chucked the boozy steward off
the float when he had two of the house committee treed up the signal
mast?

I suspect that's how it is I'm played up so prominent for this house
warmin' episode. Anyway, when I arrives there on the great night--me all
got up fancy in a double breasted serge coat, white flannel pants, and
cork soled canvas shoes--I finds they've put me on the reception
committee; and that, besides welcomin' invited guests, I'm expected to
keep one eye peeled for outsiders, to see that nobody starts nothin'.

So I'm on deck, as you might say, and more or less conspicuous, when this
Larchmont delegation is landed and comes stringin' up. It was "Ahoy
there, Captain This!" and "How are you, Captain That?" from the rest of
the committee, who was some acquainted; and me buttin' around earnest
tryin' to find someone to shake hands with, when I runs across this thick
set party in the open front Tuxedo regalia, with his opera hat down over
one eye and a long cigar raked up coquettish from the sou'west corner of
his face.

Know him? I guess! It's Peter K. Tracey; yes, the one that has his name
on so many four-sheet posters. Noticed how he always has 'em read, ain't
you? "Mr. Peter K. Tracey presents Booth Keene, the sterling young
actor." Never forgets that "Mr."; but, say, I knew him when he signed it
just "P. Tracey," and chewed his tongue some at gettin' that down.

Them was the days when he'd have jumped at the chance of managin' my ring
exhibits, and he was known in sportin' circles as Chunk Tracey. I ain't
followed all his moves since then; but I know he got to handlin' the big
heavyweights on exhibition tours, broke into the theatrical game with an
animal show that was a winner, and has stuck to the boxoffice end ever
since.

Why shouldn't he, with a half ownership in a mascot Rube drama that never
has less than six road companies playin' it, and at least one hit on
Broadway every season? I admit I was some surprised, though, to hear of
him buyin' a house on Fifth-ave. and makin' a stab at mixin' in society.
That last I could hardly believe; but here he was, and lookin' as much
jarred at findin' me as I was to see him.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" says I. "Chunk Tracey!"

"Why, hello, Shorty!" says he, and neither one of us remembers the
"Charmed to see yuh, old chappy" lines we should have been shootin' off.
Seems he'd been towed along with a bunch of near-swells that didn't dare
treat him as if he really