Life — June 25, 1885 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

356 , * LIFE: RIVALS, “IT WONDER WHERE HORATIO ARMAND IS GOING WITH THAT BOUQUET. I MUST DISSEMBLE!” NAVAL NOTE, T is rumored in unofficial circles that Walt Whitman is preparing a choriambic poem on'the Dolphin ; and it would be pre- mature to pronounce her sea-worthy till she shall have successfully weathered the fury of this literary onset. It is rumored that Mr. Whitman once turned a pitcher of milk sour by reading a poem aloud in the same room with it. The milk was partially restored by an application of quick-lime and the poem taken out with a pair of tongs. HE Romans deemed long hair in men a sign of cowardice. But in these days of marital unpleasantness it is considered quite the reverse. “cs IME was raised in the lapse of ages,” says an antique almanac. And we may remark that time is still raised in the laps of all ages—though chiefly’ of ages ranging from eighteen to twenty-five. Tenderly she leaned the severed leg against the lamp-post and turned to staunch the pulsating arteries. Butere she did so she paused. Drawing from her bag a sheet of white ad- hesive plaster and a pair of scissors, she cut from the former a piece three inches by two. Upon this she wrote with her stylograph in a firm hand: ‘ Miss Van Spuytentuyvel, Hotel .sculapius, City,” and plastered it firmly upon the calf of the amputated member. “ It will come in handy to replace that leg which Celestine broke in dusting my skeleton,” she murmured, as she returned to her merciful work beside the suf- ferer. He was regaining consciousness now, and an ounce of cocaine poured down his throat soon restored him completely. “Thanks!” he muttered faintly. His hand sought his trousers pocket and drew forth a handful of change. “ What is the amount of your bill?” But this was too much for the overtaxed nerves of the girl, and she burst into tears. “Send it to me C. O. D., by ex- press,” she sobbed to a by-stander, pointing to the severed leg. And gathering her belongings, she glided hastily down the street. . . . . . . . Fifteen years later. During that brief period Arlington Clarendon had tossed upon a bed of pain, his recovery re- tarded by the passion of love and longing which was gnawing at his heart. The day which saw him at last a well man, saw him toiling painfully up the thirteen flights of the Hotel As- culapius which led to the apartments of his preserver. “I love you,” he said tenderly, touching the spring in his artificial leg which allowed him to assume a kneeling position before her. His language and manner were abrupt—but who shall curb the headlong torrent of love and seek to confine it to conventional channels? He had not looked in her face— he had not taken her hand—but he knew that his suit pros- pered. Woman reveals her secret to the beloved object in ways other than by word and look. A skeleton stood upon a dais of black velvet in one ‘corner of the room, its bones thrown up in bold and grisly relief by the sombre background —all but one portion, and that was twined with paper roses and imitation forget-me-nots. A leg—a right leg—Azs leg! What more evident testimony of his mistress’s devotion could an ardent lover desire ? She precipitated herself upon his neck. “One moment!” he exclaimed, as he sought to brace his artificial member. But too late! Like an avalanche she swept down upon him, bearing him backward to the floor. “I really must apologize,” she said, as she arose from the ruin she had caused and helped him to hop to the sofa. “I fear I am very awkward ;” and, crossing the room, she raised the unhinged artificial limb from the floor and restored it to him. But it was hopelessly wrecked. “What have I done!” she wailed. “I am not worthy your love!” and gliding across the room to the dais, she unhooked the flower-bedecked right leg from the skeleton and brought it to him. “ Take back the leg which thou gavest,” she sang, kneeling at his feet in an agony of self-abnegation. He took his bones ‘and gazed long and lovingly at them. “How you have changed,” he said, with pathos. “I really would hardly have recognized you.” Gently he placed them in the inside pocket of his cutaway. “Albertina, I love you,” he whispered, gathering the disheveled head into his warm embrace. iebooksteonm