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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (March 22, 1908)
THE SUNDAY OREGONIAN, PORTLAND. MARCH 22, I90S. BT 8ETWKLL. FORD. HIM? Why. that Roily. Sure thing: No, I ain't looking for tips In the stock-market: if I was I'd go straight to the old man and get 'em. Do I know the old man? Didn't I put him In shape to stand that gruelin' he got when U. P. was bum pin' the bumps? That's how It comes that Rolly's a stu dent of mine. Says the old man to me: "Rolly's a good boy when he's kept busy. He'll have enough on his mind In about two months, for I've fixed up a deal to marry Mm offi and after that I'm going; to take him Into the firm. He don't take very kindly to either proposition; 'so in the meantime. Shorty, I'm going to leave hlra to you. He's Just got back from abroad with some fool notion or other In his head. I haven't had time tt find out Just what It Is; but If It's anything you can knock out, hammer await" So Roily and me has been having; two hour sessions every day gloves, mat. medicine ball, and all that and ' for a youngster that began goih' short of br"ath after the second round, he's turned out well. But say, there's a few thincs that's clean out of my line. Plnyin' shappyrone Is one of 'em. I'll tell you how It was: Tou see. Roily shows up here at this physical-culture studio of mine reg'lar every day at 3. Well, wn was having one of our llttel experience meetln's snd was warming' up lo gome fine short-arm work, when Swlfty Joe he's my new assistant from Williamsburg Joe butts In and says, kind of wild like: Trofeanor McCabe " that's me. you know "there's been some funny work done on the studio door." Well we chsses out to see what kind of a fool crack Swifty's makln' this time, and there we finds the thing that ties tin up to trouble. It was a dinky lace handkerchief, pinned tip there with the wickedest little blood-letter that ever came off the knife-rack. Half an men. of the blade sticks through the panel. Roily, he Jerks It loose, sizes it up a minute, and cays: "Stiletto, eh? Made In Flrenze that's Florence. Italy. Shorty, have you any friends from abroad that are In the habit of leaving their .cutlery In place of visiting-cards?" "I know folks as far west as Hoboken, If that's what you mean," says I: "but none of 'em are In the meat business." Then I picks up the handkerchief and takes a look at it. "Hello!" says I. "There's writin' on this, writln" done in red ink." "Read It," says Roily. "I could play it better on a flute," says I. "Tou try." - He didn't have to try hard. The minute he skinned his eye over that his Jaw got loose like he'd stopped a body wallop with his short ribs. "It's a message for me," he says. J "New kind of wlreleBS from your wash lady?" says I. "Shorty," says he. lettln' my vaudeville lead go over his sheulder, "come inside and shut the door." Then when we'd locked ourselves In the dressin'-room, he opens up. "Did you ever hear of Sicily?" says he. "Is It a breakfast food or a new kind of cigarette?" says I. "It's an Island." says ha. "off the toe of Italy. I was there last Summer. In Sicily I met a girl, a native, who well she saved my neck. Now she is some where In this city, probably in the Italian quarter, and she needs help. She's In trouble, serious trouble. I'm. going out to look for her." "Think she's mixed up with ' the Dagoes?'' says I. "It's quite likely," says he. ktckln' off his "gym" shoes and reachln' for his shirt. I "Ooin" alone?" says I. "Unless you're willin' to go along," says Roily. "Then that's a Hey Rube for me," says I. In ten minutes by tho watch we were dressed and rattlln' down Broadway In one of those 'lectrio hansoms with the throttle yanked wide open. "I know a Dugo roundsman," says I. "No police In this." says ho. "I'm going to call on the Italian Consul. He's a friend of the old gentleman. Maybe we broke the spsed ord'nance "me. but we were Just in time to catch Mr. Consul on the fly, for ho- was about punchin' the time-card and shuttln' up shop when we blew In. He wore a rich set of Peter Cooper whiskers; but bar ring them he was a well-finished old gent. When Roily let on who he waa he gave us a how that was an address of wel come all by Itself, and the way he shoved out leather chain you'd thought he Was nniklu' a present of 'em to us. But Roily dliin't have time for flour ishes. He comes right to cases: wants to know where tho Sicilians usually head for when they leave Ellis Island; what sort of gangs they have In New Tork: and what kind of Black Hand deviltry they were most given to. He asked 40 questions and never answered one. Then he shook hands with Mr. Consul and we chased oat. "It looks like the Malablstos." says Roily. "They have a kind of head quarters over a basement restaurant. Perhaps they've shut her up there. We ll look at the place, anyway." A lot of good It did us. too! The spa ghetti works was In full blast, with a gHng of husky low-brows gout' in and out. smokln' cheroots half as long as your arm. and acting as If the referee had Just declared a draw. The opening for a couple of bare-nsted investigators wasn't what you might call promlsln'. Not having their gtfps and passwords, we didn't feel as though we could make good In their lodge. "I could round up a gang and then we could rush m," says I. "That wouldn't do," says Roily. "Strategy Is what we need here." "I'm Just out of that." says I. "Perhaps there's a back door." says Roily. So we moseys around the block huntin for an alley. But that ain't the way they build down in Mulberry Bend. They chucks their old rookeries slam up against one another,, to keep 'em from fallln' over. I guess. Generally, though, there's some sort of a garlic flue through the middle of the block: but you nd a balloon to find it. "Hist!" says I. "Hold me head while 1 thinks a thunk. Didn't I come down here once to watch a try-out? Sure! And It was pulled off In the palatial par lors of Appetite Joe Cardenao's Chowder Association, th same being a back room two flights up. Now If we could dig up Appetite Joe " We did. He was around the corner, close to a bar, playing 'scope for brandied plums; but he let go the cards long enough to listen to my fairy-tale about wanttu' a Joint where I could give Boy friend a private lesson. "Sure!" says Joe. passing out the key. "Hut you breaka da chair I charga feefty cent." There were two back windows, and the view wasn't one you'd want to put in a frame. It was almost dark; but down below I could make out a court filled with coal boxes and old barrels and per fumed like the lee side of Barren Island. But catty-corners across was the back of that spaghetti mill. "We could tell It by the two-decker bill-board on the roof. In the upper windows we could set Dago women and kids, but the wine dows on the second floor were black. "Iron, shutters." says Roily. "And that's where she Is. if anywhere." "Got a scalln'-Iadder and a Jimmy in your pocket?" says I. "Then I'll have to run around to a three-ball exchange and dig un an outfit." A. patent cxe-ecae and a shoxt-taa- died pickax van the best I could do. We made the board-Jumper fast inside and down I went. Then there was acrobatics; swingin' across to that three-inch win dow ledge, balancin' with ore foot on nothing, and single-hand work with the pjrk-ax. Lucky v that shutter-bar was half rusted away. She came open with a bang when she did come, and it near sent me down among the barrels. My eyelashes held, though, and there I waa up against a dark window. "See anything?" says Roily. "Room to rent," says I. for it looked like we'd pried open a vacant flat. Just then the sash goes up with a run and some one reaches out from the dark and catches me by the wrist. It waa a cinch for them, me bein' fixed so 1 couldn't let go. and I hung there waitin' to feel myself being punctured. But It didn't come. Instead there was let loose a Dago remark that wasn't any use at all to me. It sounded mighty business-like; though for all that the I wasn't scared a little bit. - It" wa'nt I wasn't scared a little bit. It wanSn't no man's voice. I was sure of that. "Guess your lady friend's here," I sings out to Roily. "Have you got her?" says he. "No," says, I; "she's got me." But no sooner does she hear him than she lets go of me, shoves her head out of the window and calls up to him. Roily says something back, and for the next two minutes fhey swaps Dago talk to beat the cars; so I knew we'd found the right girl. "How shall I pass her up?" says I. Just then she made a spring for that rope ladder of ours and overhands up like a trapexe star. An" me thinkln' we'd need a derrick or a bo's'n's chair! It wa'n't no time for reunions at that stage of the game, nor for hard-luck stories either. None of us was plnln' to hold any sociables with the Mala blstos. We quit the chowder club on the Jump, streaked up the hill into Mott st., and piled Into one of those fuzzy two-horse chariots that they keep hooked up for weddin's and funerals. "Where to?"' says the bone-thumpor. "Head her for Buffalo and let loose to beat the Ughtnlng Express," says I; "but hunt for asphalt." That fetched us up to Second ave., but there wasn't any conversln' done until we'd put 50 blocks behind us. Then I reckon Roily asked his lady friend if she'd missed any meals lately. From the way he gave orders to steer for a food refinery she must have allowed that she had skipped a few. Not havln' time to be particular we hit a goulash emporium wher they spell the meat-card mostly with C-Z's. But they gave us a private room upstairs, which was what we wanted. "Shorty." says Roily to me, "It's about tlmo you were properly Introduced. This is Caramel." "Howdy!" says I. It wasn't until then that I got a full length view of her in the light. And say, I was glad we'd landed so far east of Broadway! Post me for a welcher If she wasn't rigged out In reg'lar "Pirates of Penzance' chorus costume. It would have been all right outside a Dreamland Joint, .and It would have let her Into the Arion ball without a ticket: but it wasn't built for clrculatin' around New Tork In. "Piffle, piffle!" says I to Roily. "Folks'll think we've pinched her out of a hippodrome ballet. Hadn't we bet ter send, for your lady friend's trunk?" Roily grinned, but he looked her over as satisfied as If she'd been dressed ac cordln' to his own water-color designs. And she was something of a star yes, yes! If you were lookln' for figure and condition, she had 'em. And when It came to color scheme well, no grease paint manipulator ever mixed caffy-o-lay and raspb'ry-plnk the way it grew on her. For a niade-ln-Slc'ly girl she was the real meringue. But her clothes was the limit. "Where'd she get 'em?" says I. Roily, he says as how them was the kind of toga she wore all the time she was to home. They were the kind he'd first seen her in, and ha reckoned that she'd left In a hurry. t "We'll see about gettln' something more suitable for her later on," says he. and orders up IT kinds of skeesedsky, to be served In relays. Miss Carrie Meyer, or whatever her name was. had brought her appetite along, even if she had mislaid her suit case. And while she was pitchin' Into what passes for grub on Second-ave, she tells Roily the story of her life least ways, that's what It sounded like. As I gets it from him afterwards it was Ilka this: She'd had some kind of a run-4n with the old folks, they wantin' her to marry a feller that owned a sul phur mine and was rich enough to pen sion off the rest, of the family. But Miss Caramel wouldn't have it. for some rea son or other that she didn't state; and when things got too hot for her she slid out the back door, hoofs It to town, takes out a yellow ticket on a few spare sparks, and buys a steerage berth for New York. Well, she hadn't mora'n got past Sandy Hook before a Malabisto runner spotted her. So did the advance man of another gang. They sized up the goldhoops in her ears, her .real-money necklace and some of the other -fancy furniture she sported, and they Invited her home to tea. Just how the scrap began or what It was ail about she didn't know; so the story by rounds hasn't been told. The next thing she knew, though, they'd hus tled her into the Bend and bottled her up in that back room, but not before she'd done a little extemporaneous carvin' on ber Awn account. I gathered that three or four of the Malablstos needed some plain sewin' done on 'em after the bell rang, and that the rest wasn't so anxious for her society as at first. She'd been cooped up for two days uifnKi 1 1 mannffpil tn ffet hnlrf nf a I Dago woman who promised to hupt up Holly and give him that message. Not BV FlrjEOR SHORTY I v ' ' K"nS. T t lx bein' able to break into the Flfth-ave. I Joint where Rolly's old man lives, she J had trailed Roily to the studio and hung the message up on my door. "So far it's as good as playin' leading heavy in 'Tha Shadows of a Great City,' " says 1; "but what's down for the next act? Where does she want to go?" Say, you'd thought Rolly'd been nipped witli the goods on. He goes strawb'ry color back to his ears. Next he takes a look across the table where she sits quiet and easy and as much to home as Lady Graftwad on the back seat of the tonneau. She was takin' notice of him too, kind of ru'nnin' over his points like he was somethin' 'rich she'd won at a raffle and was glad to get. But Roily, ho braced up and looks me straight in the eye. "Shorty," says he, "I want to call your attention to the fact that this young lady is something like 3000 miles from home: that I am the only person on this side of the ocean that she knows by sight; and that once she saved my neck." "If you say so. it goes," says I. "But what does it lead up to? Where do we exit?" "That," says Roily, "is a conundrum." "Ain't she got any programme?" 6oys I. "She er that Is." says Roily, trying to duck "she says she wants to go with us." "Whe-e-ew!" says I through my front teeth. "This is so sudden! Just tell the lady. will you, that I've resigned? . "No you drfn't. Shorty," says he. "You'll see this thing through." "But look at them circus clothes!" says I. "I've got no aunts or grandmothers or second-cousins who'd stand for any one rigged out like that." "Nor I," says Roily. But he didn't look half so worried aa he might. Say, when I came tq figure out what we were up against I could feel little cold-storage whiffs on my shoulder blades. Suppose some one should meet you. in the middle of Madison Square, hand you a ring-tailed tiger, and then skldoo. What? That would be an easy one compared to our proposition. It wasn't a square deal to shake her, and she'd made her mind up not to stay put anywhere again. "Walt here until I telephone some one," says Roily. 'De-lighted!" says i. "Better ring up The World's Foremost Private Citizen How Grover Cleveland Is Honored on Ills Birthday at His Own Home. PRINCETON, N. J.. March 14. (Spe cial Correspondence of The Sunday Oregonlan.) Aside from football games and other athletic contests, there is only one day in the year when this sleepy old town rouses from lte leth argy and lets itself loose. That is the 18th of March, the birthday of Prince ton's most distinguished resident, Mr. Orover Cleveland. On that day every body who is anybody lrt Princeton calls at the big white house which is the Cleveland family house to pay hie respects; there Is a steady procession of messenger boys delivering telegrams addressed to the ex-President, and a crowd of college boya marches over to the front lawn of the Cleveland house singing songs and giving the Prince ton yell In his honor. The noteworthy thing about this demonstration of respect In honor of the only living ex-President is that It grows In volume with every recurring anniversary. Every year the number of visitors, telegrams and letters grow larger, and this year, when Mr. Cleve land will be 71 years old. It is expected that the observance of the day will be more general than ever. The Sage of Princeton, ae he has come to be called, therefore present the striking figure of an ex-President who, instead of dropping lato comparative obscurity after leaving office, has steadily bulked larger and larger in the public eye. At the present time there is prob ably no man In the country whose opinions are so frequently sought by the newspapers or who receives o many requests for the indorsement of all sorts of reforms and faddist move ments, not even excepting President Roosevelt himself. There have been some ex-Presidents who have been followed Into retire ments by the plaudits of the country and who were looked up to even more after leaving office than before. Washing-tori. Jefferson, John Quincy Adams and Grant were examples in point. There have been others, like Tyler, Fillmore and Hayes, who dropped into comparative obscurity as soon as they left the White House. Cleveland's case is unique, in that when he quitted the Chief Magistracy after having been twice elected and a third time re ceiving a majority of the popular vote he was one of the best-hated men in the country. Hia own party had prac tically discovered him; he had been -made the target of violent personal abuse, and he was held responsible for the jpanlc of 1893, just as a great many people are holding President Roose velt responsible for the panic of 1907. Since that time, however, the public attitude toward Mr. Cleveland has the Gerry Society too, while you're about It." , Miss Caramel and I didn't have a real sociable time while Roily was gone. I could see she was watchin' every move I made, as much as to say: '.'You can't lose me, Charlie!" It was Just as cheery as waitin' In the Sergeant's room for bail. -When Roily does show up he wears a reg'lar breakfast-food smile. "It had Just occurred to me." says he, "that I had accepted an Invitation from the Van Urbans for the opera." "What kind of a bluff did you throw?" says I. "None at all. Shorty," says he. "I Just asked If they would have room for three, and they said they .would. Say, that Roily don't need no nerve tonic, does he? You know about the Van ITrbans, don't you? They weigh in at something like umpteen millions and are a good fifth on Mrs. Astor's list. "Straight goods now," says ' I "you don't reckon to spring this aggregation on the diamohd horseshoe, do you?" "We must put in the time somehow," says he. I thought it might be all a grand josh until I'd watched some of his moves. First we hunts up one of those swell shops where i juat says- "Robes" on a brass plate outside. Roily stays In there four minutes and comes out with a piece of dry-goods that they must have stood him up a hundred for: kind of a cloak, ulster length, all rustly black silk outside and white lined. Miss Creamdrops. she puts it on with no more fuss than as if she'd been brought up on such things and had ordered this one a month ahead. Next we shifts our Mott-st. chariot for the real article with rubber tires and silver lamps, and heads for the studio, havin' stopped long enough for Roily to phone his man to chase his spike-tailed suit down there hotfoot. About that time I got wise to the fact that Roily and the girl were rlngln' me into their talk, and I was gettin' curious. I see Roily shaking his head like he was tryin' to prove an alibi and every once in a while pointin' to me. First thing I knows she'd quit his side of the car changed until he is now fairly deserv ing of the title given him last year as "the moet distinguished private citi zen In the world." A review of the fluctuations In the popularity of Mr. Cleveland is given in the March number of Appleton's Mag azine by John T. McCutcheon. who sums It up In the rather striking title. "The Rise, Fall and Rehabilitation of Grover Cleveland." The article points out that Americans are often more' fickle in their treatment of popular idols than the so-called mercurial Latin races; that, after crowding hon ors upon a man, naming cigars, babies and dogs after him" and shouting our selves hoarse In his praise, we sud denly turn our backs on him and leave him wondering what has happened. "It Isn't often given to a man to live through a rise Napoleonic in its swift ness," eays the Appleton article, "to jump to the highest place in the Na tion; then, with blighting suddenness, to find himself a shattered idol with few to raise a friendly voice against M?0BD, riage and was snugglln' up alongside of me. cooln' away in some outlandish kind of baby talk that I didn't savvy. I made no kick, though, until she begins to pat me on the head. "Call her off, will you?" says I. "I'm no lost kid." "The- young lady is merely expressing her thanks." says Roily, "to the gallant young hero who so nobly rescued her from the Malabistos. Don't be shy. Shorty. She says that anyone as brave as you are needn't worry about not being handsome." He was kldden' me, see? And I didn't have no come-back that she-could under stand. I felt like- a monkey, though, havin' my hair musses and thinkln' maybe next minute she'd give me the knife. And Roily sat there grinnln' like a jack-lantern. I didn't get a chance to break away until we got to the ranch here. Then we left-her In the buggy while we went up to make a lightnln' change. Me too? Sure! I've got a. head waiter's rig. Bought it for Tim Grogan's annual ball, but I never looked to wear it out at tendin' grand opera. "I hope the Van Urbans will appreciate that I'm glvin' 'em a treat," says I. "They'll be blind If they don't." says Roily. "Is It your collar that hurts most?" "No, It's the shoes," says I; "but maybe the paln'H numb down by the time we get there." We made our grand entry about the end of the second spasm. The Van Urbans had taken their corners. There was Papa Van Urban, lookln' like ready money: and Mama Van Urban, made up regardless; and Sis Van Urban, one of those tall Gainsborough girls that any piker could pick for a sure winner on form and past performance. Say, it took all the front I had in stock just to tag along as an also-ran, and when I thought of Roily headin' the pro cession I was dead sorry for him. I couldn't see how he was goln' to make good. And what kind of a game do you think he hands out? Straight talk, nothln' but! Course, he didn't make any family hist'ry out of tellin' who his lady friend was, but as far as he went it tallied with the card. "Out we go now!" says I to myself, and looks to see Mama Van Urban throw a cat fit. But she didn't. She Just squealed a little, same's if some one had tickled her behind the ear, and then she the storm of denunciation, and finally to see that same Nation come back to greet him in humble friendliness. Usually a stateman's ' vindication comes more slowly. He dies, crushed and lonely, in some St. Helena, and then, long afterward, he becomes the idol of those who helped to crush him. History gives him proper appreciation, but only his descendants may enjoy the tardy award. "Mr. Cleveland has been the excep tion. He Is alive to enjoy his justifica tion. The powerful politicians who knifed him for daring to put country above party have now been forgotten, or have faded into semi-obscurity, but with each passing year the wise old Sage of Princeton, stubborn! In his high ideals of duty, unswerving in his old fashioned honesty, expands in great ness. His words of homely wisdom are heavy batteries, and when he fires a broadside at some prevailing style of corruption the country- applauds and remarks approvingly. 'Grover's a mighty level-headed old party.' " -lS9.- By John T. McCutcheon. began slinging that gurgly-gurgly New port talk that the Sixth-ave. salesladies use. Sis Van Urban caughtthe same cue. To hear 'em you'd think Rolly'd done something real cute. They gave Miss Caramel the lofty wig-wag and shooed her Into a stage-corner chair. She never made a kick at anything until they triedto take away her cloak. Not much! She was Just beglnnin' to be stuck on that. She kept it wrapped around her like she knew the proprietor wa'n't responsible for overcoats. Roily tried to tell her how there wa'n't no grand larceny intended; but It was no go. She had her suspicions of the crowd, bo they Just had to let her sit there draped. And at that she wasn't any misfit. Now I'd seen the insido of the Metropolitan Opera House once or twice before. havin' blown myself to a standee just for the sake of look ln at the real things with their warpaln on; but I wasn't feelln' anv more to home in the back of that box than 1 would in a pulpit. But tho Slc'ly girl didn't show no more stage-fright than au auctioneer. She just holds her chin up and looks out at all that display of open-work aress-maklng and cutglass exhibit without so much as battin' an eyelash. She was takin' It all in, from the bargain hats in the family circle to the diamond tummy warmers' In the parterre. You'd never guessed that she'd come from a Dago back district where they have one mail a week. There was some rubberin' at her, of course, and I .expect we had the safety vault crowd guessln as to what kind of a prize the Van Urbane had won; but It didn't faze her a bit. She Just gave 'em the Horse-Show stare, as cool as a trapped mint. Nor the rlngln' up of the curtain didn't disturb her either. When a chesty barytone sauntered down to the footlights and began callln' the chorus names she glanced over her shoulder casual-like, just to see what the row was all about, and then went on slzin' up the folks. She couldn't have done it better if she'd taken lessons by mail. "If she would onlv talk!" gurgles Mrs. I Van Urban. "Doesn't she know af word of English?' "She speaks nothing but pure Sicilian," says Roily, "and the way she talks it is like music. Wait!" Pretty soon the barytone quits jawin' and a prima donna In spangled clothes comes to the front. . Maybe It was Nor dlca or Melba. Anyway, she was an A-l warbler. . She hadn't let go of more'k a dozen notes before Miss Caramel begins to set up and take notice. First she has a kind of surprised look, as if a ringer had been sprung on her; and then, as the hlghC artist begins to let herself go, she swings around and listens' with both ears. The music didn't seem to go In one ear and out the other; it stuck some where between and swayed and lifted her like a breeze in a posy-bush. I could hear her toe tappln' out the tune and see her head keep time to It. Why, if I could get my money's worth out of opera like that I'd buy a season ticket. When the prima donna had cut It off, with her voice way up In the flies some where, and the house bad rose to her," as the bleachers do when one of the Giants knocks a three-bagger. Miss Caramel was still sitting there, waitin' for more. Her trance didn't last long, though. She just cast one eye around the boxes and down to the orchestra, where the people was splittin' gloves and yellln": "Brava, brava!" so that you'd thought somebody'd carried Ohio by a big majority, and then she takes a notion to get Into the game herself. Shuckin' that black cloak, she jumps up, drops one hand on her hip, holds the other to her Hps, and peels off a kind of whoop-e-e-e yodel that shakes the sky light Talk about your cornet bugle call! That little ventriloquist pass of hers had 'em stung to a whisper. It cut through all that patter and screech like Trinity chimes spHtthV a fish-horn serenade, and it was as clear as the ring of silver sleigh-bells on a frosty night. After that It was all up toher. The other folks quit and turned to see who had done it. ' Two or three thousand pairs of double-barreled squint-glasses were pointed our way. The folks be hind 'em found something worth lookln' at, too. Our Sic'ly lady wasn't in dis guise any more. She stood up there at the box rail, straight as a Gibson girl, her black hair hangin' in two thick braids below her waist, the gold hoops In her ears all a-jiggle. and her black eyes sneppiu' like a pair of burning trolley fuses. Well, say, if she wa'n't a pastel I never see one! She'd Just smiled, and nodded at the others; but she blew a kiss up to our girl -before she left. I don't know just what would have happened next if some one hadn't shown up at the back of the box and asked for Roily. It was the Italian Consul, that we'd seen earlier In the day. "Where did you find her?" says he. "Meaning who?" says Roily. "Why, the Countess Padova." "Beg pardon." says Roily, "but if you mean the young lady there you're mis taken. - She's a peasant girl who has come over from Sicily to discover New York." "She's the Countess Padova or I'm a Turk." says the consul. "Ask her to step back here a moment." It sounded like a pipe-dream, all right. Who ever saw a Countess rigged out for the tambourine act and mixln' with chestnut roasters? But Mr. Con sul had the evidence with him. As he told it, she was sure-enough Countess, so far as the handle went, only the family wasn't livin" up to their ped igree. It seems that away back, before the Chicago fire or the Sayers-lleenan go. Miss CarameJ's great-granddaddy had been a real top-notcher who had done the Count act in regulation style. Then there'd come along a war, or some kind of a mix-up. He wa euchred out of his castle and building-lots and had to take to the suburbs. But he kept on being a Count Just the same. The consul hadn't known great-grand pop himself, but Miss Padova's fathea had been a chum of his at boarding school or somewhere, and he was thick with the family.. So when the Countess takes It Into her head to slide for America with a tin trunk Pop Padova cables over a general alarm to his old friend. "I had been having Mulberry Bend raked- with a fine-tooth comb without finding a trace ofher." says lie. "but when I saw -her standing up here In this box I knew her at a glance." Then he asked Miss Caramel if he hadn't called the trick, and she said he hail. aen." says he, "perhaps yon will tell ua why you came to America?" "Suro." says she. or something that meant the same. "I've come over after my best feller. I'm going to marry him." and with that she slips an arm around Rolly's neck, as cool as though they'd been on a moonlight excursion With the deck lanterns turned off. Mr. Consul's face goes as red as a fireman's shirt. Mamma Van Urban puts up her long-handled eye-trses and stares at Miss Padova like she was tryin' to e through her into the last of next week. Papa Van Urban side steps as if he saw trouble comin' his way. Sis Van Urban was Just breath ing hard and putting a $40 ivory fan out of business bet wen her. fingers. When I see that I remembers what the old gent had told me 'about Rolly's being booked to be married. "Great upper cuts" says I to myself. "That's the girl!" Then I looks at Roily. Ho hadn't budged 'or turned a hair. He just stands there, with the Slc'ly lady pat ting htm on the shoulder. "However unexpected." says he, "the honor is all mine." And say. you'd have thought he meant every word of It. "Ahem!", says the consul, steadyin' himself with a grip on the curtains. "Perhaps It would be best to make some explanation." . Well, ho tackled the Job. He says as how It was likely that Miss Pardova. being a Countess at home, nad some Ideas on the courtln' game that migit seem queer to us. Over there when a Countess went out of her class she didn't: have to wait .for the chap to make the first move. It was etiquette for her. to say "Come along, honey; y.ou're mine!" and walk him off to the priest. She'd sized Roily up that way, not knowin' he was a good deal of a rooster himself, with real money enough to buy up a whole rinkful of Dago Counts. "And now," says the consul, "before this goes any further, perhaps It would be best for the Countess to have a talk with my wife. We'll take her home." Well, they settled it that way. and I was mighty glad to get her off our hands so easy. But as Roily says good-night to the Van Urbans I notices the thermometer below sero. Next day the consul shows up at the studio, where I was tryin" to Interest Roily In a new whlpsaw counter. "Young man." says he to Roily, glvln' him the right hand of fellowship, "af ter what you did last night I'm proud to know you. And I'm happy to state that It's all off with tne Countess." Then he went on to say how Miss Padova when she tumbles to the brash kind of a play she'd made, and finds out who the other girl was, feels like a plush Christmas box at a January sale. She turns on the sprinkler, wants to know what they suppose Roily thinks of her, and says she'll go back to -Slc'ly by the next boat. . , "We'll send her back to her father Saturday," says the consul, "and you may rest assured that the incident is closed.'" I was lookln' for Roily to open a bottle or so on that, but he didn't. For a pleased man he held in well. "Poor little girl!" says he. About that time the studio door opens and in conies Rolly's old gent, lookln' about as calm as a hot-chowder kettle with the lid on. "Roily," says he, not sparrln' any for an opening but Jumpin' right in, "here's a ring of yours that's returned, with thanks." Roily takes the spark, shoves it In his vest and remarks: "That simplifies matters a lot." "Does, eh?" says the old nun, squlntln' at him through those X-ray eyes of his. "But It doesn't make mat ters very clear to me. Now what sort of a young woman was It that you sprung on the Van Urbans last night?" "The right sort, sir," says Roily, "or else she wouldn't have been there." "Sounds well enough," says the old man; "but who is she, who's her folks and all that?" "Her father," says Roily, planting himself firm on his pins and stickin' his under jaw out, "is a native of Sicily who lives on a three-acre farm that's worth probably about two hundred dollars. As for the young lady, she's the one I tried to tell you about. She picked me up in the hills of Sicily one night last Summer when I was wan dering around lost and in danger of breaking my neck or being shot." "Very fine!" grunts the old man. "But Van Urban says that she gives out that she has coma over here to inarry you. What right has she talk ing any such blasted nonsense as that?" "None at all, sir," says Roily. "But she will have the right Inside of half an hour. I'm going up there now. Come on. Shorty, I need you as a chaperon." The old gent never peeped, and his mouth closed up as tight as a safe door; but I could tell by the look of his eyes that he thought snore of Roily that minute than he had ever before In his life. We left him an" the consul lookin' at each other like a pair of wax figures. Now playin' shappyrone ain't Just in my line, as I've said, but I went along that time, and we chases up to the con sul's house. Talk about your hard frosts! That was an ice-house call all right.. They left us on the door-mat while the word goes upstairs, and after awhile the hired girl comes down to give us the book-agent stare. "Th" missus," says she, "says as how the young lady begs to be 'xcused." "Does the young lady know?" says Roily. "She does," says the girl, and shuts the door. "Gee," says I, "that's below the belt." Roily didn't have a word left In him; but I wouldn't have met him in the ring about then for a bookie's bun dle; Just as we hit the sidewalk we hears a front window gro up, and down comes a big red rose plunk in front of us. "Is It a token?" says I, handin' it to Roily. "It is, Shorty," says he. "It means that I'm going back to Sicily to buy up a certain decayed old castle that I've heard about." "The Padova homestead?" says I. . "None other." says he. Andsay, when a cleari-cut youngster like EtolIy opens trainin' quarters right on the ground, I can see the fin ish of that duck with the sulphur mine, eh? Question for Question. "Is acting degenerating?" murmured the citizen who worries about everything. "I dunno," responded the practical per son. "Is hodcarryin' and cab-drivin' all that It wuz?"
