THE VEILED LADY OF STAMBOUL
LORETTA OF THE SHIPYARDS
A COAT OF RED LEAD
MISS MURDOCK,—"SPECIAL"
THE BEGUILING OF PETER GRIGGS
MISS JENNINGS'S COMPANION
SAM JOPLIN'S EPIGASTRIC NERVE
MISS BUFFUM'S NEW BOARDER
CAPTAIN JOE AND THE SUSIE ANN
"AGAINST ORDERS"
MUGGLES'S SUPREME MOMENT
To my Readers:
This collection of stories has been labelled "The Veiled Lady" as beingthe easiest way out of a dilemma; and yet the title may be misleading.While, beyond doubt, there is between these covers a most charming andlovable Houri, to whom the nightingales sing lullabies, there can alsobe found a surpassingly beautiful Venetian whose love affairs upset aQuarter, a common-sense, motherly nurse whose heart warmed toward hercompanion in the adjoining berth, a plucky New England girl with thecourage of her convictions, and a prim spinster whose only consolationwas the boarder who sat opposite.
Nor does the list by any means end here. Rough sea-dogs, with friendlyfeelings toward other dogs, crop up, as well as brave Titans who makederricks of their arms and fender-piles of their bodies. Here, too, areskinny, sun-dried Excellencies with a taste for revolutions,well-groomed club swells with a taste for adventure and cocktails, notto mention half a dozen gay, rollicking Bohemians with a taste foreverything that came their way.
Perhaps it might have been best to enclose each story in a separatecover, and then to dump the unassorted lot upon the table, where thosewho wished could make their choice. And yet, as I turn the leaves, Imust admit that, after all, the present form is best, since each andevery incident, situation, and bit of local color has either passedbefore or was poured into the wide-open eyes and willing ears of yourmost humble and obedient servant
A Staid Old Painter.
150 East 34th Street,
New York, March 13, 1907.
Joe Hornstog told me this story—the first part of it; the last part ofit came to me in a way which proves how small the world is.
Joe belongs to that conglomerate mass of heterogeneous nationalitiesfound around the Golden Horn, whose ancestry is as difficult to traceas a gypsy's. He says he is a "Jew gentleman from Germany," but hecan't prove it, and he knows he can't.
There is no question about his being part Jew, and there is a strongprobability of his being part German, and, strange to say, there is notthe slightest doubt of his being part gentleman—in his own estimation;and I must say in mine, when I look back over an acquaintance coveringmany years and rememb