THE NEW FABLE OF THE AERIAL PERFORMER, THE BUZZING BLONDINE, AND THE DAUGHTER OF MR. JACKSON  
Once upon a time a Lad with Cinnamon Hair and wide blue Eyes lived in a half-portion Town.
 
He had received more than 2000 Tickets for answering "Here" at the
M. E. Sunday School.
His kinfolk hoped that some day he would be President of the Town Board.
 
Shortly after he learned to roll a safe game of Pool, the Governor demised.
 
Robert, such being the full front name of the sole Heir, found that he could not spread his Pinions in the narrow Streets of the lichen- covered Hamlet.
 
So he blew. He went to find an Avenue that would accommodate seven
Zeppelin Air-Ships moving abreast at one time.
He closed out the Dry Goods Emporium with the Shirt-Waists and the shameless Hosiery in the Windows.
 
An Apartment Building, with Packages delivered at the rear, soon began to flaunt itself on the site of the old Manse.
 
With all the currency corralled by the late Store-Keeper padded into his Norfolk Jacket, the gallus Offspring hurried to the Metrop to pick the Primroses.
 
In a short time he was out at the Track every day, barking at the Goats as they hove into the Stretch.
 
The pencil-borrowing Touts and the Wine Pushers began to call him Bob, which proved that he was a Man about Town.
 
When the final Kiflukus was put on the Ponies, he assembled the residue of his Bundle and began to work steady as a Guesser in a Broker's Office.
 
His job was to show at 10 A. M. with a big Reina Victoria at one extreme corner of his Face and pretend to know what was coming off when the Boy put the funny marks on the Blackboard.
 
Ever and anon he would buy 1000 Shares of something, as if Negotiating for a Bread-Ticket.
 
As a rule, the tall-grass Plunger with a wad of new Kale has about the same percentage in his favor as that enjoyed by a Shoat out at the well-known Establishment of Armour & Co.
 
The Cleaners go forth to meet him, bearing as Gifts a Dream-Book and a new kind of Cocktail with a Kick like a Coast-Defense Gun.
 
A few weeks later they are casting lots for his union Suit.
 
Bob came from Simpville, but he had acquired a couple of Wrinkles associating with the Wing Shots in the Paddock.
 
He could shift to either Foot and he kept his Maxillary covered.
 
Sometimes he picked up the wrong Walnut. It would begin to look like a quick change from Caviar to Crackers.
 
More than once his Heels were beating a tattoo on the grassy brink of a Precipice.
 
Then he would smell around until he discovered Something Doing. A couple of lucky shots and he would be on Velvet again and whanging away like a Demon.
 
At last, with a Bull Market and a system of Pyramids, he began to sweep it in with his Fore-Arm.
 
Head Waiters paid him the most grovelling Attentions and bright eyes grew brighter yet when he suggested pulling a little Supper, with a $400 Souvenir at each Plate.
 
He was admitted to full membership in the Tango Tribe of the Tenderloin
Night-Riders.
This select Coterie was organized for the purpose of closing all
Cabarets by 6 A. M..
An early hour was named because many of them were not made up for the cold Daylight.
 
About the time he began to discover Vintages he discovered Elphye also.
She was an Actress who was too busy to perform on the Stage.
Elphye had a good Social Position back at her Home lot but, for some reason, she never sent for it.
 
Her Parents had arranged for her to be a Brunette, but when Bob met her, between the Guinea Hen and the Cafe Parfait, she was a Lemon Meringue.
 
Elphye wore Clothes that made a noise like a Piccolo.
 
She was there with the jeweled Heels and the hand-painted Ankles.
 
In trying to make her Gowns anywhere from six to nine months ahead of Paris, she sprung several Effects that caused the Chandeliers to tremble and the Ice to melt in the Buckets.
 
She had abolished her Shape entirely and abandoned the Perpendicular, preferring a Droop which indicated that possibly she had been fashioned over a Barrel.
 
She tried to model herself on the lines of a string Bean, slightly warped by the Sun.
 
The Ascending Star of the Financial World was stunned by the Apparition. No one had tipped it off to him that the Queen of Sheba was to be reincarnated.
 
He found Elphye ever and ever so accomplished.
 
She knew all the Songs that now blister the Varnish off the Pianos in so many well-ordered Homes.
 
She was enough of a Contortionist to get away with several Dances named for the innocent Poultry.
 
Being a close student of the Bill-Boards she was in touch with Current
Happenings.
Her Eye-Work was perfect, but she found it hard pumping to Blush at the right time.
 
When she tackled Polite Conversation she put a few Tooth-Marks in it.
 
Still she made a very creditable Stab for a Girl brought up in Michigan and never east of Sheepshead Bay.
 
She looked very creamy to Bob, if the Music was loud enough.
 
He liked to tow something that would cause the Oyster Forks to pause in midair and the Catty Ones to reach for their hardware.
 
When Elphye did a little Barnum and Bailey down the main Chute of a Terrapin Bazaar, rest assured that every Eye in the Resort was aimed at her gleaming Vertebrae.
 
Bob showed her his monthly Statements and she confessed to being very fond of him. So it was planned that they would Marry some afternoon, if she could get away from the Masseuse early enough.
 
The Troth was pledged in a few high-priced Trinkets which she had decided upon before he spoke to her.
 
Just when it seemed a mortal Pipe that the Bull Tactics would enable
him to cop a Million, so that he could live at a Hotel and finance the
Little Queen, the Unseen Superintendent in the Tower began to throw the
Switches of Destiny.
If Bob had not speeded so far into the Country in the Smell-Wagon, there would have been no Flat Tire.
 
If there had been no Flat Tire, he would have been back in time for the usual round-up of the Irrigation Committee and never would have been a Great Financier.
 
Marooned among the Hay-Fields, he stopped at a Farm House and took a long chance on some Well-Water, dipped in a Gourd from the Moss-Covered Bucket.
 
Scotch Whiskey is never contaminated by Surface Drains, but each
sparkling drop of the Fluid that Bob quaffed, there beneath the
Willows, contained more than 2,000,000 of the Germs made notorious by
Dr. Woods Hutchinson.
A few days later a swarm of Bees settled in each ear. Every Sky-
Scraper gave an imitation of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
He knew he was out of Kelter, but he had to watch the Board, for he had put every Bean in the World on an acrobatic Industrial known as Tin Bucket Preferred.
 
Already the Paper Profits were enormous. Bob figured confidently on another Whoop of 50 points and a double string of Pearls for Elphye. But when the poor Loon had a Temperature of 5 above Par and had to cling to the Brass Rail to keep from taking the Count, he lost his Nerve entirely.
 
He couldn't see anything on the Horizon except Tariff Revision, ............