Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 211, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 September 1915 — SEEING LIFE with JOHN HENRY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

SEEING LIFE with JOHN HENRY

by Geoige V. Hobart

John Henry and the Troupers

IF YOU’LL look real clow you’ll find Splaahburg on a map of the middle West It** a railroad junction where carelaa* travelers change car* and wait for the other train, which la always late. L . L . ’ ▲ week ago I happened to be one of those careless travelers, marooned tn Splashburg, and having a wicked hour or two to kill I strolled over to the Commercial House. Steb Stephens is the name of the head clerk at the Commercial House tn Splashburg. Steb has been throwing keys at the wall for a long time and he know* how to burn the beefer*. He played the Big Time once. Yes, year* ago he was a bell hop at the old Willard in Washington and after that he jumped to Chicago as night porter at the old Sherman House; so what Step doesn't know about the hotel business isn't worth whimpering overtSteb gave me a brief outline of hie life’s history and was just starting tn to tell me about the battle of the Civil War in which his father was shot and who shot him when a feverish old party with Persian rug trimmings on the end of his chin squeezed up and began to let a peep out of him about the pie he had eaten for ner.“Calm yourself," said Smiling Steb, “and tell me where it bit you.” ‘‘Bit me! Bit me!" snarled the Old Party with the tapestry chin piece. “Nothing of the kind, sir! I want you to know, sir, that your pi* wasn't fit to eat, sir!" “Cut it out!" suggested Steb. ’•Cut it out, sir! How can I cut It out when I’ve eaten it, sir? It's an outrage, and I shall leave this hotel tomorrow," said Omar Khayyam. "With the exception of 131.72, balance due, thgt will be about all from you,” said Sub. “I’ll see th* proprietor,” said the Old Party, moving away with a face op him like four dollars in bad money. “We get it good and plenty every day,” said Steb, and just then something about six feet tall, wearing a slouch hat and a gilt mustache, fell against the counter, grabbed the register and buried a stub pen in its pages. After looking over the result, I decided the stranger's first name must be Spider, because it loked like one on the register. “Bath?” queried Steb. “Only during a hot wave," said Spider. “Going to be with us long?” inquired Steb. “Say, Bub, you're wearing medals

for asking questions, now ain’t you?” answered Spider. “You just push me into a stall and lock the gate. I'm tired.” “Front! Show this gentleman to 49!” said Steb, sidestepping to avoid punishment. Then Sweet William, the Boy Drummer, hopped into the ring for the next round. Willie peddles pickles for the fun he gets out of it It is Willie's joy and delight to get • ginger-ale bun on and recite “Ostler Joe." When trained down to 95 flat, Willie can get up and beat the clapper off "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night.” “Any mail?” inquired Willie. AU the mail that Willie ever gets is a postal card from the pickle factory every two weeks asking him if the people along his route have all lost their appetites. “No literature for you," Steb answered. “Strange," said WilUe, “my lady friends are very remiss, aren't they?" ! “Yes; it looks like they were out to drop you behind the piano,” said Steb. Willie tore off a short rabbit laugh, then inquired what time the next train left for New York. The pickle factory expects Willie to make Pocomoke City, Squashtown Junction and NubbinsvUle before next Sunday, no he tossed the train gag out just to show Steb that he knows there's a place called New York

“At 7:45 over the D. L. & Q.," said Steb. “Whgt’s next?” inquired Willie. "At 8:10 over the H. B. & N.," Steb answered. “Which get* there first?" Willie asked. "The engineer,” sighed Steb. “Oh, you droll chap," said the picklepusher; “give me some toothpicks." Then Sweet William went over to the big window, burrowed into a chair, stuck his feet up on the brass rail, ate toothpick* and thought he was IT. When I got back to Steb he was dealing out the cards to a lady from Reading, Pa. Her husband had been up in the air with a bum automobile, and when he came down he was several sections shy. She was traveling for his health. “My room Is immediately over the kitchen," she Informed Steb. “The cook hasn't made a kick up to now," Steb went back at her. She started a get-back, but her Indignation choked her so she gave Steb the Society sting with both eyes and flounced out. Steb bit the end off a penholder and said the rest internally. Just then a couple of troupers trailed in. They were with the “Bandit’s Bride C 0.,” and the way had been long and weary. “What have you got—double?” asked the villain of the piece. “Two dollars and up!” said Steb. "Nothing better?” inquired Low Comedy. He was making a crack, but nobody caught him. “Four dollars, with bath,” Steb suggested. "Board?" asked the villain. “Nothing but the sleeps and a fresh cake of soap,” said Steb. “Ring down!” Low Comedy put in. “Why, we lived a whole week in Pittsburg for less than that” “You can turn the same trick here if you carry your own cake and sleep in the Park,” said Steb. “What’s the name of this mint?” asked the villain. Steb told him. I followed the two troupers out to the dinky barroom, because it looked about eight to one they’d pull a few wheezes and I’d get a few guffs. “The woods for ours! Isn’t this a bird of a place for a show to get stranded?” groaned the Low Comic, as he gave the Reub bartender the high sign, and the latter pushed forward two glasses and a black bottle. “I tell you, Mike,” the Juvenile went on, “I’m too delicate for this one-night

stand gag. I’m going to New York to build a theater." “What with?" sneered Low Comedy. “With a reporter I know on one of the papers,” the Juvenile chuckled. “Say, what was the name of that town we played night before last?” “Murphy’s landing, wasn’t it?” Mike answered. “Stranded here in this jay town!” The Juvenile grabbed the black bottle and upset it again. “Say, Mike, what we need is a guardian. And while we’re at it let’s pick out one with money so we can wire him for a little price to help us out on occasions like this. The next manager that wins me away from the stockyards will have to wear a gold-plated overcoat and stand in the wings every night where he can throw temdollar bills at me when I make my exit. No more slob impresarios for mine, with nothing in their inside pockets but a date book and a hearty appetite.” , “Same here!" Low Comedy nodded. "The next manager that picks me out will have to drag me down to his bank and let me pick his coupons off the shelf before I’ll sign.” “Bumped good and hard, here in the tan grass,” the Juvenile complained again, “and not a cookie in the lunchbasket. Say ! It has me winging, all right, and that's no idle hoot! This is the third troupe that blew out its mainspring for us this season, and Pm beginning to believe we ought to get vaccinated. How am I going to do

Hamlet tn New York this winter, rd like to know? Eight week* since we left Chicago, three shows to the bad, and still a thousand miles from the Great White Way. Say, Mike, at this rate it’ll take about 629 show* to get us to Jersey City. Are you hep?”. Mike laughed. "It’s the old story, my boy; we’re a sad bunch of plowboy* on this old farm of a world when we haven’t a laittle mazuma in the vest pocket I’ve got a new bit of recitation spiel I cooked up last night when I couldn’t sleep. It’s called “Knock and the World Knocks With You," and I’ll put you jerry to it right now before it gets cold: Knock, and the world knocks with you. Boost and you boost alone! When you roast good and loud You will find that the crowd Has a hammer as big as your own! Buy, and the gang is with you; Reneg, and the game's all off; For the lad with the thirst Will see you first If you don’t proceed to cough! Be rich and the push will praise you. Be poor and they'll pass the ice. You’re a warm young guy When you start to buy— You're a slob when you lose the price! Be flush and your friends are many. Go broke and they'll say ta, tai While your bank account burns You will get returns. When it’s out you will get the ha! Be gay and the mob will cheer you, They'll shout while your wealth endures; Show a tearful lamp And you’ll see them tramp— And it’s back to the woods for yours! There's always a bunch to boost you While at your money they glance; But you’ll find them all gone On that cold gray dawn When the fringe arrives on your pants! “You’ve got the game of life sized to a showdown,” was the Juvenile’s comment. At this point Jabe, the Reub bartender, pointed a freckled finger at

Mike and butted In with: “Say, you be the fat cuss that cut up with that troupe at the Op’ry House last night, been’t you?” “No, I’m the skeleton man with a circus," Mike answered, and the bartender roared with delight, “I was at the Op’ry House last night,” Jabe Informed them, “and I ’most laughed myself sick to the stomach at this yere fat cuss takln* off that Dutch policeman—ha, ha, ha, ha!” Jabe looked at the Juvenile'. “You was putty good, too,” he admitted, “takln’ off that newspaper reporter and rescuin’ the girl from the burnin’ structyure, but you didn’t do no funny fall and bust your galluses like this fat cuss—ha, ha, ha, ha!” “Get him to unhook the laugh; he’s a good steady listener,” whispered the Juvenile, and Mike started in. “Fine town this,” Mike began. “All the modern improvements, eh? Cows wear nickel-plated bells, streets paved with grass, and the river has running water.”

“Ha, ha, ha. ha!” Jabe roared. "Reminds me of a place we struck out in Missouri last winter,” Mike •went on. “Same style of public architecture, especially the town pump. But the hotel there was the hit with us. It was called the Declaration of Independence because the proprietor had married an Englishwoman and wanted to be revenged. At supper time I ordered a steak, and they brought me a leather hinge covered with gravy, so I got up to add an amendment to the Declaration of Independence. The head waiter was an ex-pugilist, so he put the boots to me and covered my amendment with bruises. Then he made me eat the leather hinge, and for two weeks I felt like a garden gate and I used to slam every time the wind blew.” Jabe’s laugh shook the building. “The proprietor of that hotel was so patriotic," Mike continued, “that he wouldn’t number the rooms like an ordinary hotel. Every room was named in honor of a President of the United States. That evening there happened to be a rash while I was standing near the desk, and I heard the clerk say: 'Front, show these gentlemen up to John Quincy Adams and tell the porter to take that trunk out of the alcove In 'Thomas Jefferson. Front, go and put down that window in Rutherford B. Hayes, and, here, take this whisky up to Abraham Lincoln. Front, what’s all that racket in James Buchanan? Here, take these cigars to U. S. Grant, and turn off the gas in Teddy Roosevelt’ But I nearly fainted when he said, * ‘Front, run a sofa into James A. Garfield, and take this lady up to George Washington.’” When I quit them to take my train Mike had worn finger marks on the side of the black bottle and Jabe had signed a verbal contract to go on the stage as the Juvenile's dresser. All of which goes to prove that Splashburg isn't so bad provided you don't have to wait very long for a train out

“Remember Those Nice White Doorknobs We Ate for Breakfast Next Morning?”

“Let a Peep Out of Him About the Pie He Had for Dinner."