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A Picture Story With Just One Word
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Where Safety Laj.
E\'E.\' the war has its bright side. Two negro porters were discussing it
as they waited for a train to pull into the station.
“Man.” said the first, “dem Germany submaroons is sho'ly gwine to
sink de British Navy. Yas, sir-ee, dey's sho’ly gwine to 'splode dem naval
boats dat's waitin’ out yonda."”
“Sho!" said porter No. 2. “An’ what's gwine ter happen den?”
“Why, dem Germany submaroons’ll come right on 'cross de ocean an’
‘splode de rest ob de naval boats ob de world. Dat's what'll happen glon.
Sambo!"”
“Well, looky heah, Gawge. Ain’t you an’ me better decla’ ouahselves
nootral?"’
“Man,” said Gawge, "‘yo' all kin be a nootrality ¥ yo' wanis to. Ah'm
a German!”
They May, at That.
F()(’;ART‘Y—«I'H bet ve th' Rooshians are beginnin’ t’ feel th’' loss v
vodka.
Flaherty—Don't ye lose any slape over it. Mar-rk me wur-ruds, they’ll
retake it agin before long!
Caution. :
LADY (piirchasing alarm clock)—Never mind, thank you. I won't take
one if they are made in Germany. It would be sure to play some
trick. Go off in the middle of the night, or something of that sort.
(Copyright, 1915, by The Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved.)
OW does a popular song get to be a hit on Broadway, and on the
H phonograph, and the pianola, in the music halls, dance halls,
between the acts, and finally rampant in every town from Mat
teawan to Honolulu?
A contagious song hit travels faster than chicken pox in a kinder
garten, and its gripping melody bombards the ears of every American
more persistently than all the talk of the most popular novel of the
year.
Leo Feist’s system of following up his experiments in ragtime is
probably as successful as that of any song publisher. We were out
ccouting around with one of Leo’s right-hand henchmen the other
nizht—Phil-the-bill Kornheiser by name, but we call him Korny for
brevity—and he showed us the difference between the two main words
in the rag lingo, ‘‘plugger” as applied to a singer and “crow” as hung
onto a song.
Korny is the main gazooks at Leo's professional studio, where a
dozen pianos bang louder all day than German siege guns before
Antwerp.
Well. we started in at Jack’s where we et. They were playing
some of Leo's recent hits. They’d snap out a hunch-hunch rag, then
they'd tease out a heart throb mother song that would make the diners
pause over their soup.
Then we spun down into East Fourteenth street, and chased into
With the Pluggers on the Trail of the Ragiime Song
On the Firing Line
Arranged With Enemy.
THE.RE’S a story going the rounds just now that shows how Austiria was
deprived of one of her tighting men.
A visitor to a West End restaurant in London, being walted on by a
particularly tall and fine-looking waiter with a foreign accent, asked the
man his nationality. .
“Oh, I'm a Hungarian,” was the reply.
“How comes it, then, that a big, strong fellow like you is not In the
firing line?” asked the visitor
“Well, sir, it's like this,’ replied the knight of the napkin, pointing
to a brother waiter a few tables off. "“You see that man? Well, he's a
Serb, and we have vat you call ‘paired.’”
Then They Clinched.
THE Irieh adjutant's wife was telling Bridget about her husband.
“My husband, Bridget,” she sa!d, proudly, “is at the head of the
Tipperary militia.”
“Of t'ought as much, ma'am,” said Bridget, cheerfully. “Ain't he got
th’ foine malicious look
. Why, Indeed?
SHOPKEEPE&—O‘ndIes are up in price to-day, y’ know, Mrs. O Flynn—
on account of the war.
Mrs. OFlynn—Ooch! Bad cess 0 them Germans. Why can't
they be fightin’ be daylight?
a dime theater where movies have the edge on the vodevee acts. A
song writer’s carnival was on, and Korny and we were met there by a
gang of Leo’s pluggers and boosters. We all flled “back stage,” as the
profesh refers to the district behind the scenes. 4
There the pluggers began to talk up their songs to the actors and
actorettes, who were sitting around on various props. Then a pair of
boosters, one a piano trainer and the ether a singeree, walked on and
put over “I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier,” “When You Were a
Tulip and T Wore a Big Red Rose” and “I Want to Go to Tokio.”
oOld Johnny Nestor sang for l.eo, and he harvested several thou
sand yards of applause. Johnny is famous up and down Manhattan.
He usta sing at the Polo Grounds at the opening of the baseball season,
and he'd drown out the band.
All we can say about Johnny as a songbird is that we don't care
even if Caruso has gone back to Europe. But Johnny has two weak
nesses. One is that he's always afraid the auto is gonna hit a chicken.
It happened to him once, and she’s boen sore on him dver since. The
other is that he perennially insists upon drinking only one kind of
beer, and cursed be the ginmill that doesn’t keep it.
Where did we g'o from there? The Palm Garden, somewhere in
the upper East Fifties, and Al Piantadosi, Wopland's greatest rag
writer since Verdi, hopped out and showed the patrons how to take a
joke in the form of oune of Leo’s funny nut songs. One test of a good
Changing Fashions in Hostility.
A ZEALOUS bobby captured a workingman and Laled him into court
on the charge of being an unregistered German. The man swore he
had & Russian birth-certificate, and produced it. Then said the magistrate
severely:
“But why, then, have you for ten years becn masquerading as a
German 7"’
“Because,” answered the man apologetically, “when I came to England
ten years ago the feeling against Russia was so strong that | was obliged
to pass myeelf off for a German.”
Why? .
JINKB—-—But why do the allles use c&ZnhY
Binks—They intend to invade Germany and have W Lave an
animal that can go two weeks without water,
Safe So Far.
cOUNT VON BERNSTORFF, the German Ambassador, called at the
State Department to-day, but before going to the pffice of Mr. Brvan
loft his coat and umbrella in the diplomatic ante-room. On leaving he
started after the things, but saw a man looking out of the window, his
back to the door. The Ambassador hesitated,
“Who's in there?’ he asked an attendant.
“The Minister of Santo Domingo,” came the reply.
“Oh,” sald the Ambassador, “I can go in. We are not at war wite
Santo Domingo,”
song is when people begin to whistle it, and that's what they did. Th¢
Palm Garden is some hangout for canary birds.
We pounded up the cobblestones of Lexington avenue to way pas
a Hundred and sump’m street. There we found a little theater where
you pay for admission anything up to and including fifteen cents, and
you put your overcoat under the seat, unless you want to keep it on.
Children lin arms were allowed in the place, as long as they didn’f
roam from the arms they came in on. Paintings of alleged old Greek
myths were allowed on the walls, but the customers didn't seem ftc
mind that. At the gate was a fella in uniform, a twelve neck and a
sixteen collar, and long, sparsely settled sideburns stretching weyy be
low the ears. He was a good butier for a theater. :
Awdy up Fifth avenue {8 a new one-layer theater, and we &it that
next. They were packed in like tea in a chest. Johnny had a rough
time percolating down the aisle to the stage. The chorus of the soldier
song was eased on the screen, and evervbody warbled, with ereedy ap
petites. All mothers present decided then and there that their boys
should not carry guns,
After which Korny steered us up against another side of the game.
He took us into a hotel where we caught two piano fiends at work
right in the act of doping out another ragtime sensation. The guys
were Jim Monaco and Joe McCarthy, and they got plamed for “Row,
Row, Row,” "I Leve Her, Oh, Oh, Oh!” “Oh, My Love, Wontcha Pleas¢
Pull Down the Curtain,” “When I Getchoo Alene To-night,” and several
dozen moére. Jim has just put out his “"Pireon Walk,” which has be
come very infectious at the danceries. [t is a fox trot artistique. (Once
in a while we gotta use a French word to put class in the story.)
Fiction Magazin
‘v\ »
Free Next Sunday
Do not fail to get the great story section of §
the Sunday American, containing ex
cellent up-to-date stories by the worid's
greatest writers,
H H Thin Time
How to Have a Thin Time
By WILLARD CONNELY.
’ No. s—Visit Some Proud Parents :
| Copyright iSiS, by the Star Company. Grest Britain Rights Reserved. f
‘ VERY tme 811 l saw us approsching he would run aoross the street,
i Emmm«.unmmmumnm“lv&a
were the last car home and he bad to catoh It. Stop us and tell
ue & new word his kid had sald that morning Of all the pestilences
tw;muummbwn“&w-mw.ufifif
the father of & bouncing brat. .
But Bil had always been kind 10 us. He brought us oranges oDO®
when we were sick, and never ate one himself, and he sent us his own
doctor, who, on account of friend Bfll, went essy on the statement for
professional services rendered. More'n that, Bill and we had belonged
to the same lodge in college, so we ware old saloon-mates together.
Any time we'd sing “It's Always Falr Weather” wo'd guarantes to make
it cloudy. So we never tried to dodge him, although we wanted, oh how
we wanted more’n anything in the world, te give Bill the cure B&
till his pup got out of the prodigy class.
We thought If we went to see bim at his home, just once, and med
the greatest little wiff that ever scoured a saucepan, and coddied the
offapring a bit, Bill might cease to annoy us on the street with his
parental enthusiasm. And, who knew, we mizht put in & pleasant Sunday
that way, after all. Bill had entreated us to “come out and see U,
won'tcha?™ anywhere up to and Including 1,000 times.
We took the 10:15, which s ghastly early for us to see daylight of
s Sunday. It had snowed all night and was raining viclously now,
which made it nice. But as long a 8 we were in the train, what cared
we?! Wo sat there lke all the rest and read our Sunday paper and threw
discarded bunks of it out in the aisle same as anybody else. &
Pill was there at the gtation and sald little Mortimer was all excited
sbout our coming. Mortimer was dangerously near two years of old
age, mark ye. Then Bill observed that it was kinda wet, but come under
his umbrelia, and he guessed we'd make out all right. The walk to the
bouse was mud, slush, mud, slush, and everybody on their tip-loes to
find a place not quite 5o wet as often as possible. The rain sounded just
lke stage rain, when they turn the keg of nalls around on & crank. :
Grace dear greetod us at the door. She sald, “Sh-h-h!™ because
Mortimer had just dropped off to sleep, and he'd been fretful that morn.
ing for some reason or ruther. The hallway was a little dim, and the
first thing we did was to trip over Mortimer's woolly dog on wheels. We
came down bhard on the hardwood, which i not very kind to sea legs. !
We were told that it was too bad. Then we got asked If we wers
hurt. But we came up smiling, though aching. In fact, we all smiled,
but the next moment a report came in from Mortimer—"Eh-hel-eh-heh
wah-wahoowow'!'!’ Grace dear clasped her hands and turned oo us
with furrewed brows. “Now you've wakened him.,” she announced, with
her jaw a bit rigid “Yes, now you've done it!'" sdid 8111. We said
sump'n, we dono what, which involved the word sorry.
The world-beating (mayhap husband-beating) wiff gathered her
okirt and did the hundred-yard dash up to where Mortimer hung out
Bill and we, looking reproachful at each other downstairs, could hear.
her saying, “There, there,” with a bunch of petsy talk thrown in. Bill
| confessed that Mortie was & very sensitive child—just ltke his mother,
" and his mother's folks, too.
Then Orace dear came walking mujestically downstairs with her «
contribution to the next generation, and said that Mortimer simply
{ wouldn’t go to sleep again, for he insisted on seeing the “nice” man
(who had nevertheless proved himself to be a careless slumber-buster).
{ Then she dared us to say that baby wasn't a grand specimen of archd
| tecture, and we didn’t take the dare. ‘
Mortimer had one fist the majority of the way into his mouth. The
room was 8o cold he was prob’ly trying to keep his hand warm. He
Jooked at us as if he had sump'n on us—bout the way Jerome has looked
at Thaw whenever he's seen 'lm, and that's aplenty, for the last nine
years. Bill asked why we didn't say sump'm to the little fella, and we
sald we were afraid we'd start the cry stuff again. Then Bill said, “Oh,
po,” and Grace sald, “Mercy, no.” :
8o we swallowed nothin’ a coupia times to give ourself courage, and
said, very gently, we thought, “What's your name?” Mortimer sald
“Ump,” and Bill told us to ask him again, and not to make it so rough,
So we chanted it, and the kid said, “Aw-er” Then Grace and Bill ap 5
plauded heavily and said, in unison, “That's right; Mortimer. Isn't that
distinot?' And we sald, “Great. The kid'll be an orator some day.”
“No,” saild Bill. He's gonta be a doctor. He has a very analyticaj
mind, and great endurance. Grace wants to make a banker out of ‘im, ;
but he’ll never make a banker because he throws all the pennies he gets
down the register.” oo
“Maybe he thinks the register’s the bank,” we chanced.
“Aw, no,” countered Grace. ‘He's too wise for that.” ; i
Wise 18 no name for it. But we didn’t tell 'em so inasmuch as we
were commencing to think about dinner, 0
“See if he’ll come to you,” sald Bill, wko was a little huffy on ae
eounta Mortimer’'s undivided attention to friend Grace.
“Come on over and sc¢3 us, Mortie,”” we pleaded, holding out our
arms as i’ making a stage bow to a large, appreclative audience. The
kid waddled over, strange as it may seem, and fell on us. He took only’ :
three steps, but we felt ourself called upon to predict that he would
eventually be a transcontinental pedestrian. When you play to a parental _',‘:
audience yuh gotta lle for all yer life's worth. We took Mort up in our ;
wings and were told to look out and not drop him
The thing musta thought we were time, for he grabbed us by.the i
forelock. It was about like old Uncle Steve usta grab the bay hoss and i}
ease the bridle into her teeth. The one thing we rejoiced about was that ”
we didn't have any glasses to knock off and pay $8 to get 'em sized j
Mortie next decided to separate us from a flower we sported i out ‘;3
lapel. When we demurred he let out a yip andihanded.,us a swe ‘:nr_:’f‘?j
smack across the cheek bone. Then Grace sa})«l. “Oh” thai's not nisgs §
dearie,” and we agreed with her. She told baby togbeg our pardon, £o wni
Be scowled at us as if to say, “Please don’t excuse me.” ] g
Bill had walked out on us, to see how far dinner was from helfg *‘
ready. We let Grace take Mortie, willingly, and she swung him ailoft “’g
and allowed that he was the sweetest thinz that ever breathed, "“\We ’fi‘
hope she’ll be forgiven for that one. We maintain there's many an é%
onion now alive that's sweeter j
We went in to eat, and Bill put us beside son, because, ho said, wa) *
were old pals by now, and he was gonna ake Mortie say “uvelan “f
whenever he saw us after that. If we eve him again we'll ‘ol C"‘
him say “Help!”
At dinner, he went on to splash us and get things o u \l,".‘-"\\c:’
he had the oppeortunity. Of coutse, as those responsaible for his ©aiiiSi
sald. it was unavoldable, but still he did it, and we in our new SUIE tgd;;
We threatened to zo put on our sterm-coat “
In the afterncon Bill asked if we'd mind if e and Grale Wips 1:"
to make a short call and ledt us with Mortie. We said v e woold TS
sald we'd go make the call and leave them. and unicss 183 «’% ;
wretked nearby, we wouldn't be brought back. j;‘.,.j