Ade's Fables Part 10

The celebrated Author of the Graveyard Rag had been summoned in haste.

He was in charge of the Clinic--taking out the Grammar and putting in Gags.

The Duos and Ensembles were being dropped through the Trap Door to make way for recent Song Hits from the alcoholic Cabarets.

The Ax fell right on the powdered Neck of the beautiful Prima Donna, who had studied for Grand Opera, but never had been able to find an Orchestra that would fit her Voice.

Her Part was changed from a Princess to a Shop-Lifter and was a.s.signed to Cissy St. Vitus, late of a Burlesque Bunch known as the Lady Bugs.

The Tenor was given the Hook, and his sentimental Role was entrusted to a Head-Spinner who had acquired his Dramatic Schooling with the Ringling Circus.

All of which comes under the head of whipping a Performance into Shape.

When the two Geniuses sat out in front they recognized nothing except the Scenery and Costumes.

Their idyllic Creation had been mangled into a roughhouse Riot, in which Disorderly Conduct alternated with the shameless Gyrations taught in San Francisco.

The last Act had been omitted altogether without affecting the coherency of the Story.

The Plot died just four minutes after the Ring-Up.

Although the Report showed 27 Encores and the Gate began to jump $80 a Night, both the intellectual Troubadour and the Student of Counter-Harmonies went to the Manager and cried on his Shoulder and said that their Beautiful Work had been ruined.

He called attention to the Chunk of Money tied up in Silk Tights and fireproof Borders.

When it came to a show-down between Dough and Art he didn't propose to tear up his Meal Ticket.

If they would beat it and stay hid and leave the Artists fatten up their Scenes, probably the Bloomer could be converted into a Knock-Out.

While they were in the Sanitarium, the former Minstrel King and young Abie Fixit from the Music Foundry cut out the last vestiges of the Original Stuff and put in two Turns that had landed strong over the whole Orpheum Circuit.

The romantic Operetta now became known as Another One of Those Things.

It was eagerly discussed by Club Women and College Students.

Good seats down in the Observation Rows were not to be had except at the Hotel News Stand.

The Litry Guy and the Music-Maker came out of the Rest Cure to learn that they had registered a Hit and could get their names in "Who's Who."

With the Royalty Checks coming in from the eastern Centers of Culture they were enabled to buy four-cylinder Cars with which to go riding in lonesome Country Lanes, far from the sight of a Bill-Board.

When the Number Two Company came along presenting the Metropolitan Success in the One-Nighters, the reincarnated Gilbert and Sullivan packed up their Families and escaped to French Lick.

It was a Sell-Out, because all the Members of the Research Club wanted to see that new Dido called the Chicken Flop.

There was no knocking at the Dutch Lunches that night.

Every one said the Show was a Bird, but they thought it was up to the Author to resign from the Baptist Church.

MORAL: In elevating the Drama be sure to get it High enough, even if you have to make it a trifle Gamey.

THE NEW FABLE OF THE WANDERING BOY AND THE WAYWARD PARENT

Once there was a story-book Stripling who uncoupled himself from a Yahoo Settlement and moseyed up to the Congested Crossings and the Electric Signs. In due time he returned, wearing Gloves and with his Teeth full of Gold.

Ever since that historic Example it has been the daily desire of the Yokel, staked down in a County Seat, to walk in on Judge Gary and form a Partnership.

It befell that after a High School Alumnus had gone to a Varsity and scaled the fearsome heights of Integral and Differential Calculus, he came home to get some more of Father's Shirts and Handkerchiefs and take a new Slant at Life's doubtful Vista, while getting his Board for nothing.

The Town of his Nativity did not occupy many Pages in the statistical Census Reports. In fact, all the travelling Troupers who had worked for K. and E. referred to it as a Lime, which is the same as a Lemon, only smaller.

The ambitious Bachelor of Arts had a lot of Geological Data and College Fraternity Lore stowed away under his Mortar-Board. His hopes were set on something more n.o.ble than a Chair and a Table and a Blotter in a dusty Office up the Stairway leading to Odd Fellows'

Hall.

So he resolved to hit the long Trail leading to a Modern Babylon where the Evening papers were on the Streets before Noon.

He figured that a Gazimbat with a John C. Calhoun Forehead and a lot of inside Dope on Hindoo Anthology could break into almost any Reservoir of Culture and bring home the Bacon.

Parents were dead willing to have him migrate and take his Tailor Bills with him, but they shivered with Dread when it came time to ship him to Gomorrah.

They knew all about the unbridled Deviltry of the City, having seen the large colored Ill.u.s.trations in the Sunday Papers.

They had it on good Authority that the whole sub-stratum of Urban Existence was honeycombed with Rathskellers, while a Prominent Actress waited on almost every Corner, soliciting Travel on the Taxicab Route to the everlasting c.o.ke Ovens.

While Elmer's fragile Steamer Trunk was being hoisted into the Dray, all the Relations who had a.s.sisted in bringing him up by Hand cl.u.s.tered around the Melodeon and sang, "Oh, where is my Boy to-night?"

After the Day Coach had pulled away from the Depot, he opened the Shoe-Box to extract a Crull and found a Book written by T. DeWitt Talmage, in which many Pa.s.sages were marked.

He arrived at Union Station with his Fingers crossed. He told himself that he would break into a Dog Trot every time Vice beckoned to him.

After he had hung up his Diploma and Razor Strop in the third-story Recess of a very naughty Beanery, he hunted up some of the dear old Pals with whom he had bunked in the Dorm.

They told him they would put him next to a lot of nice clean People.

He began to tremble, fearing that some one was about to offer him Champagne, but the Orgy to which they conducted him was merely a meeting of the Civic Purifiers in a bas.e.m.e.nt underneath a Church.

He had not expected to find any Churches in the great wicked City. He thought each side of the Street would be built up solidly with Syndicate Theatres, Baccha.n.a.lian Bazaars, and Manicure Pitfalls.

Instead of finding Vice triumphant, he learned that it was being chased up an Alley by the entire Police Force and the Federation of Women's Clubs.

He had the gift of Gab and a natural thirst for Tea, and the first thing he knew he had been drawn into so many Campaigns for Social Betterment that he had no time to hunt up conventional Temptations, such as the Welsh Rabbit or the Musical Comedy.

He found himself sitting next a new type of La.s.sie. She had no Heels on her Shoes, p.r.o.nounced each Syllable distinctly, and believed that her Mission in Life was to carry Maeterlinck to the Ma.s.ses.

In nearly every Instance she had a Father who acted as frozen Figurehead for some Trust Company.