MAKf &ONCUB PMKElt
 
 NEW 
 
 MONOLOGUES 
 
 AND DIALECT 
 
 STORIES 
 
 A collection of new stories, monologues, poems and acting 
 plays, published for the first time. Negro stories, Irish dia- 
 lect stories, humorous, pathetic and dramatic recitations, 
 child poems, bits of delightful sentimental poetry, depict 
 every phase of life in this unique collection. .'. 
 
 By MARY MONCURE PARKER 
 
 Author of 
 
 'A Day at the Know-it-all Woman's Club," "When Your Wife's Away, 
 
 "Powder and Patches," "A Quiet Evening at Home," "The 
 
 Princess Innocence," "Love Behind the Scenes, "etc. 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 FREDERICK J. DRAKE & CO. 
 CHICAGO, U. S. A.
 
 Copyright 1908 
 
 By 
 FREDERICK J. DRAKE & CO. 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 SRLF 
 URL 
 
 INDEX 
 
 At the Reception 42 
 
 Bein' Neighborly 7 
 
 Bob's Lament 75 
 
 Bride and the Home-Maker, The 181 
 
 Call of the Lord, The 124 
 
 Canoe and the Girl, The 26 
 
 Change of Front, A 11 
 
 Cheerful Liar, A 141 
 
 Colonial Dream, A j 187 
 
 Cupid to Win ! 103 
 
 Do You Believe in Fairies? 50 
 
 Elder's Drink of Cider, The 63 
 
 Face in the Smoke, The 33 
 
 Fascinatin' Man, A 20 
 
 George's Soliloquy 23 
 
 Gray Goose, The 77 
 
 Hustlin' Hi 10 
 
 Leah 52 
 
 Lily Bell's 'Finity 47 
 
 Little Mars Richard 84 
 
 Low-backed Car-up-to-Date, The 18 
 
 Lucindy Jones and the Directry Gown 110 
 
 Lullaby, A 14 
 
 Maggie McCarthy and the Servant Girl Problem 120 
 
 Maggie McCarthy and the Beauty Parlor 155 
 
 Maggie's Yellow Dago t 15 
 
 Mammy's Cabin 74 
 
 Mammy Liza -. 172 
 
 Mrs. Barker's Spirit 137
 
 Page 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout's Busy Day 92 
 
 Muse Rebellious, The. . , 136 
 
 Not Without Honor 114 
 
 Old Dad 59 
 
 On the Summer Resort Porch with Johnny 29 
 
 Patient Tommy 34 
 
 Poor Woman 154 
 
 Quality of Mercy, The 145 
 
 Quarrel, The 186 
 
 Sentimental Si 58 
 
 Snakes The Soldier 35 
 
 Somebody Just Like You 22 
 
 Soul of the Rich Man, The 116 
 
 Spring Song, A 41 
 
 Transplanted Romance, A 67 
 
 Truthful James 46 
 
 Two Heads are Better Than One 158 
 
 When the Jimpsons Have Cold Meat 55 
 
 Widow Flightly's Goodbye Call, The 169
 
 BEIN' NEIGHBORLY. 
 
 ELL, well, Mandy, you pore thing ! La 
 sakes! It do seem awful to have you 
 layin' up here in bed sufferin' so with 
 the rheumatiz jest at harvestin' time, 
 too, when Hiram needs your help so 
 and it'll cost so much to git an extry 
 hired girl to help, an' Hiram havin' 
 such bad luck too, to have his best 
 black horse die. There, now, keep under the kivers. 
 What you jumpin' up fur? You hadn't heard it? Hiram 
 didn't tell you? Well, it's' true, an' the bay mare's 
 sick. Troubles never come singly, do they? My, I 
 sez to Job this mornin', Job, sez I, the Mason's is 
 havin' so much trouble I'm goin' to run over an' see 
 Mandy this very mornin'. 'Tain't more'n neighborly to 
 ask how she is an' see if I can't do something, though, 
 dear me, suz, I'm so busy I can't hardly get breathin' 
 time myself, puttin' up fruit an' the harvesters comin' 
 next week, but I left John's wife to do the dishes an' 
 tidy up while I come over. Looks like you needed 
 somebody in your kitchen, land ! it don't look much like 
 it do when you're up an' around, Mandy Hiram 
 walkin' 'round your clean kitchen with his muddy 
 boots an' you allus so particular an' that girl o' your'n 
 dawdlin' an' dawdlin' like she had the hull day for 
 dishwashin' an' she's so careless. Do you know, 
 Mandy, she broke that best chiny bowl o' your'n the 
 one with the wild roses that you bought to the fair at 
 Libertytown las' year. Now don't git narvous, it's
 
 done now an' there's no use worryin'. She had the sun 
 streamin' in on your new red rug by the settin' room 
 winder, but I pulled the curtain it 'peared to me 
 though like the rug had faded considerable. An' the 
 children was in the parlor as I come by foolin' with 
 the wax cross on the table they had the glass kiver 
 off and some of the leaves had dropped, and the album 
 was open on the floor. I said, My land, Mandy'll have 
 shivers up an' down her spine if she knows it, and she 
 sick, too. Dear, dear, things gets awful upset when a 
 body's ailin'. By the way, Mandy, you want to be 
 awful careful not to let that rheumatiz git to your 
 heart 'cause you'll go like a flash, without a minute's 
 warnin'. You know Silas Anson's brother's wife, she 
 that was Mary Eliza Baxter, well she had a cousin 
 that died jest that way. She was talkin' jest like you 
 an' me are right now and she keeled right over and 
 died 'fore you could say Jack Robinson. What's the 
 matter? In pain? It's an awful painful disease. Some- 
 times folks gits so crippled up they never do walk 
 straight agin. Don't you let it git fastened on you. 
 What are you takin'? Suthin' Dr. Barnes give you? 
 Why don't you have the new doctor to Liberty town? 
 He knows suthin'. Dr. Barnes is gittin' too old. What, 
 you've allus had him? Well, maybe that's why you've 
 had so much sickness. A good many of his patients 
 has died lately. I brought over some liniment. Jest 
 rub some of that on your jints and I bet it'll do won- 
 ders. Mrs> Mitchell saw me comin' an' she called out 
 to tell you that she had a uncle who had the rheuma- 
 tiz pretty bad and he took castor oil and quinine. My 
 grandmother used to use gum goacum and gin a pint 
 of gin and I forgit how much gum goacum, but it done 
 her a world of good, but I believe she died not long 
 after, come to think. Say, Mandy, I'm sorry you can't 
 go to church at Barton Center Sunday there's goin' 
 to be a big funeral. Didn't you hear Milly Williams 
 was dead? Yes, 'twas pretty sudden. She wa'nt sick
 
 very long. By the way, she had Dr. Barnes a doctorin' 
 her. That jest goes to prove what I said. Everybody 
 I know is goin' except your sister Jane. Jane allus 
 looks on the dark side of things and she said you'd 
 been so sick, nobody could fell what might happen, 
 and I asked her if that was the reason she bought that 
 black calico with the white spots to Bronson's store, 
 Saturday, and she only sighed and wiped her eyes. 
 But don't you worry, Mandy, 'cause Jane allus looks 
 on the dark side. My land sakes, what time did that 
 clock strike? It ain't noon? Lawsy! dear me suz! I 
 come over to help the hired girl, but I've spent all my 
 time with you. Well, a body gits awful blue and lone- 
 some bein' sick, an' it's pretty brightenin' to have some 
 one to talk to. Well, it's quite a walk home an' so I'll 
 jest run down an' eat with Hiram an' the children. I 
 smelled berry pies cookin' an' it's give me an appetite. 
 I would stay and help with the dishes but I must go 
 back there's lots of things to do to hum. 
 
 Now, Mandy, do hurry up and git well. I'll run over 
 agin real soon and cheer you up. There ain't nothin' 
 like bein' neighborly.
 
 HUSTLING HI. 
 
 Of all the darn fool signs I know 
 In this world of work and hurry, 
 
 Is that blame motto stickin' 'round 
 That says to you, "Don't worry." 
 
 Why, you've got to keep a hustlin' 
 
 Just every single minute, 
 In this fast day of push and rush, 
 
 Or else you won't be in it. 
 
 The tramp don't worry, nor the man 
 
 That's always just a settin' 
 From morn to night in the corner store 
 
 On a dry goods box a bettin' 
 
 That he can run the hull blame show, 
 
 The government, finances; 
 The reason he wa'nt president, 
 
 Was 'count o' circumstances. 
 
 Of course it was, we all know that, 
 'Twas 'cause he couldn't hurry; 
 
 If you set in the wagon with the band, 
 You've got to WORK and WORRY. 
 
 to
 
 A CHANGE OF FRONT. 
 "Miss Sofy Interviews Her Laundress." 
 
 "Good mawnin', Miss Sofy. Yes'm, I am a little 
 late dis mawnin' 'bout comin' to wash, but I done had 
 de misery in my haid jes' poy'ful. Yes'm, I'm sub- 
 jective to dem alimonies. Yes'm. Runs in our 
 fam'ly. But I say I ain't gwine to disappoint Miss 
 Sofy. No, ma'am. So I come over 'bout eight. What's 
 dat? Ten o'clock? Why, Miss Sofy! Lawd! Yo' all's 
 clock is sho wrong. What's dat? Couldn't pay me 
 fur a whole day's work? Why, Miss Sofy! Yo' all is 
 sho gittin' as close as my ole man and Lawd knows he 
 hoi's on to a dime till it plum rusticates in his hand. 
 What you say, Miss Sofy? You want to come heah 
 an' talk wid me dis mawnin'. Yes'm jes let me wring 
 out dis shirt. What's dat? De clothes looks torn? 
 Does I puts anything in to whiten 'em? How you 
 talks, Miss Sofy! 
 
 "S'pose I'd do sech a injustious thing? What's dat 
 smell? I don' smell nothin* an' I got a right sharp 
 smeller, too. Yes'm I has, fo' sho. Chloride of lime? 
 In de clothes? What kind of a pusson does you think 
 I am, Miss Sofy? What's dat empty tin? Dat? Oh, 
 yes, I do rekomembers I done got some from de grocery 
 to put down in de alley kase dar's a dead cat out dar 
 an' I allus did have de mos' sententious nose. Kin 
 smell any bad smells a mile off. I keep dat lime wid 
 me allus jes' fo' sech purposes. Yes'm. 
 
 "Somethin' else you wants to say? Yes'm. Go on, 
 Miss Sofy. You know I jes' loves to heah you talk. 
 Your voice is so melodious. Don't you sing? You 
 don't? When you talk I'd jes' swar you was a singer.
 
 Yes'm. Yo mouf is pretty an' roun' an' rosy jes like 
 a singer's mouf. Yes'm. 
 
 "What's dat? You's bin missin' handkerchiefs? Now 
 ain't dat queeah? I thought I missed some myse'f las' 
 week. Somebody mus' jes pick 'em off de line when I 
 ain't lookin'. Maybe it's dat washwoman nex' do'. 
 My line hangs pretty close to dat fence and some of 
 dem niggahs is pow'ful light-fingered. Can't trust 'em 
 nohow. No, ma'am. What's dat you say? Oh! 
 What's dis stickin' in my waist? Oh! Dem's some 
 handkerchiefs I'm jes' goin' to wash. I often puts 'em 
 in dah fo' convenience. An' dis breast pin? Oh I 
 foun' dat stickin' in yo' shirtwaist dis mawnin' an' I 
 was jest goin' to call you when you come down. Seem 
 like dis heah min' readin' dat you heahs so much 'bout 
 do sho have somethin' in it. Kase my min' an' yo' 
 min' was sho runnin' along in de same circumlocution. 
 Yes'm. 
 
 "How's dat? I didn't heah good? You know ever 
 since I done had de tyfum fever when I was a chile de 
 lef lobelia of my ear has been gone. Yes'm. An' de 
 doctor done prognosticated at dat time, dat some day 
 I war lible to lose de right lobelia, an' den good-bye 
 to my hearin'. Yes, ma'am. Oh, yes'm, I understand 
 you now. You bin missin' soap. Well, now, ain't 
 dat queeah? I jes' knowed dem rats in yo' pantry was 
 eatin' dat soap. You ought to do somethin' fo' dem 
 rats. Dat's one thing I brung dis chloride of lime fur 
 to sprinkle aroun' fur dem rats. 
 
 "What's you sayin'. Miss Sofy? Be keerful of dat 
 lace skirt ! Now de ideah of tellin' me, what wuks fo' 
 de finis' fam'lies, to be keerful! Why, lace skirts an' 
 fine clothes is my specialties. Yes'm. You looks so 
 sweet in yo' clothes, too, Miss Sofy. Ain't ev'body kin 
 sot off clothes as you does. No, ma'am. Some folks 
 looks like de wrath o' Gawd whatever dey puts on, but 
 you has de ve'y air of a queen. Yes'm. What's dat? 
 If I talks less an' wuk more' ! Why, ev'body knows I 
 
 12
 
 ain't no talker an' dat I wuks my fingers off an scrapes 
 my flesh clar froo to de bone when I gits started. 
 How's dat? You don't want me aftah dis week, an' 
 you ain't gwine to pay me fur a full day? 
 
 "Well, I jes' gwine to say dat I quits right heah an' 
 now, an' de nex' time I does washin' it's gwine to be 
 fo' de bes' people an' not fo' no plain-faced, spindle- 
 shanked po' white trash." . 
 
 is
 
 A LULLABY. 
 
 Oh, the soft little cheek that is pressed close to mine, 
 
 And the large eyes so limpid and blue ; 
 The pink rose leaf fingers and dimpled fat hands 
 
 Belong, my dear baby, to you. 
 
 We'll not mind the storm that goes raging outside, 
 
 But I'll rock and I'll rock you away, 
 To that quaint, dainty fairyland, dreamland we know, 
 
 Where the dear little dream babies play. 
 
 I'll clasp, clasp you close, as we drift, drift along, 
 
 So safe from all fears and alarms. 
 \h, baby, my love, see how strong mother is, 
 
 Why, she holds the whole world in her arms. 
 
 14
 
 MAGGIE'S YELLOW DAGO. 
 
 'Shure 'twas all along if that yillow dago of an Eye- 
 talian that it happened, and the saints presarve us, 
 Mary O'Sullivan, it's Maggie McCarthy that's laughin' 
 yit, when she thinks of the ludiculness of the hull af- 
 fair, an' laugh she will about that same till Kingdom 
 come. You see, my missus has been away visitin', and 
 lavin' me to run the house for siveral wakes. Well, 
 Mister Jones is a nice, quoit like sort of a mon an' it's 
 his own business that he attinds to, but them byes is 
 holy terrors ! "Pis not me they're afther botherin', for 
 I told them, sez I, 'tis a sthraight tip I'm givin' you, 
 that the first bye that meddles round the kitchen, or 
 gives me sass, that minit I up an' lave, and you have 
 no wan to do the cookin', so it's as make as Moses they 
 be to Maggie McCarthy. Well, Mr. Jones is at work 
 and the byes is at school all day, so I've things pretty 
 much to myself until wan day in comes the yillow 
 Eyetalian dago through the back gate an' on his head 
 he had a tray wid some of them plaster statoos of in- 
 dacent lookin' women and childer, some of 'em widout 
 a stitch of clothes on, an's sez he, "Buy, lady?" "No, 
 gwan 'bout yer business," sez I. I've no time to fool 
 wid you," and very foolishlike, Mary O'Sullivan, sez I, 
 "there's no wan home." "The Missis?" says he, "she 
 be's out of town," sez I. Well, wid that he stayed and 
 stayed and smiled and smiled the sicklinest grin an' 
 said "pretty" to me, and "me luf you," an' sich foolish 
 truck. I was mad enuf to bate his brains out, that is 
 if he had any, which thot same I doubt. Well, to make 
 a long story short, he came ivery day an' I was that 
 sick and tired of the way he kept botherin' at the back 
 
 15
 
 gate, that I thought I'd tell Mr. Jones, though not 
 likin' to giv him thrubble, he havin' bother enuf of his 
 own, God knows, wid them byes, whin I was saved 
 the thrubble and all along of a divvil of a shape. Wan 
 day, 'twas on a Saturday marnin', them byes, brought 
 the quarest lookin' baste into the yard wid long wool 
 an' the wickedest lookin' horns and the squint of the 
 divvil in his eye. Says I, holy mother of marcy, pre- 
 sarve us' phwat's thot? "Tis a shape, says Bill. "A 
 shape," sez I, "oh, you mean Mary's little lamb," sez I, 
 sarcastic like. "No, a corset shape," sez Bob. " 'Tis 
 shure it's no corset I see on him," sez I, "an' shure 
 you ain't goin' to kape the baste, fer if you do out 
 goes Maggie McCarthy," an' they begins to whadle. 
 "Oh, Maggie, we'll niver let him bother, we'll kape him 
 in the barn and tie him up," sez they. "He'll be atin' 
 my clothes off the line," sez I. "No, honest he won't," 
 sez they, "an' if you don't scold, thin pa'll let us kape 
 him." "I'll see," sez I, "an' if he bothers, out goes him 
 or Maggie McCarthy. Well, 'twas little work I did 
 thot day, Mary O'Sullivan, for watchin' thim byes an' 
 thot imp of a shape. Bill wud hold him and Bob stand 
 by the side of the barn, an' would jump and tormint 
 the baste an' thin Bill wud let him go and on would 
 come Misther Shape and whin he got most up to Bob, 
 the youngster wud jump wan side and the shape would 
 nearly butt out his brains, if he had any, (an' thot same 
 I doubt about shape an' Eyetalians), agin the side o' the 
 barn. But by-an'-by, luckey for me an' my wurk, they 
 got tired and wint away, lavin' Misther Shape in the 
 barn. Well, Mary O'Sullivan, I was stirrin' up my 
 Sunday cake whin who should come into the yard but 
 the yillow Eyetalian dago wid the tray of indacent, 
 images on his head and a foolish grin on his face. 
 "Pretty lady, buy?" sez he. "Gwan 'bout your busi- 
 ness," sez I. "Luf you," sez he. "I'll knock the head 
 off you," sez I, very ladylike, but emphatic, an' just 
 thin, what do you think, Mary O'Sullivan, the barn door 
 
 10
 
 bursts open and out comes that corset shape. The 
 dago stood lookin' at me wid his back to the barn and 
 his fate wide apart to balance his tray, an' before he 
 knew what had happened him that shape had run be- 
 chune his legs an' there he was astraddle of the baste 
 wid a face on him as white as a shate, instid o' yillow. 
 Round an' round the yard wint the shape an' the Eye- 
 talian, fur all the wurld, like them mirry go rounders 
 at the park an' the indacent images flyin' all over the 
 yard, for the Eyetalian was holdin' onto the shape's 
 horns wid wan hand. Laugh? I wus doublin' up me 
 sides, and the more I laughed, the more bad wurds wud 
 that yillow dago say and they wan't in Eyetalian, 
 either. Well, by-an'-by, Misther Shape wint buttin' 
 into the side of the barn and off flew the dago on his 
 head. Up he jumps and stood shakin' his fist first at 
 me an' then at the criter until Misther Shape starts fer 
 him agin, an' he grabs his tray and runs out of the 
 gate loike mad. An' thot's the raisin, Mary O 'Sullivan, 
 the yillow Eyetalian dago don't come around wid his 
 indacent images no more. An' it's the blissid truth I'm 
 tellin' you this very day. 
 
 17
 
 "THE LOW-BACKED CAR UP TO DATE.' 5 
 
 With apologies to Samuel Lover. 
 When first I saw sweet Peggy, 
 'Twas on a racing day, 
 An automobile she guided and sat 
 Upon the cushions gay. 
 Though all sorts of rigs went spinning by 
 Bedecked with ladies fine, 
 Not one was there that could compare 
 With this charming girl divine. 
 As she sat in the automobile 
 The man at the gate, so leal 
 Ne'er asked for her ticket 
 But just stood like a picket 
 And looked after the automobile. 
 
 Sweet Peggy around her automobile 
 
 Has strings of dangling hearts 
 
 And Cupid from that juggernaut car 
 
 Sends scores of shining darts, 
 
 While she upon the cushioned seat 
 
 Sits mild as a turtle dove 
 
 With none else there, I do declare, 
 
 But the little God of Love. 
 
 While she sits in her automobile 
 
 Her lovers sigh and feel 
 
 That life without Peggy 
 
 Would be rather dreggy 
 
 As she sits in her automobile. 
 
 18
 
 Oh I'd rather own that automo', 
 
 With Peggy at my side 
 
 Than a coach and four and gold galore 
 
 With another for my bride ; 
 
 For I'd have to handle the ribbons 
 
 Which wouldn't be to my taste; 
 
 While Peggy could guide the blessed machine 
 
 With my arm about her waist. 
 
 As we rode in the automobile 
 
 What joy through my being would steal! 
 
 Oh my heart could but say 
 
 Thrice happy are they 
 
 Who court in an automobile. 
 
 19
 
 A FASCINATIN' MAN. 
 
 Yes'm, Mis' Alice, I done come back from the funeral. 
 Lawsy, honey, it was sumpin grand. Sam Watson sho 
 did hump himself to get his wife buried mos' pros- 
 perious. Yes, 'deed he did. Look almos' like he sho 
 enuf glad to get rid of her. 
 
 What's dat? 
 
 Well, Mis' Alice, I don't mean no harm, but you 
 know Sam allus was a no count niggah and nevah had 
 nothin' laid by. Tehee ! Tehee ! What am I laughin' 
 at? Why a joke jes' come to me, Mis' Alice. It sho 
 did dat Mahaly am the fust thing dat Sam evah laid 
 away. I 'spec de money she done earn 10' washin' was 
 what paid fur de funeral. Why dey wuz five carriages 
 yes'am, five ; and lots of silver on de casket yes'am, 
 and flowahs. Whoopee, chile! Stars and crowns, po' 
 Mahaly didn't git no stars nor crowns either fur dat 
 mattah, till she died mo' like crosses done come to dat 
 po' soul fur sho. 
 
 Sech moanin' an' singin' an' sighin' at de funeral 
 she suttinly went out of the wol' in gran' shape. She 
 did fo' sho. Po' Sam! You know, Mis' Alice, I felt 
 awful sorry fo' dat niggah. He carried on so an' seem 
 like nothin' would comfort him. Yes'am, it sho did. 
 Well, I couldn't stan' it, so I went over an' sot down 
 beside him. Sam, says I, don't take on so. Mahaly 
 am better off. In all probableness her wings even now 
 am rusticatin' through the pearly gates. You know 
 you wouldn't call her back to de world of sin and 
 trouble. 'Deed an' I wouldn't, den, Liza, says Sam 
 (mos' too fervent like, it 'peared to me) 'deed I 
 wouldn't. She am much bettah off but I'm lonesome. 
 
 20
 
 Think of de years I got to spen' all alone. Maybe not, 
 says I, takin' his han' I felt so sorry fur him maybe 
 not. Course you don't want to think of dat now, but 
 dere's other women lef in this woiT, Sam. 
 
 But no mo' Mahalys, says Sam, holdin' on to my han' 
 tight. 
 
 Dat's so, Sam, says I. She could wash and iron all 
 'roun' any woman I ever did see, says Sam. She could 
 pretty nigh finish a day's washin' while I was smokin' 
 two pipes of tobacco. She suttinly was a remarkable 
 woman, Liza, and 'pears like I can't stan' de lonesome- 
 ness of de kitchen 'thout Mahaly wukin' 'roun'. Why 
 who'll I talk to, chile? 
 
 My heart wuz jes' a bleedin' fur dat bereaved man, 
 Mis' Alice. 
 
 By the way, Mis' Alice, I'm awful sorry, but I got 
 to give you notice I can't do your wuk no mo' ! What's 
 dat? You'se 'sprised? Well, to tell de trufe, Mis' 
 Alice, I'm 'sprised myself. Dissatisfied? No'm, but I 
 goin' to make a change. Well, it does seem kin' of 
 sudden, but I'm goin' to be married. Yes'm, tehee! 
 Who's de man? Well, Mis' Alice you'd nevah guess 
 it am Sam Watson. I felt so sorry fur dat niggah 
 that I dun promised to cheer his lonesomeness. What's 
 dat worfless? No count? Well, I know, Mis' Alice, 
 I ain't gittin' no bargain, but you know I ain't as young 
 as I used to be an' I ain't likely to pick up any gran' 
 bargains fo' de rest ob de yeahs dat's lotted to me. 
 Sudden? Yes'am, it do seem kinder sudden, but dis 
 am a sudden age, wid telephones, telegraphs, an' all 
 dem rapid transits. 'Tain't a time to let grass grow 
 under de feet no'm, I tell you. Makin' a mistake? 
 Well, maybe I am. Dis heah world's full of mistakes 
 but I've made up my min' fo' one thing, dat I'm 
 gwine to stay above groun' and let Sam have de fust 
 funeral, fur he sho am a fascinatin' man. 
 
 21
 
 "SOMEBODY JUST LIKE YOU." 
 
 "Pis sweet to think in this hard old world 
 
 There is somebody just like you ; 
 No matter how cold are the other hearts, 
 
 There is one that is tender and true ; 
 Though the path be steep, though the long way rough 
 
 Yet my faith grows strong anew, 
 And I thank the God who made us all 
 
 There is somebody just like you. 
 
 22
 
 GEORGE'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 It ain't so awful fine to be a boy as you think it is, 
 maybe Gee, I allus used to think 'twas the limit to 
 be a girl cause their hair is long and must feel fierce 
 hangin' down your neck, and dresses must be in the 
 way when you want to climb a tree or stand on your 
 head but then after all girls ain't allus in the way. 
 Golly ! there ain't no place for a boy. Aunt Miry says 
 they'd ought'er be nailed up in a barrel until they was 
 twenty-one. Well if they was, when they come out 
 they wouldn't look at her cause she's an old maid and 
 homely as the dickens, but I wouldn't let her hear me 
 say that, you bet, or she'd have it in for me all right 
 that is worse'n she's already got it. You see, she'd 
 like to get married all right and when Mr. Bob Wilson 
 was comin' to call she fixed up to beat the band. Mr. 
 Bob ain't much to look at fat and bald and old, I 
 guess least he ain't a kid, I tell you, but I s'pose he's 
 all Aunt Miry could ketch an' she's lost him now. 
 Well, Aunt Miry put on her blue dress and fixed up her 
 hair she ain't got hardly any of her own with a lot 
 of them little puffs all in a row like rolls or biscuits, 
 and then she sat in the parlor waitin'. Well, finally 
 she got sleepy cause Mr. Bob was late an' she laid 
 her head back against the sofy back and went to sleep, 
 an' the more I watched them puffs the more I wanted 
 to loosen 'em, so I just slipped up and took out the hair- 
 pins, and when Mr. Bob come in and spoke to Aunt 
 Miry, she jumped up suddenly and the puffs flew off 
 right at Mr. Bob's feet. 
 
 "Pardon me, are these yours, Miss Miry?" he said, 
 pickin' them up and bowin'. 
 
 33
 
 She turned about ten colors and said, "Why, where 
 did those come from? No, those are my sister's." 
 
 An' I had to holler out from the back of the sofy 
 "Golly, what a whopper!" An' of course she went an' 
 told Pa and I et my meals off the mantelpiece for a 
 week after that. 
 
 I took one of my white rats to school the other day 
 though I didn't mean to honest, cross my heart, I 
 didn't. I was playin' with the little rascal and he crept 
 into my pocket an' I went to school and forgot him. 
 Then all at once after awhile the girl in front of me 
 jumped about eight feet and shrieked and ran to the 
 teacher 'cause my white rat had run under her dress. 
 Just like a girl to be scared over a little thing like that 
 and of course I got sent to the principal with a note, 
 and my mother had to come and see about it. That's 
 just the way it goes a feller can't do nothin'. 
 
 The other day the bunch was in our back yard play- 
 in' soldier and all at once I thought it would be great 
 to have eggs for dynamite bombs to throw against the 
 barn so we bombarded the other fellers our side 
 did an' when Ma come home she was red-headed 
 'cause the side of the barn was all yellow from the eggs 
 and she said eggs was 24 cents a dozen. She often 
 gives me that much for candy but just 'cause 'twas 
 eggs, she got mad. Aunt Miry said I was the worst 
 boy she ever saw an' 'twas lucky I wan't her boy, an' 
 I said you bet it was 'cause then I might look like her, 
 and if I did, I'd go drownd myself and then Gee Whiz 
 I got another lickin'. 
 
 I ain't wishin' Aunt Miry no harm, but when she has 
 her funeral I'm goin' to sit right up in the front seat 
 and I ain't goin' to cry none, neither. 
 
 But the worst trouble I got into was 'cause I told 
 the truth. Don't you believe that it's best to be like 
 George Washington 'cause if you do, you'll get left. 
 
 This was how it was you see Ma and Aunt Miry 
 went to a party one afternoon and when they come 
 
 24
 
 home, they was talkin' it over and Ma said, "How did 
 you like Mrs. Brown's dress?" and Aunt Miry (she's 
 allus knockin' everybody), she said she thought it was 
 too fussy for a fat woman, and why did a person with 
 such a bad color wear a pink dress? 
 
 Well, Mrs. Brown she come over to see Ma in a day 
 or two after and I was makin' a kite in the sitting 
 room and Mrs. Brown knows us pretty well so Ma 
 asked her to come in there an' they talked over the 
 party an' I went on workin', not payin' much attention 
 until I heard Ma say "You had on a new dress," an' 
 Mrs. Brown says "Yes, how did you like it?" an' Ma 
 said, "It's lovely" an' Aunt Miry spoke up an' said 
 "Yes it is beautiful" an' I was so s'prised I hollered 
 right out "Why Aunt Miry you know you didn't like 
 it. You told Ma 'twas too fussy for a fat woman, and 
 that Mrs. Brown had an awful bad color to wear pink." 
 
 Aunt Miry coughed and Ma looked cross at me and 
 Mrs. Brown got up and said she had to go. 
 
 Gosh 'twas like a cyclone when she'd gone. Ma 
 an' Aunt Miry both lit into me an' said Mrs. Brown 
 was turrible mad and I'd made trouble an' all 'cause 
 I told the truth like Ma allus teaches me but I guess 
 grownups don't allus do what they teaches little folks. 
 I was sent to bed without any supper and all for tellin' 
 the truth. 
 
 An' that's why I say it ain't such a darn great snap 
 to be a boy as you think it is." 
 
 25
 
 THE CANOE AND THE GIRL. 
 
 You may talk of football, skating or any winter stunt, 
 When it's snowing, hailing, sleeting and for fun you 
 
 have to hunt; 
 
 Of course it's awful jolly when in the dance you whirl, 
 With your arm about the waist of some dainty little 
 
 girl, 
 
 But of all the many, many things a fellow likes to do, 
 For mine there's never anything quite like a bark 
 
 canoe, 
 When you just go paddling, paddling, down some quiet 
 
 sluggish stream 
 With the girl that sits a-facing you, a girl that is a 
 
 dream ; 
 
 Yet just as real, oh, yes, she's there amongst the cush- 
 ions gay, 
 And oh the thousand tender things you always want to 
 
 say, 
 When you're drifting, drifting down the stream, alone 
 
 just you and she 
 The world's a mighty dandy place, from every care 
 
 you're free. 
 
 Perhaps it don't just matter what girl is sitting there, 
 If she's pretty, sweet, coquettish, she may be dark or 
 
 fair. 
 Once on a time 'twas Alice with her look so sweet, 
 
 demure, 
 With her hair so quaintly parted and her eyes so large 
 
 and pure ; 
 Sometimes I breathed soft nothings or hummed an old 
 
 love tune, 
 With her I went canoeing most often, when the moon 
 
 20
 
 Was at its full. The river wound a thread of silver 
 light, 
 
 She seemed to fit this setting well, I tell you, just all 
 right. 
 
 Then 'twas May, good fellow, with her merry, roguish 
 eyes, 
 
 And her laugh that came so often, yet 'twas always a 
 surprise ; 
 
 For she laughed at stream, at tree, at sky, at anything 
 she'd see, 
 
 The way those dimples came and went looked pretty 
 good to me. 
 
 And life seemed such a merry thing, all dimples, rip- 
 ples, song 
 
 Where everything was jolly and nothing ever wrong 
 
 That I almost longed to laugh through life with merry, 
 cheery' May. 
 
 I was very near proposing when there came well, 
 came a day 
 
 That May no longer sat there, 'twas stately, queenly 
 Grace, 
 
 With hair of gold and dreamy eyes, she seemed to fit 
 the place; 
 
 A princess, I her vassal, her lightest wish to meet; 
 
 And though I sat there paddling, I was kneeling at her 
 feet; 
 
 Until a little later a thought began to shape, 
 
 That from continued worship there must be some es- 
 cape; 
 
 'Twas monotonous, 'twas palling, though why, I 
 couldn't tell, 
 
 And so I went canoeing with capricious, wilful, Nell, 
 
 Who kept my wits a-sharpened with her brilliant re- 
 partee. 
 
 Now mad, now glad, now sorry never twice alike 
 was she, 
 
 Until my head a-whirling, I was glad when in her 
 place
 
 There sat this other girl. I looked into a face, 
 Pretty? Yes, perhaps so. Wise? Oh, wise enough, 
 When a fellow isn't very wise, there's just a lot of 
 
 stuff 
 That this old world calls Knowledge, he can worry on 
 
 without, 
 
 One can't know all nor half, there's never use to pout 
 For something unattainable, this other girl? her name? 
 'Twas just plain Henrietta. You think it rather tame? 
 I don't. .To me it is the name, the dearest ever heard, 
 And she's the best and dearest girl you think that is 
 
 absurd? 
 
 But then you didn't drift, go drifting down the stream 
 With this dear girl who typified your every boyish 
 
 dream, 
 Of what a sweet girl should be not too bright nor 
 
 good 
 For just plain every day life, human nature's daily 
 
 food. 
 And somehow you'd have asked her as she smiled there 
 
 up at you, 
 To go drifting, just as I did, all through life in your 
 
 canoe. 
 
 28
 
 ON THE SUMMER RESORT PORCH WITH 
 JOHNNY. 
 
 Play there, Johnny, with your little pail; yes, that's 
 a dear boy. No, not now, by and by mama'll go down 
 to the beach and then you can play in the sand. No, 
 not now yes, after a while NOT NOW, mamma 
 said. Why? Well, because mamma wants to embroider 
 a little while and talk to Cousin Maude. Yes, that's the 
 reason. Run and play now, that's a good boy. Do 
 you know I think that child is going to make a lawyer 
 he always wants a reason for everything. It seems 
 so remarkable in one so young. He has a splendidly- 
 shaped head, don't you think? Why, when he was six 
 months old he was as large and as knowing as most 
 children of a year. Look at that little Granger boy 
 they are just the same age, and Johnny would make 
 two of him. He's such a stupid looking child. I 
 suppose it's by contrast with Johnny. How do you 
 like this pattern? Dainty, isn't it? I'm doing a whole 
 table set. There goes that Kenton girl with that Bob 
 Berkley again. I wonder if they are engaged? Well, 
 if they are not, they ought to be, or else she ought to 
 have a chaperon. Johnny, for mercy's sake don't make 
 that noise. I can't talk. Well, mamma don't want you 
 to throw your pail down and let it bump on every step. 
 Go play further down the porch; there's a dear boy. 
 Why? Well, because it makes too much noise. What's 
 that? Won't it make as much noise down there? I 
 suppose so, but we won't hear it. What's that? What's 
 that? Won't those ladies down there hear it? Oh, 
 don't ask so many questions. No, you can't. No, not 
 now. By and by, maybe. No, I say. Candy is not 
 
 29
 
 good for little boys. Why do I eat it? Well candy 
 does not hurt mamma. No, not now. After a while, 
 maybe. Oh, dear, dear, yes, I suppose so. Here's five 
 cents. Get the stick candy. It won't be as injurious. 
 Now, for pity's sake, run along. Do you know, Maude, 
 that persistent vein in Johnny's makeup is really in- 
 dicative of force of character? although it is a little 
 trying sometimes but I am very firm with him. Look, 
 look, will you? Isn't that Mrs. Wellington Morse out 
 there sailing with young Himes? That's the fifth 
 time this week. Her husband ought to be here to look 
 after her. If there's anything disgraceful it is to see 
 a married woman running around with a young man. 
 What did you say? The men are crazy about her? 
 I don't think so. She's so bold perhaps they like to 
 flirt a little with her, but away down in their hearts 
 men do not admire a woman of that type. Always 
 dance with her, do you say? Well, MY husband 
 don't. I told him not to. I heard she keeps a fan full 
 of names that she uses every dance to make people 
 think she's popular. 'Johnny now just see what you 
 have done rubbed that sticky candy all over my em- 
 broidery, and look at your waist. The third clean one 
 today. Dear me, run down to the other end of the 
 porch and play. Maude, did you ever see such a stick 
 of a child as that Granger boy? See how he tags 
 Johnny around. What? You think he's a good child? 
 but he's just like a wooden Indian no life what- 
 ever. I like to see a boy have spirit and ginger. Look 
 here comes Mrs. Johnson with another new gown. 
 Isn't it absurd to come to a place of this sort and bring 
 all the clothes you have? You think she dresses well? 
 Gracious, how can you say so? Too flashy and gaudy, 
 I think. Now, do look at the way Mrs. Smithson Jones' 
 dress hangs, and doesn't she stand dreadfully. She's 
 too busy writing papers for clubs, I suppose, to pay any 
 attention to clothes. Must be awful to be tied to a wo- 
 man like that. What did you say? Her husband 
 
 30
 
 seems devoted to her? Well, there's no accounting for 
 tastes. Why, Johnny, what made you come back? 
 What's that? Those women sent you here? Said you 
 made too much noise? The cats! The idea of think- 
 ing they own the whole porch. You'd know by the 
 vinegary face on Mrs. Jones that she didn't like chil- 
 dren. Run in and get your railroad train and pull it 
 around the porch. What did you say, Maude? You 
 heard them complaining the other day about Johnny 
 pulling his cars around the porch? Well, I never heard 
 of such cheek in my life. I've a good mind to make 
 him pull it around the rest of the day for spite. What 
 did you say, Johnny, love? Don't want to play cars? 
 Want to go to the lake? Well, if you stay right there 
 by the pier in sight of mamma, you may go. Keep in 
 sight now. By by, dearie. Isn't he affectionate, the 
 dear child. I guess he'll be all right. There's that old 
 bachelor what's his name Maxly, on the pier fish- 
 ing. He's cranky, but I guess he wouldn't let an inno- 
 cent child drown. Here conies a machine. Oh, it's the 
 Bailey's from the other side of the lake. Isn't she get- 
 ting enormous! She should join the fat women's bri- 
 gade. You know how those five or six fat women al- 
 ways stand on the porch corner for twenty minutes after 
 eating to get thin really she ought to diet. Can 
 hardly get out of the machine. Why how do you do, 
 Mrs. Bailey? Haven't seen you this summer. How 
 well you're looking. You say you are growing fleshy? 
 Why, I haven't noticed it. I think you are looking fine, 
 Johnny? Oh, the little darling's well and as charming 
 as ever. He's playing down on the beach now. Oh, 
 mercy! Oh, heavens! what's this? Mr. Maxly bringing 
 Johnny? Oh, my child, my child! Is he hurt? Is he 
 drowned? What is the matter? Why don' you speak? 
 What, only got wet to the waist? Oh, then, he isn't 
 drowned thank heaven. What did you say Mr. 
 Maxly? Wish I'd look after him? A regular nuisance 
 to everybody? How dare you speak like that? You 
 
 31
 
 rude, cranky, old bachelor! It's lucky you are not a 
 father. I'd pity your child. Come to mother, you pre- 
 cious wet baby. Oh, Maude, do you think he will be 
 ill? What did you say? He's all right? Do you 
 really think so? Johnny Black, when mother gets you 
 in the room she's going to give you a good, hard spank- 
 ing. Bring my embroidery, Maude. Do you know, I 
 believe I heard that Maxly swear. He did? What's 
 that? He said he'd like to spank Johnny himself, tha 
 he'd do it up right? The horrid, rude thing. No won- 
 der he can't get a woman to marry him. I won't spank 
 Johnny at all now just to spite him. 
 
 32
 
 THE FACE IN THE SMOKE. 
 
 Oh say, I beg you, dear old pal, 
 
 Don't take it as a joke 
 If I tell you I can see a face 
 
 Outlined against the smoke 
 That curls up from my evening pipe. 
 
 It sets my heart aglow; 
 'Tis only there when I'm alone, 
 
 Perhaps 'tis better so. 
 She's mine ; she's mine, this dear dream girl, 
 
 A prayer I do invoke, 
 That when she really comes to me 
 
 It will not end in smoke.
 
 PATIENT TOMMY. 
 
 One day I asked my muvver 
 
 To read aloud to me 
 'Cause I have to spell out every word 
 
 It's orful hard you see. 
 
 I was eatin' bread and milk 
 With my new cup and spoon 
 
 And muvver was a sewin' 
 
 So she said, "Yes, pretty soon." 
 
 'Nen I waited just the longest time 
 
 And asked her once agen. 
 She telled me, "Yes dear, after while," 
 
 She couldn't do it 'nen. 
 
 An' 'nen I said, "Oh, muvver dear," 
 
 An' she begun to smile, 
 "Won't you tell me which is longer, 
 
 Pretty soon or after while?" 
 
 34
 
 SNAKES THE SOLDIER. 
 
 Snakes had red hair and freckles the size of pennies, 
 and a bath was an unknown luxury until he drifted 
 into the Settlement House. Even poverty has its class 
 grades, and Snakes had the reputation of being the 
 tough boy of the city's tough quarter. His name was 
 the consequence of the old law of "sins of father" or 
 mother the mother who was addicted to ladylike 
 spells of delirium tremens. Snakes' father was an un- 
 known quantity. If he had one he had never estab- 
 lished any acquaintance with the gentleman. 
 
 Perhaps it was just as well, for Snakes found his 
 drunken mother a care that preyed upon his young 
 soul. 
 
 He was brought before Judge Bronson of the Juve- 
 nile Court one day on a charge of stealing. An officer 
 found him with fifty cents trying to buy papers. 
 
 "I didn't swipe it from nobody," he said sullenly, 
 "I just took it off the old one. Her was loaded and we 
 didn't have nothin' to eat, so 'twas up to me to earn 
 some dough." 
 
 Judge Bronson looked at the little animal before him. 
 He was a man, just, wise, pitiful kind. Behind the 
 wolfish expression, the defiance of the creature whose 
 daily life was on the defensive with the world against 
 him, he saw the little white soul that would be white 
 such a tiny bit of a while against the fearful odds. 
 
 The judge spoke kindly to the boy, as he might have 
 done to his own son. 
 
 The wolfish expression changed to one of distrust. 
 Snakes was too wise a little bird to be caught with 
 chaff, but he understood when the judge dismissed 
 
 35
 
 him, and shuffled away, half expecting his blue-coated 
 enemy, Hennessy, to nab him as he passed by. 
 
 "That bye '11 wind up in the pen, yit," muttered the 
 policeman. "It's only prolongatin' the time to keep 
 lettin' him go free." 
 
 After the court adjourned Judge Bronson went over 
 to the boy's home. Home was a misnomer. In the 
 dirty, ill-ventilated room was a broken chair or two 
 and an excuse for a stove. On a cot in the corner lay 
 something in the semblance of a woman that muttered 
 and groaned the gibberish of the sodden. Snakes with 
 a dilapidated pail and rag was trying to mop up the 
 floor with some idea of taking up the duties of the 
 wretched creature he called "the old one" and who was 
 responsible for his being. 
 
 At the entrance of the judge the boy sprang toward 
 the cot and stood glaring like a tiger. 
 
 "You ain't goin' to run her in. Her ain't drunk now. 
 Her's sick." 
 
 The judge took a chair, sitting down slowly and cau- 
 tiously because of its dilapidated condition. 
 
 "My boy, I haven't come here to arrest your mother. 
 I came to see you. I'm interested in you. You are 
 just a little chap and before you may lie a long life, 
 and I want to help you to make something of it. The 
 odds are against you, but if you are a brave little sol- 
 dier you can win out, and nothing is worth while that 
 'is not battled for inch by inch. Come over to the Set- 
 tlement House tonight. I have a daughter who is go- 
 ing to sing. She is interested in boys. Will you come?" 
 
 Snakes shuffled his feet. 
 
 "Oh, de lobsters dat goes in der is tryin' to be dudes. 
 Besides dey says I'm too tough and dey guys me mud- 
 der, dat is dey did, till I knocked de stuffin' out of two 
 of 'em." 
 
 After some persuasion on the judge's part Snakes 
 finally promised to spend the evening at the Settle- 
 ment, and the great man who had time to temper the 
 
 36
 
 justice of the Juvenile Court with "the mercy that 
 droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven" went away, 
 leaving the boy with a new feeling in his soul, half of 
 wonder, half of distrust, that the strong arm of the law 
 could rest gently on the lawless. 
 
 At half after 7 Snakes, timid, half afraid (for he was 
 face to face with his old enemies of "de gang," who 
 considered him in the light of a pariah) stood shuffling 
 uneasily at the door of the audience room. He was 
 ready to leave at the slightest excuse, but he had prom- 
 ised, and even Snakes had some idea of his "word." 
 
 The judge was there, however, and took the boy's 
 hand. And then Snakes saw her the blue-eyed angel 
 in white. The judge said it was his daughter, but no 
 common human being ever looked like that. 
 
 There was a chromo in the window of Dutchy's sa- 
 loon of an angel with white robes and big white wings 
 (although the incongruity of an angel in Dutchy's 
 saloon did not strike Snakes) that was a "dead ringer 
 for dis goil." 
 
 And the way she sang why, he could hear every 
 word. Things about spring and flowers and brooks; 
 why, it just made a fellow want to go a fishin' and yet 
 to cry, too. 
 
 Miss Annie, that was her name, paid lots of attention 
 to Snakes, and she made him promise to come again. 
 
 He did come again and again. His freckled face 
 was washed and his hair brushed after a fashion. 
 
 He acquired a paper route and had an occasional bit 
 of silver in his pocket that did not have to go for imme- 
 diate needs. 
 
 "Me an' Rockyfeller is gettin' to be de main pushes 
 of dis here country," he said one day, with a wink. 
 
 True, she kept him drained, but no amount of persua- 
 sion would make him leave her. 
 
 "Her's allus down in the mouth after dem soaks and 
 her ain't got nobody but me. I guess I'll stick all 
 right, all right." 
 
 37
 
 The boy fairly worshipped "Miss Annie." He en- 
 dured even the lectures and various entertainments that 
 were part of the civilizing influence of the Settlement, 
 together with the clean face and hands process, in 
 order to be near her. 
 
 Judge Bronson sat in his cosy library reading one 
 night when the maid announced a caller. "Please, sir, 
 it's a queer little chap ; he says he isn't a beggar and he 
 must see you." 
 
 Before the judge had time to reply, "Snakes" stood 
 at the door. 
 
 "Excuse me, yer honor, but I was afeard you'd turn 
 me down, not knowin' it was me, and I had to see you 
 on business." Snakes looked important. 
 
 "Oh, how are you Tim," "Snakes" was used now 
 by only a few of the old gang the judge said, rising 
 and shaking the boy's hand. "Come in and sit down." 
 
 For the first time the boy seemed to notice the red- 
 walled room with its warm, rich draperies and ebony 
 furniture. 
 
 Books he had never seen so many in his life. Very 
 gingerly he sat upon the edge of a great armchair, then 
 gaining confidence he gradually worked himself into 
 its luxurious depths, drawing a long breath of satis- 
 faction as he did so. 
 
 "Gee, this fits a feller's spine all right, all right," he 
 said presently. 
 
 The judge looked over the top of his glasses. 
 
 Well, Tim, this is the first time I've been honored by 
 a visit from you." 
 
 The boy sat up. 
 
 "Yes, yer honor, an' I must tell yer quick what I 
 come for. You know de guy that's called two-fingered 
 Bill, what's done time in de Bridewell once or twict? 
 An' de feller dey calls Sluggsy? Well, I heard 'em 
 plannin' to slug yer to lay yer out cold tonight, be- 
 cause you sent up two-finger's brudder him what said 
 he was only fifteen because he was small and you 
 
 38
 
 found out he was twenty. They said Miss Annie was 
 goin' to a party and you was goin' after her, and they 
 said you'd never get dere. You look like you didn't 
 believe me, judge, but this is all straight goods I'm 
 deliverin' to you." 
 
 "Tim, you're a brick, and I do believe you. I want 
 to thank you for the warning and the good will. You're 
 going to win out, my boy, in the struggle for good citi- 
 zenship. Wait, don't leave just yet," as he touched a 
 bell, "I'm going to have some hot coffee and some 
 sandwiches and cake. I want you to lunch with me 
 and we'llhave a chat." 
 
 Snakes leaned back again in the great arm-chair and 
 did not envy even "Rockyfeller." 
 
 The cake was something to remember, a thing of 
 joy forever, and the hot coffee warmed his very vitals. 
 
 But by and by, even Snakes had an idea of the fitness 
 of things, and he made his adieu and trotted out into 
 the night and shadow, where his little life belonged. 
 
 But Snakes had had a taste of luxury and he fin- 
 gered the dime in his pocket with a longing for further 
 indulgence. Could he afford to peep into the museum? 
 It was heads or tails, and the spinning coin decided. 
 Snakes went to the museum and made a night of it. 
 It was late when he reached the foot of the rickety 
 stairs and dark as pitch. 
 
 It was just as the boy started to climb the steps that 
 some one grabbed him. 
 
 "You will peach, will yer, you red-topped sneak? 
 We follered you and we know yer dirty ways." And 
 before he had time to answer a blow on the head 
 knocked him into unconsciousness. , 
 
 When Snakes opened his eyes he was in a long, 
 white-iron bed, and he lay, for the first time in his 
 life, between clean sheets. The sensation was so novel 
 that he could only wonder if he had died and gone to 
 heaven. Yes, it must be, for there were flowers roses, 
 and there was an angel's face and an angel's touch 
 Miss Annie was here in heaven with him.
 
 "Is dis de pearly gate what you told me of?" he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "No, Tim, this is the hospital. You've been ill, and 
 you must be very, very quiet," the soft voice answered. 
 
 "Sing," he whispered, and at the nodded permission 
 of the nurse Miss Annie sang, and the boy lay with 
 closed eyes. 
 
 When he opened them again the judge stood at the 
 foot of the bed. 
 
 The boy smiled. 
 
 "They didn't slug yer," he gasped out, brokenly. 
 
 "No, Tim, my little soldier," the judge replied, but 
 the boy had lapsed into unconsciousness. 
 
 There was a change when he again opened his eyes. 
 
 The ward doctor came and took hold of the boy's 
 wrist and leaned down to listen to his heart beat. 
 
 He shook his head at the young girl's anxious look. 
 
 Snakes' blue eyes roamed from one to the other. He 
 saw the gravity on the faces about him. 
 
 "Am I goin' to croak, yer honor?" 
 
 Judge Bronson sat on the edge of the cot and took 
 the boy's hand. 
 
 "Tim, do you understand what I say?" 
 
 The boy nodded. 
 
 "There comes a time to each one when the call 
 comes. To some early, to some late, then the fight is 
 done. Are you brave? The call has come. You have 
 fought a good fight and the Master needs you." 
 
 "Him what you said was hung on the cross?" 
 
 "Yes, my boy." 
 
 "Well, her ain't got nobody left." 
 
 "I'll look after your mother, Tim." 
 
 A peaceful look came into the pinched face. 
 
 "Sing," he whispered again. 
 
 And as Miss Annie sang the judge murmured brok- 
 enly, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man 
 lay down his life for his friend." 
 
 And ere the sun had set the little soldier had gone 
 out by way of the Cross into the Great Beyond. 
 
 4O
 
 A SPRING SONG. 
 
 The spring has come, the spring has come, 
 
 Dear heart, be of good cheer, 
 How do I know it? Listen, love, 
 
 The organ-grinder's here. 
 
 The spring has come the spring has come, 
 My heart bursts forth in rhyme, 
 
 See, mother's head is swathed in white, 
 'Tis spring house-cleaning time. 
 
 The spring has come, the spring has come, 
 
 Come play the pipes of Pan! 
 There's every sign of glorious spring, 
 
 Behold! The mover's van. 
 
 41
 
 AT THE RECEPTION. 
 
 Heavens! Look at the line of carriages! I knew 
 she'd ask everyone she ever heard of to this reception. 
 They've been so crazy to get on the Lake Shore Drive 
 that I'm glad they've succeeded at last. There's Mrs. 
 Strainer of course she'd come. Wonder where she 
 got the machine? Oh, I see, she's with the Everson 
 Booths must have called them up and hinted awfully 
 strong. That's a way she has just before any swell 
 function calls up friends with machines and asks if 
 they are going. Isn't that nerve for you? I suppose 
 that's why Mrs. Booth didn't ask me. I called up quite 
 incidentally to ask her how she was feeling, but she 
 didn't say anything about it. That old cat got in ahead 
 I mean what am I saying? 
 
 Oh, for pity's sake, if there isn't Mrs. Crushington 
 Crush. Well, how in the world did they get her to 
 accept? It must be curiosity on her part, because she 
 tries to be so very exclusive. What did you say? 
 Didn't I send her a card to my reception? Why, yes, 
 but I believe she was ill or something. I didn't really 
 care to have her come she's too airy to suit me. 
 
 Well, here we are at last. Look, the servants are in 
 livery. Isn't that a come-up from the old side street 
 house and the one hired girl when I first knew them? 
 Well, they haven't spared any expense. Look at the 
 flowers two orchestras that's a vulgar display, I 
 think. What's that? The house is beautifully fur- 
 nished? And this boudoir is exquisite? Oh, I sup- 
 pose so but anyone can have a man come in to dec- 
 orate if one only has the money. Let's look around a 
 little. I suppose this is Bessie's room rose and white. 
 
 42
 
 Well, all the rose and white in the world won't make 
 Bessie pretty and attractive. Now, my Mabel would 
 look like a dream in this room, with her dark hair and 
 brown eyes. What's that? You don't mean to say 
 you think Bessie pretty? Why, where are your eyes? 
 It was really fortunate that Mabel was out of town, as 
 she always makes Bessie look so small and insignifi- 
 cant. This hall has an oriental corner there's nothing 
 very new about that idea. What's that? Maybe they 
 like it? Maybe but while they were doing it up, it 
 might have been the very latest wrinkle. Well let's 
 go down. 
 
 How do you do, Mrs. Johnson? Very well, thank 
 you. For Heaven's sake, look at that sheath skirt. It 
 is vulgar, I think. Can you see the back without 
 appearing to look? You like it? Well, not for mine. 
 What?' She has a fine figure? Most any one could 
 have who made a martyr of herself to tight clothes the 
 way she does. Well, let's hurry to the drawing room. 
 How do you do, Mrs. Reacher? Isn't it a lovely day? 
 And how charming your new home is all in such ex- 
 quisite taste, but then, of course, I knew your home 
 would be we were just speaking of it as we drove up 
 of how we knew that everything would be lovely and 
 just right. Where's your dear Bessie? Oh, I see, 
 there by the frappe bowl in the library and looking as 
 fair and dainty as ever. I regret so much that Mabel 
 could not come and assist, as you so kindly asked her. 
 They make such decided and stunning foils for one 
 another. One sets off the beauty of the other. Well, 
 I must not keep away the other guests. We'll drift 
 along. Goodness what a crush. I can hardly breathe 
 and I know my gown will be torn before I get away. 
 I wonder how they got all the men to come as long as 
 Mr. Reacher isn't receiving, too. Oh, he couldn't come, 
 of course. He'll have to grind awhile to pay for all this, 
 I tell you. What did you say? They are mostly young 
 men and Bessie's popular? I never thought it. There's 
 
 43
 
 Gordon Lennox talking to Bessie. Isn't he a hand- 
 some fellow and a great catch? But she needn't set 
 her cap for him. My Mabel could tell a thing or two 
 if she wanted to. He fairly haunts our house. I'll 
 run over and speak to Mrs. Crushington Crush just 
 a minute, dearie. What's that? Gave me an icy bow 
 and turned her back? Not any more than I did to 
 her. It was only as a matter of form that I was going 
 to speak, anyhow. She's a terrible strainer. I've heard 
 she used to be a nurse maid when she was a girl and 
 I got it very straight, too. You know a person like 
 that always tries to be more top-lofty than anyone else. 
 
 Let's go to the dining room. Good gracious did 
 you ever see such a mob the way women will push 
 and crowd for a little refreshment. When we get it, 
 it won't amount to anything, but I want to see the din- 
 ing room. There's Mrs. Briggs over there. Did you 
 ever see anything like that coat? Isn't it unbecoming? 
 Suppose she didn't have a new gown so she effects her 
 coat and furs. 
 
 There's Julia Smithson don't look as though she'd 
 just been through the divorce mill, does she? Well, 
 I'd be a little less in evidence, I think, don't you? 
 Mercy, I wonder if those people in the dining room 
 are going to camp there for the rest of the afternoon. 
 What ! There are two seats ? Thank goodness ! Same 
 old American beauty table and rose red ribbons. Noth- 
 ing very new about that. You think it is lovely? I 
 like something novel myself. What do you think of 
 that? Salad or an ice? When I received I had both, 
 two courses. There's too much oil in this salad, don't 
 you think? 
 
 There's Marie Skinnem. It ought to be Skinny. 
 My goodness, what a wreck she is! Why, that girl's 
 been out for the past ten years and been trotted all 
 over this country and Europe, but her mother can't 
 get rid of her. Well, we'll be a little more considerate 
 than some people. Let's go up and give some one else 
 
 44
 
 a chance. How do you do? Yes, very well, thank 
 you. Oh, lovely Yes It's all charming. How do 
 you do ! How do you do ! Goodness, I'm glad I'm out 
 of that mob. Let's stand here a minute where we 
 can breathe. That music's too loud. It makes my 
 head ache. Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Langley? Yes, 
 everything is lovely. What's that? Have I heard the 
 news Bessie Reacher is engaged to Gordon Lennox? 
 Announced in the paper? No, I didn't see it. No 
 goodby. 
 
 Isn't she an old gossip? I don't believe it. Any- 
 how they say he's awfully fast. He's been hanging 
 around Mabel, but we would never have allowed her 
 to marry him. 
 
 Well, it's time to say goodby. Let's go back to the 
 drawing room. We have had a charming time, Mrs. 
 Reacher. Of course, it is not in the strictest form to 
 say goodby, but I'm very informal you know, and then 
 old friends like we are do not stand on ceremony. By 
 the way, I have heard such delightful news of Bessie? 
 Is it true? Why, dearie, let me congratulate you. It 
 must be such a comfort to know that she is to be so 
 happily mated. Give her my love. Goodby. 
 
 Heavens! I'm glad that's over! Did you see that 
 foolish grin when I congratulated her? I suppose she's 
 tickled to death. 
 
 Here's our carriage at last. Goodness me I'm dead 
 tired, and Heaven knows I'm glad its over. 
 
 45
 
 TRUTHFUL JAMES. 
 
 One night my ma had comp'ny come, 
 
 To Sunday evenin' tea; 
 She never knowed, but said they'd come, 
 
 Quite unexpectedly. 
 
 She smiled and said, "How do you do, 
 
 I'm orful glad you came." 
 But when she got alone with me 
 
 She didn't look the same. 
 
 Her forehead frowned, her eyes looked cross, 
 
 She cried, "Oh, deary me 
 Whatever will I give those folks 
 
 For Sunday evenin' tea." 
 
 At last she scurried round a bit, 
 
 Some chicken fixed so nice, 
 Then fried some 'taters just as brown 
 
 I tasted of a slice. 
 
 But ma said: "Stop, don't touch a thing, 
 
 For more you must not ask; 
 To make it go around to all 
 
 Will be a dreadful task." 
 
 And then she did the queerest thing, 
 
 When all the food was ate ; 
 She said so sweet, "Do have some more, 
 
 Please let me fill your plate. 
 
 There's plenty in the kitchen,'* 
 
 "Why, ma," I had to call 
 "You know you said 'twas lucky 
 
 If it went around at all." 
 
 46
 
 LILLY BELL'S 'FINITY. 
 
 "Dah ain't no use a talkin', Liza Johnsing, dis am a 
 queeah worl' we're livin' in, 'deed an' it am, chile. 
 What am I a coajugatin' 'bout? Well, mosely 'bout 
 Lilly Bell White. You see, Lilly Bell she used to wait 
 on de table at one of dem swell women's clubs an' she 
 was sort of an airy kin' of a niggah. She wore a black 
 dress an' a white apron an' she didn't have much truck 
 wid de washerwomen and scrub ladies in de neighbor- 
 hood. Well, she married Rastus White he was a 
 waitah in one of dem fust-class restaurants an' dey 
 puts on lots o' style an' Lilly Bell she seemed happy 
 'nuff until all of a sudden I noticed a change in her. I 
 noticed dat every time I went over to see Lilly Bell she 
 was settin' roun' moonin' an' lookin' kinder like a sick 
 calf. I says to her, 'Lilly Bell, look a heah, what in de 
 name of common sense am de mattah wid you, niggah?' 
 'Clementina,' says she, 'I'm a mighty onhappy woman.' 
 'Why fur?' says I. 'Well, Clementina, I'm gwine to 
 tell you sumpin' confidentiously. Rastus White an' 
 me ain't suited to each other he ain't my 'finity.' 'Fo' 
 de Lawsy sake, what am a 'finity?' says I. You know, 
 Liza Johnsing tehee I clar foah gracious I didn't 
 know ef it was sumpin' to eat or sumpin' to wear. 
 
 "Why don't you know nothin', Clementina? It am 
 a soul mate.' 'Am you a speakin* 'bout feet?' says I. 
 'Go on wid yo* foolishness, Clementina, you ain't got 
 no sentimentiousness 'bout you. A 'finity am a pusson 
 wid tastes an' ideahs jes like your'n.' 'Well, what am 
 de mattah wid Rastus?' 'Mattah? Ev'ything de mat- 
 tah. I loves music an* ef a hand organ comes any- 
 where aroun' Rastus he has a fit an' as fur poetry : 
 
 47 '
 
 why ef I reads poetry to him he goes to sleep. I tell 
 you I ought to have married a man dat has some kin' 
 of a soul.' 'Well, it's too late now,' says I. 'Didn't 
 you promise "'till death do you part?" ' 'Yes, Clemen- 
 tina, dat am de worst dat's what makes me misserble.' 
 
 "Well, Liza, she'd go on like dat until I got so tired 
 of dat kin' of talk dat I jes' kep' away from her, and 
 one day I met Rastus on de street. 'Rastus,' says I, 
 'how am you?' 'Oh, I'm all right,' says he, 'but Lilly 
 Bell she ain't up to de mark.' 'What's de mattah wid 
 her?' says I, to draw him out. 'Well, she am kin' o' 
 col' an' stiff like 'pears dat nothin' I do don't suit her 
 no mo'.' 'Rastus,' says I, 'you ain't her finity. 'My 
 Lawsy, Clementina,' says he, 'what am dat?' 'Why, 
 dat gal am plumb hoo-dooed,' says I, 'she keeps talkin' 
 'bout finin' out you ain't suited to her, an' ain't her 
 soul mate. Yes, dat's what she said, Rastus.' 'Whoo- 
 pee,' says Rastus, 'dat's de fust I hear o' dat kin' o' 
 slush, an' what am I gwine to do 'bout it?' 'You want 
 me to cure dat woman, Rastus?' 'If you would I'd be 
 mighty powerful 'bleeged to you, Clementina,' Rastus 
 said. 
 
 "Well, Liza, I went ovah de nex' day to see Lilly 
 Bell an' I foun' her moonin' as usual. 'Lilly Bell,' says 
 I, 'don't you know I feel mighty sorry for Rastus; he 
 am such an onhappy man.' 'Who tol' you dat?' says 
 she, kin' o' sharp like. 'Why, he am certain sho misser- 
 ble. You know dat he feels dat you an' he am so on- 
 suited.' 'Oh, you've been turnin' me over wid Rastus, 
 has you?' says Lilly Bell, mad in a minute. 'He says 
 you ain't his 'finity he wants a soul mate, an' as long 
 as you both think de same way, why I guess you ought 
 to git mattahs justificated between you all right. You 
 can each of you clar out an* leave de other one alone.' 
 Would you believe me, Liza Johnsing, wid dat Lilly 
 Bell jumps up an' grabs me an' shakes me till my teeth 
 rattled. 'You low down, no 'count woman,' says she, 
 'I'll teach you to talk to my husband' 'bout me.' I don't 
 
 4*
 
 know what would have happened if Rastus hadn't come 
 in just then and pulled her away. 'Rastus,' says she, 
 'ain't you satisfied wid me?' An' den she bus' out a 
 cryin'. 'You am de pride o' my life,' says he. 'An' 
 you don't want no 'finity ?' says she. 'I don't want no- 
 body but you, Lilly Bell,' says he. 'Dis heah woman 
 is tryin' to stir up trouble between us,' says she. 
 'Clementina,' says Rastus, 'you'd bettah go on home, 
 'case Lilly Bell's mad clar through.' 
 
 "Now what do you think o' dat fo' gratefulness, Liza 
 Johnsing here I was de instrumentation of bringin' 
 dem foolish niggahs to der senses, an' all I gits is a 
 shakin' dat's worse'n a chill an' a reques' to git out. 
 Liza, ef you know of any married people what gits 
 mad at each other, you jes' let 'em arrainge der own 
 differentiations, an' you can be pretty sho, Liza John- 
 sing, dat dat's de las' time dis chile is gwine to git 
 mixed up wid any foolish woman dat's talkin' such 
 nonsense as 'finities an' soul mates." 
 
 48.
 
 DO YOU BELIEVE IN FAIRIES? 
 
 Do you believe in fairies ? 
 
 You don't? Well, then, I'll tell 
 I know of all the places, , 
 
 Where the charming fairies dwell. 
 
 Once, 'twas in the Springtime, 
 When the lilacs were abloom, 
 
 I stood beside the branches 
 
 And breathed their rich perfume. 
 
 All clad in shim'ring dainty green, 
 Fays tripped from out the flowers ; 
 
 With step as light as thistle down, 
 They danced away the hours. 
 
 And, oh, the music of that dance, 
 Like the tinkle of a bell 
 
 Nay, nay, of many tiny ones; 
 I heard it, oh, so well. 
 
 Then, 'twas in the summer, 
 
 As on the grass I lay 
 Beneath a glowing rose-bush, 
 
 That the fairies came that way. 
 
 In robes of pink amongst the leaves, 
 With merry laugh and shout, 
 
 They climbed amidst the branches, 
 Scattering petals all about. 
 
 50
 
 Strange to say, 'twas in the autumn, 
 When the woods were all aglow ; 
 
 The fairies came in red and gold, 
 A fluttering to and fro. 
 
 And when from out my window 
 
 I watched the wintry blast, 
 Send whirling snow-flakes thorugh the air, 
 
 The sparkling fairies passed. 
 
 They beckoned me so merrily 
 
 From out the drifting snow, 
 You don't believe in fairies? 
 
 Well I do, for I know.
 
 "LEAH." 
 
 It was the time of the Feast of Ingatherings. All 
 Jerusalem was in holiday trim. After the busy sum- 
 mer season and the garnering of the harvest, the beau- 
 tiful city was decked in her gayest colors to celebrate 
 the joyous time. 
 
 Bright awnings stretched from house to house across 
 the narrow streets. Booths made of the branches of 
 trees were set up in gardens, on roofs and in the wider 
 streets, to provide for the increasing multitudes that 
 seemed hourly to pour in at her gates. In gay attire 
 and carrying branches of myrtle, olive and palm, the 
 crowds in long processions -swayed to and fro about 
 the streets. All night the lamps burned within the 
 temple and thousands of torches flickering from shop 
 and booth turned darkness into day. The fruits of the 
 harvest lay piled in tempting profusion before the eyes 
 of passers-by. Never had the city been more fair to 
 look upon. But the gayety and laughter of the eager 
 crowds found no answering echo in the heart of a 
 lonely pilgrim, who stood viewing the busy scenes be- 
 fore him a swarthy man with a sad expression in his 
 dark eyes that spoke of inward sorrow, that knew no 
 healing. When the lateness of the hour dispersed the 
 crowds he turned away, reluctantly to his booth, but 
 not to sleep, only to be in a waking dream until the 
 morning hours. 
 
 And yet but two short years before he had felt his 
 cup of happiness full to the brim, yea, and running 
 over, when Leah, beautiful Leah, with her lissome 
 form and angel face, had entered his home in far Ca- 
 pernaum as his cherished bride. 
 
 Oh, the days spent in the fragrant court-yard, within 
 
 52
 
 the four walls of that low stone house, when, with his 
 arm about her, he had felt that Heaven lay very near ! 
 
 Pitiful dream ! He choked even now when he thought 
 of the rude awakening when he entered that little 
 home one day and found it empty. 
 
 If only she had died e'er her soul was stained with 
 sin! The Great Prophet of whom he had heard so 
 much of late could He heal sickness of soul? The 
 blind, it was said, He made to see ; the lame, to walk ; 
 the lepers, He restored whole to those they loved. Was 
 there a balm and a healing for his aching heart? 
 
 In the early morning hours he rose and made his way 
 through the crowds already astir to the Temple. The 
 air was sweet and deliciously cool in these early au- 
 tumnal days. He climbed up towards the sacred edifice 
 and a feeling of peace seemed to steal over him as he 
 drew near. For a moment he paused and looked down 
 upon the city below and then up toward the Temple. 
 The walls were touched with glory in the morning 
 sun and it was as if he had left the world and its cares 
 behind him and was moving onward and upward into 
 "Peace." 
 
 Suddenly he was roused by a voice near him, "Make 
 way. The Master comes." Looking, he beheld a small 
 procession moving toward the Temple. With a strange 
 thrill he recognized the "Great Prophet" in the midst, 
 and drawn as by a cord, he followed at a distance. 
 
 The procession halted at the outer court of the Tem- 
 ple and the man hastened his steps thinking that the 
 Master was about to preach unto the gathering crowds. 
 As he drew near he saw that there was a sudden, 
 strange commotion amongst the people and two men, 
 half dragging a wretched, fainting woman, pushed 
 through the crowd, straight into the presence of the 
 Saviour of men. 
 
 In an agony of shame and terror, the woman 
 crouched at the Master's feet, her black hair falling, 
 like a veil about her face, as if to hide her shame. 
 
 53
 
 The crowd fell back a pace and the two figures stood 
 out in bold relief the Master upright, majestic, in his 
 flowing robes, with a noble dignity of bearing and 
 withal a strange sweetness of expression that tempered 
 his lofty demeanor the woman crouching, pitiful, an 
 abject outcast thing. With bated breath, the people 
 stood. Would the Man of Holiness blast this frail 
 creature with a look? Would He spurn her from Him 
 and bid them stone her, that she might surfer the pen- 
 alty of her sin? 
 
 Silent the Master stood, only looking at them, 1 and as 
 He gazed one after another shifted restlessly and un- 
 easily beneath that searching glance that seemed to 
 read the very soul. Consciences, long since dormant, 
 began to writhe and twist; half forgotten sins reached 
 up like pointing fingers not a man but tried to stifle 
 some unpleasant memory. 
 
 "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast 
 a stone at her." 
 
 Back, back, fell the crowd from that voice and that 
 look. One by one they dropped away, leaving the two 
 alone. Lingering, fascinated, the pilgrim saw the Mas- 
 ter stoop and lift the woman gently. Not a word of 
 condemnation did he utter only the gentle command, 
 "Go and sin no more." 
 
 The wretched woman glided away. Her hair still 
 fell about her face, but something strangely familiar 
 about her figure caused the man to follow her as one 
 in a dream. Rapidly she walked, but he overtook her, 
 "Leah!" She turned like a hunted creature with a sti- 
 fled cry upon her lips. For some moments they stood 
 looking at one another, mutely, then he took her hand 
 in his. "Let us journey home together!" was all he 
 said. She drew back in horror. 
 
 "Thou cans't not forgive such a creature as I?" And 
 he answered her tenderly, "Did the Master condemn 
 thee ? What am I that I should withhold my pity from 
 thee?" 
 
 And she suffered herself to be led away. 
 
 54
 
 WHEN THE JIMPSON'S HAVE COLD MEAT. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jimpson and young Jimpson, aged ten, 
 sat down at the table one night for their evening meal. 
 It was blue Monday and there was the regular wash- 
 day meal, with cold meat sliced from the roast which 
 had loomed up hot and juicy at the Sunday dinner the 
 day before. 
 
 Mr. Jimpson unfolded his napkin and picked up the 
 cold meat fork. 
 
 "Is there any horse-radish?" he asked, looking at his 
 wife, with the fork poised in the air. 
 
 A little shiver ran down Mrs. Jimpson's back as she 
 remembered that Mr. Jimpson had asked that same 
 question for three consecutive Mondays and she had 
 completely forgotten the horse-radish when she made 
 out her grocery list. 
 
 "No, my dear," she said, very sweetly, with not a 
 look that showed her inward perturbation. 
 
 Mr. Jimpson's lips closed in a thin line. He laid 
 down the cold meat fork sat still a moment, then 
 pushed back his chair and went down into his pocket. 
 
 "Here," he said to Jimmy, in a tone that made the 
 boy start guiltily, for Jimmy alwavs had a few things 
 on hand for which he might be punished, and he was 
 wondering what particular misdemeanor his father 
 had discovered. Was it the broken pane of Jones' base- 
 ment window, or the last difficulty with his patient 
 school teacher? 
 
 "Here," said Mr. Jimpson again, handing the boy a 
 half a dollar. "You take this and go to the store and 
 get some horse-radish." 
 
 Now, Mr. Jimpson had never been in a grocery store 
 more than once or twice in his life. He knew nothing 
 
 55
 
 about the price, variety, style or size of anything in the 
 grocery line, much less horse-radish. Every day he 
 sallied forth to his office in the city where he dealt in 
 stocks and bonds, and whether horse-radish came in 
 barrels or bottles whether it cost much or little, he 
 really had not observed and did not know. He only 
 knew he wanted horse-radish and he would teach Mrs. 
 Jimpson a lesson. 
 
 As Jimmy took the half a dollar Mr. Jimpson thought 
 he detected a faint look of amusement on his wife's 
 face. Probably that was not enough money, but he 
 would not ask. 
 
 "Here, Jimmy," he said, in a tone that made the boy 
 jump guiltily again, "give that back to me," and he 
 went down into his pocket again and drew outa two 
 dollar bill. "You get enough. We'll have horse-radish 
 for a while. You get enough, and hurry up." 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Jimmy, meekly, and started away on 
 the run. 
 
 Silence reigned at the Jimpson table during Jimmy's 
 absence. Mrs. Jimpson munched a bit of bread and 
 butter and her husband read the evening paper. The 
 delicatessen was just around the corner, so Jimmy re- 
 turned in a comparatively short time. Mr. Jimpson was 
 seated with his back to the hall that led to the front 
 door, but Jimmy's mother could see him coming. She 
 had to make every effort to control her laughter. On 
 came Jimmy with a bundle nearly as big as himself. 
 When he reached his father's side, Mr. Jimpson looked 
 up. His look of amazement was involuntary. 
 
 "Now, what the dev what the deuce have you got 
 there?" 
 
 "Horse-radish," said Jimmy, opening the bundle and 
 beginning to take out bottle after bottle. 
 
 "Horse-radish?" gasped Mr. Jimpson. 
 
 "Yes, sir, that's what you said to get horse-radish." 
 
 "Well, I didn't tell you to buy out the store. You 
 ought to have a little horse sense." 
 
 KG
 
 "You said to get plenty." said Jimmy, beginning to 
 cry. 
 
 "That's right, cry like a baby. If I hadn't more 
 judgment than you have at your age I'd . Here, 
 we'll keep three bottles of this, so we'll always have 
 some on hand," Mr. Jimpson added sarcastically, "and 
 you take the rest back to the store and get your money 
 back." 
 
 Jimmy gave a tearful, regretful glance at the waiting 
 dinner and started out again. As he reached the front 
 steps his foot tripped and the bottles of horse-radish 
 went crashing out of the bundle on to the stone steps. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jimpson rushed to the door. 
 
 "Oh, Jimmy, dear, are you hurt?" cried his mother 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," Jimmy wailed, thinking it wiser to 
 claim injury in the hope of escaping a scolding. 
 
 After ascertaining that the extent.of the boy's injur- 
 ies consisted of a mental hurt instead of a physical 
 one, Mrs. Jimpson surveyed the steps strewn with bro- 
 ken bottles and horse-radish, and again she controlled 
 a wild desire to laugh. 
 
 The three Jimpsons went into dinner. 
 
 "I'm afraid, mum," said Bridget, appearing at the 
 swinging door of the butler's pantry, "that the dinner's 
 gittin' cold." 
 
 "We are going to eat, now, Bridget," said Mrs. Jimp- 
 son. 
 
 "Oh, mum, excuse me, but I forgot to tell you that 
 we needed horse-radish today." 
 
 "I think, Bridget," said Mrs. Jimpson, "if you take 
 your broom to the front porch, you will find that we 
 have some." 
 
 57
 
 SENTIMENTAL SI. 
 
 I s'pose there ain't much poetry 
 
 Down in my hard old soul, 
 Ef I'd run a race with knowledge, 
 
 I'd never reach the goal, 
 Yet I ain't missed all the pretty things. 
 
 The clouds, the grass, the trees, 
 Sometimes I feel like fallin' 
 
 . Right down on my old knees, 
 And offerin' with all my heart a prayer 
 
 Of thanks to God for lettin' me 
 In all this beauty share. 
 
 Today the brook, the flowers, the sky, 
 All jine in one grand tune, 
 
 That sings and rings through my old heart, 
 Gol durn! If it ain't June! 
 
 58
 
 OLD DAD. 
 
 The first time I ever saw Old Dad was at my home, 
 when in the midst of that very necessary but most un- 
 interesting period of household regulation, house-clean- 
 ing time. 
 
 I went down into the kitchen one morning and Old 
 Dad sat in state upon a chair. He arose immediately 
 upon my entrance. 
 
 "Mornin', Mistis," he said, with a sweep of the arm 
 and a low Chesterfieldian bow. "Dave couldn't come to 
 help you this mornin' so he sent me. 'Dad,' says he, 
 'you am the onliest pusson I could trus' to do Mistis' 
 work 'cept myself.' I cleans mos' every day, ma'am; 
 that's my perfession. I cleans drug sto's, and paint 
 sto's, and grocery sto's, and windows' and steps all 
 over dis heah part of town. I'm a great worker an' I 
 ain't no talker, an' I don't jes' use up yo' time foolin' 
 and talkin' like some niggahs. I wuks, I do yes'm, I 
 wuks. I carries my own pails an' rags an' I don' loaf 
 aroun'. I jes' wuks." 
 
 By this time I felt a little dubious as to Dad's ca- 
 pacity for work, a feeling -which grew from suspicion 
 into confirmation before the morning -was over. How- 
 ever, Dad was finally established, with stepladder, pail 
 and rag, to wash the woodwork of my room. He was 
 a most unique looking character, with a crown of white 
 hair surrounding his wrinkled black face, which fairly 
 beamed with gentleness and lazy good nature. Alas, 
 for the progress of the house cleaning. Old Dad rub- 
 bed the woodwork very slowly, but his tongue kept in 
 constant motion. 
 
 "Ain't you a southrn lady, ma'am? I knowed so. 
 
 59
 
 Dar's a kin' of set to yo' back bone dat looks like yo' 
 come from souf of de Mason line. I'm from de souf, 
 too. Yes'm; dey calls me Old Dad, but my real name 
 is Hezekiah Ephr'im Genesis Gascoyne. Yes'm; I use 
 to b'long to de Gascoynes of Gascoyne Hall, down in 
 ole Virginy. Big folks dey was, too m'm. I live wid 
 de bes' folks, I tell you. Wa'n't no po' white trash 
 'bout my folks. Didn't you never heah of Colonel Gas- 
 coyne? No, ma'am? Why, dat's strange! Thought 
 everybody knowed him. He was awful proud an' high 
 steppin'. Had de right set to his back bone, I tell you. 
 Yes'm. Ever know my Mistis? Well, now honey, 
 ain't dat queer? Thought everybody knowed my Mis- 
 tis. Pretty honey, she was jes' like one of dem 
 bloomin' roses, white and sweet, and her voice was sof 
 like music. Too bad you didn't know her. An' den 
 little Marster proud jes' like old Marster, but full of 
 foolin' an' mischief. I growed up wid dat boy. We 
 used to play together use to eat chicken feet an' pig 
 tails togedder settin' side by side on de same log fence, 
 and when he got older I tuck care of his clothes an' was 
 his body servant. Well, bimeby he went away to 
 school and Mistis she pack up his things herself, 
 wouldn't let nobody else do it, an' she cried all day I 
 ain't say in' that I cried, but I felt jes' like somebody 
 done offered me some watermillion an* den tuck it 
 away foah I'd had a chance to eat it. 
 
 "Mistis used to jes' po' over young Marster's let- 
 tahs. When Christmas holidays come Lord, such a 
 rejuvenation time. Yo' all ain't got no idea what 
 Christmuses is like up heah dese days wid a big tree 
 an' a cracklin' fire in de hearth an' de niggahs in dey 
 turbans and white aprons calling out Christmas gif, 
 and a houseful of gay white folks. Young Marster 
 come home wid some of de sojer cadets, dey call 'em, 
 an' a jolly time dey had wid de pretty gals, dancin* 
 an cuttin' pigeon wings. 
 
 "Well, young Mars went back, an' somehow his let- 
 
 oo
 
 tahs didn't come so frequent, an' den one day some- 
 thing happened. I don't know what it was. Seem like 
 he got to spendin' money an' got to gambellin' an' 
 drinkin' an' dey 'spelled him from de school. 
 
 "Well, when he come home he an' old Marster done 
 had it up an' down, back an' forth. Old Mars told him 
 he'd disgraced de name of Gascoyne an' he was 'shamed 
 to own him, an' young Mars said he'd go 'way where 
 they wan't 'shamed of him, an' old Mars up an' tol' 
 him to go wid Mistis cryin' an' cryin' to herself 
 in de corner, an' de upshot of it all wuz dat young 
 Mars up an' went away fo' neider one of 'em would 
 give in. 
 
 "I don't know, but it seemed like nothin' was ever 
 the same 'tween Marster an' Mistis after that. Mistis 
 didn't say much. She wa'n't dat kind. But she grew 
 so still an* white seem like she was fadin' jes' like a 
 rose dat been pulled from de stem an' thrown down, 
 an' seem like, too, dat a breach done come 'tween 
 Marster an' Mistis dat wa'n't gwine to heal very soon. 
 Marster went away on long huntin' trips, an' some- 
 times he didn't see Mistis for days. 
 
 "Well, bimeby, de wah broke out an' one day Mistis 
 got a lettah. I heard her say to Marster, 'I've some- 
 thin' to read to you.' I 'member jes' as well as tho' 
 you was readin' de writin' now, what dat lettah said 
 
 " 'Mother, dearest, I've enlisted. Father said I 
 had disgraced the name of Gascoyne, but I'm going to 
 try to do something to make you feel proud of me. 
 God bless you.' 
 
 "Then Mistis went right away. Seem like she kin' 
 of choke up an' couldn't talk. But, Lawd bless you, 
 honey, dat boy wa'n't fit to fight. He wa'n't no mo'n 
 a boy. He was sev'ral yeahs younger'n me. I guess 
 'twan't mo'n his fust fight Marster was gittin' ready 
 to go to wah hissef when de news come. 
 
 "Dey wrote he was in the thick of de fight an' rushed 
 to de front an' dat Marster ought to be proud of him. 
 
 61
 
 Dat note come home wid his body an' an ole blood- 
 stained rebel flag. Marster kept sayin' over an' over, 
 "Too late! too late!' jes' like dem foolish Virginians 
 dat de Bible speaks of, dat didn't have no oil in dey 
 lamps when de bridegroom come to de do'. 
 
 "What yo' t'ink Mistis did when Marster sat sayin' 
 over an' over, 'Too late, my boy, too late'? She jes' 
 went over an' knelt down at his feet an' took his hands 
 in hers, an' I knowed dat dere wa'n't grwine to be no 
 breach 'tween Marster an' Mistis no mo' after dat, an' 
 dat dere hearts done come togedder over young Mars- 
 ter's coffin" 
 
 . . "Lord bless you, honey, if dah ain't yo' lunch bell 
 an' I can't wuk no mo'n half a day heah. Yo' see Dave 
 tuk me off anuther job to 'commodate you. By the by, 
 lady, yo' ain't got any clothes dat yo' husban' don't 
 wan' has yo'? We's gwine to have a f ligious revival 
 down to our church next week gwine stir up de whole 
 Bible from Adam and Eve clar froo to Gabriel's trump, 
 an' I ain't got nothin' to wear but dis heah raggedy 
 suit. 'Tain't fit to talk in meetin' in, an' I got to 
 'spostulate wid de sinners. Dis heah suit ma'am? Lord 
 bless you, ma'am! Why, I'll be awful proud in dat 
 suit. Thank you, ma'am. You is a true southern lady 
 for sho'." 
 
 And Old Dad, with his soft, melodious voice and 
 Chesterfieldian manner, went bowing out and the clos- 
 ing door shut out the romantic past and the old regime 
 and left me in the prosaic present.
 
 THE ELDER'S DRINK OF CIDER. 
 
 I've got jest as much respect fur religion, Silas 
 Peters, as any man, but I can't abide a hypercrit. 
 Course 'twant respectful of Josh, but he allus wuz so 
 bilin' bubblin' full o' the dickens that he can't help 
 playin' them jokes no more'n a bird can help flyin'. 
 Mad, my, but Lucindy Ann was mad ! Why, you see, 
 it happened this way. Let me light my pipe, I can al- 
 lus talk better between puffs. Well, Elder Rice was a 
 stayin' to our house, you know, while he was givin' 
 them temperance talks to Graystown. Now temper- 
 ance talks is all right, and Lord knows Graystown 
 needs 'em, but 'twant no reason cause you're givin' 
 temperance talks that you need wear a face as long as 
 a mule's an' make the folks around you miser'ble. Ev- 
 ery time Josh went 'round singin' to his work, Elder 
 Rice 'd ask him if he was lookin' out for a future 
 world, and that too much levity wuz onseemly. An' 
 when Molly come out in her pretty white dress with 
 pink ribbons, he said 'twas too bad she had no mother 
 to guide her 'cause frivolity wuz the reignin' crime 
 of the women of this age. Well, Molly pretty nigh 
 cried, she wuz so taken aback, an' when the two kids, 
 Josh and .Molly, went to a barn dance, gol dern it, 
 the Elder most threw a fit he dressed 'em down so. 
 Lucindy Ann she was tickled to death. You know 
 Lucindy allus talked and acted as though death wuz 
 right around the corner waitin' to grab a body the min- 
 ute he stepped out o' the door, an' when the Elder 
 come she wus in her elyment. Course Lucindy's 
 my wife's sister and since Ma died she's done her best 
 to take keer o' things, but Lucindy's a good deal of a 
 
 63
 
 wet blanket. Now, I'm agoin' to die sometime, Silas 
 Peters, but I ain't goin' to buy my coffin and set down 
 in it waitin' till the blow comes. Maybe the Lord 
 meant us to be solemn all the time, but ef he did, then 
 he hadn't oughter made the green grass, an' the flow- 
 ers and the sunshine. Didn't he make the birds sing? 
 Why you can't look around you 'thout feelin' the joy 
 of livin' sometimes. Course there's sickness, an' pain 
 and worry, but it don't do no good to keep a harpin' 
 on it all the time. Then, too, the Elder he wan't con- 
 sistent. He could talk a heap to other folks about sac- 
 rificin' themselves and crucyfyin' the flesh, but he 
 could get next to roasted pork or nice fresh pumpkin 
 pie about as quick as anybody you ever seen. Well, to 
 go on with my story. It all come about this way. We 
 had some nice cold cider one night an' the way the 
 Elder laid down the law to the hull family wuz a cau- 
 tion. Said that cider were a disgrace and war reely a 
 device of the Evil One. Josh war kind o' impudent 
 I guess and said the Evil One wuz mighty thoughtful 
 to provide such good entertainment, which remark 
 nearly made Lucindy Ann have a faintin' spell, be- 
 cause Josh spoke that a way to the Elder. I sez to 
 him, "Elder Rice," sez I, this ain't very hard cider an' 
 it's mighty refreshin'." It's jes a steppin' stone to 
 liquor, sez he, an' then he lanched into a tirade that 
 wuz as tiresome as a naggin' woman. It looked al- 
 mighty to me like encroachin' on a man's liberties, but 
 I didn't say much bein's the Elder was a sort of guest 
 and Lucindy Ann sot so much store by him. 
 
 Well, that night, Silas Peters, it seems that Josh 
 heerd a noise in the hall an' went an' looked out o' his 
 door' an' what did he see but Elder Rice a creepin' along 
 softly down the stairs. Josh was curous an' he went a 
 creepin' softly after him down went the Elder and 
 down went Josh, through the kitchen and into the 
 cellar. Then Josh peeked and he seen the Elder take a 
 pitcher in his hand from off the table.. Then he crept 
 
 64
 
 to the stairs and sot the candle on the steps an' went on 
 down. Well, Silas Peters, you can jab me in the ribs 
 if that son of a gun of an Elder didn't go straight fur 
 the cider barrel and went fumblin' around fur the 
 spigot. An' then that imp of a Josh waits an' lets 
 the cider begin to run in the pitcher an' then he up and 
 blows out the candle. By gum, but the Elder wuz in 
 a fix, fer he lost the spigot in the dark an' that Josh 
 went up stairs and got into bed. 'Twas a little after 
 midnight or mebbe 'twan't so late as that that I woke 
 up thinkin' I heerd somebody callin'. I listened and 
 listened* and jest then Lucindy Ann come to my door. 
 "Reuben," said she, scared like, "I hearn someone 
 callin' somewheres fer help." An' I springs out of 
 bed an' we goes down stairs, follerin' the sound till we 
 come to the cellar. I went down stairs and peered into 
 the room. Never shall I fergit the sight. The Elder 
 wuz a kneelin' in front of the barrel with his hand agin 
 the bung hole tryin' to hold the cider in an' the blamed 
 stuff wuz a runnin' in streams all over the cellar, an' 
 the Elder a shiverin' fer he didn't have on nothin' but 
 his night clothes. Lucindy Ann, when she seen the 
 Elder with so few clothes on, she gives a little screech 
 and runs back up stairs. I wuz jest a goin' to say some- 
 thin' when Josh leans over my shoulder. "Elder," sez 
 he, "won't you have a little cider?" I told him to dry 
 up an' he sez that is what the Elder was a wishin' he 
 could do. "Brother," sez the Elder, with his teeth a 
 chatterin', "this is most extraordinary." "It sure is," 
 sez Josh, over my shoulder. "I heerd a noise in the 
 cellar and come to investigate," said the Elder, a shiv- 
 erin' with the air of the blamed place as he talked. 
 "My candle went out and I knocked agin the barrel and 
 knocked out the spigot, an' the cider begun to over- 
 flow." "Looks like a reg'lar deluge," sez Josh, "but I 
 kin swim an' I'll dive in an' rescue you." He sure had 
 a cider bath, the Elder did." "Excuse me, Silas Peters, 
 I've got to laugh agin, whenever I think of it, an' if 
 
 65
 
 you see me laughin' anytime to myself and it 'pears like 
 I've gone clean plumb daffy, then you'll know what's 
 the matter with me, an' I'm thinkin' 'bout the Elder an' 
 his cider bath. You couldn't make Lucindy Ann be- 
 lieve but what the Elder's story was a gospel truth, 
 but it sounded too all fired thin to me, an' he never did 
 explain why he took the pitcher along with him. Now, 
 I say, if a man wants a drink of cider, let him take it 
 open and above board an' not go sneakin' 'round to 
 drink it in the dark. 
 
 There I go agin, Silas Peters, don't mind me, don't 
 mind me. You know what I'm a laughin' at and gol 
 dern, I can't help it. Gee whiz ! Whew !
 
 A TRANSPLANTED ROMANCE.* 
 
 Antonio stood at the door of his shop and looked 
 down the street with a contented sort of feeling. He 
 had just graduated from a little glass-enclosed fruit- 
 stand upon the sidewalk's edge to this fine new shop 
 upon the corner of a busy street, and stood surveying 
 the tempting display of luscious fruit ranged upon the 
 stand, both without and within the shop, with a very 
 self-satisfied air. There were great golden oranges and 
 tempting bunches of white grapes that brought to him 
 the thought of his own beloved, vineclad, sun-kissed 
 Italy ; lemons, wrapped in pink and white papers, with 
 here and there one in a gayer wrapper of silver or gilt 
 by way of variety; great rosy-cheeked apples, with a 
 "shininess" not imparted by nature, and savoring of 
 the rubbing of a bandana. 
 
 Before him in the street played his two children, 
 Beppo and Juliette, who looked more like two quaint 
 little dolls than two flesh and blood babies; Juliette 
 especially, with the full, old-fashioned skirt that came 
 down to her little feet, the red handkerchief folded 
 across her breast, the round gold hoops in her little 
 brown ears and the string of coral beads around her 
 tiny throat, and above all, the rosy, dimpling baby face, 
 lightened by big velvety brown eyes and topped by a 
 mop of black curls, whose beauty brought her many 
 an extra penny from her father's customers. The gra- 
 cious, merciful Providence that looks after street ba- 
 bies did not forget these two and they played in the 
 
 *Written for Short Stories. 
 
 67
 
 gutters, under horses' feet and in front of trolley cars, 
 with an abandon and fearlessness, that surely would 
 have been the maiming or the death of some more care- 
 fully nourished children, and that made watchful, anx- 
 ious mothers shudder as they passed. 
 
 And yet Nanina did not think she neglected her ba- 
 bies. She loved and cared for them as much as a busy 
 mother could do, for was not the store to be tended 
 when Antonio was away, as well as the cooking to be 
 done and her other work, in the rooms back of the 
 shop? So, really, all she could do for her babies was 
 to dress them, feed them and put them to bed; the 
 rest of the time they must shift for themselves. 
 
 She was so young, too, this wife, barely twenty, a 
 fact more apparent as she came and stood by Antonio's 
 side, in the cool of the late afternoon, for he was on 
 the shady side of forty and his hair was beginning to 
 grow thin about his temples and brow. Just a larger 
 edition of the baby Juliette she looked standing there 
 in the doorway, the same plumpness and dimples and 
 velvety eyes, even the same folded kerchief about the 
 breast and gold hoops in the ears. Instead, however, 
 of the mop of black curls that strayed riotously over 
 Juliette's little head, the mother's hair was parted in 
 the middle and lay like bands of glossiest satin on 
 either side of the pretty face, and in great massive black 
 braids at the nape of the round, shapely neck. With 
 a touch of coquetry, she had added a shell comb and an 
 artificial red rose that vied in color with her full, ripe 
 lips. 
 
 Trade had been brisk today, although there was a 
 temporary lull just now, so they were both smiling as 
 they heard the ting, ting of a bell and both the children 
 shouted and clapped their hands as a man, pushing a 
 popcorn cart, turned the corner and, stopping, greeted 
 them gaily. "Good-day to you, Luca," said Antonio 
 in Italian, coming down to the edge of the sidewalk 
 to examine the new hand-cart. Bright indeed it was, 
 
 08
 
 all blue and yellow with sides of glass upon which 
 were inscribed in letters of enamel, 
 
 "Sugared Buttered and Chocolate" 
 "Pop Corn 5 cents a bag" 
 "Peanuts and Gum." 
 
 Inside the glass case was a gasoline torch, a corn pop- 
 per, a shiny new pewter pot which held the melted 
 butter, and a whisk broom used for brushing the great 
 white kernels into a pile where they were scooped into 
 the paper bag by a tin sugar-scoop. Luca bestowed a 
 bag of corn (stale corn that would not sell readily) 
 upon the babies, who munched away upon it happily. 
 He might have been a Romeo in disguise, as he stood 
 leaning in a careless attitude against his cart with his 
 cap thrown back, showing the thick, curly hair be- 
 neath; for he was young, handsome and straight of 
 limb. The brown velveteen coat and red handkerchief 
 aoout his neck added a picturesque touch to his attire. 
 His teeth gleamed white as he smiled, which he did 
 continually. 
 
 Strange to say, Nanina did not leave the doorway, 
 and after replying to his greeting, seemed to give him 
 no further heed but stood looking absently down the 
 street. Ar! how her looks belied her feelings, for the 
 heart beneath the folded kerchief kept up a quick beat- 
 ing. Stand back, Antonio ! For your poor little figure 
 forms too sharp a contrast to the tall young fellow at 
 your side! 
 
 The two men talked away volubly for some time. 
 Presently a customer took Nanina within, and after a 
 time another came and Antonio went in to help her, 
 leaving Luca alone; but Luca was not going just yet 
 and sauntered up to the doorway. Nanina's customer 
 left and she came outside, he knew she would. 
 
 "My beautiful queen, you say nothing to me today," 
 he whispered in softest Italian. 
 
 A faint color came into her cheeks and she shrugged
 
 her shoulders and pursed up her full, red lips, but she 
 did not answer, for Antonio's customer came out just 
 then and he followed, quickly, smiling and rubbing his 
 hands together, because of the pretty bit of silver he 
 had just received. 
 
 The two men talked away busily again but Nanina 
 was still silent, and presently Luca, shaking hands with 
 them both, took his leave, bowing, smiling and showing 
 his white teeth as he kissed his hand to the babies. 
 Pushing the little cart in front of him, he disappeared 
 around the corner, but the woman's eager ears caught 
 the ting, ting of the little bell far up the street. 
 
 It was always thus when Luca came that Nanina 
 was silent. He came often and Antonio who was fond 
 of the young fellow was always glad to see him and 
 they had many a busy chat together. He upbraided 
 his wife with her coldness toward Luca and accused her 
 of disliking him because she had nothing to say in his 
 presence. 
 
 Poor foolish Antonio ! He adored his beautiful young 
 wife with all the intensity of his passionate, southern 
 nature, and it occurred to him not for a moment that 
 she did not love him with an equal ardor. Least of 
 all would he have suspected her mad infatuation for 
 Luca, all the more wild because helpless and hopeless. 
 But Luca knew and he smiled to himself, showing his 
 white teeth in his satisfaction. She was nothing more 
 to him than any other pretty woman he adored them 
 all and charmed them all with the fascination of a wily 
 snake. But affairs could not go on in this way for long 
 it must at last be discovered that Luca came to the 
 little fruit shop very often during Antonio's absence. 
 That the young Italian sometimes came when he was 
 away, Antonio knew, for the children spoke of him, 
 and of this he thought nothing, but of how often, he 
 had not the slightest idea. 
 
 One day his blind eyes were opened. He had been 
 down to the city to buy fruit in the early morning 
 hours, and as he was within a half block of the shop, he 
 
 7O
 
 saw to his surprise it had not been opened. A man 
 slipped out of the side door that led to the living rooms 
 back of the store. Antonio's heart gave a great bound 
 as he recognized Luca. For a moment he was stunned, 
 but when he recovered and would have run after Luca, 
 he had disappeared. 
 
 When he entered the rooms back of the store, Nanina 
 was preparing breakfast and the odor of garlic was in/ 
 the air. She did not look up but kept busy about the 
 meal. On her right cheek dyeing her smooth, olive 
 skin brightly, was a long mark as of a blow. Antonio 
 came and stood directly in front of her. 
 
 "You had an early visitor," he said in Italian, shak- 
 ing from head to foot with passion. She sank upon her 
 knees before the look in his eyes and dropping the 
 long iron spoon she held in her hand, clung to him 
 pleading piteously. 
 
 "For the love of the Mother of Jesus, do not kill 
 me spare my life and I will go away and never trouble 
 you again." 
 
 His hand was about her throat a murderous hand 
 the hand of a man insane from passionate grief, when 
 he heard two little voices, and Beppo and Juliette, who 
 had just awakened, tumbled out of their bed and 
 greeted him joyously. The hand relaxed its hold and 
 throwing himself upon the floor the man burst into a 
 flood of tears and wild cries. The babies gazed at him 
 in round-eyed wonder while their mother rocked her 
 body to and fro, and dared not move to stay his grief. 
 
 Terror-stricken at this unusual state of affairs, 
 Juliette set up a cry in which Beppo joined her and 
 Nanina coming to herself at last, tried to quiet them. 
 Antonio sprang up and rushed out of the door, slam- 
 ming it behind him. 
 
 What a day for the guilty, conscience-stricken 
 woman! How its long hours dragged by! She did 
 not open up the shop at all and customers came and 
 went away, disappointed and curious. It was very late 
 and the babies had been asleep several hours when the 
 
 71
 
 door opened and Antonio came in. He looked white 
 and haggard, and sank into a chair wearily. It was 
 some moments before he spoke and then he said with 
 a sneer, looking toward Nanina, who crouched in a cor- 
 ner with her face covered with her hands : 
 
 "Your lover is safe. I could not find him." 
 
 The woman shuddered but said nothing. Her glossy 
 black hair gleamed in the lamplight, but he noticed 
 that the red rose and the shell comb were gone. 
 
 This then was the end of all his happiness the new 
 shop, the comfortable rooms with their new furniture 
 had all been bought for this such a short space of 
 time just a little soap bubble of brightness had the 
 past month or two been and now the joy had vanished 
 into thin air. 
 
 For such a length of time did Antonio sit staring 
 wildly, miserably at her, that Nanina, unable to endure 
 the silence longer, lifted her head at last. 
 
 "For the sake of the Blessed Virgin," she said, in her 
 musical tongue (they could neither of them speak 
 much English), but in a wild, excited tone, "let me tell 
 you what I have to say. I am very vile and wicked, 
 but I could not go away from you and Beppo and 
 Juliette, as Luca begged me to to run away with him 
 and take the money you gave me to keep for you. I 
 told him you had worked for it and I had already 
 wronged you enough, and when I said that he was en- 
 raged and we quarreled and then he struck me a blow 
 here," touching her cheek, "and then he was frightened 
 and hurried away." 
 
 Antonio's hand clenched and he swore beneath his 
 breath when she spoke of the blow. 
 
 Nanina sprang up suddenly and ran to his chair, 
 falling at his feet and clasping him about the knees. 
 
 "Oh, send me not away, I will work for you and the 
 babies, and ask not even a kind word in return. You 
 were always good to me, you never grew angry with 
 me or struck. Don't take the babies from me." 
 
 72
 
 Antonio looked down at the adorable, pleading face 
 with a wild anguish in his heart. It was the babies she 
 was afraid to be parted from not from him. He had 
 been too old to marry this lovely young creature. All 
 the charms of her face and figure were doubly mag- 
 nified now that they belonged to him no more. 
 
 He sat gazing at her as one bereft of reason. 
 
 Presently the great tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 "Nanina, Nanina," he moaned, "y u never loved me 
 I could not blame you you never loved me." 
 
 Timidly she lifted her great velvet eyes. 
 
 "Forgive me forgive me," she whispered, "I know 
 now what I have lost if you could love me again" 
 
 She did not finish for he lifted her to his heart and 
 held her there as though to hold her forever, for he 
 knew, despite her sin, she was the only woman the 
 world held for him. Her quivering lips met his, and in 
 that kiss she was forgiven. 
 
 And what of Luca? He left town for gallant Luca 
 was a sad coward. But what were the odds? The 
 world was full of pretty women and his heart was as 
 free and his smile as bright as ever. His picturesque 
 face and figure were soon as familiar in his new haunts 
 as in the old where the children watched for the bright, 
 new cart, and listened eagerly for the ting, ting of his 
 little bell upon a summer afternoon.
 
 "MAMMY'S CABIN." 
 
 The little old cabin still stands by the roadside, 
 
 Moldering fast to decay; 
 
 While the form of old mammy, oft framed by the 
 doorway, 
 
 Has long since to dust passed away. 
 
 And still I can see her, with face black and wrinkled 
 Stand shading her eyes from the light, 
 
 "Come, chillun, the hoecakes an' taters is ready, 
 Youse gwine to be hungry fo' night." 
 
 How we came running, the black ones and white ones, 
 
 At the sound of that musical voice, 
 While in the cabin, piled high 'round the fire-place, 
 
 Were visions that made us rejoice. 
 
 Those faces are scattered the white ones and black 
 ones 
 
 And the cabin to earthiness moulds. 
 Yet blessed the thought of that dear sunny South-land 
 
 And the sweetness that memory holds.
 
 BOB'S LAMENT. 
 
 My sister's awful fortunate 
 
 Don't have to go to school, 
 Don't have to do no number work, 
 
 Nor learn a single rule; 
 Don't have to even take a bath, 
 
 'Cept gets a spongin' off 
 Yet she can eat just all she wants 
 
 She's got the hookin' cough. 
 
 She plays all day out on the grass, 
 
 And underneath the trees, 
 Just listenin' to the birdies sing 
 
 And to the hummin' bees 
 While I'm cooped up behind my desk, 
 
 With gogafy and slate, 
 A-tryin' to learn 'bout all them things 
 
 You'd ought to love, but hate. 
 
 The doctor said, "J ust keep her out; 
 
 Don't hardly mind the weather." 
 Sis gave the cough to her bestest chum, 
 
 And now they play together. 
 My! that was pretty slick of sis; 
 
 I tried to do it too 
 Just got up close and breaved her breff, 
 
 The way I oughtn't to do. 
 
 75
 
 A'n'en I said that night to ma: 
 
 "I'm feelin' awful mean; 
 My froat is sore and my head is hot, 
 
 And my stomick's kinder lean; 
 Now, ma, I'd hate to miss my school, 
 
 But I'm feelin' drefful queer; 
 I think I've got the hookin' cough." 
 
 'Nen I squeezed out a tear. 
 
 But ma ain't got much sympathy ; 
 
 She turned me round and round, 
 Looked at my tongue, felt of my pulse, 
 
 And said, "I guess you're sound," 
 Just in the very coldest way, 
 
 Although she kinder smiled 
 and said, "You had the hookin' cough 
 
 When but a little child." 
 
 This ain't a very even world 
 
 Some folks don't get a chance. 
 Course I'm glad to be a boy, 
 
 So I can wear the pants. 
 But oh, to sit here at my desk, 
 
 When every livin' thing 
 Keeps callin', callin' me to come 
 
 Come out and take a fling ! 
 
 Refrain. 
 
 The birds they sing just all the time: 
 "Come Bob, come Bob, be off!" 
 
 My sister's awful fortunate 
 She's got the hookin' cough. 
 
 70
 
 THE GRAY GOOSE. 
 
 The folds of the maiden's tunica fell gracefully about 
 her slender form. The large dark eyes looked larger 
 set in the pallor of her fair young face, a face paler 
 than its wont, from lack of needful nourishment. Close 
 within her arms she held a gaunt gray goose, that 
 stretched out its ungainly neck toward the would-be 
 destroyers in a manner that seemed but to inflame them 
 the more. 
 
 "Give us the goose to eat," cried one, shaking a 
 clinched fist. 
 
 "Aye, aye," another cried, "dost thou presume to feed 
 this senseless creature, while men starve about thee?" 
 
 "We hunger. The gray goose will make a meal," 
 affirmed a third. 
 
 "The gray goose! The gray goose!" still other 
 voices clamored. 
 
 The girl only drew farther from them. 
 
 "Nay, nay, not so," she faltered. "If from my petty 
 portion my day's allowance I slip a share for the 
 sustenance of this poor bird, what have you to say? 
 I take naught from thee nor thee nor thee," pointing 
 to each one in turn. "Think you I lack in love of my 
 beloved Rome because I give not this bird unto you? 
 Have not the Gauls, our enemies, swept away my home 
 by fire, and put to death by the sword the only beings 
 dear to me, my mother and sweet brother who fed with 
 his tiny hand this poor gray bird?" 
 
 "For this do I give the creature of my allowance. 
 For this do I love it. Pitiful as it may be, 'tis all that 
 hath been left to me and the aged grandmother with 
 whom I dwell." 
 
 77
 
 But the hungry, reckless mob laughed her to scorn, 
 closing in upon her with cries and jeers. They were 
 hungry, these poor wretches; hemmed in by Gallic in- 
 vaders, wild, barbarian hordes that had swept like 
 human hurricanes from the north, bringing ruin and 
 devastation in their wake. 
 
 "One would think the bird a sacred creature, one of 
 the sacred geese in Juno's Temple," said one. 
 
 "Aye away with the paltry sentiment of a puny 
 girl. Give us the goose we famish," cried another, 
 bolder than the rest, making as though to drag the bird 
 from her arms. 
 
 The goose uttered a shrill cry as the maiden held it 
 closer and it would have fared but illy with her had 
 not a strong right arm pushed back the ruffians. 
 
 "Hold ! Touch neither the maiden nor the bird, base 
 ingrates !" rang out a voice that made them all fall back 
 dismayed. "Is not this the maiden Claudia? Forget 
 ye all /that when Bremius the Gaul broke up camp at 
 Clusium and marched toward Rome with his great- 
 limbed, fair-haired giants pouring into the valley of 
 the Tiber like birds of prey, that Sextus, the maiden's 
 father, was one of those who met the Gauls on the 
 banks of the Alia? Have ye forgotten that when o'er- 
 powered by numbers the Romans were compelled to 
 flee, how many plunged into the river, but Sextus stood 
 his ground, fighting to the last and yielding only when 
 his brave body could hold no more Gallic javelins? 
 Have ye forgotten also that when the Gauls swept on 
 to Rome this maiden's grandsire fled not with the old 
 men, the women and the chidren to Veii, but with other 
 Senators as brave as he, devoted himself unto the 
 gods, praying that upon their heads might fall all the 
 vengeance and destruction? Ye all know the story 
 how these brave Patricians sat in the Forum in robes 
 of state, each man with an ivory staff, when the Gauls 
 marched upon them. So still and god-like they sat 
 that our enemies beheld them with wonder and amaze. 
 
 78
 
 When one Gaul bolder than the rest stroked the beard 
 of Papirius he rose and with his ivory staff smote the 
 offender to the earth. Then fell these barbarians upon 
 the Senators and slaughtered them with great slaugh- 
 ter. Sire and grandsire and mother and brother, too, 
 hath this maiden offered up unto Rome. If she desires 
 to share her petty portion with this poor bird, the pet 
 and playmate of her brother, who fell a victim to bar- 
 barian rage, have ye aught to say? By the gods, ye 
 have become pitiful creatures, ye men of Rome." 
 
 Tall and strong stood the soldier Manlius before 
 them, in short tunic, with breastplate and helmet, his 
 hand upon his sword hilt, for these were troublous 
 times and each man wore his armor night and day. 
 
 The girl's dark eyes were lifted to the face of her 
 protector. 
 
 "May the blessing of the gods go with thee," she 
 murmured, slipping through the crowd that had fallen 
 back shame-facedly at the soldier's words. 
 
 These were unhappy times for Rome. At the foot of 
 the steep cliffs the Gauls were stationed, and while 
 Rome was besieged other Gallic hordes swept through 
 Italy with fire and sword. 
 
 With fluttering heart the girl fled to her abode, 
 where she dwelt alone save for the aged grandmother, 
 who, when the women of Rome had fled to Veii, re- 
 fused to leave her beloved city. 
 
 "Here have I lived, here have my beloved ones been 
 foully slain here will I die," she had said, and Claudia 
 remained with her. Upon Capitoline Hill they had 
 come for greater safety, as its steep scarped cliffs made 
 it almost unscalable. 
 
 "Manlius, brave Manlius hath stooped to preserve 
 thee," Claudia whispered to the ungainly bird, stroking 
 its head, "and now I have another cause to love thee. 
 We will forget not his clemency, thou and I." 
 
 "Oh, men of Rome," cried Manlius, turning to the 
 rabble after the maiden had gone, with a sweep of his 
 
 79
 
 hand toward the valley, "there below have ye that 
 which is more worthy of your mettle than a fragile 
 maiden and one of your own race. Save your strength 
 for the hour which is of a surety at hand." And he 
 turned away. 
 
 Tall, strong of limb, yet lithely made was Manlius, 
 his brown limbs showing round and firm beneath his 
 short tunic and his breastplate covering a chest of 
 goodly proportions. Toward the riverside he made his 
 way and stood looking out over the country below. 
 
 The shades of night were beginning to fall, but he 
 could see as in a mist the moving figures of the Gauls 
 below. He lifted the helmet that the soft air might 
 fan his brow and stood thinking of many things. 
 When would this besieged city find relief? If the 
 Romans could but meet the Gauls again in open fight 
 but to be hemmed up thus inert and helpless ah, how 
 galling for his restless spirit! And to what baseness 
 had his fellow soldiers descended when they could try 
 to seize from a puny girl her one treasure. 
 
 The maiden how large and beautiful were her eyes ! 
 How slender and graceful her form! But of what was 
 he thinking? 'Twas no time for soft thoughts better 
 try to devise some way to scatter the barbarian hordes 
 at the foot of the cliffs. 
 
 Hark! what sound was that? Manlius' hand was 
 upon his dagger. Nearer and nearer it came. 'Twas 
 from the cliffs below. In the darkness a head loomed 
 up not a foot from him. Manlius seized the intruder 
 in a grasp of iron. 
 
 "Who goes there!" 
 
 "Sh! A friend. Unhand me and I will tell thee my 
 mission." 
 
 As Manlius for a moment loosed his hold a youth 
 climbed to the top of the hill and stood beside him. 
 
 "I am Pontius Corinius of the Patricians at Veii and 
 come with a message to the Senate. By Great Jove ! 
 I had like to have had my perilous journey for naught, 
 
 so
 
 good Roman, for thy grip came near hurling me back 
 on the rocks below." 
 
 "And thou hast of a truth come up this cliff and 
 made the ascent unobserved by the enemy?" inquired 
 Manlius in amazement. 
 
 "Up the cliffs, in very truth and unobserved I fondly 
 hope," answered the youth, "but I must hasten, for my 
 message is of moment and my time is very brief." 
 
 When Pontius had imparted unto the Senate the 
 wish of the people of Veii to recall Camillus and make 
 him Dictator, he departed again the same way in safety. 
 But the clear, cold blue eyes of the barbarians were 
 sharp. By the light of the morning two fair-haired 
 Gauls stood at the foot of the steep heights on the 
 riverside, when one caught sight of a mark in the rock 
 near him." 
 
 "Behold !" he cried, "it is a footmark and another 
 and another, one above and yet another. Some one' 
 hath climbed the cliff in the night. See, here are marks 
 where he hath caught the tufted grass for support." 
 
 "Where one man hath climbed another may follow," 
 answered his companion. "Come, let us hasten and 
 make known unto our chief this discovery. Perchance 
 we may find a way to reach the top of Capitoline Hill." 
 
 After consultation with their chief, a party of the 
 bravest and strongest was chosen to make the attempt 
 to climb where had climbed the brave youth Pontius. 
 
 Weird figures were these that after nightfall crept 
 slowly one man behind the other up the rocks. Around 
 their bodies were girt the skins of wild beasts, each 
 man's javelin was bound at his side that it might not 
 delay his progress. Silently like ghostly figures they 
 crept on and on, and up and up the mountain side. 
 
 All unconscious of the approach of the enemy, up at 
 the top of the hill near the Temple of Juno, lay Manlius, 
 thinking sometimes of Rome and her troubles, again of 
 the brave young Pontius or again of a slender form 
 and a pair of large, dark eyes. To-day he had gone 
 
 81
 
 to the abode of the aged grandmother to reatesure 
 Claudia that the gray goose would be spared to her, 
 for would she not be anxious? 'Twas his duty as a 
 soldier and her protector to calm her fears. 
 
 At last he fell asleep. How long he slept he knew 
 not, when the shrill, unpleasant cackle of a goose 
 awakened him. Ever on the alert for any sound, he 
 roused up, seizing his arms. 
 
 A goose flapped its wings and cackled loudly near 
 him. 'Twas Claudia's bird. It must have wandered 
 away. Scarcely had he time to think when the sacred 
 geese kept in the Temple of Juno caught up the cry 
 with cackling and screaming and flapping of wings that 
 aroused all the soldiers from their sleep. 
 
 Fully awake and keenly alert Manlius became aware 
 of a noise that came from the cliff below. Rushing to 
 the edge he beheld to his amazement the dark, shaggy 
 objects crawling slowly up the mountain side. Great 
 Jove! The Gauls! 
 
 "The Gauls," he cried aloud, and as the foremost 
 man appeared, with one mighty effort, he seized him, 
 powerless, thus taken by surprise, and sent him 
 hurtling backward against the men below. Toppling 
 one against the other like a human avalanche, the bar- 
 barians were hurled to the valley below. The air re- 
 sounded with the cries of the Gauls, the mocking im- 
 precations of the Romans. Javelins went clanging 
 against the rocks and the Gauls, who still clung to the 
 tufts of grass on the rocky sides were pierced by Ro- 
 man spears. Capitoline Hill was soon full of excited 
 crowds. 
 
 Cry after cry rang out for Manlius. 
 
 "Come," they cried, "We will give him each of his 
 day's allowance of food, that he may have a greater 
 portion, for Manlius hath saved Rome." 
 
 By the light of the glaring torches the hero saw a 
 slender form in the background and large, soft eyes 
 
 82
 
 that looked their devotion. With a quick movement he 
 drew the shrinking girl to his side. 
 
 Taking the gray goose from her arms he held it 
 aloft. 
 
 "Hear, men of Rome," he cried. "The gray goose 
 which ye have despised, not I, hath saved Rome. Had 
 the bird not cackled at the noise of the Gallic feet I 
 would not have wakened and by this hour we would 
 all of us have been lying wrapped in the slumber of 
 death." 
 
 Then letting the bird go he put his arms about the 
 girl. 
 
 "This maiden hath tended the goose, so unto her I 
 pray you give the honor," and when they shouted with 
 loud acclamations she hid her blushing face against his 
 breast and he kissed her before them all, for those were 
 days when the world was young and men wooed boldly.
 
 "LITTLE MARS RICHARD." 
 
 "Ef you chillun don' quit pesterin' me fur a story 
 somet'ing's gwine to drap, an' it won' be nothin' light, 
 I kin tell you," and Aunt Geranium "squinted up" her 
 eyes, frowned and looked menacingly at the pickanin- 
 nies, big and little, ranged about the cabin door. Not a 
 word was said in reply, for the children and their elders 
 knew as well as did Aunt Geranium herself that she 
 was "itching" to tell them one of her stories of ante- 
 bellum days, of which she had such an inexhaustible 
 fund. 
 
 "Yo' all mus' take me fur a reg'lar walkin' cyclopegy, 
 the way yo' acts," she said again, putting her hands 
 down into her pocket and drawing out an old clay pipe 
 and a bag of tobacco a sure forerunner of a tale. 
 
 A dead silence reigned as she filled and lighted her 
 pipe, puffing away deliberately for some moments with 
 closed eyes, apparently unconscious of everything 
 around her. 
 
 The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers and 
 filled with the hum and buzz of insect life. Butterflies 
 flitted in and out among the sunflowers and hollyhocks 
 against the old log fence. In the field near by was 
 Calvin with the plow and the old white mule. Now 
 and then his voice came floating to them through the 
 summer air as he held converse with the mule. "Go 
 'long, yo' ole fool, yo'. T'ink I got all day to spen' 
 heah." Or, again: "Git up, Solomon. What yo' done 
 take me fur, a creepm' snail?" 
 
 The pickaninnies dug their toes into the dirt and 
 waited patiently. Andrew Jackson, bolder than the 
 rest, heaved a deep sigh, but all to no purpose. Aunt 
 
 84
 
 Geranium smoked away placidly until she finished her 
 pipe, knocking the ashes out against her wrinkled 
 horny hand, after which she proceeded to refill and re- 
 light. Presently she leaned forward with her elbows 
 resting on her knees. The children scarcely breathed ; 
 a story was coming now surely. 
 
 "Since yo' all won' quit talkin' an' worry in' me I 
 guess I'll have to tell yo' somet'ing to get rid ob yo'." 
 
 "I don' know," she added, retrospectively, "what put 
 ole Gen'rul Mountjoy in my min'. Seem like I wuz 
 lookin' at him dis heah berry minute. He usen to set in 
 front ob our fokes, de Peytons, ob Glenview, at chu'ch 
 . in days when I wuz a likely gal and deah young 
 Mis' Peyton's maid. He wuz an ole man even in them 
 days, but he wuz straight an' tall, an' what a figgah he 
 had fur a man putty nigh on to eighty years, fokes said. 
 He didn't dress like none ob de othah gen'1'men 'roun'. 
 Dey dress den somet'ing like dey do now'days, but ole 
 Gen'rul he look like he step out ob some ole portrit ob 
 Gawge Wash'n'ton. His face wuz smooth an' his har 
 wuz tied back wid black ribbon in a sort of 'kewey.' A 
 bu'ful ves' all covered wid flowahs wuz allus buttoned 
 inside his coat, all trim wid braid an' brass buttons, 
 an' his pants come jes' to his knees. He wo' fine silk 
 hosen an' low shoes wid buckles ob real silber on 'em. 
 
 "Oh, he wuz a gen'1'man liken yo' don' see now'- 
 days, I kin tell yo'. My Laws, chillen, de people dat 
 usen to drive up in dere kerridges to dat ole church ! 
 Why yo' all ain't got no ideah what real white fokes 
 look like. Proud an' high-steppin' dey wuz, liken 
 young hawses the gen'l'men in top boots an' ridin' 
 coats an' the ladies in silk an' satins an' bu'ful bonnets 
 all trimmed wid flowahs an' wid bunches ob curls 
 hangin' each side ob dere putty faces. 
 
 "Ole Gen'rul Mountjoy wuz a great man fur de 
 ladies he had been married free times an' wuz as 
 libely 'roun' de ladies as evah in his ole age, kissin' 
 dere han's an' bowin' low wid old-time grace, as my 
 
 85
 
 missus usen to say. Ole Gabe was Mars Mountjoy's 
 coachman, an' he wuz as proud an ole niggah as you'd 
 evah want to see, holdin' up his haid fur all de worl' 
 liken his marster, an' when dey come rollin' to chu'ch 
 in dere coach an' fo' ef dey wuzn't a sight I'll eat my 
 turban." 
 
 "Why, Aunt Geran'um, yo' couldn't eat yo' turban," 
 broke in Andrew Jackson, thoughtlessly. "It would 
 choke yo'." 
 
 She glared savagely upon him. "Ef yo' don' shet yo' 
 mouf, boy, I'se gwine to bust yo' haid open. Don' yo' 
 know I wuz only speakin' figitatiously," and then, as if 
 in punishment for this interruption, she sat puffing 
 away for some minutes, although her pipe was out, and 
 looked over their heads into the distance. When the 
 spirit moved her, she began again. 
 
 "Ole Mars Mountjoy had one daughtah, Missus 
 Joshway Scott. She wuzn't very young herse'f, mos' 
 fifty, an' it kin' ob bothered her, kase her fathah was 
 sech on ole beau an' fokes said he wuz in his dotage. 
 Well, he didn't concentuate his 'fections on any one 
 lady, until one day fokes begun to notice he wuz kin' 
 ob shinin' up to Mis' M'ria Cartah. Miss Cartah wuz 
 an ole maid, kin' ob quiet an' plain-lookin', but he usen 
 to set an' look at her like he thought she wuz a bu'ty. 
 De ole chu'ch wuz a quee'ah shape, built liken a cross, 
 wid a soundin' bo'ad ovah de preachah's haid. Ole 
 Gen'rul set in the main body ob de chu'ch an' Miss 
 M'ria set in one ob de ahms, so he could look at her to 
 his heart's content, an' the way he'd look an' smile 
 my laws, I don' wondah dat woman had her haid kin' 
 ob turned like, kase she wuz so plain-lookin' an' I 
 don't s'pose she nevah had no othah beau in her life. 
 Ladies wuz mighty putty in them days, an' plain ones 
 didn't git much show. Well, putty soon Ole Gen'rul 
 got to takin' her home from chu'ch in his coach an' fo', 
 wid ole Gabe disgusted nuff on de seat in front. 
 Bimeby fokes said dey wuz gwine to git married. 
 
 so
 
 "When Mis' Joshuway Scott, that wuz ole Gen'rul's 
 daughtah, heard de talk, my, wasn't she mad! So 
 Mahaly told me. Mahaly wuz Mis' Scott's maid, a 
 likely yaller gal, de same dat mar'ied Pete Johnson 
 after de wah an' went to Wash'n'ton. 
 
 "Mahaly said Mis' Scott bundled into her coach an' 
 went ovah to see Miss M'ria to argify wid her 'bout dat 
 mar'iage. Miss M'ria wuz a po' meek little 'ooman an' 
 Mis' Scott wuz a gre't big one, so I 'spose she done 
 ovah-powahad her or argified her down. Howsomevah 
 dat wuz, de mar'iage didn't come off. But bless yo' 
 soul, honey, de ole Gen'rul wuzn't to be got roun' dat 
 away when he got mar'ying in his haid. What he do 
 when Mis' Scott went to White Sulphah Springs fur 
 de summah but up an' marry a widdah, young nuff to 
 be his gran'daughtah." And Aunt Geranium took her 
 pipe from her mouth and indulged in a series of 
 chuckles, which finally developed into a prolonged fit 
 of laughter that made her fairly hold her sides. 
 
 Her mirth was so irresistibly contagious that the 
 pickaninnies grinned, bold Andrew Jackson breaking 
 into an audible laugh, which had the effect of calming 
 Aunt Geranium immediately. She gave him a look 
 that froze the mirth upon his little black face. 
 
 "What yo' laughin' fur, yo' imp? I ain't tellin' 
 jokes fur yo' ben'fit. Ain't yo' got no sense, no way?" 
 After which reproof the autocrat of the cabin took up 
 the thread of her story. 
 
 "I allus have to bust laffin' when I t'ink ob dat mar- 
 'iage. Dat widdah done led de ole Gen'rul a dance, 
 yo' may be shuah. She drug him to de Springs an' 
 resorts an' danced an' went flyin' 'roun' wid young 
 men, an' de ole man didn't do nothin' but set 'roun' an' 
 sigh. Well, at las' dere come a baby to Mount Mount- 
 joy dat wuz ole Gen'rul's home, an' Mis' Scott she 
 bustled ovah to her fathah's house, which she hadn't 
 entered since his last mar'iage. 
 
 "Dat 'ooman wan' fit to hab the care ob a chile she 
 
 87
 
 wuz too giddy an' light-haided, so Mis' Scott tole Ma- 
 haly. 'Specially the future heir ob her fathah's house." 
 
 "His mothah didn't keer. She wuz willin' to gib up 
 de baby. Fac' wuz, she didn't wan' de care ob a baby, 
 nohow. Ole Gen'rul, he wuz willin' fur his wife to hab 
 her way in eberything, he wuz so crazy haided 'bout 
 her so Mahaly carried de chile in her arms all de way 
 to Carmona Hall, which wuz Mis' Scott's place, wid 
 Mis' Scott settin' up anxious an' worried like in de 
 coach beside her, an' askin' ebery minute or two ef de 
 baby wuz wahm or cohered up . My Laws, but dat 
 wuz a pretty baby, an' how sweet he growed up, 
 straight an' "white, wid long curls hangin' down his 
 back! Ole Gen'rul died not long aftah Mis' Scott took 
 him, an' young Mis' wuz a gay widdah once mo', wid 
 lots ob money, an' she wuz glad 'nuff not to be both- 
 ered wid him, only to come to see him now an' then 
 an' sen' him presents. 
 
 "He wuz sech a putty, blessed baby that ev' man, 
 'ooman an' chile, black or white, roun' the country 
 lubbed him. He usen to come into chu'ch holdin' 
 Mis' Scott's han', warin' a blue velvet suit, an' wid his 
 long yaller curls fallin' roun' his shouldahs an' callin' 
 Mis' Scott 'sistah,' tho' she look mo' like his gran'ma. 
 
 "How ole Mis' Scott lub dat chile ! He usen to ride 
 beside de coach on his little pony, his curls flyin' in de 
 breeze an' now an' then he'd turn to ole Mis' an' throw 
 her a kiss then dash away like de win', his cheeks 
 glowin' an' his eyes shinin' like stars in de firmamen' 
 ob hebben. 
 
 "I t'ink I lub dat chile mos' as much as ole Mis' did. 
 Yo* see, Mahaly tuk vewy sick, an' as my young Mis' 
 was married, ole Mis' Peyton sent me to Mis' Scott's. 
 Dat's de way I got so well 'quainted wid dat boy, an' I 
 didn't wondah ole Mis' Scott fairly worship him. She 
 didn't hab no chillun ob her own an' de strings ob her 
 heart jes' woun' roun' an' roun' dat boy like them boa 
 anacondin's our preachah wuz tellin' 'bout las' Lawd's
 
 day, roun' de prey dey's gwine to eat. Not dat ole Mis' 
 wanted to eat dat chile, but she jes' held him to her 
 heart dat tight. 
 
 "His mothah come to see him, as I done tole you, 
 once in a while, bringin' him presents an' givin' him 
 a little peck ob a kiss. He wuz allus kin' ob shy ob 
 her, clingin' to ole Mis' dress an' seemin' to feel she 
 wuz a sort ob a stranger an' didn't really keer to be 
 bothered wid him. 
 
 "But one day she come an' eb'rything wuz different ; 
 she wuz ve'y gracious an' kin' to little Mars Richard, 
 bringin' him a new velvet suit an' a ridin' whip with 
 a gol' handle. She wuz a putty 'ooman, wid shinin' eyes 
 an' gol' har like little Mars, an' she wuz dress up in 
 great style wid hoop-skirts an' big sleeves. A tall 
 gran' lokin' gen'l'man wuz wid her; wid eyes an' har 
 as black as night. What yo' t'ink, chillen, dat 'ooman 
 interjuice dat man to ole Mis', he bowin' ve'y low, as 
 her husban'. Ole Mis' return the bow, putty stiff-like, 
 an' young Mis' went on gushin' an' talkin' like she wuz 
 done woun' up, tellin' ob all de places she'd done went 
 to, New York an' Europy an' all dem towns. Bimeby 
 she done ask, puttin' on de sweetes', gentles' tone, fur 
 little Mars. 
 
 "I wuz windin' wool fur ole Mis' knittin' in de nex* 
 room, an' I hear an' see all dat wuz goin' on. 
 
 "Little Mars Richard come in putty soon, wid his 
 shinin' eyes an' har an' rosy cheeks an' ran straight to 
 ole Mis'. Young Mis' says, sof like: 
 
 "Ain't yo' goin' to speak to yo' mothah, chile?" 
 
 "His face change kin' ob grave in a minute an' he 
 went ovah an' let her kiss his cheek an' put out his 
 little han' to the gen'l'man. 
 
 " 'This is yo' new papa, my luv,' says young Mis' 
 to interjuice the man, an' I seen ole Mis' turn pale in a 
 minute. I t'ink fur de firs' time it struck her what wuz 
 comin'. 
 
 " 'My deah Mis' Scott,' young Mis' says so sugar- 
 so
 
 like, 'I don' know how to thank yo' fur all yo' kin'ness 
 to my boy all dese yeahs, but I feel yo' hab had yo' 
 share ob care an' I want to relieb yo' now I am once 
 mo' settled in life.' 
 
 "I ain't nevah gwine to furgit ole Mis' face to my 
 dyin' day. It wuz white as ripe cotton, an' when she 
 spoke I skeersly knowed her voice, it wuz so changed. 
 
 " 'Yo' mean yo' wan' to take my chile from me ' 
 
 "Young Mis' hel' up bof her dainty han's. 'Oh, my 
 deah Mis' Scott, don', I beg yo', put it dat way,' she 
 began, but ole Mis' Scott stop her. 
 
 " 'I've been the only mothah the boy has evah! 
 known, but you wish to tear us apart now. By all 
 the laws of God you have no right to de chile, but 
 man's law 'lows yo' to take him. I hab nothin' mo' to 
 say. Yo' know what I t'ink.' 
 
 "Young Mis' begun to talk an' 'pologize, but ole 
 Mis' wouldn't say a word, but sat dere proud an' 
 col' like, an' wouldn't open her haid. All de while 
 little Mars kept staring kin' ob 'quisitiously from one 
 to anudder, an' when he realize what it all meant he 
 threw his ahms about ole Mis' an' sob an' cry dat he 
 wan' gwine to leab his deah sistah. 
 
 "Well, de shotup ob it all wuz dat, dat young 'ooman 
 had her way, an' she took de boy 'way wid her, an' 
 ole Mis' look thin an' white an' miserably sad. Some- 
 howe de light done lef Carmona Hall an' de worl' seem 
 dark an' col' an' cheerless." 
 
 Aunt Geranium coughed and wiped her eyes with 
 the corner of her apron. "Dis heah smoke gits in my 
 ole eyes today somehow," she said, evasively. 
 
 "An* didn't dat chile nebbah come back, Aunt 
 Geranium?" queried the irrepressible Andrew Jackson, 
 after the pause had been of unbearable duration. 
 
 Strange to say she did not dart upon him menacingly 
 for the question. "Oh, yes, he come back," she re- 
 plied, in an absent way, speaking more to herself than 
 to her audience; "he come back, po' baby! Ole Mis' 
 
 no
 
 got a lettah one day dat made her flop ovah on de flo' 
 in a heap, an' when she come to she pack up in a hurry 
 an' wen' away. 
 
 "When she come back she brung little Mars wid her, 
 not dancin' an' flyin' along at her side like he usen to, 
 but vety still an' quiet, fur dey bring him in his coffin. 
 
 "They laid him in de pariah dat night an' young 
 Mis', she'd come 'long, too. She hung ovah him all 
 night long, cryin' an' sobbin' as if her heart would bust. 
 Seem like she done come to her senses, an' she kep' 
 say in' : 'Oh, my po' neglected baby, ef God would only 
 gib yo' back to me I would be so good to yo'.' 
 
 "But Gawd didn't hear her prayah. He wanted dat 
 chile hisse'f. He was too good for dis wicked woiT, an 
 de 'tyfo' fevah done took him out ob it. All night long 
 de niggahs outside in de cabins moaned an' groaned 
 ovah po' little Mars, but ole Mis' set ve'y still an' quiet 
 an' nevah made a soun'. 
 
 "Dey buried him in dey fambly groun' 'side de ole 
 Gen'rul, an' aftah a time ole Mis' she died an' de wah 
 broke out an' de place fell to rack an' ruin an' it all 
 seems like a dream dat deah little Mars Richard evah 
 done lib at all." 
 
 Slowly the tears trickled between the wrinkled fin- 
 gers. She was crying now and did not try to hide it, 
 but, looking up presently and seeing Andrew Jackson 
 digging his black fists into his eyes, she said with a 
 return of her old-time sarcasm: 
 
 "What you' blubberin' 'bout t'ings dat don' concern 
 yo' an' yo' ain't got no interest in, fur? 'Pears to me 
 like yo' ain't got no mo* sense 'n Calvin's ole mule 
 yondah." 
 
 91
 
 MRS. GADABOUT'S BUSY DAY. 
 
 Characters : Mr. Gadabout, Mrs. Gadabout, Bridget. 
 
 SCENE. Living-room, Table, Chairs, Pictures, etc. 
 
 Enter Mr. Gadabout, wearing hat and coat; his 
 arms full of bundles. Throws down parcels. 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "I think I have them all (counts 
 on fingers) let's see two magazines, a package of 
 coffee, box of blocks for Tommy, doll for Daisy, en- 
 velopes and paper, package of tacks, two yards of tur- 
 key red I believe that's the name, turkey red. Don't 
 think I forgot anything." (Takes off coat and hat and 
 sits down in an easy chair with his newspaper.) "What 
 a relief to get home after a busy day in town. A man's 
 pretty lucky to have a nice quiet home to come to after 
 the turmoil and worry of business cares. I wonder 
 where Mrs. Gadabout is? 
 
 (Enter Bridget.) 
 
 Bridget. "Shall I serve dinner, sor?" 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Where is Mrs. Gadabout, Bridget?" 
 
 Bridget. "Please, sor, she hasn't came home yit." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Hasn't come home?" (Looks at his 
 watch.) "Why, it's six o'clock. Is dinner ready?" 
 
 Bridget. "Yis, sor, and it's looky ye are, if ye have 
 any dinner at all, at all, tonight sor. The stove pipe 
 fell down and the devil of a time I had gittin' it up, 
 wid soot all over me clane kitchen floor and messin' up 
 everything, it bein' wash day, too, n'd me hands full 
 of work and the Misses away and the childer to look 
 after." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (impatiently). "Go tell your troubles 
 to a policeman, Bridget." 
 
 Bridget. "If it's insinooatin' ye are that I'm intimit 
 
 93
 
 wid de polaceman I'd like ye to know ye're mistaken, 
 sor me notions is much higher, sor." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (hastily). "No, no, Bridget that's 
 just a saying." (Aside.) "She'll leave if I offend her, 
 and she's been with us so long two weeks, I think." 
 (Takes up paper again.) 
 
 Bridget (lingering). "Plaze, sor, the new neighbors 
 says if you don't kape Tommy down off the fence, 
 makin' faces and callin' of em names, they'll thrash 
 him." 
 
 .Mr. Gadabout. "Tell them to go ahead. I'd like to 
 have the job taken off my hands :" (Aside.) "I'm en- 
 joying this newspaper." 
 
 Bridget (still lingering). "The milkman left his bill 
 today, sor. He says as how he'd loike to see a little 
 of the color of your ;money, sor." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (aside). "I'm so glad I came home. 
 Any more news, Bridget?" (Puts down paper.) 
 
 Bridget. "Yis, sor. Daisy fell into a tub of water 
 and got all soakin' and I had to change all her clothes 
 it being wash day, too, and me hands full of work." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Yes, I've heard it was wash day 
 something else?" 
 
 Bridget. "Yis, sor. The plastering fell down in 
 the front bed room, and as sure as I hopes to be for- 
 given for my sins, I didn't do it, sor me being down 
 in the laundry washing at the same toime, sor." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (aside). "How restful to get home 
 after a busy day in the office. Go on, Bridget." 
 
 Bridget. "I think that's all, sor." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "All ! Oh, no, that can't be all ; you 
 must have forgotten something." 
 
 Bridget (looking thoughtfully) "Well, no, unless it 
 be Tommy troopin' in over me clane floor, wid about 
 tin byes and me clanin' and scrubbin' from mornin' 'till 
 night. I don't spose you want dinner yet, sor?" 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "No, wait a while, Mrs. Gadabout 
 will realize she has a home some time soon, I suppose." 
 
 93
 
 Bridget. "All right, sor." 
 
 (Exit Bridget.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Well, now I'll have a little peace 
 I hope." (Begins to read paper. Telephone bell rings 
 violently. Mr. Gadabout jumps up angrily and goes 
 to phone.) "Hello! Hello! What! Oh! the phone's 
 all right, is it?" 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Well, who said it wasn't? Oh! 
 you just rung up to say it was all right. Haven't you 
 got anything else to do?" (Bangs receiver into place 
 and leaves the phone.) (Stalking to his chair,) 
 "That's a fine thing to call a man up for to say the 
 phone's all right. I've got a great show to rest in this 
 house." (Sits down again and takes up paper phone 
 rings again violently.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (disgustedly). "Phone's still all right, 
 I suppose." (Jumps up and takes receiver.) "What is 
 it? Oh! this is Birdie, is it? Who is this? Well, this 
 is Sweetie. You've got the wrong number; ring off, 
 Birdie." (Sits down again and takes up paper.) 
 
 (Enters Mrs. Gadabout in street costume.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Am I late, dearie? Well, I'm 
 nearly dead. Such a busy day as I've had." (Takes 
 off her jacket and hat and sits down.) "This morning 
 Belle Jones and I went shopping.. You know it's bar- 
 gain day." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "And incidentally, wash day." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "And we can't miss the opportun- 
 ity of looking for bargains." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "No, that would never do." 
 
 (Enters Bridget.) 
 
 Bridget. "Shall I serve dinner, mum?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Yes, Bridget." 
 
 (Exit Bridget.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Why on earth do you want to get 
 into a mob of women?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Mob? Why of course there was 
 a crowd. It wouldn't be a bit of fun hunting for bar- 
 
 O4
 
 gains if other women were not hunting for them, too. 
 Belle and I pushed right up to the front every time 
 and didn't have to wait more than 15 or 20 minutes. 
 Imagine, dearie, $1 kid gloves going for 95 cents. 
 Why, it would be a sin not to take advantage of it, and 
 then they gave away the cutest leatherette hand- 
 painted glove boxes with every dozen pairs. Why, 
 the boxes alone were worth $1." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. That firm will die of enlargement of 
 the heart. How many pairs of gloves did you buy?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "A dozen pairs, of course." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (muttering). 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Jim, I do wish you would be 
 careful of the language you use. It really is not gen- 
 tlemanly." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (with disgust). "That was a great 
 bargain to give up, $11.40 for a cute dollar glove box." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Why, my dear, one always needs 
 gloves and then they can be given away for Christmas 
 presents." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Christmas was over two months 
 ago." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Well, of course, but there are oth- 
 ers coming, aren't there? You never look out for the 
 future, Jim.. Belle got two dozen pairs. Then we 
 went to the ribbon counter. I never saw such bar- 
 gains in my life; bolt after bolt of ribbon going for a 
 song." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Did you and Belle give a concert?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "What are you talking about? 
 I bought ten bolts and Belle bought five. She didn't 
 like the color. Well, I didn't either a sort of ma- 
 genta, but then one can always use ribbon, you know." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Oh, yes, one can always use ribbon. 
 There's about eight dollars' worth of neckties for the 
 cat." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Jim, you are so silly. Why, I've 
 saved a lot of money for you today." 
 
 95
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "I would like to have had the chance 
 to copper your trades." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Is that a joke? Because, if it is, 
 it's very flat. Then we were desperately hungry, so 
 we started for lunch. We had to go through the mil- 
 linery section and Belle wanted to try on hats." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Just for a pastime, I suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "The swellest things, Jim. I found 
 the most stunning red hat." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Oh, you were trying them on, too?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Of course. Don't you suppose I 
 wanted to see how I looked in them? And the red hat 
 was dirt cheap but I couldn't buy it." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Couldn't? Did your money run 
 out, or did you have a sudden twinge of conscience?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "You see, it had a red bird on it, 
 and I joined the Audubon Society last week. A hor- 
 rid women at our club worked on my sympathies for 
 the poor birds.. I cried while she was talking, but 
 it makes me furious now. The idea that one can't have 
 a bird on one's hat. I'm going to resign tomorrow." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout.' "I would; that's what birds were 
 made for, to wear on hats." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Then we went to lunch. I had 
 an oyster patty and some fig ice cream and Belle had 
 some celery salad and some peach souffle." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "A what?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "A peach souffe." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "That sounds filling. I guess I'll 
 order some tomorrow. Why didn't you get corn beef 
 and cabbage?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Horrors! What do you think we 
 are, Jim? A couple of workingmen? After lunch 
 Belle wanted to go to the Philosophical League Rooms 
 to hear a lecture on Let's see I wrote it down (takes 
 paper from pocket) 'The Philosophical View of Egoism 
 versus Altruism." 
 
 G
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Now what the dev . What does 
 that mean?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Jim, why that's very plain." 
 Mr. Gadabout. "That is the plainest the most com- 
 prehensible thing I have ever heard." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "We only stayed for a third of the 
 lecture. The lecturer was awfully smart, but she 
 looked like a guy the way her dress hung in the back. 
 Gracious ! Why is it these smart women always dress 
 like freaks?" 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Give it up. Chronic, I suppose." 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "I copied one thing she said, Jim; 
 > but I couldn't quite understand it." (Takes paper 
 from her pocket. Reads) : 'The happiness, or that 
 which brings it, must be greater to one who derives it 
 from another's efforts, than it would have been had his 
 own efforts procured it; or, otherwise, supposing a 
 fund of happiness, or if that which brings it, has been 
 formed by contributions from each, then each in ap- 
 propriating his share must find it larger than it would 
 have been had no such aggregation and dispersion taken 
 place.' Do you see that, Jim?" 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Oh! yes, indeed, I see that." 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Well, what does it mean?" 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Mean? Mean? Why, it means, er 
 it means what it says." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Well, I can't see it Listen (starts 
 to read again) "The happiness, or that which brings 
 it" 
 
 Mr. Gadabout, (interrupting hastily) "For heaven's 
 sake, don't read that again that's too easy." 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "We didn't stay long." 
 Mr. Gadabout. "I'm surprised. I should hate to 
 have missed any of that." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "We wanted to go to Mrs. De- 
 Swell's reception." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Yes, you ought to have worked in 
 something else." 
 
 97
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "That woman makes me tired. She 
 goes to everything she's invited to for about two years 
 and then she makes a great splurge and invites every 
 one she has ever heard of to a reception. Really, you 
 know a reception doesn't pay for a lot of dinners and 
 theater parties." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. 'Oh! it doesn't? Couldn't you 
 women establish a clearing house and even up 
 matters?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "You are so silly sometimes, Jim. 
 Such a crush] Everybody was there. Mrs. DeSwell 
 had on a new lace gown I'll wager it wasn't paid for." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "I wonder how DeSwell manages 
 it?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "I wanted to go home and change 
 my gown, but Belle said we didn't have time. That 
 pug-nosed daughter of Mrs. DeSwell's helped to re- 
 ceive. She'll have a hard time working that girl off 
 her hands. The whole tribe of Blakes were there." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Never refuse anything, do they?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Never. Molly Tompkins was 
 there in that same pink crepe. It's been cleaned three 
 times to my certain knowledge." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Molly has nerve to appear in a 
 dress that's been cleaned three times. She must be a 
 brave woman to run the gauntlet of all those eyes. 
 Ugh! (shivers). 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "We had to wait half an hour at 
 the dining room door to be served. I thought I'd 
 drop.' ' 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Why, you were not tired. I'm sur- 
 prised. ' More souffle, I suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "No, the idea! Sandwiches, coffee, 
 cream and cake. On the way home we stopped at 
 the church." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (in amazement). "At the church?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Yes, Miss Maria Smith was con- 
 ducting a mothers' meeting." 
 
 98
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Miss Maria Smith ! Now what the 
 deuce would Miss Smith know about a mothers' meet- 
 ing?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Why, Jim, mothers' meetings are 
 always conducted by old maids. The meetings are 
 very helpful. They make one feel so responsible and 
 thoughtful." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (sarcastically). "Oh, they must. The 
 old maids tell you how to raise your children, I sup- 
 pose they've had so much experience. I'd like to 
 go to a fathers' meeting conducted by an old bachelor." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Jim, I hate to hear you speak so 
 flippantly. Miss Smith's talk made me realize how 
 much responsibility rests upon a wife and mother." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. I should imagine so. I've been home 
 half an hour or so waiting for dinner." (Looks at his 
 watch.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (straightening up angrily). "It is 
 not at all becoming in a man to be sarcastic to his 
 wife, and I've had such a busy day trying to save 
 money for you and going to mothers' meetings to help 
 me in caring for the children." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "While Daisy was falling into the 
 tub; Tommy making faces at the neighbors; the plas- 
 tering dropping in the front bed room and a few other 
 cheerful events were transpiring." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. '"Well, I can't stay at home every 
 moment to look after the children. You are the most 
 selfish, unreasonable man I ever saw." (Begins to 
 cry.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout (jumping up). "That's right cry. 
 Gee whiz ! I'm glad I came home. Guess I'll go back 
 to the office and rest." (Goes out and slams the door.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (sobbing). "Poor me; I certainly 
 have a hard enough life." 
 
 (Enter Bridget.) 
 
 Bridget. "Dinner's ready, mum." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (wiping her eyes). "I don't wish 
 
 on
 
 any, Bridget. I couldn't eat a mouthful. Give the chil- 
 dren their dinner." 
 
 Bridget. "And you won't ate nothin'? Shure, you'll 
 starve, mum, and there is nice breaded vale chops." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "No, I can't eat anything at all," 
 (Bridget sighs), "and I am so fond of veal chops." 
 
 Bridget. "Not even a very little wan, mum?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. (Shakes her head.) 
 
 Bridget. (Sighs deeply and starts to leave the 
 room.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Bridget, you might bring me one 
 veal chop, for fear I should grow faint." (Sighs.) 
 
 Bridget. "And we've lovely crame pertaties that 
 you love, mum." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (sighs.) "No, I couldn't eat them." 
 
 (Bridget starts to leave.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Bridget!" 
 
 (Bridget pauses.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "You might bring me a few cream 
 potatoes, a very few, Bridget." 
 
 Bridget. "And we've apple pie, mum." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "No, no, Bridget, I couldn't touch 
 a thing sweet." 
 
 Bridget (sighing). "Of course not, I understand, 
 mum. Hot rolls, mum?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Well, you might bring me a roll 
 or two." 
 
 Bridget. "Yes, mum. (Starts to leave.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Bridget." (Bridget pauses.) "You 
 might add a very small piece of apple pie. I feel very 
 faint and empty." (Sighs.) 
 
 Bridget. "Yes, mum." (Sighs and goes out.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "A woman's life is very hard." 
 (Sighs.) "A man does not realize that a woman's 
 nerves are not as strong as his. She can't endure as 
 much. Now Jim is so quick-tempered. It wears upon 
 me terribly." 
 
 100
 
 (Enter Bridget with a tray containing meal. She 
 places knife, fork, plate, etc., before her mistress.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (looking like a marytr.) "Thank you, 
 Bridget. I do not suppose I can eat a mouthful." 
 
 Bridget. "Try to ate just a bite, mum, to kape up 
 your strength." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (sighs). "You'll look after the poor 
 children, Bridget?" 
 
 Bridget (wiping her eyes with the corner of her 
 apron). "Yes, mum, poor little souls. They are fight- 
 ing now, mum, just as friendly, bless their hearts." 
 
 (Bridget goes out.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (looking at dinner). "I feel very 
 faint, but the sight of food nauseates me when my mind 
 is so upset. (Pushes away her plate) It's very bad to 
 go "without one's dinner. I suppose I ought to try to 
 force something down. (Pulls her plate towards her 
 and begins to eat. Eats and sighs.) 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "I don't believe I can force down 
 that pie, but I have eaten very little." (After a mo- 
 ment's hesitation begins to eat pie. A door is heard 
 to shut. Voice of Mr. Gadabout is heard in hall out- 
 side) : 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Bridget, where is Mrs. Gadabout?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout (hastily pushes tray,cups, saucers, 
 plates etc., under the table. Eats pie hurriedly and 
 buries her face in her handkerchief.) 
 
 (Enter Mr. Gadabout. Stands at the door.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Poor girl. She's all broken up; 
 I was a beast." (Goes toward the table.) "My dear, 
 I am awfully sorry I was so hasty, but don't feel so 
 cut up about it." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. (Tries to swallow the remainder of 
 the pie. Does not answer.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Poor dear, she is so filled up she 
 cannot speak." (Goes to Mrs. Gadabout and puts his 
 arm about her.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "I am very sorry, dear," 
 
 101
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. (Sobs audibly.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Won't you kiss and make up?" 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. (Does not answer.) 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Come, don't be so unforgiving, 
 dear." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. "Well, Jim, it was awfully cruel in 
 you to go away like that and be so cross." 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "I know I was a brute, but let's kiss 
 and make up." 'Pulls her toward him and they kiss.) 
 "Will you forgive me? Come, let's have our dinner." 
 
 Mr.s Gadabout. 'Oh! I couldn't eat a mouthful, 
 but I'll go with you. 
 
 Mr. Gadabout. "Try to eat a little something, dear." 
 
 Mrs. Gadabout. Well, perhaps I'll have a cup of 
 tea, because my nerves are worn out. You see, Jim, I 
 have had such a busy day." 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 102
 
 "CUPID TO WIN." 
 
 It was at the Bit and Spur Club on Derby day and 
 they sat in one corner of the great veranda watching 
 the races? Perhaps but he, at least, saw far more of 
 the girl in blue at his side than of anything else around 
 him. She, however, with the keen interest of a novice, 
 was enjoying the whole scene the toilets of the 
 women, the bustle and chatter, the glow, life and color 
 all about her. 
 
 To the left were the boxes in the grand-stand, filled 
 with fair women and attentive escorts and just below 
 the boxes, in the grassy enclosure, masses of men ges- 
 ticulated, talked and jostled one another in good-hum- 
 ored excitement. Out in the infield splendid equi- 
 pages glittered in the sun and the many colored gowns 
 'and waving parasols of the women, fairly dazzled the 
 eye, like huge flaunting bouquets of variegated flowers. 
 
 Now and then a great shout arose from grand-stand, 
 club-house and paddock as a race was run and won, 
 leaving a trail of joy and disappointment in its wake. 
 Cheers arose as the jockeys made their appearance or 
 the winner of each race came proudly back to the en- 
 trance gate. Swarms of men and boys in a living 
 stream poured to the starting point and back across 
 the infield to the wire. 
 
 Conscious of the beauty of their gowns and that 
 other women saw and admired, elegant dames and 
 dainty demoiselles sauntered back and forth along the 
 club-house veranda or on the lawns in front, accom- 
 panied by men, young and old, in all the well-dressed 
 negligee of the race-course, light flannal suits, silken 
 shirts, soft felt or jaunty straw hats, with field glasses 
 slung across the shoulders. 
 
 1O3
 
 Between the races, waiters rushed to and fro carry- 
 ing iced drinks and the women chattered like magpies, 
 while over in the grand-stand messenger boys were 
 carrying the winnings to the fortunate fair ones or tak- 
 ing their bets for the next race. 
 
 Two men who passed the couple in the corner of the 
 Club-house veranda smiled and winked knowingly at 
 one another. 
 
 "Hamilton has a severe case, Doctor," said one. 
 
 "Looks like it," was the reply. "Well, I admire his 
 taste pretty girl doesn't live here, does she?" 
 
 "No ; she is a cousin of Mrs. Drace from some little 
 town in Illinois. I thought Hamilton was a confirmed 
 bachelor though he is only thirty but "when the 
 chaperone makes herself scarce, things begin to look 
 serious, eh?" 
 
 "Yes and Bob seems to be a fixture. I don't believe 
 he has left her to make a bet. She is rather of the pru- 
 dish, upsophisticated kind, not exactly Bob's style, I 
 should imagine, but I see I am mistaken. However, 
 she ought to improve under Amy Brace's tutelage." 
 
 Oblivious to covert or open glances aside or audible 
 remarks, Bob Hamilton sat opposite the girl in blue, 
 asking himself some very momentous questions. Oc- 
 casionally as the winner of a race came under the 
 wire, he took enough interest to tell his companion the 
 name of the lucky horse, for she on the contrary, was 
 always full of excitement at the critical moment and 
 watched for the winner with shining eyes as blue as 
 the blue of the gown she wore. 
 
 The contrast between her jet black hair and lashes 
 and those soft blue eyes was very striking to Bob the 
 most charming combination he had ever seen. 
 
 There was not a bit of use to fight the matter he 
 had been struggling against the inevitable for a week 
 or more. In the course of human events he had begun 
 to think of himself as a confirmed bachelor. The tidy 
 income of which he was in possession was enough for 
 
 1O4
 
 one, that is, to live as Bob wanted to live, with all the 
 comforts and many of the luxuries of life (for Bob liked 
 his clubs, his little dinners, his valet) and with two 
 there would have to be a renouncing of many of these 
 good things. He had told himself these very plain 
 facts many times and had settled into a very comfort- 
 able sort of existence but then hitherto, there had 
 been no disturbing element no girl with blue eyes 
 and black hair and the sweetest voice in the world, 
 had come across his path to make him wonder if 
 bachelorhood were not a failure after all. 
 
 They had been thrown much together, for young 
 Hamilton, though by no means a saint, did not pose 
 (as many young men of his acquaintance took a pride 
 in doing) as a sinner, but was a man both men and 
 women liked and trusted. 
 
 So Amy Drace had left her rather prudish young 
 cousin more and more to Bob's society. She did not 
 like to see the look which came, unconsciously, into 
 the young girl's face, when the champagne went round 
 or the conversation was a little more racy than Agnes 
 had been wont to hear, as the daughter of a clergyman 
 in a small country town. 
 
 The fourth race had been run and the people had set- 
 tled back into a sort of buzzing quietude, discussing the 
 outcome, sipping iced drinks, or engaging in mild flirta- 
 tions. Agnes leaned back in her chair, a little quizzical 
 smile coming over her face. 
 
 "Tell me Mr. Hamilton, why I, the daughter of a 
 clergyman, who have never been to a horse-race before 
 in my life, should really enjoy it? Is it the degeneracy 
 of the age?" 
 
 "It must be the degeneracy of the age, Miss Martin," 
 he answered gallantly. "It could not be any short com- 
 ing of your own, and we will lay it to atmospheric 
 influence." 
 
 "That is very kind of you," she laughed. "But really, 
 seriously I am at loss to understand myself. Ever since 
 
 105
 
 I have been here to-day I have had an intense desire to 
 speculate as to the winner of each race. And when I 
 think of how horrified my dear father would be at such 
 an inclination on my part, I feel very wicked indeed. 
 There was a long discussion between father and aunt" 
 ("my dear mother has been dead several years," said 
 she parenthetically in a lower tone) "about my coming 
 at all into this great modern Babylon but the balance 
 tipped toward my desires, and I came." 
 
 Bob had a smooth, beardless face and a fresh com- 
 plexion, from which the color had gone somewhat, 
 leaving him rather pale, when he spoke, after a mo- 
 ment's silence. 
 
 "May there not have been a sort of fatality about it 
 all?" he asked in a low tense voice. 
 
 It was coming no use to fight it off. 
 
 She looked up quickly in a surprised way and then 
 dropped her eyes when she saw the look in his. 
 
 "Miss Martin, Agnes, you have not the least idea of 
 what it means to me your coming here my knowing 
 you. I want you to be my wife." 
 
 It was out at last and after it, dead silence between 
 them. 
 
 She was completely astonished. She liked him im- 
 mensely, but she had not thought of the possibility 
 of this. 
 
 When she replied it was in a confused, broken way. 
 
 "Why, you surely cannot mean that we have known 
 one another such a short time." 
 
 "I do mean it, every word," he answered, growing 
 bolder, and then he said a very commonplace thing 
 and what he would have been amused at, in a story. 
 "You are the only woman in the world for me." 
 
 Agnes was toying with her official programme, nerv- 
 ously, the color coming and going in her face. 
 
 She saw as in a dream, the words, 
 "Fifth Race," 
 
 Purse $600. For three-year-olds and upward. By
 
 subscription of $10 each, to the winner; with $600 
 added, of which $75 to the second and $25 to the third 
 horse. 
 
 Three-year-olds to carry 100 Ibs. ; four-year-olds, 110 
 Ibs.; five-year-olds and upward, 112 Ibs One Mile 
 
 Then a mad freak came over her as she read. She 
 glanced over the list of names, John R, Honey Bee, The 
 Greek, Lightfoot, Bishop, Brown, Ironwood, Bluebird, 
 Plexus, Solomon. 
 
 "Pick the winner of this race and I will be your wife," 
 she said, not lifting her eyes. 
 
 He sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Agnes, do you really mean it?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered softly and without even excus- 
 ing himself, he rushed away to the paddock. 
 
 The jockeys were already mounted, waiting at the 
 entrance. 
 
 "Here, Tom," he cried, to a negro who was general 
 utility boy about the grounds, "Put ten dollars on 
 
 " he hesitated, his eye running hurriedly over the 
 
 list it was an inspiration Bluebird. The color of 
 her eyes, her gown, her charming hat with its curling 
 feathers "on Bluebird" thrusting the money into 
 Tom's hand and then he did not even wait for the 
 boy's return, but went back to his place at her side. 
 
 They were off, when he reached the veranda and he 
 said in a low tone: 
 
 "I have chosen Bluebird." 
 
 She did not answer but rose to her feet and stood 
 looking out over the track with a curiously strained 
 look in her large blue eyes. 
 
 Away they flew Bluebird third. They could see 
 the red and white stripes of her jockey's blouse. To 
 the quarter to the half and Bluebird second Agnes' 
 lips parted Bob was breathing heavily. To the three- 
 quarter mark Bluebird ahead. 
 
 "She will win, she will win," she heard him say 
 under his breath. 
 
 1O7
 
 On they came, Bluebird ahead, Lightfoot second; 
 then neck and neck and with a sudden start forward 
 Lightfoot under the wire by a neck and the race was 
 won. 
 
 Agnes sank back into her chair. Bob's face was as 
 pale as death. He turned and left her abruptly and 
 she thought he was angry. How unwomanly she 
 had been. To answer so lightly the most solemn 
 question a man could ask a woman her acceptance 
 of him as her future husband to depend upon the out- 
 come of a horse race and his ability to single out the 
 winner. She remembered the frivolous lady of Leigh 
 Hunt's poem who, watching, with King Francis and 
 his court the lions fighting below them, threw her 
 glove amongst the savage beasts to prove her lover's 
 constancy. 
 
 No wonder, though brave enough to rescue the 
 glove her lover threw it, "but not with love, right in 
 the lady's face." Even the King approved the lover's 
 action. 
 
 "Not love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task 
 like that." 
 
 And she had sacrificed her life's happiness and his, 
 for a whim, a mad freak. 
 
 Bluebird had lost was she sorry? Yes; she knew 
 now in her heart of hearts that she had found a man 
 whom she could love and trust. But stay her word 
 was not as the laws of the Medes and Persians un- 
 alterable. Their future happiness need not depend 
 on the losing of a race. But how let him know? 
 Perhaps he would not want to marry a girl of so fickle 
 a temperament. 
 
 In the grassy enclosure below the grand-stand, Bob 
 found Tom standing near the fence, his black face 
 wreathed in broad grins. 
 
 "What was the fool laughing at? Didn't he have 
 any sense of the fitness of things?"
 
 "I'm glad you think this is a laughing matter, you 
 black rascal!" he said irritably. 
 
 "I reckon you'll laugh, too, Mistah Hamilton, when 
 you knows. At the last minute I had a tip and tho' 1 
 knowed you'd think me mightly presumin' ; I done put 
 yo' money on Lightfoot an' yo' ain't so bad off after 
 all." 
 
 The sudden reaction made Bob's head feel queer 
 and his face was a study. 
 
 "Fool's luck," was all he said, thrusting the ten dol- 
 lars into the negro's hand and pocketing his winnings. 
 
 Then not waiting for Tom's thanks, he hurried back 
 to the veranda. She was sitting in the same place. 
 
 "I wonder what you must think of me," she said 
 when he pulled his chair toward her. "I do not know 
 why I said what I did. It was most unwomanly." 
 She paused and he saw that there was a suspicious 
 moisture around the long lashes. 
 
 "Then it does not matter about the race," he said 
 eagerly, "you will be my wife?" 
 
 "Yes," was her scarcely audible answer. 
 
 There was a little exultant ring in his voice as he 
 said, "But my money went on Lightfoot, dearest, 
 and I am a winner after all." 
 
 1O9
 
 LUCINDY JONES AND THE DIRECTRY 
 GOWN. 
 
 I don't know, Maria Mosely, as I'll git the taint 
 of that visit to Myrtle Busby off me in a good many 
 days. May be it ain't like the corner of State and 
 Madison, this here Poky Corners of our'n, and maybe 
 it do seem a bit slow to city folks, but it's quick enough 
 fur me, an' it ain't chuck full o' sin an' queerness to 
 the square inch neither. You know me an' Myrtle used 
 to be sich chums until one of them city drummers 
 come along an' was ketched by Myrtle's pretty face. 
 Told her she warn't a rose to blush unseen (sorter 
 pretty sentiment, yet ruther mushy, too), an' so he 
 transplanted her to Chicago. Well after she was mar- 
 ried, me an' Myrtle writ fur awhile, but then we 
 kinder lost sight of one another fur a number of years, 
 until one day Myrtle comes rollin' up in one of them 
 autymobiles, kickin' up dust like fury, an' she hunts 
 me up an' makes me promise to make her a visit. 
 
 Myrtle lives in one of them swell flat bildins with 
 elevators an' Lord knows what not nice enough an' 
 convenient in some things, but too fur from the 
 ground up seven stories. I was giddy all the time 
 I was there. 
 
 Myrtle's husband has made considerable money, I 
 guess, fur they spend it, free as water, an' we went 
 rushin' 'round so, I didn't git a good full breath 'till I 
 come home. 
 
 Myrtle an' her husband has two or three sets of 
 friends. Some of 'em rich an' fashnerble, an' others 
 poor as Job's turkey, I should say, for the women wore 
 plain clothes, an' the men was too poor to git their 
 hair cut leastwise that's what I thought but Myrtle 
 
 no
 
 said they was musicians, an' when I asked her if 
 music made the hair grow she laffed, fit to kill. Bo- 
 hemians, Myrtle said they was, but I couldn't account 
 no way, Maria, fur Myrtle's mixin' up with sich for- 
 eign truck. Here, hand me them stockings to darn, 
 Maria, an' you git some other sewin'. I might as 
 well be workin' while I talk. I've been idlin' so long 
 that I'm glad to git at useful work. 
 
 How Myrtle stands the kind of life she leads is 
 more'n I kin make out. Well, as I was sayin', I never 
 could abide furriners an' how Myrtle mixed up with 
 them Bohemians was a puzzle to me. Some of 'em 
 could play pretty though I'd ruther hear Jim Daw- 
 son's old fiddle tunin' up "Silver Threads Among the 
 Gold," or Jennie Green a playin' "Rock of Ages," or 
 "Shall We Gather at the River," than any of them 
 new fangled tunes. 
 
 An' as fur singin', Millie Rose kin beat the woman 
 all holler that sung at Myrtle's church. Why, would 
 you believe me, Maria Mosely, that woman screeched 
 so loud, in the House of God, too, that I believe 'pon 
 my soul you could a heard her clear to Poky Corners. 
 'Twas sacriligeous to me, but then when preachers 
 takes to writin' plays, the world's gittin' sacrilegeous 
 enough and the devil's runnin' rampant. 
 
 Dear me suz, Maria Mosely, I reely don't know what 
 to think of these times we're livin' in. Would you be- 
 lieve it the preacher of Myrtle's church has writ a 
 play and they all seems to feel kinder proud of it. 
 
 Wouldn't Pastor Peters go a flyin' if he writ about 
 any of them gals that runs around half dressed be- 
 fore the public. 
 
 Myrtle took me to a singin' show, light opry she 
 called it, one night, an' the women was showin' their 
 legs just scandulus, and them that warn't uncovered 
 'round the legs was bare 'round the neck, an' I was 
 that ashamed I didn't know where to look. Why 
 Maria, I spent half the night in prayer, a prayin' to
 
 be forgiven fur witnessin' sech a show. Then after 
 the show we went to a restyrant where there was 
 singin' an' drinkin' would you believe it, Maria, wom- 
 en sittin' up as bold as men a drinkin.' 'Twas kinder 
 pretty in there, all gold an' glitter an' music, an* 
 women fixed up to beat the band, but it seemed like 
 it might be part of the temptin's of the evil one, Maria. 
 
 Another time Myrtle an' her husband took me to a 
 Bohemian restyrant where them long haired critters 
 hung out, eatin' macoroni in long strings, kinder dis- 
 gustin' like, an red hots, they called 'em, an' drinkin' 
 out of big mugs. 
 
 Myrtle said she wanted me to see life. Well, I 
 didn't say nothin' to Myrtle, Maria, bein' her guest, 
 but I thought ef this is life give me death an' Poky 
 Corners. 
 
 It's amusin' to see the inconsistencies of folks. 
 Here was Myrtle always talkin' about germs an' mi- 
 crobes as she called 'em, havin' everything let's see 
 what in tarnation did she call it? Oh, yes, anti-sep- 
 tical or skeptical, or sunthin filterin' the water an' 
 fear'd of everything for the children (for she had two 
 pretty children, though I must say they was kept out 
 of sight in the nursery most of the time). As I said be- 
 fore, here was Myrtle afeared of everything an' she run- 
 nin' 'round to all them places where germs must a been 
 thicker'n hops. But I didn't tell you, Maria Mosely, 
 'bout the Directry gowns. Myrtle says to me, says she, 
 I think I'll have a new Directry gown. Now, Maria 
 Mosely, I may be from Poky Corners, but I ain't actin' 
 like I never seen nothin', so I pertended not to appear 
 curious, though I didn't know what in tarnation she 
 meant by a Directry gown. I thought maybe it had 
 sunthin' to do with the telephone, so I hunted in the 
 directry for pictures, when Myrtle warn't lookin', but I 
 couldn't find nothin', but one or two little pictures of 
 men in the back of the book. 
 
 There's some new Directry gowns in the shop 
 
 112
 
 winders, says Myrtle, let's go an' look at them. Now, 
 Maria Mosely, I ain't tellin' you no falsehood, but 
 them gowns was the most indecent lookin' dresses 
 I ever seen, all long an' tight, an' one of 'em, you'll 
 never believe me, an' I wouldn't if I hadn't seen it 
 
 with my own eyes, was split up the side, an' the 
 
 lean down while I say it low, the garter was a showin'. 
 Of course the dress was on a wax figger, but there 
 was men, women, an' children, all lookin, as uncon- 
 cerned as if garters was wore outside the clothes instid 
 of hid from view. Myrtle Busby, says I, fergittin' 
 her married name in the excitement, Myrtle Busby 
 you ain't never goin' to wear sich clothes as that! 
 Not quite, says Myrtle, laffin', but I'm goin' to have 
 a Directry gown. An' she did, Maria Mosely, short 
 in the waist, an' tight in the skirt, enough to make you 
 blush to see it. 
 
 Folks loses all sense of modesty in town, I do be- 
 lieve, Maria. I guess it's in the air. Well, what 
 with clingin' to a policeman to git from one side of 
 the street to the other, with runnin' like mad from 
 tootin' autymobiles, an' hangin, on a strap, jammed up 
 like a lot of rats in a trap, in the street cars, city life 
 ain't nothin' but a nerve-rackin' rush an' tare from 
 mornin' 'till night. I tell you, Maria Mosely, when 
 I got back to my rocker in the sittin' room, with its 
 nice white crochet tidy, an' seen my cat a lyin' in the 
 sunshine an' heard my bird singin' in the cage by the 
 windy, where I could look out on my peaceful little 
 garden an' the big oak tree that my grandfather set 
 there with his own hands, I pretty nigh sung out loud 
 fur joy, I was that glad to git back. An' I spread my 
 skirts wide out on the cheer to make me fergit that 
 awful Directry gown. Myrtle may have her tight 
 clothes an' Chicago, but give me wide skirts an' Poky 
 Corners for the rest of my nateral days. 
 
 113
 
 "NOT WITHOUT HONOR." 
 
 Oh great expanse of glorious sea 
 Stretched out against the sky 
 
 To tell of all thy wondrous charms 
 I fear no tongue can try. 
 
 When sapphire lake meets sapphire sky, 
 
 All exquisite the hue. 
 Spread by the brush from Master hand, 
 These tints of Heaven's own blue. 
 
 More glorious still art Thou in storm, 
 When waves rush beating high 
 
 With fury 'gainst the walled defense, 
 Then lift, foam-white, toward sky 
 
 To meet the wind in duel strange. 
 
 With roar and angry wail 
 And taunting cries, Thou battiest well 
 
 The fierce and furious gale. 
 
 All locked with ice, all cold and gray, 
 Or spread 'neath summer's sun 
 
 With lines of gold; or silver-tipped, 
 Moon-rayed ,when day is done, 
 
 A thing of beauty art Thou, aye, 
 
 And ever art a joy. 
 To see Thee in Thy various moods 
 
 Is bliss without alloy. 
 
 114
 
 But why sing praises of this lake? 
 
 Good friend, too poor am I 
 To travel far to other lands, 
 
 And so with weary sigh 
 
 I dream of what the great world holds, 
 
 To view it I ne'er can, 
 Oh poor blind eyes look, look your fill 
 
 'Tis old Lake Michigan. 
 
 115
 
 "THE SOUL OF THE RICH MAN." 
 A Morality Play. 
 
 Luke XII; 16-20. 
 
 The Rich Man 
 
 His Soul 
 
 Flattery "] 
 
 False Pride ( His Friends 
 
 Gluttony j 
 
 The Angel of Death 
 
 A Beggar 
 
 The Poor Widow 
 
 The Rich Man is seated at a table (laden with wine, 
 fruits, etc.,) with his three friends, Flattery, False 
 Pride and Gluttony. 
 
 The Rich Man: "Come quaff of the wine and par- 
 take of the repast, my friends. Let us eat, drink and 
 be merry. 'Tis for this we live." 
 
 Flattery: "Aye! Thou hast truly learned the art 
 of living. Hath any other such vineyards, such flocks 
 and such herds?" 
 
 False Pride: "Aye and such coffers full to over- 
 flowing." 
 
 Gluttony: "Pray forget not the wines and rich 
 viands." 
 
 (Enter the Beggar.) 
 
 The Beggar: "Give me I pray thee of thine abun- 
 dance." 
 
 The Rich Man : "Away with thee intruder. I have 
 naught for such as thou." 
 
 The Beggar: "Give but the crumbs that fall from 
 thy table" 
 
 The Rich Man: "Nay not so wert thou not shift- 
 lie
 
 less thou wouldst have bread of thine own Go to 
 the ant thou sluggard learn of her and be wise " 
 
 Flattery: "Or rather learn of our host who hath 
 by thrift and brain accumulated his vast wealth." 
 
 Gluttony: "I pray thee forget not the wines and 
 rare viands which his wealth enables him to purchase." 
 
 The Beggar: "Only the crumbs, good sir." 
 
 The Rich Man: "Begone I say or I will set the 
 dogs upon thee not a crumb !" 
 
 False Pride : "Right thou art my friend for by giv- 
 ing to the poor one breeds poverty." 
 
 (Enter the Poor Widow). 
 
 The Poor Widow: "I beseech thee, good sir, turn 
 me not out of mine abode." 
 
 The Rich Man: "Hast thou paid to the last far- 
 thing what thou owest?" 
 
 The Widow: "Alas sir I cannot pay thee I have 
 not a farthing." 
 
 The Rich Man: "Then begone. Importune me no 
 more. My steward will give thee thy just deserts." 
 
 (Exit the Widow, weeping). 
 
 The Rich Man: "Come let us drink we've had 
 enough of beggars. See how the wine sparkles. 'Tis 
 a wit-sharpener a tongue loosener. All men are at 
 their best when the wine flows free." 
 
 Flattery: "Here's to our generous host whose purse 
 strings are always open to the friends of his choice." 
 
 (They drink). 
 
 The Rich Man : "Drink to my success for tomorrow 
 I pull down my barns to build greater, for I have not 
 place to bestow all my fruits and my goods." 
 
 (They drink). 
 
 The Rich Man : " 'Twas but yesternight that I said 
 to my soul "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for 
 many years. Take thine ease, eat, drink and be 
 merry." 
 
 (Enter The Angel of Death). 
 
 117
 
 Angel: "Thou fool, this night shall thy soul be re- 
 quired of thee." 
 
 (The Rich Man drops his glass). 
 
 (Flattery, Gluttony and False Pride turn around). 
 
 Flattery: "What seest thou?" 
 
 The Rich Man: "Yonder shape tell me who and 
 what it is?" 
 
 Flattery: "We see no shape 'Tis a phantasy of 
 the brain. Thou has drunken thy fill. 'Twere wise 
 to drink no more tonight." 
 
 The Rich Man: "I tell thee 'tis a real thing." (He 
 turns the Angel has disappeared). "Nay not so 
 'tis gone." 
 
 (Flattery, Gluttony and False Pride nod at one 
 another) . 
 
 False Pride: "We will take our departure. Per- 
 chance in the morning thou wilt be thyself again." 
 
 (All) "Goodnight, Goodnight." 
 
 (Exit Flattery, Gluttony and False Pride). 
 
 (The Rich Man sinks back into his chair). 
 
 (The Angel of Death reappears). 
 
 The Angel: "Thou fool." 
 
 The Rich Man: "The shape again speak who 
 art thou and what desirest thou of me?" 
 
 The Angel : "This night shall thy soul be required 
 of thee." 
 
 The Rich Man: "My soul? They say I have no 
 soul." 
 
 The Angel : "Didst thou not converse with thy soul 
 but yestereve? 'Soul, eat, drink and be merry,' thou 
 saidst." 
 
 The Rich Man: "I did but jest. I have no soul." 
 
 The Angel: "Shall I call forth thy soul into tang- 
 ible shape? Soul of the Rich Man come forth." 
 
 (A horrible, misshapen, distorted creature enters). 
 
 The Angel : "This is thy soul." 
 
 The Rich Man: (With a cry of horror), "Not my 
 soul nay, not so. That vile, abortive, loathsome thing. 
 Thou dost but try me." 
 
 us
 
 The Soul : "I am thy soul distorted by thine avarice 
 and greed, thy love of gain by the cries and curses of 
 the oppressed who have felt thy heavy hand. Once I 
 was fair and pure and shapely, ready to be molded into 
 a thing most beatuiful. I am as I am because thou 
 hast made me so." 
 
 The Rich Man : "Out of my sight. That thou wilt 
 be taken from me is my prayer." 
 
 The Angel: "When thy soul leaves thee then wilt 
 thou die." 
 
 The Rich Man: "And leave my goods, my store 
 houses, my coffers? Nay, nay, I must not. 'Twas 
 for this I worked 'tis for this I live. Many years 
 have I before me to enjoy the fruit of my labors. 
 I tell thee I will not die. Tell me, who art thou?" 
 
 The Angel : "I am the Angel of Death and I have 
 come for thy soul." 
 
 The Rich Man: "Oh give me time a month a 
 week a day an hour and I will give back to the 
 oppressed that which I have taken from them. I will 
 protect the widowed and the orphaned and the father- 
 less ones. Many shall arise and call me blessed." 
 
 The Angel: "Not so too late too late. 'For 
 I was hungry and ye gave me not meat/ I was thirsty 
 and ye gave me no drink. I was a stranger and ye 
 took me not in. Naked and ye clothed me not.' So 
 saith the Great One." 
 
 The Rich Man : "I ne'er saw thee before and I ne'er 
 saw the Great One. How therefore could I neglect or 
 ill-treat Him?" 
 
 The Angel: "Verily I say unto you. Inasmuch as 
 ye did it not unto one of the least ye did it not to me." 
 Soul of the rich man follow me." 
 
 (Slowly the Angel passes out and the misshapen 
 soul follows). 
 
 (With a wild cry the Rich Man falls forward and 
 his hour has come).
 
 MAGGIE MCCARTY AND THE SERVANT GIRL 
 
 PROBLEM. 
 
 Phwat wud ye be thinkin', Biddy Gilhooly, the 
 papers do be sayin' aboot the servant girl problem? 
 
 Shure I'm sick to the heart wid hearin' of thot 
 same. An' phwat is a problem? Shure I thot 'twas 
 a sum in aritmetick, fur, I heard Nellie askin' of her 
 fayther only last avenin' to hilp do her problems and 
 says I to mesilf, now phwat the divil is the relation 
 bechune me and a column of figgers? And bedad, 
 Biddy Gilhooly, 'twas divil of an answer could I give. 
 Hiven knows we has to wurruk hard enough widdout 
 bein' turned over an' over an' discoosed an' discoosed 
 in the papers an' not only the papers, but thim wim- 
 men's clubs an' the loike. 
 
 I never goes by the dure whin the missus has call- 
 ers, but I'd be willin' to bet me wake's wages thot 
 some of thim is shakin' their head an' callin' of us 
 (thots you an' me an' the rist of us thots condesindin' 
 to be in sarvice), problems, bad cess to thim. 
 
 I will admit, Biddy Gilhooly, thot whin I first 
 landed 'twas little I knew of the ways of Ameriky, an' 
 I suppose I was a bit tryin' an' a bit of a granehorn. 
 
 The first woman thot I wurruked for was wan of 
 thim strainers thot was tryin' to put on airs wid nothin' 
 to back her up. Says she to me, "Maggie," says she, 
 "here's a cap" (handin' me a white cotton bow, an' a 
 white aprun), "an' whiniver the bell rings you put 
 these things on an' go to the dure." See the cuteness 
 of her, Biddy Gilhooly, tryin' to make me look loike a 
 second girl, as though she kept two. 
 
 Well, I was washin' of a Monday an' whin the bell 
 rings in the afternoon (the washin' bein' so big, wid 
 
 120
 
 six childer, thot I was at it all day), I pins on me 
 cap an' puts on the apron the best I could, but bein' in 
 a hurry, I forgot the siled gingham apron below, an' 
 I wint to the dure. Two ladies was standin' on the 
 front porch. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Jinkins in," says they. 
 
 "She is," says I, "in wid yees," an' I held the dure 
 open. They looked at wan another, but they comes in. 
 
 "Will you take our keards?" says they handin' me a 
 couple of white papers. 
 
 "Shure I don't loike to be refusin' you," says I, "but 
 the missus don't approve of keards I heard her say 
 so to the byes last night." 
 
 "These is not playin' keards," says wan of thim, 
 kind of stiff like, "they bes callin' keards wid our 
 names on." 
 
 "Will you take thim to her," says the other wan. 
 
 "I haven't toime," says I, "but I'll call her an' till her 
 you'll be wantin' to see her." Wid thot I calls out, 
 "Missus, here's two frinds come to call on you," an' 
 thin I goes back to my wurruk. 
 
 'Twas aboot twinty minutes later thot the missus 
 comes stalkin' into me laundry. Glory be! She had 
 red hair any time, but I'll bet, Biddy me darlint, you 
 could have lit matches at the head of her wid aise, 
 an' thin she flew at me like a hin wid its head off me 
 a poor granehorn, niver havin' wurruked before. It 
 sames 'twas two ladies, who was very big bugs, an' 
 she was anxious to git in wid 'em, though thot she 
 didn't tell me, but I heard it from the milk man whin 
 I wuz tellin' him about me story. 
 
 The nixt mornin' we had coffee fur brikfast an' she 
 says to me, says she, "Maggie," says she, "here's the 
 pot fur the coffee," handin' me a bit of a silver lookin' 
 thing. Well I did jist as I was told, made the coffee 
 in it, an' wud ye believe me, Biddy Gilhooly, if the 
 thing didn't go miltin' down wan side 'till it looked 
 loike it was full of whisky instid of coffee. 
 
 121
 
 "Oh mum, come quick," says I, "the coffee pot ye 
 give me is no good no good at all mum," says I, an* 
 she shrieked an' cried out enough to raise the roof, 
 "Oh you careless, wretched girl, you've ruined my 
 lovely solid silver coffee pot any fool ought to know 
 better." 
 
 "Yes, any fool ought to," says I, "but not bein' a 
 fool," says I, me dander bein' up, "I don't, an* more- 
 over, I gives you notice." 
 
 She was thot exciterble an' tryin', Biddy, thot I 
 couldn't have stayed another wake. Well I got along 
 fairly well in me nixt place fur a couple of wakes whin, 
 wan day the missus sint home some round, grane 
 things, an' she bein' late fur dinner, bein' a great gad- 
 a-boot, I had to prepare the grane things as best I 
 could, niver havin' laid eyes on the loike of thim 
 before. 
 
 She was wan of thim kind, the missus, thot laves 
 everything to a girl, runnin' about all day loike mad, 
 to keard parties and tays, or shoppin', and gallivantin', 
 so of coorse she wasn't there to explain, so I raisons I 
 wud cook the things loike the squash I had a day 
 or two before, an' the poomkin I fixed sometime befoor 
 thot. Well, whin herself comes home, she brings 
 company, an' says, "Dearie," thot's what she calls the 
 tabby cat that was wid her, though she was thot 
 homely she would stop a clock. "Dearie, we'll have 
 a trate, I've some lovely new canteloops," says she, 
 "the first of the saison." "An' when I brings thim in 
 cooked an' mashed, she wint about eight feet into the 
 air, she was thot mad. She couldn't same to recover, 
 Biddy Gilhooly, an' even the nixt day, she was sayin' 
 "Canteloops at twinty-five cints apace, an' you cooked 
 three of 'em." You'd think thot sivinty-five cints was 
 a fortin'. 
 
 'Twas not long I was in thot place wid all the fault 
 findin' an' so I tried siviral places in succession, wid 
 childer, widdout childer, in flats an' in houses until 
 
 122
 
 me patience was most wore out. At last I got a foine 
 place along of a rich family where they kapes two girls 
 an' a laundress, an' a mon to do the steps an' windys. 
 'Twas fair sailin' an' a good breeze we had (one of 
 me uncles was a sailor, so sometimes 'tis in terms loike 
 thot I talks), until wan day the missus an' her old 
 mon (he really was her old mon, bein' much older 
 than her), wint away fur a couple of wakes or so. 
 
 Well, Annie Riordan, thot was the cook, me doin' 
 second wurruk thin, Annie Riordan, as I says befoor, 
 she says to me, "Maggie McCarthy, let's give a party," 
 not manin' to be rhymin' nayther. "Where'll we give 
 it," says I. "Here," says she, "in this hoose." Well, 
 the more I thought of the party the more I was stuck 
 on the idee, so bechune us we invited a crowd and had 
 the toime of our lives. 
 
 From garret to cellar we lighted the house, and bor- 
 ryin' some of the missus' clothes, we was decked out 
 in foine shape. We had a fiddler and we danced in 
 the dining room, an' there was things to ate, an' things 
 to drink, an' 'twas marnin' before the party broke up. 
 Well, we fixed up the house in foine shape an' niver 
 would the missus have knowed (the polaceman on the 
 bate wouldn't tell her fur he was there enjyin' the 
 party to the full, an' 'twas nearly full he was too), if 
 wan of thim snoopin' neighbors hadn't told, so we was 
 all dismissed in quick shape, I tell ye. Two bad we 
 couldn't have a bit of a frolic now an' thin. 
 
 No I tell ye, Biddy Gilhooly, wid all the things 
 a body puts up wid, the two-by-four bedrooms, the 
 rude, impident childer, an' the bossy wimmen, 'taint 
 the servant girl, as they calls us, thot's the problem, 
 it's the hull blame family, be dad, an' 'tis thot same 
 that's the blissed truth I'm tellin' you this day. 
 
 123
 
 "THE CALL OF THE LORD." 
 
 The peach orchards were all aglow with a pink glory, 
 and the blossoms scented the balmy spring air. 
 
 From out of the brown sandy soil, the fruit trees 
 rose like huge bouquets, making the landscape a con- 
 tinuous delight to the eye. 
 
 Lillian Reed sat rocking upon the veranda of her 
 little cottage with her youngest baby in her arms, 
 for the day was mild and warm with a hinting of a 
 summer near at hand. 
 
 Two other babies tumbled on the ground near by, 
 rolling over one another like puppies at play. 
 
 But "care and sorrow and childbirth pain 
 Had left their traces on heart and brain," 
 
 and to the young mother, rocking mechanically on the 
 veranda, the glory of the day came not. She was 
 tired out. Life seemed but a weary round of work 
 of dishwashing, cooking, nursing, mending, darning 
 with scarcely a moment to read, even the morning 
 paper. What of wars, and rumors of wars of mighty 
 events and great catastrophes? Her little -world was 
 bounded within four narrow walls with an occasional 
 holiday, when the three babies must be dragged about 
 on a sightseeing tour, and the outing proved harder 
 than a day at home. 
 
 Not that Lillian did not love her babies, nor the kind 
 husband who was as hard working as was she. But 
 the little folks, like the little foxes that spoil the vines, 
 wore upon the nerves with their constant little wants, 
 and Jim was so stolid, so good-natured, so full of love 
 for his wife and babies that he did not notice that 
 
 
 124
 
 Lillian was becoming more irritable as the days wore 
 on. Jim's one ambition had been to buy the tiny cot- 
 tage in which they lived, and that accomplished and 
 presented to this wife, he had attained his ideal. With 
 a wife and three healthy babies and a home of his 
 own what more could a man desire? 
 
 Every night he came home, read his paper, played 
 with the babies and went to bed early, ready for a six 
 o'clock breakfast in the morning, and his cup of hap- 
 piness seemed full, without any of the dreary mo- 
 notony that had settled upon Lillian as a pall. 
 
 How different her girlhood had been! Lillian sat 
 thinking of i*. today. 
 
 True she had worked in a small store in St. Joe, but 
 the work was not hard, and the hours were short, 
 and nearly every afternoon she had been accustomed 
 to go down to the wharf and watch the big boats 
 come in from Chicago with their loads of resorters 
 who were running away from the smoke and dust of 
 the great city. Sometimes she sat watching the men 
 loading fruit packages upon the returning boats or 
 with Jim went down to the resorts along the beach 
 and indulged in all the pleasures of the merry-go- 
 round, or went into the lake for a refreshing plunge. 
 And then on Sunday there was the park along the 
 lake front, black with people who had come from the 
 western metropolis for a day's outing, where one 
 could hear the band and see the gay crowds. On Sun- 
 day, too, there were trips up the winding St. Joe, 
 which has a picturesque beauty all its own. Oh, life 
 then seemed all full of gayety and go in those other 
 days! 
 
 Then there had been one memorable day, a holiday, 
 when she and Jim had gone to Chicago for a sight 
 seeing trip, and had come back on the late boat in the 
 cool of the evening. What mattered the crowds and 
 the noise and confusion? It represented life to Lillian 
 as the gayety of the boulevards satisfies the Parisian. 
 
 125
 
 They had found a secluded spot and the girl had 
 thought it no breach of good taste to pillow her tired 
 head on Jim's broad shoulder. She remembered that 
 she had asked him if her head were heavy, and he had 
 said no, that he wished she would pillow it there for 
 life, which was really quite poetical for Jim. 
 
 Lillian remembered how happy she had been and 
 how she had thrilled at Jim's first kiss as he had bade 
 her good night and she had realized that they were 
 to belong to one another always. 
 
 How far away it seemed and how the romance had 
 faded before the sore bread and butter needs of every 
 day! 
 
 A click at the gate roused her, and looking up she 
 saw a peculiar figure entering the yard, guiding a 
 bicycle which he rested against the fence. 
 
 From the long curling hair and flowing beard, Lil- 
 lian recognized the man as one of a religious sect, 
 "The Holy Communists," on the outskirts of the 
 town. 
 
 Little Lillian toddled to the steps and clambered 
 up on the porch, clinging to her mother's skirts, while 
 the boy stood with an attempted show of bravery, look- 
 ing anxiously at the intruder. 
 
 "Pardon me, Madam, may I trouble you for a glass 
 of water? I have had a long ride and I'm very thirsty. 
 I dislike to trouble you you have the baby I'll hold 
 her, or maybe I can get the water?" he added inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 "No, she'll sit right here on the porch. I won't be 
 gone a minute." 
 
 Little Lillian clung to her mother's skirts and went 
 into the house with her, terrified at the unusual ap- 
 pearance of the stranger, but the baby in all the pleased 
 innocence of her babyhood smiled and crowed and put 
 out her little hands toward the man. 
 
 He touched them tenderly, as if they were break- 
 able, admiring their shell-like pinkness. 
 
 126
 
 When Lillian came back, he had the baby in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Perhaps you don't like strangers to touch your 
 baby, but it is hard to resist the appeals of innocence," 
 he said, taking the glass of water poured for him. 
 "Thank you Yes, I will have another." 
 
 Lillian looked at him curiously. She recognized him 
 at once as one of the Community of Holy Communists, 
 a religious sect that was established on a large fruit 
 farm just outside of Kenton Springs. All sorts of 
 wild stories were current about these people. Their 
 long hair which both men and women wore flowing, 
 marked them as set apart from the rest of the world 
 when they went abroad amongst the "Gentiles." 
 
 She felt nervous at being left alone with the man as 
 her nearest neighbor was some distance away, the 
 street having been recently laid out, but certainly 
 nothing in the man's aspect was fear-inspiring. His 
 face looked pale and worn, surrounded by the long 
 brown hair which fell to his shoulders, and the curling 
 brown beard, another mark of his sect. Save that his 
 clothing was dusty from his ride, his linen was 
 clean and his hands were as white and slender as a 
 woman's. 
 
 "The little girl's afraid. Come, I won't hurt you. 
 See, sister isn't afraid." 
 
 "I ain't afraid," spoke up Jim Jr. sturdily. 
 
 "That's right, my little man," the stranger placed his 
 hand upon the boy's head "I had a little son like 
 this once." 
 
 "Oh" the mother said in a pitying tone, "and you 
 have lost a child?" 
 
 The man shook his head, "No I left him." 
 
 "You left him. I do not understand." 
 
 "The world can not understand The call of the 
 Lord can not be disobeyed." 
 
 "And your wife what of her?" 
 
 127
 
 "My wife would not heed the call. She remained 
 behind with the boy." 
 
 Lillian involuntarily reached out and took her baby. 
 
 "Oh, you do not look like a bad man but to desert 
 your wife and child ! It seems very cruel and wicked." 
 
 "I know it must seem so to you. If those we love 
 will not come with us, we must heed the call alone. 
 That is part of the test. 'Many are called, but few are 
 chosen.' Why? because of a faltering spirit. 'Leave 
 all and follow me, saith the Lord.' At the call of the 
 Lord, his God, Abraham of old was ready to sacrifice 
 Isaac, his son. Shall I, in the light of the beautiful 
 truths that have opened unto me, be less brave? 'To 
 him that overcometh shall I grant to sit down with me 
 on my throne.' 
 
 "Only by a fierce bitter struggle did I overcome the 
 lusts of the flesh to enter into the new life. We are 
 living in the last days. The signs of the times must 
 be read aright. 'As it was in the days of Noah, so 
 shall it be in the coming of the Son of Man.' To and 
 fro to the ends of the Earth are we the Lord's chosen 
 journeying to draw the Elect unto us to await the final 
 day. It behooves us to lay aside earthly desires. 
 'There shall be no marrying nor joining in marriage 
 in that day.' 'Be ye ready for ye know not the hour 
 In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the sound 
 of the last trumpet shall we be caught up ' and we 
 are preaching God's last message to men." 
 
 The man's eyes glowed with a strange fire as he 
 talked, and he held the woman's gaze, almost against 
 her will. She did not understand him, but he im- 
 pressed her with his earnestness. 
 
 Little Lillian had lost her fear and had gone back 
 to play with her brother. 
 
 "Sister of what faith are you?" 
 
 "I guess I haven't any. I used to go to church some- 
 times but lately I don't have time with the children 
 and the house work." 
 
 128
 
 'Blessed be the Lord for then may the seed fall 
 upon fertile soil soil not worn out with dogmas. Oh, 
 if you only knew what a glorious thing it is to come 
 into the truth! What peace and joy and contentment 
 will be given." 
 
 "Come into the light before it is too late 'The Lord 
 will come as a thief in the night,' but not unto the 
 Elect. 'One shall be taken and the other left.' Listen! 
 which will you be?" 
 
 The baby had fallen asleep upon Lillian's arm. She 
 rocked mechanically as she listened. 
 
 "I don't think I understand what you're talking- 
 about. Maybe we are living in the last days, I don't 
 know as I care very much. Life isn't so mighty en- 
 joyable that I'd want to live forever." 
 The man rose. 
 
 "Sister, you are soul weary. I won't talk any 
 longer May I leave you 'the little book,' and our 
 paper," he added, drawing them from his pocket. 
 
 "Some time, if you are willing, I'll come again. We'd 
 like to see you on Lord's day. The trolley cars to 
 Westman Harbor, bring you within a block and the 
 conductor will point out the place. Our service is at 
 10 o'clock. Thank you for your hospitality. Good 
 bye little ones," and the man was gone. 
 
 She watched him as he wheeled away, (his long 
 hair flying in the wind) with strange sensations. He 
 seemed a visitor from another world who had dropped 
 down into the more commonplace prosaicness of her 
 own. Then she shook off the spell and tried to laugh 
 as she thought of how often Jim had spoken of these 
 people as cranks and freaks. 
 
 The sleeping baby she took into the house and laid 
 upon the bed covering it lovingly. "What a strange 
 religion that would make one leave hrs babies!" She 
 shuddered and leaned over to kiss the mouth all 
 dewy and open like a half blown rose. 
 
 But she put away the paper and little book, and 
 
 129
 
 strange to say when Jim came home she did not speak 
 of her visitor. Yet Lillian thought of him a great deal. 
 
 Discontented, tired, soul-weary, she was ready for 
 any new train of thought that promised a diversion. 
 Were these the last days? Then how useless aught 
 except that which meant a preparation for the final 
 summons. Jim's wife was not a religious woman, 
 but like all women, her heart responded to a spiritual 
 appeal. What strange things the man said. She won- 
 dered vaguely what the church was like. On Sunday 
 morning as Jim sat out on the veranda in his shirt 
 sleeves smoking his pipe, she came out with her hat 
 in her hand. 
 
 "Jim," she said slowly, sticking her hat pin back 
 and forth in her hat as she talked, "I think I'll take a 
 little walk. Dinner's all fixed ready to cook when I 
 come back. I have a sort of a headache and I think 
 it'll do me good." 
 
 Jim looked up in surprise. 
 
 "Why yes, go ahead but ain't it kind of sudden?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know as it is. I thought 'twould make 
 me feel better." 
 
 "All right just get back to get dinner, that's all." 
 
 When she returned Jim was in the kitchen playing 
 both nurse and cook. 
 
 "Is your head better, girl," he asked. "We just 
 put on the potatoes, and put the roast in, and I think 
 everything is going to be all right. Where did you go? 
 You were gone longer than I thought you would be." 
 
 She avoided his glance. 
 
 "Oh, I walked around a while and then I took a 
 little trolley ride to Westman Harbor." 
 
 She bustled about setting the table and preparing 
 the meal and Jim did not ask any more questions. 
 
 During the week her long-haired visitor came again, 
 but this time she was expecting him and invited him in. 
 
 "You said I might come and talk with you, sister, 
 and we were glad to welcome you at church last 
 
 ISO
 
 Sunday. Were you interested? I felt that you must 
 have been or you wouldn't have come." 
 
 The children were all tucked away for an afternoon 
 nap. Lillian had been scrubbing the kitchen floor and 
 sat drying her hands on her apron. 
 
 "Yes, I was interested," she replied, but it seems 
 hard to understand. Why do you all gather in that big 
 house together? Couldn't you believe as you do and 
 stay at home? You said you had left your wife and 
 little boy." 
 
 A sorrowful shadow crossed his face. 
 
 "Yes, I did. We cannot live the life of the sanctified 
 unless we set ourselves apart and if those we love will 
 not come into the light and truth, we must go alone. The 
 world is full of evil. To prepare ourselves for the end 
 of the present dispensation and for the future life of 
 bliss we must set aside the lusts of the flesh live sim- 
 ply, dress as those who care naught for the riches of the 
 world, the things which shall pass away. "My word 
 shall not pass away," He saith. "Blessed and holy are 
 they who have part in the first resurrection for on such 
 second death hath no power." 
 
 For an hour he talked unfolding the views of his 
 sect; of the life in the community of his people, and 
 at the close Lillian was almost persuaded to accept his 
 belief. After he had gone she felt restless dissatisfied 
 the last days why did she not make ready for them? 
 She could not yet shake off the conventionality of her 
 life and accept the doctrines which seemed so new and 
 strange. And then Jim would he come with her? If 
 not, would he keep the darling babies? She shuddered 
 and put the thought from her mind. But there came a 
 day when she was brought to a standstill. 
 
 One Sunday morning she told Jim she was going for 
 a walk. 
 
 Her husband looked at her curiously. 
 
 "Lillian, where do you go every Sunday?" 
 
 "I go for a walk." 
 
 131
 
 "See here," he said sternly, "have you come to the 
 place where you can lie to me? Where do you go?" 
 
 "I go to church." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "To the Church of the Israelites" she was trying 
 to speak quietly. 
 
 "Great God! You" don't mean those long-haired 
 freaks?" - 
 
 She came and put her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Jim, don't speak so. I have adopted their faith. I 
 want you to come into the light of the truth. Jim we 
 are living in the last days. I know it. I want you and 
 the babies to come with me to live there with the 
 blessed elect and await the call of the Lord to Jeru- 
 salem where the elect are to gather for the final sum- 
 mons." 
 
 It was as if a thunderbolt had struck him to the 
 earth. 
 
 "Lillian, my God! Are you in your senses? Are you 
 ill or crazy? What are you talking about? Am I 
 dreaming or have I lost my own reason?" 
 
 She clung to his arm with both of hers. 
 
 "No, no Jim, I mean every word. You must learn 
 to believe as I believe the truth. I was discontented 
 and restless. Now I am at peace. We will sell the 
 house and take the money for the spread of the truth." 
 
 "So you've let these crazy fanatics get around you 
 have you? Well, you can't take the babies and I 
 won't go. You can sell the house, because it's yours, 
 if you want to leave us on the street, but if you go 
 away, you go alone." 
 
 "Jim, Jim, dear, you can't mean that. You will go 
 with me, and let me have the babies." 
 
 "Never! And if you count all our happiness in our 
 little home for nothing, you'll go, but you'll go alone." 
 
 She broke into sobs and stood thus clinging to him 
 for some moments. Then she raised her eyes and 
 looked at him. 
 
 132
 
 "Jim, whatever you think of me I know I'm right. 
 If you will not come with me I must go. It is my 
 duty. 
 
 He stared at her as one bereft. 
 
 "You are going to leave me?" 
 
 "It is the call of the Lord," she answered firmly. 
 
 Some days later when Jim came home from work, 
 she had her belongings ready and the little ones neatly 
 dressed, and the supper prepared. 
 
 He did not say one word against it when she left 
 him alone. How he got along he did not quite jmow. 
 His mother, a hardworking woman with a fund of 
 energy and common sense, came over to look after the 
 children, shutting up her own little home for the time 
 being. 
 
 "It was what might be expected when you married 
 a girl with a pretty face and nothin' back of it. I allus 
 said she did not know a great deal, but I never looked 
 for this. Gallivantin' off with a lot of queer folks, 
 livin' nobody knows how, all jumbled together." She 
 said to Jim. Jim stopped her 
 
 "Don't you find fault with Lillian, mother. I can't 
 stand it now." 
 
 But she grumbled and scolded all day to herself and 
 the fretting babies fretting for their mother who 
 came not. 
 
 One day the baby, the littlest one, fell ill, and the 
 grandmother grumbled and scolded while the baby 
 moaned and moaned its tiny life away. 
 
 When Jim came home that night she told him that 
 the Doctor had said there was no hope, and the strong 
 man sat down and took the child upon his lap, the 
 great tears falling upon the little white night-dress. 
 Then Jim's mother made a resolution. She got up 
 and went out of the house and boarded the trolley car 
 for Westman Harbor. 
 
 The big white house where the community was es- 
 tablished was at the end of the cross street facing her. 
 
 133
 
 A woman with long hair streaming about her shoulders 
 knelt down in front of the flower bed setting out some 
 single plants. Mrs. Reed walked up to her. 
 
 "Lillian Reed, do you know me?" 
 
 The woman arose from her knees. 
 
 "What do you want of me?" 
 
 Mrs. Reed the elder, squared herself. 
 
 "Well, first I want to tell you what I think of you 
 mixin' yourself up with the lunatic crowd and thinkin' 
 you're gettin' religion. No wonder this place looks 
 prosperous if they get hold of fools like you to sup- 
 port it. It's a wonder you ain't sold the house and 
 pushed Jim out before this. If you're still a decent 
 woman and not a sinner, you'd better come home to the 
 baby you left if you want to see her aliv." 
 
 Lillian turned pale. 
 
 "My baby is dying!" she cried and rushed into the 
 house, returning in an instant. 
 
 "I will go home with you, "she said tremblingly. 
 
 A long-haired disciple followed her down the ver- 
 anda steps. 
 
 "Sister Lillian, where are you going?" 
 
 "I am going home to my dying baby." 
 
 ."Sister Lillian, have you not crucified the flesh cut 
 away your former ties?" 
 
 Jim's mother wheeled around. 
 
 "You let this deluded girl alone. She's goin' home 
 with me. You'd better get inside and cut that out- 
 landish hair of yours" and with that parting shot she 
 walked away with her daughter-in-law. 
 
 When they reached the little house, Lillian stood 
 gathering courage to enter. 
 
 Jim still sat holding the baby. 
 
 She came and knelt beside him. The baby lay gasp- 
 ing in its last death throes. 
 
 "Let me hold her once more. Oh, let me hold her 
 once more," she cried, and he suffered her to take the 
 child, and the little life ebbed away in her arms. 
 
 134
 
 When the baby form was quite hushed and still she 
 arose and laid it upon the bed and then came and 
 knelt beside her husband, sobbing as- if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 "Oh, Jim, I have only wronged you in that I went 
 away forgive me, forgive me my eyes are opened. 
 My life belongs to you my love my devotion. God 
 has punished me by taking my baby. Let me come 
 back to you, oh, my husband, let me come back to 
 you." 
 
 The rough toil-worn hands took hers. 
 
 "I ain't goin' to find fault with you, my girl. I guess 
 God has punished you enough and I guess we need 
 you here." Then she kissed the hands that held hers, 
 while her tears fell like rain. 
 
 135
 
 "THE MUSE REBELLIOUS." 
 
 At midnight I rose and took pen in hand 
 
 To woo the Muse fickle and fair, 
 And though I sat long with brow wrinkled o'er, 
 
 She came not from out of her lair. 
 
 Oh Lady Divine, pray list to my plea, 
 
 'Tis gallons and gallons of oil 
 I've burned at thy shrine, oh give ear unto me, 
 
 In thy service I'm longing to toil. 
 
 With eyes flashing fire and face full of scorn, 
 
 She came and I cowered with fear. 
 You call, modern wretch, and pretend that you woo. 
 
 I answer you see, I am here. 
 
 A suitor you are burning gallons of oil 
 
 A pitiful figure of speech! 
 Pray, where is the lamp with its flickering flame? 
 
 My charms are quite out of your reach. 
 
 And where are the shadows from fire-light glow 
 That chased back and forth o'er the wall? 
 
 Pray, how can I throw, in this horrible glare, 
 My mystical spell over all? 
 
 Alas and alack and woe, woe is me ! 
 
 For I'm in a desperate plight. 
 Think you I'll be wooed in a steam-heated flat 
 
 And won 'neath electrical light?- 
 
 136
 
 MRS. BARKER'S SPIRIT 
 
 Of all the awkward, long-legged men you ever saw, 
 old Dr. Barker of Brownsburg, Mississippi, would cer- 
 tainly have taken the palm. So long-legged was he and 
 so small a horse did he ride that it was confidently as- 
 serted by eye-witnesses that he did not ride at all when 
 he went up hill, but pushed his horse along under him 
 as he walked. However, there never breathed a man 
 so eccentric, so halt, so lame or so blind that he could 
 not take unto himself a partner for life, if he so desired ; 
 and Miss Celestia Mudd had kept her eyes Barker- 
 ward, ever since the first Mrs. Barker had "shuffled off 
 this mortal coil" and had been gathered unto her fore- 
 mothers. , 
 
 Of this state of affairs, the good Doctor was uncon- 
 scious, being a sincere mourner for his deceased wife 
 in fact, so persistent a mourner that three years had 
 now elapsed since her death and his grief showed no 
 signs of abating, indeed seemed rather to increase. 
 
 The good man instead of keeping one eye open for 
 number "Two" after a reasonable length of time spent 
 in sorrowing for number "One," was making strenuous 
 efforts to communicate with his former partner, by 
 means of spiritualistic mediums. It was in the late 
 forties, just about the time the famous Rochester rap- 
 pings were supposed to be an attempt by the spirit 
 world to establish a means of communication with 
 Real, Live, Flesh and Blood people. 
 
 Spiritualistic seances were, so to speak, the rage. 
 Believers were wildly enthusiastic, and unbelievers 
 held meetings night after night, for the purpose of test- 
 ing the matter. Private parlors as well as public halls 
 were 'the scenes of many table-tippings and it was a 
 
 137
 
 very unaccomplished sort of a table indeed that could 
 not dance under the slightest provocation. Many a 
 seance was held in Dr. Barker's parlor and the carved 
 legs of the old mahogany centre table must have fairly 
 ached considering the number of acrobatic perform- 
 ances they were expected to go through, now in their 
 old age, when they had stood decorously and properly 
 for so long a period. The doctor, it was said, had re- 
 ceived several communications from his wife. She was 
 well, happy and so forth; which communications Miss 
 Celestia Mudd took in very bad part. She thought it 
 high time for Mrs. Barker to relinquish her hold upon 
 the doctor's affections and leave them to some spirit 
 still inhabiting a tangible body. Miss Mudd consid- 
 ered Mrs. Barker's spirit a very unreasonable sort of 
 a spirit indeed and she made up her mind that things 
 had gone on in the present way quite long enough, a 
 decision that put the spirit of Mrs. Barker at a decided 
 disadvantage. 
 
 Miss Mudd became an enthusiast. Not a meeting 
 but found her bony hands upon the table and her 
 hatchet face peering out of the dim light in the room, 
 like the face of some evil genius. Such enthusiasm 
 could not fail to attract the doctor's notice and many 
 discussions did they have upon the subject, each dis- 
 cussion carrying the spirit of the late Mrs. Barker fur- 
 ther away from the doctor's thoughts and scoring a 
 triumph for the spinster. The climax was capped one 
 night in the doctor's parlor. The darkened room with 
 its faded damask curtains, dingy furniture and staring 
 oil portraits looked ghostly enough to suit even the 
 most ardent believer. Around the table sat an eager, 
 expectant, half-fearful group, two elderly gentlemen, 
 three young men, two young ladies, dainty enough in 
 their white muslin gowns to be disembodied spirits 
 themselves; Miss Celestia Mudd, and little Joe, the 
 doctor's son, who was considered a strong medium. A 
 pathetic figure was Joe with his pale face and wistful 
 
 138
 
 blue eyes, looking more like a dwarfed man than a 
 child as he sat with his tiny hands upon the table, a 
 connecting link between the spirit world and this, at a 
 time when most little boys of his age were tucked 
 snugly away in bed. 
 
 Shade after shade was called, George Washington, 
 Lafayette, Shakespeare, but tired nature would assert 
 herself and the little medium would nod and his hands 
 would slip off the table, causing the further conversa- 
 tion with the spirits to assume rather a ludicrous turn. 
 
 "Is this the spirit of the great George Washington?" 
 
 "Put your hands on the table, Joe." 
 
 "What says the shade of the immortal Shakespeare?" 
 
 "Put your hands on the table, Joe." 
 
 Numerous greater and lesser spirits had been called 
 up, the table had tipped and danced in a manner calcu- 
 lated to convince the most virulent unbeliever, when 
 suddenly all eyes were turned toward Miss Celestia 
 Mudd, who was acting, to say the least, very pecu- 
 liarly. She groaned and rocked to and fro, at last going 
 off into a sort of trance, during which she said and did 
 all manner of strange things. In fact she claimed not 
 to be herself at all but the late Mrs. Barker, finally 
 calling for a piece of paper and a pencil, writing 
 thereon in a very rapid manner, the sum and substance 
 of the superscription being as follows: 
 
 "My Dear Husband: I am well and happy and I 
 hope you are the same (this was the manner in which 
 the late Mrs. B., not being remarkable for versatility 
 or brilliance of intellect, had begun every letter she 
 had ever written while in the flesh) . I am so much hap- 
 pier than I ever was on earth that I beg you won't try 
 to communicate with me in any way. It distresses me 
 to come back to earth and find the house so ill-cared 
 for, and dirty. Look about you and find some good, 
 neat woman near your own age who will marry you 
 and take charge of the house. Kiss our boy for me 
 
 ins
 
 and tell him to be good and love his new mother. Fol- 
 low out my wishes and you will be happy and blessed. 
 
 "Your loving wife, 
 
 "Mary Ann Barker." 
 
 Every one was, of course, much astonished at the 
 epistle and no one more so than Miss Celestia Mudd 
 upon coming out of her trance. She professed to know 
 nothing of what had happened and even went so far 
 as to deny having written anything at all. The doctor 
 seemed much impressed by the letter which he folded 
 and put carefully away in his pocket. It is presumable 
 that he decided to take the advice set down therein for 
 seances were held no more at his home and he began to 
 cast sheep's eyes at the fair sex once more. There were 
 some persons mean and unkind enough to say that the 
 trance was all a hoax and the letter had been a scheme 
 to inveigle the doctor into matrimony, that Miss Mudd 
 had thrown herself in the doctor's way times out of 
 number after this and that she was unusually tender 
 towards little Joe. 
 
 Let us be charitable, however. Rather let us pity 
 than condemn. Not long after the doctor took unto 
 himself a second Mrs. Barker. The lady's maiden 
 name, however, was NOT Celestia Mudd. 
 
 J4O
 
 "A CHEERFUL LIAR." 
 
 Hiram Powers wuz the biggest liar in Briggs 
 County. Now that may sound like a slander, an' you 
 bein' a city feller, may think us country folks air run- 
 nin' each other down. 
 
 No, no you can't pay me fur them apples. Help 
 yourself. Of course I'm tryin' to run this store fur 
 profit, but I guess I kin treat a leetle now an' then. 
 
 Kinder dull this time o' day an' the early part of the 
 week, but Saturday makes up fur it. It keeps four of 
 us a humpin', I tell ye, to wait on customers. Guess I'll 
 eat an apple along with ye. Well, I was a sayin' that 
 Hiram Powers was the biggest liar in the county. I've 
 hearn tell the Lord loves a cheerful giver, but I'm 
 thinkin' it oughter be changed to a cheerful liar, fur 
 the man that kin lie with as straight a face as Hiram 
 could, certain sure deserves to be respected and liked* 
 That sounds kinder queer fur me to say, don't it? But 
 you can't help admiring any man that kin do any thing 
 remarkable and Hi sure could lie. Warn't never mean 
 about it, tho', an' warn't no hand to make up lies 'bout 
 other people. Jest things that happened to hisself or 
 his relations. I remember 'bout his tellin' that his 
 wife had two little pet garter snakes that she had 
 trained to hold her stockings up and when they died 
 she felt so bad that she just hated to go and buy them 
 elastic ones. Thought we believed him, too. Say, 
 stranger, what did you say your name was? Oh yes, 
 Perkins Stayin' up to Green's lake fur the summer, 
 ain't ye? What kind of grub do they put up there? 
 Feed ye pretty good, do they? Wall, Mr. Perkins, 
 ye'd never believe how Hi could lie. No matter what 
 
 141
 
 happened to anyone else something of the same kind 
 ud allus happen to him, let him tell it. 
 
 I remember once he was standin' alongside a fence 
 talkin' to Bill Brown, when his hawses, ole Dobb an' 
 Bob, got skeered an' run a leetle ways and busted a 
 bolt on the wagon an' when sometime after, Al Hank- 
 er's hawses sure did run away an' bust up things, if 
 old Hi didn't tell how Bob an' Dobb run away an' 
 busted the wagon to smithereens an' broke two of his 
 ribs an' he not near the wagon when the hawses run. 
 
 He beat that there Annernias, the Bible tells about, 
 all holler. Somebody told about a feller that walked 
 in his sleep an' then Hi piped up an' said he had gone 
 out an' hitched up the hawses an' plowed several fur- 
 rers in his sleep an' never knowed it until the next 
 mornin'. 
 
 Hi ain't very fond of work an' Jim Green said he bet 
 ef Hi was workin' 'twas in his sleep. Quite a joker, 
 Jim is. Then somebody told about people thinkin' 
 folks lived on Mars is that the place? Well, I swan, 
 ef Hi didn't say he knew it, cause when he was in the 
 city he looked through a telescope an' could see 'em 
 "jest as plain as day, walkin' around an' laughin' an' 
 talkin'. Well, Mr. Perkins, some of them fellers 
 around here thought they'd put up a job of some kind 
 on Hi. The boys used to gather round the stove in 
 the store here winter days when there warn't much 
 doin' on the farms an' swap lies an' stories but they 
 never could get ahead of Hi. So they agreed to tell 
 the biggest whoppers they could so as to draw Hi 
 on an' drown him out as it were. Lie after lie, each 
 one bigger than the t'other, was told an' at last Jim 
 Green said when he wuz a boy his folks used to have 
 a pet hippypotamus that his uncle had sent from 
 Africy an' that it was so tame, it would eat out of your 
 hand. Ever see a hippo's mouth, stranger er Mr. 
 Perkins, I mean? Well, then you know how rediclus 
 that was. 
 
 142
 
 Hiram went on a smokin' an' a spittin' agin the stove 
 an' a doin' a pile of thinkin'. There was a city feller, 
 a drummer, in town that day, an' he wuz onto the 
 game an' his story wuz to come last an' he wuz to tell 
 about a plesi-plesio. What's that? Plesiosaurus? 
 That's the thing. He had explained that it wuz some- 
 thin' that had lived long before there wuz even Adam 
 an' Eve an' that it was a monster. 
 
 "Ever see a plesiosaurus, Mr. Powers?" says the 
 drummer, careless like. 
 
 "I should say I did," says Hi, cherkin' up in a 
 minute. "Used to have one." 
 
 Well, I vum, Mr. Perkins, ef the drummer warn't 
 so clean taken aback that he couldn't say a word, 'cept 
 repeat, "Used to have one?" 
 
 "Sure," says Hi, "greatest pet you ever see raised 
 it from a baby an' it was so tame the children used to 
 ride it around everywhere hitched to a leetle go cart. 
 We got it a leetle collar with bells on it an' you could 
 hear it runnin' forty rods away. Prettiest white wool 
 on it ye ever see. Marthy used to make stockings fur 
 the boys from the wool. Tho' the way it looked when 
 it was sheared allus made me bust laffin'. We used to 
 call him Plesi fur short an' before Plesi was tame he 
 was better'n any watch dog ye ever see an' once 
 when thieves come round Plesi yelped an' skeered 'em 
 away. If he'd caught 'em he'd " 
 
 But the drummer got kinder tired of lettin' him lie 
 so straight an' havin' recovered from his surprise, he 
 says, interrupting "Well, I really don't understand how 
 you could have had an animal like that, fur that's been 
 extinct for years." 
 
 "Yes, it used to be, kinder," says Hi, "but we 
 thought a awful lot of it jest the same. An' when it 
 was killed Lordy, I swan ef they didn't all cry 'cept 
 me an' I felt bloomin' bad, I tell ye." 
 
 '"Why, man, the Plesiosaurus was a pre-historic an- 
 imal " 
 
 143
 
 Queer I remember the word, but that was what the 
 drummer said gittin' kinder mad "Lived before the 
 world wuz made " 
 
 "I knowed 'twas a rare animal," says Hi, not blinkin* 
 a eyelash, "fur a curcus man offered me a thousand 
 dollars fur it but we wuz too fond of it." 
 
 I furgot to tell you that Hi could juggle riggers to 
 beat time. They say figgers won't lie, but Hi's did. 
 Ef he'd have about twenty summer boarders, all told, 
 a season an' you'd ask him ef 'twas a busy summer, 
 he'd jest as like as not say they'd fed 500 that season 
 Well, I swan, ef the drummer (an' he was a pretty 
 good talker, too) warn't struck dumb. 
 
 Hi would a been talkin' yit about that animule ef 
 the circle hadn't broke up. Everybody went away 
 discouraged with tryin' to beat Hi lyin'. An' Hi set 
 there lookin' kinder thoughtful he acterly looked sad. 
 "Poor little Plesi," he says, "it sure broke my heart 
 when he died." 
 
 144
 
 "THE QUALITY OF MERCY." 
 A One Act Play of Witchcraft Days. 
 Scene Room in a Puritan Home. 
 Time The latter part of the 17th Century. 
 Characters 
 
 Agnes Redmond Thankful Wolfe 
 
 Ruby Redmond Patience Plum 
 
 Henry Vane Mercy Plum 
 
 Roger Vane Charity Long 
 
 Faith Coddington 
 
 Ruby sits at the spinning or flax-wheel Song out- 
 side or Ruby sings. 
 
 Enter Agnes Redmond. (Pauses at the door.) 
 Agnes : "She is my one bit of joy in this dark land. 
 Thank God for my child 'Ruby.' " 
 
 (Ruby runs to her mother and leads her to a chair.) 
 Ruby: "Oh, mother, dear! Thou art weary" (re- 
 moves her cape). "Hast thou toiled all day?" 
 Agnes: "Aye, all day, dearest heart" (sitting). 
 Ruby:. "Why dost thou work like this? There is 
 no need. We two can live on so little, mother, dear." 
 
 Agnes: "We need the pittance to keep the wolf 
 from this poor door, dear heart." 
 
 Ruby : "But, mother ; why not let me go while thou 
 remainest to tidy up the home and mend the clothes? 
 I am young and strong." 
 
 Agnes: "Thou! Why Ruby; thou art not strong 
 enough to scrub the court-room floor and wash the 
 benches of the meeting-house. Thou couldst not sew 
 the heavy cloth and fashion garments for the men. 
 And then, someone must bide at home." 
 
 Ruby (kneeling by Agnes) : "But mother these 
 dear hands of yours were never made for such rough 
 
 145
 
 work. They are fashioned slenderly; thou dost not 
 seem like these other women here. I sometimes think 
 thou wert a Princess." 
 
 Agnes: "A Princess! Nay, nay, sweet child, but I 
 was the daughter of a Cavalier, thy father was a Puri- 
 tan, but I loved him and for this thy Grandsire dis- 
 owned me. All my laces, broideries and silken robes 
 I laid aside. Thy father's religion forbade the wearing 
 of such fripperies." 
 
 Ruby: "Laces, silks and broideries! Oh, mother, 
 i I could but see them wear them!" 
 
 Agnes: "Sh!" (With finger on her lips, looking 
 about her.) "Someone might hear thee. Such talk be- 
 fitteth not this godly land. These things are tempta- 
 tions of the Evil One, and yet, sometimes I long " 
 
 Ruby (eagerly) : "Oh, I know, I know ; I've seen 
 it in thine eyes the longing for those other days I 
 knew there were those other days for once I saw " 
 
 Agnes (with excitement): "What didst thou see?" 
 
 Ruby : " 'Twas when thou wert asleep and didst 
 mutter in thy sleep one night and I arose and lit the 
 candle, then touched thy forehead to see if thou wert 
 fever-tossed. There by the candle's light I saw about 
 thy neck a chain of gold." 
 
 Agnes (clasping her hands) : "God in Heaven for- 
 give me for my sin!" 
 
 Ruby: "Mother, dear, why speakest thou so?" 
 
 Agnes: "Are we not commanded to lay aside the 
 lusts of the flesh? Does not the Good Book say, 
 'Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning 
 of plaiting the hair and of wearing of gold or of put- 
 ting on of apparel ; but let it be the hidden man of the 
 heart withal, which is not corruptible, even the orna- 
 ment of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight 
 of God of Great Price.' " 
 
 Ruby: "But mother, surely the Great God cannot 
 believe that beauty is a sin else why the lovely sky, 
 the brilliant sunset, the glow of dawn and all the ex- 
 
 149
 
 quisite flowers that spring up unbidden in the meadows 
 when the summer is at hand. Oh, mother ! I dare not 
 whisper all I feel, but this Great God that we hear 
 about on the Sabbath Day seems very far away, but the 
 God that made the running brook, who whispers to me 
 in the breeze, seems like the kind, good father I have 
 never known the dear father, who died 'ere I was 
 born." 
 
 Agnes: "Aye he was good and gentle, my child 
 not austere like these men about us. He let me wear 
 this chain beneath my gown, though he, too, feared 
 that 'twas a deadly sin, for when he first set eyes on 
 me I wore the chain and in his heart of hearts he loved 
 to see it round my neck. So when thou didst come into 
 my life I called thee 'Ruby.' " 
 
 Ruby : "Is that the name of the stone that sparkles 
 like a bit of fire upon the ornament Oh, mother ! may 
 I look at it again?" 
 
 Agnes: "No, no, my child. Put away .such 
 thoughts. See I will cast aside the chain." (Tears 
 it from her neck.) "I must not tempt thee, sweet one. 
 These things are of the world beyond the seas and we 
 who fled from its vanities and sin must think only upon 
 the beauty of Holiness." (Rises.) "Come, lay the 
 cloth, and we will have our simple meal 'ere the eve- 
 ning shadows fall." 
 
 (Exit Agnes.) 
 
 (Ruby hesitates, then runs and picks up the locket.) 
 Ruby: "Oh, how beautiful! If I could but try it 
 on my neck ! Surely the Good God would not count it 
 as a sin against me." 
 
 (Agnes comes to the door.) (Ruby hides the chain.) 
 
 Agnes: "Ruby, Mistress Coddington hath called 
 
 from her door. Her child is worse and I will take some 
 
 herbs to aid the little one." (Takes herbs from the 
 
 chest.) 
 
 Ruby : " 'Tis well, mother, dear." (Exit Agnes.) 
 Ruby (puts chain about her neck) : "See how it 
 
 147
 
 sparkles! Oh, I knew dear mother was a lady born; 
 there is this chain and then one day I saw down in the 
 bottom of the chest a silken robe of brightest red and 
 plumed hat. How I have longed to look again to try 
 them on and play the lady ! I wonder if 'twould be a 
 crime for everlasting punishment? I don't believe 'tis 
 wicked to love these things I will look again Ah! 
 how it shines, how gay it is, and then this plume, how 
 long and soft!" (Takes out the things.) "Just for a 
 moment I will don them both." (Runs out carrying 
 the gown and plumed hat.) 
 
 (Enter Roger.) 
 
 Roger: "Ruby!" (Looks about him.) "Why, 
 where can Ruby be ! 'tis not her wont to run about the 
 streets. Ah! I wonder if every man feels as I do 
 when once he knows how sweet a maid may be! My 
 father likes her not, warned me that I must not see her ; 
 but in that I must defy him. I will make him love her. 
 Love is not sinful, though some would make it so. Bye 
 and bye 'twill be a sin to breathe the very air God gave 
 that we may live. A man may not kiss his wife upon 
 the Sabbath Day nor deviate a hair's breadth from 
 these stern old laws my father and the rest have made. 
 Well, well this love of mine may be of the Devil, as 
 my father says, but if it is 'tis monstrous sweet. 
 Surely the evil one doth tempt me sorely, if temptation 
 this be. Waking or sleeping the sweet face of Mistress 
 Ruby is ever before me. But yesterday I hummed an 
 old love song as I worked a sonnet I once heard Ruby 
 sing and when my father heard it he turned with rage 
 and bade me sing an hymn instead. I dare not 
 whisper it but I am sick to death of hymns and 
 prayers. My soul cries out for freedom." 
 
 (Enter Ruby in silken gown and plumed hat.) 
 
 Roger: "Ah, pardon me, my lady, canst thou tell 
 me where to find Mistress Ruby Redmond?" 
 
 Ruby: "I grant thee pardon, Master Roger Vane. 
 Here is Mistress Ruby Redmond, an' 'tis thy pleasure." 
 
 148
 
 Roger: "Ruby, thou! and in such garb Come, I 
 pray thee, let no one see these frivolous robes or thou 
 mayest be publicly censured." 
 
 Ruby (coyly) : "Then, thou likest me not?" 
 
 Roger : "Thou art beautiful ! and yet I am afraid 
 where didst thou find these gewgaws?" 
 
 Ruby: "They were my mother's in her younger 
 days. Come, Good Master Roger, sit thee down." 
 (Leads him to a bench.) "Look not so frightened. 
 Last night thou almost didst tell me many things. 
 Then I was a Puritan maiden, and it was not seemly 
 to talk of such a frivolous and unholy thing as love. 
 Today I am the daughter of the Cavaliers and I give 
 thee permission to forget thou art a timid, bashful 
 Puritan. Thou mayest tell me all thy heart." 
 
 Roger (kneels) : "I will in truth, for by my soul I 
 love thee. Let come what may let oppose who will, 
 dear Ruby, thou art Mistress of my soul." 
 
 Ruby: "Thou speakest like a Cavalier. 'Tis the 
 robe that hath bewitched thee." 
 
 Roger (rises and takes her in his arms) : "Aye, the 
 robe and the maid, for never will I give thee up. I am 
 thine and thou art mine and the God of my fathers 
 hath given thee to me." 
 
 (Enter Henry Vane stands at the door a moment.) 
 
 Henry Vane : "So I find thee thou child of Belial. 
 Whence comes this brazen being that thou boldest in 
 thine arms? Last night 'twas the maiden Ruby that I 
 forbade thee to visit." 
 
 Ruby: "Good Sir, I am Ruby Redmond." 
 
 Henry Vane: "Thou! and in this ungodly frump- 
 ery? 'Twas as I thought. Thou hast lured my son 
 from the straight and narrow path with thy wiles. I 
 denounce thee as a witch." 
 
 Roger: "Father I implore thee " 
 
 Henry: "Say no more. Tomorrow I will publicly 
 denounce this (scarlet) maid before the Judges as a 
 witch." 
 
 149
 
 Ruby: "No, no, kind Sir, I beg thee to have pity. 
 I know naught of magic charms and such strange 
 things. "Tis but an old gown that once my mother 
 wore. She was the daughter of a Cavalier, and she 
 gave up all to follow my father to this land." 
 (Enter Agnes.) 
 
 Agnes: "Why, what is this? Ruby, my lamb, and 
 in this gown! God above forgive me that I saved 
 these wicked garments." 
 
 Ruby (running to her mother) : "Oh, mother, do 
 not let them take me from you." 
 
 (Enter Patience, Little Mercy, Thankful, Charity.) 
 
 Patience: "What is all this clamor?" 
 
 Henry: "This girl is a witch. She hath stolen my 
 son from me. Mark how she garbs herself. When no 
 one is nigh she doffs the dress of modesty and seemli- 
 ness and wears these scarlet robes. Tomorrow I'll de- 
 nounce her in the public hall. She is a witch, I say 
 a witch." 
 
 ALL: "A witch" 
 
 Thankful : "Aye, I mind me now last week I saw 
 her slipping by my gate at eventide and 'twas scarce 
 an hour 'ere my youngest born fell from the bench and 
 broke his arm." 
 
 Patience : " 'Tis true and did not our brindle cow 
 die only yesternoon and that without a seeming cause. 
 She is a witch, indeed." 
 
 Charity: "Aye, aye, she hath bewitched us. Hang 
 her, burn her, that we break the spell !" 
 
 Ruby: "Mother, dearest save me from these 
 creatures." 
 
 Agnes : "Listen friends, I pray you. For years I've 
 lived amongst you, peaceably working for you, min- 
 istering to the sick, the dying, trying to do God's Holy 
 will ; I implore you, you accuse not my child of these 
 unholy deeds. I am indeed punished for my vanity in 
 saving these baubles of my girlhood days. Tomorrow 
 
 150
 
 I will burn these garments and will purify my soul 
 with prayer." 
 
 Henry Vane: "Aye, tomorrow we will burn this 
 girl and purify thy soul and hers and lift the spell from 
 these our people." 
 
 Roger: "Father, thou shalt not dare not." 
 
 Henry Vane: "Be still, irreverent boy. Be glad 
 thou burn not with her, for she hath drawn her spell 
 around thee." 
 
 Patience: "She hath, indeed. Is not my Hopeful 
 of as pleasant mien and dainty form? Yet he must 
 pass her by with eyes for naught but her, the saucy, 
 bold-faced chit." 
 
 Charity : "Burn her as a witch, I say." 
 
 Thankful : "Yes, 'twill be doing God's good work." 
 
 Ruby: "Mother, dearest, save me." 
 
 Agnes : "Nay, nay, she is no witch ; 'tis I I am the 
 witch. She's but a child. Why, look, good friends, 
 she couldn't harm a fly but I I go about amongst 
 you to work my evil will. 'Twas I who killed the 
 brindle cow. I broke the baby's arm. I weave my 
 wicked spells about you I made this poor child as- 
 sume this tawdry finery see the chain about her neck. 
 It is a charm. I brew my herbs and chant my incanta- 
 tions and draw unholy spells about you all. I am the 
 witch; come, take me now and you will break the 
 magic charm." 
 
 Charity: "Yes, yes, she is a witch I thought as 
 much." 
 
 Thankful : "I always feared the strange glint of her 
 eye." 
 
 Ruby: "No, no, don't listen to her, friends. She 
 tries to save me. She is no witch, but the dearest, 
 kindest mother in the world." 
 
 Henry Vane: "Nay, nay, 'tis not the mother 'tis 
 the girl. I tell you, she must die." 
 
 Roger : "Friends, pray hear what I say unto you, I 
 beg you. Since boyhood you've known me. Have I 
 
 151
 
 not tried to be obedient, dutiful and save in my love 
 for this girl to do as I was bid? I am scarcely grown 
 to man's estate, yet I can but see that you are narrow 
 and bigoted in your beliefs. Did you not flee from 
 persecution for the sake of the true religion and the 
 right to worship God as deemed you best? Would 
 you enact on others the same horrors you yourselves 
 have suffered? You call this a land of freedom and 
 yet you torture Quakers, burn old women and now 
 you cry down a gentle girl, who never did you harm. 
 For shame! I tell you all, that 'tis my hope to make 
 this girl my wife, and if you bind her to the stake, I 
 will go with her, by her side will stand and when she 
 gives her spirit up to God I'll pray that through the 
 whiteness of that soul mine own may enter Heaven. 
 My life with hers you'll take if you demand that toll 
 and call it doing the will of the Almighty God." 
 (Enter Faith.) 
 
 Faith: "Oh, where is Agnes Redmond?" (Runs to 
 her and falls at her feet.) "Thou hast saved my child. 
 He lives, he lives. Oh, forgive me for ever doubting 
 thee in my thought." 
 
 Patience : "She is a witch." 
 
 Faith (rising) : "A witch nay, nay, not so night 
 after night when weary with her work she hath helped 
 me with the child and given him herbs many a time 
 have I seen her on some mercy's errand to the poor and 
 the sick. Forget you all so soon? Why, 'twas thou, 
 Thankful, that she nursed through fever's siege and, 
 Patience, thou must remember all her ministration to 
 thy Mercy when a babe in swaddling clothes. She is 
 not one to let her right hand know what does the left 
 and so the Holy Book commands I tell you all she is 
 a saint from Heaven." 
 
 ALL: "A saint!" 
 
 Patience: "Aye, aye, mayhap, she be." 
 
 Charity : "Yes, yes, a saint. I had forgot how once 
 when lame and racked with pain, she came and built 
 
 152
 
 a fire within my hut and brought me food and drink. 
 I had forgot." 
 
 Roger: "Father, I pray thee, listen to the voice of 
 reason. Think of thine own youth, of thy love for my 
 mother. Neighbors, you have heard what Mistress 
 Faith hath said of the good deeds of this woman. Not 
 one of you but knows some kindness from her gentle 
 hand. Even on the cross Christ, the Master, said of 
 His enemies, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not 
 what they do.' Will you condemn this woman, not 
 your enemy, but your friend? Let us bring to this 
 new, free, beautiful land the gospel of mercy and love. 
 Father, give us your blessing." (Takes Ruby's hand 
 and they kneel.) 
 
 Henry Vane (pauses a moment as if struggling 
 with his stubborn pride then reaches out his hand) : 
 "I will bless thee Father of Goodness and Mercy 
 Have MERCY on us all." (Curtain.) 
 
 153
 
 POOR WOMAN. 
 
 "Pay as you enter" the trolley car door 
 
 Is all right for the man with the pockets galore. 
 
 But woman, poor woman, is quite in a pickle, 
 
 When she has to fish round in her purse for a nickel. 
 
 With arms full of bundles and hat on one ear, 
 
 She makes an appearance that really is queer 
 
 As she bumps round the platform and dives for her 
 
 fare. 
 
 Glove-buttoner, hair pins, oh everything there 
 In that purse save the care fare she longs to procure 
 And she rails at the nuisance, "Please pay at the door." 
 
 154
 
 MAGGIE MCCARTHY AND THE BEAUTY 
 PARLOR. 
 
 Come in, come in, Biddy Gilhooly, an' you too, Mary 
 O 'Sullivan shure 'tis glad I am to see you this aven- 
 in'. Come in, no wan's home an' we'll have a bit of 
 coffee an' some cake. This is a dead aisy place. 'Tis 
 a month I've hod it, an' the Missus is forever goin' to 
 parties an theayters. Whin I tinks of how I used to 
 worry wid thim Jones byes an' do sich a pile of wurruk 
 so many places 'tis amazed at mesilf I am knowin' 
 there's places like this waitin' to be took. Come in, 
 come in. Set right doon in the paylor shure I uses 
 the paylor whin the Missus ain't home. What herself 
 don't know won't be hurtin' her. Just a nice flat an' 
 two payple an' thim away most all day, an' (himsilf 
 to wurruk an' hersilf to play keards an' to gad) on 
 siven dollars a wake. A snap well I'm askin' mesilf 
 ivery day how coom it my way? But I don't git no 
 answer. No other girl to bother me an' no washin' an' 
 plain cookin'. No wonder you do be starin' both of 
 ye. 'Tis the millinium I've heard till aboot. I'm think- 
 in'. Take off your hats an' your coats. Don't be starin' 
 so. Phwat the divil is the matter wid you? Oh now I 
 know. I clane forgot me hair an' me face. Phwat have 
 I bin doin'? Well, now ye'd niver guess I've been to 
 a Beauty Paylor See me Syke knot and me foine 
 complexion? Well, now, I'll tell ye all aboot it. Come 
 out to the kitchen wid me while I make the coffee. 
 Well, this is how it was. The Missus is foriver run- 
 nin' to have her face massajid an' her nails rubbed up 
 an' her hair dressed an' I was that curus about them 
 Beauty places that I thot I'd die, yit not loikin' to go in 
 'em feelin' foolish loike. 
 
 155
 
 Well, luck was wid me, for a day or two ago I met 
 Annie Riordan on the strate lookin' so stylish thot I 
 looked twict to make sure 'twas her. We stood talkin' 
 an' finally I says " 'tis a lot of sthyle ye're puttin' on 
 these days I'm thinkin'." You know me an' Annie we 
 used to wurruk in the same place wanst. " 'Tis me 
 cousin who works at a Beauty Paylor, an' she fixes 
 me up, so foine," says she. "I'm dyin' to go to wan 
 of thim," says I. "Why don't you go to see me 
 cousin, you know me cousin Mamie?" "Shure," says 
 I,' "an' it's nixt Thursday when I'm out thot I'll call 
 upon her." 
 
 Well I wint today, girls, an' O my ! What the wim- 
 men won't do to make 'em beautiful! First I sot for 
 a time waitin', as Mamie was busy, an' I watched 
 the wimmen come in. Some of 'em sot at little glass 
 tables and dipped their fingers in a bowl an' had 'em 
 cleaned an' rubbed, an' poked at 'till it made me nar- 
 vous to look at 'em. Thin the faces on some of 'em, 
 narvous, wrinkled and homely an' expectin' to be made 
 to look loike swate sixteen. "Is me dooble chin a corn- 
 in' off," says wan of thim. An', "I think me neck is git- 
 tin' ploomper," says another wan to Mamie. "Oh yes," 
 say/s Mamie, "iver so mooch " An' 'tis to confission 
 she'll have to go fur thot falsehood, fur the poor 
 crayther's bones was purty nigh comin' through. Well 
 they was all sorts, gray-haired and dark-haired, fot an' 
 thin, gittin' touched up an' rubbed, an' dyed, an' what 
 not in a scramble fur beauty. After a while the place 
 begun to thin out an' Mamie says, "Come on now, 
 Maggie, I'll pretty ye up." 
 
 So I sot in a big chair an' she tied a rag aroond the 
 head of me, and another aroond me neck an' thin she 
 let the chair back as though she was goin' to pull 
 me tooth. An' thin she sailed in. She greased me, 
 an' rubbed an' glory be, she rolled a buzz saw over 
 me face. As shure as fate, I thot me last hour had 
 coome. "If you have a grudge agin me, Mamie Rior- 
 
 15G
 
 dan, take it out some other way, or let me up where 
 I can foight back." An' she laughed an' said 'twas 
 all in the Beauty Game. "Beauty Ga"me," says I, " 'tis 
 loike wan of thim futball games that I've heard so 
 much aboot." Thin she tuk away the buzz saw, an' 
 slapped a bilin' hot rag all over me face. I joomped 
 nearly out of me chair. "I'm scalded dead," I hollers, 
 an' thin she pulls me back an' makes me lie there, an' 
 pretty soon she takes off the hot rag an' slaps on 
 wan cold enough to freeze ye. "If I have chills an' 
 favor, an' lose me job, I'll sue you," says I. "Kape 
 still," says she, "you're gittin' a foine complexion." 
 "A foine complexion! If I have a bit of skin lift on 
 me face, I'll say me prayers fur joy whin I gits back 
 home." Thin she rubbed me face again, an' dabbed on 
 some powder an' a bit of paint an' brushed up my 
 eye-lashes an' brows, an' whin I looked in the glass, 
 shure I was all pink an' white, an' looked like a doll. 
 Thin she marcelled me hair an' dressed it up foine. 
 
 But I'm tellin' you, Mary O 'Sullivan, an' you too, 
 Biddy me darlint, 'tis no more Beauty Paylor fer Mag- 
 gie McCarthy. I'll comb me own hair and wash me 
 face in the bowl instid of havin' it rubbed off wid a 
 buzz saw. Bedad, I may be a problem, but I ain't 
 a blamed fool. An' now let's have our coffee an' cake, 
 to git out the smill of the coffee before herself gits 
 back home. 
 
 157
 
 TWO HEADS ARE BETTER THAN ONE. 
 A Farce in One Act. 
 
 Cast of Characters. 
 
 Dick Hamilton A College Boy. 
 
 Mr. Richard Hamilton His Uncle. 
 
 Janet The Landlady's Daughter. 
 
 Scene: Interior. Room of College Boy Pennants 
 Posters of Ballet Girls Picture or two (Piano if 
 desired) Table with empty Bottle and Glasses Chaf- 
 ing Dish Small Bookcase Easy Chairs, etc. Room 
 littered up (Ruffled Silk Gown and large Hat on 
 chair). A rack containing a number of photographs of 
 young ladies. 
 
 (Enter Dick with letter in his hand.) 
 
 Dick : "Great Scott ! What a roast Uncle has given 
 me. One would think I was the veriest reprobate on 
 earth. Just because a fellow has a few spreads and 
 sows a few wild oats, he has to be called down with 
 this sort of a letter." (Walks about excitedly.) 
 (A knock at the door.) 
 
 Dick: "Come." 
 
 (Enter Janet.) 
 
 Janet: "A telegram for you Dick. I've just been 
 out in the machine with Billy Brown and I met the 
 messenger at the door." 
 
 Dick: "Something else, I suppose." (Takes it 
 reads) "Am coming immediately to investigate mat- 
 ters! Yes, just as I supposed." 
 
 158
 
 Janet: "What's the matter Dick? You look dis- 
 consolate." 
 
 Dick: "So would you, Janet, if you had just re- 
 ceived a roast like this. Read this letter." 
 
 Janet: Reads. "Nephew Dick." (Janet) "Humph! 
 Affectionate old chap, isn't he? (Reads) "The reports 
 that come to me of your conduct are disgraceful. I 
 understand that your associates are ballet girls and 
 creatures of that ilk. That you turn night into day 
 and make of your apartments a resort for gamblers and 
 drunkards. A fine return for my generosity to you." 
 (Janet to Dick) "Why Dick, that's the warmest thing 
 I ever heard." 
 
 Dick : "I should say. Anybody would think I was 
 going on a regular toboggan slide down to the Other 
 Place. If I can believe all I hear, Uncle had the rep- 
 utation of being a very gay old boy in his youth, and 
 isn't above a spree now and then, but at present he has 
 no patience with anybody but a Sunday School teacher. 
 Of course he's been generous to me, but then I don't 
 deserve this sort of a calling down. We do have a 
 little game sometimes and a spread once in a while, 
 but you know Janet you're the only girl that comes to 
 these rooms." 
 
 Janet : "Yes I know. By the way Dick, there was 
 more to the letter." (Reads) "Have decided to cut 
 short your college career, and unless you marry Louisa 
 Allen at once, will cut you off without a penny." 
 (Janet to Dick) "This Louisa Allen, is she pretty?" 
 
 Dick: "Pretty! She's a chromo." 
 
 Janet: "Oh I'm so glad." 
 
 Dick: "Glad." 
 
 Janet: "Er er I didn't mean that but do you 
 like her?" 
 
 Dick : "Like her I tell you Janet I wouldn't marry 
 her if she were the last girl on earth." 
 
 Janet: "Oh Dick I feel so happy." 
 
 Dick : "Happy Why " 
 
 159
 
 Janet: "Yes You see I didn't want you to be un- 
 happy, and it must be so dreadful to have to marry 
 people who are chromes and that you don't love." 
 
 Dick: "There's only one girl I want to marry, 
 Janet." 
 
 Janet: (Aside) "I'm afraid to ask him. (Aloud) 
 May I ask who she is, Dick?" 
 
 Dick : "She has a voice like music and her eyes are 
 like stars. She is always dainty and neat and she has 
 a smile for everyone." 
 
 Janet: "Oh what a charming picture you've 
 drawn. I wonder what her name is." 
 
 Dick: "Her name is Janet." 
 
 Janet: "Oh do you mean me why I'm only the 
 daughter of your landlady, you know, and we are 
 very poor it is not at all wise for you to fall in love 
 with me." 
 
 Dick: "You're the girl for me, Janet." 
 
 Janet : "Let's see. Last year it was Mabel Jones 
 the year before Daisy Dean and the year before that 
 " as Janet talks, Dick looks at pictures and throws 
 them down, one by one. 
 
 Dick: "Come, come don't be cruel. This time I 
 know my own mind." 
 
 Janet: "Really and truly? Well I'm very happy 
 Now if I were only in a story book or in a play Dick, 
 I'd turn out to be the Princess in disguise." 
 
 Dick: "I don't want a princess. I want you. A 
 sweet, American girl is better than any princess that 
 ever lived." 
 
 Janet : "Oh Dick, that sounds lovely you talk just 
 like a hero in a novel. But your Uncle says you must 
 marry Louisa Allen." 
 
 Dick: "Well, I won't. He can keep his money." 
 
 Janet : "Maybe we can persuade him to change his 
 mind." 
 
 Dick: "Never. You don't know my Uncle. He's 
 made up his mind I'm a reprobate and that settles it. 
 Nothing ever moves him when his mind is made up." 
 
 160
 
 Janet : "Dear, dear, if we could only think of some- 
 thing. But then your Uncle may come at any minute. 
 And look at this room." (Runs about tidying up the 
 room.) 
 
 Dick: "Heavens! Let's turn these posters to the 
 wall." (On the other side are mottos, "There is no 
 place like home," "Be good and you will be happy," 
 etc.) (Turning over a poster reads aloud) "There 
 is no place like home." (He and Janet laugh merrily.) 
 (Turns over another poster reads aloud,) "Be good 
 and you will be happy." (Assumes a saintly expres- 
 sion, looks at Janet and they both laugh.) (Dick turns 
 over third poster the back is blank.) "What shall 
 we do with this?" 
 
 Janet: "Why, write one, Dick." 
 
 Dick : (Thinks a moment then writes) "God bless 
 our Uncle" (repeating as he writes). 
 
 Dick: (Seeing the bottles) "Wough! Bottles!" 
 (Runs to table and throws them under it, then goes 
 back to couch and straightens up pillows.) "There 
 now, that ought to make a good impression on the old 
 gentleman." 
 
 Janet: "I should say so." "Oh Dick I have an 
 idea. Here is that red gown you wore in the college 
 play. Well run away and put this on and we will see 
 if we cannot make your Uncle come to terms." 
 
 Dick: "But my Uncle loathes private theatricals." 
 
 Janet: "Oh! but you are to be Birdie Highflyer of 
 the Boston Kickers Company, just as you were in the 
 play. You come in and make real love to him. He 
 will never know you." 
 
 Dick : "Janet, you're a jewel. I'll try it." 
 
 (Exit Dick.) 
 
 Janet: "And to think that Dick loves me. Well 
 I'd do anything to keep him from marrying that Louisa 
 Allen. When that Uncle of his comes I'll pretend to 
 be the maid. All's fair in love and war they say." 
 (Janet sings at close of song and dance, she says,) 
 
 161
 
 "Now for my part of the maid." (Takes off hat, veil 
 and auto coat, humming the air of her song as she 
 does so. Looks about takes little white bow from her 
 neck and pins upon her hair, then looks about 
 catches up tidy from chair and puts over her dress for 
 an apron. Then music starts up and she does her 
 dance. 
 
 (Enter Mr. Richard Hamilton. Janet is dancing 
 about.) 
 
 Uncle Richard (severely) : "Young woman, who 
 are you?" 
 
 Janet: "Why I er I I am only the maid, sir." 
 
 Uncle Richard: "And is this the way the maids 
 perform in my nephew's room? Just as I thought. 
 This room is a den of iniquity." (Goes about.) 
 
 Janet: "Oh, I'm sure you wrong your nephew, sir. 
 He seems like a very well behaved young man. I am 
 sure this is a very proper room, sir. See all his books 
 and his mandolin, and those lovely mottoes on the 
 wall" 
 
 Uncle R.: (Adjusts his glasses reads) "Um, 'Be 
 good and you will be happy.' Well, that doesn't sound 
 so bad" (reads) "There is no place like home." 
 
 Janet : "Now that doesn't sound very wicked, does 
 it, sir? There is one about you sir see." (Reads) 
 "God bless our Uncle." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Humph ! Well maybe I've been a little 
 hard on him." (Starts to turn over the posters.) 
 
 Janet : "Oh don't turn that over sir no er dusty 
 on the back. I forgot to dust it this morning, sir." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Turns it over displaying the gay poster 
 of an actress in tights) (Angrily) "God Bless our 
 Uncle" eh let's see the rest of these choice mottoes 
 (turns them over one by one.) "They're all dusty on 
 the back are they? Proper young man eh? Loves his 
 Uncle so much does he? Would a proper young man 
 have creatures like these in his room? I'll tell you 
 my money will not support such folly and dissipation 
 
 162
 
 (strikes hand on the table scattering deck of cards. 
 Picks up cards). Ah-ha gambling implements Nice, 
 well-behaved young man, eh? (Foot strikes bottles 
 under the table) What's this, bottles? Wine suppers 
 to those creatures on the wall. Where is my nephew?" 
 
 Janet: "Please sir, he went out. I'll see if I can 
 find him. I think he expected you." 
 
 (Exit Janet.) 
 
 Uncle R.: "Expected me? Evidently. When he 
 tried to hide the traces of his revels. A fine channel 
 for my hard earned dollars. (Walks about excitedly) 
 I've no patience with such nonsense." 
 
 (Enter Dick attired in a gay, muchly beruffled cos- 
 tume, hat and blonde wig. Made up like a woman.) 
 (Dick trips up to his Uncle and slaps him on the back.) 
 
 Dick: "Dickie, old boy, how are you? I've just 
 come over from the rehearsal at the Pickaboo." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Young woman, how dare you?" 
 
 Dick: (Leans against his Uncle). "Come old fel 
 got a grouch, honey? There now, does its head ache 
 Dickie-bird?" 
 
 Uncle R. : "This is not your Dickey-bird. I am 
 Richard Hamilton, Esq. Unfortunately an uncle of 
 your Dickey-bird as you call him." 
 
 Dick: "Come off, none of your joshing." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Explosively) "Young woman, I I " 
 
 Dick: (Looking at him) "Well it ain't Dickey after 
 all. You don't mean tp say you're Dick's uncle I 
 wouldn't believe you in a thousand years. You look 
 too young." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Ahem ! Yes er well I was his father's 
 younger brother, much younger." 
 
 Dick: "Well I guess yes. No wonder Dick doesn't 
 say much to us girls about you." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Doesn't say much about me eh?" 
 
 Dick: "Why no. You'd be a dangerous rival. 
 Why Dick's only a kid and do you suppose the girls 
 would look at him if you were around? Not on your 
 tintype." 
 
 163
 
 Uncle R. : "Well I used to be quite a lad quite a 
 lad, girlie er I mean young woman. I don't approve 
 of creatures of your sort." 
 
 Dick : "Of course you don't approve of us, but then 
 you like us now don't you?" (Chucks him under the 
 chin) "A man with handsome eyes like yours knows 
 something about flirting, eh?" 
 
 Uncle R. : (Chuckling) "Well I used to be quite a 
 lad" 
 
 Dick: "Used to be come come you're just in 
 your prime. You can't fool me tootsey " 
 
 Uncle R. : (Immensely pleased) "She called me 
 tootsey why " 
 
 Dick: "You're a regular terror with the ladies dar- 
 ling now ain't you?" (Pokes him in the ribs, giggles 
 and leans against him.) 
 
 Uncle R. : (Chuckles and puts his arm around Dick) 
 "You're a very charming girl Miss a " 
 
 Dick: "Birdie Highflyer." 
 
 Uncle R.: "Birdie That's a sweet name." 
 
 Dick: "And your name darling, is it Dickie, too?" 
 
 Uncle R. : "My name is Richard, little girl " 
 
 Dick: "Richard. That is too old and sober I am 
 going to call you tootsey Say I've got an awful thirst 
 Tootsey. Let's have some Scotch. I know where it 
 is." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Er er little one my nephew Dick 
 might come." 
 
 Dick: (Aside) "Foxy old duck. All he's afraid 
 of is being caught. Don't you worry, you'll hear Dickie 
 Junior long before he comes. He's a sad dog, Dickie 
 is, and will probably be so drunk he won't know you." 
 
 (Dick sits on couch beside his uncle.) 
 
 Dick: "Say, your hair curls, don't it? How cute!" 
 (Runs hands through uncle's hair.) 
 
 Uncle R.: "Um do that again." 
 
 Dick: (Takes out cigarette case) "Smoke, Toot- 
 sey?" 
 
 164
 
 Uncle R. : "No, not now, my Doctor said I must 
 quit." 
 
 Dick: Quit! As young as you are. Come, have 
 a smoke, shall we? (Lights cigarette) "Now, I'll take 
 a puff, dearie" (puffs) "Then you take a puff." (Puts 
 cigarette in uncle's mouth) "Then I'll take a puff, then 
 you take a puff. Isn't that nice, Tootsey? (Drops 
 head on Uncle's shoulder) "Ah, those kids may do 
 for some girls, but they are so silly." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Smiling foolishly and putting his arm 
 around her) "I see you are a young lady of great judg- 
 ment, Birdie Darling. Let me hold these dear little 
 hands. Where do you dance? "Didn't you say you 
 were an actress?" 
 
 Dick : "You can find me any day by waiting at the 
 stage entrance of the "Peek-a-boo theatre. I do the 
 high kick act." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Er er, little girl would you mind show- 
 ing me?" 
 
 Dick: (Aside) "The old reprobate." (Jumps up 
 and begins to dance.) 
 
 Uncle R.: (Keeping time) "Great! Great!" 
 
 Dick : "Come on old boy, join me. I bet you could 
 do this." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Jumps up and starts to dance and kick 
 his rheumatism catching him now and then.) 
 
 Dick: "Go on go on, Tootsey, old chap you can 
 beat the kids all hollow." 
 
 (Enter Janet. Stands back of stage laughing, then 
 comes forward.) 
 
 Janet: (Coming forward) "Well! This is a nice 
 performance for an old man like you coming here 
 calling yourself Mr. Dick's uncle and bringing this 
 brazen creature. I'll tell Mr. Dick the minute he 
 comes home." 
 
 Uncle R. : "I didn't bring this young person." 
 
 Dick: "Young person, indeed! Old mossback." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Angrily) "Old mossback How dare 
 you." 
 
 165
 
 Janet: "You'd better leave the place before Mr. 
 Dick comes." 
 
 Dick: "Oh slush Miss Prim. I'm sure I've no 
 wish to stay." (To Uncle R.) "Ta-ta old dovie." 
 
 (Exit Dick.) 
 
 Janet : "A nice kind of an uncle you are." 
 
 Uncle R. : "But my dear young lady." 
 
 Janet: "Don't my dear young lady me." 
 
 Uncle R. : "That's one of my nephew's friends I 
 didn't bring her here." 
 
 Janet : "Don't try to hoodwink me. I guess I know 
 Mr. Dick's friends, and a nice quiet-spoken, well be- 
 haved lot of young men they are too." 
 
 Uncle R. : "That young lady told me she was a 
 friend of my nephew's. I was remonstrating with her 
 on her mode of dancing." 
 
 Janet: "Remonstrating An excellent way to give 
 fatherly advice. Kicking your heels in the air you 
 ought to be ashamed at your age." 
 
 Uncle R. : "At my age I tell you I'm not so very 
 old." 
 
 Janet: "You are old enough. Just wait until Mr. 
 Dick comes." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Where are my hat and stick? I must be 
 going. I have an appointment right away." 
 
 Janet: "With another actress, I suppose. So you 
 are the uncle who made Dick feel so bad when he re- 
 ceived that dreadful letter. A fine guardian you are 
 for a young man." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Er young lady " 
 
 Janet: "My name is Janet." 
 
 Uncle R.: (Taking a $5.00 bill from his pocket) 
 "Janet, don't you like candy?" 
 
 Janet: "You cannot bribe me, sir. I am neither a 
 railway president nor a city alderman." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Taking out ten more) "You are a very 
 pretty girl, do you know it? Maybe you need a new 
 dress." 
 
 106
 
 Janet : "I have all the clothes I wish, thank you." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Taking out ten more) "Or some nice 
 furs. It is going to be a very cold winter, they say." 
 
 Janet : "It will be warm .enough for you when Mr. 
 Dick finds out what sort of an uncle he has." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Come, come, my girl, don't be hard on 
 me. What will you take to keep this little matter from 
 my nephew?" 
 
 Janet: "I'll tell you. Poor Dick was heart-broken 
 over your letter. Will you promise not to disinherit 
 him?" 
 
 Uncle R.: "Yes, yes. I'll promise." 
 
 Janet: "And you will let him marry any one he 
 wants to marry?" 
 
 Uncle R. : "Yes, yes, I'll promise anything." 
 (Enter Dick in propria persona.) 
 
 Dick: "Why, hello, Uncle Richard. Awful glad to 
 see you. When did you get here? Hope I haven't kept 
 you long." 
 
 Uncle R. : "No, no, I've been looking about. I 
 really er didn't have time to miss you." 
 
 Dick : "Say, Uncle, I was awfully cut up about your 
 letter." 
 
 Uncle R.: "Forget it, my dear nephew, forget it. 
 Tell the truth I wasn't feeling well when I wrote that 
 letter." 
 
 Dick : "I confess I've been a little wild." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Never mind, my dear boy. Why every 
 chap must sow a few wild oats, and Dick, my lad, I've 
 decided to leave you all my money." 
 
 Dick : "Oh, Uncle, how generous." 
 
 Uncle R. : "Yes, yes, my lad, and I've decided you 
 needn't marry Louisa Allen. Pick your own wife, 
 Dick. That's the only way to be happy." 
 
 Dick: (clasping his hand) "Uncle, you are a brick. 
 Well, then if I may pick my own wife there's just one 
 girl for me." (Calls Janet.) 
 
 Janet: "Yes, Dick." 
 
 167
 
 Dick: "Uncle, here's the dearest little girl in the 
 world." 
 
 Uncle R: "That's the Maid." 
 
 Dick: "No, my landlady's daughter." 
 
 Uncle R. : (Aside) "The sly minx. I bet she knew 
 he was in love with her." (Aloud) "And a very pretty 
 young miss she is, too. May I kiss my new niece that 
 is to be?" (Kisses her.) "There, now I guess we un- 
 derstand each other." 
 
 Janet : "Oh, I am quite sure we all understand one 
 another very well." (Goes to Dick) "And I'll accept 
 your offer, Dick, because you know 'Two Heads are 
 better than one.' "
 
 THE WIDOW FLIGHTLY'S GOOD-BYE CALL. 
 
 How are you, dear? Viola and I just ran in a mo- 
 ment to say good-bye to you and Lois before we go. 
 When are we going? Thursday. Isn't it warm to- 
 day? It makes me long for the country and to get 
 away from the hot, dusty town. 
 
 Where are you and Lois going this summer? 
 What's that? You haven't thought of it? May not go 
 away at all? Why, my dear, I've been getting ready 
 for some time. We are going to the seashore and 
 one has to be rather dressy there, you know. I have 
 twenty new gowns, I think twenty-four isn't it, Viola 
 love? What did you say? Two a day for two weeks? 
 And then we'll go to another resort? What an absurd 
 child. Why should I do that? So that I won't have 
 to wear the same gown twice at one resort? Now 
 that will do, that sounds impertinent. You are too 
 precocious entirely for a girl of your age. When you 
 are older I hope you will have more sense never mind 
 about your age. What did you say? Mrs. Maxwell 
 said I kept you in short clothes to make myself look 
 younger? Well, Mrs. Maxwell is a jealous, disagree- 
 able creature. What? Said that you wouldn't have a 
 chance to be a young lady until I was married a sec- 
 ond time? I don't want to hear any more I came to 
 call upon Mrs. Stewart and I don't care to hear Mrs. 
 Maxwell's wretched gossip. 
 
 Now, really, my dear Mrs. Stewart, you can't mean 
 what you say that you may not go away at all ? Why, 
 no one ever stays in town in summer but grocers' 
 clerks and people who live in flats. What's that, 
 Viola? We live in a flat? Never let me hear you say 
 that again we live in an apartment. But, my dear 
 
 169
 
 Mrs. Stewart, surely you are not going to remain in 
 town during the hot weather? Why, I do hope, dear, 
 the talk I've heard isn't true. Oh, never mind what it 
 is, just foolish rumor why nothing, really. Just that 
 you won't mind? Well, that Mr. Stewart had lost 
 money in a mining venture. Of course I knew it 
 wasn't true. Why, Viola, child, how can you say 
 that? That I said I thought it was true and I came 
 over to find out? What foolishness I wish you to 
 stop talking let older people talk, young persons 
 should listen. What did you say, Mrs. Stewart? One 
 is better off at home well cooked food and comfort- 
 able beds? But, my dear, think how people will talk. 
 Why, they may say you have really lost money. 
 People talk at a summer resort? Sit on the veranda 
 and gossip all day? Be quiet, Viola. Criticise the 
 women's clothes, and wonder if people are somebodies 
 or just pretenders? Where do you get your precocious 
 ideas from? Get angry with the woman who corrals 
 the only man? Why, I never heard such talk in my 
 life. For a girl of sixteen you are entirely too know- 
 ing Heavens, don't let me hear you say that again, 
 Viola. I feel faint. How dare Mrs. Maxwell say that 
 you were twenty? Give me my smelling salts quick. 
 Don't give me a shock like that again of course I'm 
 not fifty. Really, Viola is getting so rude that the only 
 comfort I have is in Midget. Isn't she a darling little 
 dog, Mrs. Stewart? Look at those pink ears blessed 
 own sweetness. Mrs. Maxwell said I acted like a fool 
 over the dog? How many times have I told you not 
 to repeat what Mrs. Maxwell says? I don't care if she 
 did say you had no chance when I was around. I be- 
 lieve in keeping a child a child. Well, my dear Mrs. 
 Stewart, we must be going we'll probably run in be- 
 fore we go away, if we have a chance. I'll write when 
 we are located and let you know what a lovely cool 
 place we have secured. 
 
 Do you know, dearie, I am almost inclined to envy 
 
 170
 
 y*ou? Your beds will be so much more comfortable 
 and your table better. Of course, when it's very hot 
 you will have to stay indoors and the city is wretchedly 
 desolate when everybody who is anybody is out of 
 town. Really, you know, my dear, I imagine it would 
 be quite a novel experience staying in town in sum- 
 mer. And then it isn't as though you were compelled 
 to, because you couldn't afford it. I'm so glad that 
 rumor isn't true. You look a little pale, love, really, 
 you ought to get out into the fresh air. Come, Viola, 
 and Midgy, mamma's little tootsy-wootsy of a doggie. 
 Does it want to go? Good-bye, dear, and you, dear 
 Lois. 
 
 I hope it won't be too hot this summer. I'll write 
 and I'm so glad those rumors aren't true. Come 
 tootsy. Look at the little love, she really knows every 
 word I say, the lamb ! Good-bye. Well, now that the 
 door is closed on those people, I'll tell you one thing, 
 Viola. That rumor is perfectly true and I know it. 
 Home, John. 
 
 171
 
 "MAMMY LIZA." 
 A Play in One Act. 
 
 Cast of Characters: 
 
 Miss Elizabeth 
 
 Little Blanche 
 
 Ralph 
 
 Mammy Liza 
 
 Scene Out of doors A summer garden At the 
 left an old southern home with vine-covered porch 
 Mammy Liza sits on a garden bench busily engaged 
 in chopping cabbage in a large wooden bowl. Blanche, 
 a little girl, daintily clad in white, sits on the grass at 
 her feet, dressing a large doll. 
 
 Mammy Liza (singing at rise of the curtain) : 
 
 "Come, sinner, come, an' heah yo' doom, 
 The Devil's gwine to kotch yo." 
 
 Blanche: "What are you making, Mammy Liza?" 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Col' slaw, lamb. We's gwine to 
 have it fur supper. Bet yo can't guess what else we's 
 gwine have." 
 
 Blanche: "Urn let's see some oh some nice, 
 hot cinmun rolls." 
 
 Mammy Liza : "Now, if yo ain't the smartes' chile. 
 How yo' guess dat?" 
 
 Blanche (looking up archly) : "Cause we have 'em 
 every night, Mammy Liza." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Dat's so, Baby Lamb My, how 
 much yo' looks like yo' ma acts jes' like her, too Do 
 yo' know, honey, it jes' seems like the years had done 
 rolled back and yo' ma was settin' there stid of you 
 
 172
 
 she was the sweetes', danties' bit of a slip of a gal' jes' 
 like yo' is fer all de worl' Same name, too, name of 
 Blanche Yo' know yo' Gran'ma she died and lef yo' 
 to the care of yo' aunt, Miss 'Lizabeth Well, Miss 
 'Lizabeth she wa'n no more'n fo' years older'n yo' ma 
 but she jes' keered fur her like a mother and when yo' 
 pa married yo' ma Miss 'Lizabeth's heart was mos' 
 busted and then yo' ma died, and Miss 'Lizabeth she's 
 had yo' ever since and yo' pa's been traveling round, so 
 it seems like we was jes' whar we started 'cept Miss 
 "Lizabeth she's older and quieter like " 
 
 Blanche : "Mammy, dear, don't forget the story." 
 Mammy: "I was jes' a reministincin' guess I'm 
 gettin' old when folks gits old they allus reministinces 
 in the past. Did yo' never hear 'bout how the folks all 
 got white?" 
 
 Blanche : "Well, I've most forgot it tell it again." 
 Mammy: "Well, all de folkses in dis worl' was 
 black once. Adam he was black and Eve she was 
 black and Abraham he was black and Rachel and Re- 
 becca and Noah and all his folks was black. Well, de 
 Lawd He say to Moses Ef yo' folks down dere want's 
 to git white, why yo' jes' go to a certain brook and yo' 
 wash and yo'll git white as snow. Well, when Moses 
 done tole de folks dat dey all went runnin" lickety split 
 to de brook and de first ones dat got dar dey plunged in 
 and come out all white well, de next set dat was come 
 all found de water a little muddey, so when dey wash 
 dey come out pale yellow and de third lot dey found 
 de water still dirtier and kin' of muddle up and muddy 
 from the tramp of so many feet, so dey was only a kind 
 of a pretty brown when dey come out well, de last 
 folks dat come dey found de brook so muddled up dat it 
 want more'n a dirty streak of water and dey only had a 
 chance to wash de soles oj: dere foots and de palms of 
 dere hands, so dat's de reason dat black fokes allus has 
 light palms and soles."* 
 
 *A Negro Leg-end. 
 
 173
 
 Blanche (jumping up and throwing her arms around 
 Mammy Liza) : "Oh, mammy, I'm so glad you 
 couldn't get washed, because I like you better just as 
 you are." 
 
 Mammy : "Jes' hear dat chile. Bless yo' little soul." 
 
 (Enter Elizabeth, carrying a basket and a pair of 
 shears.) 
 
 Elizabeth: "What more stories?" 
 
 Mammy: "Lord, yes, honey I done used up mos' 
 all de dictionary today tellin' stories." 
 
 Blanche : "Oh, aunty, dear, let me go cut the flowers 
 for the table" (runs to her aunt). 
 
 Elizabeth: "You won't snip your fingers?" 
 
 Blanche : "Not a tiny snip." 
 
 Elizabeth: "Look out for the thorns, dear." 
 
 Blanche: "Yes, aunty." 
 
 (Exit Blanche, skipping and singing.) 
 
 Mammy: "Lord, honey, ain't dat chile de sweetes' 
 thing?" 
 
 Elizabeth: "What would I do without her, 
 mammy? Sometimes I'm afraid " 
 
 Mammy: "What yo' afeard of, honey?" 
 
 Elizabeth : "I'm afraid of the time when I may have 
 will have to give her up. Oh, mammy, it seems as 
 though I could never live if she were taken from me." 
 (Goes to mammy and puts her head in her lap.) 
 
 Mammy : "There, there, honey, don't yo' git panicky 
 I've been kin' of panicky myself all day seemed like 
 somethin' was goin' to happen kase I heard a blue 
 jay this mornin' when I got up and you know all de 
 blue jays goes to hell every Thursday night and don't 
 git round agin till de next Monday. I say, 'Um-humph, 
 Mr. Blue Jay, yo' ain't round fur no good it's bad 
 luck/ " 
 
 Elizabeth: "Oh, I don't mind about the blue jay, 
 mammy, dear. I'm not superstitious but somehow my 
 heart feels heavy I don't believe I could bear to lose 
 Blanche. You know how much I loved the other 
 
 174
 
 Blanche and when she married and went away well. 
 I dare not think of the time I spent so many, many 
 lonely hours." 
 
 Mammy : "Do you know, honey, dat I used to think 
 dat yo' and Mars Ralph was in love with each other?" 
 
 Elizabeth (rising) : "Why, mammy, what made you 
 think that?" 
 
 Mammy: "Well, it used to 'pear like yo' all was 
 kind of thick and fus' thing I knowed Mars Ralph went 
 away and when he come back Miss Blanche she had 
 growed up and yo' all didn't seem so thick the fus' 
 thing I knowed Miss Blanche and Mars Ralph was 
 married and went away." 
 
 Elizabeth: "Yes, it was better so Blanche was 
 such a gentle soul she loved Ralph with all her heart 
 and her little one is mine now just like my own." 
 
 Mammy : "Pears kin' of queer like honey dat you 
 ain't never married Dere was several would liked to 
 had yo'." 
 
 Elizabeth: "I shall never marry, mammy dear." 
 
 Mammy: "Well, I dunno, but it's jes' as well. 
 Marryin' ain't what it's cracked up to be. Now I've 
 had fo' husbands and dey want none of 'em no 'count 
 shif'less whew! I think de wust one was Abraham 
 Napoleon Bonaparte Washington lazy ! Lawd he 
 was too lazy to lif his feet. De only reason I married 
 him was 'cause I liked his name Mrs. Abraham Napo- 
 leon Bonaparte Washington it used to make me feel 
 kin' of sot up. He used to wait on table when yo' all 
 was little 'member him? And sure's fate he'd go to 
 sleep shooin' flies and flop de fly bresh in everybody's 
 face Well old Marster says to him one day, 'Here yo' 
 Abraham yo' rascal yo' go to yo' cabin and go to sleep 
 and don't yo' git up 'till yo' gets your sleep through' 
 and Abraham he goes to the cabin and he sleeps three 
 days and three nights, and when he come back yo' 
 think dat nigger didn't fall 'sleep jes' de same as ever 
 'round de table?" 
 
 175
 
 (Enter Blanche with a basket of flowers runs to 
 aunt) . 
 
 Blanche: "Aunty dear, here are all the flowers for 
 the tables, and I've picked a lot of daisies to make a 
 daisy crown Sit down now and I am going to crown 
 you Queen of the Springtime and Mammy I'll crown 
 Queen of the May." (Pulls her aunt down upon the 
 ground). 
 
 Mammy (laughing heartily) : "Lord honey what 
 yo' 'spose I'd look like Queen of May I'll bust my 
 sides laughing at dat child I must go and see 'bout 
 supper Whoopee ! I've been foolin' long enough." 
 
 (Exit) (singing). 
 
 "Come, sinner, come and heah yo' doom, 
 De devil's gwine to cotch yo' 
 Dey say in hell there's lots of room 
 Ain't yo' sorry dat he's got yo' ? " 
 
 Blanche (decorating her aunt) : "Oh Aunty dear, 
 how darling you look" (dances about her). "Now 
 you are the Queen and I am your subject (kneels). 
 Oh dear sweet beautiful Queen grant my request." 
 
 Elizabeth: "Even to the half of my kingdom, dear 
 heart." 
 
 Blanche (rising) : "Then don't ever let me go 
 away from you." 
 
 Elizabeth (rising) : "Why, precious pet, what 
 makes you talk so of course I won't let you go away." 
 (Embraces Blanche.) 
 
 (Enter Ralph wearing a long travelling ulster and 
 cap and carrying suit case.) 
 
 Ralph : "I am sure I have come right into the court 
 of the Queen of May " 
 
 Elizabeth : "Ralph I did not dream you were any- 
 where near when did you return why did you not 
 write?" (pulls the wreath from her head). 
 
 Ralph: "I wanted to surprise you and Blanche, 
 my darling, don't you know me?" 
 
 1TG
 
 Blanche (running to him) : "Of course I do, papa 
 dearest." (Ralph takes Blanche in his arms.) 
 
 Elizabeth: "And how brown you have grown." 
 
 Ralph: "Well three years' travel bronzes a man's 
 face three years is a long time." 
 
 Elizabeth (slowly) : "Yes, three years is a long 
 time." 
 
 Blanche: "Papa dear, it's been so long that I 
 thought you had quite forgotten me." 
 
 Ralph (taking off coat and sitting down) : "I 
 could never forget my little daughter. I've been 
 travelling in so many lands, and oh I have so much to 
 tell you." 
 
 Blanche (sitting in his lap) : "And have you seen 
 giants and ogres and fairies?" 
 
 Elizabeth (seated in garden chair) : "Oh dear me, 
 I can see the effects of mammy's wild tales" (arranges 
 the flowers for the table as she talks). 
 
 Ralph: "No, I haven't seen giants and ogres, etc., 
 but I've seen things just as wonderful queer almond 
 eyed Chinese and Indian jugglers, white elephants, 
 and, oh dear, it would take too long to tell all in a min- 
 ute." 
 
 Blanche: "And papa I have lots to tell you too 
 I have the darlingest white kitten." 
 
 Ralph: "Just like yourself sweetheart." 
 
 Blanche: "And I have five new dolls (runs and 
 gets her doll) . This is my bestest and I call her Eliza- 
 beth Ralph Mammy "Liza" 
 
 Ralph : "Is not that a remarkable name ?" 
 
 Elizabeth: "Blanche's dolls have most original 
 names." 
 
 Blanche : "She is very smart too she can read and 
 write and count way up to one hundred." 
 
 Ralph: "Well, well a most accomplished dolly 
 that will be quite a family to begin housekeeping with, 
 for now I am going to settle down and be a regular 
 family man and you and I and the dolls will keep 
 house." 
 
 177
 
 Blanche: "And Aunt Elizabeth." 
 
 Ralph : "Ah but Aunt Elizabeth has been bothered 
 with the care of a little girl long enough and so I am 
 going to take you away." 
 
 Elizabeth (rising slowly) : "You are going to take 
 her away?" 
 
 Ralph: "Yes, I've been selfish long enough, dear 
 Elizabeth so I'm going to relieve you of the care of 
 Blanche." 
 
 Elizabeth (bitterly) : "Relieve me of the care of 
 Blanche for three years I've been father, mother all 
 in all to her. My life has been wrapped up in her well- 
 being and you talk of relieving me of her care." 
 
 Blanche: "Oh, papa, you don't mean to take me 
 away?" (Jumps from his lap and runs to Elizabeth.) 
 "I never, never will go away from dear auntie. She 
 must come with us." 
 
 Ralph (rising) : "Elizabeth, you do not understand. 
 Do you suppose that I am such an ungrateful wretch 
 that I do not appreciate to the full all of your tender- 
 ness and love for my motherless baby ? But I must go 
 away. I cannot live here and you cannot come with 
 us." 
 
 Elizabeth: "No, I cannot come with you. All my 
 life has been thus. I have had to give up always that 
 which my heart has most desired. So I must let my 
 darling child go." 
 
 Ralph: "Elizabeth, I did not know you would feel 
 so. I will go away again." 
 
 Blanche: "No, no, papa dear, you must stay here, 
 or auntie must go with us. I want you both." 
 
 (Enter Mammy Liza, humming) "Come, sinner, 
 come and hear your doom" (pauses seeing Ralph). 
 "Fo' de Lawd's sake, ef dar ain't Marse Ralph. Why, 
 honey, de sight of yo' am good fo' sore eyes, and how 
 brown yo' is. I 'spect what yo' don't know 'bout 
 gografy since yo' ben travelin' 'round so much, ain't 
 worth tellin', am it?" 
 
 178
 
 (Exit Elizabeth followed by Blanche.) 
 
 Ralph: "Well, I don't know, Mammy, I've seen a 
 good deal." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "An' now you're gwine to settle 
 down once mo', ain't yo', honey?" 
 
 Ralph: "Why, yes, Mammy, I came for Blanche." 
 
 Mammy Liza (in amazement) : "Yo' come fo' 
 Blanche?" 
 
 Ralph: "Yes, I feel that I've taxed Miss Elizabeth's 
 kindness too long." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Why, Marse Ralph, yo' certainly 
 dun got yo' brain twisted buzzin' 'round dis globe. 
 Don' yo' know it would bust Miss Lizabeth's heart ef 
 yo' took away dat chile?" 
 
 Ralph: "Well, what am I to do, Mammy? I can't 
 stay here." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Why can't yo' stay heah, Marse 
 Ralph, I'de like to know?" 
 
 Ralph: "This is Miss Elizabeth's home, and, well, 
 there are many reasons, Mammy." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Look heah, boy, I've knowed yo' a 
 long time, why, I used to spank yo' when yo' Ma 
 warn't feelin' well. Now I'm gwine to tell yo' some- 
 thin'. Yo' ain't got no right to bust Miss Lizabeth's 
 heart twice." 
 
 Ralph: "Twice? I don't understand, Mammy." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Dis yere travelin' do sur' have a 
 bad effect. 'Member a little story I used to tell yo' 
 when yo' was a boy about Bre'r Mole and how he went 
 a travelin' and a travelin's in search of a wife and all 
 the time there was a neat, little mole waitin' fer him 
 at home but he couldn't see her becase he was too 
 blind?" 
 
 (Enter Elizabeth.) 
 
 Elizabeth : "Mammy Liza, I think we ought to have 
 an early supper. Ralph must be very tired." 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Yes, yes, honey, it's most ready. 
 I dun forgot everything when I saw Marse Ralph." 
 
 17O
 
 (Exits singing) 
 
 "Oh, Lawd, please open my blind eyes and help me 
 fer to see, 
 
 Bar's lots of good, redeemin' grace awaitin' round 
 fer me." 
 
 Ralph: "Elizabeth, I wonder if I've been blind?" 
 
 Elizabeth : "Blind ! I don't understand." 
 
 Ralph: "Elizabeth, years ago I believed that you 
 were to be my wife, then we quarreled and I went 
 away. When I came again, the other Blanche had 
 grown to womanhood and you had become indifferent, 
 you held me aloof. We drifted apart and then 
 Blanche and I were married and when Blanche died 
 I brought our little one to you. Away down in my 
 heart I think I have always cared." 
 
 Elizabeth: "You cannot mean " 
 
 Ralph: "I mean I've always cared for the woman 
 to whom my first vows were pledged." 
 
 Elizabeth: "Blanche loved you and I thought you 
 no longer cared for me and so I hid my heart from 
 you." 
 
 Ralph: "Elizabeth, do you mean that it was be- 
 cause of the other Blanche?" 
 
 Elizabeth: "Yes. I dared not break her heart." 
 
 Ralph: "And you have always cared?" 
 
 Elizabeth : "Always." 
 
 Ralph (putting out his hands) : "And you will come 
 with us with little Blanche and me?" 
 
 Elizabeth: "Yes." 
 
 (Mammy Liza opens door of the cottage and calls) 
 "Supper." ' 
 
 (Ralph and Elizabeth are standing absorbed in one 
 another and do not heed her.) 
 
 Mammy Liza: "Humph 'pears to me from the 
 signs I see dat Marse Ralph dun got his second sight 
 and dat Miss Lizabeth dun changed her opinion and 
 ain't gwine to take my advice 'bout marryin'." 
 (Curtain.)
 
 "THE BRIDE AND THE HOMEMAKER." 
 
 Of course, I don't say, Bernice, dearie, that I know 
 everything about servants after being married a year, 
 but really, dear, I've had enough experience, in twelve 
 months, of the awful servant question to fill a good- 
 sized book. You know Rob and I came back from our 
 honey-moon all enthusiastic about housekeeping. 
 Help yourself to chocolates, honey, and curl up on that 
 sofa. It's so jolly to see you again, that it quite livens 
 one up and seriously, Bernice, I've been worn to a 
 frazzle over maids. 
 
 Well, as I said before, we came to our little flat and 
 it was so much fun arranging our lovely gifts that life 
 seemed a joy until Huldah came. Huldah was a raw, 
 green product just over. I determined to take a green 
 girl and teach her my ways. You know I went to 
 cooking school and I thought I would bring up a girl 
 in the way she should go. 
 
 Huldah couldn't understand a word of English and 
 I thought it would be such fun to teach her. Oh 
 Heavens! Such a time as I had! I said the same 
 words over and over until I began to converse like a 
 Pre- Adamite in words of one syllable, or like a Robin- 
 son Crusoe Book for Children. Did you ever try to 
 teach a green girl to talk, United States (Rob calls 
 it) ? Well, don't, dearie, if you wish to retain your 
 own mental poise. On Huldah's first wash day, I went 
 down into the laundry, thinking it would be a good 
 time for an English lesson, a practical demonstration, 
 just as they do in school. 
 
 "Wash, Huldah," said I, making the motion of 
 washing and repeating the action several times 
 "Wash" "Wash." She kept nodding her head in 
 
 181
 
 time to my motions "Jes" "Jes" until I thought 
 she thoroughly understood. 
 
 "Iron" "Iron, Huldah," I said again, taking the 
 next step to teach the two together, and making the 
 motions as if ironing. "Iron" "Iron." 
 
 This seemed a little harder, but finally a ray of in- 
 telligence came into the blank face. A smile began to 
 creep round her mouth and finally lit up her whole 
 face Rob said her mouth was a good share of her 
 face anyhow. She nodded like a Chinese Mandarin 
 "Jes, Jes, Jes," she said over and over. I went up- 
 stairs quite elated at my success. 
 
 That night Huldah's cousin, of whom she was very 
 proud, came over. Huldah's cousin had been in this 
 country about six years and was a prodigy of learn- 
 ing in Huldah's eyes. For a long time I heard them 
 jabbering excitedly in Swedish. Then I went into the 
 kitchen to give instructions for breakfast. "Oh, Mis' 
 Curtees," said Huldah's cousin, "Huldah say you tell 
 her sometings today." 
 
 "Yes," I answered, quite pleased with myself, "Hul- 
 dah is going to learn fast, I think." 
 
 "Jes," went on Huldah's cousin, "Huldah say you 
 talk much you so kind, an' not proud. She say you 
 tell her today you used to vork in a laundry vunce." 
 
 Imagine how I felt, Bernice. All my efforts for 
 nothing. And then she told it to the Swede girl down 
 stairs and pretty soon it was repeated all over the 
 building that I used to be a laundress. Wasn't that the 
 limit? 
 
 Pass those chocolates, piggie-wee, don't eat them 
 all. I need a bracer. Well, my next acquisition was 
 an Irish girl. I stopped giving English lessons, but I 
 didn't better myself. I must confess, Bernice, I stood 
 a little bit in awe of her. She was idle, untidy and the 
 most domineering thing! When I told how I wanted 
 things cooked, what do you think she said? "Well, 
 bedad! If ye know so much aboot cookin' why don't 
 
 182
 
 ye do it yerself ?" And when I'd tell her how to sweep 
 and dust or make a bed, she'd say, with a toss of her 
 head, "I don't see as how my way ain't as good as 
 your'n." 
 
 At last I couldn't stand it any longer and so I went 
 into the kitchen to dismiss her. 
 
 "Mary Ann," I said, very gently, "I think it will be 
 better for me to get another girl." 
 
 "God knows," said she in her loud way, "that's 
 phwat I've been thinkin' mesilf fur some time. I'm 
 glad ye've coom to your sinses. There sure wurruk 
 enough fur two of us." 
 
 What could I do, Bernice? I went away without 
 saying another word. When Rob came home I told 
 him all about it and he said, "The idea of letting a girl 
 walk all over you I'll dismiss her myself," and he 
 stalked into the kitchen. I don't know exactly what 
 happened, Bernice, but presently I heard loud voices 
 and Rob came through the swinging door well, I 
 won't say he was running but he hurried a little and 
 Mary Ann was after him, a dish towel in her hand 
 and her eyes flashing till they looked like sparks of 
 fire. 
 
 "Is it firin' me ye're tryin', ye measly little shrimp," 
 she cried, to Rob, too, Bernice, and you know he's so 
 handsome all the girls were crazy about him before I 
 got him. Of course he isn't very big, but then he's 
 awfully strong, you know. 
 
 Well, she went on: "Fire me, will ye? Why even a 
 really truly mon couldn't fire me, much liss you, ye 
 little tadpole." 
 
 I thought, Bernice, that Rob showed he was a per- 
 fect gentleman, when he restrained himself and didn't 
 answer her back. He has an awfully strong character, 
 Rob has. 
 
 Well, she glared at both of us. "Ye ain't firin' me, 
 I'm givin' ye two little fools notice. Out I goes to- 
 morrow, wid me full wake's pay." 
 
 183
 
 And do you know, my dear, manly Rob gave it to 
 her without a word in order to save me from any 
 further talk. Wasn't it lovely of him? He's always 
 so thoughtful. 
 
 Bernice, I was so disgusted with girls after that, I 
 did my own work for a day or two until Rob said I'd 
 spoil "these dear, little hands." Maybe that sounds 
 silly to you, Bernice, but it didn't to me, really. Then 
 I heard that girls from Finland were good, but scarce, 
 so I 'phoned the intelligence office for a Finnish girl. 
 I wish you could have seen the specimen they sent me. 
 I should think they were scarce and Rob says it's 
 lucky they are. Her face was as expressionless as a 
 rag doll's. 
 
 "Can you cook?" I asked. 
 
 "No," she replied, laconically. 
 
 "Wash?" "No." "Iron?" "No." "Sweep, dust, 
 do general house-work?" "No." 
 
 "Well, why in the world did they send you? What 
 in creation can you do?" I asked in desperation. 
 
 Bernice, darling, what do you think she said? 
 
 "I can milk a goat." 
 
 Of all things! Milk a goat! One would think we 
 lived on the side of a Swiss mountain and herded goats 
 for a living. 
 
 Have another chocolate, dear. Don't you want more 
 pillows at your back? Comfy, are you? 
 
 Well, then, Bernice, I tried a lady of color who went 
 home every night and came back when she pleased. 
 "Shuah's de sun sets in de heavens, honey, I'se gwine 
 to be heah tomorrow," and when she appeared after 
 the second day, she would say, "Why, baby, my ole 
 man was so sick we done thought he'd croak, an' I 
 couldn't leave him, nohow. Yo' know yo' loves yo' 
 husban', honey, an' it's right he's sech a gran', fine 
 man. An* you're pretty nuff to eat, chile. You'd look 
 after yo' husban', honey, an' I has to look after my ole 
 man. I does fo' sho." 
 
 184
 
 She stole so many things that Rob said her house 
 must look more familiar and home-like than ours. 
 
 What are we doing now? Oh, eating at the cafe 
 next door and bracing ourselves for the incoming of 
 the next homemaker. 
 
 185
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 I didn't, no I didn't! 
 
 At's des an orful fib, 
 For you to go a sayin' 
 
 At I jabbed you in de rib. 
 
 I tan prove it all by Lucy, 
 
 For she tood yight by my side. 
 
 You des tended to be hurted, 
 When you hollered out an' cried. 
 
 I didn't! didn't! didn't! ! 
 
 An' I wisht you'd let me be. 
 Well, anyways den ef I did, 
 
 You did worser 'n at to me.
 
 A COLONIAL DREAM. 
 
 Scene. Interior. Large 'frame for picture, within 
 which stands a young girl in Colonial costume. Screen 
 in front of frame. 
 
 Cast of Characters : 
 
 Lionel Wellman/ Nancy White. 
 
 Penelope Prim. Sally Wister. 
 
 Peggy Shippen. Becky Brown. 
 
 Anne Wharton. Constance Gary. 
 
 Mistress Suzanna Love. 
 
 Enter Lionel Wellman in Colonial costume. 
 
 Lionel (mincing about) : "Well, here I am, togged 
 out in this array for Mrs. Moneybags' Colonial Ball. 
 Really, I feel rather foolish in ruffles and satin, al- 
 though the chaps of those days were by no means 
 effeminate. Sturdy boys, they were, who freed this 
 land of ours, Washington, Adams and all the bunch. 
 Pardon me, Colonial gentlemen, for using a modern 
 'slang phrase in connection with your honored names. 
 Courtly old boys they were in those days. I wonder 
 if the dress did not have something to do with it ? Put 
 on a sweater and a fellow feels like tennis, or golf; 
 don evening clothes and one assumes society airs im- 
 mediately, while this Colonial dress makes a chap feel 
 like bowing and scraping with old time courtly dig- 
 nity. Let's see, we are to dance tonight." (Hums 
 La-la-la to Mozart's minuet, dancing a few steps and 
 bowing to the measure pauses.) "Ah! If I only had 
 my charming little picture girl as a vis-a-vis " 
 (Goes to screen and takes it away.) "There you are, 
 
 1ST
 
 my little lady, as dainty as ever. Now if I could find 
 a girl like you, they would never accuse me of being 
 heart free. I think that's the reason these up-to-date 
 girls don't suit me. I have your sweet image en- 
 shrined within my heart." (Sits and looks at picture.) 
 "There you are, just as you looked when my great, 
 great uncle fell in love with you during the Revolu- 
 tionary days. You must have been a sad flirt, Penel- 
 ope, dear, for that was your name, 'Penelope Prim,' 
 though you certainly don't look 'prim,' sweetheart. 
 They said you threw my uncle over in that auld 
 lang syne and it broke his heart, for he never married. 
 You didn't know, did you, that he painted this 
 picture of you from memory and left it to my grand- 
 father. Well, I don't blame him for the broken heart ; 
 I think you've bewitched me, little girl. The up-to- 
 date lassies don't stand much show I always come 
 back to the face and the rose and the sweet slim form 
 in the frame, and somehow the others don't satisfy 
 me Hark! (Song heard outside (Song) 'Maybe, 
 I was meant for you, dear.'* (Goes to window.) (At 
 close of song) "Yes, maybe I was meant for you, 
 dear, oh, what a pity I didn't live in the eighteenth 
 century, or that you are not a girl of today. No, I 
 don't mean that, for then you wouldn't really be you." 
 (Rises.) "What nonsense! I said the clothes had 
 an effect on a fellow here I am romancing and for- 
 getting all about the ball. Let's see, what time it 
 is " (Looks at his watch, which lays on the table.) 
 "Oh! I've plenty of time, believe I'll take a nap. It 
 will be the wee sma' hours of the morning before I 
 get home again." (Drops down on couch and falls 
 asleep.) 
 
 (One verse of the song sung outside.) 
 (Maid in the picture comes slowly to life and steps 
 from the frame.) 
 
 *Song- composed by Oilman M. Parker. 
 
 188
 
 Penelope: "Dear! dear! How strange I feel. I 
 must have been asleep. Yes, yes, I remember; I sat 
 in this big chair, pouting and lonely because this hor- 
 rid war takes all the men away and leaves us only 
 girls no parties balls and only girls! Dearie me! 
 dearie me! I am so weary of petticoats, Mistress 
 Suzanna says I am not patriotic. Of course I want to 
 be free and our country needs the men, but oh, I am 
 so tired of this house, full of girls, and I know they are 
 tired of me. Oh, for the sight of a dear uniform with 
 a man in it! I believe I wouldn't dare to whisper 
 it that I could flirt with a British officer! What 
 treason! While the dear men are away fighting the 
 women ought to be at home weeping and praying, but 
 then one can't weep all the time, and I suppose it's 
 sacrilegious, but I've prayed every prayer in the 
 prayer-book over and over again. Mistress Suzanna 
 says I'm a sad flirt, but then Mistress Suzanna is old 
 and she really would accept any man that asked her 
 to marry him, but I haven't found the right one. 
 Heigho!" (Rises.) "Well, I must be patient until 
 all of the weighty questions have been settled, I sup- 
 pose." (Walks to couch pauses and gazes at Lio- 
 nel.) "Why ! what is this ? It is yes it is a man 
 I'm afraid I'm still asleep." (Touches Lionel gently.). 
 "Oh, sir, are you really a man?" (Lionel wakens and 
 sits up.) "Great Scott! It's late I must go. (Sees 
 Penelope.) "Pardon me, Madame." (Stops.) "Pen- 
 elope!" 
 
 Pen. (curtseying) : " 'Tis I, good Sir, and pray 
 how did you know my name?" 
 
 Lionel : "Your name ! Why, I've known it always, 
 1 think but you you belong in the frame or I must 
 be dreaming. But I hope I won't wake up." 
 
 Pen.: "You, Sir. How did you reach Mountview 
 By the village coach or did you come on horseback? 
 And are you not the new tutor? I'll call the girls." 
 
 Lionel: "No, no, don't call the girls That is not 
 
 189
 
 yet." (Aside.) I wonder what I ate for dinner and 
 what DID I drink. Claret never affected me before. 
 The dream's all right, though." (To Pen.) "Wait a 
 minute, until I dismiss the chauffeur, I hired the ma- 
 chine, you know, and they will run up the bill on me. 
 I don't care about going to Mrs. Moneybags' ball any- 
 how." 
 
 Pen.: "Oh, don't go Good Sir I'll call the maid 
 and she'll dismiss the coach." 
 
 Lionel: "No, no, not the coach the 'auto' the 
 machine you know." 
 
 Pen. (looking mystified) : " 'Auto' machine 
 Good Sir, I do not understand." 
 
 Lionel: "Why the big motor car, you know the 
 touring car gasoline that makes the noise chew! 
 chew ! honk ! honk ! Perhaps you don't happen to own 
 one." 
 
 Pen.: "Poor man." (Taps her forehead.) "He's 
 not quite right but he's very sweet and then he is a 
 man." 
 
 Lionel : "Well, never mind the car. Let the man 
 wait and if I go, you might disappear and I might 
 wake up. By the way, what did you ask me just now 
 if I were the new tutor your tutor, you mean?" 
 
 Pen.: "Yes you see this is a school for young 
 ladies, kept by Mistress Suzanna Love, wherein we 
 learn to dance, play on the spinnet, speak French 
 Italian in fact, are finished quite when we are 
 through, and ready to take up the 'serious' side of life, 
 as Miss Suzanna says." 
 
 Lionel: "And I'm to be your teacher?" (Aside.) 
 "Oh, joy." 
 
 Pen. (curtseying) : "Yes, gentle Sir. You see 
 this house is in a lonely and deserted spot and as the 
 men have gone to war, Mistress Suzanna felt that a 
 man would be a protection, although in former times to 
 have introduced a man into our midst would have set 
 
 190
 
 her curls to bobbing with horror at the thought: but 
 you, Good Sir, you look quite harmless." 
 
 Lionel: "Harmless! You are complimentary." 
 
 Pen. : "Of a truth, Sir surely you would not harm 
 a helpless maid like me?" (Goes up to him.) 
 
 Lionel : "Harm you ! You darling " (puts his arm 
 about her). 
 
 Pen.: "Sir!" 
 
 Lionel (with a bow) : "I beg ten thousand pardons, 
 Mademoiselle, but I couldn't help it, you know, you 
 are so charming, so irresistible, and I've loved you so 
 long." 
 
 Pen. (drawing closer) : "Would you mind, gentle 
 Sir, repeating the last words I did not catch them 
 quite." 
 
 Lionel: "I said that you were charming and and 
 that I had loved you so long." 
 
 Pen. : "It is a really, truly man and I'm not dream- 
 ing!" 
 
 Lionel: "Well, I think I am, but it's all right. I 
 don't want to wake up. By the way when do the 
 lessons begin? Let's see, can you conjugate Love?" 
 
 Pen.: "Is it very difficult, gentle Sir?" 
 
 Lionel: "Oh, no not always. That depends, you 
 know. I think I can teach you very quickly. First 
 take the positions." (Goes to her side.) "Then say, 
 'I love.'" 
 
 Pen: "I love." 
 
 Lionel: "Darling" 
 
 Pen. : "Darling" 
 
 Lionel: "Well, that isn't in the conjugation, but 
 it is a very excellent addition." "Thou lovest " 
 
 Pen: "Thou lovest." 
 
 Lionel: "He loves." (Aside.) "He does all 
 right." 
 
 Pen.: "He loves." 
 
 Lionel: "We love (Oh! if we only did.)" 
 
 Pen.: "We love (Oh! if we only did.)" 
 
 191
 
 Lionel: "You love" 
 
 Pen. : "You love" 
 
 Lionel (dropping on one knee and taking her hand) : 
 "They love" 
 
 Pen.: "They love "I think this is a lovely les- 
 son." 
 
 (Enter Mistress Suzanna, gives a shriek.) 
 
 Mistress S. : "What do mine eyes behold? A man?" 
 
 Pen. (curtesying) : "Please, dear Mistress Suz- 
 anna, 'tis the new tutor and he was giving me a les- 
 son." 
 
 Miss. S. "The new tutor? Alas! Have I intro- 
 duced a viper into my household?" 
 
 Lionel : "Now. I am a VIPER Behold, it biteth 
 like a serpent." "Now I know I didn't have but one 
 glass of claret. I wonder what I ate? Well, I'm in 
 for it." (Bows to Mistress Suzanna.) "Madame, I 
 am not a viper I am the new tutor, I believe. I 
 don't know what I am to tute pardon me, I mean 
 teach, but I'm ready to do the best I can and I'll pro- 
 tect you while this cruel war rages in the country 
 around." (Aside.) "There, I guess I said that all 
 right. Penelope said there was a war." 
 
 Miss. S. : "Mistress Penelope, you may leave the 
 room." 
 
 Lionel: "Hold on I mean, wait Madame I 
 haven't finished the lesson." 
 
 Miss. S. : "The lesson was quite finished." Leave 
 the room, Mistress Penelope, and bid the young 
 ladies come to me." 
 
 Pen.: (curtsies and leaves the room.) 
 
 Lionel: "And I'm to be left alone with THAT. 
 I wonder if I severed an artery if I would come to." 
 
 Miss. S. : "And so, Sir you have arrived." 
 
 Lionel : "Why, yes I think I'm here." 
 
 Miss S : "And you are a man." 
 
 Lionel: "That seems to be the general opinion," 
 
 Miss. S. : "Sir, I throw myself and my young ladies 
 
 102
 
 upon your manly protection." (Goes to him and leans 
 against him.) 
 
 Lionel : "This tutoring business has its drawbacks." 
 
 Miss. S. (weeping) : "We are only weak women 
 and must be protected." 
 
 Lionel: ("Great Scott! She's turned on the ar- 
 tesian well.") "Madame, these are tears, idle tears. 
 I used to play half-back on our college team, and I 
 guess you can all lean on me all right. How many 
 are there?" 
 
 Miss. S.: "You have taken a load from my 
 mind. In these troublous times one never knows 
 what might happen. At any moment these hated 
 British may invade these sacred premises, wherein 
 dwell modesty, virtue and frailty, guised in the form 
 of these innocent girls entrusted to my care. Wash- 
 ington and his brave men are far away, but I feel safe 
 with you near by." (Leans against him again.) 
 
 Lionel (aside) : "I wish 'Suzanna' were not quite so 
 confiding." 
 
 Miss S. : "Oh, how safe I feel." 
 
 Lionel: "Yes, you are perfectly safe but perhaps 
 it would be better for me to become acquainted with 
 the pupils." 
 
 (Enter young ladies, in Colonial costume, all talk- 
 ing at once.) 
 
 Lionel (aside) : "Oh, girls, you've saved my life." 
 
 Miss. S. (Who hastily left Lionel at the entrance 
 of the girls) : "Young ladies, decorum decorum I 
 wish to introduce the new tutor Your name?" 
 
 Lionel (bowing in Colonial fashion) : "Mr. Lio- 
 nel Wellman, at your service, Madam." (The girls 
 whisper and gaze admiringly at Lionel.) 
 
 Miss. S.: "Mr. Lionel Wellman, young ladies." 
 (All pass before him curtseying.) 
 
 Lionel. "Well, this tutoring business is looking 
 up." 
 
 ins
 
 Miss. S. : "Young ladies. I must leave you for a 
 short time." 
 
 Lionel (aside) : "How sorry I am !" 
 
 Miss S.: "Mr. Lionel Wellman, you may give the 
 young ladies a lesson in French you speak French, 
 of course. 
 
 Lionel: "Certainly." (To audience.) ("Don't 
 know a word of it.") 
 
 Miss S. : "I prefer that you do not instruct them 
 in English grammar." 
 
 (Exit Miss. S.) 
 (Girls all begin to talk and giggle.) 
 
 Peggy: "Isn't he charming?" 
 
 Anne : "Oh, to see a man once more ! What joy"' 
 
 Nancy: "Let's begin the lessons at once." 
 
 Becky: "Is he French?" (Curtseying to Lionel.) 
 "Monsieur Lionel Wellman, notre maitre Francais, 
 que faut il faire pour prendre le Francais? Faut il 
 etudier beaucoup beaucoup Monsieur?" 
 
 Lionel: "Gee! What am I up against?" 
 
 Becky: "Combien de temps y-at-il que vous etes 
 ici?" 
 
 Lionel: "Oui, oui." 
 
 Becky: "Vous etes grand vous etes joli." 
 
 Lionel : "Oui oui tres beans." 
 
 Becky: "Vous etes magnifique. Vous etes un 
 homme si brave Si adorable, Monsieur." 
 
 Lionel (looking mystified and growing nervous) : 
 "Why, yes, of course I agree with you perfectly." 
 (Aside) : "I wonder what in the name of common 
 sense she said?" 
 
 Becky (to the girls) : "I don't believe he under- 
 stood a word, but don't tell Mistress Suzanna or she 
 might send him away." 
 
 Constance : "Well, we don't want a French lesson, 
 anyhow." 
 
 Lionel: "That girl is a jewel. French lessons are 
 very wearing on the nerves, young ladies. You look 
 
 194
 
 very pale I think you need some exercise. What do 
 you say to a dance?" 
 
 All: "Yes, yes, a dance." 
 
 Lionel (aside) : "How lucky I learned the minuet 
 for Mrs. Moneybags' Colonial Ball!" 
 
 Penelope: "Gentle Sir, will you dance the minuet?" 
 
 Lienel: "With pleasure. May I have you as my 
 vis-a-vis?" . 
 
 (Music. Minuet is danced.) 
 (At close of minuet enter Miss Suzanna.) 
 
 Miss S. : "Young ladies! ! (all pause) "I am amazed 
 at such frivolity. Our country is in the midst of war 
 and men are dying all about us. I did not engage Mr. 
 Lionel Wellman to amuse you in this manner. Mr. 
 Lionel Wellman, did you not say that you were a 
 tutor?" 
 
 Lionel: "Yes, Madame, I am a teacher of physical 
 culture. We were just having a lesson," 
 
 Miss S.: "Mr. Lionel Wellman, you are a base 
 impostor." 
 
 Lionel: "Well, I'm quite aware of that fact, Ma- 
 dame, but I wanted to be agreeable and every one 
 seemed to insist that I was the new tutor, so I agreed. 
 I never contradict the ladies, you know." 
 
 Miss S. (pointing her finger tragically at him) : "Mr. 
 Lionel Wellman Listen You are a British spy." 
 (The girls shriek and cling together.) 
 A British spy 
 
 Sally: "We shall all of us be murdered." 
 
 Nancy: "And he looks so innocent." 
 
 Anne : "Dear me ! Dear me !" 
 
 Lionel: "Madame, I never was in London in my 
 life." 
 
 Miss S.: "Sir, do not attempt subterfuge. It will 
 be of no avail. This dispatch was sent me by Wash- 
 ington, saying that a British spy had been traced to 
 the confines of Mountview. Even now the troops are 
 on the way to effect your capture. I am but a weak 
 
 1O5
 
 woman, but you will only leave this room over my dead 
 body." 
 
 Lionel (aside) : "Well, there are always compensa- 
 tions. That might help some." 
 
 Miss S. "Young ladies, guard the doors." 
 (The girls go to the doors.) 
 
 Lionel: "This dream is taking the form of a night- 
 mare. I'm liable to be hung before I wake up." 
 "Madame, did this dispatch come by the Western 
 Union or the Postal Telegraph?" 
 
 Miss S. : ("He talks in riddles to gain time. He is 
 a dangerous character.") "This dispatch came by a 
 trusty messenger with foam-flecked horse and dust- 
 begrimmed coat." 
 
 Lionel (eagerly) : "It wasn't Paul Revere, was it? 
 Because Paul and I are old friends. He might use his 
 influence in my behalf. Why, I used to have Paul's 
 picture in my reader at school." 
 
 Miss S. : "This attempted show of insanity will not 
 aid you, sir-^I will bind your arms with this rope. If 
 you resist or attempt to escape, these maidens and I 
 will rush out and scream down the highway until we 
 reach the on-coming troops." 
 
 Lionel (aside) : "Well, I'm in a bad fix, but I'd 
 like to have a kodak of Suzanna screaming down the 
 highway." 
 
 Pen.: "This is an outrage. I do not believe a 
 gentleman so kind and well spoken withal is a spy." 
 
 Lionel : "Thank you, dear Penelope, for your sweet 
 faith in me." 
 
 Miss S. : "Dear Penelope ! How dare you ad- 
 dress this young lady in this manner and you, you 
 saucy chit, leave the room; your father shall hear of 
 this." 
 
 Pen.: "I will not obey you, Madame. I insist you 
 have no right to bind this sweet gentleman. He is no 
 traitor to our country, I am sure." 
 
 Lionel: "Thanks, dear Penelope, but I pray you, 
 
 100
 
 do as Mistress Suzanna bids you. Do not incur her 
 displeasure on my account." 
 
 (Exit Penelope.) 
 
 Lionel: "Madame, I never resist the ladies, come 
 bind me if you so desire." 
 
 ^Mistress Suzanna binds his arms and he sits in a 
 chair.) 
 
 Miss S. : "Young ladies, you may go. Such sights 
 are not for your young eyes." 
 
 (Exit girls.) 
 
 Lionel: "I wish Suzanna were afraid of her own 
 eyesight." 
 
 (The girls peep in at the doorway. Miss Suzanna 
 sees them and hurries first to one door, then to the 
 other. The girls disappear.) 
 
 Miss S.: (runs to door and looks about draws 
 chair close to Lionel.) "Oh, sweet sir, pardon my 
 harshness before the young ladies, but 'twas my duty 
 to my country. Sweet Sir, though you may be a spy 
 I pity you. Alas! I am only a frail woman." (Lays 
 her head on his shoulder.) 
 
 Lionel: "I am quite willing to die now for my 
 country the troops cannot come too soon to suit me." 
 
 (Girls come to door and see Mistress Suzanna, 
 whisper and point to her and to Lionel.) 
 (Enter Anne.) 
 
 Anne: "Mistress Suzanna, the troops are coming." 
 
 (Miss S. jumps up.) 
 
 Miss S. : "Yes, yes, I'll come in a moment." 
 (Exit Anne.) 
 
 Miss S. : "Darling, I will do what I can for you." 
 
 Lionel: "Pray don't hurry back on my account." 
 (Exit Mistress Suzanna.) 
 (Enter girls in twos.) 
 
 Nancy and Becky : "Good sir, we're very sorry." 
 (Curtseying and then exit.) 
 
 Peggy and Sally: (Come to Lionel, curtesy and 
 sigh audibly.) (Exit.) 
 
 197
 
 Constance and Anne: (Curtsey and weep aloud.) 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Lionel: "Well, I seem to have a few friends left. 
 I hope they'll put up a nice tombstone." 
 
 (Enter Penelope. Slips up to Lionel and cuts the 
 rope.) 
 
 Penelope: "Now, gentle Sir, you are free come, 
 I will show you a way of escape, but don't forget little 
 Pen. when you are away." 
 
 Lionel: "Forget you, sweetheart! I'll never go 
 away." 
 
 Pen.: "Yes, yes, you MUST go." 
 
 Lionel : "But not until you've told me the one thing 
 I want to hear. You are mine, little girl " 
 
 Pen.: "I am yours." 
 
 Lionel: "For all time?" 
 
 Pen.: "For all time." 
 
 (As they talk Pen. goes slowly to the frame and 
 Lionel goes back slowly toward the couch drops 
 down, falls asleep. Song is sung outside. Lionel 
 awakens- calls) : 
 
 "Penelope, Penelope, where am I? Oh, yes, I fell 
 asleep; it must be late. Great heavens, what a dream 
 I had, or was it a dream? The sweet little girl, surely 
 she was real." 
 
 (Chorus of song outside.) 
 
 "Ah, Pen. dear," (rises and goes to the picture, drop- 
 ping on one knee). "You're only a picture, but you've 
 stolen my heart." 
 
 (Curtain.) 
 
 ins
 
 SIP 
 
 The Library of 
 DAVID FREEDMAN 
 
 BOOK NO.