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SHOWMAN
York Press Club in its rooms over a Centre Street beer saloon. It was a good place for continuing your education. There was a billiard table and nothing to do between seven a.mv the opening hour and noon, when the first member blew in for the first today. In consequence I became a crack billiard player, which enabled me at a later period to do very well as a "come-on" in an Omaha booze and gambling joint. (The "come-on" was an innocent looking loafer in the pay of the management who beguiled suckers into high stakes by clumsy playing and then wiped the table with them.) And then you may remember the forged "Morey letter" which almost defeated Garfield in the campaign of 1880— a letter over his signature advocating unlimited Chinese immigration. Well, I saw that letter composed and the signature forged one quiet night in the Press Club, and I still don't think it would be tactful to give the names of the authors.
The Press Club took in all kinds, not just newspapermen, for it was the Lambs, the Players, the Lotos, all rolled into one, and the logical headquarters of every big man who struck town. I have opened the door for and checked the coats of— actors?— well, Edwin Booth, Lawrence Barrett, Lester Wallack— writers?— Mark Twain, Dion Boucicault, Joseph Howard, Jr., the Heywood Broun of his time— politicians?— Grover Cleveland, Chester A. Arthur, James G. Blaine, Roscoe Conklin— miscellaneous celebrities?— Henry Ward Beecher, Charles A. Dana, Mayor A. Oakey Hall,
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