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Show CNELLIE Q EVELL bays: OL'DDIE is his name and a buddie he Is. Only a tiny, yellow canary, he was brought into my life by Ada Mae Weeks. At first lie was a complete disappointment. He seemed willing to do nothing but eat, sleep, sulk and fly around the room. He behaved more like a husband than a buddie. There didn't seem to be a single song In his enlire system. He reminded me of some singers I know, who can excell themselves when they are surrounded by a first-rate chorus, while on the stage all alone every sound seems frightened out of them. Perhaps, I reasoned, being caged up depressed him, just as it would anyone. But once he began to sing there was no stopping him. He has never' heard of a musicians' union and no matter at what hour of the night, if lie feels moved to sing, lie sings. At eleven o'clock one night not long ago he started start-ed something that sounded like, "Yes, We Have No Bananas," and at three o'clock the next morning he gave a spirited rendition of Caruso in one of bis famous roles. I had visions of myself my-self being ejected and finding myself on the curbstone just outside the hotel door with my bird cage under one arm and my plaster-of-paris cast under the other. Though he refuses to sing on a time-clock time-clock arrangement I know of nothing that forestalls the "blues" more readily than Buddie and his lyrics. No matter how dark and rainy the day, lie always has an original composition for me. He seems to know7 just where bis talents tal-ents are needed to turn the clouds from gray to silver. I hate to tell this on Edward Sullivan, Sulli-van, manager of the Orpheum theater in St. Louis, but it's too good to keep. Zelaya, the pianist,-was playing St. Louis. He has an arrangement with a certain piano manufacturer to furnish him with a piano in each town, and to keep it in tune. A blind piano tuner, sent by the manufacturer, man-ufacturer, reported at the Orpheum to tune the instrument for Zelaya. Mr. Sullivan happened to know that Zelaya is a fine piano tuner himself. He also remembered that the house piano back stage was sadly in need of tuning. So he personally escorted the, blind piano tuner back stage and led liirn to the stage piano. The tuner could not see the make of the instrument ; he put it in fine condition. Zelaya came in later and tuned his own piano. And up to this writing no one is any the wiser except Mr. Sullivan, the man who told me and myself. A subway train in New York was crowded. Suddenly it stopped with a jerk and all the lights went out. When the light came on a young man started through the car shouting, "Who lost a purse?" There w-as a chorus of "I did." "Then advertise it," be said. "I am an advertising solicitor and can give you special rates." When the day gets dreary and It looks as though the sun had gone out never to come back, a visit from Mrs. H. H. Howland brings the silver lining once again. She is the baby sister of It-Yin S. Cobb. And anyone who knows "Maney," a-i.hpj- intimates airect-"nn,f ly call her, will testify that all the sense of humor of the Cobb family was not cornered by Irvln. She came in recently in convulsions over an episode that had occurred in Ibe Grand Central terminal, New York. She had gone there to meet an arriving arriv-ing friend and the train was late. So she sat down in the waiting room and soon found hpr attention focused on a little boy about six years old who sat. hands folded and eyes cast up iniio-1 iniio-1 cently at the passing throng. He bad long yellow curls, great blue eyes, and a face of such angelic beauty that she was sure the artists who draw little boy angels if there be any such must have used him for a model. ! He sat there patiently for half an j hour and then of a sudden bis eyes I filled with tears and be broke into i heart-rending sobs. Mrs. Howland rushed over to him at once and, putting put-ting her hand on his shoulder, asked: "Why, what's the matter, son?" "My mamma lost me." be sobbed, looking up at her. "I told the d n fool she would." Cornelius Fellowes, the racing man, started this on its travels: A little boy sitting in the subway had a had cold in the head and he sniffled continually. This aggravated an old lady sitting next to him. "Little boy." she said, "haven't you a handkerchief?" "Yes." answered the urchin. "Bui I don't lend it to strangers." Always around election time we rend of the Italian, the Jewish, the Irish and the German vote; but 1 never once saw any reference to the American vute. Maybe there ain't nn American vote. Or if there is. no party seems to think It worth catering to. It is easy er.or.gh to be plennsnl when life rolls stlons like a fnrr. But ; how was the rinse in know ih:ii lli.i. . i cumiing little tubes that ilerlxTt V.'cImt brought in com.'ir.f! library in : stead i.f tooth ; I f.'il her my I teeth did nt stick out and therefore j didn't need slicking in. If music is the language of the soul then jazz must he cusswunls. i Copyright by the JlcN'aughi Syr. licate, Inc ) |