The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 6, 1904, Page 10

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. o DVENTURES OF HAPPILY CONCLUDED WITH TWO UNEXPECT ED WEDDINGS e —— Y DEAR PROFESSOR—I have been told by Uncle Silas, who is now visiting me, that you were disappoint- ed in my letters; that you hoped I would write to you, my old professor of sociology, on topics which would show that I have profited by my opportunities to study in a-great city the science in which you grounded me at the Sacchar- ine Academy. I am glad to have this frank criticism by you, and equally would have welcomed it if you had made it to me instead of to my uncle. But I do not admit that my letters lack sociologi- cal value. I do not recall that in any of your lectures, nor in the text books, the science of social phenomena — sociology — was de- fined as social development of the lower strata of society, rather than in the strata nearer the top. Concerning the latter I cer- tainly have written to you at length. And why not? Is it, as the political demagogue, the sensational press, would have us believe, that the lower classes alone are worthy the conmsideration of thoughtful men? No! In botany, do we neglect the rose be- cause of its beauty; the violet, because of its sweet perfume? Why, then, complain that my letters have-been- largely about the roses and violets of society, instead of ill-smelling weeds? The latter have their uses and their place, no doubt, but have not the rose and violet as well? Uncle Silas is disposed to be merry at what he asserts is a great change in my views of life, which he attributes to the fact that I find myself possessed of greater aptitude for agreeableness to people of my own class than to the submerged class of whom 1 once, he reminds me, thought so highly—theoretically. “Reuben,” said Uncle Silas to me the other day, “the only time you attempted to address an audience of the lower class you had to thrash your hearers before they would listen to you. You find, el “IS) ] 5«*?%3 1S DEUCE ) REUBEN, THAT oU NEED NOT" BEGIN TO TRY TO WINMY LOVE-YOU'VE WEN IT ALREADY ' however, that audiences of your own class will listen to you with- out the help of the police to make them do so, and therefore you have become an aristocrat, a butterfly of fashion, a devotee of the futile 5 o’clock tea, a connoisseur in the arts, a follower of the foibles of the day.” 4 Since the arrival of Uncle Silas I have been engaged more than ever, if possible, in society duties. He is, as you are aware, a preacher of the gospel of doing things, and, in truth, does every- thing but sleep; thus finding it possible to work all day with af- fairs in the financial district and participate most of the night in af- fairs of the polite set in which I am now a not inconspicuous mem- ber. His sister, my dear Aunt Sarah, claimed his evenings exclu- sively for a time, but of iate he has accepted engagements I have made for him, and these usually include Mrs. Lacquerre and her daughter Frances. This was after Uncle Silas remarked, “Dear Sister Sally”—meaning my aunt—"is a bit too persistent in mulling the subject of your marriage to her daughter to be en- tirely entertaining to a man somewhat inclined to mull the subject of his own marriage.” “What!” I exclaimed, laughing at the absurd thought. “Are you seriously thinking of marriage, Uncle Silas?” “Why not, Master Impertinence?”’ he responded. “The rea- son I'm not marriedis because I’ve not had time to commit matri- mony. I've been too busy making my own fortune and increasing yours to give the hour I suppose one should devote to the choice UBEN_2 L™ Townserd of a wife—or finding a girl who'll have him. I believe 1 could take an hour off for the purpose—if I got up uncommonly early one day.” - “I have often thought of your marrying Mrs. Lacquerre, Uncle Silas,” I said to him, “and with pleasure, for she has been such a good friend of mine; but, really, it will be ascruel turn to deprive me of my best chum. Couldn’t you find some one else who would suit you as well?” He replied, looking at me whimsically: “That is the most selfish speech I ever heard. Here are you, making suit to the daughter, yet you want also to retain’ the mother as a friend—an unmarried friend! However, if you seriously object to my marry- ing Mrs. Lacquerre, and depriving you, thus, of your chief adviser, promoter, chum and guide, I will look around this little old island of Manhattan to see what else cffers.’ You promise not to object to my second chbice, whoever she may be?” I responded in the same half serious vein that T would urge no further objection, but that I could not, with fortitude, think of Mrs, Lacquerre marrying. In truth, such was the fact. Although I am still decorously pursuing my suit for the hand of Miss Frances—with no more success than at first—it is with her mother I find myself n.ore often thrown in companionship. 2 But here am I, my dear professor, writing to you, although my groom informed me some time ago that my saddle horse was at the door, and I must be off on a promised canter through the park with Mrs. Lacquerre. Miss Lacquerre will not accompany us, as she has promised to lunch with Uncle Silas in the city, and after- ward attend with him a meeting of bankers, whereat he is to make an address. My engagement calls, so I shall postpone the conclusion of this letter until a later hour. It is a later day instead of a later hour, but I assure you that my time has been so filled with matters of the greatest importance that no thought of letter writing has been possible. And, as you shall see, the affairs which have occupied my time were of a sin- gularly distracting nature. I spoke of the canter through the park. When it was over Mrs. Lacquerre graciously said I might lunch with her and entertain her until the return of her daughter from her engagement with Uncle Silas. I experienced lively pleasure from the prospect of an uninterrupted afternoon with the lady. At lunch and for a time afterward we talked of affairs relating to our social plans. Our plans, L say, for during the last few months we have, insensibly, merged our plans; she advising and helping me with mine and making them part of her own, I holding myself ready at all times to assist her in any way a man may be useful in such respects. But soon we were talking of other things, of her wish to travel abroad again, and the hindrance Miss Lac- querre was to her plans. “I wish, Reuben,” she suddenly exclaim- ed, and with unusual earnestness, “that you'd hurry up and con- vince Frances that you are the man she should marry and take her off my hands. Then I'd have leisure to do a little independent planning for my own amusement. Won't the girl have you?” Some emotional impulse made me ask, “Then are you so anx- ious that I should'marry Frances?” “Of course I am,” she replied stoutly, but she blushed as she said it, and I quickly insisted. “If Frances married some one else it would affect your liberty as well as would her marriage to me.” “To be sure,” the lady assented. “But I'd like to have the thing over with. I could marry, too, if Frances were off my hands.” “And would you then marry?” I asked with meaning. “That is not for you to ask,” she replied, and I saw, as much from her tone as her words, that she understood the per- sonal application of my question and was steering away from an embarrassing topic. In short, my dear professor, I will say in so many words that Mrs. Lacquerre understood me to ask, by indi- rection, if there were hope for me in her favor should Frances marry some one else. The situation was involved; I was the avowed suitor of the lady’s daughter, yet confessing that my old love for the lady had returned—if it had ever gone !—and half con- vinced that the lady looked upon me with approval, certainls with more favor than upon.the occasion of my astounding first of- fer of marriage to her. But what could I do? I was bound to pursue my suit of the daughter so long as there seemed a chance that I might succeed. Yet I was tortured with doubts as to my standing in the heart of this lady I truly loved, but to whom I was in honor bound not to make another proposal of marriage—cer- tainly not until I should be finally refused by her daughter. It was in a most unhappy state of mind that I said to Mrs. Lacquerre: “If it should turn out that I am so far from your daughter’'s ideal of a husband that I must abandon my suit for her hand may I be- gin to try, humbly and patiently, to win your love ?” Mrs. Lacquerre’s pose of manner is brusque good nature. She is disposed to deny any sentimentality, affects and seeks to convey the impression that she is as hard within as she is polished out- wardly. I, of course, long ago saw through this mask, saw that she is a lady susceptible to many emotional moods, is as sentimen- tal as she is witty, and affects otherwise to prevent appe-Is to that concealed side of her nature, yet, knowing this, T was still unpre- pared to see tears in her eyes as she replied to my question: “Oh, the deuce of it is, Reuben, that you need not begin to try to win my love—you’ve won it already!” Then, to my immeasurable surprise and distress she began to weep, and hurried from the room. I sat in a daze of happiness until she returned, and smilingly said: “There! I've made a fool of myself, and perhaps it's done me good. It’s all over now—I hope it is, for I've'powdered my nose—so we'll naver speak on the subject again. Now let’s talk about—the weather.” I understood, and plunged into talk of impersonal subjects, but we were progressing indifferently when a servant entered and gave Mrs. Lacquerre a telegram. She opened and read it, and became as one stunned. Seriously alarmed, I rose to go to her as- sistance, for she seemed likely to fall from her chair, but sudden- ly she began to laugh, somewhat hysterically, crumpled the tele- gram into a ball, tossed it to me and, for the second time, hurried!y left the room. The telegram, dated Philadelphia, read as follows: “Frances and I married this afternoon. 5 “SILAS LARKMEAD.” Dear professor, Mrs. Lacquerre and I are to be married in & month. It will take that long to perfect our plans; for, although the wedding will not be a “large” one, as the saying is, still it must be perfect in all its details sociaily. After the wedding we sail for Europe, whence you may hear from me sometimes in the future, Very truly yours. REUBEN LARKMEAD.,