The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 16, 1899, Page 29

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JULY 16, 1899. 29 - OUR SOCIETY GIRLS WERE COMPELLED TO EARN A LIVING? SOME THINGS THEY HAVE DONE. T S St T8 AN T School e up my mind had unraveled the prob- of two girls in Los s who made enough money to for. I One of them was f Angel just one thing f alent—t montk San Francisco the good old lost their s for > in d to n they Ve likewise She A girl who was noted for her exquisite manners. It came natural s and do the right thing. she had to earn her own living d a school of etiquette for She made a success of it, verybody laughed at the plan though at first. “I counted up the successes on the fingers of one hand and the failures by f pompadour. I made up hat the successful girls were ones who did what they were fitted winners. I found THE JOYOUS DAYS OF OLD. I had tried the thousand things r which I had no ability. r which I had any real It was really a wonderfully pretty hat—fit to top the head of Lady Vere de And the girl who made it was wonderfully grace the finest mansion in the land. was sitting in bandboxes piled high about her, rib- hons and velvets, flowers and feathers running riot over chairs and tables. Nor did she look an inch out of her element. For by my faith in the sex it's a poor woman who can't say “Howdy” to misfortune as well as fortune. “I wonder,” she said, “what some of the other girls would do if they had to turn their backs on gnd.ed ease?” . On the way to San Rafael I wonder- ed how the buds would look as bread- Jingling out of] tune. W a stu home h “ot OTHER TH called off the “two or three other by name. downtown buildin has any Grace paints the menu cards and at- tends to the dec b from dear Mrs. And fond mamma say NGS THEY MIGHT DO. ments, go to the opera and concerts, ta in the horse show and wear si lined gowns. As I said before tt h » three pupils, and one a charity that But it's easily explained. Pa’s rich 1 Ma don’t care. So Edith and Jane earning their owa v s, Two of the the brutal truth. ore of the m Well, a society girl's much use earning her own liv- 2 caddy is on the links. They think they’'re working, but it's always of friends who entertain not a i number The Society Milliper. some other fellow. ". rations. Grace writes all the pretty co 2ts paid I met one of the “other fellows” on r work and winds up her letter with the boat going home. His only daugh- course I couldn’t take any pay ter is in New York trying to be “‘some- and do mething. He sends her an allowance and a large one every So and S ‘quite right,” and the cruel outsider wonders wheth- month. It isn’'t a trial, for he has a er dear Mrs. So a o “would order goodly store to draw from. them uniess she we perfectly sure But he wants her companionship; he there would be no bill forthcoming. misses the delightful camaraderie of his Grace giv studio teas, the crush walks and drives. He likes to talk over comes and some one remarks, “I must favorite books with her. However, ered in a little knot on the veranda. I was taken into the circle and told to enjoy my share of the mosquitoes. We finally evoluted from the weath- er to the ur-own-living” There was hats. For ° three ngs at the best arning the tricks of Dproblem. A tel girl with 2 ten gpo § thousand dollar education thought it — A g d my bridges, borrowed would be ‘‘great sport.” of ambition, 1o hats, hired "I don't believe,” said Marie, “that pijist sent rds we could all of together earn The two If I had enough te buy a golf stick. “The thing to do when you see pov- erty coming your way is to get out of her road,” said a girl who is bright in to s rare pretty—fit s, but how?” asked the maiden who makes repartee Impossible. The howness of the whichness is no concern of a girl who is clever in patches. Then a girl who passes in the set as “literary” remarked that she would really like to be forced to have to be “somebody” and make “something” of herself. “Just look at Juliet Wilbor Tompkins and Kathryn Jarboe,” said the girl with the aspirations. “They’'ve gone into the magazine field and they're winners. Two or three of the other girls have had the courage to go on to New York and they're owning their own living.” this workroom, steaming services. they can the sweet belles They were gath- have one of vour pictures for my col- lection.” T enough ahead to keep up the delusion in her own and her family’'s mind, that earning her own living.” can affor tapestries, decorated with works of art, china and Edith sings and Jane plays the piano. They have stud ers from Marchesi to Moskowski. They have adjoining apartments and prac- tice together. are so obliging, always willing to come and sing or play at teas or “at homes.” After these little affairs, over their Jane count up how much they could make if they only charged for They really believe that their hostesses would pay them if they per- mitted it. Edith wrestles with one pupil Jane cultivates paresis with two. gratis for entertaining. Moreover, they can afford to live in beautiful apart- she’s a bachelor girl in New York “earn- ing her own living.” And she could be somebody right here at home, and she could do “‘some- thing.” That is if she were willing to do the work and the only work for which she is fitted—to take her mother’s place in her father’s household. “It seems to me,” said the old gen- tleman as we boarded the car, “that the fault lies in the way we educate our girls. If she really had to take care of herself, I don’t believe she could, yet Grace writes home ‘she will be very busy And the prospective remains just far alway to pay the penalty iding pa pays the musicians likewise have to every o knew. It's between I which is the name applied SEasons now »w, so I can’t ex- to support m , I'd put In two oOr powadaysto back apartments with I've spent thousands on her education.” pect to do ich. But I'm more s v all the people who But Edith and Jane, who It seems to me, I said, thinking it than mak expenses, and they're e invited me and then—" used to write her name Janette before over, that she cculd take care of her- awfully heavy. Isn't that stun: And then? ,. she became a bachelor girl, have the self if she were willing to be honest. For while talking she had been trim “Why, then oh, bother, what’s rea] thing. For the fault lies not only in the edu- ming a hat. the use of thinking, silly!” Their apartments are hung with cation. It's all well enough to learn about artists and authors, painters and musicians, but the Lord meant some of us for stenographers and seamstresses. And we can enjoy the work of others, though our own be of a different na- ture. And the soclety girl who is writing “milliner” after the name that has been written scores of times In the list of fashionables at an affair has simply been honest with herself about her own capabflities. There isn't any use hunting for a royal road for breadwinners. The mil- liner who was a soclety girl says take the path for which you have the most ability, even If it doesn’t be in the world of art. And by the covers of the Blue Book, I think she is right. FLORA McFLIMSEY. priceless bronzes. d with all the teach- Their friends say they chafing dishes, Edith and their and ; So afford to give their services BUY ONE WORDS OF WISDOM FROM ONE WHO KNOWS AND WOULD ENLIGHTEN MAN. 7 @ I have a weak Jl flesh, when aliv ess (other than that of my mind), it is for horse- t canned. This is known to my friends. One of ts, poor but honest, took me out for a drive be- hind & good pper, which belonged to a “friend,” b use this cli- ent was in the unfortunate position that he did not dare to keep any ty in his own name. He owed me several hundred dollars, and I was admiring the qu ies of the animal he sald, luck, but you stood by r get a half-brother to this horse, ! —a colt faster than this one.” aturally I was elated at the double prospect of getting my fee and also a great trotter. In 2 ghort time I received word that there was a colt of mine at a livery stable. I was told he was great stock, and all that I needed was yne Buggy Wrapped Around a Tree. | Plowed the Ground. HORSE A ““Those Fellows Have Got On To the Speed of the Colt.” to have him broken. This was easy, 8o I made arrangements with a trainer to break him, charge only $25, and in due time he was returned to me with a guarantee of being thoroughly broken, and so gentle that a lady could drive him. Sunday came, and I thought it would be a nice thing to take a drive behind my colt, so I had the livery man hitch Him, to a buggy and I took hold of the reins. Possiblythe colt had forgotten me. He turned his head to the right and then to the left to get a good look at me, undoubtedly for the purpose of ascertaining whether he had ever met me before or not. Suddenly. having evidently made up his mind that he knew me, he started. He may have been enthusiastic upon the subject of having me as a driver: he may have thought it was a holiday; because when he started, instead of advancing with his forelegs, he threw his hind ones over the dash in close proximity to my face. Well, he only started, because when he reached the middle of the street he stopped and concluded to back into the stable; then as sud- denly changed his mind and struck out at railroad pace with an appar- ently earnest desire to get somewhere. Up to this moment I believed he vwas a trotter, but by his conduct I began to think him a runner. He covered more territory within a short time than any “bang tail” I ever saw on the track. We finally stopped—that is, the buggy and I, the former wrapped around a tree in affectionate embrace, and I plow- ing the ground with my nose. The next day I received word that my colt was thirty miles from Stockton and would be brought back {f I would pay $10 for time and trouble, which I did. The matter was discussed at the stable, and all declared my colta record breaker, and that all that was necessary was to have him han- dled and gaited on the track. A well-known trainer volunteered with the remark, “It won’t cost much, and I want to help you out.” Of course I seized the opportunity at once and delivered the colt to my newly acquainted friend. In a couple of da one of our mills sent me a bill for $38 for cracked barley and oats, and a few days afterward a hay firm sent me a bill for $42 for hay and straw. I inquired if this was all right, and was told it was the proper thing in erder to develop my colt. In about ten days my trainer called upon me, stated that the colt bad good “motion” and was apt to show considerable speed. He in- formed me that while he did not want any money, ye! ne of his chil- dren was sick, and his wife needed $10; of course this was a little mat- ter of friendship, so I gave it to him. I did not see him for a week, then he came in one day and informed me that he had no desire to put me to any expense, consequently had borrowed Bill Brown’s harness, but Bill needed it. He knew where there was a $30 harness for $50, and while he did not insist upon my getting it, he thought it would be a nice thing—the colt would get used to it and could make better time. Well, I considered anything necessary for the welfare of the colt paramount to any of my desires, so I bought the harness. Soon afterward I was informed that the colt was showing some “fine quarters’” and that Tim McGraw had been kind enough to allow uys to use his sulky, but it was an old-fashioned concern and there- fore did not give the colt a fair show. There was a ‘bike” which could be bought for $110, “‘dirt cheap,” and it would greatly assist the colt in making better time. Of course I bought the bike. The Agricultural Society announced a race for “District horses,” and my trainer told me that we had a “‘walkover.” The entrance was only $25, with $20 and $15 additional. He thought it a wise thing to enter the colt. Naturally I was pleased, so, of course, the colt was entered. About this time I became anxious to see the colt go, so inquired when I should better come out,and was told “almost any day.” Being busy, I neglected going until after I paid the second installment on the entrance money. I was told to come out on Thursday morning at 1 o’clock sharp. I was there, and found my trainer sitting on the fence. I inquired for the colt, and he took me around the corner, in- forming me that the calt was in the barn. He said, “Now the thing {8 just llke this: these fellows have got on to the speed of the colt. 1 was going to take him out about 7 o'clock and jog him a bit, so they took out their watches, and I thought I would fool them; I went out this morning at daylight, and ‘sent him a half,’ and of course I would not like to give him any more work to-day. If you will come out Sun- day morning about daylight I will show you what he can do.” This was a seemingly square statement, and there was no reason why I should dispute it, so I went back to my office thriiled with the rct of the speed that I would see developed on Sunday morning. aturday afternoon my trainer visited me and inquired, “Are you coming out in the morning?”’ to which I assented. He then said: “Well, all right, only the colt has been off his feed for the last day or two, and I think he will get back about Tuesday, so better postpone your visit untll Wednesday morning.” Of course this man knew all about horses and I began to think that I did not, so I consented. On Monday afternoon I made the last payment on the race, and on Tuesday afternoon my trainer informed me that the colt “had pulled up a trifle lame,” but he thought that everything would be all right within a couple of days, and suggested that I come out on the following Friday. He would then be in such perfect condition that he would give him a full mile. I was warned that I must be there by 4 o'clock a. m. in order to prevent any of the stable boys from seeing his wonderful burst of speed; 8o, for the purpose of being on time, I sat up all night and went out to the track in order to faithfully keep my appointment at 4 o'clock. I found my trainer in bed—so was the colt. It seems that the colt “must have picked up a nail” or something else, and as my trainer was a particular friend of mine and was working for my best interests, he said he would ta'k to me candidly, which T guess he did, for he told me this: “Now, see here, old man, you have got a world beater, and there is no mistake about that, but he has gone wrong this season, through no fault of mine. This often happens with a speedy colt such as he, especially where they have that high-strung disposition. “Now, what I would advise you to do is this: I would turn him out on pasture until next season. Of course, we have pald the entrance money, and if you want me to drive him, why I will do it, and I may get third money, but I am afraid it is going to hurt the colt. Next year you can put him in the three-minute class, and he will walk away with all of the money.” Now, what could I say to a friend who was doing so muc¢h for me, and especlally when he knew all about horses? Of course I gave wav ND BE LUCKY, BUT DONT KEEP A STABLE to his superior wisdom, and the colt was turned out on pasture. I did not see my trainer for ten days, when he suddenly appeared on an occasion when I was very busy. He thought we ought to have a settlement. “A settlement of what?” I inquired. He replied, “I have worked this colt for about five months, and $30 & month isn't a marker for my services. Of course you have given me a little money from time to time for the children, but I more than pald that out to stable boys. I have a little statement here which you can ook over and seeif it is all right.” Whereupon he produced his bili of the black- smith for shoeing, amounting to $16, together with the bill of the har- nessmaker for halters, boots, hoods, etc., amounting to $78, which he said would have to be paid at once, as the parties were crowding him for the money. I was not ‘‘astonished;” this was too mild a term to express my feelings—I settled with him. I resolved, however, to have my horse run down in the pools on the three-minute race for the coming year, so I would make a “kill- ing” and get even on my past expenses. I waited patiently for the coming season and in due time sent out for my colt. The colt was not in the pasture—" he must have gotten mixed up with some other horses, but they would send him in to me soon.” ¢ I think I paid $100 trying to find that coit, but I didn’t find him. I was consoled, however, by some of my friends, who told me, “You are not a sucker. You ought to thank your stars that you played so lucky,” and when I inquired, “How wasIlucky?” I was told “Because you didn’t have a ‘stable’ instead of one horse.” JUDGE LEVINS! “A Little Statement Which You Can Losk Over.”