Puck — June 1877 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

D THE KNOWING YOUNG MAN. X[GHE Knowing Young Man is a fungoid ash) outgrowth of our civilization. He is scandal incarnate, and gossip made flesh | and dwelling among us. In the refining process which is constantly going on in society, a certain scum must rise to the surface. It is no indication of ‘the under- lying depths; but it is thence that it is evolved. Whatever may be the beauties of our social system, it is that system which is directly re- sponsible for the creation of the Knowi Young Man, who wanders through the world in all the might of his mendacity, the familiar spirit of falsehood, the chosen emissary of the father of lies. I once lived opposite a Knowing Young Man, and I found him very convenient as a weather prophet. Every morning, before I set out for the day, I would step overto the house of that Knowing Young Man for a meteorological in- terview. If he said, in the midst of a driving rain storm, that we should not see thesun again in a week, I calmly returned my umbrella to the hat-stand and started out, sure of a clear sky before I could reach the horse-cars. If he said, on the fairest of days, that we were begin- ning a two-months’ drought, ] put on my Arctics and made up my mind to an immediate deluge. Ever since I moved out of that neighborhood I have had to depend upon the Signal Service Bureau, which, I regret to say, is not so invari- ably erroneous as that young man. But the genius of the knowing one is by no means confined to politics and the weather. It is universal and unlimited. His operations ex- tend into all classes and conditions of society. For instance, what he doesn’t know about arts and artists isn’t worth knowing. He is the personal friend of every painter and sculptor in the city, He is familiar with their lives from the cradle up. He can tell you the price paid for every new picture long before the artist has thought of selling it. He can deduct the ex- act cost of the frame and the materials, and give you the net profit to the painter. Nor does he stop here; there are deeper mysteries of the studius which he has pene- trated. He is always on the keen lookout for secret vice and clandestine profligacy. It exists, he knows, and where he cannot find evidence he supplies its place with the evolutions of his inner consciousness. Is the door locked at which he taps? Ah! Binks is painting from the nude—a model—he sees it all; and forth- with publishes it from the housetops. If this is to the detriment of Binks’ character, he is sorry. But why did Binks lock his door? Probably because he was at. dinner." “Ah, yes!"’says the Knowing Young Man, “‘a petit souper—Zulu—la Stella—ha, ha!” But if you could look behind those panels, you would probably find Binks sitting alone at: his rather scanty meal, attired in a brown dress- ing-gown and a red skull-cap, trying hard to look artistic and picturesque ashe nibbles at his hot roll, or sips gingerly his mug of mild ale. Search in all the dusty corners, amid broken casts and condemned canvasses, you will find no Diane de Lys palpitating with shame and passion. No treacherously dropped glove lies on the floor, unless perchance Binks has let fall his own venerable number eight, thrice cleaned and gritty with bread-crumbs. I once met the Knowing Young Man ina dark corridor of the Tenth Street Building. He took his ear from akeyhole as I approached, and when he recognized» me he whispered hoarsely, with a gleam of diabolical intelligence in his eye: “ Door’s locked! He’s got his model inside! Wonder if she’s good-looking. Don't you wish you were in there?” I started back in horror. But suddenly my eye fell on a tin | the subject again to my friend. PUCK. “« Hayes, Animal plate on the door-post: Painter.” I suppose poor Hayes had a buffalo deshabillé inside there. But the Knowing Young Man is most at home when he “spreads himself,” to use a French idiom, on theatrical topics. ’ What is a Player's character? Religion herself flings mud at his- trionics; why should not a Knowing Young Man work hiss own sweet will with the reputa- tions of the stage? He can find no good and sufficient reason why he should not. So he in- forms himself of the falsest version of every dirty bit of scandal that idleness or malice in- vents, and he retails it to all who will listen. He knows how Miss X., the daughter of X., the patrician millionaire, ‘‘ got mashed on” Harry Hyperion, of the Madison Avenue The- atre, and all the rest of that dainty tale. He knows all the latest proceedings in the Briggs- Blinkenoff affair. All this information is at your service; for the Knowing Young Man is ever ready to bespatter the skirts of art with this sort of filth, to the best of his small ability. Even when there is a lull in the market for special slanders, he has his stock of regular gos- sip, not much less dangerous. ‘On one occasion T asked a Knowing Young Man of my acquaintance about the age of a certain actress. ‘Maud Middlewick? Know her! I should say I did! She’s married—real name’s Tinker—thirty-three years old—got eight children—affected little thing!” This was a staggerer, for she did not look i However, I concluded that dramatic geniu: volved abnormal fecundity, and I held my peace. A few days after, however, | mentioned “« Maud Mid- dlewick? Oh, yes. Affected hussy. I know her—thirty-three years old—got five children.” The treacherous memory of my knowing friend was probably responsible for the decrease in Miss Middlewick’s family. But in my igno- rance, I supposed her to be the victim of asud- den and terrible affliction, and I dropped a tear of pity for her. When next I met my Knowing Young Man, I inquired tenderly for the be- reaved artist. ‘Maud Middlewick? She's as ll as she can be with her affected ways. rty years old, she is—got ten children.” My. lachrymatory ducts shut up at once. What was the use of weeping for a woman who could repair the ravages of death with such facility, and who had apparently found the fountain of renewed youth in the vale of tears? I think it was two months after this that I next came across my friend. He greeted me with empressement; he was overflowing with self-complacency. ‘‘ Know Miss Middlewick?” he queried, grasping my hand, “ Ever seen her off the stage? I met her at the Simpkins’s Sunday evening reception--called on her yes- terday. Nicest woman I ever knew—so na- tural —unartificial—nothing theatric about her. Married, you know. Got one child—sweetest little baby you can imagine!” The Knowing Young Man’ is not, it will be seen, the most wholesome fruit of our civiliza- tion. But he has his place and his uses. He is to society what the cow-pox is to medicine. Whoever has been inoculated with the virus of his petty gossip is permanently cured of any taste for more serious scandal. P. O'Hara, “Mornen’s Teeth are Playing Out” is a new song. Won't somebody write a song on his mother’s slipper? —Baltimore Gazette. Considerable sole could be thrown into it; that's a fact. Discreres of Izaak Walton will rejoice to learn that the epidemic among the New Jersey fish is a taiting FITZNOODLE IN NEW YORK. XI. | GILMORE’S CARDEN. Ya-as; a fellaw must kill time or do something, yer know, in the even- ings—which to me are wather,a baw. Durwing the day is all verwy well, for a fellaw can sleep, or wap himself, as Jack Carnegiesays, in the arms of Morpheus, or some such fellaw, in the morning. Then he can bweakfast in his dwessing-gown and dwawers in the afternoon; then, after severwal bwandies-and-sodahs and cigarwettes, a fellaw’s valet suggests dwessing; and then, after a stwoll or a wide, it’s night— about time to take some dinner. There are verwy few people or other things to see in June —or the woasted term, as they call it here—so I was entweated to put in an appearwance, in the evening, at an arwangement fellaws call Jullien’s, or Killmore’s Garden. Nevah can. * wemember names pwoperly; perwhaps I’m not quite wight. These Cweemore’s Amerwican Gardens are neither back gardens nor fwont gardens; nor do they wesemble Cwemorne or Kew, or the Zoo, (that’s poetwy, I think,) or the Waterewess Spwing Hill or Head Gar- dens at Gwavesend, or Covent Garden Mar- ket, or even the Mabille or other gardensa fellaw sees in Parwis, where some cads and other cweatures dance. ‘They are like a large widing- school in cavalwy barwacks, or the Agwicultur- wal Hall at Islington; with a woof and flags, and a considerwable number of colored lights, and weaths, and festoons, and fountains, and gwavel woads, and a lot of water wolling down painted tin wocks. Some fellaw said it was “ Niagawa.” 1 always thought it was a verwy much overwated waterfall, although I didn’t think it was in gardens, or in such close pwox- imity to New York. What extwaordinawy dis- wegard for twuth some of these Amerwican twavelers and witers for the pwess have. In these Willmore’s Gardens there are a lot of fel- laws dwessed like countwy volunteers, who play tunes on bwass-bands and stwinged instwuments —and a terwible wacket they make. They all stand on a waised platform, and blow and stwing most vigorwously, with verwy little west. Carnegie and all our set used to say that I nevah had an ear for music; but no fellaw can have everwything, yer know. I always used to chaff Edinburgh for twyin’ to be like the fellaws you see blowing and scwaping in orchestwas rit * militarwy bands. = I stwolled about a little and bwushed tp against severwal twees and other v ible pwo- ductions, which in some wespects give the Gar- dens a tolerwably wuwal appearwance. Some bwunette female cweature in a wed dwess sings in ‘some forweign language, which I don’t un- derstand, and another misguided young woman wattles something off on the ivorwy keys of the piano. Fellaws can sit in boxes and arbors and watch the pwomenaders, and dwink a var- wiety of curwious things. A verwy small be-ah, with a gweat deal of beastly fwoth and astwong. flavor of soap-suds and seidlitz powder, is a fa- vorwite tipple. I believe it is bwewed fwom log-wood, as it’s called 1 x becr. On the whole, however, Sedgemoor’s Gardens are not bad for Amerwica. Si has. named Pennyfather. _ His is Ti of long descent — erlow Bepeas, c Yes; a man of the olden dime. Some celes tion, CLES to the “ Dollar of our Dad.” pres peat adie 6 an Ra comicbooks.com