Achmed Abdullah

“ There was Chloe Van Zyle. (No. Her people had never knickerbockered worth a darn. Her so-and-so-often removed grandsire had not come out of Holland in a high-pooped frigate, nor had he traded in a plug hat, a plugged nickel, and a plug of chewing tobacco for a bully cabbage patch in the eventual vicinity of the Waldorf. She was née Mary O'Halloran, and her so-and-so-often removed grandsire had fought a brilliant rear guard action at the Battle of the Boyne.) But—there was Chloe. There was Hennessey McParland. And there was Jimmy himself. ”

“ Add to these external characteristics a whiff of harmless homespun psychology: a nose, as it were, turned to the ground and sniffing with the air of a lackadaisical bloodhound for gossip and rumor and the Big News; a manner which struck a happy medium between the young John Drew and the old marquis of the days before the guillotine was put into working order; a charge account in all the hotel bars on Forty-seventh east of Broadway, and a cigar-case choked with off-color perfectos. ”

“ Jimmy was still staring at the tramp’s hands, so fixedly that the latter felt embarrassed and tried to hide them—but at once there was a protesting cry from Jimmy.
“Keep ’em on the table! Let me look at ’em!”
“Why?”
“Because they mean Five Iron Men to you!”
The tramp—Clarence Reilly was his name—was a child of Greater New York. Washington Square was not unknown to him, and he had heard of painters and models. So he studied the acute and hirsute magenta of his hands and turned to his host.
“Say, bo,” he simpered, “them mitts of mine ain’t to worse, are they?” ”

“ She sneezed—she shivered—she coughed—and right then it was time for the curtain to go up ... and it was up to June to take Chloe’s part—and—” Jimmy continued inexorably, “did ya see Darwinter in the audience? Say—just watch the papers to-morrow—won't they boost little June up to the skies? Say! She won't get an engagement after tonight. O no—she won't! And I won’t be her press agent after tonight ... and her big beau. ”

“ McParland was speechless for a minute.
“Wott’ya mean?” he finally stammered out. And again Jimmy laughed—loud and long and cruelly.
“*Member how Chloe always has to have her back powdered just before she jigs on in Act One?” he asked. “’Member how she always manages to mislay her maid just at that moment—and how she always has June do it for her—just to make her lose face in front of the company? ’Member all that?—well—I tipped June the wink—I told her to slip a piece of ice down Chloe’s back. Ice! and ice don’t go well with a constitution that’s fed on terrapin and cocktails. Get me? ”

“ Vernon Castle and publicity and the sworn duties of press agents.
“You poor simp,” he said pityingly, though not unkindly, “why didn’t yer ...”
“I did!” interrupted Jimmy, “I assaulted two city editors and killed three cub reporters out of hand! I had her picture on the front page of the Evening Post—yes, the Evening Post—done up in a Nell Brinkley border! I got round the red-haired Mick who writes the Middle-Western Women’s Special Sob Page for the Ladies’ Home Gazette and had him describe how she goes straight home from the theater every night and helps her Dad to tuck in his jag! ”