Ades Fables | Page 9

in the Directors' Room in a couple of years, talking it over with Henry C. Frick.
So he waved aside the Square Envelopes and allowed himself to be billed all over the Macaroon Circuit as a Woman-Hater.
Of course he girled in a conservative way, but he merely trailed. He did not buzz, or throw himself at the fallen Handkerchief, or run to get the Wraps, or do any of the Stuff that marks the true and bounden Captive.
When he found himself in the cushioned Lair of a Feline, he would lean back in perfect Security, knowing that even if she exercised her entire repertoire of Wiles, she could not warm the Dead Heart nor stir into life the fallen Rose Leaves of Romance.
All the time she was spilling her familiar line of Chatter, he would look at her with an arid and patronizing Smile, such as the Harvard Man produces when he finds himself in immediate juxtaposition to some human Caterpillar from west of Pittsburgh.
Very often, when the registered Dolly Grays got together for a Bon-Bon Orgy, some one would say, "Oh, Crickey, ain't he the regular Cynic?" Another might suggest that he was hiding a great Sorrow, his whole Existence having been embittered by the faithlessness of some Creature. Then they would take a Vote and decide that he was a plain Mutt.
The Chauncey who refuses to reciprocate will excite more Conversation than a regular Union Lover, but it is Lucky for him that he does not hear all the Conversation.
Walter at the age of twenty-five thought he was too old and sedate to be a Diner-Out and Dancing Devil.
When he was 28, however, he had become Hep to the large and luminous Truth that the man who sits in his Lodgings reading Dumas may overlook many a Bet.
He noted on every Hand the nice-looking Boys who turned in about 10.40 and avoided the Pitfalls of Society, and most of them were pulling down as much as $14 a week.
He recalled what this humble Chronicler had said away back in 1899: "Early to Bed and Early to Rise and you will meet very few of our Best People."
He looked over the Lay-Out and decided that it was just as easy to mingle with the Face Cards as to sleep in the Discards.
He saw many a Light Weight with a gilt sign exposed on Main Street and no Assets except a Suit with a Velvet Collar, a pair of indestructible dancing Legs, and just enough intellectual Acumen to stir Tea without spilling it.
So he decided to have a try at the Gay Life and worm his way into the Safety Deposit Vaults via the Parlor Route.
A worthy Resolve and one often taken.
If a Friend of the People can capitalize his Vocal Cords, why should not the little Brother of the Rich put his undying Nerve into the Market and get what he can on it?
The Captain of Finance is usually owned, Body and Soul, by the other Half of the Sketch. She may be a head bell-ringer in the D. A. R. or the blue-pencil Queen of the Golden Pheasants, but in a vast majority of cases she has not the Looks to back up the Title.
Even the Buckingham Palace manner and the Arctic Front cannot buffalo the idle Spectator into overlooking the fact that she belongs to the genus Quince.
She may not be a Beaut, but it is She who stands at the main entrance to the Big Tent and tears off seat coupons.
Walter knew that if he wished to be mentioned all over town as a Sure- Enough, his passport to the Inner Circle of Hot Potatoes would have to be vised by Patroness No. 1.
He began to work in the Secret Service of the Chosen Few and was First Aid to the Chaperons.
A Hard Life, say you? Not a tall--not a tall.
He was entirely surrounded by Fairy Lamps and sweet-smelling Flowers. Life became a kaleidoscopic Aurora Borealis.
When the first Crash of Music came through the hothouse Palms, Walter would be out on the Waxen Floor with his hair in a Braid.
Through the long watches of the night he played Blonde against Brunette and then went home with his Time-Card bearing the official O. K..
He swam among the floating Hooks and side-stepped the Maternal Traps, until the compilers of Marital Statistics had his name in the list marked "Nothing Doing."
The Dope on him seemed to be that he was Immune and Jinx-Proof.
After he led one of them back to a Divan and fed her an Ice it was a case of "Good Night, Miss Mitchell."
Truly, a Bachelor flown with Insolence and Pride is the favorite Mark for the Bow-and-Arrow Kid. For every weather-beaten Beau and Ballroom Veteran there is waiting somewhere in Ambuscade a keen little Diana with the