The Wit and Humor of America, Volume VI | Page 9

there was some mistake
about our tickets. They sold our Pullman drawing-room twice over--to
Doctor Jones and his mother, and also to ourselves. You never saw
such a fight--and that led to our making friends, and his proposing to
Eleanor!"
"Then why in Heaven's name didn't she" (it was on the tip of my tongue
to say "jump at him") "take him?"
"She said she couldn't marry a man who was her intellectual inferior."
"And was he?"
"Oh, he was a perfect idiot--but nice, and all that, and tremendously in
love with her. Pity, wasn't it?"
"The obvious thing to do is to chase him up instantly. Where did you
say he lived?"
"His mother told me he was going to New York to practice medicine."
"But didn't you ever hear from him again? I mean, was that the end of it
all?"
"Yes."
"Then you don't even know if he has married since?"
"No!"
"Nor died?"

"No."
"Nor anything at all?"
"No."
"What was his first name?"
"Wait a moment ... let me think ... yes, it was Harry."
"Just Harry Jones, then, New York City?"
Freddy laughed forlornly.
"But he must have had antecedents," I cried out. "There are two ways
of doing this Sherlock Holmes business--backward and forward, you
know. Let's take Doctor Jones backward. As they say in post-office
forms?--what was his place of origin?"
"New York City."
"He begins there and ends there, does he, then?"
"Yes."
"But how sure are you that Eleanor would marry him if I did manage to
find him and bring him back?"
"I'm not sure at all."
"No, but Freddy, listen--it's important. You told me yourself that she--I
want the very identical words she used."
Freddy reflected.
"She said she was almost sorry she hadn't accepted that silly doctor!"
"That doesn't seem much, does it?" I remarked gloomily.

"Oh, from Eleanor it does, Ezra. She said it quite seriously. She always
hides her feelings under a veil of sarcastic humor, you know."
"You're certainly a very difficult family to marry," I said.
"Being an orphan--" she began.
"Well, I'm going to find that Jones if I--!"
"Ezra, dear boy, you're crazy. How could you think for a moment
that--"
"I'm off, little girl. Good-by!"
"Wait a second, Ezra!"
She rose and went into the next room, reappearing with something in
her hand. She was crying and smiling both at once. I took the little case
she gave me--it was like one of those things that pen-knives are put
in--and looked at her for an explanation.
"It's the h-h-hindleg of a j-j-jack-rabbit," she said, "shot by a g-g-grave
at the f-f-full of the moon. It's supposed to be l-l-lucky. It was given to
me by a naval officer who got drowned. It's the only way I can h-h-help
you!"
And thus equipped I started bravely for New York.
II
In the directory I found eleven pages of Joneses; three hundred and
eighty-four Henry Joneses; and (excluding seventeen dentists)
eighty-seven Doctor Henry Joneses. I asked one of the typists in the
office to copy out the list, and prepared to wade in. We were on the eve
of a labor war, and it was exceedingly difficult for me to get away. As
the managing partner of Hodge & Westoby, boxers (not punching
boxers, nor China boxers, but just plain American box-making boxers),
I had to bear the brunt of the whole affair, and had about as much spare
time as you could heap on a ten-cent piece. I had to be firm,

conciliatory, defiant and tactful all at once, and every hour I took off
for Jonesing threatened to blow the business sky-high. It was a tight
place and no mistake, and it was simply jack-rabbit hindleg luck that
pulled me through!
My first Jones was a hoary old rascal above a drug store. He was a hard
man to get away from, and made such a fuss about my wasting his time
with idle questions that I flung him a dollar and departed. He followed
me down to my cab and insisted on sticking in a giant bottle of his
Dog-Root Tonic. I dropped it overboard a few blocks farther on, and
thought that was the end of it till the whole street began to yell at me,
and a policeman grabbed my horse, while a street arab darted up
breathless with the Dog-Root Tonic. I presented it to him, together with
a quarter, the policeman darkly regarding me as an incipient madman.
The second Jones was a man of about thirty, a nice, gentlemanly fellow,
in a fine office. I have usually been an off-hand man in business,
accustomed to quick decisions and very little beating about the bush.
But I confess I was rather nonplussed with the second Jones. How the