The Camden chronicle. (Camden, Tenn.) 1890-current, 1904-03-18

My friend, Bobby Bubbles, the repor-
ter for the Daily Steam Whistle, has
never had anything to say in praise
of poets. He, a practical newspaper
man, who sees things as they are and
then simply photographs with his pen
so to speak, has no use for poetical col
oring.
But since the affair with Dora Potter
he absolutely hates poets. For the poet
Crane is to blame for the whole mis-
fortune according to Bubbles view.
In began in a most harmless way,
just like the Chicago ire and other
disasters. On one of those moist, sticky
summer days Bubbles was sitting In
the restaurant of Mayer & Mayer de-
vouring his luncheon. l purposely do
not say he ate his lunch. He did not
eat, but devoured, because he was al
ways afraid that something might be
happening somewhere without his
knowing it.
/ ''Ah, Bubbles, how are your" said a
voice suddenly. Twill you allow me?'
and Crane, the poet, seated himself
without more ado at the same table.
He had just received $40 for poem
and thought he would celebrate. you
are in bad spirits, my dear Bubbles"
Heavens, yes. This change OF wealth
er, and nothing doing, nothing at all!'
"Why don't you go into the country
old fellow? Take two weeks vacation
and come with me. am going to
Mamaronegg in the Schanzunk noun
tains. Oh you ought to see it,
And between the chicken and the
stewed pears he pictured the delights
of Mamaronegg as only a poet could
Bubbles could really hear the trees
rustling and the birds singing, and ne
smelled the spicy mountain air.
81 guess you are right" said Bubbles,
as he stirred his coffee, and collected
his strength ."Well, I will get leave
of absence and go with you. We can
drive together, row, fish, only don't ask
me to write poetry, draw the line at
that"
The business manager of the Daily
Steam Whistle granted Bubbles the de-
sired vacation with pleasure. Two days
after, the poet and reporter were in
Mamaronegg sitting in little snow
white hotel with green window blinds
and a red roof. There were only
few people in the hotel, among them
young lady, Dora Potter, small but
spirited widow of some twenty sum-
mers, who was always smiling and
working on a silk necktie for some
unmarried gentleman. That was her
delight
When Crane and Bubbles had regis
tered their names in the front room,
the ardent Dora appeared and looked
to see what their names were, where
they came from and what they were.
She suspected she might put both
young men on the necktie list.
Literary mem" she murmured, de-
lighted. "Charming!" She had weak
ness for such people.
They appeared hugely interesting to
her, for they wrote of love. And was
that indeed Bubbles of the Daily Steam
Whistle, the famous Bubbles who had
accomplished unheard of journalistic
feats? Who had been hanson driver
for two weeks in order to describe his
experience with his patrons? Who ask
ed the Vanderbilts for a sleeping room
and breakfast whereupon they put him
in the lunatic asylum, the life and
workings of which he described? Who
served Paderewski in the hotel as
waiter, and published a most witty ac-
count of it?
Yes it was he. This little man with
the red hair and the freckles was the
great Bubbles.
From now on she had only one de-
sire. to know the man and to make
him a silk necktie. The opportunity
to become acquainted offered itself the
next morning when he went out on the
Veranda.
The next day he invited her with
Crane to take walk, and on the third
she began a necktie for him. Crane
was quite enthusiastic about Dora
While she was making the tie for Bub-
bles, Crane was composing a poem
about her in which he extolled her as
Venus of the necktie.
Bubbles" said he, as they were
walking through the quiet village one
evening. Bubbles, go ahead! The
deuce! such fine woman and money.
too; $4,000 year income to live on!