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The Fable Of The Brash Drummer And The Peach Who Learned That There Were Others
by
Daughter was on the Lawn, seated under a Canopy that had set Father back thirty-two Dollars. There was a Hired Hand sprinkling the Grass with a Hose, and as Will, the Conversational Drummer, came up the Long Walk, Daughter called to the Hired Hand, and said: “Johnson, there is a Strange Man coming up the Walk; change the Direction of the Stream somewhat, else you may Dampen him.”
The Drummer approached her, feeling of his Necktie, and wondered if she would up and Kiss him, right in broad Daylight. She didn’t. Daughter allowed a rose-colored Booklet, by Guy de Maupassant, to sink among the Folds of her French Gown, and then she Looked at him, and said: “All Goods must be delivered at the Rear.”
“Don’t you Know me?” he asked.
“Rully, it seems to me I have seen you, Somewhere,” she replied, “but I cahn’t place you. Are you the Man who tunes the Piano?”
“Don’t you remember the night I met you at the Lawn Fete?” he asked; and then, Chump that he was, and all Rattled, he told her his Name, instead of giving her the scorching Come-Back that he composed next Day, when it was Too Late.
“I meet so many People traveling about,” she said; “I cahn’t remember all of them, you know. I dare say you called to see Pu-pah; he will be here Presently.”
Then she gave him “Some one’s else,” “Neyether,” “Savoir-Faire,” and a few other Crisp Ones, hot from the Finishing School, after which she asked him how the Dear Villagers were coming on. He reminded her that he did not live in the Town. She said: “Only Fahncy!” and he said he guessed he’d have to be Going, as he had promised a Man to meet him at Jordan’s Store before the Bank closed.
As he moved toward the St. Nicholas Hotel he kept his Hand on his Solar Plexus. At five o’clock he rode out of Town on a Local.
MORAL: Anybody can Win unless there happens to be a Second Entry.