Life — December 30, 1926 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

The Private Business of Beatrice of Florence Why Dante Never Married Her O* a marble bench in the garden of her father, Ser Folco Por- tinari, sat Beatrice. As she sat there in the sun-flecked pergola, doling crumbs to a tame sparrow, she was very easy to look at. Indeed, there were persons who said she was far easier to look at than to listen to. They were probably right. “So I said to him,” said Beatrice, “You poor wet smack, even if you are a Doge's son, don't think you're going to pull anything like that. And I'm not swimming home from any gondolas, cither.’ A fine bunch of oil-eans they breed in Venic “Really, Beatrice,” said Dante, wry smile twisting his thin lips, “your language!” “What's the matter with it?” said Beatrice. “At least it’s expressive.” “It’s vulgar.” “But we are conversing in the vul- gar tongue. Don’t you want me to be consistent?” “It's unbecoming.” “Now there are two sides to that, Dante. Do you mean it is unbecom- ing to me, or I am unbecoming to it? It is my personal opinion that specch takes its values directly from the personality of whoever uses it. Therefore, if I have a pleasing per- sonality, and I believe it is conceded that I have, my speech, however un- fortunate by itself, cannot but be improved by the association.” “There is a serious question I would like to ask you, Bea- trice,” said Dante. “And that reminds me of a question, Have you heard the story about the Scotchman?” "No." “He would only give two cheers for the Red, White and Blue.” “I beg your pardon?” “T said he was a Scotch- man, I'm sorry. I was only trying to entertain you. Possibly I was more trying than entertaining.” “Not at all,” said Dante, “By the way,” said Bea- trice, “wasn’t there some sort of a question you wanted to ask me the other day when I was—when we “TELL ME were, that is, talking i in the garden?” es,” said Dante. “Bice, I “Gracious,” said Beatrice, ‘“Gia- como Del Asino is calling for me his new twin-six chummy sedan ch: and I have barely time to dre long, kid, see you some mor “Good-by, Beatrice,” said Dante. (Sixty-eight closely printed pages of dialogue follow, in the best John Erskine manner.) Child of the So-Called Rich: COME ON IN AND PLAY. Plumber’s Son: MY DAD 8AY8 1 CAN’T PLAY WITH YOU ANY new MORE TILL YOUR DAD PAYS HIS BILL. ALL ABOUT YOURSELF.” . -on the other hand,” said Bea- trice, “if it were not so, it would be otherwise. And if it w other- wise, then it is not so. Being what it is, which it can’t help being, it is not otherwise, unless it is otherw than you think it That's plain, “That's exactly what I told Fran- cesca. But Francesca is an old- fashioned woman, Dante— a dear, but old-fashioned. And so she said to me—" d Dante, “let “By all means,” said Beatrice. “What you are burning to say, then, will keep?” “Yes, Beatrice,” Dante, gloomily, “ and for ever.” Henry William Hanemann, Essential “ OW about that new H car your company talking of getting said for ever was out?” “We had to give it up. Nobody could think of a idea for a radiator cap. comicbooks.com