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Title: Fables in Slang
Author: Ade, George, 1866-1944
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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Fables _in_ Slang



Fables _in_ Slang



FABLES

IN

SLANG

by GEORGE ADE



ILLUSTRATED by CLYDE J.

NEWMAN

PUBLISHED BY

HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY CHICAGO & NEW YORK

MDCCCCI


COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
HERBERT S. STONE & CO.

_The Author and the Publishers wish to acknowledge the courtesy of_
VICTOR F. LAWSON, ESQ., _in permitting the reissue of these Fables in
book form, after their appearance in the columns of_ THE CHICAGO RECORD.


SIXTY-EIGHTH THOUSAND



Table _of_ Contents

                                                                       PAGE

_The_ Fable _of the_ Visitor _Who_ Got _a_ Lot _for_ Three
Dollars                                                                   1

_The_ Fable _of the_ Slim Girl _Who_ Tried to Keep a Date
that was Never Made                                                       9

_The_ Fable _of the_ New York Person _Who_ Gave _the_ Stage
Fright _to_ Fostoria, Ohio                                               15

_The_ Fable _of the_ Kid _Who_ Shifted _His_ Ideal                       23

_The_ Fable _of the_ Base Ball Fan _Who_ Took _the_ Only Known Cure      27

_The_ Fable _of the_ Good Fairy _with the_ Lorgnette, _and
why_ She Got _It_ Good                                                   33

_The_ Fable _of the_ Unintentional Heroes _of_ Centreville               47

_The_ Fable _of the_ Parents _Who_ Tinkered _with the_ Offspring         53

_The_ Fable _of_ How _He_ Never Touched George                           59

_The_ Fable _of the_ Preacher _Who_ Flew _His_ Kite, _but_ not
Because _He_ Wished _to_ Do _So_                                         63

_The_ Fable _of_ Handsome Jethro, _Who was_ Simply Cut
Out _to_ be _a_ Merchant                                                 75

_The_ Fable _of_ Paducah's Favorite Comedians _and the_
Mildewed Stunt                                                           83

_The_ Fable _of_ Flora _and_ Adolph _and a_ Home Gone Wrong              93

_The_ Fable _of the_ Copper _and the_ Jovial Undergrads                 105

_The_ Fable _of the_ Professor _Who_ Wanted _to be_ Alone               111

_The_ Fable _of a_ Statesman _Who_ Couldn't Make Good                   115

_The_ Fable _of the_ Brash Drummer _and the_ Peach _Who_
Learned _that_ There Were Others                                        123

_The_ Fable _of_ Sister Mae, _Who_ Did _as_ Well _as_ Could
Be Expected                                                             135

_The_ Fable _of_ How _the_ Fool-Killer Backed Out _of a_ Contract       143

_The_ Fable _of the_ Caddy _Who_ Hurt His Head while Thinking           147

_The_ Fable _of the_ Martyr _Who_ Liked _the_ Job                       151

_The_ Fable _of the_ Bohemian _Who_ had Hard Luck                       157

_The_ Fable _of the_ Coming Champion _Who was_ Delayed                  163

_The_ Fable _of the_ Lawyer _Who_ Brought in _a_ Minority Report        177

_The_ Fable _of the Two_ Mandolin Players _and the_ Willing Performer   181

_The_ Fable _of the_ Man _Who_ Didn't Care _for_ Story-Books            195



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ VISITOR _WHO_ GOT _A_ LOT _FOR_ THREE DOLLARS.


The Learned Phrenologist sat in his Office surrounded by his Whiskers.

Now and then he put a Forefinger to his Brow and glanced at the Mirror
to make sure that he still resembled William Cullen Bryant.

Near him, on a Table, was a Pallid Head made of Plaster-of-Paris and
stickily ornamented with small Labels. On the wall was a Chart showing
that the Orangoutang does not have Daniel Webster's facial angle.

"Is the Graft played out?" asked the Learned Phrenologist, as he waited.
"Is Science up against it or What?"

Then he heard the fall of Heavy Feet and resumed his Imitation. The Door
opened and there came into the Room a tall, rangy Person with a Head in
the shape of a Rocky Ford Cantaloupe.

Aroused from his Meditation, the Learned Phrenologist looked up at the
Stranger as through a Glass, darkly, and pointed to a Red Plush Chair.

The Easy Mark collapsed into the Boarding-House Chair and the Man with
more Whiskers than Darwin ever saw stood behind Him and ran his Fingers
over his Head, Tarantula-Wise.

[Illustration: THE LEARNED PHRENOLOGIST]

"Well, well!" said the Learned Phrenologist "Enough Benevolence here
to do a family of Eight. Courage? I guess yes! Dewey's got the same kind
of a Lump right over the Left Ear. Love of Home and Friends--like the
ridge behind a Bunker! Firmness--out of sight! Reverence--well, when it
comes to Reverence, you're certainly There with the Goods!
Conscientiousness, Hope, and Ideality--the Limit! And as for
Metaphysical Penetration--oh, Say, the Metaphysical Penetration, right
where you part the Hair--oh, Laura! Say, you've got Charles Eliot Norton
whipped to a Custard. I've got my Hand on it now. You can feel it
yourself, can't you?"

"I can feel Something," replied the Human Being, with a rapt Smile.

[Illustration: HUMAN BEING]

"Wit, Compassion and Poetic Talent--right here where I've got my
Thumb--a Cinch! I think you'll run as high as 98 per cent on all the
Intellectual Faculties. In your Case we have a Rare Combination of
Executive Ability, or the Power to Command, and those Qualities of
Benevolence and Ideality which contribute to the fostering of Permanent
Religious Sentiment. I don't know what your present Occupation is, but
you ought to be President of a Theological Seminary. Kindly slip me
Three Dollars before you Pass Out."

The Tall Man separated himself from Two Days' Pay and then went out on
the Street and pushed People off the Sidewalk, He thought so well of
Himself.

Thereafter, as before, he drove a Truck, but he was always glad to know
that he could have been President of a Theological Seminary.

Moral: _A good Jolly is worth Whatever you Pay for it._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ SLIM GIRL _WHO_ TRIED _TO_ KEEP _A_ DATE _THAT WAS_
NEVER MADE


Once upon a Time there was a slim Girl with a Forehead which was Shiny
and Protuberant, like a Bartlett Pear. When asked to put Something in an
Autograph Album she invariably wrote the Following, in a tall,
dislocated Back-Hand:

   "Life is Real; life is Earnest,
   And the Grave is not its Goal."

That's the kind of a Girl she was.

In her own Town she had the Name of being a Cold Proposition, but that
was because the Primitive Yokels of a One-Night Stand could not Attune
Themselves to the Views of one who was troubled with Ideals. Her Soul
Panted for the Higher Life.

Alas, the Rube Town in which she Hung Forth was given over to Croquet,
Mush and Milk Sociables, a lodge of Elks and two married Preachers who
doctored for the Tonsilitis. So what could the Poor Girl do?

In all the Country around there was not a Man who came up to her Plans
and Specifications for a Husband. Neither was there any Man who had any
time for Her. So she led a lonely Life, dreaming of the One--the Ideal.
He was a big and pensive Literary Man, wearing a Prince Albert coat, a
neat Derby Hat and godlike Whiskers. When He came he would enfold Her
in his Arms and whisper Emerson's Essays to her.

[Illustration: COLD PROPOSITION]

But the Party failed to show up.

Often enough she put on her Chip Hat and her Black Lisle Gloves and
Sauntered down to look at the Gang sitting in front of the Occidental
Hotel, hoping that the Real Thing would be there. But she always saw the
same old line of Four-Flush Drummers from Chicago and St. Louis, smoking
Horrid Cigars and talking about the Percentages of the League Teams.

She knew that these Gross Creatures were not prone to chase mere
Intellectual Splendor, so she made no effort to Flag them.

[Illustration: FOUR-FLUSH DRUMMER]

When she was Thirty-Four years of age and was able to recite "Lucile"
without looking at the Book she was Married to a Janitor of the name
of Ernest. He had been kicked in the Head by a Mule when young and
believed everything he read in the Sunday Papers. His pay was
Twenty-Three a month, which was high, if you knew Ernest.

His Wife wore a red Mother Hubbard all during the Remainder of her Life.

This is invariably a Sign of Blasted Hopes.

MORAL: _Never Live in a Jay Town_.



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ NEW YORK PERSON _WHO_ GAVE _THE_ STAGE FRIGHT _TO_
FOSTORIA, OHIO


A New York man went to visit a Cousin in the Far West.

The name of the Town was Fostoria, Ohio.

When he came into Town he had his Watch-Chain on the outside of his
Coat, and his Pink Spats were the first ever seen in Fostoria.

"Have you a Manicure Parlor in this Beastly Hole?" asked the New York
Man, as they walked up from the Train.

"What's that?" asked the Cousin, stepping on his own Feet.

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed the New York Man, and was silent for several
Moments.

At Dinner he called for Artichokes, and when told that there were none,
he said, "Oh, very well," in a Tone of Chastened Resignation.

After Dinner he took the Family into the Parlor, and told the Members
how much they would Enjoy going to Weber and Fields'. Seeing a Book on
the Table, he sauntered up to It and said, "Ah, one of Dick Davis'
Things." Later in the Evening he visited the only Club House in Town.
The Local Editor of the Evening Paper was playing Pin-Pool with the
Superintendent of the Trolley Line. When the New York Man came into the
Room, they began to Tremble and fell down on their Shots.

[Illustration: NEW YORK MAN]

The Manager of the Hub and Spoke Factory then asked the New York Man to
have a Drink. The New York Man wondered if a Small Bottle was already
cold. They said Yes, but it was a Lie. The Boy had to go out for it.

He found One that had been in the Window of the Turf Exchange since the
Grand Opening, the Year after Natural Gas was discovered. The New York
Man drank it, remarking that it was hardly as Dry as he usually got it
at Martin's.

The Club Members looked at Him and said Nothing. They thought he meant
Bradley-Martin's.

Next Day the New York Man was Interviewed by the Local Editor. He said
the West had a Great Future. In the Evening he attended the Annual
Dinner of the Bicycle Club, and went Home early because the Man sitting
next to him put Ice in his Claret.

[Illustration: SNAKE CHARMER]

In due time he returned to New York, and Fostoria took off its White
Shirt.

Some Weeks after that, the Cousin of the New York Man had an Opportunity
to visit the Metropolis. He rode on an Extra Ticket with a Stockman who
was shipping three Car-Load of Horses, and got a Free Ticket for every
Car-Load.

When the Cousin arrived at New York he went to the address, and found
the New York Man at Dinner.

There was a Sheaf of Celery on the Table.

Opposite the New York Man sat a Chiropodist who drank.

At his right was a Large Woman in a Flowered Wrapper--she had been
Weeping.

At his left was a Snake-Charmer from Huber's Museum.

The New York Man asked the Cousin to wait Outside, and then explained
that he was stopping there Temporarily. That Evening they went to
Proctor's, and stood during the Performance.

MORAL: _A New York Man never begins to Cut Ice until he is west of
Rahway_.



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ KID _WHO_ SHIFTED _HIS_ IDEAL


An A.D.T. Kid carrying a Death Message marked "Rush" stopped in front of
a Show Window containing a Picture of James J. Jeffries and began to
weep bitterly.

A kind-hearted Suburbanite happened to be passing along on his Way to
the 5:42 Train. He was carrying a Dog Collar, a Sickle, a Basket of Egg
Plums and a Bicycle Tire.

The Suburbanite saw the A.D.T. Kid in Tears and it struck him that here
was a Bully Chance to act out the Kind-Hearted Pedestrian who is always
played up strong in the Sunday School Stories about Ralph and Edgar.

"Why do you weep?" he asked, peering at the Boy through his
concavo-convex Nose Glasses.

"Oh, gee! I was just Thinking," replied the Urchin, brokenly. "I was
just Thinking what chance have I got to grow up and be the Main Stem,
like Mr. Jeffries."

[Illustration: THE KID]

"What a perverted Ambition!" exclaimed the Suburbanite. "Why do you set
up Mr. Jeffries as an Ideal? Why do you not strive to be like Me? Is it
not worth a Life of Endeavor to command the Love and Respect of a Moral
Settlement on the Outskirts? All the Conductors on our Division speak
pleasantly to Me, and the Gateman has come to know my Name. Last year
I had my Half-Tone in the Village Weekly for the mere Cost of the
Engraving. When we opened Locust avenue from the Cemetery west to
Alexander's Dairy, was I not a Member of the Committee appointed to
present the Petition to the Councilmen? That's what I was! For Six Years
I have been a Member of the League of American Wheelmen and now I am a
Candidate for Director of our new four-hole Golf Club. Also I play Whist
on the Train with a Man who once lived in the same House with T. DeWitt
Talmage."

Hearing these words the A.D.T. Kid ceased weeping and cheerfully
proceeded up an Alley, where he played "Wood Tag."

MORAL: _As the Twig is Bent the Tree is Inclined._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ BASE BALL FAN _WHO_ TOOK _THE_ ONLY KNOWN CURE


Once upon a Time a Base Ball Fan lay on his Death-Bed.

He had been a Rooter from the days of Underhand Pitching.

It was simply Pie for him to tell in what year Anse began to play with
the Rockfords and what Kelly's Batting Average was the Year he sold for
Ten Thousand.

If you asked him who played Center for Boston in 1886 he could tell you
quick--right off the Reel. And he was a walking Directory of all the
Glass Arms in the Universe.

More than once he had let drive with a Pop Bottle at the Umpire and then
yelled "Robber" until his Pipes gave out. For many Summers he would come
Home, one Evening after Another, with his Collar melted, and tell his
Wife that the Giants made the Colts look like a lot of Colonial Dames
playing Bean Bag in a Weedy Lot back of an Orphan Asylum, and they ought
to put a Trained Nurse on Third, and the Dummy at Right needed an
Automobile, and the New Man couldn't jump out of a Boat and hit the
Water, and the Short-Stop wouldn't be able to pick up a Ball if it was
handed to him on a Platter with Water Cress around it, and the Easy One
to Third that ought to have been Sponge Cake was fielded like a
One-Legged Man with St. Vitus dance trying to do the Nashville Salute.

[Illustration: THE FAN]

Of course she never knew what he was Talking about, but she put up with
it, Year after Year, mixing Throat Gargle for him and reading the Games
to him when he was having his Eyes tested and had to wear a Green Shade.

At last he came to his Ninth Inning and there were Two Strikes called
and no Balls, and his Friends knew it was All Day with him. They stood
around and tried to forget that he was a Fan. His Wife wept softly and
consoled herself with the Thought that possibly he would have amounted
to Something if there had been no National Game. She forgave Everything
and pleaded for one Final Message. His Lips moved. She leaned over and
Listened. He wanted to know if there was Anything in the Morning Papers
about the Condition of Bill Lange's Knee.

MORAL: _There is a Specific Bacillus for every Classified Disease._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ GOOD FAIRY _WITH THE_ LORGNETTE, _AND WHY_ SHE GOT
_IT_ GOOD


Once Upon a Time there was a Broad Girl who had nothing else to do and
no Children to look after, so she thought she would be Benevolent.

She had scared all the Red Corpuscles out of the 2 by 4 Midget who
rotated about her in a Limited Orbit and was known by Courtesy as her
Husband. He was Soft for her, and so she got it Mapped out with Herself
that she was a Superior Woman.

She knew that when she switched the Current on to herself she Used up
about 6,000 Ohms an hour, and the whole Neighborhood had to put on
Blinders.

She had read about nine Subscription Books with Cupid and Dove
Tail-Pieces and she believed that she could get away with any Topic that
was batted up to her and then slam it over to Second in time to head off
the Runner.

Her clothes were full of Pin-Holes where she had been hanging Medals on
Herself, and she used to go in a Hand-Ball Court every Day and throw up
Bouquets, letting them bounce back and hit Her.

[Illustration: THE MIDGET]

Also, She would square off in front of a Camera every Two Weeks, and the
Man was Next, for he always removed the Mole when he was touching up
the Negative. In the Photograph the Broad Girl resembled Pauline Hall,
but outside of the Photograph, and take it in the Morning when she
showed up on the Level, she looked like a Street just before they put on
the Asphalt.

But never you Fear, She thought She had Julia Arthur and Mary Mannering
Seventeen up and One to play, so far as Good Looks were concerned; and
when it came to the Gray Matter--the Cerebrum, the Cerebellum, and the
Medulla Oblongata--May Wright Sewall was back of the Flag and Pulled up
Lame.

The Down-Trodden Man, whom she had dragged to the Altar, sized Her all
right, but he was afraid of his Life. He wasn't Strong enough to push
Her in front of a Cable Car, and he didn't have the Nerve to get a
Divorce. So he stood for Everything; but in the Summer, when She skated
off into the Woods to hear a man with a Black Alpaca Coat lecture to the
High Foreheads about the Subverted Ego, he used to go out with a few
Friends and tell them his Troubles and weep into his Beer. They would
slap him on the Back and tell him she was a Nice Woman; but he knew
better.

Annyhow, as Bobby Gaylor used to say, she became restless around the
House, with nothing to do except her Husband, so she made up her mind to
be Benevolent to beat the Band. She decided that she would allow the
Glory of her Presence to burst upon the Poor and the Uncultured. It
would be a Big Help to the Poor and Uncultured to see what a Real
Razmataz Lady was like.

She didn't Propose to put on Old Clothes, and go and live with Poor
People, and be One of Them, and nurse their Sick, as they do in
Settlements. Not on Your Previous Existence! She was going to be
Benevolent, and be Dead Swell at the Same Time.

Accordingly, she would Lace Herself until she was the shape of a Bass
Viol, and put on her Tailor-Made, and the Hat that made her Face seem
longer, and then she would Gallop forth to do Things to the Poor. She
always carried a 99-cent Lorgnette in one Hand and a Smelling-Bottle in
the Other.

"Now," she would say, feeling Behind to make sure that she was all
strung up, "Now, to carry Sunshine into the Lowly Places."

[Illustration: THE BROAD GIRL]

As soon as she struck the Plank Walks, and began stalking her prey, the
small Children would crawl under the Beds, while Mother would dry her
Arms on the Apron, and murmur, "Glory be!" They knew how to stand off
the Rent-Man and the Dog-Catcher; but when 235 pounds of Sunshine came
wafting up the Street, they felt that they were up against a New Game.

The Benevolent Lady would go into a House numbered 1135A with a Marking
Brush, and after she had sized up the front room through the Lorgnette,
she would say: "My Good Woman, does your Husband drink?"

"Oh, yes, sir," the grateful Woman would reply. "That is, when he's
working. He gets a Dollar Ten."

"And what does he do with all his Money?" the Benevolent Lady would
ask.

"I think he plays the Stock Market," would be the Reply.

Then the Benevolent Lady would say: "When the Unfortunate Man comes Home
this Evening you tell him that a Kind and Beautiful Lady called and
asked him please to stop Drinking, except a Glass of Claret at Dinner,
and to be sure and read Eight or Ten Pages from the _Encyclopædia
Britannica_ each Night before retiring; also tell him to be sure and
save his Money. Is that your Child under the Bed?"

"That's little William J."

"How Many have you?"

"Eight or Nine--I forget Which."

"Be sure and dress them in Sanitary Underwear; you can get it for Four
Dollars a Suit. Will you be good enough to have the Little Boy come from
under the Bed, and spell 'Ibex' for the Sweet Lady?"

"He's afraid of you."

"Kindly explain to him that I take an Interest in him, even though he is
the Offspring of an Obscure and Ignorant Workingman, while I am probably
the Grandest Thing that ever Swept up the Boulevard. I must go now, but
I will Return. Next time I come I hope to hear that your Husband has
stopped Drinking and is very Happy. Tell the Small Person under the Bed
that if he learns to spell 'Ibex' by the time I call again I will let
him look at my Rings. As for you, bear in mind that it is no Disgrace to
be Poor; it is simply Inconvenient; that's all."

Having delivered herself of these Helpful Remarks she would Duck, and
the Uplifted Mother would put a Nickel in the Can and send Lizzie over
to the Dutchman's.

In this manner the Benevolent Lady carried forward the Good Work, and
Dazzled the whole Region between O'Hara's Box Factory and the City Dump.
It didn't Cost anything, and she derived much Joy from the Knowledge
that Hundreds of People were Rubbering at her, and remarking in Choked
Whispers: "Say, ain't she the Smooth Article?"

But one day a Scrappy Kid, whose Mother didn't have any Lorgnette or
Diamond Ear-Bobs, spotted the Benevolent Lady. The Benevolent Lady had
been in the House telling his Mother that it was a Glorious Privilege to
wash for a Living.

After the Benevolent Lady went away the Kid's Mother sat down and had a
Good Cry, and the Scrappy Kid thought it was up to him. He went out to
the Alley and found a Tomato Can that was not working, and he waited.

In a little while the Benevolent Lady came out of a Basement, in which
she had been telling a Polish Family to look at her and be Happy. The
Scrappy Kid let drive, and the Tomato Can struck the Benevolent Lady
between the Shoulder Blades. She squawked and started to run, fell over
a Garbage Box, and had to be picked up by a Policeman.

She went Home in a Cab, and told her Husband that the Liquor League had
tried to Assassinate her, because she was Reforming so many Drunkards.
That settled it with her--she said she wouldn't try to be Benevolent
any more--so she joined an Ibsen Club.

The Scrappy Kid grew up to be a Corrupt Alderman, and gave his Mother
plenty of Good Clothes, which she was always afraid to wear.

MORAL: _In uplifting, get underneath._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ UNINTENTIONAL HEROES _OF_ CENTREVILLE


In Centreville there lived two husky Young Fellows named Bill and
Schuyler--commonly abbreviated to Schuy. They did not find any
nourishing Excitement in a Grain Elevator, so they Enlisted to Free
Cuba.

The Government gave each of them a Slouch Hat and a prehistoric Firearm.
They tied Red Handkerchiefs around their Necks and started for the
Front, each with his Head out of the Car Window. They gave the Sioux
Yell to everybody along the Track between Centreville and Tampa.

While in Camp they played Double Pedie, smoked Corn-Cob Pipes, and
cussed the Rations. They referred to the President of these United
States as "Mac," and spoke of the beloved Secretary of War as "Old
Alger."

After more or less Delay they went aboard a Boat, and were landed in
Cuba, where they began to Shoot at everything that looked Foreign. The
hot Rain drenched them, and the tropical Sun steamed them; they had Mud
on their clothes, and had to sleep out. When they were unusually Tired
and Hungry, they would sing Coon Songs and Roast the War Department.

At last they were ordered Home. On the way back they didn't think of
Anything except their two Lady Friends, who worked in the Centreville
Steam Laundry.

[Illustration: SCHUY]

They rode into Town with a Machete under each Arm, and their Pockets
full of Mauser Cartridges.

The first Thing they saw when they alighted from the Train was a Brass
Band. It began to play, "See the Conquering Hero Comes."

Then eight Little Girls in White began to strew Flowers in their
Pathway.

The Artillery company ripped out a Salute.

Cap Gibbs, who won his Title by owning the first Steam Thrashing Machine
ever seen in the County, confronted them with a Red, White, and Blue
Sash around him. He Barked in a loud Voice--it was something about Old
Glory.

Afterward the Daughters of the Revolution took them in Tow, and escorted
them to Pythian Hall, where they were given Fried Chicken, Veal Loaf,
Deviled Eggs, Crullers, Preserved Watermelon, Cottage Cheese, Sweet
Pickles, Grape Jelly, Soda Biscuit, Stuffed Mangoes, Lemonade,
Hickory-Nut Cake, Cookies, Cinnamon Roll, Lemon Pie, Ham, Macaroons, New
York Ice Cream, Apple Butter, Charlotte Russe, Peppermint Wafers, and
Coffee.

While they were Feeding, the Sons of Veterans Quartet stood on the
Rostrum with their Heads together, and sang:

   "Ten-ting to-night! Ten-ting to-night,
   Ten-ting on the old-ah Camp-ground!"

At the first opportunity Bill motioned to Schuyler, and led him into the
Anteroom, where they kept the Regalia, the Kindling Wood, and the Mop.

"Say, Schuy, what the Sam Hill does this mean?" he asked; "are we
Heroes?"

"That's what Everybody says."

"Do you Believe it?"

"No matter what I Believe; I'm goin' to let 'em have their own Way. I
may want to Run for Supervisor some Day."

MORAL: _If it is your Play to be a Hero, don't Renig._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ PARENTS _WHO_ TINKERED _WITH THE_ OFFSPRING


A married Couple possessed two Boys named Joseph and Clarence. Joseph
was much the older. His Parents brought him up on a Plan of their Own.
They would not permit him to play with other Boys for fear that he would
soil himself; and learn to be Rude and Boisterous.

So they kept Him in the House, and: his Mother read to him about Little
Rollo, who never lied or cheated, and who grew up to be a Bank
President, She seemed to think that a Bank President was above
Reproach.

Little Joseph was kept away from the Public Schools, and had to Play
Games in the Garret with two Spindly Little Girls. He learned Tatting
and the Herring-Bone Stitch. When he was Ten Years of age he could play
Chop-Sticks on the Piano; his Ears were Translucent, and his Front Teeth
showed like those of a Gray Squirrel.

The other Boys used to make Faces at him over the Back Fence and call
him "Sis."

In Due Time he went to College, where he proved to be a Lobster. The
Boys held him under the Pump the first Night. When he walked across the
Campus, they would whistle, "I don't Want to Play in Your Yard." He
began to drink Manhattan Cocktails, and he smoked Hemp Cigarettes until
he was Dotty. One Day he ran away with a Girl who waited on the Table
at his Boarding House, and his Parents Cast him Off. At Present he has
charge of the Cloak Room at a Dairy Lunch.

[Illustration: JOSEPH]

Seeing that the Home Training Experiment had been a Failure in the case
of Joseph, the Parents decided to give Clarence a large Measure of
Liberty, that he might become Acquainted with the Snares and Temptations
of the World while he was Young, and thus be Prepared to side-step the
Pitfalls when he was Older. They sent him to the Public Schools; they
allowed him to roam at large with other Kids, and stay out at Nights;
they kept Liquor on the Sideboard.

[Illustration: CLARENCE]

Clarence stood in with the Toughest Push in Town, and thus became
acquainted with the Snares and Temptations of the World. He learned to
Chew Tobacco and Spit through his Teeth, shoot Craps and Rush the Can.

When his Father suggested that he enter some Business House, and become
a Credit to the Family, he growled like a Boston Terrier, and told his
Father to go Chase Himself.

At present, he is working the Shells with a Circus.

MORAL: _It all depends._



_THE_ FABLE _OF_ HOW _HE_ NEVER TOUCHED GEORGE


A comic Lover named George was sitting on the Front Porch with a good
Side Hold on your old friend Mabel. They were looking into each other's
Eyes at Close Range and using a rancid Line of Nursery Talk.

It was the kind of Conversation calculated to Jar a Person.

George murmured that Mabel was George's own Baby-Daby and she Allowed
that he was a Tooney-Wooney little Bad Boy to hold his Itsy-Bitsy Bun of
a Mabel so tight she could hardly breave. It was a sort of Dialogue
that Susan B. Anthony would love to sit up Nights to Read.

While they were Clinched, Mabel's Father, a large, Self-Made Man, came
down the Stairway and out to the Veranda.

This is where the Fable begins to Differentiate.

Although the Girl's name was Mabel and the Young Man's name was George,
and the Father was a Self-Made Man, the Father did _not_ Kick the Young
Man.

He asked him if he had Anything to Smoke.

George gave him an Imported Panetella and said He didn't believe it was
going to Rain. Mabel's Father said it looked Black in the West, but he
Reckoned it might blow around, like as not. Mabel said she wouldn't be
a bit Surprised if it did blow around.

[Illustration: MABEL'S FATHER]

Mabel's Father told Mabel she could show George where the Ice-Box wuz in
case he Expressed a Hankerin', and then he went down street to examine
some Fishing Tackle just purchased by a Friend of his in the Hay and
Feed Business. Just as Father struck the Cement Walk George changed to
the Strangle Hold.

MORAL: _The Exception proves the Rule._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ PREACHER _WHO_ FLEW _HIS_ KITE, _BUT_ NOT BECAUSE
_HE_ WISHED _TO_ DO _SO_


A certain Preacher became wise to the Fact that he was not making a Hit
with his Congregation. The Parishioners did not seem inclined to seek
him out after services and tell him he was a Pansy. He suspected that
they were Rapping him on the Quiet.

The Preacher knew there must be Something wrong with his Talk. He had
been trying to Expound in a clear and straightforward Manner, omitting
Foreign Quotations, setting up for illustration of his Points such
Historical Characters as were familiar to his Hearers, putting the
stubby Old English words ahead of the Latin, and rather flying low along
the Intellectual Plane of the Aggregation that chipped in to pay his
Salary.

But the Pew-Holders were not tickled. They could Understand everything
he said, and they began to think he was Common.

So he studied the Situation and decided that if he wanted to Win them
and make everybody believe he was a Nobby and Boss Minister he would
have to hand out a little Guff. He fixed it up Good and Plenty.

[Illustration: GUFF]

On the following Sunday Morning he got up in the Lookout and read a Text
that didn't mean anything, read from either Direction, and then he
sized up his Flock with a Dreamy Eye and said: "We cannot more
adequately voice the Poetry and Mysticism of our Text than in those
familiar Lines of the great Icelandic Poet, Ikon Navrojk:

   "To hold is not to have--
   Under the seared Firmament,
   Where Chaos sweeps, and Vast Futurity
   Sneers at these puny Aspirations--
   There is the full Reprisal."

When the Preacher concluded this Extract from the Well-Known Icelandic
Poet he paused and looked downward, breathing heavily through his Nose,
like Camille in the Third Act.

A Stout Woman in the Front Row put on her Eye-Glasses and leaned forward
so as not to miss Anything. A Venerable Harness Dealer over at the
Right nodded his Head solemnly. He seemed to recognize the Quotation.
Members of the Congregation glanced at one another as if to say: "This
is certainly Hot Stuff!"

[Illustration: GOOD AND PLENTY]

The Preacher wiped his Brow and said he had no Doubt that every one
within the Sound of his Voice remembered what Quarolius had said,
following the same Line of Thought. It was Quarolius who disputed the
Contention of the great Persian Theologian Ramtazuk, that the Soul in
its reaching out after the Unknowable was guided by the Spiritual
Genesis of Motive rather than by mere Impulse of Mentality. The Preacher
didn't know what all This meant, and he didn't care, but you can rest
easy that the Pew-Holders were On in a minute. He talked it off in
just the Way that Cyrano talks when he gets Roxane so Dizzy that she
nearly falls off the Piazza.

[Illustration: VENERABLE HARNESS DEALER]

The Parishioners bit their Lower Lips and hungered for more First-Class
Language. They had paid their Money for Tall Talk and were prepared to
solve any and all Styles of Delivery. They held on to the Cushions and
seemed to be having a Nice Time.

The Preacher quoted copiously from the Great Poet Amebius. He recited 18
lines of Greek and then said: "How true this is!" And not a Parishioner
batted an Eye.

It was Amebius whose Immortal Lines he recited in order to prove the
Extreme Error of the Position assumed in the Controversy by the Famous
Italian, Polenta.

He had them Going, and there wasn't a Thing to it. When he would get
tired of faking Philosophy he would quote from a Celebrated Poet of
Ecuador or Tasmania or some other Seaport Town. Compared with this
Verse, all of which was of the same School as the Icelandic Masterpiece,
the most obscure and clouded Passage in Robert Browning was like a
Plate-Glass Front in a State Street Candy Store just after the Colored
Boy gets through using the Chamois.

After that he became Eloquent, and began to get rid of long Boston Words
that hadn't been used before that Season. He grabbed a rhetorical Roman
Candle in each Hand and you couldn't see him for the Sparks.

After which he sunk his Voice to a Whisper and talked about the Birds
and the Flowers. Then, although there was no Cue for him to Weep, he
shed a few real Tears. And there wasn't a dry Glove in the Church.

After he sat down he could tell by the Scared Look of the People in
Front that he had made a Ten-Strike.

Did they give him the Joyous Palm that Day? Sure!

The Stout Lady could not control her Feelings when she told how much the
Sermon had helped her. The venerable Harness Dealer said he wished to
indorse the Able and Scholarly Criticism of Polenta.

In fact, every one said the Sermon was Superfine and Dandy. The only
thing that worried the Congregation was the Fear that if it wished to
retain such a Whale it might have to Boost his Salary.

[Illustration: THE JOYOUS PALM]

In the Meantime the Preacher waited for some one to come and ask about
Polenta, Amebius, Ramtazuk, Quarolius and the great Icelandic Poet,
Navrojk. But no one had the Face to step up and confess his Ignorance of
these Celebrities. The Pew-Holders didn't even admit among themselves
that the Preacher had rung in some New Ones. They stood Pat, and merely
said it was an Elegant Sermon.

Perceiving that they would stand for Anything, the Preacher knew what to
do after that.

MORAL: _Give the People what they Think they want._



_THE_ FABLE _OF_ HANDSOME JETHRO, _WHO WAS_ SIMPLY CUT OUT _TO_ BE _A_
MERCHANT


An Illinois Squab came home from Business College with a Zebra Collar
and a pair of Tan Shoes big enough for a Coal Miner. When he alighted
from the depot one of Ezry Folloson's Dray Horses fell over, stricken
with the Cramp Colic. The usual Drove of Prominent Citizens who had come
down to see that the Train got in and out all right backed away from the
Educated Youth and Chewed their Tobacco in Shame and Abashment. They
knew that they did not belong on the same Platform with One who had
been up yender in Chicago for goin' on Twelve weeks finding out how to
be a Business Man. By Heck!

An elderly Man approached the Youth who had lately got next to the Rules
of Commerce. The elderly Man was a Yap. He wore a Hickory Shirt, a
discouraged Straw Hat, a pair of Barn-Door Pants clinging to one lonely
Gallus and woolen Socks that had settled down over his Plow Shoes. He
was shy several Teeth and on his Chin was a Tassel shaped like a
Whisk-Broom. If you had thrown a Pebble into this Clump of Whiskers
probably you would have scared up a Field Mouse and a couple of Meadow
Larks.

"Home agin, Jethro, be ye?" asked the Parent.

[Illustration: JETHRO]

"Yeh," replied the Educated Youth. With that he pulled the Corner of a
Sassy Silk Handkerchief out of his upper Coat Pocket and ignited a
Cigarette that smelt like Burning Leaves in the Fall.

The Business Man went Home, and the Parent followed at a Respectful
Distance, now and then remarking to Himself: "Well, I'll jest swan to
Guinney!"

Brother Lyford came in from the East Eighty to get his Dinner, and there
was Jethro in the Hammock reading a Great Work by Archibald Clavering
Gunter.

"Git into some Overhauls an' come an' he'p Me this Afternoon," said
Lyford.

"Oh, rats! Not on your Tintype! I'm too strong to work," replied
Jethro, who had learned Oodles of slang up in Chicago, don't you forget
it.

[Illustration: PAW]

So he wouldn't Stand for the Harvest Field that afternoon. In the
Evening when Paw ast him to Milk he let out an Awful Beller. Next
Morning he made a Horrible Beef because he couldn't get Loaf Sugar for
his Coffee.

Shortly after Breakfast his Paw lured him into the Barn and Lit on him.
He got a good Holt on the Adam's Apple and choked the Offspring until
his Tongue stuck out like a Pistil.

"You dosh-burned little Pin-Head o' Misery, you!" exclaimed the Old Man.
"Goll bing me if I think you're wuth the Powder to blow you up. You peel
them Duds an' git to Work or else mosey right off o' this Farm."

The Son's Feelings were so outraged by this Brutal Treatment that he
left the Farm that Day and accepted a position in a Five and Ten-Cent
Store, selling Kitchen Utensils that were made of Tin-Foil and Wooden
Ware that had been painted in Water Colors. He felt that he was
particularly adapted for a Business Career, and, anyway, he didn't
propose to go out on No Man's Farm and sweat down his Collar.

After Ten Years of Unremitting Application and Studious Frugality the
Business Man had acquired in Real Estate, Personal Property, Stocks,
Bonds, Negotiable Paper, and other Collateral, the sum of Nineteen
Dollars, but he owed a good deal more than that. Brother Lyford had
continued to be a rude and unlettered Country Jake. He had 240 acres of
crackin' Corn Land (all tiled), a big red Barn, four Span of good
Horses, sixteen Head of Cattle, a likely bunch of Shoats and a Covered
Buggy.

MORAL: _Drink Deep, or Cut Out the Pierian Spring Altogether._



_THE_ FABLE _OF_ PADUCAH'S FAVORITE COMEDIANS _AND THE_ MILDEWED STUNT


Once Upon a Time there was a Specialty Team doing Seventeen Minutes. The
Props used in the Act included a Hatchet, a Brick, a Seltzer Bottle, two
inflated Bladders and a Slap-Stick. The Name of the Team was Zoroaster
and Zendavesta.

These two Troupers began their Professional Career with a Road Circus,
working on Canvas in the Morning, and then doing a Refined Knockabout in
the Grand Concert or Afterpiece taking place in the Main Arena
immediately after the big Show is over.

When each of them could Kick Himself in the Eye and Slattery had pickled
his Face so that Stebbins could walk on it, they decided that they were
too good to show under a Round Top, so they became Artists. They wanted
a Swell Name for the Team, so the Side-Show Announcer, who was something
of a Kidder and had attended a Unitarian College, gave them Zoroaster
and Zendavesta. They were Stuck on it, and had a Job Printer do some
Cards for them.

By utilizing two of Pat Rooney's Songs and stealing a few Gags, they put
together Seventeen Minutes and began to play Dates and Combinations.

Zoroaster bought a Cane with a Silver Dog's Head on it, and Zendavesta
had a Watch Charm that pulled the Buttonholes out of his Vest.

[Illustration: ZOROASTER]

After every Show, as soon as they Washed Up, they went and stood in
front of the Theater, so as to give the Hired Girls a Treat, or else
they stood around in the Sawdust and told their Fellow-Workers in the
Realm of Dramatic Art how they killed 'em in Decatur and had 'em
hollerin' in Lowell, Mass., and got every Hand in the House at St. Paul.
Occasionally they would put a Card in the Clipper, saying that they were
the Best in the Business, Bar None, and Good Dressers on and off the
Stage. Regards to Leonzo Brothers. Charley Diamond please write.

They didn't have to study no New Gags or work up no more Business,
becuz they had the Best Act on Earth to begin with. Lillian Russell was
jealous of them and they used to know Francis Wilson when he done a Song
and Dance.

They had a Scrap Book with a Clipping from a Paducah Paper, which said
that they were better than Nat Goodwin. When some Critic who had been
bought up by Rival Artists wrote that Zoroaster and Zendavesta ought to
be on an Ice Wagon instead of on the Stage, they would get out the Scrap
Book and read that Paducah Notice and be thankful that all Critics
wasn't Cheap Knockers and that there was one Paper Guy in the United
States that reckanized a Neat Turn when he seen it.

But Zoroaster and Zendavesta didn't know that the Dramatic Editor of
the Paducah Paper went to a Burgoo Picnic the Day the Actors came to
Town, and didn't get back until Midnight, so he wrote his Notice of the
Night Owls' performance from a Programme brought to him by the Head
Usher at the Opera House, who was also Galley Boy at the Office.

Zoroaster and Zendavesta played the same Sketch for Seventeen Years and
made only two important Changes in all that Time. During the Seventh
Season Zoroaster changed his Whiskers from Green to Blue. At the
beginning of the Fourteenth Year of the Act they bought a new Slap-Stick
and put a Card in the Clipper warning the Public to beware of Imitators.

[Illustration: ZENDAVESTA]

All during the Seventeen Years Zoroaster and Zendavesta continued to
walk Chesty and tell People how Good they were. They never could
Understand why the Public stood for Mansfield when it could get
Zoroaster and Zendavesta. The Property Man gave it as his Opinion that
Mansfield conned the Critics. Zendavesta said there was only one Critic
on the Square, and he was at Paducah.

When the Vodeville Craze came along Zoroaster and Zendavesta took their
Paducah Scrap Book over to a Manager, and he Booked them. Zoroaster
assured the Manager that Him and his Partner done a Refined Act,
suitable for Women and Children, with a strong Finish, which had been
the Talk of all Galveston. The Manager put them in between the Trained
Ponies and a Legit with a Bad Cold. When a Legit loses his Voice he
goes into Vodeville.

Zoroaster and Zendavesta came on very Cocky, and for the 7,800th Time
Zoroaster asked Zendavesta:

"Who wuz it I seen you comin' up the Street with?"

Then, for the 7,800th Time, by way of Mirth-Provoking Rejoinder,
Zendavesta kicked Zoroaster in the Stomach, after which the Slap-Stick
was introduced as a Sub-Motive.

The Manager gave a Sign and the Stage Hands Closed in on the Best Team
in the Business, Bar None.

Of course Zoroaster and Zendavesta were very sore at having their Act
killed. They said it was no way to treat Artists. The Manager told them
they were too Tart for words to tell it and to consider Themselves set
back into the Supper Show. Then They saw through the whole Conspiracy.
The Manager was Mansfield's Friend and Mansfield was out with his
Hammer.

At Present they are doing Two Supper Turns to the Piano Player and a Day
Watchman. They are still the Best in the Business, but are being used
Dead Wrong. However, they derive some Comfort from reading the Paducah
Notice.

MORAL: _A Dramatic Editor should never go to a Burgoo Picnic--especially
in Kentucky._



_THE_ FABLE _OF_ FLORA _AND_ ADOLPH _AND A_ HOME GONE WRONG


One morning a Modern Solomon, who had been chosen to preside as Judge in
a Divorce Mill, climbed to his Perch and unbuttoned his Vest for the
Wearisome Grind. He noticed that the first Case looming up on the Docket
was that of Flora Botts vs. Adolph Botts.

The Applicant, Mrs. Botts, and Adolph, the Other Half of the Domestic
Sketch, were already inside the Railing, each attempting to look the
other out of Countenance.

"Break!" ordered the Judge. "Don't act as if you were at Home. Now, what
has Adolph been doing?"

It seemed that she alleged Cruelty, Neglect, Inhuman Treatment, Violent
Temper, Threats, etc., etc.

"We have no Chills-and-Fever Music to lend Effect to the Sad Narrative
you are about to Spring," said the Judge, looking down at the Plaintiff,
who belonged to the Peroxide Tribe. "Furthermore, we will take it for
granted that when you first met Defendant your Innocence and Youth made
it a Walkaway for his Soft Approaches, and that you had every Reason to
believe that he was a Perfect Gentleman. Having disposed of these
Preliminaries, let us have the Plot of the Piece."

So she told her Story in a Tremulous, Viola Allen kind of Voice, while
her Lawyer wept.

[Illustration: MODERN SOLOMON]

He was ready to Weep for anyone who would hand him $8.
Afterthought--make it $7.50.

It was a Dark Tale of how Botts, the Viperish Defendant, had Sneered at
her, called her Oh-Such-Names, humiliated her in the presence of
Callers, and nagged her with Sarcastic Comments until her Tender
Sensibilities had been worn to a Frazzle.

Then the Defendant went on the Stand and entered a General Denial. He
had been all that a Rattling Good Husband could be, but she had been a
regular Rudyard Kipling Vampire. She had continued to make his Life one
lingering Day-After of Regret. His Record for Patience and
Long-Suffering had made Job's Performance look like an Amateur's
Half-Try.

[Illustration: THE VIPER]

"There is more in this Case than appears on the Surface," said the
Modern Solomon. "In order to fix the Blame we shall have to dig up the
First Cause. I will ask Chemical Flora to tell us the Story of her Past
Life."

"My Parents were Poor, but Refined," said Mrs. Botts. "They gave me
Every Advantage. After I finished the High School I attended a
Conservatory, and every one said I had Talent. I should have been an
Elocutionist. Once I went to Rockford and recited "The Tramp's Story" at
a Club Social, and I got a Lovely Notice. I am especially good at
Dialect Recitations."

"Humorous?" asked the Court.

"Yes, sir; but I can turn right around and be Pathetic all of a
sudden, if I want to be."

[Illustration: CHEMICAL FLORA]

"I suppose that Botts, after he had lived with you for awhile, didn't
have any Hankering Desire to hear you Recite," suggested the Modern
Solomon.

"That's just it. When I'd offer to get up in Company and speak Something
he'd ask me please not to Recite, and if I had to make a Show of myself,
for God's Sake not to tackle anything Humorous, with a Conservatory
Dialect to it."

"But you wouldn't let him Stop you?"

"Not on your Life."

"I'd believe you, even if you wasn't under Oath. Now, will Mr. Botts
answer me one Question? Has he any Ambition on the Side?"

"Although I am a Bookkeeper for a Gravel-Roofing Concern, I have always
believed I could Write," replied Adolph Botts. "About four years ago I
began to prepare the Book for a Comic Opera. A Friend of mine who works
in a Hat Store was to Compose the Music. I think he has more Ability
than Victor Herbert."

"Did this Friend think Well of your Libretto?" asked the Wise Judge.

"Yes, sir; he said it was the Best Thing that had been done since
'Erminie.' In fact, everybody liked my Book."

"Except your Wife," suggested the Court.

"That's it, exactly. I wanted Sympathy and Encouragement and she gave me
the Metallic Laugh. There is one Patter Song in my Opera that Every One
who comes to my House has been Crazy to hear. Whenever I started to Sing
it she would talk in a loud Voice. She never seemed to Appreciate my
Stuff. I think the Bleach affected her Head."

"Has the Opera been produced?" asked the Court, with Humane Hesitancy.

"No, the Eastern Managers were all tied up with Harry B. Smith," replied
Mr. Botts. "Then there's a Prejudice against Western Talent."

"Well, Mr. Botts, in View of all the Evidence, I have decided to give
you a Decree of Divorce from Flo of the Wheaten Tresses," said the
Modern Solomon.

"But look here!" exclaimed the Defendant, "I haven't applied for any
Divorce."

"You don't have to. I give it to you anyway. As for you, Mrs. Botts, I
will give you a Decree also. The Alimony will be $25 per."

"Thanks."

"I don't think you grasp the Decision. When I say that the Alimony is
$25 per, I mean that Mrs. Botts will be required to pay that Amount to
Adolph every week."

"Shameful!"

"Don't be too hasty. I further Decree that Mr. Botts must pay the same
Amount to Flora every Week."

"That simply makes it a Stand-Off," remarked Mr. Botts, who was puzzled.

"My idea of the Case, neatly expressed," said the Modern Solomon. "Each
of you is Divorced from the Other, and if Either of you ever Marries
again, He or She will be jerked before this Tribunal and sentenced to
Ten Years of Hard Labor in some Penal Institution."

Whereupon the Court took a Noon Recess of 3-1/2 hours.

Moral: _Genius must ever walk Alone._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ COPPER _AND THE_ JOVIAL UNDERGRADS


One Night three Well-Bred Young Men, who were entertained at the Best
Houses wherever they went, started out to Wreck a College town.

They licked two Hackmen, set fire to an Awning, pulled down many Signs,
and sent a Brick through the Front Window of a Tailor Shop. All the
Residents of the Town went into their Houses and locked the Doors;
Terror brooded over the Community.

A Copper heard the Racket, and saw Women and Children fleeing to Places
of Safety, so he gripped his Club and ran Ponderously, overtaking the
three Well-Bred Young Men in a dark part of the Street, where they were
Engaged in tearing down a Fence.

He could not see them Distinctly, and he made the Mistake of assuming
that they were Drunken Ruffians from the Iron Foundry. So he spoke
harshly, and told them to Leave Off breaking the Man's Fence. His Tone
and Manner irritated the University Men, who were not accustomed to
Rudeness from Menials.

One Student, who wore a Sweater, and whose people butt into the Society
Column with Sickening Regularity, started to Tackle Low; he had Bushy
Hair and a Thick Neck, and his strong Specialty was to swing on
Policemen and Cabbies.

[Illustration: STUDENT]

At this, his Companion, whose Great Grandmother had been one of the
eight thousand Close Relatives of John Randolph, asked him not to Kill
the Policeman. He said the Fellow had made a Mistake, that was all; they
were not Muckers; they were Nice Boys, intent on preserving the
Traditions of dear old _Alma Mater_.

The Copper could hardly Believe it until they led him to a Street Lamp,
and showed him their Engraved Cards and Junior Society Badges; then he
Realized that they were All Right. The third Well-Bred Young Man, whose
Male Parent got his Coin by wrecking a Building Association in Chicago,
then announced that they were Gentlemen, and could Pay for everything
they broke. Thus it will be seen that they were Rollicking College Boys
and not Common Rowdies.

The Copper, perceiving that he had come very near getting Gay with our
First Families, Apologized for Cutting In. The Well-Bred Young Men
forgave him, and then took his Club away from him, just to Demonstrate
that there were no Hard Feelings. On the way back to the Seat of
Learning they captured a Night Watchman, and put him down a Man-Hole.

MORAL: _Always select the Right Sort of Parents before you start in to
be Rough._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ PROFESSOR _WHO_ WANTED _TO BE_ ALONE


Now it happens that in America a man who goes up hanging to a Balloon is
a Professor.

One day a Professor, preparing to make a Grand Ascension, was sorely
pestered by Spectators of the Yellow-Hammer Variety, who fell over the
Stay-Ropes or crowded up close to the Balloon to ask Fool Questions.
They wanted to know how fur up he Calkilated to go and was he Afeerd and
how often had he did it. The Professor answered them in the Surly Manner
peculiar to Showmen accustomed to meet a WebFoot Population. On the
Q.T. the Prof. had Troubles of his own. He was expected to drop in at a
Bank on the following Day and take up a Note for 100 Plunks. The
Ascension meant 50 to him, but how to Corral the other 50? That was the
Hard One.

This question was in his Mind as he took hold of the Trapeze Bar and
signaled the Farm Hands to let go. As he trailed Skyward beneath the
buoyant silken Bag he hung by his Knees and waved a glad Adieu to the
Mob of Inquisitive Yeomen. A Sense of Relief came to him as he saw the
Crowd sink away in the Distance.

Hanging by one Toe, and with his right Palm pressed to his Eyes, he
said: "Now that I am Alone, let me Think, let me Think."

[Illustration: THE PROFESSOR]

There in the Vast Silence He Thought.

Presently he gave a sigh of Relief.

"I will go to my Wife's Brother and make a Quick Touch," he said. "If he
refuses to Unbelt I will threaten to tell his Wife of the bracelet he
bought in Louisville."

Having reached this Happy Conclusion, he loosened the Parachute and
quickly descended to the Earth.

MORAL: _Avoid Crowds._



_THE_ FABLE _OF A_ STATESMAN _WHO_ COULDN'T MAKE GOOD


Once there was a Bluff whose Long Suit was Glittering Generalities.

He hated to Work and it hurt his Eyes to read Law, but on a Clear Day he
could be heard a Mile, so he became a Statesman.

Whenever the Foresters had a Picnic they invited him to make the
Principal Address, because he was the only Orator who could beat out the
Merry-Go-Round.

The Habit of Dignity enveloped him.

Upon his Brow Deliberation sat. He wore a Fireman's moustache and a
White Lawn Tie, and he loved to Talk about the Flag.

At a Clam-Bake in 1884 he hurled Defiance at all the Princes and
Potentates of Europe, and the Sovereign Voters, caught up by his
Matchless Eloquence and Unswerving Courage, elected him to the
Legislature.

While he was in the Legislature he discovered that these United States
were an Asylum for the Down-Trodden and oppressed of the Whole World,
and frequently called Attention to the Fact. When some one asked him if
he was cutting up any Easy Money or would it be safe for a Man with a
Watch to go to Sleep in the same Room with him, he would take a Drink of
Water and begin to plead for Cuba.

[Illustration: STATESMAN]

Once an Investigating Committee got after him and he was about to be
Shown Up for Dallying with Corporations, but he put on a fresh White Tie
and made a Speech about our Heroic Dead on a Hundred Battle-Fields, and
Most People said it was simply Impossible for such a Thunderous Patriot
to be a Crook. So he played the Glittering Generality stronger than
ever.

In Due Time he Married a Widow of the Bantam Division. The Reason she
married him was that he looked to her to be a Coming Congressman and she
wanted to get a Whack at Washington Society. Besides, she lived in a
Flat and the Janitor would not permit her to keep a Dog.

About Ten Days after they were Married he came Home at 4 A.M. in a
Sea-Going Hack and he was Saturated. Next Morning she had him up on the
Carpet and wanted to know How About It.

[Illustration: THE BANTAM]

He arose and put his Right Hand inside of his Prince Albert Coat and
began.

"Madam," he said, "During a Long, and, I trust, a not altogether
fruitless Career as a Servant of the Peepul, I have always stood in the
Fierce Light of Publicity, and my Record is an Open Book which he who
runs may----"

"Nix! Nix!" she said, rapping for order with a Tea-Cup. "Let go of the
Flying Rings. Get back to the Green Earth!"

He dilated his Nostrils and said: "From the Rock-Bound Hills of Maine in
the North to the Everglades of Florida----"

"Forget the Everglades," she said, rapping again. "That Superheated
Atmosphere may have a certain Tonic Effect on the Hydrocephalous Voter,
but if you want to adjust yourself with Wifey, you come down to Cases."

So he went out after Breakfast and bought a $22 Hat in order to Square
himself.

MORAL: _Some Women should be given the Right to Vote._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ BRASH DRUMMER _AND THE_ PEACH _WHO_ LEARNED _THAT_
THERE WERE OTHERS


A well-fixed Mortgage Shark, residing at a Way Station, had a Daughter
whose Experience was not as large as her prospective Bank Roll. She had
all the component Parts of a Peach, but she didn't know how to make a
Showing, and there was nobody in Town qualified to give her a quiet
Hunch.

She got her Fashion Hints from a Trade Catalogue, and took her Tips on
Etiquette and Behavior from the Questions and Answers Department of an
Agricultural Monthly.

The Girl and her Father lived in a big White House, with Evergreen Trees
and whitewashed Dornicks in front of it, and a Wind-Pump at the rear.
Father was a good deal the same kind of a Man as David Harum, except
that he didn't let go of any Christmas Presents, or work the Soft Pedal
when he had a chance to apply a Crimp to some Widow who had seen Better
Days. In fact, Daughter was the only one on Earth who could induce him
to Loosen Up.

Now, it happened that there came to this Town every Thirty Days a brash
Drummer, who represented a Tobacco House. He was a Gabby Young Man, and
he could Articulate at all Times, whether he had anything to Say or
not.

[Illustration: DAUGHTER]

One night, at a Lawn Fête given by the Ladies of the Methodist
Congregation, he met Daughter. She noticed that his Trousers did not bag
at the Knees; also that he wore a superb Ring. They strolled under the
Maples, and he talked what is technically known as Hot Air. He made an
Impression considerably deeper than himself. She promised to Correspond.

On the occasion of his next Visit to the Way Station, he let her wear
his Ring, and made a Wish, while she took him riding in the Phaeton. He
began to carry her Photograph in his Watch, and show it to the Boys
employed at the House. Sometimes he would fold over one of her Letters
so they could see how it started out. He said the Old Man had Nothing
But, and he proposed to make it a case of Marry. Truly, it seemed that
he was the principal Cake in the Pantry, and little did he suspect that
he could be Frosted.

[Illustration: IN THE EAST]

But Daughter, after much Pleading, induced Father to send her to a
Finishing School in the East. (A Finishing School is a Place at which
Young Ladies are taught how to give the Quick Finish to all Persons who
won't do.)

At School, the Daughter tied up with a Chum, who seldom overlooked a
Wednesday Matinee, and she learned more in three Weeks than her
Childhood Home could have shown her in three Centuries.

Now she began to see the other Kind; the Kind that Wears a Cutaway, with
a White Flower, in the Morning, a Frock, with Violets, in the
Afternoon, and a jimmy little Tuxedo at Night.

[Illustration: A STRANGE MAN]

For the first time she began to listen to Harness that had Chains to it,
and she rode in Vehicles that permitted her to glance in at the Second
Stories.

She stopped wearing Hats, and began to choose Confections. She selected
them Languidly, three at a time.

Then the Bill to the Way Station, and Father down with Heart Failure.

She kept Mr. Sothern's Picture on her Dresser, with two Red Candles
burning in front of it, and every time she thought of Gabby Will, the
Crackerjack Salesman, she reached for the Peau d'Espagne and sprayed
herself.

       *       *       *       *       *

One Day when the Tobacco Salesman came up Main Street with his Grips,
on his way to visit the Trade, he met the Drug Clerk, who told him that
She was Home on a Visit. So he hurried through with his Work, got a
Shave, changed ends on his Cuffs, pared his Nails, bought a box of
Marshmallows, and went out to the House.

Daughter was on the Lawn, seated under a Canopy that had set Father back
thirty-two Dollars. There was a Hired Hand sprinkling the Grass with a
Hose, and as Will, the Conversational Drummer, came up the Long Walk,
Daughter called to the Hired Hand, and said: "Johnson, there is a
Strange Man coming up the Walk; change the Direction of the Stream
somewhat, else you may Dampen him."

The Drummer approached her, feeling of his Necktie, and wondered if she
would up and Kiss him, right in broad Daylight. She didn't. Daughter
allowed a rose-colored Booklet, by Guy de Maupassant, to sink among the
Folds of her French Gown, and then she Looked at him, and said: "All
Goods must be delivered at the Rear."

"Don't you Know me?" he asked.

"Rully, it seems to me I have seen you, Somewhere," she replied, "but I
cahn't place you. Are you the Man who tunes the Piano?"

"Don't you remember the night I met you at the Lawn Fête?" he asked; and
then, Chump that he was, and all Rattled, he told her his Name, instead
of giving her the scorching Come-Back that he composed next Day, when it
was Too Late.

"I meet so many People traveling about," she said; "I cahn't remember
all of them, you know. I dare say you called to see Pu-pah; he will be
here Presently."

Then she gave him "Some one's else," "Neyether," "Savoir-Faire," and a
few other Crisp Ones, hot from the Finishing School, after which she
asked him how the Dear Villagers were coming on. He reminded her that he
did not live in the Town. She said: "Only Fahncy!" and he said he
guessed he'd have to be Going, as he had promised a Man to meet him at
Jordan's Store before the Bank closed.

As he moved toward the St. Nicholas Hotel he kept his Hand on his Solar
Plexus. At five o'clock he rode out of Town on a Local.

MORAL: _Anybody can Win unless there happens to be a Second Entry._



_THE_ FABLE _OF_ SISTER MAE, _WHO_ DID _AS_ WELL _AS_ COULD BE EXPECTED


Two Sisters lived in Chicago, the Home of Opportunity.

Luella was a Good Girl, who had taken Prizes at the Mission Sunday
School, but she was Plain, much. Her Features did not seem to know the
value of Team Work. Her Clothes fit her Intermittently, as it were. She
was what would be called a Lumpy Dresser. But she had a good Heart.

Luella found Employment at a Hat Factory. All she had to do was to put
Red Linings in Hats for the Country Trade; and every Saturday Evening,
when Work was called on account of Darkness, the Boss met her as she
went out and crowded three Dollars on her.

The other Sister was Different.

She began as Mary, then changed to Marie, and her Finish was Mae.

From earliest Youth she had lacked Industry and Application.

She was short on Intellect but long on Shape.

The Vain Pleasures of the World attracted her. By skipping the Long
Words she could read how Rupert Bansiford led Sibyl Gray into the
Conservatory and made Love that scorched the Begonias. Sometimes she
just Ached to light out with an Opera Company.

When she couldn't stand up Luella for any more Car Fare she went out
looking for Work, and hoping she wouldn't find it. The sagacious
Proprietor of a Lunch Room employed her as Cashier. In a little While
she learned to count Money, and could hold down the Job.

[Illustration: THE BOSS]

Marie was a Strong Card. The Male Patrons of the Establishment hovered
around the Desk long after paying their Checks. Within a Month the
Receipts of the Place had doubled.

It was often remarked that Marie was a Pippin. Her Date Book had to be
kept on the Double Entry System.

Although her Grammar was Sad, it made no Odds. Her Picture was on many a
Button.

A Credit Man from the Wholesale House across the Street told her that
any time she wanted to see the Telegraph Poles rush past, she could
tear Transportation out of his Book. But Marie turned him down for a
Bucket Shop Man, who was not Handsome, but was awful Generous.

[Illustration: MAE]

They were Married, and went to live in a Flat with a Quarter-Sawed Oak
Chiffonier and Pink Rugs. She was Mae at this Stage of the Game.

Shortly after this, Wheat jumped twenty-two points, and the Husband
didn't do a Thing.

Mae bought a Thumb Ring and a Pug Dog, and began to speak of the Swede
Help as "The Maid."

Then she decided that she wanted to live in a House, because, in a Flat,
One could never be sure of One's Neighbors. So they moved into a
Sarcophagus on the Boulevard, right in between two Old Families, who
had made their Money soon after the Fire, and Ice began to form on the
hottest Days.

Mae bought an Automobile, and blew her Allowance against Beauty Doctors.
The Smell of Cooking made her Faint, and she couldn't see where the
Working Classes came in at all.

When she attended the theater a Box was none too good. Husband went
along, in evening clothes and a Yachting Cap, and he had two large
Diamonds in his Shirt Front.

Sometimes she went to a Vogner Concert, and sat through it, and she
wouldn't Admit any more that the Russell Brothers, as the Irish
Chambermaids, hit her just about Right.

She was determined to break into Society if she had to use an Ax.

At last she Got There; but it cost her many a Reed Bird and several
Gross of Cold Quarts.

In the Hey-Day of Prosperity did Mae forget Luella? No, indeed.

She took Luella away from the Hat Factory, where the Pay was three
Dollars a Week, and gave her a Position as Assistant Cook at five
Dollars.

MORAL: _Industry and Perseverance bring a sure Reward._



_THE_ FABLE _OF_ HOW _THE_ FOOL-KILLER BACKED OUT _OF A_ CONTRACT


The Fool-Killer came along the Pike Road one Day and stopped to look at
a Strange Sight.

Inside of a Barricade were several Thousands of Men, Women and Children.
They were moving restlessly among the trampled Weeds, which were clotted
with Watermelon Rinds, Chicken Bones, Straw and torn Paper Bags.

It was a very hot Day. The People could not sit down. They shuffled
Wearily and were pop-eyed with Lassitude and Discouragement.

A stifling Dust enveloped them. They Gasped and Sniffled. Some tried to
alleviate their Sufferings by gulping down a Pink Beverage made of
Drug-Store Acid, which fed the Fires of Thirst.

Thus they wove and interwove in the smoky Oven. The Whimper or the
faltering Wail of Children, the quavering Sigh of overlaced Women, and
the long-drawn Profanity of Men--these were what the Fool-Killer heard
as he looked upon the Suffering Throng.

"Is this a new Wrinkle on Dante's Inferno?" he asked of the Man on the
Gate, who wore a green Badge marked "Marshal," and was taking Tickets.

"No, sir; this is a County Fair," was the reply.

[Illustration: THE FOOL-KILLER]

"Why do the People congregate in the Weeds and allow the Sun to warp
them?"

"Because Everybody does it."

"Do they Pay to get in?"

"You know it."

"Can they Escape?"

"They can, but they prefer to Stick."

The Fool-Killer hefted his Club and then looked at the Crowd and shook
his Head doubtfully.

"I can't tackle that Outfit to-day," he said. "It's too big a Job."

So he went on into Town, and singled out a Main Street Merchant who
refused to Advertise.

MORAL: _People who expect to be Luny will find it safer to travel in a
Bunch._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ CADDY _WHO_ HURT HIS HEAD WHILE THINKING


One Day a Caddy sat in the Long Grass near the Ninth Hole and wondered
if he had a Soul. His Number was 27, and he almost had forgotten his
Real Name.

As he sat and Meditated, two Players passed him. They were going the
Long Round, and the Frenzy was upon them.

They followed the Gutta Percha Balls with the intent swiftness of
trained Bird Dogs, and each talked feverishly of Brassy Lies, and
getting past the Bunker, and Lofting to the Green, and Slicing into the
Bramble--each telling his own Game to the Ambient Air, and ignoring what
the other Fellow had to say.

As they did the St. Andrews Full Swing for eighty Yards apiece and then
Followed Through with the usual Explanations of how it Happened, the
Caddy looked at them and Reflected that they were much inferior to his
Father.

His Father was too Serious a Man to get out in Mardi Gras Clothes and
hammer a Ball from one Red Flag to another.

His Father worked in a Lumber Yard.

He was an Earnest Citizen, who seldom Smiled, and he knew all about the
Silver Question and how J. Pierpont Morgan done up a Free People on the
Bond Issue.

[Illustration: MEDITATIVE CADDY]

The Caddy wondered why it was that his Father, a really Great Man, had
to shove Lumber all day and could seldom get one Dollar to rub against
another, while these superficial Johnnies who played Golf all the Time
had Money to Throw at the Birds. The more he Thought the more his Head
ached.

MORAL: _Don't try to Account for Anything._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ MARTYR _WHO_ LIKED _THE_ JOB


Once in a Country Town there was a Man with a Weak Back.

He could put a Grindstone into a Farm Wagon if any one wanted to bet him
the Segars, but every time he lifted an Ax, something caught him right
in the Spine and he had to go into the House and lie down. So his Wife
took Boarders and did the Cooking herself.

He was willing to divide the Labor, however; so he did the Marketing.
Only, when he had bought the Victuals, he would squat on a Shoe-Box with
the Basket between his Legs and say that he couldn't see what Congress
wuz thinkin' of.

He had certain Theories in regard to the Alaskan Boundary and he was
against any Anglo-American Alliance becuz Uncle Sam could take care of
himself at any Turn in the Road, comin' right down to it, and the
American People wuz superior to any other Naytionality in every Way,
Shape, Manner and Form, as fur as that's concerned. Then his Wife would
have to send Word for him to come on with the Groceries so she could get
Dinner.

Nearly Everybody Sympathized with her, because she had to put up with
such a big Hulk of a no-account Husband. She was looked upon as a
Martyr.

[Illustration: A MARTYR]

One Day the Husband was Sunstruck, being too Lazy to move into the
Shade, and next Day he Passed Away without an Effort. The Widow gave him
the best Funeral of the Year and then put all the Money she could rake
and scrape into a Marble Shaft marked "At Rest."

A good many People said she was Better Off without him, and it was
certainly a Good Riddance of Bad Rubbish.

They hoped that if she ever Married again she'd pick out Somebody that
wuzn't afraid to Work, and had Gumption enough to pound Sand into a
Rat-Hole.

There was General Satisfaction when she became the Wife of Mr. Gladden,
who owned the General Store. He built a new House, hired a Girl and had
the Washing sent out. She could go into the Store and pick out Anything
she wanted, and he took her riding in his new Runabout every Evening.

Consequently, she was very Miserable, thinking of the Jewel she had
lost.

MORAL: _If the Woman thinks he's All Right, you keep on your own Side of
the Fence._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ BOHEMIAN _WHO_ HAD HARD LUCK


Once upon a Time there was a Brilliant but Unappreciated Chap who was
such a Thorough Bohemian that Strangers usually mistook him for a Tramp.

Would he brush his Clothes? Not he. When he wore a Collar he was Ashamed
of himself. He had Pipe-Ashes on his Coat and Vest. He seldom Combed his
Hair, and never Shaved.

Every Evening he ate an Imitation Dinner, at a forty-cent Table d'Hôte,
with a Bottle of Writing Fluid thrown in. He had formed a little Salon
of Geniuses, who also were out of Work, and they loved to Loll around
on their Shoulder-Blades and Laugh Bitterly at the World.

The main Bohemian was an Author. After being Turned Down by numerous
Publishers, he had decided to write for Posterity. Posterity hadn't
heard anything about it, and couldn't get out an Injunction.

He knew his Works were good, because all the Free and Untrammeled Souls
in the Spaghetti Joint told him so. He would read them a Little Thing of
his Own about Wandering in the Fields with Lesbia, and then he would
turn to a Friend, whose Face was all covered with Human Ivy, and ask
him, point blank: "Is it, or is it not, Better than the Dooley Stuff?"

[Illustration: THOROUGH BOHEMIAN]

"There is no Comparison," would be the Reply, coming through the
Foliage.

Wandering in the Fields with Lesbia! Lesbia would have done Well. If he
had Wandered in the Fields at any Time he would have been Pinched on
Suspicion that he was out for Turnips.

The sure-enough Bohemian was a Scathing Critic. If Brander Matthews only
knew some of the Things said about him, there would be Tear Marks on his
Pillow. And Howells, too. Bah! My, but he was Caustic.

The way he burned up Magazine Writers, it's a Wonder they didn't get
after him for Arson.

One day, while standing on the Front Stoop at his Boarding House, trying
to think of some one who would submit to a Touch, a Flower Pot fell from
a Window Ledge above him, and hit him on the Head. He was put into an
Ambulance and taken to a Hospital, where the Surgeons clipped his Hair
short, in order to take Three Stitches. While he was still Unconscious,
and therefore unable to Resist, they Scrubbed him with Castile Soap,
gave him a good Shave, and put him into a snowy-white Gown.

His Friends heard of the Accident, and went to the Hospital to offer
Condolence. When they found him he was so Clean and Commonplace that
they lost all Respect for him.

MORAL: _Get a good Make-Up and the Part plays itself._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ COMING CHAMPION _WHO WAS_ DELAYED


In a certain Athletic Club which rented two rooms over a Tin-Shop there
was one Boy who could put it All Over the other Members.

He knew how to Jab and Counter and Upper-Cut and Bore in with the Left
and Play for the Wind. He had Lumps on his Arms and a good Pair of
Shoulders, and every one in the Club told him he had the makings of a
World-Beater. He used to coax Grocery Clerks and Grammar-School Children
to put on the Gloves with him, and then he would go around them, like a
Cooper around a Barrel, and Trim them right and proper.

His friends would stand and watch him make Monkeys of these anæmic
Amateurs, and gradually the Conviction grew within them that he could
Lick anybody of his Weight. The Boy believed them when they told him he
ought to go after the Top-Notchers.

He gave up his Job in the Planing Mill and became a Pugilist. The
Proprietor of a Cigar Store acted as his Manager, and began to pay his
Board. This Manager was Foxy. He told the Boy that before tackling the
Championship Class it would be better to go out and beat a lot of
Fourth-Raters, thereby building up a Reputation and at the same time
getting here and there a Mess of the Long Green.

[Illustrations: MANAGER]

In the same Town there was an Undertaker who had Sporting Blood in his
Veins, and he sought out the Manager and made a Match in behalf of an
Unknown.

The boy went into Training in a Stable. He had a yellow Punching Bag, a
Sponge, a Bath-Robe and several Towels. Two Paper-Hangers who were out
of Work acted as his Trainers. They rubbed him with Witch Hazel all day,
and in the Evening the Boy stood around in a Sweater and Talked out of
the corner of his Mouth. He said he was Trained to the Minute, as Hard
as Nails and Fit as a Fiddle, and he would make Mr. Unknown jump out of
the Ring.

As the Day of the Battle approached it came out that the Unknown was a
Scrapper who had been fairly Successful at one Time, but had ceased to
be a Live One several Years before. He was imported especially for this
Contest with the Coming Champion.

[Illustration: THE COMING CHAMPION]

When he arrived in Town it was evident that he lacked Condition. He had
been dieting himself on Pie and Beer, and any Expert, such as the Cigar
Store Man, could tell by looking at him that his Abdomen was not hard
enough to withstand those crushing Body Blows such as the Boy was in the
Habit of Landing--on the Punching Bag. Accordingly the Word went around
that the imported Pug was too Fat and had bad Wind.

It began to resemble a Cinch.

The Manager went out and bet more Money, and the Coming Champion was
Nervous for fear that he would kill the Has-Been if he connected too
strong on the Point of the Jaw. He thought it would be better to wear
him down with Short-Arm blows and make him Quit. He had read that it was
Dangerous to punish a Physical Wreck, who might have Heart Trouble or
something like that. The Boy was a Professional Pugilist, but he had
Humane Instincts.

When the Boy came to the Train which was to carry the Participants and
the Spectators to the Battle-Field he was attended by four Comrades, who
had Ice, Beef Tea, Brandy, Alcohol, Blankets and other Paraphernalia.
They made a Couch for him in the Baggage Car, and had him lie down, so
that he might conserve all his Strength and step into the Ring as fresh
as possible. The so-called Unknown had no one to Handle him. He sat
Alone in the Men's Car, with a queer Telescope Valise on his Knees, and
he smoked a Cigarette, which was in direct Violation of all the Rules of
Training.

At last the Company arrived at the Secluded Spot, and a Ring was staked
out.

The Coming Champion was received with Loud Cheers. He wore a new Pair of
Gymnasium Shoes, spotless Trunks, and around his Waist was an American
Flag, presented by his Admirers in the Athletic Club.

In a few Moments the Imported Scrapper came into the Ring, attended by
the Sporty Undertaker. He wore an old Pair of Bike Shoes and faded Work
Trousers, chopped off at the Knees, while his Belt was a Shawl-Strap.
He was chewing Gum.

[Illustration: AND SEE!]

After he put on the Gloves he looked over at the Coming Champion and
remarked to the Undertaker that he (the Coming Champion) seemed to be a
Nice Young Fellow. After which he Yawned slightly, and wanted to know
what Time they would get a Train back to Town.

The Bell rang, and there in the Center of the Ring stood the Tottering
Has-Been and the Coming Champion.

The Has-Been was crouched, with his Head drawn in, turtle-fashion, his
Legs spraddled, and oh, the hard, vicious Expression on that Face, as he
Fiddled Short and looked intently at the Coming Champion's Feet. This
was a very confusing and unprofessional Thing to do, as the Boy had not
been accustomed to boxing with People who looked at his Feet. He
wondered if there was anything the matter with his Gymnasium Shoes.

In a Moment or two he saw that the Physical Wreck was afraid to Lead, so
he did some nimble Foot Work, and his Gloves began to describe
Parabolas--then all at once somebody turned off the Sunshine.

They threw Cold Water on him, held a Bottle of Ammonia to his Nose and
stuck Pins in under his Finger-Nails.

At last his Eye-Lids fluttered, and he turned a dim and filmy Gaze on
his faithful Seconds gathered about him.

"Oh, how the Birds sing!" he murmured. "And see! The Aurora Borealis is
trying to climb over Pain's Fire-Works."

"Cheer up!" said the Manager. "He took a Mean Advantage of you and Hit
you when you wasn't Looking."

"Ah, yes, it all comes back to me. Did I win?"

"Not quite," replied the Manager, who feared to tell him the whole
Truth.

"You say he Hit me?" asked the Coming Champion.

"Yes."

"With a Casting?"

"We couldn't tell. He was in such a Hurry."

All this Time the Victor was sitting on the Station Platform with the
Undertaker. He was Remarking that it seemed to be a very Purty Country
thereabouts, and he'd often wished he could close in on enough of the
Gilt to buy him a nice piece of Land somewhere, inasmuch as he regarded
a Farmer as the most independent Man on Earth.

Next week there was a familiar Name back on the Time-Card at the Planing
Mill.

MORAL: _In all the Learned Professions, Many are Called but Few are
Chosen._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ LAWYER _WHO_ BROUGHT IN _A_ MINORITY REPORT


At a Bazaar, the purpose of which was to Hold Up the Public for the
Benefit of a Worthy Cause, there were many Schemes to induce Visitors to
let go of their Assets. One of the most likely Grafts perpetrated by the
astute Management was a Voting Contest to Determine who was the Most
Beautiful and Popular Young Lady in the City. It cost Ten Cents to cast
one Vote. The Winner of the Contest was to receive a beautiful Vase,
with Roses on it.

A prominent Young Lawyer, who was Eloquent, Good Looking, and a Leader
in Society, had been selected to make the Presentation Speech after the
Votes had been counted.

In a little while the Contest had narrowed down until it was Evident
that either the Brewer's Daughter or the Contractor's Daughter was the
Most Beautiful and Popular Young Lady in the City. The Brewer and his
Friends pushed Ten Dollar Bills into the Ballot Box, while the
Contractor, just before the Polls closed, slipped in a Check for One
Hundred Dollars.

When the Votes were counted, the Management of the Bazaar was pleased to
learn that the Sixty-Cent Vase had Netted over Seven Hundred Dollars. It
was Announced that the Contractor's Daughter was exactly Nine Dollars
and Twenty Cents more Beautiful and Popular than the Brewer's Daughter.

[Illustration: THE MINORITY REPORT]

Thereupon the Committee requested that the Eloquent Young Lawyer step to
the Rostrum and make the Presentation Speech. There was no Response; the
Young Lawyer had Disappeared.

One of the Members of the Committee started on a Search for him, and
found him in a dusky Corner of the Japanese Tea Garden, under the Paper
Lanterns, making a Proposal of Marriage to a Poor Girl who had not
received one Vote.

MORAL: _Never believe a Relative._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE TWO_ MANDOLIN PLAYERS _AND THE_ WILLING PERFORMER


A very attractive Debutante knew two Young Men who called on her every
Thursday Evening, and brought their Mandolins along.

They were Conventional Young Men, of the Kind that you see wearing
Spring Overcoats in the Clothing Advertisements. One was named Fred, and
the other was Eustace.

The Mothers of the Neighborhood often remarked, "What Perfect Manners
Fred and Eustace have!" Merely as an aside it may be added that Fred
and Eustace were more Popular with the Mothers than they were with the
Younger Set, although no one could say a Word against either of them.
Only it was rumored in Keen Society that they didn't Belong. The Fact
that they went Calling in a Crowd, and took their Mandolins along, may
give the Acute Reader some Idea of the Life that Fred and Eustace held
out to the Young Women of their Acquaintance.

The Debutante's name was Myrtle. Her Parents were very Watchful, and did
not encourage her to receive Callers, except such as were known to be
Exemplary Young Men. Fred and Eustace were a few of those who escaped
the Black List. Myrtle always appeared to be glad to see them, and they
regarded her as a Darned Swell Girl.

[Illustration: MYRTLE]

Fred's Cousin came from St. Paul on a Visit; and one Day, in the Street,
he saw Myrtle, and noticed that Fred tipped his Hat, and gave her a
Stage Smile.

"Oh, Queen of Sheba!" exclaimed the Cousin from St. Paul, whose name was
Gus, as he stood stock still, and watched Myrtle's Reversible Plaid
disappear around a Corner. "She's a Bird, Do you know her well?"

"I know her Quite Well," replied Fred, coldly. "She is a Charming Girl."

"She is all of that. You're a great Describer. And now what Night are
you going to take me around to Call on her?"

Fred very naturally Hemmed and Hawed. It must be remembered that Myrtle
was a member of an Excellent Family, and had been schooled in the
Proprieties, and it was not to be supposed that she would crave the
Society of slangy old Gus, who had an abounding Nerve, and furthermore
was as Fresh as the Mountain Air.

He was the Kind of Fellow who would see a Girl twice, and then, upon
meeting her the Third Time, he would go up and straighten her Cravat for
her, and call her by her First Name.

Put him into a Strange Company--en route to a Picnic--and by the time
the Baskets were unpacked he would have a Blonde all to himself, and she
would have traded her Fan for his College Pin.

If a Fair-Looker on the Street happened to glance at him Hard he would
run up and seize her by the Hand, and convince her that they had Met.
And he always Got Away with it, too.

In a Department Store, while waiting for the Cash Boy to come back with
the Change, he would find out the Girl's Name, her Favorite Flower, and
where a Letter would reach her.

Upon entering a Parlor Car at St. Paul he would select a Chair next to
the Most Promising One in Sight, and ask her if she cared to have the
Shade lowered.

Before the Train cleared the Yards he would have the Porter bringing a
Foot-Stool for the Lady.

At Hastings he would be asking her if she wanted Something to Read.

At Red Wing he would be telling her that she resembled Maxine Elliott,
and showing her his Watch, left to him by his Grandfather, a Prominent
Virginian.

[Illustration: FRED AND EUSTACE]

At La Crosse he would be reading the Menu Card to her, and telling her
how different it is when you have Some One to join you in a Bite.

At Milwaukee he would go out and buy a Bouquet for her, and when they
rode into Chicago they would be looking out of the same Window, and he
would be arranging for her Baggage with the Transfer Man. After that
they would be Old Friends.

Now, Fred and Eustace had been at School with Gus, and they had seen his
Work, and they were not disposed to Introduce him into One of the most
Exclusive Homes in the City.

They had known Myrtle for many Years; but they did not dare to Address
her by her First Name, and they were Positive that if Gus attempted any
of his usual Tactics with her she would be Offended; and, naturally
enough, they would be Blamed for bringing him to the House.

But Gus insisted. He said he had seen Myrtle, and she Suited him from
the Ground up, and he proposed to have Friendly Doings with her. At last
they told him they would take him if he promised to Behave. Fred warned
him that Myrtle would frown down any Attempt to be Familiar on Short
Acquaintance, and Eustace said that as long as he had known Myrtle he
had never Presumed to be Free and Forward with her. He had simply played
the Mandolin. That was as Far Along as he had ever got.

Gus told them not to Worry about him. All he asked was a Start. He said
he was a Willing Performer, but as yet he never had been Disqualified
for Crowding. Fred and Eustace took this to mean that he would not
Overplay his Attentions, so they escorted him to the House.

As soon as he had been Presented, Gus showed her where to sit on the
Sofa, then he placed himself about Six Inches away and began to Buzz,
looking her straight in the Eye. He said that when he first saw her he
Mistook her for Miss Prentice, who was said to be the Most Beautiful
Girl in St. Paul, only, when he came closer, he saw that it couldn't be
Miss Prentice, because Miss Prentice didn't have such Lovely Hair. Then
he asked her the Month of her Birth and told her Fortune, thereby coming
nearer to Holding her Hand within Eight Minutes than Eustace had come
in a Lifetime.

[Illustration: THE WILLING PERFORMER]

"Play something, Boys," he Ordered, just as if he had paid them Money to
come along and make Music for him.

They unlimbered their Mandolins and began to play a Sousa March. He
asked Myrtle if she had seen the New Moon. She replied that she had not,
so they went Outside.

When Fred and Eustace finished the first Piece, Gus appeared at the open
Window, and asked them to play "The Georgia Camp-Meeting," which had
always been one of his Favorites.

So they played that, and when they had Concluded there came a Voice from
the Outer Darkness, and it was the Voice of Myrtle. She said: "I'll tell
you what to Play; play the Intermezzo."

Fred and Eustace exchanged Glances. They began to Perceive that they had
been backed into a Siding. With a few Potted Palms in front of them, and
two Cards from the Union, they would have been just the same as a Hired
Orchestra.

But they played the Intermezzo and felt Peevish. Then they went to the
Window and looked out. Gus and Myrtle were sitting in the Hammock, which
had quite a Pitch toward the Center. Gus had braced himself by Holding
to the back of the Hammock. He did not have his Arm around Myrtle, but
he had it Extended in a Line parallel with her Back. What he had done
wouldn't Justify a Girl in saying, "Sir!" but it started a Real Scandal
with Fred and Eustace. They saw that the only Way to Get Even with her
was to go Home without saying "Good Night" So they slipped out the Side
Door, shivering with Indignation.

After that, for several Weeks, Gus kept Myrtle so Busy that she had no
Time to think of considering other Candidates. He sent Books to her
Mother, and allowed the Old Gentleman to take Chips away from him at
Poker.

They were Married in the Autumn, and Father-in-Law took Gus into the
Firm, saying that he had needed a good Pusher for a Long Time.

At the Wedding the two Mandolin Players were permitted to act as Ushers.

MORAL: _To get a fair Trial of Speed, use a Pace-Maker._



_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ MAN _WHO_ DIDN'T CARE _FOR_ STORYBOOKS


Once there was a blue Dyspeptic, who attempted to Kill Time by reading
Novels, until he discovered that all Books of Fiction were a Mockery.

After a prolonged Experience he came to know that every Specimen of
Light Reading belonged to one of the following Divisions:

1. The Book that Promises well until you reach the Plot, and then you
Remember that you read it Summer before last.

2. The book with the Author's Picture as a Frontispiece. The Author is
very Cocky. He has his Overcoat thrown back, so as to reveal the Silk
Lining. That Settles it!

3. The Book that runs into a Snarl of Dialect on the third Page and
never gets out.

4. The delectable Yarn about a Door-Mat Thief, who truly loves the Opium
Fiend. Jolly Story of the Slums.

5. The Book that begins with a twenty-page Description of Sloppy
Weather: "Long swirls of riven Rain beat somberly upon the misty Panes,"
etc., etc.

You turn to the last Chapter to see if it Rains all the way through the
Book. This last Chapter is a Give-Away. It condenses the whole Plot and
dishes up the Conclusion. After that, who would have the Nerve to wade
through the Two Hundred and Forty intermediate Pages?

[Illustration: ALL A MOCKERY]

6. The Book in which the Pictures tell the Story. After you have seen
the Pictures there is no need to wrestle with the Text.

7. The Book that begins with a Murder Mystery--charming Picture of
Gray-Haired Man discovered Dead in his Library--Blood splashed all over
the Furniture--Knife of Curious Design lying on Floor.

You know at once that the most Respected and least _sus_pected Personage
in the Book committed the awful Crime, but you haven't the Heart to
Track him down and compel him to commit Suicide.

8. The Book that gets away with one Man asking another: "By Jove, who is
that Dazzling Beauty in the Box?"

The Man who asks this Question has a Name which sounds like the Title of
a Sleeping Car.

You feel instinctively that he is going to be all Mixed Up with that
Girl in the Box before Chapter XII. is reached; but who can take any
real Interest in the Love Affairs of a Man with such a Name?

9. The Book that tells all about Society and how Tough it is. Even the
Women drink Brandy and Soda, smoke Cigarettes, and Gamble. The clever
Man of the World, who says all the Killing Things, is almost as Funny as
Ally Sloper. An irritable Person, after reading nine Chapters of this
kind of High Life, would be ready to go Home and throw his Grandmother
into the Fire.

10. The dull, gray Book, or the Simple Annals of John Gardensass. A
Careful Study of American Life.

In Chapter I. he walks along the Lane, stepping first on one Foot and
then on the Other, enters a House by the Door, and sits in a four-legged
wooden Chair, looking out through a Window with Glass in it. Book
denotes careful Observation. Nothing happens until Page 150. Then John
decides to sell the Cow. In the Final Chapter he sits on a Fence and
Whittles. True Story, but What's the Use?

Why continue? The Dyspeptic said that when he wanted something really
Fresh and Original in the Line of Fiction he read the Prospectus of a
Mining Corporation.

MORAL: _Only the more Rugged Mortals should attempt to Keep Up on
Current Literature._



OTHER BOOKS _By_ GEORGE ADE


DOC' HORNE

A STORY OF THE STREETS AND TOWN, with many illustrations by John T.
McCutcheon. 16mo, cloth, $1.25.

_Seventh Thousand_


PINK MARSH

A STORY OF THE STREETS AND TOWN, with forty full-page illustrations by
John T. McCutcheon. 16mo, cloth, $1.25.

_Eighth Thousand_


ARTIE

A STORY OF THE STREETS AND TOWN, with many illustrations by John T.
McCutcheon. 16mo, cloth, $125.

_Twenty-first Thousand_


Mr. Ade's books are too well known to require comment here. They may be
had of all booksellers, the three volumes mentioned above together in a
box, or from the publishers, postpaid, on receipt of the price.

HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY
CHICAGO    NEW YORK



PRINTED BY R.R. DONNELLEY AND SONS COMPANY AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS,
CHICAGO, ILL.





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