Evening star., 1914-03-03
THE EVENING STORY.
"SPATS" McCANN-
BY EARL DERR BIGGERs.

stolen into our office one rainy fall after
noon and hypnouzed me into buying q
set of the Worlds Worst Literature or
the installment plan, L should never have
pet "Spats" McCann.
A week passed before I found upon my
study table the formidable volumes FOL
which l had contracted. Into them mad
been packed all the dreary moments OF
literature.
But duh as the books were, the mag
azine that came shortly after as part oi
the bargain outdid them. 1t was one OF
those old-established affairs that no re-
spectacle middle-class library table can
afford to do without. Timely articles on
the civil war, the lock canals of Mars
and the market price of radium enllvened
its pages No one could ever breathe a
word against the personal character of
the middle-aged ladies who wrote its
fiction.
bitterly | regretted the binding dollar
and the nineteen prospective ones. l
knew that, though | hide the books away
on top shelf, and bequeath the maga-
zine to my landlady'S daughter, still every
thirty days for nineteen months a col
lector would call to remind me of my
hour of weakness. | resolved TO make
the best of bad harsain, and on the
collector S first visit to pay him the entire
sum, thus gaining his permission to forget
forever the greasy gentleman and his
compendium of dullness.
And then 'Spats" Mccain drifted in.
dressed like the press agent of a cheap
burlesque show, the wisdom of the tin
horn sports of all the ages in his shifty,
unpleasant eyes. Long before | saw him
j saw his suit. And over his shoes OF
cracked patent leather he Wore an alb
surd pair of English spats, badly soiled.
1t was from these, as / was afterward
to learn, that his friends of the pool
bod ,,l,rt crHy,a Il
him.
He leered at me, doffed his late-bloom-
ing straw, and sinking into a chair held
out box of very cheap cigarettes. l re-
fused Mccain lighted nail himself.
leaned back luxuriously and waving his
cigarette between yellowed fingers, made
sprightly comment on the weather.
Il hope it don't rain said he. I'm on
my way out to the park to see our boys
drive the dead ones from Phillie to the
tall timber. Follow the game, eh?"
| confessed to some slight interest. Nc
Cam leaned forward.
Il tell YOU he whispered, las | told
everybody at the beginning of the sea-
son, we got no chance for the flag with
cigar store Indian playing second base
Now my idea"
slipped to prize fighting. McCann con-
fessed to inside information. He told
me where to place my money.
The field of sport covered thoroughly,
and | realized that the first of my $40
would shortly be in demand. Not at once.
however, did Mccain press the point.
Instead, he related his experiences in
trailing elusive currency through fiat
and o,..ce- His was, it seemed. an un-
savory profession. He posed as the boy
with the groceries. he hid in dark cor
ners. he impersonated TO the servants
beloved relatives.
"Mebbe you wonder why l carry this
umbrella" he said. Pm never without
it, even on the brightest days. Many
time I've stuck it in a door opened only
two inches an queered the not at home
gag. Yes, sir I've pried my way to
good many dollars with this old stick"
The time came when We had to part.
and l regretted its arrival. My resolve
to pay the entire and so forget the
dull books at home was completely
broken. for l saw in "Spats' McCann
one who should recompense me for all
the dullness they contained. Evil he was,
cheap mean, but he was wise. and there
was fascination most compelling in that
wisdom as it leered from his slanting
eyes.
Thus 'Spats" McCann became "a
monthly fash of color in the dull routine
of life On his second visit his manner
was that Of an old and dear friend. and
he put his feet on my desk while he tod
of the time he and Spider" OBrien had
dropped $1,000 in twenty minutes in
Sleepy-eyed Mikes place in Detroit.
From McCann l learned all the mforma-
ton that floats through the low pooi-
rooms.
There is no need to feature here the
vices of "Spats'' McCann. He had many.
lie said SO himself.
I've gone some in my day, he told
me often I've had the procession
painting TO keep up with me. But let me
put you next to one thing: I'm honest.
No man ever lost cent by me- I'm
honest, if l amt nothing else.
1t was true "Spats" McCann had one
last. lonely virtue to his credit. And
while the rest of the virtues swept on
to utter destruction. McCann crouched
hugging the lone survivor to his narrow
breast in fierce, pitiable pride.
One night in early November the sport
ing editor took me down TO an East Side
literary club to witness debate between
two devotees of the padded glove Inc
thing was to run twenty rounds. and the
sporting editor foretold gore AT the door
of the club was gathered the refuse OF
the streets-the outpourings of cheap bar
rooms-biack; yellow ana whl,e, ,,,,in In tnt tnts
motley crowd. the joy OF the coming pat
tie in his eyes, 1 saw "Spats' McCann
There was nothing surprising in the
fact that "Spats' was there; II was "hat
he had by the hand that made me pause
Mccain had never spoken to me of mar
riage. And yet the seven or elght-year-
old boy at his side was certainly NC
Cannish. The yellow. thin race. tne
sIanting unpleasant eyes. the crouch OF
the sneak-all were reproduced in NINA
ture.
Hello sport" said McCann, jovlaily.
"Glad you're on deck"
He saw my eyes on the boy at his side
This is Matt he said, trihe shyy.
] thought. This is the kid. A great
fight fan too. \ game little sport from
the gong.
i few days later McCann dropped in
for my November installment and the bov
was with him again. They were on their
way TO foot ball game. and "Spats
overfowed information on the question
of the championship. The boys narrow
eyes watched him admringly from out
the collar of ve-y dirty white sweater
December found Mccain a trifle less
buoyant shivering in that gay but shabby
suit that was his only protection from
the chill Of winter. Christmas, he told
me- made folks careless of their INSTALL
ments and since he worked on a COM
mission he must suffer.
The holidays sped by and real winter
swept down on the city with a roar. Jan
uary was a carnival of Ice and snow. and
through II all the wind howled dismally
up and down the narrow paths OF brick.
About 10 O'Clock one night toward the
close OF the month Fate led meas the
old established magazine would put ito
a dreary street IN an questionable end
OF town.
Not far ahead ] recognized the lights
OF third-class theater, where stock
company was endeavoring to brighten
the winter months with revivals of old
time comic operas.
inst then OyDoSife an alleyway