The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1919-01-14
EVENING STORY
The Temperamental Boob.
BIZ H. B. KNIGHT.


want to see him quick"
To the utter amazement of the little
boy in knickeroockers who sat in the
hallway leading to the editorial office
| of the giant publishing house a tall
and lean visitor, with general dap
per appearance, made the above re-
mark in an indifferent and even bored
| sort of tone.
In a second the Office boy was on
his feet. and not carelessly leaning
back in his chair, with his feet upon
| the much worn and misused varnish-
scratched table. as tho his only con-
Germ and ambition were to sEirk and
kill time, s-.,l-;-s4--- ~
Your card, please respectfully
| said the fawning youngster.
The 1anky newcomer looked sur
| prised.
"Card?" he queried,/ unbelievingly.
| mo card, Tell the editor in chief
| that a gentleman wishes to see him
and hurry. There's no use in my CIV
| ing you my card; the editor doesn't
know me, anyway"
| Bewildered by the visitors lmpuf ity,
the boy looked him over from head to
| foot. How neat and clean-cut was his
| mien. But Il closer observation re-
vealed that his patrician appearance
| was artificial His clothes were of ex-
pensive texture, indeed, but shiny spots
about the knees betrayed their years
| Of wear His shoes were genuine pat
| ent feathers but so much worn hat
wrinkles sho we'd even IN the p, ofusely
colored tan. and the soles seemed thin
| ner than paper. To crown 1t all,
| linen and hosiery bore the familiar un-
| substantial shade and transparentness
| common to all cheap wear: and the
| flowing silk tie came direct from the
| window of ten-cent store.
| Calculating on the value for goId''
| standard, the at first interested urban,
| and even servile boy now appeared
| disgruntled. For moment he rev. red
| the commanding stranger. Now he
| thought differently.
| What dya think you are?" scoffed
| the little ruffan; imam or half a man?
The editor won't SEES any one without
first KNOWN his name an learnin' his
It's about some manuscripts" in
| terrupted the newcomer, in an agitat-
ed, impatient, eager way.
The boy went on talking nonsense
| the seif-confessed writer suffering
acute torture and waiting for seconds
that seemed ages.
You see, Bud" now a little more
ambitiously disposed, once the appar-
ent hauteur of the caller had vanished,
| L almost got canned once for lettin'
in a crazy poet that thought he was
| the marvel of the world. before the
|
latter) was in or not"
May 1 see the editor-in -chief?"
anew demanded the eager frantic
writer.
Gimme your card, first repeated
the cruel and heartless urchin
"Confound it," calculated the young
man. Again I lose.' His voice was
spiced with pain. sorrow and despair.
Then he drew deep breath and
Strengthened himself out. Ignoring
the boys reply, he muttered de-
half to himself.
'tOh. I'll see him somehow"
With this pithy resolution in mind
he fastened out of the unfriendly hall.
into the elevator, down into the dirty
street, and in few more minutes
| found himself on Times square. de-
| liberating by what subway he might
get farthest away from what in his
opinion were narrow-minded. hated,
exclusive journalists who set their
watchdogs, in person of>office boys,
out to hinder young talent like him
self from proving their art
But where could he go? Never
ending traffic blackened in streams
down the streets, and nudging people
flocked and crowded the sidewalks.
He glanced at the peaceful green of
the square; even there were people.
After a half-dozen unkempt boys had
offered to shine his boots for a 'jit-
ney" he managed to make his way
down among a distinguished company,
consisting of resting business men,
habitual lair breathers' and ordinary
loafers-an ideal atmosphere, exactly
the kind for temperamental tramp
or poet.
From above lowered in midst of
other skyscrapers the redoubtable
Singer building. The youth gazed at
J it's loftiness. His eyes blinked in the
binding radiance of the soaring sun,
and he shrugged his shoulders in alb
solute disgust.
YOU are an ass" he exclaimed.
Yep Bill Wilkins, you're an ass.
You thought you'd be rich some day,
but you're not. You thought you'd
, have the price of Singer building.
but you won't. You haven't even got
a girl. You're no good-absoiutely no
good
With this highly encoura ging opin-
ion of himself he succeeded in some
what depressing his spirits. In a
| frenzy, suddenly he snatched a large
| envelope from an inside coat pocket
and tore it to shreds. He felt that in
vengeance upon the woodland, real
~. he felt mean with it
He\dug his hands deep in his peck
cts and continued brooding.
You boob! You wanted romance,
and now you've got it. You left a good
home and a swell girl-and got dis
inherited for it. Now she's going TO
| marry a Hindu! You thought you'd
, become a wonder in New York. You
spent your last ten bucks for a type
| | writer. Now the landlady's fired you
: out into the street. Bill Wilkins,
agree with you, you're an asst"
Downheartedness his only sense OF
, feeling, Bills plind soon became ex-
hausted with all he sorrowed and
rined over his hard luck. His wor-
. | ries had prevented him from sleeping