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〃One；〃 says I； 〃that is cool and wise and strictly business from her
pompadour to her Oxfords。 No ex…toe…dancers or gum…chewers or crayon
portrait canvassers for this。〃
Buck claimed he knew a suitable feminine and he takes me around to see
Miss Sarah Malloy。 The minute I see her I am pleased。 She looked to be
the goods as ordered。 No sign of the three p's about herno peroxide；
patchouli； nor peau de soie； about twenty…two； brown hair； pleasant
waysthe kind of a lady for the place。
〃A description of the sandbag； if you please；〃 she begins。
〃Why； ma'am；〃 says I； 〃this graft of ours is so nice and refined and
romantic； it would make the balcony scene in 'Romeo and Juliet' look
like second…story work。〃
We talked it over； and Miss Malloy agreed to come in as a business
partner。 She said she was glad to get a chance to give up her place as
stenographer and secretary to a suburban lot company； and go into
something respectable。
This is the way we worked our scheme。 First； I figured it out by a
kind of a proverb。 The best grafts in the world are built up on copy…
book maxims and psalms and proverbs and Esau's fables。 They seem to
kind of hit off human nature。 Our peaceful little swindle was
constructed on the old saying： 〃The whole push loves a lover。〃
One evening Buck and Miss Malloy drives up like blazes in a buggy to a
farmer's door。 She is pale but affectionate； clinging to his arm
always clinging to his arm。 Any one can see that she is a peach and of
the cling variety。 They claim they are eloping for to be married on
account of cruel parents。 They ask where they can find a preacher。
Farmer says； 〃B'gum there ain't any preacher nigher than Reverend
Abels； four miles over on Caney Creek。〃 Farmeress wipes her hand on
her apron and rubbers through her specs。
Then； lo and look ye！ Up the road from the other way jogs Parleyvoo
Pickens in a gig； dressed in black； white necktie； long face； sniffing
his nose； emitting a spurious kind of noise resembling the long meter
doxology。
〃B'jinks！〃 says farmer； 〃if thar ain't a preacher now！〃
It transpires that I am Rev。 Abijah Green； travelling over to Little
Bethel school…house for to preach next Sunday。
The young folks will have it they must be married； for pa is pursuing
them with the plow mules and the buckboard。 So the Reverend Green；
after hesitating； marries 'em in the farmer's parlor。 And farmer
grins； and has in cider； and says 〃B'gum！〃 and farmeress sniffles a
bit and pats the bride on the shoulder。 And Parleyvoo Pickens； the
wrong reverend； writes out a marriage certificate； and farmer and
farmeress sign it as witnesses。 And the parties of the first； second
and third part gets in their vehicles and rides away。 Oh； that was an
idyllic graft！ True love and the lowing kine and the sun shining on
the red barnsit certainly had all other impostures I know about beat
to a batter。
I suppose I happened along in time to marry Buck and Miss Malloy at
about twenty farm…houses。 I hated to think how the romance was going
to fade later on when all them marriage certificates turned up in
banks where we'd discounted 'em； and the farmers had to pay them notes
of hand they'd signed； running from 300 to 500。
On the 15th day of May us three divided about 6；000。 Miss Malloy
nearly cried with joy。 You don't often see a tenderhearted girl or one
that is bent on doing right。
〃Boys；〃 says she； dabbing her eyes with a little handkerchief； 〃this
stake comes in handier than a powder rag at a fat men's ball。 It gives
me a chance to reform。 I was trying to get out of the real estate
business when you fellows came along。 But if you hadn't taken me in on
this neat little proposition for removing the cuticle of the rutabaga
propagators I'm afraid I'd have got into something worse。 I was about
to accept a place in one of these Women's Auxiliary Bazars； where they
build a parsonage by selling a spoonful of chicken salad and a cream…
puff for seventy…five cents and calling it a Business Man's Lunch。
〃Now I can go into a square； honest business； and give all them queer
jobs the shake。 I'm going to Cincinnati and start a palm reading and
clairvoyant joint。 As Madame Saramaloi； the Egyptian Sorceress； I
shall give everybody a dollar's worth of good honest prognostication。
Good…by； boys。 Take my advice and go into some decent fake。 Get
friendly with the police and newspapers and you'll be all right。〃
So then we all shook hands； and Miss Malloy left us。 Me and Buck also
rose up and sauntered off a few hundred miles； for we didn't care to
be around when them marriage certificates fell due。
With about 4；000 between us we hit that bumptious little town off the
New Jersey coast they call New York。
If there ever was an aviary overstocked with jays it is that Yaptown…
on…the…Hudson。 Cosmopolitan they call it。 You bet。 So's a piece of
fly…paper。 You listen close when they're buzzing and trying to pull
their feet out of the sticky stuff。 〃Little old New York's good enough
for us〃that's what they sing。
There's enough Reubs walk down Broadway in one hour to buy up a week's
output of the factory in Augusta； Maine； that makes Knaughty
Knovelties and the little Phine Phum oroide gold finger ring that
sticks a needle in your friend's hand。
You'd think New York people was all wise； but no。 They don't get a
chance to learn。 Everything's too compressed。 Even the hayseeds are
baled hayseeds。 But what else can you expect from a town that's shut
off from the world by the ocean on one side and New Jersey on the
other？
It's no place for an honest grafter with a small capital。 There's too
big a protective tariff on bunco。 Even when Giovanni sells a quart of
warm worms and chestnut hulls he has to hand out a pint to an
insectivorous cop。 And the hotel man charges double for everything in
the bill that he sends by the patrol wagon to the altar where the duke
is about to marry the heiress。
But old Badville…near…Coney is the ideal burg for a refined piece of
piracy if you can pay the bunco duty。 Imported grafts come pretty
high。 The custom…house officers that look after it carry clubs； and
it's hard to smuggle in even a bib…and…tucker swindle to work Brooklyn
with unless you can pay the toll。 But now； me and Buck； having
capital； descends upon New York to try and trade the metropolitan
backwoodsmen a few glass beads for real estate just as the Vans did a
hundred or two years ago。
At an East Side hotel we gets acquainted with Romulus G。 Atterbury； a
man with the finest head for financial operations I ever saw。 It was
all bald and glossy except for gray side whiskers。 Seeing that head
behind an office railing； and you'd deposit a million with it without
a receipt。 This Atterbury was well dressed； though he ate seldom； and
the synopsis of his talk would make the conversation of a siren sound
like a cab driver's kick。 He said he used to be a member of the Stock
Exchange； but some of the big capitalists got jealous and formed a
ring that forced him to sell his seat。
Atterbury got to liking me and Buck and he begun to throw on the
canvas for us some of the schemes that had caused his hair to
evacuate。 He had one scheme for starting a National bank on 45 that
made the Mississippi Bubble look as solid as a glass marble。 He talked
this to us for three days； and when his throat was good and sore we
told him about the roll we had。 Atterbury borrowed a quarter from us
and went out and got a box of throat lozenges and started all over
again。 This time he talked bigger things； and he got us to see 'em as
he did。 The scheme he laid out looked like a sure winner； and he
talked me and Buck into putting our capital against his burnished dome
of thought。 It looked all right for a kid…gloved graft。 It seemed to
be just about an inch and a half outside of the reach of the police；
and as money…making as a mint。 It was just what me and Buck wanteda
regular business at a permanent stand； with an open air spieling with
tonsolitis on the street corners every evening。
So； in six weeks you see a handsome furnished set of offices down in
the Wall Street neighborhood； with 〃The Golconda Gold Bond and
Investment Company〃 in gilt letters on the door。 And you see in his
private room； with the door open； the secretary and treasurer； Mr。
Buckingham Skinner； costumed like the lilies of the conservatory； with
his high silk hat close to his hand。 Nobody yet ever saw Buck outside
of an instantaneous reach for his hat。
And you might perceive the president and general manager； Mr。 R。 G。
Atterbury； with his priceless polished poll； busy in the main office
room dictating letters to a shorthand countess； who has got pomp and a
pompadour that is no less than a guarantee to investors。
There is a bookkeeper and an assistant； and a general atmosphere of
varnish and culpability。
At another desk the eye is relieved by the sight of an ordinary man；
attired with unscrupulous plainness； sitting with his feet up； eating
apples； with his obnoxious hat on the back of his head。 That man is no
other than Colonel Tecumseh （once 〃Parleyvoo〃） Pickens； the vice…
president of the company。
〃No recherche rags for me；〃 I says