d Eleanor's clothes, and
what they had to eat--why, they didn't even use their own china-ware!
They had a colored caterer from New York, and he brought everything--all
the dishes and table-cloths and spoons and forks, besides the
refreshments. I know, because just after he came I happened to carry
over my eleven best forks--John broke the dozenth tryin' to pry the cork
out of a bottle of raspberry vinegar the year we was married--I never
take a fork to pry with--and offered to loan 'em for the weddin', but
they didn't need 'em, so I just stayed a minute or two in the butler's
pantry and then went home--but I saw the caterer unpackin'.

There! I knew I'd stay too long! There's John comin' in the gate after
me. I must go this blessed minute.

THE THOMPSON STREET POKER CLUB

SOME CURIOUS POINTS IN THE NOBLE GAME UNFOLDED

BY HENRY GUY CARLETON

When Mr. Tooter Williams entered the gilded halls of the Thompson Street
Poker Club Saturday evening it was evident that fortune had smeared him
with prosperity. He wore a straw hat with a blue ribbon, an expression
of serene content, and a glass amethyst on his third finger whose
effulgence irradiated the whole room and made the envious eyes of Mr.
Cyanide Whiffles stand out like a crab's. Besides these extraordinary
furbishments, Mr. Williams had his mustache waxed to fine points and his
back hair was precious with the luster and richness which accompany the
use of the attar of Third Avenue roses combined with the bear's grease
dispensed by basement barbers on that fashionable thoroughfare.

In sharp contrast to this scintillating entrance was the coming of the
Reverend Mr. Thankful Smith, who had been disheveled by the heat,
discolored by a dusty evangelical trip to Coney Island, and oppressed by
an attack of malaria which made his eyes bloodshot and enriched his
respiration with occasional hiccoughs and that steady aroma which is
said to dwell in Weehawken breweries.

The game began at eight o'clock, and by nine and a series of two-pair
hands and bull luck Mr. Gus Johnson was seven dollars and a nickel ahead
of the game, and the Reverend Mr. Thankful Smith, who was banking, was
nine stacks of chips and a dollar bill on the wrong side of the ledger.
Mr. Cyanide Whiffles was cheerful as a cricket over four winnings
amounting to sixty-nine cents; Professor Brick was calm, and Mr. Tooter
Williams was gorgeous and hopeful, and laying low for the first jackpot,
which n