The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 5, 1905, Page 8

THE SAN j old VER at the cross-roads had been a wedding. sunlight had there Into the come the faded finery, the yellow lace and the lusterless silk that had been n in caves during the war. An who had married and buried generation after generation had joined in life's copartnership & young man and a timid girl. The couple, too much awed with the new relationship to be § happy, sat in a sort of daze, looking at each other. A wagon was soon to haul them to the county seat, where, on an accommodation train, half passenger and half freight, they were to be “whirled” through one county and al- most into the heart of the next—a jour- ney not undertaken without much marvel. The girl's mother had wept, her father had looked uncomfortable in a shirt that did not fit him, and the d-maidish sister had wrung out a few envious tears, Old Limuel Jucklin was in the midst of the company. “Well,” said he, speaking to the father, “a man never loses his daughter, you ka until she’s dead.” -INTHE YOUN BY QTG 22 43895 55 The father nodded assent, and the mother said she wished she could think so. Limuel replied that she could, and without putting much of a strain .on herself. “The experiment of every weddin’ is the husband,” he remarked, looking at the young man. “No mat- ter how wise he may be, how good a judge of a horse and the weather, something altogether different arises in his life when he takes unto himself a wife. He thinks she is the simple rule of three, but before long he finds out that she is all mathematics, with a side light that dazzles but don’t ex- plain astronomy.” Mrs. Jucklin® spoke up. “Limuel, what are you tryin’ to get at? You would have it appear that a woman is somethin’ not to be understood.” “Oh, no, she is perfectly plain, and so0 is sunshine, but nobody can’'t pick it up and_examine it to his own satis- faction. Woman's all right. It's the young husband that I'm a-gettin’ at— if I can. Marriage is a time when a mote gets into the eye of all experience. Things are looked at through winks, half light and half dark; makin’ a sort of twilight for the soul; and in the THE DESERTION OF DAF N N O N DA AN AN AR S A AR AR N the subject of how he had been inveigled into his present O position Harrington was more inclined to beg enlightenment than to furnish it. - Had it not been for the aggressive solemnity of the vestry walls and the engrossing task of getting successfully into his white gloves—an undertaking which habit had taught him was not to be regarded with levity or indifference— he might have fancied it all a hideous dream. But here were Bob at his elbow, looking as self-conscious as only bride- groom can, and the rector in cere- monial vestments fluttering his service book leaves. Realest of the real! Confound it all! After thirty years of sanity how had he been drawn into this worst of transgressions? But when a fellow 1s the best friend you have in the world and is so beastly happy and so dead in earnest over the thing, and comes at you with that tears-in-his-eyes voice—in short, when he's Robert Montgomery Blake, what's to be done? At any rate it was done and he, who had carried himself unscathed through the campaigns of one season after another, was the victimized best man at last. Harrington felt suddenly as {ll at ease in his dress clothes as a college bey at his first “prom.” Even now the organ was pealing its vreliminary riot of music. A moment rall more and the march would summon them forth to the altar rail to await the rest of the party.- They had re- Learsed the “business” last night with half a dozen candles and supply music. The bride would have her wedding march played by no other than a ‘Western school friend, who was to ar- rive late. Down the two aisles would come the lines of ushers and brides- maids, the toddling ring-bearers, the malid of honor in yellow with hat of palest green and an armful of daffo- dils (Madeleine had confided to him the sickening details), then th stately bride on her father's arm. one must marry, Madeleine was the right sort and Bob was getting about the best there was. This daffodil maid of honor was an- other of the miseries, a second out-of- town friend of Madeleine's, a pale creature who would match her daffo- dils, bearing the impossible name of Clarissa. If Madeleine hadn’t betrayed her over-interest in the pairing off, and elaborated so upon his official duties to Miss Daffodil, it— ‘“Heavens, Bob! There's our cuel Take a brace, old man; I'll stand by you!” Then internally, “Yes, with the heart in ge like a fistful of liquefied air!” Custom and good breeding save many a day. Everything moved de- lightfuily, and the breath-holding mo- ment of the ceremony arrived. That was as far as Harrington ever got in his memorvy of the occasion. As they faced the altar his eyes were ar- rested by a vision. It was seated be- fore the organ in a bow;r of palms, WRLZ OPIE ) ! | from what it really is. fits her.” “But, don’t it fit a man, too?’ the bride “timidly inquired. replied. beginnin’. Do you follow me?” “No, I'm afraid not,” said the bride. But what do you This was addressed to “I thought not. think, Billie?"” the bridegroom. “Don’t know exactly. All I know is I love Sallie and will always love her,” and the pretty eyes of the bride with silent music sang %ut, “now, there.” “I don’t doubt that,” man. hasn’t come. But it will come. beautiful book you a time. some made with charcoal.” ing through the window. “Yes, man. said the old minister. “Gracious me,” exclaim- ed Mrs. Jucklin, ““are they goin’ to preach a funeral ht here.” ngld‘ Limuel laughed. “I'm not. I'm just tryin’ to give Billle, there, a lit- tle bit of advice. And as 1 was goin’ to remark, I don’t knotWw of any- thing that stands more in need of common sense than marriage —the young hus- band, I might say. husband. She finds her mellowest pleasure in his‘society, and can’t very well understand why she doesn't sup- ply his every want. He has told her time and again that she did. But there comes a time when he wants to stay out at night, to sniff the air of his former reckless freedom. It's his and the soft lights fell on a glorious crown of shining auburn hair. The side of _the face was toward him and there was a faint impression of a filmy green gown, It was the violent beginning of a tempestuous end. The sight went through him like a physical shock. He saw only the lovely picture, heard only the soft music that fell from the slender fingers, The first usher prod- ded him into consciousness when the ring was demanded, the daffodil maid had to clutch an unproffered arm for the recessional. Once outside, Harrington came again into his self-sufficiency. As the second carrlage came up, the yellow confection was hustled into it, the door slammed upon the astonished girl, a peremptory “drive on” issued, and a hatless young man dashed breathlessly around the corner to the organ entrance. Just in time! In an- other vehicle the auburn head was being extinguished. “The right time of all the world, girl, of all the years that have been for you and for me—the right time for the seal of the promise for those that are to come for us,” he said with quiet intensity, his lips closing on her unre- sisting ones. After a moment she straightened herself with a happy little laugh. “I think we must be nearly there.” ‘“Yes. Wretchedly short drive. Oh, girlie, girlie, I am so proud of you, so glad! What will they think of us, to be sure? I wasn't having a bit of a good time, and now I'm ever 5o grate- ful that Bob insisted on making me best man.” ““Why, but, dear!” It was a veritable golden dusk everything looks different Marriage was made to protect woman, and havin’ been cut out for her like a garment, it “Yes, my dear, with a4 takin’ in here and a lettin’ out there,” the old man “The man is the one that has to be tamed. He has to be broke in and made bridle-wise, like a colt. With him marriage is an end; with her, a said the old “But the mornin’ sun is a-shinin’ on you now and the noontime of trial This now possess is shown to you only a page at a time. You can't turn over the leaves and look at the pictures of the future. The plot must come to you a line at The fact is, you've got to draw your own picture for the book. Some of them will be painted and “I wish the wagon would come,” spoke up the bridegroom, glanc- we start out a-waitin’ for the wagon,” replied the old 2 FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. nature. It was her nature as an obe- dient daughter to stay at home of nights. And when she finds that she hasn’t been strong enough to remodel his nature, she grieves in her soul.” “Many a night I've sat up waitin’ for you,” sald Mrs. Jucklin. but I came. didn’t 17" " she admitted, “but at what ““Oh, I didn’t have to keep track of the time. You did that. But I want to say to Billie, that stayin’ out at night is one of the worst habits a man can fall into. It is the dark side of married life. No matter how truthful a man may have started out, it makes him more or less of a liar. Midnight and the truth ain’t twins. And a man hasn’t re- formed when he cusses himself for bein’ a fool. The wisest man feels that he is a fool when he stays out too late. There ain’t no reproach more fetchin’ than to see the moon a-fadin’ away in. the heavens. Of course a man can't stay at home all the time. The fact is I'll be hanged if I know what he is to do. I'm not talkin’ about the saint,. but the flesh and blood man. You may try all you please to make a hymn of life, but the first thing you know a jig tune pops in. So, Billie, when you catch your- self inclined to whistle recollect that it ain't the healthiest of fun if you have to lle abcut it to your wife. -The old idea that a man is &x- cusable for lyin’ to his wife ain’'t a gcod one. Companions ought to be as truthful with each other as they can. And, above all, Billie, don’t let your wife catch you In a lie. That is about as bad a thing as could happen, for al- v-ays afterward no excuse will be valid. I'd almost as soon be convicted of per- Jjury as to have my wife catch me in a lie. You may be able to lie out of a lle 10 2 man; but when a woman gets the notion you are a liar, you are, so far as she is concerned, no matter how big may be your reserve fund of truth. ‘When you have lied and she has caught you, I am not at all certain that a gen- erous acknowledgment will pay. And yet if you stick to it a long time must pass before you can live it down. A woman’s memory is like the sun—it rises fresh every mornin’. Sometimes a simple lie is a finger board, pointin’ toward the courthouse where they keep divorces. A woman may admire a man because he’s a good dancer, but in her heart she lovestruth and honor. So, be as truthful as you ¢an, and when you find that you have exhausted your stock, ask her to help you to replenish it. Make a distress of your scarcity of truth and she will be pleased to nurse “And we end, silently. lyln,g within its gloomy precincts,’ He is as raw as unginned cotton. He begins by yleldin' to every persuasion and after a while rebels against himself. ‘woman never understands why she should sur- render a territory that has graciously been pre- sented to her. And the sweetest of all territo- ries is the enjoyment of the spare time of her A pay In the long run. I don’t mean that you should be serious. Nothin® is gained by bein’ solemn. “David is remembered as well for havin’ danced before the ark as for some of his psalms, wherein he wanted the Lord to wipe out a whole lot of Tolks. Have all the fun you can, but gurgle of astonishment. *“You're not dreaming of telling now? It would never, never do. We've not even been introduced. I'm to be here several weeks, you know, and it must dome to pass very gragdually.” ‘I suppose so, bless your proper little heart! But isn't it a wee bit more un- conventional to have it happen thus than that it should merely be known of? Anyway 1 promise to be the most persistently love lorn of any swain who sver aspired to a fair lady's hand. Ah, here we are!” Fortunately the avenue was well shaded just before the blaze of light at the steps was reached. Dickie greeted them (how he had managed to pass thém a certain team might have borne breathless testi- mony) in an agony of contrition. His very first blunder. He supposed, of course, they’d met. Clarissa had come alone—Madeleine had been investigat- ing and wrenched from him tne whole sad tale. Clarissa wouldn’t say a word. They sweetly forgave him and were smilingly introduced. “Why, Joe Harrington. What's wrorg?”’ The bride's brother was a clear-headed master c¢f ceremonies. “You belong with Clarissa, you know.” “Yes, I know. Some mistake. Every- body excited, of course. Say, Dickie, I can go in here just as well. Don't worry, old man I don’t mind.in the least.” “All serene! Here, Ethel, you can shelter this carriageless Joe.” And Dickie flew off to see that such “care- lessness as the best man’s being stranded” was not repeated. “Ethel,” mused Harrington as the rubber wheels started, leaning forward too many of the Jigs, stop and ask yourself if they F ODIL MAID § it. * the whole thing up, do the best you can. Be patient. Remember that you are a man and that the foot of a man is nearly always on the.verge of slip- pin’. And when it has slipped put it back with as little noise as possible. Tell the truth just as often as you can. and you will find it an investment that and devouring her with his eyes. “Ethel! It suits so admirably I might almost have known. Madeleine only told me Miss Harman.” The red-brown eyes met his square- ly. “Joe,” she said meditatively. “Yes, I like it. She only told me Mr. Har- rington.” “You came—?" “Only this afternoon.” “Why have you never come before?" “I didn’t know there was anything to come for.” As she spoke they flashed under an arc lamp, and bending eagerly toward her, he caught the shine of her eyes. It was enough. His hands groped an instant, then gathered in her two warm, ¥lelding ones. “‘Oh, girl, girl!” he whispered exult- ingly, “I knew the moment I saw you that you had come for my sake! But how, how have I lived all this while and never found you?” “I cannot tell, dear, cnly that now is the right time,” was the low response. Holding both her hands in one of his own he slipped to her side and tipped her head back against his shoulder. His eyes sought hers in the gloom of the carriage, glorying in_ the revelations brought by the passing lights. During the ensuing hours of the re- ception Harrington, ingenuous to the point of bluntness, found use for all his skill as a dissembler. The auburn head was an irresistible magnet, and his tell-tale eyes followed where his feet were forbidden to tread. Again and again he dragged himself back to the daffodil maid and his proper duty, to find her always mysteriously smiling at him out of a quizzical face. It will do her good. Marriage may start out as a picnic, you know, but a picnic has its cold victuals. To sum A WAGON FHIAULED ZINEIZ 70 THE COUNTY-SERAT draws compound interest in gold.” (Copyright, 1905, by Ople Read.) ———t—iae The music of the triumphal march a Handel's “Judas Maccabaeus” has been adopted by the Imperial College of Mu- sic at Tokio as a Japanese air entitled “The Victory on the Yalu.” It was hard that the first madly happy hours of one’s life should be made to speed so slowly: but at last the bride and groom were off in a shower of rice, kisses and merry cries. Then quoth the mald of the daffo- dils to Dickle, “Do lock at Joe and Ethel!” There they stood on the top step hand in hand, placidly and absently waving after the disappearing carriage with their disengaged hands. The other two members were clasped. P R RISy It was three iInterminable months before Harrington was permitted to announce a farewell dinner to his bachelor friends. When he reached the club on that memorable night a letter awaited him bearing the familiar foreign postmark of Mr. and Mrs. Blake’s honeymooning nest. Over the signature of Madeleine Blake he read the following: “Bless you, my children! Nothing could delight me more—especially when it's my own particular little pie. Joe, the woman hater! Joe, the celi- bate! Clarissa was already engaged, you know, so made a willing martyr on the altar of my schemes. And my Ethel had to play instead of standin Ly my side, where she belonged. she hadn't—if you'd thought you be- longed to her by custom, Joe, Joe!— my beautiful girlie, instezd of becom- ing the happy Mrs. Harrington shortly, would have shared the sad, sad fate of the daffodil maid.” “And thus,” observed Harrington, with a charitable grin, “do some peo-~ ple flatter themselves.” (Copyright, 1904, by T. C. McClure.)