Ades Fables | Page 9

to him that
Success in Life would consist of going about reeking of Culture.
A Degree looked bigger than a Dividend.
He never had heard tell of such a thing as a Coal-Bill or a Special
Assessment for a Sewer.
The vision of Elfreda floated out through a Transom three days after he
drew a Desk in the extensive Works owned by the Governor.
He was too busy keeping his Head above the Churning Waves to bother
with Speculative Philosophy or write Letters studded with Latin
Phrases, like Currants in an English Cake.
All the cringing Peons in the big Stockade hated him because he had a
Drag. It was up to him to deliver the Merchandise and demonstrate that
he was a Human Being rather than a College Graduate.
In the meantime, the Spectators were hoping that he would Skid and go
into the Fence.
He began to wear his Frat pin on his undershirt, and he had no time to
frivol away on the fluffy Gender, because he expected to be sitting 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