Fresh 
 Every 
 Hour
 
 FRESH 
 EVERY HOUR 
 
 ^ ^^^ 
 
 DETAILING the Adven- 
 tures, Comic and Pathetic 
 of one 3immp ;fllarttn, Pur- 
 veyor of Publicity, a Young 
 Gentleman Possessing Sublime 
 Nerve, Whimsical Imagina- 
 tion, Colossal Impudence, and r 
 Withal, the Heart of a Child. 
 
 By JOHN PETER TOOHEY 
 
 BONI AND LIVERIGHT 
 Publishers :: New York
 
 FRESH EVERY HOUR 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 
 BONI & LlVERIGHT, INC. 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 \ 
 
 2083163
 
 Fresh 
 Every 
 Hour
 
 FRESH EVERY HOUR 
 
 Chapter One 
 
 JIMMY MARTIN'S heart persisted 
 in acting like the well-known eyes 
 of the young lady in the song. He 
 just couldn't make it behave. Up 
 to the third week of his summer 
 season as press agent at Jollyland, 
 the big summer amusement park 
 near New York, it had always been a fairly well- 
 mannered and dependable organ which performed 
 its physiological functions with becoming regularity 
 and which was not accustomed to respond to any 
 external stimuli with anything beyond an occasional 
 slight flutter. To be sure it had acted up a little 
 three years back in connection with a certain dark- 
 eyed beauty who presided over the destinies of the 
 cigar counter up in the Grand Hotel in New Haven, 
 but that had only been a slight attack and it had 
 resumed the even tenor of its ways after a brief 
 interval and had been unobtrusively going through 
 with its routine activities ever since.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 A most prepossessing young person whose parents 
 had inflicted upon her the name of Lolita Murphy 
 was directly responsible for the alarming symptoms 
 already hinted at. From the precise moment that 
 Lolita came within his ken Jimmy ceased to be a 
 rational being in full control of his faculties and his 
 heart, in sympathetic accord with the agitated con- 
 dition of its owner, began to put on an antic disposi- 
 tion and indulged in curious palpitations of a most 
 annoying nature on the slightest pretext. The usual 
 provocation at first was the sight of Lolita herself, 
 but after a day or two even the thought of her pro- 
 duced a cardiac ratiplan that would have done credit 
 to the trap drummer of a jazz band. 
 
 Lolita, it may be mentioned in passing, lived up 
 to all the implications of the somewhat picturesque 
 cognomen given her by McClintock, the park man- 
 ager, when Jimmy first pointed her out to his su- 
 perior. 
 
 "She sure is Miss Lulu Looker," McClintock had 
 remarked emphatically. 
 
 Lolita was all of that and a little more. Jimmy 
 was not a poet and he was therefore unable to 
 properly voice the feelings he had about her beauty. 
 Had he been one he might have justly said that her 
 cheeks seemed to have been kissed by the rosy 
 flush of dawn ; that in her sable eyes there lurked 
 the eternal mystery of night beneath tropic skies ; 
 that her dark hair was as fragrant as the spices of 
 Araby and that her lithe figure had all the gracile 
 curves of a bounding antelope. As it was he con-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 tented himself with the frequent repetition of the 
 decidedly unpoetic expression "some gal," but this 
 represented to him all the ideas noted above and 
 a liberal assortment of others equally glamorous. 
 
 Lolita hailed from Cedar Rapids, la., and ever 
 since the memorable occasion when Maude Adams 
 played "Peter Pan" in that city for "one night 
 only" she had cherished a great and overwhelm- 
 ing ambition. Her father ran the drug store next 
 door to the Opera House and was a great crony of 
 the manager. A number of boys and girls were 
 picked up in each town to play the children in the 
 Never Never Land scene and Lolita's fond parent 
 had persuaded the manager to select her as one of 
 the group. It was a step that father was to regret 
 vainly for many years, but on the night of her 
 debut he was blissfully unconscious of the possibil- 
 ity of any bitter repining in the future and en- 
 joyed the proceedings almost as much as Lolita did. 
 
 From that time on Lolita felt the call of the 
 footlights and became convinced that, given the 
 proper opportunities for the externalization of the 
 emotional feelings that lay dormant within her, 
 she was destined to become an international celeb- 
 rity and the queen regnant of the English speak- 
 ing stage. Chauncey Olcott came to town a few 
 weeks later and she persuaded father to work her 
 in as one of the youngsters to whom he sang a 
 lullaby in a high tenor voice down in the "glen" 
 which is always the setting for the third act of an 
 Irish play. After that there was no holding her. 
 ii ,
 
 Fresh Everv Hour 
 
 She became a student of Miss Amanda Holliday's 
 School of Dramatic Expression which occupied 
 three rooms on the second floor of the Turner block 
 on Main Street and she participated in the semi-an- 
 nual entertainments given by the budding geniuses 
 who were under the tutelage of that small town 
 preceptress of the arts. Versatility was her middle 
 name. At one time she would play Ophelia in the 
 mad scene from "Hamlet" and appear later on the 
 program in a Spanish dance with castanets, a lace 
 mantilla and all the other necessary properties. Six 
 months later she would combine the balcony scene 
 from "Romeo and Juliet" with an imitation of an 
 imitation of Eddie Foy she had heard given by a 
 monologue artist at the Orpheum Theatre. At the 
 age of nineteen she was the town wonder. The 
 dramatic editor of the Democrat-Chronicle pre- 
 dicted that within a short time "this talented 
 daughter of our esteemed fellow townsman Henry 
 P. Murphy seems destined to occupy one of the 
 stellar places in the front ranks of the worth-while 
 artists of our fair country." 
 
 Lolita moved on to New York armed with a let- 
 ter of commendation from Miss Amanda Holliday 
 setting forth that she was "worthy of any role no 
 matter what its importance" and urging theatrical 
 managers "not to neglect this oportunity of ob- 
 taining the services of one who is a mistress of the 
 mimetic art in all its manifold manifestations." She 
 also carried a full set of clippings from the Demo- 
 crat-Chronicle, one half of her male parent's at- 
 12
 
 tenuated account in the First National Bank and 
 an over-abundant supply of cheery optimism. 
 
 The metropolitan managers' office boys were de- 
 cidedly cold to the advances of this gifted daugh- 
 ter of the Middle West. They treated her with 
 that air of careless indifference so characteristic of 
 their profession. With one accord all the big and 
 little producers decided to take a big chance and 
 neglect the opportunity which fate was offering 
 them. They were unmoved by the clippings from 
 the Democrat-Chronicle with which Lolita bom- 
 barded them through the mails and they were cal- 
 lous to the eulogistic outpourings of Miss Amanda 
 Holliday, copies of which accompanied each written 
 request for an interview. Lolita's cash reserve 
 grew perilously low and disaster threatened. Then, 
 on a morning when disillusionment and despair 
 moved in and took lodgings in her soul, she saw 
 an advertisement in a newspaper which was like a 
 life buoy tossed to a drowning man. 
 
 "Ambitious Young Women Wanted for Stage 
 Work," it read. "Opportunity Afforded Ambitious 
 Amateurs to Perfect Themselves in Dramatic 
 Technique Apply Immediately at Manager's Of- 
 fice, 'Jollyland.' " 
 
 Lolita, filled with high hopes, took a trolley to 
 the great playground by the sea. There destiny 
 handed her one of those cold douches that are 
 sometimes held in reserve for those whose am- 
 bitions o'erleap themselves. The dramatic oppor- 
 
 13
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 tunity promised in the advertisement proved to 
 be what might be vulgarly termed a "job." 
 
 A great free open-air spectacle was in process 
 of preparation at Jollyland under the supervision 
 of a famous moving picture director who special- 
 ized in that form of animated art technically known 
 as "serials." He had personally conducted a gazelle- 
 eyed cinema celebrity known as June Delight 
 through four fifteen reel affairs of this sort in 
 which she had been threatened with mayhem, ag- 
 gravated assault and battery, felonious wounding, 
 and v total and complete annihilation at the hands 
 of numerous bands of cut-throats, bandits, thieves 
 and white slavers. In the course of these proceed- 
 ings she had performed every breath-catching feat 
 that the festive imagination of the director had 
 been capable of conjuring up and had succeeded, 
 by a miracle, in keeping out of both the hospital 
 and the obituary columns of the daily press. 
 
 Now it was proposed to let the public have a 
 close-up view of this death-defying marvel in the 
 flesh in the act of performing one of her most 
 famous exploits "before your very eyes and for 
 your attention," as the circus announcer would put 
 it. To permit of this the director had evolved some- 
 thing which he called a "dramatic spectacle" and 
 had persuaded the management of Jollyland to ar- 
 range for its production in a huge, specially con- 
 structed open-air auditorium as a "special added 
 attraction" intended to put a final quietus on the 
 presumptious efforts of a rival group of showmen
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 who were endeavoring to arouse interest in a new 
 park just opened that summer. 
 
 Lolita found herself in a long line of applicants, 
 many of whom were pathetically peaked and un- 
 dernourished looking, and when her turn came to 
 meet the director she made up her mind to pocket 
 her pride and accept whatever fate offered rather 
 than run the risk of finding herself in like straits. 
 Ambition still fired her soul and she was deter- 
 mined not to return to the little old home town 
 until she could enter it in something at least closely 
 akin to a spirit of triumph. To be sure the oppor- 
 tunity offered her was not particularly roseate. It 
 did not hold forth much promise of either pecuniary 
 reward or even of passing fame, but it meant that 
 Lolita would not have to telegraph home for funds 
 and there was a faint glimmer of hope in a remark 
 made by the director. 
 
 "You can mingle in the front ranks of the 
 crowd," he said. "We'll pay you eighteen a week. 
 There'll only be two shows a day." Then he had 
 looked at her critically. "You're almost a ringer 
 for Miss Delight," he continued. "Maybe, if you're 
 a good little girl I might take a notion to try you 
 out as understudy." 
 
 So Lolita Murphy, the pride of Cedar Rapids, be- 
 came a small and almost infinitesimal part of the 
 great out-door spectacle entitled "Secret Service 
 Sallie" which was the big sensation of the Jolly- 
 land season.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 In the role of an agent of the United States secret 
 service the charming and fascinating June Delight 
 was swept through a series of thrilling adventures 
 set against spectacular backgrounds depicting 
 scenes in Berlin, Tokio, Rio de Janeiro and other 
 world capitals and as a culminating feature she 
 was pursued to the roof of a building in London 
 by a howling mob which suspected her of being a 
 spy in the employ of the Central Powers. She was 
 saved from its hands, in the proverbial nick of 
 time, by her fiance, dashing Lieutenant Thurston 
 Turner, Commander of the U. S. Dirigible N-24, 
 who happened to be cruising about the neighbor- 
 hood at the moment and who effected a rescue by 
 circling his ship around the roof and deftly lifting 
 the young woman into the shelter of the gondola 
 which hung from the great gas balloon just as she 
 was about to be beaten to death by the infuriated 
 crowd. 
 
 Inasmuch as the spectacle was given in the open 
 air, it was possible to use for the purposes of this 
 scene a real dirigible which was manned by a crew 
 commanded by one Bobby Wilkins, a personable 
 young gentleman from Chicago who had come back 
 from France with a major's commission, a reputa- 
 tion for dare-deviltry as an aviator surpassed by 
 no other ace in the American service and a collec- 
 tion of a half dozen assorted war medals bestowed 
 by three grateful nations. Bobby had left a snug 
 berth as "assistant to the president" of a big varnish 
 company to go into the army, the said president be- 
 -16-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing a somewhat indulgent parent who had san- 
 guine expectations concerning his son's commer- 
 cial and industrial future and who was even now 
 sending him daily wires to the Ritz urging 
 him to "cut the carabets and get down to a solid 
 rock foundation." Father labored under the delu- 
 sion that Bobby was simply vacationing in New 
 York. Had he had an inkling of just what his son 
 was doing he would have (to use the young major's 
 own expression) "tried for a new altitude record 
 himlself." He could hardly be expected to know 
 that dictating fool business letters and checking 
 up the new efficiency expert's monthly report of 
 economies effected at the Dayton plant wouldn't 
 exactly appeal any more to an adventuresome 
 young man who had been skyhooting through the 
 upper reaches of the atmosphere for nearly two 
 years and dodging German machine gun bullets. 
 Bobby had overheard the general who com- 
 manded the aviation camp at which he was demob- 
 olized remarking about a request made by the mov- 
 ing picture director that he recommend some 
 aviator* for the task of piloting the dirigible which 
 was to play such an important role in the spectacle 
 and he had offered himself for the sacrifice just as 
 a lark. He found the experience rare sport and 
 until something giving greater promise of adven- 
 ture appeared in the offing he was determined to 
 go on with it. Twice a day he reached down and 
 plucked up the beautiful Miss Delight as lightly 
 as if she were a fragile doll while the assembled 
 17
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 thousands, on the qui vive with excitement, burst 
 into rapturous applause. In order to insure the 
 peace of mind of Robert Wilkins, Sr., Jimmy Martin 
 had consented, rather reluctantly it must be ad- 
 mitted, to respect the wishes of the impersonator 
 of Lieut. Thurston Turner, U. S. N., who had ex- 
 pressed a desire to remain incognito. Otherwise 
 the consequences might have been lurid. 
 
 Jimmy itched to give out a story concerning the 
 social and business connections of the young soldier* 
 but he had given his word, and being an ex-news- 
 paper man, that was sacred. He temporarily forgot 
 about Bobby and devoted his spare moments to 
 figuring out ways and means for the sensational 
 exploitation of Lolita Murphy to whose charms he 
 had become a shackled slave from the moment he 
 first glimpsed her at rehearsal. Lolita, it may be 
 mentioned in passing, was a trifle discouraged at 
 the comparatively slight opportunities for uplifting 
 and otherwise ennobling the American stage offered 
 by her participation in "Secret Service Sallie." Her 
 name wasn't even mentioned on the program. She 
 figured under an impersonal heading at the bot- 
 tom, together with a couple of hundred other young 
 women who were listed as "Berlin citizens, Japan- 
 ese geisha girls, South Americans, Londoners, 
 etc., etc." 
 
 It needed all the soaring optimism of Jimmy to 
 
 keep her from slipping into a nervous decline. The 
 
 press agent had obtained an introduction through 
 
 the stage director and his sympathetic interest in 
 
 18
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 her temporarily side-tracked ambitions had won 
 him her esteem and high regard from the begin- 
 ning. Jimmy was a rapid worker and within three 
 days from the time of their first meeting he had 
 vowed his ardent and palpitating devotion, and 
 while Lolita had not completely committed herself 
 to a reciprocal affirmation she had succeeded, never- 
 theless, by devious and subtle devices not unknown 
 to her sex, in conveying the distinct impression that 
 the star of hope was visible in the eastern sky. 
 
 It might be parenthetically recorded that Jimmy 
 was accustomed to arriving at his destination when 
 once he embarked on a journey He had been kid- 
 napped from an assistant sporting editor's desk on 
 a middle western paper by a small circus, while still 
 young, and for seven years he had been touring 
 these United States ahead of an infinite variety of 
 attractions ranging all the way from Curran's 
 Colossal Carnival company (playing state fairs) to 
 the more or less splendiferous "revues" which have 
 their origin and their brief span of popularity along 
 the middle reaches of Broadway. 
 
 Being more familiar with the batting averages 
 of the best ten players in the American League 
 than with George Henry Lewes', "The Art of Act- 
 ing," and being utterly incapable of writing a didac- 
 tic essay on "The Psychology of Laughter 1 ', Jimmy 
 had never been cast for one of the so-called "kid- 
 glove jobs" in the' realm of theatrical publicity, that 
 being the name given to the positions held by the 
 literati who seek and occasionally obtain publicity 
 19
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 for the high-brow drama. He was not of the chosen 
 company of the sleek and self-satisfied elect. Ele- 
 gantly written stories and gracefully worded little 
 pieces, supposedly composed by charming feminine 
 stars, meant nothing in his young and energetic life. 
 "Stunts" were what he specialized in, the creation 
 of news that was so unusual, so bizarre, so full of 
 human interest that the newspapers not only felt 
 obliged to print it, but usually assigned their own 
 reporters to write it up. He wasn't dignified; his 
 conversation reeked with slang and his methods 
 sometimes offended against all the established 
 canons of good taste, but he sometimes landed with 
 one foot and not infrequently with both. 
 
 His summer engagement at Jollyland was a "fill- 
 in" between seasons and when he entered upon it 
 he had no notion that it would shortly become 
 pregnant with possibilities of a most disturbing 
 sort. He had no idea that he would presently be 
 directing all of his energies to assuaging the anx- 
 ieties and soothing the troubled spirit of a some- 
 what forlorn maiden from what he was in the habit 
 of. scornfully referring to as a "hick town." 
 
 There came a night when Lolita's disappointment 
 was past all bearing and when she sobbed out on 
 Jimmy's shoulders a bitter protest against the fate 
 that had driven her into believing that she was 
 destined to be a great actress. They were sitting 
 on the beach in the moonlight after the show and 
 off in the murky distance the great Sandy Hook 
 light was 1 blinking like some monster fire-fly. 
 20
 
 Presh Every Hour 
 
 "Jimmy," she said, half-chokingly. "I just don't 
 belong. I wish I was back in Cedar Rapids." 
 
 "Gosh, that's an awful wish, girlie," responded the 
 press agent with a foolish attempt at a pleasantry 
 which he instantly regretted. 
 
 Lolita drew away from him quickly. 
 "Cedar Rapids is all right," she retorted. "It's 
 better than this lonesome place." She lapsed almost 
 immediately into a wistful mood. "It's just ten 
 o'clock there now and the movies are letting out, 
 and there's a crowd in dad's store and the fellows 
 are treating the girls to sundaes or just plain ice 
 cream and dad is fussing around and maybe help- 
 ing out himself. I want to go back, Jimmy, I want 
 to go back." 
 
 Jimmy squeezed her hand softly. 
 "Listen, girlie," he said comfortingly. "I know 
 just how you feel the cards ain't runnin' right and 
 you want to quit the game, but I'm going to cut in 
 with a clean deck and start 'a new deal. I'm goin' 
 to fix things so that when you do go back for a 
 visit to the little old home town and dear old dad, 
 the Peerless Silver Cornet band is goin' to be down 
 at the station and his honor the mayor is goin' to 
 speak 'a few well chosen words of welcome in the 
 presence of a cheering crowd of friends and well- 
 wishers. Leave it to me." 
 Lolita laughed a little in spite of her mood. 
 "You're a great little jollier, Jimmy," she said, 
 "and I'd like to believe you, but somehow I can't. 
 I'm a nobody, a Cedar Rapids" nobody." 
 21
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "But you're goin' to be little Miss Lolita Some- 
 body of the well known world," he responded cheer- 
 ily, "before I get through with you. I'm goin' to 
 drop you right into the direct center of the front 
 page of every paper in the U. S. A. from the New 
 York Gazette to the Wyalusing, Pa., Rocket. 
 You're goin' to make those two chaps with the 
 whiskers on the cough drop boxes and that fat 
 old colored dame in the pancake flour ads look like 
 shrinkin' violets on a foggy afternoon when I finish 
 up with you. You just wait and see." 
 
 "How long have I got to wait, Jimmy," ven- 
 tured Lolita who was adrift in the realms of fancy, 
 carried thence by the soothing cadences of Jimmy's 
 voice. 
 
 "Only until some afternoon when this June De- 
 light person fails to show up, I hear she's talkin' 
 of layin' off for a few days. If you'll promise not 
 to even talk about it in your sleep I'll hand you a 
 little advance information." 
 
 Only the silent stars and the discreet moon shared 
 Jimmy's confidence with Lolita. Its general tone 
 and tenor lifted that despairing daughter of the 
 plains out of the rut of hopeless striving into which 
 she felt she had fallen and filled her with such an- 
 ticipatory delight that when she said good-bye at 
 the door of her boarding house she impulsively 
 reached forward and kissed him full on the mouth. 
 
 "You're a darling/' she murmured. 
 
 "I'll take an encore on that, girlie," he replied. 
 
 And he did. 
 
 22
 
 Chapter Two 
 
 Miss June Delight sumlmoned Manager McClin- 
 tock to her dressing room just before the Saturday 
 night performance and successfully simulated the 
 classic symptoms of impending nervous prostration 
 while she sniffed at a vial of smelling salts and 
 submitted to the ministrations of a tired maid who 
 gently massaged her forehead with her finger-tips. 
 Miss Delight, in a voice that was barely audible, 
 informed the manager that she could not possibly 
 endure the trying ordeal of further performances 
 after that evening without a brief period of rest 
 and that she was leaving for a week's stay at a 
 sanitarium on the following morning. 
 
 McClintock gave voice to low moans and flew 
 other signals of distress, but Miss Delight was ob- 
 durate to his more or less frenzied expostulations 
 and remarked that while she was disturbed at hav- 
 ing to disappoint her "dear, lovely, friendly public," 
 she felt that her health was the prime considera- 
 tion. The manager was in a surly mood when he 
 left her to seek out the stage director. 
 
 "Who's the understudy?" he inquired. 
 
 "She calls herself Lolita Murphy,'' replied the 
 director, "but I understand there's a certain party 
 connected with the publicity department who calls 
 her even flossier names than that."
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Jimmy's gal, eh?" commented the manager. 
 "Well, she's there with the looks anyway. Has 
 she had a rehearsal?" 
 
 "She's been through the thing roughly with the 
 rest of the understudies, but I can have the whole 
 troupe called for tomorrow morning, and we can 
 run straight through. We'll get out the dirigible 
 and go through with the rescue stunt. We mustn't 
 fall down on that. The little lady seems to be there 
 with the nerve, but I'd like to try it out." 
 
 Jimmy was permitted to break the news to Lolita. 
 He met her after the performance that night and 
 imparted the glad tidings. When he left he gave 
 her a final word of caution. 
 
 "Keep the little old nerve up, girlie," he said 
 earnestly, "and we'll wake up the whole country 
 on Monday morning." 
 
 "I'll try, Jimmy," she whispered. "You're just 
 the well, just the dearest boy I've ever known.'' 
 
 On the following morning Lolita, athrill with ex- 
 citement and a little nervous, assumed the title role 
 in "Secret Service Sallie" at a rehearsal to the 
 complete satisfaction of McClintock, the stage di- 
 rector and Jimmy Martin. The latter watched her 
 with adoring eyes, and when she successfully es- 
 sayed the sensational rescue scene he was moved to 
 wild and clamorous applause which sounded a bit 
 startling tin the great empty auditorium. Under 
 Bobby Wilkin's expert direction the big clumsy 
 dirigible was manoeuvred around the edge of the 
 roof and Lolita was lifted into the car by the for- 
 24
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 mer ace with such adroit ease that the whole thing 
 seemed to be simply part of a casual everyday ocur- 
 rence. When it was over Lolita had been safely 
 landed back on earth and had received the congratu- 
 lations of everyone concerned, she drew Jimmy 
 aside and clutched at his arm for support. 
 
 "I'm ready to faint," she said weakly. "I believe 
 I would have up on the roof when I saw that big 
 thing coming towards me if that fellow hadn't 
 grabbed me off so quickly." 
 
 "You need a little nap," responded Jimmy sooth- 
 ingly. "The worst is over and the best is yet to 
 come. "Don't forget that young Mr. Arthur H. 
 Opportunity has a date with you this afternoon, 
 and that the big splash is due tomorrow morning. 
 Now you go in and get a little sleep and I'll have a 
 talk with my friend, the handsome lieutenant. I 
 fixed things with him last night, but I've got to go 
 over some details again." 
 
 A few minutes later the press agent was closeted 
 with Bobby Wilkins in the hangar in which the 
 dirigible was housed. The park gates had just been 
 opened for the day and crowds of holiday merry- 
 makers were surging through them in quest of the 
 fifty-seven varieties of feverish and hectic enter- 
 tainment which Jollyland provided for those in 
 search of diversion. 
 
 If anyone had called Jimmy Martin a "psycho- 
 therapist" he would have denied the soft impeach- 
 ment promptly, and then asked for a dictionary and
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 an explanatory blueprint. And yet, as a direct re- 
 sult of a random idea which had bobbed into his 
 active mind a few weeks before, he was uncon- 
 sciously serving in that capacity for a large and 
 ever increasing throng of metropolitan society 
 women of varying ages who flocked to Jollyland 
 (in search of a new thrill which he had provided. 
 The winding up of war charity work which had 
 followed close upon the return to these shores of 
 the larger part of the American army had turned 
 many of these women back upon their own re- 
 sources and their innate restless activity, which had 
 found such an altruistic outlet in new channels for 
 several years, now imperiously demanded fresh ex- 
 citement, and it was this that Jimmy offered them. 
 
 On the occasion in question, Jimmy had over- 
 heard a coy young debutante who was watching 
 a performance of "Secret Service Sallie" remark 
 to a group of friends who accompanied her that 
 she'd "just love to go up on the stage and mix with 
 the crowd.'' That was enough for the press agent. 
 Ten minutes later, during the intermission, he es- 
 corted the entire party behind the scenes, and, under 
 his guidance, they participated in the London epi- 
 sode which concluded the show. They mingled with 
 the crowd of supernumeraries and entered into the 
 proceedings attendant upon the thrilling dirigible 
 rescue with such gusto that the stage manager 
 gave Jimmy carte blanche to encourage the idea. 
 
 It happened that in this particular party were 
 several of the socially elect and the papers next 
 26
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 morning carried extensive stories chronicling the 
 event coupled with the announcement that the park 
 management would, throughout the season, be 
 pleased to extend the privilege of participating in 
 the entertainment to other groups who might wish 
 to take advantage of the opportunity for this un- 
 usual form of entertainment. Society seized upon 
 the idea voraciously and Jollyland parties gave a 
 new filip to the summer season at all the Long 
 Island resorts. Elderly matrons of ample girth vied 
 with the members of the younger set in setting the 
 pace and in many instances came again and again to 
 become a part of the great spectacle. For the first 
 time in its history Jollyland began to figure in the 
 society columns of the daily press and great was 
 the prestige which Jimmy enjoyed in McClintock's 
 eyes as a result. 
 
 The particular luminary of the Long Island sea- 
 son at the moment and the prospective lion of the 
 month of August at Newport was none other than 
 the Hon. Betty Ashley, daughter of the second 
 Lord Norbourne, and the most talked about young 
 woman in English society for a period the begin- 
 nings of which antedated the war by several years. 
 Before the great European conflagration the Hon. 
 Betty, though then still in her early twenties, was 
 a European celebrity. Spirited, impulsive, and 
 headstrong by nature she had early rebelled against 
 the ultra-conservative traditions of her family and 
 had so thoroughly flouted convention that her name 
 was on the tip of the tongue of everyone in the 
 
 27
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 tight little island. She began it by publicly slap- 
 ping the face of a certain deposed kinglet who had 
 sought refuge and a safe haven in England and 
 whose sole offense had been a mild protestation of 
 love made at a fashionable garden party. There 
 had followed her sensational and entirely unar- 
 ranged presentation of a petition for woman's suf- 
 frage to England's monarch himself at a formal 
 court (an incident which sent her dignified father 
 to his bed for two weeks) ; her arrest on suspicion 
 of being implicated in a militant attempt to set 
 fire to the parliament buildings and her subsequent 
 acquittal after she had refused to mlake any defense 
 against a damaging array of circumstantial evi- 
 dence ; her jilting of the Earl of Maidsley in an ex- 
 planatory and derisive letter to the Times ; her win- 
 ning of the amateur tennis championship and a host 
 of other incidents of a distinctly unconventional 
 nature. Then the war had come and she had gone 
 over to France in the first months as a motor driver 
 and had still managed to keep in the public eye for 
 five years despite the somewhat considerable 
 amount of attention devoted by the newspapers to 
 the main phases of the great struggle itself. She 
 had, for one thing, won a D. S. O. for bravery under 
 fire in the first battle of Ypres and she had, for 
 another, been reprimanded in orders for organizing 
 a ball at a certain chateau occupied by the staff of 
 a certain corps during the absence of the command- 
 ing general at a conference at G. H. Q. 
 Now she had come to the United States for the 
 28
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 first time and had materially assisted in putting zest 
 and "punch" into a round of festive house parties 
 on Long Island given by prominent members of 
 the swiftest moving coterie of the so-called smart 
 set. Small wonder that when she heard of the ex- 
 peditions to Jollyland which were enjoying such a 
 vogue that she should elect to organize one herself. 
 
 "I'm not entirely a rank amateur, my dear," she 
 confided to her hostess when the party was prepar- 
 ing to depart. "I went on for two nights running 
 in the chorus at the Alhambra last winter on a five 
 pound wager, and I'd have stuck it out for a whole 
 week for the fun of it if the pater's blood pressure 
 hadn't been running abnormally high. The old dear 
 would have gone all to smash if he had found out 
 and he might if I'd kept on." 
 
 The Hon. Betty, her dark beauty set off by a 
 rose-pink silk sweater and a Tam o'/Shanter to 
 match, was in the first car of the string of six 
 which disgorged a laughing crowd of merry- 
 makers in front of Jollyland on Sunday afternoon. 
 They made for the big arena immediately as it was 
 within a few minutes of the advertised time for the 
 ringing up of the curtain on the great spectacle. 
 The Hon. Betty let it be known to an usher, who 
 was duly impressed by her air of authority, that 
 she craved an immediate interview with the man- 
 ager. McClintock, still disturbed at the defection 
 of the capricious Miss Delight, responded begrudg- 
 ingly ; was apprised of the identity and mission of 
 the distinguished visitor and sought out Jimmy
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 Martin in great excitement. He found the press 
 agent back on the stage. 
 
 "Say, young fellow," he said enthusiastically, 
 "I've got a Monday morning story for you already 
 made and ready to try on. This Betty Ashley 
 Who's been grabbing off space all over the world 
 for a long time and who's the big noise with the 
 real folks over here this summer, is out in front 
 with a crowd right out of the social register, and 
 she wants to go on in the London scene. I told her 
 she could. Get busy now and prepare for a general 
 assault on the helpless press." 
 
 Jimmy received this intelligence with a glum- 
 ness that rather annoyed McClintock. 
 
 "What did she want to pick out today for?" he 
 inquired uneasily. 
 
 "What's the matter with today? It's the best 
 day possible for a good break for us. The papers 
 are always glad of anything that makes a noise like 
 a story on Sunday. What's the matter?" 
 
 "Oh, nothin', replied Jimmy absent-mindedly, 
 "only I wish she'd waited until the middle of the 
 week. I was kinda figurin' on oh, never mind, 
 it'll be all right." 
 
 50
 
 Chapter Three 
 
 An acute observer would have detected signs Oi 
 suppressed excitement in the general demeanor of 
 Jimmy Martin during the progress of the early 
 scenes of the great spectacle in which Lolita Mur- 
 phy was essaying the leading role for the! first time 
 on any stage. He had exchanged his customary 
 cigarette for the solace of a particularly formidable 
 looking cigar which he puffed at nervously as he 
 sat in the manager's box with his cap pulled down 
 over his eyes. His whole body was tense and rigid 
 and though there was a look of adoration in his 
 eyes there was something more a vague some- 
 thing that seemed to spell apprehension. 
 
 Justice compels the admission that Lolita was 
 doing Cedar Rapids proud. She moved through 
 the thrilling situations of "Secret Service Sallie" 
 with the ease and calm assurance of a veteran and 
 more than merited the applause which the vast 
 holiday audience showered on her. When the cur- 
 tain rose on the final scene the one depicting the 
 streets of London the audience, keyed up to ex- 
 pectant excitement by the gaudy promises of the 
 program held its collective breath and Jimmy sunk 
 his teeth viciously into what remained of his cigar. 
 McClintock slid into the seat alongside of him.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "That gal of yours is sure making good," he 
 remarked good-naturedly. "If she goes through to 
 the finish as nicely she'll find a surprise in her enve- 
 lope on Saturday night. There's that English so- 
 ciety dame and her party strolling along just as 
 if they were back in dear old London. I had Law- 
 rence, the assistant stage manager, go on with 'em 
 to put 'em wise to all the business." 
 
 The mimic street on the stage was thronged 
 with a motley crowd of supernumeraries who were 
 supposed to represent the populace of the British 
 metropolis out for an airing on a .bank holiday. 
 The rose-pink sweater of the Hon. Ashley was the 
 most conspicuous object in view. That patrician 
 ladv bobbed in and out among the others, appar- 
 ently having the time of her life and urging her 
 friends, with violent pantomime, to enter into the 
 festivities with something akin to her own en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 Presently the audience hear a murmur pass 
 through the crowd on the stage an Jimmy's acute 
 ear detected the muffled purr of the motor on the 
 dirigible which was, at that moment, manoeuvering 
 for position and awaiting its cue two hundred feet 
 in the air just behind the backs of the last row of 
 spectators. The press agent grabbed the railing 
 in front of him and leaned eagerly forward. He 
 was watching the right side of the stage. 
 
 A motor car shot out of the win^s through a 
 lane in the crowd. In it sat Lolita Murphv in the 
 role of queen of the American secret service! It
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 was plain that she was simulating great anxiety arid 
 that she was being followed, bhe looked apprehen- 
 sively over her shoulder and the audience could 
 catch excited shouts of "stop her, stop her." A 
 gigantic bobby stepped directly in the path ahead of 
 the car and drew his revolver. The chauffeur pulled 
 a lever and the car stopped abruptly. A man on a 
 motor-cycle came dashing up. 
 
 "Arrest her," he shouted and he sprang from the 
 sadd'e. "She's a German spy from the Wilhelm- 
 strasse." 
 
 Lolita looked about furtively, poised herself for 
 just a moment and then leaped out of the car, 
 overturning an athletic super and making for a 
 doorwav as trie crowd brake into frenzied cries of 
 "kill her, kill her.'* The incident had been re- 
 hearsed with the utmost regard for actualitv and 
 as the mob surfer! after trie suspected spy the vast 
 throner of spectators swaved with excitement like 
 a field of tall prass in a breeze. Lolita reached the 
 ^afety of the doorwav bv almost trie fract'on of an 
 inch and disappeared. The crowd poured in after 
 her and McClintock caught Jimmy's arm as he de- 
 tected a vanishing flash of rose-pink. 
 
 "Damned if that Ensrlifh dame isn't right in at 
 the death," he said excitedly. "She's going up on 
 the roof." 
 
 Jimmy didn't reply. He was watching the top of 
 the make-believe buildine r with eyes that were 
 strained and staring. As Lolita emerged from the 
 hatchway and plunged forward, with a fine gesture
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 of despair, he looked back over his shoulder for a 
 moment and noted that the N-24 was slowly swing- 
 ing forward and that the alert and eager face of 
 Bobby Wilkins was visible over the edge of the car 
 which hung from the rear of the big balloon. 
 
 Lolita held out appealing hands and gave voice 
 to cries for assistance. The crowd, in the vanguard 
 of which was a lady in a rose-pink sweater with 
 cheeks that were flaming and with eyes that were 
 dancing, swarmed up through the opening and sur- 
 rounded the suspected spy. The supernumeraries' 
 voices became a blended babble of inarticulate cries 
 and 3467 spectators watched the developments in 
 a tense silence. 
 
 Nearer and nearer swung the great dirigible. 
 Lolita was now in the hands of the mob with which 
 she struggled fiercely. As the N-24 swung around 
 the corner of the roof she turned as per instructions, 
 but Jimmy noticed with a gasp of concern that she 
 had turned in the wrong direction and that she was 
 making her way to the wrong side. She was evi- 
 dently bewildered. Bobby Wilkins was leaning out 
 of the car with his arms outstretched and was be- 
 seeching her to run toward the other side of the 
 roof. In another five seconds the dirigible would 
 have passed on and the spectacular finish of the 
 bier show would be ruined. McClintock swore 
 softly. Jimmy sat as one entranced. 
 
 Some of the supers were pushing Lolita to the 
 other side, but she seemed to be in a panic and 
 struggled with them as if still acting the earlier 
 
 34
 
 scene. At this juncture Jimmy noticed that a lady 
 in a rose-pink sweater had run to the edge of the 
 roof just above which the dirigible was moving, 
 and that she was holding up her arms. His cigar 
 dropped from his mouth a second later when he 
 saw Bobby Wilkins grab her outstretched hands, 
 swing her free of the roof and pull her into the 
 car as the great dirigible finally cleared the stage 
 setting and, in quick response to the hand of the 
 pilot in the front car, nosed her way upward at a 
 higher rate of speed. The curtain fell and the re- 
 pressed excitement of the great audience found vent 
 in tumultuous applause. The thing had happened so 
 quickly that there were apparently few who had 
 noticed that the wrong young woman had been 
 saved from certain death by the timely arrival of 
 Lieut. Thurston Turner, U. S. N. 
 
 "My God, what a whale of a story," chortled 
 McClintock, gripping Jimmy's arm so fiercely that 
 the press agent winced with pain. 
 
 "Yes, isn't it?", responded Jimmy dreamily as he 
 watched the N-24 winging her way over the park 
 and out towards the sea. The spectators had risen 
 from itheir seats and were applauding again as a big 
 American flag was unfurled from the rear car of 
 the dirigible. 
 
 The balloon kept on its way toward ffie ocean 
 and McClintock noticed that it didn't make the turn 
 it usually did when it reached the giant roller 
 coaster that ran along the shore. A puzzled ex- 
 pression came over his face. If he had looked at 
 
 55
 
 Jinimy sharply just then he would have observed 
 the first beginnings of a pleased smile tilting the 
 corners of the press agent's mouth. A minute 
 passed and the great yellow gas bag receded farther 
 and farther in the distance. McClintock stepped 
 down and borrowed a field glass from a spectator. 
 He glued his eyes to it for a few moments and 
 then dropped his arms. His face was pale. 
 
 "His motor's dead," he said weakly, "and he's 
 drifting 1 out to sea. The propellor's stopped and 
 he's being carried out by this land breeze. We've 
 ^ot to do something we've got to get help of some 
 kind." 
 
 The manager was plainly worried. He pressed 
 the glass on Jimmy, who had followed him out of 
 the box, and the latter watched the clumsy balloon, 
 now a? the mercy of the stiff breeze which had 
 blown up, slowly but surely disappearing in the 
 ooalescent haze which hung above the line where 
 sky and ocean seemed 'to meet. The owner of the 
 glasses had overheard McClintock's remark and had 
 passed the word to his neighbor. In two minutes 
 thei news had spread through the great crowd and 
 thousands of eyes were focused on the drifting 
 speck which presently vanished. 
 
 McClintock, pushing Jimmy before him, started 
 for the main office and found him'self surrounded 
 by an excited group of men and women. An up- 
 standing chap in a British major's uniform who 
 ""ore a cap on which was the red velvet band of 
 a staff officer, stepped forward. 
 36
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "We're Miss Ashley's friends," he said, with a 
 touch of feeling in his voice, "and we'll do every- 
 thing we can to assist you. She's a bit untamed, 
 sir, and she shouldn't have done that wild, foolish 
 thing, but she's the best woman alive for all of 
 that and now that she's in danger we're going to 
 help you see her out of it. Has that dirigible got a 
 wireless on board?" 
 
 "No,' f replied the manager. "There wasn't any 
 need for one. Since it's been here it's never been 
 more than a mile or two away from the hangar 
 before." 
 
 "That's bad damned bad," responded the officer. 
 "Of course, mavbe they'll be able to fix the engine 
 but we can't take chances on that. If you'll let 
 me use your telephone I'll call up our embassy in 
 Washington and get them to get in touch with the 
 Navy Department. We'll have all the ships in range 
 of trie Arlington station on the lookout in an hour.'* 
 
 The thoroughly sobered group of pleasure seekers 
 who had accompanied the Hon. Betty to Jollvland 
 two hours before, followed McClintock and Jimmy 
 Martin into the offices in the administration build- 
 ing and talked in low voices while the major began 
 to fuss in the telephone booth witH 1 tne long distance 
 operator. Some of the women were weeping-.
 
 Chapter Four 
 
 In the seclusion of his private office Jimmy tele- 
 phoned the Associated Press, the police and the 
 nearest United States life saving station, in the 
 order named, while McClintock, who was plainly 
 tremendously worried, paced restlessly up and down 
 the floor, pausing- occasionally to glance out of the 
 window at the broad expanse of sky and sea in the 
 vain hope that some sight of the lost dirigible 
 might greet his eye. Just as Jimmy began calling 
 up the metropolitan newspaper offices in a fine 
 frenzy of excitement, both men heard the office 
 door slam violently. They turned in unison and 
 found themselves confronted by Lolita Murphy. 
 Gone was the shy manner, the demure smile and 
 the air of coy ingenuousness. Her cheeks were 
 flushed, her eyes were blazing and her whole man- 
 ner indicated that she was in what is generally re- 
 ferred to as a "state of mind." 
 
 "Hello, girlie," Jimmy called out pleasantly, 
 "what's the matter?" 
 
 "Don't you dare girlie me, Mr. James T. Martin," 
 retorted Lolita in a voice that she was palpably 
 trying, with a great effort, to keep at an even and 
 menacing tone. "Don't you dare to speak to me 
 again. I camie in to tell you that and to let you 
 -38-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 know that even if I do come from Cedar Rapids 
 I can't be fooled by any New York by any New 
 York bunco man.'' 
 
 EDer voice broke on the last word and tears came 
 into her eyes despite the struggle she was making 
 to hold herself in hand. Jimmy came toward her, 
 but she waved him off hysterically. McClintock 
 watched the proceedings in amazement. 
 
 "What's the idea, Lolita?", -began the press agent 
 beseechingly. "I don't get you. I don't under- 
 stand." 
 
 "Don't try to tell me that," ran on Lolita, who 
 was now half sobbing. "Don't try to tell me that 
 you didn't turn me down when that English girl 
 came into the park with all those society people 
 and that you didn't get together with that Wilkins 
 fellow to have me left there so you could get a 
 better story out of it with her. You fixed it all up 
 and you can't tell me that you didn't because I just 
 know, that's all. I had a sweater on under my 
 dress so's I wouldn't catch cold, and I had milk 
 chocolate in my pocket and I'd written home to 
 mother about it's going to happen and telling her 
 not to worry about anything she might read in the 
 papers the first day, and now nothing's happened 
 at all to me and I've been made a fool of and it's 
 all your fault if you ever try to come near me again 
 or speak to me I'll slap your face, Mr. James T. 
 Martin, I'll slap your face. Do you hear me, Mr. 
 James T. Martin? I'll slap your fresh little face." 
 
 She was gone before Jimmy could remonstrate. 
 
 39
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 The door closed behind her with a more reverberat- 
 ing bang than the one which had heralded her en- 
 trance. Jimmy dropped into the nearest chair and 
 gazed vacantly into space. McClintock shook him 
 roughly by the shoulder. 
 
 "Say," he shouted. "What in hell is this all 
 about?" 
 
 "She handed me the mitt, Mac she's handed 
 me the mitt, and she wouldn't even let me explain," 
 responded Jimmy brokenly. "It's the real heart- 
 throb stuff this time, Mac, the real heart-throb 
 stuff. I had everything framed up for her and this 
 English jane just drops in like a joker runnin' 
 wild and wins the hand." 
 
 "You had what framed?" 
 
 "Why this drifting out to sea stunt," replied 
 Jimmy in a dead voice. 
 
 "This drifting out to sea you don't you can't 
 mean that this thing is a plant," gasped the man- 
 ager incredulously. 
 
 "Of course it is,'' returned the press agent with 
 something of the old note of self-assertiveness in 
 his voice. "I had it all fixed up for Lolita, and now 
 this society dame is goin' to get away with all the 
 head-lines. When I saw Wilkins pull her into the 
 car I didn't think he'd go all the way through, but 
 it looks as if he's decided to. There's no use in 
 worryin' about it. Every little thing is comin' out 
 all right and say don't forget to remember that 
 it's goin' to be some story now some story.'' 
 
 40
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Just let me get this big idea through my head," 
 persisted McClintock. "What happens next?" 
 
 "Of course his motor hasn't really gone dead," 
 replied Jimmy. "He's just ordered his engineer to 
 shut it off so they can drift with the wind. That 
 was all framed up between us. He'll probably turn 
 on the gas again and cruise around out of sight of 
 land for a couple of hours and shut off his engine 
 every time he sees a ship comin' in sight. That'll 
 be an alibi for the story. When the little old sun 
 starts to sink in the west he'll turn that gas 'bag 
 towards the Jersey coast and he'll make a landing 
 just before dark at a place we picked out yesterday 
 morning. He's going to lay under cover there, and 
 we'll keep the country guessin' all day tomorrow." 
 
 "But someone will see him land," criticized the 
 rrianager. 
 
 "I don't think there's a chance of that," replied 
 Jimmy jauntily. "We picked out a spot that's as 
 lonesome lookin' as an iceberg. There isn't a house 
 within two miles, and there's nothin' but marsh- 
 land all around. There's one little place right in 
 the center that's high and dry. That's where he 
 lands. Wilkins has got his car planted a couple of 
 miles away and his chauffeur is goin' to be right on 
 the job in a row-boat you see there's a little creek 
 that runs through the swamp and the girl is goin' 
 to be taken away in the boat and slipped away to 
 a hotel that is, Lolita was goin' to be slipped away 
 and was goin' to keep dark until she got the signal 
 to appear again. Maybe this society queen'll be 
 41
 
 Fresh "Every Hour 
 
 game enough to go through with it just for the fun 
 of the thing." 
 
 "We were goin' to keep the agony up until to- 
 morrow night at the earliest and maybe until the 
 day after tomorrow. Then Wilkins was goin' to 
 telephone that he'd just landed after bein' tossed 
 about in the air and all that, and Lolita was goin' 
 to have a nervous collapse and be interviewed in 
 bed by a flock of reporters with a couple of trained 
 nurses and three doctors hoverin' around in the 
 offing. You can fill in the other details yourself. 
 Anyhow, it's a grand little notion for a story even 
 if this Betty Ashley person doesn't come through. 
 We'll know about that tonight." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Why, the chauffeur has instructions to telephone 
 me the minute he gets to the hotel. That ought to 
 be not later than nine-thirty." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me all about this before- 
 hand?" 
 
 Jimmy smiled a bit guiltily before replying. 
 
 "I had a hunch that mjaybe you'd put the kibosh 
 on the whole scheme because I was featurin' a 
 certain party too much," he responded. He grew 
 serious again for a minute and a far-away look 
 crept into his eyes. "Say, Mac," he went on, "I 
 had a number that called for the grand prize, and 
 I've lost the ticket. It's rotten luck. From the 
 way she spoke a few minutes ago I'll bet I don't 
 ever get out again, not even on probation." 
 
 "That's be all right," consoled McClintock. "I'll 
 42
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 fix that part of it for you. It's a great story even 
 if the Hon. Betty Ashley doesn't go through and 
 if she does why, if she does, it'll be the biggest 
 thing ever pulled off in this country. Think of that 
 for a little while." 
 
 The Associated Press and the metropolitan news- 
 papers were inclined to be a bit skeptical of the 
 facts which Jimmy telephoned them at the outset, 
 but outside confirmation was forthcoming promptly 
 and within two hours after Major Bobby Wilkins 
 and Hon. Betty Ashley had disappeared in the gen- 
 eral direction of the open sea the story was the 
 sensation of the summer in journalistic circles. 
 
 A squad of picked feature writers invaded Jolly- 
 land in quest of detailed particulars concerning the 
 events leading up to the beginning of the ill-fated 
 balloon trip ; seven sob sisters motored to the pala- 
 tial home at which the Hon. Betty was a house 
 guest and interviewed a weeping and distraught 
 maiden aunt of that lady who had been acting as a 
 submissive chaperone, and who was certain that 
 when "dear Ned, her father, hears the news he'll 
 froth at the mouth and have a stroke ;" cables were 
 frantically dispatched to London instructing corre- 
 spondents to break the news to "dear Ned" and 
 watch the results ; city editors pawed over assort- 
 ments of photographs of the beautiful heroine and 
 conferred with art department heads as to the most 
 suitable ones to use for decorative lay-outs ; dozens 
 of "leg-men'' were sent out to points along the 
 Jersey and Long Island coasts with directions to
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 watch for any possible news of the return of the 
 balloon and to keep on the lookout for any pleasure 
 yacht owner who might have seen the dirigible 
 after she passed out of sight of land; the Wash- 
 ington offices were instructed to post a man in the 
 navy department all night long to watch for any 
 wireless news which might come flashing back from 
 the torpedo boat destroyers which, at the urgent 
 solicitation of the British ambassador, were to be 
 sent out to scour the sea in search of the missing 
 airship, and it was unanimously decided at editorial 
 councils in every office to let the story "lead" the 
 paper the following morning unless some great 
 unforseen national or international calamity tran- 
 spired in the meantime. 
 
 Jimmy Martin became the focus point of more 
 importunate newsgatherers than he had ever 
 fancied, in his wildest dreams, would assail him for 
 information and when a delegation of correspond- 
 ents from a half dozen London papers looked in on 
 him at eight o'clock and told him that they had 
 been instructed to rush as much stuff as the cables 
 would carry he almost passed into a trance. 
 
 "Mac," he confided to the manager when the 
 English correspondents had gone, "I feel like the 
 fellow who looked at the giraffe and said 'there 'aint 
 no such animal/ There ain't no such story. It's a 
 dream. 
 
 "Well, I've left instructions that we're not to be 
 called," returned McClintock. "Let's dream a little 
 nTore."
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 In the star dressing room on the big stage of the 
 open air auditorium Lolita Murphy was getting 
 ready for the evening performance of "Secret Serv- 
 ice Sallie," and was making a brave effort to con- 
 trol herself. She was as forgotten as yesterday's 
 newspaper and the realization of it sent great tears 
 of bitter disappointment coursing down her rouged 
 cheeks into the make-up box on the little table in 
 front of which she sat.
 
 Chapter Five 
 
 . It was nearly midnight when Bobby Wilkins* 
 chauffeur reported over the telephone to Jimmy 
 Martin and McClintock, who had been keeping anx- 
 ious vigil in the office all night. 
 
 "There ain't a sign of him," he said hurriedly. 
 "I waited right where you told me to wait, and if 
 he'd have been anywhere within a couple of miles I 
 could have seen him after it got dark. The moon 
 has been shining bright for a long time, and I had 
 a pair of glasses with me. I'm afraid it's all up 
 with him if he hasn't landed somle place else along 
 the coast. It's tough for all of us if anything's 
 gone wrong, ain't it?" 
 
 The chauffeur was instructed to make another 
 trip to the selected landing place and to stay there 
 until dawn when relief was promised. Jimmy was 
 pale and over-wrought when he hung up the tele- 
 phone receiver and turned to McClintock. 
 
 "If he had landed any place else," he remarked, 
 "he'd have made every effort to get to a phone. 
 He'd know we'd be worried. Gee, Mac, supposin* 
 somethin's happened to 'em. If there has little old 
 Robert B. Remorse'll be my side-partner for life. 
 He told me he'd be prepared for all emergencies 
 and he's there with the nerve, but maybe they ran 
 into a squall or something. Why'd I ever think of 
 -46-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 this stunt? I've got too much imagination, Mac, 
 I've got to teach it to lie down and behave." 
 
 The two sat up all night, smoking incessantly and 
 discussing the variety of fates which they fancied 
 might have overtaken the adventuresome Bobby 
 Wilkins and his distinguished fellow passenger. 
 Jimmy called up one of the newspaper offices every 
 fifteen minutes for news, but there wasn't any 
 worth mentioning. The dirigible had not been 
 sighted by any ship with which the navy wireless 
 had been able to get into communication and the 
 half dozen destroyers sent out to search for it were 
 reported to be without definite information. 
 
 The entire country seethed with the story in the 
 morning. The Associated Press had carried fifteen 
 hundred words into every newspaper office in every 
 city of importance from coast to coast and the big 
 dailies in Chicago, Philadelphia and Boston had 
 three and four column stories from their metropol- 
 itan correspondents, liberally illustrated with pic- 
 tures of the Hon. Betty, who was one of the most 
 photographed women of her time. McClintock, 
 who had no knowledge of Jimmy's promlise to keep 
 Bobby Wilkins' real name out of print, had blurted 
 it out to a group of reporters in the evening and 
 the salient facts concerning the modest wearer of 
 three war medals were incorporated in all of the 
 accounts. Robert Wilkins, Sr., forgot that he was 
 a mere business machine, wiped a few tears out of 
 the corners of his eyes, looked tenderly at a picture 
 of a curly headed boy he always kept in one of the 
 
 47
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 drawers of his desk and started east on a special 
 train. 
 
 The total haul in the New York morning papers 
 was seventy-six columns of solid reading matter 
 and thirty-eight photographic illustrations. Every 
 angle of the story was covered in great detail and 
 in addition to the main narrative there were ex- 
 tended biographical sketches of the Hon. Betty and 
 of Bobby Wilkins. There were cabled stories from 
 London concerning the festive career of the former 
 and containing an expression of deep concern from 
 the British premier. There were also eulogies of 
 the one time ace from personages no less impor- 
 tant than the American commander in chief in 
 France and the generalissimo of the allied armies. 
 All in all it was the most spectacular "feature 
 story*' in years and the greatest achievement in 
 the history of American press agentry. McClintock 
 admitted that much when the first editions came in. 
 
 "Jimmy," he said, "it's a dog-goned shame that 
 you've got to lie low and never get credit for this. 
 Still you've got company. I was . reading in the 
 paper the other day that there's a well defined 
 rumor that the more or less celebrated covenant of 
 the well known League of Nations was finally 
 framed up by a clerk in the British foreign office. 
 You can drop over later on and take a little drink 
 with him and cry it all out on each other's 
 shoulder." 
 
 Jimmy's only response was a mournful attempt 
 at a smile. He lit another cigarette, jerked out of 
 -48-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 his chair and began to swear softly as he walked 
 up and down the room. He made a vicious lunge 
 with his foot at a waste-basket and kicked it 
 through the door into the next office. Then he took 
 off his soft hat, rolled it into a lump and slammed 
 it down on the floor with a wide, sweeping gesture. 
 
 "I don't mind that so much," he said testily. 
 "After landin' a smear like that, though, I'd kinda 
 like to have a good time with myself for a few min- 
 utes. I'd kinda like to throw a few assorted flow- 
 ers up in the air and let 'em drop on me, but I'm so 
 gosh-darned worried about what's actually hap- 
 pened that I can't even have that much fun." 
 
 His anxiety increased as the day wore on and 
 the early editions of the evening papers which 
 played up the story even ntore extensively than the 
 "mornings'' failed to buoy him up. There was still 
 no word of the N-24, and navy department officials 
 in Washington were reported to be gravely alarmed 
 at the possibilities. 
 
 At noon the British embassy gave out the an- 
 nouncement that "a distinguished person" had cabled 
 for detailed information and had begged to be kept 
 in hourly touch with the developments. Flaming 
 head-lines carried the legend "King Anxious About 
 Lost Dirigible." Upon reading this three rival pub- 
 licity promoters who had suspected the presence 
 of the fine Italian hand of Jimmy Martin in the pro- 
 ceedings from the beginning and who had foregath- 
 ered for lunch in their favorite club, simultaneously 
 started out on a joint jamboree that was to become 
 
 49
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 a memorable minor historical incident in the turgid 
 annals of Broadway. It offered the only means of 
 escaping from the tragic feeling of profound and 
 passionate envy that surged up from the very 
 depths of their beings. 
 
 At 3 o'clock as Jimmy, red-eyed and haggard, 
 nodded at his desk between telephone calls, a mes- 
 senger boy dropped a cablegram in front of him. 
 He tore it open and gazed bewilderingly at this 
 cryptic message : 
 
 HAMILTON, BERMUDA. 
 JAMES T. MARTIN. 
 JOLLYLAND PARK, 
 
 CONEY ISLAND, N. Y. 
 COME ON IN THE WATER'S FINE- 
 GIVE MY REGARDS TO LOLITA, BUT 
 CAN'T SAY I'M SORRY IT HAPPENED AS 
 
 YET - BOBBY WILKINS. 
 
 Jimmy gave a second look at the heading and 
 rushed into the next office where McClintock was 
 snoring sonorously on a sofa. He shook the man- 
 ager savagely and waved the cablegram in front of 
 his eyes. 
 
 "All's right with the world, Mac," he shouted 
 joyously. "They've landed in Bermuda. Can you 
 beat that fresh son-of-a-gun doin' a thing like that ? 
 What's the big idea, I wonder?" 
 
 McClintock grabbed the message and read it hurriedly. 
 
 "I guess maybe he's mailing the answer," he re- 
 marked." It beats me. You'd better get a wire off 
 to him asking for particulars." 
 
 50
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 The shrill summons of the telephone brought 
 Jimmy back into his own office the next moment. 
 The voice of his friend, Lindsay, the day desk man 
 of the Associated Press, came over the wire in crisp, 
 staccato sentences. 
 
 "Got some news for you," he said. "It's going to 
 make this morning's headlines look sick. Here's 
 the way our first bulletin reads : 
 
 " 'Washington, D. C July 7 The British ambas- 
 sador has just given out the following cablegram 
 received from the Governor-General of the Ber- 
 muda Islands : 'Please announce to press the mar- 
 riage this morning in St. John's chapel, Hamilton, 
 of the Hon. Elizabeth Ardsley Ashley, eldest daugh- 
 ter of Lord Norbonne, Bart., of London, England, 
 to Robert Benjamin Wilkins, Jr., only son of Rob- 
 ert Benjamin Wilkins, Sr., of Chicago, 111, U. S. A. 
 The ceremony was entirely informal/ " 
 
 "I'm ordering three thousand words from our 
 Bermuda correspondent," went on Lindsay, "and 
 I'm having London break the news gently to dear, 
 old dad. I suppose if I came down on Sunday with 
 the wife and the kiddies you could slip us into a few 
 of your side-shows." 
 
 "Say," responded Jimmy exultingly/' you're goin* 
 to get a life pass good for each and every attrac- 
 tion within the big enclosure." 
 
 As he hung up the telephone and swung around 
 in his swivel chair the door leading into the hall 
 opened ever so gently and the pale and tear-stained 
 face of Lolita Murphy peered through the open- 
 
 5'
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing. Jimmy gazed at her, open-eyed, as she came 
 slowly into the room. He noticed that she had a 
 crumpled bit of paper in her hand. 
 
 "Jimmy," she said timidly, as she held out her 
 arms in appealing suppliance, "I'm just a just a 
 foolish small town kid. I didn't understand I 
 didn't understand." 
 
 Jimmy, in a daze, took the paper which she held 
 towards him. It was another cablegram. He 
 smoothed it out and the peace that surpasseth un- 
 derstanding settled down upon him as he read these 
 words : 
 
 HAMILTON, BERMUDA. 
 LOLITA MURPHY, 
 
 JOLLYLAND PARK, 
 
 CONEY ISLAND, N. Y. 
 WON'T IT EASE YOUR DISAPPOINT- 
 MENT A LITTLE TO KNOW THAT THE 
 MAD IMPULSIVE THING I DID YESTER- 
 DAY AND THE RASH ACT I HAVE JUST 
 COMMITTED IN THE CHAPEL HAVE 
 TRANSFORMED ME INTO QUITE THE 
 HAPPIEST WOMAN ALIVE BOBBY HAS 
 TOLD ME ALL ABOUT EVERYTHING AND 
 HE FEARS THAT YOU MAY THINK YOUR 
 FRIEND MR. MARTIN HAD A FINGER IN 
 THE PIE HE HAD NOTHING TO DO 
 WITH IT, MY DEAR IT WAS JUST FATE 
 OUR BEST REGARDS TO YOU BOTH. 
 
 ELIZABETH ASHLEY WILKINS. 
 
 McGintock, coming into the room just then, tip- 
 toed out again and closed the door softly behind 
 him, thus proving himself to be a gentleman of 
 singular tact and discretion.
 
 Chapter Six 
 
 An understanding- with Lolita which contained 
 certain qualifying clauses was one of the net results 
 of the Adventure of the Lost Dirigible. Jimmy 
 filed a number of demurrers, but they were over- 
 ruled as soon as they were entered on the docket. 
 He had been foolish enough to imagine on the cele- 
 brated morning after the night before that a per- 
 ceptible scent of orange blossoms clogged the cir- 
 cumambient air, but this belief was soon dissipated 
 by the young lady herself. 
 
 "I can't get married, Jimmy," she said earnestly, 
 "until I find out about my career." 
 
 "What's that got to with it?'' 
 
 "Why, just why, everything. I was reading an 
 article only the other day by Mary Garden in which 
 she said that marriage cramped the career of a 
 woman on the stage. She said that husbands were 
 a handicap that they held you back with the tail 
 end of the procession and kept you from getting 
 on. She said 
 
 Jimmy broke in with a scornful laugh. 
 
 "I suppose she mentioned Mrs. Fiske and Laur- 
 ette Taylor and Ethel Barrymore and Blanche Bates 
 and all the other selling platers who've been left 
 at the post because they were foolish enough to 
 enter the matrimonial stakes," he scoffed." "It's 
 
 55
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 really too bad about 'em. It looked once as if they 
 had a chance." 
 
 Her mouth stiffened at this and she tossed her 
 head with a little gesture that spelled stubborn 
 defiance. 
 
 "Well anyway /' she said, "I'm going to see 
 how it works for a little while. Maybe there isn't 
 going to be any career for me beyond well, beyond 
 'Secret Service Sallie.' If there isn't I might pos- 
 sibly 
 
 She paused thoughtfully. Jimmy's scornful mood 
 had passed and he looked at her appealingly. 
 
 "You might possibly what?" he ventured, cau- 
 tiously." There isn't goin' to be another catch in 
 it, is there?'' 
 
 "I'm afraid there is," she replied, quietly. "You'll 
 have to settle down somle place first. I don't think 
 I'd ever learn how to keep house permanently in a 
 hotel bed-room and besides 
 
 Again a disturbing pause. Jimmy was rapidly 
 becoming a pitiful object to behold. 
 
 "Get it all out of your system, sister," he said, 
 weakly. "I'm a glutton for punishment." 
 
 "Well,"' she resumed evenly, "besides settling 
 down you'd have to have some money in the bank 
 quite a little. That's the most important thing. 
 There was a girl in our town once who ran off with 
 a fellow in the show business and lived a hand-to- 
 mouth sort of a life for several seasons after pass- 
 ing up a lot of good chances among the boys she 
 knew. She's back selling stockings in Boyd's Em- 
 
 54
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 porium on First avenue now and she looks kind of 
 faded out and tired. I like you a lot, Jimmy, and 
 you've treated me better than I deserved and you're 
 the nicest fellow I ever knew, but we've got to be 
 sensible and wait and see how things work out. 
 Won't you please?" 
 
 The "please" was long drawn out and a bit plain- 
 tive. It touched the heart-strings of the hapless 
 press agent and played a tender little strain upon 
 them. He meekly agreed to -all the qualifying 
 clauses in the agreement and he would have signed 
 on the dotted line if they had been three times as 
 numerous. 
 
 Filled with a new enthusiasm his imagination 
 began to run riot and within two weeks his surprise 
 assaults upon the front line trenches of the forces 
 defending the serried columns of the metropolitan 
 daily newspapers resulted in space returns that es- 
 tablished new records. 
 
 He contrived to have a member 1 of the President's 
 cabinet who happened to take a ride on the Dippy 
 Dip stalled in his gondola one hundred and seventy- 
 five feet in the air for half an hour while a squad 
 of mechanicians labored feverishly to get things 
 straightened out. That landed on the front page of 
 every paper in town. He married off the Armless 
 Wonder in Bisbee's Carnival of Freaks to the Leg- 
 less Marvel with a new result of six "picture 
 spreads" and five and a half columns of solid read- 
 ing mlatter. His discovery that the little dark-haired 
 girl who danced on the open air stage in the big 
 
 55
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 free show every afternoon and evening was the 
 daughter of a grand duke who had fled in disguise 
 from Soviet Russia and who had feared to reveal 
 her identity because of the possibility of attack 
 by Bolshevik sympathizers in this country was his 
 biggest coup, however. This was sensationally 
 played up for all it was worth and considerably 
 more in every New York daily and had been tele- 
 graphed all over the country. As a "follow-up" on 
 this he arranged to have two uniformed guards ac- 
 company the young woman wherever she went. 
 This, too, landed heavily and Jimmy's customary 
 high opinion of his own prowess was perhaps more 
 noticeable than ever. 
 
 One evening while he was sauntering through 
 the incandescent splendor of Jollyland in a mood of 
 supreme elevation, he heard the booming voice of 
 McClintock hailing him from the porch of the ad- 
 ministration building. 
 
 "Come out of it," the manager shouted. 
 
 Jimmy dropped back to earth with a start and 
 sauntered toward the office. 
 
 "Gosh," observed McClintock, "you looked as if 
 you were off on a long journey. I hope you brought 
 an idea back with you. We need one. That's what 
 I wanted to talk to you about." 
 
 Jimmy smiled the inscrutable smile of one who 
 is the custodian of the wisdom of the ages. 
 
 "I've got a neat little assortment of goods I 
 picked up," he responded cockily. "What can I 
 offer you?"
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Well, it's this way," returned McClintock. "You 
 haven't pulled anything yet about our co-worker, 
 Signer Antonio Amado, and, his trained animal 
 show. He's just been bawling his head off to me. 
 Says there's a conspiracy on foot to keep him out 
 of the papers and threatens all kinds of trouble if 
 we don't slip something over about his concession 
 right away. I know you planned to get around to 
 him before long, but you'd better start something 
 right off. Can you think of anything?" 
 
 Jimiriy didn't reply for nearly half a minute. His 
 general manner betokened profound mental con- 
 centration. 
 
 "I guess we can accommodate that bird," he 
 finally remarked. "I don't want to hurl any purple 
 pansies at myself, but I think I've got a stunt that'll 
 pretty nearly crowd everything else on to the back 
 page . I've got seven other animal stories ready, but 
 I think this one has a shade on all of 'em. I'll slip 
 over and ooze it into our Dago friend's intellect." 
 
 The manager laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "Say," he commented, "you're the best little 
 friend of yourself you ever had, aren't you? Just 
 hand out a little of that conversation to Tony and 
 he'll lie down and behave for a few hours. Tell 
 him you'll get his picture in all the papers. That'll 
 make a hit with him. He's a member of your lodge." 
 
 The implications of the last remark made about 
 as much impression on Jimmy as did the idle wind 
 which at that moment was lightly brushing his 
 cheek. He strolled over to the garish and gaudy 
 
 57
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 building which housed Amado's Colossal and Gar- 
 gantuan Collection of Trained Wild Beasts from the 
 Trackless Jungle; paused just long enough at the 
 main entrance to tell the dark-eyed lady cashier 
 that she looked like a pocket edition of Maxine 
 Elliott and passed into the auditorium where Signer 
 Amado was directing the progress of the final show 
 of the night. 
 
 The animal trainer was a short, stocky, swarthy- 
 hued Latin with beady eyes, shiny black hair, and 
 a moustache to the care of which he devoted him- 
 self with self-effacing solicitude. It was a fierce 
 looking affair with ends pointed like a rapier, which 
 thrust themselves aggressively upwards at a sharp 
 angle giving the signer's dark countenance a look 
 of great ferocity. He tried desperately hard at 
 all times to live up to that moustache and he had 
 a habit of working himself into violent rages which 
 were, in reality, rather hollow and empty affairs, 
 as even the most casual observer could see. He was 
 at heart, a weak and excessively vain little man. 
 Only the animals who leaped or cowered at his 
 command were fooled by his appearance of ferocity. 
 
 At the conclusion of the show he retired to his 
 office and began to pour into the unreceptive ears 
 of the general director of promotion and publicity 
 a voluble stream of protest against the neglect of 
 himself which Jimmy was able to check only with 
 great difficulty. 
 
 "Listen, Signor," he finally managed to remark. 
 "You're wastin' gas you'll need some day when
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 you're climbin' uphill. I came in to tell you about 
 a scheme I've got that'll put you and your show 
 right in the center of the map in bright green, and 
 you begin this eruption stuff that doesn't get you 
 even a look-in. Will you listen to me?'* 
 
 "All right. I makea de listen," replied Signer 
 Amado, "but eef eet eesa nota one gooda schema 
 thata m&kea me hava de face Signer Antonio 
 Amado's face all ever de what you call ? all over 
 de whole damned place I queeta de park so." 
 
 He snapped his fingers airily and shrugged his 
 shoulders. Jimmy proceeded to expound and ex- 
 patiate, and as he did so the signer's face took on a 
 look of intense interest. Presently it was wreathed 
 in smiles, and he was patting the press agent on 
 the back and uttering words expressive of pleased 
 delight. The conspirators conferred for a half an 
 hour, carefully going over Jimmy's plan of cam- 
 paign and adjusting the smallest details thereof so 
 that there would be no disturbing faux pas on the 
 morrow. They pledged the success of the enter- 
 prise just before midnight in brimming glasses of 
 Chianti which the signor drew from a secret hiding 
 place in his desk. 
 
 At about ten o'clock on the following morning an 
 express wagon drove up in front of Signor Amado's 
 concession and four husky attendants brought out 
 a large box which was placed on it. Jimmy drew 
 the driver aside and gave him final instructions. 
 
 "Get right near the tower on the Manhattan side 
 of the Brooklyn bridge," he said, "and figure on 
 
 59
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 making it at just about noon. Drive slowly and if 
 anyone near you makes a noise like a cop don't pull 
 anything just then. Wait till there's no one lookin' 
 and then reach back, unfasten jthe hasp and lift the 
 lid. Then you've got to register surprise, conster- 
 nation and annoyance and suggest calling up Signor 
 Amado when the plot begins to thicken, if you get 
 what I mean." 
 
 The driver, a typical "wise" product of the New 
 York streets, nooded his head, Signor Amado spoke 
 a few mystic words through a wire netting at one 
 end of the box and the "plant" started on its way 
 after Jimmy gave a final parting instruction. 
 
 "I'll probably be in the immediate vicinity when 
 things begin to break," he cautioned, "but for the 
 love of P. T. Barnum don't make any signs of 
 recognition.** 
 
 <5o
 
 Chapter Seven 
 
 And so it came to pass that at the appointed hour 
 Jimmy, nonchalantly strolling along 1 the promenade 
 near the great stone tower on the Manhattan side 
 of the bridge, cast a wary glance down towards the 
 roadway and observed the express wagon slowly 
 jogging along directly underneath. The driver, 
 covertly glancing to the right and the left, reached 
 behind the seat with a quick mjovement, fumbled 
 for an instant with the hasp and, after lifting back 
 the lid of the box, resumed his two-handed control 
 of the reins, perceptibly slowing up the speed of 
 the wagon. 
 
 The next instant the mischievous and uncannily 
 human looking head of a large-sized monkey ap- 
 peared above the top of the box. He blinked for a 
 moment in the strong sunlight, reassured himself 
 that the driver was not watching him, leaped lightly 
 to the roadway and made for the network of auxil- 
 iary cables which run from the main supporting 
 cables of the great bridge. Following him came a 
 procession of other monkeys of varying sizes and 
 kinds short-tails and long-tails, some with weird 
 whiskers and others as devoid of facial adornment 
 as a new-born babe all of them chattering and 
 gibbering, each one intensely alive and apparently 
 61
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 determined on having the time of his or her young 
 life as the case might be. There were fifteen of 
 them in all and as they sprang out of the wagon, 
 one by one, and started to join the venturesome 
 leader of the expedition they attracted the atten- 
 tion of scores of pedestrians, chauffeurs and drivers. 
 
 "Hey, there, young fellow," shrieked a man on 
 the promenade. "You gosh-darned zoo in escap- 
 ing." 
 
 The driver stopped the wagon suddenly, turned 
 around and proceeded to give a perfect imitation of 
 a man in that particular frame of mind popularly 
 known as a "blue funk." He jumped to the roadway 
 and tried to clutch the last of the escaping simians 
 by the hind legs. That agile creature eluded his 
 grasp and joined two of his brethren who were 
 chattering gaily at the base of the labyrinthian 
 maze of cables and supports. By this time the first 
 dozen of the monkeys had clambered aloft and were 
 surveying the constantly increasing crowd of joy- 
 ous onlookers from points of vantage anywhere 
 from twenty to a hundred feet in the air. 
 
 A policeman shouldered his way through the front 
 ranks of the crowd and looked up at the galaxy of 
 nimble apes. He was sputtering and fuming with 
 rage. 
 
 "Come down out of that," he yelled helplessly, 
 shaking his club in an absurdly futile attempt to 
 wield authority. 
 
 The crowd roared with delight. One of the 
 monkeys still on the ground darted toward him, 
 62
 
 Tfresh Every Hour 
 
 leaped on his shoulder and sprang from it to the 
 nearest cable far above his head before he was con- 
 scious of exactly what had happened. He struck 
 vainly at it with his stick. The crowd rocked with 
 laughter. Two other policemen joined him, forcing 
 their way with difficulty through the dense mass of 
 pedestrians on the promenade. 
 
 "Maybe if we whistled at him, Dinny," observed 
 one of these sagely, "they might come down/' 
 
 The three guardians of the law proceeded to 
 pucker up their lips and to emit a series of plaintive 
 whistles which so startled the one-time denizens 
 of the jungle that all of them, as if swayed by some 
 comjmon impulse, swung lightly to places ten or 
 twelve feet higher. 
 
 "Sing 'em a little song," shouted a ribald youth 
 and the crowd once more chortled with glee. 
 
 At this juncture a police lieutenant arrived on 
 the scene, attracted from a distance by the great 
 congestion of traffic. More than two thousand per- 
 sons were now gathered on the promenade and 
 vehicular progress in both directions was clogged. 
 A long line of trolley cars was strung out to the 
 east and the west, and several hundred motor cars 
 and trucks were stalled while their drivers crowded 
 forward to enjoy the fun. The lieutenant sized up 
 the seriousness of the situation instantly. He dis- 
 patched one of the patrolmen to telephone for the 
 reserves and to send in a still alarm for the fire 
 department, and then turned to Jimmy's willing 
 tool, the driver. That individual, still registering 
 -bj-
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 dazed bewilderment, shrugged his shoulders when 
 asked to assist in bringing down the escaped 
 monkeys, who were now festooned in irregular 
 formation along the interlocking cables for a dis- 
 tance of several hundred feet. Most of them were 
 swinging by their tails and otherwise comporting 
 themselves with a supreme disregard for law and 
 order. 
 
 "I can't do a thing, boss," persisted the driver. 
 "I don't know the first name of a single one of the 
 bunch. Maybe if some one telephoned for the gink 
 that owns 'em he might be able to bring 'em down.'' 
 
 And so it further came to pass that Signor An- 
 tonio Amado was reached on the telephone at Jolly- 
 land; that he swore lustily in three languages in 
 simulation of great consternation and that he prom- 
 ised to come to the scene of hostilities as rapidly 
 as his touring car could bring him. When he ar- 
 rived forty minutes later,- the crowd had grown to 
 ten thousand and the greatest tie-up of traffic in 
 the history of the bridge was in progress. The fire- 
 men from two hook and ladder companies were 
 making ineffectual efforts to bring down the inno- 
 cent disturbers of the great city's peace and dignity 
 and a certain press agent, watching the proceedings 
 from a discreet distance, was enjoying the biggest 
 emotional experience of a somewhat checkered and 
 not altogether drab career. He was getting the 
 same sort of thrill that comes to the playwright as 
 he stands in the rear of a theatre during a tense 
 scene in a play of his writing and watches a great
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 audience swayed by something he has originated. 
 
 Jimmy noticed with keen interest that a group 
 of newspaper men had already gathered on the 
 scene, and that among them was no less a celebrity 
 than Frank Malia, of the Item, the star feature 
 writer of the Eastern Seaboard and a specialist in 
 stories with a humorous angle. Jimmy knew that 
 there were standing orders in the Item office to 
 "let Malia's stuff run," and he felt reasonably sure 
 of at least a column and half in that particular 
 paper. 
 
 It may be recorded that the arrival of Signor 
 Amado, resplendent in the snappy green and white 
 huzzar uniform he wore while directing the per- 
 ' formances in his concession, brought the festivities 
 to a rapid conclusion. In response to sharply 
 spoken words of command from the fierce-looking 
 little trainer the truant apes descended rather re- 
 luctantly from their perches and permitted them- 
 selves to be herded together once more into the 
 wooden cage, the top of which was now securely 
 fastened down under the personal direction of the 
 police inspector who had arrived to take charge of 
 affairs a few minutes before. 
 
 The great throng cheered the signer vociferously 
 when he had finished and stepped into his car. He 
 bowed again and again, kissed his hand, waved his 
 busby and gave other indications of profound satis- 
 faction with himself and with what he felt to be the 
 justly merited plaudits accorded him. Jimmy per- 
 mitted himself to be swallowed up in the eddies 
 -65-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 of the dispersing crowd, as the signer's car whirled 
 him back to Jollyland. 
 
 The subsequent proceedings were all that the 
 most sanguine and optimistic press agent could de- 
 sire. The story landed with a big splash in all the 
 evening papers, and four of the morning papers 
 covered it with feature yarns running all the way 
 from three quarters of a column to nearly two col- 
 umns in length. The longest story of all was writ- 
 ten by Malia. It was a delightful bit of foolery 
 written in a spirit of satirical burlesque and full of 
 whimsical little touches that made it the talk of the 
 week in journalistic circles. 
 
 There was only one thing that marred the perfect 
 symmetry of the general effect. While the fact 
 that the monkeys' temporary habitat was Jolly- 
 land was properly chronicled in headlines and in 
 the body of all the stories, there was no mention 
 made by name of Signer Antonio Amado except in 
 one paper and then his alliterative cognomen was 
 atrociously misspelled and appeared as Andy 
 Amato. He was referred to, of course, and de- 
 scribed as well, but impersonally. Mention was 
 made in one story of "a funny little fellow who 
 looked as if he had escaped from the chorus of a 
 "Balkan operatta," and Malia had called him "a 
 bandit king with the manners of a marquis and the 
 sang-froid of a Subway guard.'' 
 
 After glimpsing the evening papers and observ- 
 ing this omission Jimmy had turned over the con- 
 duct of affairs in his office for the night to his 
 66
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 assistant, hoping that the morning- papers would 
 use the signer's name. When he read the others at 
 breakfast his elation at the general success of his 
 personally conducted enterprise was tempered 
 somewhat by the prospect of an eruption from the 
 Vesuvian temperam'ent of the animal trainer. He 
 wasn't particularly disturbed at this because he had 
 sized the signer up as a false alarm from the start, 
 but it meant a disconcerting half hour or so and he 
 was a little bit peeved that the fates should have 
 allotted him anything that was not rosy and serene 
 on what should have been a day of general re- 
 joicing and grlad acclaim. 
 
 McClintock met him at the entrance to Jollyland. 
 The manager wore an anxious look. 
 
 "Tony's off the reservation," he confided. "He 
 did a series of flip-flops in my office a half hour ago 
 and I understand that he's turning handsprings all 
 around his arena at the present writing. He in- 
 quired about your health. I told him you had gone 
 over to Philadelphia on a little business for me. 
 Better stick to the office all day. He never keeps 
 these things up for more than twenty-four hours. 
 Grand little story, that', even if it did annoy the 
 King of Beasts."
 
 Chapter Eight 
 
 Another of life's irritations managed to try the 
 soul of McClintock that morning. One of the more 
 or less wild and untutored savages from the South 
 Sea Island Village on the ocean side of the park 
 came into the possession of a pint flask of the 
 Demon Rum which had been washed up on the 
 beach, and with no regard for the refined niceties 
 of imbibing had swallowed the contents in a series 
 of continuous gulps. The subsequent proceedings 
 relieved the ennui and lethargy which always en- 
 folded Jollyland in the morning hours before the 
 gates were thrown open to the general public. 
 
 The savage gentleman a thin, wiry person with 
 wicked looking eyes from whose slit ear lobes, nose 
 and lower lip there hung a choice collection of 
 carved sea shells and brass rings, went into execu- 
 tive session with himself and proclaimed a Reign 
 of Terror as the best means of establishing a dicta- 
 torship over the fellow members of his tribe, and 
 the entire park as well. He started proceedings by 
 invading his straw-thatched domicile and seriously 
 damaging, with a well-directed blow, the facial 
 contour of the companion of his joys. That lady, a 
 most formidable party who had been taken un- 
 awares, retaliated in kind with such verve and 
 68
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 energy that the self-constituted dictator left his do- 
 mestic hearth with great suddenness and started on 
 the rampage through the village street. 
 
 He seemed to have no carefully calculated plan 
 of campaign and no particular objective. A general 
 demolishment of all existing institutions, a compre- 
 hensive destruction of private property in general 
 and a leveling of class distinctions appeared to be 
 his vague aim. He leaped through a frame on which 
 one of the natives was weaving a blanket, com- 
 pletely ruining the work of months; he overturned 
 a shelf full of crude earthenware jugs which the 
 potter of the establishment had contrived; and he 
 playfully kissed the stout and principal wife of 
 Mumbo Tom, the chief of the village. When that 
 venerable worthy attempted to remonstrate in an 
 outburst of outraged dignity, he tweaked the old 
 fellow's nose three times in rapid succession. 
 
 Passing out through the main gateway of the vil- 
 lage into the esplanade he continued his ruthless 
 assaults on organized society. Uttering weird and 
 entirely unintelligible invocations to the spirits of 
 his savage ancestors in a high-pitched voice, he 
 vaulted on to the back of a patient-looking cancel 
 which was being groomed by a red-fezzed Egyptian 
 from Greenville, Mississippi, preparatory to being 
 ridden by visitors to the park at twenty-five cents 
 per head. He dug his bare heels into the beast's 
 sides and emitted a wild whoop. The camel turned 
 her head, surveyed him rather bewilderingly and 
 started down the roadway on a brisk canter for 
 -op-
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 about a hundred feet. Then she gave a little snort 
 and heaved her humps convulsively. The social 
 rebel from the South Seas shot through the air and 
 landed in the direct center of a booth presided 
 over by a gentleman from Nippon and devoted to 
 what is known as the "J a P anese ball game/' The 
 results here were disastrous. When he picked him- 
 self from the clutter of broken china and glass with 
 which he was almost entirely covered his head was 
 bloody, but unbowed. He shook himself like some 
 shaggy dog just emerging from a dip in the ocean, 
 bounded over the counter and made for Antonio 
 Amado's wild animal show, pursued by a howling 
 mob of attendants and special policemen who had 
 gathered from the four corners of the park. 
 
 He burst through the entrance to the enclosure 
 and ran along a passageway into the private office 
 of Signer Amado himself. That ferocious looking 
 worthy was, at the moment, delivering a philippic 
 to his principal assistant, a pungent diatribe di- 
 rected against the press, press agents, stupid park 
 managements and the inherent injustice of mankind 
 in general. At the sight of the wild-eyed and blood- 
 stained visitor from an alien clime in the doorway, 
 he passed in the middle of a sentence. His jaw 
 dropped and his face turned ghastly white. He 
 ducked behind a desk and mumbled a fervid appeal 
 to the patron saint of his native village in Lom- 
 bardy. The visitor looked around for something to 
 destroy. His gaze encountered a half empty bottle 
 of Chianti on a table and he sprang for it with the 
 70
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 fierce avidity of a lion leaping at his prey from am- 
 bush. The contents of the bottle were gurgling 
 down his throat to the accompaniment of half- 
 choked chuckles of delight when the pursuing mob 
 closed in a few seconds later and quelled the revo- 
 tion. McCHntock rushed in as the special policemen 
 were putting a pair of handcuffs on the would be 
 Trotsky. Signor Amado, arising from behind the 
 desk, confronted him. 
 
 "Whatafor you leta theese fella in here, eh?" he 
 cried belligerently, his old pose of aggressiveness 
 automatically asserting itself at the sight of the 
 pinions which held the savage intruder safely bound. 
 
 McCHntock laughed at the sheer absurdity of this 
 remark. 
 
 "We didn't let him in any place, Tony," fie re- 
 plied. "He just happened to drop in here and sev- 
 eral places along the line before we could catch up 
 with him." 
 
 "Whata make him so bada man, er?" inquired 
 the animal trainer. 
 
 "Booze, Tony, plain old-fashioned booze. They 
 tell me he picked up a bottle on the beach some one 
 must have dropped off an excursion boat. These 
 fellows can't stand intoxicants of any kind. It 
 makes 'em wild. I see he's been cutting into your 
 Chianti." 
 
 He gave orders for the temporary bestowal of 
 the now thoroughly chastened and mollified revolu- 
 tionary, and was following the latter's captors out 
 
 71
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 of the office when Signor Amado plucked him by 
 the sleeve. 
 
 "Say, meester," inquired the latter. "You geta 
 my face in de papers tomor', eh?" 
 
 The manager shook his head. 
 
 "I'm afraid that won't be possible that is to- 
 morrow/' he replied. "I told you this morning 
 we'd do the very best we could to work up another 
 story about you next week when this monkey yarn 
 was sort of died down. Then we'll see what wt 
 can do about landing your picture right. Don't 
 worry. Leave it all to me. 
 
 Signor Amado assumed a defiant attitude. 
 
 "I giva you what you call, eh ? a warning. You 
 have my face in alia de papers tomor' or, by dam, I 
 feexa de park gooda." 
 
 McClintock had heard threats like that before. 
 He shrugged his shoulders and walked out. Signor 
 Amado's shifting glance fell upon the overturned 
 Chianti bottle on the table and remained there for a 
 few seconds. A malicious gleam slowly crept into 
 his beady eyes and he smiled. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to chronicle the fact that 
 the classic features of Eignor Antonia Amado did 
 not decorate the pages of any. of the metropolitan 
 newspapers on the following day. McClintock 
 hadn't bothered to tell Jimmy anything about the 
 animal trainer's threat. He refused to take it seri- 
 ously himself and he saw no reason for worrying 
 the press agent with any mention of it, particularly 
 as that gentleman was busily engaged in working 
 72
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 out the details of a fresh story which was to center 
 around the fake kidnapping of two babies from the 
 Infant Incubator. 
 
 When Signer Amado himself had carefuMy 
 scanned the papers, and had convinced himself once 
 more of the existence of a secret conspiracy to keep 
 his name out of print he was strangely silent for 
 one prone to burst into vociferous vocalization on 
 the slightest provocation. He even chuckled a little 
 when he put the last paper down and his beady eyes 
 glinted nastily again. He strolled out into the room 
 where his animals paced restlessly back and forth 
 in the cramped limits of their stuffy cages and he 
 spoke to several of them on his parade of inspec- 
 tion. 
 
 "Dey teenka day make beega foola of your boss, 
 Lena,*' he remarked to a great lioness who pushed 
 her nose against the bars of her cage at his ap- 
 proach, " but, by dam, he makea dem feel ver' fool- 
 ish eh, Lena? He puta de whole parka on de bum. 
 What you say, Lena, eh?" 
 
 He playfully poked at the splendid creature's 
 flank and she responded with a long drawn out roar 
 of really terrifying volume. Signor Amado felt 
 moved to sinister laughter. 
 
 "Dat's right, olda girl," he continued. "I puta de 
 whole park on de bum?" 
 
 73
 
 Chapter Nine 
 
 Rain began to fall early that afternoon, a steady 
 persistent downpour that held no immediate prom- 
 ise of abatement. A melancholy grayness enve- 
 loped Jollyland, converting it into a bleak and dis- 
 mal habitation wherein dwelt people who seemed to 
 have drunk of the chalice of desolation. Rain at 
 the seaside is depressing enough, but rain in a sum- 
 mer park in the height of the season, rain that 
 comes up just after the gates are opened and that 
 looks as if it would last for twenty-four hours, 
 produces an effect of gloom that almost defies de- 
 scription. Thousands of once gay flags twisted 
 themselves limply around their poles; dozens of 
 lady cashiers who hadn't taken in a cent for hours 
 and who were tired of their novels and incessant 
 gum-chewing gazed listlessly into the leaden sky 
 and wished they were home in Flatbush or Astoria ; 
 low-spirited concessionaires figured up their losses 
 with pencil and paper and would have cursed the 
 Fates if they had known of the existence of those 
 divinities; performers, literally sick with ennui, 
 clustered in little groups under cover and queru- 
 lously argued with each other about trivilities ; the 
 waiters in the "Trianon" restaurant at the end of 
 what was called the Street of a Thousand Delights,
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 foreseeing that there would be no largesse forth- 
 coming until the dawn of another day, rolled dice 
 for the previous night's pickings or aimlessly dis- 
 cussed Flying Scud's chances in the fifth race at 
 Belmont Park; the South Sea Islanders crooned 
 weird chants under the shelter of their grass huts 
 and McClintock smoked thick, black cigars and 
 called up his friend in the weather bureau every 
 fifteen minutes in a vain search for cheerful tidings. 
 At seven o'clock in the evening not a single patron 
 having crossed the threshold of the park for four 
 hours and the weather man's report still being 
 "continued rain" he ordered Jollyland officially 
 closed for the night, shut his desk with a vicious 
 slam and stepped over to Jimmy Martin's office for 
 a chat. 
 
 "Well," remarked the press agent, glancing up 
 from his typewriter, "it looks as if we were in for 
 a nice quiet evening at home. Has there been any 
 squawk lately from my Italian friend?" 
 
 "There's hasn't been a peep out of him since yes- 
 terday/' replied the manager. "This rain has given 
 him something else to worry about. He loves 
 money as the flowers love the dew, and I'll bet he 
 hasn't taken in $8.25 all day." 
 
 McClintock dropped into a chair, swung one foot 
 on Jimmy's desk and lazily puffed at his cigar while 
 the press agent ground out on the clicking machine 
 a romantic tale concerning a lady rejoicing in the 
 cognomen of Montana Maggie, who rode a cow 
 pony in Earamie Ike's Wild West Show and who 
 
 -75-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 totally annihilated dozens of glass balls with her 
 trusty rifle at every exhibition given in that con- 
 cession. Outside the rain poured incessantly. A 
 mist-laden breeze found its way through the open 
 windows, but it didn't seem to dampen the pristine 
 enthusiasm) of Jimmy Martin who was working 
 with all the fervor of a reporter trying to catch an 
 edition with a big murder story and the "dead line" 
 only ten minutes away. 
 
 Presently there came to the ears of t>oth men the 
 echo of a far-off sound that penetrated through the 
 monotonous murmur of the dripping rain. It 
 seemed like the blended babble of many voices and 
 yet it was vaguely indistinct. McClintock jerked 
 his foot off the desk and straightened up in his 
 chair. 
 
 "If it wasn't raining so-dog-goned hard/' he re- 
 marked "I'd say someone was staging a doughboy's 
 'welcome home' parade or a young riot. What is 
 it, I wonder?" 
 
 "There's doings somewhere close at hand,'* was 
 Jimmy's comment as he stood up, walked towards 
 one of the windows, and peered out. "Here's little 
 old Paul Revere now, coming to tell us the news.'' 
 
 The next instant a dripping park attendant, 
 white-faced and trembling with excitement, burst 
 through the door. 
 
 "Mr. McClintock," he stammered, "there's par- 
 ticular hell to pay down in the South Sea village. 
 That bunch of wild-eyed nuts is all soused and they
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 look as if they was gettin' ready to go on the war- 
 path. They're crazy drunk where they got the 
 
 stuff beats me, and they're dancin' around and 
 
 singing' songs fierce and when Patsy Burke tried to 
 go in and argue with 'em they threw spears at him. 
 He got cut in the shoulder it ain't anything bad 
 but you can't tell what'll happen and the rest of 
 us is kinda upset. You'd better come along right 
 away. We've got guards posted all around the 
 fence, but I'm afraid if they start to come out 
 something pretty rough'll happen." 
 
 "The end of a perfect day," murmured the man- 
 ager as he jammed his hat on his head and plunged 
 out into the driving rain, closely followed by Jimmy 
 and the attendant. 
 
 The events of the next hour were as full of excit- 
 ing incident as the entire fifteen reels of a movie 
 "serial." The attendant had spoken truly when he 
 stated that the forty-odd savages in the village were 
 drunk. They were roaring, raving drunk. When 
 McClintock and Jimmy reached their habitat they 
 were filling the air with wild cries and maniacal 
 shrieks. They were brandishing spears and vicious 
 looking war clubs, and were dancing about the 
 grass hut of Chief Mumbo Tom with all the fierce 
 abandon of whirling dervishes. That ancient dig- 
 nitary was sitting in front of the royal palace on his 
 throne chair in a state of maudlin stupor, draining 
 the last dregs of a bottle which he held to his lips 
 and directing the festivities with encouraging 
 waves of his free hand. The steady downpour of 
 
 77-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 rain seemed to have no effect whatever on the cele- 
 bration. 
 
 Finally the chief dropped the bottle and clapped 
 his hands. There was silence for a moment and he 
 made a brief speech, liberally punctuated by hic- 
 coughs. When he had finished the others gave a 
 concerted cheer and turned towards the stockade 
 which surrounded the village. 
 
 "They're coming out," shouted McClintock, who 
 was peering through an opening, "get your clubs 
 ready, boys. Don't anybody shoot. We'll get into 
 all kinds of a mix-up if you do." 
 
 The battle royal which followed lasted for sev- 
 eral minutes. The special policeman and other at- 
 tendants gathered outside the enclosure won out 
 after a desperate struggle and drove all but three 
 of the rioters back. These three managed to -worm 
 their way through the press and went shrieking up 
 the main street of Jollyland in emulation of their 
 brother whose adventures of the day before have 
 already been duly chronicled. The net damage 
 which they wrought before capture was appraised 
 on the following day at several thousand dollars. 
 When the partially sobered villagers renewed their 
 effort to get out of the stockade fifteen minutes 
 later they were met with decided opposition from 
 the park's fire company, which had been called out 
 by McClintock. A well directed high-pressure 
 stream of water from a fire hose sent them tum- 
 bling over one another in disordered array and 
 brought about a final cessation of hostilities.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 In the excitement attendant upon the suppression 
 of the incipient revolution no one observed a spec- 
 tator who watched the proceedings from a sheltered 
 position directly opposite the main entrance of the 
 village. No one overheard his chuckles or saw him 
 twirl the ends of his waxed moustache with a little 
 gesture expressive of pleased satisfaction with him- 
 self. For that matter no one had seen one of his 
 assistants unload three cases of Chianti from a 
 push-cart in the rear of Mumbo Tom's dwelling 
 late in the afternoon during a particularly heavy 
 downpour of rain or had overheard the announce- 
 ment that the villagers were requested to drink to 
 Signor Antonio Amato's health. And there was no 
 one to overhear the signor murmur as he stole back 
 to his office through the gathering darkness. 
 
 "I tella dem I putta de park on de bum." 
 
 79
 
 Chapter Ten 
 
 Fifteen minutes after peace had been declared 
 McClintock and Jimmy, both thoroughly soaked 
 and decidedly uncomfortable, foregathered in the 
 latter's office for a comparison of notes and a gen- 
 eral consultation. 
 
 "That'd make a pippin' of a story if you'd dare to 
 let it get out/' ventured the press agent as he 
 wrung out the corner of his saturated coat into a 
 waste-basket. 
 
 "Well, I don't take the dare," returned the man- 
 ager peevishly. "That's one story that the censor 
 isn't going to let get through if he can stop it." 
 
 "What's the harm?" inquired Jimmy innocently. 
 
 McClintock looked him over carefully before re- 
 plying. 
 
 "What's the idea?" he remarked scornfully. "Is 
 your reason tottering on its throne? Don't you 
 know that if this thing got out it'd scare away the 
 family parties that are the backbone of our patron- 
 age? You couldn't induce women to come within 
 half a mile of the park if they heard about this 
 rumpus. They'd think it might happen again any 
 minute and they'd remain away in a body and 
 they'd keep father and the boys away too. Get 
 that straight." 
 
 80
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "There's something in it, I guess," opined Jimmy 
 slowly. 
 
 "You put your money three ways on that. You've 
 got a new job tonight, mister man. You've got to 
 forget about putting things in the papers. It's up 
 to you to keep something out for a change." 
 
 "Maybe somebody'll blab the whole thing." 
 
 "I've issued orders to have everyone instructed 
 to give an imitation of a tongue-tied clam, but so 
 dog-goned many people were in on this that it's 
 pretty certain there'll be a leak somewhere. That's 
 where you come in.'' 
 
 "What can I do?" inquired the press agent rue- 
 fully. He was plainly displeased with the vista 
 opened up by his superior. 
 
 "You can do every little thing there is to do," 
 returned McClintock firmly. "I want you to make 
 a personal matter of this. I want you to drop into 
 town and make the rounds of all the morning 
 papers. I want you to see every city editor and 
 make a special plea to have the thing hushed up. 
 Tell 'em it'll ruin us for the summer if it gets out. 
 Make it strong. It's going to be the acid test of 
 how useful you really are around here. String 'em 
 along. Let 'em understand that you won't take 'no' 
 for an answer. I'm going to dust over home in my 
 car for a clean-up and a long, dreamy nap. Good- 
 night." 
 
 Jimmy started to expostulate, but he stopped 
 short when the office door slamimed in his face. He 
 stood irresolutely as the chug-chug of McClintock's 
 81
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 machine died away in the distance. Then he 
 dropped into a chair, reached for a pack of cigar- 
 ettes on the table, lit one and indulged himself in 
 painful cogitation. Under ordinary circumstances 
 he would have experienced profound physical dis- 
 comfort from his water-soaked clothes and the gen- 
 eral feeling of stickiness that enveloped him from 
 head to feet, but physical feelings were matters of 
 slight importance to him at the moment. The dis- 
 tress which was registered upon his face was purely 
 mental in its origin, but it was intense and singu- 
 larly disturbing. He felt that he was up against 
 the hardest job of his life and he could see no way 
 to hurdle what seemed to be the insurmountable 
 barriers that confronted him. 
 
 In the language of journalism Jimlmy "knew 
 news." He knew precisely what sort of an incident 
 or happening or bit of romancing, for that matter, 
 would appeal to the trained newspaper executive 
 as worth playing up and precisely the sort of stuff 
 that would be passed up. By all the tests he was 
 familiar with, by all the general rules and regula- 
 tions of the game, the story of the jamboree of the 
 savage gentlemen from the far-flung isles of the 
 Pacific, of their attempt to raid the park, of the 
 battle between them and the guards and of their 
 final defeat was one of the biggest bits of "feature 
 news" that had transpired in or about New York 
 that summer. 
 
 If it had "leaked" into any newspaper office he 
 knew there was about as much chance of his keep-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing it out of print by making a personal plea, as 
 there would be of suppressing the announcement 
 of the engagement of a daughter of the president 
 of the United States to the Prince of Wales. If it 
 hadn't "leaked"' and there was a fair chance that 
 it hadn't because of the state of the weather he 
 was painfully aware of the fact that by calling on 
 the city editors in person and asking them not to 
 use it he would simply be handing them a tip on 
 which they would base an investigation. The story 
 was decidedly too good to be hushed up by any 
 plaintive wail about "ruining our business." 
 
 He would have mentioned all of these things 
 to McClintock if the latter hadn't made such an 
 abrupt departure. He told himself now that even if 
 he had been able to voice them the manager 
 wouldn't have comprehended the impossible nature 
 of the task he had so casually mapped out. Folks 
 who haven't smelt the smell of the paste-pot and 
 heard the presses roar usually have the weirdest 
 sort of naive notions concerning just what and just 
 what cannot be done in the way of either inserting 
 news in the columns of a great metropolitan daily 
 or keeping it out. 
 
 "The acid test" Jimmy kept remembering these 
 three words and the oftener they recurred to him 
 the more distressed he became. He sat hunched 
 up in his chair looking out into the pouring rain 
 and consuming cigarettes at a most alarming rate. 
 At about the middle of the sixth cirgarette he 
 straightened up; at the beginning of the seventh
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 he arose and began to pace the floor while a new 
 idea slowly unfolded in his active mind; when he 
 was two puffs into the eighth he flung it into a 
 corner with a resolute sweep of his arm, dived for 
 the telephone, called up "Beekman 4,000," and im- 
 patiently joggled the hook until a response came. 
 
 "Hello, World?'' he said jerkily, "give me the city 
 desk . . . hello . . . city desk? . . . Who is that? 
 McCarthy? . . . Say, Mr. McCarthy, this is Mar- 
 tin of Jollyland Martin M-A-R-T-I-N publicity 
 director of Jollyland raining here ? You betcha 
 say, I've got something pretty good for you . . . 
 hot stuff. ... Be on the look-out for it, will you? 
 Dope? No, sir, this is the real goods. No fool- 
 ing on the level you can expect it before mid- 
 night. Good-bye." 
 
 In the next ten minutes Jimmy, in a frenzy of 
 feverish haste, called up the city desks of all the 
 other morning papers and repeated practically the 
 same message to each. Then he ordered three 
 messenger boys to report to him in half an hour, 
 stuck six sheets of carbon between seven long 
 sheets of copy paper, inserted the numerous layers 
 in his typewriter and began to pound out, with 
 ever increasing speed, a narrative that was to either 
 make or break him. 
 
 It was nearly midnight when an office boy 
 dropped a long manilla envelope marked "NEWS- 
 RUSH" on the desk in front of Larry McCarthy,
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 night city editor of the World. The early mail edi- 
 tion had gone to press ten minutes before and 
 McCarthy had just come up for air for a brief 
 interval before plunging into the final activities of 
 the night. The tension had relaxed and he was 
 joking with the magaging editor who had stopped 
 to give a few parting instructions on his way home. 
 
 McCarthy tore the envelope open almost uncon- 
 sciously as he went on talking and unfolded the 
 four long sheets of paper which it contained, sheets 
 covered with closely written typewritten matter. 
 His gaze drifted carelessly to the top page where 
 it lingered as something seemed immediately to in- 
 terest hiniv A cynical smile began to play over his 
 features as he read. Presently it broadened into 
 something more mellow and human. Then he burst 
 into hearty laughter. 
 
 "Shades of Tody Hamilton," he chortled. "Here's 
 the last word in hysterical romance. This fellow 
 makes 'em all look like pikers. He called me up on 
 the phone to tell it was hot stuff. Well, it cer- 
 tainly is. It certainly is." 
 
 "What is it ?'* questioned the managing editor. 
 
 "It's a pipe dream by a bright young gentleman 
 who seems to be trying to make a living by getting 
 pieces in the paper for Jollyland. He must come 
 from some place in the tall, tall grass if he labors 
 under the delusion that he can put anything as raw 
 as this over on a New York paper. I'll give him 
 credit, though. It's a masterpiece of its kind. If 
 someone ever starts a press agent's school this
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 could be used verbatim as a horrible example of the 
 kind of a contribution not to send out. 
 Just listen to this heading: 
 
 BLOODY UPRISING BY 
 SOUTH SEA ISLANDERS 
 AT JOLLYLAND QUELLED 
 
 BELIEVED TO BE RESULT 
 
 OF BOLSHEVIK PLOT 
 
 Maddened Savages Armed With 
 Spears and War Clubs Run 
 Amuck and Attempt to Take 
 Possession of Park. 
 
 WHISKERED RUSSIAN SEEN 
 ACTING SUSPICIOUSLY 
 
 "Isn't that immense?" went on McCarthy. "Can 
 you tie the colossal nerve of that fellow sending a 
 thing like that out ? Get his opening paragraph : 
 
 " 'Maddened with a thirst for human blood and 
 believed to be acting under instructions from a Bol- 
 shevik agitator who was seen prowling about in 
 the early evening 186 naked savages from the South 
 Sea Islands made a desperate attempt last night to 
 mlassacre all the whites in Jollyland, the gigantic 
 summer park on Coney Island. Giving utterance to 
 86-*
 
 blood-curdling cries of vengeance and undaunted 
 by the driving rain which was falling at the time 
 they made an attempt to break out of the village, 
 where they give daily exhibitions of their quaint 
 and curious native customs, and were held in check 
 by the park attendants only after a wild and furi- 
 ous struggle lasting for nearly half an hour! ..." 
 
 The managing editor laughed uproariously. 
 
 "The poor old Bolsheviki," he chuckled. "Even 
 the press agents are using 'em. That story's cer- 
 tainly a gem of purest ray serene. I'd like to meet 
 that young fellow. He'd make an interesting 
 study." 
 
 The telephone bell on McCarthy's desk rang just 
 then and the city editor reached for the receiver. 
 
 "Hello," he shouted. "Yes McCarthy yes, I 
 got one, too it's a bird we've just had the best 
 laugh of the month over it most sublime imagina- 
 tion uncovered since Dante you bet!" 
 
 "That's Carlton of the Gazette night desk man,'' 
 he said as he hung up. "He's got a great sense of 
 humor. Wanted to know if I'd had this and offered 
 to send me his copy if I'd been forgotten." 
 
 He crumpled Jimmy's composition up in a ball 
 and tossed it in the big waste-basket at his side 
 as a boy slipped him a first copy of the mail edition 
 wet from the press.
 
 Chapter Eleven 
 
 The rain ceased falling at midnight. The moon 
 emerged from behind a bank of sombre clouds and 
 threw a silvery radiance over the weird and won- 
 derful architecture of Jollyland. Dozens of the con- 
 cessionaires and their employees who elected to live 
 in the park throughout the summer and who had 
 been penned in all day by the downpour came out 
 for a breath of air and a stroll along the broad 
 esplanade. Among them was Signer Antonio 
 Amado, who sauntered out of his living quarters 
 smoking a long cheroot and smiling a wicked smile. 
 He was still inwardly chuckling at the success of 
 his little plot and he had consumed a most particu- 
 lar bottle of a most particular wine in proper cele- 
 bration of his achievement. The Signer's attention 
 was attracted by a conversation between two of 
 the special night watchmen who were chatting in 
 front of the tortuous roller coaster known as the 
 Belvidere Bend. He slipped into a shadow to listen. 
 
 "Did he give you orders not to say a word?" one 
 of the men was saying. 
 
 "He did that !" replied the other. "Shure it's try- 
 in' hard they are to keep the thing out of the 
 papers. They're afraid it'll put the place on the 
 blink, and faith, I think they're right. It's mesel' 
 88
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 that won't be breathin* a word of it to a livin* soul 
 from now to the risin' of the judgment dawn/' 
 
 The Signer tip-toed noiselessly around a corner 
 and disappeared in the direction of his concession. 
 Three minutes later he was talking to the World on 
 his private telephone and trying to make a tired 
 operator understand what he was saying. 
 
 "I havea de news," he shouted, "de beega news 
 de damned beega news de beega, besta news you 
 ever hear Who? Wella givea me data man 
 McCart' Hello, eesa dat McCart'? . . . Say, Mc- 
 Cart', deesa eesa Signor Antonio Amado who maka 
 de lions jumpa eh? I say I maka de lions jumpa 
 at Jollyland, well, meester, deres one beega time 
 down at Jollyland tonighta one beega time dey 
 eesa try to keepa it outa de papers but I tella you 
 deesa wilda men from de South Seas dey raisa 
 hella dey hava beega fight dey what you say? 
 Sect on a tack ? I no sect on a tack hello hello." 
 
 But only echo answered. McCarthy had hung up. 
 The Signor swore a large, round, succulent oath 
 and went to bed. 
 
 Jimmy was at his office at the customary hour 
 the next morning. He hadn't slept all night and 
 he was dog-tired, but his soul was filled with satis- 
 faction. His ruse had worked. Not a single paper 
 had carried a line about the fracas. He had taxied 
 over to Manhattan and had kept vigil along Park 
 Row until the final editions appeared. Then he had 
 chartered a touring car and had taken a long ride 
 -89-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 along the Long Island roads until it was time for 
 him to report for duty. He found McQintock on 
 the job already. The manager was in a jubilant 
 mood. 
 
 "Well," remarked the latter cordially, "you stood 
 the test, all right. I've got to give you credit. I 
 didn't think you'd get away with it, to tell you the 
 gospel truth. Pretty decent bunch after all, I guess. 
 Did any of 'em put up much of an argument?" 
 
 "Any of who?" inquired Jimmy. 
 
 "Why the city editors, of course. You saw 'em! 
 all personally, didn't you?" 
 
 Jimmy smiled a little guiltly, coughed nervously 
 and then laughed quietly. 
 
 "I might as well confess, Mr. McClintock," he 
 said finally. "I didn't see any of 'em. I tried out a 
 new scheme and it worked like a little old Liberty 
 motor. I figured that the story was altogether too 
 good to keep out by any personal visit and I was 
 afraid, anyway, that if any of the papers hadn't 
 been tipped off my going in with an argument 
 would start 'em out hot-foot after the yarn. So I 
 wrote it and sent it out myself." 
 
 "You sent it out yourself" gasped McClintock. 
 "I don't get you. Slip me a blue-print." 
 
 "I took a big chance and I got away with it," 
 replied Jimmy. "I knew that there isn't a chance 
 any more of anything that a press agent writes get- 
 tin* into the news columns of a New York paper. 
 They've been shy on that kind of stuff for a great 
 many years. So I said to myself that if I wrote 
 po
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 out this yarn like as if I was sotrie kind of a rank 
 amateur, dressin' it up with a lot of flossy adjec- 
 tives and makin' it read so that it sounded like a 
 foolish pipe-dream they'd size it up as pure fake 
 and throw it in the little old waste-basket Then 
 if any reporter or anyone else did shoot in a tip on 
 the story they'd figure out someone had been tryin* 
 to bunk him too, and would pass it up. I made 
 it good and strong, and it looks like they fell for it 
 hook, line and sinker. And say, I know somethin' 
 I never knew before. If I ever lose out in this game 
 I can get a job writin' a series for the Boy's Nickle 
 Library." 
 
 McClintock patted him affectionately on the back. 
 
 "All I've got to say, Jimmy/' he remarked en- 
 thusiastically, "is that you're a great little press 
 agent." 
 
 "I'm a great little sup-press agent, you mean," 
 responded the other with a grin.
 
 Chapter Twelve 
 
 One morning two weeks after the summer season 
 at Jollyland had ended Jimmy found himself in a 
 state of moody dejection in the club car of a fast 
 express train en route from Washington to Balti- 
 more. He dropped into a chair in the rear end of 
 the car and let himself slowly slide forward until 
 his shoulder blades nearly touched the seat. He 
 swung one leg over the other, wedged both hands 
 into his trousers pockets and puffed viciously at the 
 somewhat frayed cigarette which hung from one 
 corner of his mouth. 
 
 Somehow or other his brain wasn't functioning 
 properly. His imagination wasn't yielding up the 
 customary assortment of bizarre ideas and freak 
 suggestions from which he always was able to se- 
 lect one particular inspiration to serve the need of 
 the moment. To make the situation more exasper- 
 ating the last words of Meyerfield kept bobbing up 
 in his train of thought. He could see and hear the 
 manager of the famous "Meyerfield Frolics" as 
 he had stood in the lobby of the New National The- 
 atre in Washington the night before, smoking the 
 inevitable cigar and talking in a loud booming 
 voice. 
 
 "Remember/' Meyerfield had announced with 
 great impressiveness," I want you to smear us all
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 over the front page of every paper in Baltimore. 
 We've never played the 'Frolics' there and we've 
 got to have 'em properly introduced. I'm depending 
 upon you to plant something that will stir that town 
 up like an earthquake. Get the girls into it some 
 way. They're the best card we have." 
 
 As Jimmy slouched in his seat the memory of a 
 hundred spectacular exploits which he had engi- 
 neered swam through his mind, but he couldn't 
 fasten on a new idea or on anything that hadn't 
 been worked and re-worked. He was just begin- 
 ning his first season with Meyerfield and that 
 worthy was a showman who expected results. 
 
 A memory picture of Lolita flashed into his mind 
 and with it came the realizing sense that her silence 
 was perhaps responsible for his present frame of 
 mind. Since he said good-bye to her in New York 
 a week before to go ahead of the "Frolics''' there 
 had been only two letters from her, letters written 
 on the first two days of their separation. In the 
 last she had mentioned, with great enthusiasm, that 
 she had signed a contract to play a tiny part with 
 a road company which was to regale the theatre- 
 goers of the small towns in the Middle West with 
 a chaste little farce then sensationally successful in 
 New York. It was called "Ursula's Undies," and it 
 was a dainty affair designed to provoke the curi- 
 osity of that type of male who carries around a 
 pen-holder with a little glass-eye piece at one end. 
 You look in at his suggestion (he's sure to ask you) 
 and you behold a couple of large and lumpy females
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 in one-piece bathing suits in what is alleged to be a 
 scene suggestive of Oriental abandon. "Ursula's 
 Undies" wasn't even as wicked as that, but its ad- 
 vertising manager distinctly sought to convey the 
 impression that it was too terrible for words and 
 Jimmy had been moved to remonstrate with Lolita 
 by means of a telegram in which he had rather 
 peremptorily directed her to throw up her job and 
 "get into something decent" 
 
 There had been no reply to this wire nor to a 
 frantic series of letters which had followed it and 
 Jimmy had begun to fancy that morning that all 
 was lost. He turned and looked out at the endless 
 procession of fleeting telegraph poles and at the 
 dreary landscape apparently afloat in a shimmering 
 haze of mist which had followed a drizzling rain. 
 He was aroused from his reveries by a pleasant 
 voice, a voice with something a bit "precious'* in 
 its soft cadences, a voice that betokened a rather 
 too thick overlay of what Jimmy scornfully called 
 "culchaw." 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Martin," said the voice. 
 "What's the matter? You seem sicklied o'er with 
 the pale cast of thought." 
 
 Jimmy turned and recognized the speaker, a tall 
 young man who wore enormous tortoise shell spec- 
 tacles, an impeccable two button cutaway and a 
 smile in which there was a touch of supercilious 
 superiority. He was one of Jimmy's pet aversions, 
 a highbrow press agent J. Herbert Denby by 
 name who was "doing a little special literary
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 work," as he himself described it, ahead of a com- 
 pany that was presenting a repertoire of dank and 
 morbid Scandinavian plays on tour. He had been 
 associate editor of a literary magazine and had 
 written a number of choice essays on what he 
 called the "new movement in the theatre'' which 
 had been published in more or less obscure period- 
 icals and which had been undoubtedly unread by a 
 vast multitude of persons. He was now enjoying 
 his first experience in the business world of the 
 theatre and he had met Jimmy a few nights before 
 in Washington. His abysmal ignorance of practi- 
 calities had aroused a sympathetic feeling in the 
 latter which had been later completely dissipated 
 by his patronizing manner. His company was to 
 be Jimmy's "opposition" in Baltimore, and he was 
 journeying there on the same errand that Jimmy 
 was. 
 
 "Good morning," grunted Jimmy. "What's that 
 you say?" 
 
 "I say that you seem sicklied o'er with the pale 
 cast of thought," responded Mr. Denby, sitting 
 down in the next chair with great deliberation and 
 carefully disposing of the tails of his coat. "By 
 that I mean that you seem lost in abstraction, as 
 it were.'' 
 
 "Not as it were," replied Jimmy. "As it is. I'm 
 certainly lost in abstraction all right, all right, only 
 I never called it that before. The old idea box 
 ain't workin' right. It's back firm' on me." 
 
 "What's the problem?" asked Mr. Denby judi- 
 
 95
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 cially. "Maybe I can be of some slight assistance. 
 We represent opposite poles of the world of the 
 theatre, but an interchange of thought may clear 
 up the situation." 
 
 "The problem is one that can't be cleared up by 
 a flossy little piece of writin' marked 'not dupli- 
 cated in your city,' old scout," replied Jimmy dis- 
 consolately. "Essays ain't any more use in this 
 situation than curry combs in a garage.'' 
 
 "But perhaps I may be able to venture a prac- 
 tical suggestion that might be of value," persisted 
 the other. 
 
 "Practical suggestion!" snorted Jim!my. "Not a 
 chance. You fellows are all right, I guess, for this 
 Ibsen stuff, but you don't know anything about 
 girl shows, not a single, little thing." 
 
 "I presume you mean the chorus girls," sug- 
 gested Mr. Denby. "Do you wish to use them in 
 some way for publicity purposes?'* 
 
 "You're talking," said Jimmy. "I not only wish to 
 I've got to. I've got to smear 'em over the front 
 pages of all the papers in Baltimjore to keep my job. 
 And, believe me, Baltimore is some tight town when 
 it comes to handin* out space for the showshops. 
 The lid's on and you've got to murder someone to 
 get it off." 
 
 Mr. J. Herbert Denby cocked his head at a 
 thoughtful angle and gazed judicially through his 
 spectacles. 
 
 "It m/ightn't be a bad idea." he said finally, weigh- 
 ing every word carefully, "to get a delegation of 
 -96-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 prominent citizens to meet them at the station with 
 automobiles. Had you thought of that?" 
 
 Jimmy turned a look of concentrated scorn on 
 him that would have caused an ordinary mortal to 
 shrivel up and pass quietly and unobtrusively into 
 a state of complete dissolution, but it had no such 
 effect on J. Herbert. He simply smiled a superior 
 smile and awaited an answer. 
 
 "And it would be a good stunt, too," snapped 
 Jimmy, "to get the Governor of the State to dance 
 the tango with Madeline La Verne in the waiting 
 room of the station and to arrange to have the pro- 
 fessors at the university carry all the girls on their 
 backs up to the hotel. For the love of Mike, talk 
 sense, man." 
 
 "Of course, they would have to be extremely 
 prominent citizens," went on J. Herbert Denby, 
 utterly ignoring Jimmy's biting sarcasm, "the lead- 
 ing men of the city. It might be possible to ar- 
 range to have them go over to Washington in their 
 cars and bring the young ladies to Baltimore in 
 them instead of just meeting them at the station. 
 That would add a touch of piquancy to the proceed- 
 ings that " 
 
 He got no farther, for Jimmy choked off further 
 utterance by springing up and grabbing both his 
 hands in wild exultation, almost: upsetting the 
 porter who was emptying a bottle of mineral water 
 for the man in the next seat. 
 
 "You've got it. you old highbrow son-of-a-gun," 
 he shouted. "You don't know how good it is your- 
 
 97
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 self. You know that old stuff about 'and a child 
 shall lead them on.' Well, that's you. No offense, 
 mind you, no offense, but you are a child in this line. 
 I've got a notion to kiss you right out in public." 
 
 J. Herbert backed away and almost landed in the 
 lap of a stout party who was reading a paper. 
 
 "Please don't," he murmured. "Please don't, I 
 pray. It would embarrass me fearfully.'* 
 
 The stout party turned to his companion and 
 spoke quietly under the cover of his hand. 
 
 "Nuts," he confided. "Pure Brazilian." 
 
 Jimmy bade J. Herbert Denby a most enthusiastic 
 farewell at the station in Baltimore 
 
 "There's a dinner coming to you, old George B. 
 Bookworm," he shouted as he jumped into a taxi- 
 cab, "a nice young dinner with a little grape on the 
 sidelines and no stops for way-stations when we get 
 our feet under the table. See you later, old dear."
 
 Chapter Thirteen 
 
 Jimmy arrived at the Lyric Theatre in that glow 
 of exultant feeling which every great artist should 
 feel when driven to accomplishment by the urge of 
 a great imaginative idea. He dashed through the 
 lobby, pushed his way through a swinging door ad- 
 joining the ticket window marked "Manager's Of- 
 fice'* and leaned over a desk at which was seated a 
 slender man with what might be called the old- 
 young face, a face on which disillusionment and 
 blase boredom seemed indelibly stamped. This was 
 George Seymour, manager of the theatre, popularly 
 known among traveling press agents as the "human 
 icicle" because of his inborn and inherent distaste 
 for humanity as a whole and for publicity men in 
 particular. Mr. Seymour was going over a set of 
 plans for the remodeling of the entrance of the 
 theatre with an architect, and seemed supremely 
 busy, but this little detail didn't phase Jimmy. 
 
 "Well, Georgie, old man," he said breezily, "here 
 we are back again and this time we've brought the 
 big idea along for a little visit. I want you to meet 
 him." 
 
 He slipped his hat down on the blueprint in front 
 of Mr. Seymour, completely obliterating the grace- 
 ful outlines of the architect's new front elevation 
 
 99
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and swung himself up to a seat on the edge of the 
 desk. A dangerous glint crept into Mr. Seymour's 
 eyes as he unconsciously fingered a heavy brass 
 paperweight to the right of Jimmy's hat. 
 
 "Perhaps/* he said in a voice whose quiet in- 
 tensity was deadly in its menace, "perhaps you may 
 not have noticed that I'm busy, Mr. Martin. I'm 
 not interested in any big ideas just now except the 
 one I'm discussing with this gentleman." 
 
 "Forget that," said Jimmy jauntily, pulling a 
 cigar out of his pocket and lighting it while Mr. 
 Seymour glowered at him. "That's just an old 
 blueprint for some improvement or other that can 
 wait. My big idea can't wait. I've got to put it 
 over right now. And you've got to help me/' 
 
 Mr. Seymour's architect, a precise man unused 
 to such unceremonious business methods, laughed 
 quietly. 
 
 "I guess, Seymour," he said, "you'd better hear 
 what he has to say. I've got a few minutes to spare. 
 I'll go into the next room. Persistence seems to be 
 this gentleman's middle name." 
 
 Mr. Seymour, loathe to give in, looked around 
 helplessly. Jimmy leaned over and deftly flecked 
 a bit of cigar ashes from the lapel of the manager's 
 coat, a manoeuvre which sent his stock down ten 
 points more. 
 
 "Stick around, old mjan,*' he said pleasantly to the 
 architect. "I don't mind if you hear what I've got 
 to say and I'm sure Georgie won't either." 
 
 "Don't Georgie me, my friend," replied Seymour, 
 700
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "state your business and get it over with. The only 
 way I can get rid of you without calling for the 
 police, I suppose, is to listen to you." 
 
 "Well, it's this way,'' said Jimmie eagerly. "I've 
 got to smear the Frolics girls all over the front page 
 of one of your newspapers, and I've got an idea how 
 to do it. Now don't stop and pull that 'it can't be 
 done' gag on me. That's the pet line of every house 
 manager from Bangor, Maine, to San Diego. Every 
 time you spring a new one they throw up their 
 mitts and tell you that 'it can't be done/ Clean the 
 sand out of your running gear and go along with 
 me on this one for once in your life." 
 
 Mr. Seymour raised a protesting hand and tried 
 to break in, but Jimmy rattled on. 
 
 "I'm going to pull a story," he continued, "that 
 a bunch of prominent members of the Washington 
 Automobile Club are going to take all the girls for 
 a joy ride next Sunday morning to a point midway 
 between Washington and Baltimore and that an- 
 other bunch of leading citizens members of the 
 automobile club of your own fair city are going 
 to pick 'em up there in their cars and bring 'em into 
 town. Ain't it a great little idea?" 
 
 A sardonic smile brightened the face of the 
 cynical Mr. Seymour. 
 
 "It's certainly a great little idea, Mr. Martin," he 
 said, "and I have no doubt that all the city editors 
 in town will be so grateful to you for letting them 
 in on the story that they will have gold medals 
 struck off" comjmemorating the event." 
 JOJ
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 The underlying sarcasm of this speech did not 
 check Jimmy's enthusiasm. 
 
 "Of course, someone will have to stand for the 
 story," he said. "I'm not going up cold to any 
 paper with a yarn like that and expect 'em to fall 
 for it, without some confirmation. What I want 
 you to do is to tip me off to some friend of yours, 
 some nice, agreeable party who's a member of the 
 club and whose name carries a lot of class, a party 
 who's a good enough scout to help a fellow in a 
 pinch. I'll talk him into standing for the yarn, and 
 slipping me a list of names. Can't you suggest 
 someone?" 
 
 Mr. Seymour's eyes gleamed maliciously. He 
 leaned over and grasped Jimmy's arm in a pretense 
 of great friendliness. 
 
 "I know just the man/' he said, "just the man." 
 
 "Well, spill his name," replied Jimmy. "I'll get 
 to him before lunch." 
 
 "Donald McDonald's the man," said Mr. Sey- 
 mour. "He's the vice-president of the club and the 
 president of the Merchant's Trust Company. He's 
 a jovial, jolly, good fellow who'd be tickled to death 
 to stand for a stunt like that. Just mention my 
 name. There's no doubt in the world, but what he'll 
 help us out. Is there, Larabee?" 
 
 Mr. Larabee, the architect, who was having a 
 desperate time trying to smother a chuckle, as- 
 sumed an expression of great wisdom and re- 
 marked: 
 
 102
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "You couldn't have suggested a better choice, 
 Seymour.*' 
 
 "His office is on the eleventh floor of the Mer- 
 chants' Trust building," broke in Seymour. "Two 
 blocks down and one block to the right." 
 
 Jimmy jumped down from the desk, jabbed on 
 his hat and started for the door. 
 
 "Thanks, fellows, for the tip," he called back over 
 his shoulder. "I'll see you in a little while." 
 
 As the door swung after him Seymour turned to 
 Larabee and burst into a Mephistophelian laugh 
 that would have been a credit to the late Lewis 
 Morrison. 
 
 "Larabee," he said. "They'll pick him up in pieces 
 down on Eleventh street just two minutes after 
 he hits McDonald's office. Can you imagine any- 
 one going to that old boy with a fool proposition 
 like that? Can you imagine it!'* 
 
 "You certainly picked the last man in the world," 
 agreed Larabee. "Chorus girls and automobiles to 
 meet 'emi and a theatrical press agent. My God, 
 Seymour, I really believe he won't live long enough 
 to even tell the doctor his name." 
 
 It was mid-afternoon when Jim'my Martin re- 
 turned to the Lyric Theatre. He breezed into 
 George Seymour's office with a grin on his face and 
 an air of assurance that rather flabbergasted the 
 manager. 
 
 "Well, Georgie," he said, "you certainly gave me 
 the right dope. I landed buttered side up. Fine 
 103
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 fellow, McDonald. Great personality. Best little 
 old scout I've met in years." 
 
 "You saw him?" gasped Seymour incredulously. 
 
 "Saw him?" echoed Jimmy. "I should say I did. 
 I lunched with him over at the Bankers' Club and 
 I've been out for a ride on the boulevard with him 
 in his car. Fixed me up all right and he's going 
 to stand for everything.'* 
 
 "What brand of dope is that you use, Martin?" 
 inquired the manager sarcastically. "I'd like to 
 recommend it to some of my friends." 
 
 "Come down off the flying rings, Georgie," re- 
 torted Jimmy. "What are you up in the air about? 
 Didn't you sic me onto him and didn't he run to 
 form just as you said he would. How's this for a 
 reception committee?" 
 
 Jimmy reached in his coat pocket and drew out a 
 folded piece of paper. 
 
 "Some class to that bird," he said. "He had the 
 little old stenographer write it out for me. Here's 
 the names : Jonathan Wilde, president of the Kewa- 
 nee Packing Company ; Judson Davis, secretary and 
 general manager of the Twistwool Knitting Com- 
 pany; Horace Chadwick, president of the Oyster- 
 men's First National Bank; Col. Hannibal Round- 
 tree, president of the Carrolton Country Club ; Jef- 
 ferson Tait, retired gentleman; Henry Quinby 
 Blugsden, Maximilian Hendricks, Marshall " 
 
 "Stop," shouted Seymour. "You mean to tell me 
 that McDonald gave you that list of names and 
 said he'd stand for it?''
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "You can play that three ways, Georgie," re- 
 sponded Jimmy, shoving the paper under the other's 
 nose. "There's the list on his own personal sta- 
 tionery. This is the reception committee that's 
 going to motor out Sunday morning to bring our 
 flossy frails into your beautiful city. At least my 
 friend McDonald says they are and of course, I've 
 got to take his word. So have the papers. I gather 
 he's some important person." 
 
 "Of course he is," replied the dazed manager. 
 "Of course he is one of the biggest citizens in 
 town. And that list why that list just reeks with 
 distinction. I can't understand it. That crowd 
 meeting chorus girls? Why the idea is well, it's 
 just impossible. That's the only word!" 
 
 "Gosh, if that's the way you feel about it the 
 darned thing must be going to develop into a bear 
 of a story. Speaking for myself, I never met up 
 with old James K. Impossible. He doesn't belong 
 to any of my clubs and whenever I think I see him 
 coming I duck up a side street." 
 
 "If you get any paper to stand for that story," 
 said Seymour, "it'll stir up the whole town." 
 
 "That's where I belong," replied the press agent 
 jauntily. "Stirring up towns is one of the best 
 little things I do. Choose your exit door, Georgie. 
 I'm going to plant this yarn tonight and the in- 
 tense excitement will begin to develop in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 He swung briskly out of the office and Seymour 
 sat down, tried to figure the thing out. Somehow 
 he couldn't, 705 .
 
 Nick Jennings, night city editor of the Baltimore 
 Bulletin, stifled a yawn, stretched his arms, stood 
 up and lounged over to the copy desk. He was 
 utterly unlike the city editor of fiction. He was a 
 short, stocky person with a round and jovial face 
 and there wasn't a trace of the fabulous steely glint 
 in his grey eyes. 
 
 "Not a line of stuff worth sending up," he observed 
 to Tom North, the head copy-reader. "Unless some- 
 thing breaks the local end of the old sheet tomor- 
 row is going to be about as interesting as a seed 
 catalog. I've marked Milligan's story on the food 
 inspection scandal for a two column head, but it's 
 pretty dead stuff. Got an idea ?" 
 
 Tom North shook his head. 
 
 "I thought for a minute there might be a feature 
 in that North Side Woman's Club resolution pro- 
 testing against the psycho-analysis movement," he 
 said, "but I didn't suggest it to you because that 
 Arline Dupont Maxwell introduced it. That dame 
 can cook up more schemes to get her name on the 
 front page than any three prima donnas I know of. 
 There isn't anything else that's worth wasting good 
 ink on." 
 
 The city editor yawned again and looked at the 
 clock. It was after ten. 
 
 106
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "It's tough turkey,'* he rejoined. "I'll bet you 
 there was more news stirring out in Twisted Twig, 
 Oregon, today than in this burg." 
 
 An office boy touched him on the arm and handed 
 him a card. He looked at it, hesitated for a second 
 or two and then remarked: 
 
 "I'll take a look at that bird. Send him in." 
 
 He turned to his co-worker again. 
 
 "Zip goes another resolution,'' he said with a 
 half-laugh. "I'm going to see a press agent. I'll 
 take any kind of a chance on a night like this. 
 Persistent gink. Sent in his card an hour ago and 
 I turned him down flat. Now he sends it in again 
 marked 'absolutely imperative I see you great 
 story with a local angle.' " 
 
 He had just settled himself again at his desk 
 when Jimmy Martin swung through the city room 
 nad greeted him with an expansive smile. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Martin?" grunted Jennings interrog- 
 atively as he bent over a page of typewritten copy 
 on his desk in simulation of great pre-occupation. 
 
 "Mr. Jennings," began Jimmy eagerly, "I've got 
 a great story with a local angle, a story that'll stir 
 this little old town up considerable and then some/' 
 
 "Uh, uh," said the city editor, never looking up. 
 
 There wasn't the slightest trace of interest in 
 Jennings' attitude and Jimmy felt his own enthusi- 
 asm flagging for just a moment. Cold-blooded 
 fish, these city editors, he said to himself, always 
 afraid someone is going to put one over on them. 
 
 "You see, Mr. Jennings," he resumed, "I'm with 
 107
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 Meyerfields' Frolics. We play the Lyric next week 
 
 and 
 
 "I saw your card/* snapped Jennings. "What's 
 the finale?" 
 
 "Well, I just heard tonight that the Baltimore 
 Automobile Club is going to pull off a little private 
 stunt next Sunday sort of under cover. Some- 
 one slipped me a hot tip. I made the chairman of 
 the committee in charge cough up. A bunch of the 
 prominent members are going to pick up the girls of 
 our show in a flock of cars over at Annapolis Junc- 
 tion and bring 'em into town. It's a cooperative 
 stunt they're pulling off with the Washington club. 
 The fellows from the capital are going to bring' em 
 
 as far as the Junction and 
 
 "Nothing doing," broke in the city editor. 
 "But it isn't a fake,'' persisted Jimmy eagerly, 
 "it's dead on the level. I've got the names of the 
 reception committee with me. The chairman had 
 his stenographer write them out for me." 
 
 He shoved his typewritten list across the desk 
 directly under Jennings' hand. The latter looked 
 up in annoyance, started to push it back, caught 
 the name on the letterhead and gave the paper a 
 cursory glance. He looked up again. 
 
 "Been looking through Seymour's copy of the 
 Blue Book, eh?" he remarked testily. "Where'd 
 you dig up this letter head?" 
 
 "I'm telling you that Mr. McDonald had his sten- 
 ographer write it out for me. I don't ask you to 
 believe me, Mr. Jennings. Mr. McDonald said you
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 could call him up before eleven. I'm not trying to 
 steer you wrong.'' 
 
 The fierce intensity of Jimmy's voice and manner 
 caused the skeptical Jennings to bore him with a 
 searching look. His eyes dropped to the paper 
 again. He skimmed through the names. What if 
 by some queer quirk the story was really true? 
 Donald McDonald, Horace Chadwick, Col. Round- 
 tree and all those others joy-riding with chorus 
 girls under the official auspices of the Automobile 
 Club why, the thing would rock the town like an 
 earthquake! And the fellow had said McDonald 
 would verify the story. Why had he taken a 
 chance and said that if it wasn't true? It was an 
 easy matter to reach McDonald. He looked up 
 warily. 
 
 "Been spilling this story any place else?", he 
 asked. 
 
 "Not a syllable. It's exclusive for you if you 
 promise to use it. Of course, if you don't I'll have 
 to drop in over at the Gazette office. It's too good 
 to waste." 
 
 Jennings seemed to look through Jimmy for a 
 full half minute while he 'pondered deeply. 
 
 "Young man," he said finally. "I'm going to in- 
 vestigate this little yarn, but let me tell you that 
 if it turns out to be a fake, I'll have you deported 
 as an undesirable alien." 
 
 He turned his gaze towards the little group of 
 reporters on the other side of the room grinding 
 I op
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 out copy to the tune played by a dozen clicking 
 typewriters. 
 
 "Crandall," he called out, "I've got a story for 
 you to look up." 
 
 Jimmy effaced himself as the Bulletin's star 
 feature writer jumped up briskly in response to his 
 chief's summons. 
 
 no
 
 Chapter Fifteen 
 
 The Horace Chadwicks were breakfasting in 
 their stately old colonial home in the environs of 
 the city. The shrill song of twittering robins came 
 through the half-open windows on a gentle spring 
 breeze and the morning sunlight flooded the room. 
 A benign spirit of peace and domestic tranquility 
 seemed to brood over the scene. Mr. Chadwick, 
 a solid and substantial looking man of fifty-five, 
 was supping his coffee and glancing through the 
 financial columns of the Gazette. Mrs. Chadwick 
 had finished her grape-fruit and had just picked up 
 the Bulletin. She was a matronly person whose 
 ample bosom seemed to be but the continuation of 
 a rippling series of superfluous chins. She carried 
 herself, even in her morning negligee, with that 
 air of conscious rectitude and commanding import- 
 ance which she felt to be fitting for a prominent 
 banker's wife who was a member of three impor- 
 tant women's clubs, secretary of the anti-cigarette 
 section of the local branch of the W. C. T. U., vice- 
 president of the Baltimore chapter of the League 
 Opposed to Woman's Suffrage and chairman of the 
 Advisory Coniimittee to the State Board of Moving 
 Picture Censors. 
 
 If Mr. Chadwick hadn't been deeply immersed 
 in the Gazette's account of the proposed merger 
 in
 
 Thresh Every Hour 
 
 of certain copper interests he might have noticed 
 gathering storm clouds a few feet away, but he was 
 blissfully unconscious of any impending catas- 
 trophe. Screened by his paper he had no inkling of 
 the passing train of emotions that were registered 
 upon the extensive facial areas of the partner of 
 his joys. Amazement, incredulity, bewilderment, 
 chagrin, unholy rage all of these feelings were de- 
 picted upon the countenance of Mrs. Chadwick and 
 were succeeded in turn, by an expression of scorn- 
 ful calm that was pregnant with possibilities of 
 a most unpleasant nature. She laid down the Bul- 
 letin, removed her glasses and addressed her hus- 
 band in a voice that was cold and menacing. 
 
 "What car do you propose using Sunday, Hor- 
 ace?" she asked. 
 
 "What's that?", said Mr. Chadwick looking 
 around his newspaper. "What car? Sunday? Oh, 
 I guess I'll take the new touring car out?" 
 
 "Don't you think the limousine would be bet- 
 ter?", she continued in an even voice. "More shel- 
 tered, more screened from the public gaze as it 
 were?" 
 
 "More screened from the public gaze?", he re- 
 peated. "What are you getting at, Elizabeth? No 
 limousine for me if this weather keeps up. Won- 
 derful morning, my dear, a wonderful morning. 
 I'll bet the crocuses sprouted three inches over 
 night. A few more days like this and I'll peel a 
 half dozen years off. Nothing like spring to put 
 life into you, my dear, nothing like it." 
 1 12
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Nothing like spring to make foolish nincom- 
 poops out of a lot of old men," corrected Mrs. 
 Chadwick in a voice that was positively glacial. 
 
 Something in the tone of it stirred her husband's 
 curiosity. He put down his paper and looked up 
 quickly. 
 
 "What are you talking about, Elizabeth?" he 
 inquired sharply. 
 
 "I suppose Colonel Roundtree has picked a 
 blonde,' went on Mrs. Chadwick icily, utterly 
 ignoring his question. "Have you decided on a 
 brunette, Horace?" 
 
 "Blondes brunettes?" murmured Mr. Chadwick 
 hazily. "Have I decided say, Elizabeth, what's 
 got into you?" 
 
 "I dare say brunettes are a little too seriously 
 inclined for you," ran on his wife in the same even, 
 ironic tone. "Blondes are livelier and they have 
 the funniest names, I'm told. Which do you pre- 
 fer, Horace Trixie, Mazie or Delphine?" 
 
 Mr. Chadwick surveyed his wife with alarm. 
 
 "What's the joke, Elizabeth?", he inquired with 
 an attempt at a smile that was really pathetic. 
 "Where do I laugh?" 
 
 "Into her little pink ear, Horace," responded 
 Mrs. Chadwick. 
 
 "Look here, Elizabeth," he shouted, "either you 
 need a doctor the air around here needs clearing. 
 Humor was never your strong forte. There are a 
 lot of sly little innuendos floating about that I'm 
 going to choke off right here and now. Some
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 damned old meddler in petticoats has been buzzing 
 about this house and I'm going to find out who 
 it is." 
 
 Mrs. Chadwick composedly confronted him. 
 
 "A pretty well known meddler, Horace," she re- 
 marked with irritating suavity. "A meddler known 
 to thousands. I refer you to the Bulletin. 
 
 She carelessly indicated the paper in front of her. 
 Mr. Chadwick grabbed it and hurriedly glanced at 
 the front page. A three column headline attracted 
 his attention. 
 
 ELDERLY MILLIONAIRES 
 PLAN JOY RIDE PARTY, 
 WITH "FROJJCS" CHORUS 
 
 Donald McDonald, Horace Chad- 
 wick and Other Auto Club 
 Members Arrange to Bring 
 Broadway Beauties Into Town. 
 
 INSIDER SPILLS THE BEANS 
 
 By the time Mr. Chadwick got that far he was 
 spluttering like a leaky radiator valve. By the 
 time he had finished reading through the flossy 
 little yarn that Billy Crandall had woven out of 
 Jimmy Martin's story, he looked as if he had over- 
 stayed the time limit in the hot room at a Turkish 
 
 114
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 bath by fifteen minutes. His face was fiery red 
 and the veins stood out on his forehead in knotty 
 little lumps. 
 
 The fragmentary remarks that Mrs. Chadwick 
 was able to extract from the almost incoherent 
 jumble of sounds that escaped from the lips of her 
 spouse during the reading were of such a general 
 nature and tone that she put her hands to her ears 
 in sheer self-defense d sat wildly tapping her feet 
 on the floor to drown them out. The next minute 
 her husband crashed out of the room and through 
 the hall to his waiting car. 
 
 "Cut her loose, Martin, and drive me to the Bul- 
 letin office," he shouted to the trim chauffeur. "I'm 
 going over the top after that crowd of pestiferous 
 puppies." 
 
 Though it was not quite nine o'clock when Hor- 
 ace Chadwick arrived at the Bulletin office he found 
 eight other apoplectic prominent citizens gathered 
 in excited colloquy in the ante-room to the office ot 
 Richard Chilvers, the owner and editor-in-chief ot 
 the paper. Col. Hannibal Roundtree, a handsome 
 and stately old gentleman with a militant imperial 
 and a flowing white moustache, was addressing re- 
 marks to a thoroughly scared young man who had 
 thoughtlessly confessed a minute before that he 
 was Mr. Chilver's secretary. 
 
 "You listen to me, young man," he was saying. 
 "You march into that office there and get Dick 
 Chilvers on that private wire of his and tell him 
 that if he's a gentleman he'll drop his breakfast
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and come down heah and meet a delegation of irate 
 and fightin' mad citizens of this community face 
 to face, instead skulkin' in the trenches." 
 
 The youthful secretary vanished through a 
 swinging door marked "Private" and Colonel 
 Roundtree turned to his friends. 
 
 "Damned, rascally, cowardly hounds that's 
 what I call 'em. They print a dastardly canard 
 like that and then they skedaddle in the face of the 
 common enemy." 
 
 "You're talking, colonel," broke in Mr. Chad- 
 wick. "I haven't met anybody I know, but I'll bet 
 we're the laughing stock of the whole town." 
 
 "I can't take that bet," responded Col. Round- 
 tree bitterly. "Unfortunately for my peace of mind 
 I have met some of my friends. Why, gentlemen, 
 we should take matters into our own hands, mount 
 a machine gun right heah at this door and keep 'em 
 from gettin* out another edition of this lyin', treach- 
 ous, no-account sheet." 
 
 There were murmurs of approval of these belli- 
 gerent sentiments from the little group of protest- 
 ants which had just been increased by the arrival 
 of Jonathan Wilde, a thin dyspeptic looking man 
 with a disappearing Adam's apple and of Henry 
 Quinby Blugsden, a former United States senator 
 who carried the dignity of America's foremost de- 
 bating society about with him on all occasions. 
 
 "Legal measures, my dear colonel," said the for- 
 mer senator, "are, I think, the soundest in such an 
 emergency. So far as I am concerned my suit will 
 116
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 be filed this afternoon. I shall name the sum of 
 $250,000 as insufficient damages for the mental pain 
 I have already undergone. Mrs. Blugsden, as many 
 of you know, is a woman of decided prejudices and 
 a strong mind." 
 
 "She hasn't a shade on my wife," remarked Mr. 
 Wilde. She's got two doctors working on her this 
 .minute. Went right off into hysterics at the break- 
 fast table and began smashing china." 
 
 "My own deah Julia," remarked the colonel, "pro- 
 fessed not to believe the damned nonsense, but 
 there was a 1 ok in her off eye as I was passin' out 
 the door that made me feel more uncomfortable 
 than I have since the day Yellow Boy lost the 
 Eastern Shore Handicap." 
 
 The elevator door out in the corridor clanged just 
 then and the brisk step of Richard Chilvers was 
 heard approaching the little delegation of promi- 
 nent citizens. Colonel Roundtree moved to a strat- 
 egic position at the head of the g oup. The pub- 
 lisher a tall, forthright, hearty looking man 
 stopped at the doorway and affected great surprise 
 at the combination of wealth, social position and 
 business power he found confronting him. 
 
 "Well, well," he remarked buoyantly, "the Bul- 
 letin seems to be honored this morning. It can't be 
 possible that you're all waiting to see me, is it?" 
 
 Colonel Roundtree lost his voice for a moment at 
 the breezy assurance of this greeting. He coughed 
 violently and then composed himself with a mighty 
 effort.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "You know perfectly well why we're here, Dick 
 Chilvers," he said majestically. "We're here be- 
 cause the honor and the sacred dignity of our 
 homes and hearths have been ruthlessly assailed in 
 the public prints." 
 
 The publisher walked toward the door leading 
 to his office. He held it open. 
 
 "Just step inside, gentlemen," he said quietly. "I 
 never discuss business out here." 
 
 The prominent citizens moved inside and disposed 
 themselves about the desk in the centre of the room. 
 Mr. Chilvers, who was irritatingly calm, laid his hat 
 and gloves on the desk and faced them. 
 
 "Won't you be seated, gentlemen?" he asked 
 suavely. 
 
 "Seated! Hell!" retorted Colonel Roundtree. 
 "We want to talk to you standin' up. Why did 
 you print that lyin' yarn this mornin'?" 
 
 "I presume you refer to the story about the Auto- 
 mobile Club," returned the publisher. "I'm not 
 aware that it is a lying yarn, as you call it. I've 
 been up several hours, colonel, and I've been doing 
 a little investigating on my own." 
 
 There were excited murmurs from the group of 
 protestants at this remark. Horace Chadwick, who 
 stood next to Colonel Roundtree decided to go to 
 bat in place of the latter. The colonel was palpably 
 too mad to be articulate. 
 
 "Dick Chilvers," said Mr. Chadwick, "do you 
 mean to tell your fellow club members and busi- 
 118
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ness associates that you give the slightest credence 
 to this fairy tale?" 
 
 "I mean to tell you," replied the publisher evenly, 
 "that I have faith in the men I employ. I didn't 
 see the story until I read it in the paper this morn- 
 ing. I must confess it sounded incredible. I got 
 my night city editor out of bed and he told me that 
 the story had been thoroughly investigated and 
 verified." 
 
 "Verified?" shouted Colonel Roundtree, finding 
 his voice again. "Who in the name of Andrew 
 Jackson verified it?" 
 
 "A gentleman we all know extremely well," re- 
 turned the editor. "I'm going to call him up." 
 
 He reached for the telephone book on his desk, 
 looked up a number and gave it to the operator. 
 His visitors gathered around his desk whispering 
 excitedly to each other. There was a moment or 
 two of tense silence and then the bell rang. 
 
 "Is that 3459 Parkway?" he asked. "Please give 
 me Mr. McDonald." 
 
 As he waited the distinguished citizens looked 
 at each other in amazement. They moved closer 
 to the telephone. Presently the publisher was talk- 
 ing again. 
 
 "Is that you, Mac?" he asked. "This is Dick 
 Chilvers. You know what I want to talk to you 
 about, I guess yes, that's it hell? I should say 
 so I've got nearly an even dozen irate citizens 
 here now and I'm dead certain there are more on 
 up
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 the way Roundtree? yes, he's here yes, he's a 
 little excited about it " 
 
 An indignant snort from the colonel interrupted 
 the conversation. His associates nudged him into 
 silence. 
 
 "Jennings said you gave Crandall the story/' 
 Chilvers was saying. "You did, eh? what's the 
 idea ? Come now, Mac, this is serious don't laugh 
 like that why if Roundtree ever heard that laugh 
 he'd commit aggravated assault and battery on the 
 spot y-e-s y-e-s well, of course " 
 
 The little group bent forward eagerly to catch 
 every word. The one-sided convert tion began to 
 get more and more cryptic to them. 
 
 "You will, eh," the publisher continued. "No 
 not this time. I'll get this particular story myself 
 noon, eh? all right, Mac." 
 
 Chilvers hung up thephone and turned to his friends. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he remarked easily. "I'm going 
 out on a little assignment myself. I'm going to 
 interview Mr. Donald McDonald of the Merchants 
 Trust Company. He says he's got another story 
 that's better than this one. I'll have to ask you 
 to excuse me until I see him." 
 
 "We'll meet you at his office," blurted Colonel 
 Roundtree. "There's something powerful queer 
 about this thing and we're going to see it through. 
 
 "Mac won't be at his office," responded the pub- 
 lisher. "He said he'd prefer not to meet any of you 
 until tomorrow. We've arranged a well, a sort 
 of a secret rendevouz." 
 
 120
 
 Chapter Sixteen 
 
 Horace Chadwick was stirring the next morning 
 before anyone else in the house. He crept down 
 the main stairway in a suit of pink pajamas and a 
 purple bathrobe and made straight for the front 
 door. He opened it and peered out on the porch. 
 The morning papers had not yet arrived. He 
 slipped back in the hallway and sat down on a 
 settee. He had had a sleepless night and he was 
 in a rotten humor. The wife of his bosom hadn't 
 spoken a word to him since the affair of the break- 
 fast table the day before and he had been so un- 
 mercifully "guyed" by every friend he met that he 
 had taken refuge in his library early in the after- 
 noon and had smoked three times as many black 
 cigars as were good for him. 
 
 Chilvers had been inaccessible since the visit of 
 the deputation and every effort to get in touch with 
 anyone on the Bulletin had been met with the re- 
 sponse that "explanations will be made in tomor- 
 row's paper." To make matters worse the Rev. Dr. 
 Chaddow had called to offer spiritual consolation 
 to "dear, kind Mrs. Chadwick." He had heard the 
 cleric intoning his sympathy in the drawing room 
 and had been obliged to stand at an open window 
 to cool off and keep himself from rushing in and 
 121
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 laying 1 violent hands on the reverend gentleman. 
 The story was the talk of the town and telephonic 
 reports from other members of the aggrieved group 
 of prominent citizens brought word of the continu- 
 ance of violent hostilities in nearly a score of house- 
 holds. 
 
 The memory of these things seethed in Mr. Chad- 
 wick's mind as he sat with his aching head bent 
 forward on his hands and heard the library clock 
 chime six. Presently a dull thud was heard against 
 the door. Mr. Chadwick jumped up and stepped 
 out on the porch again. He picked up the tightly 
 rolled little bundle of newspapers a boy had just 
 thrown in from the sidewalk, and slammed the door 
 shut behind him. He eagerly unrolled the package, 
 picked out the Bulletin and held up the front page 
 under the shade of a tall hall-lamp. 
 
 Delia, the cook, who was coming down the front 
 stairs in direct violation of a household rule at this 
 particular moment, was frozen in her tracks by the 
 incisive explicitness of a blistering exclamation 
 which came up out of the hall below. It was fol- 
 lowed by murmurs and mumbles which she couldn't 
 quite make out, then by a chuckle or two and finally 
 by a hearty laugh that sent her scurrying upstairs 
 again and down the back way, convinced that the 
 gentleman of the house had suddenly gone out of 
 his mind. 
 
 Mr. Chadwick followed her up with the nimble- 
 ness of a school boy, waving the paper in his hand 
 He knocked loudly at his wife's door. 
 122
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Elizabeth," he shouted, "God's in his heaven 
 all's right with the world." 
 
 "What's that?" came a sleepy voice from behind 
 the locked door. 
 
 "The blonde peril has passed on out to sea," he 
 said gayly. "Take a look at this morning's Bul- 
 letin." 
 
 Mrs. Chadwick unlocked the door and admitted 
 her husband. He blithely escorted her over to the 
 window, drew up the curtain and flashed the paper 
 in front of her blinking eyes. At first she saw only 
 a smear of black type and a dancing set of little 
 pictures. The type presently resolved itself into 
 a five column headline which told a story that the 
 whole town would be chuckling over in another 
 hour : 
 
 BANKER SATISFIES 
 GRUDGE; NEARLY 
 BREAJ(S UP HOMES 
 
 Fate and Theatrical Press Agent 
 Play Into Hands of Donald 
 McDonald and Give Him Sweet 
 Revenge After Many Years. 
 
 HE WHO LAUGHS 
 
 LAST LAUGHS BEST 
 
 Mrs. Chadwick gazed bewilderingly at the flam- 
 123
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing headline and at the pen and ink sketches illus- 
 trating the story which followed sketches pictur- 
 ing with comic effect little scenes like that which 
 transpired at her own breakfast table the morning 
 before. 
 
 "I don't understand," she said weakly. 
 
 "Read the first few paragraphs and you will," 
 chuckled her husband. 
 
 His wife obediently read the introduction to the 
 long story which Crandall had written. 
 
 On a certain Spring night a score 
 of years ago a certain Baltimorean 
 gazed up at the star spangled heav- 
 ens on the desolate shores of a little 
 inlet of Chesapeake Bay twenty long 
 miles from a railroad and fifteen 
 from any human habitation and 
 swore by all the nine gods that some- 
 time, somehow, some place he would 
 get even collectively and appropriate- 
 ly with two dozen of his fellow club 
 members who had just played him 
 what he considered the scurviest 
 trick known to mortal man. He had 
 been kidnapped on his wedding night 
 and dumped without ceremony on 
 the loneliest spot in this corner of 
 the world all by way of a joke. 
 
 This same man sat yesterday in the 
 living room of his country home with 
 a perpetual grin on his face and a 
 heartful of joy. He knew that every 
 living man of that party of jokesters 
 was suffering something approximat- 
 ing the torments he suffered on that 
 night of nights and that he had 
 stirred up more trouble in a score of 
 households than a half a hundred 
 
 124
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 genuine vampires might have suc- 
 ceeded in doing. 
 
 Opportunity chose the disguise of a 
 theatrical press agent when she fin- 
 ally knocked after all these years 
 which statement leads naturally to 
 an account of the real inside of the 
 story of the projected millionaires' 
 chorus girl joy ride party which 
 amused and startled this city yester- 
 day. 
 
 125
 
 Chapter Seventeen 
 
 The advance sale of seats for the engagement 
 of the Frolics opened that morning. Jimmy Martin 
 stood chatting with Manager George Seymour in 
 the lobby of the Lyric Theatre and watching the 
 long queue of prospective ticket purchasers which 
 stretched out to the sidewalk and curved up the 
 street for nearly half a block. Jimmy couldn't re- 
 sist gloating just a little bit. He had adopted a 
 more or less casual, "I told you so" attitude the day 
 before when the first story appeared, but this morn- 
 ing he just naturally expanded. 
 
 "Well, Georgie old man," he remarked cheerily. 
 "You've got to give him credit. The kid's clever." 
 
 "What kid?" asked Mr. Seymour. 
 
 "That Martin fellow ahead of the 'Frolics.' I 
 told you stirring up towns was a specialty of his. 
 He certainly handed this one a jolt. Do you hear 
 'em all talking about this morning's yarn ? It's the 
 biggest press story in years." 
 
 "Just luck dumb luck." 
 
 "Pretty good for the little old showshop and the 
 little old show, though, you've got to admit. Come 
 on, Georgie, act human. Own up that if it hadn't 
 been for the big idea I led in by the hand, little 
 old Robert B. Luck wouldn't have had a chance to 
 sit in and draw five cards." 
 
 126
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Say," remarked Seymour irrelevantly, "did you 
 know Meyerfield was coming over this morning? 
 He phoned me from Washington last night after 
 you'd gone." 
 
 "I didn't know it," responded Jimmy, "but it's 
 music to my ears. I want to be lingering around 
 when he lamps this line. You know he told me to 
 smear the girls all over the front page, but he 
 didn't say anything about doing it two days run- 
 ning." 
 
 Jimmy strolled down the lobby and loitered near 
 the slow moving line. He felt a pleasurable little 
 thrill as he listened to the comments on the Bulle- 
 tin's story. He walked out to the street and ran 
 his eye along the queue that nearly reached the 
 corner. Then a taxi drove up and Meyerfield 
 alighted. Jimmy caught a flash of the Bulletin 
 sticking out of the manager's overcoat pocket. So 
 he'd seen the story already, he thought. Well, he'd 
 try to be modest. 
 
 "Hello, Martin," said Meyerfield, holding out a 
 clammy hand and giving Jimmy a barely percep- 
 tible grip. "Glad I caught you. Pittsburgh can- 
 celled and we're going straight through to Boston 
 from here. You'd better duck over there right 
 away. Come back to the office a minute. There's 
 something I want to talk to you about." 
 
 The manager gave the line a look of quick ap- 
 praisal as he passed quickly back to Seymour's of- 
 fice. Jimmy followed him, a little shade downcast 
 at the failure of his employer to make mention of
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 his achievement. Meyerfield greeted Seymour 
 pleasantly, slid into a chair, slowly lit a cigar and 
 assumed his most judicial manner. 
 
 "Martin," he said presently. "I want to talk to 
 you about these stories that have been running in 
 the Bulletin. Now 
 
 "Some little smear, eh?" 
 
 "It's a smear all right, but it isn't the kind of 
 publicity I want." 
 
 "But," Mr. Meyerfield, broke in Jimmy incredu- 
 lously. "Did you see the line ? Why 
 
 "Yes, I saw the line, but that doesn't mean every- 
 thing. It's just a little flash in the pan, and besides 
 it's dangerous stuff why you can't tell what would 
 come of it. Someone told me on the train coming 
 over that there was a quarter of a billion dollars 
 represented by the names in that story." 
 
 "But that's just why it's good stuff! The more 
 important the people " 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't interrupt me," snapped 
 Meyerfield. "I've got a silent partner in New York 
 a big banker he's going to back my new sumjmer 
 show. Why, if he ever gets wise to this stuff you 
 can't tell what'd happen. He may know some of 
 these fellows you've mixed up in this story and he 
 may call the whole thing off. You came pretty 
 near getting me in Dutch. Maybe you have. You'd 
 better pull a new line of stuff over in Boston. This 
 kind'll never do." 
 
 He watched Jimmy narrowly to see how that or- 
 dinarily enthusiastic young gentleman was respond- 
 128
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing to this line of talk. Jimmy's first expression of 
 bewilderment was replaced by one of great anxiety. 
 
 "All right, Mr. Meyerfield," he said deferentially. 
 "You know best. You've been at it longer than I 
 have, and, of course, you know the show business 
 from more angles than I do. I'm sorry it happened. 
 I didn't understand. I'll try and pull something 
 different over in Boston." 
 
 "That's it," beamed Meyerfield. "The fireworks 
 stuff is all right, but sticking to facts and real legit- 
 imate publicity is what lasts. We'll let by-gones 
 be has-beens. You'd better start on the earliest 
 train possible. By the way, Miss Bellairs is going 
 to lay off for a couple of weeks after our opening 
 here. Her doctor says she'll have a six month's 
 session in a sanatarium if she doesn't, but we can 
 get by that all right. You mustn't let a word of 
 this get out. You understand?" 
 
 "Sure I understand," replied Jimmy. Who's go- 
 ing on in her place?" 
 
 "Little Leona LeClaire," said Meyerfield. "It's 
 a chance to put her on in the leading role, but I 
 think she'll fill the bill all right. She's been under- 
 studying all season." 
 
 "I get you, Mr. Meyerfield. I'll try and pull 
 something different." 
 
 "That's the talk," replied the manager, extending 
 a fishy hand again. 
 
 As the door swung shut on the press agent, 
 Meyerfield turned to Seymour and gave him a pro- 
 digious wink. 
 
 129
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "How do you like my work, George?" he asked 
 expansively. 
 
 "I don't understand," puzzled the theatre man- 
 ager. "What do you mean? I thought that news- 
 paper stuff was damned good, if you ask me. Best 
 thing pulled off here in years." 
 
 "Of course it was George," responded Meyerfield 
 with an air of great wisdom. "It was one of the 
 best ever, but if I told that fresh gink I thought 
 it was, there'd be no holding him. He'd take the 
 bit in his teeth and bolt down Main street. He'd 
 begin to think he was worth a thousand dollars a 
 minute. Birds like that have to be held down. 
 Don't let 'em ever think they're good, I know how 
 to handle all his kind." 
 
 Meyerfield's office boy dumped a big pile of Bos- 
 ton Sunday papers on his desk the following Mon- 
 day morning. The manager opened the Press and 
 turned to the theatrical page. H skimmed it hur- 
 riedly and then uttered a low moan. Staring him in 
 the face was a double column picture of Leona Le 
 Claire. Over it was a headline which read: 
 
 PRIMA DONNA'S ILLNESS' 
 GIVES CHORUS GIRL 
 A BIG OPPORTUNITY 
 
 130
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 A story detailing the facts about Bessie Bellairs* 
 threatened breakdown followed, together with 
 some account of the stage beginnings of the under- 
 study. Meyerfield frantically looked through the 
 other papers and found the photograph of the Le 
 Claire girl featured in each one of them with prac- 
 tically the same story. He called his stenographer 
 and angrily dictated this telegram: 
 
 JAMES MARTIN, 
 
 AGENT MEYERFIELD'S FROLICS, 
 STAR THEATRE, BOSTON, MASS. 
 
 WHY DID YOU PRINT THAT BONE- 
 HEAD STORY ABOUT UNDERSTUDY 
 AFTER MY INSTRUCTIONS TO THE CON- 
 TRARYYOU'RE RUINING MY BUSINESS 
 WIRE IMMEDIATELY. 
 
 MEYERFIELD, 
 
 This answer came back collect in an hour and 
 a half: 
 
 MAURICE MEYERFIELD, 
 
 1426 BROADWAY, NEW YORK CITY. 
 GO OUT AND PLAY WITH THE CHIPPY 
 BIRDS. IF YOU WANT TO PUT ANY- 
 THING OVER ON ME YOU'LL HAVE TO 
 SET YOUR ALARM CLOCK EARLIER I 
 RESIGN I'M OFF SONG AND DANCE 
 SHOWS FOR LIFE NOTHING BUT HIGH- 
 BROW STUFF FOR MINE FROM NOW ON 
 HAVE SIGNED TO GO AHEAD OF OLGA 
 STEPHANO IN HEDDA GABLER, BY 
 HENRI K. IBSEN. 
 
 MARTIN.
 
 Chapter Eighteen 
 
 A letter from Lolita, received in Cleveland a few 
 weeks later while Jimmy was on the first lap of 
 his transcontinental journey as press agent extraor- 
 dinary for Madame Olga Stephano, the noted expo- 
 nent of Ibsen, sent the dark clouds which had given 
 him! an extremely low visibility scurrying like mist 
 before the sun and shot his blood pressure up almost 
 to the danger point. 
 
 Lolita admitted the justice of Jimmy's objection 
 to "Ursula's Undies," and sent word that she had 
 finally ceased her connection with that organization 
 and was "doing bits" with a stock company in Mt. 
 Vernon. If Jimmy would only forgive her she'd 
 heed his advice on all occasions in the future. 
 Jimmy, in a mood of extreme jubilation, had sent 
 her a seventy-three word night letter and had re- 
 tired early. 
 
 When he bounded out of his bed in the Carlton 
 Hotel the next morning and looked over a copy of 
 the Star which a thoughtful management had slid 
 under his door, he began to radiate gladness and 
 to impart tidings of good cheer. Little Sunshine, 
 the sweet young orphan in the story book, who 
 went around making folks forget their troubles by 
 telling them that abscessed teeth and carbuncles 
 were blessings in disguise, had nothing on him. 
 
 132
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 He trilled a merry roundelay while he bathed 
 and shaved, and he felt so good that he tossed a 
 "good morning, kid" to a pert little sparrow who 
 was hopping about on the fire escape outside the 
 open window. 
 
 Jimmy had a well forged alibi for his exuberance 
 of spirits, quite apart from the resumption of dip- 
 lomatic relations with the fair Lolita. He had just 
 performed that fascinating operation known in the 
 patois of the profession as "putting one over." The 
 patient who had submitted to his deft scalpel was 
 no less a personage than E. Cartwright Jenkins, 
 dramatic editor of the Star. E. Cartwright Jenkins 
 was the alpha and omega, the guardian angel of the 
 drama in that corner of the world. 
 
 It is only fair to state that just one month before 
 Jimmy's advent on the scene, E. Cartwright had 
 declared war to the death on the bureau of pub- 
 licity and promotion. He had issued a manifesto 
 which took in everyone from the humblest repre- 
 sentatives of a "Tom show" to the avaunt couriers 
 of the actors and actresses deemed worthy of fa- 
 vorable mention by the critics of the Big Town. 
 
 The Jenkins' ire had been aroused by a neat little 
 yarn submitted by a modest young gentleman with 
 mild blue eyes who had attested to its accuracy on 
 the sacred honor of his grandsires. The subsequent 
 developments had almost involved the Star in an 
 expensive libel suit and certain blistering remarks 
 from the owner and publisher of the paper, directed 
 at the dramatic editor's head, had resulted in the 
 
 Z33
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 issuance of the aforementioned ultimatum. The 
 manager of the Standard Theatre had shown Jimmy 
 the letter containing it. 
 
 "We shall accept from the theatre," the letter ran, 
 "only the briefest sort of a general preliminary an- 
 nouncement giving the name of the play and the 
 players concerned. Press agents' contributions are 
 not wanted and will not be used. It will not be 
 necessary for them to call to pay their respects. 
 We will take those for granted." 
 
 As Jimmy sat on the edge of his bed and read 
 the dramatic page of the Star over again he 
 chuckled gleefully. Confronting him was a three 
 column head which read : "Defense and a Rebuttal." 
 Underneath it was a thousand word letter addressed 
 to the dramatic editor and signed "Very Respect- 
 fully Yours, James T. Martin." Following it was a 
 long piece bearing the signature of E. Cartwright 
 Jenkins. 
 
 The letter was a work of surpassing art which 
 had been jointly composed the day before by Jimmy 
 and a reporter on the rival Inquirer who had cov- 
 ered "sports" with him in days gone by on a St. 
 Louis paper and who had a freely flowing repertoire 
 of adjectives at his command that was dazzling in 
 its completeness. It was a protest against the 
 Star's embargo on theatrical tidings and a defense 
 of the ancient and honorable calling of press agent. 
 It was cunningly interlarded here and there with 
 oily and unctuous references to the supreme wisdom 
 of Mr. Jenkins,
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 That worthy gentleman was appealed to as "the 
 recognized authority on all things pertaining to the 
 serious drama in this part of the United States" and 
 as a "patron of the seven arts whose causeries are 
 the delight of the cultured and the despair of the 
 untutored." Mention was made of the discourage- 
 ment such worthy artists as Madame Stephano met 
 with as a result of the refusal of the Star to co- 
 operate in the movement for the uplift of the stage, 
 etc., etc. 
 
 "That'll get that old bird," Jimmy had remarked 
 to his friend after the latter had explained what 
 the "seven arts" were. "He's the chairman of the 
 executive committee of the I-Hate-Myself Club." 
 
 Jimmy had had prophetic vision. E. Cartwright 
 had fallen into the trap. He had printed the letter 
 in full and he had followed it with certain remarks 
 of his own in which he regretted that the new rule 
 interfered with the "proper exploitation of such 
 representative and distinguished players as Madame 
 Stephano," etc., etc. 
 
 The press agent took out a lead pencil and began 
 underscoring the name of his star every time it ap- 
 peared in both his letter and the dramatic editor's 
 subjoined comment. 
 
 "Fourteen times," he chuckled to himself. "The 
 poor old boob." 
 
 He stuck his derby on his head a bit rakishly, 
 reached for a silver topped walking stick and 
 started a progress down to the lobby that was a 
 continuous round of cheery greetings. He joked 
 
 135
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 with the chambermaid he saw entering the room 
 next his own; exchanged a bit of badinage with 
 another who was loitering near the elevator, and 
 playfully slapped the elevator boy on the back with 
 his folded newspaper. He maintained this exalted 
 mood throughout breakfast during which meal he 
 again counted over the "Madame Stephanos" on 
 the sixth page to see if he'd made a mistake in his 
 previous reckoning. 
 
 After breakfast he strolled out into the lobby 
 again and over to the cigar counter. As he pointed 
 to a box in the case marked "50c" each, he beamed 
 at the slender blonde who was reaching to serve 
 him and the blonde beamed back. 
 
 "Say, sister," he asked pleasantly, "how'd you 
 like a couple of seats for the show Monday night 
 at the Standard?" 
 
 "Fine," replied the young woman. "What is it?" 
 
 "Olga Stephano," returned the press agent as he 
 reached for his pass pad and his fountain pen. 
 
 "She's that Russian actress, ain't she, that plays 
 in those highbrow plays?" 
 
 "That's right," replied Jimmy. "Ibsen stuff, but 
 she's a bear at it. She makes you tremble and she 
 makes you sigh." 
 
 The blonde person took the proffered pass and 
 folded it carefully. 
 
 "I'll take my sister," she said. "She'll have the 
 time of her life if there's anything sad in it. I must 
 say you press agents are a mighty nice lot of boys. 
 I meet a lot of you fellows in the course of a season 
 
 -136-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and most every one slips me a pass just for socia- 
 bility. Here comes Mr. Wilson now. He just got 
 in this morning. He told me he's ahead of some 
 new play they're trying out for Otis Taber." 
 
 The gentleman who was approaching was a well 
 set-up, prosperous looking man in his early forties 
 who looked more like a bank cashier or a successful 
 professional man than the popular conception of a 
 theatrical advance agent. He was one of that dis- 
 tinguished little group of clever newspapermen who 
 have been lured away from the daily grind of news- 
 gathering or editorial work into the pleasant by- 
 paths of theatrical endeavor and who have found 
 the fascinations of the show world too subtle to 
 resist no matter how hard they try. 
 
 "Hello, Jimmy, old man," he said heartily. "What 
 are you doing out here in Cleveland? I thought you 
 were with 'Meyerfield's Frolics'." 
 
 "I was," replied Jimmy, "but I'm off song and 
 dance shows. I had a run in with Meyerfield." 
 
 "What are you doing?" asked the other. 
 
 "I've signed up with the little old uplift, Tom," 
 returned Jimmy. "I'm elevating our well known 
 stage." 
 
 Tom Wilson looked puzzled for a moment. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that you're ahead of 
 Stephano?", he gasped. 
 
 "That's what," said Jimmy, with easy assurance. 
 "I knew it would hand a laugh to all of you kid 
 glove scounts, but I'm going to make good even if 
 I am about as much of a highbrow as a bush league
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 second baseman. As a matter of fact I've started 
 to clean up already. Have a cigar." 
 
 Mr. Wilson looked in the case and indicated a 
 modestly priced weed. Jimmy held up a depreca- 
 tory hand. 
 
 "Nothing doing, sister," he expanded. "Slip him 
 one of those regular smokes." 
 
 His friend picked a thick cigar out of the box the 
 blonde person handed him and looked into Jimmy's 
 smiling face. 
 
 "Say," he inquired. "What's the idea? Had a 
 legacy or something?" 
 
 Jimmy motioned him towards a large leather 
 sofa in the center of the lobby. 
 
 "I've just put one over on the censor," he exulted, 
 as he settled down, "and I just naturally feel a little 
 frisky. You don't mind if I pin a few war crosses 
 on my chest, do you?" 
 
 "Not at all," replied the other good naturedly. 
 "Fire ahead." 
 
 Jimmy opened the folded newspaper in his hand 
 and passed it to his brother agent with a playful 
 little flourish. As the latter read the indicated sec- 
 tion Jimmy watched him out of the corner of his 
 eye carefully looking for signs of approval. Along 
 about the second paragraph a knowing smile began 
 to curl the corners of Mr. Wilson's mouth. His 
 companion heaved a sigh of profound satisfaction 
 and lolled back at peace with all the vasty universe. 
 
 "That's a pretty good start," commented the
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 other handing the paper back. "Rather a choice 
 line of language, too." 
 
 "You said something," returned Jimmy. "I've 
 got a date with a couple of those words the next 
 time I run into a dictionary. I betcha old E. Cart- 
 wright never gets wise. Nothing succeeds like the 
 little old salve." 
 
 When the meeting of Local No. 78 of the Public- 
 ity Promoters' Mutual Admiration Society ad- 
 journed about ten minutes later, Tom Wilson in- 
 quired if Jimmy was planning any more attacks on 
 the common enemy. The latter yawned in simula- 
 tion of great nonchalance. 
 
 "Oh, I've got a few ideas I hope to put into gen- 
 eral circulation before the day is over," he remarked 
 casually. "Old Henry P. Inspiration has been 
 working overtime for me since I turned highbrow. 
 I'll walk down to the theatre with you." 
 
 Jimmy's imagination indulged in ground and lofty 
 tumbling on the way to the playhouse. It also 
 soared and it may be stated, with due regard for 
 veracity, that it looped the loop and otherwise 
 comported itself in a highly sensational manner. 
 If he had voiced only half of the weird notions for 
 publicity that came to him, Tom Wilson would 
 have undoubtedly felt constrained to take him 
 firmly by the arm and lead him to an alienist. 
 Jimmy's mind always worked that way when he 
 was particularly exalted. Usually there were one 
 or two of the wild ideas that surged within him 
 that could afterwards stand the cold light of reason
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and that served as the basis of successful onslaughts 
 on the custodians of newspaper space. 
 
 As the pair approached the big skyscraper that 
 housed the Star, Jimmy turned to his companion. 
 
 "You don't mind if I drop in here and correct an 
 ad proof, do you?" he asked. 
 
 The other shook his head and they both entered 
 the business office of the newspaper. Directly con- 
 fronting them was a huge sign hung over the 
 counter. It carried this legend in large letters: 
 
 THE STAR'S APPLE PIE 
 
 CONTEST IS NOW ON 
 ENTER YOUR PIES EARLY 
 
 Jimmy stood still and let the words sink in. They 
 bore to him a message of infinite hope. He leaned 
 over eagerly to the young woman behind the 
 counter. 
 
 "Say, miss," he inquired. "Where can I get the 
 dope on this pie contest?" 
 
 "Miss Slosson, the pie editor right in the back 
 of the office here," responded the girl. 
 
 Jimmy grabbed Tom Wilson by the arm and led 
 him towards the rear of the room. 
 
 "I'm going to put it over on this sheet again just 
 for luck," he confided. 
 
 A sign reading, "Enter Your Pies Here," at- 
 tracted them to a railed-off corner of the big office 
 room. A stout woman in the skittish forties, who 
 was dressed like an ingenue, looked up at them 
 140
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 from behind a table on which a number of luscious 
 looking apple pies reposed. On shelves on the wall 
 behind her, scores of other pies, all tagged, were 
 arranged. 
 
 "Is this contest open to anyone?" inquired Jimmy 
 bowing pleasantly. 
 
 "Certainly," gushed the pie editor. "I'm so glad 
 to see gentlemen in this office. So many women 
 have been in since we opened this contest that it 
 makes one feel rather lonesome for the stronger 
 sex. Do you wish to enter a pie?" 
 
 "Yes, mam," replied Jimmy promptly. 
 
 "Oh, a gentleman cook," Miss Slosson rattled on. 
 "How utterly adorable. Do you know I've always 
 felt that there was no reason on earth why a man 
 shouldn't take a hand in the kitchen if he chose. 
 It's only a foolish convention " 
 
 "Please, Miss Slosson," broke in Jimmy drown- 
 ing out a chuckle from Tom Wilson which seriously 
 threatened to develop into a ribald laugh, "please 
 the pie I want to enter wasn't baked by myself. 
 It isn't baked yet by anyone. I wanted to know if 
 you'd be interested in having a pie entered by 
 Madame Olga Stephano?" 
 
 "You mean the Russian actress who's coming to 
 the Standard next week?" asked Miss Slosson. 
 
 "Yes, mam," replied Jimmy. "I'm her manager 
 
 and I just happened to see the announcement of 
 
 your contest and I remembered that she's a great 
 
 cook and I thought perhaps you'd like to have her 
 
 147
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 enter in the pie stakes that is, I mean I thought 
 you'd like to have her bake a pie and send it in. 
 Apple pies are her specialty. Mr. Wilson here and 
 myself ate one cooked by her own hand last sum- 
 mer down at her country home on Long Island. 
 Remember that pie, Mr. Wilson?" 
 
 Jimmy's confrere was equal to the emergency. 
 
 "I should say I did," he quickly replied in his most 
 dignified manner. "How could I ever forget? It 
 was a poem, a real lyric bit of pastry." 
 
 "This is wonderful," gurgled Miss Slosson, "per- 
 fectly wonderful! It will give just the filip to this 
 thing that I've been after. We can challenge the 
 women of the home to equal the culinary efforts 
 of the women of the stage. You understand, of 
 course, that we must insist upon your entry being 
 bona-fide. We must have assurance that the pie 
 has actually been baked by Madame Stephano. 
 How will she be able to bake it and how will you 
 get it here? Our contest closes the day after to- 
 morrow, you know." 
 
 "That'll be all right, Miss Slosson," returned 
 Jimmy. "I'll get her on the long distance phone 
 just as soon as I can get back to my hotel. She's 
 playing in Chicago and she's stopping with friends 
 in a private home. She'll bake it right away and 
 I'll get her to ship it right through by express. 
 She'll be tickled to death. The home is everything 
 to her. Most domestic little woman I ever met." 
 
 "Isn't that too delightful," responded the pie edi- 
 tor. "Some of them are that way I suppose. I 
 142
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 wonder if you have any pictures of her that I could 
 use?" 
 
 Jimmy turned a glance toward his companion in 
 which there was a gleam of triumph as he began to 
 unbuckle the leather case he always carried with 
 nim. 
 
 "I think that it's just possible I may have one or 
 two right here with me," he said. "Yes, isn't that 
 lucky? Do you care for any of these?" 
 
 He handed a half dozen assorted pictures of the 
 great Russian actress across the table. Miss Slos- 
 son picked out three of them. 
 
 "I'll use one tomorrow morning with a long story 
 about her entrance," she said, "and I'll use one the 
 day after, too. Tomorrow I'll run a picture of Mrs. 
 fefferson Andrews, one of our society leaders who 
 las entered, right opposite Mme. Stephano's. It's 
 .1 perfectly darling idea. Thank you so much and 
 be sure and get her on the phone right away and 
 don't forget that the contest closes at six o'clock 
 Thursday evening. 
 
 Jimmy didn't say a word until they reached the 
 sidewalk. Then he turned to his friend. 
 
 "Say, Tom," he remarked, "you don't mind wait- 
 ing a minute while I pin on the little old Croy de 
 Gerre thing, do you ? What do you think about the 
 way I worked the bunk on Sarah Ann Slosson? 
 Ain't she just the cutest thing?" 
 
 Tom Wilson looked at him rather cynically. 
 
 "How are you going to go through with it?" he 
 asked quietly. 
 
 143
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "How am I going to go through with it?" echoed 
 Jimmy. "Why I'm going to do just what I said I 
 was going to do. I'm going to call up the beautiful 
 star and get her to bake that pie or have someone 
 else bake it and I'm going to call up Jordan, the 
 company manager and have him tend to the ship- 
 ping. I'll get her to write a little note in her own 
 handwriting about the joys of kitchen life that they 
 can use for a big splash." 
 
 "You will, eh," retorted Wilson. "You talk as 
 if you'd never met this Stephano person." 
 
 "I haven't," admitted Jimmy. "I joined the show 
 by wire. This is my first town. They sent all the 
 dope on by mail and I'm going to duck back here 
 next week for the big pow-wow. What are you 
 getting at?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing much," replied the other, "only you 
 hadn't better call her up or Jordan either. You say 
 you were hired by wire. Well, you'd be fired the 
 same way." 
 
 "I don't get your comedy, Tom," cut in Jimmy a 
 bit uneasily. 
 
 His friend put a reassuring hand on his shoulder 
 and spoke to him earnestly. 
 
 "It isn't comedy, old man," he said quietly. "I 
 thought you knew all about that ladybird. Pie con- 
 tests aren't in her line. Now don't misunderstand 
 me. It's great publicity. I know that and I'm for 
 it strong and any regular actress with any real 
 rfense of values would be, too, but this Stephano 
 female isn't that kind of a person. She looks after 
 
 144
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 her dignity more carefully than most women look 
 after an only child. I happened to be in Washing- 
 ton last season when she let poor Charlie Thompson 
 out." 
 
 "What did he do?" inquired Jimmy cautiously. 
 
 "Well, Charlie never started well. I could figure 
 that he wouldn't last when I caught a flash of the 
 proof for his Sunday ad lying on Seymour's desk 
 over in Baltimore the week before. It read, "Olga 
 Stephano in Ibsen's, 'A Doll's House' Bring the 
 Kiddies." I took Charlie aside and killed that, and 
 I tried to put him wise, but he fell down in Wash- 
 ington." 
 
 "What'd he do over there?" persisted Jimmy anx- 
 iously. 
 
 Wilson retailed at length the harrowing details 
 of the yarn that rang the death knell for Charlie 
 Thompson, Madame Stephano had played the cap- 
 ital on Easter week and Charlie had planted a story 
 in all the Monday papers stating that she would 
 honor the egg-rolling festivities on the White 
 House lawn with her sacred presence. The story 
 further had it that she would sit on the grassy 
 sward atop a little hillock and personally autograph 
 one egg for each little child who came up to her. 
 It also set forth the delectable information that she 
 was prepared to subsequently roll these eggs down 
 the hill with her own fair hands for the delight and 
 edification of the young ones. 
 
 "I'm reliably informed that when she saw that 
 story in print she had to be forcibly restrained from
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 jumping out of the eleventh story window of her 
 hotel," concluded Wilson. "Charlie got his in Pitts- 
 burgh that night. That egg rolling stunt isn't any 
 worse than a pie contest." 
 
 Jimmy's enthusiasm, during this narrative, had 
 slowly slipped from him like a discarded garment. 
 
 "What do you think I'd better do, Tom ?" he asked. 
 
 "If I were you, Jimmy," said his friend gently, 
 "I'd go back in there and call the whole thing off." 
 
 A hurt look crept into the eyes of the exploiter 
 t >f Madame Olga Stephano. 
 
 "Gee, Tom," he murmured. "I couldn't do that, 
 little old Arthur S. Family Pride and I are still 
 buddies. I've got to go through, clean through. I just 
 couldn't go back there and quit cold turkey before my 
 new found friend, Sarah Ann. Not in a thousand 
 years." 
 
 "Well, there's one thing certain," responded the 
 other with a note of finality. "If you call up little 
 Olga or that trained manager of hers they'll burn 
 you up." 
 
 Jimmy looked sadly at his friend. 
 
 "Ain't it hell, Tom ?" he opined grimly. "Ain't it 
 just double-distilled hell?" 
 
 He stood for a moment staring straight ahead 
 as if lost in abstraction. And then he found speech 
 again. 
 
 "I won't call either of 'em up," he said firmly, 
 **but I'm going to let that story ride. There must 
 be some way out of the mess. Apple pie, eh? I 
 never did like it." 
 
 TTT J. i-1 \j - '
 
 Chapter Nineteen 
 
 Jimmy wasn"t able to concentrate on his regular 
 luties that afternoon. He had acquired an obses- 
 ion and he couldn't shake it off. The problem of 
 how to make good on his promise to the gushy 
 Miss Slosson occupied his entire time and attention. 
 A more careless or indifferent wayfarer in the field 
 of theatrical publicity might have been content to 
 let that plump and pleasing person print her story 
 on the following day and let it go at that, neglect- 
 ing to follow the idea up and failing to redeem his 
 pledges. Jimmy knew a dozen of his confreres who 
 would just drop the thing on the principle that half 
 a loaf is better than no bread, but he wasn't that 
 kind of press agent. He didn't know it, but he was 
 really a great creative artist in his own sphere and 
 he got just the same inner satisfaction out of seeing 
 his ideas blossom into realities that a great painter 
 gets as he watches an imagined color harmony 
 spring into life on the easel before him, or that a 
 stylist thrills to when he achieves a perfect phrase 
 after a tiresome search for the inevitable word. 
 
 The thought of apple pie haunted him. He just 
 had to have one delivered from Chicago for Miss 
 Slosson, but how to accomplish this feat without 
 notifying Madame Stephano or her manager wor- 
 ried him. He didn't know anyone in that city he 
 
 147
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 could trust to ship one on in time and he rather 
 figured that even if he did wire or telephone an 
 acquaintance there the latter would take the request 
 as a weird practical joke of some sort and pay no 
 serious attention to it. 
 
 He found himself out in the street peering into 
 bakeshop windows and critically appraising the 
 more or less appetizing pastry displayed therein. 
 No use to buy one of those pies and attempt to 
 work it off on Miss Slosson, he thought. They were 
 all too obviously the apple pies of commerce, pale, 
 anaemic affairs bearing not even a remote resem- 
 blance to the succulent product of the home kitchen. 
 His artist's soul revolted at the thought of utilizing 
 one of them to further his nefarious designs. 
 
 He exhausted the possibilities of the bakeries on 
 three of the principal avenues in the center of the 
 city and worked himself into a fine frenzy of despair 
 from which he sought relief in a motion picture the- 
 atre. What was programmed as a Nonpariel Com- 
 edy was unfolding itself on the screen when he en- 
 tered and just as he slid into a seat in the back row 
 he beheld a large object hurtling through the air 
 propelled by the principal comedian. It struck the 
 comedy villain of the piece full in the face with a 
 disastrously liquid and messy result. 
 
 "My God, apple pie," murmured Jimmy to him- 
 self as he clambered out into the aisle, barking the 
 shins and stirring up the latent profanity of an 
 irascible looking man who had slipped into a seat 
 alongside him.
 
 He met Tom Wilson again that evening in the 
 hotel lobby and they went into dinner together. 
 
 "Don't ask me about that story, Tom," he pleaded 
 as they sat down. "I want to forget it for a little 
 while." 
 
 And he did. The dinner was excellent, the waiter 
 was alert and extremely polite and his companion 
 unbosomed himself of a flow of anecdotes that kept 
 him in a constant state of merriment. 
 
 "Mighty good dinner, Tom," he remarked heart- 
 ily near the end of the meal, "and mighty fine 
 service." 
 
 The waiter cleared away the dishes and presented 
 the menu to Jimmy. 
 
 "If I may be permitted, sir," he said deferen- 
 tially, "I might suggest that the apple pie is excel- 
 lent tonight." 
 
 Jimmy pushed his chair back from the table with 
 such violence that he almost upset it. 
 
 "You'll be permitted to take a punch in the eye, 
 Mr. Fresh," he said bitterly and then hastened to 
 apologize. 
 
 His companion laughed uproariously. 
 
 "Still on your mind, Jimmy?" he inquired. 
 
 "Yes," retorted the other; "seems like we're 
 hooked up to do a double act for life." 
 
 Jimmy had a sleepless night. Every time he 
 dropped off into a fitful slumber he was bothered 
 by a dream in which apple pie played a central part. 
 Once he dreamt that he was chained to a pillar in 
 a great room and that Madame Stephano was forc- 
 
 149
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing him to devour an apparently inexhaustible pie 
 which stood on a table and which she fed him with 
 an enormous long handled spoon. He choked so 
 hard on one spoonful that he awoke with a start. 
 At the breakfast table he read Miss Slosson's 
 promised story in the Star. It was all that the most 
 ambitious purveyor of publicity could desire. There 
 was a four column headline reading: 
 
 STEPHANO HURLS 
 HER ROLLING PIN 
 INTO THE RING 
 
 Russian-American Actress Soon 
 to Visit This City Enters the 
 Star's Popular Pie Contest. 
 
 STAGE VERSUS THE HOME 
 
 Underneath was a big picture of a kitchen table 
 on each side of which a woman was shown busily 
 engaged in the culinary operations that usually ac- 
 company the creation of a pie. The bodies of these 
 feminine figures had been sketched in by an artist, 
 but the heads were excellent half-tone likenesss of 
 Madame Stephano and Mrs. Jefferson Andrews, 
 society leader. 
 
 750
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 One look at the layout simply added to Jimmy's 
 misery. After that he just had to make good. He 
 strode out of the hotel determined to take a long 
 walk to see if he couldn't clarify his mental pro- 
 cesses and get his imagination oiled up again. He 
 was so busy with his thoughts that he paid little 
 heed to the general direction he was taking and 
 presently found himself in a corner of the city with 
 which he was not familiar. It was a quiet residen- 
 tial section and rows of modest homes of the bunga- 
 low type lined both sides of -the streets. There was 
 a little group of shops in a stucco building on a 
 corner and as Jimmy passed him he let his eyes 
 drift toward them in a desultory fashion. 
 
 Presently he stopped directly in front of one 
 which bore this legend across its front : "The Buy- 
 A-Cake Shop Home Made Dainties and Pastry." A 
 pretty girl dressed in snowy white with a cloth in 
 her hand was lifting into the window one of the 
 most appetizing looking pies he had ever seen. It 
 was a single crust affair which had been baked in 
 a deep china dish of large proportions. The pastry 
 looked flaky enough to crumble at the touch and 
 was a color symphony in brown. As Jimmy gazed 
 entranced the girl set down a card in front of the 
 pie. It read : "Mother's Own Apple Pie." Oppor- 
 tunity had knocked and Jimmy answered "present." 
 He rushed into the shop. 
 
 "I'll take that pie, miss," he said eagerly. "I need 
 it in my business."
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 As the young woman turned to take it out of the 
 window Jimmy stopped her for a moment. 
 
 "Say," he said, "I want to send that a long way 
 off and I want you to do it up so that it will stand 
 the journey you know, keep fresh and everything 
 and not get mussed up." 
 
 "I understand," responded the girl in white. "I'll 
 wrap a cloth around it to keep the air out, and I'll 
 fix it up in a strong pasteboard box that I've got 
 here. Can you wait?" 
 
 "Sure I can," returned Jimmy. "That's what I've 
 been doing for twenty-four hours. I'll smoke a 
 cigarette outside. Knock on the window when 
 you're ready." 
 
 A half an hour later he breezed into the office of 
 the Standard Theatre with a large bundle under his 
 arm and greeted Tom Wilson, who was looking 
 through the morning mail. 
 
 "I hear you've got a date with an apple pie this 
 morning," grinned his friend. 
 
 "Here's the party," replied Jimmy setting the 
 bundle down on the table. "The kind that mother 
 used to make out in the summer kitchen under the 
 lilac vines. You were in for the first act. Do you 
 want to stick around and watch me take the curtain 
 calls at the finish?" 
 
 "Sure," returned Tom Wilson. 
 
 "Then come on back stage," said Jimmy, pick- 
 ing up his precious bundle. "I want to inter- 
 view the house property man. I've got to have the 
 
 152
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 right kind of a production for this little stunt." 
 
 The property man proved equal to the occasion, 
 after explanations had been made. He brought out 
 a substantial wooden box and began to fill the bot- 
 tom of it with crumpled newspapers. Jimmy 
 stopped him. 
 
 "Wait a minute," he said. "Never give 'em a 
 chance to have anything on you is always my motto. 
 These are Cleveland papers and this box is supposed 
 to come from Chicago. Maybe someone would no- 
 tice that. Put your coat on and dust around to that 
 out-of-town newspaper stand over on Superior Av- 
 enue and buy a bunch of yesterday's Chicago 
 papers." 
 
 When the property man came back a few minutes 
 later and began to crumple up the newspapers he 
 brought with him, Jimmy turned to his friend again- 
 
 "Not a bad little touch, eh, Tom?" he remarked. 
 
 "Immense," agreed the other sincerely. "I've got 
 to hand it to you. You certainly overlook no bets." 
 
 The pasteboard box containing the pie was care- 
 fully placed on top of the bed of newspapers and 
 other papers were packed in tightly around and 
 above it. The lid was nailed solidly on and Jimmy 
 affixed an express label addressed to himself. When 
 the box had been carefully loaded on a push wagon 
 in charge of a small colored boy and was on its 
 way down Euclid Avenue toward the Star office, 
 personally chaperoned by the two press agents, the 
 conspiracy was completed.
 
 Chapter Twenty 
 
 E. Cartwright Jenkins, dramatic editor of the 
 Star, was distinctly displeased with life as a whole 
 and with humanity in general that morning. His 
 professional dignity had been subjected to a series 
 of frontal and flank attacks of great violence for 
 nearly twenty-four hours and the final insult had 
 been handed out by the managing editor who had 
 just left the little cubby hole designated by a 
 painted sign as the "dramatic department." 
 
 E. Cartwright had read Jimmy's oleaginous 
 epistle three times at the breakfast table the morn- 
 ing before and had left his home in a fine glow of 
 self-approval. In fancy he walked upon the misty 
 mountain tops of high achievement until he reached 
 the Star office and then he found himself hurled 
 suddenly into the well known slough of despond. 
 Billy Parsons, the advertising manager, who met 
 him in the elevator, started it. 
 
 "Well, old man," Billy, said laughingly, "I see 
 they got to you for a home-run this morning with 
 all the bases full." 
 
 E. Cartwright had bristled at this and had ex- 
 pressed himself as not comprehending the esoteric 
 significance of the allusion. Billy had then become 
 more specific. 
 
 "They put it over on you," he replied. "Tha? 
 press agent fellow with Olga Stephano, I mean." 
 
 "Put it over on me?" the dramatic editor had 
 returned. "I don't exactly understand what you 
 mean." 
 
 154
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Say, old dear," Billy had sarcastically responded, 
 "it's a worse case than I thought it was at first. 
 You'd ought to see a doctor." 
 
 E. Cartwright, who abhorred slang and those 
 who used it, had become quite indignant at this and 
 had insisted upon a clear explanation of what Billy 
 Parsons meant. The latter gentleman obliged him 
 with one. He pointed out, with great clarity, the 
 trick that Jimmy Martin had played on the astute 
 and dignified dramatic editor. He dwelt upon the 
 number of times the name of Madame Stephano 
 had been cunningly inserted into the correspondence 
 and proved that the whole affair was a carefully 
 calculated scheme for the exploitation of that lady. 
 
 The blinders of self-esteem having thus been torn 
 from the eyes of the dramatic editor, that gentle- 
 man developed a decided distaste for further discus- 
 sion of the subject and immured himself in his 
 cramped office where he devoted himself to bitter 
 rumination. Throughout the day his fellow labor- 
 ers in the field of journalism seemed to take a 
 malicious delight in playfully taunting him. On the 
 wav home for dinner he had met the dramatic editor 
 "f the rival Inquirer and that worthy had added to 
 his fury by remarking, with a twinkle in his eye: 
 
 "That' was a mighty interesting symposium on 
 Stephano you ran this morning, Jenkins." 
 
 At dinner he startled his sedate and shrinking 
 wife by launching into a profane and pungent dia- 
 tribe on the subject of press agents and announced 
 his determination to start a nation-wide movement 
 
 -'55
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 for their suppression and final extermination. He 
 declared, in loud and ringing tones, that nothing but 
 total annihilation of the entire tribe would at all 
 satisfy his wishes in the matter. 
 
 The sting of the affair still rankled in his breast 
 when he came down to the office on the following 
 morning. When Nathan, the managing editor, 
 looked in on him he was viciously assailing the 
 dramatic page of a New York Sunday newspaper 
 with a large pair of shears and wishing for a mo- 
 ment, as he clipped out items of theatrical infor- 
 mation, that it was one Jimmy Martin instead of 
 an innocent sheet of paper that he was attacking. 
 
 "Say, Jenkins," Nathan remarked casually, "I've 
 got a little request to make of you Miss Slosson 
 who's running this damned pie contest, it closes 
 today, you know, is getting swamped downstairs 
 and has sent out an S. O. S. to this floor for assist- 
 ance. There's nobody around yet but you. I wish 
 vou'd drop down there for an hour or so and give 
 her a hand. Just as soon as one of the cubs show 
 up I'll send him down to relieve you." 
 
 E. Cartwright reeled under this final blow to his 
 dignity. The ends of his iron-grey walrus mous- 
 tache dropped a full half inch as he looked up, be- 
 wildered. 
 
 "Pie contest Miss Slosson," he mumbled. "What 
 could I possibly do in connection with that, or with 
 her?" 
 
 "Oh, just help her and her assistant unwrap and 
 tag some of the entries," replied Nathan in a mat-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ter-of-fact tone, as he turned quickly to suppress a 
 smile and hurried out of the tiny room. 
 
 E. Cartwright uttered a low moan expressive of 
 profound and abysmal woe as he slipped on his coat 
 and prepared to descend to Miss Slosson's depart- 
 ment. 
 
 Jimmy and his fellow conspirator found Miss 
 Slosson in her office almost completely hidden by 
 parcels containing- pies. They did not notice E. 
 Cartwright at first. That high authority on the 
 spoken and written drama was in the throes of un- 
 utterable and indescribable mental anguish at a 
 table fifty feet away untying innumeable bundles 
 and humming a hymn of hate directed at news- 
 paper work in general and soulless managing edi- 
 tors in particular. 
 
 The small colored boy, grunting under the weight 
 of the wooden box, deposited the burden on the 
 table. 
 
 "Oh, there you are, Mr. Martin," gurgled Miss 
 Slosson, coming forward and surveying the box 
 with interest, "and what have we here?" 
 
 "That's the little old pie I told you I'd have the 
 madame send on," replied Jimmy glibly. "She made 
 a mistake and sent it to the theatre. It just came 
 bv express a half an hour ago right through from 
 Chicago." 
 
 "Isn't that perfectly wonderful," rhapsodized the 
 pie editor. "What did dear Madame Stephano say 
 when you spoke to her over the phone?"
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 Jimmy paused for a moment before he replied. 
 He had caught a glimpse of the Star's dramatic 
 editor who had turned and was approaching them. 
 He clutched Tom Wilson's arm. 
 
 "What did she say," he said abstractedly. "What 
 did she say? Why she said she said she'd turn 
 down a Drama League luncheon and go right out 
 in the kitchen and slip into a gingham apron, and 
 believe me if you knew how much she thinks of 
 the Drama League, you'd know that was some con- 
 cession." 
 
 E. Cartwright hadn't seen them yet. He was 
 apparently almost oblivious of his surroundings as 
 he walked slowly towards Miss Slosson. 
 
 "I realize that," the pie editor was saying. "She 
 has a great, big, generous nature, I'm sure and to 
 think of her being so domesticated, too. Oh, Mr. 
 Martin, I suppose you know Mr. Jenkins, our dra- 
 matic editor. He's kindly volunteered to help me 
 in the closing hours of the contest." 
 
 Jimmy straightened up and assumed his most in- 
 gratiating smile. He had met the distinguished 
 critic only once, several years before, and he was 
 fairly certain that he would not be remembered. 
 
 "I had the honor of an introduction several sea- 
 sons ago," he said suavely, "but it is possible that 
 Mr. Jenkins does not recall me." 
 
 E. Cartwright had given an unconscious start at 
 the sound of the name "Martin," but he seemed to 
 have no conscious knowledge of Jimmy's identity. 
 He smiled sadly.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "I don't seem to place you," he remarked with a 
 woebegone attempt at civility. 
 
 "Mr. Martin is Madame Stephano's advance man- 
 ager," broke in Miss Slosson. "The dear madame 
 has entered a pie in our little contest through him." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins' facial aspect underwent an instan- 
 taneous change. He narrowed his eyes and cor- 
 rugated his brows and gave other external indica- 
 tions of rapidly mounting wrath. Also his cheeks 
 paled, and it may be further stated that his rather 
 gangling frame became suddenly taut and vibrant. 
 He eyed Jimmy for fully ten seconds and then 
 turned to Miss Slosson. 
 
 "It is my duty to inform you, madame," he said 
 in a voice that was tense with emotion, "that this 
 person is a press agent who will use you for his own 
 selfish ends a paid hireling of an unscrupulous 
 management which has only one purpose in mind 
 deceit and rank trickery." 
 
 Jimmy started to expostulate, but Tom Wilson 
 gave him a vicious elbow jab which effectively cut 
 off anv utterance on his part. Miss Slosson smiled 
 serenelv. 
 
 "Don't be too hard on him, dear Mr. Jenkins," 
 she remonstrated. "He has been a great help in our 
 effort to raise the general tone of culinary excel- 
 lence. He represents a most estimable lady, and if 
 she ge?s a little publicity out of it she deserves it 
 after all the trouble she has gone to baking a pie 
 with her own hands and sending it on here all the 
 way from Chicago. We mustn't be too selfish." 
 75P
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "I warn you, madame, that there is fraud here 
 some place," persisted the dramatic editor, "down^ 
 right fraud and deception. These gentlemen have a 
 depraved talent for that sort of thing." 
 
 "Nonsense," broke in the pie editor beckoning to 
 an office boy whose job it was to open such entries 
 as were encased in substantial packages. As the 
 youngster assailed the box she chirruped on. "I'm 
 using another picture of the dear lady in tomor- 
 row's paper, Mr. Martin, and I'll announce the ar- 
 rival of her contribution in the opening paragraph. 
 I'm just crazy to see it. Quite a large box, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Yes," murmured Jimmy. "She certainly seems 
 to have done the thing up brown." 
 
 He was the picture of serene self-satisfaction as 
 he watched the lid coming off the box. The pros- 
 pect of triumphing over E. Cartwrighf a second 
 time filled him with an almost ecstatic joy. 
 
 When the lid was removed Mr. Jenkins darted 
 toward the box and pulled out the tufts of crumpled 
 newspapers. He carefully unfolded one and looked 
 at it. Jimmy caught Tom Wilson's eye at this 
 juncture and winked his off eye prodigiously. E. 
 Cartwright, upon observing the heading and the 
 date line in the paper, threw it down impatiently 
 and began nervously to chew the ends of his mous- 
 tache. 
 
 "We've got old George B. Grouch's goat all 
 right," confided Jimmy behind his hand. 
 
 Miss Slosson untied the string and lifted out the 
 pie which was frghtly swathed in a piece of old 
 160
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 linen. She undid the wrapping slowly while the in- 
 terested spectators gathered close around her. The 
 careful young woman in the bake shop had placed a 
 piece of cardboard over the top of the deep china 
 dish, and when this was removed Miss Slosson 
 positively bubbled with delight as she caught sight 
 of the golden brown crust of the wonderful pie. 
 
 "It looks perfectly heavenly," she remarked. 
 "Perfectly heavenly." 
 
 "A masterpiece," broken in the hitherto silent Mr. 
 Wilson. 
 
 "I told you she'd bake one that would win in a 
 walk," was Jimmy's contribution to the glad chorus 
 of acclaim. 
 
 E. Cartwright didn't have a word to say. He 
 stood with his hands on his hips watching the two 
 press agents with a look that still betrayed cynical 
 distrust. 
 
 "Won't you please put it over there on that little 
 table all by itself, Mr. Jenkins," said Miss Slosson. 
 "It certainly deserves a place of honor." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins grunted and hesitated for a moment. 
 He was too chivalrous at heart, however, to refuse 
 to obey a lady's behest no matter how much humili- 
 ation he might suffer. He grasped both sides of the 
 pie-dish firmly, lifted it high in the air and began 
 to turn. Jimmy was looking at him with ill-con- 
 cealed delight. As he watched a look of intense 
 agony spread over the dramatic editor's face. The 
 next instant that gentleman dropped the pie with a 
 sharp cry of pain. 
 
 7(57
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "It's hot," he screamed, "red hot!" 
 
 The dish smashed into a hundred pieces on the 
 counter and the surrounding atmosphere was filled 
 with flying fragments of pie. Jimmy felt something 
 warm and sticky on his face and he noticed with 
 dismay that the front of Miss Slosson's silk dress 
 was a sorry looking mess. Tom Wilson's clothes 
 were smeared with debris, too. E. Cartwright was 
 wiping apple juice out of both eyes and uttering 
 words that caused the pulse beats of Madame 
 Stephano's personal representative to diminish al- 
 most to the vanishing point. 
 
 "A pair of damned fakirs," he shouted. "Baked 
 in Chicago, eh, and shipped on here by express ! It 
 hasn't been out of the oven an hour. Thought 
 they'd put one over on us again, did they? I know 
 'em. I know *em." 
 
 The tragic climax of Jimmy's little three act 
 comedy came with such unexpected suddenness that 
 he stood in the midst of the tumult and the shouting 
 like one transfixed. It was a rout, an utter and 
 complete defeat, the most disastrous and the most 
 humiliating of his career. In a flash he pictured it 
 becoming a classic anecdote that would be bandied 
 to and fro by his professional brethren in Pullman 
 smoking rooms and theatre offices for years with- 
 out number. 
 
 He looked up and about him. Enemies were surg- 
 ing toward him from all directions apparently bent 
 on his destruction. And then he remembered Tom 
 Wilson. He turned around. That worthy had de- 
 162
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 parted as if on the wings of the morning. The dis- 
 hevelled and distraught editor had apparently ex- 
 hausted his vocabulary of vituperation and was ap- 
 proaching him with a savage look in his eye flanked 
 on one side by a distinguished looking gentleman 
 with a most authoritative manner who had rushed 
 to the scene from a nearby office. Jimmy realized 
 that it was no place or time for heroics. He turned 
 and fled precipitately down an unencumbered aisle 
 in the general direction of the open air. 
 
 He caught up with Tom Wilson two blocks down 
 the avenue. That gentleman was still going strong 
 and seemed to need no pace-maker. 
 
 "The first bet I ever overlooked, Tom," he puffed 
 as he swung alongside. "What'll we do?" 
 
 "What'll we do?" facetiously echoed the other, 
 gripping him firmly by the arm and dragging him 
 along. "Where'll we hide, you mean?" 
 
 -id?-
 
 Chapter Twenty -One 
 
 The name of Madame Olga Stephano was con- 
 spicuously absent from the columns of the Star next 
 morning, but this fact passed unnoticed by one 
 James Martin, who had moved on to the next town, 
 unwept, unhonored and unsung. Gone was the 
 rakish tilt to his derby hat and vanished like the 
 roses of yesterday were the glad, eager look and the 
 jaunty bearing that usually distinguished him as one 
 upon whom fortune was wont to smile. Gloom was 
 in his heart and a sweet melancholy pervaded his 
 thoughts. 
 
 A letter dated before Jimmy's fatal first meeting 
 with Miss Slosson, awaited him at the theatre. It 
 brought tidings that did not have a tendency to 
 make life more interesting. It was from Jordan, 
 Madame Stephano's personal manager on tour with 
 the company, and it summoned him back to Cleve- 
 land for the opening performance on Monday night. 
 
 "There are many matters on which Madame 
 Stephano and myself wish to consult with you," the 
 letter ran, "among them being the methods of pub- 
 licity best calculated to further her interests as a 
 star. Our appeal, as you know, is to the intellec- 
 tual element in the community and you must care- 
 fully avoid anything in the nature of cheap or sen- 
 sational stories or what are vulgarly known as 
 164
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 'stunts.' We will go into this at greater length 
 when I see you." 
 
 "I'm in for a spring canning, "Jimmy observed 
 to the manager of the theatre when he had finished 
 reading Jordan's letter. "I wouldn't mind that so 
 much if I could have got my exit cue in a blaze of 
 glory, but this thing of being bumped off on top of 
 an awful fall-down like that gets under the little 
 old epidermis." 
 
 Madame Stephano occasionally varied her Ibsen 
 repertoire with performances of plays by other 
 European dramatists. She had chosen a modern 
 Spanish tragedy for her opening in Cleveland, and 
 the first act was under way when a certain forlorn 
 looking figure slouched wearily into the manager's 
 office and moodily inquired for Mr. Jordan. The 
 company manager, a thoroughly house-broken slave 
 to the temperamental caprices of the star, came 
 forward. 
 
 "I'm Martin," gloomily vouchsafed the visitor. 
 
 "You are, eh?" responded the manager, acridly, 
 looking him over with indifferently concealed scorn. 
 "We've been waiting for you all day." 
 
 "Who do you mean by 'we'?" timidly inquired 
 the chastened press agent. 
 
 "Why, the madame and myself. We were curi- 
 ous to see what you looked like. You seem fairly 
 intelligent." 
 
 Ordinarily Jimmy would have resented the im- 
 plied sneer in this remark and would have flared up 
 with an indignant rejoinder, but his spirit seemed 
 
 -165-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 crushed to earth never to rise again. The surround- 
 ing atmosphere was to him pregnant with impend- 
 ing tragedy. He contented himself with a nervous 
 little laugh. 
 
 "I've never been accused of it," he said foolishly. 
 
 "Of course, we've heard about your ridiculous 
 fiasco last week," went on Jordan. "You've cer- 
 tainly let yourself in for it with the madame. I 
 wonder what you think this attraction is, anyway 
 a circus side show or a cabaret? I'll give you 
 credit, though. You had a cast iron nerve to at- 
 tempt such a thing with her. They say God looks 
 after fools and drunken folks. I hope He's on your 
 side tonight." 
 
 Jimmy gulped before he made reply. 
 
 "Is she is she a little annoyed?" he stammered. 
 
 "Yes, just a little," laughed the other sarcas- 
 tically. "Just a wee bit put out. It's hardly worth 
 mentioning, but if I were you I'd stick around on 
 this side of the footlights until after the show. 
 We've got eighteen hundred inside tonight and I 
 wouldn't like to have to give the money back. 
 Something might happen if you went back stage. 
 I'll see you later." 
 
 He slipped into an inner office and Jimmy was 
 left alone with his misery. He wandered out into 
 the brilliantly lighted lobby and sauntered into the 
 auditorium for his first view of the great actress. 
 She was on the stage as he entered and he peered 
 at her from behind the plush curtains which hung 
 back of the last row of seats. She was playing a 
 166
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 scene of brisk and brittle comedy and she moved 
 about the stage with all the lithe and lissome grace 
 of a beautiful tiger. She was making mordant 
 mockery of another woman in the play, assailing 
 her with wicked rapier thrusts of biting wit and 
 smiling a smile that struck terror into Jimmy's 
 heart. There was a malicious gleam in her black 
 eyes that fascinated him. They seemed to his over- 
 wrought imagination like the nasty eyes of a ser- 
 pent he had once seen in a glass case in the zoo. 
 He shuddered with apprehension. 
 
 As the curtain fell and the lights went up he 
 caught sight of the figure of E. Cartwright Jen- 
 kins coming up the aisle. He effaced himself with 
 surprising suddenness by making for the nearest 
 exit door. It led to a fire-escape and he stood there 
 in the semi-darkness letting the cool night air 
 soothe his fevered brow and trying to collect his 
 befuddled train of thought. This last was impos- 
 sible. All that he seemed able to comprehend was 
 that he was in for the most disagreeable experi- 
 ence of his fair young life, and that there was no 
 possible escape from it except in flight. He was 
 too good a soldier to run away. That much was 
 certain. 
 
 When the lights went out again and the second 
 act began Jimmy resumed his place behind the cur- 
 tains once more and continued his observations of 
 Madame Stephano. It was in this act that the "big 
 scene" of the play occurred, the scene in which the 
 outraged wife reversed to the primitive passions of 
 7(57
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 her Andalusian peasant ancestors and made things 
 decidedly uncomfortable for her husband and sev- 
 eral other characters in the piece. It was full of 
 lines in which, as the old actor said, "one could get 
 one's teeth into" and it may be stated that the 
 famous Russian-American actress played it for all 
 it was worth and then some. She erupted, exploded, 
 and otherwise comported herself in an extremely 
 violent and disturbing manner. As a final touch she 
 committed aggravated assault and battery on the 
 person of her husband and wound up the festivities 
 by making a general wreck of the drawing room in 
 which the scene was laid. Jimmy watched the early 
 proceedings with growing distrust. When the final 
 nerve-shattering moment arrived and the curtain 
 fell amid a wild uproar from the audience he found 
 himself sagging and he clutched a pillar for sup- 
 port. A clammy perspiration bespangled his brow. 
 He felt decidedly sick and he longed for the com- 
 forts of home and the quiet ministrations of some 
 gentle female who would soothe and mother him. 
 
 In a daze, he sauntered out into the lobby again. 
 Jordan, who had just come back from back stage, 
 touched him on the arm. 
 
 "The madame wishes to see you right after the 
 last act," he remarked with a sinister smile. 
 
 Only that and nothing more. He turned on his 
 heel and disappeared into the office. Jimmy leaned 
 against the wall and eyed with envy the noisy and 
 laughing throng of men who had come out for a 
 smoke between the acts.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 At precisely the same time an usher slipped down 
 one of the theatre aisles, touched E. Cartwright 
 Jenkins on the shoulder and handed him a note. 
 The critic adjusted his glasses and tore it open. This 
 is what he read: 
 
 Mon Cher Jenkins: 
 
 May I not give myself the great pleasure of 
 meeting you for a moment after the play? I 
 have for many years been an admirer of your 
 great and most excellent genius, and I have 
 had what is called the longing to greet you. 
 I have had the hesitation of asking to see you 
 as I know you are a most busy man. Tonight 
 there is a matter of the so great importance 
 that I would speak to you concerning. Please, 
 my dear sir, do me this very high honor, I im- 
 plore you. 
 
 OLGA STEPHANO. 
 
 E. Cartwright smiled expansively. It may also 
 be remarked that he beamed and it may be further 
 added that he felt himself once more securely affixed 
 upon a pedestal in his personal Hall of Fame 
 
 The final moment of the Spanish play found 
 Madame Stephano sitting alone at the dinner table 
 in the heroine's home. Fate and the fell clutch of 
 circumstance had resulted in her estrangement from 
 her family and from her friends and she had dined 
 alone. As the curtain fell, disillusioned and miser- 
 able, she dropped her head in her hands and sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 169
 
 Thresh Every Hour 
 
 Jimmy, having been assured that his nemesis 
 would be on the stage throughout the entire act, 
 had tip-toed back when the scene was half finished. 
 A hopeless fear gnawed at his vitals, but he tried 
 to put on a brave face. He watched the curtain 
 descend from a place in the wings and he saw it 
 rise again and again in response to tumultuous ap- 
 plause. The actress, artist that she was, never 
 raised her head or stepped out of the picture. 
 
 After the last call had been taken he heard the 
 orchestra strike up the exit march. Determined to 
 get the unpleasant business over with he stepped 
 through a door leading to the boxed-off scene. To 
 his utter bewilderment at precisely the same mo- 
 ment there entered upon the scene from the oppo- 
 site side no less a personage than E. Cartwright 
 Jenkins. That gentleman's buoyant air of self-con- 
 fidence and serene self-approval left him with an 
 abruptness that was startling. He stopped his 
 progress and stood rooted to the spot. The two 
 gazed at each other in amazement. E. Cartwright's 
 lips moved, but he found himself inarticulate. 
 Swayed by a common impulse they both turned to 
 Madame Stephano. 
 
 That lady still sat with her head in her hands. As 
 they looked she raised herself slowly and gazed 
 from one to the other. A nasty glint came into her 
 eyes. She sprang to her feet so suddenly that she 
 overturned the chair in which she had been sitting. 
 She swept a long arm out in front of her body and 
 shook it at them both in turn. 
 170
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 Jimmy instinctively put up his guard. E. Cart- 
 wright's face paled. 
 
 "You have come, eh?" screamed Madame Ste- 
 phano, "you are both here. You have come tp let 
 me tell you what I zink of you, eh?" 
 
 Her voice was stridently intense and her whole 
 face was ablaze with uncontrolled fury. Her accent 
 was more marked than usual. She poured out her 
 words with a rapidity that was amazing. 
 
 "You have come to let me tell you both zat you 
 have insult Olga Marie Stephano and zat Olga 
 Marie Stephano does not let herself be made ze 
 target for ze insult. You poor leetle fool, you" 
 this to Jimmy "you have meex my name up with 
 zis crazee pastree pie announcement. Am I to have 
 no deegnety. Is Olga Marie Stephano a cook or 
 an actress wheech? And you, Meestaire Cart- 
 wright Jeenkens, your paper it preent zis crazee 
 theeng, it preent it and it make me into one great, 
 beeg, foolish crazee what you call? what you 
 call, I say? one great, beeg, foolish, crazee dam 
 fool. Eet ees too much, oh, much too much. Mon 
 Dieu, mon Dieu eet ees too much." 
 
 She paused, her bosom heaving like a prima 
 donna's after an aria. Her two visitors began to 
 back gingerly away. She looked from one to the 
 other and then there slowly broke upon her face, a 
 smile. It came like a blessed benison, and it pres- 
 ently merged into a laugh, light and silvery at first 
 and then hearty and uncontrolled. 
 
 "Gentlemen," she said sweetly when the laughter 
 had died down," excuse me, please, eef I make such 
 171
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 a laugh. You look so funee. Pardonnez moi, par- 
 donnez moi. Eet ees just my leetle joke, gentle- 
 men, just my leetle joke. I have here one grand 
 surprise for you. Voila ! !" 
 
 With all the easy grace and dexterity of a presti- 
 digitator she rached toward the table and plucked 
 a napkin off a dish in the centre. To the astonished 
 eyes of the press agent and the dramatic editor 
 there was revealed an apple pie that transcended 
 in appearance even that famous piece of pastry 
 which had met with such a disastrous end in the 
 Star office a few days before. 
 
 "Will you not please take seats," cooed the ac- 
 tress. 
 
 Her hypnotized guests dropped into chairs. 
 Madame Stephano took the place between them. 
 At her side was a bowl filled with whipped cream. 
 Ample portions of the pie were anointed with this 
 by her own hands and served. A mouthful of the 
 delicious dessert proved to each its surpassing ex- 
 cellence. The actress watched them eat with par- 
 donable pride. 
 
 "Meestaire Jimmy," she said, turning to the now 
 thoroughly flabbergasted press agent. "I have play 
 zis leetle scene to what you call it? to make 
 good. I have hear all about zat affaire of ze hot 
 pie. I have invite Meestaire Jenkeens to let heem 
 see zat I really can bake ze apple pie pastree. I 
 bake heem in ze hotel keetchen zis afternoon. It 
 was funee zat hot pie, eh? 
 
 172
 
 She had turned to E. Cartwright. Concealed 
 somewhere about his person that worthy gentleman 
 had a slight sense of humor which occasionally 
 revealed itself. This was one of the occasions. He 
 laughed heartily. When he left a few minutes after- 
 wards to write his review the entente cordiale had 
 been re-established between himself and Jimmy. 
 She had a way with her when she chose, had 
 Madame Stephano, and never were her wiles more 
 effectively utilized than a moment later when she 
 found herself alone with her press agent. 
 
 "Meestaire Jimmy," she purred. "I have for 
 many years been ze foolish woman. I have been 
 too much what you Americans so quaintly call ze 
 up stage. I have tried to be oh, so deegnefied, so 
 very much deegnefied. I was mad wiz you, Mees- 
 taire Jimmy, when I read about ze pie and when I 
 hear yesterday about ze catastrophe in ze news- 
 paper office I could have keel you. But I find I 
 have ze beegest advance sale I have ever had, and 
 I have change my mind. I am going to lose my 
 deegnety, Meestaire Jimmy. Go ahead, Meestaire 
 Jimmy, you tell ze lies and I will what you call 
 him again I will make good." 
 
 "Say, Madame, responded Jimmy, whose self- 
 assurance once more enveloped him like an aura, 
 "do you know what you are?" 
 
 "No, Meestaire Jimmy. What I am?" 
 
 "I'll say you're one regular guy." 
 
 173
 
 Chapter Twenty-Two 
 
 Madame Olga Stephano continued to be a "regu- 
 lar guy" for the remainder of the season, but when 
 the summer rolled around Jimmy began to feel that 
 his enthusiasm for the cause in the future would 
 depend entirely upon an utterly sordid matter of 
 dollars and cents. He politely suggested that a 
 more obese emolument every Saturday night would 
 make all the difference in the world. Madame Ste- 
 phano exploded like a giant firecracker, shrugged 
 her shapely shoulders and walked away. 
 
 Jimmy thereupon decided to leave the uplift flat 
 on its back. He gave in his notice and the next day 
 a summons from Chester Bartlett reached him. 
 Bartlett offered him a place as press agent for his 
 newest musical comedy, "Keep Moving" at a salary 
 which exceeded the demand which Madame Ste- 
 phano had rejected by twenty-five dollars a week. 
 Jimmy went into executive session with himself and 
 considered a motion for a reconsideration of his 
 previously avowed determination to "keep off song 
 and dance shows for life." It was passed by a 
 unanimous vote. 
 
 Jimmy smiled cynically one Saturday night in 
 the early fall as he stood on the Boylston Street 
 curb and watched a great throng of Boston amuse- 
 ment seekers filing through the main entrance of 
 
 174
 
 the Colonial Theatre. He was a backslider and an 
 apostate, but he was no longer conscious of any 
 scruples in the premises. His cynical aspect on this 
 particular occasion was the result of his contempla- 
 tion of the sign which outlined in incandescent 
 brilliance over the portals of the playhouse the 
 name of his new affiliation. It seemed to him to be, 
 for a moment, a symbol of his downfall and dis- 
 grace. 
 
 His smile lost its hardness a minute later, how- 
 ever, and became something a shade softer and 
 more human. A vagrant memory of a certain 
 young person from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, a young 
 person whom Jimmy held in the highest regard 
 had crossed his train of thought. It was pleasant 
 to think that Lolita Murphy was close at hand and 
 that when the performance was over he could walk 
 across the Common with her to her hotel, whisper 
 words of endearment, and bask in the effulgence 
 of the smiles which she so lavishly bestowed upon 
 him. 
 
 Lolita, released from the oblivion of her drudgery 
 as a player in the Mt. Vernon Stock Company, still 
 cherished a great and overwhelming ambition to 
 climb the ladder of theatrical fame and carelessly 
 brush off the more or less distinguished celebrities 
 who, she felt, encumbered the topmost rung. 
 
 She had reluctantly consented to accept a minor 
 position in the "Keep Moving" company at Jimmy's 
 behest. The latter, filled with a pardonable desire
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 to be near her, had convinced her that a little musi- 
 cal comedy experience was a necessary part of her 
 theatrical training and had persuaded Bartlett to 
 give her a microscopic part in the piece. In the first 
 act she separated herself from the ranks of the 
 chorus and remarked "Here conies the prince now." 
 In the second act she was the hat-check girl in the 
 scene depicting the entrance to the dining-room of 
 the Carlton Hotel and was called upon to say "think 
 you're fresh, don't you?" to the principal comedian. 
 In the third and final act she was one of the brides- 
 maids in the ragtime wedding number. 
 
 Jimmy, it must be confessed, had begun to 
 strongly suspect that Lolita would eventually find 
 out that the American stage would be able to worry 
 along without her assistance if the worst came to 
 the worst and that destiny had not selected her to 
 snatch the laurels from the brow of Mrs. Fiske. 
 That was one of the reasons which impelled him to 
 suggest that she associate herself with "Keep Mov- 
 ing." He didn't want her to have any heart-aches 
 or artistic growing pains and he felt that she could 
 be spared much distress and disillusion if he were 
 on the sidelines at all times with words of cheer 
 and encouragement. 
 
 A smart limousine drew up alongside him and 
 Chester Bartlett, "classiest" of musical comedy en- 
 trepeneurs alighted, bringing with him something 
 of the flair of a Parisian boulevard as contrasted 
 with the Broadway manner which usually character- 
 ized theatrical men in his particular field of cn- 
 176
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 deavor. University man, cosmopolite, patron of 
 amateur sports, big game hunter and intimate of 
 distinguished literary men in a half dozen coun- 
 tries, Chester Bartlett was a unique figure in the 
 realm of twinkly-toes and tinkly music. Ae he came 
 towards Jimmy he seemed to exude such a sugges- 
 tion of perfect poise and supreme savoir faire that 
 the press agent felt for a moment as if he should 
 applaud. 
 
 "Hello, old man," said Bartlett jovially. "What 
 song doth our troubadour sing next? You'll have 
 to woo the muse in accents soft and low if you 
 expect to equal her performance this morning for 
 your young friend down at the Colonial. That 
 story had a tang that was delightful. Don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 The manager had intended to pierce Jimmy's 
 Achillian heel and he had succeeded. If there was 
 anything that stirred the latent energies that lay 
 dormant in the press agent's soul and filled him 
 with the fierce and fiery zest of a crusader it was 
 praise of a rival's achievements. And that fellow 
 down at the Colonial had put one over that morn- 
 ing. There was no gainsaying that. His story 
 about the group of chorus girls who had organized 
 a Back to Nature club and who had elected to live 
 in tents on the roof of one of the biggest hotels 
 in town had landed with a splash and an extensive 
 pictorial lay-out in every paper in town. Jimmy 
 had been nursing a grouch all day because he hadn't 
 thought of the idea first. He didn't permit any 
 177
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 outward signs of his annoyance to reach Bartlett, 
 however. He assumed his customary jaunty air of 
 sublime self-confidence in making reply. 
 
 "I'll say it was pretty good," he said, "but I've 
 got something about ready to spring that'll send 
 that fellow down for the count in the first round. 
 I've got a date with this Emily Ann Muse party 
 tomorrow morning and when she's listened to what 
 I've got to say she'll jump through the paper hoop 
 at the word of command." 
 
 Bartlett laughed good-naturedly. Jimmy's daz- 
 zling metaphorical flights and picturesque similes 
 were a constant source of piquant delight to him. 
 
 "You're not quite as modest as the cooing dove," 
 he remarked, "but you're a darned sight more di- 
 verting. I hope you're going to get our stately 
 queens into the web you are weaving. I rather 
 fancy they're on the war-path tonight after all the 
 notoriety their sisters in art got today." 
 
 "Don't worry," replied Jimmy. "They're goin' 
 to be right in the little old center of the stage with 
 baby spot lights playin' on 'em from all sides. There 
 won't be anythin' doin' for about thirty-six hours or 
 so, though. I can't open cold with this act. I've 
 got to call a rehearsal." 
 
 Bartlett chuckled and strolled into the lobby. As 
 Jimmy watched his trim figure disappear past the 
 door-man at the far end he experienced a sinking 
 sensation that was decidedly unpleasant. He sud- 
 denly realized that in a moment of expansiveness 
 induced by jealousy of a hated rival he had drawn 
 -178-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 a check against a sadly depleted bank account. As 
 a matter of plain, ungarnished fact he hadn't a 
 notion as to how he was going to make good. He 
 had no more idea than Bartlett as to the nature of 
 the story that was to startle the natives in thirty- 
 six hours, but he was the original cheery optimist 
 and somehow he felt that the gods would be good to 
 him. He sauntered leisurely down the street in 
 quest of an inspiration. 
 
 The walk across the Common after the perform- 
 ance that night wasn't quite as stimulating as it 
 generally was. Jimmy's earlier saunter had failed 
 to result in the production of an idea that was even 
 remotely possible of materialization and he had 
 slowly let himself drop into one of those states of 
 moody pre-occupation which are usually fatal to 
 romance. Lolita, too, was strangely silent and de- 
 tached and their conversation at first was mono- 
 syllabic and intermittent. Presently they came to a 
 bench on the fringes of the park and sat down un- 
 der the sheltering branches of a great elm, as they 
 had for several nights past. Neither spoke for a 
 minute or two. Jimmy was the first to find voice. 
 
 "I might have 'em organize a literary society and 
 have one of those Harvard ducks come over some 
 off afternoon and slip 'em a lecture," he said ab- 
 stractedly as he stared straight ahead. 
 
 Lolita eyed him curiously. The speech was so 
 entirely disassociated from his hitherto brief re- 
 179
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 marks that she couldn't fathom its significance. 
 
 "Who?" she asked. 
 
 "There wouldn't be time for that, though." He 
 went on unheedingly. "He'd probably have to take 
 a couple of days to decide and another couple to get 
 his nerve up." 
 
 "What are you talking about, Jimmy Martin?" 
 broke in Lolita impatiently. 
 
 Jimmy came to with a start and laughed 
 foolishly. 
 
 "Excuse me, girlie," he replied. "I forgot that 
 you didn't know anything about it. You see I ain't 
 really here on this bench at all. I'm right out on a 
 sand-bar and the tide's comin' in. I'm goin' to be 
 all awash in a little while if the life guards don't 
 come out and pull a rescue." 
 
 "I don't understand," persisted Lolita. 
 
 "It's easy, girlie. I've got a case of goods to de- 
 liver and the drivers are out on strike. In words of 
 one syllable, sweetheart, I've promised Bartlett that 
 I'm goin' to back the peace pow-wow off on to the 
 inside pages on Monday morning and I've been 
 reachin' out all night for ideas, but I don't seem 
 to get anywhere at all, not anywhere at all." 
 
 "Is it something about some old story for the 
 papers or something like that that's worrying you?" 
 
 Jimmy felt impelled to make a snappy rejoinder, 
 but his saner judgment prevailed. He checked him- 
 self just in time. 
 
 "That's the general idea, girlie," he said evenly 
 and lapsed into ruminative silence again. 
 180
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 It was dark under the old elm and Jimmy couldn't 
 see Lolita's face. Had he been able to he would 
 have noted an expression on it that might possibly 
 have given him concern. It was an expression that 
 was a blend of petulance and of something wan 
 and a bit forlorn, a mixture of irritation and of 
 anguish that seemed perilously near the breaking 
 point. When she spoke again her voice was tremu- 
 lous and low. 
 
 "Stories, stories, stories," she paused with every 
 repetition of the word "that's all you think about. 
 What good do they do? What's the use of them 
 all? They don't make anybody happier, do they? 
 They don't mean anything, do they They really 
 don't, do they?" 
 
 Jimmy slipped out of the silences Instantly and 
 edged closer to Lolita. He tried to take her hand, 
 but she drew it away quickly. He was bewildered 
 by her attitude and there was a shade of genuine 
 agitation in his voice as he made reply. 
 
 "What's the matter, honey? Didn't you like that 
 little yarn and the two column picture of you the 
 Journal ran the other morning? That sheet's got 
 a circulation of over four hundred thousand. Think 
 of all those people readin' about you and seein' your 
 picture and talkin' about you. Didn't that make you 
 happy? I hoped it would. That's what I got 'em 
 to use it for." 
 
 Lolita touched him gently on the arm. 
 
 "I didn't mean to be nasty, Jimmy," she said. "I 
 181
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 really didn't and I hate to tell you the truth, but 
 you'd really ought to know it. Do you want to?" 
 
 "Fire ahead. You don't even have to blindfold 
 me." 
 
 "It didn't make me as happy as you'd imagine. 
 There wasn't a single soul that saw it who knew 
 anything about who I was or anything except the 
 folks in the company, and they were all jealous 
 because you'd put it in. I didn't mean any more to 
 that four hundred thousand than the printer that 
 set up the type. Oh, no, I didn't. You can't tell 
 me." 
 
 "Let me tell you something, Jimmy. Old Doc 
 Crandall, the city editor of the Cedar Rapids Demo- 
 crat-Chronicle, wrote a piece once about the grad- 
 uation exercises at the Central High School and he 
 said that I recited with 'fine expression and wonder- 
 ful emotional control.' There were only two lines 
 about me, but those two lines made me happier than 
 a whole page in Boston would, yes, or New York 
 either. Do you know why?" 
 
 Jimmy, whose ideals were crashing down to 
 earth, sa? entranced at Lolita's turbulent outburst. 
 
 "No," he replied. "What's the answer?" 
 
 "Because nine out of every ten people that read 
 those two lines either know me to speak to or by 
 sight or knew mother or dad and what was printed 
 meant something to them about someone who 
 meant something to them. That's kind of mixed 
 up, I guess, but you know what I'm trying to say. 
 What do I mean to anyone here or in New York 
 182
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 or any place else here in the east ? Nothing noth- 
 ing at all, Jimmy just nothing at all." 
 
 She wound up at a helter-skelter pace that left 
 her quite out of breath and had it not been for the 
 sheltering elm Jimmy might have noticed that she 
 was biting her lip when she paused and that she 
 was holding herself in with a mighty effort. He 
 again tried to take her hand, but she would have 
 none of it. 
 
 "Girlie," he pleaded, making a clumsy attempt 
 at gentleness, "you mean a whole lot to a certain 
 party who's pretty close at hand. You've just nat- 
 urally got the Cedar Rapids blues again tonight, 
 honey, but you'll be all right in the mornin', all 
 right in the mornin', honey. Take it from me. I 
 don't lose many bets." 
 
 But Lolita had lapsed into silence again and 
 didn't reply. Presently she complained of being 
 chilly, got up wearily and begged to be taken home. 
 At the door of her hotel Jimmy made one last 
 effort to lift her out of her mood. 
 
 "Paper says fair and warmer tomorrow, honey," 
 he said. "Maybe we can hire a liitle old gas wagon 
 and get out among the golden rod and the daisies, if 
 I ain't too busy. Would you go?" 
 
 "Maybe," replied Lolita listlessly. "Good night." 
 
 And she was gone. Jimmy gazed after her des- 
 pairingly. Gloom entered his soul and made prepa- 
 rations to settle down for the night. 
 
 A strident voiced newsboy turned the corner just
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 then shrilly crying the early or "bull-dog" edition 
 of one of the Sunday papers. 
 
 "Hi, Journal," he called, "Sunday Morning Jour- 
 nal full account of "Billy" Williams' sermon on 
 booze and tobacco hi, Journal all about "Billy" 
 Williams' campaign full account of both meetings 
 box score world's champion games hi, Journal." 
 
 Jimmy mechanically bought a paper. A scream- 
 ing headline caught his glance: 
 
 "BILLY" WILLIAMS 
 HITS BOOZE 
 AND TOBACCO 
 
 Famous Evangelist Ends Second 
 Week of Campaign With Bitter 
 Onslauht on "Poison Slingers 
 and Hell Hounds." 
 
 357 CONVERTS HIT 
 
 THE SAWDUST TRAIL 
 
 Only that and nothing more did Jimmy read. The 
 strained look slowly left his face and was replaced 
 by an expression indicative of profound satisfaction. 
 Even Lolita was forgotten for the nonce. The Big 
 Idea had just loomed up in the offing and was head- 
 ing straight for port. 
 
 184
 
 Chapter Twenty-Three 
 
 The Rev. "Billy" Williams at that particular mo- 
 ment occupied the center of the stage in Boston, 
 and there was no immediate prospect of anyone 
 else usurping that place inasmuch as his local en- 
 gagement had six weeks more to run. He was a 
 sensational evangelist whose campaigns on behalf 
 of old-fashioned religion and of old-fashioned 
 morals had stirred up the profoundest depths of 
 human feeling in dozens of communities in all parts 
 of the country and had brought tens of thousands 
 of men and women in all stations of life to an emo- 
 tional crisis in which they pledged themselves anew 
 or for the first time to a faithful adherence to the 
 fundamental tenets of Christianity. 
 
 His methods were so bizarre and so baroque and 
 he was such a past-master of the art of publicity 
 that he always afforded first-page "copy" when- 
 ever he arrived in a city. His meetings were held in 
 great specially constructed tabernacles seating ten 
 thousand or more persons and were conducted with 
 a splendid sense of dramatic values for he was a 
 keen psychologist and he knew the things best cal- 
 culated to move and sway great groups of people. 
 The judicious and the ultra-dignified who came to 
 grieve or to sneer were usually carried away in a 
 tumult of emotional excitement and were literally 
 swept off their feet by the cumulative appeal of all
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 his cunningly devised plans to "get to their innards," 
 as "Billy" himself was wont to phrase it in his own 
 inelegant, but singularly effective style. 
 
 Not even Jimmy Martin himself had such a vo- 
 cabulary of arresting and original slang as "Billy" 
 Williams. His sermons reeked with it when he 
 felt that the occasion warranted its use and even 
 the most conservative of clergymen who at first 
 frowned at such language in the pulpit were event- 
 ually obliged to admit that it had its place in a 
 white-hot appeal made to a vast miscellaneous au- 
 dience seated in an auditorium as long as a city 
 block, an audience which would unquestionably re- 
 main unmoved if preached to in the chaste and 
 austere phrases of the conventional pulpit orator. 
 The downright sincerity of the man and the com- 
 pelling force of his powerful personality turned 
 scoffers into ardent followers and made him indeed 
 a mighty power in any city which he honored with 
 a visit. 
 
 Early on the Sunday evening following the events 
 hitherto chronicled a great crowd surged about the 
 entrances to the huge wooden auditorium which 
 sprawled over a lot in the environs of the city. It 
 was a heterogeneous crowd not dissimilar in its 
 composition to the other crowds which flocked in 
 the summer to the great white tents which the 
 circus pitched on this very spot. Most of those 
 comprising it were quiet and orderly apparently 
 a little self-conscious of the necessity for decorum 
 but there were, here and there, a group of noisy 
 and irrepressible spirits, all of them young, who 
 186
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 seemed to regard the occasion as one affording un- 
 equalled opportunities for a lark. The doors had 
 not yet been opened for the evening service and 
 the throng grew to enormous proportions with 
 each passing minute. 
 
 An acute observer in an aeroplane circling over 
 the particular group which awaited entrance on the 
 north side of the tabernacle would have noticed a 
 little cluster of femininity in the front ranks which 
 stood out vividly from the rather dull and neutral 
 tone of the rest of the crowd like some brilliant 
 pattern woven into a field of grayish tinge. 
 
 There were rich purples, bright reds and gay 
 greens in this little oasis of color and from it there 
 arose light laughter and frivolous chatter, the 
 echoes of which carried to the shocked ears of 
 those more serious minded persons who patiently 
 waited on its edges for the onrush which always 
 followed the opening of the doors. Jimmy Martin 
 stood in the direct center of the oasis in his capac- 
 ity as Personal Custodian of the Big Idea and tried 
 to soothe those turbulent spirits among the mem- 
 bers of the chorus of the "Keep Moving" company 
 who were beginning to chafe at the delay. 
 
 "Say, young fellow," drawled a svelte creature 
 whose tawny hair glowed like an aureole as the last 
 rays from the setting sun caught and kindled it, "I 
 haven't stood as long as this since I quit cloak and 
 suit modeling to decorate the drama. Where do 
 you get this stuff anyway? What do you think we 
 are a troupe of trained seals?"
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "That's what I say," broke in a young person 
 with the soft eyes of a Rubens' seraph. "I called 
 off a perfectly good dinner date with a dandy little 
 Harvard rah-rah just because Bartlett made a per- 
 sonal matter out of this thing and here we are 
 standing around with the other hicks waiting for 
 the side-show to begin and wasting perfectly good 
 and valuable time. Press agents always did get my 
 goat/; 
 
 "Mine, too," remarked a languid houri whose 
 pallid face was set off by a pair of enormous green 
 earrings. "In New York I wouldn't think of stand- 
 Ing in line for a chance to see the signing of the 
 Declaration of Independence with the original cast, 
 and here I am getting corns on my tootsies waiting 
 to listen to a fellow that anyone can hear any time 
 for nothing at all. Really, girls, I don't think any 
 of us are in our right minds." 
 
 "I know it's a nuisance, ladies," said Jimmy 
 urbanely, "but when you see the smear that I think 
 we're goin' to land in tomorrow's papers you'll be 
 thankful that you stuck along. I want you all to 
 sit in a group by yourselves and don't any of you 
 try to be too shrinking. I want the newspaper 
 bunch to find you're there without my tellin' 'em. 
 Then it'll look as if your bein' there is more on the 
 level than otherwise. When it comes to the singin' 
 I want all of you, please, to cut in for all it's worth 
 just as if Bartlett was sittin' down in front at a 
 dress rehearsal." 
 
 "When the trail hittin' begins just sit tight and 
 188
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 register intense interest in the proceedings. If any 
 of you laugh it'll spoil the whole arrangment. I 
 was at one of these meetin's out in Denver a couple 
 of years ago and when those folks start comin' 
 down the aisles believe me it ain't anything to get 
 funny about. If any of the newspaper crowd get to 
 you when it's all over I want whoever does any 
 talkin' to say that you're all profoundly impressed 
 with everything and all that, and that you're all 
 comin' again tomorrow afternoon and whenever 
 else you get a chance." 
 
 Jimmy didn't heed the sarcastic reception with 
 which his final words of instruction were greeted. 
 His eyes were fixed admiringly for the moment on 
 Lolita Murphy who stood near him talking earn- 
 estly to one of the "ponies." To him she never 
 looked prettier than she did in the simple little 
 tailor-made suit and the trim black velvet toque 
 which she had worn on the automobile ride they 
 had taken together that afternoon, an excursion 
 which seemed to have wiped out all traces of the 
 "Cedar Rapids blues," and which had left her smil- 
 ing and happy again. She had protested a little 
 against participating in the staging of Jimmy's Big 
 Idea, but had finally yielded to his persuasive argu- 
 ments and here she was now, shining and radiant 
 in contrast with her more elaborately attired and 
 highly artificial sisters. 
 
 Just then a murmur swept through the crowd; 
 attendants at the entrance shouted "easy, please, 
 everyone," and Jimmy and his group of more or
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 less merry chorus maidens were caught in a whirl- 
 ing current of humanity which shot them through 
 the door, rumpled and almost panic-stricken, and 
 landed them at the head of a long aisle bisecting 
 the huge empty auditorium which yawned before 
 them, ablaze with lights and festooned with flags. 
 The press agent was the first to collect his thoughts- 
 
 "Everybody make a dive for the front seats," he 
 shouted. "Follow me." 
 
 The "Keep Moving" girls couldn't do anything 
 else. The surging crowd pressed them forward and 
 they took the aisle on the run to avoid being 
 knocked down. They all managed to get seats in 
 the front rows where hand-mirrors, powder puffs 
 and lip sticks soon came into play to the horror 
 and stupefaction of many in the great choir of a 
 thousand which occupied places on the platform di- 
 rectly in front of them. 
 
 Jimmy, having successfully performed his func- 
 tion as counselor and cicerone, was careful to seat 
 himself a considerable distance away on the other 
 side of the aisle where he effaced himself as much 
 as possible by betraying an intense interest in a 
 hymn book which was proffered him by an usher. 
 He knew that it wouldn't do for him to be seen in 
 close proximity to his charges by any of the keen- 
 eyed reporters who were even now gathering at 
 the press table underneath the reading desk in the 
 center of the platform. 
 
 One of these reporters, a curly-headed youngster 
 with laughing eyes, turned his chair around to get
 
 a comprehensive view of the thousands of persons 
 who were jostling each other in the center and side 
 aisles as the vast building rapidly filled up. He 
 caught a glimpse of the numerous facial toilettes in 
 progress in the front rows, ran an appraising eye 
 over the entire group; smothered an unchurchly 
 chuckle and nudged his nearest companion. Pres- 
 ently the entire press table was abuzz with whis- 
 pered comment as the identity of the visitors was 
 established. 
 
 While the crowd was still noisily filing into the 
 rear rows "Billy" Williams' principal assistant put 
 in an appearance on the platform and was loudly 
 applauded by scattered groups who were promptly 
 quieted by the ushers who moved quickly up and 
 down the aisles, ready at a moment's notice, to in- 
 sist upon the preservation of the dignities. The 
 assistant was a jovial looking man with an infec- 
 tious smile. He held a cornet in one hand and he 
 raised the other to command the attention of the 
 great throng. A hush fell over the assemblage and 
 presently the strains of "Onward, Christian Sol- 
 diers" cut through the silence with penetrating in- 
 cisiveness. The effect was electric. When the cor- 
 netist had finished he turned swiftly and at precisely 
 the same instant the thousand singers on the plat- 
 form rose to their feet and burst into song. An- 
 other signal and the audience stood up. In response 
 to a pleading gesture from the man with the smile 
 a voice was raised here and there in unison with 
 the chorus. He pleaded pantomimically once more 
 191
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and, as if by the exercise of sheer hypnotic control, 
 he presently cajoled the great crowd into singing. 
 From that moment he held the audience in the 
 hollow of his hand and played with it. Now he 
 would have everyone on one side of the auditorium 
 singing. Then he would be challenging those on 
 the other side to outdo their competitors. Now it 
 was the women who would be asked to sing alone. 
 Next it would be the men. The choir would be 
 asked to sing a verse. Then the entire audience 
 would be called upon to follow them. By the time 
 he had finished with those preliminaries he had the 
 throats of everyone present in such thorough work- 
 ing order and the feeling of self-consciousness had 
 been so dissipated that when he eventually de- 
 manded "a combined effort that will shake the 
 gates of glory" the result was inspiring to the last 
 degree. 
 
 As the final words of the final chorus were 
 shaken out by ten thousand throats in one last 
 concentrated burst of glad song the Rev. "Billy" 
 Williams stepped through a door on the side of the 
 platform and quickly crossed to the reading desk. 
 No playwright, craftily scheming for a "good en- 
 trance" for a stage star, could ever have contrived 
 a situation or a moment more pregnant with dra- 
 matic effectiveness or more tense with emotion. 
 The last word of the hymn had died down and the 
 air seemed to still throb with the dying echoes as 
 the evangelist reached to the center of the platform 
 and held up his hand in a gesture which was an
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 invitation to prayer. Ten thousand heads were 
 bowed in humble submission to his implied com- 
 mand, and in a voice which breathed sincerity and 
 fine feeling he offered up a simple supplication be- 
 seeching the blessing of Divine Providence upon all 
 assembled and upon himself, an unworthy instru- 
 ment of a higher Power. 
 
 He was a stockily built man with a rugged and 
 rather rough-hewn face. Blue eyes were set in it 
 below bushy brows that gave him, in moods of in- 
 tense earnestness, a somewhat ferocious aspect. 
 They were eyes that now glowed with tender 
 warmth, that grew hard or relentlessly cold next 
 moment or that would ever and anon gleam and 
 glint with merriment. They were the most expres- 
 sive of his features. They mirrored his moods with 
 uncanny accuracy. The movements of his squat 
 and chunky frame were quick and darting when he 
 was in action and even when he was in repose 
 which was seldom he seemed to be literally seeth- 
 ing with energy beneath the surface. When he per- 
 mitted himself the luxury of letting down the in- 
 hibitive barriers which ordinarily held this energy 
 in check he became a dynamic force that was al- 
 most irresistible in its onslaught on the emotions. 
 
 The prayer over, another hymn was sung under 
 the magnetic leadership of the assistant, while 
 "Billy" Williams pulled his chair over the edge of 
 the platform and fraternized with the reporters as 
 was his custom. Jimmy Martin, who was watching 
 the proceedings circumspectly over the shoulder of 
 jpj
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 a prim looking maiden lady who stood next him 
 and whose hymn book he was sharing in a pretense 
 of devotional interest, noticed that the curly headed 
 newsgatherer was whispering to the evangelist and 
 directing the latter's attention to his charges in the 
 front rows. 
 
 He saw "Billy" Williams look interestedly at the 
 young women and then smile. It was such a 
 healthy, wholesome, frank smile that it was in- 
 stantly returned by the "Keep Moving" girls and 
 Jimmy found himself taking note of the fact that 
 even the most utterly blase members of the group 
 seemed to drop their affected air of supreme world- 
 weariness for a moment and become human once 
 more. He noticed the evangelist turn away from 
 the press table as the final chorus of the hymn was 
 sung by everyone in the auditorium and look up 
 towards the flag-bedecked rafters for a half minute 
 or so as if pondering on an idea that had occurred 
 to him. As the great audience seated itself he 
 sprang to his feet with an air of decision. 
 
 "My friends," he announced in a voice which 
 swept to the farthest corners of the vast building, 
 "I have an announcement to make that may dis- 
 appoint some of you. I regret this but my duty 
 is as clear to me as the unclouded noon-day sky. A 
 Divine opportunity for service presents itself to me 
 tonight and I would be recreant to my ideals if I 
 did not embrace it. I had intended to preach to 
 you on some of the lessons which I draw from the 
 disgusting exhibition of prize-fighting which was
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 tolerated in this city during the past week and I 
 had announced that I would tan the hides of some 
 of the city officials responsible for its sanction, and 
 that I would nail those hides on the door of the 
 house wherein abideth decency and honor. 
 
 "I have changed my plan, my friends, not be- 
 cause of any fear of the skulking swine whom I 
 had intended to attack. Their turn on the griddle 
 will come tomorrow night. Instead of preaching on 
 that theme I have decided to devote this evening's 
 discourse to an attack upon the pernicious evils of 
 the modern theatre, that hell-hole, that cesspool, 
 that slimy sink of iniquity and despair. Bear with 
 me, my friends, for tonight I may be the humble 
 medium by means of which the truth may be 
 brought not only into your own lives, but into the 
 lives and into the hearts of those more directly 
 connected with this unholy institution for the de- 
 gradation of mankind." 
 
 He paused for a moment while a whispered buzz 
 of comment spread through the auditorium. Jimmy 
 Martin, who had sat fascinated throughout these in- 
 troductory remarks and who could hardly credit 
 the validity of his own auditory sensations, darted 
 an apprehensive glance at the chorus girls. A few 
 were registering haughty and contemptuous disdain 
 and were sniffing the circumambient air. The ma- 
 jority, however, seemed gifted with a saving sense 
 of humor and were smiling good-naturedly. Jimmy 
 sighed with relief. It was pleasant to think that 
 the Rev. "Billy" Williams was unconsciously play-
 
 ing into his hand so successfully that the story 
 which was now certain to develop would take on 
 an added value and would unquestionably be fea- 
 tured in the headlines. 
 
 There was another hymn and then the evangelist 
 plunged into the body of his discourse. It was a 
 sermon that he had already delivered with sensa- 
 tional success in no less than twenty-three states. 
 It was a fine example of unrestrained denunciatory 
 oratory and it ranked with his other internationally 
 famous sermons such as "Dancing the Devil's De- 
 vice for Drugging Decency"; or, "Modern Women's 
 Attire Satan's Trap for the Unwary Male." He 
 traced the history of the drama from the flourish- 
 ing days of its great popularity in ancient Greece 
 down through twenty-five centuries to the present 
 day and on the way he stopped to excoriate a long 
 line of playwrights from Aristophanes to the writer 
 of a salacious bed-room farce then current in Bos- 
 ton. He denounced the comedies of Terence at 
 which ancient Rome laughed; the immoral plays 
 which had their day during the Restoration in Eng- 
 land and the modern American musical comedy with 
 equal vehemance and with that complete absence 
 of a sense of proportion which always characterizes 
 the propagandist and the special pleader. 
 
 He admitted, and rather gloried in the admis- 
 sion, that he had not been in a theatre in twenty- 
 five years and declared that he would sooner be 
 struck dead than ever cross the threshold of one 
 again. On top of this assertion he declared with 
 /p<5
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 convincing 1 sincerity, that "I know wherof I speak 
 when I say to you that never before in the history 
 of the civilized world has the theatre quite so flag- 
 rantly flaunted its indecencies in the face of an out- 
 raged public as at the present time." He attacked 
 the defenseless moving picture and consigned it 
 and its progenitors and abettors to the exterior 
 darkness. 
 
 Then he grew sentimental and his voice, which 
 had been pitched in a high key, became touched 
 with something soft and tender. He gave his idea 
 of what he felt to be the blasting and devastating 
 effect of the world of the theatre upon a girl who 
 might had known the restraining influences of a 
 simple home in her childhood and he presented a 
 picture of the sordid contacts she would be forced 
 to make in seeking a career upon the stage. Jimmy 
 winced at the unreality of this picture ; its unfair- 
 ness and its gross exaggeration, but there was no 
 doubting that the speaker himself believed it to be 
 gospel truth and that he presented it with such con- 
 vincing sincerity that the vast majority of those 
 present were all aquiver with moral indignation at 
 the charges he made. He let his voice drop to a 
 lower tone, and there was the vibrant tremor of a 
 deeply-felt emotion in it as he spoke, crouching 
 over the reading desk and bending his head forward 
 in an attitude of eager expectancy. 
 
 "Mayhap there is such a girl here tonight, drawn 
 hither by the elusive whisperings of a conscience 
 which was developed at the knee of a saintly mother
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and under the fond paternal care of a loving father. 
 Perchance she comes, like so many of these poor 
 butterflies of the stage, from a home in a small 
 town untouched by the tinsel glitter and the tawdry 
 allurements of the pleasure-ridden metropolis. Per- 
 haps she was caught defenseless in a moment of 
 passionate revolt against what she, poor foolish 
 thing, felt to be the cramping restrictions of her 
 environment, and perhaps she was swept off her 
 feet into the current that leads swift and ever 
 swifter to destruction. 
 
 "Perhaps she said good-bye to the peaceful little 
 town, to the heart-broken mother and to the tender, 
 patient father who was trying so hard to stay the 
 flood of tears surging in his kindly eyes ; perhaps 
 she went to the big city and courted the muse of 
 tragedy or of comedy and found, for a time, a 
 specious joy in the glare and brilliance of the foot- 
 lights. Perhaps there came to her a measure of 
 success in the new realm of pleasure and mayhap 
 she was carried out of herself, out of her real self, 
 into a lotus land of dazzling splendor." 
 
 His voice grew more tremulous now. He leaned 
 forward and seemed to be speaking directly to the 
 little group of girls in the front rows. Jimmy 
 noticed that they were the focus point of observa- 
 tion on the part of the reporters. 
 
 "If there are any such girls here tonight," pleaded 
 the evangelist, "let me hold out to them the helping 
 hand of service. Let me beg them, with all the sin- 
 cerity of my nature, to give heed to the warning I 
 198
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 have sounded. Let me ask them to picture the little 
 home back yonder with the empty chair that's al- 
 ways waiting for the daughter who has gone out to 
 beat her fragile wings against the candle's flame. 
 Let them picture again the little mother with the 
 toft, grey eyes. They were so bright and lively 
 once, but now there is an anxious look in them. 
 There is sadness in her heart, too, a heavy sadness, 
 but she tries to be brave for the sake of him who 
 sits so gloomily by the fire-place and aches for the 
 touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice 
 that is gone. 
 
 "Let me entreat you to bring the roses back to 
 mother's pale cheeks again if there are any of you 
 here. Let me plead with you, out of a full heart, 
 to bring the laughter back to father's lips and the 
 smile back to his care-worn face. Let me urge you 
 to fly from the stifling air of the playhouse back 
 to the clean, open spaces where the fair winds 
 blow, where love and tender solicitude await you 
 and where life is real and earnest and not an empty, 
 foolish dream. We will pray for guidance and when 
 we have finished I will ask all those who wish to 
 be consecrated anew to come down the aisles and 
 clasp my hand in a pledge of fealty to the service 
 of Him whom they have forgotten for a while in 
 the fretful rush of selfish living. Let us pray." 
 
 Down on his knees went the Rev. "Billy" Wil- 
 liams and as thousands in the great audience bowed 
 their heads once more he prayed fervently that 
 everyone present who was unworthy at heart might 
 
 199
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 see the light and embrace again with the simple 
 faith of childhood the eternal truths of religion. 
 The "Keep Moving" girls bowed their heads with 
 the others, and if Jimmy had been a little closer 
 he might have noticed that here and there a rouged 
 face was stained with tears and that hard lines 
 around the mouths of one or two of the bolder 
 spirits had been softened as if by some subtle 
 alchemy beyond the ken of mortal mind. 
 
 The prayer over, the evangelist sprang to his 
 feet 'and raised his hand. The great choir, in in- 
 stant response to his signal, began to softly sing, 
 "Lead, Kindly Light." At a perfectly timed mo- 
 ment toward the end of this most exquisite of 
 hymns his voice sounded above the pianissimo 
 phrasing of the massed singers and carried, with 
 penetrating clarity, to the far end of the hushed 
 auditorium. 
 
 "Won't someone make the break with the past," 
 he exorted. "Won't someone be the first to lead 
 the strayed sheep into the vineyard of the Lord?" 
 
 A tall, thin man with scraggly white hair and a 
 pale ascetic face stood up about fifteen rows back 
 from the platform and slid out into the nearest 
 aisle. He bent his head as if breasting a heavy 
 wind and his cheeks suddenly flamed at the con- 
 sciousness of the thousands of eyes which were 
 turned on him as he slouched awkwardly down 
 toward "Billy" Williams, who had stepped from the 
 platform and who was now standing at the end 
 of the aisle. The evangelist reached out his hand 
 200
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and the tall man grasped it as he made a quick dive 
 for a handkerchief and dabbed at his faTe. He 
 mumbled something under his breath. 
 
 "Don't be ashamed to cry, brother," said the evan 
 gelist, putting his arm affectionately around the 
 other's shoulder. "Tears at a time like this are 
 drops of God's dew that will wash your soul as 
 clean as morning roses." And then he addressed 
 the audience as the last notes of the hymn were 
 sung by the choir. "Who'll join our brother at the 
 mercy seat," he shouted. "Who'll be the next to 
 heed the glad tidings?" 
 
 There was a movement and a scraping of feet in 
 every section of the building and presently men and 
 women of all ages and all conditions began coming 
 down the aisle to be greeted by "Bitty" Williams 
 and shunted aside into the open space designed for 
 the reception of converts. There they stood, most 
 of them with drooped heads and many of them 
 crying. There were a few who held their heads up 
 and their shoulders back and who stood four-square 
 to all the curious glances directed toward them. On 
 their faces were brave smiles and there was about 
 them the air of spiritual elation that was inspiring 
 to those who noted it. 
 
 Jimmy Martin's emotions had been subjected to 
 a severe grilling during the concluding portion of 
 the preacher's sentimental appeal and he had lost 
 a little of his self-reserve and customary complac- 
 ency during the prayer. When the first of the con- 
 verts came struggling down the aisle and had be- 
 201
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 gun to weep a little, the press agent found himself, 
 for the first time in many years, struggling to hold 
 back the tears that came unbidden into his own 
 eyes. When the others had followed the spell was 
 broken and he looked furtively about to see if any- 
 one had noticed that he had been trembling on the 
 verge of weakness. He thought once more of the 
 mission which had brought him into this alien atmo- 
 sphere and he directed his attention to the benches 
 occupied by the young women for whom he was 
 acting as a somewhat remote escort. 
 
 The converts were coming down the aisles now in 
 little groups of three and four and the evangelist 
 was keeping things at fever heat with loudly voiced 
 exortations. He leaned toward the "Keep Moving" 
 girls and made a personal plea to them. 
 
 "Isn't there someone here in this group of girls 
 who has seen the light tonight," he inquired. "Won't 
 someone among you step out here and take my 
 hand and get right with her soul again?" 
 
 "I'll say I will," Jimmy heard Natalie Nugent, 
 the girl with the pallor and the green earings, say 
 as she stood up and walked toward "Billy" Wil- 
 lims who gripped her outstretched hand and di- 
 rected her to a position alongside him. The press 
 agent looked at the other girls and noticed that 
 they were watching her with fascinated interest. 
 Somehow he couldn't quite grasp what it all meant. 
 
 "God bless you, sister," the evangelist shouted. 
 "Won't some of your friends join you?" He 
 plunged again into the vernacular, choosing, as al- 
 202
 
 ways, the effective moment. "It's your cue, girls," 
 he pleaded. "The curtain's up and the call boy is 
 knocking at the door of your hearts. Don't delay. 
 You can't tell what moment the Great Stage Man- 
 ager will ring down for the last time. It may be 
 tonight. It may be tomorrow. Don't be caught un- 
 prepared. It's a blessed opportunity, girls. Don't 
 pass it up. For mother's sake, girls, for mother's 
 sake." 
 
 Three other girls got up now and came forward. 
 Jimmy gave an audible gasp of amazement. A fifth 
 and a sixth moved into place beside the others and 
 then Lolita Murphy stood up, hesitated for just a 
 moment, caught "Billy" Williams' warm human 
 smile and stepped briskly forward. A half dozen 
 others followed. The remainder sat with bowed 
 heads. Those who had left their places stood in a 
 little circle by themselves, clustered directly about 
 the beaming evangelist. He made a last plea for 
 converts to the vast audience and a stray dozen or 
 more men and women, whose moral courage had 
 not been quite strong enough to force a decision 
 at the beginning, bobbed up here and there and 
 moved toward the platform. There was a momen- 
 tary pause and then the preacher spoke again. 
 
 "My friends," he said, "a most remarkable event 
 has occurred here tonight. Perhaps some of you 
 here near the front have surmised what it is, but 
 I am sure that the great majority of you have not 
 grasped its significance. My efforts tonight have 
 been blessed by an achievement of which I am ex- 
 203
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 tremely proud. Thirteen members of a theatrical 
 company now appearing in this city a company 
 presenting a conglomeration bearing the idiotic title 
 of 'Keep Moving' thirteen lovely young women 
 have been rescued from the insidious temptations 
 that lurk behind the blinding glare of the footlights 
 and have come out here in the open and made a 
 pledge to get back into the old, simple ways of liv- 
 ing. It's the most wonderful thing that has hap- 
 pened since I began my campaign, and while these 
 brave and earnest souls are here with us let us all 
 join in a prayer that they may be steadfast in their 
 new aim and that their example may be a shining 
 one to thousands of others in this great city. Let 
 us pray." 
 
 When the great throng arose after the prayer to 
 sing the final hymn Jimmy Martin edged out of his 
 seat and slipped unobtrusively up one of the aisles 
 and out into the chill evening air. He was dazed 
 and bewildered, but he had presence of mind enough 
 to hail a taxicab and direct the chauffeur to drive 
 him to his hotel. He had an idea that pictures of 
 the fair converts would be in demand and he wanted 
 to be on hand when the bright young gentlemen of 
 the press put in an appearance. 
 
 204
 
 Chapter Twenty-Four 
 
 Chester Bartlett was not given to enthusiasm, but 
 he felt impelled to congratulate Jimmy after glanc- 
 ing over the morning papers the next day and 
 making a mental inventory of the net results of the 
 press agent's Sunday evening "plant." The story 
 leaped out of the front page of every journal in 
 town and dwarfed, by comparison, the accounts of 
 a super-heated debate in the United States Senate 
 on disarmament, of a great strike which industrially 
 paralyzed Great Britain from end to end and of a 
 volcanic eruption in a far-flung island of the Pacific 
 which claimed 8,000 human lives as its toll. 
 
 The "feature writers" who covered the "Billy" 
 Williams' meetings had figuratively and literally 
 turned themselves loose on the proceedings and had 
 written stories with a heart-throb in every sentence 
 and a tear in at least every other line. They had 
 embellished and embroidered the actual incidents so 
 effectively that even Bartlett himself, case-hard- 
 ened cynic that he was, found himself growing a bit 
 sentimental when he read the story in the first 
 paper to hand. The narratives were all adorned 
 with photographs of the "Keep-Moving" beauties 
 and the name of that blithesome musical comedy 
 figured extensively in all of them. Bartlett particu- 
 larly like the headline in the Journal:
 
 Fresh Every Hour. 
 
 CHORUS BEAUTIES 
 CONVERTED BY 
 "BILLY" WILLIAMS 
 
 Thirteen "Keep Moving" Girls 
 Hit the Trail After Eloquent 
 Plea by Evangelist. 
 
 TEN THOUSAND WEEP AS 
 SOLEMN PLEDGE IS MADE 
 
 "The counter attack was well developed and the 
 ground gained is satisfactory to the higher com- 
 mand," was the way Bartlett framed his congratu- 
 lations over the telephone. "You can consolidate 
 your present position and rest up for a few days." 
 
 "All right," Jimmy replied with a chuckle, "but 
 there's no tellin' when I may make another raid on 
 the enemy trenches. I've got 'em goin'. That one 
 was as easy as getting a drink on Broadway since 
 the U. S. A. went dry." 
 
 "In plain, everyday English," went on Bartlett, 
 "that's just about the best plant I've seen pulled 
 off in the twenty years that I've been in the theat- 
 rical business. I noticed that your little Cedar 
 Rapids friend was one of the ring-leaders. How 
 you managed to get them all to play up as well as 
 206
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 they did is what I can't understand. How did you 
 work it?" 
 
 Jimmy paused for a moment or two before re- 
 plying and coughed uneasily. 
 
 "I've got 'em trained," he finally replied. "They'll 
 they'll do anything I ask 'em to do anything." 
 
 It was characteristic of Jimmy to have decided, 
 after considerable speculation, that no motive other 
 than an unselfish desire to please himself and to 
 assist in adding to the greater glory of the occasion 
 had prompted Lolita and her associates to profess 
 conversion on the night before. He had tried to 
 reach her on the telephone several times with the 
 idea of thanking her for her unexpected co-opera- 
 tion in furthering the success of his publicity 
 scheme, but had been always met with the response 
 that she was not in. He finally decided to defer 
 the expression of his gratitude until that evening at 
 the theatre. As a slight token of his good-will and 
 heart-felt thankfulness he ordered a bouquet of 
 roses delivered to her dressing-room and he per- 
 sonally wrote out a little card to be affixed to it. 
 
 "To the best little press agent ever," it ran," from 
 a cheap piker at the game Yours with love 
 Jimmy." 
 
 He tried to preserve a slight semblance of be- 
 coming modesty throughout the day, but the con- 
 gratulations which poured in upon him from all 
 sides were of such a fulsome nature and coincided 
 so perfectly with his own opinion of himself that 
 when evening came he was as expansive as the lead- 
 207
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ing man of a small town stock company and just 
 about as reticent and self-effacing as an auctioneer. 
 He dined alone with a fine inner glow of self-satis- 
 faction and strolled into the lobby of the Colonial 
 Theatre about half an hour before curtain time at 
 peace with the world. 
 
 There was a long line of patrons extending from 
 the box-office window almost out to the sidewalk 
 and he watched the scramble for tickets with a feel- 
 ing of exalted serenity. The sound of voices at the 
 swinging doors leading into the foyer attracted his 
 attention. He turned to see Bartlett and the stage 
 manager coming through. Their mood was one 
 that plainly boded developments of a decidedly dis- 
 agreeable nature. They made for Jimmy and 
 pounced upon him simultaneously. 
 
 "Where's that girl of yours?" inquired Bartlett 
 in a tone that Jimmy felt was a bit menacing. 
 
 "Yes, and where's Natalie Nugent and Hilda Hen- 
 nessey and Trixie Seville and Yvonne Elaine and 
 Dulcie Dolores and five or six others," chimed in 
 the stage manager. "What do you know about 
 'em?" 
 
 "What do I know about 'em?" echoed Jimmy 
 helplessly. "I don't know anything about 'em. 
 What's the idea?" 
 
 "The idea is that they haven't shown up tonight," 
 said Bartlett tartly. "Not a single one of that outfit 
 that put your story over last night has put in an 
 appearance back stage, and I have a remote sus- 
 picion that you know why they haven't. Have you 
 208
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 got some new stunt up your sleeve? If you have I 
 won't stand for it. Understand me, my dear sir, 
 I won't stand for it." 
 
 "I don't know anything about it, Mr. Peters," 
 said Jimmy with an air of injured innocence, "not 
 a single little thing. I haven't seen Lolita all day 
 and I haven't laid eyes on any of those other queens 
 either. What makes you think I know anything 
 about it?" 
 
 "Just general principles, I fancy. You're a very 
 smart young man and I had, and still have for that 
 matter, an idea that you may be planning a follow- 
 up of some sort on that yarn you landed this morn- 
 ing. Let me warn you that if you are, you are 
 monkeyin with the well-known buzz-saw. Here are 
 a dozen or more of the best looking de luxe girls in 
 this show missing and the house practically sold 
 out. I've got a reputation to live up to and I don't 
 propose to have it suffer just for a fool press story." 
 
 "But, Mr. Bartlett," broke in Jimmy. 
 
 "Ifs and buts are superfluous at this writing," 
 interrupted the manager angrily. "It's within 
 fifteen minutes of curtain time, and we'll have to 
 give a show that'll look like a Number Three com- 
 pany out in the tall grass. The next time you plan 
 a press story you'll have to get it passed by the 
 censor beforehand and I'm going to be the censor. 
 Do you get me?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Jimmy weakly as Bartlett and 
 the stage manager disappeared into the theatre 
 again. 
 
 209
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 He leaned against the wall for support and tried 
 to collect his thoughts. Somehow he couldn't. He 
 felt himself in the clutch of uncertainties beyond 
 his understanding at the moment and vague dis- 
 tress was written large upon his face. One of the 
 uniformed carriage attendants tapped him on the 
 shoulder and slipped a letter into his hand. 
 
 "A young lady left this half an hour ago, Mr. 
 Martin," he said, "and told me to see as how you 
 got it handed to you personally." 
 
 Jimmy knew the handwriting on the envelope 
 and a queer feeling came over him. He hesitated 
 for a moment before reading it. When Matthews, 
 the house manager, strolled up to him two min- 
 utes afterwards vain regret was in his heart and in 
 his eyes there lurked a look of blended bewilder- 
 ment and futile rage. 
 
 "What's the matter, old man?" inquired Matthews. 
 "Has Bartlett been making things hard for you?" 
 
 Jimmy smiled a sickly smile and handed over the 
 letter. 
 
 "I don't mind so much what he says," he replied, 
 "but this has got under the little old cuticle all 
 right. Read it if you like." 
 
 The manager adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses 
 and read the letter, written in the stiff, vertical 
 handwriting of a school-girl. 
 Dear Jimmy: 
 
 This is just to say goodbye. You've been 
 very nice and very kind to me and I'm thank- 
 ful for everything and all that, but I've just 
 got to get away from the sinful stage and go 
 210
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 back home. The other girls are all quitting, 
 too. I knew weeks ago that it was foolish to 
 pretend I'd ever be anything more than just a 
 fifth or sixth rater and now I'm glad that I've 
 been brought to see the wickedness of it all. I 
 guess maybe I've got the "Cedar Rapids blues" 
 you spoke about the other night, too. Mother 
 and dad have been writing me for weeks to 
 come home. Thank you again for your kind- 
 ness and all that and don't bother trying to 
 look me up for I'm taking a train tonight. 
 Many thanks again from your little friend, 
 
 LOLJTA. 
 
 "That's mighty tough," commented Matthews 
 sympathetically. "Love is a great little gamble." 
 
 "You said something," replied Jimmy dejectedly. 
 "I held the right cards, but I overplayed my hand." 
 
 21 1
 
 Chapter Twenty-Five 
 
 "They're always pickin' on me," moaned Jimmy 
 a few weeks later as he flung- the letter he had just 
 finished reading down on his desk in a corner of the 
 dingy office of the Colonial Theatre and kicked 
 impulsively at a crumpled pile of discarded news- 
 papers on the floor. 
 
 "What's the matter, old man?" inquired Mat- 
 thews, looking up 'from a stack of letters on his 
 desk and regarding the press agent with a banter- 
 ing smile. "Is Bartlett out on the rampage again?" 
 
 "No," replied Jimmy in a disgusted tone of voice. 
 "I wish he was. He's postin' three sheets tellin' 
 what a grand little fellow I am. That's what gets 
 my pet Angora." 
 
 "What's the catch?" questioned the other. 
 
 "Oh, that's concealed in the last paragraph. He 
 starts out with a lot of hot air about how good I 
 am and how pleased he is at the wonderful showing 
 I've landed over here in Boston, and a bunch of 
 other junk and then he wait, I'll read you the fin- 
 ish. He says 'and being desirous of showing my 
 appreciation of your efforts in a concrete way I 
 have decided to intrust to you the general direction 
 of the publicity campaign of 'The Ganges Prin- 
 cess.' I will send someone to take over 'Keep Mov- 
 ing' on Saturday, and you will kindly report at this 
 office on Monday morning.' " 
 212
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 Matthews, who had sauntered over to Jimmy's 
 desk during the reading of Chester Bartlett's let- 
 ter, looked frankly bewildered. 
 
 "I'm pretty dense, I guess," he said. "I don't see 
 anything in that to cause you to exhibit any signs 
 of distress. He's handing you the prize job of the 
 season on a gold platter. You couldn't stop the 
 papers from printing stuff about that show with 
 an injunction from the Supreme Court. Don't you 
 realize that?" 
 
 "Oh, that part of it's all right," replied Jimmy. 
 "I suppose I've got a nerve to put up a holler, but 
 I can't help it. It's this thing of bein' bounced 
 about like a tennis ball that makes me sore. The 
 minute I get sewed up with one show and the ma- 
 chinery in the little old idea factory gets all oiled 
 up and is makin' 286 revolutions to the minute, 
 along comes a letter or a wire shootin' me on to 
 join somethin' else. Gee, I wish I was workin' 
 for myself and not for the other guy." 
 
 Jimmy would have resented any suggestion that 
 the look which crept into his eyes as he said this 
 was wistful, but it was just that. He paused and 
 gazed out of the window at the scurrying throng of 
 early morning shoppers. Across his face there 
 came and went the shadow of a pathetic smile, a 
 smile that seemed to express for a moment the 
 elation of holding within his grasp the very sub- 
 stance of things^ hoped for and which instantly 
 merged into something that epitomized utter hope- 
 
 213
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 lessness. Matthews sensed his mood and put his 
 hand on the press agent's shoulder. 
 
 "Why don't you take a flier on your own?" He 
 asked. "Everybody in the business would wish you 
 well." 
 
 Jimmy snorted derisively. 
 
 "What would I use for money?" he inquired sar- 
 castically. "Playwrights ain't takin* good wishes 
 for advance royalties and you can't slip a few kind 
 words into the salary envelopes on Saturday night." 
 
 "But it don't take so much to make a start," 
 persisted the other. "Don't you manage to save 
 anything at all?" 
 
 "Sure. I've got almost enough cigarette coupons 
 to get a gold plated safety razor or a genuine silk 
 umbrella, and there's 20 shares of Flying Frog cop- 
 per stock in the tray of my trunk. That must be 
 worth all of a dollar and eight cents, and it cost 
 me about thirty dollars, too. Quit your kiddin', 
 old man. An agent has about as much chance these 
 days of savin' money as the Kaiser has of bein' 
 invited to a week-end party by the King of Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Jimmy stood up and began to pace slowly up and 
 down the room. The wistful look came into his 
 eyes again and the longing smile touched his mouth 
 once more. 
 
 "Still," he said, half to himself, "it's kind of nice 
 
 to think about ownin' your own show even if you 
 
 know you never will, and to sort of get a flash in 
 
 your mind's eye of a twenty-four sheet with 'James 
 
 214
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 T. Martin presents' splashed across the top of it in 
 black on yellow with red initials. 'J ames T. Mar- 
 tin presents' that'd certainly look immense on that 
 low board on Broadway near Forty-fifth street that 
 hits everybody on the big street right in the eye." 
 Matthews, in response to a summons from the 
 box-office, left him still soliloquizing under his 
 breath and gazing pensively across the snow cov- 
 ered Common. 
 
 "The Ganges Princess" was the dramatic sensa- 
 tion of a decade. It had been running for a solid 
 year at the huge ITendrik Hudson Theatre in New 
 York, having weathered a hot summer with hardly 
 a noticeable falling off of receipts. It was Chester 
 Bartlett's first venture into what is technically 
 known as the "legitimate field" and he had staged 
 it with that lavish disregard for expense and with 
 that keen sense of the artistic which had given him 
 pre-eminence as a producer of light musical enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 Written by one of America's most flambuoyant 
 playwrights it told a turgid story of Oriental pas- 
 sion and treachery set against a spectacular back- 
 ground depicting scenes in ancient India. As sheer 
 spectacle it quite transcended anything hitherto at- 
 tempted in the United States. It presented a series 
 of settings which were so flaming in their color, so 
 permeated with the mystery of the East and so 
 splendid in their suggestion of great size and vast 
 distances that each new revelation was invariably 
 
 215
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 greeted with gasps of amazement from the au- 
 dience. A cast bristling with distinguished names 
 gave versimilitude to the somewhat bombastic dia- 
 logue and purely incidental members of the com- 
 pany included a troupe of fifty real nautch-girls, 
 six elephants, five camels and a flock of sheep. 
 
 "The Ganges Princess' was not merely the talk 
 of New York. It was literally the talk of the coun- 
 try and its forthcoming tour promised to be one of 
 the most important in the history of the American 
 theatre. It was booked for extended engagements 
 in only a few of the larger cities, there being a 
 comparatively limited number of places containing 
 playhouses with stages large enough to accommo- 
 date the production and possessing auditoriums of 
 sufficient size to insure financial success 
 
 Bartlett had mapped out a plan of exploitation 
 which was quite the most comprehensive ever un- 
 dertaken in the annals of press agentry. No less 
 than half a dozen advance couriers the pick of the 
 country were to devote their energies to the ad- 
 vertising and newspaper campaign alone, while the 
 purely business details were to be intrusted to 
 trained experts who were to have no other duties. 
 This would leave the purveyors of publicity free 
 and untrammelled in their assaults upon the press 
 and a defenseless public. 
 
 Jimmy Martin was to be generalissimo, com- 
 mander-in-chief and field marshal of the combined 
 forces and was to be entrusted with delegated pow- 
 ers such as had never before been given to anyone 
 216
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 holding a similar position. Matthews had under- 
 stated the case when he referred to the place as the 
 prize job of the season. It wasn't even comparable. 
 Nothing like it had ever been known for opportu- 
 nity and power, since the modern variety of press 
 agent came into being. Jimmy realized that him- 
 self after Bartlett had finished outlining the scope 
 of the proposed campaign. 
 
 "Go to it, my boy," the manager said at the com- 
 pletion of an hour's talk, "and remember that the 
 azure dome of heaven is the limit and that in the 
 bright lexicon of showmanship there are no such 
 words as 'it can't be done.' Do I make myself 
 clear?" 
 
 "Absolutely," replied Jimmy cheerfully. "I'm to 
 sit with my feet in a mustard bath and I'm to play 
 my cards without regard to the feelin's, digestions, 
 general state of temperature or politics of anyone 
 else in the game. I'm to see all raises and tilt it 
 one for luck whenever I think the time is ripe for a 
 killin'. Have I got the right combination?" 
 
 Bartlett laughed heartily at the flavory idioms 
 which flowed so freely from Jimmy's lips. 
 
 "Thou hast, most potent, grave and reverend sig- 
 nor," he replied, bowing low in exaggerated mock 
 courtesy. "By the way," he continued, getting back 
 to business again, "there's another thing I com- 
 pletely forgot. I've engaged a literary chap for a 
 special stunt, and I want you to figure out some 
 way of getting it across so that it seems on the 
 level.
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "The general idea is to have this fellow deliver 
 a series of lectures on India about three weeks 
 ahead of the play date. It'll be a camouflaged boost 
 for the show. Every once in a while he'll make 
 some casual remark about the play which he under- 
 stands is shortly to be seen in this city, et cetera, 
 but there won't be enough of this stuff for anyone 
 to consider it as being at all out of the way. 
 
 "This gentleman will be under your direct and 
 special control. It will be up to you to arrange to 
 have lectures given in every city under the auspices 
 of some literary society or social welfare group or 
 under the patronage of the Daughters of the Amer- 
 ican Revolution any kind of a crowd that'll give 
 the stunt prestige and distinction. I've written Mr. 
 Denby to meet you at the theatre this evening." 
 
 "Denby, eh? It can't possibly be little old J. 
 Herbert Denby, the highbrow kid, can it?" 
 
 "That's the name. Know him?" 
 
 A grin of delight spread over Jimmy's features. 
 
 "Fairly well," he chuckled. "He tipped me off to 
 a grand idea over in Baltimore a year or so ago. 
 Old George B. Bookworm, eh? If he's still doin' 
 his regular act I've got a lot of laughs comin' to me 
 on this trip. Say, you don't know how good that 
 bird'll be for a stunt of this kind. When it comes 
 to the uplift stuff and the literary bunk he's there 
 in seven separate and distinct languages. And in- 
 nocent ! Say, he could could make a two year old 
 baby look like an old offender with a Sing Sing 
 past. They'll fall for him on sight." 
 218
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 The guileless Mr. Denby greeted Jimmy in the 
 lobby of the Hendrik Hudson that night in his best 
 professorial manner and smiled benignantly through 
 his tortoise shell glasses. 
 
 "You will, I think, concede, Mr. Martin," said 
 he, proffering a rather limp hand, "that we give 
 the lie direct to Mr. Kipling." 
 
 "Eh? What's that?" mumbled the other. "I 
 don't get you." 
 
 Mr. Denby smiled condescendingly and replied 
 in a tone of voice that Jimmy felt to be a bit too 
 irritatingly suave. 
 
 "Mr. Kipling the poet you know. He says, 
 'East is East and West is West, and never the twain 
 shall meet.' Well, we are meeting on a common 
 
 ground in a common cause and we are may I 
 
 venture to suggest decidedly alien to each other 
 in our thoughts and sympathies, are we not?" 
 
 Jimmy eyed him suspiciously before replying. 
 
 "Listen, old dear," he said evenly, "I can never 
 quite figure whether you're kiddin' me or not and 
 I'm going to be too busy from now on to ask for 
 diagrams. If we're goin' to get together you've 
 got to get out the little old parachute and jump off 
 into space. In plain English you've got to dive 
 down to earth and keep both feet on the pavement. 
 Save the flossy stuff for your lectures. Are you 
 on?" 
 
 "Of course, of course," stammered Mr. Denby. 
 "I meant no offense. I have an unfortunate habit 
 of making poetic allusions. I shall correct it. Be- 
 219
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 lieve me, my dear Mr. Martin, I shall correct it. 
 I have much to say to you. Where shall we have 
 a little a little, shall I say pow-wow to talk 
 over the the ah dope?" 
 
 "That's the idea," replied Jimmy, slapping the 
 other on the back and laughing heartily. "That's 
 regular language. Let's go back to the stage man- 
 ager's office and work out a plan of attack." 
 
 The press agent led the way through a passage 
 which ran behind the boxes to the stage and they 
 presently found themselves dodging the canvas 
 walls of a great Indian temple which were being 
 deftly swung into position by a small army of stage 
 hands and picking their steps cautiously through 
 a cluttered array of papier-mache Buddhas, can- 
 opied thrones and other properties. Once closeted 
 in the little office in a far corner they began a con- 
 sultation which lasted for more than an hour. 
 
 It was agreed that Jimmy was to travel suffi- 
 ciently far enough ahead of J. Herbert Denby to 
 arrange for and advertise his lectures and the press 
 agent took pains to carefully instruct the latter as 
 to the best methods of keeping his connection with 
 "The Ganges Princess" company a remote and 
 cherished secret. The subjects chosen by the lec- 
 turer were, to say the least, not calculated to arouse 
 any suspicion. Jimmy sat entranced as J. Herbert 
 read them off from a typewritten slip he took from 
 his card-case. 
 
 "I shall talk first," he said, "upon The Rig-Veda 
 A Primitive Folk Song Embodying the Soul of 
 220
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 an Ancient People.' I shall follow that with a dis- 
 course on 'Brahma, Vishnu and Siva The Triple 
 Manifestation of the Hindu God' and for my third 
 and final lecture I have chosen perhaps a more 
 popular theme 'Mogul versus Mahratta A Study 
 in Dynastic Conflicts.' Do you think that program 
 will fill the bill?" 
 
 Jimmy was plainly a little bit groggy and he 
 found it difficult to articulate for a moment or two. 
 
 "Say, old scout," he finally managed to remark. 
 "I'm almost down for the count. You talk like an 
 encyclopedia. You'll have 'em all pop-eyed when 
 you pull that stuff. The harder it is to understand 
 the harder they'll fall. You're there, George B. 
 Bookworm, you're there. I can see 'em passin' 
 flowers over the footlights already." 
 
 J. Herbert, appreciating the sincerity of Jimmy's 
 enthusiastic approval, blushed a little and tried to 
 appear at ease, but it was a difficult task. The two 
 strolled out on the darkened stage and stood in the 
 wings watching the unfolding of the final scene of 
 the second act in which the Maharajah of Rum- 
 pore returned unexpectedly, with his followers, 
 from a tiger-hunting expedition to find his favorite 
 wife in the arms of the villainous Begum of Baroda. 
 
 They found themselves suddenly wedged in the 
 center of a crowd of male supernumeraries who 
 had come clattering down the stairs leading from 
 the dressing rooms, accoutered in ancient armour 
 and ready for participation in the stirring episode 
 which was to bring the act to a close. Most of 
 221
 
 these "extra people," that being their classification 
 in the world of the theatre, were the usual assort- 
 ment of shiftless idlers who eke out a precarious 
 existence by doing such odd jobs on the stage and 
 whose Oriental aspect was purely a matter of sim- 
 ulation. There were, however, a number of gen- 
 uine East Indians among them, random visitors 
 from an alien clime picked up here and there and 
 utilized to give an added air of versimilitude to the 
 ensemble scenes. 
 
 One of these latter, a handsome chap under thirty, 
 whose skin was the color of strong coffee diluted 
 with rich cream and whose features had the classic 
 regularity of a Grecian sculptured head, brushed 
 against Jimmy's elbow and apologized profusely. 
 
 "I am very much sorry if I have caused myself 
 to discommode you," he murmured, smiling pleas- 
 antly and revealing a row of teeth of dazzling 
 whiteness. 
 
 "That's all right," replied Jimmy, looking at him 
 in surprise. "You're a regular, I see. You don't 
 belong to the volunteers." 
 
 "No, sahib, I am from the East. I am long dis- 
 tance from home-land of my fathers, if that is what 
 you mean." 
 
 Jimmy looked at him with new interest. He had 
 an air about him, an indefinable air of distinction 
 that attracted the attention of even the aesthetic J. 
 Herbert Denby, who edged closer and entered the 
 conversation. 
 
 "Your English is excellent," he remarked. "You 
 
 222
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 have perhaps studied in one of our universities?" 
 
 "No, sahib, not here in Oxford. I have been in 
 this country but a few months. Life has been a 
 difficult problem here in this great democracy, but I 
 am a fatalist, sahib, and I do not make myself un- 
 easiness as to the future. It is useless for it is 
 written already on the scrolls of time." 
 
 The next instant he swept forward on to the 
 stage with the others in response to a signal from 
 the stage manager who was peering through a 
 small hole in the scenery. 
 
 "My word," said the astonished Mr. Denby. 
 "Fancy a chap like that being content to figure as 
 one of the mob. He has the grand manner of an 
 Indian prince.'' 
 
 Jimmy looked up at him quickly. 
 
 "It's moved and seconded that we make him one," 
 he said. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "All in favor of the motion signify their assent 
 by saying 'Aye.' Aye! Contrary no. The ayes 
 have it and the motion is carried. What'll we call 
 him?" 
 
 "I must confess that I don't grasp the signifi- 
 cance of what you mean," said the puzzled Mr. 
 Denby. 
 
 >"You will," returned Jimmy as he led the way 
 out to the front of the house again. "I'm goin' to 
 give you a little playmate on this trip if I can get 
 Bartlett to go along. Local color stuff. You've 
 slipped me another grand little idea, old man. It's 
 a bear." 
 
 223
 
 Chapter Twenty-Six 
 
 Prince Rajput Singh, the mythical only son of the 
 Nazir of Hydrabad, descended on Chicago two weeks 
 later accompanied by J. Herbert Denby, the distin- 
 guished authority on Far Eastern affairs. Their 
 arrival at the Senate Hotel just before the dinner 
 hour was a spectacular divertisement, to say the 
 least, and one well calculated to make the unsus- 
 pecting general public sit up and take notice. 
 
 His Royal Highness wore a great gray cloak 
 when he passed through the main entrance of the 
 hotel flanked on his right by the impeccable Mr. 
 Denby and preceded by two massive and upstanding 
 Hindus whose bearded faces were frozen into a 
 semblance of stoical indifference that was as grim 
 and forbidding as a box-office man's impenetrable 
 and imperturbable mask. On his head he wore a 
 white turban trimmed with golden braid and his 
 feet were encased in richly embroidered red slip- 
 pers with turned-up toes. 
 
 He paused for a moment, surveying with a con- 
 descending air the crowd of gaping men which 
 filled the lobbv, and then clapped his hands sharply 
 twice. The Hindu attendants moved into position 
 back of him. Another pause and then, with a ges- 
 ture of surpassing elegance he dropped the cloak
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 from his shoulders into their waiting arms. No 
 Roman emperor had ever done it better, Mr. Denby 
 thought to himself. The prince stood revealed in 
 a gorgeous silken robe which was such a shimmer- 
 ing mass of color that it almost made one blink to 
 look at it. Purples, flaming shades of orange and 
 greens which seemed to suggest the rank lush 
 foliage of some tropical jungle were the predomi- 
 nating shades. The robe was admirably designed 
 to set off to the best advantage the dark and finely 
 chiselled features of His Royal Highness, who 
 greeted the manager of the hotel with an air of 
 haughty reserve that was positively imperial in 
 its implications. 
 
 His progress through the lobby to the elevator 
 was made amid a silence that Mr. Denby after- 
 wards paradoxically referred to as "audible" and 
 when the clanging doors closed behind him and he 
 was shot up to his quarters on the third floor, the 
 feelings of all the awed onlookers found expression 
 in a concerted gasp. 
 
 Jimmy Martin, watching the proceedings from 
 behind the cover of a newspaper which he pre- 
 tended to be reading while he sprawled over a great 
 leather chair, chuckled quietly to himself and agreed 
 that he was a grand little stage manager. Then he 
 slipped out on to windswept Michigan avenue and 
 waJked briskly away to his own hotel. He longed 
 to remain and watch his drama unfold, but discre- 
 tion warned him that it would be well for him to 
 keep in seclusion for the present, inasmuch as rep-
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 resentatives of the fourth estate would undoubtedly 
 descend on the hotel shortly in a body. 
 
 Prince Rajput Singh graciously received the gen- 
 tlemen of the press an hour later and discoursed 
 at length upon the past, present and future of India. 
 Hearing that his distinguished friend, the Sahib 
 Denby, whom he had entertained some years ago at 
 his father's palace while the former was traveling 
 in the far east, was planning a lecture tour he had 
 decided, he said, to visit America himself and lend 
 his aid to the project. 
 
 "It has been long dream of my existence," he an- 
 nounced grandly, picking his words carefully, "to 
 assist in bringing to new world of the west the 
 culture and wisdom of the east. You have made 
 wonderful discoveries in the world of material 
 things. We have long ago found the secret of the 
 soul. It is well we should make ourselves friends." 
 
 The prince posed for flashlight photographs sit- 
 ting in a great arm chair with his Hindu attendants, 
 arms folded, standing erect and immovable behind 
 him. All in all a pleasant time was had by everyone 
 concerned and the results in the newspapers on the 
 following morning were all that the most optimistic 
 and sanguine publicity promoter could have desired. 
 Two and three column pictures of His Royal High- 
 ness were given prominent positions and each inter- 
 view was tagged with a paragraph announcing the 
 first of Mr. Denby's lectures which was to be given 
 a day later in the grand ballroom of the hotel. The 
 226
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 prince, it was announced, would supplement the lec- 
 turer's remarks with a little talk of his own. 
 
 Jimmy Martin, calling on him for the purpose of 
 giving him a few more instructions concerning his 
 general deportment and demeanor on the morrow, 
 was somewhat dazzled by the splendor of his sur- 
 roundings and by the extent of the apartment as- 
 signed to him. There were five rooms in all, over- 
 looking the lake, and there was a canopied bed on 
 a raised platform in one of them as well as other 
 evidences of extreme luxury to which he was not 
 accustomed. He hunted up his friend, the assistant 
 manager of the hotel. 
 
 "Say, Wilkins," he said cautiously. "I've been 
 up to see this prince you've got stopping here. 
 That's some set of rooms. I wonder what they're 
 going to set him back." 
 
 "That's the royal suite/' replied Wilkins. "We 
 don't get much of a chance to get any real royalty 
 very often, and I'm making the old boy a special 
 rate. Mr. Denby arranged for it. We're only only 
 going to charge him two hundred dollars a day." 
 
 "My God," stammered Jimmy, almost swallowing 
 his cigarette and clutching the other by the arm, 
 "you can't do a thing like that." 
 
 The look of hopeless distress on the press agent's 
 face caused the hotel man to laugh uproariously, 
 for a moment, but he checked himself suddenly. 
 
 "What's the idea?" he inquired. "Why can't we? 
 You act as if we were going to charge the bill to 
 you." 
 
 227
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Maybe you are, old man," was Jimmy's response 
 as he led Wilkins over to the latter's little office. "I 
 want to slip you a little side-line of conversation 
 that you've got to promise to keep Masonic." 
 
 So it came to pass that in the quiet sanctity of 
 the little office Jimmy oulined certain unpublished 
 details concerning the activities and real mission of 
 Prince Rajput Singh though he said nothing about 
 that dusky gentleman's previous condition of servi- 
 tude. He represented him as being a genuine In- 
 dian nobleman, temporarily down on his luck, who 
 had consented to assist in a carefully contrived and 
 ingenious scheme of indirect advertising. 
 
 "Have a heart, old man," he pleaded when he had 
 finished. "If you scale that two hundred down to 
 about well, say twenty-five and Bartlett'll have 
 heart failure even at that figure I'll arrange to 
 have his royal niblets have dinner every night in 
 your Egyptian dining room. You know yourself 
 you don't do much trade in there. We'll have those 
 two Hindu birds cook a lot of these curry dishes 
 right there in full view of the audience and wait on 
 him. You'll be able to hang the little old S. R. O. 
 sign out in a couple of days, take it from me." 
 
 The assistant manager succumbed to Jimmy's 
 siren song and consented to slash the rate for the 
 royal suite in return for the special performance 
 by the prince and his entourage which the press 
 agent promised to stage nightly. 
 
 Mr. J. Herbert Denby and Prince Rajput Singh 
 made their joint debut on the lecture platform on 
 228
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 the following afternoon before a select and soulful 
 audience largely composed of middle-aged females 
 who hung rapturously on every word uttered by 
 both speakers. 
 
 Mr. Denby was in fine form. His discourse on 
 "The Rig- Veda" was as vague and misty as a treat- 
 ise on the Hegelian philosophy and about as full of 
 real mental nourishment for that particular audi- 
 ence as a scientific monograph on the bony struc- 
 ture of the dactylopterus volitans would have been. 
 He soared into the outer void and returned with 
 bay-leaves on his brow and with esoteric phrases 
 dripping from his tongue. The more hopelessly in- 
 volved he became in the mystic mazes of his meta- 
 physical theme, the more ardent seemed to be the 
 rapt devotion with which his listeners received his 
 remarks. When he finished in one grand, exultant 
 outburst of poetic fervor a hushed silence fell upon 
 the gathering and when a ripple of applause broke 
 in upon it there were those whose brows darkened 
 as if something holy had been profaned. 
 
 It remained, however, for the pseudo Prince Raj- 
 put Singh to achieve the real sensation of the after- 
 noon. Arrayed in a purple robe and turban of ex- 
 quisite silk and carrying himself with a careless air 
 of superb distinction that was fascinating to watch, 
 he delivered a brief talk in which he pleaded for a 
 better understanding between the East and the 
 West and urged a study of Indian ways and cus- 
 toms as the best method of bringing such an entente 
 cordiale about, such a study as was rendered pos- 
 229
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 sible, for instance, by witnessing a performance of 
 a play he had recently seen in New York was it 
 called "The Ganges Princess?" he was not sure. 
 
 His dark face gleamed with animation as he spoke 
 and his grey eyes sparkled. When he smiled his 
 white teeth flashed briliantly in the rays of the aft- 
 ernoon sun which poured through the mullioned 
 windows and when he laughed, tossing his head 
 back like some medieval troubadour in rollicking 
 mood, all the impressionable women there present, 
 young and old, went voyaging for a moment or two 
 into the land of romance, and forgotten memory 
 pictures of scenes from the Arabian Nights came 
 trooping back into their several and respective, not 
 to mention respectable, minds. 
 
 Taking it by and large Ranjit Lai, former super- 
 numerary, devious adventurer in a foreign clime, 
 and now, by the gr^e of one James T. Martin, 
 Prince Rajput Singh, was, in the parlance of the 
 boulevards, a knockout. When the formal festiv- 
 ities were over he was surrounded by a chattering 
 swarm of females of assorted ages and subjected to 
 that particular form of obsequious flattery which is 
 usually reserved by the weaker sex for long-haired 
 pianists and corpulent Italian tenors. 
 
 Mr. J. Herbert Denby, feeling himself somewhat 
 out of the picture, viewed the proceedings from a 
 short distance away and particularly noticed one 
 worshipper who had edged herself into a position 
 directly in front of his confrere and who seemed to 
 230
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 be trying to entirely monopolize the swarthy- 
 skinned lion of the occasion. 
 
 She was at least fifty. There was no doubting 
 that, though she was dressed, with all the gay aban- 
 don of a debutante, in a silken frock which did not 
 quite touch the tops of her extremely high boots. 
 She was also inclined to stoutness, though a 
 straight front corset kept her somewhat ample pro- 
 portions cabined and confined permitting her to 
 present to the world at large at least a semblance 
 of curvilinear grace. There was, Mr. Denby 
 thought, something decidedly suspicious looking 
 about her flaxen tresses whose symmetrically mar- 
 celled regularity was relieved by two little curls 
 which hung coyly in front of each ear. She was, 
 it was plain to see, convinced that she was the living 
 embodiment of Peter Pan, the young person who 
 never grew old. 
 
 Mr. Denby could hear her high pitched voice and 
 the gurgling laugh with which she punctuated al- 
 most every remark. 
 
 "I won't take 'no' for an answer, you dear man," 
 she was saying. "Four thirty tomorrow afternoon 
 in our Indian room I'll have just a few notables 
 there and I have just one favor to ask of you. 
 Please bring those perfectly dear gentlemen with 
 whiskers along to help serve. They'll help my 
 background? Don't you just love the proper 
 background? It's so stimulating. Oh, yes, back- 
 ground is the most important thing in life, if you 
 grasp what I mean."
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 A grunt escaped a tired looking man next Mr. 
 Denby. It was so expressive that the eminent au- 
 thority on the Far East turned a questioning look 
 on his neighbor. 
 
 "Who is she?" he inquired. 
 
 "That's Fannie Easton," replied the tired-look- 
 ing man. "Old maid sister of Junius P. You've 
 heard of him, of course. Oodles of money, houses 
 in Chicago and New York, ranch in California, villa 
 in Florence, three private yachts and not a damned 
 soul to decorate 'em with except that blond nut 
 sundae. Life's a weird thing, sir. Too much for 
 me." 
 
 Mr. Denby, forgetting his own isolation for the 
 moment, watched the continuation of the episode 
 with a new interest. He saw the gurgling Miss 
 Easton catch hold of his associate's arm and he 
 observed that the latter was devoting- himself to 
 her with assiduous attention as they walked slowly 
 out into the corridor and disappeared, leaving be- 
 hind a collection of thoroue'hlv disanoointed admir- 
 ers. As She echoes of a silly laugh came floating 
 on the air from some unseen corner of the hallway, 
 something seemed fo tell Mr. Denby that all was 
 not well.
 
 Chapter Twenty-Seven 
 
 Junius P. Easton, popularly known on "the 
 Street" as "old J. P.," was sulking in his tent like 
 a certain ancient Greek, the said tent being the 
 Florentine libary in his lake-side home. He was 
 pacing up and down the great sombre room with its 
 tapestried walls and its high raftered ceiling, chew- 
 ing ferociously on a thick cigar, mumbling incoher- 
 ently and thinking things utterly unfit for publica- 
 tion. Every two or three minutes he paused at the 
 door opening into the music room and listened to 
 the confused medley of sounds which came to him 
 from an apartment in a far corner of the house 
 the light laughter of women, the clink of china tea 
 thiners and the occasional echo of a man's voice, an 
 aggravatingly bland and urbane voice with a trace 
 of a foreign accent in its rythms. 
 
 Evervtime T. P. caught the sound of that voice 
 his bushy and grizzled eye-brows came together 
 over a deep perpendicular furrow in his forehead 
 and he swore audibly and with gusto. This per- 
 formance had been going on ever since a quarter 
 to five that afternoon when he had arrived home 
 from his office after a particularly trying day full 
 of perplexing business problems and had been 
 greeted by the butler with the announcement that 
 
 233
 
 FresH Every Hour 
 
 Miss Fannie was entertaining some sort of an In- 
 dian prince and a group of friends at tea. 
 
 J. P. had tip-toed to the door of the Indian room, 
 had cautiously peeped through the heavy curtain 
 and had been greeted with the spectacle of Prince 
 Rajput Singh, flanked by his be-whiskered servi- 
 tors, lounging luxuriously on a divan completely 
 surrounded by adoring females of uncertain age 
 among whom his more or less revered sister was 
 the central figure. Fannie was running true to 
 form and was successfully monopolizing the atten- 
 tions of the foreign visitor. 
 
 Filled with disgust J. P. had tip-toed away from 
 from the scene to the quiet serenity of the library 
 and had begun his imitation of a caged beast of 
 the jungle. It was one of the best things he did 
 and he generally felt himself called upon to per- 
 form in this manner two or three times a week for 
 there was no way of every figuring what Fannie 
 was going to do next or who she was going to 
 invite into the house. One afternoon it might be 
 an anarchist preaching the parlor variety of red 
 revolutionary doctrine and the next it was just as 
 likely to be the latest exponent of the simple life, 
 tastefully attired in sandals and a robe made from 
 Turkish towels. 
 
 As J. P. remarked once to his closest friend 
 "there's only one thing you can ever be certain 
 about so far as Fannie is concerned she's always 
 sure to make a damned fool out of herself." 
 
 And J. P. spoke by the book. He had lived with 
 
 234
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 her for fifty years and he knew whereof he spoke. 
 He was always prepared for anything and yet he 
 was never able to maintain that air of philosophic 
 calm with which he would have liked to have 
 greeted each new ebullition of her tempestuous 
 temperament. He pictured himself sometimes, in 
 moments of reflection, treating her with cold con- 
 tempt and silent scorn, but when each new issue 
 arose he greeted it with an emotional outburst 
 which was utterly futile in its effect on her, but 
 which gave him some slight measure of satisfac- 
 tion. A psychologist would have told him that his 
 affection for his sister found expression in that way* 
 We can never be coldly contemptuous of those we 
 love. However, J. P. was no psychologist. 
 
 The festivities in the other corner of the house 
 lasted until nearly six o'clock and when the last 
 guest had been given a gushing farewell by the 
 arch Miss Fannie the hostess bounced into the 
 library to meet her brother. She was attired in a 
 short skirted pink silk afternoon gown that looked 
 as if it might have been designed for a sixteen 
 year old high school student, and she flounced into 
 a sofa with an assumption of girlish ingenuousness 
 that was really pathetic to watch. 
 
 "I've just had the darlingest afternoon, brother 
 dear," she said gayly, not heeding the glowering 
 aspect of the head of the house, who stood facing 
 her with his hands in his trousers pockets. "We've 
 had the spirit and the mystery of the great, in- 
 scrutable East with us and it's been so uplifting and 
 
 235
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 so perfectly wonderful that I'm in a daze. I'm sorry 
 you didn't meet the dear prince, brother dear. He's 
 so charmingly soulful and his eyes well, they're 
 just deep pools of moonlight as some poet said. 
 I'm giving a dinner for him on Friday night. You'll 
 have to come to that, of course." 
 
 Junius P. Easton tossed back his head and 
 erupted. 
 
 "I'll be damned if I will," he shouted, "and I'll 
 be damned if I'm going to let you hob-nob with this 
 fellow either. I've stood a lot from you Fannie, but 
 there's a limit. I didn't put up much of a holler 
 last winter when you had that greasy Esquimeaux 
 here that evening with that polar explorer and I've 
 stood for Japanese, Chinese, Hawaiians, South Sea 
 Islanders, snake charmers, Bolshevists, shimmy 
 dancers, poets and short haired female nuts, but 
 I'm going to draw the line on darkies and don't you 
 forget it." 
 
 J. P. strode over to a long table, opened a humi- 
 dor, extracted another cigar and savagely bit the 
 end of it off. His sister was as unruffled as the 
 placid surface of a mountain lake on a hot mid- 
 summer day. She laughed a little before replying. 
 It was such an irritatingly serene sort of a laugh 
 that J. P. winced at the sound of it. 
 
 "You poor, dear, foolish man," she said with the 
 patronizing condescension of an indulgent aunt re- 
 buking a fractious boy aged about eight years. 
 "He isn't a colored man. You can be perfectly 
 ridiculous at times." 
 
 236
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Well, he's the next thing to it, isn't he?" in- 
 quired her brother helplessly. 
 
 "Don't be absurd, J. P. He is the descendant 
 of kings and potentates and mighty warriors and 
 he's quite the most fascinating man I've ever met. 
 To know him is a privilege. He calls to your soul 
 and bids you voyage with him to the heights 
 where you can leave behind you the petty affairs 
 of life and commune with the eternal and the un- 
 knowable." 
 
 "Oh, bunk," retorted her brother testily. "You 
 give me a pain. The heights, eh? If you take a 
 trip up there you'd better be sure before you start 
 that you've got a return ticket. You're likely to 
 get all tangled up in the cosmos and the eternal 
 and lose your way as well as your mind. And take 
 a tip from me, old lady. Choose some other com- 
 panion besides that coffee colored harem keeper if 
 you want to keep your friends." 
 
 "My dear brother," returned Miss Fannie, in a 
 perfectly even tone of voice. "I feel extremely 
 sorry for you. You are of the earth earthy. You 
 have no soul. When the infinite calls you cannot 
 hear it. I, fortunately, am so attuned and delicately 
 adjusted that it reaches me, and I can pulsate in 
 harmony with its vibrations. I know because the 
 dear prince told me so. It's just wonderful." 
 
 "Oh piffle," retorted J. P. impotently as he 
 
 threw up his hands in a gesture of hopeless despair 
 and tore angrily out of the room with the bitter 
 realization that he had once more suffered defeat. 
 
 237
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 Miss Fannie Easton smiled indulgently and fon- 
 dled a jade ring- on her left hand, a ring which 
 Prince Rajput Singh had slipped from his own royal 
 finger and given her with the whispered expression 
 of a hope that she would wear it as a token of their 
 friendship. Assuring herself that no one was look- 
 ing she kissed it long and ardently as something 
 akin to a rupturous look crept into her foolish, 
 lusterless eyes.
 
 Chapter Twenty-Eight 
 
 Jimmy Martin, couchant on a chaise longue in the 
 royal suite of the Congress Hotel, had difficulty in 
 persuading himself that he was wide awake and in 
 full possession of all his senses. Opposite him sat 
 the pseudo prince Rajput Singh in his shirt-sleeves, 
 looking decidedly unromantic. The East Indian was 
 talking rapidly and the inner import of the tale he 
 was unfolding was of such a nature that Jimmy 
 was aquiver with eager curiosity and aglow with 
 anticipatory delight. He did not notice that the 
 other's eyes glinted unpleasantly as he spoke and 
 that there was something positively repulsive about 
 the smugly complacent manner in which he detailed 
 the progress of his love affair with the wealthy 
 sister of Junius P. Easton. All Jimmy could think 
 of at the moment were the tremendous publicity 
 possibilities inherent in the culmination of this in- 
 congruous romance. 
 
 "As you see, she is very much head over heels 
 with me," said the prince, smiling mockingly, "is 
 that foolish lady with the yellow hair. I have made 
 a most successful attack on her young affections, 
 eh, Mr. Martin? Is it not so? I have but to bend 
 my small finger and she will do what I ask. I have 
 not made myself waste any time. Do you think I 
 have, Mr. Martin?" 
 
 239
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Say," said Jimmy enthusiastically, as he rose to 
 a sitting posture, "you're the quickest worker I 
 ever saw in action. A glance of the eye and a twist 
 of the wrist and they're ready to break the old home 
 ties and kiss the pet canary good-bye. You've cer- 
 tainly got winnin' ways. There's no use in denyin' 
 that. When'd you see her last?" 
 
 "This afternoon I swear my undying love for 
 this lovely lady in quiet corner of her drawing 
 room. We have made exchange of rings. How 
 much you think this one is worth, eh, Mr. Martin?" 
 
 The fictitious heir to the throne of Hydrabad 
 reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and took 
 therefrom a diamond ring which flashed brilliantly 
 as he handed it to the press agent. Jimmy exam- 
 ined it critically. 
 
 "Oh," said he carelessly, "this is just a gaudy 
 little trinket that isn't worth more than about fif- 
 teen hundred dollars or so. I've got to give you 
 credit. You're immense. Where do we go from 
 here?" 
 
 Prince Rajput Singh looked puzzled. 
 
 "I do not mean to go," he said. "I mean to stay 
 for a little while." 
 
 "Of course, of course," said Jimmy. "You don't 
 understand. What I mean is what's the next 
 move ? You said somethin' a little while ago about 
 the double harness stuff about marryin* this old 
 gal, I mean. When are we goin' to pull the finale?" 
 
 "Whenever we wish, Mr. Martin. I have, as I 
 say, but to bend my small finger. It will make a. 
 240
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 nice publication for you in the journals, will it not?" 
 
 "You said somethin' that time, old Frank J. Bom- 
 bay," returned Jimmy who was now in the grip of 
 one of his moods of exultant exurberance. "This 
 one'll land in places where press agents fear to 
 tread. They'd stop the presses for it, if necessary, 
 and miss the mails. They'd leave out ads for it. 
 And when it's all over you've got to do me a favor. 
 You've got to keep on with your tour and take Mrs. 
 Princess Rajput Singh along with you as a bally- 
 hoo. Why, say, we'll land so much stuff in every 
 town that the agent of every other outfit'll just 
 naturally pack up and move on to the next stand 
 without even leavin' a forwardin' address." 
 
 Jimmy's swarthy friend nodded in response to 
 this enthusiastic outburst. Then he narrowed his 
 eyes and the mean, sordid soul of him peered 
 through them as he spoke. 
 
 "This Mrs. Princess, as you call her, that is to 
 be," he inquired cautiously, "has really much money 
 in her own name? I have asked many questions 
 from others and I find general opinion that she 
 has. Do you know?" 
 
 "Just a few millions, that's all," responded 
 Jimmy nonchalantly. "Just about five or six or 
 somethin' like that. Father left it to her. You're 
 in softer than you realize, you old Hindu son-of-a- 
 gun, you, and you've got to go along on this honey- 
 moon trip I'm plannin'. You owe a whole lot to 
 yours truly, Mister Man. If it wasn't for me you'd 
 | bejnakiV six changes of costume a night for twen- 
 241
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ty-five bones a week. Don't forget to remember 
 that." 
 
 "Of course I am very much thankful to you, my 
 fine, good friend, most thankful and most very 
 much in favor of your honeymoon plan." 
 
 Jimmy arrogated to himself the task of arrang- 
 ing the details of the projected marriage. He fixed 
 upon an elopement to a nearby suburb as being the 
 best method of giving the affair a news slant that 
 would add to the story what are technically known 
 in newspaper circles as "feature values." It would 
 also, he figured, prevent the possibility of any last 
 minute interference by some trouble-making rela- 
 tive. 
 
 It was agreed that he was to meet the prospective 
 bride on the morrow in the guise of a close friend 
 of Prince Rajput Singh and was to go over with 
 both parties a detailed plan of campaign which he 
 was to map out in the interim. The prince was to 
 bend his small finger and announce that impetuous 
 and headlong haste was absolutely essential to his 
 peace of soul and was to insist upon the ceremony 
 being performed within twenty-four hours. 
 
 When Wilkins, the assistant manager, met Jimmy 
 in the lobby a few minutes after the latter had left 
 the royal suite, he couldn't help noticing the wild 
 exultant light that shone in the press agent's eyes. 
 
 "Well, well," he remarked cordially, "you look 
 as if you'd just made a clean-up or something, 
 can't you let me in on the good news."
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Not for about forty-eight hours," returned 
 Jimmy, "and then I'm goin' to let the whole U. S. 
 A. in on it at the same time. I've got somethin' 
 on the fire that's just about ready to serve that'll 
 make folks everywhere forget to eat their 'ham 
 and' one of these mornin's." 
 
 Jimmy permitted Prince Rajput Singh to pro- 
 ceed him by half an hour to the Easton home on 
 the following morning. He thought it would be 
 better to have the blushing bride-to-be apprised 
 of the rough outlines of the elopment plan without 
 the disconcerting presence of an intruder. Mr. J. 
 Herbert Denby, a little disturbed and flustered at 
 being assigned to such a task, was even then arang- 
 ing with a clergyman in the next county to preside 
 at the marriage which was to take place in the par- 
 lor of the rectory and all the other essential details 
 had been carefully worked out. 
 
 Jimmy had collaborated with the prince on a tele- 
 gram which was to be sent by the bridegroom to 
 Junius P. Easton immediately after the ceremony. 
 It would, he felt, give an added touch of the pic- 
 turesque to the proposed program of events : "Your 
 sister has done me the high honor of becoming my 
 princess," it read, "and all Hydrabad will kneel 
 in proud homage at her feet. I have cabled my 
 revered father for his august blessing. May we 
 not hope that you will shower your honorable good 
 wishes on us." 
 
 243
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 The prince and Miss Fannie were in the music 
 room when Jimmy was announced. She had just 
 been singing "Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes" 
 to her own accompaniment on the piano and she 
 was as radiant as a June morning. She wore a tea 
 gown of baby blue, embroidered with pink rose- 
 buds, and her bleached hair was done up into a bil- 
 lowy cluster of tiny curls which swayed with every 
 movement of her head and which somehow accen- 
 tuated the essential maturity of her foolish fat face. 
 Jimmy gave an almost audible gasp when he crossed 
 the threshold of the door. He was prepared for the 
 worst, but he had not expected to find himself face 
 to face with a being out of the comic supplement. 
 She ran to meet him, laughing sillily. 
 
 "How do you do," she said gayly, extending a 
 pudgy hand. "It isn't necessary for the dear prince 
 to introduce you. He's told me all about you and 
 I know that we're going to be kindred souls. You 
 must vibrate on our plane, you know. I'm certain 
 you must because you are his friend and one's 
 friends always vibrate on one's plane. Don't they, 
 Raijy, dear?" 
 
 "Of course, my jasmine bud," replied the prince 
 from the sheltered embrace of a huge arm chair. 
 "Mr. Martin is of our inner circle. He shares the 
 secrets of our hearts, sweet lily. He is my coun- 
 cilor and chosen guide. Let us bid him sup coffee 
 with us which you will pour with your much-to-be 
 adored hands." 
 
 Jimmy cast a roving eye in the general direction 
 244
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 of his dark-skinned fellow conspirator and was 
 greeted by the latter with an expressive wink, 
 which was not visible to Miss Fannie, who was 
 bustling about a silver tray on which was a pot of 
 steaming coffee. She poured and served it with a 
 fluttering air of heavy coquetry which irritated the 
 press agent beyond measure and which made him 
 feel decidedly uncomfortable. She was such a sim- 
 ple, trusting, foolish soul that he didn't have the 
 heart to enlarge upon the merits of the bridegroom- 
 to-be in the expansive and flowery fashion he had 
 decided upon on the way from the hotel. He re- 
 mained strangely silent for a time listening to an 
 exchange of preposterous love words between this 
 oddly assorted and incongruous pair and wishing 
 himself a long distance away. 
 
 "And when shall we visit dear Hydrabad, Rajjy?" 
 Miss Easton was saying. "I can see myself under 
 a silken awning by the shores of the little lake you 
 spoke of the lake by your summer palace I mean, 
 and I can see you beside me and the native servants 
 are salaaming and serving us with a wonderful 
 feast. We must go there at once, Rajjy dear, at 
 once. My soul cries out for the sound of those 
 'tinkly temple bells' that Kipling wrote about. It 
 just cries out for them. 
 
 Prince Rajput Singh stirred uneasily in his 
 chair and leaned forward. 
 
 "In time, sweet nightingale," he said suavely. "I 
 must make a continuation of my lectures and then 
 I must visit your wonderful California. It will 
 
 245
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 please me to be your honored guest at your home 
 there. Then, when we have tired of the sunshine 
 and the flowers we shall make long journey to my 
 home-land. The spell of this new country is on me 
 and until it passes I must remain here. Besides, I 
 must await a salutation from my father. That 
 breach must be healed, fair bul-bul." 
 
 Miss Fannie sighed resignedly. 
 Whatever you say, Rajjy dear," she said. "You 
 shall stay in California as long as you wish and I'll 
 write to that father of yours if you don't hear from 
 him. I think it's terrible the way the Nazir is treat- 
 ing the prince, don't you, Mr. Martin?" 
 
 The bridegroom-to-be coughed nervously .and 
 rose quickly from his chair, breaking into the con- 
 versation before Jimmy could stammer a reply. 
 
 "Fair one," he said, gripping her by the arm, "my 
 friend tires of these much repeated references to 
 my own poor self. We have more important mat- 
 ters to discuss. Let us make busy with them." 
 
 Thus pressed, Jimmy enlarged upon the detailed 
 arrangements which he had completed for the ex- 
 citing events of the following day, arrangements 
 which included provisions for everything from the 
 marriage license to the formal and ceremonious 
 delivery to all the newspaper offices of elaborately 
 engraved announcement cards by the Hindu attend- 
 ants of Prince Rajput Singh. Miss Fannie gushed 
 her approval of the program and was positively 
 gurgling with delight as she escorted him to the 
 door. 
 
 246
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "The prince is so proud," she said, when she was 
 out of ear-shot of that dignitary, "that he can't 
 bear to have me say anything about the perfectly 
 outrageous way in which he has been treated by 
 his father. I think it's perfectly scandalous, don't 
 you?" 
 
 "I'm not very clear about it myself," returned the 
 press agent guardedly. "What'd the old gink I 
 mean the old man do?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, I thought you knew. Why, he cut off 
 his allowance for a perfectly trivial something or 
 other he's never told me exactly and here he was 
 on the verge of being unable to keep up appear- 
 ances and the dignity of his station. It must have 
 been most humiliating. Poor Rajjy cried when I 
 forced it out of him. He'd been so depressed that 
 I knew something must be the matter, and I just 
 made him tell me. I was so glad to help." 
 
 Jimmy cocked his head at the last sentence and 
 looked up at her quickly. 
 
 "So you helped him, eh?" he inquired. 
 
 "Just a little," she replied. "What are a few 
 thousand dollars if they will bring peace to a 
 troubled spirit? Pea.ce is everything, Mr. Martin, 
 quite everything worth while. And I'm going to 
 keep the poor, dear prince peaceful for ever and 
 always and aye. Good-bye, dear Mr. Martin. I'll 
 see you in the morning." 
 
 Jimmy went down the gravel path in a thought- 
 ful mood. Somehow he felt rather fed up with 
 Prince Rajput Singh. 
 
 247
 
 Chapter Twenty -Nine 
 
 Mr. J. Herbert Denby, between sips of his morn- 
 ing coffee next day in a secluded corner of the 
 breakfast room of his hotel, was reading for the 
 second time, with an inner glow of satisfaction, a 
 letter which he had just received. It was a brief 
 communication from Chester Bartlett compliment- 
 ing him upon his success as a lecturer and announc- 
 ing the manager's forthcoming arrival in Chicago 
 that very rrDorning. 
 
 "I can't resist the temptation," Bartlett wrote, 
 "to look in on one of your seances and catch His 
 Royal Highness and yourself in action. I must con- 
 gratulate you on the success which you have 
 achieved in putting this stunt over on the natives 
 and I have instructed the office to give you a 
 twenty-five per cent increase in salary." 
 
 Mr. Denby laid the letter down and decided that, 
 after all, theatrical managers had their proper place 
 in the scheme of existence. Up to that moment he 
 had always been inclined to consider them as use- 
 less encumberers of the earth. 
 
 He picked up the morning paper which lay at his 
 elbow, adjusted his glasses and turned to the front 
 page. He glanced cursorily at a story in the left- 
 hand column dealing with the newest series' of 
 what are technically known in newspaper circles as 
 "Red Raids ;" let his attention wander to an ac- 
 count of the launching of a new presidential boom 
 248
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 and then took a look at the right hand corner. What 
 he saw emblazoned there caused him to almost drop 
 the cup which he had just daintily raised to his lips 
 and provoked an audible spluttering that sent the 
 head-waiter hurrying in his direction from the other 
 side of the room. 
 
 "Anything wrong, sir?" deferentially, inquired 
 the chief servitor, noting with apprehension the 
 startled mien of the eminent lecturer. 
 
 Mr. Denby tried to compose himself. 
 
 "Nothing important," he managed to reply. "Just 
 some unwelcome tidings from home. I'll be all 
 right in a moment or two." 
 
 When the head-waiter had bowed himself away 
 Mr. Denby turned to a perusal of the paper. The 
 words which struck his eyes seemed to spell to him 
 the collapse of all things temporal. 
 
 PRINCE BAMBOOZLES 
 SOCIETY; RAJPUT SINGH 
 PROVED RAM IMPOSTER 
 
 Alleged S on of Nazir of H y drabad 
 and Glib Tongued Lecturer 
 Associate Revealed as Wily 
 Promoters of Publicity for 
 Theatrical Enterprise. 
 
 FAKIRS ALMOST GOT 
 
 AWAY WITH IT 
 
 249
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 The harrowing details which followed were 
 dressed up in such sarcastic verbiage that Mr. 
 Denby's soul went sick and his appetite for break- 
 fast vanished. He paid his check and sought the 
 seclusion of his room. He wished to hide his face 
 from the public gaze and apply poultices to his 
 wounded dignity. 
 
 Jimmy Martin, coming up unannounced, found 
 him a half hour later gazing pensively out of the 
 window a picture of incarnate misery. Jimmy 
 wasn't in a particularly jaunty mood himself, but 
 he assumed his best "cheery-oh" manner when he 
 caught a glimpse of his associate's face. 
 
 "What's the matter, little song-bird?" he inquired 
 breezily. "You look about as lonely as a bartender." 
 
 Mr. Denby turned a pair of ineffably sad eyes on 
 the press agent and sighed mournfully. 
 
 "I'm disgraced, Mr. Martin," he said feebly, "ir- 
 retrievably disgraced. I should never have gone 
 into this masquerade never. My saner judgment 
 should have prevailed. I shall never recover from 
 this. I'm the most miserable man in Chicago this 
 morning the most utterly miserable." 
 
 "You've got another think coming, old popsy- 
 wop," replied Jimmy. "I've just seen his royal 
 highness. You're a care-free babe in arms com- 
 pared to that bird. He's passin' on to New York 
 on the twelve forty." 
 
 "What I can't understand," said Mr. Denby, "is 
 how the story got out. Have you any idea?" 
 250
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 "Yes, I have," replied the press agent, slowly. 
 "As a matter of fact I gave it out myself." 
 
 "You gave it out yourself," stammered the be- 
 wildered Mr. Denby. "I I don't understand. Why 
 did you do such a thing as that?" 
 
 "Well, the low-down of it is that I had to. I was 
 out to that Easton dame's house yesterday after- 
 noon with his royal jiblets and when I saw the way 
 the poor nut was makin' a fool out of herself over 
 that little brown brother it just made me sick. He'd 
 been milkin' her for thousands and I could see he 
 was layin' lines to wish himself into an easy life at 
 her expense. She's a good-natured old gal, too, but 
 she'd fallen for him so hard that she'd have believed 
 him if he told her he was that Buddha party come 
 back to earth for a little holiday. 
 
 "She told me about some fairy tale or other he'd 
 pulled something about a row with (his father and 
 how his allowance had been stopped and so forth 
 and so on and when I took one last look at her at 
 the front door and thought of that baby lollin* 
 around on sofas and lettin* her wait on him and 
 callin' her a lot of flossy names so's to keep his 
 stock up I didn't have the heart to let her go 
 through with the marriage thing, story or no story. 
 Somethin* sort of caught hold of me and wouldn't 
 let me go on. I wonder what it was?" 
 
 "Some philosophers call it the categorical im- 
 perative," replied Mr. Denby, thoughtfully. 
 
 "They do, eh? Well, maybe that's a good name 
 for it, but I've got a kind of a hunch that it was
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 the little old Golden Rule that made me ashamed 
 of myself. I thought the best of cramp Rajjy's 
 style would be to get word to that brother of the 
 blushin' bride so I got in to see him last night and 
 coughed up everything. He's a fine fellow. They 
 don't grow 'em better. He was mighty grateful, 
 but he said it wouldn't do any good for him to 
 say anything to her. He figured that would make 
 it worse. He said she wouldn't believe him. The 
 only thing that'd get to her, he said, would be to 
 have some paper expose his royal job-lots and make 
 him ridiculous in the eyes of all her friends. 
 
 "So I came down town and slipped an ear-full to 
 Cunningham, a friend of mine on the Times, and 
 he did the rest. I'm sorry, old boy, but I just 
 couldn't help it. It'd a been one of the best stories 
 ever put over if we'd let it go through and it puts 
 the kibosh on the lecture tour, but there just 
 naturally wasn't anythin' else to do. Women and 
 children first, as they say when the ship hits an 
 iceberg. Am I right?" 
 
 Mr. Denby sprang up and grasped Jimmy by the 
 hand. 
 
 "You certainly are," he said enthusiastically. "I 
 feel better already. I'm sure Mr. Bartlett will 
 understand. Did you know he was coming to town 
 today?" 
 
 "I did not," returned Jimmy. "That's a good 
 exit cue, though. I haven't the nerve to face him 
 until this thing kind of blows over. I'll duck under 
 cover for twenty-four hours and let you break the
 
 'Fresh Every Hour 
 
 news to mother. Slip him the real inside stuff. 
 Maybe he'll fall for it." 
 
 Chester Bartlett was the maddest man in the 
 entire state of Illinois when he read the story of 
 the expose on the incoming train to Chicago that 
 morning and the quips which were hurled at him 
 by dozens of his friends in his club at luncheon gave 
 substance and solidity to his rage. His interview 
 with Mr. Denby was a stormy affair and his re- 
 action to what Jimmy termed the "real inside stuff" 
 was violent in the extreme. While still in the throes 
 of his anger he wrote a brief message to the press 
 agent which the erstwhile lecturer on far eastern 
 affairs was requested to deliver in person to his 
 friend. 
 
 Mr. Denby found Jimmy at his hotel immersed 
 in the preparation of advertising copy. He looked 
 up hopefully. Mr. Denby handed him the note in 
 silence and he tore it open with a foreboding of 
 disaster. 
 
 "No man can make me ridiculous and remain in 
 my employ," it ran. "You're through the moment 
 you receive this. You should never have encour- 
 aged such an affair as the romance Denby tells me 
 about. As a matter of fact it was a foolhardy 
 thing to try and palm that fellow off as a prince. 
 You might have known you'd come a cropper 
 sooner or later. You've got too many ideas for 
 your own good and I'll be satisfied to go along 
 hereafter with someone who's perhaps a little shy 
 
 253
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 on brilliancy, but who's long on balance." 
 
 "Can you beat 'em," inquired Jimmy, helplessly. 
 "They're all alike. No matter what you do you're 
 always in wrong." 
 
 The telephone bell rang just then and he barked a 
 rude "hello" into the transmitter. The voice at the 
 other end was hearty and good-natured. 
 
 "Is that Mr. Martin Mr. James T. Martin? 
 this is Easton talking Easton Junius P. Easton 
 thought I'd let you know that my sister is cured 
 can't begin to thank you for what you did tried 
 to reciprocate this morning told my brokers to 
 carry a thousand shares of Consolidated Gutta 
 Percha in your name closed out at a quarter to 
 three ten point rise you'll get the check in the 
 morning had a little inside information, you know 
 did pretty well myself, too say, you impress me 
 as being a pretty clever sort of a lad ever think 
 of going into business on your own? it's the only 
 game why work for anyone ? think it over." 
 
 Jimmy was still mumbling his thanks when the 
 other excused himself and hung up Mr. Denby, 
 who hadn't grasped the import of the telephonic 
 conversation, betrayed an intense interest in the 
 proceedings. 
 
 "What's up?" he questioned. 
 
 "Consolidated Gutta Percha," replied Jimmy. 
 "Want a job?" 
 
 "You know I do. Who with ?" 
 "Why with me, of course, you old highbrow. And 
 look here. Don't you go palmin* off any fake dukes 
 254
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 or rajahs or anythin' like that. If you do you'll 
 get the bum's rush and I won't take the trouble to 
 write you a letter about it, either." 
 
 Mr. Denby raised a deprecatory hand. 
 
 "I'll promise to be good," he said, "but may I be 
 permitted to ask another question?" 
 
 "Shoot while the shootin's good." 
 
 "Well, then, in the parlance of the theatrical pro- 
 fession with which, I take it, we are still to be 
 identified 'where do we go from here ?' " 
 
 Jimmy pulled a pink letter out of an inside 
 pocket and proffered it to his friend with a flourish. 
 
 "Cedar Rapids is our next stand, you old ad- 
 jective hound," he said heartily. "Take a look at 
 this little message." 
 
 It was, Mr. Denby found, a note from Lolita 
 Murphy and it contained a contrite plea for for- 
 giveness for her abrupt departure from Boston 
 many weeks before and a hope that the diplomatic 
 relations then severed might be renewed. 
 
 "Old Mr. Higgins," she wrote, "wants someone 
 to take the lease of the Opera House off his hands. 
 He's had a cataract on his left eye for two years, 
 and now he's got rheumatism in his right hip and 
 he wants to go out to California. He's been doing 
 great business this season and on the nights when 
 he hasn't had regular shows he's been putting on 
 big extra special feature films and packing people 
 in. I thought maybe you'd like to try your hand at 
 settling down and running a theatre. Of course, 
 Main Street isn't Broadway, but I like it lots bet- 
 255
 
 Fresh Every Hour 
 
 ter and maybe you could learn to, too. It means 
 home folks to me. Maybe it might come to mean 
 the same thing to you some time." 
 
 Mr. Denby gasped when he read this. When he 
 tried to talk the words did not come trippingly.. . 
 
 "You mean you're going to to run the opera 
 house in Cedar Rapids?" 
 
 Jimmy grabbed him by the shoulders and shook 
 him in an outburst of fierce joviality. 
 
 "I mean that we're going to run it," he said. "All 
 three of us. What do you think about smearing 
 a catch-line all over town 'A Homey Theatre for 
 Home Folks'? I've got an idea that'd make a hit 
 with a Certain Party." 
 
 THE END 
 
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