Life — July 12, 1906 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

skIDDOO A HOMELY GIRL “DID you ever sce a homelier girl in your life?” Dick Culver node his head em- phatically in the direction of a young woman who was walking across the tennis court. It was a drowsy afternoon at a mountain resort, The two friends, always inseparable, had wandered there for a couple of weeks’ vacation, Th were both tall, handsome chaps with plenty of money and—extraordinary as this ma: ood habits. “She certainly is not much on looks,” replied Billy Trent. ‘Well, my boy, we didn’t come here to flirt. We came fora rest.” “And if that’s a fair sample, I guess we'll get it all right. I must say that she’s a poor specimen. Glad I don’t have to ch: around with a thing like that.” cW at should you say was the matter with her?” “Well, just analyz certainly isn’t much on figure. She has it and see. She hair, but it’s the thin, wavy kind—no style about it. As for her face—from the distance, it certainly isn’t prepossessing. And, apparently, she’s the only girl here.” “Never mind. We can fish.” ‘Twenty-four hours later the friends again sat in the same place. “T saw you talking with that homely girl, Billy.” “Yes. Proprietor’s wife introduced us. Why didn’t you come up “She’s too homely for me. I draw the line. “Yes—she is—no doubt about that. But when you get near and look at her two closely, you don’t mind it so much, She has a rather sweet smile.” Another day passed. Dick had now met her, “By the way,” said Billy, “you got acquainted, didn’t you, with MissCrabbe ? How do you like her?” “Well, I must confess I was agreeably disappointed. As you said, she has a sweet smile. And then, when she speaks, did you notice how her eyes light up? Nice eyes.”” “Yes—good eyes.” “Her figure isn’t so bad as I thought it was, is it?” “Well—no.’ he next day at about the same hour the two friends again sat together. “T see, Billy, you had Miss Crabbe out for a walk this moming.” “Yes. Pretty intelligent girl, that. Weren't you out rowing with her this afternoon ?”” “Well—ves. Talks rather well.” ht so. Pleasant way, hasn't Strikes me that she has a sweet disposition.” “So I thought. rather like the way er own,” “T don’t know but I do, too, Lovely teeth.” “Bully! How animated her face is when she talks.”” “Isn't it? Never get tired looking at Do you know, I ie dresses—a style orl. 2 y, are you going to take her to walk to-morrow moming?” “T though perhaps I would.” “Tn that case I'll take her in the after- noon,” apologetically, “In a place like thisthere’s really nothing muchelse todo.” *s so,” in the same tonc. “We must have some amusement.” For the next week the two friends did not see v much of cach other. They were pretty busy. But so honorable were they that the division of their time with the homely Miss Crabbe was tacitly un- derstood. One evening, however, they stood together once more, both looking solemn- ly into the crystal lake, where the beams from the old moon flickered wantonly. “Old man,” said Billy, seen much of you lately “No.” He tumed and looked his friend full in the face. “I suppose,” he said, “that I might as well own up. The fact is, I’m in love—with Miss Crabbe.” “T haven’t “T knew it, Sw ever met. Isn't s “She certainly is voice wa moming,” he said, “I asked her to marry me and, by Jove! she tumed me down.” Billy’s voice also wavered. “Pretty tough, old man,” he : “This afternoon I did the same thing, and she tumed me down.” He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “T guess we'll have to live it down,’”’ he said. “But do you know what the atter is?” “You mean”. Billy nodded, “Yes,” he replied softly, “that’s it, old fellow. T fact that girl is altogether too good for either of us!” Tom Masson. est, loveliest girl I