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Show I SEEK LIFE WW JOH MBBY i By Ge-v- Hg 11 John Henry on Cabarets. AY! Did you ever burst right into Bohemia and with the aid of of a complaining com-plaining pocketbook try to Help yourself to a Hilarious evening? even-ing? Tag mc I'm It. Of course, I don't mean Bohemia Bo-hemia in the highbrow sense nix. Not one of those quaint retreats with the lemon-colored atmosphere where sad-eyed Artistic Ar-tistic Temperaments foregather to chop spaghetti with a fork and bark hand-made repartee at each other over a beaker of absinthe nix. I mean the Bohemia so-called so-called by the Buyer from Max Plahn's Universal Emporium, Waukesha, Wis., who hits New York along in August and leaves the imprint of his sandals san-dals all over Longacre Square and adjacent by-ways. The Bohemia, so called, which is composed of incandescent lights disguised as rosebuds; Bulgarian waiters disguised as second-story workers, and a menu card which, without any disguise, leads the unwary directly di-rectly to a Petition in Bankruptcy. I The Bohemia, so called, where the wise virgin trims her lamps about nine o'clock of an evening and when said lamps get to flashing over the Martini and other happy waters, believe me, the suckers rise to the surface so fast that the waiters have to hand out eye-shades. P. S. Foolish virgins with untrimmable lamps are not to be found in this Bohemia, so called. Ever since we've been back in New York, Peaches has been Handing out Hints that she'd like to have me take her over the hurdles into that Fair Land where rag-time and breaded pork chops do a sister act to one of those real devilish New York Cabarets. Rub his ankles, Doctor; the blood has rushed to his Beanl I tried to explain to friend wife that the Cabaret is an institution in-stitution invented solely for the purpose of giving hiccups to Gold-plated Strangers, but Peaches was strong for a Peek at the Night-Life of New York and it was up to me to furnish the opera glasses. She wanted to know if I thought she could toy with a tenderloin steak in some Musical Musi-cal Soup-House without having a policeman call her by her first name. I told her I was away on sick leave the morning Cabaret Etiquette had been passed around, but I'd ask my friend Hep Hardy about it. Hep is what they call in the laurajeans a Prince of Good Fellows. As near as I can size him up "It was a brave sight to see them deploy by fours." a Prince of Good Fellows puts in twelve hours a day trying to stab himself to death with Bronx cocktails, and the other twelve hours are devoted to screaming for help and ice-water. Mind you, I'm not Knocking Hep. Far be it from me to aim the Hammer. When it comes to falling off the street sprinkler I can do an annettekellermann that gets loud applause from all the members mem-bers of the High Tide Associa-i tibn so tuttley-tut on the knock ! His father cut out the breathing breath-ing business about four years ago and left Hep with ,$200,000 and a long diy spell on the inside. in-side. Hep has been in the surf ever since. His only recreation between bars is golf. He invented the G. A. R. score in that game out in '61, back in '65. I explained my sad plight to Hep over the phone, and, later on, with Peaches all dolled up like a Gorot landscape, we met Hep by appointment in front of Bustaflddlestrings Cabaret. Hep in his man-about-town scenery was a sartorial dream in black and white. He had everything ev-erything on, including half ai bun. "Well, if it isn't John Hen-1 ry !" he hagueandhagued. "Touch thumbs with your old pal!" Then in a side speech he wanted to know what musical show had loaned me its prize chicken. I introduced him to my wife and he tried to square himsef by explaining that now that his right eye was properly focused she didn't look at all like a chicken she was more of the squab type. Then with a merry burst of vermouth-laden laughter he led the way into the Cabaret. The head waiter met us at the edge of the reservation. Hep slipped him something that made a noise like five dollars dol-lars and the H. W. bowed. Hep slipped him again and he bowed lower. Hep slipped himanoth-er himanoth-er little map of the mint and the H. W.'s forehead scraped the floor. Hep ceased slipping and the H. W. came up on the other side and led us to a table. The room was a-dazzle with Gaudy Lights. Bag-time' music hurried away from a preoccupied preoccu-pied orchestra, hit the ceiling, bounced off and scampered round the tables. Laughter, both refined and careless, tried to drown the clatter of dishes and won out. Cigarette smoke and Mary Garden perfume clinched in a death struggle all over the place and Mary put the boots to Murad every time. "So this is Bohemia!" sighed Peaches as the head waiter pulled out a chair and dared her to sit down. "John, dear, do point out the celebrities to me, won't you?" "They haven't come in yet," I gurgled, and Hep let loose a laugh so nearly like that of a nervous coyote that four waiters wait-ers rushed up, prepared to take any kind of a tip. Just as we were sinking gracefully into our plush chairs, and the. Sicilian brigand was about to take our order, who should float into the dry-dock but Max Mincenstein, one of Hep's friends after 2 A. M. I don't know how Max ever pressed close enough to get on Hep's staff. Max has money. He'll always al-ways have it the same money. Max is a lazy losenger. When the waiter returns with the check Max is the busiest talker in the bunch. Max loves money. Money loves Max. They are inseparable. insepara-ble. Whenever Max passes a bank he takes off his hat and walks on his toes. I spoke his name rapidly when I introduced Max to Peaches, but as she was busy trying to lead- a swift life by ordering or-dering a seltzer lemonade it didn't make much difference what I called him. Hep must have been sitting over a trapdoor, because suddenly sudden-ly wine-coolers began to festoon themselves around about him. Blue wine-coolers appeared at his right, magenta wine-coolers at his left, and ice, drift ice as far North as the eye could see. Presently a platoon of waiters began to annoy the corks and then followed a correct imitation imita-tion of the second day at Gettysburg. Get-tysburg. One cork went over quickly to another table and struck a fat moneyed person from Pittsburg Pitts-burg between the second and third floor of his accordion chin. He thought it was one o'clock, so he rose hurriedly and left the room. For months he'll be telling the home folks how he beat the police po-lice to it at closing time. Meanwhile Max was overboard over-board with a splash. For the first ten minutes he had three waiters on the verge of nervous prostration trying to supply the suds fast enough. But Max didn't play Rugby rules he used two glasses and both hands. After a time, however, he feathered both oars and drifted aimlessly with the tide. "Pardon me!" said Peaches to Max, in an effort to pass out a bit of Society Salve, "but do you find it interesting this glimpse of Bohemia?" "Bohemian nothing!" bubbled Max. "This joint is Cosmopolitan Cosmopoli-tan sure thing! The chef is a Frenchman; the pastry cook is a Greek; the head waiter is a German Ger-man ; they got a Hungarian violinist vio-linist and the proprietor has a wife and two kids in Jersey City, but he don't go there much. Bohemia, not on your powder puff!" Peaches took the count, then she leaned over and whispered to me, "What is he? a painter?" paint-er?" "Oh ! he's a painter all right," I squeaked; "when some one leads him up to a tub." "Water colors or oil?" she asked. "Oil," I said; "fusel oil." "Has he ever done any good thing?" she queried. "Yes," I said; "Hep Hardy." "Oh! I'm enjoying this so much," she coo-cooed, giving Max and his past performances the sudden pass-by. "Who is that man at that table with the fawn-like eyes and the long hair?" He was the night-watchman of an apartment house uptown, but I gave her an easy speech to the effect that he was Bill Mendelssohn, Men-delssohn, a grandson of old man Mendelssohn, who once wrote a wedding march so carelessly that it is now used as a coon song. She gasped and gurgled with delight in Bohemia and having the titne of her young life, so I let her dream. In the meantime Hep, with a bucket of wine, was busy trying to put out the fire in the well-Max well-Max used as a neck. Every time a waiter looked at our table Hep's roll would blaze up. Peaches presently concluded she'd broaden out a bit on Art and the Old Masters, so she asked Max if he liked Rembrandt, Rem-brandt, i Max looked at her out of the corner of his eye and murmured, "Much 'bliged, but I'm up to here now!" Then he pointed at his Adam's Ad-am's Apple and fell asleep. Hep was beginning to see double. Every once in a while he'd stop humming "Here Comes My Daddy Now Papa, Papa, Papa, Papa!" then he'd ni rtn r cvr Attn nvirl ittA 4-Vi 4-l -vfln m ciose one eye ana witn zne ouner look over at Peaches and hand her a sad, sweet smile. It's a gay life, boys I When our expensive food finally fin-ally arrived Hep was gazing at his fingers and wondering how they got on his hands, while Max, the genial pest, with his chin driven through his shirt-front, shirt-front, was over on Dream Avenue, Ave-nue, about to hitch up his favorite fa-vorite nightmare and take a spin through Bugland. Peaches was toying with a spoonful of consomme Julienne and I was parleying shoestring potatoes back on my fork, when suddenly there came a great clanging of bells, doors rattled and banged, women screamed and the orchestra fell out of a back window all except the bass fiddle. He fell in a bowl of soup left for him by an obliging but hurrying waiter. Max woke up suddenly, looked about wild-eyed and slid gracefully grace-fully under the table. Hep, with a roll of bills in each hand, tried to stand up and defy the universe, but he toppled top-pled over among the wine-coolers and passed peacefully away again in cold storage. A fat man with a beard and a dialect ran around in circles exclaiming ex-claiming that he was the proprietor, pro-prietor, but nobody pinned a medal on him, and he burst into sobs. I ' "" scraped the j Then he rushed. over to ojM table and yelled, "Get out' g9 out!" ' 9 "Why should we get out?"lB inquired, placing a piece of frill chicken tenderly in his ol stretched hand. "Because it's closing up tiB and I always forget ahnnflM The police have to come andH mind me." Si Then he threw the frjHj chicken at the lady cashier iK faded out of our lives. I looked in the direction of tfl door. Yes, there they were-JKj Army Corps of Cops, marchiK steadily forward into that 3-ace 3-ace of Pies, fearless in the if of danger. 4 Jj It was a brave sight to & U them deploy by fours and reac 3 ing forward with their nigl sticks knock a hunk of bee steak out of a hungry dinei f5 hand. . f I grabbed Peaches by the 5 bow and we beat it from B hernia while the beating wi good. The last I saw of Max he w! JS acting as a foot-rest for t General commanding the Fif Brigade, while Hep slept peac Ii fully on amid the up-turni !ti wine-coolers and the ice-floes. Bohemia, eh? I So this is what they call H ing A Good Time in New Yorl & Mr. Umpire, I called you B Names put me on the Bene This Burg is the home of tl k Gink who can't keep his Ten , perature down unless he is coi tinually sniffing the odor f burning money. This Gink's idea of being JJ gentleman is to get into a Tuj edo make-up and swap gag with a bunch of booze bitejj while Mamma has to tie herse d up in a Mother Hubbard an stay home alone till Papa gel -n through being a Good Fellow.i ?: Cabarets, eh? jf Hereafter me for the lit Ptomaine Parlor where the di) pickles hide behind the bowl! i pulverized sugar and wink you when the waitress splashe u an omelette on your shoulder.J $ But Peaches thought it wj all perfectly lovely. J J "And you'll take me son night soon," she marshmaj lowed, "where we can see sonI real turkey trotting, won't yo,; John, dear!" A glass of water, Nurse; fainting. Hjl (Copyright. 1913. by the ircClure paper Syndicates) SMI |