A Cosmopolitan
In A Café
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At midnight, it
still looks crowded cafe. Incidentally, the small table
where I sat had escaped the eyes of the newcomers, and the two
empty chairs there had reached out with friendliness towards the
entry of visitors. Then seen a kosmop olit began to
occupy is one of them. It made me feel happy, because I believed
the theory that Adam had existed before, the citizens of the
worldexisted. We heard about them, and we saw foreign labels in a lot of
luggage, but we found many travelers rather than cosmopolitan.
I beg your
consideration about the scene marble topped tables, leather seats, a
company that beautiful women speak in coherent about the
economy, luxury or art that looks beautiful; garçon who is quiet and full
of love, music that wisely serves everyone with his raids on composers; a
mixture of conversation and laughter - and, if you want, the Würzburger in a
high glass cone that bends your lips when the ripe cherry swings on its
branch to the beak of Jay, the robber . I was told by a sculptor
from Mauch Chunk that the view was really Parisians.
My cosmopolitan
named E. Rushmore Coglan, and he will be heard starting next summer on Coney
Island. He would build a new "attraction" there, he told me,
offering the king's transfer. And then the conversation rings parallel to
the latitude and longitude. He took a large round world in his hand, so as
to speak, be familiar, insulting, and seemed no bigger than Maraschino's cherry
seeds at the table d'hôte grapes. With a wave of his hand he will talk about
certain markets in Hyderabad. Smell! He wants you to ski in Lapland. Zip! Now
you are driving a breaker with Kanakas in the World. Presto! He
dragged you through the post-oak marshes of Arkansas, letting you dry for a
while on the alkaline plains on his farm in Idaho, then pushed you into the
community of the Vienna archdukes. Anon, he will tell you about the cold
he got in the Chicago lake breeze and how long Escamila healed him in
Buenos Ayres with a hot infusion of chuchula weeds. You will send a letter
to "E. Rushmore Coglan, Esq., Earth, Solar System, Universe," and
send it, feeling confident that the letter will be sent to him.
I am sure that in
the end I have found a true cosmopolitan since Adam, and I have listened to his
debating sermons throughout the world if only I would find in them
local records from mere world travelers.But his opinion never fluttered or
unfolded ; it does not take sides with cities, countries
and continents, such as wind or gravity.
And when E.
Rushmore Coglan tells of this little planet, I am happily thinking of a
great cosmopolitan who wrote for the whole world and dedicated himself to
Bombay. In a poem he must say that there is pride and rivalry between
cities on earth, and that "the people who breed from them,
they go up and down, but hold on to the city limits like a
child holding a mother's dress her. "And every time
they walked" with a roar on the streets of an unknown "they remember
their home city" the most loyal, stupid, love; making it the only name
that ties them breathe on their bonds. " And my excitement woke up
because I caught Mr. Kipling taking a nap. Here I found a man who was not
made of dust; a person who does not have a narrow place as a place of
birth or country, a person who, if he brags at all, will brag about the whole
round world against the Martians and the inhabitants of the Moon.
Expressions in
these subjects were deposited from E. Rushmore Coglan in the third corner to
our table. While Coglan described to me topography along the Siberian
Railway, the orchestra rolled into the medley. Air cover was
"Dixie," and when the uplifting tone that appeared, they were almost
overpowered by a great applause from
nearly t ach -tiap table.
It needs to be
told that this extraordinary sight can be witnessed every night in various
cafes in New York City. Many drinks have been consumed during the theory
to explain them. Some people quickly guessed that all the South people in
the city like to eat dinner in a cafe. The "rebel" air applause
in this northern city is a little confusing; but it can't be solved. The
war with Spain, generous mints and watermelons for years, several long-term
winners on the New Orleans race track, and the brilliant banquets given by
Indiana and Kansas residents who formed the Society of North Carolina have made
the South better than the South. a "fashion" in Manhattan. Your
manicure will weaken so that your left index finger reminds him of a man in
Richmond, Va. Oh of course; but many women have to work now - war,
you know.
When
"Dixie" was played, a black-haired young man jumped from somewhere
with Mosby's guerrilla cries and waved frantically on his hat with a
soft-brimmed hat. Then he deviated through the smoke, fell into an empty
chair at our table and took out a cigarette.
That night in the
period when the reserves were disbursed. One of us mentioned three
Würzburger to the waiter; The black-haired young man admitted that he was
included in the order with a smile and a nod.I quickly asked him a question
because I wanted to try the theory I had.
"Will you
tell me," I began, "are you from—"
Boxing E.
Rushmore Coglan banged on the table and I gasped into silence.
Sorry, "he
said," but that's a question I don't want to hear. What's the
difference from where the man came from? Is it fair to judge a man with
his post office address? Why, I've seen Kentuckian people who hate
whiskey, Virgin people who aren't descendants of Pocahontas, Indians who
haven't written novels, Mexicans who don't wear velvet trousers with silver
dollars sewn along the seams, funny British people, Yankees spenders,
cold-blooded South, cold blooded South, narrow-minded Westerners, and New
Yorkers who are too busy to stop for an hour on the road to watching
an armed grocery store employee do cranberries in a paper bag. Let a
man become a man and don't hang him with a label. any part.
"I'm
sorry," I said, "but my curiosity isn't completely unemployed. I know
the South, and when the band plays 'Dixie' I like to observe. I have formed the
belief that men who praise the air with real violence and real sectional
loyalty are always native from Secaucus, NJ, or the district between Murray
Hill Lyceum and River Harlem, this city. I will test my opinion by asking this
man when you interrupt your own theory - bigger theory, I must admit. "
And now the
black-haired young man spoke to me, and it became clear that his mind was
moving along its own lines.
"I want to
be a periwinkle," he said, mysteriously, "in the valley, and singing
tooralloo-ralloo."
This is clearly
too unclear, so I turned to Coglan again.
"I've
traveled the world twelve times," he said. "I know an Esquimau
at Upernavik who sent to Cincinnati for a tie, and I saw a goat-herder in
Uruguay who won a prize in the Battle Creek breakfast food puzzle competition.
I paid rent in a room in Cairo, Egypt, and others in Yokohama throughout years,
there are sandals waiting for me at the tea house in Shanghai, and I don't need
to tell them how to cook my eggs in Rio de Janeiro or Seattle. What's the use
of bragging about being from the North, or South, or an old noble house in the
valley, or Euclid, Cleveland, or Pike's Peak, or Fairfax County, Va., or
Hooligan's Flats or elsewhere? This will be a better world when we stop being
fools about moldy cities or ten hectares of swamps just because we were born
there . "
"You seem to
be real cosmopolitan," I said in admiration. "But it looks like
you will curse patriotism."
"Stone age
relics," Coglan said, warmly. "We are all brothers - Chinamen,
Englishmen, Zulus, Patagonians, and people on the banks of the Kaw River. One
day all small pride in our city or state or state will be destroyed, and we
will all become citizens of the world, like those should be. "
"But when
you roam in a foreign land," I endure, "don't let your mind go back
to some point - some dear and—"
"There is no
place," interrupted ER Coglan, recklessly. "Chunks of
terrestrial, globular, planetary matter, slightly flat at the poles, and known
as Earth, are where I live. I have met a lot of object-bound citizens in this
country abroad. I've seen people from Chicago sitting in a gondola in Venice on
the night of moonlight and bragging about their drainage channel. I have seen a
Southman introduced to the King of England that the king, without winking, is
informed that his grandmother is at his mother's side related to marriage with
Perkinses, from Charleston. know a New Yorker who was kidnapped for ransom by
some Afghan bandits. His people sent money and he returned to Kabul with an
agent. "Afghanistan?" the native said to him through an interpreter,
"Well, not too slow, do you think?" "Oh, I don't know," he
said, and he began to tell them about taxi drivers on Sixth avenue and
Broadway. for me. I'm not tied to anything not 8,000 miles in
diameter. Just put me as E. Rushmore Coglan, a terrestrial ball resident. "
Cosmopolitan I
made a big farewell and left me, because he thought he saw someone through chat
and smoking that he knew. So I was left with a prospective periwinkle,
which was reduced to the Würzburger without further ability to voice his
aspirations to perch, melodious, at the top of a valley.
I sat thinking
about my clear cosmopolitan and wondered how the poet had managed to miss him. He
is my invention and I trust him. How is that? "People who breed
from them, their traffic goes up and down, but sticks to their suburbs as a
child with a mother's dress."
Not so, E.
Rushmore Coglan. With the whole world for his—
My meditation was
disturbed by loud noises and conflicts in other parts of the cafe. I saw
above the visitors who sat E. Rushmore Coglan and my foreigners involved in a
great battle. They fought between tables like Titans, and glasses fell,
and people lifted their hats and knocked down, and a brown-haired man screamed,
and a blonde began to sing "Teasing."
Cosmopolitan I
maintain the pride and reputation of the Earth when the servants approach the
two combatants with their famous flying wedge formation and make them outside,
still fighting.
I called
McCarthy, one of the French garçons, and asked the cause of the conflict.
"A man with
a red tie" (that's my cosmopolitan), he said, "gets hot because of
the things that are said about bum pavements and water supplies from where he
comes from other people."
"Why,"
I said, confused, "the man is a world citizen - cosmopolitan. He—"
"A native of
Mattawamkeag, Maine, he said," Mc Carthy continued, "and he won't
stand up without knitting the place."
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