“The Governor told me if I wanted to get ahead I must get the bulldog grip. I told him I never seed one, and he said, ‘Jimmy, didn’t you ever see an old maid in the country set the bulldog on a tramp and see with what a grip the dog held on to the seat of the tramp’s trousers as he tried to get over the fence?’ I said I had, and he said that was what a bulldog grip means. Just get a strong, good hold and hang on. He said the Mason’s grip wasn’t so strong; said I ought to see a Mason ride the lodge goat. He said it was more fun to see the other fellow do it than to ride yourself.”
We are planning for the Automobile Magazine Cup race. The cup is a stunner; it cost five thousand dollars, the most unique cup ever offered for a race. Pa says I can enter my Franklin Flyer as I am set on it so much. Levey Cohen says I’ll win, so does Jimmy. I hope I do, then folks would have to say a girl can do some things, too, as well as boys and men.
Oct. 15, 1907. Say, but I am excited, for I have won the race. Fifteen hundred miles with not one bad mark—a perfect score for a kid is rather good, I think. I feel more pleased than I can tell. They had a plate made with brilliants that spelled “Franklin, Model G,” and put on to the space left for the name in the cup. It’s a dandy, let me tell you that. Jimmy Jones yelled himself sick shouting for the Franklin at the end of the tournament when the trophy was awarded. He said it took a live fish to go up stream and the Franklin car was it. I never saw a boy so crazy before. He said he would like to see the maker of the Franklin car President of the United States, but I told him I guessed he would rather turn out fast cars than to be president of anything but his own company. There’s only one President ever got rich while sitting in the Presidential chair and he ought to have been in better business, Pa says. Jimmy says we have a bully President now, and I guess that’s right, anyway, Pa and Levey Cohen say so, and they know. Jimmy was telling our gardener more yarns and I will write what I can hear: “Say, mister, wouldn’t de new style of trousers put a feller on de bum, though? I never seed such big wide trousers. Be gosh, I believe dey are trying to git skirts on to de men. When I put me new suit on de Governor got me last week, I thought it looked mighty queer, yet I never gave it much thought till Peg got her peepers on them. She jest hollowed and she says, ‘Git on to de dude, trying to be a womens; almost petticoats,’ says she, ‘not yet but soon. See de crease warble when ye walks. Hully gee! Jimmy, if yese can walk and keep dat crease straight de cops will pull yese in for talking too much boose. Ye will walk like a streak of greased lightning to keep up wid ye pants, bet ye life, it will be more work for ye than for a womens to keep her hat on straight, see?’ Well, I did see, and I asked de Governor to send dem to de dressmakers and git de seam took in, but de Governor said, ‘Jimmy, dat’s de style,’ but I says, ’Scuse me, sir, but I want me pants to look like they were cut for me and not for John L. Sullivan.’ Peg says all de swell guys look like a pole wid de cloth draped on to cover up dar slimness. Now what I want to know is what de fat man can do wid all dat extra cloth around his pegs. He will look like he was sent for and didn’t come at all. De tailor what made dat style must have been down East somewhere, perhaps down to Wonderland or Lynn, and got too many drinks, so he thought everyting went, even to de cloth for de trousers. I don’t know whether he gits his money by de week or per. Oh, I saw dat fine actor, Mr. Edmund Breese, in de ‘Lion and de Mouse.’ Say, dat Breese man is a peach. He is mighty good actor, mister. I wish you would go and see him. Peg says she wishes I could make love like he can on de stage. She says she saw him at de Castle Square, Boston, and he was de handsomest lover on de stage—so de papers said, but you see I ain’t it for polished manners. De Governor says I’ve got to watch out all de time so not to git throwed down. I am doing the best I can to stand on both me pins at once, but it must be mighty find to be really born a gentleman like Mr. Breese. He bought a paper of me several times when he was at de Park Theatre and he’s a good sort, all right. Got lots of good sense in his head, and he’s popular. Oh, I say, mister, did you ever hear one of them vaudeville fellows what talks down in his boots and then yer think somebody’s under the stage, or in a trunk, or something awful. I mean one of them ventriloquists. Well, mister, I have seen ’em all from Dan Harrington to dat English chap what dey call Charlie Prince, but dey can’t any of dem fellows hold a candle to Harry Kane. Kane he styles hisself on de bill at de theatre.