The Argosy, June 1904 — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

THE TURNER MONUMENT. BY ALICE LUISE LEE. As to the culminating phase of the borrowing habit. SON people have a perfect genius for being imposed upon. My hus- band has always said that I am gifted in that direction myself, and I have been uncomfortably suspicious that he told the truth. But it was left to the ‘Turners to make my suspicions certain- ties. Two episodes began about the same time for us in Mount Alva: the advent of the Turners and our ownership in a cemetery lot: From the first there was a close connection between the two be- cause Mr. Turner had purchased the marble-yard and the family attended our church. I saw them for the first time when they filed into their pew just ahead of ours. I noticed that the wife and three daughters looked decidedly emaciated. I stepped on my husband’s toe to call attention to their consumptive appear- ance, but was successful only in calling his attention to his corn. As a physician’s wife, I hold it is but natural that I should inform myself of the health of a newcomer at our church, because there are just doctors enough in Mount Alva for the churches to have one apiece, and it has come to be a re- ligious principle with each church to employ its own doctor. But don’t think I was rejoicing at the Turners’ pallor. Quite the con- trary, They were armored with a certain manner which would not permit a self- respecting physician to send in his ac- count more than once, and as one after the other raised a thinly-gloved hand to her mouth and gave a series of little coughs, I had a vision of sundry future unpaid bills going to swell the already large number. Of course, after service we introduced ourselves, They were delighted beyond expres- sion to meet another family of Turners. I did not share their enthusiasm. My conviction was growing that one family of the name was enough for Mount Alva. Mr. Turner grasped my husband’s hand with the unction of -a long-lost brother. They immediately climbed their family trees as high as they could go, but found not one branch to which they could cling together. Some way I was relieved. The Turn- ers were very nice and ladylike—that is, all except Mr. Turner, and, although his manners were faultless, I was glad he did not belong to us. Alas for the frailty of my ideas! I found there are more ways of belonging than being related. It was not long before the Turners were fully launched in the church, con- tributing socially but not financially. Mr. Turner was hurt at sight of a subscription paper. I found that out when I was collecting for the minister’s salary. He spoke of having seen better days when his generous soul reveled in large donations; of his humiliation at seeing his wife and dear ones reduced to pov- erty, and himself to the sordid and melancholy occupation of dealing in unremunerative tombstones. He rolled his faded blue eyes up to the bell over the doctor’s office door, and mentioned the fact that they were not strangers to tears. By way of illus- tration, he let a few fall. He remarked (so smoothly and adroitly that the words almost lost their sting) that if he coined money as easily out of other people’s afflictions as a physician he could afford to be benevolent. Whereupon I replied with my usual bluntness that he coined money out of the doctor’s affliction, for his business represented the end of the doctor’s gain! PRODUCED BY UNZ.ORG GOMGooOo ELECTRONIC REPRODUCTION PROHIBITED CO