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?"