Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 254, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 October 1910 — THE PARSIMONIOUS COCKTAIL. [ARTICLE]

THE PARSIMONIOUS COCKTAIL.

Continued from Page Two. Grudgingly, with shaking hands and quaking soul, Banks produced the money, hill by bill. It was all there now, on the. bed, but the odd cents, and he seemed to have only a quarter and a phir of dimes left, in the way of small stuff. He breathed hard. He searched and searched; and at last, from different pockets of his clothes, he produced five pennies and, throwing them down, snarled: “There’s your' blood money! Open the door!” The attendant obeyed. Banks rose swiftly. The attehdant smiled. “Want your hat and coat?” “Certainly! ” “Ten dollars more!” “What! I—” “You yell like that and you won’t stand one chance in ten billion of getting out of here,” grinned the blond man. “Going to pay?” From Banks’ pocket came a single ten-dollar certificate. He crammed his handkerchief in his mouth to deaden the shriek of pain that followed. He lowered his head to hide the tears that welled up from some new, inexplicable emotion as the money went. He had to have his coat; he had to have his hat, but —oh, the agony of paying for them! They came quickly. He slipped.lnto the big sable coat and donned the hat. He turned without a word and walked out of the room.

There was a big staircase ahead. Naturally, leading downward, it must end somewhere near the entrance of the strange establishment. He made for it, and he was in no way hindered. He looked downward. Below was the broad, open corridor through which he must have entered in the mysterious darkness. There were curtained doors at either side, and from somewhere came a hum of conversation and a low laugh or two. But, chiefly, what appeared to* be a big vestibule door stood unguarded, and all he had to do was to walk down and out! He walked. He accomplished the staircase in perhaps three seconds, without making a sound, and he was in the lower hall and within fifteen feet of the outer door. He stopped for an instant and looked through the curtained door to the right; there was a big room, with half a dozen men In big chairs, reading industriously through penny evening newspapers. He turned to the left and looked in. There, about a large table, were three men. To all appearances they were playing poker. But instead of any sign of real money, instead of any chips or anything else that looked like money they were playing with ordinary, white dried beans! More than that, they were men he knew well. For they were none other than John Seabright, Jared Barkus and James Tate! Whereupon, despite all care on the part of the author, there comes another pause! These pauses are getting to be positively astonishing; and yet this pause was perhaps the most thrilling of all. For Banks stood between the parted curtains and gulped just six times in quick succession. They were there—all three of them. All three of the gentlemen he had selected to float his Consolidated Cold Water deal were sitting around the same table in this mysterious house and playing poker with dried beans! And these were the same men, absolutely the same men, who used to keep Mr, Banfleld and others running an all-night express-service between the house and the All-Night Trust Company in the palmy days. These were the men who never bought the sort of champagne that was printed on the wine-list! These were the men who would give you ten or twenty thousand in cold cash from their pockets when you asked them! And Just then one of the men spied him and squealed aloud in amazement. The man was John Seabright, and he shrieked: “Banks, what in blazes are you doing here?” “What?” said the millionaire, as he advanced Into the room. “Weren’t you bad enough before?” “What?" The trio dropped their cards. They leaned back and shrieked in loud and gladsome merriment. They hugged their sides and bellowed. They wiped the tears from their eyes and bellowed Boms more. As nearly as Banks could judge, the consensus of the whole thing was: “What are you doing here?” Banks gulped and came closer. He rubbed his eyes and sought for an explanation. None forthcoming, he threw aside the main problem once more and came straight to business with: Seabright, what the devil are you doing here?” “Enjoying life.” “And what are the beans worth?” “The beans aren’t worth a cent a million!” Barkus answered. “This outfit has got too wise to risk any money on the turn of a card!” “What?” “You bet!” cried Tate and Seabright in joyful choruiß. “You’re not merely playing for beans themselves?” gurgled Banks. “Somewhat!” said Seabright placidly. “The fellow that wins the most beans gets a cent at the end of the game!” , There was marked satisfaction at the remark. The others nodded. Banks saw the Whole thing. They had been kidnaped as he bad been and they had been madb crazy. He stepped to Seabright and laid a hand on his shoulded. “John,” he said solemnly, “I want

you to drop all this nonsense and come home with me. Where were you day before yesterday?” “Right here, thank Heaven!” responded the erstwhile millionaire. “Well, get out of here now and come home witlr me. We’ve got no end of things to talk over, you know.” “I know we had!” answered Seabright with a rich chuckle. “At present I stay right where I am!” “But—” "When you want coin for your Consolidated Cold Water, put it in yourself!” cried Seabright nastily. Banks shrugged his shoulders. He turned to Tate and Barkus. “Then, since Seabright chooses to turn aside a good opportunity to invest a little money, I shall have to ask you—” Two echoing laughs greeted him—laughs of such derisive intensity that a queer chill went through Banks! “When you want to catch any more good things, Worden, get a hook and a net and look elsewhere!” Tate roared happily. “There’s nothing doing here now!” “And there won’t be!” shrieked Barkus cheerily. Banks rubbed his forehead dazedly. They were all crazy—that was it! They were crazy as the craziest. He couldn’t understand how or why it had happened, but crazy they were, and—- "* “How the dickens did the three of you ever get here?” he cried. “What sort of a den Is this?” The chorus of laughter went up again. Seabright dried his eyes first and said: “Why, you confounded chump, this is Dr. Rausenfeld’s sanatorium for the cure of the—” He stopped very abruptly. The front door had slammed sharply. In the corridor heavy steps were audible. The curtains parted and through them came a massive man. He was all of a half foot over six feet in height. His head was a shock of coarse red hair; from his chin depended a full, bushy foot of the same material. His eyes were bright, redrimmed and rather wild—and as they surveyed the millionaire in the furcoat they became wilder. He strode into the big, plainly furnished room, and every footfall was a crash! He came straight to Banks and laid a ham-like hand upon his shoulder; and from some deep spot in his chest came a roar of: “What are you doing here?” “Why, I—I—” “Isn’t your name Worden Banks?” “Most certainly it is, but—” “Then outside of here you go, and if it shall ever be that I catch you here again, there is trouble like that place where the devil lives!” thundered the amazing colossus! And Banks was seized by the collar, suddenly and disrespectfully. He was shoved bodily toward the door and out through two vestibules! He was escorted—nay, helped—down the steps by the obliging red giant; and he was left upon the curb with a wild, snarled injuction in a foreign language. After which, with* Banks standing upon the curb and the door closing and the automobile sliding up obediently through the stilly night, the vestibule light went out and a ringing chorus of laughter came from the strange abode! Mr. Banks climbed into his machine and all but fell flat in the tonneau. He straightened himself up and pulled the robe around him; and while his mind said, “What in the name of several kinds of bright blue blazes have I struck?” his lips said, merely and faintly: “Home!” (To be continued.)