6
THE SUNDAY OREGONIAX. PORTLAND, "3IAY 1909.
BEING TZOTBSStm SHORTST MCBJMy ACCOUNTT OF
HOW H CXMIHrCTID -A. RKSONABLB TOUR JT
ED
V1
rr a
. i
SAY, of all the light running', care
dodgin', grown-up kids that ever
waltzed through life on tip-toes
Now who do you guess? Sure, Pinck
ney! Maybe I've hinted something of
the kind before; but I ain't ever done
the subject justice. It would take four
languages and a motion picture outflt
to give you even an outline sketch of
him: and then, just as you thought you
could guess what he'd do next, he'd
spring something diff'rent.
Now last week, accordin' to his own
schedule, he was supposed to be off on
that yachting trip got up by Sadie and
the Purdy-Pells for the special stunt,
of unloadin' a punky Austrian Count
on the Bar Harbor crowd. But along
late Thursday afternoon, when I'm
leanin' back in my chair with my feet
on the window sill, thlnkin' about
nothln' in particular and enjoyin' the
'AH, GO SIT ON A TACKI" SAYS I. "NO IF YOU DON'T EXPLODE,
exercise, a cab fetches up outside, I
hears someone prancln' up the stairs
two at a jump, and in rushes his joy
ous nibs, wearin" a Merry Widower
straw lid with a pink and white band
and carryin' one of his fifty-nine varie
ties of silver-headed sticks.
"Come on, Shorty!" says he. "Get
your bag, and let's catch the mountain
express! We have 40 minutes to make It
in."
"Gwan!" says I. "Quit your kid Jin'
in that breathless way; it's bad for the
valves."
"But I mean it: really I do," says
he, proddln" me playful In the ribs with
the cans handle. "It's all right, I've
made all the arrangements, and you can
be gone two or three days just as well
as not. Come on, hurry up!"
"Easy now, Pinckney," says I. "This
ain't no engine-house, where you can
stick your head in, holler once, and
have me sltdin' down the pole. You've
rung me in on them nutty excursions
of yours times enough."
"But this isn't one of that kind."
says he. "Truly, it will be jolly sport,
you know, and I had counted on your
going with "
"Say, Pinckney," aays I. takin' my
heels down and turnin for a good
look at him. "if you'll quit exhaustin"
through your cylinders maybe I can
hear what you're tryin' to say. It would
help some if you'd state where you're
goln" and why."
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" says he.
"Why, lt somewhere up in the White
Mountains."
"No -particular spot, I suppose?" says
I.
"Don't be absurd!" says he. "I don't
remember the name of the station, of
course; but it's on the tickets. Isn't
that enough?"
-Unless you've lost the tickets," says
I. "But how about this detail of why
you're goin'? Is that on the tickets, too,
or do you get the information from
the brakeman? Is It just a pleasure
trip the doctor has ordered for the
benefit of your family, or are you
takin' it because you had a funny
dream?"
"Purely business," says Plnckpey.
"It's abouter " Here he fishes out a
card, takes a quick glimpse at it. and
goes on, "It's about Notch Manor."
"So-o-o-o?" says I. "And what's this
Notch Manor a 3-year-old colt, or a
new way of Join' up the hair?"
"It's a hotel," says Pinckney: "quite
a large one too. and full of guests. I'm
not quite sure, but I'm afraid I own it."
"You're which?" says I. "Afraid you
own a hotel! Say, what are the symp
toms? If it's catchin', I'd like to be
exposed."
"Well, at least. I'm threatened with
a hotel." says Pinckney. "Anyway, I
must go up and see about it; so I
thought I would like to have you "
"That'll do," says I. "If you'd said
that first off we'd be halfway there by
row. You with a hotel. Oh. splinters!
Why. say. I wouldn't miss that exhibi
tion for a farm. Hi Swlfty J Dig out
that emergency travelln' kit of mine,
will you? And take care of the shop
until I show up again! I'm off with
Pinckney!"
And away we starts, just like that.
Maybe It was a batty move on my part;
but watchtn' Pinckney gettin" himself
tangled up with dlfTrent propositions,
and then squirmin' out of 'em, is one of
the joys of my existence. Gen'rally he's
always been able to duck any damagin'
consequences; but from the Indications
this looks like it might be the eclipse.
"How was It handed to you?" says I,
after we'd got aboard the train and
was halfway through one of them imi
tation dinners they serve en the dinin'
cars.
Then he goes on to tell about Ollie
Bickford and how he got mixed up with
him. Seems that Ollie is one of the
reg'lar hotel Blckfords. the fam'ly that
owns so many resort joints you know
em. There was four brothers to start
with, and they all contracted the hotel
keepin' habit early la life. Each of 'em
managed to bring up a fam'ly not full
slsed, farmhouse fam'lles, you under
stand, but limited editions, that
v.
the rush season and as fast as a
young Bickford grew up tall enough
to lean his elbows on the register they
built a new botel for him. They took to
it natural, too. as a Greek does to run
nln' a fruit stand.
All except Ollie. He'd been spoiled by
bein" sent to college and gettin' in
with a bunch of young loose-wads. So,
when it's time for him to pick out a
Summer resort and begin harvestln' the
vacation money, he ain't prepared. He
knows a lot about afternoon teas; but
blamed little about any kind of break
fasts except the sort that's brought in
on a tray at ten-thirty A- M. His broth
ers and uncles put him down as the
brunette lamb of the flock, and begun
speakln' of him as the family joke.
The next thing Ollie knows he's an
orphan. He finds that his old man has
left him nothing but the Notch Manor
House, that's always been a doubtful
proposition, with a proviso that if ho
can run it for two seasons and show a
net profit he's to have his share of
the dividends from the Bickford sys
tem. If he falls down, he's to be put on
the disabled pension list, with just
enough to keep him out of the soup
kitchens.
Well, Ollie starts brave enough. The
first season he picks out for manager
a college chum of his that played short
stop on the varsity nine and sang first
bass in the glee club. He had other
talents too; but somehow they didn't
fit in with the hotel business, and when
Ollie counted up at the end of October
he was several figures to the bad.
Next he meets Pinckney at the club,
tells him his tale of woe, and displays
some of the cold, unfeelln' letters his
relations have wrote to him. That gets
Pinckney int'rested in the case. He of
fers to put up cash for a new deal and
take - a mortgage on Notch Manor. So
this Summer Ollie makes his plunge
with an Interest handicap and a new
manager who'd got his hotel experience
actln' as banquet chairman of the Phi
Delta Gamma. And once more he slips
into the excavation.
Pinckney don't know the full partic
ulars; but he gathers from Ollie's wire
that the amateur manager has quit, two
of the clerks has followed suit, and he's
left with a balance on the wrong side of
the ledger and a houseful of disgrun
tled guests.
"And now he wants to turn over his
beastly hotel to me," says Pinckney.
"Fancy that!"
"I'm tryin' to," says I, "but It's a
strain. What's your programme?"
It was a foolish question. Pinckney
don't do business accordin' to pro
gramme. He's just going up to look
things over, he says, and to josh Ollie
along. I expect if the truth was known,
though, Pinckney has an idea he can
spend half an hour with Ollie and give
him points enough to pull him through.
Ever know anybody that didn't think
runnln' a hotel would be a cinch for
him? I've even had pipe dreams like
that myself. But say. neither of us
had ever been right up against the
proposition before.
And it was a mess, all right. About
10 o'clock next mornln' we're landed at
a dinky little station up amongst the
most perpendicular scenery In the state
of New Hampshire, and after a 10 min
utes' stage ride we're dumped in front
of this Notch Manor House, squattln'
down between two counties set up on
edge.
It's a big four-story barracks that's
sufferin' from a scarletina roof and an
epidemic of striped window awnings.
Besides the carriage drives, there's just
"enough flat ground left for a postage
stamp lawn and a couple of tennis
courts on the side. You couldn't walk
two blocks in any direction without
comin' to a place where there ought to
be a passenger elevator but wa'n't so
much as a ladder.
"Gee," says I. "Talk about spendin'
the Summer tn the mountains! Me for
the bottom. of a nice cool air shaft!"
"But look at the scenery," says
Pinckney.
"That'd give me a crick in the neck,"
says I.
"This atr Is certainly exhilarating,
though," says he. swellin' out his chest.
"It's good enough air." says 1: "but I'm
callin for something more from life than
Just a. chance to breathe. When- can we
Jump a train back to Broadway?"
Pinckney says there's a through express
stops about S P. M., and he hopes to
have everything all straightened out by
then: so we climbs out of the stage and
tells a . porter to take us in to Mr. Bick
ford. "He's very busy just now. sir," says the
porter.
"So much the better," says Pinckney.
"Ah, there he is!"
And we admits that the baggage jug
gler wa3 art accurate describer. Over the
heads of the crowd around the office
desk I gets a glimpse of a. light-haired,
good-lookin' young chap who's tryin' to
mop th. w.irrted expression off his face
X iUi a 4i&ndkerchie and answer, seven
different people at once. It's a rep'lar
anvil chorus he's conductin'; for they're
every last one of 'em knockin something
or other. One's complainin' about the
table service, others about the grub, and
the rest wants to know why their laun
dry don't come, where the-cigar clerk's
gone to, and why they can't . get hot
water on the top floor. Ollie was doin'
his best to pnss out the soothin' syrup,
when be looks up and sees Pinckney
driftin' in behind the counter.
"Thank goodness you've come!" says
he, turmn' his back on the crowd. "Here,
let's go into the frivate office and lock
the door. Oh, you have some one with
you."
"Only Shorty McCabe," says Pinckney,
doin' the honors.
"Do you know how to run a hotel?"'
says Ollie, turnin' to me eager and expectant.
YOU'RE PUNCTUREPROOF
"He can run anything," says Pinckney.
"Gwan!" says I. "Don't. you let him
pump you full of hot air that way."
But Ollie's too much excited to take
advice. His one Idea is that Finckney's
come -o take the hotel off his hands.
"It's yours from this minute!" says he.
"I don't care a hang about the will or
anything else! I want to get out of this
before I go craay. Oh, it's been awful!"
With that Cllle slumps into a chair,
and it's only ty degrees that Pinckney
gets out of him an itemized bill of the
horrible state of affairs. - It don't look
so wonderful bad, as far as we can see.
The late banquet artist did work up
something of a deficit before he left,
owing: to slim attendance early in the
season; but since then the place has filled
up, and the books show a good fat mar
gin of weekly receipts over expenses.
"Yes; but if they, all leave!" groans
Ollie. "AfJ they will! They've threat
ened to do It. Didn't you hear them just
now? It's been like that every day.''
MRS. TAFT IN HER INAUGURAL GOWN FIRST PORTRAIT
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"Pshaw!" says Pinckney. "You don't
know how to handle them. Don't try to
explain; just make premises. Promise
them anything. That's all they want."
"But things s:re bad," says Ollie. "The
moat cook Is careless, the hallboys laiy,
and th-2 waiters impudent. I've talked
to them about It. too, and asked them If
they wouldn't please do better; but, do
you knew, they only laugh at jnie."
"The mean things!" says I.
Pinckney shakes his head at me, and
proceeds to pass out some more valuable
advice. He tells Ollie the way to reform
the help and get 'cm up on their toes
is to give 'em the grand jelly. His idea
is to throw each one a bouquet about
twice a day, tell 'em how good they are
and what bully work they're doing.
"That's the way I manage my man
when he's cranky, says' Pinckney.
"Come on; well try it now."
"I I'd rather not," says Ollie. ' -
But Pinckney is all worked up over the
notion, and he fairly drags Ollie along
to make the rounds of the building on
his softsoap mission. As for me, I stays
behind and studies the time table.
m m
I don't know how thick Pinckney
spread it on; but he must have done a
wholesale job, for tney've hardly got
back before the results begin to show.
Inside of half an hour two dozen.. as
sorted help has -come in and struck
Ollie for a raise. If they were such
crackerjacks as they u been told they
were, they wanted more money, or else
they meant to quit. Some of 'em went
so far aa to knock off pendin' arbitration.
But lunch time the thing has spread
until it's developed into a general strike.
And maybe there wa'n't a mad crowd
of hungry folks in the dinin'-room to
serve 400 people, and only cold dishes at
that! Wow! I could hear 'em way out
in the far corner of the veranda, where
I'm gettin' away with a couple of ham
sandwiches I'd bribed a bellhop to swipe
from the kitchen. A little later you
should have seen the bunch swarmin'
around -the office desk, and heard 'em
tellin' Pinckney and Ollie their private
opinion of such a hotel.
I slips around where I could peek
through the window at 'em, and when
I catches Pinckney's eyes I gives him
the grin. I could afford to. Wa'n't there
that 6 o'clock train back to New York?
And wouldn't I have something to rub
into Pinckney? Say, it was all to the
joyous while it lasted. I goes out for
a little climb up one of them shady step
ladder paths, just to kill time and think
over what a lovely mess he was in. I
felt so good I sits on a rock for -about
an hour and gloats.
Allowln' plenty of time to make the
train, I strolls back to the hotel, and
finds the guests holdln' Indignation
meetln's all over the front veranda. I
grins once more and pushes in to look
up Pinckney. He ain't behind the desk
or anywhere in sight. In the -private
office there's nobody but Ollie, face down
on a leather couch, with a wet towel
around his head.
"Where's your side partner, the soft
soap apostle?" says I.
"Do you mean Pinckney?" says he.
"Why, he's gone."
. - 4.
Portrait Copyright by J. Knowles, Bishop of Baltimore
"Ha, ha! Ho, ho!" eays I. "So he took
to the woods, eh?"
"No," says OlHe. "He caught the local
down to the junction, and is going to
get the express there. He said he had
left you in full charge.
"What's that?" says I. "Left who?"
"You," says Ollie.
"Me!" says I. "Not on you silhouette!"
"But there's no one else," says he,
proppin' himself up and spreadin' out his
hands. "I'm out of It. jfou'U find a note
from Pinckney on the desk."
It's there, all right, and it's a cute one,
too. He explains what a hole Ollie is
in. and how he'd love to stay and pull
him out if it wa'n't for his havin' to
Join Count Puddledorf In Portland; and
won't I take hold and do the beet I can
until he can send up an experienced
manager? He don't care what I do, or
what happens, if I'll only stay. .
Ah, scissors!" says I. "You wait until
I see him on the express! Where's that
bag of mine?"
T3t- -flt. ::'::
"Oh, don't please don't, leave me here
alone!" says Ollie. "He said you'd take
charge, and 'I've told everyone you
would, too. Please, Mr. McCabe, don't
go away!"
"Sorry I can't oblige," says I; "but
this is where I duck. 60 long, Ollie.
Good luck," and I makes a dash through
the door.
Just as I was grabbing my bag from
under the counter, the first delegation
from the hot collar convention hits the
other side. The chairman seems to be
a bull necked, ruby complected party,
with a waist on him like a sugar barrel
and a voice that's as soft and soothin'
as the honk of an automobile horn.
"Hey!" says he, shovin' a fat fore
finger under my nose. "Are you the new
manager of this rotten establishment!"
It wa'n't so much what he said, as how
he shot it oft, that ruffles my back
feathers. "Ah, go sit on a tack!" says
I. "And if you don't explode you're
puncture proof."
TAKEN IN WHITE HOUSE
and Washington.
E ' .... f $ i
"Wh-wh-what's that?" says he, turn
in purple.
"That's Ninth-ave repartee," says I.
"I don't make a practice of usln' it;
but when fat parties like you go to doin'
the human doormat act with me, I
sometimes indulge. Now I'd advise you
to go off somewhere in the shade and
cool down."
"Will you answer my question, sir?"
he bellows. ' "Are you, or are you not
the manager of this "
And say. it come to me an of a sud
den. I didn't want to be, but at that
minute I was. "Well," says I. chuckin'
my hat on"the safe and leanin' across
with my elbows on the counter, "what
then? I'm the new manager. Who the
biases are you?"
That unexpected come back almost
chokes him; but he splutters out that
he's Senator Somebody or Other, and
that him and his two daughters are oc
cupyln' suite B on the second floor, at
the rate of $50 a day.
& 4 -v... iys-if.t tgg A'izl
"WHERE'S THE SOFTSOAP APOSTLE?" SAYS I.
" "Beglnnin' 'tomorrow noon," says I,
"It'll be sixty per."
"Wh-a-at!" he gasps.
"S-i-x six, t-y ty, sixty per," says I,
countin' it off for him on my fingers.
"We we'll leave!" he shouts.
"Good!" says I. "I. need your rooms
for the Count. One s le, please. Any of
you other gents got remarks to make?"
A fussy little man wearin' gold specta
cles steps up and begin to squeak out
that the coffee was vile, that his wife
couldn't get the maids to answer the
bell, and that all they'd been served for
luncheon was cold ham.
"That's nothin'," says I. "There's
worse to come. When you've had enough,
clear out; but if you bring me any more
kicks I'll take you up to the roof and
drop you oft! Next!" and wfth that I
shucks my coat, rolls up my sleeves, and
prepares to send back whatever I'm
about to receive.
It don't come, though. That bunch of
disgruntled groucnes that's been making
life miserable or the meek and lowly
Ollie for the last ferr weeks just catches
their breath, stares at one another fool
ish, and then does the vanishing act. I
turns around, to find Ollie standin' at
my elbow with his eyes popped out and
the towel draped over one ear.
"Thank you!" says he, grabbin' my
hand. "Oh, thank you, thank you! That
was bully, bully!"
"It's only a curtain raiser to what's
comin' next," says I. "Long's I'm start
ed on this thing, I might's well push it
SWEET-SMELLING HERB BEDS
I
N our grandmother's time there was
always a bed for old-fashioned herbs
in the vegetable garden. There.
against sunny walls, or in prim hedges
around things of a more practical nature,
grew the leaved and flowered plants
which made elegant perfumes, hot drinks
for the cure of various aliments, season
ings for fowl and game, and which even
went, in some wistful Spring, perhaps, to
declare love or the passing of it to faith
ful or delinquent lovers.
There, with parsley, marjoram and
thyme, grew lavender, angelica, rue,
rosemary and balms; herbs for disordered
stomachs, herbs for elegant sentiments
and homely usefulness.
An herb bed is the next best thing to
an entire garden for the woman who
loves growing things and wholesome out
door exercise. Many herbs call for a dif
ferent time of planting, and naturally
climate must be taken into account. But
a stamped and addressed envelope, in
closed In a letter asking for a leaflet on
herbs, would, bring help from the Agri
cultural Department at Washington. The
tiniest patch of ground would reap a
harvest of the deliciously smelling plants,
but if this is not available, a box in a
sunny window would grow several varie
ties. Chives, which are capital for sea
soning salads, 'may be raised in a clay
flower pot.
For kitchen uses fresh herbs, such as
parsley, thyme, tarragon, sorrel, sage
and marjoram, are invaluable, these im
parting a taste far more delicate than
the dried plant. Lavender, the flowers of
which are so much used for perfuming
linen, and for the making of toilet water,
-1b "a very hardy plant. Each year will in
crease the lavender ' plantation, too. If
slips or young shoots are regularly plant
ed in the Spring. Hot water poured on
lavender flowers and allowed to stand a
while was once taken In teaspoonfuls as
a medicine. The flowers were also pre
served and eaten as a sweet.
Angelica and borage, two old-time fa
vorites, are eaten to this day in various
countries. Candied angelica Is one of our
own confectioner's great delicacies, and,
when pushed for something green, the
stalks of the plant may be blanched and
eaten as celery. The Laplanders extol
the virtues of angelica for coughs and
other chest disorders. Borage, which is
a hardy annual, is used in Italy, when the
leaves are young and tender, as a raw or
cooked salad, and in France Its flowers,
like those of nasturtium, for ornament
salads.
Caraway. Coriander and anise sed are
useful for cakes and bread aad cordials.
through. Go collect all the help in the
dinin'-room. I'm goin' to make a speech
to "em."
And say. you never know what you
can do until you get roing, do you? The
way that stuffed gang of grub hustlers
had got puffed up over a little hot air,
just put me in fine condition for short
arm oratin'. I begins by tellin' 'em
what a bunch of no good, butter fingered
tip chasers they was, and ends by in
nouncin' that every last one of 'em is
fired on the spot. Then I tacks on a
postscript that if any of 'em is willin'
to hustle the way they should, they can
have' ten niinutes to prove i'. by gettin'
busy. It's either- walk or work.
What I looks for Js a procession
towards the station: but instead of that
some one starts givln' three cheers for
the new manager, and before half the
time limit is up the whole mob is jugglln'
crockery, and shakin' sheets, and gottln"
dinner, as merry as a picnic party.
v;: u " i Kl
n-rAi 'M .,, .LiLik. . J
Ollie forgets the headache and comes
back to life. "But what did you mean."
says he, "when you told the Senator
about wanting his rooms for some
Count?"
"Nothing but a bluff," says I. "I was
thinking of Puggledorf. But say. Ollie,
wouldn't it be a good thing for business
if he was comin' here?"
"Would it!" says Ollie. "Why, with
Count Puggledorf in the house you
couldn't drive them away with a club!"
"Then the Count comes." says I.
"Pinckney's got to make that bluff good,
or we'll sue him for breach of promise."
That's what I wire him, too, and he
sends back word that he'll ship Puggle
dorf, up on the next train. The minute
Ollie spreads the news that a real live
Count Is on his way to Notch Manor,
60 women stops packin' their trunks, and
the Senator re-engages his suite for
three weeks more, payin' in advance.
And you never seen anyone recover his
nerve the way Ollie does. He don't take
any back talk from anyone, but keeps
the help on the jump, and tells me he's
going to finish the season ahead of the
game.
-.
. I didn't stay long enough to see which
one of that giddy female crowd got the
strangle hold on Puggledorf: but I saw
enough to dope this out; That the way
to run a mountain hotel is to choke oft
the kickers, throw a scare into the help,
and have a spare Count up your sleeve
in case of emergency.
and fever-few horehound and cumin are
excellent for the medicine chest.
The situation most suitable for a herb
bed should have a gentle slope toward the
south. Ids worst soli for herbs Is that
of stiff, clayey description. But as a gen
eral recommendation for the right sort
will not suit all herbs It Is best to go by
a garden book.
Supreme Gift Is rBain Power.
John Burroughs in the Atlantic.
Man has no wings, and yet he can s6ar
above the clouds; he is not swift of foot,
and yet he can outspeed the fleetest
hound or horse; he has but feeble
weapons in his organization, and yet he
can slay or master all the great beasts:
his eye " is not so sharp as that of the
eagle or the vulture, and yet he can see
into the farthest depths of sidereal space;
he has only very feeble occult powers of
communication with his fellows, and yet
he can talk around the world and send
his voice across mountains and deserts;
his hands are weak things beside a lion's
paw or an elephant's trunk, and yet he
can move mountains and stav rivers and
set bounds to the wildest seas. His dog
can out-smell nim and outrun him and
outbite him, and yet his dog looks up
to him as to a god. He has erring rea
son in place of unerring instinct, and yet
he has changed the face of the planet.
Without the specialisation of the lower
animals their wonderful adaptation to
particular ends their tools, their wea
pons, their strength, their speed, man yet
makes them all his servants. His brain
is more than a match for all the special
advantages nature has given them. The
one gift of reason makes him supreme
In the world.
The Widow. War.
Old Solomon was wise in many ways.
But there were things he couldn't un
derstand; And unto him be honor and great praise
That he confessed his ignorance oft
hand. . .
He did not know how ships went in the
sea.
How serpents crawled, how eaglet
wiled the air;
A man's way with a maid was mystery
To him he owned all this, freely and
fair.
A maid's way with a man is also queer
So subtle that no man can fathom it.
He may be wise, but she, little dear!
Shackles his wisdom and confounds his
wit.
But there is something stranger far than
this
How a young widow blinds a lover's
sense.
And has him quite persuaded that the
kiss
He gives her is a new experience!
-Cleveland Ijeader,