Life — March 29, 1883 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

means yon ‘scutcheon? And then those nose, them store clothes —to use the language of Abou-ben-Artemus-Ward, a poet of my own land.” “If you won't give me away," he answered slowly, using a bold figure of speech not uncommon in the East, “I willtell you. I am, in truth, a Semite—a member of the tribe of Benjamin, as these curling locks imply. My name is Jacobs—AMister Jacobs you English call me; but, for business and other reasons, I find it convenient to employ the titular embellishments which you saw on the register, Verbum sap, as they say in Roumania.” “But you have not always lived in the East,” I went on. “Where did you get your English pronunciation now? You have the pure Boston accent—purer, if possible, than my own.” he said, with a smile, ‘That is one of my little s. In youth I served as a waiter at a fashionable caravan- sery in Constantinople. It was frequented by American mis- sionaries, who were mostly from the neighborhood of Boston. ‘The keeper of the caravansery was, moreover, a distinguished comparative philologist. Lauguages were his passion, and as I was his favorite slave he instructed me daily, on the Olendorf Method. Sunday we talked Coptic; Monday, Basque ; Tuesday, Frisian, and soon, Yes, my early advantages were great; and then, too, my reading is simply immense. Allow me,” he said, suddenly, “to present you with one of my business cards.” And taking from the pocket of his pajama a small square of papier de riz covered with gilt letters, he handed it to me with a graceful flourish of his right thumb and forefinger. I read aloud the tri- lingual inscription in Bengalee, Pidgin English, and Cochio Chinese—the purport of which I translate for the benefit of the unlearned reader; for I scorn to dazzle the newspaper critics by an undue display of scholarship : ABOU-BEN-JACOBS, roor Suimpr Tappt-TABB! STREET, Caleutla. Dry-goods, Furnishings, Haberdashery, New and Second-hand Clothing, Laces, Jewelry, Embroidery, Tiger Skins, Oriental Bric-d-brac, etc. Tue PaLace oF Mone, 1oor Shkimpi Tabbi-tabbi Street. ve me a call sometime,” he said, ‘t when you happen to be intown, I can rig you out with anything you want. Gents’ neckwear a specialty. Ten years ago,” he went on reflectively, “my entire capital consisted of a single rupee. I invested it wisely in bandanna handkerchiefs, sold my stock at a profit, re- invested that, and so on, till now—behold me!" and he waved his hand toward the what-nots and the Eastlake rockers. “ Yes, I came to India a poor boy—as a dragoman to a party of Cook's tourists. What says Hafiz in his ‘Lament of the Bulbul’ ?— * Diligence and punctuality are essential to success.’ Blessed be Allah! There is but one Allah! There is also but one Jacobs, and don't you forget it!" and he drew down his left eyelid over ‘one of those peerless orbs, quenching for an instant its lustre and partially darkening the apartment—an Oriental gesture expressive of devotion, ** Tell me what has brought you here to this confounded hole, infested by cobras and heavy Britons, so far from your own bright bazaar?" “T have a harem,” he replied. ‘‘Ah, ha! T tumble,” said I. “ And [have come here for recruits.” ** For recruits! Now God forbid!" (I am a misogymist as well as a cynic.) : ‘God may, but Allah will not. You don't apprehend me. My wives bore me to death by their quarrels. Now—as the Zulu proverb says, ‘ Similia similibus curantur'—I am in search of a woman who will bore ¢Aem to death, as one poison expels another, ‘LIFE: HARD TO PLEASE. Miss Priscilla: 1sN’T WE PICTURESQUE ! Mr. William Dude: PicTURESQUE, YES—BUT WHAT AN ASS HE MUST HAVE BEEN TO WEAR SUCH AN UN- COMFORTABLE MACHINE AS THAT ABOUT HIS NECK, JUST FOR TH AKE OF BEING IN THE FASHION ! And by Allah!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh, “I think I have found her!" “* Miss Juggernaut ?" I asked. ‘The same! As a mind-reader, you are a success, Prigs! ‘That guess was worthy of old Fol-de-Rol himself.” “*Who, then, is Fol-de-Rol ?” I asked. “Hush!” he said, looking suspiciously around. ‘* Perhaps some day you may know him. But the night grows late. To- morrow there is to be a_futdhaw/ match, in which I am to play among the half-backs. So I think perhaps you had better go. Good-night. Excuse my not rising. I sleep in this position, and if I once get out of it, it will be hard to get back into it again.” At this hint I withdrew. EMBARRASS DE CHOIX. Dear girl, if there were twelve of you, I could not well be more at loss Which one to choose, than when I view Your moods, and wonder what to do— Take you gay, cruel, kind or cross. And should I love you all, each one Of your fair selves might then grow jealous ; Existence would be far from fun. In such a case, what shall be done? O colors of the rainbow, tell us? G. P. Laturop. comicbooks.com