You Should Worry Says John Henry

  YOU SHOULD WORRY SAYS JOHN HENRY

  by

  GEORGE V. HOBART

  Illustrations by Edward Carey

  G. W. Dillingham CompanyPublishers New York

  Copyright, 1914, byG. W. Dillingham CompanyAll rights reservedThe author reserves all stage rights, which includes moving pictures.Any infringement of copyright will be dealt with according to law.

  _You Should Worry_Press of J. J. Little & Ives Co. New York

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE

  I. You Should Worry About a Tango Lesson 5

  II. You Should Worry About an Automobile 28

  III. You Should Worry About Dieting 45

  IV. You Should Worry About Getting a Goat 64

  V. You Should Worry About Being in Love 78

  VI. You Should Worry About Snap-Shots 97

  VII. You Should Worry About the Servants 108

  VIII. You Should Worry About Auction Bridge 130

  IX. You Should Worry About Getting the Grip 142

  X. You Should Worry About a Musical Evening 158

  YOU SHOULD WORRY

  CHAPTER I

  YOU SHOULD WORRY ABOUT A TANGO LESSON

  The idea originated with Bunch Jefferson. You can always count on Bunchhaving a few freak ideas in the belfry where he keeps his butterflies.Bunch and his wife, Alice, live out in Westchester County, about half amile from Uncle Peter's bungalow, where friend wife and I are spendingthe winter.

  The fact that Uncle Peter and Aunt Martha had decided to give us a partywas the inspiration for Bunch's brilliant idea.

  "Listen, John," he Macchiavellied; "not one of this push out here knowsa thing about the Tango. Most of them have a foolish idea that it's awicked institution invented by the devil, who sold his patent rights tothe Evil-Doers' Association. Now, I'll tell you what we'll do, John:we'll put them wise. We'll take about two lessons from a good instructorin town and on the night of the party we'll make the hit of our livesteaching them all to Tango--are you James to the possibilities?"

  "It listens like a good spiel," I agreed; "but will a couple of lessonsbe enough for us?"

  "Sure," he came back; "we're not a couple of Patsys with the pumps! Wecan learn enough in two lessons to make good in this Boob community.Why, we'll start a Tango craze out here that will put life and ginger inthe whole outfit and presently they'll be putting up statues in ourhonor."

  Well, to make a long story lose its cunning, we made arrangements nextday with Ikey Schwartz, Dancing Instructor, to explain the mysteries ofthis modern home-wrecking proposition known as the Tango, and paid himin advance the sum of $100.

  It seemed to me that a hundred iron men in advance was a nifty littleprice for two lessons, but Bunch assured me the price was reasonable onaccount of the prevalence of rich scholars willing to divide theirpatrimony with anybody who could teach their feet to behave in time tothe music.

  We made an appointment to meet Ikey at his "studio" for our first lessonthe following afternoon. Then we hiked for home on the 4.14, wellpleased with our investment and its promise of golden returns.

  That night Bunch and Alice were over to our place for dinner. Afterdinner Bunch and I sat down by the log fire in the Dutch room, filledour faces with Havana panatellas, and proceeded to enjoy life insilence.

  Into the next room came Alice and Peaches and sat down for their usualcackle.

  Bunch and I started from our reveries when we heard Alice say toPeaches, "You don't know what a source of comfort it has been to me torealize that Bunch doesn't know a blessed thing about the Tango or anyof those hatefully intimate new dances!"

  "The same with me, Alice," friend wife chirped in. "I believe if Johnwere to suddenly display the ability to dance the Tango I'd bebroken-hearted. Naturally, I'd know that he must have learned it with awicked companion in some lawless cabaret. And if he frequented cabaretswithout my knowledge--oh, Alice, what _would_ I do?"

  I looked at Bunch, he looked at me, and then we both looked out thewindow.

  "For my part," Alice went on, "I trust Bunch so implicitly that I don'teven question his motive when he telephones me he has to take dinner intown with a prospective real estate customer."

  "And I know enough of human nature," Peaches gurgled, "to be sure thatif either one of them could Tango he would be crazy to show off at home.I think we're very lucky, both of us, to have such steady-goinghusbands, don't you, Alice?"

  At this point Aunt Martha buzzed into the other room and the cackle tookon another complexion.

  In the meantime Bunch and I had passed away.

  "It's cold turkey," I whispered.

  "I've been in the refrigerator for ten minutes and I'm chilled to thebone," Bunch whispered back.

  "Can we get our coin away from Ikey?" I asked.

  "We can try," Bunch sneezed.

  The next afternoon we had Ikey Schwartz for luncheon with us at the St.Astorbilt. The idea being to dazzle him and get a few of the iron menback.

  "Leave everything to me," Bunch growled as we shaved our hats andIndian-filed to a trough.

  "A quart of Happysuds," Bunch ordered. "How about it, Ikey?"

  Ikey flashed a grin and tried to swallow his palate, so it wouldn'tinterfere with the wet spell suggested by Bunch.

  Ikey belonged to the "dis, dose and dem" push.

  Every long sentence he uttered was full of splintered grammar.

  Every time Ikey opened his word-chest the King's English screamed forhelp, and literature got a kick in the slats.

  He was short and thin, but it was a deceptive thinness. His capacity forstoring away free liquids was awe-inspiring and a sin.

  I think Ikey must have been hollow from the neck to the ankles, withemergency bulkheads in both feet.

  His nose was shaped like a quarter to six o'clock. It began in themiddle and rushed both ways as hard as it could. One end of it duckedinto his forehead and never did come out.

  His interior was sponge-lined, and when the bartenders began to sendthem in fast, Ikey would lower an asbestos curtain to keep the fumesaway from his brain.

  Nobody ever saw Ikey at high tide.

  There was surely something wrong with Ikey's switchboard, because hecould wrap his system around more Indian laughing-juice without gettinglit up than any other man in the world.

  But Ikey was the compliments of the season, all right, all right.

  Ikey had spent most of his life being a Bookmaker, and when the racinggame went out of fashion he sat down and tried to think what else hecould do. Nothing occurred to him until one day he discovered that hecould push his feet around in time to music, so he became a dancinginstructor and could clean up $1,000 per day if the bartenders didn'tbeckon too hard.

  The luncheon had been ordered and Bunch was just about to switch theconversation around to the subject of rebates when suddenly his eyestook on the appearance of saucers, and tapping me on the arm he gasped,"Look!"

  I looked, and beheld Peaches, Alice and Aunt Martha sailing over in ourdirection.

  With a whispered admonition to Bunch to keep Ikey still, I went forwardto meet friend wife, her aunt and Alice.

  They were as much surprised as I was.

  "It was such a delightful day that Aunt Martha couldn't resist thetemptation to do a little shopping," Peaches rattled on; "and then wedecided to come here for a bit of luncheon--hello, Bunch! I'm _so_ gladto see you! John, hadn't we better take another table so that yourfriendly conference may not be interrupted?"

  I hastened to assure Peaches that it wasn't a conference at all. We hadme
t Mr. Schwartz quite by accident. Then I introduced Ikey to theladies.

  He got up and did something that was supposed to be a bow, but youcouldn't tell whether he was tying his shoe or coming down a stepladder.

  When Ikey tried to bend a Society double he looked like one of thepictures that goes with a rubber exerciser, price 75 cents.

  After they had ordered club sandwiches and coffee I explained to Peachesand the others that Mr. Schwartz was a real estate dealer. Ikey began toswell up at once.

  "Bunch and I are going in a little deal with Mr. Schwartz," I explained."He knows the real estate business backwards. Mr. Schwartz has a fadfor collecting apartment houses. He owns the largest assortment ofPeople Coops in the city. All the modern improvements, too. Hot and coldwindows, running gas and noiseless janitors. Mr. Schwartz is theinventor of the idea of having two baths in every apartment so that thelessee will have less excuse for not being water broke."

  Ikey never cracked a smile.

  "In Mr. Schwartz's apartment houses," I continued, while Bunch kicked myshins under the table, "you will find self-freezing refrigerators andself-leaving servants. All the rooms are light rooms, when you light thegas. Two of his houses overlook the Park and all of them overlook thebuilding laws. The floors are made of concrete so that if you want tobring a horse in the parlor you can do so without kicking off theplaster in the flat below. Every room has folding doors, and when thewater pipes burst the janitor has folding arms."

  "Quit your joshing, John! you'll embarrass Mr. Schwartz," laughed Bunchsomewhat nervously, but Ikey's grin never flickered.

  "Is Mr. Schwartz deaf and dumb?" Peaches whispered.

  "Intermittently so," I whispered back; "sometimes for hours at a time hecannot speak a word and can hear only the loudest tones."

  Aunt Martha heard my comment on Ikey's infirmity and was about tobecome intensely sympathetic and tell him how her brother's wife wascured when Bunch interrupted loudly by asking after Uncle Peter'shealth.

  "Never better," answered Aunt Martha. "He has spent all the morningarranging the program of dancing for our little party. He insists uponhaving the Virginia Reel, the old-fashioned waltz, the Polka and theLancers. Uncle Peter has a perfect horror of these modern dances andPeaches and Alice and I share it with him." Then she turned to Ikey:"Don't you think these modern dances are perfectly disgusting?"

  Poor Ikey looked reproachfully at the old lady a second, then withgathering astonishment he slid silently off the chair and struck thefloor with a bump.

  Aunt Martha was so rattled over this unexpected effort on Mr. Schwartz'spart that she upset her coffee and Ikey got most of it in the back ofthe neck.

  When peace was finally restored the old lady came to the surface with anenvelope which had been lying on the table near her plate.

  "Is this your letter, John?" she asked, and then, arranging her glasses,read with great deliberation, "Mr. I. Schwartz, Tango Teacher, care ofKumearly and Staylates' Cabaret, New York."

  Peaches and Alice went into the ice business right away quick.

  Aunt Martha, in pained surprise, looked at me and then at Bunch, andfinally focused a steady beam of interrogation upon the countenance ofMr. Schwartz.

  Ikey never whimpered.

  Then Bunch took the letter from the open-eyed Aunt Martha and leaped tothe rescue while I came out of the trance slowly.

  "It's too bad Mr. Schwartz forgot his ear trumpet," Bunch said quickly,and Ikey was wise to the tip in a minute.

  Peaches sniffed suspiciously, and I knew she had the gloves on.

  "Mr. Schwartz's affliction is terrible," she said with a chill in everyword. "How did you converse with him before our arrival?"

  "Oh! he understands the lip language and can talk back on his fingers,"I hastened to explain, looking hard at Ikey, whose masklike face gave notoken that he understood what was going on.

  "I thought I understood you to say Mr. Schwartz is a real estatedealer!" Peaches continued, while the thermometer went lower and lower.

  "So he is," I replied.

  "Then why does his correspondent address him as a Tango Teacher?" friendwife said slowly, and I could hear the icebergs grinding each other allaround me.

  "I think I can explain that," Bunch put in quietly. Then with the utmostdeliberation he looked Ikey in the eye and said, "Mr. Schwartz, it'sreally none of my business, but would you mind telling me why you, areal estate dealer, should have a letter in your possession which isaddressed to you as a Tango Teacher? Answer me on your fingers."

  Ikey delivered the goods.

  In a minute he had both paws working overtime and such a knuckletwisting no mortal man ever indulged in before.

  "He says," Bunch began to interpret, "that the letter is not his. It isintended for Isadore Schwartz, a wicked cousin of his who is a victim ofthe cabaret habit. Mr. Schwartz is now complaining bitterly with hisfingers because his letters and those intended for his renegade cousinbecome mixed almost every day. These mistakes are made because theinitials are identical. He also says that--he--hopes--the--presence--of--this--particular--letter--in--his--possession--does--not--offend--the--ladies--because--while--it--is--addressed--to--a--tango-teacher--the--contents--are--quite--harmless--being--but--a--small--bill--from--the--dentist."

  Ikey's fingers kept on working nervously, as though he felt it his dutyto wear them out, and the perspiration rolled off poor Bunch's forehead.

  "Tell him to cease firing," I said to Bunch; "he'll sprain his fingersand lose his voice."

  Ikey doubled up all his eight fingers and two thumbs in one final shoutand subsided.

  "I'm afraid we'll miss the 5.18 train if we don't hurry," said Peaches,and I could see that the storm was over, although she still glancedsuspiciously at poor Ikey.

  "And, Bunch, you and John can come home with us now, can't you?" Aliceasked as they started to float for the door.

  Then Ikey cut in as we started to follow the family parade, "I'm hep tothe situation. It's a cutey, take it from little Ikey. I'll have tocharge you $8 for the sudden attack of deafness; then there's $19 forhardships sustained by my finger joints while conversing. The rest ofthe 100 iron men I'm going to keep as a souvenir of two good-naturedginks who wouldn't know what to do with a Tango if they had one."

  As we pulled out of the Mayonnaise Mansion I looked back at Ikey tothank him with a farewell nod.

  He was halfway under the table, holding both hands to his sides andmaking funny faces at the carpet.