THE PICAROONS
CONTENTS
| CHAPTER I | ||
| Page | ||
|---|---|---|
| A MIRACLE AT COFFEE JOHN’S | [3] | |
| The Story of the Great Bauer Syndicate | [15] | |
| CHAPTER II | ||
| JAMES WISWELL COFFIN 3d. | [26] | |
| The Story of the Harvard Freshman | [27] | |
| CHAPTER III | ||
| PROFESSOR VANGO | [45] | |
| The Story of the Ex-Medium | [46] | |
| CHAPTER IV | ||
| ADMEH DRAKE | [60] | |
| The Story of the Hero of Pago Bridge | [61] | |
| CHAPTER V | ||
| THE DIMES OF COFFEE JOHN | [81] | |
| The Story of Big Becky | [83] | |
| CHAPTER VI | ||
| THE HARVARD FRESHMAN’S ADVENTURE: THE FORTY PANATELAS | [102] | |
| The Story of the Returned Klondyker | [108] | |
| The Story of the Retired Car-Conductor | [143] | |
| CHAPTER VII | ||
| THE EX-MEDIUM’S ADVENTURE: THE INVOLUNTARY SUICIDE | [156] | |
| The Story of the Quadroon Woman | [175] | |
| CHAPTER VIII | ||
| THE HERO’S ADVENTURE: THE MYSTERY OF THE HAMMAM | [192] | |
| The Story of the Minor Celebrity | [199] | |
| The Mystery of the Hammam | [209] | |
| The Story of the Dermograph Artist | [217] | |
| The Story of the Deserter of the Philippines | [236] | |
| CHAPTER IX | ||
| THE WARDS OF FORTUNE | [258] | |
NOTE
Picaroon—a petty rascal; one who lives by his wits; an adventurer. The Picaresque Tales, in Spanish literature of the beginning of the Seventeenth Century, dealt with the fortunes of beggars, impostors, thieves, etc., and chronicled the Romance of Roguery. Such stories were the precursors of the modern novel. The San Francisco Night’s Entertainment is an attempt to render similar subjects with an essentially modern setting.
CHAPTER I
A MIRACLE AT COFFEE JOHN’S
The lad in the sweater yawned with abandon and glanced up at the clock which hung on the whitewashed wall between a lithograph of Admiral Dewey and a sign bearing the legend: “Doughnuts and Coffee, 5 cents.”
“I move we proceed,” he said, impatiently. “There’ll be nobody else here to-night; all the stew-bums have lined up at the bakeries for free bread. I say, old man, you pull the trigger and we’re off! I’ve got a two-days’ handicap on my appetite and I won’t do a thing but make an Asiatic ostrich of myself!”
“I’ll back my stomach against yours,” said the man with spectacles who sat opposite him. “I’ll bet I could eat a ton of sinkers and a barrel of this brown paint. I’m for rounding up the grub myself. I’ll be eating the oil-cloth off this table, pretty soon!”
The proprietor of the dingy little restaurant turned to them from the counter in front, where he had been arranging a pile of wet plates and an exhibit of pastry in preparation for the next morning’s breakfasts. Wiping his hands on his apron, he said with a Cockney accent which proclaimed his birth, hinted at by his florid countenance and mutton-chop whiskers, “I sye, gents, if yer don’t want to wyte, yer know bloomin’ well wot yer kin do, an’ that’s git art! Strike me pink if yer ain’t gort a gall! Yer a bit comin’ on, gents, if yer don’t mind me syin’ it. I told yer I’d give yer an A1 feed if yer’d on’y wyte for another bloke to show up, an’ he ain’t ’ere yet, is ’e? Leastwise, if ’e is, I don’t see ’im.”