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I|_JP^ THE ^TLi
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liillill STORY
11(1 MAGAZINE
Vol. V
No. 1
Three Friends
(Biograph)
By LULIETTE BRYANT
S lattery's is the ordinary type of cheap saloon in a small factory town. I forbear describing it, because if you've ever been in one of them you know what they 're like ; if you haven't, no amount of printed description can give you the atmosphere— and what's a story without atmosphere, in these days of rioting realism ?
"Well, saloons are saloons, the world over, and Slattery's, of Singerville, differs little, in essentials, from the "gilded palaces of sin" to which the country evangelist refers when he graphically describes the life in the great city — that he has read about. Scrape the gilding off one of these palaces, shrink its size a bit, set it down in a town like Singerville, and it will adapt itself and fit into its surroundings as quickly as the telephone girl who marries a millionaire. For the essentials are cheer, good fellowship, and plenty to drink : given these, the business will flourish, with or without gilding.
Slattery's has the essentials, which is the reason why our story begins in Slattery's place ; for, being the cheerful resort that it is, it was the natural meeting-place of the three friends who used to sit around the farthest table on the left-hand side, near the
window, every night, drinking their beer, telling stories of the day's work, or discussing the labor problem. Observe that I say they used to sit around that table, for they sit there no more. If they did, I should have no story to tell.
They were sitting rather later than usual one night last spring, when a jingling hurdy-gurdy outside the window launched out on a series of merry tunes that were Broadway favorites a few seasons ago. Here and there, groups of men beat time with their feet, or whistled the refrains. A slim, half-tipsy youth rose to his feet, swayed a bit, righted himself, and, waving a thick glass aloft, began singing, in a clear, high tenor voice :
Wine, women and song,
How often they make us go wrong!
A burst of applause, led by the three friends, rewarded his effort, but he refused to sing again.
"Don' know 'nother song," he protested; "learnt that one 'cause it jush spresses way I feel 'bout things. ' '
"The kid's a fool," said the older of the three friends, familiarly known as Jim, as the youngster subsided into silence, "but he hit the nail on the head that time! Wine and song do
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