Puck — June 27, 1877 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

THE GAME THEY PLAYED. E was the Great American chess-player. At least he said he could beat any man the crowd, and he swept the room with his eagle-eye as he said it, and his voice didn’t tremble for an instant. It wasn’t much of a room to sweep; but there was a cross-eyed gentleman with a red beard and and a bald head, sitting in the north-east corner, and when he heard the’ boast of the very confident gen- tleman he took out his pocket-handkerchief, wiped the perspiration off the back of his neck, and said in a voice that was very meck under the circumstances, and not much over an able- bodied whisper: ‘I don’t mind if I try you a game. It’s a good while since I played a game, though.” ‘The Great American gathered two or three additional ounces of gleam into his eye, and widened his mouth into an unmis- takable smile as he sat down to the table and began setting up the pieces with an inward chuckle. And then he made a few casual re- marks about the weather, ‘Tilden’s last speech and the troops on the Danube, while his adver- sary was getting ready for the contest. ‘T'here wasn’t much delay on either side in getting the king’s pawn moved out two squares, and the other gentlemen in the room who didn’t know how to play chess thought the game would be over in about six minutes. ‘The Great Ameri- can then plunged in with a few reckless moves, and with a vehemence born of many triumphs; while the other men, expecting to see the old gentleman drop off dead after every move, ex- changed looks of awful admiration and puffed tobacco-smoke into each other's eyes. And when the smoke had curled away and they saw the old gentleman still sitting calmly in his place, just as though nothing had happened, they flung the butts of, their cigars away and drew nearer thé table on the old man’s side. ‘The Great American didn’t plunge so much any more, He called for a ten-cent smoke, spat hastily into the cuspidor a few feet off,and planted his elbows on the table with his head in his hands. ‘There wasn’t much excitement in the game to the lookers-on. It was toosilent; and the monotony of the scene was only re- lieved by an occasional “ check” sounded in the meek voice of the red-bearded old gentle- man with the bald head; whereupon his adver- sary spat into the far-off cuspidor and braced himself more firmly on his elbows. ‘There was very much silence wasted over that game, and the contest seemed to be waged principally by staring at the chess-board. ‘The Great Ameri- can rather beat his adversary on the time ques- tion, for he managed to look at the squares without touching the pieces at least three min- utes longer than the old gentleman, every time. It took two hours and thirteen minutes on an old silver watch, that one of the guests had neglected to pawn, before either of the contestants spoke again, and then the cross-eyed old gentleman with the red beard said “ mate” in a voice a little meeker, if possible, than before. Every- body concluded then that the game was over, though they hadn’t the first idea how to play, for the Great American chucked his cigar out of a side-window with considerable force, and the lighted end hitting a small boy in the nose who was just passing by, made him set up such a yell that the waiter wanted to turn on the hose and put out a fireor something. And then the Great American kicked oyer the table and sent the queen’s bishop flying into the bar- keeper’s shirt-front, while the king’s knight landed in a claret-punch. ‘Then the old gen- tleman, a little meeker than ever, retired into his north-east corner and called for a lemonade with a stick in it, and the Great American dared him to play another game. But the red- bearded old gentlemari didn’t want to play any more, and the Great American looked angry and knocked a fly off the looking-glass with the queen's castle’s pawn, and was charged ten dollars for repairs. ‘Then he upset the cuspi- dor and put on another man’s hat, which didn’t fit him and which he threw on the floor and stepped upon; which made the owner of the hat mad, and nearly led to a fight. Then he strutted about with his hands in his pockets and trod on another man’s dog’s tail; but the dog was a Spitz, who stood on his dignity and met the insult by biting the Great American in the heel. The latter swore very loudly and said he'd have that dog shot. But the owner had the Spitz on a four-foot string, and had paid two dollars for a license and wasn’t afraid of anybody. Finally the Great American, sweeping the room once more with his eagle-eye full of scorn, walked out muttering something about a d——d old fool, and turned down a side street. But the meek old gentleman with a red beard and a bald head continued sipping his lemonade through a straw, and said finally in a peniten- tial voice: “I’m sorry I won that game, for I hate to hurt any man’s feelings.” SIOUX OR CHINESE? SHALL EITHER BE EXCLUDED FROM FIRST-CLASS SUMMER HOTELS? AD a bombshell fallen in the wigwam of Sitting Bull, there could not have > been greater consternation among his squaws and leading braves when the news reached their ears that the proprietor of the Mammoth -Stars-and-Stripes-Spread-Eagle-Bird of-Freedom Hotel, at Minnehaha, had refused to let rooms to Sitting Bull and his family for the season. The circumstances of this outrage on the Indian community, among whom are some of our most respected fellow citizens, are as follows: Mr. Sitting Bull, the eminent scalper, with some of his favorite squaws and a few dozen pappooses, went to the office of the hotel, and spoke thus to the gentlemanly hotel-clerk: “Oh! mighty warrior of the mountain of light” (referring to the diamond pin which sparkled in the clerk's shirt-bosom), ‘I would set up my wigwam here to devour the balmy air of the moons of sunshine.”” “1 regret exceedingly, Mr. Sitting Bull,” said the clerk, “that my instructions are not to let rooms to any Indians; our Chinese guests object tothem. Of course, there could not possibly be more desirable inmates of the house than yourself and charming family, but my instruc- tions from the proprietor are positive.” ‘The great Indian chief felt naturally very angry, and asked if the Sioux had not always been models of propriety while staying at the hotel, and if so, why this insult should be put upon the oldest and most aristocratic family in the United States—a family to which the F, F, V.s and Knickerbockers couldn’t hold a candle in point of antiquity? “It is rough,” answered the clerk, “but you see our Chinese clientéle is an exceedingly extensive one, and it has asked us if we intend to take Indians this summer, and will not come if we do. We, of course, have no objection to you personally, but we must draw the line somewhere, We don’t mind Sioux Indians, but we can’t stand Indian Sioux. It is offensive to our Chinese guests for your folks to do the scalping in the parlors, and war-whooping and dancing on the piazzas, and flourishing your tomahawks over your victuals in the dining-room, instead of using chop-sticks, and partaking of Béche-le- mer and bird’s-nest soup, or eating your roast puppy and broiled rat after the manner of fashionable Chinese and good children of Con- fucius. Besides, you don’t wear pigtails, and as you know, Mr. Sitting Bull, feathers in the hair are not considered quite the thing.” Mr. Sitting Bull, vowing vengeance, then left the hotel with his squaws and pappooses, aud formed. an encampment in the street. He intends to punish the hotel-clerk indirectly through the United States government by at once with- drawing his patronage, and refusing to take blankets at any price from the Indian Bureau, Other Indian tribes may not follow his example, but it is really awful to think of the carrying out of Sitting Bull's threats. Mr. Wang Ching Foo entirely endorses the hotel proprietor’s action, SUMMER RESORT NOTES. PRINCIPAL among the attractions at Lone Brancu this year will be a fine promenade band. ‘Two Italian organ-grinders have already been lassoed, and the genial impresario, Dr. Damrosch, is hunting a fiddler-boy and a harp- wrestler with bloodhounds. Immense crowds will probably flee to Lake Hopatconc to avoid the equinox. Srrka will be largely patronized by the élite of Hoboken. Nicsic has been re-victualed, and now offers plain country fare, with all the delicacies of the season; within ten minutes walk of the Kars, Bripcerort has painted its principal hotel pea-green; and offers a chromo to the largest summer-boarder, without regard to race, color or previous condition of turpitude. A LARGE consignment of extra black, ivory- polish hotel-waiters were shipped to SARATOGA yesterday. Premium Point is booming right along in the Summer resort line, and means business. It has already hired a big buck nigger and a second-hand gong. To those who are seeking a quiet place of re- tirement, where nobody else is going, we would recommend Gowanus Junction, on the Erie Railway. If that won't do, try the back-yard, Tue artists and sportsmen are already on their way to the Apironpacks. They carry largest-size buckshot, and expect to kill a num- ber of mosquitoes this season. Ir cannot be denied that the quality of Mount Wasuincton clambakes is a little in- ferior; but the venerable hummock comes out strong on buttermilk. THE POETIC: BROTHERHOOD. HUGO AND TENNYSON. An incorrect copy of M. Victor Hugo’s beautiful epistle, acknowledging the compliment paid him by Alfred Tennyson in his recent sonnet, has been going the rounds of the press. From this letter the most interesting portion was eliminated. Puck has secured a correct copy of the suppressed original, which he here presents to his readers: “To AtyRED TeNnyson—AMy Eminent and Dear Brother’ 1 read with emotion your superb verses. It is a reflex of glory which you send me. Why should I not love England, which produces men such as you—the England of Wilberforce, the England of Milton and Newton, the England of Shakspeare? France and England are to me a single people, as truth and. liberty area single light. I believe in the unity of humanit I believe in the unity divine. I love all peoples and all men, and I admire your noble verses. «+ Might I ask you to lend me half a dollar till. the end of the heated term? With undying sentiments of ele vated esteem, Your brother in Art, “Victor Hveo.” “‘Wuere, oh. where are the Hebrew child- ren?” Wedon’tknow, but they are not at the Grand Union Hotel. comicbooks.com