The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 30, 1904, Page 6

THE 'SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY -CALL. ' BE STAGES A PLAY |, ANDTAKES A KISS IN REWARD - S & == ~ == ) 5 TOUNV ILND. , e T L /] 2 / ) : | A4 1 SILAS: 1 am greatly pleased to receive ‘55} P AL i letter saying that you will soon be in New York. t its tenor rather than its explicit statements puzzles You express lively interest in all that I said about laration of love to Miss Frances Lacquerre and 1 of my hand, but nowhere in your letter do I even that I ¢ count upon your help in changing unreasonable state of mind. You do, to be sure, ou much admire her character—I recall that she has proving opinions of yours—and perhaps I oval of her is tantamount to an as- e in my suit, for if you approve her 1y have unconsciously argued—I can upon your help. * inform you of the precise status here, that you may act to it, I find myself in unchanged relations old, and that is, in essence, as if I should a member of it. I often have informed g my plans with Mrs. Lacquerre. nd while she does not agree with my politi- I wrote you, she does agree and greatly help in to devote a reasonable amount of my energies her decisive refusa perceive a h to society affairs. In this respect I must, as I do in all subjects, speak to you v ut concealment. While ] am not vet convinced that there is material grave enough for my constant attention in the affairs of the social world my views on the general subject have been much modified by recent experiences, as well as by the advice and counsel of Mrs. Lacquerre. She has patently pointed out to me the advantage one of my wealth and intellect gains by intimate as- sociation with his equals, and I have come not only to agree with her, but to enjoy my life as it is directed by her. I can without con- it assert that under her wise and friendly guidance I have ac- red a pleasant aptitude in the art of entertaining the men and women I meet in her—in my—world. The life of 2 man of the world is not so futile, so lacking in profitable activities, as I somewhat dogmatically have been prone to adjudge it. I find that entertaining and being entertained by agrecable people, having common interests and pastimes, has a charm wholly unsuspected by me heretofore. I am even willing to admit that in the earlier days of my intercounse with such peo- ple I may have displayed a determination amounting almost to uncouthness to make them consider my pet themes to the en- forced exclusion of theirs. I am now cognizant that social inter- course which is free from annoying friction largely results from an accommodation of acts, of views, of manner, even of dress, to the end that an agreeable atmosphere of repose may prevail, rather than an air disturbed by petty cross currents of aims and standards. As I read over what is just here set down I am conscious that it may address you as indicating a radical change in my ideals. It may be so, but I must tell frankly these things though they cxcire-apprehension at what you may consider a backsliding. I spoke of this to Mrs. Lacquerre before I wrote it and she re- plied: “True, Reuben, your Uncle Silas may not agree with your views, but he will not blame you for holding them. He is a man who is content only when engaged in big and strenuous affairs, yet he accommodates himself to the smaller things of our social world and makes himself agreeable therein as well as the most devoted man of society. When he visits us he is quite a beau to Frances and me, yet is rushing all over the lot, carrying deals through the street, as if he held that the chief task of man is to give the finan- cial world the willies. That is why Frances is so chummy with him.” “Indeed!” T exclaimed. my Uncle Silas?” “The best ever!” declared Mrs. Lacquerre. “You see that, while Frances is not yet nineteen, and your Uncle Si is my age, thirty-nine, she is his elder in soberness of mind and severity of standards. Oh, they are great pals! In one way he is your jun- ior. By the way, Reuben, just how old are you?—some one was asking me.” “I am approaching my twenty-ninth birthday,” I replied. “You can remember the number as being ten less than the age of my uncle and ten more than that of Frances.” “Ten more than mine, too,” commented Mrs. Lacquerre thoughtfully. Then she smiled and abruptly changed the subject. I reminded her that she had promised to matronize an enter- tainment for me at my apartment, and as I had an accumulation of social debts to discharge I urged an early date for the affair. She named a convenient day and promised to fulfill her agree- ment to have a number of handsome young ladies present, and fewer mammas who would endeavor to carry my heart by direct assault. Having acquired some knowledge in the matter of social en- tertainment, I determined to arrange the programme for my aft- ernoon at home without calling on Aunt Sarah for help. I had, as a mere exercise in composition, written a trifling comedy, based upon some troubles in the Samoan Islands, when the diplomats of Germany, England and America, assisted by the officers of some warships of those countries, were all deeply involved in an effort to untangle and adjust the rival claims to the Samoan throne made by a couple of barefooted natives, whose posings before the world were in themselves farcical, yet brought three great pations to the verge of war. Thinking that such a light comedy as I had written would afford a suitable vehicle for an amatéur performance, I ' submitted it to Mrs. Lacquerre for her judgment. When she had read it she said: “This is pretty good tragedy for the profes- sional stage, Reubgn, but for our purpose it must be adapted to make a satire on the rival claims of certain women in the brass band set in New York. Their doings are much in print, but they have no more to do with swell society than your Samoans had to do with weltpolitik.” “Excellent!” T cried, “but I am not well enough informed as to the brass band set’s social politics to adapt my play to such satire.” “Is Frances, then, so chummy with A SUDDEN SPRIT OF rSCHILF /ZRDE 775 DRLU TE HER ZIPS NZTZTHA DIZIIE I/ LIET OF IITE NOSE “Oh, I'll do that for you,” she kindly replied. And, Uncle Silas, she did, and with such wit that I was amazed, and frankly said so; the more amazed because her writing is daintily witty, whereas her speech, as you recall, is calculated to impress hearers with the belief that her vocabulary is as limited as it is brusque. “You are deucedly bright, Polly,” I said, and then blushed to hear myself call her by her first name. She overlooked that, or seemed to, but laughed heartily at my use of the word “deucedly.” “You are a transformed man!” she declared, langhing. “Your use of ‘deucedly’ tells more than all your tailor’s extravagances, your horses, clubs, petits soupres, than anything else. Bravo, Reuben Mrs: Lacquerre’s arrangement of my modest little play changed the rival kings into queens; and they, with their following of native girls, furnished the feminine portion of the cast, and diplomats and naval officers called for the services of a number of my men friends. Mrs. Lacquerre played one of the queens and Aunt Sarah the other, and their witty hits at the brass band set rivals kept my audience in merry mood. My part in the play was the German Consul, whose duty it is to make a final decision as to the rival claims to the throne. Mrs. Lacquerre was the queen in whose favor I was to decide, and the action required that queen and consil rub noses, as is the custom among the natives, as a sign of amicable relations. Mrs. Lacquerre looked bewitching, having given rein to her pretty fancy in costume—besides being a person of notable loveliness—so, at the moment otr faces ap- proached to rub noses, a suddesn spirit of mischief, which 4 few ‘months ago I would have considered myself incapable of harbor- ing, made me salute her lips with mine, in lieu of the nose rub- bing. The audience saw and laughed heartily at my daring, but Aunt Sarah severely reproached me for the act as soon as chance afforded her undisturbed opportunity. Aunt Sarah reminded me that such an act was most unbecoming at any time, but in her presence it came near being an insult, nof, alone to her, but to her daughter, my charming cousin, Josephine. My dear aunt was em- phatic in expressing her hope that my indecorous act did not por- tend any return of my warmth of affection for Mrs. Lacquerre, and was appeased only when I assured her of the unemotional na- ture of our friendship. Mrs. Lacquerre laughed the incident away, as the others did in public, but later took me to task about-it in terms which proves her possessed of still another unexpected vo- cabulary. “It was a darn fool trick for you to do,” she said to me. “Not that I am objecting to being kissed in public—the more public the less harm. That's not the point. You are queering your own pros- pects, and that is evidence of a lack of wit I hate to see—in you.” “My own prospects!” I exclaimed. “Surely,” she replied. “Here you are, trying to get my gal to marry you, and, knowing what a crank she is about the convention- alities, you get gay in just the way which will take you months to square. For a man who is in love with®rances, you seem to know precious little about her make-up.” - For some reason this view of the situation vexed me, but I politely responed to Mrs. Lacquerre: “It is true that | hope to in- duce Frances to change her mind about my proposal. I appre- ciate that with her for my wife I will have a guiding light to lead me toward the goal of my political ambition; that in Frances I will have a companion who will appreciate and help my intelleétual strivings and spiritual yearnings; with her to approve my efforts T know I can make my fellow-man admit my superior gifts for the political uplifting: . “Fudge!” interrupted Mrs. Lacquerre, “You are in love with Frances and want her to be in love with you. That's about all there is to that situation. Frances isn’t hankering after spiritual- ity or any other fuddy-duddyism; she wants you to make a big suc- cess of something outside of society. It isn't that she doesn’t like society ; but, having been born into it, she can’t see that it requires wit, wisdom, struggle and capacity for doing things on the part of those not in to butt in. Your success in that line doesn’t count in your favor with her. Now, I'm not blushing behind my fan be- cause you had the cheek to kiss me when I couldn’t help my- self; I'm only telling you that such an act suggests to Frances that you are, under your funny pretense of liking a hair shirt, mighty fond of a silk one. I'm different from Frances; I'm satisfied with B UBBING.” T was Z Damy Foo. FrEIC oF Your 7o Do.” e i my world as I find it. I'm not lecturing yon to make you a good man as I see goodness, for you’re coming on my way pretty strong as it is; but as to Frances—if you don’t get busy along her line of light some man who is will land her and marry her alive be- fore your eyes.” I could not but laugh at her quaint views. I hinted that if I had shown some of the worldly improvement she saw in me now upon a certain sentimental occasion when I did myself the honor of asking a charming widow—who was still my good friend—to marry me I might have had better luck. She received this per- sonal sally seriously, and after a pause responded: “Perhaps you are right, Reuben. I'm not sworn not to remarry, and it might have been that with your income, with your presentable looks— you are less gillified since you've taken your mind off polities and put it on the world—I say, if you had then shown a sign that you would turn out a perfect man of the world, who knows what might have happened. Widdies get awfully lonely sometimes, Reuben. Now, run away, hunt up Frances, and try to square yourself with her for having kissed her mamma.” I came away, Uncle Silas, but did not hunt up Frances. Of course I love her, but an odd feeling comes over me when I con- template marriage with her that here agaip I am a victim of an unintended confidence game played on me by my own emotions, For what, in brief, is falling a victim to a confidence game? It is the beguiling of us through our best feelings. As a companion for the skies, for a world of angels, his visionary, fanciful girl of 18 would be the ideal; but in a world of mere human beings—a ve fiood world, too, and the only one of which we have any positive nowledge—the anhcation of a poet’s dream of ideal conduct would inevitably land us in a marsh of misunderstanding and fin- ally of ennui, from which some clear-headed worldling must ever step l‘!:t an;l save us. this is merely academic. I did not seek Frances t but I shall—to-morrow. Affectionately, REUBEI:I):d‘y' ol -, 14 LY 53