Life — June 14, 1888 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

- LIFE: THE 4orst MAN. OW worthless, empty Han wretched is a life passed without the confines that hem in the accred- ited and authenti- cated worshippers of the Golden Calf. The Peri at the gates of Paradise, a starving man at Del- monico’s window, a presidential dark horse thinking of the White House — all these are contented and happy to the superlative degree when compared with me. When the First é Groom of the Ball- Room decreed that only four hundred persons should be con- sidered as of New York's fashionable society, I just missed being included, and must now wait until death shall cause a vacancy in the sacred circle. I do not know what I have done to merit such treatment. In fact, I never have done anything that I know of. 1 cer- tainly have never demeaned myself by toil of any kind. My scanty income has been spent far more in behalf of society than for my own good. I have lived in a hall bed- room to save money to show myself at the opera. When I heard that the Van Squawks were to give a ball at Del- monico’s, I went without my dinner for a week that I might take Miss Bessie and her mamma to the theatre. Except in the summer, I have never missed a Sunday at the Church of the Holy Millionaires. To be sure, | darn my own socks, but no one could possibly know of that. I have never led any young men of good family astray by asking them to drink at my expense. On the contrary, when they have invited me, I have endeavored to teach them that drinking was an extravagant vice by taking the highest priced drinks on the list. I have always laughed heartily at the right people's stories and jokes. There are few men in town who know more disagreeable things about people than I do, and I have always been careful to tell them only to audiences that would appreciate and enjoy them, changing my subjects to suit the personal dislikes of my hearers. When I am with girls, I can giggle as hard as any of them, and there are few afternoon teas where I have not been a welcome guest. I have studiously avoided anything like brilliancy in my talk, for this is sure to excite envy or create enemies. I have never let it appear that I possessed any brains, for nothing is more certain completely to bar a man from the dest society. Notwithstanding all this, I am left out from the Four Hundred. Thank Providence, they may be select, but they are not immortal, and Death is bound to force his way among them before long. They cannot be so exclusive as to keep him out, and he will make a place for me. A vista of cheap dinners stretches before me meanwhile, for I can expect no invitations to Tuxedo or Newport. I shall spend the summer at my mother’s humble home, and save money against my return to the sacred precincts. My time shall be spent in watching the obituary columns, and in figuring the expectation of life among four hundred aver- ‘¢—very average—people. SESS NEES SeneeT USP Metcalfe. AN INFALLIBLE SAFEGUARD, IGGINS: Wonder what kind of weather we'll have to-day, Wiggins? I expect a fair, clear day. HIGGINS: Then why on earth are you carrying that umbrella and mackintosh ? WiccINs: So that it will be certain to be a fair, clear day. JONAH. UNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER: may tell us who Jonah was. TOMMY TRADDLES: Anson says it’s Kelly. Tommy Traddles BOSOM FRIENDS. LARA: I had such a pleasant call last night from Mr. Paperwate, Ethel. It was fully twelve o'clock before he could tear himself away. ETHEL: I hope his coat didn’t suffer, dear. A SET-BACK. Mr, Softleigh: Wat, 18 YOUR OPINION, 18 THE LIMIT TO Love? Miss Hardy: MATRIMONY. comicbooks.com