Newspaper Page Text
14
TALK OF ALL LONDON,
“Dodo,” the Sew Society Novel, Is
the Rage.
A Decidedly Lively Story Written by
the Son of an Archbishop—The Chief
Character a Heartless and Fascinat
ing Woman Whose Sole Aim in Life
Is Pleasure—A Soulless Creature,
Who Has Ho Beal Emotion, and
Whose Conversation Consists Only
of Nonsense.
From the Chicago News.
All London is talking of Dodo, railed
‘•A Detail of the Day,” and already two
American publishing houses have issued
editions of it. The book, which is by E.
F. Benson, son of the Archbishop of Can
terbury. Kites a graphic portrayal of a
heartless and worldly but fascinating
woman, whose sole aim in life is pleasure,
and who seldom allows herself to feel any
real emotion or to talk anything but the
most rattling nonsense, says the Argo
naut. The character is said to be a study
from life, a fact which has added a
keener element of interest to the sensa
tion it has produced.
Dodo is a London-bred beauty who
marries a marquis for his money and
title. She thus announces her engage
ment to Jack Broxton, his cousin, who
loves her, and whom she loves to the lim
ited extent her nature admits.
Dodo caught sight of the two young
men on the chairs and advanced to then,.
The radiant vision was evidently not
gifted with that dubious quality, shy
ness.
“Why, Jack, she exclaimed in a loudish
voice, "here I am. you see, and I have
come to be congratulated: What are you
and Bertie sitting here like two Patiences
on monuments? Keally, Jack, you would
make a good Patience on a monument.
Was Patience a man 1 I never saw him
yet. X would come and sketch you if you
stood still enough. What arc you so
glum about? You look as if you were
going to be executed. I ought to look
like that much more than you. Jack. I’m
going to be a married woman, and stop at
home, and mend the socks, and look after
the baby, and warm Chesterford’s slip
pers for him.”
And presently, when they are alone,
she goes on:
“Jack, old boy, I'm very fond of you,
though I couldn’t marry you. O! you
must see that. We shouldn’t have suited.
We neither of us will consent to play
second fiddle, you know. Then, of course,
there's the question of money. I must
have lota of money. Yes, a big must and
a big lot. It's not your fault that you
haven't got any, and it wouldn't liu’e
been your fault if you'd been born with
no nose, but 1 couldn’t marry a man who
was without either.”
These are her views concerning her fu
ture husband:
“I shall be very good to him. I can t
pretend that I am what is known as being
in love with him—in fact, I don’t think I
know what that means, except that peo
ple get in a very ridiculous State and
write sonnets to their mistress’ front
teeth, which reminds me that I am goiug
to the dentist to-morrow. Come and hold
my hand—yes, and keep withered flowers
and that sort of thing. Ah, Jack, I wish
that I really knew what it did mean. It
can’t be all nonsense, because Chester
ford’s like that, and be is an honest man,
if you like. And Ido respect and admire
him very much, and I hope I shall make
him happy, and I hear he's got a de
lightful new yacht,”
HER IDEAS OT MATRIMONY.
Here are her ideas about matrimony;
“It is a contract for mutual advantage.
The husband gives wealth, position, and
all that, and the wife gives him a house
keeper and heirs to his property. Don't
frown, Jack. That’s my eminently com
mon sense view of the question. It an
swers excellently, as I find by experience.
But, of course, there are marriages for
love. I suppose most of the lower middle
class marry for love; at least, they
haven’t got any position or wealth to
marry for. (But we, the disillusioned and
unromantic upper classes, see beyond
that.”
She marries Lord Chesterford, whose
character is told thus:
Chesterford's old friends had all a great
respect and liking for him. As Dodo had
said: “He was an honest man, if you
like.” Slight acquaintances called iiim
slow and rather stupid, which was true
on purely intellectual grounds. He was
very loyal and very much devoted to what
he considered his duty, which consisted
in being an excellent landlord and justice
of the peace of his county, in voting
steadily for the conservative party in the
House of Lords, in giving largely and
anonymously to good ob eets, in going to
church Sunday morning, where he sung
hymns with fervor and read lessons with
respect; in managing a hunt in a liberal
ana satisfactory manner, and avoiding
any introspection or speculation about
problems of life and being.
Dodo makes up her mind that the sim
plest and easiest way to enjoy life is to
convince her husband that she*returns all
his devotion: she therefore applies her
self to acting a part with such success
that she makes him the happiest of men
in spite of the fact that he finds himself
hopelessly out of his element in the. set of
people with whom she surrounds herself.
Their chatter, half subtle, half nonsensi
cal, bewilders him and makes him feel
like a fish out of water. This is the way
their talk runs:
“I really don’t know where I should bo
gin If I was going to turn honest,” sad
Miss Grantham; “1 don’t think I like
honest people. They arc like little cot
tages which children draw, with a door
in the middle and a window at each side
and a chimney in the roof with smoko
coming out. Long before you know them
well you are perfectly certain of all that
you will find inside them. TUev haven't
got any little surprises or dark passages,
or queer little cupboards under the
stairs.”
“Do you know the plant called ‘honesty,’
Grantie?” asked Dodo; “it's very bright
purple and you can see it a long way off
and it isn’t at all nicer when you get close
than it looks from a distance.”
“O, if you speak of someone as an hon
est man,” said Miss Grantham, “it im
plies that he’s nothing particular besides.
T don’t mind a little mild honesty, but it
should be kept in the background.”
“I've got a large piece of honesty some
where ahont me,” said Jack; “I can't al
ways lay my hand on it, but every now
and then I feel it like a great lump' beside
me.”
“Yes,” said Dodo; “I believe you are
fundamentally honest, Jack. I’ve alvravs
thought that.’’
“Does that mean that he is not honest
m ordinary matters?” asked Miss Grant
ham ; “Ive noticed that people who are
fundamentally truthful seldom tell the
truth.”
“In away it docs.” said Dodo; “but
i th sure Jack would be honest in any
case where it really mattered.”
i ,} shan't steal your spoons, you
know, said Miss Grantham.
“That’s only because you don’t reallv
want them,” remarked Dodo: “I can
wanted*” ’ V ° U 6tealinp anything you
“Trample on me.” said Miss Grant
b*m,, serenely; -tell us what I should
ttodr £l steal , lots of things,” said
if von slea * an V one's self-respect
Iret ww il, man: . l ?S 10 Snd J' ou couldn't
vi. a ? w , anled any other way. O.
J : jou and steal anything important.”
selfish ixn cold-blooded.
In course of time a baby arrives, to the
unbounded Joy of the father and suffici
ently to the satisfaction of the mother.
| who feels that it is as well to have the
necessary duty of producing an heir well
over. Chesterford is, as Dodo expresses
it. “perfectly silly about'tUe baby", but
she finds her son ‘ not particularlr inter
esting at present, though, of course, it’s
rather nice to think that that wretched
morsel of flesh and bones is going to be
one of our landed proprietors.”
The necessary time of seclusion, which
she has spent chiefly in the society of
Chesterford, has bored her immeasurably
and she plunges with zest into her former
life of gayety as soon as may be; but she
is speedily brought up with a round turn
by the sudden death of her baby. Her
emotions on being told of her loss are
thus described:
Dodo's first feeling was one of passion
ate anger and resentment. She felt she
had been duped and tricked in a most un
justifiable manner. Fate had led her to
expect some happy days and she had
been cruelly disapointed. It was not fair.
It was like a cat playing with a mouse.
She wanted to revenge herself on some
ting.
“Oh. it is cruel,” she said. “I only
wanted to Ijo happy and I mayn't even bo
that. What is the good of it all, if I
mayn’t enjoy it? Why was the babe
ever born' I wish it never had been.
What good does it do anyone that I
should suffer?”
Mrs. Vivian felt horribly helpless and
baffled. How could she appeal to this
woman, who looked at everything from
her own stand |x>int ?
FROM FfNEBAL TO BALL.
For three weeks Dodo acts the part of
sorrowing mother and sympathizing wife
with sufficent skill to deceive her hus
band completely; then she rebels sud
denly and goes to a ball. Her rapture at
the thought of esoapieg from bounds is
told in these pages:
“Yes, I will come. lam dying to go out
again. Who leads the cotillon with me?
Tommy Ledgers, isn’t it? 0,1 shall en
joy it. I’m nearly dead for want of some
thing to do. And he cau dance, too. Yes,
I’ll come, but I must be back by 3:80.
Chesterford will, perhaps, come by the
night train getting here at 2. I dare say
it will be late. Are you going to have the
mirror figure? Do have it. There’s no
one like Ledgers for leading that. He led
it here with me. It will bo like escaping \
from penal servitude for life. Talk of j
treadmills! I’m at the point of death for ■
want of a dance. Let it begin punctually.
I’ll be there by 10 sharp, if you like. Tell
Prince Waldenech I’m coming. He wrote
to say he wouldn't go unless I did. He's
badly in love with me. That doesn’t mat
ter, but ho can dance. All those Austri
ans call. I’m going to have a regular de
bauch.”
“I am delighted,” said Lady Bretton.
“I came hero to ask you whether you
couldn’t possioly come, but I hardly
dared. Dear Dodo, it’s'eharming of you.
It will make all the difference. I was in
despair this morning. 1 had asked Milly
Cornish to lead with Ledgers, but she re
fused unless I asked you again first. We’ll
have a triumphant arch if you like, with
•Welcome to Dodo’ on it.”
•'Anything you like,” said Dodo, “the
madder tho merrier. Let’s see, how does
the hoop-figure go ?”
* Dodo snatched up an old cotillon hoop
from where it stood in the corner with
fifty other relics, and began practicing it.
“We must have this right,” she said:
“it’s quite new to most people. You must
tell Tommy to come hero for an hour this
afternoon and we’ll rehearse. You start
with it in the left hand, don't you, and
then cross it over and hold your partner's
hoop in the right? Damn—l beg pardon
—but it doesn't go right. No, you must
send Ledgers. Shall I want castanets? I
think I’d better. We must have the new
Spanish figure. Ah, that is right.”
Dodo went through a series of mys
terious evolutions with the hoop.
“I feel like a vampire who’s got hold of
blood again,” said Dodo, pausing to get
her breath. “I feel like a fish put bark
into the water, like a convict back in his
own warm nest. No charge for mixed
metaphors. Supplied free, gratis, and for
nothing,” she said, with emphasis.
DOES Tnx SKIRT DANCE.
At the ball her appearance not unnat
urally created something of a sensation,
which is described in the following pas
sage:
Many women, though few men, were
surprised to see her there and there was
no one who was not glad : but thequestion
arose more than once in the minds ol two
or three people: “Would society stand it
if she didn't happen to be herself?” Dodo
had treated a select party of friends to a
private exhibition of skirt-dancing dur
ing supper time. The music from the
band was quite lohd enough to be heard
distinctly in a small, rather unfrequented
sitting-room, and there Dodo
had displayed her incomparable grace of
movement and limb to the highest ad
vantage. Dodo danced that night with
unusual perfection, and who has not felt
the exquisite beauty of such motion?
Her figure, clad in its loug, clinging folds
of diaphanous, almost luminous texture,
stood out like a radiant statue of dawn
against tho dark paneling of the room:
her graceful figure bending this way and
that, her wonderfully white arms now
holding aside her long skirt or clasped
above her head; above all, the supreme
distinction and conscious modesty of
every posture seemed to the little circle
who saw her to bo almost anew revela
tion of the perfection of form, color and
grace.”
Chesterford does not let his wife see
how strongly he feels on the subject of
her going to the ball, and he continues to
love her, thou'gh he knows now that she
ts a heartless woman. But from that
time matters became a little strained be
tween them. Dodo Begins to find the role
of devoted wife too irksome a one to sus
taiu louger; she ceases to pat his hand,
to call him a silly old dear, and to puit
his mustache as she has been used to do.
It dawns upon tho honest fellow that she
has never loved him. and Dodo, on her
side, finds a continual tete-a-tete so
wearisome that she offers to elope with
her old lover, Jack Broxton, whose devo
tion to her. as she has been well aware,
has remained unswerving, but who would
consider himself a blackguard if he made
love to the wife of his friend. This is
the scene:
“Jack, do you still love me?”
Dodo did not look at him but kept her
eyes on the fire.
Jack did not pause to think.
“Before God, Dodo,” he said, “I believe
I love you more than anything else in the
world.”
“Will you do what 1 ask you?”
This time he did pause. He got up and
stood before the fire. Still Dodo did not
look at him. ,
“Ah, Dodo ” he sain, “what are vou
going to ask ? 'There are some things I
cannot do.”
“It seems to me this lbve you talk of is
a very weak thing,'’said Dodo; “Italways
fails, or is in danger of failing, at tho
critical point. I believe I could do any
thing for thq man I loved. I did not
think so once. But I was wrong, as I
have been in rev marriage.”
Dodo paused but Jack said nothing; it
seemed to him as if Dodo had not quite
finished.
“Yes,” she said, then paused again—
“yes, you are he.”
I’OTIFHAR’S WIFE.
There was a dead silence. For one
moment time seemed to Jack to have
Stopped and he could have believed that
that moment lasted for years, forever.
“O, my God,” he murmured, “at last.”
He was conscious of Dodo sitting there,
with her eyes raised to his and a smile on
her lips. He felt himself bending for
ward toward her, and he thought she
half rose in her chair to receive his em
brace.
Bnt the next moment she put out her
hand as if tv stop him.
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1893.
‘•Stay,” she said: “not yet—not yet.
There is something first. I will tell you
what I have done. I counted on this. I
have ordered the carriage after dinner at
10:30. You and Igo in that and leave by
the train. Jack, f am yours—will you
come?’'’
Jack felt as if he was waking out of
some blissful dream to a return of his
ordinary every day life, which, unfort
unately, had certain moral obligations at
tached to it. If Dodol's speech had been
shorter the result might have been differ
ent. He steadied himself fora moment,
for the room seemed to reel and swim,
and then he answered her.
“No, Dodo,’’ he said, hoarsely, “I can
not do it, Think of Chesterford! 'Think
of anything! Don’t tempt me. You know
I cannot. llow dare you ask me?”
Dodo’s face grew hard and white. She
tried to laugh, but could not manage it.
“Ah,” she said, “the old story, isn't it?
Potiphar’s wffe again. I really do not
understand what this love of yours is.
And now now I have debased and hum
bled myself before you and there you
stand in your immaculate virtue, not car
ing—”
“Don't, Dodo,” he said; be merciful to
me- spare me. Not caring—you know it
is not so. But I cannot do this.”
Chesterford, by accident, overhears
enough to give him the knowledge that
his wife is tired of him, and that Jack,
though he loves Dodo, is too much his
friend to betray him: but he conceals his
discovery. Dodo* however, is unexpect
edly freed from her chains by the death
of her husband through a hunting acci
dent. A burst of genuine feeling conies
to her at his death-bed when she realizes
that she has despised the best that a man
could give her. He dies forgiving and
loving her and begs her with his last
breath to marry Jack.
Dodo soon recovers her spirits and we
find her next at Aix, the center of a gay
company, giving banjo parties on the
water, singing doubtful songs, taking
part in private theatricals, and playing
baccarat. She is engaged now to Jack,
who has succeeded to the title and estate
of his cousin, Lord Chesterford, and the
wedding is to take place when thp year
of mourning has expired.
JILTS JACK AND MAHKIES THE PRINCE.
An Austrian prince, who is hovering
around Dodo, gives Jack an occasional
twinge of jealousy. but the latter is far
from perceiving the curious influence this
admirer is beginning to acquire over the
woman he loves. It is, perhaps, of a
nature resembling hypnotism, and Dodo,
though she does not love the prince, be
comes so dominated by him that suddenly
she marries him. The news is broken to
Jack in this way:
Next day Jack called at Dodo’s house.
The door was opened by a servant, whose
face he thought he ought to know. That
he was not one of Dodo’s men he felt cer
tain. In an another moment it flashed
across him that the man had been with
the Prince at Zermatt.
“Is Lady .Chesterford in?” he asked.
The man looked at him a moment and
then, like all well-bred servants, dropped
his eyes before lie answered: “Her Se
rene Highness left for Paris this morn
ing.”
So the curtain falls. The story leaves
Jack standing there stunned by the blow.
The story is acknowledged to be a ro
man a clef, many of the characters being
easily recognizable by those familiar with
Loudon soeoeiety. It may be of interest
to add that Dodo is said to be in some res
pects a portrait of Miss Margot Tennant,
a sister of Miss Dorothy Tennant, who
married Henry M. Stanley a few years
ago.
THE STOBY OF A BIETHMABK.
An Explanation of a Peculiar Scar
Found on the Face of an Indian Who
Hied in Canada.
Fr*m the Norwich Telegraph.
One day this week the exchange editor
saw in a Canadian paper an account of an
aged Indian falling from an embankment
and breaking his neck. This paper adds
that the old man’s face was disfigured by
a terrible scar, which resembled a hunt
ing knife. There was not much to attract
the attention of the casual newspaper
reader, and nothing that would, ordinar
ily. hold the glance of a man who reads
hundreds of such items every day. But
the description of the man and the man
ner of his death brought to the mind of
the editor a story as romantic as any
Cooper tells.
One Sunday in the late summer of ’93
the newspaper man started for a tramp in
the country. His walk took him up the
road that leads to South New Berlin and
also to Chenango lake. Every resident of
Norwich knows of the little ravine on the
north side of and far below this road, a
short distance east from tfie main river
road. It is a narrow, shady crevice in the
rocks. On tho southern side is a bank or
terrace about fifteen feet high, at the foot
of which, over a bed of rocks, a shallow,
lazy stream wanders on its way to the
river, a little distance below.
Walking through the ravine the writer
saw, lying in the water, what he thought
to be the dead body of a map. He has
tened to investigate, and found it was
indeed a man that he saw, but he was not,
dead, only stunned as if by a fall, or he
might have fainted. Turning the man
over on his back the newspaper man was
horrified at the fearfully scarred face.
He saw what was the exact image of ati
Indian’s hunting kmle. starting with the
handle near the right temple and extend
ing clear across the face. The man was
evidently of Indian blood, and very old.
A little water brought him to conscious
ness, and he told this story, first exacting
a promise that it should never be repeated
till he was dead:
“My father,” said he, “has often told
me the story of my birth and how I came
by this fearful scar and a desire which I
cannot resist, the result of which you
have just seen. M.v father was a chief or
under chief of the Mohawk Indians. On
some ofi his hunting or trapping expedi
tions toward the south he met and loved
a maiden of the Otsegos. A brave of her
own tribe loved her, too, but she seemed
to think only of my father and to mourn
for him when he was away. At last oppo
sition from the sages of both tribes drove
the youg brave and his sweetheart to run
away and marry. They built themselves
a little hut in a ravine near the banks of
the Chenango river and were happy there
together.
■ All that summer my mother, for It
was my father and mother who came to
live alone, used to come and sit in the
shade on that littlo hank on the southerly
side of the ravine. She was sitting there
oue day when a noise disturbed bor, and
looking up, she saw her old lover of the
Otsegos. Drawing a hunting knife, he
held it clone to her face and to'd her if
she could not belong to him she should
belong to no one else. My mother. In her
excitement, sprang to her feet and seized
the powerful, angry Indian by tho arm.
In his endeavor to shake her off, they
slipped and fell from the embankment to
gether into the water below. The Indi
an's neck was broken. My mother man
aged to get to the little hut. That night
I was born and my mother died.
••You see this scar—that is the legacy
the Otsego Indian left me. And he left
me more. Every year on the samo day,
my birthday. 1 cone to this place. I can
not help it. Though I know what is go
ing to happen. I come. Every year it is
the same. I come to the edge of that
hank, look at tho stream below and fall.
This is the first time I have ever been
stunned. This is my destiny. I shall
come here once every year on this same
day till I die. 1 cannot help it. 1 do not
know that X would if I could. Promise
mo that you will nsver tell this -story;
that no one shall ever hear it till I am
dead.”' •
The writer made the promise. The old
man marched straight up the ravine,
never looking back. That is all there is
to tell. The Canakian paper furnished
the conclusion
BAB ON DUPLEX LIFE.
Really Knowing People is Getting to
Re More and More Difficult.
Mr. and Mrs. Merry boy* and Their
Habit*—The Bright and Dark Side
of Life Bevealed—A Pretty Dameel
Whose Father's Life Was Duplex.
Tommy Toddles of the Cad Club.
Bich Mr. and Mrs. Goodheart and
Their Precious Charge—A Charita
ble Lady’s Ways—Money Will Never
Down a Skeleton.
(Copyright.)
New York, Dec. 13.—It’s a duplex
world. We have duplex lamps to light
our way, and we find them troublesome
to take care of. There are all sorts of
patent duplex things, but there is nothing
quite so prominent in New York as the
duplex life. Nobody ever does know his
neighbor. That is absolutely true in the
material senje. But even in a social sense
it is marvelous how little we grow to
know one another. And this is getting,
this really knowing people, to be more
and more difficult, uutii in time the out
ward visible sign—that is. the people as
we meet them—will have no more absolute
reality than a visiting card.
And then there is a fashion in every
thing—in emotions, in vices and in vir
tues. Two years ago, when you met the
very swell man walking with a woman
rouged up to her eyes, blacked about the
brows and lashes, gilded ns far as her
hair went, and very loudly gowned,
you looked the other-way and concluded
he was with somebody whom he ought
not to know. Nowadays you meet him
with a refined looking woman, quietly
dressed, rather pale-looking, with a
dainty but chic little bonnet on, perfectly
gloved and booted, having her hair of its
natural brown shade twisted in a simple
little knot, and you look at him with
pleasure, stop to smile and bow, and the
man who is with you suddenly says:
“Don’t pretend to see Mr. Merryboys.”
And when you ask why he answers in a
very sedate tone: “Oh, you are not sup
posed to know the lady who is with him.”
THE PACE THAT KILLS.
Later on, you meet a woman whose
cheeks are not merely roughed, but
painted; whose hair is not- merely
bleached, but colored a Titian red: whose
eyebrows are intensified by a pencil, and
whose blue veins are brought out by an
other one: her frocks are a combination
of lace, velvet, fur. all most conspicuous.
Her bonnet glitters with spangles, the
strings of it are pinned up with huge dia
mond ornaments, and her muff is hung on
her neck by a-chain of gold, with here
and there a diamond and here and there a
pearl. She is accompanied by a fast-look
ing young man, and to vour astonishment
the man who is with you gives her a most
courteous bow, accompanied by that
smile that means social equality. You
look at him in amazement. His mouth
twitches queeriy, and he says, “That is
Mrs. Merryboys.”
You give a gasp that no exclamation
points could express.
And then he goes on to explain: “My
dear girl, the last time you were in New
York, things were quite different; the bo
called fashionable men, especially the
very rich ones, solaced themselves when
away from their wives by the companion
ship of loud, over-dressad. vulgar women,
who got drunk, who spent their money,
and who were notorious’y unfaithful. In
their desire to belike the English, they
have changed all that. Then, too. their
wives copied their, mistresses. 1 '! And the
rouge pot and the jtencil and the cigar
ette and the brandy and soda were as
much in evidence in the dressing-room of
themondaine as ’hey were on that of the
demi-monde. Now, the fast woman,
whatever she may be, always understands
mankind, and so she veered around and
lias become, at least in appearance, quiet,
refined, and decidedly well-bred-looking.
Where Mr. Merryboys used to delight in
having Tom, Dick and Harry know the
young woman whose diamonds he paid
for, and who did him the honor of at
tempting te ruin him financially, he now
makes it a great favor to present an.y of
them to Mrs. Robinson or Mrs. Darcy or
Mrs. Jermyn (she is always Mrs. Some
body): Indeed, it is much easier to meet
Mrs. Merryboys than to meet the other
woman. He has her installed in a pretty
house, in a quiet neighborhood, and there
she receives him; there she makes a
pleasant dinner for him, and those of his
friends whom he chooses to present to
her. She has a quiet little turnout, and,
some day, being yery wise in her genera
tion, she boars him a son or a daughter,
as nature elects. She is anxious to get
the reputation o( faithfulness, just as
Mrs. Merryboys is cultivating, at least,
the appearance of it.
DT’PIIBX men and women.
Dangerous? Much more so than the
other type, for Merryboys and his kind
will, as soon as they get the chance,
marry these women who cater to their de
sireg in every way. who arc apparently
unselfish, and who have the time to
make, what Mrs. Merryboys does not, a
home for a man rather than what is
merely known as a gay house. You look
at me with surprise. Don’t you remem
ber at what New Yorkers are pleased to
call the “Clothes-Horse Show !*’ That
your mother.wouldn’t ask me the names
of the women in the boxes because site
thought they were so painted and so
i overdressed that they couldn't bo respect -
; able? And yet they really represented
the young married women of New York.
But, as an Englishman said, how much
more genteel they would have looked if
they had worn smart cloth gowns in
stead of gowns that seemed suited only
for visiting arul not for what, after ali,
was an adjunct to the stable. So you
see. my dear, the fashion changes even in
our sins.
Duplex. That word seems to haunt me.
Yesterday afternoon at a tea, a pretty
girl of about 1!) chatted with me for
awhile and gave me a rose. I told an old
New 'Yorker who gave it to me, and he
said: “There is a duplex story. The
child's father was a deacon in the church ;
he represented the richest and strongest
element of conservatism here years ago.
He married the daughter of a very rich
man, and she bore him five little daugh
! ters: this girl is the oldest. His name
: was on every subscription list; the peo
ple employed by him revered him because
of his great honesty. He refused to see
any vice in the world, and most people
thought that when death came to him he
would have no sins to atone for. Death
I did come, and very suddenly. Tne next
morning the papers were filled with
notices about him, and in one or two of
them was his picture. That afternoon a
woman came to the house and insisted
j upon seeing the widow or her father. She
saw the father, and
SHE TOLD HIM HER STORT.
She had often read of Nje great phil
anthropist and the good mNu, but that
morning whch she picked up the paper
and saw his picture, she was horrified.
Years before she hau married a man who
told her that he was a traveling sales
man, who made a pleasant little home for
her in one of the small villages just out
of N>w York, and who spent one week in
every month with her. She had had two
sons, and though the name of her hus
band and that of the philanthropist was
not the same, still that was certainly her
husband’s picture. The fathor being a
man of great sense listened to her story,
and before asking for proofs of it. took
her to see tho dead man. ’ At once she re
cognized him. told of a tattoo markon his
arm, and then suggested that his check
book should be looked at and that his
papers be searched. For herself, she pro
duced her marriage certificate and innu
merable letters that he had written to
her. She had been married to
him three years before he met
the second woman. Of course, she was
his wife. Her children were legitimate
and the others were not. The day came
when the. two women bad to meet, and
the woman who was bitter against him,
who called him a liar and a deceiver, was
his legal wife; while the woman he had
wronged only wept for him and refused
to hear a word against him. She insisted,
however, on the great fortune going to
this woman and her children, with the
proviso that there should be no scandal,
and there never was. The wife was quite
willing to keep the name she had borne
and which her sons knew, and the chil
dren who had no right to it are bearing it.
Old New Yorkers know who these people
are, but the people v> ho form society to
day were sweeping streets or washing
clothes when this old family was counted
among the elect.
THE CLUB MAN'S SOCIETY TALE.
Duplex? That’s one. Tommy Toddles
of tho Cad Club drops in to see me and
have a cup of tea. Tommy isn’t as much
of a fools as he looks. He is young, and
he will probably be all right when he gets
a little older. Tea acts on him as it does
on old nurses; it loosens his tongue and
makes him gossipy. Here is what he
told me. It interested me because it was
another duplex life. “Mr. and Mrs.
Goodheart one day saw at an asylum to
which they were liberal contributors, a
pretty little girl about 7 years old. Mrs.
Goodheart has five boys and she thinks
she would like a little girl around her, so
this child is taken. She is not adopted,
and neither is she made a servant of, but
she is well educated, dusts the priceless
bits of china that Mrs. Goodheart would
not let anybody else touch, reads and
writes for her and eats her meals in
what used to be tho nursery. One day
the oldest Goodheart boy drifts in there
and asks her to mend a glove for him.
She is just making herself a cup of tea,
and as she has been taught to be polite,
she offers him one. He drinks it while
she sews, and he watchos her. He never
noticed before how black her hair was,
nor how blue her eyes, nor how slender
her shape, and her voice—he never heard
such a sweet voice before outside of Ire
land. After that, he seemed to want her
to do a great many things lor him, and
his mother was delighted to think that
the little girl was of some use to the toys.
Three days after her seventeenth birth
day she disappeared: nobody knew where,
nobody seemed to know anything about
her. She. left a most heart-broken note
begging Mrs. Goodheart to forgive her,and
saying that some day she would be able
ta tell her all. In a couple of years’ time
the family knew that she was in New
York in a pretty house, living very
quietly, and that she had a little baby.
Well, you can guess who was the father
of it- As the months and years went by.
the bldest boys’ devotion to her became
more conspicuous, and she and her two
beautiful children were seen everywhere
that a lady could be.”
one day old goodheart
got frightened and went to see her. He
told her that he wanted his son to make
a great marriage, and he told her that he
would settle half a million on her children
if she would promise never to marry his
son at any time, even in the most distant
future. She signed the paper, and brought
the half million to the bubies.
Now what Tommy Toddles wanted to
tell me was that the news had just come
out that they were married; that the
family had accepted them, and that it
was all right; and Tommy said with a
grin: “Wasn’t it clever in her to promise
not to marry him ? Why, she had been
married to him ever since the day she
ran away from old Goodheart’s house.
And he was flying around among the
girls, and they were trying to
catch him because of the many millions
that would come to him. and all the time
he was just stringing ’em.” "
I confess to joining Tommy in his gig
gle, because I think girls who run after
men for their millions deserve no better
treatment than “strangers,” as he so
beautifully put it. That fs another duplex
history.
THE RICH NOT ALWAYS HArPY.
The butcher, the baker, and the mani
cure all know the duplex histories. The
butcher can tell you of the man who is
reputed to be rich, who entertains su
perbly, and who, when nobody but his
own family are there, gives them abso
lutely less to eat than a clerk at SSO a
month would offer to his family. The
bakor can tell you of the woman with a
reputation for charity who buys exten
sively from him, who gets him to put
down on his bill gallons upon gallons of
ices that are never sent to her; he hands
her the money, and she tells him she is
going to use it for her poor. Out
in her carriage is a smooth-faced,
vicious-looking young man, waiting for
the money that she pays him for keeping
a secret he knows about her. The mani
cure can tell you of doing the nails of a
young girl and getting five dollars from
her for it, accompanied by a request to
take a note to a man at the clubhouse.
But most of all, can the professional nurse
tell you of the skeletons that walk about
and rattle their bones, while under their
fleshless feet are the richest of carpets,
about t hem are tho most beautiful belong
ings. and of one thing in the world there
is plenty—money. But of belief and
honor, and Kindness and consideration,
there is an absolute lack.
THE POWER OF MONEY.
Money is a very good thing. It isn’t
the best in the world. Money will never
down a skeleton. It makes life easier:
that is true: but money never united peo
ple through good report, through evil re
port, through suffering, even through sin,
and made death no parting. It takes
love to do that. And you can’t buy love
with money. You can fill the scales with
golden dollars, and you can gain beauti-.
ful women, you can gratify your passions,
you can have all the luxuries you want
and every time you put in a piece more of
gold you will get something else, but
when you come to buy love, you have go
to put love in to weigh it by. Duplex,
j Well, if the duplex lamp that, is burning
! so. and the duplex lives that are so
general, mean that one-half is to be a
skeleton hidden away, but of which one
is always conscious, then I think we had
better go back to the old-fashioned can
dle. It needs a little trimming now and
then to freshen it up; but it sheds its
beams very far. love-like, it shines right
on in this naughty world, being neither
complex nor duplex. And that is the
best way to have things—simple and
bright. Duplex and duplicity always
seem to me to go together. I wonder if
words ever wed themselves in your mind
as they do in that belonging to
® XB -
The Value of Illiterate Autographs.
From the Boston Transcript.
It is a well-known fact that the generals
of the revolution were, many of them ex
ceedingly illiterate men and far from
model letter writers. Avery cursory
view of their epistolary efforts is suffi
cient to convince one that they had as
little regard for the king’s English as
they had for his subjects, and that they
murdered tho one while telling of the
killing of the other. This, however, de
tracts nothing from the value of their
autograph letters. In fact, it is painful
to note, but none the less true, that the
autograph collector is continually paying
a premium on illiteracy; for the letters of
a man whose feats of bravery entitle him
to a high place among the notables of the
land, but who finds it less of a task to
win a battle than to sign his name, make
| most valuable part of a collection, they
I ate so rare and so difficult to obtain.
BROUGHTON STREET.
A HELPING HtAXP=r- : ’ -i:
TO ALL DESIRING TO HAILE XttAS PRESENTS,
We Keep the Quality Up,
and the Prices Down,
Corsets.
Cloaks, Cashmere Shawls,
Chenille Table Covers,
Children’s Kid Gloves,
Fans,
Fancy Hair Pins,
Gents’ Shaving Sets,
Gents’ Kid Gloves,
Hosiery,
Handkerchiefs,
Infants' Booties,
Infants’ Cloaks.
Infants' Knit Sacques,
Infants’ Bibs,
Infants' Parasol Covers,
Infants' Blankets.
Laces. Linen Sets. Ladies'
Kid (-'loves. Lisle Hosiery,
Lace Dress Nets.
ATO r TTPT? MBssrs> Gustave Eckstein & Cos, will
\M p keep their store open every evening this
IN U 1 JLUI-y week until 10 o’clock. &
ECKSTEIN'S
OUR GREAT STOCK OF
DOLLS, TOYS AND FANCY
HOLIDAY GOODS MUST
BE SOLD THIS WEEK.
SILKS SILKS
WH 3 a ■*# Prices greatly reduced. wILIIW
Capes and Jackets at a fig Clli/P Infants' and Misses'
great sacrifice. Very g ß i cloaks, short and long
stylish garments. h w §gj|| regardless of cost,
I IN BIS ™ LINENS
LlllLsTvJ our pHces the Lowest. LlllLlllJ
UMBRELLAS AND GLOVES,
HANDKERCHIEFS,NECKWEAR
EVERY KIND OF DRY GOODS
CHEAPER THAN ANYWHERE.
Lathrop’s old stand, Congress and Whitaker Sts.
GUSTAVE ECKSTEIN&CO
COAL. J
WE ARE NOT
“Carrying Coals to Newcastle,”
But to your residence, and at prices that defy com
petition. We are our own miners. Buy from us and
save the dealers’ profits, and your Christmas nest egg
will grow apace.
Telephone 507. Fuel Department,
SOUTHEASTERN PLASTER COMPANY.
JEWELKT.
HOLiDfty goods'
Great Inducements In Diamonds.
Solitaire Diamond Earrings 125, S2B, $39. *35
to $250 a pair.
Solitairr Diamond RingsJss, $lO, sls. $lB, S2O.
$25. up to *4uo each.
All warranted Genuine Fine Diamonds.
Solid Gold Watches at most reasonable
prices. Gold Filled Watches from #lO up.
Immense slock of Silver Novelties. Hat Pins,
Hair Pins. Match Hoxes. and hundreds of
other things, too numerous to mention. Solid
Gold Pearl Handle Pens, in cases, for $1.50.
Call and examine before buying.
Also finest lino of Silverware, at
DESBOUILLONS’,
No. £2l Bull Street.
FEED.
rustTrooFoats
FOR SEED.
AT.AKGK lot of Georgia raised Rust Proof
Oats. Also a lot of choice Texas Oats
on hand and for sale in lots to suit purchasers.
These oats are exceptionally fine, and it will
be to your advantage to call and examine be
fore making your purchases elsewhere
X. J. DAVIS,
Grain Dealer and Seedsman,
Telephone 223. Isfl Bay street.
Look Down One Bide, Then
the Other.
Unique Get-up# In Bofa
Pillows.
Store Open Until 9 Every
Evening: This Week.
Handkerchiefs to Your
Heart's Content.
All Glove#
bought of U#
will be exchanged,
should the size be
wrong:.
BOOKS AND STATIONERY.
Something lor Xmas.
B I B LES,
Common Prayer, White
Common Book of
Worship.
The Brownie Rubber
Stamps received.
TIIOS. L. WYLLY,
Successor to Wylly A Clarke.
How Are Your Office Supplies?
WAtVT ANYTHING FO JfBIT WEEK,
OR IN A HURRY*?
If so, send yonr orders for
PRINTINB, LITHOGRAPHING & BLANK BOOKS
To MOANING NEWS, Savannah, Ga.
HOW are your office supplies ? Want any
thing for nAct mouth, or In a hurry f 11
so.send your order* for printing.lithographic*
and blank books to Morning News, Samnnaa,
G A.
Manicure Sets.
Muffs. Muslm Underwear
Perfumery.
Pin Trays. Purses, Parasols
Picture Frames,
Kuchings,
Ribbons,
Silk Dress.
Silk Umbrellas,
Silk Hose,
Silk Hose Supporters,
Silk Vests. Silk Ties,
Sets of Fur,
Shopping Bags,
Scissors,
Silk and Knit Skirts,
Silver Toilet Sets,
Underwear.
Woolen Underwear.