THE SPLENDID PRODIGAL 
A SKETCH OF THE Bowery AS IT IS Topay 
by 
JAMES SWEINHART 
(Copyrighted 1912 by James Sweinhart) 
Til 
The months of ease for The Aristocrats dragged around into 
December. It was again the day before Christmas an hour or two 
before noon, when, as they sat puffing around the stove, a mes- 
senger came in. After enquiries of the Boss, he went over to 
Mykos, who was filling an old, Turkish pipe, and handed him a 
message. Mykos, greatly surprised, opened it in haste. He read 
it twice; then, struggling with a growing agitation, placed the 
message in the envelope, folded it into a taper, lighted his pipe 
with it from the open stove and threw the stub to the floor. 
Then he rose and disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes 
later he hurried out and away, down The Bowery. 
He had searcely gone when ‘‘No. 91’? picked up the char- 
red message and smoothed it out. It was addressed to ‘‘ Baron 
Friedrich von----’’ the surname had been burned away. But the 
message was there plain enough. ‘‘Please come to’ the bank 
immediately on receipt of this. A matter of grave importance 
to you requires settlement at once.’’ It was signed by a Broad- 
way German-American banking house. 
"<eTjdn’t hi tell hyou?’’ he cried, showing the message to 
Bachman. ‘‘Tidn’t hi tell hyou he whas ha rhemittance ae 
hand shomeday he’d ghet flagged? Well----that shomeday’s 
rhight hnow.’’ 
It was late afternoon when Mykos returned. He was the - 
picture of dispair. When he had put off his wraps, he began 
pacing the floor moving slowly through the twilight, hands clasp- 
ed behind him. Then he sat down and, for a time, looked into 
the street. He seemed scarcely to breathe. When the lamp was 
lighted, he roused- himself. 
‘Well, well, well,’’? he sighed, drawing his hand across his 
forehead so that it shaded his eyes. ‘‘It’s all over now----all 
over----dammn it----it’s all over---there’s no use, now.’’ 
Finally he rose, crossed the room and leaned heavily on the 
bar. 
‘< Jamaica----three fingers!’’ he said. 
The Boss poured it out and Mykos took it at a swallow. 
‘‘Piffie,’’? he said, addressing the Boss, who had turned to 
wiping glasses. ‘‘Piffle—you rotten, old dog, you—I’ve taken 
the count—I’m through! The old man at Dusseldorf is dead— 
the family’s cut me off—I’ll get no more money—I’ve goi to 
blow! But—before I go, Piff—I’d like to’: ask a favor. There 
was a time with me, Piff, when Christmas was the happiest day 
of the year. Tonight’s Christmas Eve, Piff,—it’11 oe my last 
one here. Let’s celebrate it right!’’ 
‘Any mazuma?’’ enquired the Boss. 
‘¢A gniteh—two hundred bucks, I think!’’ 
‘‘Your’re on! Far as ya like!’’ and the Boss went on wiping 
glasses. 
The responsibilities of master-of-ceremonies sobered the 
‘<Count’’? remarkably; for the first time in weeks, he was his old 
self. The floor was mopped and sprinkled with sawdust and the 
coarsest hob-nails fell with scarcely a sound. Then a roaring 
fire was built in the big stove. Bachman went out with Mykos’ 
money and bought new tableclothes and napkins and the long 
table was set with a train of holly skirting its border. Plates 
were set for forty and, at each plate, a red carnation and a 
little candle. 
It was eleven o’clock before the burlesques were over and 
the girls came in, laughing, joking, quarreling with one another. 
Mykos led the way, escorting a slender blonde in a big white hat 
and a dress of scarlet. 
‘‘Diamond Flo,’’ said Mykos, bowing to the company. 
Diamond Flo’ kicked one of her little feet as high as Mykos’ 
head, then bowed nearly to the floor and came up with a smile 
that showed a diamond sparklingly set in each of her incisors. 
A Hi-yvil2? . 
‘*Double it!’’ 
‘Once again, now—hip!’’ yelled the guests in @ roar. 
‘‘Ha-ha-ha—Hi, there!’’ laughed Diamond Flo’ as she kicked 
again, sending Mykos’ hat spinning across the table. 
‘‘Hooray! Youse a scream ’’ yelled the company. 
At the same moment the Boss appeared at the kitchen door 
roaring directions at several scullions who hustled here and there — 
loading the table down with steaming dishes. Dodging the wait- 
ers, the girls moved about, finding their places, the ‘‘regulars’’ 
moved up in a body and took theirs and, finally, with much noise 
and banter all sat down. Mykos and The Aristocrats, on a raised © 
platform atone end, were set off, at the other, by Diamond Flo’ 
on another and Hee Haw Charley, one broad grin, elevated beside 
her. Between the platforms,—the girls on one side, the men on 
the other by the special order of the ‘‘Count’’—ran a double- 
row of faces, each lighted by a candle, showing frivolity, vice, 
hunger, crime, disease, madness! And, between these two rows, 
piled in confusion, some torn open with the wrappers still on, were 
every delicacy in food and drink that the mind of the Boss could 
concelve. 
The hungered fell at once on beef and turkey, while others 
turned their attention to the wine. What an uproar at the dis- 
covery that ‘‘real champagne’’ was on the board! When the 
glasses had been filled all round, Mykos had the lamp turned low 
and opened the stove-door. A reddish glow flooded the room from 
the mass of coals within. 
‘‘The home-sweet-home effect!’ blurted Hee Haw Charley, his 
mouth stuffed with food. ‘ 
Shouter soon left his place at Mykos’ right and busied him- — 
self among the men, extending invitations to the Mission. Stumpy, 
vivacious at the first taste of wine, became infatuated with a 
dark-eyed girl with a long, scarlet feather in her hat, sitting 
some distance down the table. ‘‘No. 91’’ walked up and down, 
absorbed in his own thoughts, a piece of turkey in one hand, a 
goblet of wine in the other. Bachman alone kept his place on 
the platform, gorging himself with wine and turkey dressing. 
Only once was the conviviality disturbed; then it was the voice 
of Mykos calling shrilly down the room. Hee Haw Charley had 
cracked a questionable joke. 
‘“Cut that!’’ Mykos shouted through the semi-darkness. ‘‘ This 
is the night of the Nativity—rot like that don’t go!’’ 
Soon the lights were turned up, the feast went on and the 
room became loud with laughter and the clink of glasses. ‘‘Count’’ 
Mykos gulped one drink after another, now sitting down, now 
standing contemplating the company, his eyes occasionally closing 
for an instant and with the most whimsical of smiles playing on 
his face. Bachman had fallen asleep and Mykos was alone on the 
platform when the Boss sauntered over with a brandy bottle. 
‘Have one on the house, Guvner,’’ he said to Mykos. ‘‘ This 
is a glorious Christmas Eve—here’s hopin’ youse next’ll be as 
jolly!’’ And he drank deep. 
‘Next Christmas Eve!’’ Mykos repeated. ‘‘Only God knows 
where I’ll be .then!’’ And he took the proffered drink at a 
swallow. 
‘*Well,—I hain’t no geek to say much,’’ drawled the Boss as 
he smacked down his brandy. ‘‘And I hain’t very soft by nature, 
but I want you to know, Mr. Mykos, that I like your style. You 
hain’t no fourflushing gink alwus lookin’ for somethin’—you’s one 
swell gent and, no doubt, was a great man in your day. And if 
you happens to be near about next Christmas, why, blow in. Even 
if you haven’t any mazuma, you’s welcome to anything The 
Alligator’s got.’’ . ; 
The ‘‘Count’’? looked squarely at the Boss and a peculiar 
smile moved his features for an instant. He stood a moment, 
seemingly very much confused, not knowing what to say; then, 
beckoning the Boss to come closer, he leaned across the table and 
said, more softly than before: 
