 | Eli Perkins (at large) |  |
BROWN'S BOYS IN NEW YORK.
THE TIRING-OUT DODGE.
They don't have any money themselves, Brown's
Boys don't, and consequently they are looking for rich
wives. They are handsome fellows, and always manage
to keep all the pretty girls “on a string,” but they
never propose. They never come right out like us
honest fellows, and ask a young lady plump to marry
them. They are dog-in-the-manger lovers.
Of late, when I call on Julia, I am always sure to
find a Brown's Boy at the house. He sits in dangerous
proximity to the girl I love, talks very sweetly,
and, I think, tries to run me out.
Of course, when you make an evening call on a
young lady, the first visitor is entitled to the floor, and
after saying a few pretty things, you are expected to
place caller number one under everlasting obligations
to you by putting on your overcoat and leaving. Now,
Brown's Boy, unlike Mr. Lamb, always comes early and
goes late, and I've put him under obligations to me
so many times that I'm getting sick of it. He can
never live long enough to pay this debt of gratitude.
Oh, how I hate that Brown's Boy!
Last night I had my sweet revenge.
I had been telling my sad tale of sorrow and disappointment
to Sallie Smith. I told her I “meant business”
Boy was flirting.
“Now, Miss Sallie, confidentially, what shall I do?”
I asked.
“Well, cousin Eli, I'll tell you just what to do,” said
Sallie, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“What, Sallie?”
“Why, the next time you call on Julia you must
come the `tiring-out dodge,”' she replied, looking me
earnestly in the face, and quietly picking a tea-rose
out of my Prince Albert lappel.
“What dodge is that, Sallie?”
“It's just like this, Eli. You must call on Julia as
usual—”
“Yes.”
“And if a Brown's Boy is there, you musn't be the
least bit jealous—”
“No.”
“And you must talk just as entertaining as you
can—”
“Yes.”
“And you musn't look at your watch nor feel uneasy,
but quietly remove your amber kids, then lay your
London overcoat on the sofa, and sit down as if you
had called by special invitation to spend the entire
evening;” and then Sallie's great liquid eyes looked
down on her fan.
“Well, what then?” I asked, deeply interested.
“Why, a Brown's Boy is a spoony fellow, you know.
His strength lies in cornering a girl, and coming the
sentimental dodge. He won't be able to stand such a
he'll get up and leave the field to you.”
“All right, my dear Sallie; I'll try it.”
Then I took her dainty little hand, and pondered
on her stupendous strategy which was to demoralize
this Brown's Boy, and perhaps capture the loveliest
blonde girl on Madison avenue.
Last night I mounted the brown-stone steps which
led to Julia's palatial residence, with a heart big with
resolution. I resolved to see Julia and talk with her
alone, at all hazards. At the touch of the bell, the
big walnut and bronze door swung back. In a second
I saw that miserable silver-tongued Charley Brown—
that flirting Brown's Boy—on the sofa with Julia.
As I entered, Charley started, and Julia's diamond
rings flashed a straight streak of light from Charley
Brown's hands. Oh dear! those flirting Brown's Boys!
“Ah, Julia, I'm delighted to have an opportunity of
spending an evening with you,” I commenced, as I
slipped off my gloves.
“Our happiness is mutual, I assure you, Mr. Perkins,”
replied Miss Julia. “Won't you remove your overcoat?”
“Thank you, Miss Julia; it would be unpleasant to
sit a whole evening with one's overcoat on, and—”
“Then you are liable to take cold when you go out,”
suggested Julia, interrupting me.
“Especially when one expects to sit and talk for
several hours,” I continued; “and when I have so
shall get through.”
Charley Brown began to be a little uneasy now, and
looking at his watch, ventured to ask:
“Is Nilsson to sing Mignon to-night, Mr. Perkins?”
Of course I didn't hear Charley, but kept blazing
right straight away at Julia about ritualism and parties
and Lent, and all such society trash.
“Oh, Miss Julia, did you hear about Jay Gould getting
shot?” I asked, remembering how cousin Sallie
said I must entertain her, and talk Charley Brown out
of his boots.
“Jay Gould got shot! How? Where?” exclaimed
Julia.
“Why, in a Seventh avenue hardware store. I mean
he got pigeon shot for the Jerome Park pigeon match.”
“Oh, Mr. Perkins! Ha! ha! how could you?”
Then Charley looked at his watch.
“By the way, Miss Julia, do you know which is the
strongest day in the week?” I asked modestly, taking
her beautiful gold fan.
“No. Which is the strongest day, Mr. Perkins?”
“Why, Sunday, Julia; don't you
know all the other days are weak
days!”
“Oh, Mr. Perkins! Ha! ha! you'll
kill us,” exclaimed Julia (while Charley
looked at his watch). Then he
remarked that “Samson's weakest
day was the day he let Delilah cut
off his hair:” but nobody heard him.
Charley now began to be uneasy. He whirled in
his chair, then looked at his watch again, and, standing
up, remarked that he had some letters to write, and that
duty called him home early.
“Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Brown,” said Julia, still
talking with me.
“Good bye, Mr. Brown, good bye!” I said, grasping
his hand. “Next time, I hope, I sha'n't have so much
to say to Miss Julia.”
As Charley passed into the hall I asked Julia which
were worth the most — young gentlemen or young
ladies?
“Why, young ladies, of course—don't you always
call us dear creatures?”
“Yes, but, my dear Julia”—I talked fondly now,
for Charley was gone—“you know, my dear, that at
the last end you are given away, while the gentleman
is often sold!”
“Oh, Eli, you are very wicked to make such a remark,
when you know every young lady who marries
one of Brown's Boys is sold in the worst way. I don't
think Brown's Boys are ever sold. They are soulless
fellows. But then they are so nice, they dance divinely,
and they are so spoony—when a girl happens to have
a rich father. They do dance the German so nicely;
and then they bow so nice on the avenue on Sunday,
and come and see us in our papa's boxes at the opera,
and—”
“And run out us solid fellows who mean business,
who don't know how to flirt, and who really love you,”
I interrupted.
“What! you mean business, Mr. Perkins?” and Julia
gave me a searching look.
“Yes, my dear Julia;” and then I took her hand
convulsively. Neither of us said a word; but, oh!
how you could have heard the heart-beating!
Julia never took it away at all, and now I'm a
happy man—all because cousin Sallie Smith told me
how to do it!
| Eli Perkins (at large) | |