Life — July 22, 1886 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

* LIE * My companion had been distinctly silent for a few minutes, when he suddenly looked up. Games,” said he, “I’m making a new nov.; shall I read you the motif?” ‘Sil vous plait,” 1 replied peculiarly. Trowells went to the bookcase and extracted the scrap- book labeled C—Co. ‘“ Here,” he said, as he turned the pages, “I have three letters. There's material enough in them for two novels, but I've decided to throw it all into one. Determined to checkmate the critics this time.” I responded with a sympathetic murmur, and, while I settled myself to listen, Trowells began, explaining that the first was a letter from his nephew to himself. LETTER I. PULSATILLA, N. Y., Nov. 3, 188-. My Dear UNCLE: We are glad to learn that you are better. We were sorry to learn of your illness, after finishing that nice “Size of Silas Sapham.” Our village Book Club bought it not long ago. There has been a good deal of sickness in the village lately. Our household is well, as usual. Mother would be glad to have a cheese such as you told us about, whenever it is convenient, for you to send it, and to forward the amount due therefor. Iam, very truly yours, Georcie T. S. ‘There !” exclaimed Mr. Trowells, as he jerked forward his arms and abstractedly. pulled down his cuffs, ‘‘in that last sentence lies the gist of the whole letter. With my marvelous power of reading woman and analyzing the workings of her mind, I saw ¢hat right off. His mother got the boy to write that letter; she wants a cheese, and she wants me to pay for it, too.” I was proud to gaze on such a man. “ Trowells, you are a genius !” I exclaimed, as I convulsively grasped his hand. I could say no more. For a few moments we were both of us too overcome for utterance. “Here,” resumed Trowells, turning over the leaves till he found the page marked ‘‘ Che” again, ‘‘ here is my answer. It explains itself : Letter II, THE HEIGHTS, Nov. 14, 188-. DEAR SISTER: I have sent by express a part of a cheese, made on the farm at Auburndale, which I beg you to accept as a present from Willyum B. Trowells. The express charges have been paid, and you will, of course, be careful not to be imposed on by the man who delivers the cheese, and who will try to exact a fee from you for delivering it. Truly yours, W. B. TROWELLS. “ Oh,” said Trowells, “that last is an exquisite touch—so realistic! I shall certainly transfer it to my book. Ah! but would n't it make a noble subject for the frontispiece ? Every one knows an Adams Ex- press wagon by sight ! and the driver running up to the front door with the cheese-box in his arms!! When could Adams Express Co. be in a better work ? they would be expressing my ideal of the novel- ist’s art on the threshold, as it were. “T was sure,” my companion resumed, after a pause, “‘ that I should get a response full of assurances that she had never dreamt of such an action on my part. You might not have foreseen this yourself—but, of course, it was easy for me. Now, observe the fulfillment” : LeTrer III. PULSATILLA, N. Y., Nov. 16, 188-. DEAR BROTHER: Your letter reached me in due time and the express brought the box of cheese by half-past five o'clock. Thank you for remembering my request, but I assure you it was my honest intention and desire to purchase the cheese, not ask for it as a gift. Pulsatilla is very quiet. The families of Judge Broadman, Mr. Grant and Mrs. Lippett, and some others are suffering from a strange 49 sickness. Séemingly unconquerable weariness and a sort of hopeless demeanor characterize it, though the weather has been very season- able. With aff. remembrances, Yours, with much respect, Js TS! “That's my novel in “The heroine will be the girl who made the Trowells carefully replaced the scrap-book, a nutshell,” he said. cheese.” Ah, I have written enough for one letter—perhaps too much ; but I was sure that this account of my distinguished fellow-littérateur at home and his plans for the future would interest you. Trowells always gets ahead of me. There was the inspirational young woman racket. And now the dairy produce, But it is time for me to do a thousand pages or two on another Princess Cussihussiwussema. Yours truly, HENRY Games, JR. GOOD-LAND-THE-END VILLA, April 2, 1886. MITHERTON says that he was once stage struck, and went on, and brought down the house. The audience showed that they were pleased and laughed and applauded him immensely, but still he was in doubt, and finally went back to private life. “It would all have been well,” he said, “if the play had been a comedy, but it was a tragedy.” USTOMER (to Storekeeper) : I see you 've got a sign up “French and German spoken here.” You don’t speak them yourself, and you have n’t any clerk. Who speaks vem? Storekeeper : “ Why the people who come in, that want ‘em spoken.” Mr. Blodget (carpenter): ME, ME! MRS. BARTON WHAT A BIG ‘OMAN YOUR LITTLE GIRL’S GOIN’ TO MAKE. Mrs. B.: No, MR. BLopGET, I BELIEVE SHE’S GOIN’ TO BE SLENDER LIKE ME—YOU REMEMBER I WAS PORTLY WHEN I WAS HER AGE. ‘Mr. B. : No—No, MRS. BARTON; NEVER. THAT GIRL, AS LARGE AROUND AS SHE IS NOW, WOULD HAVE TO GROW TEN FEET TO BE AS SLENDER AS YOU. comicbooks.com