The evening was at the period when reserve is thawed. One of us mentioned three Würzburgers to the waiter; the dark-haired young man acknowledged his inclusion in the order by a smile and a nod. I hastened to ask him a question because I wanted to try out a theory I had.
Would you mind telling me, I began, whether you are from
The fist of E. Rushmore Coglan banged the table and I was jarred into silence.
Excuse me, said he, but thats a question I never like to hear asked. What does it matter where a man is from? Is it fair to judge a man by his post-office address? Why, Ive seen Kentuckians who hated whiskey, Virginians who werent descended from Pocahontas, Indianians who hadnt written a novel, Mexicans who didnt wear velvet trousers with silver dollars sewed along the seams, funny Englishmen, spendthrift Yankees, cold-blooded Southerners, narrow-minded Westerners, and New Yorkers who were too busy to stop for an hour on the street to watch a one-armed grocers clerk do up cranberries in paper bags. Let a man be a man and dont handicap him with the label of any section.
Pardon me, I said, but my curiosity was not altogether an idle one. I know the South, and when the band plays Dixie I like to observe. I have formed the belief that the man who applauds that air with special violence and ostensible sectional loyalty is invariably a native of either Secaucus, N.J., or the district between Murray Hill Lyceum and the Harlem River, this city. I was about to put my opinion to the test by inquiring of this gentleman when you interrupted with your own larger theory, I must confess.
And now the dark-haired young man spoke to me, and it became evident that his mind also moved along its own set of grooves.
I should like to be a periwinkle, said he, mysteriously, on the top of a valley, and sing tooralloo-ralloo.
This was clearly too obscure, so I turned again to Coglan.
Ive been around the world twelve times, said he. I know an Esquimau in Upernavik[25] who sends to Cincinnati[26] for his neckties, and I saw a goat-herder in Uruguay who won a prize in a Battle Creek[27] breakfast food puzzle competition. I pay rent on a room in Cairo, Egypt, and another in Yokohama[28] all the year around. Ive got slippers waiting for me in a tea-house in Shanghai, and I dont have to tell em how to cook my eggs in Rio de Janeiro or Seattle. Its a mighty little old world. Whats the use of bragging about being from the North, or the South, or the old manor house in the dale, or Euclid avenue, Cleveland, or Pikes Peak, or Fairfax County, Va., or Hooligans Flats or any place? Itll be a better world when we quit being fools about some mildewed town or ten acres of swampland just because we happened to be born there.
Ive been around the world twelve times, said he. I know an Esquimau in Upernavik[25] who sends to Cincinnati[26] for his neckties, and I saw a goat-herder in Uruguay who won a prize in a Battle Creek[27] breakfast food puzzle competition. I pay rent on a room in Cairo, Egypt, and another in Yokohama[28] all the year around. Ive got slippers waiting for me in a tea-house in Shanghai, and I dont have to tell em how to cook my eggs in Rio de Janeiro or Seattle. Its a mighty little old world. Whats the use of bragging about being from the North, or the South, or the old manor house in the dale, or Euclid avenue, Cleveland, or Pikes Peak, or Fairfax County, Va., or Hooligans Flats or any place? Itll be a better world when we quit being fools about some mildewed town or ten acres of swampland just because we happened to be born there.
You seem to be a genuine cosmopolite, I said admiringly. But it also seems that you would decry patriotism.
A relic of the stone age, declared Coglan, warmly. We are all brothers Chinamen, Englishmen, Zulus[29], Patagonians[30] and the people in the bend of the Kaw River[31]. Some day all this petty pride in ones city or State or section or country will be wiped out, and well all be citizens of the world, as we ought to be.
But while you are wandering in foreign lands, I persisted, do not your thoughts revert to some spot some dear and
Nary a spot, interrupted E. R. Coglan, flippantly. The terrestrial, globular, planetary hunk of matter, slightly flattened at the poles, and known as the Earth, is my abode. Ive met a good many object-bound citizens of this country abroad. Ive seen men from Chicago sit in a gondola in Venice on a moonlight night and brag about their drainage canal. Ive seen a Southerner on being introduced to the King of England hand that monarch, without batting his eyes, the information that his grand-aunt on his mothers side was related by marriage to the Perkinses, of Charleston. I knew a New Yorker who was kidnapped for ransom by some Afghanistan bandits. His people sent over the money and he came back to Kabul with the agent. Afghanistan? the natives said to him through an interpreter. Well, not so slow, do you think? Oh, I dont know, says he, and he begins to tell them about a cab driver at Sixth avenue and Broadway. Those ideas dont suit me. Im not tied down to anything that isnt 8,000 miles in diameter. Just put me down as E. Rushmore Coglan, citizen of the terrestrial sphere.
My cosmopolite made a large adieu and left me, for he thought he saw someone through the chatter and smoke whom he knew. So I was left with the would-be periwinkle, who was reduced to Würzburger without further ability to voice his aspirations to perch, melodious, upon the summit of a valley.
I sat reflecting upon my evident cosmopolite and wondering how the poet had managed to miss him. He was my discovery and I believed in him. How was it? The men that breed from them they traffic up and down, but cling to their cities hem as a child to the mothers gown.
Not so E. Rushmore Coglan. With the whole world for his
My meditations were interrupted by a tremendous noise and conflict in another part of the café. I saw above the heads of the seated patrons E. Rushmore Coglan and a stranger to me engaged in terrific battle. They fought between the tables like Titans[32], and glasses crashed, and men caught their hats up and were knocked down, and a brunette screamed, and a blonde began to sing Teasing.
My cosmopolite was sustaining the pride and reputation of the Earth when the waiters closed in on both combatants with their famous flying wedge formation and bore them outside, still resisting.
I called McCarthy, one of the French garçons, and asked him the cause of the conflict.
The man with the red tie (that was my cosmopolite), said he, got hot on account of things said about the bum sidewalks and water supply of the place he come from by the other guy.
Why, said I, bewildered, that man is a citizen of the world a cosmopolite. He
Originally from Mattawamkeag, Maine[33], he said, continued McCarthy, and he wouldnt stand for no knockin the place.
Between Rounds
The May moon shone bright upon the private boarding-house of Mrs. Murphy. By reference to the almanac a large amount of territory will be discovered upon which its rays also fell. Spring was in its heydey, with hay fever soon to follow. The parks were green with new leaves and buyers for the Western and Southern trade. Flowers and summer-resort agents were blowing; the air and answers to Lawson[34] were growing milder; hand-organs, fountains and pinochle were playing everywhere.
The windows of Mrs. Murphys boarding-house were open. A group of boarders were seated on the high stoop upon round, flat mats like German pancakes.
In one of the second-floor front windows Mrs. McCaskey awaited her husband. Supper was cooling on the table. Its heat went into Mrs. McCaskey.
At nine Mr. McCaskey came. He carried his coat on his arm and his pipe in his teeth; and he apologised for disturbing the boarders on the steps as he selected spots of stone between them on which to set his size 9, width Ds.
As he opened the door of his room he received a surprise. Instead of the usual stove-lid or potato-masher for him to dodge, came only words.
Mr. McCaskey reckoned that the benign May moon had softened the breast of his spouse.
I heard ye, came the oral substitutes for kitchenware. Ye can apollygise to riff-raff of the streets for settin yer unhandy feet on the tails of their frocks, but yed walk on the neck of yer wife the length of a clothes-line without so much as a Kiss me fut, and Im sure its that long from rubberin out the windy for ye and the victuals cold such as theres money to buy after drinkin up yer wages at Galleghers every Saturday evenin, and the gas man here twice to-day for his.
Woman! said Mr. McCaskey, dashing his coat and hat upon a chair, the noise of ye is an insult to me appetite. When ye run down politeness ye take the mortar from between the bricks of the foundations of society. Tis no more than exercisin the acrimony of a gentleman when ye ask the dissent of ladies blockin the way for steppin between them. Will ye bring the pigs face of ye out of the windy and see to the food?
Mrs. McCaskey arose heavily and went to the stove. There was something in her manner that warned Mr. McCaskey. When the corners of her mouth went down suddenly like a barometer it usually foretold a fall of crockery and tinware.
Pigs face, is it? said Mrs. McCaskey, and hurled a stewpan full of bacon and turnips at her lord.
Mr. McCaskey was no novice at repartee. He knew what should follow the entrée. On the table was a roast sirloin of pork, garnished with shamrocks. He retorted with this, and drew the appropriate return of a bread pudding in an earthen dish. A hunk of Swiss cheese accurately thrown by her husband struck Mrs. McCaskey below one eye. When she replied with a well-aimed coffee-pot full of a hot, black, semi-fragrant liquid the battle, according to courses, should have ended.
But Mr. McCaskey was no 50-cent table dhôter. Let cheap Bohemians[35] consider coffee the end, if they would. Let them make that faux pas[36]. He was foxier still. Finger-bowls were not beyond the compass of his experience. They were not to be had in the Pension Murphy; but their equivalent was at hand. Triumphantly he sent the granite-ware wash basin at the head of his matrimonial adversary. Mrs. McCaskey dodged in time. She reached for a flatiron, with which, as a sort of cordial, she hoped to bring the gastronomical duel to a close. But a loud, wailing scream downstairs caused both her and Mr. McCaskey to pause in a sort of involuntary armistice.