Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-09-27
MURRAY'S MUSINGS.
Rents New York Saloon Men Pay-rwo'
Scenes in the Busy Occupa-
ton Tells on the Eace-The Man Who
STARTS j ffofef s.isa4 81 O
tFRoM A STAFF CORRESPONDENT
Some Of the rents paid fSgaliagor sa-

IWenIy Ieot Wlue py tnlrtY deep anu Oh Oi
this must come the bar, the ice chest, the
cigar counter, the cashiers inolosed space
and desk, the toilet rooms and the usual
private drinking place. For this he pays
81, 600 per month rent or $l2 600 a year. 1t is
fitted up in antique oak and gold at an ex-
pense OF not less than $4,000 That amount
bsan pa1s
good taste and Judgment and the place in
cludes nothing snowy of design or gaudy OF
material or workmanship
|. There are six barkeepers in spotless
white who must work within arms length
of each other and are kept busy during the
day, for the evening business down here
but a couple of weeks and takes in an aver
| age of $500 per day. What is a thousand q
| month to five hundred a day7
in one oF the nep ,,o ,nI s,,aner oices
| cost probably as much, or more, to Mt up,
and rents for $1,000 year. Two or three
barkeepers can handle the trude, which runs
| little stiffer at night than Is usually the
| case with downtown saloons, owing to the
] Dig Park Row printing establishments. ON
| upper Broadway, near the leading hotels
ana theatcrs, are small, elegantly lifted up
| places that yield from $s, 900 to s100 year.
In some instances the annual rental Of this
| one room is more than the cost of the entire
| building OF which 1t is such an Important
| financial part. Rents on the other side OF
Broadway are much lower. 1t is a curious
Iact that all famous streets, at least In thls
|
BroadWay's fashionable side is clearly de-
| lined by rental values.
You Must Have Pull.
| "A Philadelphia man sought out politi-
cal friend and consulted him as to the re-
quirements for starting a 'first-class little
place" in New York.
| twenty-five thousand dollars and q
| pull" was the reply. 81 should have said,"
| he quickly added, ga pull and s25 for
| you can squeeze in on less money perhaps,
while the pull is absolutely essential. You
| can't do the business without it."
A Butterfiy's Advent in Town.
One sunny afternoon last week beau
tiful butterfly nuttered and scared along
broadway just above Canal street. 1t was
the busy hour of the day and the trucks and
delivery wagons and cabs and carriages, etc,
formed an unbroken line on either side Of
the cable excavations. The noise and con-
fusion was at the highest notch. What on
earth could have tempted that golden
winged beauty into tho roaring pande-
monium of great city would be difficult to
tells but there it was airily meandering
Broadway this sunny afternoon. And 1t
brought with IT the flavor of the meadows
and stubble-flelds, the odor of fence-corner
herbage, the sound of tinkling bells Of
browsing cattle.
You could see all this in the faces of the
and children at once slaokened pace and
strained their eyes upon the rfchly-hued
messenger from the country. The drivers
forgot to swear at each other and caught at
the butterfly. Truckmen shouted like chill
dren and let their teams run into each others
loads unheeded. One drivers helper reached
too for and fell Off the seat into the mud. Up
and down, now here, now there, went
the fairy of the fields, not much higher
than the horses heads. 1t once caromed
upon the stalwart breast of a policeman,
Everybody glanced at him Indignantly. Yet
everybody who had q reasonable chance
caught at it-and the butterfly. Boys rolled
into the gutter hat in hand in the vain effort
to net the gauzy bird. Young women from
the factories and shops looked long and
earnestly and breathlessly and signing went
their way. Still, the bright yellow wings
1uttered and rose and fell and zig-zagged
hither and thither just as an idle butterfly
would do on Just such day among sumac
and golden rod of the briar-tangled fence
corners-still went its way unharmed. I
turned aside presently, for fear should see
1t come to grief, and noted the expression of
pleasure on the face of everyone who had
beheld the lovely visitor.
A Horse Overheard.
Another Broadway scene. 1t is the
hour when the greatest crush occurs in the
drygoods district. The narrow temporary
bridges that span the excavations are taxed
to their utmost, and at the Canal street
crossing the grand tide of industrial
humanity setting in for the Eastside in
creases the responsibility of the big police
men to the last feather. In the midst of this
two wagons attempt to pass upon the bridge
and one horse shies against the other. But
one horse remains, and that is of Norman
blood-the other of common clay has disap-
peared-a case of survival of the fittest A
loud yell comes from below, and half
dozen men scramble up the bank waving |
their arms excitedly-in italian. Two or
10 in lOf1n
and trample each others toes and crane |
their necks in vain effort to see what the |
matter is The big policemen plunge into |
this mob, club in hand, and drive 1t away on |
Then they open the other side. They repeat |
this alternately for the next two hours, |
greatly assisted by the satisfactory explana- |
tion shouted to the crowd now and then |
that sit is only a horse In q hole"
In the meantime where Is the horse? Di- |
rectly beneath the center of the street GROSS
ing are two large water mains crossing each |
other at right angles. An excavation has |
been made below these to permit them to bed
lowered for the accommodation of Dan La
mont's cable railway. The horse lies at the |
der the crossed water mains, wedged in as
tight as wax. No human ingenuity could |
have got him In there in a lifetime Of effort.
He lies there unable to move anything but
his head and he exercises this privilege now
and then to roll one pathetic eye upon the
gang Of workmen who are digging him out.
At last this is accomplished, tine horse is
drawn up and amid the cheers Of the new
mob shakes himself ana walks stiffiy away,
The crowd disperses in good humor and the
policemen mutter unpointable things. This
Is peculiarly Broadway.
His Key Was All Right.
"A gentleman not wholly unconnected
with the city government attended a clam
bake recently and for some reason or another
didn't get home till O'Clock next morning.
He was considerably embarrassed to find
that his key didn't fit his front door In the
happy manner. Finally his wife
came down and let him in, accomplishing
the friendly act with a liberal slice of opin-
ion about a man who came home at such an |
";sh all right, m'dear," he said apoIoget-
ically; "'sh key. C-can open inshide door,
m'dear, but couldn't open outshide door,"
Wreck on Newspaper Row.
Around the corner from the Greeley
statue on Park Row may be seen almost any |
day a poor old, shambling, ragged creature |
leaning against the wall among the buns. |
There is an.appealing look in his blue eyes,
which are usually downcast, and O vigorous
protest in his threadbare garments. He is
but one Of the many wretched human beings
one sees in that neighborhood, and took no
hand you this" he said in hastily scrawled
note to my companion, in which he solicited
4 few cents. The name signed at the bottom
caught my attention. 1t was that of q man
who was once favorably identified with
journalism and who afterward
owned prosperous daily paper in the
name it was difficult to recognize the man |
through the disguise of unkempt hair and
;angled beard and quavering voice and
filthy, rags. No inquiry was necessary to
ell what made him what he is. Yet l could |
lot but pity him. And / wondered If the |
iaily sight of the bright young reporters, |