The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 23, 1904, Page 11

AOWTO BE: MISERAB has been much pungent m lately as to how to be wough married, wherein . critics and happy fam- have reduced thelr ng over the propo- the starved majority who in misery have been left r own ignorant and unaided de-’ In my sympathy I have burned sev- of midnight spermacet! in llating a that cannot fail nds like a patent medicine in- 2 real misery ad.) doled in homeo- but misery is dished up appetizing chunks. That is more ve than elegant, but,it demon- truthf: mise code is eye-opener, be sure to soul of your soul” a fool or on every possible occasion. It thout saying that he or she was goes w or he or.she would not have married you but that part need not be referred t matrimonial course, be ever vthing that every- ¥ tells you of your spouse, particu- If the n is real nawsty; it will then be such a soothing syrup to t up feelings. opportunity to im- B. H. what a fool you ry when and as you did. ation is to married life what 1 peel is to the cocktail—im- flavor. husband e that believe ever; bo larly informat should she has sight of always remind grown so ugly T her upsets his if he adds that he don’t know a cuss word) he could ever her pretty; gives a dash of paprika to the entree When a husband’s bachelor friends call he 1d not fail to just rub it in, what a lucky dog he is to have es- caped I pony. There is a wild b of ry in that. to impress upon a married her be- “so stuck on you” sorry for her. If she and says that you ack married he: fot her mon- ey, be sure to return the charge that the Van- d e ra storbilt wad would not compensate a fel- low if she had to be thrown in. That ought to produce a choke-ing misery sensa- tion. If the husband belongs to a club which is “the dearest spot on earth” to him, and he lingers there lovingly until the sun gets up to see if he walks home like the figure “I” or the letter (O at's the way the iand lies, 71 O th s it?” asked Ivy Lyle. The sensitive face under the big, rose-lined sunhat was very white, Her lips quivered a little. The bhands that held the vagrant sheet trembied. “I thought,” said the girl to her- self. “I hadn't begun to care—in that WAaYy. 1 was o y becoming—attracted. But the shock—the disillusion—" When she had started out an hour eago for her usual brisk morning walk elong the crisp, shelving sands, she had been one of the most indifferent, light-hearted of gir! She was done with college, and the two years of for- eign travel that had succeeded school s & sort of polishing process, She had perfect health, and misty dreams of all the velled future held in its keeping. She had esthetic tastes, and her skill in athletic sports was the admiration of her Jess vigorous girl friends. Sho had been having a beautiful time down at this g unconventional resort on the Michigan coast. And now—well, temperarily it seemed that her pleas- ure was spoiled. And in her heart she knew that she must have been beginning to think too much of the man whose attentions to her had been so marked, or else this discovery would mot so affect her. Sitting to rest and watch the white- crested waves come curling up to break on the border of the lake like threads of rarest lace, her attention had been caught by a small, white, whirling object that at first sight she had taken for a bird. It had whisked lower and nearer. Then it floated so close she could put out her hand and grasp it, and she found it was a sheet of note paper covered with diminutive chirography. It was written on the stationery of the fashionable hotel looming up on the dunes behind her. At first she had been about to crumple it up and cast it aside. But in the very act of doing so & name—her own name —met her eve. Even then she hesitated. But the three words were so significant she must know their writer's full mean- ing. The page was the continuation of a letter. And the first three words at the top of the page were “—love Ivy Lyle!” Impulsively, giving her- eelf no chance to weigh the niceties of honor in the balance, she scanned the page. “—love lvy Lyle. I've fought against it—for I can’t afford to marry her, as you know. But she has rather swept me off my feet, old chap! At first I was tzken with her innocent beauty. There was no one at this big hostelry to compare with her for good looks. So 1 let myself drift. I thought she was just a dear little country girl, and that it would be easy to say a senti- mental farewell when the summer was over. You know what these warm weather flirtations amount to. So I've been going to see her steadily and tak- ing her everywhere. We've gone danc- ing and swimming and boating and all the rest of it. And—by Jove! Jor all Breezg_@lowfi By Hate M. Cleary she’s mighty quiet, I've come to find out she’s not the typical little country girl at all. She’s well-read and trav- eled, though she seemed rather aghast when she let that fact out. And she looks at a fellow in a cool, apprising sort of way that makes him feel pretty cheap—if his spoken thoughts are not quite up to her white standard. But she's not really in the social swim. She'’s a native I take it. It's been hard to pin her down to any confidence about herself. She lives with a very dragon of an aunt af a farmhouse on the edge of town. She wears her cot- ton dresses and shade hats in a way that takes the shine out of the women up at the hotel, but I've never seen her sport any of the swell clothes they wear to the hops here, Oh, confound ft! What's the use of my mooning away to you at this rate? I've got to go away and try to forget her before it's too late. “Damaris Chase and her father are to be here this week, they tell me. And she's the girl the heads of both our houses expect me to marry! She may have the good taste to refuse me—and I almost hope she will. She's a great heiress, and the consolidation of the business interests would be a capital thing: but, oh, hang me if I thought it would be so hard to get that little girl’s sweet face out of my heart. I must do the sensible thing, and go in for the twenty thousand a year, Lord! but I'm sorry for those poor devils of kings who have to wed for reasons of state. I feel disgust- ingly llke one of them. I'm sleepy. Good night—TI'll finish this'in the morn- ing. Ten to one I dream of Ivy Lyle!” It needed no signature. The writer was easily recognized. She crumpled the paper tightly in her hand and thrust it into the blouse of her gown as a rapid, heavy step came crunching down the beach. That step had be- come too pleasantly familiarfy Could he have known the sheet had been whisked «out of his room? Had he seen it blown down to the beach? “Good morning, Miss Lyle!” He flung himself down beside her. His handsome, boyish face looked strained eand set, as though insomnia had claimed him. “You're out early. Will you go rowing with me to-day up to Clear Springs?” “I—1 can’t!” she faltered. “And won’t you come up Black River to-day?” entreatingly, almost tenderly. “It may be the last time!™ He was planning—planning. Oh, that cruel, cruel letter! But—the last time, he had said. She flung up her head and smiled at him. “Yes, I will go!” she said. They were very gay that afternoon, almost recklessly so. They had lunch- eon at the inn near the springs, and floated back between the wooded banks just as the day was closing. When they came to parting at the clump of lilac bushes in the lane that led to the farm. house Jack Ardsley leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “Dear,” he said, “I love you! I love you, and I can’t let you go out of my THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALIL “If there is one thing a man fairly dotes on it is g hysterical womam, O IS 0] life—ever! You don’t know much of me, Ivy, but—will you be.my wife?” “What,” she faltered, “what about Damaris Chase?” He took her shaking hands and held them fast. “Who in the world has been telling vyou of her? I've never seen her, but our fathers have vast interests in com- mon, and have been anxious to arrange a match. I don't say I didn’t think of being complaisant. Darling, some time I may get up courage to tell you how near I came to being a paltry coward— S 'HE touring car coughed spas- modically, stopped, crawled a few rods ahead, and then stopped again. Densmore, curs- ing vigorously, tested various grips and levers without results. It was evident that something was radi- cally wrong, but what that something was Densmore, who was very much of an amateur, was at loss to discover. It was too far to walk back to the hotel, and heaven only knew how far ahead this stretch of wood might ex- tend. The safest plan seemed to be that of waiting patiently and trusting to the aid of some passing automo- bile. Fortunately, the car had come to its final rest in the shadow of a big pine. Densmore found a copy of the morning paper in his coat pocket, and climbing back on the car, he settled back comfortably to read and ‘wait for aid. An hour passed by and not a soul at with reading stale IDDw‘d-d I news and listening to the ng of the wind through the pines, fay was becoming sleepy. beneath the seat and found some wrapping paper tied about some golf \ how desperately I tried to make my- self think I could do = without you. But I cannot, and that's all there is to it. If you' can endure be- ing poor with me for a few years I'll work so hard at my profession to give you everything that I shall be sure to win.” She had not been mistaken in letting herself love him then. For she did love him—she did. And she had known it all the while. ‘She lifted her shy, flushed face. “I will be a good wife to you, dear!” she promised. And he kissed her on the lips. “ That night when he sought her at the dance at the inn he stood amazed. That lovely lady in the snowy, shimmering gown his demure, little country lassie! How superbly she carried herself. And g the wife should greet him with a choice hysterical outfit. ¢4 there is anything that 2 man fairly dotes on, it is a hysterical is pleased. The ‘louder she whoops up the misery the bet- ter he is pleased.” those diamonds around her white throat were worth a fortune. She smiled up at his amazed countenance. “Aunt Agatha and I did not wish to be bothered with attentions,” she whis- pered, “so we've been living incognito. I expected my father to-night and dressed to do him, and you,” sweetly, “what honor I could. You will pardon me,” as she signed for a boy who had brought her a telegram, and broke the seal of the message. “Detained,” she read. “Will be with vou to-morrow.” She handed Ardsley the yeilow slip. It was signed “Jasper E. Chase” and it was addressed “Miss Damaris Chase!™ “That,” she said. “Ivy!" he gasped. “Damaris Ivy Lyle Chase! You poor boy! Come out on the balcony; they are staring at us.” “Come—you base deceiver!” to s my name.” SALVAGE =2 » By Barry Preston sticks he had purchased in the village that morning. This he pressed into service, and with a pencil inscribea in large letters the pathetic appeal: “Busted—Please Help!” and tled it securely to the side of the car. Then he curled up comfortably on the seat, and despite the discomforts of cramped quarters and voracious mosquitoes, was soon snoring lustily. He was awakened by a peal of ring- ing laughter. He rose from the seat and rubbed his eves. Before him in the dusty roadway stood a young ‘woman, and, as he looked, his heart beat faster. “Miss Trevor!” he cried. “Oh, it's you!” she said. “I might have known it. The sign and the smores should have disclosed your identity.” “Was I snoring?” Densmore asked anxiously, as he jumped down from the seat. “I have been following the sound for the last mile or so,” she laughed. - “So you're in trouble, too?” “As you see,” said he waving his arm toward the car. “And you?” “I am stalled a mile or so above here. 1 came along looking for help and found—this,” she laughed, nod- ding toward the machine. Miss" Trevor was logking over the machine with critical eyes. “If you simply connect the feed pipe it would be as good as new,” she said. woman. The louder she whoops up the misery, the better he If the husband is a2 newspaper man, and reaches home dead tired about 3 a. m. and wifey insists upon holding a prayer which perhaps he sadly needs, if he dqes not shoot off some blue fire meeting over him, “langvdges,” then he is not the kind of N. P. M. that I krow all about. A woman who can always bank on a copious supply of weeps has her misery right on tap. It hurts my feelings to totroduce a mother-in- law here, but she is such an important dramatis personae in the matrimonial misery pact, a pronounced side issue, as it were. The B. H. who eraves a revel of misery should never fail to sav of her all the mean and abusive things he can think of or make up, with a generous sprink- finz of real bad words. A man has so much more inge- nuity in inventing cuss words, when a mother-in- faw is the inspiration, besides it adds to spectacular effect. If a wife has a dog, he should Kkick the little beast, emphasizing it with a large sized bad word every time he comes into the house. His B. H. will call the dog a darling, and hubby a brute, but the huntifig-for- misery hubby don't mind a little thing like that. If a wife has a past regarding which she is particularly sensitive, the hus- band should never forget it himself, nor allow her to do so. Every time a husband wants to g9 out a wife should start in with a tear- ful rage that she knows that he is go- ing to see some other woman. The more spasmodic she becomes the bet- ter will hubby be pleased. It tickles his vanity to know that she thinks he can fascinate another woman, and a husband raves over a wife who is Jealous and suspicious to the verge of insanity. It makes him feel so un- comfortable and important. If she punctuates her reoroaches with a few finely drawn hysterical fits, the misery wiil fairly bubble over. Another misery whooper-in is the question of finances. A stingy man is a perennial miserv bloom. Tell a wife that she would ruin a Carnegle, and poke your nose into every detail of housekeeping. It will prove an unfail- ing misery-breeder. Criticize each other in the most vi- clous manner. A husband should never fail to tell his wife that no mat- ter what-she puts on she’d still look like a fishwife on Saturday market night, and praise in the most unstinted terms every other woman he knows, adding that he wonders why he did not marry so and so, instead of tying him- self to a dilapidated-looking frump. other like two half-sick, tured terriers, and it will surely the misery up like mercury in the 90's. If the husband does mot or will not work, he should hs around the house JAll day, finding fault with everything and everybody. incidentally cuffing the kids. This is one of the prettiest mis- ery-etchings known—a real weork of art. Of course there are other more bru- tal ways of scooping up matrimomniar misery, but we couid not indorse them. A drunken man is too horrible, but the husband who artistically festoous him- self with a ! ut-decollete-swallow- tailed-dres lub-house jag ecam make things equally lively and divert- ing, and can generate a tankful of mis- ery on surprisingly short order. i s do not dish If the foregoing recip up a copious, highly spiced Hung'ry goulash of misery, then some people will'have to make the best of existing conditions and try to reconcile them- selves to the old-fashioned matrimonial state of things, and be happy though married. ————— An old colored man living near Olds- burg, in Fottawatomie County, named Shannoff, has a queer kind of a cal- endar. The cld fellow can neither read nor write, and to tell the days of the week he has seven spools on a string. Every morning he moves a spool to the other side cf the string, but owing to his present sickness he forgot to move the spool, thereby losing a day. He told the doctor that the day was Wednesday, so the doctor moved an- other spool down the line and put the old man right with his calendar.—To- peka (Kan.) Capital. Prince EGGY met him first at one of the Wednesday night hops at the Waconessett Inn. He was somewhat more than passably good looking, fair haired, of a mili- tary build, and German. His name was understood to be Munsterberg. He danced a number of times with Peggy and finally they began to sit oyt dances in a quiet corner of the veran- da, where, with their chairs close to- gether, he talked to her in English with the faintest of German accents, and she replied in American-made German that set them both laugh- ing. The advent of the German was timely for Peggy. She had just fallen out with Donald Macomber, had sent him back the ring, and being in the after-throes of a broken engagement, she was sadly in need of diversion. The German seemed to give good promise of this. He was well bred, possessed of that urbane finish that much travel aloné can give and, more- over, after that first dance with Peg- gy it was plain to be seen he was very much in love with her. ~ Peggy, ostensibly to relieve the va- cant feeling in her heart, began a desperate flirtation. In a week’'s time Munsterberg was her slave. ‘Where Peggy went there went he. He drove with her; he sailed with her on the lake; he climbed the mountain with her. As Peggy’'s satellite he seemed to have found his true vocation. It is doubtful if Peggy entertained a really serious thought of the Ger- man until the day Jack Motley dis- covered—by means of a crest on a silver brandy flask—that worthy’s true identity. Peggy may be forgiven if she dreamed of manv things after that—of an old gray castle in the hills of Coburg: of three letters and a royal title preceding her own name; stationery bearing the crest of the triple-headed eagle. In fact, she did dream much of these ad- vantages at first, and the Interesting German of that first Wednesday night hop was suddenly vested, in her mind, with much fomance and much eligibil- ity. Then—oh, heart of woman!—after the first romance of the thing had wozn off, When the By Richard B. Shelton Wooed She began to think serfously and to compare his Royal Highness with Don- ald. And when the comparison, point by point, was ended, Peggy was a very unhappy girl, to whom the castle ia Coburg was a nightmare. And because of all these things the throne of Coburg-Gotha barely escaped losing its heir. It happened one August evening. His Royal Highness was paddling Pegsy slowly about the lake, singing. as he paddled, little sentimental German songs, and looking very contented. Peggy gave the song no heed. She was watching a solitary figure in an approaching cance. The figure bent te the paddle in an easy, famillar manner. There could be no mistaking those broad shoulders and that curly brown hair. The two cances drew nearer. The man In the other canoe looked up. Peggy smiled and bowed. The man nodded coldly and began to paddie faster. Something seemed te eclutch her throat. The Prince was quite forgot- ten. She realized only that Donald Macomber was paddling out of her sight and out of her life. “Donald!” she cried. He paddled on with never a glance in her direction. “Donald!" she cried again, as he still gave no heed, she tremblingly stood up. His Royal Highness gasped. “8it down—sit down!” he urged. Peggy deliberately put one little foot on the spreader, and in & moment they were in the water. ‘When she came to the surface she was seized by a strong arm, and a big, tender voice said evenly: “Don’t struggle, dearest; you are safe with me.” And Peggy closed her eyes and was very happy. Not so his Roval Highness of Co- burg-Gotha. He was floundering about miserably, and shouting spasmodically between choking gurgles: “Help—in God’sgname, help! I do not swim!™ The rescuers fished them out—Prince Ludwig Wilhelm of Coburg-Gotha first, for he was far spent. And while at the inn they were rolling him in hot ‘blankets and pouring brandy down his throat, Peggy was laughing and ery- Densmore crawled beneath the ma- and his Royal Highness had be; h gun to ing hysterically on the shoulder of chine, and under Miss Trevor's direc- repeat his rather slender store of the other Prince—although he Was not tion, the pipe was repaired. “Now we'll go after your machine,” hea :n:o;m;,edl.l e help er in and they sped u the road. Bt g “And now,” said Densmore as they headed for the hotel, “we must settle on the salvage. Of course I shall de- mand it. It is always customary When You tow a disabled craft into port.” “Indeed!” said she. He nodded gravely. “I hope I'm not too high in my de- mands,” said he. “What are they?” she asked. ““Well,” said he, “I demand in return for towing you to port a chance to fin- ish out the conversation which you cut short on the bluff two nights since, and I also demand that you answer the question I was about to ask at that time in the affirmative.” bright remarks, she found herself dreaming of Donald Macomber, and wondering why he had not come back to her as all the others had. She re- membered that Macomber had always been masterful and high-handed, even as a suitor, and that it was because he had been unwilling to yield some trivial point that she had broken with him. known to the world at large by his title, It is true—and making a most absurd confession. When she had fin- ished, Donald’s face was very grave. “But if he had drowned, what then, Peggy?” he questjpned. “Coburg-Gotha could have got along without a Prince better than I could without you, she said. Miss Trevor flushed. “I shall cut the tow loose,” said she. “Why don’t you cut it?” said he. "%—v—l“]taaven't“ a knife,” she faltered. “Would you 'ou had one?”’ he per- sisted. x 5 There was a long wait before she vouchsafed a reply. Densmore caught her hand in “T sald lots of things about this when it broke down on me this noon, but I'll take them all said. The girl's eyes were intent on drifting across the sky. fleecy clouds % “B: down isn't half so bad, after