EACH ACCORDING TO HIS ABILITY.

Press, Volume LXII, Issue 12364, 1 December 1905, Page 10

EACH ACCORDING TO HIS ABILITY.

Vuyning left his club, cursing it soft- j ly. without any particular anger. From ten in the morning until eleven it had bored him immeasurably. Kirk with his fish story, Brooks with his Porto Rico cigars, old Morrison with his anecdote about the widow. Hepburn with his invariable luck at billiards— ail these afflictions hod been repeated without change of bill or scenery. Besides these morning evils Miss Allison had icfused him again on the night before. But that was a chronic trouble. Five times she had laughed at his offer to make her Mrs Vuyning. He intended to ask her again the next Wednesday _S YCIUO !_C* Vuyning walked along Forty-fourth street to Broadway, and then flowed down the great sluice that- washes out the dust of the gold mines of Gotham. He wore a morning suit of light gray, low, dull kid shoes, a plain, finely woven straw hat, and his visible linen was the most delicate possible shade of heliotrope. His necktie was the bluegray of a November sky. and its knot was plainly the outcome of a lordiy carelessness combined with an accurate conception of the most recent tfictum of fashion. , Now. to wcito of mans haberdashery is a worse thing than to write a historical novel "around" Paul Jones, or to pen a testimonial to a hay-fever cure. Therefore, let it be known that tho description of Vuyning's apparel is germane to the movement of tho story, end not to make room for the new fall stock of goods. Even Broadway that morning was a discord in Vuyning's oars; ana in his eyes it paralleled for a few dreamy, dreary minutes a certain howling, scorching, seething malodorous slice of street that ho remembered in Morocco. Ho saw tho strugg'ing mass of dogs, beggars, fakirs, slave drivers, and veiled women in carts without horses, the sun blazing brightly among the bazaars, tho piles of rubbish from ruined temples in the street—and then a lady, passing, jabbed the.ferrule of a parasol into his eye aud brought him back to Broadway. Five minutes of his stroll brought him to a certain corner, where a number of silent, pale-faced men are used to 6tana, immovably, for hours, busy with the file blades of their pen-knives, with their hat brims on a level with their eyelids. Wall street speculators, driving home in their carriages, lovo to point out these men to their friends nnd toll them of this rather famous lounging place of tbe "crooks." On Wall street the speculators never use the file blades of their knives. *...,, r Vuyning was delighted when one ot this company stepped forth and addressed him as he was passing. Ho was hungry for something out of the ord nary, and to be accosted by this smoothfaced, keen-eyed, low-voiced, athletic member, of tho under-world, with his grimi yet pleasant smile, bad all the taste o"f an adventure to tho conversa-tion-weary Vuyning. . "Excuse mc, fr.end,' said be. 'Could I have a few minutes' talk with you— oh the levelP" . ... "Certainly,' said Vuyning, with a smile. "But, suppose wo step aside to q quieter place. Thero is a divan— a cafe over here that will do. bchrumm will give us a private corner. Scbrumm established them under a growing palm, with two seid!s between them, Vuyning made a pleasant leference to meteorological conditions, thus forming a hinge upon which might be swung tho door loading, from tho thought repository of tho ottfer. "In the first place," said hie companion, with the air of one who presents his credentials, "I want you to understand tliat I am a crook. Out W 7 est I am known as Howdy the Dude.' tickpocket, supper man, second-storey roan, yeggman, boxman. all-round burglar, card sharp and slickest con man West of the Twenty-third street ferry laudinc—that's my history. That's to show I'm on tlio square—with you. My name's Emerson." ~ ~ _, "Confound old Kirk with his fish stories," said Vuyning to himself, with silent glee as ho went through his pockets for a card. "It's pronounced 'Vining,'" he said, as he tossed it over to tho other. "And I'll bo as frank with you. I'm just a kind of a loafer, I guess, living on my daddy's money. At the club they call mc 'Left-at-the-Post.' I never did a day's work in my life; and I haven't the heart to run over a chicken when I'm .motoring. It's a pretty shabby record, altogether. #j "There's one thing you can do," said Emerson, admiringly; "you oan carry duds. I've watched you'several times pass on Broadway. You look the bestdressed man I'vo seen. And I'" bet you ft frold tooth I've got 50 dollars worth more gent's furnishings on my frame than you have. That's_what_l wanted to see you about. I can't do the trick. Take a look at mo. Whats wrong?" "Stand up," said Vuyning. "You've been 'outfitted,'" declared tho club man. "Some Broadwaywm-dow-drcsser has misused you. That's an expensive suit, though, Emerson." "Eighty dollars" said Emerson. "Twenty too much," 6aid Vuyning. "Six months old in cut, ono inch too long, and half an inch too much lapel. Your hat is plainly dated one year ago, although there's only "a sixteenth of an inch lacking in the brim to tell tho story... That English poke in your collar is too short by the distance between Troy and London. A plain gold link cuff button would take all the shine out of those pearl ones with - diamond settings. Those tan 6hoes would, be cx r actiy tho articles to work into th© heart of a Brooklyn schoolma'am on a twoweeks' visit to Lake Ronkonkoma. I think I caught a glimpse of a blue silk 6ock embroidered with russet lilies of the valley, when you—improperly—drew up your trousers as you sat down. There are always plain black ones to be liad in the stores. Have I hurt your feelings, Emerson?" "Double the ante!" cried the criticised one, greedily. 'Give mc more of it. There's a way to tote the haberdashery, and I want "to got wise to it. Say, you're the right kind of a swell. Anything else to the queer about mc ?" "Your tie," eaid Vuyning, "is tied with absolute precision and correctness." "Thanks"—gratefully—"! 6peut over half an hour at it before I" "Thereby," interrupted Vuyning, "completing your resemblance to a dummy in a Broadway store window." "Yours truly," said Emerson t sitting down again. "It's bully of you to put mc wise. I knew there was. something wrong, but I couldn't just put my finger on it. I guess it oomes by nature to know how to wear clothes." "Oh, I suppose," said Vuyning, with « laugh, "that my ancestors picked up. the knack while they were peddling clothes from house to house a couple of hundred yeare ago. I'm told they did that." "And mine," said Emenson cheerfully, "were making their visits at night, I guess, and didn't have a chance to catch on to th© correct stylos." - "I tell you what," said Vuyning, whoso ennui had taken wings, "I'll take you to my tailor. He'll eliminate the mark of th© beast from your exterior. That is, if you caro to go any further in tho way of expense." "Play 'em to the ceiling,", said Emerson, with a boyish 6mil© of joy. "I've got a roll as big around as a barrel of black-eyed peas and as loose as the wrapper of a two-for-fiver. I don't mind telling you that I was not touring among the Antipodes when the burglarproof safe of the Farmers' National Bank of Butterville, lowa, flew open j somo moonless nights ago to the tune of i 16,000dol." i "Aren't you afraid," asked Vuyning, j "that I'll call a cop and hand you over?". '-.': j "You tell mc," said Emerson, coolly, " why I didn't keep them." Ho laid Vuyning's pocketbook and watch—tho Vuyning. 100-year-old family watch—on the table. I

"Man," said Vnynmg, revelling, "did you ever hear the tale Kirk tells about the 61b trout and tho old fisherman?" "Seems not," said Emerson, politely. "I'd like to." ■ ■ . "But you won't," said Yuymng. " I've heard it scores of times. That's why I won't tell you. I was iust thinking how much better this is than a club. Now, 6hall we go to my j tailor?" . ] . . .. « » ! "Boys, and elderly, gents," said! Vuyning, five days later at his club, i standing up against the window where , his coterie was gathered, and keeping out th© breeze, "a friend of mine will dine at our table this evening/ " Will he ask if we have heard tho latest from Vladivostock ?" said a member, squirming in his chair. - v " Will he mention th© now twentythree storey Masonic Temple in Quincy, 111.?" inquired another, dropping his nose glasses. " Will he spring one of those Western Mississippi river catfish stories, in which they use yearling calves for bait ?" demanded Kirk, fiercely. "Be comforted," said Vuyning. "He has none of th© littlo vices. He is a burglar and safo-blower out of the West." "Oh, Mary Ann!" said they. "Must you always adorn every statement with your alleged humour? It came to pass that at eight in the evening a calm, smooth, brilliant, affable man sat at Vuyning's right hand during dinner. And when the ones who pass their lives in city streets spoke of sky-scrapers or of the littlo Czar on his far, frozen throne, or of insignificant fish from inconsequential streams, this big, deep-chested man, faultlessly clothed, and eyed lik© an Emperor, disposed of'their Liliputian chatter with a wink of his. eyelash. And then- ho painted for them with hard, broad strokes a marvellous lingual panorama of the West. Ho stacked snow-topped mountains on the table, freezing tho hot dishes of tho waiting diners. With a wave of his hand he swept tho club-house into a pinecrowned gorge, turning tho waiters into a grim posse, and each listener into a blood-stained fugitive, climbing with torn fingers into th© ensanguined rocks. H© touched the table and spake, and tho fivo panted as they gazed on barren lava beds, and each man took his tongue between his teeth and felt his mouth bako at the tale of a land empty of water and food. Simply as Homer sang, while he dug a tine of his fork leisurely into the tablecloth, ho opened a new world to their view, as does one who tells a child of the Looking-Glass Country. - As one of his listeners might have spoken of tea too strong at a Madison Square " afternoon," so ho depicted the ravages of " redeye " in a border town when tho caballeros of tho lariat end "forty-five" reduced.ennui to a minimum. And then, with a 6weep of his whito, unringed hands, he dismissed Melpo,miene, and forthwith Diana and Amaryllis footed it before the minds' eyes of the clubmen. The savannas of the continent spread before, them. Tho wind, humming through a hundred leagues of sago brush and mesquite, closed their cans to the city's staccato noises. He told them o/ camps, of ranches marooned in a sea of fragrant prairie blossoms, of gallops in the stilly night that Apollo would havo forsaken his daytime steeds to enjoy; ho read them the great, rough epic of th© cattlo and th© hills that have not been spoiled by the hand of man, the mason. His words weo*© a telescope to tho oity men, whoso, eyes had looked upon Younastown, 0., and whose tongues had called it "West." In fact, Emerson had them "going." Th© next morning at ten ho met Vuyning, ty appointment, at a Fortysecond street ©are. Emerson was to leave for the West that day. He wot© a suit of dark cheviot that looked to have been draped upom him by an ancient Grecian tailor who was a few thousand years ahead of tho styles. / - ■.» "Mr Vuyning," said ho, with the. clear, ingenuous smile of the successful "crook," "it's up to mc to go the limit for you any timo I oan do so. You're the real thing; and if I can ever return the favour, you bet your lifo I'll do it —see?'' "What was that cow-puncher's name?" asked Vuyning, "who tißed to catch a mustang by the nose and mane, and throw him till he put the bridle on?" • V,. ■"■: "Bates," said Emenson. "Thanks," said Vuyning. "I thought it was Yates. Oh, about that toggery business—l'd forgotten that." "I've been looking for some guy to put' mc on tho right track for years," said-Emerson. "You're the goods, duty free, and.half-way to tho-warehouse in a red waggon." • • "Bacon toasted on a green willow switch over red coals, ought to put. broiled lobsters out of business," said Vuyning. "And you 6ay a, horse at tho of a thirty-foot ix>po pull a ten-inch-staks out of wet prairie? Well; good-bye, old man, if you must be off." At ono o'clock Vuyning had luncheon with Miss Allison by previous arrangement. For thirty minutes h© babbled to her, unaccountably, of ranches, horfees, canyons, cyclones, round-ups, Rocky Mountains and leans and bacon. Sire looked at him with wondering and; half-terrified eyes. '. # . • .-v. 1 "I was going to propose again today," said Vuyning, cheerily, "but JE won't. '"I've worried you often enough. I You know "dad has a ranch in Colorado. What's the good of staying here? Jumping jonquils I but it's great out there." I'm going to start next: Tuesday." "No you i won't." said Miss Allisom. "What?" said Vuyning. ■ "Not alone," said Miss dropping a tear upon her salad. "What do you think?" , . .■ . .., - "Bottyl" exclaimed Vuyning, "what do you mean?" .„. "I'm going too," said Mi_s Allison, forcibly. A Vuyning filled her glass.with Apollinaris. "Here's to Rowdy, th© Dude!" ha ■gave—a toast mysterious. "Don't know him.;' said Mass Allison, "but if he's your friend Jimmy—hero goesl"