Chapter 7

"Nawthin'," said Mr. Dooley, "but he was in here Choosday. 'Did ye vote?' says I. 'I did,' says he. 'Which wan iv th' distinguished bunko steerers got ye'er invalu'ble suffrage?' says I. 'I didn't have none with me,' says he, 'but I voted f'r Charter Haitch,' says he. 'I've been with him in six ilictions,' says he, 'an' he's a good man,' he says. 'D'ye think ye're votin' f'r th' best?' says I. 'Why, man alive,' I says, 'Charter Haitch was assassinated three years ago,' I says. 'Was he?' says Dugan. 'Ah, well, he's lived that down be this time. He was a good man,' he says.

"Ye see, that's what thim rayform lads wint up again. If I liked rayformers, Hinnissy, an' wanted f'r to see thim win out wanst in their lifetime, I'd buy thim each a suit iv chilled steel, ar-rm thim with raypeatin' rifles, an' take thim east iv State Sthreet an' south iv Jackson Bullyvard. At prisint th' opinion that pre-vails in th' ranks iv th' gloryous ar-rmy iv ray-form is that there ain't anny-thing worth seein' in this lar-rge an' commodyous desert but th' pest-house an' the bridewell. Me frind Willum J. O'Brien is no rayformer. But Willum J. undherstands that there's a few hundherds iv thousands iv people livin' in a part iv th' town that looks like nawthin' but smoke fr'm th' roof iv th' Onion League Club that have on'y two pleasures in life, to wur-ruk an' to vote, both iv which they do at th' uniform rate iv wan dollar an' a half a day. That's why Willum J. O'Brien is now a sinitor an' will be an aldherman afther next Thursdah, an' it's why other people are sinding him flowers.

"This is th' way a rayform candydate is ilicted. Th' boys down town has heerd that things ain't goin' r-right somehow. Franchises is bein' handed out to none iv thim; an' wanst in a while a mimber iv th' club, comin' home a little late an' thryin' to riconcile a pair iv r-round feet with an embroidered sidewalk, meets a sthrong ar-rm boy that pushes in his face an' takes away all his marbles. It begins to be talked that th' time has come f'r good citizens f'r to brace up an' do somethin', an' they agree to nomynate a candydate f'r aldherman. 'Who'll we put up?' says they. 'How's Clarence Doolittle?' says wan. 'He's laid up with a coupon thumb, an' can't r-run.' 'An' how about Arthur Doheny?' 'I swore an oath whin I came out iv colledge I'd niver vote f'r a man that wore a made tie.' 'Well, thin, let's thry Willie Boye.' 'Good,' says th' comity. 'He's jus' th' man f'r our money.' An' Willie Boye, after thinkin' it over, goes to his tailor an' ordhers three dozen pairs iv pants, an' decides f'r to be th' sthandard-bearer iv th' people. Musin' over his fried eyesthers an' asparagus an' his champagne, he bets a polo pony again a box of golf-balls he'll be ilicted unanimous; an' all th' good citizens make a vow f'r to set th' alar-rm clock f'r half-past three on th' afthernoon iv iliction day, so's to be up in time to vote f'r th' riprisintitive iv pure gover'mint.

"'Tis some time befure they comprehind that there ar-re other candydates in th' field. But th' other candydates know it. Th' sthrongest iv thim--his name is Flannigan, an' he's a re-tail dealer in wines an' liquors, an' he lives over his establishment. Flannigan was nomynated enthusyastically at a prim'ry held in his bar-rn; an' befure Willie Boye had picked out pants that wud match th' color iv th' Austhreelyan ballot this here Flannigan had put a man on th' day watch, tol' him to speak gently to anny raygistered voter that wint to sleep behind th' sthove, an' was out that night visitin' his frinds. Who was it judged th' cake walk? Flannigan. Who was it carrid th' pall? Flannigan. Who was it sthud up at th' christening? Flannigan. Whose ca-ards did th' grievin' widow, th' blushin' bridegroom, or th' happy father find in th' hack? Flannigan's. Ye bet ye'er life. Ye see Flannigan wasn't out f'r th' good iv th' community. Flannigan was out f'r Flannigan an' th' stuff.

"Well, iliction day come around; an' all th' imminent frinds iv good gover'mint had special wires sthrung into th' club, an' waited f'r th' returns. Th' first precin't showed 28 votes f'r Willie Boye to 14 f'r Flannigan. 'That's my precin't,' says Willie. 'I wondher who voted thim fourteen?' 'Coachmen,' says Clarence Doolittle. 'There are thirty-five precin'ts in this ward,' says th' leader iv th' rayform ilimint. 'At this rate, I'm sure iv 440 meejority. Gossoon,' he says, 'put a keg iv sherry wine on th' ice,' he says. 'Well,' he says, 'at last th' community is relieved fr'm misrule,' he says. 'To-morrah I will start in arrangin' amindmints to th' tariff schedool an' th' ar-bitration threety,' he says. 'We must be up an' doin',' he says. 'Hol' on there,' says wan iv th' comity. 'There must be some mistake in this fr'm th' sixth precin't,' he says. 'Where's the sixth precin't?' says Clarence. 'Over be th' dumps,' says Willie. 'I told me futman to see to that. He lives at th' cor-ner iv Desplaines an' Bloo Island Av'noo on Goose's Island,' he says. 'What does it show?' 'Flannigan, three hundherd an' eighty-five; Hansen, forty-eight; Schwartz, twinty; O'Malley, sivinteen; Casey, ten; O'Day, eight; Larsen, five; O'Rourke, three; Mulcahy, two; Schmitt, two; Moloney, two; Riordon, two; O'Malley, two; Willie Boye, wan.' 'Gintlemin,' says Willie Boye, arisin' with a stern look in his eyes, 'th' rascal has bethrayed me. Waither, take th' sherry wine off th' ice. They'se no hope f'r sound financial legislation this year. I'm goin' home.'

"An', as he goes down th' sthreet, he hears a band play an' sees a procission headed be a calceem light; an', in a carredge, with his plug hat in his hand an' his di'mond makin' th' calceem look like a piece iv punk in a smokehouse, is Flannigan, payin' his first visit this side iv th' thracks."

AN EVENING MUSICALE

BY MAY ISABEL FISK

Scene--_A conventional, but rather over-decorated, drawing-room. Grand piano drawn conspicuously to center of floor. Rows of camp-chairs. It is ten minutes before the hour of invitation._ The Hostess, _a large woman, is costumed in yellow satin, embroidered in spangles. Her diamonds are many and of large size. She is seated on the extreme edge of a chair, struggling with a pair of very long gloves. She looks flurried and anxious._ Poor Relative, _invited as a "great treat," sits opposite. Her expression is timid and apprehensive. They are the only occupants of the room._

HOSTESS--No such thing, Maria. You look all right. Plain black is always very genteel. Nothing I like so well for evening, myself. Just keep your face to the wall as much as you can, and the worn places will never show. You can take my ecru lace scarf, if you wish, and that will cover most of the spots. I don't mean my new scarf--the one I got two years ago. It's a little torn, but it won't matter--for you. I think you will find it on the top shelf of the store-room closet on the third floor. If you put a chair on one of the trunks, you can easily reach it. Just wait a minute, till I get these gloves on; I want you to button them. I do hope I haven't forgotten anything. Baron von Gosheimer has promised to come. I have told everybody. It would be terrible if he should disappoint me.

MASCULINE VOICE FROM ABOVE--Sarah, where the devil have you put my shirts? Everything is upside down in my room, and I can't find them. I pulled every blessed thing out of the chiffonier and wardrobe, and they're not there!

HOSTESS--Oh, Henry! You _must_ hurry--I'm going to use your room for the gentlemen's dressing-room, and it's time now for people to come. You _must_ hurry.

HOST (_from above, just as front door opens, admitting_ Baron von Gosheimer _and two women guests_)--Where the devil are my shirts?

HOSTESS (_unconscious of arrivals_)--Under the bed in my room. Hurry!

(HOST, _in bath gown and slippers, dashes madly into wife's room, and dives under bed as women guests enter. Unable to escape, he crawls farther beneath bed. His feet remain visible. Women guests discover them._)

GUESTS (_in chorus_)--Burglars! burglars! Help! help!

(Baron von Gosheimer, _ascending to the next floor, hears them and hastens to the rescue._)

BARON--Don't be alarmed, ladies. Has either of you a poker? No? That is to be deplored. (_Catches_ Host _by heels and drags him out. Tableau._)

HOSTESS (to Poor Relative, _giving an extra tug at her gloves_)--There, it's all burst out on the side! That stupid saleslady said she knew they would be too small. Oh, dear, I'm that upset! And these Louis Quinze slippers are just murdering me. I wish it were all over.

(_Enter_ Baron von Gosheimer _and women guests._)

HOSTESS--Dear baron, how good of you! I was just saying, if you didn't come I should wish my musicale in Jericho. And, now that you are here, I don't care if any one else comes or not. (_To women guests._) How d'ye do? I must apologize for Mr. Smythe--he's been detained down-town. He just telephoned me. He'll be in later. Do sit down; it's just as cheap as standing, I always say, and it does save your feet. You ladies can find seats over in the corner. (_Detaining_ Baron.) Dear baron--(_Enter guests._)

GUEST--So glad you have a clear evening. Now, when _we_ gave _our_ affair, it _poured_. Of course, _we_ had a crowd, just the same. People _always_ come to _us_, whether it rains or not. (_Takes a seat. Guests begin to arrive in numbers._)

HOSTESS--So sweet of you to come!

GUEST--So glad you have a pleasant evening. I am sure to have a bad night whenever I entertain--

HOSTESS--(_to another guest_)--So delightful of you to come!

GUEST--Such a perfect evening! I'm _so_ glad. I said as we started out, "Now, this time, Mrs. Smythe can't help but have plenty of people. Whenever I entertain, it's sure to--" (_More guests._)

(_Telegram arrives, announcing that the prima donna has a sore throat, and will be unable to come. Time passes._)

MALE GUEST (_to another_)--Well, I wish to heaven, something would be doing soon. This is the deadest affair I was ever up against.

OMNIPRESENT JOKER (_greeting acquaintance_)--Hello, old man!--going to sing to-night?

ACQUAINTANCE--Oh, yes, going to sing a solo.

JOKER--So low you can't hear it? Ha, ha! (_Guests near by groan._)

VOICE (_overheard_)--Madame Cully? My dear, she always tells you that you haven't half enough material, and makes you get yards more. Besides, she never sends your pieces back, though I have--

FAT OLD LADY (_to neighbor_)--I never was so warm in my life! I can't imagine why people invite you, just to make you uncomfortable. Now, when I entertain, I have the windows open for hours before any one comes.

JOKER (_aside_)--That's why she always has a frost! Ha, ha!

(HOST _enters, showing traces of hasty toilette--face red, and a razor-cut on chin._)

HOST (_rubbing his hands, and endeavoring to appear at ease and facetious_)--Well, how d'ye do, everybody! Sorry to be late on such an auspicious--

JOKER (_interrupting_)--Suspicious! Ha, ha!

HOST--occasion. I hope you are all enjoying yourselves.

CHORUS OF GUESTS--Yes, indeed!

HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! I have a great disappointment for you all. Here is a telegram from my _best_ singer, saying she is sick, and can't come. Now, we will have the pleasure of listening to Miss Jackson. Miss Jackson is a pupil of Madame Parcheesi, of Paris. (_Singer whispers to her._) Oh, I beg your pardon! It's Madame _Mar_cheesi.

DEAF OLD GENTLEMAN (_seated by piano, talking to pretty girl_)--I'd rather listen to you than hear this caterwauling. (Old Gentleman _is dragged into corner and silenced._)

YOUNG WOMAN (_singing_)--"Why do I sing? I know not, I know not! I can not help but sing. Oh, why do I sing?"

(_Guests moan softly and demand of one another_, Why does she sing?)

WOMAN GUEST (_to another_)--Isn't that just the way?--their relatives are always dying, and it's sure to be wash-day or just when you expect company to dinner, and off they go to the funeral--

(Butler _appears with trayful of punch-glasses._)

MALE GUEST (_to another_)--Thank the Lord! here's relief in sight. Let's drown our troubles.

THE OTHER--It's evident you haven't sampled the Smythes' punch before. I tell you it's a crime to spoil a thirst with this stuff. Well, here's how.

WOMAN GUEST (_to neighbor_)--I never saw Mrs. Smythe looking quite so hideous and atrociously vulgar before, did you?

NEIGHBOR--Never! Why did we come?

VOICE (_overheard_)--The one in the white-lace gown and all those diamonds?

ANOTHER VOICE--Yes. Well, you know it was common talk that before he married her--

HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh! Signor Padrella has offered to play some of his own compositions, but I thought you would all rather hear something familiar by one of the real composers--Rubens or Chopin--Chopinhauer, I think--

(Pianist _plunges wildly into something._)

VOICE (_during a lull in the music_)--First, you brown an onion in the pan, then you chop the cabbage--

GUEST (_in the dressing-room, just arriving, to another_)--Yes, we are awfully late, too, but I always say you never can be too late at one of the Smythes' horrors.

THIN YOUNG WOMAN (_in limp pink gown and string of huge pearls, who has come to recite_)--I'm awfully nervous, and I do believe I'm getting hoarse. Mama, you didn't forget the lemon juice and sugar? (_Drinks from bottle._) Now, where are my bronchial troches? Don't you think I could stand just a little more rouge? I think it's a shame I'm not going to have footlights. Remember, you are not to prompt me, unless I look at you. You will get me all mixed up, if you do. (_They descend._)

HOSTESS (_to elocutionist_)--Why, I thought you were never coming! I wanted you to fill in while people were taking their seats. The guests always make so much noise, and the singers hate it. Now, what did you say you would require--an egg-beater and a turnip, wasn't it? Oh, no! That's for the young man who is going to do the tricks. I remember. Are you all ready?

ELOCUTIONIST (_in a trembling voice_)--Ye-es.

HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh!

ELOCUTIONIST--_Aux Italiens._

"At Paris it was, at the opera there, And she looked like--"

GUEST (_to another_)--Thirty cents, old chap! I tell you, there's nothing will knock you out quicker than--

HOSTESS--'Sh, 'sh, 'sh!

(_Young woman finishes, and retires amidst subdued applause. Reappears immediately and gives "The Maniac."_)

HOSTESS--As I have been disappointed in my best talent for this evening, Mr. Briggs has kindly consented to do some of his parlor-magic tricks.

(Mr. Briggs _steps forward, a large, florid young man, wearing a "made" dress-tie, the buckle of which crawls up the back of his collar._)

BRIGGS--Now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall have to ask you all to move to the other side of the room. (_This is accomplished with muttered uncomplimentary remarks concerning the magician._)

BRIGGS (_to Hostess_)--I must have the piano pushed to the further end. I must have plenty of space. (_All the men guests are pressed into service, and, with much difficulty the piano is moved._)

BRIGGS--Now, I want four large screens.

HOSTESS (_faintly_)--But I have only two!

BRIGGS--Well, then, get me a clothes-horse and a couple of sheets.

POOR RELATIVE--You know, Sarah, I used the last two when I made up my bed in the children's nursery yesterday. I can easily get--

HOSTESS (_hastily_)--No, Maria, don't trouble. (_To guests_)--Perhaps, some of you gentlemen wouldn't mind lending us your overcoats to cover the clothes-horse?

CHORUS (_with great lack of enthusiasm_)--Of course! Delighted! (_They go for coats._)

HOSTESS (_to Poor Relative_)--Maria, you get the clothes-horse. I think it's in the laundry, or--Oh, I think it's in the cellar. Well, you look till you find it. (_To Briggs_)--I got as many of the things you asked for as I could remember. Will you read the list over?

BRIGGS--Turnip and egg-beater--

HOSTESS--Yes.

BRIGGS--Egg, large clock, jar of gold-fish, rabbit and empty barrel.

HOSTESS--I have the egg.

BRIGGS (_much annoyed_)--I particularly wanted the gold-fish, the clock and the barrel.

(_Guests grow restless._)

Hostess--Couldn't you do a trick while we are waiting--one with the egg-beater and turnip?

BRIGGS--No; I don't know one.

HOSTESS--Couldn't you make up one?

BRIGGS (_icily_)--Certainly not.

(_Gloom descends over the company, until the Poor Relative arrives, staggering under the clothes-horse._)

CHORUS OF MEN GUESTS--Let me help you!

(_Improvised screen is finally arranged._ Briggs _performs "parlor magic" for an hour. Guests, fidget, yawn and commence to drop away, one by one._)

GUEST (_to Hostess_)--Really, we must tear ourselves away. Such a delightful evening!--not a dull moment. And your punch--heavenly! Do ask us again. Good night.

HOSTESS--Thank you so much! So good of you to come.

ANOTHER GUEST--Yes, we must go. I've had a perfectly dear time.

HOSTESS--So sorry you must go. So good of you to come. Good night.

IN THE DRESSING-ROOM

CHORUS OF GUESTS--Wasn't it awful?--Such low people!--Why did we ever come--Parvenue!

ELOCUTIONIST--I was all right, wasn't I, mama? You noticed they never clapped a bit until I'd walked the whole length of the room to my chair. It just showed how wrought up they were. You nearly mixed me up, though, prompting me in the wrong place; I--

HOSTESS (_throwing herself on sofa as door closes on last guest_)--Well, I'm completely done up! (_To Poor Relative_)--Maria, run up to my room, and get my red worsted bed-slippers. I can't stand these satin tortures a minute longer. Entertaining is an awful strain. It's so hard trying not to say the wrong thing at the right place. But, then, it certainly went off beautifully. I could tell every one had such a good time!

COMIN' THU

BY ANNE VIRGINIA CULBERTSON

Yer's a sinner comin' thu, Crowd roun', bre'ren, sisters, too, Sing wid all yo' might an' main, He'p de sinner out er pain, He's comin', comin' thu.

He bin "seekin'" dis long time, He'p him cas' de foe behime, Clap yo' han's an' sing an' shout, He'p him cas' de debil out, Le's wrassel him right thu.

Tu'rr side de Gate er Sin, Year him kickin' ter git in, Putt up prayers wid might an' main, Dat he doesn' kick in vain, Y'all kin pray him thu.

Heart a-bus'in' fer de right, Debil hol'in' to him tight, Year him swish dat forkéd tail, See de sinner-man turn pale, Come on an' he'p him thu.

Sinner hangin' 'bove de pit, By a hya'r strotch over hit, Debil hol' one eend an' shake, Y'all kin see de sinner quake, Quick, he'p dis man come thu.

Seize de ropes, now, ev'y man, He'p de gospel ship ter lan', One long pull an' one gre't shout, Hallelu! We got him out, De sinner done come thu!

AUNT DINAH'S KITCHEN

BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

Like a certain class of modern philosophers, Dinah perfectly scorned logic and reason in every shape, and always took refuge in intuitive certainty; and here she was perfectly impregnable. No possible amount of talent, or authority, or explanation could ever make her believe that any other way was better than her own, or that the course she had pursued in the smallest matter could be in the least modified. This had been a conceded point with her old mistress, Marie's mother; and "Miss Marie," as Dinah always called her young mistress, even after her marriage, found it easier to submit than contend; and so Dinah had ruled supreme. This was the easier, in that she was perfect mistress of that diplomatic art which unites the utmost subservience of manner with the utmost inflexibility as to measure.

Dinah was the mistress of the whole art and mystery of excuse-making, in all its branches. Indeed, it was an axiom with her that the cook can do no wrong, and a cook in a Southern kitchen finds abundance of heads and shoulders on which to lay off every sin and frailty, so as to maintain her own immaculateness entire. If any part of the dinner was a failure, there were fifty indisputably good reasons for it, and it was the fault, undeniably, of fifty other people, whom Dinah berated with unsparing zeal.

But it was very seldom that there was any failure in Dinah's last results. Though her mode of doing everything was peculiarly meandering and circuitous, and without any sort of calculation as to time and place,--though her kitchen generally looked as if it had been arranged by a hurricane blowing through it, and she had about as many places for each cooking utensil as there were days in the year,--yet, if one could have patience to wait her own good time, up would come her dinner in perfect order, and in a style of preparation with which an epicure could find no fault.

It was now the season of incipient preparation for dinner. Dinah, who required large intervals of reflection and repose, and was studious of ease in all her arrangements, was seated on the kitchen floor, smoking a short, stumpy pipe, to which she was much addicted, and which she always kindled up, as a sort of censer, whenever she felt the need of an inspiration in her arrangements. It was Dinah's mode of invoking the domestic Muses.

Seated around her were various members of that rising race with which a Southern household abounds, engaged in shelling peas, peeling potatoes, picking pin-feathers out of fowls, and other preparatory arrangements, Dinah every once in a while interrupting her meditations to give a poke, or a rap on the head, to some of the young operators, with the pudding-stick that lay by her side. In fact, Dinah ruled over the woolly heads of the younger members with a rod of iron, and seemed to consider them born for no earthly purpose but to "save her steps," as she phrased it. It was the spirit of the system under which she had grown up, and she carried it out to its full extent.

Miss Ophelia, after passing on her reformatory tour through all the other parts of the establishment, now entered the kitchen. Dinah had heard, from various sources, what was going on, and resolved to stand on defensive and conservative ground,--mentally determined to oppose and ignore every new measure, without any actual and observable contest.

The kitchen was a large, brick-floored apartment, with a great old-fashioned fireplace stretching along one side of it,--an arrangement which St. Clair had vainly tried to persuade Dinah to exchange for the convenience of a modern cook-stove. Not she. No Pusseyite, or conservative of any school, was ever more inflexibly attached to time-honored inconveniences than Dinah.

When St. Clair had first returned from the North, impressed with the system and order of his uncle's kitchen arrangements, he had largely provided his own with an array of cupboards, drawers, and various apparatus, to induce systematic regulation, under the sanguine illusion that it would be of any possible assistance to Dinah in her arrangements. He might as well have provided them for a squirrel or a magpie. The more drawers and closets there were, the more hiding-holes could Dinah make for the accommodation of old rags, hair-combs, old shoes, ribbons, cast-off artificial flowers, and other articles of _vertu_, wherein her soul delighted.

When Miss Ophelia entered the kitchen, Dinah did not rise, but smoked on in sublime tranquillity, regarding her movements obliquely out of the corner of her eye, but apparently intent only on the operations around her.

Miss Ophelia commenced opening a set of drawers.

"What is this drawer for, Dinah?" she said.

"It's handy for 'most anything, missis," said Dinah. So it appeared to be. From the variety it contained Miss Ophelia pulled out first a fine damask table-cloth stained with blood, having evidently been used to envelop some raw meat.

"What's this, Dinah? You don't wrap up meat in your mistress's best table-cloth?"

"Oh, Lor', missis, no; the towels was all a-missin', so I just did it. I laid it out to wash that ar; that's why I put it thar."