The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 11, 1904, Page 14

1 < B 0.5 same address. R elapsed since the skirts of 2 drawn from my unwill case hid you wholly from n that Love, who laughs at tocksmith From R. Montagu. Esa., Fairford Manor, to Miss Capulet, Favored by Mils. Celeste. The hall clock tells me that but forty minutes have rose sight, and an envious turning in the stair- . Oh, my Juliet, have you yet to learn du Japon tea-gown were with tands aioof from the handiwork of clockmakers? Love's sun is not that garish orb just now in act of descend- ing (ah, so slowly!) above the distant presence of the loved one, potent calendar. And, therefore, clocks would make it 7:15¢ ha e smoking-room * * (Courage. My almanac due 2t 8 p. m. It will be acc few notes of a voice w to r is midnight a June evening. e turned for privacy. because Hugh Davidson and Leo Fairford are i and their presence at this moment to me is unbearable this librarv is dark as pitch. and 1, i nforms mpanied by a rustling—of silk skirts h is far sweeter than any bird music. summer woodland—Love’s sunis the volutionize the timepicce and the now when ILady Fairford's This little library into which your Romeo, am as onc benighted. me that to-day the dawn is by.a And then, mu. oom, where we are to assemble before din- ise in al its beauty! O , that I had begged vou to be ee minutes before the rest of the party! On the chance that possible, T myself Therefore. that have time to struggle into evening garments, I now conclude is scrawl. Also that I may lie in wait within my haif-closed bedroom door and so waylay your Celeste in the corridor, and entrust this to her may to R. Mon- William. sweet of you write. Believe me, Romeo, you not more loth to see me n [ was to take my departure. r hostess in this house is of '3 tinet. Her lern—far from Miss Capulet Favored by It was Her ideas of the dark epoch of the chaperonage are cighties—when the prevailed in the subject which liberty of the same (so that subject were a girl) was as yet but dimly understood. Since then the world has made gre strides, but Fairford Manor has stood still. And so a time-honored observance exacts that, an hour and a half before din- ner, we poor womenkind shall “seek our apartments.” real or ostensible, I am at 2 dead loss to divine. With what object, And though my room is a charming one, commanding a view of fields, now rich with buttercups, I've no desire to be a orisoner in it. Howbeit, by mamma’s est, when at Rome I do as the Romans do. earnest T It has at least the advan- tage of taking one back in fancy to those old starched days of Miss Edge- ® ——— THE - SAN: FRANCISCO - SUNDAY CALL. o 27 worth’s and that on occa: cient whipper: allowing 'neither stand that I have no desire to prove into lir Besides, I believe that 1 ily myself. shall not be happy till I know from fore, if possibie, I will contrive to tlemen join us after dinner. P. S—Alas! put up for the first time in a new st friends with your William, and wi?l iss Ferrier's novel No. 3. R. Morgan to Miss Capulet. But one short half-hour since longing to communicate with —ou! And yet nothing whatever has happened. oking-room—I could not face it thinking of you. Let me trace a s Celeste w Dearest girl, I am standing by the lovely summer night, inhaling its s dyship can show herself a en she opens vour shutters 74 But, more than this, I have been told very active and effi- stragglers nor estrays. You will under- her power in this respect. So I fall belong to rather an old-fashioned fam- Dear Romeo, do you consider this a great defect in me? [ your own lips that you do not. There- be in the conservatory when the gen- J1 It is quite pleasant there. JULL I cannot manage the t i hree minutes—am having my hajr yle: the Hoppner. Cdeste has made give him this. 11:30 D. m. we said good-night, and already I am I feel I have so much to say. A % Dearest, I have shirked the and am here in my own room, alone, ngle line to be delivered by the trusty to-morrow morning. * ¥ % open wiidow, looking out upon the weet breath. All is profoundly peace- ful—not a sound rising above the faint hushed stir of woods and flowi water, save now when from a tree upon the lawn a screech owl utters its sharp cry as of complaint. Dearest, this mood of natare is m harmony with mine—it soothes and steals me from myse And yet I cannot give myself to nature as I once could—you, Juliet, come between wus. That happy hour we spent in the conservatory—I am living it o'er again in rec- ollection. My love, I thank you for it. And yet w nearly it was lost to us! Oh, Juliet, what poor. frail. dependent creatures lovers are! Our hap- piness, so unspeakable, is so much at the mercy of the first comer. [ shall never forget this lesson, should I live to gray antiquity—to be considerate to all lovers. Only remember! When I joined you in the conservatory, all was as yet dire uncertainty. Should we be allowed to foll es —you and T, the company in general: or. would some hideous mandate. some malign proposal, issue from headquarters, which with touch « should shatter and annihilate the bubble of our bliss. As 1 saw how pre- carious was the “situation, | trembled—positively trembled. For why is it, Juliet—can you tell me—that there are so few people in this world of ours who are content to live and let live—so few who can be happv in their own way, and let others be happy in theirs? In brief, the question resolved it- -sclf into this: would the evening be devoted to delightful idleness and i1 pendence, or to hateful industry, assuming the shape of some sad game, i which all must join or show good reason why? Much was at stake; vet for a time all hung in the balance. Then that dear Lady Ernestine sat down at the piano—mark my words, Juliet, that woman is a good woman. "Twas a move in the right direction—a move 4in favor of individual éffort. and against collectivism. My spirits rose; but that was premature. There was a great risk still to be passed. For, scarcely, darling, had we settled ourselves agaipst the screen of a superb magnolia, when across the masses of dark leaves and milky cups there came a grating voice: “You two are wanted to play Bridge.” Oh, cursed spite! It was the voice of that hook noscd Miss Arrowsmith. a girl I never liked. Then, indeed. mv hoves seemed toppling—another moment, and they must have crashed to the ground. But our good angel befriended ns. Though I share to the full in the prejudice of the penniless against millionaires, 1 have stinctively liked Mr. Tirlington. You had made a conquest has thereby proved himself a man of taste. Old Tirlington now a diversion in our interest. His word carries weight with the household—we were saved. A blessing on his lyart locks, and mavy the mines of Kimberley vield him diamonds galore! That hour together was the sweeter for having beefi so nearly lost to us. * * - Did von share my emotions, love? And now my cigarette lies cold and charred upon the window sill. Dearest, good-night—good morrow, I should say. I turn to sleep and dream of vou. ROMEO. No. 4. Miss C. to R. M., Esa. 7:30 a. m. Dearest! Yours to hand. as they say in the business world: ar here, in return, is a lump of sugar to sweeten vour morning tea. perhaps you don’t take sugar, sir. * * * Did I share wvc er tions, you ask. I should think so, indeed! But, my dear, you may trust my woman's eyes to see through a stone wall half as far again as vours. You are pleased to say that I have made a conquest of the illionaire; well, at any rate, I am at no loss to explain Miss Arrowsmith's erness to play Bridge. Romeo! I hate that girl—no, I oniy pity her. You have never given her encouragement, deaf. But that is not her fault. As Mr. Tirlington, he is a darling. With how much nuiet tact he effected ot release from the scheming minx! Now it is your turn to be jealous, dear. Seriously, I heard old T.’s history yesterday, and it is most sympathe You know that he has never married. Well, it appears that in life he was deeply attached to a beautiful young girl, who cared very for him. Neither of them had a penny. Prudence triumohed. and he v abroad to woo the goddess Fortune. For a long time she (th T mean) was obdurate; and when at last he saw his fortunes m only to learn that his sweetheart had fallen a victing to ady. This explains LI remaining single. But though he ried, he is a strong advocate of early marriages. Lady vesterday. not to myself, but to Lady Ernestine. Y dear old man, and I am truly grateful to him. * plan! I am a little wearv of that earnest and detailed horses in the stables everv morning. Shall we this morntmg of the party the slip, and have the boat out on the nool bel dere. instead? There is no time for a written answer, dearest, you mean yes, offer me marmalade at breakfast. You k I totc 3 but noue of the others will ever twig that there is No. 5. .R. Montagu to Miss Capulet. Juliet! What can this mea I know not if I heels. But let me endeavor to collect my er On my going to the smoking-room this evening ( twice in succession would have attracted attention) me to him, saying he wished to speak to me. I some question concerning the procedure of our IEr subject in which he tak good deal of interest, a repeatedly come to me for information—which I h en him as bes 1 could. “Judge of my amazement when to-night, instead of sending me to drag out my neglected law books from their repose in my portmantean, he told me in so many words that he required a private made me a point-blan: offer of the nost. As you may briefles:, who had never had but one big bit of luck (you know to what I allude. dear) I was completelv Y not believe my senses. -But there must be a hitch somewhere the post, though otherwise desirable, was unpaid. ‘X t at a was a very handsome one. And. er many questions askec swered. T could hear of but one difficuity in my way. And w think that difficulty s? Why that T was a bachelor—ha, seems that the old buffer, who enterta here ar Town, would have preferred (had that been possible) to have a house to receive his guests. Had that been possible! t 1 help me surmount this difficulty? You have already pror t would. Do not desert menow. * * * Oh, that ’‘twere mor What a waste of life is sleep! YOUR ROMEO. How much now for the stern parent and the briefless bar ? sup No. 6. Miss C. to R. M. Dearest! T am so happy—now our way in life is smootl tell vou“all. Yesterday, after we had parted on the shore below the b vedere—thinking i¢ more expedient to return to the house bv separa . paths; yesterday I felt very sad. I thou~vht how you were to be absent throughout the afternoon. And I thought of dear papa, who is so formid- able. though so good, and of all that you had just been telling me about the years of waiting at the bar before work comes. Then I felt i that papa would never see these thinos as we saw them, never believe in your bright future, or in the help that I could be to you. And then T feit So disheartened that I broke down. and, being quite alone, I cried. But while my eyes were still inflamed with crying. who should come along but Mr. Tirlington. And he asked me, s{:eakiflg in the kindest voice, to tell him all about it. And I did tell him all about it. T yielded to the im of the moment, but of course I never dreamed of what would come of it. Why. it’s a fairy tale! Oh, dearest, tell me I have not done indiscreetly— ves. teil me in the little library in half an hour. Celeste shzll con i to William with all speed. Yours, . (Copyright in the United States of America.) TRUE CHARACTERISTICS of the ELEPHANT E was a cheery, red-cheeked German and had just settled himself to an after dinner smoke. He had probably turn- ed forty and at least half his years had been devoted to elephant train- ing. He was known as a close mouth- ed men, but the experience of the day or a pipe full of good tobacco had broken that spell. To look after the welfare of forty elephants, which he must do, does not loom up as an at- tractive job, but there were no lines of care In his face. “The best part of my life has been spent in the company of elephants and nearly every day somebody tells me things about them I don’t know. What makes me most tired is the fool ques- tion about bad elephants. A bad ele- phant is a freak and is seldom come up with. The big beast is as domestic as the horse, although a little too cumbersome for the same uses. When 2n elephant gets a little cranky, there is always some light headed attend- ant, it seems, to fly off and say he is crazy. Ninety-nine times out of a hun- dred the poor elephant has been bad- ly treated and as he cannot talk jhe does about the only thing he can do, and trumpets his disgust and maybe eases his feelings by taking a crack with his trunk at something within reach. If that happens to be a halp- er who doesn’t stand well with the moody elephant you can bet some time will roll by before that fellow will bother my big friend again. “When a horse or a dog makes a bad break with somebody he doesn't like there is no wild talk about strangling or shooting him. I never in my life knew an elephant to hurt anybody unless he had been driven to it by the meanness of the victim. Ele- phants are as kind hearted and tender as women, and respond to little atten- tions in the same way; and in the saine way, just like a woman, when they get soured, it takes a long while to sweeten them again, if it can be done at all. “Last year I had a man working for me who got along first-rate with the elephant herd and played no favorites. That was a good plan, because the beasts are rather jealous and apt to get sulky on that account. This chap was very fond of cider, as I afterward found out. You know about a menag- erie every man must be strictly tem- perate. A big, good natured beast, named Sandy, was given a bottle of this sweet stuff one afternoon and it seemed to reach the right spot with him. After that every time the at- tendant came in sight Sandy would give him a pleasant squeak of rec- ognitien. This struck the fellow’s good side and he began to spend a good deal of time with Sandy and to sneak him sugar beet and rice cakes, of which he was very fond. “Jip, a half grown youngster, was chained near Sandy and began to no- tice things. Jip h; a jaw as squar> as a corner.stone, which is unusual in elephants. and his chest is wide and deep, which shows that he could go some if thoroughly roused. He began to cut into Sandy’s sweet thing: and got caught by the red headed Lelper, who jabbed him unmercifully with his steel hook. “It was a good thing I did not catch him at it, because I know what a bad effect that has upon ‘the animal. 1 can read an elephant’s eye and, every day I look them over carefully, I saw there was something wrong with Jip, but the attendants said nothing. There seems to be a sort of Masénry among them. Before a week went by Jip saw his chance and picked up his enemy in his trunk, squeezed him sav- agely and then tossed him into a hay bale about twenty feet off. It was good for the man that he struck the cushion of hay, for Jip had put a whole lot of steam into the toss. The fellow was hurt a good deal, but no bones were broken, and after he got over the shock 1 gave him his wages and told him to never come near the tent again. I den’t think he will. “Now, - that elephant did no more #han any other animal of the domestic kind or some well-controlled peopie would do. T did not whip him nor scold him for what he did, but passed it over' out any excitement what- ever.. T voice means a whole lot to an ele; nt and he can tell pretty well how the speaker feels toward him from it. You see, I carry a slender stick that hardly has strength enough ir it to make a puppy vell. Yet a tap trom that I make any of my big cle- phant family obey. the elephant is such a big most people think he must be danger. That is all nonsense, you ever notice how fond they children? Who cver heard of phant hurting a child? Why, in our winter quarters the boys and girls will pet them and walk among them and the elephants enjoy it. “The animal is really of a loving disposition and very gentle and obe- dient. T have never known but one runaway. How many horses couid we say that of? The poor fellow was then frightened out. of his wits by an exploding locomotive and after he had gone a few miles from the sirang: noise he siowed up as if he had sensed the thing and looked a littic foolish. A boy could have led him back to the starting place he was so meek. An elephant is not much on ihe run, any- way. His natural-gait is a walk. He might increase that to a fast shuffle of about twelve or fifteen miles an hour; for a short distance. On a flat piece of country a good runner could keep out of his way, but in the jungie that could not be done unless the run- ner concealed himseif. “A lot of the stories about elephants carry hatred for certain people and getting square with them sooner or later I don’t take any stock in. Most of them started in India with copper- OSSN a0 > skinned natives, who knew the white in a remote quarter, they seem to know man would swallow anything sensa- it intuitively and their sorrow is as ticna! and he would have no chance to prove the thing otherwise. A fel- low came to me last year and wanted to know which elephant it was that chewed up the end of a bamboo stick until the fiber was like a broom and then reached it out and twisted it in the hair of an attendant to draw him to him so he oouid ecrush him. I told him the good elephant had gone to an arimal hospital to be treated for the gout. Another feliow wanted to know which elephant it was that refused to perform while his keeper was away on a vacation, and tried to make trouble whén compelled to do his act and finally refused to eat anything until the man returned. I told him the ele- plain to the eye as a human being's. At such a time their trunks hang limp, their eyes overflow with water and their bodies lose that swinging motion which they seem to be forever enjoy- ing. > “Their fondness for baby elephants is almost human. The little one owned by Ringling Bros. is a wonderful com- fort to the big herd. This youngster is now over a year old and is as full of mischief as a young colt. We give him the liberty of the big barn, because if we didn’t he would wnine and whim- per so as to get the whole elep herd into the dumps. He gets th t of everything that is fed to his elders, phant was now going to night school and is selfish enough to take it all and cou!d on!y be seen here in the even if-he can’t eat it. It is fun to daytime. see him try. to hide things that he “The real elephant—the one I know— is the best natured wild animal in the doesn’t want, just for the mere sake of keeping them. I am at a loss to werld. He is affectionate, loyal, obedi- figure ihis out because his mother was ent, and as ready to learn as a ¢hild. Ifish beast and his fathe: was He looks on the cheerful side of things good-ratured fellow, who would and" wiil play with his neighbor, even when so old that his bones are stiffened by rheumatism. They have a family feeling, and when one is sick it would do your heart good to see the others give it attemtion. They will bring bundles of straw to make its bed, will toss wisps of hay. over its back and body (a practice elephants love) and save the choicest of the food they may pick up for the ailing elephant. When one of them dies, even if it happens lel any of his mates lick up kis bran without any kick. “The daughter is best at her father- in-law’s house and the clephant is best at the Rajah's. is the Indian way of saying that daughters and elephants are an expensive luxury. But however that may be, and all good things after all come under the head of cost, don't let anybody lead you into the belief that an elephant belongs to the savage class some writers, claim.”