Life — July 15, 1920 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

She; wy po you 1Nvit \ \ - \ cat (Gods THAT MISS HEAVIWAITE ON ALL YOUR SAILING PARTIES ? “SHE MAKES EXCELLENT BALLAST.” Caught in Time hs EDITATION,” said Petunia, “if carried on systematically—” I have been married to Petunia for eight years. Wonderful years they have been. Petunia and I are opposites in so many things that, looking back upon it all, the way has seemed very smooth. There is a charm about Petunia that I have never tired of in all these years. But the morning she said that about meditation my attention was arrested. There was something about it that was familiar. And, besides, it did not seem like her to be saying a thing like that. I remember at the time, it gave me a queer sense of something impending; yet for my life I could not tell what it was. I had forgotten about this meditation phrase, when one day—it was a week later—the second incident occurred. This time there was no mistaking it. I shud- dered at the thought. Briefly, it was upon the occasion of my leaving a suit that | had decided not to wear, hanging over a chair, instead of—as of course | should have done—hanging it up properly in my wardrobe. As I came back to kiss Petunia—I was running for my train—I noticed it. “Dear me!” T “Would mind—?” It was then that Petunia said what she did. It was this: “To be orderly is. after all, the tri- umph of mind over temperament. But it pays. Then I knew what had happened Poor Petunia! How could I save her? And how, indeed, could I save myself? For I knew that unless something was done all would be over between us. Petunia must have realized this, sub- said. you consciously, maybe, for she had hitherto concealed all the evidence of her down- fall. This evidence, was bound to obtain. And so that night [ searched for it. however, 1 Petunia had gone out in the garden. | could watch her intermittently as I went on with the search. It took me some time. But at last I was rewarded. Yes, there, tucked away in the rear of her closet, was the fatal sheet. I hid it and awaited Petunia’s coming. “Petunia,” I said, facing her at last, “how long have you been doing this?” “Doing what?” she asked, turning slightly pale. “Reading the inspirational essays of Dr. Blank Stork.” Petunia faltered. I pitied her irom the hottom of my heart. But it had to be done. “For a month,” she stammered. “It has made me see things in a new light— the light of common sense,” she added. “ Precisely,” I replied sternly. “And you have been inspired, haven't you Petunia hung her head. “Ye: 1 burned the paper in the grate. “ Petunia,” I said, slipping a hundred- dollar bill out of my pocket and placing it not too conspicuously on her dressing stand, “promise me that you will never be inspired again—in this manner.” “I promise,” said Petunia. And promise me that you will never become an apostle of common sense.” I paused. “N IT went on, “ swear!" swear.” 300d!" Tex rigidly. aimed, holding her “Remember, Petunia, you are the dearest thing I possess; and I cannot afford to have the dearest thing I possess vulgarized.” T. L. M. comicbook eam