The Washington herald., 1920-11-07

tSuseohef' you are Always MS. DO
not know his secret process, but ev-
tery four days your hat needs to be
!, cleaned again.
Finch Is a leathern, sallow. slow
\ footed man. between twenty and
forty. You would say he had been
brought up a bushelman in Essex
Street. When business Is slack he
likes to talk, so had my hat clean
ed even oftener than Il deserved,
hoping Finch might let me into
some Of the secrets of the sweat
shops.
One afternoon I dropped in and
] found Finch alone. He began to
anoint my headpiece de Panama
with his mysterious fluid that at
ltracted dust and dirt like a mag
net.
They say the Indians weave 'em
under water" said /, for a leader.
/ Don't you believe It," said Finch.
mo Indian or white man could stay
under water that long. Say. do you
pay much attention to politics? 1
see in the paper something about
a law they've passed called the law
of supply and demand"
1 explained to him as we'll as !
could that the reference was to a
lpolitico- economical law. and not to
a legal statute.
81 didn't know" said Finch. II
heard a good deal about 1T a year
or so ago, but in a one sided way"
YES" said /, political orators
use 1t a great deal. In fact. they
never give 1t a rest. ] suppose you
heard some cart-tail fellows spout
ling on the subject over here on the
east SIDE"
'I heard It from a king" said
IFinch-"the white king of a tribe
of Indians in South America"
1 was interested, but not sur
prised. The big city is like a moth
er's knee to many who have strayed
lfar and found the roads rough be-
meath their uncertain feet. At dusk
they come home and sit upon the
doorstep. j know a piano player
in a cheap cafe who has shot lions
lin Africa, q bell-boy who fought IN
the British army against the Zulus.
an express-driver- whose left arm
had been cracked like a lobster 8
claw for a stew-pot Of Patagonian
J cannibals when the boat of his res
cuers hove in sight. So a hat
! cleaner who has been friend of a
king did not oppress me!
"A new band?" asked Finch, with
his dry. barren smile.
Yes" said I, and half an inch
wider" had had a new band five
days before.
'I meets a man one night" said
Finch, beginning his story-"a man
brown as snuff. with money in ev-
cry pocket, eating schweinerknuc-
kel in Schlagels. That was two
years ago, when l was a hose-cart
driver for No. 9S. His discourse
runs to the subject. of gold. He says
that certain mountains in country
down South that he calls Gaudy-
mala is full of II. He says the In
dams wash It out of the streams In
plural quantities.
/ "'Oh, GeronimoI says I. In
Idians, There's no Indians in the
South tell him. except Elks, Mac
cabees, and the buyers for the fall
dry-goods trade. The Indians are
all on the reservations says I.
I'm telling you this with reser-
vations.' says he. They aint Buff
falo Bill Indians. They're squattier
and more pedigreed. They call 'em
mixers and Aspics, and they was old
inhabitants when Mazuma was king
of Mexico. They wash the gold out
brown man, and fill quills with il:
and then they empty 'em into red
liars till they are full; and then they
pack it In buckskin. sacks OF one
arroba each-an arroba is twenty
five pounds-and store 1t in q stone
house, with an engraving of a idol
with marcelled hair, playing flute.
over the door
How do they work of this un-
earth incrementr I asks.
They don't says the man., It's
a case of Ill fares the land with the
great deal of velocity where wealth
accumulates and there amt any
reciprocity"
After this man and me got
through our conversation, which
left him dry of information, shook
hands with him and told him I was
sorry / couldn't believe him. And a
month afterward I landed on the
coast of this Guadymala with $1,000
that I had been saving up for FIVE
years. thought I knew what In
dams liked. and I fixed myself ac-
cordingly. loaded down four
pack-mules with red wooden blank
cts, wrought-iron pals. jewelled
side combs for the ladies, glass
necklaces and safety razors. hired
a black mozo, who was supposed to
be a mule-driver and an interpreter
too. 1t turned out that he could in
terpret mules all right, but he
drove the English language much
| too hard. His name sounded like a
Yale key when you push II in wrong
side up, but / called him McClin-
took, which was close to the noise.
well, this gold village was forty
miles up in the mountains, and 1t
took US nine days to find 1t. But one
afternoon McClintock led the other
mules and myself over a rawhide
bridge stretched across a precipice
five thousand feet deep. 1t seemed to
me. The hoofs of the beasts
drummed on II just like before
George NJ. Cohan makes his first en-
trance on the stage.
| This village was built Of mud
and stone, and had no streets. Some
few yellow and brown persons
popped their heads out of doors,
looking about like Welsh rabbits
with Worcester sauce on 'em. Out
Of the biggest house, that had a
kind of a porch around 1t, steps a
big white man, red as a beet in col
or, dressed in fine tanned deerskin
clothes, with a gold chain around
his neck, smoking a cigar. I've seen
United States Senators of his style
of features and build, also head
walters and cops.
| He walks up and takes a look at
us, while McClintock disembarks
and begins to interpret to the lead
mule while he smokes a cigarette.
/ % p,t goD. A.. a.