Life — December 3, 1914 — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

ae MFG LIFE Stig, CENE—An American home. S Time—Early evening in upper hall, Disclosed, father, mother and daughter Alice. The daughter is slightly restless, getting up occasionally from her chair. Fatuer (gathering up his paper with sudden determination): Think I'll go downstairs, Daucuter: No, no, father, you—— Motuer: Don't! Fatuer (amazed): Mortuer: Alice expects some one. Fatner: What of it? Who? Daucuter: You wouldn’t know, father. Fatuer (who, having practically fin- ished the paper, and having nothing particular to do, is caught by one of those eddies of curiosity about his immediate family that sometimes sur- rounds the dull American masculine intellect): But I want to know. (At this moment the bell rings, and Alice jumps up while both mother and daughter lift up their hands to enjoin silence upon the father. The maid comes upstairs and nods significantly to Alice, who, fingering her hair, starts away.) FATHER: MotHer: DAuGHTER whisper) : mustn't. Fatuer: Wait! Is it a young man? Daventer (highly injured): Cer- tainly! Fatuer: Have I ever seen him? Davucuter: Certainly not. Fatuer: Why not? (The mother, at this point beginning to show intense indignation, ejaculates “ sh!” between shul teeth.) Why shouldn't I see him? Davucuter (in despair): How can you? I must go! Fatuer (suddenly grown angry, as the realization comes to him that, after all, absurd as it must seem, he has some rights, and catching her hand): Wait! (Turning to the mother.) Have you seen this young man? Motner (furiously): How can you ask such a question? Don't you know Why not? Hold on! Sh! Not so loud! (in a low, dramatic Now, father, you really Father Balks you are keeping him waiting? It's awful of you! What on earth is the matter with you, anyway? (/n the whispeved altercation. the daughter slips away and runs downstairs.) Fatuer: Do you mean to say that this boy, whoever he is, is coming to see Alice and I haven't any right to meet him? Moruer: Why do you want to meddle with a thing that does not concern you? I never knew you to make a fuss like this before. Why should you want to be dragged down before Alice’s friends? Why, they wouldn’t come if they had to see the parents. Fatuer (beginning to grow calmer, as he gathers his mental resources to- gether, his trained business mind get- ting, as they say in business circles, “on the job”): So, that’s the idea. Here’s the girl we have been trying to raise decently, who sees anyone she wants to, and if her own father merely inquires about the manner of the man who sees her, he gets sat on. Ha! That boy may be the worst rake in the world, MotHer: Alice. Fatuer: I don’t blame her so much as I do myself. I ought to have known better. Well (rising up), it isn’t too late now. I'm going down to see him for myself, Motuer (in sudden agony): Wait! Stop! In heaven’s name! What can you mean? Why, Alice—think of the mortification. Fatuer (turning calmly): My dear, you don't realize what you are saying. Do you mean to say that it is possible, not only that I have no right to find out for myself who calls upon my own daughter, but that any attempt to do so is actually wrong? What are we com- ing to? Morner: Why should you go? Nohody else does. Why, if you go down he'll think it something queer. You ought to know -that it is hard enough nowadays for any girl to get boys to call, without doing that sort of I’m looking out for thing. The other boys will hear of it. They'll all stop coming. Fatuer (lost in astonishment): Well, I swear! Thac beats me. But (with a sudden burst of anger) I'm going all the same. Moruer (reaching forward): no! You mustn't! Fatner: Oh, the devil! (He dis- appears down the stair, leaving his wife raging silently. He enters the drawing-room. A young man of about twenty is disclosed sitting on the sofa with his daughter. Both rise awk- wardly.) Fatuer (with a swift embarrass- ment, which he endeavors to hide, as his daughter introduces him to young man with “ this is my father”): Good evening. Glad to see you. Thought I would (producing a cigarette-case)— have a smoke? Younc Man: No, thanks.’ Just had one. Fatuer (realising all at once that he has committed a faux pas of some sort, and being vain enough to want to conceal it under the polite assumption that he has a method in his madness) : How’s the temperature here? Thought perhaps it might be a little cold. That furnace— Younc Man: It's all right for me, sir. (Father moves out through the rear door, and vanishes in the distance like a wraith, without saying good night. A moment later sneaks silently up back stairs. Is confronted by the vengeful figure of his wife.) Mortuer: Well, I hope now you are satisfied. You've done it all right. He'll never come again. Brute! FatHer (experiencing an unex- plained reaction, and willing to take it out on the first object): Well, I don't care a hang. I have a good mind to kick him out on general principles. Think of it! Here in the twentieth century, that a father hasn't the slight- est right as to who shall come into his house, and that he can’t even meet the men who call on his daughter! (His wife has dragged him into the near bedroom and shut the door.) No, comicbooks.com