The man from Sparta, a grave, intense youngster, babbled,
“Say! I guess I’m as good a husband
as the run of the mill, but God, I do get so tired
of going home every evening, and nothing to see but
the movies. That’s why I go out and drill
with the National Guard. I guess I got the nicest
little wife in my burg, but—Say! Know
what I wanted to do as a kid? Know what I wanted
to do? Wanted to be a big chemist. Tha’s
what I wanted to do. But Dad chased me out on
the road selling kitchenware, and here I’m settled
down—settled for life—not
a chance! Oh, who the devil started this funeral
talk? How ’bout ’nother lil drink?
’And a-noth-er drink wouldn’ do ’s
‘ny harmmmmmmm.’”
“Yea. Cut the sob-stuff,” said W.
A. Rogers genially. “You boys know I’m
the village songster? Come on nowsing up:
Said the old Obadiah
to the young Obadiah,
‘I am dry, Obadiah,
I am dry.’
Said the young Obadiah
to the old Obadiah,
‘So am I, Obadiah,
so am I.’”
They had dinner in the Moorish Grillroom of the Hotel
Sedgwick. Somewhere, somehow, they seemed to
have gathered in two other comrades: a manufacturer
of fly-paper and a dentist. They all drank whisky
from tea-cups, and they were humorous, and never listened
to one another, except when W. A. Rogers “kidded”
the Italian waiter.
“Say, Gooseppy,” he said innocently, “I
want a couple o’ fried elephants’ ears.”
“Sorry, sir, we haven’t any.”
“Huh? No elephants’ ears? What
do you know about that!” Rogers turned to Babbitt.
“Pedro says the elephants’ ears are all
out!”
“Well, I’ll be switched!” said the
man from Sparta, with difficulty hiding his laughter.
“Well, in that case, Carlo, just bring me a
hunk o’ steak and a couple o’ bushels
o’ French fried potatoes and some peas,”
Rogers went on. “I suppose back in dear
old sunny It’ the Eyetalians get their fresh
garden peas out of the can.”
“No, sir, we have very nice peas in Italy.”
“Is that a fact! Georgie, do you hear that?
They get their fresh garden peas out of the garden,
in Italy! By golly, you live and learn, don’t
you, Antonio, you certainly do live and learn, if you
live long enough and keep your strength. All
right, Garibaldi, just shoot me in that steak, with
about two printers’-reams of French fried spuds
on the promenade deck, comprehenez-vous, Michelovitch
Angeloni?”
Afterward Elbert Wing admired, “Gee, you certainly
did have that poor Dago going, W. A. He couldn’t
make you out at all!”
In the Monarch Herald, Babbitt found an advertisement
which he read aloud, to applause and laughter:
Old Colony Theatre
Shake the Old Dogs to the Wrollicking Wrens
The bonniest bevy of beauteous bathing babes in burlesque.
Pete Menutti and his Oh, Gee, Kids.
