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Updated: September 20, 2025
"Hadlai," he continued, "put down Heise of Cook. John and I have been friends for more than thirty years; I worked for him for a delegate-at-large to the last National Convention, and he told me then, 'Doctor, if there is anything I can do for you, just let me know." To which I replied, "Heise of Cook, dead sure," and his name was at once placed in the Rogers column.
LISTEN to me, will you?" "Oh, Mac, Mac," cried Trina, running to her husband. "Mac, dear, listen; it's me, it's Trina, look at me, you " "Get hold of his other arm, will you, Ryer?" panted Heise. "Quick!" "Mac, Mac," cried Trina, her arms about his neck. "For God's sake, hold up, Doc, will you?" shouted the harness-maker. "You don't want to kill him, do you?" Mrs.
At the bar Heise and Ryer ordered cocktails, Marcus called for a "creme Yvette" in order to astonish the others. The dentist spoke for a glass of beer. "Say, look here," suddenly exclaimed Heise as they took their glasses. "Look here, you fellahs," he had turned to Marcus and the dentist.
A little pock-marked gentleman in glasses, no doubt the famous Uncle Oelbermann; Miss Baker, in her black grenadine, false curls, and coral brooch; Marcus Schouler, his arms folded, his brows bent, grand and gloomy; Heise the harness-maker, in yellow gloves, intently studying the pattern of the matting; and Owgooste, in his Fauntleroy "costume," stupefied and a little frightened, rolling his eyes from face to face.
Perhaps his nerves were naturally too dull to admit of any excitation; perhaps he did not really care for the whiskey, and only drank because Heise and the other men at Frenna's did. Trina could often reproach him with drinking too much; she never could say that he was drunk. The alcohol had its effect for all that.
When he rejoined the group, he found them preparing for a wrestling bout. "I tell you what," said Heise, "we'll have a tournament. Marcus and I will rastle, and Doc and Ryer, and then the winners will rastle each other." The women clapped their hands excitedly. This would be exciting. Trina cried: "Better let me hold your money, Mac, and your keys, so as you won't lose them out of your pockets."
This he gave with exquisite modulation, dwelling upon the refrain at the end of each stanza, "Juchhé, Juchhé, Juchheise, heise, he, so ging der Fiedelbogen!" This he recited with such effect that one imagined he heard the touch of the bow upon the strings of the 'cello with the mellow, long-drawn cadence.
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