Evening Star Newspaper, June 19, 1921, Page 57

A HOUND ON THE TRAIL s sar T TOOK TInez a couple of days to really get the full effect of this sudden rush of fake uncles, and cven then she don't seem to be quite sure as o just what has hap- pened. Chiefly she is impressed by the) fact that all those fresh reporters, Wwho had horned in on, follow-up tips v “after Barry Piatt’ had printed that first article about Incz and her hunt for a rich uncle. had gone off and written a lot of flip stuff about us. She has cut out all the pieces and has read them over and over. finally put- ting them carefully away in the fancy sweet-grass basket where she keeps that they didn't need an introduction to. Even this grouchy Scotchman with the game leg and the bald head. “If you shouid be wanting a tem- porary seetuation, Miss Dodge.” says he, “I have something in mind “How sweet of you, Mr. Campbell,” ays I ‘nload it, will you? And he tells me how a personal friend of his, Mr. MclIntosh, in charge of the houseturnishings, is going to need two young ladies to demonstrate an electric washing machine for a “In some couple of weeks. L cluded spot in the subbasement, eh?" 1 believe it is to take place in a show window.” says he. “Say, that listens something like," says 1 “Of course, what I don't know about electric hers is monumental, THE SUNDAY STAR. WASHINGTON, "D. ‘C.;" JUNE 19, 1921—PART 4. RITING of summer opera and winter opera In the Washington of our youth, the Rambler falls to won- dering if we have as much music and a8 good music as we had then, angd if we get as much happiness from it Out of the gallery of his memory he takes -an old picture which he be- lieves many of you will recognize. Over therc agalnst-the parlor wall, under crayon portraits of grandma and grandpa, was a little square. pia- no with wonderously carved legs, two brass pedals and a music holder [ — > A QUESTION of Whether the Songs of Another Day Were More Wholesome “Than Those of Today—Lilting Melodies of Grandpa’s Time—The Old Square Piano and the Oil Lamp—Sentimental Old Ballads. 1 | THE RAMBLER WRITES OF SOME PARLOR her near-turquoise beads and her{Put I expect I'could learn the patter. spare lingerie S. “We—we get our name in the papers. Hey?" she observes. 1 “Absolutely,” says I “Made the front | page in two morning editions andi carned an editorfal_squib in one of the evening sheeis. What of it Kinda swell, eh?" says Inez. 1t you want to take it that wa says I “As for me. I'm not so sure. 1; feel as though I'd been kidded before 2 big crowd. Still, I can stand that. If New York can't find anything better to laugh at than two honest working goils like us let 'em go to it. I got a few grins out of thac affair myself.” Tnez makes a try at sorting out these mixed sentiments. but gives it up. “By Duluth,” says she, “they don't do that, “We had no such active press agent s this Platt verson in Duluth.” says I, and you hadn't started looking for your Uncle Nels. “Maybe he come yvet." s Inez. letting down about a yard of wheat- colored hair over a sct of shoulders that would have a marble Venus look- ing like an-Art League copy done in brick clay. “T doubt it says I. “You're almost s much of an optimist, Inez, as a cel- lariess sport who goes out and buys ! i new cktail shaker on a rumor ! that Milwaukee has elected a wet city | - council: but more than ever I mistrust that your Uncle Nels is not among | those present You—vou mean he don't live any more?* she asks. “I wouldn't put it as tragic as that,” says I “Isn't more than fifty or so, is he? And those retired lumberjacks ire apt to be tough old boys. So he may be knocking around fomewhere ! on the map. But not in New York. | If he was wouldn't he have heard how | you were searching for him. with all the free advertising you've had? And he's had three or four days to show up | n. with not so much as a postcard from him. Or else when he cut loose from the Petersen family eight or ten | years back he meant it to be a final | break and is sticking to his vow. | What did you folks ever do to Uncle | Nels that would cause him to work up | Or is this to be entirely pantomime?" | a chronic grouch? * % % % JNEZ shrugs the alabaster shoulders. | - He explains that the show window “I dunno.” says she. “H ich, lopens into a main inside aisle and ." savs she. “He et rich. fthat at Jeast one of us would have we stay poor. and he don’t come ‘round | to do considerable talking, as well as any more.” take orders. The other could work the “Sad. but human” says L “Any-| machine. - way. there you have it. He has been ' waps Tor or ambtreea & hn as thoroughly paged as if you'd gone ' perfectly swnning as a lady laun- through every street shouting for him | dress. Tell your rainy-day friend not with a megaphone. And the net re- sult was a lot of old frauds who shut- to put in that want ad until he’s secn us. We'll be down first thing in the morning.” fled out foolish when I put them to the acid test. So it looks as if he wasn't here. Might have gone back to Swe- den and bought his way into the dried fish and safety match aristocracy. Maybe he's Count Tandsticktor by this time. Or he may be utterly and to- tally deceased. You'd look well in black, Inez, if you would care to let your grief carry you that far. If Uncle Nels dies I should hear,’ | * % % WE_ were. too. And I sure gave Mackintosh a classy line of con- !versation as a sample. “If there's {any one thing I could be real elo- quent about, Mr. Mackintosh,” says 1, “is a back-saver like this. Why . |8ay. I used to beat the sun up by an says Ines decided. hour every Monday morning. when I “Oh, I don’'t know,” says I. “His|was living out near Tamarack Junc- may not have been a noisy finish.| tion. Minn., just so I could get steam Some uncles expire quietly, and withjup in the old iron kettle. and by very little fuss. What you mean. I|breakfast time I'd be rubbing away suppose. is that he would have sent!on the zinc board like I was training word about it. They don't always do | to win the gold sculls in an interna- that, eitner. They get careless. And|tional rowing regatta. Only ten in then, it's apt to be a busy time for !the Dodge family, and before noon I'd them !be a wreck, but there “on the line Inez gives me a wooden stare. indi- | would be hanging the short and sim- cating that she's lost the thread and |ple flannels of the poor, every last is simply waiting until I get to talk- ! picoe. And believe me, if some bright ing rational again. | angel had dropped down bringing one ‘Never mind.” says I. “You may|of these copper and glass contriv- be perfectly right not to give him up, | ances which only calls for you to and if it's going to help you any to!turn the button and look pleasant 1 be able to mention casually that you |wouldn't have worried about my have a rich uncle kicking around jchances of getting through the pearly somewhere, why keep right on. Only, | gates. Say. I could go hoarse telling Inez. dear, let's not feed the tale to|what a boon to womankind this ma- any more cub reporters. I'm afraid | chine is. ‘Barry Platt has strained his iml:ina-[ “Huh,” says he. “You'll have a tion on us already. Besides, getting chance, Miss Dodge. Here's the booklet that tells all about it. When can_you go on?" “Tomorrow.” says I “I'm a quick study, and all Inez has to do is shed her gum.” . o Did you see us, I wonder? T only ask because it almost seemed as into the public prints that way makes us so_conspicuous. Haven't you no- ticed how all the boarders stare when we come into the dining room?" “1 no care for that,” says Inez, lift- tng her broad chin. ‘ *Don't tell me you've swallowed though everybody ‘in the world had their noses against the plate glass those first few days. ¥From 9 a.m. until closing time id the afternoon they crowded in and - out, most of them stopping at first for a glimpse over the heads of the others and then boring In madly. until they made~the front row. Half of them men and boys, too, that you wouldn't think would be vitally interested in how the family wash waa. done. .But then, a free show is a free show, and few of us want to miss anything. Also I suppose you seldom get a more Imposing window demonstrator than Miss Inez Petersen. Few of her weight and inches, anyway; and in Ler freshly done-up bvoth" uniform, with her yellow hair fixed in a new ug. Inez” says I “At wil stop short of sub- ) to a clipping ureau, ol Acribing 1o distribute photos with Sour mame writien across the bust and right shoulder. Personally, I'm Strong for a quiet, unreported career, with as much privacy one can get i boarding house. > Mg P eould see that Inez wasn't cith me. It had been only a few e "weeks since we had slipped into town about as gawpy and ver- dant, from the Manhattan point of view, as any nai' from north Inf Chi- tago well could be. But we'd been Taaving along some. We had served A% orangeade dippers in an upper Broadway sidewalk booth, then we to the movie business ){\::Ikb;zh.e’nwl:.:; and then had come |style by her friend, Mrs. Marvin, and lebiscite with all the)that calm stare in her wide-set gray r'.:!:ap':';i': mtices. And Inez would |eyes, she looks like a blonde goddess never be the same mirl again. She|who's strayed in from the Milky Way. had stood in the white light that: And you should see the haughty, su: Dadis upon a throne, as It were, and | perior alr she gets on as she shows while she dldn’t quite know what iti’em how. after the double oscillator WL about, she rather liked it. She | has soused the suds in and around Wan going to want more of the sgme |all the clothes, you throw a switch ot Teouldn't see how 1 was to get|and let the centrifugal wringer do it for her. the rest. Say, no wonder the traffic Not until 1 had this talk with Mr.|cop had to keep the outer edges of Campbell, the linen expert from the |the crowd moving along. department store. You see, since the| As for me, 1 was having the time oher mignt, evervhody at Miss Well- [of my life. I haven't had so good as taken to speaking to us. as|an excuse to alr my vocabulary since i¢ we were sort of public characters 1 waabern, and all they had to do to the publicity b least, 1 hope yo! shatm to the flimsiest cold proposition with strangers, Inez. Once they get the full benefit of that lplacld. wefrigerated stare of hers they TIME OF MY LIFE. I HAVEN'T HAD THAT, set me off was for some mildly inter-} ested party to step up and ask a ques- tion. N I'd say, for in- stance, “there is absolutely no need for using injurious acids or doubtful washing powders with this wonder- ful machine. Any kind of plain laun- dry soap will do. Suction und osc lation removes every particle of dirt and does it without the slightest fabric. Throw in a heavy woolen blanket and a dainty lace handkerchief. They will both come out whiter than the driven snow. No rubbing. no scrubbing. Just think, ladies, with this installed in your laundry you can do the week's washing and give a tea party at the ame time. It puts the sun in Sun- day and leaves you the moon in Mon- day. Pays for itself in six months! and earns dividends all the rest of| the year. If you wish to join the 1 army of emancipated women just make a deposit and sign on the dotted line. Here's a blank, madame. Cashier at the left.” ok ok ¥ THAT was only one of my little) gems. I had another on the trifi- ing cost of operation, a third on sim- plicity and durability, but my high note I always struck when I spoke | with kindly compassion of other makes, but pointed out the seven; cardinal virtues which fRhis wonder- working product of a master mlnd} alone had combined in one perfect and inimitable whole. Honest. I'll bet | I had the well known remarks of Cicero at the grave of his friend Marc Antony sounding like the maiden; speech of a boss plumber at his first Zotary banquet. After Mr. Mackin- tosh heard it once he hustles off to the manager's office, borrows a short- hand expert, and has her make a copy of it. T expect he'll be selling it as a serial to the Saturday Evening Post next thing I know. Anyway, when I struck him for a $10 raise at the end of the third day he stood for it with only a few squirms. That, was the same afternoon I d covered this repeater who was watch- ing Inez so close from a corner of the window. Of course, there had been quite a lot of old sports and younz hicks who had tried to get gay with Inez through the plate glass. One had even come back with a cardboard mes- sage buttoned under his coat and sfood up displaying an invite for her to go out tp dinner with him when she got off. But trust Inez for putting a crimp in any such ambitions as that. She's a 1s; just as hot-headed as a pink icicle. AS FOR ME, I WAS HAVING THE S0 GOOD AN EXCUSE TO AIR MY VOCABULARY. SINCE 1 WAS BORN. i go off and absorb a hot chocolate Ir' two to get their temperature back to normal. But this particular old boy with the washed-out gray eyes, the button nose and the Baldwin apple cheeks don’t seem to get discouraged so easily. He's a sticker. I mnoticed, him soon after luncheon, sizifig her up over the| shoulder of a fat lady who was hold-I ing up a little boy, and nearly an hour ll;'ler. ‘when I looks out again, he is still there. B | He doesn't look like that kind, either. Surely he wasn't costumed for the part of a home wrecker. He's a kind of a dried-up little shrimp, with a faded mustache, hair long in the back, baggy trousers, coat sleeves down to his and a sagging black necktie that showed a gold collar button. I'm no tinky man-critic either, but-a front -collar-button display is always enough to settle 'em with me.. Somehow it seems almost immodest. . “Say, Ines,” s 1, “who's your con- stant admirer? The old boy at the left who needs to take a hitch in his neck- tie and a reef in his sleeves?"” ‘Him?” says Ines, giving a careless ‘I dunno.” me window hound, I'll say,” says 1. “He's been there more than an hour steady.” “Maybe—maybe his wife make him do the wash at home,” suggests Inez, indulging in one of her rare chuckles. “If thal the idea,” says I, “he's having an awful mental struggle about giving we the price of a machine. | hurrying along after us, “GLORY BE!" SAYS I. “THE REAL UINE, SURE ENOLGH, UNCLE NELS AT LAST. DO YOU GET NEZ¢ _— There! He's edging out. Perhaps he's coming in to invest.” But he didn't. so I decided that he must have had a hunch we were kid- ding ahout him and had slipped away. Along toward 5 o'clock. though, 1 spotted him again, back at the same corner. And he taking & long. ose look at Inez. “You've got him vamped good and enty. Inez” says I. “Theda Bara couldn’t have done a more thorough Jjob. But I think he might have blown himself to a shave and’a haircut while he was gone.’ “Huh!" says Inez. run loose, eh?" He has sense enmough to get wise that we're talking about him. though. #nd once more he edges out. 80 by the time the closing gong rings and we've joined in the home-going rush, I've forgotten all about him. And after wasting twenty minutes trying to find seats on a No. 5 bus, we starts out to walk home. Not that T mind strolling up 5th avenue, as a rule, but when vou've been on your feet for an eight-hour stretch sitting would come rather easy. It wasn't until we'd made the turn into 57th street and were crossing 6th avenue that I happened to look “Lotta old fools lover my shoulder and notices a fa- miliar figure. ‘Will you look what's trailing us. Inez?" sa; “The wicked old cut- Your window hound! “But he's ago, though, he was sleuthing after us. “Maybe he just happen here, Inez. " “Come on, I'm hungr: ery well,” says I “Might be just a coincidence. but if it gets to be a habit with him he'll have to-talk to me." wns st suspicious enough to keep scouting over my shoulder now and then. and before we had passed Carnegic Hall I got a glimpse of him stretching says s neck as he went. nez.” says I. “are you especially fond of that old boy with the button nose and the saggy tie? fe7" says she. “That old boob™" “Xoble sentiments says I “Then duck into this dgorway and lets see what happens. You won't be much late for dinner. Anyway! we don't WAM_ any more near-scandals at the bearding house.” * %k ok X AND a minute or so later along he comes, dodging through the sidewalk traffic and looking ahead worried. 1 steps out bold and gives him the sign. He seems surprised and fussed, but he comes to a halt. “Say, old sport.” says I, “what's the dastardly design?” Hey?" says he. s this a game of cross tag or what?” I goes on. “Oh, you needn't rub your chin and try to Ibok innocent ! I watched you doing your window hound act, and you've been trailing us clear from the store. Whaddye mean by it2" —I yust been walkin' along,” says Yes, you have!” says I “You've been following as close on our heels as vou dared, and a moment ago, when you thought you'd Jost us, you were sprinting ahead for all you were worth. Ought to be ashamed of yourself, too, at your age, Say. do you think vou ean drift in here from the rutabaga fields and pull stuft like that?" 1 must say, though. that he's a_nervy one. He blinks a®bit nervous, but he stands his ground. - “Excoose me. young lady, says he. “I—I don't mean noth- ng.” “That's a poor alibi" say: ‘And it this is just a habit of yours I'm here to tell you that it's bound to pull down trouble, Now you tell me what your name is or I'll call a cop. That gives him a jolt, all right. “Please,” says he, “I yust:like to know about the othet young Jady, the- big 1 could guess that much,” says I “They generally do. But why do you want information about her 3 “She—she looks a lot like somebody 1 know once,” says he. “Oh,’ does she?” says I “Well, who was it in the dear dead past? Give us the name. “Helma Olsen,” says he, prompt. And at that I heard kind of a choky gurgle from Inez. “Eh?" says I, turning to_her. “What's the matter? Any one You were ac- quainted with % “Helma Olsen,” repeats Incz. “That— that maw’s name when she ain't mar- ried. knew, I knew!” cackles the old boy. 5 says 1. getting somewhere, don't we? Now what was this Helen Olsen to you, mister?” “Helma, my sister,’” says he. “Glory be!” says “The real, gen- uine, sure enough Uncle Nels at last! Do you get that, Inez?" g Ines nods. Byt she doesn’t display much enthusiasm. She seldom does, though. The Petersen family evident- ly-1sn’t given to impetuous clinches. ‘Hello, Uncle Nels,” says Ines. ‘Hello, Inez,” says he. . And they don’t even shake hands. & “We—we been lookin’ for you,” adds nes. % “I should say we had,” ‘I puts in. “Sagy, don’t.you ever read the papers?” “Not much,” says he. “What you want to find me for?" “Far the love of’ beans, listen to that!” says I "Say, why shouldn't Inez want to look for her rich uncle?” “Rich!” says he. - “Who tell you that?” e % ‘Why, that- '.v;s the’ general rumor,” " “X minute | cOMe out flat-footed with the crude sawed in a fanciful ‘pattern. The cover was a textile like flannel. This one was dark red, thcugh It may be that yours was green. But whether the cover was ved or green it had a Iw?er that was worked with yellow orsted. The piano stool was stuffed, upholstéred in black mohair cloth, and had buttons on it. At one side of the plano and pro- jecting from the wall was u gas jet— that is, if the house was modern and up:to-date. The home with the gas Jet® was elose to the center of the city and was nearly always built of “pressed” brick—at least, it had a “presscd” brick front. It there was a chandeller of gus jets suspended from the ceiling there was apt to be a short flight of brownstone steps be- fore the front door, and most likely an iron watch dog. usually a New- foundland dog, was on guard on cach side of the steps. We did not all live in houses with pressed brick fronts. browns.one 8teps, iron watch dogs at the door and ‘a chandelicr suspended from the ceiling. Most of us tell our fricnds. that we were brought up in that kind of house, but our kindly fancy has made many improvements in the old home. Many of those little square “rose- wood”’ planos hud no gas jet by their side. Thousands of them depended on a lamp, with oil, wick, burner and glass chi which ‘rested on a crocheted on the piano. These lamps_were often a matter of con- cern. There was on one side a little brass wheel with a milled edge which controlled the wick, and if turned too high the lamp smoked and perhap; the chimney cracked. Do you remem- ber that the careful housekeeper used to take these chimneys when brought from the grocery store, place them in a pan of cold water on the kitchen Stove und fet .the water “come to a boil"? Treated in this way, it was belleved that they were less liable to crack. Filling the lamps, trimming the wicks and cleaning the glass chimneys was part of the routine of keo.pum house. Well, on that little old piano was a pile of music—piano pieces and songs. Much of it was of standard selections lie "Monastery Bells, CE OF FORD'S THEATER. song she had ever heard was one some of them were so new and ad- which she heard two noted vocalists, venturous that mother could not ap- prove and grandma and Aunt Sarah [Sloman and _Roberts. sing at' the “John Anderson, | Considered positively dangerous for | Washington Theater in 1530. It wa “Five O'Clock in the Morn.|Y0un& people. Aunt Sarah said they |called “The Adventures of Maj. Long ettie Moore,” “Annie Laurie | Were a sigkn of the growing laxity | Bow™” and sheé sang, in a voice like many that one hears in comic opera today. the whole song through, but all 1 can remember is this: m general, which is wel! known, Forever in a hustle, ofl's ax hard s stone ot of muscle: N ng hurts me, d'se see, 1 can either walk or fiy; Upon my life it's true. 1l yon lay it's a lie? 1 swam frum Chesapeake bay to the middie of the sea With three men on my back. in the manners of the voung. and the new waltzes were shameful. Such things would not be permitted when she artended Prof. Labbe’s dancing academy in 1540, or M. Jaques Co- cheu's soirecs at the Washington Assembly rooms in 1850. Why. at the elegant balls which were held in the dining room of l-‘ullfr'n Hotel, Wash- ington, and in the dining room of the Union Hotel, Georgetown. such dan ing_would have scandalized society, The Rambler can see some of those dangerous melodies (not maladies) as they rest on the old piano. Shall we caSt our eyes on those musty, ancient tunes which would surely corrupt our musical taste and shatter our youthful morals? On top of the pile "lies “After the Ball Is Over, ter the Break of Day": under it is olt." “Listen to the Mocking Bir Robin {Bells of Auld B Mountains,’ the Stilly Night," “Ta {Buck the Heart That The e Kathleen Mavourneen’ | Threads Among the Gold Love ean never more grow cold, Locks may lose tieir brown and gold, Cheeks max fade and hollow grow, Bat the hearts that love will know. * % % % HO%’E\'ER. the music was not all 80 “old-timey” as thal There were _new and popular things. and — P AT hings. _and in distress mong the rocks. up (ou may guess) 4 her safe 10 the docks. puncieon of rum, nd & half, or nigh. the other rema says L - “You understood that he was ch, didn't you. Inez?" ble ex- % T Among She nods.” “Maw say so, and paw | “Swveet Marie.” and half hidden in the the % g 3 . s v tively | Dloits achieved by the major were say so." says she. | pile _were such new and positively tgaching quodrilles to mermaids.” shocking and improper sof “Throw Him Down, McClusk Down the Blinds, for Some On Looking”; “Swim Out, O'Grady Bowery. the Bowery, Where The: Such Things and = They, Things. on the Powery. ery.” There is also a v coarse nd unladylike selection. " entitled “Annie Rooney.” and another very suggestive piece called “Waltz Me Around Again. Willi=": also a boi terous and most unbecoming sSong for young ladive, called “Bidalia Mc- Cann.” And right next to it is some- thing which has caught the decadent popular fancy and so far from having any musical merit is really meretri- cious. The old Ranblericannot read | the words plainly from Where he [stands, but he believes that he can make out something like this: little peach in an orchard grew. Johnny Jones and his sister Sue, and the peach of cmerald hue: John took a bite and Sue took a chew, and then I their troubles began to brew: troubles that the doctor couldn’t subdue. Too Too true! Listen to my tale of Foolish talk!" “Me rich!” “He don't {Inez, “and w ner. easting a whale on a fork” and “bunging up the left eye of a shark.” After doing this he “came home on & Congreve rocket.” He seems to have beqn rather a remarkable man. but one meets many men today who excel in_narratives relating to their own achievements. Aunt Sarah would de- clare that to her ear. mind and voice the most beautiful of songs wa Meet me by moonlight alon And then 1 will tell you a taie, Which mu@ be told by the moonlight alone, In the grove the end of the vale You m come. for 1 said their queen says the old boy. look rich to me." says €—we get late for din- | ou can_always bank on Inez to accurate facts In the case. Peoples say a lot that ain't muttere Uncle Nels, indignant. “Rich Huh!" “Oh, 1 guess you needn’'t make an affidavit,” says 1. “We'll take vour word for it. “Woil, anything else What you do? Where you stay?" demands Uncle Nels. ‘Say.” 1 breaks if, “suppose you walk along with us and see. IU's only a few blocks from here. and on the way over I can sketch out the whole tale. You'd be all night getting it from Inez. You see, I'm Trilby May { Dodge. and I've known Inez ever since {she left home. In fact, 1 was quitting my family at the same time. % * % % ILv\'(-us NELS listens to the details of how we worked in Coleraine and Duluth and finally came to New York to hunt for him. He grunts now and then. but that's all. “And now what about you?’ says L “Where have you been hiding all these | years and what happened to that pile you were said to have made in the lumber business?” “Bah!" says he. “I don’t make imuch. Somebody tell lies. 1 yust live ardund. This your place, hey?" Tis the loveliest evor seen: On: | Meet me by moonligh Meet me by moonlight alons * X % ¥ A UNT SARAH was 5o carried away by " the entrancing melody of song tkat she did not weigh the im- port of the words, because I am sure that her sense of propriety was so exalted that she would not indorse this private meeting by moonlight in the grove at the end of the vale. Aunt Sarah had another of the classic songs of the golden age which she used to sing whenever the discussion of music came up in the parlor. She did not maintain that it was equal in poetic charm to the moonlight in- vitation, but she thought it was sec- ond only .to it. It was called “The Woodpecker.” and to the best of my recollection it ran: I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled Above the green elms that a cottage was ear: And 1 n:;‘d(f there’s peace to be found in the world, A h:' t that is humble might walt for it ere. Evers leaf was at rest and I heard not a sound. But the woodpecker tapping at the bollew beech tree. You know. Mr. Reader, Mrs. Reader and Miss Reader, there seems to me a strong Tom Moorish cadence in the lines, T would show the night flower; their queen.” and “I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled,” but 1 do not know who wrote those verses and I cannot find it in my con- science to consult the works of Tom Moore. Once he was well thought of, but oh, horrors! how he has fallen from grace! 1 cannot think of anything more sinful or prejudicial to morals than reading the poetry of Tom Moore. And to think that we once read him in the home! Don't you re. alize that his works are full—really full—of unconstitutional sentiments like these: One bumper at parting: though many Have circled the board since we met, The fullest, the saddest of any Remains to be crowned by us yet. And this: Come, send round the wine, and leave points of To simpleton sages and reasoning fools. And }hl Obwérve when Mother Parth is dry Bhe drinke the droppings of the sky: And then the dewy cordial gives To every thirsty plant that lives. The vapors at evening weep Are beverage 1o the swelling deep; And when the rosy sun appears He drinks the ocoan's misty tears. e moon, uaffs stream O mter ‘trom the setas bias, Then hence with all your sober thinking Sinee Nature's holy law is drinking, T'll make the laws of Nature mive And pledge the universe in wise. ‘Then, as a further warning to you against thjs mischievous bard I call ttgrition to these two ow nacreon, beginnin, your odes to’ - Let us drain the nectared bowl, Let s raise the song of soul To him, the god who loves so well The nectared bowl, the choral swell; And, *Twas night, and meny a eircling bowl Had deeply warmed my swimming soul. You will understand that though the Rambler thought he might find “Meet Me by Moonshine” and “I Knew by the Smoke That So Gracefully rled” in the works of Mr. Moore, slill, he felt that to dip into a book written by that intemperate writer. might bring about some conflict of authority between him and the Con- stitution, and because of his benevo- lent disposition he is anxious to spare the Constitution such a trial. * %k % M ANNERS fn that old parlor where against the wall were better than one the little square piano stood often finds today. I can see & couple | | woe! You all know what a disastrous effect this modern creation had on | our moral standards. even though in al material sense it warned us against ithe dangers of eating green peaches. T cannot detach myself from that pile of old music without cslling vour at- tention 1o two other melodies which roeked of modernhty. One was “Swing- ing in a grapevine swing laughing where the wild birds sing,” and the other was “Over the Garden wall, and something about a maiden fair and tall. There isn't any doubt that the generation was leading too wild a pace. Sometimes the girls and boys went down the river on the Mary ‘Washington, and took gay and festive rides around the Belt line thout a chaperone. Can you imagine any- thing more indiscreet? - Then, too, the whole world is going_speed mad! “Not a month passe: said Aunt Sarah, that some citizen is not knocked down by a herdic or bowled over by voung daredevils racing through the streets on those high- wheeled bicycles. positively at a speed of at least ten miles an hour! And, really, T never saw such recklessness and indifference to the rights of pe- destrians as shown by these drivers on the Washington, Georgetown and Navy Yard line! Why, they drive across intersecting stgeets without thinking of bringing their horses down to a walk! And these new con- ductors are so uncivil! Why, yester- day 1 waved my parasol to onme to wait for me, and he pretended not to see me! And I was only two squares away! Ah! how times have changed ince the Vanderwerking omnibuses ran between High street afid the navy yard gate and from 6th and the Ave- nue down to the steamboat wharf! In those days the driver would climb down from his high seat to help a lady In, and_would take time to in quiry after the health of her family' ‘ * * ¥ % B UT let us not stray too far away from The little square piano in the parlor. You remember when Uncle Edward would come to town on one of the mail stages from Upper Marl- boro, Piscataway or Rockville, bring- ing his fancy-pattern carpet bag with a rope handle? He, tep, would say that he did not approve of this new- fangled music. It was nothing like so tuneful as those songs he learned lin his youth, and he could sing “Whoa! Mule, I Can’t Git the Bridle On,” and “Shortnin’ Bread,” ‘Old Dan Tucker,™ “Sopping Up Sorghum,” “The Arkan- sas Traveler,” “Turkey In the Straw,” “Woodpecker on the Post Osk Tree' and “Sold My Hoss in Tennessee.” Uncle Edward and grandma and Aunt Sarah would often discuss music and the conversation was eglighten- ing. You could understand what.they were talking about, for they used ‘words that could be found in an Eng- lish dictionary. Uncle Edward would hold out that his favorite was “Black- eyed.Susan,” and he would sing the song, but for the life of me I can re- member only the fourth and sixth verses: | | his is our mansion.” says 1. “It's Miss Wellby's boarding house, in case you should forget the number. “I don't forget.,” says he. see Inez some time. Good-by “Good-bye,” says Inez. And almost before I knew it the re- union was all over. Somehow, for an «vent that we'd been looking forward to for so long, it had turned out to be mighty tame and inadequate. Not un- til we were half way up the brown- stone steps did it strike me that it was a singularly one-sided affair. “See here, Inez.” says I, “you don't know his name, even now, do you “No," says she. “He no say. “Nor where he lives, eh?” says L 1nez hunches her shoulders. “Something funny about all that.” says 1. “He's a cagey old boy, I'll say. And wouldn't it be d4 joke on us if. after all—Look. Inez; you chase in jand get your dinner. I'll be along |atter & whiie. i “Where you go?" asks Ine | _“f mean to trail Uncle Nels,” says I. i“He hasn't any monopoly of this sleuthing business, has he? And I'm just as curious as the next one. 8o off 1 dashed, picking up Uncle Nels in_the distance before he'd crossed Broadway. I. found it was quite a trick to keep a person in sight duting the rush hour. but as he Beemed to have: no suspicion that he was being followed there was no need for me to stay very far behind. I stayed with him to the.finish, too, and at that it wasn't more than forty-five minutes before ‘1 .was back at Mi; Wellby's, arriving just in time to re: cue my dessert from. Ines. “Say,” says I breathless. “where do you suppose that poof old uncle of yours e 1 “I dunno,” says Ine: “Well, I'll tell you," says I *“He lives in one of the swellest apartment hotels on Park avenu anitor?” asks Inez. - wrhat was my first hunch,” says I, but it was all wrong. I watched him walk right in the front door, col- lect his malil, and take the elevator. Besides, the 'phone .operator told me Who he was. He's Mr. Nelson Swazey, and he lives in a five-room apartment on the seventh floor. Has a valet and his own private ‘car and chauffeur. ‘What do you know about that? That’ your Uncle Nels, for you! Y Inez. finishes her rice pudding thoughtful. “Then—then he is fich, hey?” she ask “Barring his afterrioon street cos- tume,” says I, “he has all the symp- toms. A bit odd in his ways, I should judge,. but I'll bet when he signs his name to & check it can be swapped for real money at the bank. Yes, I should call him {ch uncle.” Ines sighs sert' of satisfied and shows her cheek dimples. “Swell, h?" says she. E “That depends,” ys I “If you merely want him to talk about, it is. Beyond that—well, we'll have to wait and see. I shouldn’t chuck the win- dow job just yet, though if I was l heart shall be Polat to thee. AND DANCE HALL MUSIC OF YEARS AGO sitting stiffly upright on the old-fashe ioned biack walnut sofa covered with mohair. It is against the wall on the other side of the room. Over it hangs a genuine hand-painted oil paintyng which Cousin Anne Virginia learned to do at boarding school. It appears to be a reckless bunch of peonies out of which a white swan is rising, while in the background is a high cliff en< veloped in a snowstorm and surmount- ed by « Swiss yodler, and down in tha northeast corner is a lemon-colored sunset. One part of that couple sit- ting on the sofa was Cousin Mary and her dress was of dimity, or was it foulard, poplin or chintz? And it wag flounced and ruffied. And she keps both feet on the floor, which was cove ered with brussels, having big clus» ters of pink roses in a pale green jframe. Some one in the parlor said: “Cousin Mary. won't you please favot us with a selection on the piano?' That was a very old-fashioned way putting - it. The present and more popular way 1-ould be something 1ike ary. get up here and tickle tha ivories a bit" Mary moves over to ! the piano stool, turns it so that it will be a little higher, adjusts her flounc looks under the piano to see if th pedals are in their right places, and then says: “What shall I play?" And | the response is. “Play us your fa- vorite, M Afar: 5 e Now, nere comes a strong point of difference between ancient and mods ern parlor manners. Mary, like most young ladies, has only two or thres pieces which she plays well enough to do them in public. The modern re- sponse to Cousin Mary's question “What shall 1 play?’ would be “OHl I don’t care; anything so it's jazzy." Well, Ma begins to play Gott- schalk's “Last Hope.” It is her star viece. In that old-fashioned parlor the company remains respectfully quiet and appreciative and when the Sound of the last note dies away théy compliment Miss Mary on her playing and tell her that the “Last Hope" is very heautiful. Now, in a modern parlor, as soon as Miss Mary struck the introductory motes of “The Last Hope,” some young gentleman with a cigarette in his mouth would say “Oh, May! Can that' Give us some jazz with a toddle to it'" And Mary would_ feel uncomfortable becauss “The Last Hope" is about the only thing she plays and naturally she believes it the most beautiful thing i the music worid. Honestly, when the Rambler sat down to write-this piece he intended to tell more about the summer opera companies which charmed Washing- ton in the long ago and_before him Were some notes on the Carleton and McCaull opera companfes, the Boston Ideal Opera Company, the Bostonians, Rudolph Aronsone. Casino Company the Emma Juch, Aimee Pauline Hal] and Minnie Hauck companies and the Maurice Grau and Col, Mapleson “galaxy” or “constellation” of “opers atic stars.” But while the Rambler meant to write of these subjects, h¢ drew from his memory that old pic- ture of a parlor, a little square piana and the company, and wrote about it, until now it is late. at night and He must bid you adieu until next Sun- ay. That House Fly. GINCE wise men have taken up the study of the fiy a great number of things concerning his character and his habits have been observed and two of these strange things are that the fly is not a high flyer and that his wings do not carry him far from the place whers he was born. It is not to be said that he i8 altogether a standpatter, but he is no eagle, and the spirit of wanderlust does not lure him far from his own fireside, his own cream pitcher or his own particular garbage can. Some experimenters say that they have proved that a mile is about as far as a fly ever travels on his own wings, and that that is a greater distance than the average, ordinary fly can travel, unless he gets a lift in a freight car, milk wagon or automobile or unless takes a fancy to a horse or mule, In which easc he will travel a long way, but then he rides. s Some time ago the English goy- ernment carried out a series of ex- periments in a Suffolk village by dusting a large number of flies with white powder and releasing ther. Two days later the farthest strag- gler was found not quite a mile away, while the others were found within a radius of two hundred yards. The fiy does not emulate the condor, which zoars above the clouds. He has no ambition for an altitude rec- ord. It is said that he does not often fiy higher than eight feet above the ground or floor. but that he will this | go upstairs to higher floors, but even then about forty feet is his limit. When you find him higher than that it is said by the students of flies. that he was either carried there or that he was born_there. Once the fly was looked on as a harmless little pest and now he is pictured as a monster. _Scientists caught him with the goods on him and the germs of typhoid fever and nearly all other diseases which fill the world with mourning have been found on his wings and sticky feet. People now clean out the dirt in which he breeds, erect acreens so that he may not get into bedrooms, dining rooms or kitchens, and chase him with a swatter whenever he appears. It is only within & few years that the world has revised its estimate of the fly, and fly-swat campaygns h: been waged the country over and in all other lands wiere civilization rules. 0dd Souvenirs. ‘WO forms of Washington souve- nirs that have had a long and prosperous run and which by this [time must be scattered all over the | United States, and some other coun- tries, are pieces of the marble of which the Washington Monument is built, and objects fashioned out ef macerated money. After the resumpe tion df Wwork on the Monument the Monument lot resembled a marbie ard. Marble cutters worked thers and the acres were strewn with chipe pings and large broken pieces. T. thought of them as Washington souvenirs took hold and commerce sprang up in this marble refuse. The chips appeared ca all the souvemie stands in ‘the city and later bits of Monument marble began to appear im the form of miniature monumen Capitols, White Houses, statues ani the like, One sees these things on sale in Washington today, but they are not so plentiful as they wé twenty or thirty years ago, althougl they seem to hold their popularity with strangers who look around for something to take home to remind them of their trip to Washington,” or to take home to sister, brother or aunt to show that they were thought of while their luckier relative was see- bearing the labels: “Tbis was_$50,000, or "“‘l‘hll is the rexm :’l"la‘tlool‘:vgot;”‘ figures were always of euesses of were altogether fanciful - When paper currency was to bi destroyed because of its age or ite this macerated money which would be had bes ok Illfi-lhe sights of Washington. long held their popularity as Wash- ington souvenirs. Now and then you imitation of the Washington Monu- ment or the United States Treasury run-down condition or its raggedness in straps of paper marked fi?fi l‘l:g number of the count and the names of the counters and then taken to a canceling machine. Each pack- h hole being made in each quats l:rn:( the bill. The package was laid ki uillotine, and wag cut through. ll.ll":h:llle. ‘Then there would be a mutilation had escaped that fate. Fol- vere macerated, or reduced to pulj which was sold to pulp mills. It was e Into souvenirs that :d 000" Objects of this kind ‘he macerated money objects have still see a little obelisk or a littl the bills were put up in packages age was punched in four places, on® P under a heavy power-driven hnife, 1 recount to prove that no bill sent fo. lowing this the fragments of the bills w '$ still* to be bought in the souve ps. to