The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1895-08-31

Tribune Of letter from c. A. Hartley
narrating an episode on a railway
train In which by his wonderful gift
of ventriloquism he had a fellow pas
senger perplexed half out of his wits
has brought forth some additional par
'ticulars Of Mr.. Hartley's skill in this
direction. Here, for instance. Is Mr..
Hartley's version OF a day he once
passed with the verdant villagers OF
Shohalo.
"Shohola Glen" said the ventrilo-
quist. ''is a diminutive Coney Island
on excursion days. and the day Sc
lected for my outing was no exception
to the rule. Fully two thousand New
Workers were three, and among them
recognized many witnesses OF my L
road exploits. As they greeted me l
saw In their faces that well. aren't.
you.going- g-to-give-us-some-am
expression.
proper conditions prevailed.
singled out for my subjects william
Davenport, a Mr.. Boyer, dispenser
of milk shakes whose name ] do not
recall, and last, but not least. that
genial character, known to all the
newspaper Paternity In New York city,
Pete Cannon, the veteran of Ridge-
wood, N. ]. I had little difficulty IN
getting them all under the spell, Tor
when they found themselves the tar
get for. as they supposed. some un-
seen enemy. they severaliy began 10
seek him out sent a 'raking hre'
of shot at them. which they vainly
endeavored to dodge. Between DaVen-
port and the unseen the following COL
logny ensued:
"Hey, hey; drop 1t. Do you want to
nut my eye Out?" yelled Davenport as
il speaking to a man half mile away.
yes" / answered in the distant
voice, I'm after your heart. too"
"Come and show yourself
II can't. I'm way over mere
"T know who you are telling those
standing by it was Joe Cotton, COL
Ored lad living at the Glen.
This was my cue, SO answered IN
stantly.
"'Yes, you do. I am Joe Cotton
Whereupon Davenport chuckled to him.
self over his sagacity, and yelled In re-
turn: 4 knew 1t. Where be you, Joe,
and in the next breath, Here, here'
darn 1t. stop shootin.
II succeeded in putting several shot
squarely into his mouth. They could De
heard plainly as they struck his teeth.
".Hold up your head called 10
him, 4 want to put one or your lamps
out and as spoke landed two 1alriy
in the eyes, and at the same instant l
scattered few among some OF MS
friends who stood hard by.
'It nettled them all and with whoop,
each with stones in hand. rushed to
the foot of the mountain, and selecting
the spot where they supposed their Tor
mentor lay in hiding, they hurled the
stones in that direction with an earn
estness that had no uncertain sound.
Poor Pete Cannon imagined his
friend, Tice Ritner, was lost In fast-
nesses of the forest. and for an hour or
more he kept up conversation with
the imaginary Tice. He was with diff
Guilty persuaded to leave the Glens. for,
as he said, he would stay there month
If he was sure Ritner was lost in the
mountains. An ambitious amateur
photographer tried to get picture or
Cannon in the act of throwing stones
up the mountain side. 1t wouldn't de-
velop."
-:l:-
Here Is another of Mr.. Hartley's
"reminiscences. 1t concerns that well.
known and shining New York political
light, Timothy Dry-Dollar Smith: "The
Marion club, numbering among Its
members the Hon. Timothy d. Sulli-
van, had Its annual outing at Green
wood Lake, JulyS. happened to have
a longing for this romantic spot my
self, and was a visitor on the above day
named. I had no sooner arrived at the
lake than / was taken in hand by some
members Of the club whom / had met
in the city at places where ! had exer-
cised my ventriloquial powers. They
Immediately set me on Timothy. our
senator. AS l approached him he
heard his name called, as he supposed,
some distance away, looked uneasily
toward the spot several times without
answering, then turning to me he asked
who 1t was that was jollying him. As
he asked me he looked me over careful
ly, his face lighting up with that be-
witching smile common to him on any
humorous occasion. and said:
"That'll do. You're Charlie Hartley.
Don't you remember the night rode up
with you on the Third avenue l. train,
when you had the little fellow hanging
on the straps to get at the supposed
man on the roof"
II did recall the incident. but didn't
suspect at the time that / was being
complimented by the widely known Mr..
Sullivan. The senator. ready for joke,
pointed out owen O'Melia. a brother
member. and told me to go ahead with
him. No need to go into the details of
answer to every query l put to him.
Poor owen imagined II was a Mr..
Burke calling him half mile away,
and after yelling himself hoarse he
started Oft in a vain but merry search
for Mr.. Burke. He delivered himself
lin answer to the questions hurled at
him) Of the following:
"'Yes.'
"'Call Peter Monaghan
The score Is 3 to g.
eyes, I will enter the sack race.
Will you root for me?'
What" f,,,
"'What!v .tt
"T can't hear YOU
"'Nine to two. told you.'
"'Can you hear me?' tl't
"'What?' 't
"'Call Peter. told you.'
"'Come in out of the wet
Elise voice gave out at the end Of
the second hour. He could scarcely be
heard above a whisper"
-:l:-
In the New York World the other day
Mr.. Hartley gave column or more
to these readable anecdotes. Below is
one taken from that collections: 'Will-
lam Bryson and Fred Mays will re-
member an incident In which they were
conspicuous figures for some years to
come. The scene was Rouetts candy
and cigar store, on upper LenoxH ave-
nue., near One Hundred and Thirty
Nth street. 1t was Saturday night,
and the usual complex assemblage Of
patrons crowded the little store. Two
up-to-date young men were Bryson
and Mays, and they were cutting the
air with brilliant sallies at the expense
of their less illustrious comrades. I
interrupted their proceedings as soon
as I entered. The lads. unable to stand
the onslaught Of small shot which
directed at them from my mouth (un-
observed. of course, by them), drew
their coats over their heads as the best
means of protection. They then en-
deavored to seek out their tOrmentor.
Their accusations fell upon their hap