Evening Star Newspaper, March 3, 1935, Page 79

| - B e much more free on the junket — and one wanted him to telephone over to Paris to arrange for her taking a com- plete course in voice culture during the three weeks there. Percy and Colonel Blight and their aides perspiringly did their best to handle these details for Cordwood but, curiously, most of the suppliants wanted to see Cordwood himself. They complained that Perce and the colonel viciously denied such reason- able complaints as sending to the poor farm at Tallahassee, Florida, for poor Aunt Ethelberta, so that (though the dear old thing had never seen Jack- rabbit Creek) she might go along on the tour. “Now, Mr. Willoughby, that's so thoughtless of you! It would give Aunty so much pleasure.” Cordwood was learning, as Percy had long since learned, that when any one says to you, “Oh, do that — it would give her so much pleasure,” then that is something most vigor- ously not to do. It was surprising how much of the current $6,870,000 Cordwood was going to get rid of. He had, before inviting the town, neglected to learn how much it would cost to charter a de luxe liner. It would cost, he found, about $25,000 a day, six days to the crossing and landing included, for a steamer like Dipsomania, aside from tips, drinks, and the entertainers whom he was determined to hire in New York. Four hundred thousand dollars might see the ocean part of the journey, both ways, paid for, but Perce reminded him that he must not be optimistic. And so Cordwood signed checks, and signed, and signed, and from 7 a.m. till after midnight daily he listened to neighbors who wanted him to settle their brother-in-laws’ debts or their wives’ tempers or their diges- tions before the sailing — and Cord- wood had considerably less fun out of being a millionaire and a public benefactor than he had ever had in his life. But things got settled. Perce was a pattern of energy and precision, Colo- nel Blight a master of diplomacy and executiveness, and Cordwood too much of a kind-hearted damned fool to believe it even when he knew he was miserable, and two weeks before sailing, practically every one of the crusaders seemed satisfied. And just then Trouble personified staggered down from the hills. A year before, Mr. Bat Badger, lumberjack and teamster, had been incomparably the highest-ranking Town Drunk in Jackrabbit Creek. In a lively, unmalicious way, he had gone fishing in the courthouse foun- tain, chased the night policeman with an unloaded revolver and, during a particularly durable hangover, tried to lead the singing in Mr. Mitch’s church, with the misconception that the congregation were caroling ‘‘Little Brown Gal” instead of ‘“‘The Little Brown Church in the Wildwood.” Cordwood had raised — that is, had contributed — a handsome purse to assist his friend Bat Badger to get out of town, quick, and go live with his farmer son-in-law. Now Bat was suddenly returned — you needed no newspaper to learn of it — and he was announcing to grati- fied throngs in the town’s one saloon that he was delighted to join Cord- wood’s party and show the Frogs and Dagoes what a real two-fisted He- American could do in the way of serious drinking. He had always wanted to go to sea, he explained, and he was planning to bunk with the captain of the liner. Sure he could, if he wanted to, couldn’t he? Wasn't he ‘nole friend of Cordwood’s and didn’t Cordwood own the boat? Let any high-toned captain try to get fresh with Asm! And now would all the boys join him in lil drink, to be charged to his friend Cordwood? The bartender wearily requested Bat to go out and soak his head or, preferably, go climb a tree. Bat was hurt. He was shocked. He threw at the bartender a glass which broke the mirror. He awoke in an alley, mutter- ing in a youthful, plaintive way, “Well I'll be dog-gone!” and arose to waver, slantwise, toward his friend Cordwood, to tell him of this cruel misunder- standing. Already, Maybelle Benner, Mr. Scallion, and Mr. Mitch had come, as one man, to Cordwood’s office, and squealed, “If that horrible scoundrel Badger goes on this tour, neither we nor any other respectable person in town will go!” Cordwood looked weary. There had been a time when he had shared a blanket and a pint with Bat Badger. Percy warbled, “It’s all arranged, Mrs. Benner. Of course Mr. Badger is not to go. Mr. McGash and I were conferring about that, just as you came in.” The reformers marched beamingly out, in time to meet Bat Badger on the steps. “You bad man, you get right out of town! And you're nol going to Europe with us!” rejoiced Mrs. Benner. “Three iackasse-s, all in a row. 'Tain’t true. Jus' ’'nother mirage! Visyums like this hard on pore lone prospector!” said Mr. Badger. He entered the office, after some difficulty in finding on which side of the door post the door was. Cordwood hailed him with dubious heartiness. “Well, well, if it ain’t old Bat! Well, well — well!” Mr. Badger fumblingly sank into a chair. He said not a word. He merely shook his wicked old head — his greasy cap and sunset nose and brush- wood-scattered chin — shook it slowly and rebukingly, and wagged a know- ing but smeary forefinger. “Come up to the house and have a drink, old fella!" said Cordwood, hollowly. Mr. Badger went on shaking his head and his forefinger in saddened disillusion, looking at this viper he had now thrust forth from his bosom. “How's your daughter and your son-in-law? Folks all fine?"’ croaked Cordwood. Then Mr. Badger gloomily gave voice: “‘Phar’see!” “Who's a Pharisee?”’ “Who's Phar’'see? You're Phar’see!” ““Me? A Pharisee!” “Yes, you! Whaz Good Book say? Proggle Son comes home. Whaz he get? Gets fatted leg of lamb. I'm Proggle Son. What do I get? Get Maybelle Benner! Phar'see. Quit drinking, that's what you done. Snooty to old friend Bat. Pore old Bat Badger!"’ And Mr. Badger shook his palsied head again, gently weeping. “No, no, Bat! That's a dog-gone lie. I'm just as good a drinker as I ever was. Come on up home. I'll prove it. I'm no Pharisee. I'm a good drinking man."”’ He got Bat into the back of the limousine, where Bat lighted the butt of a cigar and looked loftily out at the canaille, winking at the girls, while Cordwood meekly drove in front. At the mansion, Bat suddenly exhibited the most offensive trick in all his amiably contrary career. He wouldn’t, no, no matter how much his host begged him, he wouldn't take a single drink of Cordwood’s excellent whisky. This was as unexpected as Hitler's refusing an Imperial crown, and the not unresourceful Cordwood was helpless. In the style of a small boy running to his mother with a hurt finger, Cordwood thought of telephon- ing for Percy, for good old Colonel Blight. But he felt too helpless, under the spell of Bat, who was slumped in a leather armchair accusingly shaking his head and muttering, ‘‘Phar’see! Never drink Phar'see’s licker. Not if I starve!” “Look, old man! I'll show you how much of a Pharisee I am! Lookit, the way 1 drink!”’ Cordwood poured out half a tumblerful of rye and tossed it off. “‘See? Now come on! Drink up! And I got a swell new story for you. Mrs. Benner? Why, she hates me like rat poison. Come on now, drink up!" “Phar’see!” ““Oh, come on! I —uh — 1 been too busy lately to do much drinking, but with an old buddy like you — Look, I'm taking another!’ So it was that Percy returned, with Colonel Blight, to find Cordwood completely passed out, while Bat still sat soberly croaking at the near- corpse, “Phar’see! Benners! All Phar’ sees!”’ Percy and the colonel gently led Bat outside. Expertly frisking him, the colonel found that Bat had not carried his prejudice against the false wine cups of the Pharisee too far. He removed two bottles of rye and one of gin from Bat’s outer coat pockets, a bottle of Scotch from his inside pocket, and eight Corona Coronas and three miniature bottles of cordials from his vest. Colonel Blight murmured some- thing then to Percy, and Percy laughed. X When Cordwood struggled into an agonized wakefulness, in his own bed, with Percy beside him ready with the aspirin and wet towel, he groaned, “Not a Pharisee! Where's Bat?"” ““Sir, I took the liberty of — I think Mr. Badger will be quite happy; probably much happier than in Paris, I have arranged with young Mr. THIS WEEK Continued from page six Knute Tieplowitz to take Mr. Badger on a somewhat extensive tour — in fact, to San Diego. 1 ventured to entrust Knute with enough money to keep Mr. Badger quite drunk and happy the entire way. They have been gone now for some hours. I do not think Mr. Badger will change his mind. Tieplowitz is a charming com- panion, and he will be glad to sing duets with Mr. Badger, but also he was boxing champion in the Agri- cultural College.” “‘Say, couldn’t you grab the whole six million or whatever there is left now, and take this whole business over? | guess I could still get a job clerking.” “Well, not the whole of it,” said Percy, with a curious meditativeness. Such was the innocence of Mr. Cordwood McGash that he was astonished when the reporters began to drop into town — from Duluth, from St. Paul and Minneapolis, the nearest A. P. and U. P. correspondents places. SEVEN MILLION DOLLARS anq even one roving reporter from Chicago. They found it odd and a little unbelievable that a millionaire should want to take a whole town to Europe, and with pleasant cynicism they wanted to know — not necessarily for publication — just what he was really up to. They found it odder that appar- ently he really wasn’t hunting pub- licity and that he should be astonished, and considerably pleased, at having his picture in the papers. They were a cheerful party. Cordwood put them all up at the mansion, and kept a bartender on duty all night, and probably not since the arrival of Wilson in Paris had quite such a flock of adulatory stories burned the wires. Cordwood was a Modest Man of Millions, A Mystery Millionaire, a Rival to Death Valley Scotty. And after a certain night during which Cordwood had enthusiastically led them in the rendition of *“‘Frankie and Johnny"” — standing on the huge limestone mantelpiece, to which wil- The Metropolitan is cooperating with those who are trying to stop this appalling, needless loss of life. From month to month in this mag- azine, the Metropolitan will discuss causes of common accidents on streets and highways, in homes, in industry and in public gathering Many drivers fail to realize the tremen- dous power they release the moment they step on the gas. miles an hour travels 88 feet in one second. Imagine the smashing force of a collision, travelling at that speed! There were 1,200,000 persons injured and 35,000 killed last year in automo- bile accidents. Careless driving caused the majority of accidents—driving too fast for road conditions, passing red lights, driving on the wrong side of the road, passing cars on a curve or hill, cutting in, failing to give and to heed signals, and driving while under the influence of alcohol. Learn to drive safely. Send for a book- let *‘The Real Driver's Log Book" that contains important reminders which may help to save lives. It also includes blank pages on which to record mile- age and gasoline and oil consumption. Address Booklet Dept. TW-335. METROPOLITAN -8 In 1934, accidents were the fifth greatest cause of death. The vast majority of these acci- dents might have been prevented. A car driven 60 ling journalistic hands had helped him —it was also communicated that in his youth he had longed to study music, that he had gone forth into the world only to help his family, all orphans, that in music he was the them to listen to the best music. That same night the local Jack- rabbit reporter asked about. Cord- wood’s willingness to become governor of the state. Well, that would be all right, thought Cordwood. The Duluth reporter — and quite seriously, because by now Cordwood really had very good Scotch — asked about his going on to the presidency. No, Cordwood didn’t think he was fitted for that. And he understood that in Washington you had to weas a dress suit every evening. Here he tiptoed to the hall door, looked about cautiously, made sure that his secretary was not in sight, motioned the reporters to gather close, ©ie3s m.Li.co LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY ONE MADISON AVE., NEW YORK, N.Y. FREDERICK H. ECKER, PRESIDENT