Life — December 25, 1890 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

Widow Casey: Au, MR, DOLAN, WHEN MY OULD MAN DIED IT LEFT A BIG HOLE IN MY HEART. Mr, Dolan : RIT OUT OF MINE? Mrs, CASEY, WOULD YE MOIND PATCHIN' IT WID A A FINANCIAL GENIUS. HEN Bertie Fitzmordaunt Townsend brought his dull, d/asé manner, his English accent, his craven- tan gloves, his carefully creased, twenty-two inch trousers, and his enameled leather shoes with spotlessly white over- gaiters, into the office of Lewis & Haydock, it is needless to say that he created a profound sensation. The porters always took off their hats to him, and country customers mistook him for a special partner. However, all this gor- geousness cost the house only the mere trifle of three dollars per week, Bertie was a young gentleman of wealthy and aristocratic antecedents. He had been rusticated from Harvard, where he had done his best to convince his father that a son at college was nearly as expensive a luxury as a steam yacht, and had been placed with us in order to give him a chance to form some idea of the laboriousness of the money-getting process. Mr. Lewis said he was cheap at any price, for whenever he felt blue over the drop in Astrakhans or the slow sale of dress goods, he had only to look at Bertie, and a fierce desire to get up and kick him would arise and sweep from his mind all gloomy and depressing thoughts. By way of a start Bertie was detailed to look after the smaller city collections, and we used to picture to ourselves the consternation of the tradesman whose little shop was invaded by so overpowering a personage. But we soon had reason to admit that he was not so stupid as he looked, for the small bills were henceforth collected with unusual ease and rapidity. Delinquent debtors paid up long-standing accounts in a manner that was truly marvelous. But the climax was reached when Bertie turned in the sum of $4.75, which he said was in settlement of the five years’ old account of Mrs. Mary McGee, No. 4765 Third Avenue. On this occasion Mr. Lewis called him into the private office, and congratulated him on his success, remarking that if he kept up this creditable display of business enterprise he would unquestionably develop into a future A. T. Stewart. But the crash was to come. One day Mrs. McGee came into the store, and as a necessary preliminary to obtaining more goods, offered to pay her last bill. The bookkeeper looked the matter up, and told her it was paid in full. She said it was not. He insisted that it was, and a wordy dis- cussion ensued, which resulted in her putting her money in her pocket, and departing with a happy grin on her face. When Bertie came in from his rounds, the bookkeeper tackled him, “Isn't Mary McGee's account settled ?” “ Certainly,” returned Bertie. “But she was in to-day, and wanted to pay it.” “ Well, it’s paid, ye know; I ought to know, ye know, for —ah—I—ah—paid it meself, bah Jove!" “ You paid it yourself ?"" “How VERY STYLISH Mr, YOUR ELBOW VERY HIGH ‘ “Yaeas, 1 GOT IT FROM THE PRINCE OF WaLes.” ‘Dio YOU MEET HIM ABROAD?" “No; put CHOLLY DAVIS SAW HIM MEET A FRIEND ON THE STREET ONE DAY.” Sorraicn, You Hou comicbooks.com