Life — December 4, 1913 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

Eth tL UPE AH balance of one hundred and eighty-seven dollars and fifty cents. “Good Lord, man!” said the envious reporter. “If I had that much I'd be afraid of a Congressional inquiry.” s's face brightened. “What would a girl think of it?” he asked doubtfully. “What kind of a girl?” countered the reporter. Ever see ‘3 A. M.’? Remember the leader in the fire- fly ballet?” The reporter reflected. “Pair of blue eyes, and a bushel of hair swiped from some Chinese leper graveyard?" he hazarded. “It's all her own,” retorted the chauffeur hotly. “Doubtless you know,” conceded the cynical reporter. “In that case one eighty-seven fifty must look bigger to her than I'd have supposed.” “She's my wife,” said the chauffeur, “T beg your pardon. When Riggs spoke again his voice was strained. “Dare say you're right.” He kicked savagely at the deep snow. “It'll look downright amusing to her.” “I beg your pardon,” reiterated the reporter. ©“ Don't blame me that Providence saw fit to create me an ass. I regret it more than you could.” “She'd a right to expect something different,” mused Riggs. “Hang it all! don’t rub it in,” pleaded the reporter wretchedly; then observed that no one was listening, and ceased. “I've done my best,” pursued the oblivious chauffeur, as if talking to himself. “We couldn't guess dad would act that way. You see,”he went on expansively, “‘3 A.M. opened in Ithaca, And when I got home for the holi there they were, the talk of the town. I'd alw everything I wanted—witness the Fiat, with a license to break my neck, Father never reneged. He made plenty pub- lishing ‘ Heavenly Footfalls’, and ‘ Gleams in the Gloom '— and that kind of religious flub-dub—and I was a fluent spender. My brother Emerson wouldn't do a thing any rea- sonable person could object to, but father really acted as if he liked me better. I can see him now, pull down his spec- tacles and go to writing checks the instant I entered the house, and as peaceably as if he were the Standard Oil treasurer and I were John D. I held all the preferred stock. But those halcyon days are past.” He sighed. “Christmas morning Letty went motoring with me, and we got married. I thought she'd take father’s eye like she had mine. But the thrills short-circuited some way, and left him out. He was nasty. Said she was an adventuress roping in a green Sophomore (that was a flattering touch). Said he'd frustrate her plans. I'd get nothing from him, and she’d soon be good and tired of living on what I could earn. Still, he'd give ten thousand to buy her off, the offer to stand open for a year. She could have the money whenever she'd throw me down. Now, I’m easy. My red hait’s a false alarm. Anybody could come it over me. But Letty’s another style. “She said she didn’t want his tainted money that he made gulling poor farmers’ wives into buying his fake books. When I couid support her she’d come to me. Mean- while she'd stay by her job, and I needn't hang around. Or if I preferred father, we'd call it off. As for his money, he couldn't give her any of it, not if he got the legislature to pass an enabling act. “Father sneered. Declared it was a gallery play. I couldn't move cither one. I wouldn't know how to per- suade a mosquito to bite me, Finally I told ’em I wasn't such a bonehead as they surmised, and I could keep her all right, only she’d have to come to me, I'd never run after her again. She said if I wasn’t back home by this Christmas to send her my address. So we all parted on the high. Seemed natural to work at cars. Jenkins took me on.” He stopped. Snow was no longer falling. The wind had sunk. The road lay immaculate to the stars. The sloping mountainside displayed innumerable Christmas trees, fantastic little junipers, like hooded gnomes, black against the candid fields. The reporter abstractedly re- moved his pipe. “* Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht . . Riggs uttered a nervous laugh. “Think she'll come, old man?” he asked. “Can't say,” the reporter declined responsibility, studying his mouthpiece. ‘‘ Does she write?” “No,” owned Riggs reluctantly. “But I sent her the address.” He fumbled in an inner pocket. fingers he opened a leather box. the snow, a stone blazed out. “D'you earn the Tecla gem, too, Mr. Carnegie?” “ Genuine article,” boasted Riggs. “ Anted my luncheons for months to buy it. And they didn’t go far. Fortunately I'd a black pearl scarfpin, present from a doting aunt. Covered with that. Think she'll like it?” “Well, I shouldn't. But perhaps she’s a more forgiving aunt.’ .” “Oh, hell!” interrupted Riggs disrespectfully. “Look here,” submitted the reporter. “Why don’t you sell cars instead of making them?” “Me?” asked Riggs, astonished. “TI couldn't sell a life- preserver to a drowning man. I've worked out a magneto that Jenkins is going to try.” A dark hulk loomed by the road. “There's the blasted car now. If I miss the train at Mottsville, I'll come back with an axe and smash it.” “ Suppose I expected a wife, a somewhat skittish wife,” mused the reporter. “I fancy no employer could lure me from my fireside on Christmas eve. It might appear un- gallant, unenthusiastic, to her frivolous, feminine mind, if she gets there before you.” “George! I'm well aware of that!" lamented Riggs darkly. “I couldn't do any different. Jenkins got the telegram just at closing time. He'd nobody but me he could rely on. Why, I even had to help butcher those poor creatures. . « People that will go out with horses don’t care what risks they run. . . . Look here,” he turned -’" he murmured. With clumsy, gloved Its light colder than