Life — August 7, 1913 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

“EEE The Short Story as She Is TRADITION By Edyth Wharble Ss° this was Freda Buzby. The name went like a needle through his brain, pricking him into alertness. He had known her in the old days; she had been a clear-eyed school girl then. Now she was a woman study- ing him. Her smile was friendly but masked. He knew that, but instead of disconcerting him it caused the thrill of encounter to rise to the sur- face of his nature. Their wits, like delicately tempered rapiers, were caught up in the play of words. For two months they analyzed each other. Then he knew he loved her. But he felt that he didn't under- stand her—that they were not really intimate. The congenital mystery of her nature baffled him. At times she seemed utterly fathomless; despite what he did there was that nebulous something. between them. Still, she had said she loved him. They had not kissed. That would have been permissible, inevitable, in the old days but now, no. He did not understand her; she did not un- derstand him. F Then came the time when he asked her to marry him. “No,” she said. Her face was that of a woman schooled by her inner- most self and by the society in which she moved to keep all emotion hidden. “Why?” He was frankly puzzled. “T love you but I cannot marry you,” she answered. “It's tradition —tradition. We are separated—it is the abyss between us.” “But why is it such an abyss?” “Because the author has placed it there.” She laid a kindly hand on his coat sleeve. “Don’t you under- stand? The author of this story has decided that I must not marry you and with her tradition is the means to a paramount issue. One can’t go against one’s author. ‘Twould spoil the story.” He saw the force of her argument and, rising, stepped out of the pages. “The next time I hire out as a hero,” he muttered, “it will be with Robert W. Chambers.” THE PINK WINDOW SHADE By O. Heinrich F you slipped on a banana skin and the asphalt came up and tapped you behind the ear that would be Life. But—. If a beautiful young woman in.a green gown and a picture hat with an orange plume on it leaned’ from the forty-second story window of her mother-of-pearl front Fifth Avenue mansion and dropped at your feet a banana skin with these words written on it in’ purple ink, “The Pink Window Shade”—that would be Romance. And that is just what happened to Sperry Van Barger.’ He picked up the banana skin and studied the callig- raphy carefully. Then he yawned. Van Barger was 4 club man. Fnnui was his middle*name. Life in. a big city had stultified him. But he was also a true adventurer. He looked at the banana skin again and determined to find the’ pink window’ shade. Day after day Van Barger pursued his quest. He found green window shades and yellow ones.. He found them of red, blue, purple, brown and cerise. Once he thought he had a pink one but it turned out to be old rose. Van Barger’s nerves became fraz- zled. Long searching made him self- centered; he wort a confused, evasive air in the presence of his fellows; his speech was contradictory and ram- bling. Tired of his tergiversations he finally avoided all human society. One day he had an idea that was like a big white light. Why not con- fide in his wife, why not ask her to help him solve the mystery? There! I forgot to mention that Van Barger had a wife. Well, tire- some reader, to be quite candid with you this story is not written as it should be. Any inspired bookkceper, any honest policeman, any sober sailor, even you, could do better. Van Barger’s wife was a pretty little person, blonde and blue eyed. They met- quite frequently; generally at meal times. The very next morn- ing Van Barger, quite inadvertently ran across her at breakfast. “Ah, there, my dear,” he said, with his usual wit. He told her of his troubles and to his surprise she laughed. “What's the matter?” he demanded. “You dear old stupid,” she said, “all our window shades are pink.” “ “So they are,” said Van Barger, looking around in open-mouthed won- der, -'“And do you see that ink over there?” ~ Yes.” “It's purple. And on the chiffonier?” “Of course.” “Well, don’t you remember how Fido’ jumped up, caught hold of a tassel on a window shade and tore the shade? Don’t you remember how I’ asked you to get me a new one on the way home from the club? No, of course you don't remember. You aren't- used to having things on your mind. When you left that morning I thought you would forget it and I ran to the door to remind you. When I found you gone I hurriedly seized a banana skin (for there was no paper handy), scribbled the message and dropped it out the window at your feet.” those bananas WAITING By Andreiz Grimezdeth 'HE day was dreary. Ivan Pecanos- trich was irresolute and nervous. He glanced around the shabby room and finally said: “If she would only come, I have waited these twenty years;,why is it so difficult?” The walls turned back his brooding words. The sky outside was dark. Bombs flitted back and forth through the air. “Why doesn’t she come?” He Rept repeating the words. “Why doesn’t she come? Why doesn’t she come? I have been waiting twenty years. Why doesn’t she come? Come + + come!” The very air seemed hopeless, He comicbooks.com °