Ring Lardner was born in Niles, Michigan in 1885. He studied engineering at the Armour Institute of Technology in Chicago, but did not complete his first semester. In 1907, Lardner obtained his first job as journalist with the South Bend Times. Six years later, he published his first successful book, You Know Me Al, an epistolary novel written in the form of letters by ‘Jack Keefe’, a bush-league baseball player, to a friend back home. A huge hit, the book earned the appreciation of Virginia Woolf and others.

Lardner went on to write such well-known short stories as ‘Haircut’, ‘Some Like Them Cold’, ‘The Golden Honeymoon’, ‘Alibi Ike’, and ‘A Day with Conrad Green’. He also continued to write follow-up stories to You Know Me Al, with the hero of that book, the headstrong but gullible Jack Keefe, experiencing various ups and downs in his major league career and in his personal life. Private Keefe’s World War I letters home to his friend Al were collected in Treat ‘Em Rough (1918).

Aside from his much-loved short stories, Lardner was also a well-known sports columnist. From 1909 onwards, he penned the humorous baseball column ‘Pullman Pastimes’ for Taylor Spink and the Sporting News in St, Louis. In 1913, he began his syndicated ‘In the Wake of the News’ column; it appeared in more than a hundred newspapers, and still runs in the Tribune.

Lardner was a close friend of F. Scott Fitzgerald and other writers of the Jazz Age. He was published by Maxwell Perkins, who also served as Fitzgerald’s editor, and served as the model for the tragic character Abe North in Fitzgerald’s last completed novel, Tender Is the Night (1934). Lardner also influenced Ernest Hemingway, who sometimes wrote articles for his high school newspaper under the pseudonym Ring Lardner, Jr. Lardner died in 1933, aged 48, of complications from tuberculosis.

CARMEN

We was playin’ rummy over to Hatch’s, and Hatch must of fell in a bed of four-leaf clovers on his way home the night before, because he plays rummy like he does everything else; but this night I refer to you couldn’t beat him, and besides him havin’ all the luck my Missus played like she’d been bought off, so when we come to settle up we was plain seven and a half out. You know who paid it. So Hatch says:

“They must be some game you can play.”

“No,” I says, “not and beat you. I can run two blocks w’ile you’re stoopin’ over to start, but if we was runnin’ a foot race between each other, and suppose I was leadin’ by eighty yards, a flivver’d prob’ly come up and hit you in the back and bump you over the finishin’ line ahead o’ me.”

So Mrs. Hatch thinks I’m sore on account o’ the seven-fifty, so she says:

“It don’t seem fair for us to have all the luck.”

“Sure it’s fair!” I says. “If you didn’t have the luck, what would you have?”

“I know,” she says; “but I don’t never feel right winnin’ money at cards.”

“I don’t blame you,” I says.

“I know,” she says; “but it seems like we should ought to give it back or else stand treat, either one.”

“Jim’s too old to change all his habits,” I says.

“Oh, well,” says Mrs. Hatch, “I guess if I told him to loosen up he’d loosen up. I ain’t lived with him all these years for nothin’.”

“You’d be a sucker if you did,” I says.

So they all laughed, and when they’d quieted down Mrs. Hatch says:

“I don’t suppose you’d feel like takin’ the money back?”

“Not without a gun,” I says. “Jim’s pretty husky.”

So that give them another good laugh; but finally she says:

“What do you say, Jim, to us takin’ the money they lose to us and gettin’ four tickets to some show?”

Jim managed to stay conscious, but he couldn’t answer nothin’; so my Missus says:

“That’d be grand of you to do it, but don’t think you got to.”

Well, of course, Mrs. Hatch knowed all the w’ile she didn’t have to, but from what my Missus says she could tell that if they really give us the invitation we wouldn’t start no fight. So they talked it over between themself w’ile I and Hatch went out in the kitchen and split a pint o’ beer, and Hatch done the pourin’ and his best friend couldn’t say he give himself the worst of it. So when we come back my Missus and Mrs. Hatch had it all framed that the Hatches was goin’ to take us to a show, and the next thing was what show would it be. So Hatch found the afternoon paper, that somebody’d left on the street-car, and read us off a list o’ the shows that was in town. I spoke for the Columbia, but the Missus give me the sign to stay out; so they argued back and forth and finally Mrs. Hatch says:

“Let’s see that paper a minute.”

“What for?” says Hatch. “I didn’t hold nothin’ out on you.”

But he give her the paper and she run through

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