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The New Fable Of The Wandering Boy And The Wayward Parent
by [?]

He found Pa and Ma dolled up like a couple of aristocratic Equines, much Awning over the Front Stoop, and strange Waiters hot-footing through the Hallways.

In order to make it seem as much like the City as possible, they had ribbed up a swell combination Gorge and Deluge, to be followed by an Indoor Circus, a Carnival of Terpsichorean Eccentricities, and a correct Reproduction of Monte Carlo at the height of the Season.

Therefore, when their Only Child suggested that he would fain hie to the Husks at a Reasonable Hour, they told him that Slumber was made for Slaves and to take his Feet out of his Lap and move around.

Having led a sheltered Life among the devotees of Jane Addams and Jacob Riis, he was dazed and horrified to find himself suddenly subjected to the demoralizing Influences of the Small Town.

They scoffed at him when he said that his regular twilight Repast was a saucer of granose Flakes, a mere sliver of White Meat, and some diluted Milk.

His home was near the White Light District, and they just knew that he was accustomed to bathe in the Bubbles.

He sat back benumbed for many hours watching the wicked Rustics perform.

He had read about such things in the reports of the Commission, but this was the first time that he had ever really been Slumming.

When he weakened on the Bumper Proposition and disavowed any familiarity with the Texas Tommy spasm or the fine points of Auction, the sophisticated ones exchanged significant Glances.

They tumbled to the Fact that Elmer was not such a much, even if he did reside at Headquarters. It was evident that he had not been travelling with the Real Razmataz Rompers.

He was panned to a Whisper next day. The Verdict was in. Elmer was branded as a Dead One.

He is now in the crowded City, trying to arrange to have his rowdy Parents come on and take the Cure.

MORAL: Those having the most Time to devote to a Line of Endeavor usually become the most Proficient.