Life — July 10, 1902 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

Trusts. 1G trusts have little trusts Upon their backs, to bite’em 5 And little trusts have lesser trusts ; And so, ad inginitum, W. D, Nesbit, A Complete Rest. IPTON shut down the roll-top desk in his private office with a bang, threw a last derelict en- velope into the waste-bas ket, and turning with smiling face to the clerks who had gathered in a litde him good-by, group to bid said : “Well, boys, I'm off. Keep your end up while I am gone, and re- member this: I don't want to hear a word from you. Don’t send me any mail, Don’t try to reach me by wire or telephone, even if the building burns down. I’m going away for a real vacation, where I won't be dis- turbed.”" Then he shook hands all around and hurried off to join his wife at the rail- way station. The usual excitement incident to the departure of a train was successfully lived through. As they sped out into the open country, Tipton looked at Mrs. Tipton witha fond, exultant look. “There, my dear,” he said, “ we're off at last! For the first time in years I am going to do the sensible thing. I'm going to lose myself. No mail. No messages. Complete rest. I won- der why I never thought of it before.’’ “I'm so glad,” said Mrs. Tipton, “that you've come to your senses at last. This will do you a world of good, I know.”” In the course of a few hours they alighted at their station. Then they were driven miles and miles—it seemed almost interminable—until they came in sight of the quiet little hotel—or rather inn—on the mountainside, where they were received with all the splendor of courtesy that only a rural hotel-keeper knows how to bestow. Tipton could scarcely wait to get into his outing clothes. An hour later they were strolling down through the quiet woods to the bank of the stream that chippered away to the music of the breeze. EEE, « “Could anything,’ murmured Tip- ton, ‘* be finer?" He pressed his wife’s hand. ‘* This is rest. This is true solitude. When I think of that maddening city, I wonder how I could ever have lived there. I never want to go back again.” The next morning after a fine break- fast—for our friend had made sure of his place—Tipton strolled out and said good morning to the proprietor. “Well, sir,”” 1 the proprietor, “how do you like our little view?”" “Great! exclaimed Tipton. * It certainly is a charming spot. By the way, you don’t happen to have an the New York papers here, do you?” “ Not regularly,” said the proprietor. * You see, this is a place where folks come to rest, and we don't e much eall for em.” “Certainly not,”’ said Tipton. ‘ Pre- cisely, Thought I would just like to glance over the head-lines, that’s all.’’ He joined his wife, who was walking in the near view. “This is a great place to rest,’’ he observed somewhat tritely, as they walked off toward the stream. ‘* Never was in a place quite like this. Couldn't even get a morning paper.”’ Mrs. Tipton looked at him suspi- ciously. “Now, deur,” she said, “ that isn’t fair. You must forget the world.” At noon Tipton sought the proprietor once more. His face wore a shade of anxiety. He clutched his cigar nervously. “You don’t happen to have a tele- graph or a long-distance telephone near here, do you?"’ heasked. ‘* Fact is, [came away yesterday and forgot an important matter.”’ “No, pre id the proprietor. “We haven't such things around. This, as you know, is a place for com- plete rest, as advertised.’” “Very well, sir,” said Tipton. ‘ You can make out my bill.” He glared fiercely around him and walked upstairs to his room. “My dear,” he said, ‘would you mind if we got out of this prehistoric place on the first train?'’ Mrs. Tipton gazed at him blankly for a moment and threw her arms around his neck. “Mind !”’ she exclaimed. sir! “Why, I RE ARE OTHERS, YOU'RE Not THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN GET UP IN THE WoRLD. was only staying here for your sake. I didn't dare say how lonesome I was ! Lam afraid, my dear, we have never lived in the country long enough to appreciate it.” Two hours later they were in the dining-car of the Long Branch express, with the remains of a feast and a cold bottle between them. “D’'ve wired the boys to send me the mail,” said Tipton, “I will talk with the ier over the wire as soon as we get in. I see the market opened up strong this morning. And now, if you will excuse me, I'll step into the smok- ing-room with this bundle of papers and catch up on twenty-four hours’ lost time.” Tom Masson, FOOL and her money are soon A courted, Sport. ae A UTOMOBILING is not likely to endure as a sport.’’ ‘No; people are already so shy that it’s more a matter of luck than skill when anybody is run down,”" ‘HE principle of the automatic in art is pregnant with possibilities, It will not stop with the automatic piano-player. Probably our children, certainly our grandchildren, will be blessed with a machine which may be fastened to any table and which will write an historical novel, dragging in any famous personages desired. MODERN autobiographies make om dull reading: they lack indis- cretion. comicbooks.com