"What's the news?" yawned Kernan.
Woods flipped over to him the piece of writing:
"The New York _Morning Mars_:
"Please pay to the order of John Kernan the one thousand
dollars reward coming to me for his arrest and conviction.
"BARNARD WOODS."
"I kind of thought they would do that," said Woods, "when you were
jollying them so hard. Now, Johnny, you'll come to the police station
with me."
XXII
EXTRADITED FROM BOHEMIA
From near the village of Harmony, at the foot of the Green Mountains,
came Miss Medora Martin to New York with her color-box and easel.
Miss Medora resembled the rose which the autumnal frosts had spared
the longest of all her sister blossoms. In Harmony, when she started
alone to the wicked city to study art, they said she was a mad,
reckless, headstrong girl. In New York, when she first took her seat
at a West Side boardinghouse table, the boarders asked: "Who is the
nice-looking old maid?"
Medora took heart, a cheap hall bedroom and two art lessons a week
from Professor Angelini, a retired barber who had studied his
profession in a Harlem dancing academy. There was no one to set her
right, for here in the big city they do it unto all of us. How many
of us are badly shaved daily and taught the two-step imperfectly by
ex-pupils of Bastien Le Page and Gerome? The most pathetic sight in
New York--except the manners of the rush-hour crowds--is the dreary
march of the hopeless army of Mediocrity.
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