Tales of the Jazz Age (Classic Reprint)

Jim Powell was a Jelly-bean. Much as I desire to make him an appealing character, I feel that it would be unscrupulous to deceive you on that point. He was a bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wool, ninety-nine threequarters percent Jelly-bean and he grew lazily all during Jelly-bean season, which is every season, downn the land of the Jelly-beans well below the Mason-D ixon line. N ow if you call a Memphis man a Jelly-bean he will quite possibly pull a long sinewy rope from his hip pocket and hang you to a convenient telegraph-pole. If you call a New Orleans man a Jelly-bean he will probably grin and ask you who is taking your girl to the Mardi Gras ball. The particular Jelly-bean patch which produced the protagonist of this history lies somewhere between the two a little city of forty thousand that has dozed sleepily for forty thousand years in southern Georgia, occasionally stirring in its slumbers and muttering something about a war that took place sometime, somewhere, and that everyone else has forgotten long ago. Jim was a Je Uy-bean. I write that again because it has such a pleasant sound rather like the beginning of a fairy story as if Jim were nice. It somehow gives me a picture of him with a roimd, appetizing face and all sorts of leaves and vegetables growing out of his cap. But Jim was long and thin and. bent at the waist from stooping over pool-tables, and he was what might have been known in the indiscriminating North as a comer loafer.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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Forgotten Books is a publisher of historical writings, such as: Philosophy, Classics, Science, Religion, History, Folklore and Mythology.

Forgotten Books' Classic Reprint Series utilizes the latest technology to regenerate facsimiles of historically important writings. Careful attention has been made to accurately preserve the original form