**** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE **** **** ROTATE ****

Find this Story

Print, a form you can hold

Wireless download to your Amazon Kindle

Look for a summary or analysis of this Story.

Enjoy this? Share it!


The New Fable Of Aerial Performer, Buzzing Blondine and Daughter of Mr. Jackson
by [?]

She had abolished her Shape entirely and abandoned the Perpendicular, preferring a Droop which indicated that possibly she had been fashioned over a Barrel.

She tried to model herself on the lines of a string Bean, slightly warped by the Sun.

The Ascending Star of the Financial World was stunned by the Apparition.

No one had tipped it off to him that the Queen of Sheba was to be reincarnated.

He found Elphye ever and ever so accomplished.

She knew all the Songs that now blister the Varnish off the Pianos in so many well-ordered Homes.

She was enough of a Contortionist to get away with several Dances named for the innocent Poultry.

Being a close student of the Bill-Boards she was in touch with Current Happenings.

Her Eye-Work was perfect, but she found it hard pumping to Blush at the right time.

When she tackled Polite Conversation she put a few Tooth-Marks in it. Still she made a very creditable Stab for a Girl brought up in Michigan and never east of Sheepshead Bay.

She looked very creamy to Bob, if the Music was loud enough.

He liked to tow something that would cause the Oyster Forks to pause in midair and the Catty Ones to reach for their Hardware.

When Elphye did a little Barnum and Bailey down the main Chute of a Terrapin Bazaar, rest assured that every Eye in the Resort was aimed at her gleaming Vertebrae.

Bob showed her his monthly Statements and she confessed to being very fond of him. So it was planned that they would Marry some afternoon, if she could get away from the Masseuse early enough.

The Troth was pledged in a few high-priced Trinkets which she had decided upon before he spoke to her.

Just when it seemed a mortal Pipe that the Bull Tactics would enable him to cop a Million, so that he could live at a Hotel and finance the Little Queen, the Unseen Superintendent in the Tower began to throw the Switches of Destiny.

If Bob had not speeded so far into the Country in the Smell-Wagon, there would have been no Flat Tire.

If there had been no Flat Tire, he would have been back in time for the usual round-up of the Irrigation Committee and never would have been a Great Financier.

Marooned among the Hay-Fields, he stopped at a Farm House and took a long chance on some Well-Water, dipped in a Gourd from the Moss-Covered Bucket.

Scotch Whiskey is never contaminated by Surface Drains, but each sparkling Drop of the Fluid that Bob quaffed, there beneath the Willows, contained more than 2,000,000 of the Germs made notorious by Dr. Woods Hutchinson.

A few days later a swarm of Bees settled in each ear. Every Sky-Scraper gave an imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

He knew he was out of Kelter, but he had to watch the Board, for he had put every Bean in the World on an acrobatic Industrial known as Tin Bucket Preferred.

Already the Paper Profits were enormous. Bob figured confidently on another Whoop of 50 points and a double string of Pearls for Elphye.

But when the poor Loon had a Temperature of 5 above Par and had to cling to the Brass Rail to keep from taking the Count, he lost his Nerve entirely.

He couldn’t see anything on the Horizon except Tariff Revision, Hard Times, Weeping Women, Starving Kiddies, Closed Factories, Soup Kitchens, and Bread Lines.

While in this dotty State and quite irresponsible, he directed the Manager to close out the whole Smear and sell short.

Furthermore, he was so daffy and curdled in the Filbert that he sold three times as much as he had.

Then he did a couple of Spins and a Flop, and the White Ambulance bore him away to the big Hospital.

If Mr. Hornung Jackson of Round Grove, Maryland, had not entered upon his Second Childhood at the age of 55, his Family would have remained on Easy Street.

Mr. Jackson thought he could sit in his Front Room and read the burglarious Meditations of the High-Binders in Wall Street.