Judge — September 21, 1907 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

UNCLE DANIEL DEWBERRY MEETS A WRITER OF SONGS. UNCLE DANIEL DEWBERRY, from up Vermont way, had not been in Manhattan very long before he drifted into a genuine + Bohemian” wine-shop. Truly it was Bohemia. The air of eccen- tricity and genius was everywhere. Un- shaven and unscissored knights of the pen and palette toyed with their wine-glasses and dreamed of their stars of fortune which had not as yet ascended, Uncle Daniel was lost in the maze of wine- soaked tables and greasy chairs, when a broad hand came down on his shoulder and forced him to be seated. Venturing to glance up, Uncle Daniel beheld a big man in a flabby windsor tie and a much- spotted Tuxedo. ‘Pardon me,” said the big man; “but I had to grab you before the rest saw you. I want you as an inspiration.” “An inspiration fer what, mister ?” gasped Uncle Daniel, taking a firmer clutch on his yellow satchel. + An inspiration for a father song.” “A father song ?" «Yes, sir. Iam a celebrated writer of songs. Do you know anything about songs yourself?” + Wa-al, not much, mister. I used to know how to sing * Nellie Gray‘ an’ + Old Dan Tucker **way back in my court- in’ days; but, by heck! my old voice is cracked up worse than a muddy road in a drought.” ** You have heard of me, know. All the country has heard of me.” + What be yeour name?” “Felix Fain, Ah, my man, I have written songs.” ** Yeou have?” I wrote that stirring march, ‘It’s the Man Who Sheds That should have eaten ‘em alive Yes. His Coat and Goes to Work." out in Kalamazoo.” «What should have eaten ‘em alive, mister?” “Why, my ballad. It should have burnt ‘em up on the west- ern circuit, because the west is where people like to work.” «By heck! thar’s a lot of ‘em that has to work up in old Ver- mont whether they like it or not. But what became of yeour song 2” The big man sighed lugubriously. « Broadway killed it. Broadway kills everything that's good and booms punk. It's Broad- way’'s fad, you know. Waiter, I'll take Rhine.” “Hey?” «Twas just telling the waiter I'd take Rhine. And then my beautiful two-step, ‘He is Chopping, Chopping, Chopping in the Old Subway." " «By hen! what is he choppin'—wood ?"* + No, no, my good man; he was chopping tickets. Don’t be facetious. I put my whole heart in that song. It told about a brave young chopper who chopped tickets all day and supported his sister. Then his sister ran away with a worthless rake who used to play pool for drinks. It breaks the chopper’s heart, and finally, in the seconil verse, the worthless rake comes back with the chop- per’s sister, and now the chopper has to chop to support both his sister and the worthless rake, It is very pathetic.” “Gosh, I should say so! Why, thar is more choppin’ in that song than thar is at a Vermont wood-pile. Was it published ?” Again the big man sighed. + No; Broadway killed it. A lot of mollycoddles around there who turn out punk-sheets by the bale were afraid I'd get too popular. Say, but they're the jealous bunch ! Rhine, waiter.” Uncle Daniel felt like he was in a maze. The smoke and the odor of wine and cheese had almost stupefied him, The waiter re- turned with two big glasses of cheap Rhine. Ah!" sighed the big man, «that is why I drink so. Can you blame me—a genius railroaded by a lot of Broadway punks ?” For along time the great composer gulped his Rhine in silence. Then he called the waiter and gulped another glass. Presently he threw himself on the wine-soaked table and, burying his face in his hands, began to sob, Uncle Daniel's eyes almost popped out of his head. “Why, neighbor !" he ejaculated, + what be the matter—lose any of yeour folks +«No," sobbed the big man, the tears intermingling with the Rhine; “they froze me.” “* Who froze yeou ?" «T-the Broadway punks.” “+ Heow—heow did they freeze yeou ?” “Why—why, I had a s-song called +S-she Picked a P-pickle in t-the Garden of L-love,’ and while I was h-having it p-published t-they bribed t-the printer to hold it back, and—and then flooded t-the country with a base imitation c-called + S-she Picked a S-squash in t-the Garden of L-love.’ Oh, this cruel w-w-world !” Uncle Daniel sat in silence. Presently the waiter came up and tapped him on the shoulder. **Monsieur owes for ze four rounds of Rhine,” he said softly. ** What !" exclaimed Uncle Daniel. «+ Didn't he order all the wine ?” The waiter smiled and rubbed his hands. «Yes; but monsieur will pay. Ze other gentleman is one celebrated Bohemian. Ze celebrated Bohemian never pays for anything.” Uncle Daniel gazed quizzically at the great composer. He was still sobbing and mumbling about heartless Broadway. Uncle Daniel dug a soiled bill out of his jeans. «Is this enough, mister?” he drawled. “Plenty, monsicur,” replied the waiter, bowing low; ‘and some over.” “Wa-al, keep some yeourself, an’ give him another nip when he stops his tears. I reckon the poor chap needs it.” With a parting look at the smoky palms and the illuminated faces at the little tables, Uncle Daniel picked up his yellow valise and saun- tered out. **Gosh all hemlock! Noo York is a queer town,” he ejaculated as he dodged a big red automobile with a siren whistle attached to it. «I reckon I'll get back to Vermont.” VICTOR A. HERMANN, A WOMAN never loses her temper. She keeps it and uses it over and over again. FAME (IN 1957). “Say, ma, what does the word Carnegie mean?” Why, my dear, it was a certain kind of free public library they used to bulld.”” comicbooks.com