Life — August 30, 1883 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

*LIFE- and asked me if he could light a cigarette, and when I said he might, he looked so grateful, and sighed, and said that I reminded him of the magnolia buds which blew in his Southron home. I asked him how, and he was just going to tell. me when we heard a screech from the beach, and who should be there but that odious little Gregory Jones in his yacht with Lulu Savage, Carrie Van Salmon and Archie, and he yelled up to Cecil—Mr. Rathbone, I mean, that he had better stop spooning and come down and get his boat, as the tide was floating it off. Well, of course we had to climb down and get the boat, and Mr. Rathbone had to wade out up to his waist and then of course we had to come right home, although I was so mad with that little snip I could have drowned him—would n't you have been too, Mame ? In the afternoon we all went to Great Head. You know where the road branches off and where that red- headed man lives who keeps the disagreeable bull-dog ? Well, who do you think we met right there, walking back? Maude Halcombe and Arthur Penwright. Mame, just as sure as you are a living girl Maude has thrown Harry Forbes over. Why, it is nearly four miles from the hotel, and you know Maude isn’t such a big goose as to walk that distance with any man un- less she is desperate. Besides, if you remember, when- ever she went off for a prowl with Harry, she always wore that same old red skirt she had on when the cow chased her over the fence at Somesville, but yesterday she had on that ew merino, and more golden rod— which you know Harry detests—and was generally gotten up to 4/7, Well, when we passed them Mrs. Bliss cackled over an invitation to come over with us and get some luncheon, but Maude kissed her hand and said she was out for a “constitutional "—just as if / did n't know she is the laziest girl alive. Well, I can’t say I wish her worse than to marry Arthur Pen- wright. His father has lots of money, they say, but he lives in Chicago, wherever that is, and that’s enough for me—is n't it, Mame? The whole of our afternoon at Great Head was just ruined by Mrs. Bliss. She énsisted on my help- ing her spread out the lot of sardines and watermelons she called luncheon, and of course Lurlie had to go off with Mr. Rathbone, and they went over to Ane- mone Cave and didn’t return until sundown. If Lurlie wasn’t such a dear friend of mine I would have been z#/d, but I know she was talking to him the whole time about me, for he looked so happy when he returned, and gave me a dear little starfish to remem- ber the day by, that I could n’t be angry. Lu Savage was dreadfully miffed, too, because Mrs. Bliss said that if she and Charlie Hatton climbed down the Head she'd have a fit. I'd have gone if she'd have had sixty fits—would n't you, Mame ? It is nearly ten o'clock, now, and Cecil and 1 and Lurlie and Charlie Hatton are going down to the Rocks. Write soon to your devoted Gwen. P. S.—I have just rushed up stairs to say that I saw Maude Halcombe galloping off to see the Richmond come in, and she said that she saw Lur/ie on the Rocks 101 a half an hour ago, with Ceci?. I am going right down there to see for myself—would n’t you, Mame? P, S.—It is ¢rue/ I went down with Gregory Jones —he is horrid but he was the only one on the veran- dah, and he trotted me all over the beach, and where do you think we found them? On the beach by that little bay. And he was holding her hand! And she was looking down and pretending to be confused ! And he was whispering to her! And I don’t know what 1 would have done, if Gregory Jones hadn't hooted out to that odious Mr. Rathbone and brought them to their senses, I never dreamed that Lurlie would have fallen so easily into the trap of that de- testable man, but it serves her right for her perfidy to me. O Mame, I am so glad that girl has no secrets of mine. To think what a narrow escape I had from entrusting her with my confidences! To you, Mame, alone, would I tell anything I would n't publish to the world. G. P. S.—Lurlie has just been here. She told me she had a secret to confide to me, if I wanted to hear it. I told her it was a perfect matter of indifference to me whether I heard it or not, and so she’said I was real mean, and flounced out of the room to have a good cry. J don’t care—would you, Mame? G. * P.S.—Mama says we will go to Campobello to- morrow. Iam glad of it. Although I have received a great deal of attention here, I think it the stupidest, hatefullest place 1 was ever in—do n't you, Mame ? G. P. S.—I have thrown that starfish away which /e gave me. G, UN VOYAGEUR MODERNE. OF chore Parts he ceaseless sings, Absinthe, grisettes, and Bullier flings ; Our Yankee accents sorely grate On Gallic soul disconsolate, As weary gull with wounded wings. Each time he opes His lips outsprings Some memory of his 'wanderings Through royal ruins desolate Of chére Paris. At every dish that Phillis brings, He wails for Voisin’s messy things ; You 'd hardly think, to hear him prate, He'd but a week within the gate Of chére Paris. Curtis Guitp, Jr. ‘Tue phrase “ You yourself are much condemned to have an itching palm” leads one to think that Cassius must have been at one time a Scotch fiddler. comicbooks.com