Evening Star Newspaper, May 28, 1922, Page 62

degrees, working both ways—toward the start and the finish. 8o it 4id not greatly surprise ‘me that without preface, dedication,:itidex ‘bF . chapter heading he. should ¥uddenly introduse & head brakemas-and a. fraight train into a conversation whith until that moment had dealt.with topios not in the ‘least akin to these. Indeed, kmowing hifh:as I did, it seemed to me-all-the Dbetter reason why I should promptly incline the gecly ear. for over .and above his eccentricities in the matter of laugch- ing = subject Mr. Doolan Js. the only member of his calling I ever saw who talks ip real life’ as’all the mmherl of his calling ure fondly presumed” to talk, in story, books and on the stage. 1 hearkened, thérefore, sA}ing ‘moth- ing, and sure enough, haviig dealt for & drief passage of tinfe With:the inci- dent of a certain enforded -departure from a certain as yet unnamed common * cartier; he presently refraced his verbal footsteps and bq-n -t xh- hcqpiu B J ovotE mm‘l- '-rg 3:%- fhat's What he does. Refusing tofsten to rea- son, this here -head brakeman. ‘which anybody could tell just by looking at him that he didn't have no heart a-tall and no soul, 50 as you could notice it, he just red lights us off into the peace- | ful and sunlit bosom of the rooral New York state landscape. But before reaching the -landscape it becomes necessary for us to slide down a grade of a perpendicular character, and in passing I am much pleased to note that the right of way: is self-trimmed to match the prevalent style of scemery,, with maybe & fow -Cinders _interspersed for decorations.” There 18 ops.class, of travelers which prefers & yoadbed rock- ballasted, and these 15 those Which goes on trains from place-to” plive. There's another kind which Mies a roadbed done in the natural materials, and them's the kind which goes off trains from time to time. And us twn, being for the moment in this ®ees, we are much gratified by the uircutrdtaates. “And we sits # aud Qusts curselves off in a nonchal¥nt manner while the little old choo-choo continues upon her way to Utica, Syracuse and all points west, leaving me and the Sweet Caps Kid with all the bright world before us and nothing behind us but the police force. “For some months previous to this me and the Sweet Caps Kid has been sojourning in that favored metropolis which is bounded on one side by a loud sound and on the other by a steep bluff, and is doing her constant best at all times to live up to the surround- ings Needless to say I refer to little Noo Yawk, the original haunt of the come-on and the native habitat of the syre thing, where the jays bite freely and the woods are full of fish. We have been doing very well there—very, very well, considering. What with working the nuts on- the side streets right off Broadway and Playing a little three-card monte down round' Coney in the cool of the evening and once in a ‘while selling a sturdy husbandman from over Jersey way a couple of admission- tickets to Central Park, we have found no cause to complain &t the business depression. It sure looks to us like con- fidence has been restored, and any time she seems a little backward we take steps to restore, her some ourselves. But all of a sudden something seems to tell me that we oughter be moving. * x % % uyo!.' know how them mysterious premonitions comes to a feller. A little 'bird whispers to you, or you have a dream, or else you walk into the mitt joint and hand a he-nofe to a dark-complected lady wearing a red kimona and a brown mustache, and she takes a flash at your paim and Seems tp see a dark man coming with a ‘warrant, followed by a trip up a great river to a large stone building like a castle. Or else headquarters' issues a general alarm, giving names, dates, per~ sonal description, size of reward and place where last seen. This time it's a general alarm. From what I could gather, a down-casted Issy Wisen- heimer has beeri up to the front parior beefing about His vanishing bank roll and his disappearing breastpin. You ‘wouldn't think a self-respecting citizen of a great republic like this'n would carry on 8o over thirty-eight dollars in currency and a diamond so yellow ft woulda been a topas if it had been any yellowe: But such was indeed ‘the case. ‘1 gleans a little valuable Infor- mation from a friendly barkeeper who's got a brother-in-law at the central office, and so is in position to get . hold ¢ of much interesting and tfmely chit- chat before it becomes common gossip throughout the neighborhood. Bo then T takes the Sweet Caps Kid off to one side and I says to him, I says: “ ‘Kiddo.’ I says, ‘listen: I've .got a strong - presentiment that- we- should oughter be going completely away from here. If we don’t, the first thing you know some plain-clothes bull with fallen arches and his neck shaved 'way up high in the back will be coming round asking us to go riding with him down town into the congested district, and if ‘we declines the-invitation like as not _ he'll muss_our clothes ail-up. Do you seem to get my general drify’ I says. “ *Huh,’ he sdy8, ‘you talk as if there'd been a squ a e “‘Squeal? I says. ‘Squeal? .San, you can take it {rom me there's been a regu- lar seasdn of grand opera. You and me are about to be accused of ‘pernicious - activity. What's more, they're liable Jto prove It. There's s mavement on foot in influential quarters to- provide us . with. board ahd lodgings at @& place which T will hot name to you in so many words on a&ccount of your weak heart. The work there,’ I says, ‘is regu- lar, and the meals is merved on time, i and you'fe protected from' the damp night air; but,’ I says, ‘the hours is too long and too confining to suit me. I've ‘knowed probably a4 thousand fellers in my time that sojourned up at Bird - Center-on-the-Hudson anywhere from : one to fifteen years on a siretch, and I . .never seen oneé of -them yet but had some fault to find with the pl.l:e B &« ‘Wmi. on the other hand,’ T says, ‘all natutd seems to THE VALLEY 33k T L8 3 3 thummeuuylmnu the first gold brick that ever was mol in this country, should in my ing. years have & coupls of wooden-fngered amatoors come along and try to slip me the oldest graft in the knowa world! It is too much,’ ‘he says, ‘it is too much, too much. You lower &-noble pursuit’ he says, ‘and ‘I must respecttully but firmily request you o be on your way. Il try to forgive you,’ he says, ‘but at this moment your mere presence of- fends me. On your way out,’ he says, ‘kindly latch tha gate behind you— the chickens might siray off. Chick- ons’ - he. says; ‘ls not exeiting for steady company,’ he says, ‘but in com- set in his mind. Besides, be! “larger than ‘either one of us or both of us. put together, for that mat- ter, has the advéntage:of repartes. So he makes an issue of it and we sees dur way olear Y6 getting Off- without waiting for the locomotive to.glow up'| & “Honest John. + “THIS HERE BRAKEMAN COMES SNOOPIN' ALONG AND INTIMATES BETTER BE THINKING ABOUT GETTING OFF. PROBABLY THE BIGGEST BRAKEMAN LIVING.” THAT WE ain't comfortable where I am. When my sealp begins to itch like it<does now that's a sizn of a close hair-cut coming on. I've got educated dandruff,’ I says, ‘and it ain‘t never fooled me yet. In short” I says, ‘I've been handed the office to skiddoo, and in such cases I belleve in skiddooing. Let us create & vacancy in these parts sine quinine— which,’ T says, ‘is Latin, meaning it's a bitter dose, but you gotta take it.’ - *Ican’t start right this minute,’ says Sweet Caps; ‘my toothbrush is packed and all I've got to do is to put on my hat. S'pose we run up to a Hundred and Twenty-fifth street, which s a nice secluded spot.’ he says; ‘and-eatch me rattler.” o “‘How are you fixed for curreney? I says. . “'Fixed?” he says. ‘I ain't fixed a-tall. Ain't you been carrying the firm's bank roll? Say, ain't you? “Well, right here I has to break the sad news to him. I does it as gentle as T could, but still he stems’ peeved. Money has caused a lot of suffering in this’ world,” they “tell me, but I'm here to tell you theé lack of it's beén respon- sible for corisider’ble many heart-burn-’ ings, too. " Up until that minute T hadn't had - the heart to tell the Sweet Caps Kid that our little joint partnership bank roll is no longer with us. I'd been saving back them tidings for a more suitable moment, but now I has to tell him. “It séems that the night before I had been tiger hunting in the jungle down at Honest John's. Of course, 1 should have knowed better than to go up agalnst a game run by anybody calling hisself Honest John. Them compli- mentary montkers always work with the reverse English. You are walking along and you see a gin-mill across the street with.a sign over the door which sdys it's ‘Smiling Pete's Place,’ and you cross ‘over.and look in, and behind the bar is an old guy who. ain't heard anything that really pleased him since the. Mar- tinique disaster. He's standing there with his lip stuck out like a fender on a street car, and a bung starter handy, Just hoping that somebody will col in and statt to start something. That's Smiling Pe!e. As for this here Homest John, he’s 50 crooked he ean't eat noth- ing except stick candy and cheese straws without he gets cramps in his stomach. He'd take the numbers off your house. That's why they call him 1 know all this, good and well, but what's & feller going to d® when his is the only place in town' that's open. You've got to play some- Wwheres, ain’t you? Somehow I.always was sort of drawed to faro. x k% uwm you’ Krow the saying—one man's meat . is another's pizon. He wWas my pizon and I certainly was his meat. ‘86 now T ain’t got nothing in my pockets ‘except the linings. - - “1 tells the Sweet Caps Kid Just how it was—how right up to the very last minute I kept expecting the luck to turn and how even then 1 mighta got it all back if thé game-keeper hadn't been s0 blamed unreasonable and. mercenary. When my last chip is gone I holds up finger for ‘a marker.and tells him I'll take another stack-of fifty, all blues this time, but he only looks .4t me sort of chilly ‘and distrustful and remarks in & kind of a bored way that there's nothing doing. “ “That'll be all fl:pL' I says:to him. “T'll see. you, toniorrow.’ A **No you won't,’ he “eayb, spiteful-]. 7| lkes “Why, 1 n;s, “won't you be here tomortow?" 25 .| Chicago. Of course,’ 1 says; ‘Chl aint| says to-him: ‘Cheer up.’ I says, ‘things ain't so worse. Due to my being n right with the proper parties we gets this here advance tip and beats the bar- rier while this here fat Central Office bull, who thinks he wants us, is slip- ping his collar on over his head in the morning. Remember,’ I says, ‘we are going to the high grass, where the lit- tle birdies sing and the flowers bloom. Providence,’ I says, as an eye on every sparrow that falls, but -nothing we'll gee if & few. of them . won't fall for our little cute tricks.’ ““Tubby sure, I'm speaking figurative. T ain't-aimthg - for thé Heep woods ‘protser. “Only Tvé bééh in Noo Tawk Tong enough to ‘git the Noo Yawk habit of thinking everybody beyond Rahway, N. J., is the far west. ‘I'm resily figur- ing to land In one of them @mall junc- tion points, such as Cleveland or Pitts- burgh. And we would, too, if it hadn't a-beén for that there head brakeman. * x ox % ¢ A NYWAY, we moons 'tound’In & kind of an unonontnloun way, with the, Kid still acting peevish and; low in his'mind, and me saying little things every now and then to chirk ing arrives 'long about 2 ym. we slips over Into the ylrdl below Riverside Drive, taking dde care not to wake up no sleeping policeman on the way. There we prefently ob- serves a fretght train, which fs giv- ing signs of getting ready to make up its mind to go somewheres. ° “A freight train is llke & woman. When you see & woman céming out of the front door and running back seven or eight times-to’'get’ some: thing she's forgbt, you Know that woman is on her way. And it's the same with freights—that's why they call 'em she's. Pretty soort this here freight quits vacilliating back and ‘| is- where We get off—right here on this ‘—proving,” I says, ‘that we are:in -the forth and comes sliding down -past where we're walting. “‘Here comes & si; with the side ‘door open," Towers.’ , “‘How do you know whe going?" says the Kid, greatly addicted to idle questions. “she’s | tell you .the truth, ther him being | a bit in the hous or anything. After our depurture, the train continues on its wy thither, ws remaining hither. o “ My young friend,’ I says when. the dust has settleddown, ‘the question which You propounded absut five minutes ago is now answered in the affimative. This identical spot. I don't Ktiow the name ©of the place,’ I says; ‘maybe it's so far out in the suburbs that they ain’t found ttme to get round to it yet and give it & name; but,’ I says, ‘there's one con- solafion. By glancing first up this way ahd then ‘down that way you will ob- serve thit from here to the point" where the ' rails”meet ‘down yonder ia. exactly theé same ‘distance’ that:it Is from heré o whére the rafls meet up yonderwayg exact center of the country. So let us be up and doing,’ I says, ‘speclally doing. But the first consideration,’ I says, ‘Is vittl *You know me well enough to know,” interjected Mr. Doolan, interrupting the- thread of hik marfative for a moment and tifiing ‘to m “with a wave of his towt.arm, “that:l ain't no glutton. 1 sAn’' eat my graB“Wien it's set before ine or I can let ft'slone, only T never do. 1 never begin to \hlnt’;bmn the pext {"Well, anyway, we arises up and goes 4n a general = sign which sfys we are now approach- ing the incorporated vilagé of Plentitul Valley—Autd's ‘Reduce Bpeed to Eight Miles an Hour—No Tramps Allowed. I Xind of favors the sound of that name— :| Plentiful Valley. And as I remarks to the Bweet Caps Kid, ‘We ain’t no autos and we ain’t no tramps, but merely two professional men, looking for a chance to practice our profession.’ see in the courss of a long and more or up hill and never no down hill. Be that as it may, we rambles on until it must be going on toward 9:40 o'clack, and slope inside-of &. high. white fence. There's a vengrable !party setting on [ the front porch, in his shirt sleeves. He looks beneficent and well fed. “‘Pull down your ‘vest, son-boy,’, T says to Sweét Caps, ‘and please re- member not to drink your coffee out of the saseer. wviction,’ T says, ‘that we are about to partake of refreshment.’ - “'Hadn't we better sell.this an- |. clent guy a few Bermuda oats, or o start ofl wllh"" nyl he. il ‘Not until .nn- we Mw et’ 1 say®; ‘businesp bpfore nleagury. . lanyway. I saym ‘I warks best on a full stomach. Follow your dear uncle,’ I says, ‘and don’t do nothing till you hear from me. * ¥ k% uwlm that-I opens the gate and ‘we meanders up a neat gravel path. As we draws o the ven- erable party takes his- feet down. off the railings: . i © “‘Come in’' ‘he says -cordially. “Come right in and rest-yeur -fal: &nd hands. You'rs:-out nice and early. “’'Sufer- us, I eays, ‘to :ntroduce curselves. We are a couple of promi- nent tourist-pedestriana walking from No Yawk to Portland, Oreg., on a bet. ‘This’ I says, pointing to Sweet ‘s Young Twinkietoes, and I am commonly knowed as old King Lighttoot the First. By an unfortu- coincidence, I .says. ‘we got separated at an-early hour from our provision wagon, as a fesult of which we have omitted breakfast and feel the omission weverely. -If we might impose,’ I says,” ‘upon your good n: ture to the extent of——" “‘Don’'t mention it he says;:‘take two or three chairs and set down, and we'll talk it over. To tell you the truth,’ he ‘I was jest metting here wishing somebody would come along and visit with me a spell. I'm keeping bachelor's hall,’ he saym ‘and door Pullman, | rgiging rchiekon on . the side; and I B&YE.| gometimes ‘Let's get on and book l’ couple of | guess m.yb. gt a mite lonely.. I Chink might scare up something, although’ he says, ‘to n't hardly except a couple of milk-fed broilers and some fresh to- “I dow’t,’ I says; ‘the pofnt s that|mattuses right out of the garden .going. Tonight shé will be|and a few: hot biscults And: possibly hére, but tomorrow she Will be ‘ex-1some razaberries with cream: fot I'm tensively elsewhere, and sdb 1 says,|g simple feeder; he says, Mtbl very ‘will we. from thes s good,’ parts while (hc departing; 1 says. 4 Let us, therefore, depart(litle satisfies me’ 5 pokes -his head lnl(dl l e d.ol‘ and:yells to a Jap to-put two mere “Which we done o, just like I'm | places at; the_ table.. 80 wa reciines’ telling you. And for Bomie. hours we.lynd intuiges - in . editying conversa- trundles along very snug ‘and com- fortal both of us belng engroase: fn sleep. When we wal up it's.an. other day, and the wickedq eity is tdr, tar behind us, and we are .running’ through- a distriet which ia entirely Surrounded by scenery. If it hadn'ta been that something keeps reminding me I aint had no breakfast I coplda been just as happy. - “ “Where'll we git oft? says !voa Caps, setting .up and rubplnl his’ eyes. choice. - Maybe, Albany,’ I says. ‘The, legislature is in special sessfon this and theyll probably R members. Maybe Rochester' I says, ‘which is & pleasant oity, full of large and thriving mu.mn. “May- be’ I says, ‘it this here train don't take a notion to &limb down off the: track and go berry-picking, maybde quite ‘8o polished ag Noo' Yawk.' has been ealled crude by idme. When 1 think ot Noo Yawk,' horui cuu.- I'm mm«f"o! w bired “girl with red hair tion upon the current topies of:the day; and;, very shortly,..nourishing smells begin -for .to percolats -forth from within, causing me to water at the mouth until I has all the outward symptoras of being an ebb-tide, But this here pernicious Sweet Caps Kid, he can't let wsll enough alone. Ob- merving coplous signs of affuence upon every side, he gits ambitious and would abuse the -sacred right of hospitality sbout half to. thres-quar- " . - ters of an hour too woan. - Out of. the Vell: I sen we fakes our ) ull of my -eye I sees him Teashing tn his pocket.for the aducated paste- boards, and I gives him the.-high sign to soft-padal, but he don't mind| me. -Out he comes With 'em. . %A 1ittle-Barmless game of ¢ards, he says, addressing the eldeply ‘guy, ‘entitled;’ he-ways,- ‘California eughre. Tihave here, -you will obssrve, t jacke and an soe—the noble ace- .- -1 rifle -and shufe and drop m trick deing to plok ) then,’’goes on' this | \ “This here is the first valley I ever|. less polka-dotted cmreer that it Is.all " comes to & neat hungalow on a green |- I have a growing oon- |/ Ana |; parison with some humans I've met lately, chickens is nb'olul-ly gltud intallectually. “'Furtherniore’ he says, ‘I wonm offer you a’'word of advice, although you don't really deserve it. Beware,’ he siys, ‘of the constable in the vil- lage beyond. You'll recognize him by his whiskers, he says. ‘Alongsi of ‘him, I look like an onion in t -; face. Ten years ago,' he says, ‘that constable swore & solemn oath not mever to shave until he'd locked up & thousand bums, and,’ he says, ° now on his last lap, Keep movin, he says, ‘till you feel like stopping, 4nd-then don's stop.’ ““Them edifying smells has made me desperate. Besides, not counting the Chink, who don’t count, we outnum- bers him two to one. ““We " don't ge,’ gets-a bite.! “*Oh! I'll see that you get & bitw’ he says. ‘Sato,’ he says, calling off- stage, ‘kindly unchain Ophelia and Ralph Waldo. Ophelia,’ he says, turn- ing to us, ‘s a lady Great Dane, standing four fest high at the shoul- der and very moross in disposition. But Ralph Waldo is & cross breed— part Boston bull and part snapping turtle. Sometimes I think they t X says, ‘until we |neither one of them care much for -mun Here they come now! lmk s starts frat, but I beats by half a léngth: h Waldo finishing third ¥th, respectively. We ‘fades awhy Bown the big road, and the'last ‘thing we Se¢s as we turns a wistful - Yarewell 160k over our shopiders “is them two man-eaters raging. back- and “forth Inside the ifence, trying to gnaw dewn the pal- ;lu.‘l.lfl ths old guy- mmdut on the e lell aloag, me frequently ‘eproxthinig Bweet " Caps for his precipitancy i spiliing the beans. We passes' through the village of ‘Plentiful Valley without stopping and walks on and on and on some more, until we observes a large, prosperous-looking building of red brick, like a summer hotel, with a lawh in front and a high stone wall in front of that. A large num- ber of persons of both sexes, but mainly females, Is wandering about over the front yard, dresseéd in pe- cullar styles. Leaning over the gate is a thick-set man gaszing with re- pugnancepupon a’lettuce leat which he is holding in-his right hand. He sees us and his face lights up some, but not much. *“‘What ho, comraded” he say ‘what's the latest and newest in the. great world beyond? “ 'Mistér,’ I says, disregarding these pleasantries, ‘how’s the prospects for & pair of foot-sore travelers to get 8 freg snack of Vittles here? ‘Poor;” he says, ‘very poor. Even the pay patients, one or two of whom I am which, don't get anything to eat to speak of. The diet here, he says, 'is exclusively vegeterrible. You wouldn't scarcely belleve it,' he says, ‘but we're paying out good money for this. Some of us is here to get cured of what the. doctors think we've got, l.nd ,some of us is here,’ he says, ‘because as long as we stay [héte they afn't wo llable to lock us up in a regular asylum. Yes, he says, pensively, .'we've got all kinds here. ‘That lady yonder,’ he says, pointing to. & large female who's dressed all 1n white 1fke & week's washing and ain’t got na shoed on, ‘she's getting back to nature. Bhe walke around in the dew tooted. It takes quite a lot of dew, he says. ‘And that fat one just beyond her be- lieves in_reincarnation.’ “"'You don't say? I says. . “'Yes' he asys, ‘I do. She won't eat potatoes, not under no circum- stances, bsuun “she thinks that in her last pravious existence she was & potato hersel?,’ [ “T takés & squint at the lady. She n “ot s robnd face with two or three chine that she don't Kctually need, ind Ittle knobby fea- tures. “awell! I says, ‘If I'm sny judge, ané 't entirely - recovered yet. Might I ask’ I sayy, ‘“what is your particular delusion? Are you & striped cabdage worm or a pet white abbItY _was thinking about the lettuce in his mitt. / says, T was such Y (.M liver that I J‘vm a baa “[ get out of here when the time comes, Eyelythmg Happens Except Somethmg to Eat Do you know what we m for. breakfast this. merning? Nuts’ he says, ‘mostly nuts, which it certainly ‘was rank cannibalism on the part of mapy of those present to partake thereof,’ he says. ‘This here frayed foltage which 1 hold in my hand,'‘he says, ‘Is popularly known as the mid- forgnobn refréshment. It's' got imi- tation salad @ressihg on it to make 1t hord tasty, Later on there'll be more of the same, but the big doings will be pulled off at dinner tonight. You Just ought ee us at dinner,’ he says with & bitter laugh. “There'll bs 2 mens of lovely boiled carrots, he says, ‘and some kind of chopped fod- der, and it we're all real good and don’t =pill things on our'bids or mhke spots on the tablecioth, whyy for des- sert we'll each have & nice dried prune. 1 shudder to think,' he says, ‘what I could do right this minute to & large double sirloin cooked with onions Desdemona style, which is to say, smothered.’ * % “ xMxmn.' I says, ‘I never thought 14 tall so low &3 to be a vegaterrier, but necessity,’ I says, ‘is |«¢ the mother of vinegar. Could you please, sir, spare us a couple of bites out of that there ensilage of your'n ~—one large bite for me and one small bite for my young ffiend there to keep what little life we have until | . 5 the coming of the corned beef and cabbage? *'Fellow sufferer,’ he says, ‘listen here to me. I've got a dear, old, White-haired grandmethér, which she ‘Was seventy-four her last birthday, and has always been a lifelong mem- Der of the First Baptist Church. 1 Jove. my dear, old grandmother, but it she was standing right here how and Asked me for a nibble of my midday Fefreshment I'd tell her to go find a truck patch of her own. sir, I'4 turn her down cold; because, if 1 don’t eat enough to keep me alive to 1 won't be alive 1o get out of here ‘when the time comes. Anywhere else I could 1dve you like 2 brother,’ he #ays, ‘and divide my last bite with you, but not here,’ he says, ‘not here! Do you get me? he says. “‘Sir, I says, ‘I get you. Take care of yourself and don’t get foundered on the green truck, I says. ‘A bran mash now and then and a wisp of cured timothy hay about once in so 18ng ought to keep off the grass col fc,’ I says. ‘Come on, little playmate,’ I says to Sweet Caps, 'let us meander turther into this here vale of plenty of ‘everything except something to eat. Which, by rights’ I says, ‘its real name oughter be Hungry Hol- Jow.” “So we meandérs some more miles, and pretty soon I'm that empty that I couldn’t be no emptier than I am ‘without a surgical operation. Ay voice gets weak, and objects dance before my eyes. “After & while they quits dancing, and I realize that I'm bowing low be- fore probably the boniest lady that ever lived. A gold watch has got more extra flesh on it than this lady has oh her. Bhe {s looking out of the front window of a small cottage and her expression verges on the disap- proving. As nearly as I can figure out, she disapproves of everything in general, and a large number of things in particular. And I judges that if there Is any two things in the world ‘which she disapproves of more than any other two things, those two things is me and the Sweet Caps Kid. * k x %2 “1 REMOVES my lid and starts to speak, but she merely waves her arm in a majestic manner. mean- ing, 1f I know anything about the sign language, ‘Exit in case of dog.’ 80 we ixits without ‘even passing the time of day with her, and con- tinues upon our way through the bright sunshine. The thermometer how registers’' at least ninety-eight in the shade, but then, of course, we don’t have to stay in the shade, and that's some consolation. “The next female land-pwner we encounters lives away down in .the woods. Bhe's plumb and motherly looking, with gold bows on her spec’s. Bhe is out in her front gar- den picking pansies and potato bugs and other flors and fauna. common ta the soll.. Bhe looks up as the gate- lateh clicks, and beholds me on the Mfl of entering. “‘Madam, 1 ‘says, ‘pardon th here Intpusion, but in us you bshold two weary travelers oarrying no soript and .no 'se. | Might I ask you what the chan cances of us get- werlng rlulu tor perfect strange she says. ‘So go ahend' she says. " Madam, ‘don’t trifle with me. I'm 2 desperate men, and my friend here is even des- perater than what I am. Remember, you-are alone and at. our, mercy and—' “‘Oh,’ she says, with a sweet smile, ‘1 ain't exactly alone. There's Tige,' she says. “I don't mes mo Tige,' slancing around hurriedly. “*That ain’t his fault’' she says. “I'll call him/-she says, looking like it won't be mo trouble v\.uoenr to show goods. : “But we don't wait. I says, ‘Bweet cn.. I says to him, as we hikes rodnd the | whatsoever. 5 first turm in the road, ‘this district PAPRAT TS ain't making no pronounced hit with . me. Hvery time you ast 'em for|‘[{F trais al behind me, and bread they give you & dog. The next his head ging low and time, I says, ‘anybody offers me a canine, I'm going to take him, I sa ‘If he can eat me any faster than I can eat him,' I says, ‘he’ll have to work fast. = xx ¥ ND just as 'm_ speaking tiem words, we comes to-a lovely glade in the woods and -stops with our mouths ajar and our eyes bylged out lke push-buttons. ‘Do 1ssleep,’ 1 says to myself, ‘or am I juet plain delirious?’ “SWEET CAPS STARTS FIRST BUT I BEATS HIM TO THE GATF BY HALF A LENGTH.” “For right there, out in the middle | of the woods, Is a table with & white | | cloth on it, and it's all covered over | with the most lucivicious looking | viands you ever see in vour life, including 2 ham and a couple of chickens and a pie and some cool- looking bottles with long necks on ‘em and gilt-foll crowns upon their | regal heads. And a couple of flunkies | in long-tailed coats and knee! breeches and white wigs are mooning | round, fixing things up . shipshape. | And just then a tall lady comes sauntering out of the bushes and she strolls up close and the flunkies bow and fall back and she sars something about everything being now ready| for Lady Gwyndolin's garden party | and departs the same way she came. And the second she's out of sight, me and Sweet Caps can't hold in mno longer. We bursts through the road- side thicket and tears acrost that open place, itketty-split. It seems t00 g00d to be true. And it is. When we gets up close we realizes the horrible truth. “The ham is wood and the chickens is pasteboard and the pie is a prop pie and the bottles aln’t got nothing in 'em but the corks. As we pauses, stupefied with diseppointment, a cheerful voice calls out: ‘That's the ticket! Hold the spot and register| grief—we can work the scene in and | 1t'll de a knock-out! “'And right over yonder, at the other | side of the clearing, stands a xuy fn a checked suit grinding the handle | of a moving-picture machine. We| has inadv®rtently busted right into| the drammer. So we kicks over his table and departs on the run, with a whole troupe of them cheap fillum- troopers chasing after us, calling hard names and throwing sticks and rocks and thinge. “Atter while, by superior footwork, we loses 'em and resumes our jour- ney. Well, unle u've got a mor- bid mind, you won't be interested in hearing about our continued =uffer- ings. I will merely state that by the time 6 o'clock comes we have‘traveled upwards of 900 miles, running some- but mostly walking, and my 80 full of water blisters I've | got riparian rights. Nearly every- thing ‘has happened to us except something to eat. So we comes to the edge of a green field alongside the road and I falls-in a heap, and Sweet Caps he falls in another heap alt me, making two heaps in ol * uK I says, Tet us recline hera and enjoy the beauties of nature,’ I says. “‘Dern the beauties of nature!’ says Sweet Caps. ‘T've had enough nature since morning to last me eleven thou- sand years. Nature’ he says, ‘has! ‘been overdone, anyway.' “‘Afn’t you got no soul? I shys. < “'Oh, yes,' he-says, ‘Tve got a soul, but the trouble is,’ he says, 'I've got a lot of other vital organs, too. When 1 ponder, he saYs; ‘and remember how many times I've got up from the| table and gone away leaving bones! 4nd potato peels and clam shells and fobster claws on the plate—when I think,’ he says, ‘of them old care-tree, prodigal days“I ¢onld bust l‘llll ohl | * %X % % crying.’ " - - “uh-h!' T says. "lbod )-a @one out ting & square meal before we perish?” | behin BY IRVIN . COBB' Look ‘at that there little stray pup, yonder,’ I says, ‘jJumping up and down L says, pretty severs,|in the wild mustard, making himself all warm and panty. That's an edify- ing sight,’ I says. 'fl ‘em at Coney," he says. breaking my heart. Desist,' I says. head off by the roots and after that I'll probably get right rough with you. p,’ | e¥tablishment etands & party almost | 1 says to him. but not death by quick starvetion. ‘You bet’ says the Sweet Caps Kid, kind of dreamy, ‘it's a great combination,’ he says, ‘hot dog with the way we iweet Caps,’ I says, ‘you are k you to desist. If you don't de- 1 says, ‘I'm going to tear your Follow me,’ I says, ‘and don't . speak another word of no déscription he mutters to hisself. Injun file we Tetraces our weary footsteps until we comes once more to the village of Plentiful Valley. We goes along Main stré know it's Main street because it's the only street there is —until we comes to a small brick building which you could tell by the bars at the windows that it was either the local bank or the cala- boose. On the steps of this here entirely concealed in whiskers. But on his breast 1 sges a German silver badge gleaming like a full moon seen through thick brush.- “‘The town constable, I believe” *“'The same,’ 1do fér you? *‘Lock us up,’ I says ‘—him ane m. We're tramps’ 1 says, ‘vag- derelicks wandering to mne fro’ I says, ‘like raging lione secking ‘whatsoever we might devour—and not. I says, ‘having no luck. We arc dangerous characters’ 1 says, ‘and it's a shame to leave us at large. | Lock us up,’ I says; ‘and feed us.’ “ ‘Nothing-doing,’ he says. “Try th next town—it's only nine miles and - g00d hard road all the way.’ “'I thought I says, ‘that you took 2 hide-bound oath never to shave ur til you'd locked up a thousano tramps.’ “Yep' he says, you're a little late. ‘I pinched him about an hour a “'Pinched who?' I saye. “‘The thousandth ome’ lLe saye ‘Early tomorrow morning.’ he seve, T'm going to Zet sealed Lids and eat'- |mates on a clean shave. But firs.’ !he says, ‘in celebration of a histori | occasion, I'm giving a little supper tonight to the regular boarders in | the jail. 1 guess youll have to ex- | cuse me—seems to me like I emell th turkey dressing scorching.’ “And with that he goes instde and s the door behind him, and en't pay no attention to us beating on the bare, except to open an upstairs win- do‘ and throw & bucket of water i he says. ‘What cat both. ! ) /4 ‘that’s #o: bu ‘Thua the last straw, My legs glves way, both at once, in oppositc ‘ directions. Sweet Caps he drags m« ) 4 across the street and props me up agalnst & building. and as he fans, # me with his hat I speaks to him vers soft and faint aud low. “‘Bweet Caps.’ 1 says, Tm through Leave me 1 says- and meke for giv- ilization. And.’ I says, ‘If you live i« 2 | get there, come back sometime and | collect my mortal- remains nd bury peaceful ‘em,’ 1 says, ‘in some quiet, | spot. No,’ 1 says, don't do that neither! Bury me; I says, ‘in-a Chinese ceme- tery. The Chinese,' I says, ‘puts vit- tles on the graves of their dear de- parteds instead of flowers. Maybe' I says. ‘my ghost will walk at night.’ I says, pointing up Main street ou the other side. 'Read that sign’ ke says. “I looks and reads, and it says on a front window: ‘Undertaking and Embalming in All Its Branches.” * x * % little. “Son bey. 1 certainly are. one thoughtful little guy—but cant you take a joke? 1 talk about passing away, and before I get the wards out of my pore -ekhausted vacant frame you begin to pick out the fun'el di- rector. What's your rush? I says ‘Can't-you wait for the remaulns® ‘Keep ca'm, he says and lock again. Your first look wasn't & suc- succ. I -don’t mean the undertaker's’ he says; ‘I mean the piace next-door beyond. It's a delicatessen dump.’ lio says, ‘containing cold grub adl-ready to be\et without toois,’ he asys. ‘Aud what's more' he says, ‘the worthy delicatessener is engaged ~at - present moment in locking up and going away from here. In about & half an hour. he says. ‘he’li"be set- ting in his happy home picking his teeth after supper. and reading comic jokes to- his little son. And shortly thereafter,” he says. ‘what’ll you-and me be doing? We'll be there, in that vittles. emperium, in the inidst of plenty’ * he ways, ‘filing our midst with plenty-of” plenty. -That's what we'll be doing,’ he says - “'Sweet Caps’ .1 sdys, * reviving S | RALLIES a says, ‘you v SUghtly; ‘remember who we are? Re- membefi*the profession -which we adorsi?- Would you,' I says, ‘sink to burglery? whgcapdalous,, he says, with feeling, ‘'m so- hollow I could sink: about three: ‘feet without touching nothing | whatsoever. Death before ‘dishonor. he says, OF 't ! Arfe you with me, you? -“Well, what could you 54y to wn ar- gument like that? Nothing, not .a'syl- Iable. S0~ eventually might ensoos. And purty soop the little Stars come softly out and u ‘the same ije me and the Sweet Caps mr;«. n. We goes in an yHey beh i, row of shops and affef feeli t in the darkness fof. quite 8, 3 falling .over a e of and a lurking wheelparpow q ; ing IM another, we Tis d:w es wepk latch on. l; n umallld Ve crawls Jn. >