Billy Baxters Letters | Page 9

dub, hoping that the conversation would finally get
switched to theaters or dogs or sparring, or something where I could
make good, but Mr. Harold had the floor, and he certainly had me
looking like a dirty deuce in a new deck. I stood for him till he
suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, fudge!" because he had forgotten one of his
rings, and there was where I took to the tall timbers. If I were a ring I
wouldn't let a guy like that wear me. Now will you kindly tell me why
it is that a girl will throw a good fellow down every time for one of
those Lizzie boys? If I thought there were enough men in the country
who feel as I do, I would start "The American Union for the
Suppression of Lizzie Boys."
Well, I decided to get into my class, so I started for the smoking-room.
I hadn't gone three feet till some woman held me up, and began telling
me how she adored grand opera. I didn't even reply. I flew madly and

remained hidden in the tall grasses of the smoking-room until it was
time to go home. Jim, should any one ever tell you that grand opera is
all right, he is either trying to even up, or he is not a true friend. I was
over in New York with the family last winter, and they made me go
with them to "Die Walkure" at the Metropolitan Opera House. When I
got the tickets I asked the man's advice as to the best location. He said
that all true lovers of music occupied the dress circle and balconies, and
that he had some good center dress circle seats at three bones per.
Here's a tip, Jim. If the box man ever hands you that true lover game,
just reach in through the little hole and soak him in the solar for me. It's
coming to him. I'll give you my word of honor we were a quarter of a
mile from the stage. We went up in an elevator, were shown to our
seats, and who was right behind us but my old pal Bud Hathaway from
Chicago. Bud had his two sisters with him, and he gave me one sad
look which said plainer than words, "So you're up against it, too, eh?"
We introduced all hands around, and about nine o'clock the curtain
went up. After we had waited fully ten minutes, out came a big, fat,
greasy looking Dago with nothing on but a bear robe. He went over to
the side of the stage, and sat down on a bum rock. It was plainly to be
seen, even from my true lover's seat, that his bearlets was sorer than a
dog about something. Presently in came a woman, and none of the true
lovers seemed to know who she was. Some said it was Melba, others
Nordica. Bud and I decided it was May Irwin. We were mistaken,
though, as Irwin has this woman lashed to the mast at any time or place.
As soon as Mike the Dago espied the dame it was all off. He rushed,
and drove a straight-arm jab, which had it reached would have given
him the purse. But Shifty Sadie wasn't there. She ducked, side-stepped,
and landed a clever half-arm hook which seemed to stun the big fellow.
They clinched, and swayed back and forth, growling continually, while
the orchestra played this trembly Eliza-crossing-the-ice music. Jim, I'm
not swelling this a bit. On the level, it happened just as I write it. All of
a sudden some one seemed to win. They broke away, and ran wildly to
the front of the stage with their arms outstretched, yelling to beat three
of a kind. The band cut loose something fierce. The leader tore out
about $9.00 worth of hair, and acted generally as though he had bats in
his belfry. I thought sure the place would be pinched. It reminded me of
Thirsty Thornton's dance-hall out in Merrill, Wisconsin, when the

Silent Swede used to start a general survival of the fittest every time
Mamie the Mink danced twice in succession with the young fellow
from Albany, whose father owned the big mill up Rough River. Of
course, this audience was perfectly orderly, and showed no intention
whatever of cutting in, and there were no chairs or glasses in the air,
but I am forced to admit that the opera had Thornton's faded for noise. I
asked Bud what the trouble was, and he answered that I could search
him. The audience apparently went wild. Everybody said "Simply
sublime!" "Isn't it grand?" "Perfectly superb!" "Bravo!" etc., not
because they really enjoyed it, but merely because they thought it was
the proper thing to