Judge — July 2, 1921 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

*newly furnished as this, and bcides as _ unhappy. A year—two years, perhaps The Little Table By Axprew McKay HE little mahogany table that stood near the door was a cynic. Vivian could see that plainly, and Claude had also observed some- thing of the kind. All the rest of their furnishings were new—from the cabinet phonograph to the fluffy, white muslin curtains at the windows. Their own furniture! Their own three rooms, not to mention a tiny kitchen, with an adorable gas-range, and a white enameled table and sink! Their own apartment! But the little table was a cynic. They had picked it up at a second- hand shop. It had seen apartments as sweet.and fresh as Vivian bustling hap- pily through housekeeping tasks. The little table had seen new fur- nishings become shabby, and new brides —then back to the second-hand dealer! Five-th'rty came at last. Import- antly, Vivian began the preparation of their first dinner. Claude would be home at six-thirty. The living-room table was trans- formed. White linen; their wedding silver; the china they had selected to- gether! Soup, fish, salad, lamb chops, English peas, potatoes au gratin, des- sert, coffee. Was it actually true that some wives served their men hash and a warmed-over vegetable at night? Vivian vowed that her Claude never should be so treated. A familiar whistle sounded outside the window. Vivian ran over and looked down to the street. There he was—Claude! Swinging along like a young millionaire, instead of a hard- working salesman with prospects. How handsome he looked in his new brown suit, and soft, drab hat. Blowing him a kiss, Vivian ran into the hall. She would wait by the little, automatic elevator and surprise him. She heard the clang of the door, the hum of the motor, the creaking of the cable. He was coming. Sheturnedand Drawn by R. B. Four gazed demurely out of the hall window. The elevator stopped. Some one stepped out. From the corner of her eye Vivian caught a flash of brown suit. Turning swiftly she threw her arms about his neck. And Claude, who had missed the elevator in the lower hall, came running up the stairway in time to see his bride of three weeks fall into the arms of a stranger. “Darling,” he heard her murmur. A moment later Claude was plunging blindly towards the street. A crimson- cheeked Vivian was seeking the sanctuary of her apartment. She had seen Claude’s ghastly face as he turned down the stairway. Surely he had heard her call to him! Tue Siren’s Cat. The chops burned unheeded, filling the room with a pungent odor. The flowers lay neglected and wilting by the half-filled vase. The little table leered. Two hours passed. Vivian sat staring into the darkness. Claude was gone. Her life was wrecked! There was nothing left but death! Another hour passed. There were steps in the hall. A key fumbled in the lock. The door opened. Silence—then the click of the switch, and the room was flooded with light. A wild-eyed Claude stood in the entrance. Vivian looked at him dully. She was fearful and she was angry. Would he dare reproach her? Did he dare doubt her? Why did he stare like that? “Well, what have you to say?” he demanded at last. Vivian’s emotions fused into stubborn anger. “Nothing!” Claude was staggered. She was bia- zen. For hours he had walked the streets and suffered fora... a... “Nothing?” he shouted. “You're not even ashamed? Well, you can go to him. I’m through——” “T hate you,” cried Vivian. “If you think that of me, you’re despicable!” “Think! I saw!’’ Claude retorted. The horror of what he had seen over- came him. “Oh! My God!” he groaned, and sat down heavily on the little table. The little table’s aged legs promptly collapsed. Claude’s head struck the sharp edge of the door frame. The blood streamed. With a cry, Vivian sprang to help him. She forgot she no longer loved him. She was sobbing. She helped him to the couch, and with her hand- kerchief tried to stop the blood now running in a slow stream over his fore- head. “Oh! Darling! Darling!” she sobbed. “Tt was all a mistake. “I was waiting for you, and he got off in a brown suit...” “Honey! Sweetheart!” Claude soothed her. “I might have known.” But Claude’s head must be ban- daged, and the color brought back into Vivian’s cheeks, and the old sparkle into her eyes. Why take time to tell you how this was done. You know. It was almost ten minutes before Vivian found time to say, “He was aw- fully old—almost forty! And I didn’t kiss him. I saw it wasn’t you. . .” Another interval which does not concern us. “If it hadn’t been for that darling little table, we might never have made up,” said Vivian. ‘“Wouldn’t that have been awful? We must have it repaired and keep it always to remind us.” “Tt will be our mascot,” said Claude. “And we'll never quarrel again.” “Never! Never!” Vivian echoed. “Tell that to the Morris chair,” said the little table, who, as I have told you, was a cynic. As History Says Truly the more American you feel So much the better you will grow, Just like the deer, the Indian corn, the seal, The sweet persimmon and the sloe. The Menu Card “Hey, waiter, what is this here Meyer- beer?” “Merely a musical number, sir.” W W