Arizona republican., 1911-05-18
MUSICAL TRAVELLING
 MEN GIVE CONCERT
BUSINESS GIVES WAY TO MEL ODY-THEN MELODY TO
 BUSINESS.
The Story of a Sad Interruption to a
 Beautiful Song.

IIpttlS are iFOSalC pldCeS, as q gen.
 eral thing, in which weary, road-worn
 travelling men come to register, ask
 for a room, eat, and sleep But only
 as l. general thing, for there are oc-
 casions on which the poetry of exist
 ence finds its way into hotel parlors
 as it does into other places, and there are times when travelling men
 and good ones, teO, find time to do more than go through the process de | scribed. viz: of registering, eating
 and sleeping. as an event which hap ! pened at the Ford hotel yesterday l afternoon will bear witness.
 There were three actors. First, be- | cause he had the voice. and formed the cruX of the event. Mir. Fred T. 1 Moore, the assistant manager of the
 American Book companys San Fran l cisco office, ought to be mentioned | Mir. Moore is a man who can do l two things, well, which is remark | able, as most people are unable to do one. He can sell books by the car i load, and can sing like Plancon. | The second character in the event was MT. T. C. Morehouse, another | book man who bears the respectable | title of Pacific Coast Manager of the McMillan Book Company of New | York and London" Like Mir. Moore | Mir. Morehouse is a man of duel ac- | cOmplishments. He sells books well enough to be the coast manager for the McMillan company. which is | enough to say when the standard of the company Is remembered.-and he plays the piano like a professional Kt-hn had ,f t.al
 nique and expression.
 The third character in the event was MT. F. F.. Cooler, the California and Arizona representative of the Me Milan Co. a modest and unassum- ing. but very competent young fellow. who has made reputation for him self in the sales force of his distin- guishcd employer, MT. Morehouse.
 At three in the afternoon the three men were seated in the lobby. They had exhausted the delight of conver- sation. and were longing for diversion of some kind.-,n fact, any kind
 Opening his mouth in a cadaverous yawn, Mir. Cooler stretched. luxuri- ously, and said:-
 You know, Morehouse, We sell a book that tells about a duffer who died of loneliness. Well I'm it. l feel as that fellow must have felt three minutes before his demise"
 My dear Cooler" replied his chief in d manner condeScending, yet kind my feelings are identical with your own. I can think of but one eX- pedient. l suggest that We adjourn to the parlor and have Moore sing ditty or two" on hearing his name spoken, Moore buried in slumber until then, opened his expressive eyes, and said, I'm on"
 They repaired without delay to the piano in the dining room, and after MorehOuse had run over an intro ductory chord or twO,-MOOre began to sing. His voice, rich and full. and true went out through the lobby, and even to the front of the building, for he sang powerfully Men stopped to listen. Important discussions were dropped. and matters of moment were laid aside The bookkeepers forgot to write. and the bellboys forgot to call Women gave sentimental attention to the ballad for it concerned q rose garden. and somebody's ethereal and eternal devotion In other words the hotel had become paradise,-because one man sang. Care was forgotten, and sorrow drifted off into oblivion, to give place to retrOspections of no one knows what. The sentiment of life and the strangeness of it were laid bare, and the minds of men and women wondered as they were silent, and-listened.
 In the very moment of keenest pleasure, at the very climax of the song, a discordant note was heard. It was not made by MT Moore, but by d party who came through the door like a Kansas cyclone. MT Moore had just finished singing. Come into the garden of roses, dear And stand where the sunbeams fall or something to that effect, when the impatient party broke in and vociferated
 Come on out here Moore. You've i got this all balled up"-referring to some papers that had been drawn l earlier in the day.
 Death to melody and sentiment. 1 Moore had been called back to the | dread reality of life, and that rudely. ! His awakening was rough. The l phraseology of his business acquain- i tance staggered him. He seemed | dazed for a moment, as he stopped ] his song.-for he had gotten into the | spirit of the musc.-F'inally he laugh | ed. made gesture of despair as l though to say, Whats the use of | singing about a rose garden when this | fellow has to break in with such a i raw crack as that'-and went out
 As he left the room, Morehouse got | up, and said:
 That's always the way. When l want to sell somebody a book of | poems. and become enthused as 1 de- scribe the beauty of the verses, they | dash me to earth by inquiring about the latest cook book. There's simply | nothing in it, Cooler. but this. It doesn't pay to have any more senti ment than the insignificant grade re- quired to make doughnuts, or sell phony stock. For my part I'm through I'm not going to play any more, and I don't believe Moore will want to sing" He took Cooler by the arm. and walked sadly out. As he passed through the door he stop ped and said:
 By George If we had been play ing the Cannon Ball rag,-that duffer would have stayed and listened all day. He'd have forgotten all about his papers, but-whats the use"