Judge — March 23, 1918 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

“Oh, I know,” she said, brightly, “we will go to the Benton’s reception, after all. I shall call Mrs. Benton up this evening, and cancel our note of regrets. You'll be proud of me in my new gown, won’t you, dear?” When we reached the house, the gravity of the situa- tion dawned upon me. Apparently, every entrance was effectually closed. There had been some burglaries in our neighborhood, and I had cautioned my wife to see that every window was securely fastened. It seemed that with characteristic feminine perversity she had followed instructions. I made a round of the house, carefully trying every door and window, but all at- tempts met with failure. “Please hurry, dear,” begged my wife, “they prom- ised to have that gown here by five. I do hope it won’t be all mussed up. Taffeta crushes so easily.”” “Say, you go over next door and borrow some keys,” I sug- gested. . “Me?” she inquired cut- tingly, “I shall do nothing of the kind. We've been here two months, and that woman hasn’t called yet.” I made another round of the building, and, to my great joy, found that one of the iron grat- ings to the basement was loose. With eager hands, I pried it open. It was ten feet to the floor below, but I crawled through and let myself drop. I quickly recov- ered from the fall and ran up the stairs that led to the kitchen. It felt good to be in the house again. My exultation was short-lived. The kitchen door was locked hard and fast. When I descended to At Tuts Juncrure Mrs. Lane Returnep with an AssorTMENT OF Keys yet. I just know it ought to be here. If it doesn’t come before {orig T’ll call them up about it.” “Say,” I yelled savagely, “get a rope, and rig it up so that I can get out of here, and if you ever lock that basement door again, I’lI—I’II——” Unable to con- ceive of punishment commensurate with the crime, I waived completion of the threat. A clothes-line was convenient in the back yard, and presently I was again a prisoner on the outside. “We must get in some way,” insisted my wife, “I can’t receive that gown out here. Why can’t you go next door and borrow some keys?” “T’d stay out the rest of my life first. Who locked that door anyhow, I’d like to know?” Without condescending to an answer, she shaded her eyes with her hand and looked expectantly down the street. Just then, a lady ran up our walk. It was the mistress of the home next door. “Why, howdyedo, Mrs. Blank,” she said; “when I saw you out here|it reminded me that I hadn’t called on you. How do you like this neighbor- hood?” “Just lovely,” cooed my wife, “it’s so quiet and homelike. I have just come from down-town. Did you ever shop at Nord and Saylor’s?” “Yes, indeed; I bought the cunningest taupe Georgette blouse there, the other day. It has the most stunning embroid- ered motifs and bias folds of pur- ple velvet: ” “T must see it. I know it must beadear. I bought a gown the basement, I found that my “Say,” | YeLtep Savace.y,“Get a Rope!” there, to-day ” problem had been reversed. How to get out was now the question. To all appearances, that basement was a veritable dungeon keep. Behind the furnace, I discovered the remains of a decrepit step- ladder which had been consigned for use as kindling. With great care, I stationed it under the aperture through which I had entered, and started to climb to freedom. As I was reaching for my goal, a creak sounded from somewhere within the works of that ladder, imme- diately following which I fell several thousand feet, buffeted throughout the descent by the propeller of an aeroplane which seemed to be chasing me down. When consciousness got back on the job, I was lying on my neck with my head fitted snugly between the rungs of the ladder, one leg trellised among the woodwork of the wreck, and the other ranging up the wall. “What is it, dear?” asked my wife from the grating. “T thought I heard something. That gown hasn’t come became desperate. “Madam,” I said, “‘we are locked out. Have you, by any chance, any keys which would assist us in entering our house and home?” She broke into a peal of laughter. “Oh, but it’s too funny for anything! Last week, I forgot to put the key out, and we couldn’t get in, and, oh, I think Ernest—Mr. Lane—finally had to climb down the chimney. It’s too bad; I’ll go over and bring what keys we have.” While she was gone, we sat on the front porch in frigid silence. A pair of rude fellows passed along the street. They regarded us with evident surprise. “Ain’t them guys got sense enough tq go in out of the cold?” inquired one in perfectly audible tones. “T guess have one of these sanitariums,” replied the other; “that’s the way they act.” “T’m a little chilly,” sighed my wife; “hurry and comicbooks.com