Ades Fables | Page 3

the Hill
with the Batteries turned against you. Camp on the Job and work
straight toward the High Mark. And remember that anybody with less
than a Million is a Two-Spot in a soiled Deck."
From that day the Piking ceased. No more of the dinky trafficking of
the Retailer. He went out and bought Public Service Utilities on Nerve,
treated them with Aqua Pura by the Hogshead, and created Wealth by
purely lithographic Methods. And, if he wanted to reason out a Deal
with a contrary-minded Gazook, he began the Negotiations by soaking
the Adversary behind the Ear and frisking him before he came to.
A Fairy Wand had been waved above the snide Bungalow, and it was
now a Queen Anne Chateau dripping with Dew-dads of Scroll Work
and congested with Black Walnut. The Goddess took her Mocha in the
Feathers, and a Music Teacher came twice each week to bridge the
awful chasm between Dorothy and Chopin. Dinner had been moved up
to Milking Time. Sweetbreads and Artichokes came into the Lives of
the Trio thus favored by Fortune.
One day the busy Thimble-Rigger took his Helpmate into the lonesome
Library and broke the glad Tidings to her.
"I have unloaded all my Cripples," he said. "They have been wished on

a Group of Philanthropists in New England. Sound the glad Tocsin. I
have a Million in my Kick."
So she began packing the huge Saratogas and reading the Folders on
Egypt and the Riviera. He sat in his Den pulling at a long black
Excepcionale. Through the bluish clouds of Smoke came that old
familiar Voice.
"Let the Missus and the Heiress do the European Thing," said Ambition.
"You stick around. Wait for Black Friday. Then get busy at the Bargain
Counter. By and by the new Crop will begin to move, and Money will
creep out of the Yarn Stockings and a few Wise Gazabes will cop all
the Plush. In every Palm Room there are more Millionaires than Palms.
But the Big Round Table over by the Fountain is always reserved by
Oscar for the Lad who can show Ten Millions."
The Ocean Greyhound moved out past Sandy Hook with the Family
and all the Maids on board, but Papa remained behind to sharpen his
Tools and get ready for another Killing.
Every time he was given a Crimp in the Rue de la Paix he caught even
by leading a new Angora up the Chute and into the Shambles.
When the fully matured Goddess and the radiant Heroine of the latest
International Alliance came home with the French Language and two
tons of Glad Raiment, they found themselves reuning with the Magnate
at the big Table over by the Fountain.
Our Hero was now sleeping in a Bed almost twelve feet wide, with a
silk Tent over it. One Morning he found the Companion of many Years
sitting on the edge of the Mattress.
"Again?" asked the Multi-Millionaire. "What next?"
"The Exercises up to this Time have been Preliminary," said Ambition.
"What is the good of a Bank Roll if you cannot garnish it with the
delectable Parsley of Social Eminence? Get a Wiggle on you. Send for
the Boys with the Frock Coats and the Soft Hats and let them dig in to

their Elbows. Tell the Press Agent to organize a typewriting Phalanx.
Assume a few Mortgages on fluttering Newspapers. Lay a
Corner-Stone ever and anon. Be Interviewed."
"What are you leading up to?" asked the Financial Giant, a sickly Fear
creeping into the Region formerly occupied by his Heart.
"The Logical Finish," replied Ambition, with a reassuring Pat on the
Shoulder. "You must go to the Senate. The White Palace, suitable for
entertaining purposes, now awaits you in Washington. The Bulb Lights
glow dimly above the Porte Cochere. A red Carpet invites you to climb
the Marble Stairway and spread yourself all over the Throne. On a
Receiving Night, when the perfumed Aliens in their Masquerade Suits
rally around the Punch Bowl, your Place will resemble the Last Act of
something by Klaw & Erlanger. You will play Stud with the Makers of
History and be seen leaving the Executive Mansion."
This Line of Talk landed him. He Fell for it. That year the Christmas
Tree drooped with valuable Gifts for the Boys who stood after they
were hitched.
He went up to Washington with an eviscerated Check-Book in his
Pocket, and a faint Odor of Scandal in his Wake, but he was a certified
Servant of the People. His Cut Flowers were the Talk in Official
Circles. The most Exclusive consented to flirt with his Wine Cellar.
To a mere Outsider it looked as if Ambition had certainly boosted his
Nobs to the final Himalayan Peak of Human Happiness. He had