Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1916-02-16

lnOuSduu anu one
stories are being
toldevery day by hundreds of thousands
Of ViZiers' daughters to their respective
sultans. But the bowstring will get
some of 'em yet if they don't watch out.
~ l heard a story, though, of one lady
7caliph. 1t isn't precisely an Arabian
Nights" story, because it brings in
Cinderella, who fourished her dishrag
in another epoch and country. So if
you don't mind the mixed dates (Which
seem to give it an eastern flavor, after
alb We'll get along.
In New York there is an old, old
hotel. You have seen wood cuts Of it
in the magazines. It was built-let's
see-at time when there was nothing
above Fourteenth street except the
old Indian trail to Boston and Ham
merstein's office. Soon the old hostel
~ will be torn down. And as the
stout walls are riven apart and the
bricks go roaring down the chutes
crowds Of citizens will gather at the
nearest corners and weep over the de-
structiOn of a dear old landmark. Civ
the wettest Weeper and the lOudeSt
bowler against the iconOclasts will be
the man Originally from Terre Haute)
whose fond memories of the old hotel
are limited to his having been kicked
out from its free lunch counter in 1878
At this hotel always stopped Mrs.
Maggie Brown. Mrs. Brown was
bony woman of sixty, dressed in the
rustiest black, and carrying a handbag
made, apparently, from the hide Of the
original animal that Adam decided to
call an alligator. She always occupied
small parlor and bedroom at the
top Of the hotel at a rental Of 81 per
day. And always, while she was there,
each day came hurrying to see her
many men, sharp faced, anxious look
ing, with only seconds to spare. For
Maggie Brown was said to be the third
richest woman in the world, and these
solicitous gentlemen were only the
city's wealthiest brokers and business
men seeking trifing loans Of half ii
dozen millions or SO from the dingy> old
lady with the prehistoric hand bag.
The stenographer and typewriter Of
the AcrOpOlis hOtel-there I've let the
name Of it out!-was Miss Ida Bates.
She was q hOldOver from the Greek
classics. There wasn't a flaw in her
looks. Some old timer in paying his
regards to a lady said, ITO have loved
her was a liberal educatiOn.' Well
even to have looked over the back hair
and neat white shirt waist of Miss
Il 10 f,,J
correspondence school in the country
She sometimes did a little typewriting
for me and as she refused to take the
money in advance, she came to look
upon me as something of friend and
prOtege. She had unfailing kindness
and good nature, and not even q white
lead drummer or q fur importer had
ever dared to cross the dead line of
good behavior in her presence. The
entire force of the Acropolis. from the
owner, who lived in Vienna, down to
the head porter, who had been bedrid
den for sixteen years, would have
sprung to her defense in a moment
One day walked past Miss Bates
little sanctum Remingtorium and saw
in her place black haired unit-unmis
takably person-pounding with each
Of her fOrefngers upon the keys
Musing on the mutability of temporal
affairs, I passed on. The next day l
went On a two weeks vacation. Re-
turning, I strolled through the lobby
of the Acropolis, and saw, with little
warm glow Of auld lang syne, Miss
Bates, as Grecian and kind and flaw.
less as ever, just putting the cover on
her machine. The hour for closing
had come. but she asked me In to sit
for few minutes in the dictation
chair. Miss Bates explained her alb
sence from and return to the Acropolis
hotel in words identical with or similar
to these following:
well, man, how are the stories com
ingY'
Pretty regularly" said 1. about
equal to their going"
I'm sorry" said She "Good type
writing is the main thing in a story
You've missed me, haven't you?
mo one,'' said I, "whom have ever
known knows as well as you do how
to space properly belt buckles, semi
cOlOns, hotel guests and ha1rp1nS. Bu
you've been away, too. l saw pack
age Of peppermint pepsin in your place
the other day"
81 was going to tell you about it,
said Miss Bates, eff you hadn't inter
rupted me.
''Of course, you know about Maggie
Brown, who stops here. Well, shes
worth $4O,OOO,OOO. She lives in Jersey
in $40 fat. She's always got more
cash on hand than half a dozen bust
ness candidates for vice president.
don't know whether she carries it IL
her stocking or not, but I know she's
mighty popular down in the part o.