Life — August 21, 1913 — page 16: what you’re looking at

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

ALE Who Was to Blame ? AM extremely fond of chil- dren in the abstract. But I have had my experiences in certain American house- holds, and being a cautious individual, rarely get caught. In the meantime, this necessary forbearance on my part had cut me out of the society of my friend Van Antler and his wife for many years—and I was once so fond of them both. One day, however, I received a note from Van Antler. “ At last our children are pretty well grown up,” the note ran. “ My boys are away, and my daughter is the only one left.” Daughter! I went over the time on my fingers. I remembered when that daughter had been born, and the years Thad avoided visiting my friends. And now she was seventeen! A safe age. Thus my mind was made up in a jiffy. I would renew my friendship with them. Needless to say, they were delighted to see me. I almost patted Sarah Van Antler on the cheek. And she looked so young! In the midst of our excited talk, ten minutes after my arrival, as we three were sitting in the beautiful liv- ing room, the front door suddenly burst open; there was a horrible noise of things slammed down, and a young girl burst into the room. I saw at once that it was seventeen-year-old Dorothy. “Give me five dollars!” she shouted to her father. “I've got a tennis match on and we've put up a dollar a head. Hello!” she turned to me suddenty. “ Delighted. Come in your car? Heard you were expected. What car do you run? Let me try it out, will you?” She shook hands, and flung herself into a chair, crossing her legs in Amer- ican style. “Dorothy,” said her mother, in mild reproof. “You are awfully rough.” Dorothy’s face changed. NDIVORCEL 5 “There you go!” she exclaimed. * Always knocking! Mother's a great case!” she exclaimed, turning to me. “Can't leave me alone. Even Dad’s caught the fever. Dad, old boy, you'll be a pessimist if you don’t watch out.” She had seen the frown on her father’s face. But I'm bound to say Van Antler kept his temper. He had the same old pride he was always noted for. Dorothy got her fiver and flew out. 1 saw that Van Antler was going to say something to me, but his wife caught him in time by a look. Later, when we were smoking alone, he. re- marked, apologetically : “Never saw Dorothy before, did you?” “No,” I replied, dryly. Nice girl, but a trifle rough. Fact he went on, lowering his voice, “she's a little too rough to suit me. But I suppose we're behind the times! Dorothy says we are. You see, our young people are so different now from what they used to be.” I murmured something neutral in reply. I had, indeed, had occasion to notice the truth of this remark since my arrival. As I chanced to pass the door of Dorothy’s room on my way upstairs, I had caught a glimpse of the chaos within—clothes flung on the floor in heaps, and a frightful appear- ance of disorder. Later on, to my own secret embarrassment, I heard, through my half-open door in the upper hall, poor Sarah gently admonishing her daughter. “You don’t know how you mortify me, Dorothy! If you had only closed your door! But really it's disgraceful to be in such disorder. It reflects upon me!” “Nonsense, mother! What do you hire maids for?” . That evening, after dinner, we had started to play a three-handed game of bridge, when Dorothy, her face de- cidedly powdered, sallied into the room, “You wouldn't mind moving into another room, would you?” she said, with a slight—very slight—show of mildness at my presence. “I expect some boys here at any moment.” Van Antler, at this, rather lost his temper—for which I admired him in- tensely. In spite of Sarah’s agonized look, he turned upon his daughter: “What do you mean?” he ex- claimed. “Young lady, you go up- stairs to your room; I'll settle with the boys when they come.” The girl stood there in the doorway, irresolute for a moment. Surprise, pain, indignation were all expressed upon her face in rapid sequence. “Mother!” she exclaimed. “ What does father mean? I’m sure I haven't done anything.” “You obey him, Dorothy,” said her mother. Dorothy turned away—doubtless planning in her active and irrespon- sible mind some means of revenge. The bell rang. We promptly moved into another room, The next morning, being Saturday, and a school holiday, we had breakfast at 8.30—so that Dorothy could lie in Led and rest after her arduous labors. Dorothy came down at 9.15. The maid had been instructed to keep her breakfast hot. ees Last summer I stood in the lobby of a hotel in Baden Baden with a friend, smoking a morning cigar. A woman passed in the distance, one of that kind of women who carry a history with them. Something about her roused my recollection. I think it was a gesture. “Who is she?” I asked my friend. “That girl! Oh—barely over twenty and has figured in three divorce cases. She was a Van Antler.” My friend blew his smoke reflectively. “ And they say” he added, “that her father and mother are the nicest people in the world, and that her home train- ing was simply perfect!” T. L. M.