Life — May 8, 1884 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

LIFE Both Clara and Mrs Briggs observed the malice, which was of a pink hue. “IT smell a mice,” whispered Mrs. Briggs; she alluded to the plot. Clara did not faint at the slang. Such were Mrs. Brigg’s voice and configuration that her drolliers struck the ear like the tinkling of a triangle. “Cheese it,” whispered Clara. A waiter brought her a white object, apparently a note. Opening it, she exclaimed, “Well, that’s a great note!” It was an earthquake. Mrs. Hedgway Flea now stood upon her elbows and drank from a glass held between her feet. To certain persons she was a most attractive woman. Vv. EACHING the reception room, Clara stood face to face with the author of the earthquake—her own long-lost mother. “Heavens !” thought she hoarsely. She believed herself left cold, and the chill brought upon her catarrh of the mind ; hence her thoughts were hoarse. “Go to bed,” said she, with firm urbanity. “Tt’s too early. I came to lunch with the ladies,” was the reproachful reply. “Come, then,” said Clara, elevating her train. mother was cowed. “Put me in my little bed,” said she humbly. Clara returned to the lunch table, pallid from the terrible scene just enacted. Mrs. Hedgway Flea assumed an attitude suggesting a Louis Quatorze iguana. She was possessed of flexile curves of singular sweetness. She was defeated; the plot had failed. The ladies now took their leave. Left alone, Clara’s rare appreciation of the true relation of things did not desert her. Her mother was a drug on the market ; she could obtain nothing more from her bankrupt husband. She saw one good end to be served by re- maining at home, and therefore wrote Mr. Smart Goldsmith that she did not love him, but that she could see no objection to his obtaining for her a divorce, and taking her to Paris. Her “took it ; 259 He drew from his pocket a white Thing, which he handed her ;_ he was giving her back her letters. She thus he gave her back her letters : “T have given you back your letters,” Turning, he strode to the door. “Smart! my smartie!” cried she. She loved him and endeavored to detain him by coiling herself about his waist. He, eluding her lithe length, closed the door knellwise behind him. He had given her back her letters. Aha! aha! There. was among them another letter (on a string). Mrs. Hedgway Flea addressed another letter to Clara’s husband. Hollinger read the letter; it was Clara's to Gold- smith. He mentioned it to her. “Please don't go,” said he, “until I have had sixteen minutes and twelve seconds to think.” She consented to remain, and he returned punc- tually. “T will yet save you,” said he. There was about him a quality never before observed by her; this quality pertained to his cheek, which he had nickel- plated during his absence, and rendered harder even than hers, “The house is in your name,” he continued, “and Thirsty will lend me money if you ask him. We shall not be so rich as we were, but we can spend about as much,” Under the circumstances she could see no objection to remaining at home. “T love you,” said she. ‘Then and then only did she introduce him to his’ mother-i -in-law. He laughed heartily at the jest. Eight years later Clara had a baby whom she kept quite nice and tidy. “Oh, I assure you,” said she sweetly to Mrs. Briggs, “Tam a very fictitious woman.” Emery STONE. said he. ri i: MART GOLDsMITH entered Mrs. Hedg- way Flea’s drawing- room with an air which she at once detected ; it was the draught which blew him in. She was robed in sulphur and ted, and suggested a bonfiré, uniquely fas- cinating. Is THis a Boom? comicbooks.com