THEIR ROMANTIC
MEETING
By LUCIA CHAMBERLAIN
(Copyright.)
"1 know you must think me extraor
dinary to talk in this way ol Mac be
fore him," she said, turning, appealing
and smiling, to her husband's friend.
"But you see he has been my one
subject—the only one I've cared about
—since I met him; oh, more than a
year ago. And you are the very first
chance I've had to indulge myself. It
is really your fault. You've l'ed me on.
Knowing you love him and understand
him, I've just burst out with every
thing to you." She ended with a pret
ty fluttering gesture of the fingers.
Mac's friend seemed to consider it,
if extraordinary, at any rate charming,
to hear a woman so beautiful, so shin
ing, so much to be praised herself,
heaping worship before the quiet man
sitting in the background. There he
lounged, angular, plain, his long legs
crossed, his long chin in his hands,
his eyes all for his wife. He had a
face with a lurking humor, that
flashed in and out under the fusillade
of her spirited personalities.
She Turned to Mac's Friend with a
Half-Mysterious Air.
"There is no use trying to tell you
■what it means to me," she went on.
"It's not that he's great." A murmur
PS of protest, came from her husband's
throat, and his eyes flashed a thou
sand twinkles. "It's because—ah, you
know —it's like knowing the whole
world to know him, only he makes the
world seem different! He has a power
over common things to make them
seem, or rather really be, wonderful.
He's fated to romance. He is it. Why,
from the very first —" She hesitated,
looking at her husband. "Oh, Mae,
<lo you mind? May I tell him that?"
"Oh, by all means, tell him any
thing!" Mac murmured. He was
watching her like a man enchanted,
but: his lips never quite lost the trace
of faint amusement.
"Well, then," she turned to Mac's
friend with a charming, half-mischie
vous, half-mysterious air, "that meet
ing of ours in the Piazza San Marco —
that wasn't quite the first. It didn't
come to me in a flash that first time
•we met; it grew on me as we came to
know each other, the idea that I had
seen him somewhere before.
"At first it was so vague that when
I stopped to think about it I was sure
it was a fancy. Just because he was
so much the thing I had wanted all
my life, he fitted into the past and
present. He slipped into ray dream.
But then again when the notion took
hold of ine, I knew it was too definite
for that. 1 told myself it was because
I had seen his pictures. It wasn't
until after we were married that one
day, when he turned and looked at
me suddenly—and you know how he
can look—it came to me in a flash,
one of those true flashes that have
nothing to do with thinking, that he
had looked at me in that way before.
Then I knew that I had seen him, not
as a picture or a dream, but really
somewhere in the real world. And
not merely as a passing figure either.
I knew we must have looked into
each other's eyes.
"But as for where it could have
been, I couldn't recall any forms,
color, light; any scrap of furniture
iany bit of hill or sky that might
have been his background. Just noth
ing but. Mac, his face, as if I had met
him in empty space.
"It was one of those vexing freaks
of memory, like forgetting a name.
The more I tried the less 1 could
'think. You wonder why 1 didn't ask
Mac about it? Ah, you see, now that
J remembered I was so afraid he
had forgotten! For, if he did remem
ber it, why hadn't he spoken of it?
Oh, how I watched him; how I waited
to hear him come out with the ques
tion, 'Julie, don't you remember . . . ?'
At. last I took my life in my hands
■and came out with it to him.
"I remember, as if it were this
moment, how he dropped the coat he
was holding, and turned with a queer,
quizzical sort of a smile. See, he has
it now! 'Why,' he said, 'of course I
remember. But I was afraid you did
not. You didn't speak. I was waiting
for you.'
"It was as if he had reassured me
•that he loved me. How I pounced
on him. 'Oh, tell me, where was it?'
"Tie had been eager; and I think I
never saw him so taken back. 'Wh;t,
don't you remember?' Then, as my
blank face must have told him what
a lack-brain 1 was, he laughed as if it
were too funny. 'Well, then, Julie,' he
.said, I can't remember either.' We
both laughed. It was too deliciouv
and too absurd now that we knew
we both remembered, to think we'd
both forgotten. Hut 1 kuew there must
have been something wonderful in
that lirst meeting, and 1 wanted dearly
to know. The more Mac laughed at
me the more i made him help me try
to remember. First we made a joke of
it; then we made a game; that is,
Mac made it."
"You were the inspiration," her hus
band spoke out of the shadows.
She sparkled to the tribute. "Well,
in the end it was I —" she broke off,
"but that came afterwards. We be
gan stupidly by going over our visiting
lists; then through the alphabet; then
through the social events of the last
six seasons. At last we took to the
map. It was getting to be a mania
with us. We invented all sorts of sure
combinations by which we could run
down that place. But, oh! dear, we
never could find a spot where we
bad both breathed the same air at the
same time; not one of those dear, ro
mantic, right places where such a first
meeting as ours ought to have taken
place, and I was getting faint-hearted.
Then one night I put a pin into
Biarritz and looked at him defiantly.
1 was there,' I said, 'in April, 1900.'
" Why, then,' he said, 'I was there
too." For a moment I believed him.
But then 1 saw a smile. You know that
smile.
" 'Oh, Mac,' I said, 'you know you
never—'
"But he shook his head at me. 'I
was, too. It was there I met you.'
"And then 1 knew reality had ended.
Our game had begun." She leaned for
ward. Iler cheeks were flushed. Her
eyes were brilliant. "But Biarritz—
of course 1 showed him in a minute
that for such a first meeting as ours a
prosaic watering place like Biarritz
would never do. We found much bet
ter places than that.
"There was Perugia during the cele
bration of its patron sai«it. There
were carpets hanging from the bal
conies and red streamers over the
white door lintels, and little bunches
of flowers in all the windows, and
wreaths on the shrines in the street.
I was leaning out of the window of
the saint's house. I looked down and
saw a man passing beneath. He looked
up. And between the waving in and
cut of the saint's banner I saw his
face and he saw mine." She caught
her breath with a little laugh. "He
was wearing a peasant's hat, and had
a piece of the saint's colors in his
buttonhole."
"And you," said Mac from the back
ground, "you had a little cameo pin
at your throat, a long curl blowing out
at your left ear. and a bunch of violets
in your bosom."
There was a moment's silence, as
if all there sat breathless, waiting for
something. Then her looks changed.
Her smiling grew more serious, and
on her face fell a shade, a sort of deli
cate awe. "But there was another
place of ours," she said. "We didn't
choose it.l don't know how it came
into my mind; but it was at Lake
Maggiore. One day, one beautiful
day, walking on the lonely side of it,
I came to a great white rock whose
base was level with the water, and
whose top rose high above me and
overhung the lake. I knelt down at its
foot, and, as I used when I was a
child, looked into the water to see
how much prettier the world seemed
upside down. And, suddenly, the face
was looking up at me from out of the
water, a little shaken by the ripples,
but real, wonderful, all in light, like
the head of a god looking out of the
sky. I held my breath. I wouldn't
have looked up and broken the spell
for anything in the world."
She had been looking down dreamily
as if it were not the dark wood of the
floor she saw, but Bake Maggoire's
blue. But now she raised her shining
eyes to Mac's friend. "That was the
real way we first met."
She rose. Now that slie had told
all her great story her intenseness
had snapped like a taut string. She
was laughing. "And now since you've
been so good as to believe me, I'll
show you the very rock he looked
over. We photographed it last sum
mer."
She crossed the room, a delicate
golden splendor; passed between the
dark wings of the tapestries. They
heard her subdued rustle up the stair.
The two sat without a word, as if
they feared to move lest they should
break a spell.
"Mac," his friend finally burst out,
"did you ever really meet in such a
way ?"
Mac raised his eyes. "Yes, we met."
"What, at Lake Maggoire?"
"Lord, no! Not there."
His friend gazed at him. "Then
you've known where, all along?"
"Oh, yes! Ages ago, before I knaw
you, before I even knew myself. It
was in Chicago, iu a dry goods shop.
I sold her seven yards of white silk."
There was a moment of listening
silence. Mac looked inquiringly at
his friend.
"You think it spoils the romance?
You think 1 ought to have told her?
Well, you've seen her, heard her.
Which is worth more to her, do you
think, the fancy or the fact? And for
the romance—" He paused. They
heard the rustle of her returning. "My
dear chap, isn't the essential romance
of it just that she should have re
membered?"
There are peopW whose only pleas
ures are post mortem. They nerer
enjey a thing at the time, but gloat
over it when it is passed.
It was a mellow day for such a ser
mon. The year was fulfilling all of
the promises made in early spring. In
the woods there was a blaze of red, the
ripe juices of autumn, and in the air
there wa3 that melancholy sweetness
that makes a man think, that makes
him look upon his neighbor as his
brother. On a bench not far from the
pulpit old Lim Jucklin sat, determined
to surrender himself to the influences
of the sermon. During the week just
ended human nature had not been
overstrong in him. Ho had told one
man that the only truth about him
was the truth that he was a liar, had
swapped horses with a chicken ped
dler and was glad now that he had
not succeeded In overtaking him aft
terward; he had trapped a few quails
out of season, but had sent the most
of them to the sick—had done a few oth
er things not strictly in line, such as
halting for a few moments at a livery
stable to see two dogs fight; but now
as he sat ready to listen to the word
he knew that down in his heart he
hated no man.
The old minister arose and gave out
the hymn, militant verses written by
some ancient fighter, and then looked
with a scowl at the empty benches at
the rear end of the room. Old Dock
Hency cleared his throat and settled
himself down and Sister Buckworth,
repository of every neighborhood scan
dal for more than two generations,
smacked her mouth, for she felt that
this was to be an occasion for what
the rude slangists called "hot stuff."
And it was. The preacher tiptoed in
his wrath against the world. Never
before had that broad boulevard lead
ing to destruction been so frightfully
crowded. It did not seem that there
was a possible show for anyone to be
saved. And it was not a figurative
hell that the preacher painted, but a
great pit roaring with flames. Into
the house he so strongly brought the
smell of sulphur that a boy sneezed,
and a little girl, shuddering in fright,
crept closer to her mother. Old Peter
Ualch, shaver of notes and holder of
mortgages on the homes of widows,
cried out "Amen," and a mule that had
been tied to a swinging limb broke
loose and tore off down the road.
When the sermon was done Limuel
waited for an opportunity to speak to
the preacher. "Just want to talk to
you a few moments," he said. "No
hurry. Wait till you shake hands with
all these folks that, are crowdin' one
another on the road to distraction."
The preacher held forth his hand
and Jucklin took it, holding it for a
moment, looking him in the eye. "I
want to talk to you privately. Would
you mind goin' out here and settin' on
a log with me?"
The minister smiled. "Limuel," said
he, "are you at last about to ask for
terms? Has the light fallen on you?"
7 By/Charles. Battell Loomis
i i n / —I#" 1 "*"-
IIAT would we
V\\ ,lave thought of
l) that rnother who
L 112 L or even 15
y~A VI \ //) years ago allowed
(, I\l A Vls*" * lor children to
t A. Jr/A 112 play tag and spin
vi \ ■ tops on the rail
(r —~/L / road track of a
/ trunk line? We
' SL / would have called
li er lacking in
K \ common sense
!$ playing tag and
T*xy/ spinning tops on
railroad tracks,
' steam cars are
now allowed on
our highways and byways, and
whereas the railroad train runs
on a schedule, the modern steam
car and its brothers the electric car
and the gasoline motor run at full
speed under no schedule, and they run
where children most do congregate.
And so used do wo become to dan
gers that we mothers —I speak as a
man—sit at our bedroom windows
and calmly continue our Bowing as
we watch Willy elude a machine run
ning at 20 miles an hour, and Jer.ny
calmly step aside to allow the pas
sage of a road-devouring monster,
painted red and "chugging" in a
manner unknown to our fathers, who
did not even know what "chugging"
was.
Now, when air-ships are commor
and they begin to fall from the sky,
as they most certainly will in thf
hands of inexperienced aeronauts,
the careful mother will at first make
her children play in the house or in
Borne protected playground, but after
awhile she will realize that this world
Is meant to be lived in, danger or no
danger, and she will merely say:
"Willy, If you hear a strange noise
overhead look up and dodge or I
can't let you play out of doors."
And in learning to dodge a falling
airship and at the same time keep
out of the path of a hurtling motor
cat. the children of the futura will
"Well, I don't know hut. I am a lit
tle scorched. You women folks goon
home and I'll overtake you."
"Shall we have witnesses as to what
you are going to say?" the preacher
inquired.
"No, I'd rather talk to you alone
out there where the wild grapes are
purple in the sun."
"Limuel, I thank you for this long
sought opportunity. Come."
They went out into the woods and
sat down on a log. A gray squirrel
peeped at them. "Limuel, is It about
my sermon that you wish to talk?"
"Yes," said the old man, cutting off
a chew of his twist.
"I am glad that it struck home."
"Ah, hah. Glad, I reckon, that it
scared that little girl. Wait a mo
ment.. I have listened to you, so now
you listen to me a while." He slowly
wiped his knife on his trousers,
snapped it and put it into his pocket.
"As I sat in yonder just now, brother,
I could hardly believe that I wa'nt
away back where the world was when
I found it —just ripe for destruction.
The first picture that was drawed for
me was of little children in torment,
and I went to bed and cried nearly all
night because I felt that nothin' was
of any use. My poor mother was
scared and my father was afraid to
say much, for there was the preacher
ready to snatch away any encourage
ment. We had all of us been con
demned from the first and unless we
did an impossible task there was no
hope. But as I grew older the world
appeared to get better. The rocks in
the graveyards said that the dead
folks were all right. Humanity had
done away with imprisonment for
debt. The slave ships were all sunk.
People were better fed and better
clothed. Books filled up the empty
shelves in the country. Newspapers
with their white wings flew every
where. And all this time hell was a
coolin' off. It seemed to me that it
was almost ready for irrigation till
you turned loose to-day. What inado
you do it? Don't answer me now—
jest let me talk —but what made you
do it? Don't you know that God is
gettin' so good that some of the
churches have to meet every once in
a while to acknowledge it? Don't
you know that after all it is love
and not fear that moves this old
world? You sing: 'Oh, for a closer
walk with God,' and you make such
a thing impossible. You make Him a
destroyer instead of a builder. You
would take away the softness and
the holy sweetness of the Saviour,
and when that's done, all is done that
can ho done for evil. Instead of a
great book of wisdom you make the
Bible a threat, backed up by the devil.
You would have the people read it
with frightened eyes, and I want to
tell you that when a man's scared he
get to be so nimble that the race as a
whole will be improved. It will be
a fast race, in fact.
Which shows that everything is
for the best.
o o o
Have you an allowance?
If your husband is a salaried man
he ought to give you an allowance, be
cause it is to be supposed that you do
your share of the work that goes to
the making of home and you are there
fore a partner in the concern.
If your husband i» an artist or a
musician or a writer and is dependent
on his skill in disposing of his work,
that is to say, if he is without a reg
ular salary, you can hardly expect him
to give you an allowance; but you
should make no bones of asking him
for what you need, because, again,
you are partners.
Your husband is not a little tin god
on wheels.
His money is your money, and you
may depend upon it that if you were
earning and he was housekeeping he
would cheerfully and promptly ask
you for money as ho needed it.
I havo known wives who asked as
a favor what was theirs by right.
Of course if you are merely the fine
lady with no responsibilities; if you
are a member of this and of that club
and spend your time in writing papers
on the bringing up of other people's
children while your own are brought
up with a round turn (eventually), you
have no right to ask your husband for
money. You are no longer a partner
in the concern. He is the whole thing
and he may do as he pleases with his
hard earned money.
Or if you are extravagant and for
your sins your husband has kept a
tight hand on the purse, I have noth
ing to say.
But if you know that you are health
ily economical, and if your husband
is doing well, why, ask him this even
ing when he comes home. Wait until
he has dined (and see that the dinner
is a good one). Then when he is smok
ing his cigar just tell him how you
were admitted into the partnership
when you were married to him, and
that hereafter he will please see to it
that you have a decent allowance.
Of course you must dress up your
request in what diplomatic robes are at
can't learn anything to speak of. The
people are growia' all the time, and
so is the church, but some of you
preachers want to pull back. P" vou
know why all over the country there
is a disposition to put out the old
preachers and to take in the new
ones? It is because the young men
are more liberal. They are not so set
in creed and therefore they are kind
er hearted."
"Jucklin, it is not for you to talk
like this. You would have me tried
for heresy."
"Brother, where one man is tried
for heresy 20 are dropped for nar
rowness. Put that In your pipe and
smoke it a while."
"I don't smoke, sir."
"But you would have everybody else
smoke. Did you see that little girl
clinging to her mother? It will take
a long time to get that awful picture
out of her mind. And maybe by the
time that one is wiped out you'll be
ready with another one; and when she
grows up and glances about her In
the light of pure truth she will look
back and pity your ignorance."
"Jucklin, I know one man whom the
devil is waiting for."
"Accordin' to your story he's wait
in' for every man."
"But he is waiting for one in par
ticular."
"If you mean me let me correct you
a little. He can't get me, for I be
lieve the Saviour when he said he died
to save sinners."
"You do not believe the Saviour;
you have denied him."
"No, brother, I have denied you—•
and the devil. Now let me tell you
what to do: Come over to my house
and get some of the books that my
son has sent to me. They'll do you
good."
"Tracts issued by Satan, and you'll
find it out one of these days. Juck
lin, I thought you wanted to talk about
the welfare of your soul, and here
you are scoffing at the Gospel."
"Oh, no, I'm not scoflln' at love; and
the Gospel is love —the sweetest mes
sage of love that wa3 ever breathed
upon a helpless world. And it seems
strange that at this late day some of
you- haven't found it out. I believe I
hearn you say once that the printing
press was keepin' folks from goin' to
church, and you called It the agent of
the devil. You didn't stop to recollect
that unless the Bible had been printed
you never would have had one. But
go ahead, preachin' your doctrine of
hate and the first thing you know
you'll be out of a job. You can't con
vince a t.hinkin' man that the world
—which is just as much God's now as
it ever was—is worse off than it used
to be. There are more flowers to-day
than the world ever saw before. There
are more human hearts and therefore
more human love. God—wisdom—ls
comin' closer; and the devil —igno-
rance—is goin' further away. You
frown at empty benches, but after a
while you won't have even a bench.
And about that time you'll see happy
people comin' out of a new church.
That's about all I've got to say."
"Jucklin, you are going to hell."
"Well, not before I get a bite to
eat, I hope. Good-day."
(Copyright, b> Opie Road.)
your command. Don't use a "stand
and deliver" attitude or he may call
in the constabulary.
But if he allows the allowance don't
thank me, rather laugh at yourself for
not having had spirit enough to ask it
before.
It's yours by right.
o o o
RE you socially
%|jl your husband's
Inferior or his su
■ If you are his
—=-i I flfcj inferior he is
/ probably too much
, of a gentleman to
I Mm ' have told you so,
II Ail/ but if you are his
superior I am very
muc h afraid that
jp you have let him
/ know it.
But lf you nre
yCK . and if you have,
\ don't let it rest
at that. Try by
ail thc,n(?ansin
your power to lift
A*? A l«ni up to your
- BoC ' a l level. If
a, your table man-
J] ners are better
than his; if you
cannot eat a dinner Without the use
of from two to three forks, while
ho is prone to get along without any,
try to educate him. If he won't use
three compromise on one. That will
be a beginning.
It will be a great pity if you let
liim drag you down to his level. It,
is always a pity when a man or a
woman coasts from birth instead of
climbing from birth. Let your mot
to be: "Ever upward." Don't you
want to be superior socially to any
one on earth? How can you become
so if you do not climb and drag your
husband along too?
Lift him up and teach your chil
dren to be a little better than either
of you. This will not be hard, as
they already feel they are—that is,
if they are good Americans. If they
are Chinese they are becomingly
humble and think that the sun rises
and sets in you and your husband.
But it is safe to say that your chil
dren are not Chinese. They want
to move on a higher social plane
than you moved, and on a much high
er plane than their father moves.
And when they have reached what
they have striven for, just use them
to pull you and your husband up and
the end of your family will be some
Blue Book.
It's a great ambition.
(Copyright, by Jaiuas Pctt & CoJ i
k^^sprrinLE
/ WITH
777 "UNCZJT^r*
(Copyright 1308, by Byron Williams.)
"Aunty" Lindaman.
ray-T—OTisra
1 nnl
I I
My "Aunty" I>indaman she lives
Acrost the alley fruni our house,
An' mother sez 'at I kin bo
If I am still as any mouse.
So I Rist hurry over there
An' "Aunty" sez she's glad to sea
Mow hungry 'at a boy kin sit
When lie Is growin'—meanin' MB!
Then she Ist pits th' butter dish
An' spreads two great big squares of
bread.
An' all inside she puts It thick
With jelly that is oful red:
An' then she sez at I kin sit
There on her doorstep while I oat—
I go right out, an' swing my heels
An' knock th' doorstep with my feet!
An' when I git it all et up.
She lafs an' sez: "Well. I declare;
You got it everywhere, I guess,
Exceptin' in your eyes an' hair!"
An' then she »ez: "Now you and Tige
Gist skip eround an' have a play."
An' when I'm tired I say: "Good-bye!"
An' she sez: "Cum agin sum day!"
When I git home my mamma sez:
"Well, goodness gracious, what a
fright."
Then she ist gits th' wash-cloth down
An' scrubs my face with all her might.
•An' when she gits me all fixed up
An' I am combed agin an' dressed,
I tell her, after her an' pa,
I like my nice old "aunty" best!
o o o
Casual Comment.
It. is always a question of a survival
of the fittest when an old bachelor and
an old nuad meet.
■tr it -a
When a woman is an heiress worth
$4,000,000 there is no question as to
her handsome figure.
☆ ☆ ☆
If one didn't know it to be a fact,
one would never suspect that the Chi
cago White Sox once won a pennant.
☆ ☆ ☆
The season for eggs, fresh eggs anil
strictly fresh eggs is about over for
this year. The hens are using the
rapid Pre method these days.
☆ ☆ ☆
One of the liveliest frog orchestras
1 ever have heard holds forth about
a block from where I live and just now,
ns I work, I can hear them tuning up for
their latest symphony: "Oh, what's the
score? Jug-a-rum, jug-a-rum!" That's
a nice way to treat a fellow when he
is trying to work.
☆ ☆ ☆
When my wife's mother gets a cold,
my wife always takes especial delight
in putting mustard-plasters on her to
get even with past indignities of the
tame character forced upon her when
she has a cold. When the mustard
is flying about, it's my turn to sneak
out In the yard and laugh.
☆ ☆ ☆
An fcdvenfurous mud turtle, aged
about one year, came up from the
lake for a parade on my cement walk
this morning, much to the delight of
my bull dog. When my wife said:
"Sst!" at the turtle, he drew into his
shell and played dead. Later, when
wo retired to a further distahse, he.
stretched out his snake-like head and
neck, looked all about, and set out for
the watery realm as fast as his slow,
but sure, legs would carry him. I sup
pose there were great tales told in
mudturtledom upon his arrival home.
o o o
Filling a Tire. |
Two friends of mine, both automo
bile enthusiasts, have been experi
menting with tire filler. The solid tii'e
seems to be the thing now, but the
mixture for filling is kept a dark secret
by the inventor, hence the desire on
the part of my two busy acquaintances
to manufacture something just as
good and at a greatly reduced cost.
For weeks they have been working
up in the barn on G street. Last
Sunday morning they asked me up to
see the experiments. I went, but hav
ing an innate fear of anything load
ed, 1 kept my distance. When one of
the rubber tires broke under hydrauli
pressure and threw four gallons o
glue and molasses all over my friends,
1 ran out back of the barn and yelled
in my delirium. Then I went home,
because I was afraid togo back to
the barn. My friends were so stuck
up, they wouldn't have spoken to me
if I had.
o o o
Fishing.
If you know a fresh young man who
has been bothering you, girls, call him
up on the telephone and ask him if he
likes togo fishing. If he does, tell
him to bold the line, hang up the re
ceiver and let him fish!