The Weekly Register

THE BILL SNORT LETTERS
Alex E. Swett in National Democrat.
Cottage By The Sea. June 27, '90.
Major Dan McGary, Houston, Texas:
My Dear Major-Some people inherit cottages, others buy cottages or build them, but this reform Administration has cottages thrust upon it. Talk of Cleveland's luck! Why Cleveland is a child of misfortune to us. When I say "us" I mean this Administration. Personally I never had any luck. The only streak of luck I ever had was once when I found a dime in the pocket of a previous year's vest.
Yes, here we all are at Cape May Point, enjoying the cooling breezes and the newspaper comments on the impropriety of the President accepting the cottage, and having a nice time generally. O, yes, we get our cottages as cheap as Sancho Panza did his Island of Barataria. Pious John started the idea, and the Cape May property owners were only too glad to second the motion.
For a while there was a hitch in the negotiations, and I thought we would spend the vacation at some other summer resort. There were three or four other seaside resorts bidding for Harrison as an attraction. One of them offered a cash bonus. So Harrison said to Wanamaker: "Business is business. There is no sentiment about this deal. If you can't afford to lubricate me properly, I know of somebody who can. I want a clear deed to the cottage, and it has got to be fixed up in style, too."
"Wanny" consulted with the property owners, and as Cape May was about as dead as a can of pressed beef, they rallied and did the clean thing. By thunder, we haven't had to pay for as much as a can of condensed milk. I lubricate the flanges of my throat with genuine imported English ale, as often as they need it. You and Andy Faulkner, of the Texas Central, ought to be here.
Of course, you understand that the President himself indignantly refused to accept the cottage. He said sternly, in my presence, to Wanamaker: "Sir, have the deed made out in Mrs. Harrison's name." He used the strongest language in denouncing the transparent attempt to bribe him.
By the way, Baby McKee got off a good thing a few days ago. It seems he was in the room when Harrison and "Wanny" were making out a list of the generous donors and what official rewards they were to get. After "Wanny" was gone Baby McKee said to Harrison:
"Grandpa, you know who gave us this cottage?"
"No, I am sure I do not," replied Harrison.
"Then why did you pinch your eye so much when you were talking with Uncle Wanny?"
The little scamp had caught Harrison and "Wanny" winking at each other. That's what he meant by "pinching" his eye.
At night I sleep the sleep of the just on a rosewood bed contributed by a man whose daughter is to be shoved in the Treasury Department as a clerk. I don't know what the man who supplied the bed clothes expects, but the party who furnished the wash basin and the rest of the crockery is going to be put on the pension list as a war veteran with back pay.
I verily believe, Dan, that the only thing in this whole cottage that is not tainted with fraud is my tooth brush. I paid for it with my own money, honestly earned by playing poker with a member of the Texas delegation. At breakfast I sit on a donated chair, and drink coffee out of a contributed cup, and grease my toast with butter with which Harrison himself has been lubricated. Funny, isn't it?
This Harrison family reminds me of a family in Texas that was an object of compassion to the neighbors. When the big lazy son came home at night and the supper was spread, he would look around and say, whiningly:
"Mother dear, is this all the neighbors have sent us to-day?"
There is another side to this picture, my dear Dan. If you will take my advice, when you get to be President you will buy your own cottages. That's the way I'm going to do.
I don't know when I have felt as cheap as I did yesterday. I was out riding with Harrison with the horse and buggy which a Cape May livery stable man, a coarse, vulgar brute, contributed to Mrs. Harrison.
As we drove past the stable he motioned to Harrison to halt, and accompanied by several hard looking citizens, he came up to the horse, opened his mouth, and showed them the animal's teeth. Then, with a wink of Botany Bay gentility, he motioned to Harrison to drive on.
I just made up my mind then and there not to ride out with the President of the United States any more.
Day before yesterday I caught a slab-sided galoot milking our Alderney cow, I was lifting him over the fence when he made me understand that he was milking his own cow.
Yesterday I kicked a sallow-faced gawk of a boy all the way to the trout gate before he could explain that he was going to represent the United States at the Court of St. James in consequence of his uncle, who keeps a flour and feed store having contributed oats and hay for the livery stable man's contribution.
Since that I've quit shoving people out through the front gate. I have made all the fool of myself that I am going to. If while I'm eating my breakfast a perfect stranger comes in and tries to pull a piece of partially chewed bacon out of my mouth I'm going to tell him to take it and go.
I knew that the property owners at Cape May had chipped in to buy Harrison, but didn't suppose the gamblers, et als, had a finger in the pie, too; but they had. I found that out a little while ago. There was a ring at the front door bell.
I went to the door, and was confronted by a stunning looking female. She had gilt-edge hair, and such a loud dress that it might have been heard over in Philadelphia, so vociferous was her costume.
"How are the folks?" she asks.
"What folks?" I enquired, thinking she had come to the wrong house.
"Harrison and his wife, of course. Who the devil do you suppose I'm talking about?"
"I'm sorry to hear they have got sore eyes. What's the reason I can't see them, then?"
"One reason is they don't care to see you."
"I suppose they are putting on frills. Well, I chipped in with the rest to buy this cottage, and so did Gus. Here's my card. "Dolly Dimple, Song and Dance Artiste."
I'm the only protean artiste in America who can turn a back summer-sault and never miss a note while singing "Little Annie Rooney." Want to see me do it? Here's my photo.'
"And here are some 'comps' for the antience. Bring the old man around, and if he likes a quiet game of poker, Gus will show him the kitty. I'm a lady from the ground up. It was my place to call first, as Mrs. Harrison has just moved into the neighborhood. Oh, you needn't stare at me, you old sinner. So long!" and off she went.
I verily believe the Harrisons overheard the entire conversation, for the President is as savage as a meat axe, and the looks he cast at "Wanny's" bust in the parlor fairly made my blood run cold.
BILL SNORT.