Judge — February 8, 1913 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A DISTINCTION. Edythe—"' I could never marry money without love."’ The High Cost Gwen.—*‘ Nor 1; but I love money."’ of Butterflies. By JANE VIVIAN. OBERT INGAL'S lawyer came to him one day with a tale so somber, with the wrong side of the ledger so heavily weighted, that the former decided to have a face-to-face talk with his wife, even though he well knew the difficulty of discussing finance—when face to face with her—because he always forgot everything but her beauty. Nevertheless, he felt the necessity of making the attempt, just to ease the mind of his lawyer. When he had chosen a moment he considered fairly opportune, he ju- diciously selected a seat from which he could not see her without turning his head. “Rosamond,” he said, looking steadily into the fire, ‘do you know that you spend two thousand pounds a year for matinees, candy and orchids?"" Rosamond looked down at the orchids she was wearing and smiled. ‘‘My love, why will you speak in English money? It is so affected! How much is two thousand pounds in dollars?” “It is just enough, apparently, to keep you in trifles lighter than the air.’” “But, dearest, I have in my pocket’’-—— “You have in your pocket—your pocket!"’ Her husband laughed merrily and turned his head to discover if the pocket she had mentioned were concealed anywhere in the scant, rose-colored gown she was wearing. ‘‘My dear child, your grandmother may have had—probably did have—pockets; but you? Pshaw! There is not cloth enough in all your gowns put together to make one respectable posket!’" Rosamond laughed. She found her husband amusing— always. ‘If you would have allowed me to continue, Robert, dear, I should have said that I have bills in my pocket’ —— “Ah! That reminds me. After this, Rosamond, you g © CAN'T SHOOT IT OFF. Willium Tell—“' Sbut yer mouth, Mickey! just like the apple.’” can't open any new accounts. Those you already have threaten me with a pauper’s grave twelve times a year!’” ‘*But, Robert, I opened five new accounts December first. They were so nice about it! You see, I had lost my purse— and wanted things’’—— “You always do"’—— “Yes, I wanted things, and they were so kind about open- ing accounts’’—— “They always are!"” “Yes, they always are."’ Nature had traced Rosamond’s eyebrows so delicately that her friends tried to mold their own after the same sim- ple design, and grew hysterical over their failure. Nature had tinted her skin so exquisitely that flowers questioned her right to infringe on their color patents. In fact, Rosamond had everything for which distracted women long. Women never care much for brains. Her husband was her best foil. Nature had spent little time on his eyebrows and had left the sun to attend to the coloring of his skin. In fact, he had nothing—nothing but brains, presence and a musical ruggedness of speech which made people listen when he spoke. Particularly men. Men care for brains. Mr. Ingal decided to drop that matter and try the next item on his memorandum, which happened to be chauffeurs, “Rosamond, I think three chauffeurs are just about one chauffeur too many. Really, it is useless to keep a standing army of automobile drivers, isn’t it?’’ ‘Just as you like, dear. The three we have are usually intoxicated, so yesterday I en- gaged another. He promised to keep sober."* “You engaged another? That makes four!’’ Rosamond’s repose was per- It looks comicbooks.com