Life — November 11, 1915 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

Ire er a "LIFE: Malice in Blunderland IMID little Malice, in escaping through the mad mazes of Blun- derland, found herself running hur- riedly down Fifth Avenue; but, turning sharply into a hotel entrance, she was encountered by a head waiter whose general facial construction so resem- bled that of a fish that the child would have laughed outright had she not been told that head waiters were a sad, rather than merry, problem. “You are just in time for the Duch- ess’s tea party,” said the Head Waiter, suddenly thrusting out a fin and deftly snatching Malice’s purse. “ Right this way to the nursery!" “They shouldn’t serve tea in a nur- sery,” protested the child, whereat the functionary turned a fishy eye and replied soothingly : “Tt isn’t really tea—it’s cocktails.” And the next she knew she was being ushered with a magnificent flourish into a royal suite on the third floor. In the middle of a great, garish room sat an oldish young woman, elaborately dressed in decolleté, although it was still early afternoon. With her dia- mond tiara she was idly fanning a very young baby who lay squalling in her lap. “The Duchess!” announced the Head Waiter with great dignity. “Why does it cry so?” inquired Malice, regarding the baby pityingly. “I've done everything possible to soothe it,” replied the Duchess serenely. “T've given it two high-balls and read it seventy pages—from Ab to Gug—in the Social Register. And yet it still cries. I think it needs an operation. It takes after its father.” “Is it your baby?” asked Malice brashly. “Well—I think so,” said the Duch- ess rather vaguely, “ Of course, in my continual rush of social duties I can’t keep track of everybody, you under- stand.” “T think T do,” responded Malice politely. “Such a week as I've had! There's Il—The Mad Tea Party a “She dropped the baby carelessly on the floor and charged off” been the horse show, my charities, and two dinners to the Archbishop, the prize fight, the opera—and oh, dear! Of course we've been dancing all the time, night and day.” Malice heard the strains of “Sprinkle Me with Kisses” bursting like a blast of dyna- mite from the ballroom beyond, “They say dancing’s going out,” commented Malice, remembering some- thing she had read in Vanity Fair, “It's always going out,” agreed the Duchess with a yawn, “but it comes in just as fast through another door. Oh, my word!” She glanced appre- hensively toward the ballroom. “ There's Professor McGlugg teaching the Bra- zilian Handspring. I must learn it be- fore noon or I shall be dead socially.” Saying which, she seized the baby by its heels, dropped it carelessly on the floor and charged off. | “She's killed it!” screamed Malice in a panic. “Oh, no, she hasn't,” replied the Baby cheerfully. “You can’t kill me, I'm a New York baby, born in the Cireus Set”; saying which, the child strolled over toa tabouret, helped itself to a cigarette and began puffing industriously, “You shouldn't smoke!” cried Malice aghast. “Why shouldn't I, pray?” inquired the infant “I'm a girl baby.” “What has that to do with iter” “All the girls in our set smoke,” responded the Baby, inhaling deep. “I also have a French governess who is teach- ing me to swear. It’s the thing to do this year, you know. It's never too early to learn, Mother says. And she's right. If I'm cut out to lead the Cubist Life, as my social position demands, I’ve got to begin at the begin- ning. By the time I’m ten I expect to have a champagne lip, locomotor ata an airship and a blue-ribbon monkey ; and when I'm married I'll be played up as ‘Beautiful Heiress Elopes with Chauffeur.” “Too bad!” exclaimed Malice invol- untarily, “What d’you mean, too bad?” asked the Baby? “Stick around a year or two and I'll teach you all the new stuff. Do you know the Song of Song: "m not sure,” said Malice, folding her hands; and then, as though by inspiration, she found herself re- peating: “You are young, Bahy Blue-eyes,” the old man said, “And your gums are a_ toothless design ; Yet why do such words issue forth from your head When they don’t even come into mine?” “Tt is true,” said the Babe, “I am quite wise enough comicbooks.com