“Why, Mr. Willing, good afternoon! How pleasant to meet you on the avenue like this. But what are you doing in the shopping district? Hunting bargain neckties? There, there, don’t look so utterly galvanized; I didn’t mean it. Besides, I know perfectly well why you’re here; you came on the mere chance of meeting me! Ah, ha, you needn’t look so embarrassed about it. I don’t mind being seen with you; I’m not a bit exclusive. Well, it was a shame to tease him—so it was. Now, as a very special favor, how would you like to go into Price’s with me, while I shop a little?
“H’m, you don’t seem awfully eager. What? Walk up the avenue instead? Well, we will, afterward. But let’s run in here just a minute while I buy a veil. It won’t take any time at all. And then we can go for a walk.
“Oh, what a crowd! I do think the people get thicker every year. Well, did you get through? I thought I’d lost you. When I saw you wedged in that revolving door with that fat lady you looked so funny. She was real cross, wasn’t she? But you were so meek, I had to laugh. You looked like a feeble-minded jelly fish.
“Now, now, Willy Willing, don’t peeve. Smile a ’ittle bitsy; yes, you do seem to be the only man here. But I’m glad to have you, it is so nice to have a man to pilot one through a shopping crowd. Oh, of course, the floor-walkers are just for that purpose, but they can’t go outside their diocese, or whatever you call it. Now, you can go ahead and blaze a trail. The veil counter is over that way, I think, anyway, it’s quite near the ribbons and catty-cornered across from the artificial flowers.
“Yes, here we are at last. Now, I’ll sit on this stool and you stand right by me. Don’t let women push in between us, for I want your advice.
“Oh, look who’s here! Why, Tottie May! I haven’t seen you since we were in Venice. Do you remember Venice? And those two long lines of Hoffman houses each side of the Grand Canal! Wasn’t it stunning? You, darling, how lovely to see you again. Yes, yes, I do, I do want to be waited on, but do wait a minute, can’t you? Yes, I want veiling, by the yard—there, that’s the kind I want. Oh! please don’t let that woman carry it off!
“Goodby, darling, must you go? Yes, the large meshed kind. Oh, no, not that one covered with little blue beads. I should feel as if I had turquoise measles. I want a sort of gray—the shade they call ‘Frightened Mouse’—though why a mouse should ever be frightened when we are all scared to death of them—There, Mr. Willing, do you think this one is becoming? When I hold it up against my face, so. Where’s baby? Peep-bo. Oh, gracious, that floor-walker thought I peep-boed at him.
“Mercy me, I have rubbed all the powder off my nose. Oh, no, it won’t hurt the veil. I beg your pardon, madame, did I push you with my elbow? Indeed, I’m not taking up all the room. I’m fearfully crowded. And I rather fancy I can try the effect of a veil if I want to.
“Now, Willy Willing, how do you like this one, with the big polka dots? Yes, I know, only one dot shows, they’re so big and so far apart. But polka dots are so fashionable.
“Do you know the polka is coming in again—the dance I mean? They call it the panther polka? It’s awful sinuous—a sort of stealthy glide—makes you think of Sarah Bernhardt, or Elinor Weeks, but the best people have taken it up.
“What? you’re afraid they’ll get taken up? Oh, Willie Willing, how witty you are.
“There, do you like this veil? Don’t you think it suits my hair? Mr. Dow says my hair is a yellow peril. I don’t know what he means.
“You like my face better without my veil? Why, how pretty of you. Now, just for that I’ll let you select one.
“You’d select a bridal veil? Oh, fie, fie, Mr. Willing. You don’t really—Yes, I do want a veil. Please show me some of your other styles. And Mr. Willing, what do you think? At Gladys’s wedding next week, she is going to have—Certainly, my dear girl, I’m ready to look at your goods, but these are not the veils I want. Show me something newer, these are all—Why, Gladys said that Polly Peters said—do you remember Polly Peters? Well, you’d never know her now. Slim! She’s nothing but a spine—Yes, my girl, I’m looking at your veils, but I want the piece that lady has just picked up. Let’s wait till she lays it down.
“Now, Mr. Willing, you mustn’t get impatient. You men don’t realize what hard work shopping is, until now—Oh, my gracious! I have to be at our culture class by 4 o’clock. There’s a lecture on ‘Art Uplift in the Kitchen,’ and I know it will be fine.
“No, I don’t cook, but it’s such a satisfaction to know that one’s soup is made in a Greek-shaped jug, instead of a crude iron kettle—Oh, mercy, no! I wouldn’t wear a veil like that! Why, Mrs. Bailey had one like that once, and the very day I saw her wearing it I lost my amethyst hatpin. I’ve always considered a veil like that unlucky ever since.
“Well, I don’t seem to care for any of these veils, they’re not a bit distinctive. And a veil is such an important part of a costume—it dresses up the face so. These patterns are most uninteresting.
“Come on, Willing Willy, let’s go down to Storer’s and look at veils there—shall us?
“Why, you don’t seem to want to go a bit. Now, don’t go just to please me. I thought perhaps you were interested in—
“Oh, do you want to go? Do you know I believe you men just love to go shopping, and you only pretend you don’t.
“I am sorry, dear, that your veils don’t suit me, but, of course, I can’t buy what I don’t want just to help the store along; you couldn’t expect that, could you?
“And, anyway, I wasn’t exactly buying a veil—I was just shopping for one.”
“Oh, how do you do, Mr. Willing? I’m so glad to see you! I was just saying to myself it’s such a dull afternoon I’d be glad to see anybody.”
“Even me!”
“Now, you’re just fishing for a compliment, but you won’t get it. Sit down in that big easy chair and we’ll have a nice, quiet, comfy afternoon, and you can talk to me.”
“I can do what?”
“Oh, well, I’ll talk to you, then. I want to ask your advice about something. I’m in a—well, a sort of a dilemma—and I want the judgment of a man of the world—an all-round knowing man—if you know what I mean. Oh, there’s the telephone—pardon me, Mr. Willing—I’ll just see who it is—no, you needn’t leave the room—it’s probably Tottie, or some of the girls. Hello! Oh, hello! Is that you, Jack? Why, you dear boy, I’m so glad to see you—hear you, I mean.
“What? Not really? Oh, the idea! Now, don’t you flatter me like that—oh, no, no—I couldn’t possibly!—well, maybe—if you’ll promise to be good.
“What, now? Oh, no, Jack, you can’t come up here now. I’m—just going out! No—you didn’t hear a man’s voice exclaiming! That was Fido! Yes, he has a human sort of a bark. Well, yes, it is a little like Willy Willing’s voice—he’s a perfect puppy! What! No! Of course, I mean Fido. No, Jack, you can’t come now; I tell you I’m going out. I have on my hat and coat already—yes, that was Fido again—he always makes that queer sound when anybody telephones. (Puts hand over transmitter.) Mr. Willing, you must keep still, or I won’t tell all these fibs for your benefit! But I don’t want our nice quiet afternoon intruded upon—Yes, Jack, come to-morrow. I have something I want to consult you about. I really need the advice of a (covers transmitter again)—Mr. Willing, please step into the library for a moment. Look at the new books on the table—Yes, Jack, truly, I need the experienced advice of an all-round man of the world—like you—oh, yes, you are—you’re awfully well balanced and all that—don’t talk when I am talking—wait till I ring off—oh, Jane is just bringing me a card—wait a minute, Jack—why, it’s Mr. Strong—I like that man awfully well—show him in, Jane. Goodby, Jack—no, I can’t listen now—good-by.”
“How do you do, Mr. Strong? Do sit down. Take this easy chair. I’m so glad to see you—yes, isn’t it dull weather? So good of you to come and brighten up an otherwise lonely afternoon. Excuse me, just a moment; there’s a new book in the library I want to show you. (Goes into next room.)
“Now Mr. Willing, you must stay here till Mr. Strong goes. Because, if you show yourself, you’ll have to leave here before he does——”
“I won’t!”
“Hush, he’ll hear you—now, I won’t be a bit entertaining to him, and he’ll soon go—and then we can have our nice, quiet afternoon. Now, will you be goody-boy and stay here and not make a sound?”
“Yes, but I’ll eavesdrop everything you say.”
“I don’t care. I shan’t mean a word of it!”
“And if you don’t fire him pretty swift I’ll come in there and stir up a hurrah’s nest!”
“There! there! there! little one. Rest tranquil! Read a nice, pretty book or something, but don’t smoke, or he’ll know somebody’s in here.”
(Lilly returns to drawing room.) “Yes, I’m so glad you came, Mr. Strong—what book?—Oh, yes, I was going to show you a book, but I—it wasn’t there. Never mind, let’s just chat—I want to ask you something, something serious, you know. May I?”
“Oh—I don’t know—you see, it’s Leap Year!”
“Now Mr. Strong, don’t frivol. It doesn’t suit your iron-bound countenance. And, truly, I’m in earnest! You know, we women like to get the ideas of a man’s brain! A man of judgment and experience—a—well, what they call a man of the world—oh, yes, you are. I often quote your opinions—they’re so profound. Now, what I want to ask you about is—oh, there’s the telephone—excuse me—just a tiny minute—no, don’t go. Oh, hello! Is that you, Flossy? Darling girl, do come over, can’t you?—yes, now—right away—oh, I wish you could—I want to hear all about it!—only last night?—a ruby and diamond!—oh, heavenly!—well, come to-morrow morning, then—yes—yes, indeed, dearest—goodby—goodby—yes, I think so, too—perfectly horrid, but, oh, of course, yes—goodby—no, nothing of the sort—yes, I’ll come right over—goodby—”
“Oh, must you go, Mr. Strong?”
“Well, yes, I did tell Miss Fay I’d go over to see her, but I meant after your call was over—please don’t go yet—you must? Well, come again, do—I always enjoy a talk with you—you’re so—so profound—if you know what I mean. Good afternoon, Mr. Strong.
“Now, come back, Mr. Willing! Didn’t I tell you I’d get rid of him in short order? But he’s such an everlasting talker it’s hard to make him go. Now, we can have our nice, quiet afternoon. Excuse me just a minute first—I want to telephone just the leastest word to Tottie May!
“Oh, hello! Is this you, darling? What do you think?—oh, you know already? Did Flossy tell you?—oh, no, not really! Well, for gracious goodness’ sake!—yes, coral-pink chiffon, in one of those new smudge designs—oh, yes—a black chip Gainsborough, with practically all the feathers in the world piled on it—no, Thursday afternoon—why, about five—violets? Well, rather! Oh, Tottie—and, yes, Mr. Willing is here, but he can’t hear what you say—no, he doesn’t mind waiting—oh, Tottie! I can’t believe it. Yes, she did! And she said that Billy said if she ever did such a thing again—Oh, Tottie, what do you think? Mr. Willing has gone!”
“Hello, Uncle Abel! Here’s me! Here’s your little ray of sunshine. Aunt Hetty sprung a C. Q. D. at me over the telephone and said she had to go to a meeting of some Hen’s Club or other, and would I come around here and sit with you. So I came just as soon as I could skittle over. You poor dear, are you awfully tired of staying in the house? Well, I suppose gout is annoying. Why don’t you try Mental Science? They say it’s fine! You know, you just think you haven’t any gout, and then you don’t have any! Though, for that matter, you might as well think you hadn’t any foot.”
“And, then, wouldn’t I have any?”
“No, I suppose not. But that wouldn’t do any good, because I’ve heard that soldiers, or any people with their feet cut off, feel them hurting just the same. But, never mind, my poor darling, I’m going to be so entertaining this afternoon that you won’t know whether you have any feet or not.”
“Entertaining, hey? I suppose that means you’ll chatter like a confounded magpie till I’m nearly crazy. I don’t see why women have to be eternally talking!”
“There, there, Uncle Abel, your foot is bad to-day, isn’t it? Aunt Hetty said you were as cross as a teething baby—”
“Oh, she said that, did she?”
“Yes, and she said she hoped to goodness I could chirk you up some, for she’d just about reached the end of her patience!”
“Pooh! She never had any patience! Now, if she were in my plight—full of chronic hereditary gout, and just getting over the grippe—”
“Well, you ought to be thankful it isn’t chronic hereditary grippe! But men can’t stand a bit of discomfort!”
“Confound your impertinence, Miss! What are you talking about? I don’t know what your aunt meant by getting you over here this afternoon! You’ve no more feeling or sympathy than a Dutch doll!”
“Oh, yes I have, Uncle, dear! Here, I’ll rest your foot in an easier position—”
“Ooo! E—E! Ouch!! Gosh, Lilly! I wish I had something to throw at you! Get away, girl!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your poor, dear, suffering old wrapped-up bundle of foot! Here, let me put another sofa cushion under it. Say, Uncle, I saw the loveliest burnt leather sofa-pillow in Van Style’s window as I came along! It would suit my room beautifully. There, there, dear, let me rub your forehead with this cologne; isn’t that soothing?”
“Soothing nothing! You’ve doused it all in my eyes, they smart like fire! Oo, ouch! Lilly, get out!”
“Well, try that mental science again. Think they don’t smart. Think you haven’t any eyes!”
“I wish I hadn’t any ears! Do stop chattering, Lilly!”
“My! Aunt Hetty sized up your state of mind all right, didn’t she? Well, Uncle, I guess I’ll read to you. Here’s a lovely story in this new magazine. Listen: ‘The pale young man fairly trembled as he looked at her. “Ethelyn,” he murmured, in sighing tones, “you are so adorably subtle, so tragically intensive, that I feel—I feel—”’”
“I refuse to know how that young nincompoop felt! Shut up that fool book, Lilly! If you must read, read me some Wall Street news.”
“All right, Uncle Abel, here goes. I’ll read from this morning’s paper: ‘Coffee declined rather sharply at the opening.’ Why, how funny! What was the opening? A sort of a reception day? And if people declined coffee, why did they do so sharply? Why not say, ‘No, thank you,’ and take tea?”
“I don’t want that column; turn to ‘Gossip of Wall Street.’”
“Yes, here that is. But, Uncle, do the magnates and things gossip? I thought that was a woman’s trick! Well, here we are: ‘Steel rail changes discussed all day!’ Oh, Uncle, and then to call women chatterboxes! When men talk all day long about a foolish little thing like changing a steel rail! Why, I can change a whole hat in less time than that! Say, Uncle, there was the dearest hat in the Featherton’s window—”
“I’ll bet it was dear if it was in that shop!”
“Well, but it had been reduced; marked down to $27.99. Such a bargain! Uncle, you know my birthday comes next week—”
“Well, which do you want, the hat or the sofa-pillow you hinted for a while ago?”
“Oh, Uncle, how lovely of you! But it’s hard to choose between them. Suppose I had them both sent home on approval—and then I can see—”
“Yes, I know what that means!”
“Oh, here comes the maid, with your beef tea. No, Jane, let me take it; I’ll give it to him. You may go, Jane. I’ll just taste this, Uncle, to be sure it isn’t too hot for you. Oh, how good it is! I’ve often thought I’d like to be an invalid just on account of the lovely things they get to eat. Why, this beef tea is delicious! And such a pretty cup and saucer. Do you know, Ethel Wylie has a whole set like this. ‘Coalport,’ isn’t it? Say, Uncle, what do you think about the coal strike? Do tell me all about it—I’m shockingly ignorant of politics. Do they call it a strike because the men get mad and strike each other? Or what?”
“Lilly, if you don’t want all that beef tea, I believe I could relish a little.”
“Oh, Uncle, how thoughtless of me! I’ve sipped nearly all of it! I suppose I sort of thought I was at a tea. But I think there’s as much as you ought to take. Dear Uncle, it’s so nice to see you eat something nourishing. I’m sure it will do you good. It must be awful to have the grippe. And you have headache, haven’t you? Now, don’t say no—I can see it in your poor, dear eyes. I’m going to tie this wet bandage round your forehead—so—oh, no, it isn’t dripping down your neck—it can’t be. Well, it will soon stop. Now I’ll rub this menthol on the bridge of your nose—now, now, Uncle, don’t scowl like that. If you won’t try mental science we must use remedies.”
“Lilly, if you don’t let me alone I’ll throw this cup and saucer at you!”
“Oh, Uncle, dear, don’t be so peevish! There, now, I’ll pat your poor foot and sing to you.”
“Ooch! Oh, the devil! Lilly, get out! There!!”
“Oh, Uncle, you’ve smashed that lovely ‘Coalport!’ Did those gentle little pats hurt your foot? I don’t believe it! I declare a man is worse to take care of than a baby! Thank goodness, here comes Aunt Hetty!”
I have some material here I wish to exchange—I say I have—Will you kindly wait on me?—Busy?—I have some—Now, I must be waited on; I’m in a great hurry! Oh, very well. I have some material here I wish to exchange. It’s marquisette, but it isn’t the right shade. Not marquisette?—Chiffon marquisine? Well, I don’t care if it’s linsey-woolsey! I want to exchange it, or rather, return it. No, I don’t have a charge account; I want the money back. Please give it to me quickly. I’m going to a matinée—What! You can’t take it back here? I must go to the desk? Why, I bought it here, right at this counter, of that thin girl with the hectic flush. She doesn’t look well, does she? She ought to go to some good sanatorium. Well, you see this chiffon, or whatever it is, is the wrong shade. I asked for elephant’s breath, and this is more on the shade of frightened mouse. It doesn’t match my satin at all.—Oh, dear, how unaccommodating you are! Well, where is the desk? Ask the floor-walker? Oh, very well!—Please direct me to the desk. What desk? I don’t know, I’m sure! Any desk will suit me. I want to return some goods that doesn’t match my own material, and you know, this season, if—Near the rear door?—Of course they’d put it as far away as possible!
Is this the exchange desk? Well, I want to return this piece of goods—Oh, no! It isn’t soiled! That’s the original color. Frightened mice often look soiled when they’re not at all! Yes, that is the name! No, it isn’t taupe, nor mode, nor steel common, it’s just frightened mouse. I can carry colors in my eye just like an artist. Now it doesn’t matter what color it is, anyway, for it’s the wrong color!—Cut off the piece? Of course it’s cut off the piece! There’s two yards and a half of it—Remnant? No, it was not! I don’t buy leftovers!—Then you can’t change it? Well, come to think, maybe it was a remnant! Yes, I believe it was! I don’t often get them, but this just matched my satin,—I mean it didn’t match my satin, and that’s why I bought it. No, I mean—well, anyway, I want to return it.—Had it a long time? Well, I couldn’t help that! The dressmaker disappointed me,—that is, I had to go to some bridge parties and things unexpectedly, so I had to put her off. But the minute she pinned it on the pattern I saw it was the wrong shade. Pinholes in it? Nonsense! They don’t show. Of course we had to pin it. Seems to me you’re making a lot of fuss about a simple exchange—I mean a return. I’d like the money back at once. A credit check? No, I want the money; I haven’t any with me, because I depended on getting this. What! You don’t give back the money? Why, it says in your advertisements, “Satisfaction given or money refunded.” Some other shop? Well, I’m sure I thought it was this shop that did that or I’d never have bought the stuff here! Rules? Regulations? Oh, dear! Well, then, take it and give me a credit check. Yes, I’ll sign my name! Dear me, what a lot of red tape! I suppose you have to go through all this to keep from being swindled—Yes, that’s my name and address.
Now, can I get anything in the store for this check? Why, that’s rather fun! Seems as if you were giving it to me for nothing! Oh, how pretty that chiffon looks as you hold it up to the light! Do you know, it doesn’t match my satin, but it would go beautifully with my voile gown, and I want that made over. I do believe I’d better keep it. It was a good bargain, I remember. I wonder if it would match it. I’m sure it would,—I carry colors in my eye so well,—and it’s a lovely quality. I think, if you please, I’ll take it back. What, sign my name again? Well, there, I’ve signed off again. My! it’s like going to law or a divorce court,—not that I’ve ever done either, and, after this experience, I hope I never shall! But just hold that stuff up again. Oh, now that they’ve turned on the electrics, it’s a totally different shade! Oh, I don’t want it now at all! Can’t you turn off the lights again? I’d no idea it was getting so late!—Oh, well, if you’re going to be disagreeable, I’ll take it, then. The value is nothing at all to me! My husband is a prosperous broker. Yes, I’ll take it. Please send it home for me, and if I don’t like it when I get it, I’ll send it back.
“Oh,—how do you do? Are you Miss Allfriend?—the Housewife’s Helper? You must excuse me, but I never saw a Visiting Housekeeper before, and I’d no idea they looked so,—so correct! Well, since you’re here, please begin to housekeep at once. I’m in such a flurry. You see, I’m standardizing my housework, and it makes so much confusion. You understand—don’t you,—all about Lost Motion and Increased Efficiency? I’m a perfect crank on those two things. They mean so much to us enlightened women. Am I a suffragette? Oh, mercy, no! I’m happily married. But I believe in Ethics and Standardization and all those modern conveniences.
“Now, Miss Allfriend, if you’ll please set the dinner table. I’m having a little dinner to-night for Senator Caldwell and his wife. They’re terribly swagger, and, of course, I don’t want to put on any airs, but I do want things to be nice. So, you set the table—Where are the things? Why, hunt them up from the cupboards and buffets? If I get the things out, I may as well do the work myself! I thought you were to help! Here’s the center-piece I want used. Oh,—it is creased, isn’t it? Well, just press it off. Do it carefully,—there’s so much in pressing. Well, yes,—it is a little spotted. I guess you’ll have to wash it. Use only a pure white soap,—and don’t let the colors run.
“And you’d better dust the dishes. Some of them haven’t been used lately. Of course you know how to set a table? If you’re uncertain look in the ‘Perfect Lady’s Home Guide.’ It’s in that drawer, I think,—or, no,—perhaps it’s upstairs,—or maybe I loaned it to Miss Jennings,—she’s going to be married next week, and she has the loveliest—
“Oh, Miss Allfriend, don’t begin on the table, now. It’s only three o’clock, and Mrs. Ritchie’s children are coming to spend the afternoon with Gladys Gwendolyn. I wish you’d fix up a sort of little party for them. The Ritchies are new people, and I want the children to have a good time here. Can’t you telephone to the caterer for some ices and cakes? Nothing elaborate,—I think children’s parties ought to be kept simple. Who is our caterer? Why,—well,—the truth is, we haven’t one just now,—for I scolded Lafetti so that I don’t like to call him again. You see he was rude because we hadn’t paid—well,—anyway, he was impertinent,—so—don’t you know of some nice caterer to telephone to? Order only simple things,—say a Jack Horner pie, with pretty little gifts in it,—and ices in novel shapes,—and plenty of bon-bons,—children love candy so.
“But before you do that, please just finish off Gladys Gwendolyn’s little frock. It’s nearly done, but the seamstress had to leave it to finish my dinner gown, so you just look after baby’s dress. It only needs one sleeve set,—and make it a bit larger round the belt,—it’s too tight for her,—I don’t believe in cramping the little growing bodies.
“I’m awfully careful with Gladys Gwendolyn. I boil her toys and I bake her books every day. And won’t you see,—since you’re here,—that she uses her germicide spray on the even hours, and her antiseptic douche every other half hour? It is a help to have you here, I’m sure. And I wish you would entertain the kiddies. Not professionally,—you know,—just tell them stories and make up games for them. Oh, and be sure to arrange prizes,—children just love prizes. Are you knacky about such things? Some people are,—and others are so different!
“Can you play Bridge? I’ve just two tables running over for a rubber at four, and I’m most sure one lady won’t come! And you look so,—so,—presentable, I’d be glad if you’d take a hand, if necessary,—and I’m pretty certain it will be.
“Now I must fly and take my nap. Then I have to go for my short walk. I have to exercise, or I gain at once. Now please attend to the things I’ve asked of you. If you standardize, you can easily have time for all. And in your spare moments, here’s a piece of my cross-stitch embroidery,—you may as well do a little. Be sure to cross the stitches the way I do.
“And please answer the telephone when it rings;—oh, say anything you like. You must have wit enough to know what to say! If you’re qualified for a Visiting Helper, you ought to know such things!
“And be very careful what you say before Gladys Gwendolyn. I’m bringing her up in an ethically artistic atmosphere. I want her to come in contact only with what is true and beautiful. And unless I’m ethically pure myself, how can I expect her to be? So bear that in mind, Miss Allfriend.
“Oh, and by the way, our telephone is on a party wire. If you overhear any interesting gossip, be sure to remember it, and tell me!”
“Yes, I went to New York yesterday, and, if you’ll believe me, my dear, I never had such a day in all my life! You see, I thought I’d shop a little in the morning, and then meet John for luncheon, and go to the matinée afterward. Well, we did all that, but such a time as I had doing it!
“I didn’t go in town with John. He goes on that eight-thirty-nine—all our best commuters do; but it’s too early for me to get off. He said we’d lunch at a swell hotel—John’s a perfect dear about such things, if we have been married nearly two years. So, of course, I wanted to look my bestest, and I put on my new blue gown. I’d never had it on before, and—Yes, it is a hobble skirt; but I begged Miss Threadley not to make it extreme. I do hate extreme fashions. So she said she’d make a modified hobble, a hobblette, she calls it—and she assured me it would be all right. It’s a perfect beauty, my dear; but, good land! It’s exactly the shape of a bolster slip, and round the knees it’s fitted tightly and boned.
“Well, anyway, I got into the thing and started for the ten-forty-eight train. As I started to walk away I fell over at the very first step! Luckily I fell into a chair; but I bruised my knee and ankle dreadfully. Jane brought hot water and witch hazel and fixed me up, and I started again, for I didn’t want to lose that train. How I got downstairs I don’t know. It was a series of jumps and jounces. But, after this, I shall slide down on a tea tray, as I used to do when I was a child.
“Of course I knew it was only a matter of learning to walk in the thing, and I was bound to learn. I went along the street pretty well as long as I remembered to take little, tiny steps, but as I reached Maple Avenue I heard the train coming. You know there’s a good two blocks to go after that, so I ran! My dear, if you could have seen me! Talk about contortionists! Of course my running was just a sort of jiggety-jig trotting, but I had to keep going to preserve my equilibrium. I reached the train just as it was ready to move out of the station. I tried to step on, but you know how high the lowest step is. I simply couldn’t reach it. I tried first one foot and then the other, and neither would come anywhere near that step without tearing my skirt. And it wouldn’t tear! If it would, I should have let it go, for I was filled with mortification. At last the conductor and the brakeman took me by my elbows and swung me up or I never should have got aboard at all.
“Then in New York it was dreadful. You know how I cross the street? I simply have to do it my own way, for it makes me nervous to depend on those policemen. I always cross in the middle of a block to escape them. I just watch for a good chance, you know, and then I run across fast, and I always manage all right. But, yesterday, I tried to run, and that awful skirt held me back, and when I was about half way across I stumbled in it, and the trolley cars and motors just clambered all around me! How I got over alive I don’t know. I shouldn’t have, only two nice men and a boy seemed to spring up from somewhere to help me. Well, then I went on, and I suddenly discovered the lovely satin hem was getting awfully soiled. So I tried to hold it up, but—My dear, have you ever tried to hold up a hobblette? Well, don’t!
“It’s much more unmanageable than a sheath! I wanted to turn it up, like a man does his trousers legs, but I felt I was attracting enough attention as it was. Then, my dear, it was time to go to meet John, and I tried to get on a street car. Well, the board of aldermen, or whatever they are, will have to have those car steps made lower! I had my pay-as-you-go nickel all ready, but I just couldn’t get up to the place where you go. And the wretched conductor wouldn’t help me a bit! He just grinned, as if it were an old story to him. I tried three or four cars, but they all had high steps and unhelpful conductors; so I took a taxicab.
“They do have sense enough to build the steps of the taxicabs fairly low, so I got in all right and went straight to the hotel. Well, I had been shopping, you know, and I had spent much more than I thought I had—I always do, don’t you?—and, if you please, I didn’t have money enough in my purse to pay that cabman! But that isn’t the worst of it! I did have more money with me, but it was in my stocking. I always carry some extra bills there, and I’m rather an adept at getting it out, if need be, without anyone knowing what I’m doing. But that skirt wouldn’t budge! I stepped back into the cab and shut the door, but I simply couldn’t raise that hobblette enough to get my money. What could I do? Well, as good luck would have it, John came along just then, and I opened the cab door as if I had just arrived. John paid the bill.
“We had a lovely luncheon—John is a dear man to go about with—and then we went to a matinée. But, O, my dear, if my knees didn’t get cramped! Both feet went to sleep, but they wanted to walk in their sleep, and they couldn’t. Well, when we did come out I could scarcely stand, let alone walk! And John hurried me to the station. And when we reached the boat it was just beginning to move from the dock.
“‘Jump!’ said John. ‘It’s perfectly safe. I’ve got hold of you. We’ll jump together now.’
“‘I won’t!’ said I firmly, and I didn’t. Why, my dear, if I had we’d have both gone into the water.
“So we waited for the next boat, but John didn’t know why, and never will!”
“Oh, am I late? I’m so sorry! My dear Miss Cooke, have I kept your class waiting? Now don’t look at me like that! Cheery and blithe, please. And Milly,—just wait a minute till I fold up this veil; they get so rubbishy if you don’t,—truly, I started early enough, but, you see, I met Roddy Dow, and—we took a walk around the block,—it’s such a sunny, shiny, country kind of a day, we just had to. Of course, I told him I was in a hurry to get to class, and I babbled on about all the whipped angel food and eggless omelets we’re going to learn to make, and he said,—girls, what do you think he said? He said I was fluffy-minded! Me! the greatest living example of a young woman with earnest aims and high ideals! Well,—so I said—yes, yes, Miss Cooke, I am folding it up as fast as I can,—I’ll be ready in a minute,—don’t make that foolish noise, pretty lady. Shall I sit here by Flossy Fay? Oh, what winsome looking creatures! Live crabs? Are they? And we’re to learn to make “Crab Flakes à la Pittsburg?” Oh, how perfectly gorgeous! Do you know, Flossy, I met that Pittsburg man last night,—that Mr. Van Roxie. Yes, the one with one lung and thirty millions. He’s too ducky for words! He didn’t approve of me at first,—I sat next to him at dinner, you know,—because I asked him whether he’d rather talk politics or have a lover’s quarrel. He looked at me sort of gimletty,—if you know what I mean,—and he said I was a Pink and White Mistake! Me! the Only Original Magazine-Cover Girl! Well—so I said,—yes, Miss Cooke, I’m listening. Certainly I know what you said; you said,—well, you said something about eggs. No, I don’t recall exactly what,—to me, there’s always an air of mystery about eggs, anyway. And, besides, most all the recipes are eggless, nowadays,—it’s the latest fad. Oh, cream the yolks? Now, isn’t that funny? My new mauve messaline has a cream yoke,—that heavy lace, you know,—I think they call it,—My heavens and earth! Miss Cooke! One of the crabs is loose! Oh, girls, get up on your chairs! That’s right, Flossy,—climb up on this table, by me!
“O-o-ooh! Police! Turn in an alarm, somebody! Miss Cooke! Don’t try to pick him up! He’ll attack you,—and rend you limb from limb!
“Don’t you step on him! I’m a termagant S. P. C. A. and I won’t see a poor dumb crab cruelly treated in my presence! There! He’s run under that cupboardy thing! You’ll have to poke him out again!
“Oh, Flossy, don’t jump about so! This table will break down; it feels wriggly now.
“Please, Miss Cooke, don’t scold me! I can’t help feeling nervous when that terrifying monster is walking abroad. Well, I will keep still, but maybe I won’t resign from this Cooking Class, if we have to have such frisky viands!
“And, Miss Cooke, I hate to seem intrusive,—but there’s another crab flew the coop,—and he’s grabbing your apron string,—it’s untied.
“Oh, I thought that would make you jump ‘Calm yourself,’—as you said to me; ‘he won’t hurt you, if you pick him up properly,’—you said.
“Oo-oo-ee-ee! They’re all out! The whole dozen! Oh, Miss Cooke, scramble up here, for your life!
“Cissy Gay, if you get up here, too, this table will break down! Get on the big table; never mind the eggs. Will you look at those awful beasts! They’re all over the floor. Oh, I’m so frightened! I wish Roddy Dow had come in with me! I wish Mr. Willing was here. I even wish I had that Pittsburg man to take care of me! Let’s all scream, and maybe the Janitor will come. Oh, there you are! Please, Janitor, brush up these crabs somebody spilled, won’t you?
“Well! I never saw a man afraid, before! Get down off that chair, Dolan! What do you mean? I’ll report you to the owner of this building! No, they won’t hurt you! You just pick ’em up by one hind leg, and they can’t bite. I’d do it myself,—only I’ve just been manicured.
“Talk about new-fangled housekeeping devices,—what is most needed is a crab pick-upper. That would fill a longer felt want than all their fireless napkins and paper cookers.
“You know, they cook now in paper bags. No, I don’t know much about it, but I’m going to learn. They say it’s a great time-saver. I suppose they just take the paper bags of rice or beans or anything, as they come from the grocer’s, and put them on to boil. I expect they take the strings off before they send the bags to the table. It’s largely theoretical, of course. All these new movements are.
“But I’m for ’em! This cooking class, now; I only wish I could have brought Mr. Dow.
“Sitting this way, cross-legged on a kitchen table, with a frilly, bibby apron on, I know I look exactly like a Gibsty picture. And it’s all wasted on you girls!
“Crabs all corralled? Thank you, Dolan. Now, Miss Cooke, shall we go on with the lesson?
“Oh, you’re sorry, but the time is all used up!
“Well, never mind, Cooksy-Wooksy. I think they must have been suffragette crabs,—they agitated so terribly.
“And I don’t mind missing this lesson,—I’ve had enough deviled crabs for one day!”
A milkmaid having been a Good Girl for a long Time, and Careful in her Work, her mistress gave her a Pail of New Milk all for herself.
With the Pail on her Head she tripped Gayly away to the Market, saying to Herself:
“How Happy I am! For this Milk I shall get a Shilling; and with that Shilling I shall buy Twenty of the Eggs Laid by our Neighbor’s fine Fowls. These Eggs I shall put under Mistress’s old Hen, and even if only Half of the Chicks grow up and Thrive before next Fair time comes Round, I shall be able to Sell them for a Good Guinea. Then I shall Buy me a Monte Carlo Coat and an Ermine Stole, and I will Look so Bewitching that Robin will Come Up and Offer to be Friends again. But I won’t make up Too Easily; when he Brings me Violets, I shall Toss My Head So-and—”
Here the Milkmaid gave her Head the Toss she was thinking about, and the Pail of Milk was Dislodged from its resting-Place on her Head.
But, being a Member of a Ladies’ Physical Culture Club, she Deftly Caught the Pail and Replaced It.
All Turned Out as she had planned, and when Robin married her he gave her an Electric Automobile.
Moral:
Moral:
Don’t Discount Your Chickens Before they are Hatched.
Printer errors have been fixed.
Spelling retained as written by the author.
[The end of The Eternal Feminine, by Carolyn Wells]