Two hours later I passed by the Ashley Airport, located in Robbinsdale near the Whiz Bang farm. Instead of backing against a bale of cotton, I backed against a 90 horsepower aeroplane, handed the pilot my last $50 and said: “Come on, Gus, let’s go.” And, believe me, Gus and I went some before we got off this last “bender.”
The pilot, Homer Cole, veteran of four years’ service in France, fulfilled his duties in a business-like way, while Gus and myself were filling ourselves in an unbusiness-like way. Our first stop was Brainerd, Minn., a hustling city about 150 miles north of Robbinsdale. We had so much real or fancied fun on our first flight that we enveigled Cole to make another leap of 22 miles to Breezy Point lodge in the old Indian territory. Of course in the meantime we had ridded ourselves of our visible supply of tobasco sauce and both knew that our stay in my Pequot log cabin resort must be brief. Therefore, the very bright and brilliant idea soaked in the hired man’s dome, that an airship would be a necessary permanent adjunct for traveling back and forth between Robbinsdale and Pequot.
Gus conducted negotiations with Cole and learned that his plane could be purchased on the installment plan. The deal was soon closed and at this writing the plane is partly mine. We managed to last it out for one day in the North pine woods and early next morning hopped off for Minneapolis, with its fond memories of many mills and motley moonshine.
Later in the day, my brother, Harvey, who now conducts the business end of the little old Whiz Bang, located Gus and I in a gin mill. He handed me a nice letter of invitation to attend a convention of the Independent Magazine Distributors at the Schlitz Hotel at Atlantic City. While the convention notice sounded mighty good, the name of the hotel suggested a hankering for the good old days.
Gus was heart-broken, to think that I would leave him behind and as he had performed valiant service as caretaker of Pedro, our pedigreed bull, and the cows and chickens during many years as Whiz Bang farm hand, I granted his plea to accompany me.
We landed safe, sound and, as usual, sick in the McAlpin in New York City. It was Gus’ longest train ride and incidentally his first visit to the big village. At the outset he refused to remove his overalls, rubber collar and red necktie, which was quite embarrassing to me. We had a swell room on the tenth flight, with carpets on the floor and brass buttoned fellows to wait on us. We were informed we could get no liquor in New York unless we were Enright. Gus promptly formed the advance guard on the Great White Way, or whatever you call it, and soon we were both in right. After an eye opener or two, my hired man asked the genial barkeep for the location of the wash-room. He was shown an ante-room which bore the sign: “Gentlemen.” He walked right in anyway. Nothing in New York seemed to deter this faithful, simple Minnesota farm-hand.
That night we received a telegram from Robbinsdale cautioning us to make reservations in the Schlitz Hotel at Atlantic City, as that institution might be full on account of the convention. Gus read the message to me, threw it in the waste basket as he nonchalantly remarked: “If the Schlitz Hotel is full it has nothing on me.”
The next day it was Atlantic City or bust. We arrived in rather good shape and were assigned a pleasant room overlooking the Atlantic and the famous boardwalk. I induced Gus to take a bath, although he insisted he didn’t need one and that anyway it wasn’t the right time of the month. A little bribe, however, brought him around to his senses and after his plunge, I handed him a ten dollar bill to go about and enjoy himself. Before leaving the room he was strictly cautioned to beware of pickpockets.
Gus returned several hours later and, I am sorry to relate, was a little the worse for wear. He had a puzzled, sorrowful look on his face. After a few moments of hesitation he confessed—he had been “touched.” The mystery of the missing mazuma was cleared later that night when I coaxed him to take off his socks before crawling into bed. There in the dark recess of his left light blue stocking was hidden a five and a two dollar bill. “Gosh, but I forgot all about hiding it,” he exclaimed with a sigh of relief.