said. And by now Clyde, having come to be on genial terms
with all of these youths, was in the gayest of moods about it
all. Think of his new state in life, anyhow. Only a few weeks
ago he was all alone, not a boy friend, scarcely a boy
acquaintance in the world! And here he was, so soon after,
going to this fine dinner with this interesting group.
And true to the illusions of youth, the place appeared far
more interesting than it really was. It was little more than an
excellent chop-house of the older American order. Its walls
were hung thick with signed pictures of actors and
actresses, together with playbills of various periods. And
because of the general excellence of the food, to say
nothing of the geniality of its present manager, it had
become the hangout of passing actors, politicians, local
business men, and after them, the generality of followers
who are always drawn by that which presents something a
little different to that with which they are familiar.
And these boys, having heard at one time and another from
cab and taxi drivers that this was one of the best places in
town, fixed upon it for their monthly dinners. Single plates of
anything cost from sixty cents to a dollar. Coffee and tea
were served in pots only. You could get anything you
wanted to drink. To the left of the main room as you went in
was a darker and low-ceilinged room with a fireplace, to
which only men resorted and sat and smoked, and read
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papers after dinner, and it was for this room that these
youths reserved their greatest admiration. Eating here, they
some-how felt older, wiser, more important—real men of
the world. And Ratterer and Hegglund, to whom by now
Clyde had become very much attached, as well as most of
the others, were satisfied that there was not another place
in all Kansas City that was really as good.
And so this day, having drawn their pay at noon, and being
off at six for the night, they gathered outside the hotel at the
corner nearest the drug store at which Clyde had originally
applied for work, and were off in a happy, noisy frame of
mind—Hegglund, Ratterer, Paul Shiel, Davis Higby, another
youth, Arthur Kinsella and Clyde.
“Didja hear de trick de guy from St. Louis pulled on the
main office yesterday?” Hegglund inquired of the crowd
generally, as they started walking. “Wires last Saturday
from St. Louis for a parlor, bedroom and bat for himself and
wife, an’ orders flowers put in de room. Jimmy, the key
clerk, was just tellin’ me. Den he comes on here and
registers himself an’ his girl, see, as man and wife, an’, gee,
a peach of a lookin’ girl, too—I saw ’em. Listen, you fellows,
cantcha? Den, on Wednesday, after he’s been here tree
days and dey’re beginnin’ to wonder about him a little—
meals sent to de room and all dat—he comes down and
says dat his wife’s gotta go back to St. Louis, and dat he
won’t need no suite, just one room, and dat they can
transfer his trunk and her bags to de new room until train
time for her. But de trunk ain’t his at all, see, but hers. And
she ain’t goin’, don’t know nuttin about it. But he is. Den he
beats it, see, and leaves her and de trunk in de room. And
widout a bean, see? Now, dey’re holdin’ her and her trunk,
an’ she’s cryin’ and wirin’ friends, and dere’s hell to pay all
around. Can ya beat dat? An’ de flowers, too. Roses. An’
six different meals in de room and drinks for him, too.”
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“Sure, I know the one you mean,” exclaimed Paul Shiel. “I
took up some drinks myself. I felt there was something
phony about that guy. He was too smooth and loud-talking.
An’ he only comes across with a dime at that.”
“I remember him, too,” exclaimed Ratterer. “He sent me
down for all the Chicago papers Monday an’ only give me a
dime. He looked like a bluff to me.”
“Well, dey fell for him up in front, all right.” It was Hegglund
talking. “An’ now dey’re tryin’ to gouge it outa her. Can you
beat it?”
“She didn’t look to me to be more than eighteen or twenty, if
she’s that old,” put in Arthur Kinsella, who up to now had
said nothing.
“Did you see either of ’em, Clyde?” inquired Ratterer, who
was inclined to favor and foster Clyde and include him in
everything.
“No,” replied Clyde. “I must have missed those two. I don’t
remember seeing either of ’em.”
“Well, you missed seein’ a bird when you missed that one.
Tall, long black cut-a-way coat, wide, black derby pulled low
over his eyes, pearl-gray spats, too. I thought he was an
English duke or something at first, the way he walked, and
with a cane, too. All they gotta do is pull that English stuff,
an’ talk loud an’ order everybody about an’ they get by with
it every time.”
“That’s right,” commented Davis Higby. “That’s good stuff,
that English line. I wouldn’t mind pulling some of it myself
sometime.”
They had now turned two corners, crossed two different
streets and, in group formation, were making their way
through the main door of Frissell’s, which gave in on the
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reflection of lights upon china and silverware and faces, and
the buzz and clatter of a dinner crowd. Clyde was
enormously impressed. Never before, apart from the Green-
David-son, had he been in such a place. And with such
wise, experienced youths.
They made their way to a group of tables which faced a
leather wall-seat. The head-waiter, recognizing Ratterer
and Hegglund and Kinsella as old patrons, had two tables
put together and butter and bread and glasses brought.
About these they arranged themselves, Clyde with Ratterer
and Higby occupying the wall seat; Hegglund, Kinsella and
Shiel sitting opposite.
“Now, me for a good old Manhattan, to begin wit’,”
exclaimed Hegglund avidly, looking about on the crowd in
the room and feeling that now indeed he was a person. Of
a reddish-tan hue, his eyes keen and blue, his reddish-
brown hair brushed straight up from his forehead, he
seemed not unlike a large and overzealous rooster.
And similarly, Arthur Kinsella, once he was in here, seemed
to perk up and take heart of his present glory. In a sort of
ostentatious way, he drew back his coat sleeves, seized a
bill of fare, and scanning the drink-list on the back,
exclaimed: “Well, a dry Martini is good enough for a start.”
“Well, I’m going to begin with a Scotch and soda,” observed
Paul Shiel, solemnly, examining at the same time the meat
orders.
“None of your cocktails for me to-night,” insisted Ratterer,
genially, but with a note of reserve in his voice. “I said I
wasn’t going to drink much to-night, and I’m not. I think a
glass of Rhine wine and seltzer will be about my speed.”
“For de love o’ Mike, will you listen to dat, now,” exclaimed
Hegglund, deprecatingly. “He’s goin’ to begin on Rhine
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wine. And him dat likes Manhattans always. What’s gettin’
into you all of a sudden, Tommy? I fought you said you
wanted a good time to-night.”
“So I do,” replied Ratterer, “but can’t I have a good time
without lappin’ up everything in the place? I want to stay
sober to-night. No more call-downs for me in the morning, if
I know what I’m about. I came pretty near not showing up
last time.”
“That’s true, too,” exclaimed Arthur Kinsella. “I don’t want to
drink so much I don’t know where I’m at, but I’m not going
to begin worrying about it now.”
“How about you, Higby?” Hegglund now called to the round-
eyed youth.
“I’m having a Manhattan, too,” he replied, and then, looking
up at the waiter who was beside him, added, “How’s tricks,
Dennis?”
“Oh, I can’t complain,” replied the waiter. “They’re breakin’
all right for me these days. How’s everything over to the
hotel?”
“Fine, fine,” replied Higby, cheerfully, studying the bill-of-
fare.
“An’ you, Griffiths? What are you goin’ to have?” called
Hegglund, for, as master-of-ceremonies, delegated by the
others to look after the orders and pay the bill and tip the
waiter, he was now fulfilling the role.
“Who, me? Oh, me,” exclaimed Clyde, not a little disturbed
by this inquiry, for up to now—this very hour, in fact—he
had never touched anything stronger than coffee or ice-
cream soda. He had been not a little taken back by the
brisk and sophisticated way in which these youths ordered
cocktails and whisky. Surely he could not go so far as that,
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and yet, so well had he known long before this, from the