Standard time was inaugurated for the benefit of all the people in the United States, and these guys who are not willing to go with the push have no particular excuse for living.
I started to tell you about my adventure with the smart set in Detroit, or rather my adventure at one of their functions. That word functions, Billy, is answerable for a lot of bum doings that I know about, and that only covers a small territory. I had on my turkey tail suit, just like a waiter, and felt as though the waist bands of my trousers were coming up through that big hole in the front of my vest. I had on a little dinkey tie, made out of some white stuff that I did not dare to put my hands on for fear I would make a mark on it, and I had one of those choker standing collars like a priest, that keeps a fellow guessing whether he is coming back or going ahead. On the whole I was not feeling any too good with that suit and perhaps was not altogether answerable for what I said and did.
When a lady looked at me more than a second I thought something was the matter with my clothes, and I could feel my face getting as red as a pickled beet.
I was standing around looking as though I would sell myself for a song or less, when one of those waistless dresses started toward me. It had a woman in it and I got scared. I thought she was about to tell me my collar was unbuttoned or that my shirt front had wilted.
“Mr. Henderson,” said she, “will you please send for an ice for me?”
“Sure,” said I, quite relieved that it was no worse. I turned about and seeing a fellow that I thought waited on me that morning at the hotel, I said:
“Here, Jim, run along and get this lady an ice.”
Jim did not move, and thinking he was waiting for a tip in advance, I handed him a quarter, saying:
“Get a move on you now, don’t waste any more time.”
“I am a guest,” said he, but he spoke so low the lady did not hear, but she heard me tell him to get the ice, and I could see but one way out.