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Show HAVE YOU TRIEDAMMONIA? Story Born in Washington Travel Round the World. (Victor Kauffman In Ha rperV Weekly.) This is the true story of 'a story that will not down. It hart Its beginning mora than seventeen years ago. and to all intents in-tents and purposes It is as fresh today afl It ever was. In 1SIU J wafl" a reporter on a Washington Washing-ton evening paper. On a day in October of that year, during an unusually heavy Wind and rainstorm that swept over the city, really a hurricane, a large building en F street that was being erected for n music hall was blown down and several persons were either killed or injured. Tn a very few minutes I was on the spot watching the police and firemen in the work of removing the debris and rescuing j the victims. I must have sat down -upon a green wall, for on my way home from the office that afternoon a friend called my attention to the fact that the rear of my trouserss was badly marked with plas tor. Now I was particularly pleased with that pair of trousers, for they had but recently re-cently been made for me by a New York tailor, and were the most "costly raiment" rai-ment" that I had ever indulged In. So that evening I left word that when John Quander, a colored handy-man, came In the morning to black the boots and Incidentally Inci-dentally to rouse me for my day's toll, he was to give that garment a very thorough cleaning. The next morning when John had rapped on my door the customary length of time, the following conversation en-Sued:' en-Sued:' " 'Deed. sir. I can't get them pants cleaned nohow. I done bresh 'em. 'n' use a wet rag. 'n' soap 'n' water, but I can't get 'pm clean nohow." "John, have you tried ammonia?' ' "No. sir. I haven't; but I know they'd fit me first rate." Now I thought then and still think that that vfts the best pun in the English language, especially as the perpetrator was so thoroughly innocent. I sent the story with a suggestion for an illustration to a leading New York weekly. I received no reply; but a few weeks later the stoiy, with an Illustration such as I had outlined, out-lined, did appear in another well known periodical. I presume that some friend who had heard me tell It had forestalled me. and had reaped the reward I had thought was mine. However that may be. that story is still going the rounds of the press arid cropping crop-ping up as a brand new story with remarkable re-markable regularity. A few years ago, when I was in Florida, I saw the story in a Philadelphia paper ascribed to Representative Repre-sentative John Sharp Williams. Again t saw It In a Chicago dally credited to the son of a famous Milwaukee brewer Who had a valet. That was the only difference. differ-ence. It has happened at Intervals In New .York, usually laid t the doors of some well known visitor at n prominent up town hotel. It has come to be a part of the stock In trade or manv professional interviewers, who. when short of fresh material, ring it In in their "Hotel Corridors" Cor-ridors" column as told bv some Illustrious Illustri-ous guest at a loading hotel. And so It goes. Some fifteen years ago a Washington lady told the story at a luncheon, only she finished It up something Ilk this: "John, have you tried cheanollo?" "No. sir. I haven't; but know they'd fit me first rate." And she wondered why if fell so flat, for she had heard it told by Elinor McCartney Mc-Cartney Lane, the novelist and playwright, play-wright, and always with great success. Mrs. Lane first heard the story a day or two after it "occurred." and for more than seventeen years now It has occupied a prominent place in her repertoire, ft is the only old story she tells. In the spring of 1907 I was at the Grand i canyon in Arizona, and there met a verv I brilliant young woman from Los Angeles, I who was one of the best storv tellers T have ever known We swapped varns to 1 our mutual satisfaction, but I saved "mine , own" for the last and best. Finally I sprang It In what I thought was mv verv best style, but there was nothing 'doing. In despair I repeated it, accenting the point. Tlvus: "Have you tried ammonia have you tried 'cm on you. See?" With a wistful look across the great chasm she merely said: "Please do not ark me to laugh at that story. 1 had to laugh at it at seven dinner din-ner parties in San Francises lnaf !. and each time the teller insisted it had happened to him." I This summer, wnen I was in New England, Eng-land, this same young woman sent me an August number of a popular magaaine. In which my story again caw the light of day. Last winter my brother was at a dinner din-ner given by the Men's society of the Church of the Covenant, which In years gone bv has sometimes been known as the "Church of the Government." A gentleman gen-tleman sitting at his right told him that selfsame story as having happened to him. and a few minutes later one of the chief speakers of the evening incorporated it In his address as a personal cxperi- ence. I have never seen the story In London I Punch, but I am sure that bv the time j it has reached Its majority, four years ) hence, the editors will have appreciated its merits, and that I shall have the pleasure of seeing It in American nafters reproduced with due credit, from that I ramous English weekly. Only 1 am afraid I they will substitute methylated spirits for ammonia. I Now what T want to know is this: Will any one now believe that this Is really my story, and that It actually happened ' to ma about 7:15 o'clock on the morning of Nov. 24. m. In conclusion. lt me say that I have ceased telling the stOfy. |