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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"The Boss of Little Arcady"


And thus we were compelled to leave it. In view of those verses I could
suggest no plan for relief, and my one poor morsel of encouragement had
been stonily rejected.
Eustace went the mad pace. So did Arthur Updyke. It was rather to be
expected of Arthur, however. His duties at the City Drug Store seemed to
encourage a debonair lightness of conduct. He treated his blond ringlets
assiduously from the stock of pomades; he was as fastidious about his
fingernails as we might expect one to be in an environment of manicure
implements and nail beautifiers; it was his privilege to make free with
the varied assortment of perfumes--a privilege he forewent in no degree;
his taste in tooth-powders was widely respected; and in moments of
leisure, while he leaned upon a showcase awaiting custom, he was wont to
draw a slender comb from an upper waistcoat pocket and pass it
delicately through his small but perfect mustache. Naturally enough, it
was said by the ladies of Little Arcady that Arthur's attentions were
never serious,--"except them he pays to himself!" Aunt Delia McCormick
would often add, for that excellent woman was not above playing
venomously with familiar words.


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