Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1919-06-24
THE .CHAFFING DISH

Road Amundsen?" he asked, pointing to a
rust stained oil tanker that lay ut the pier.
shes known as the death ship or the float
ing coffin. She caught fire down at Point
Breeze last year and eleven men lost their
lives. Just the other day her mate was shot
IN brawl. She's a hoodoo. Maybe you'd
like to go over her to pass away the time
while you're waiting. She's all burnt out
inside and her plates We're twisted by the
hre. The deck is burnt through, too. 1t
would be mighty easy to fall down into the
bllge and break your neck. If you didn't
break your neck'you might drown, in the oil
scum that's down inside her. Maybe you'd
like to look her over"
Mr.. Braley, having sailed on the famous
Fordship, is afraid of nothing that swims
the sea and he volunteered eagerly to go
aboard the floating
coffin. The represen-
ON BOARD THE tative of the Dish,
DEATH SHIP never tardy in search
of the news that really
matters. also appreciated Mr.. Cassidy's kind
offer of quick passage to better world.
The Road Amundsen was not jolly sight,
blackened and hideous in her litter of warped
and broken gear. The only access to her
was by crazy ladder hanging down her
dingy side. ''Those ropes look rotten" said
Harry Cassidy as the poet and Finnish press
agent clambered upon them. The represen
tative of the Dish heartily agreed that the
ropes looked very doubtful indeed and laid on
the wharf for safe keeping his only papers
Of value (being his notes of conversation
with Mr. Cattell) before attempting the
perilous climb. Mr.. Cassidy followed and
explained with considerable gusto all the
possible ways of meeting death in the wreck
age of the death ship. To his probable dis
appointment neither the poet Finn nor the
mcuthpiece of the Dish took any chances.
But loud shouts from the park showed
that the drolls were assembling. There they
came. Walking demurely down the path
came the innumerable
THE DROLLS caravan of a nations
ASSEMBLE picked testers. There,
cleaning in the dap
pied sunshine. came the polished dome of
Homer Croy,, the Missouri mountebank, the
man who looks more like Eugene Field than
Gene himself ever did. There came the
: gold headed cane of James Waldron,
Shakespeare critic and editor of Judge; the
rreverent twinkle of Tom DAILY, Philadel-
phia's laureate the simple and tender smile
of John Beffel, the corn fed realist of the
carved brow of Grif Alexander, nursing in
his teemng skull the tribulations of the Sec
retary treasurer and general manager of the
whole convention. Hardly less oppressed
with woe seemed the ascetic features of
Douglas Maloch the president of the asso-
citation, now about to lay aside the mantle
of state and resume the careless ease of mere
chaff.. The whole gathering, with wives and
daughters and a number of Wildey street
dogs, who had attached themselves to the
procession in sheer lightness of heart, bore
down upon the young chestnut tree, whose
scant LEAKAGE trembled nervously in the
balmy air.
"Why, it's been planted already - cried
Ted Robinson of Cleveland, with one of those
flashes of perspicuity that dazzle the fol-
lowers of newspaper
FLASHES OF humorists.
PERSIFIAGE Some one has got
ahead of us!'' cried
| 7 y. Higginbotham, of Detroit, who is noted
| for his quick wit and startling repartee
"Some person or persons unknown is per,
netrating merriment at our expense" came
| the soft organ tones of John Beffe's voice.
1t was only too true The little silver
| shovel carried by the president, the earth
patter borne by the secretary treasurer, the
] solemn ceremonial ritual SO carefully memoir
ized by ex- Presidents DAILY and Waldron--