Part 30 (2/2)

We pa.s.sed block after block of ”gents'” furnis.h.i.+ng stores--the windows full of s.h.i.+rts with prices attached and cuffs inside. In other windows were neckties and no s.h.i.+rts. People walked up and down the sidewalks.

”In some ways,” said I, ”this reminds me of Kokomono, Ind., during the peach-crating season.”

Rivington was nettled.

”Step into one of these saloons or vaudeville shows,” said he, ”with a large roll of money, and see how quickly the Bowery will sustain its reputation.”

”You make impossible conditions,” said I, coldly.

By and by Rivington stopped and said we were in the heart of the Bowery. There was a policeman on the corner whom Rivington knew.

”Hallo, Donahue!” said my guide. ”How goes it? My friend and I are down this way looking up a bit of local colour. He's anxious to meet one of the Bowery types. Can't you put us on to something genuine in that line--something that's got the colour, you know?”

Policeman Donahue turned himself about ponderously, his florid face full of good-nature. He pointed with his club down the street.

”Sure!” he said huskily. ”Here comes a lad now that was born on the Bowery and knows every inch of it. If he's ever been above Bleecker street he's kept it to himself.”

A man about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a smooth face, was sauntering toward us with his hands in his coat pockets. Policeman Donahue stopped him with a courteous wave of his club.

”Evening, Kerry,” he said. ”Here's a couple of gents, friends of mine, that want to hear you spiel something about the Bowery. Can you reel 'em off a few yards?”

”Certainly, Donahue,” said the young man, pleasantly. ”Good evening, gentlemen,” he said to us, with a pleasant smile. Donahue walked off on his beat.

”This is the goods,” whispered Rivington, nudging me with his elbow.

”Look at his jaw!”

”Say, cull,” said Rivington, pus.h.i.+ng back his hat, ”wot's doin'?

Me and my friend's taking a look down de old line--see? De copper tipped us off dat you was wise to de bowery. Is dat right?”

I could not help admiring Rivington's power of adapting himself to his surroundings.

”Donahue was right,” said the young man, frankly; ”I was brought up on the Bowery. I have been news-boy, teamster, pugilist, member of an organized band of 'toughs,' bartender, and a 'sport' in various meanings of the word. The experience certainly warrants the supposition that I have at least a pa.s.sing acquaintance with a few phases of Bowery life. I will be pleased to place whatever knowledge and experience I have at the service of my friend Donahue's friends.”

Rivington seemed ill at ease.

”I say,” he said--somewhat entreatingly, ”I thought--you're not stringing us, are you? It isn't just the kind of talk we expected.

You haven't even said 'Hully gee!' once. Do you really belong on the Bowery?”

”I am afraid,” said the Bowery boy, smilingly, ”that at some time you have been enticed into one of the dives of literature and had the counterfeit coin of the Bowery pa.s.sed upon you. The 'argot' to which you doubtless refer was the invention of certain of your literary 'discoverers' who invaded the unknown wilds below Third avenue and put strange sounds into the mouths of the inhabitants. Safe in their homes far to the north and west, the credulous readers who were beguiled by this new 'dialect' perused and believed. Like Marco Polo and Mungo Park--pioneers indeed, but ambitious souls who could not draw the line of demarcation between discovery and invention--the literary bones of these explorers are dotting the trackless wastes of the subway. While it is true that after the publication of the mythical language attributed to the dwellers along the Bowery certain of its pat phrases and apt metaphors were adopted and, to a limited extent, used in this locality, it was because our people are prompt in a.s.similating whatever is to their commercial advantage. To the tourists who visited our newly discovered clime, and who expected a realization of their literary guide books, they supplied the demands of the market.

”But perhaps I am wandering from the question. In what way can I a.s.sist you, gentlemen? I beg you will believe that the hospitality of the street is extended to all. There are, I regret to say, many catchpenny places of entertainment, but I cannot conceive that they would entice you.”

I felt Rivington lean somewhat heavily against me. ”Say!” he remarked, with uncertain utterance; ”come and have a drink with us.”

”Thank you, but I never drink. I find that alcohol, even in the smallest quant.i.ties, alters the perspective. And I must preserve my perspective, for I am studying the Bowery. I have lived in it nearly thirty years, and I am just beginning to understand its heartbeats.

It is like a great river fed by a hundred alien streams. Each influx brings strange seeds on its flood, strange silt and weeds, and now and then a flower of rare promise. To construe this river requires a man who can build d.y.k.es against the overflow, who is a naturalist, a geologist, a humanitarian, a diver and a strong swimmer. I love my Bowery. It was my cradle and is my inspiration. I have published one book. The critics have been kind. I put my heart in it. I am writing another, into which I hope to put both heart and brain. Consider me your guide, gentlemen. Is there anything I can take you to see, any place to which I can conduct you?”

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