Life — November 11, 1915 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

RTE: Nemesis “SVOU know,” said Mrs. Dimpleton, “that Mrs. Quimby is a very strong suffragette, and she told me that one reason why she particularly wishes to take Sunday evening supper with us is to convert you. There's some sort of a campaign on. She is coming very soon. She ought to be here now, Dimpleton turned pale. He glanced at the clock. There was no escape. The bell rang. “Why in the world didn’t you tell me?" he exclaimed, “This is horri- ble. I don't want to argue with any woman. I'll admit anything rather than that. This is——” Mrs. Quimby entered. “Perfectly lovely of you,” she smiled, “to be here! I was so afraid you might escape. I told your dear wife not to tell you I was coming. I'm going to make you a suffragette in half an hour. I want you to listen to a few plain facts. My dear” (to Mrs. Dimpleton) “you make the tea while I explain our rights to Mr. Dimpleton. I know I can’t convert you, because I've tried it too often.” Never!” laughed Mrs. Dimpleton, stirring toward the butler’s pantry. Dimpleton spent the next half hour in nodding affirmatively. Said Mrs. Quimby: “There! Now do you believe?” “How could I do anything clse?” replied Dimpleton. “ Your position is impregnable. Logic, reason, intelli- gence —everything is on your side. Thank you so much for enlightening nd you admit we are right?” Admit it, certainly! Of course.” It was after she had gone, however, that Dimpleton’s pent-up rage burst forth. “Tt was a mean trick of you to lay me open to a woman like that,” he said, “T couldn't help it very well,” d Mrs. Dimpleton apologetically. “ She rather insisted, and I didn’t want to offend her. But I must that I thought you were rather weak to give “Me give in!” exclaimed Dimple- ton. “I didn’t give in, You don’t suppose I would argue a question like that with a woman, do you?—and our guest, too! I simply acquiesced in everything she said as a matter of cour- tesy. If she had been really bright, she might have surmised that I was simply polite and she might have seen my evident sarcasm when J told her that I admitted everything. Me give in! Ha! I'd die firs! His wife shrugged her shoulders, without any surprise. She knew him fairly well, having been observing him for some years. “ Coward,” usual!” At breakfast the Saturday follow- ing, as Dimpleton idly turned over the local paper—which, in commemoration of the ardent campaign raging, was a special suffragette number—he gasped. There was his own picture staring at him from the inside page. Under it he read: “ Henry Dimpleton—one of our lead- ing citizens and our latest convert. “Look!” he roared, throwing it over to his wife. She smiled. “ That's noth ” she said. “I'm not surprised. Read this.” she whispered, “ MOTHER, YOU DID SOMETHING I CANNOT EASILY FORGIVE. She tossed over an envelope with a well-known emblem. Dimpleton read: Dear Sir: As one of the committee of leading citizens to sit on the platform of the Woman's Political Equality Mass Meeting on Thursday evening, your seat is No, 88. Do not fail to be present.” Dimpleton flopped down in his chair. “They'll do anything, won't they?” he gasped. “To a coward chuckled his wife. like you, yes; May Hatch Out in Time HE right thing to say about a new Gothic church is: It is a good church, but it is dead. The distinction between old Gothic built in times of inspiration and new Gothic built in times of imitation is that the old lives, but the new, though it may be beautiful, is stillborn. But, after all, there is no life in an egg when it is new-laid. The life comes by incubation. Possibly use, and weather, prayers and heat may bring life in time into the more deserving items of new Gothic. YOU ASKED ME TO PLAY WITH THE NEW LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR” comicbooks.com