, those are worth five dollars 
 apiece ! " she cried. '• But why did
 
 156 ^be Cbanse ot tbe Xuc??. 
 
 you neglect to cash in at the close of 
 the game ? I trust that nothing has 
 happened to the bank roll." 
 
 Walter Dealbrace laughed merrily 
 as he replaced the faro chips in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " I always bring a few of these 
 away with me and flash them up now 
 and then so as to inspire confidence. 
 But, Susan, I have come once more 
 to ask you to be my wife. I am no 
 longer the poor, broken-down Walter 
 whom you knew a year ago. Then I 
 had a system for playing the wheel, 
 and nothing but a few puny white 
 chips to play it with. But now " 
 
 He stopped short and threw back 
 his overcoat, revealing his handsome 
 frock coat and gray trousers, costly 
 scarfpin and heavy gold watch-chain. 
 
 " Now," he continued, slowly, as he 
 once more drew the handful of blue 
 disks from his pocket, " I am play- 
 ing nothing but these. It is a bright
 
 tTbe Cbanfle ot tbe Xucft. 157 
 
 azure future that I have to offer to 
 you, Susan. Will you share it with 
 
 me 
 
 ?" 
 
 The young girl seemed deeply af- 
 fected, and it was with trembling lips 
 and eyes running over with tears that 
 she replied : — 
 
 " Oh, Walter, I cannot — I dare not 
 answer you. My father's will is law 
 to me, although I am of legal age, and 
 he is very bitter against you. He has 
 forbidden all mention of your name 
 since the day that you borrowed his 
 holdout and eight bones and then 
 passed away from our sight, as we 
 thought, forever." 
 
 " Susan, hear me, I pray you," 
 pleaded the young man. " I found 
 when 1 sat in the game that night 
 that the holdout had lost its cunning, 
 and I dropped the eight bones to- 
 gether with two of my own, and then 
 passed out into the cold and silent 
 night, a penniless orphan. But your
 
 158 ^be Cbange of tbe Xucft. 
 
 father does not feel harshly to me, 
 else I would not have dared to call 
 here again ; for it is only three weeks 
 ago that he sent me a bottle of hair- 
 dye " 
 
 " No, Walter," said the young girl, 
 shyly, while a soft blush suffused her 
 delicate cheeks ; " it was I who sent 
 you the hair-dye, for I had heard 
 that you were in pitiful straits, and I 
 knew what a terrible thing it was for 
 you to be without dye for your mus- 
 tache " 
 
 " You sent it ! " he cried excitedly. 
 *' Then may Heaven reward you, for 
 it was your simple gift that changed 
 my luck. Listen, and I will explain 
 it to you. The morning after I ap- 
 plied the dye I found to my horror 
 that it had stained my mustache a 
 deep blue, and then I realized with 
 feelings of bitter despair, that I was 
 alone in the w^orld with a blue mus- 
 tache and a handful of white chips that
 
 tibe Cbange ot tbc Xucft. 159 
 
 I had brought away with me from the 
 faro table the night before, and which 
 were worth but ten cents apiece." 
 
 " Merciful Heavens ! " cried the 
 young girl. " I sent you the wrong 
 bottle by mistake. How could I have 
 been so careless } But, Walter, I 
 meant to do you a kindness. Indeed 
 I did." 
 
 " Hear me to the end, Susan," con- 
 tinued her lover. As I glanced from 
 the looking-glass to the little pile of 
 chips a sudden thought struck me, and 
 with trembling hands I opened the 
 bottle and applied some of the fluid 
 to one of the white disks, converting 
 it in an instant into a blue chip, 
 worth just $5. Since then I have 
 devastated the faro banks of our 
 precinct like a raging lion, and every 
 day I have converted a dozen or more 
 white chips into blue ones. But my 
 bottle of hair-dye is all gone and I 
 must have another. With your father's
 
 i6o ^be Cbanfic of tbe Xucft, 
 
 aid I shall become rich beyond the 
 wildest dreams of avarice. Then, 
 Susan, you must become my bride, 
 and it will be my happiness to toil 
 for you and make you the best and 
 steadiest husband ever known in this 
 precinct. So long as the gas burns 
 and the chips rattle I will labor for 
 you at the green cloth, and I will give 
 my solemn promise to keep away from 
 the roulette wheel and to play nothing 
 but case cards at faro." 
 
 It was a merry company that sat 
 down to the simple meal in the old 
 alchemist's happy home that night, for 
 Susan found it an easy matter to 
 effect a reconciliation between her 
 father and the dashing young lover 
 who had made such a wonderful dis- 
 covery. A few weeks later Susan 
 Knockout became the bride of Walter 
 Dealbrace, and so prosperous did all 
 the members of the family become
 
 ^be Cbanfle ot tbe Xucft. i6i 
 
 that they never really felt the loss of 
 little Willie's salary of sixty bones, 
 and to this day Susan Dealbrace 
 firmly believes that it is still paid to 
 her father every month. 
 II
 
 MR. SYNICK'S ANTI-BAD- 
 BREAK. 
 
 It was Mr. Synick who, last week, 
 startled that section of the community 
 which dwells under the shadow of the 
 big S in Society by an invention of 
 his own which is likely to come into 
 general use before the season is over. 
 
 Dolly Fatwitt, of the Simian Club, 
 who had a seat at Mr. Synick's table 
 the night that the new device was 
 first given to the world, admits that 
 the idea is a good one, but declares 
 that he will never forgive his host for 
 springing it upon them with a sudden- 
 ness calculated to dethrone the reason 
 of any one accustomed to the habits 
 of conventional society. 
 
 163
 
 i64 ^t. SBnlcft'0 ant(*J6aD*3Srcaft» 
 
 " I am assure you, deah boy," said 
 this distinguished cotillon leader, 
 when questioned about the affair, 
 " that it literally knocked the breath 
 out of my body — it came so sudden 
 and was so entirely unexpected, you 
 know ; and if that man Synick hasn't 
 a fearful nerve, then I'm mistaken." 
 
 " But what did Mr. Synick do ? 
 That's what I've been trying to find 
 out " 
 
 " One moment, deah boy ; upon 
 me soul you're too precipitate. I had 
 a card for his dinner. Turned up at 
 the propah time — they were just finish- 
 ing the soup — and took my seat next to 
 Mrs. Willie Poppinjay, a most charm- 
 ing woman, by the way ; and just as 
 I was putting me glass in me eye, I 
 happened to notice a big card with 
 printing on it lying at my place. I 
 took me glass out of me eye so as to 
 read it, for I thought it might be some 
 mining stocks, such as were given to
 
 /ftr. Sisnicli'a BntlsaBaD^JBrcaft. 165 
 
 us the night we all agreed to dine with 
 the Paydirts in their new house (and 
 lots of good that did them, that din- 
 ner, for of course we all cut them dead 
 the next week, because they were im- 
 possible !). But it wasn't a mining 
 share — for of course the Synicks don't 
 have to give presents with their din- 
 ners, though they may have to if they 
 spring any more such schemes " 
 
 '• But, in the name of Heaven, what 
 was the card that you mistook for a 
 share of mining stock ? " 
 
 " Here it is," said Mr. Fatwitt, 
 taking from the table a card contain- 
 ing the following legend : 
 
 " Svnick's Anti-Bad-Break ; or. 
 The Fool-Killer Dispensed With. 
 
 " Mr. Fatwitt. 
 
 " Please bear in mind that Mrs. 
 Poppinjay, on your left, is just coming 
 out for the first time after her second
 
 1 66 /Rr. S^nlcft'0 antlsa5aD*:©reaft. 
 
 divorce, and that she will probably 
 marry young Freshly Kawt, who sits 
 beside her. 
 
 " No. 2. — Mr. Kawt does not know 
 much of anything, and will probably 
 marry Mrs. Poppinjay. 
 
 " No. 3. — Mr. Skinnem is the son 
 of old Jabez Skinnem, who broke the 
 Suckers' National Bank, and is now 
 living in Montreal. Young Mr. Skin- 
 nem is merely tolerated in society be- 
 cause it is thought that he will be his 
 father's heir. 
 
 " No. 4. — Miss Kerfew is one of 
 the worst amateur actresses in Amer- 
 ica, and the worst reader and reciter 
 east of the Alleghanies. She gives 
 recitations at the slightest provoca- 
 tion." 
 
 " There are two things I would like 
 to know," said Mr. Fatwitt, as he put 
 the card carefully away. " One is, 
 what that picture means of a man 
 treading on eggs without smashing
 
 Hsx, SBnfcft'0 antl*31SaDs:SSreaft. 167 
 
 'em, and the other is why he put on 
 Mrs. Poppinjay's card that I was a 
 member of the Simian Club and was 
 wearing half-mourning for Mr Crow- 
 ley of Central Park. Why, 1 never 
 heard of the man in my life."
 
 FREAKS AND KINGS. 
 
 The superb oil paintings outside 
 the Bowery dime museums offer a 
 fruitful field for the study of royalty 
 as it is to day. From these pictures, 
 vivid in color and picturesque in com- 
 position, we, in democratic America, 
 glean our information of the daily 
 lives of kings. They teach us also 
 that physical malformation or eccen- 
 tricity is the surest passport to royal 
 favor and invariably secures for the 
 afflicted one that presentation at 
 Court which is the ambition of every 
 society woman in America. 
 
 By careful study of these Bowery 
 paintings we learn that when a Dog- 
 Faced Boy or a Toeless Lady is las- 
 
 169
 
 170 freaks anD Things* 
 
 soed in the Caucasus — a region 
 abounding in " freaks " and other 
 large game — the captive is conveyed 
 at once to St. Petersburg, and there 
 exhibited to the Czar, the Imperial 
 Family and any guests of distinction 
 who may happen to be there at the 
 time. The reception usually takes 
 place beneath the shadow of the 
 Alexander column, in the grand 
 square in front of the Winter Palace, 
 where a regiment of the Imperial 
 Guard has been drawn up. The 
 Czar, correctly attired in a linen 
 duster trimmed with catskin — a pre- 
 caution necessary in that latitude — 
 gazes at the Toeless Woman in speech- 
 less wonder. Prince Bismarck, who 
 signed the Treaty of Frankfort with 
 the placidity of a polar bear, and 
 engineered the Berlin Conference with 
 the subtle craft of a weasel, stands 
 utterly unnerved before the Leopard 
 Boy. So Von Moltke, who sat like a
 
 statue on his horse at Sadowa wait- 
 ing for the Crown Prince's division, 
 absolutely unconcerned, though the 
 destiny of Prussia hung in the bal- 
 ance, is strangely moved now. His 
 lips quiver and his limbs tremble, for 
 he is gazing at the Ossified Man, who 
 has stopped at St. Petersburg on his 
 way from the coast of Tartary to the 
 borders of Chatham Square, New 
 York. 
 
 It is a noteworthy fact that, owing 
 to political differences, the German 
 Chancellor and Chief of Staff never 
 visit the Russian capital except to 
 behold the wonders that are destined 
 for New York museums. Then one 
 touch of the unnatural makes the 
 whole world kin. 
 
 The receptions accorded to freaks 
 at other European courts, though fully 
 as ceremonious and flattering as those 
 in St. Petersburg, differ from them in 
 many respects. In Berlin, for ex-
 
 172 Jfccafte anD things. 
 
 ample, they are held, as a general 
 thing, in the throne-room of the Royal 
 Palace, and the rigid etiquette of the 
 HohenzoUern Court ordains that the 
 Emperor shall wear on such occasions 
 an ermine mantle, fastened at the 
 throat with a large '' buzzom pin," 
 and long enough to trail on the floor 
 behind him. Prince Bismarck, Gen- 
 eral von Moltke and other distin- 
 guished statesmen and warriors never 
 fail to attend in full uniform. 
 
 Sometimes the freak is dragged into 
 the Imperial Presence by a company 
 of marines, and sometimes it is in- 
 troduced by a polished and scholarly 
 " lecturer " in a swallow-tail coat. 
 But no matter in what way the 
 prodigy is brought before Royalty the 
 actions of the great men of the earth 
 are the same. They vie with one 
 another in facial contortions expres- 
 sive of amusement and incredulity. 
 Visiting kings, queens and emperors,
 
 yreaftg nnt> 1Ri\\Q6, 173 
 
 whose mania for viewing human 
 freaks is well known to everybody 
 who has walked from Chatham 
 Square to Fourteenth Street, fre- 
 quently journey to Berlin from 
 their own capitals for the purpose of 
 attending these receptions. They 
 either bring their crowns with them 
 or else borrow an old one of the em- 
 peror's, but it is contrary to etiquette 
 for them to appear without that 
 kingly form of head covering. 
 
 As for the freaks who are honored by 
 these attentions, custom compels them 
 to become a hundredfold more freak- 
 ish than they are before an ordinary 
 Bowery audience. The Wild Idiot 
 Boy struggles frantically with that 
 portion of the Landwehr which dis- 
 covered and captured him in the 
 heart of the Hartz mountains, while 
 his face wears a look of hopeless 
 idiocy, similar to that noted by sci- 
 entists in exclusive social gatherings
 
 174 3fcea!i6 anO Ikinss. 
 
 in New York. The Human Griddle 
 Cake broils himself on the palace- 
 range in the presence of the wonder- 
 ing sovereigns. The Tattooed Lady 
 becomes as lustrous as a prism out 
 of a glass chandelier ; while the Toe- 
 less Wonder has fully ten toes less than 
 she displays in Fourteenth Street. 
 The Transparent Man is so trans- 
 parent that the Czar of Russia, look- 
 ing through his left leg, readily dis- 
 tinguishes the features of Prince 
 Bismarck on the other side, and un- 
 doubtedly wishes that he could see 
 through the wily German Chancellor 
 too. 
 
 The Human Pin Cushion, who 
 recently appeared at the Berlin court, 
 accompanied by a voluble, swallow- 
 tailed " agent," fairly surpassed his 
 own record as a pin-cushion by driv- 
 ing spikes and darning-needles into 
 all parts of his body, while the royal 
 and imperial company gazed upon
 
 3freaft0 anO tkime. 175 
 
 him open-mouthed with wonder and 
 delight ; and Prince Bismarck called 
 his master's attention to him by a 
 well-aimed nudge under the ribs. 
 
 In England, as well as on the 
 Continent and the Bowery, freaks 
 are the recipients of marked atten- 
 tions. The Queen is never so happy 
 as when she stands on the terrace in 
 front of Windsor Castle, conversing 
 on the leading events of the day 
 with the Man with Two IMouths, or 
 turning the skipping-rope for the 
 Four-Legged Girl, to jump over. 
 Small wonder that the greater part 
 of the British army turns out to 
 view this beautiful and instructive 
 spectacle ; that Mr. Gladstone comes 
 from the House of Commons, and 
 that the Prince of Wales appears in 
 the same uniform which he wears 
 while smoking various favorite 
 brands of cigarettes ! 
 
 And whenever I notice a freak
 
 176 f'rcaftr atic^ Ikintiy. 
 
 sitting on his platform, with a far- 
 away look in his eyes, while the 
 lecturer delivers his glowing eulogy, 
 and w^hen I see that he is listless and 
 indifferent, and has not the ambition 
 to make himself transparent or water- 
 proof or fireproof, or whatever else 
 the oil painting outside may call for, 
 then I know that his thoughts are far 
 away in Buckingham Palace or gay 
 St. Petersburg, where he once re- 
 velled among the greatest of the 
 earth. 
 
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