Part 12
The next Sunday Andrew did not change his best suit, as usual, after church, and his wife remarked the fact as she sat in a blanketed chair by the living room fire in the evening, with her "Christian Register" in her hand.
"Well, you know--I've ben thinkin'--Abby's settin' over there by herself, and it must be lonesome for the girl. And--if I'm--sort of--engaged to her--don't you see, Marthy? I don't want to leave you--but it's my duty to keep company with her. I want to carry out your wishes exact--every one. You can't ask a thing too hard for me to do."
"Yes, I know that, Andrew. If ever a man done his duty, it's you. And you've had little reward for it, too. I'm tryin' to git you a second wife that'll have her health and--and--yes, I presume to say that Abilonia'll ruther look for you to set a while, now that she is bespoke to you."
"Yes, that's what I guess I ought to do," and he rose briskly.
"Say, Andrew! Don't be in such a hurry. Come back a minute. You gear up ole Jule to the buggy and git down a comforter for me. I c'n walk some, to-day, and if you help me I c'n git into the buggy. I feel like the air would do me good.--Yes, I presume to say it'll be the death of me, but you never knew me to stop for that, did you? Git my circular cloak and the white cloud for my head. Yes, I'm goin', Andrew. When I git my mind made up, you know what it means."
There was a light in Abilonia's parlor when they drove up, and a man's figure showed through the glass panel of the door as he opened it.
"Willy Parks!" cried Mrs. Dobson in a queer voice.
"Yes, walk right in, Mr. Dobson. That isn't Mrs. Dobson with you--is it possible!--after so many years. Let me help you steady her. Well, this is a surprise! Just walk into the parlor and sit down. Abby's down cellar putting away the milk, but she'll be up in a minute."
"It's consid'able of a surprise to see you here, Willy; it's consid'able of a disapp'intment--to Mis' Dobson. She had set her mind on--on--" ventured Andrew mildly.
"Yes, so I heard--and I thought I'd come home. Abby tells me that she is engaged to you--that she has given her solemn promise."
"That's what she has," said Andrew firmly. "That's what she has, and Mis' Dobson has set her mind on it--and I never refuse her nothin'. I don't want nothin' to reproach myself for. You went off and left that girl--the finest girl in town--and near about broke her heart. You ought to be ashamed to show yourself now."
"I am, Mr. Dobson," said the young man gravely, "and I deserve to lose her. But when I heard that she was engaged to you--as it were--it brought me to my senses, and, since you are my rival, I am going to ask you to be magnanimous. She is so good and true that I believe she will forgive me and take me back if you will release her--you and Mrs. Dobson. You wouldn't hold her while Mrs. Dobson looks so smart as she does to-night--"
"No, Andrew, we won't hold her. It wouldn't be right. She's young--and--and real good lookin', and it would be a pity to spile a good match for her. We oughtn't to hold her--here she is. We will release you from your engagement to--to us, Abilonia--and may you be happy! I'm feelin' a sight better lately; that last bitters you got for me is a wonderful medicine, Andrew. I presume to say I'll be round on my feet yet, before long, and be able to take as good care of you as you have took of me all these years. It's a powerful medicine, that root bitters. We better be goin', Andrew. They've got things to talk about. Good night, Abilonia. Good night, Willy."
THE KAISER'S FAREWELL TO PRINCE HENRY
BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR
Auf wiedersehen, brother mine! Farewells will soon be kissed; And, ere you leave to breast the brine, Give me once more your fist;
That mailed fist, clenched high in air On many a foreign shore, Enforcing coaling stations where No stations were before;
That fist, which weaker nations view As if 'twere Michael's own. And which appals the heathen who Bow down to wood and stone.
But this trip no brass knuckles. Glove That heavy mailed hand; Your mission now is one of Love And Peace--you understand.
All that's American you'll praise; The Yank can do no wrong. To use his own expressive phrase, Just "jolly him along."
Express surprise to find, the more Of Roosevelt you see, How much I am like Theodore, And Theodore like me.
I am, in fact, (this might not be A bad thing to suggest,) The Theodore of the East, and he The William of the West.
And, should you get a chance, find out-- If anybody knows-- Exactly what it's all about, That Doctrine of Monroe's.
That's _entre nous_. My present plan You know as well as I; Be just as Yankee as you can; If needs be, eat some pie.
Cut out the kraut, cut out Rhine wine, Cut out the Schützenfest, The Sängerbund, the Turnverein, The Kommers, and the rest.
And if some fool society "Die Wacht am Rhein" should sing, You sing "My Country 'tis of Thee"-- The tune's "God Save the King."
To our own kindred in that land There's not much you need tell. Just tell them that you saw me, and That I was looking well.
JOHNNY'S LESSONS[9]
BY CARROLL WATSON RANKIN
'Tis very, very late; poor mamma and Cousin Kate, Papa and Aunty Jane, all know it to their sorrow. Struggling with the mystery of Latin, Greek, and history, They're learning Johnny's lessons for the morrow.
His relatives are bright; still, it takes them half the night With only four of them--ofttimes a friend they borrow-- To grapple with hard sums, and to fill young John with crumbs Of wisdom 'gainst the coming of the morrow.
They bitterly complain; still, with only _one_ small brain, The boy needs all his kin can give him, for oh! These lessons, if they slight 'em, how _can_ poor John recite 'em To a dozen wiser teachers on the morrow.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Lippincott's Magazine.
GRANDFATHER SQUEERS
BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
"My grandfather Squeers," said the Raggedy Man, As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--
"The most indestructible man, for his years, And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!
"He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten, 'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'
"He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he Could tell by them just what the weather would be;
"And would laugh and declare, 'while _the Almanac_ would Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'
"Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers That, though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,
"He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week, While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:
"Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack Of sitting around on the small of his back,
"With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.
"He was fond of tobacco in _manifold_ ways, And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,
"And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War."
And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl Of his _own_ pipe and leisurely picking a coal
From the stove with his finger and thumb, "You can see What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!
"And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight In pruning his corns every Saturday night
"With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;
"And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,
"'Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade As 'A Seth Thomas razor--the best ever made!'
"No Old Settlers' Meeting, or Pioneers' Fair, Was complete without grandfather Squeers in the chair,
"To lead off the programme by telling folks how 'He used to shoot deer where the Court-House stands now'--
"How 'he felt, of a truth, to live over the past, When the country was wild and unbroken and vast,
"'That the little log cabin was just plenty fine For himself, his companion, and fambly of nine!--
"'When they didn't have even a pump, or a tin, But drunk surface-water, year out and year in,
"'From the old-fashioned gourd that was sweeter, by odds, Than the goblets of gold at the lips of the gods!'"
Then The Raggedy Man paused to plaintively say It was clockin' along to'rds the close of the day--
And he'd _ought_ to get back to his work on the lawn,-- Then dreamily blubbered his pipe and went on:
"His teeth were imperfect--my grandfather owned That he couldn't eat oysters unless they were 'boned';
"And his eyes were so weak, and so feeble of sight, He couldn't sleep with them unless, every night,
"He put on his spectacles--all he possessed,-- Three pairs--with his goggles on top of the rest.
"And my grandfather always, retiring at night, Blew down the lamp-chimney to put out the light;
"Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed, And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said:
"And would snore oftentimes, as the legends relate, Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state,--
"Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and there In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew air.
"And so glaringly bald was the top of his head That many's the time he has musingly said,
"As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the glass,-- 'I must set out a few signs of _Keep Off the Grass!_'
"So remarkably deaf was my grandfather Squeers That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears
"To even hear thunder--and oftentimes then He was forced to request it to thunder again."
THE GENTLE ART OF BOOSTING
BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
The Idiot was very late at breakfast, so extremely late in fact that some apprehension was expressed by his fellow boarders as to the state of his health.
"I hope he isn't ill," said Mr. Whitechoker. "He is usually so prompt at his meals that I fear something is the matter with him."
"He's all right," said the Doctor, whose room adjoins that of the Idiot in Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog's Select Home for Gentlemen. "He'll be down in a minute. He's suffering from an overdose of vacation--rested too hard."
Just then the subject of the conversation appeared in the doorway, pale and haggard, but with an eye that boded ill for the larder.
"Quick!" he cried, as he entered. "Lead me to a square meal. Mary, please give me four bowls of mush, ten medium soft-boiled eggs, a barrel of sautée potatoes and eighteen dollars' worth of corned beef hash. I'll have two pots of coffee, Mrs. Pedagog, please, four pounds of sugar and a can of condensed milk. If there is any extra charge you may put it on the bill, and some day when Hot Air Common goes up thirty or forty points I'll pay."
"What's the matter with you, Mr. Idiot?" asked Mr. Brief. "Been fasting for a week?"
"No," replied the Idiot. "I've just taken my first week's vacation, and between you and me I've come back to business so as to get rested up for the second."
"Doesn't look as though vacation agreed with you," said the Bibliomaniac.
"It doesn't," said the Idiot. "Hereafter I am an advocate of the Russell Sage system. Never take a day off if you can help it. There's nothing so restful as paying attention to business, and no greater promoter of weariness of spirit and vexation of your digestion than the modern style of vacating. No more for mine, if you please."
"Humph!" sneered the Bibliomaniac. "I suppose you went to Coney Island to get rested up Bumping the Bump and Looping the Loop and doing a lot of other crazy things."
"Not I," quoth the Idiot. "I didn't have sense enough to go to some quiet place like Coney Island, where you can get seven square meals a day, and then climb into a Ferris Wheel and be twirled around in the air until they have been properly shaken down. I took one of the 400 Vacations. Know what that is?"
"No," said Mr. Brief. "I didn't know there were 400 Vacations with only 365 days in the year. What do you mean?"
"I mean the kind of Vacation the people in the 400 take," explained the Idiot. "I've been to a house-party up in Newport with some friends of mine who're in the swim, and I tell you it's hard swimming. You'll never hear me talking about a leisure class in this country again. Those people don't know what leisure is. I don't wonder they're always such a tired-looking lot."
"I was not aware that you were in with the smart set," said the Bibliomaniac.
"Oh yes," said the Idiot. "I'm in with several of 'em--way in. So far in that I'm sometimes afraid I'll never get out. We're carrying a whole lot of wild-cats on margin for Billie Van Gelder, the cotillion leader; Tommy de Cahoots, the famous yachtsman, owes us about $8,000 more than he can spare from his living expenses on one of his plunges into Copper, and altogether we are pretty long on swells in our office."
"And do you mean to say those people invite you out?" asked the Bibliomaniac.
"All the time," said the Idiot. "Just as soon as one of our swell customers finds he can't pay his margins he comes down to the office and gets very chummy with all of us. The deeper he is in it the more affable he becomes. The result is there are house-parties and yacht cruises and all that sort of thing galore on tap for us every summer."
"And you accept them, eh?" said the Bibliomaniac scornfully.
"As a matter of business, of course," replied the Idiot. "We've got to get something out of it. If one of our customers can't pay cash, why we get what we can. In this particular case Mr. Reginald Squandercash had me down at Newport for five full days, and I know now why he can't pay up his little shortage of $800. He's got the money, but he needs it for other things, and now that I know it I shall recommend the firm to give him an extension of thirty days. By that time he will have collected from the De Boodles, whom he is launching in society--C. O. D.--and will be able to square matters with us."
"Your conversation is Greek to me," said the Bibliomaniac. "Who are the De Boodles, and for what do they owe your friend Reginald Squandercash money?"
"The De Boodles," explained the Idiot, "are what is known as Climbers, and Reginald Squandercash is a Booster."
"A what?" cried the Bibliomaniac.
"A Booster," said the Idiot. "There are several Boosters in the 400. For a consideration they will boost wealthy Climbers into Society. The Climbers are people like the De Boodles, who have suddenly come into great wealth, and who wish to be in it with others of great wealth who are also of high social position. They don't know how to do the trick, so they seek out some Booster like Reggie, strike a bargain with him, and he steers 'em up against the 'Among Those Present' Game until finally you find the De Boodles have a social cinch."
"Do you mean to say that Society tolerates such a business as that?" demanded the Bibliomaniac.
"Tolerates?" laughed the Idiot. "What a word to use! Tolerates? Why, Society encourages, because Society shares the benefits. Take this especial vacation of mine. Society had two five-o'clock teas, four of the swellest dinners you ever sat down to, a cotillion where the favors were of solid silver and real ostrich feathers, a whole day's clam-bake on Reggie's steam yacht, with automobile runs and coaching trips galore. Nobody ever declines one of Reggie's invitations, because what he has from a Society point of view is the best the market affords. Why, the floral decorations alone at the _Fête Champêtre_ he gave in honor of the De Boodles at his villa last Thursday night must have cost $5,000, and everything was on the same scale. I don't believe a cent less than $7,500 was burned up in the fire-works, and every lady present received a souvenir of the occasion that cost at least $100."
"Your story doesn't quite hold together," said Mr. Brief. "If your friend Reggie has a villa and a steam yacht, and automobiles and coaches, and gives _fêtes champêtres_ that cost fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, I don't see why he has to make himself a Booster of inferior people who want to get into Society. What does he gain by it? It surely isn't sport to do a thing like that, and I should think he'd find it a dreadful bore."
"The man must live," said the Idiot. "He boosts for a living."
"When he has the wealth of Monte Cristo at his command?" demanded Mr. Brief.
"Reggie hasn't a cent to his name," said the Idiot. "I've already told you he owes us $800 he can't pay."
"Then who in thunder pays for the villa and the lot and all those hundred-dollar souvenirs?" asked the Doctor.
"Why--this year, the De Boodles," said the Idiot. "Last year it was Colonel and Mrs. Moneybags, whose daughter, Miss Fayette Moneybags, is now clinching the position Reggie sold her at Newport over in London, whither Reggie has consigned her to his sister, an impecunious American Duchess--the Duchess of Nocash--who is also in the boosting business. The chances are Miss Moneybags will land one of England's most deeply indebted peers, and if she does, Reggie will receive a handsome cheque for steering the family up against so attractive a proposition."
"And you mean to tell us that a plain man like old John De Boodle, of Nevada, is putting out his hard-earned wealth in that way?" demanded Mr. Brief.
"I didn't mean to mention any names," said the Idiot. "But you've spotted the victim. Old John De Boodle, who made his $60,000,000 in six months after having kept a saloon on the frontier for forty years, is the man. His family wants to get in the swim, and Reggie is turning the trick for them--and after all, what better way is there for De Boodle to get in? He might take sixty villas at Newport and not get a peep at the Divorce Colony there, much less a glimpse of the monogamous set acting independently. Not a monkey in the Zoo would dine with the De Boodles, and in his most eccentric moment I doubt if Tommy Dare would take them up unless there was somebody to stand sponsor for them. A cool million might easily be expended without results, by the De Boodles themselves, but hand that money over to Reggie Squandercash, whose blood is as blue as his creditors sometimes get, and you can look for results. What the Frohmans are to the stage, Reggie Squandercash is to Society. He's right in it; popular as all spenders are; lavish as all people spending other people's money are apt to be. Old De Boodle, egged on by Mrs. De Boodle and Miss Mary Ann De Boodle, now known as Miss Marianne De Boodle, goes to Reggie and says, 'The old lady and my girl are nutty on Society. Can you land 'em?' 'Certainly,' says Reggie, 'if your pocket is long enough.' 'How long is that?' asks De Boodle, wincing a bit. 'A hundred thousand a month, and no extras, until you're in,' says Reggie. 'No reduction for families?' asks De Boodle, anxiously. 'No,' says Reggie. 'Harder job.' 'All right,' says De Boodle, 'here's my cheque for the first month.' That's how Reggie gets his Newport villa, his servants, his horses, yacht, automobiles and coaches. Then he invites the De Boodles up to visit him. They accept, and the fun begins. First it's a little dinner to meet my friends Mr. and Mrs. De Boodle, of Nevada. Everybody there, hungry, dinner from Sherrys, best wines in the market. De Boodles covered with diamonds, a great success, especially old John De Boodle, who tells racy stories over the _demi-tasse_ when the ladies have gone into the drawing-room. De Boodle voted a character. Next thing, Bridge Whist party. Everybody there. Society a good winner. The De Boodles magnificent losers. Popularity cinched. Next, yachting party. Everybody on board. De Boodle on deck in fine shape. Champagne flows like Niagara. Poker game in main cabin. Food everywhere. De Boodles much easier. Stiffness wearing off, and so on and so on until finally Miss De Boodle's portrait is printed in nineteen Sunday newspapers all over the country. They're launched, and Reggie comes into his own with a profit for the season in a cash balance of $50,000. He's had a bully time all summer, entertained like a Prince, and comes to the rainy season with a tidy little umbrella to keep him out of the wet."
"And can he count on that as a permanent business?" asked Mr. Whitechoker.
"My dear sir, the Rock of Gibraltar is no solider and no more permanent," said the Idiot. "For as long as there is a 400 in existence human nature is such that there will also be a million who will want to get into it."
"At such a cost?" demanded the Bibliomaniac.
"At any cost," replied the Idiot. "Even people who know they can not swim want to get in it."
COLUMBIA AND THE COWBOY
BY ALICE MACGOWAN
"When the circus come to town, Mighty me! Mighty me! Jest one wink from that ol' clown, When he's struttin' up an' down To the music Bim--bam--bee! Oh, sich sights, sich sights to see, When the circus come to town!"
Blowout was on a boom.
The railroad from above was coming through, and Blowout was to be a city with that mysterious and rather disconcerting abruptness with which tiny Western villages do become cities in these circumstances.
It had been hoped that the railroad would be through by the Fourth of July, when the less important celebration of the nation's birthday might be combined with the proper marking of that event. But though tales came down to Blowout of how the contractors were working night and day shifts, and shipping men from the East in order to have the road through in time, though the Wagon-Tire House had entertained many squads of engineers and even occasional parties of the contractors' men, the railroad was not through on the Fourth.
Something much more important was arranged by Providence, however--at least, more important in the eyes of the children of the Wagon-Tire House. Frosty La Rue's grand aggregation of talent was to be in Blowout for a week, and the human performers were stopping at Huldah Sarvice's hotel.