The evening world. Newspaper, November 5, 1921, Page 14

2 THE EVENING WORLD’S FICTION SECTION, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1921. “Uncle Obe, what can { do to conceal my hickory origin?’ “I'll give you a few Dont's for Hicks,’ says O'Malley. ‘pont smoke a cigar with a band on it. Don't get up in street cars and offer a jlady your seat. Don't let the barber shave the back of your neck, Don’t talk politics with strangers. Dont wear tan shoes with buttons on ‘’em.’"” (Furtively Betsy noted that her husband's shoes were of the kind described.) ‘“ ‘Don't drink Volstead hyphenated Manhattan cocktails, Don't be ashamed to walk over people’s knees in the theatre, And don't offend the head walter by trying to tip him in public. Those are oe few rough rules which may keep you a while out of the Order of Straw along the Great White Graft, says Uncle Obe.’" : bd “That was thoughtful of him,” Betsy intimated. “Y-yos,” agreed Brian grudgingly. “But it makes me kind 0’ sore. What brand o’ lobsters do those N'York dudes cat that makes ‘em so all-fired brighter ’n the rest o’ the country? Can't an [ndian from another reserva- tion blow in with his war-paint and not" —— “They're naturally lots more experl- eneed than we are, living as they do ” in the midst of things,” she suggested, O'Malley of introduction.” “Um, fave me this jetter Brian fished a large “Said a fella be- longing to a Knickerbocker family so envelope from his Inner pocket. ft was to a real N' Yorker eld it considers the Vanderbilts vulgar trades-people; said that if I ever got skinned in any sort of a bilk I could fo round to this keen young guy and he'd pull-me out, Nice of him, wasn’t it?" “It certainly was,’ agreed Betsy. Shoe opened the flap of the envelope and read: Dear Dyckman: This is to introduce Mr, Brian Boru Blaney, who has come, for the first time, to see the town, You'll be doing a favor to your father's old chum if you take my young friend under your wing now and then and steer him clear of any of your city’s justly celebrated pit- falls. With regards to your dad, Sincerely, OBREY O'MALLEY “Now you must present this leiter as goon as we get to New York," said Betsy, in a slightly abashed tone, trian turned the envelope gritically in his hand, reading the address at every conceivable angle, “Mr. Dyckman Wynkoop, 134% Wash- ington Square,’ he read aloud; then added: “That ain't a name; it’s a label en an imported cheese.” Just the same, Brian was impressed, and was discovered gazing disgustedly at his buttoned tan shoes at intervals curing the trip. HEY were amid the horrific grandeurs of the Royal Gorge, battling ground of Ti- tans (according to prospectus), when an impertinent intrusion ap- pcared in the person of G. Hunter McCosh. Sight-seeing passengers were assembled in the observation-car, hud- dlerl each to iet no marvel pass, Roaring through chasms around window menasureless to man, infernal crags, the soft coal smoke of the b. & R G. locomotive added that Styginn touch so well portrayed by the late Mr. Dante. Some passengers were regarding the Devil's Needle and say- ing "Ah!" Yet others were looking at the far-piled Ogre’s Dungeon and re- marking "Oh!" But Brian and Betsy were looking into each other's eyes, and the latter was exclaiming, “Yot dear old red-headed proposition’ —— “Just look at that!" said a resonant voice at their shoulders, “Just look at that!” A large, flobia elderly gentleman with eyeglasses and a tooth-brush mustache epread over the bridal couple a promi- mcut plaid suit in a pattern reminiscent of the costume worn by George IV, while shooting grouse on the Highland estate of the Mackintosh of Mackin- tosh He crowded ,in. between them and pointed out of the window “Behold yon nature's appalling cataclysm of a planet's dawn ne'er limned by any hu- an paint-brush, sir! There they stand, fairly masterpiece of alutic art, A Complete Story Every Saturday brow-beaten by . sir, Rocks! Craggy rocks! Fit for some race of demi-gods’’—— “Jaggy rocks fit for some race of demijohns-—I gocha,” said Brian appre- ciatively. “You may sing, young man,” contin- ued the eloquent stranger, “of the ter- rors of the boundless deep or the won- ders of the tropic night—-but look at those rocks, By @2inger, ain't they great?” “In the real-estate quired Brian affably. “Well, no—not exactly. “IT thought by the way you went at us,” continued the Little Booster, ‘that you were trying to sell us the Rocky Mountains on the easy-payment plan.” “Ah, youth!” rhapsodized the big one, ‘Youth will have its quip at the wis- dom of age. Youth and love. I sea you're a bridal couple. I hope, madam,” turning a ravishing smile upon Betsy, “that you can spare your husband a moment.” Turning to Brian with a suspiciously glib motion of the thumb ond forefinger, ‘Play cards, sir?” “Not with you,” announced Brian, business?” in- at his toes, and remembered the warn- mg words of O'Malley. “Gawsh! Ll wonder if he saw my buttoned tans!” HE further they rushed Tast- ward, the more earnestly Brian hated his shoes as a recog- nized badge of Hickdom. He did not look up Mr, McCosh in Car 8, but that thoughtful gentleman made occasion to sit down next to Brian in the buffet when the latter was enjoy- ing a solitary cigarette. They were approaching Chicago at the time, and McCosh sa® paring his broad finger- pdils with a pearl-handled knife. “Try one of my perfectos,” he said suddenly, offering an ostentatious roll of tinfoil, * ephanks; I never smoke,” responded Brian, taking a fresh cigarette from his box. “Say, you're a cagey kid, all right,” laughed the big one, changing from the grandiloquent to the vernacular. His eyes slanted and his weather-beaten mouth came down at one “What's your line?” “I'm a.fly-catcher.’ corner, “IN SIX MONTHS FROM NOW THEY’LL PAY YOU TWENTY FIVE CENTS ON THE DOLLAR.” looking the other coolly between the eyes, “I trust I'm not making a nuisance of myself"—— “Not yet,” replied Brian, turning for the first time in the direction of the acenery. “My name is McCosh—G. Hunter McCosh,” said the florid person, still smiling. “Any time you want to look me up, I’m in Car 3." He strode jaun- tily away. “Oh, Sugar Boy, how rude of you!” Betsy chided, as soon as the other man had gone, “Take it from me, Betsy,” said Brian, in rather a depressed tone, “‘that old guy’s phoney, I don’t know what he’s got to sell, but I bet he makes it in a dark room. I wonder why he picked me out?" He looked reflectively “Haw-haw! You're a smart kid, auy- how. Now, look here. As an enter- prising young business man from the West, launchin’ out on life’s voyage with a fair young helpmeet, and awaitin’ alert and joyous to hear the welcome knock of Opportunity at your door—Opportunity, the goddess knocks but once- you are unspoiled, you are ambitious, too smart to let the golden moment who pass unheeded. Ever thought of investiu’ in mining stocks?” “Show me,” said Brian in a level tone. “As you see by my card,”—he ex- tended a square of pasteboard,—"I am General Director of the Goodfellow und Surprise Gold Lode Company. In- corporated.” “Phew! Is it as bad as that’’ “Have your joke!" growled Mr. Mc Cosh. “But the old must be patient with the young, I want to talk to you like an uncle. I want to put you on the ground floor in this unparalleled proposition, a chance we only offer our particular friends. I like your face,” Mr. McCosh’s fat fingers deftly un folded a bale of handsomely printed pa- pers engraved in rich orange; the seal of Nevada at the head, an intricate, wavy \border down the margins, He laid a compelling palm an Brian's knee, “In six months from now they'll pay you 25 cents on the dollar—25 per cent!" “Honest,” said Brian, carefully fold- ing tho stocks and handing them back; “you're the coarsest Wallingford make-up I’ve struck yet.” _ “How's that?” spluttered the big one, “Excuse me, while I take a good look at you, I thought they had all the old-style con men stuffed and under glass by this time, And to think of one cf you whiskered dodos tryin’ to pan- handle me—me—with a line o’ minin’ stock fluff that passed up by Adam and Eve. Say, old man, I’m sorry for you. You make me want to cry. Your childish stab at dishonesty is sadder 'n ‘Uncle Toms Cabin’ and twice as stale, was Say, what jay town are yOu going to work with county-fair bilk?” “New York,” said Mr simple dignity that line o' McCosh, with “What!” The word came iike a pis tol-shot “With that? Why, Uncle Rufus, you've got no more show in New York with that prehistoric swin- dle than a glass bead on Fifth Avenue Honest, they that in the New York public schools Why don't you stick to St. Jo, where the grass is ing good?” The face of the honest Mr, McCos! suddenly settled into tragic lines, teach better grafts than uncle jong and the Braz “If I'd ‘a’ known vou was one of us,” he began sadly, He made the sign of Three Walnuts between his thumb and fingers, “If [d known you was in our line o’ goods, I'd never come that con on you. But, since you mention St Jo, I'll put you wise to something. The Middle West circuit’s worked dry. I had to borrow from the constable to get out of Emporia, and in Keokuk | was blackmailed poor by a Rube I tried the badger game on." “So you're advancin’ on New York.” “That's the stuff! The only town in America where you can catch the hick off his nest with the golden CBS ex- posed { got a cousin doin’ well there on the old glass-ring game.” “Yes, but look at the competition!’ Brian objected, there to every hick. And what's your mining swindle against the kind of graft they home-made make by ma chinery?' “Well, Um gettin’ old,” “But train-load o straw arrives at the New York Cen tral every fifteen minutes, sighed = the swindler a fresh , This is my last stand—maybe [ won't have tu keep bar in my old age." “If you ain't skinned poor before you've been in New York a week, come around to me and I'll buy some of kindly, but with deep foreboding; for he was still mindful of your goods,” said Brian O'Malley's tale of sreedy Cotham does to the n what t aive out sider 'T is the conventional thing forthe newcomer in New York to pause Aladdin-like, mind Whirling, eyes blinking at the inagic works of these djinns who have bewitched man kind. Shalf he fly first to the Metro politan Museum or shal! it be the Met- ropolitan Tower? Shall he climb the Statue of Liberty or descend into the subway? But Brian Boru Blaney feet set on Manhattan, was ¥ his tortured He called a tax at the Grand Centra! Station, and afte, tucking his by no such doubts. baggage and hig Betsy safely iuside, called comnmundingly to the chauffeur: “Beat it for on Fifth Avenue.” Petsy all but plunged herself head. long several the first shoe store times In passing window displays of feminine attire, and as they whirled by the emporium of a famous milliner, she cried, with almost a sob in her voice: “Brian, you've just got to top her But he auburn-haired —— “There's three bunks ve