The Wit and Humor of America
Chapter 170 : The Wit and Humor of America.Volume VII.BREITMANN AND THE TURNERS BY CHARLES G.o.dFREY

The Wit and Humor of America.

Volume VII.

BREITMANN AND THE TURNERS

BY CHARLES G.o.dFREY LELAND

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners Novemper in de fall, Und dey gifed a boostin' bender All in de Toorner Hall.

Dere coomed de whole Gesangverein Mit der Liederlich Aepfel Chor, Und dey blowed on de drooms und stroomed on de fifes Till dey couldn't refife no more.

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners, Dey all set oop some shouts, Dey took'd him into deir Toorner Hall, Und poots him a course of shprouts, Dey poots him on de barrell-h.e.l.l pars Und shtands him oop on his head, Und dey poomps de beer mit an enchine hose In his mout' dill he's 'pout half tead!

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners;-- Dey make s.h.i.+mnastig dricks; He stoot on de middle of de floor, Und put oop a fifdy-six.

Und den he trows it to de roof, Und schwig off a treadful trink: De veight coom toomple pack on his headt, Und py s.h.i.+nks! he didn't vink!

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners:-- Mein Gott! how dey drinked und shwore Dere vas Schwabians und Tyrolers, Und Bavarians by de score.

Some vellers coomed from de Rheinland, Und Frankfort-on-de-Main, Boot dere vas only von Sharman dere, Und _he_ vas a _Holstein_ Dane.

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners, Mit a Limpurg' cheese he coom; Ven he open de box it schmell so loudt It knock de musik doomb.

Ven de Deutschers kit de flavor, It coorl de haar on dere head; Boot dere vas dwo Amerigans dere; Und, py tam! it kilt dem dead!

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners; De ladies coomed in to see; Dey poot dem in de blace for de gals, All in der gal-lerie.

Dey ashk: "Vhere ish der Breitmann?"

And dey dremple mit awe and fear Ven dey see him schwingen py de toes, A trinken lager bier.

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners:-- I dells you vot py tam!

Dey sings de great Urb.u.mmellied: De holy Sharman psalm.

Und ven dey kits to de gorus You ought to hear dem dramp!

It scared der Teufel down below To hear de Dootchmen stamp.

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners:-- By Donner! it vas grand, Vhen de whole of dem goes a valkin'

Und dancin' on dere hand, Mit de veet all wavin' in de air, Gottstausend! vot a dricks!

Dill der Breitmann fall und dey all go down Shoost like a row of bricks.

Hans Breitmann choined de Toorners, Dey lay dere in a heap, And slept dill de early sonnen s.h.i.+ne Come in at de window creep; And de preeze it vake dem from deir dream, And dey go to kit deir feed: Here hat' dis song an Ende-- Das ist DES BREITMANNSLIED.

CUPID, A CROOK

BY EDWARD W. TOWNSEND

The first night a.s.signment Francis Holt received from his city editor was in these words: "Mr. Holt, you will cover the Tenderloin to-night.

Mr. Fetner, who usually covers it, will explain what there is to do."

Fetner, when his own work was done that night, sought Holt to help him with any late story which might be troublesome to a new man. They were walking up Broadway when Fetner, lowering his voice, said: "Here's Duane, a plain-clothes man, who is useful to us. I'll introduce you."

As the reporters, in the full flood of after-theater crowds, stood talking to the officer, a young man hurrying past abruptly stopped and stepped to Duane's side.

"Well, Tommy, what's up with you?" the officer asked. Holt noted that Tommy, besides being breathed, was excited. His coat and hat had the provisional look of the apparel of house servants out of livery, and his trousers belonged to a livery suit. Tommy hesitated, glancing at Duane's companions, but the officer said: "Tell your story: these are friends of mine."

"I was just on my way to the station house to see the captain, but I'm glad I met you, for we don't want the papers to say anything, and there's always reporters around the station."

Holt would have stepped back, but Fetner detained him, while Duane said cheerfully: "You're a cunning one, Tommy. Now, what's wrong?"

"Well," began the youth in the manner of a witness on the stand, "I was on duty in the hall this evening and noticed one of our tenants, Mr.

Porter H. Carrington, leave the house about ten o'clock. I noticed that he had no overcoat, which I thought was queer, for I'd just closed the front door, because it was getting chilly."

At the mention of the name Holt started, and now paid close attention to the story.

"I was reading the sporting extra by the hall light," Tommy continued, "when, in about twenty minutes, Mr. Carrington returned--that is, I thought it was Mr. Carrington--and he says to me, 'Tommy, run up to my dressing-room and fetch my overcoat.' 'Yes, sir,' I says; 'which one?'

for he has a dozen of 'em. 'The light one I wore to-day,' he says, and I starts up the stairs, his apartment being on the next floor, thinking I'd see the coat he wanted on a chair if he'd worn it to-day. I'd just got to his hall and was unlocking the door, when he comes up behind me and says, 'I'll get it, Tommy; there's something else I want.' So in he goes, handing me a dime, and I goes back to the hall. In about fifteen minutes he comes downstairs wearing an overcoat and carrying a bundle, tosses me the key and starts for the door. He's the kind that never carries a bundle, so I says to him, 'Shall I ring for a messenger to carry your package?' 'No,' says he, and leaves the house."

Tommy paused, and there was a shake of excitement in his voice when he resumed: "In five minutes Mr. Carrington comes back without any overcoat, and says, Tommy, run upstairs and get me an overcoat.' I looks, and he was as sober as I am at this minute, Mr. Duane, and I begins to feel queer. It sort of comes over me all of a sudden that the voice of the other man I'd unlocked the door for was different from this one. But I'd been reading the baseball news, and didn't notice much at the time. So I says, hoping it was some kind of a jolly, 'Did you lose the one you just wore out, sir?' 'I wore no coat,' he says, giving me a look. Well, he goes to his apartment, me after him, and there was things flung all over the place, and all the signs of a hurry job by a sneak-thief. Mr. Carrington was kind of petrified, but I runs downstairs and tells the superintendent, and he chases me off to the station. The superintendent was mad and rags me good, for there never was a job of that kind done in the house. But the other man was the same looking as the real, so how was I to know?"

Duane started off with Tommy, and winked to the reporters to follow. At the Quadrangle, a bachelor apartment house noted for its high rents and exclusiveness, Duane was met at the entrance by the superintendent, who told the officer that there was nothing in the story, after all. It was a lark of a friend of his, Mr. Carrington had said, and was annoyed that news of the affair had been sent to the police. The superintendent was glad that Tommy had not reached the station house. Duane looked inquiringly at the superintendent, who gravely winked.

"Good night," said Duane, holding out his hand. "Good night," replied the other, taking the hand. "You won't report this at the station?"

"No," said Duane, who then put his hand in his pocket and returned to the reporters. He told them what the superintendent had said.

"What do you make out of it?" asked Fetner.

"Nothing," the officer replied. "If I tried to make out the cases we are asked not to investigate, I'd have mighty little time to work on the cases we are wanted in. If Mr. Carrington says he hasn't been robbed, it isn't our business to prove that he has been. You won't print anything about this?"

Fetner said he would not. To have done so after that promise would have closed a fruitful source of Tenderloin stories. The reporters left the officer at Broadway and resumed their interrupted walk to supper. "Lots of funny things happen in the Tenderloin," Fetner remarked, in the manner of one dismissing a subject.

"But," exclaimed Holt, quite as excited as Tommy had been, "I know Carrington."

"So does every one," answered Fetner, "by name and reputation. He's just a swell--swell enough to be noted. Isn't that all?"

"He was a couple of cla.s.ses ahead of me at college," continued Holt. "I didn't know him there--one doesn't know half of one's own cla.s.s--but his family and mine are old friends, and without troubling himself to know me, more than to nod, he sometimes sent me word to use his horses when he was away. Before I left college and went to work on a Boston paper, Carrington started on a trip around the world. My people heard of him through his people at times, and learned that he was doing a number of crazy things, among them getting lost in all sorts of No-man's-lands.

His people were usually asking the State Department to locate him, through the diplomatic and consular services."

"Then this is one of his eccentricities," commented Fetner.

"How can you treat it like that?" exclaimed Holt. "I think it is a fascinating mystery, and I'm going to solve it."

"Not for publication," warned Fetner.

"For my own satisfaction," declared Holt, with great earnestness.

When the superintendent of the Quadrangle had shaken hands with the officer he turned to Tommy and said: "You go up to Mr. Carrington. He wants to see you."