Newspaper Page Text
MAGAZINE SECTION
PAGE FOUR
Our Characters are Nothing But —and the habits we’ve formed
Cnpyrifht. 1912. by Arowican-JounuJ-Eisminer. Grast Britain Right! R« saved.
NEIL SUMNER and'his wife have been separated for nearly ten years, auring which time
Mrs. Sumner has had the custody of their daughter, by direction of the court. The girl
arrives at her ’teens and insists on seeing her “daddy.” Her mother refuses at
finally has to give In. Since the separation. Sumner has led a dissolute life and his wife r *’
to have the child go to him. He is as delighted to have his daughter with him as the daug
is to see her father, and they live happily together for a month, Sumner trying all the w ' «
to rid himself of his old associates and lead a life comparable with that of his little daug er.
Despite his brave attempts to do this his old friends continue to seek his company, much to the
displeasure of his wife, who is watching developments from a distance.
CHARACTERS IN THE SCENE.
NEIL SUMNER Who 18 tr y in 3 to reform himself
RUTH .. Hi » wl,e
I C TSY Hi* s'Bter
PALMER One of Sumner's dissolute lady friends
BENNETT ’ The Butler
SCENE.
Sumner's home in the country,
SUMNER Sit down Jane. Are yon well?
MRP PALMER -Ob. wbat does that
matter? Yes. I'm well. Got a terrible
head Very dusty on the ocean last night but Itn
well enough.
SUMNER--T suppose you've seen that precious
scandal about us?
MRS. PALMER Oh. yes. Several kind
friends have sent me clippings Fortuna'ely,
poor old husband Charles can’t read anything
but. the very largest print
SUMNER See here, Jane, I've always had
an idea you liked me.
MRS. PALMER Why, so I do.
SUMNER -I've always thought you'd do me
e good turn if you could
MRS PALMER So I would (with enthusiasm)
SUMNER—WeII, yon can, if you will.
MRS PALMER Name It.
SUMNER—HeIp me to keep some of those
bounders away.
MRS PALMER -Eb?
SUMNER Oh, hot for me. Heaven knows
they can't hurt me but from my little maid.
MRS PALMER (rvnt-al/y) Mustn’t soil the
pretty dove's wings, eh?
SUMNER (reproach fully)— You don't mean that,
Jane
MRS. PALMER Don't I?
SUMNER- I'm sure you don't.
MRS PALMER -Oh. come now; you might as
well he frank.
SUMNER Erank?
MRS. PALMER When you said help keep these
bounders aw.iy, what did you mean?
SUMNER .lu't what I said.
MRS PALMER -Didn't you mean that you'd
like me to stay away myself?
SUMNER My
H
m 1
-1 ¥
<5 ®
SUMNER Why forget anything as lovely as
that? As you were then, so now Is my Cynthia
and I want to keep her so. That's all- Will you
help me?
MRS PALMER (wearily) Oh, I’ll stay away
from you That's what you mean, of course. But
Um only one. You ought to hav. begun long ago,
Neil. I'm afraid it's too late now Our characters
are nothing but the lives we've lived, the friends
wove made and kept, the thoughts we've
1* O Attends F>
Charlie Breeze a Reception
By LEN FLEMING.
IN my morning mail, much to my sur
prise, I found an invitation to the
Magoazalum reception. Now. 1 didn't
know the Magoozalums. neither did they
know me. and so I was considerably sur
prised at their thoughtfulness until it
suddenly occured to me that there Is an
other Charlie Breeze in town—but no re
lation
Inasmuch as we look somewhat alike I
determined to attend the reception and
have one good time in my life nt somebody
else’s expense That evening 1 donned my
dress stilt. red necktie and tan shoes a d
sallied forth in the beet of good spirit
At the Mngoozalum residence the usual
resplendent factotum with the mummified
face met me at the door and showed me
where to leave my things after consider
able argument!
With a smile so open it embraced th®
fourth dimension I waltzed gracefu : ’y up
to the hostess and made th> usual >e
epeech
She was superbly gowned. J wanted to
tell her that, in getting into her gown, she
hadn't gone far enough through it. th.i.
leaving altogether too much at the bottom
and not half enough at the top.
Just then the host came up and invited
me into the smoking room to sit. dow n an i
take a load off my feet. Incidentally, he
informed me it was perfectly proper to r.
move my hat while in the house, thus m
fng a load off my mind also.
After enjoying the talk and ~ .. I
Joined the other guests In the m n
tion room. As 1 entered a young m ’ ■ -
marching gracefully up to the pi?
which a young lady was already seat
dear Jane
MRS PALMER
I’m just as big a
bounder as anv of
them. and yon
know It.
SUMNER No.
you're not or yon
wouldn't know It.
MRS PALMER
(after a long pans'-)
Oh. 1 wish 1 v ore
dead Why can’t I
die?
SUMNER My
dear Jane, turn
your mind back a
fen years- to what
you were, say fif
teen or. even ten
> car’s ago
MRS PALMER
(f’l anguish) No,
no! That's wbat I
want to forget.
iw-.Tmjrtit. 1912. by Amwican-Jouraal'EsaaUrer. Great Britain Rights Reserved.
thought, the habits we've formed You can’t
change those things in a day. Y.ou might as well
try to wish the wrinkles out, of your fare or th«
nails off your fingers.
SUMNER I I'm afraid you’re right
MRS PALMER -Right! Oh. I am most ac
cursedly correct, believe me. Why Is It we can’t
know these things til! if is too late?
SUMNER I give it up. It's like drifting easily
down a swift stream until the rapids appear.
There's no hope of breasting I hat current success
fully. Your only chance is to pull ashore and
trudge painfully back, and long before you reach
your starting point the night comes down.
MRS. PALMER Well, I'm still drifting.
SUMNER And I'm trying to pull ashore Won't
you help me?
MRS. PALMER Unfortunately, Noil, were not
In the same boat. I've often wished we were, hut
we re not. And I might pull my heart out and it
wouldn't move your boat an Inch. Moreover, our
fellow passengers are very different. I've got an
octogenarian husband in my boat, and you have a
child in yours
SUMNER Well, you chose, your fellow pa seen,
ger, you know.
MRS PALMER -Yes; on account of his bag
gage
SI MNER While my fellow passenger God
bless her! deliberately swam out. to my boat and
climbed aboard. There ought to he some kind of
marine insurance to cover a case like this.
MRS, PALMER Well, there i=n't Rut at least
I ran keep my boat from colliding with yours—
and I will.
SUMNER If I were to thank you it might «»tni
ungracious, but I'm sure you know I should
not mean it so.
MRS PALMER Oh. thank me by all means. If
you like Frankly. 1 think I deserve it. for tb°
thing will not be easy. And I think I must have
lost, all sense of pride to promise if. Oh. don't
protest. It isn't necessary. Still, it's rather
quaint, isn't it?
SUMNER Quaint?
MRS PALMER Yes. my taking this from you
and- swallowing it. (Pflu.eea.) Do you know, I
sometimes think things might have been different
if you and I had been in the same boat from the
first ?
SUMNER My dear Jane, I wish I could tell
you how sorry I
MRS. PALMER- Oh, no condolences, please.
AH the same. I like to think so—and If you've no
objection. I'll go on thinking so. It can't do any
harm, can it?
SUMNER Not the least in the world, and very
likely it may be true.
MRS. PALMER Thanks. That’s kind of you
And now the congregation will unite In sjnglng
“Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore.
Heed not the rolling waves, hut” What's the
rest of it? Something to rhyme with shore. Bore?
No, no Oh, yes, the oar. "Heed not the rolling
waves, but b< nd to the oar."
SUMNER Ah. now you’re going to spoil it all
all your generosity.
MRS PALMER Not at all. Merely an echo
out of my Presbyterian youth. Merely an echo
the emptiest of all empty things Well, I must be
off. When you're going, the thing to do is to go.
Good bye.
SUMNER Good bye, Jane. And good luck.
He was not only a stnger, but a tenor as
well.
He was a very tail man (Either six feet
nine, or nine-feet six. I can't remember
which, as I never was much of a hand for
figures, especially men’s figures!)
The most wonderful thing to me about
this man’s work was the fact that he did
It all without the aid of a make-up and,
further, he kept his sleeves constantly
rolled up above his sleeves to show that he
had no assistants concealed about his per
son !
Next to appear was a young lady of
doubtful Unease and ancient vintag®. who
insisted on reciting a poem. "When Father
G<ves to Work." and ns her voice sounded
Ike a factory whistle the rendition was
extremely realistic! As near as I could
make out by the ninety verses she had
committed to memory, father was always
going to work in the morning and forget
ting to return home at night I don’t
blame him much
During the dinner, to relieve th® tension,
the hostess asked if 1 had had the pomm®
de terre. I told her that I bad it when I
" is a ' hild and must confers that, like all
skin diseases, it was very painful!
When the waiter asked me if I eared for
any chicken I said. "None but my wife!"
1 told the hostess how much I had en
joyed the occasion, and she graciously re
sponded by telling me that I would find
a welcome at that house any time I cared
to call thereafter.
This was, of course, very flattering- ■
until I saw my paper the next morning,
h iufornmi me "hv the Mae ‘zaium*
•■i donn’ed »n. magnificent residence to
the city to be used as au insane asylum.;
THE ATLANT \ 1'441^' ■ y ” - SATURDAY. MAY 4. 1912,
, J
(Ruth and Betty Enter.)
SUMNER—Ruth! (Embarassed pause all
around.) Ruth, I think you will remember Mrs.
Palmer, whom you used to know as Jane Prentice.
RUTH (coldly) —I remember her perfectly.
How do you do?
MRS. PALMER- How do you do? Good after
noon. Miss Sumner.
BETSY —Good afternoon.
MRS. PALMER—You'II pardon me. I know. I
was just, going. Good-bye, Neil.
SUMNER—This way; it's nearer. (Sfcowa her
out. I
RUTH (aside to Betsy)— lt was time —high
time. (Sumner joins them.)
BETSY —I'm sorry to be so stupid. but I
understood Bennett to say you were alone.
RUTH—Where Is Cynthia?
SUMNER -In her room. I think.
RUTH- Will you see that she doesn't Interrupt
us? I'd rather she doesn't know that I've been
here.
BETSY —l'll keep her away But be quick.
There isn't much time. (She erits.)
SUMNER—Won't you sit down?
RUTH—Thanks.
SUMNER —I hope you're well.
RUTH—Very.
SUMNER —You're looking well.
RUTH —Thank you.
SUMNER- Why didn't you let us know you
were coming?
RUTH—So as to give you rime to get the
scene?
SUMNER—Have f deserved that?
RUTH—Listen. Neil. I am returning to France
this week. You will be able to guess why.
SUMNER—Why?
RUTH—There is no use beating about the bush.
I'm going to take Cynthia away.
SUMNER Ruth’
RUTH- When she comes to me this afternoon
It will be for good.
SUMNER—You're going to take her away from
me?
RUTH Yes
SUMNER But why. why?
RUTH—Don't you know?
SUMNER - But I tell you the child was never so
happy in her life. You don't know—you've no
Idea
RUTH It wa« a mistake to let her come fn you
at all. But i! was well meant. In spite of every,
thing. I hoped that—well, no matter. I suppose
nobody can reconstruct his life on demand, con
jure up a brand new character, new friends, new
surroundings as a magician produces a rabbit out
of a bat. It's too much to expect.
SUMNER—I don't quite understand you.
RUTH Do you wish Cynthia to grow up to be
like most nf your friends? Or do you wish her to
lose her faith In you?
SUMNER —No. no! Oh, no.
RUTH Then I must take her away, or one of
those two things will happen.
SUMNER —Oh. no. no! I don't believe it.
RUTH I suppose you have seen this thing?
(Producing clipping.)
SUMNER—It's a contemptible falsehood—con
temptible. Do you doubt, it?
RUTH —Suppose Cynthia wptp tn if?
SUMNER—She wouldn't understand it if she
did.
L i TH Not now but soon. She's growing up.
SUMNER -Yes. she's going to be a splendid
woman. God bless her!
RUTH—So she is. but onlv if
SUMNER- If?
RUTH If we help her. All these people—are
they the sort you want her to be like? The sort of
riff-raff you fill your house with—-Nick Hollins.
Billy Mortimer .or—or the heroine of this pretty
paragraph?
SUMNER—Ah. you mustn't misunderstand poor
Jane You mustn't. Why. before you came in we
were Just
RUTH—Spare me. please, please
SUMNER -But I want to tel] you
RUTH—I don't want to hear anything about it
ESSAYS for EVERYBODY- -DOROTHY DIX
-WIVES.
Wn ES appear to be a kind of necessary evil, a man can neither be
happy with one. nor without one. As long as a man has a wife
he feels that be would be .perfectly re.conciled to losing her, yet
the minute he loses her he never rests until he hunts up another one
Whether this is owing to some peculiarity of wives, or the lack of in
telligence in men, is not known.
The first wife was named Eve. and she was invented for the purpose of
keeping Adam from feeling lonesome. She did this by her curiosity, and
getting him into trouble, a plan every wife has followed from that, day
to this. This seems to indicate lack of originality in wives, but the fact
remains that as soon as a man gets married he. Is kept busy answering
his wife’s questions as to where he has been, what he means by coming
home at that hour of the morning, what makes his breath smell so queer,
etc. and in trying to dodge curtain lectures, bill collectors, and other un
pleasantnesses that he has no leisure, in which to be distrait, or ennuied,
as we say 1n table, d'hote French
A wife is certainly the cure, for that tired feeling. Most of the hustlers
you see are married men. They have to be.
Whether a man captured his wife or she shanghaied him is one of the
questions that be debates from his wedding day to the day of his funeral
At first he is perfect!.' certain that 6° is a large, tall, masterful man who
tamed a timid bird by his magnetic personality until b® coaxed it to nestle
on his breast. Later on he begins to think that he was about the easiest
ma r k that e.ver came down the pike, and how he fell for a confidence game
worked by a girl baby, and he blushes every time he thinks of the way he
was strung along to the altar.
This makes him very sore, but in order to keep his fellows from
laughing at him he tries to get every other man in the same box. This
accounts for the extraordinary number of wives in every community.
There are a great many different varieties of wives There are young
wives and old wives; fat wives and thin wives. Wives who are good
lookers, and wives who look as if they had come out of the human grab
bag; wives who know how to cook, and are thrifty and industrious, and
wives who spurn the gas range and who burn up the long green.
The peaches among wives are generally the second choice of old men
,h 0 ar e able to afford the luxury The wives who know how to cook and
save alwa. s have to do it, and the more no-account a wife is the more
A Scene Worth Reading From “The Rainbow,”
in Which Mr. Henry Miller Is Playing
With Great Success
PUBLISHED BY PERMISSION.
It doesn't interest me. No, not n word. The point
Is. these people have been your life. They are
your life.
SUMNER—Oh. we ll got out. away from here —
ebroad somewhere -anywhere.
RUTH—tan a man run away from bis life?
SUMNER —You don't know what you're saying
You don't know what you're asking of me.
RUTH —Oh. yes. I do. I'm asking the happi
ness of a child. Now, listen. She is coming to
me this‘afternoon.
SUMNER—Yes
RUTH —Expecting to return the day after to
morrow.
SUMNER—Yes.
RUTH—WeII, shje must not return.
SUMNER —And—and I'm not to see her again?
RUTH —What, would be the use?
SUMNER -You mean I'm to tell her I'm sending
her away for good?
Ii i
a H
| ■BBr }
v\ 1 \
\ A
I \ nIT/LpS--
RUTH (Coldly)—I Remember Her Perfectly. How Do Yon Do?
RUTH As you like. 1 don’t inplst on that.
SUMNER—Just when she's grown into my life
—just when I've learned what I've missed all these
years—and wbat you've had.
RUTH —There’s no use in talking about It.
SUMNER—Doesn't it strike you that you’re just
the least bit cruel?
RUTH—No. In the end it’s the kindest thing
I could do.
SUMNER—The kindest thing!
RUTH—Listen, Neil. I came here distressed,
worried, uncertain what I ought to do. It's what
I've seen here that has determined me.
SUMNER- -But I tell you
RUTH—lt's no use. I’ve made up my mind.
SUMNER—And suppose I should decide to keep
her?
RUTH Keep her? How ran you keep her?
The courts have confided her to my care. Don't
be absurd
SUMNER And I'm not to count, at all?
RUTH—When a man has made his bed he must
He on it.
SUMNER—That’s a hard saying.
RUTH -Truth is truth. We’re not children.
SUMNER - I wish to heaven we were, for then
we might begin all over again. Are you sure it's
too late? Don't you think we might begin again?
RUTH—No. Nell, Um not to be bribed.
SUMNER—Bribed?
RUTH—AII the years wasted. youth spurned,
hopes defeated; all nothing! Neil, don't be ridicu
lous.
Copyright, 1912. by A m«n ran-Journal-Examiner. Great Britain Rights Referred.
she is esteemed by her husband. For a wife to get fat puts her into the
old discard, as the value of a wife is in proportion to how little there is
of her crossways.
In former times it was the custom for a man who acquired a wife
in his youth to keep her until death did them part This was in the
days before Reno. This queer and archaic idea is still said to prevail
in provincial communities, but in fashionable society as soon as a man
makes money and sets up a new- establishment he gets rid of his old
wife and acquires a new one to match his new furniture, as it would be
manifestly absurd to exhibit a homely old Pittsburg wife, with a washtub
figure, in a Metropolitan Opera box with a couple of quarts of diamonds
on her.
Wives have a great many peculiarities, one of which is the number
of relatives they possess, and the mama these relatives have for visiting
It is estimated that every wife has 765.896 uncles and cousins and aunts,
and that they all come to see her twice a year if she lives in a small
Harlem flat.
Another characteristic of wives Is that the more a woman loves her
husband the more she nags hm When a wife let® her husband eat
what he likes, and wear whatever kind of a collar he prefers, and have
as much liberty as a galley slave, it is because she has ceased to care
for him, and is hoping that he will do something that win give her a
chance to get alimony out of him
The chief eccentricity of wives, however, is the effect they have on
their husbands. As long as a man has a wife he goes about with a
hang-dog air. hump shoulders, and a seedy suit of clothes, but the minute
his wife dies he spruces up. makes a raid on the tailor for glad raiment,
and looks like a three-year-old. If Ponce De Leon had sent out ai
widower as a scout he would have brought the Fountain of Perpetual
Youth back in a bottle.
On the whole, despite many drawbacks, wives serve a useful purpose
in nature. They provide Mr. Roosevelt with a text on Race Suicide.
Some of them help a man to get rich, and others prevent men from
acquiring too much money The average wife can beat a Socialist in
a practical demonstration of the equal distribution of wealth.
Some men -prefer their neighbor’s wives to their own Others swap
old wives for new. but this ’« generally a bad bargain, for a faithful old
wife is a good thing to tie t~
SUMNER—Still—cold.
RUTH—CoId? Perhaps. Logical, at least I
must go. It’s getting late.
SUMNER—Late? So it is.
RUTH—Good-bye.
SUMNER — (Dumbly, with his back to her) —
Good bye. 4
(She has an impulse nf pity, but stifles it.
turns and goes out. Sumner moves absently
about the room, and finally touches lovingly
the hat which Cynthia has left, on the piano
as Betsy returns.) •
BETSY —She’s gone.
SUMNER—Yes.
BETSY—WeII?
SUMNER—Oh, Betsy. I've got to give her up.
I've got to send my little maid away.
BETSY—Yes, I know.
SUMNER—Ruth s right—you're right Every
body's right but me. (Buries face in hands.)
BETSY'—What shall I say to her when she finds
you' vp gone away?
SUMNER—That's the worst of it She'll think
I've wearied of her—my blessed little maid will
think I've tired of her —that I've deliberately
turned her out of my life. How can 1 do it?
BETSY—You can say that you've been called
away by business.
SUMNER—Ha! What could the business he that
would separate me from her? There is no such
business and well she, knows it. Sis. you don’t re
alize what she means to'inc. Why. only a month
ago it seemed to me that my life was done —that
my heart was as cold and dead as—as it will be
to-night—that I was standing on the grave of ail
that my youth had promised. Only a month ago—
and then she came, like a blessed little angel of
light; she breathed upon the ashes of my youth
and they leaped again imo flame Hope revived
and love came beck. My heart leaped up like the
poet's when he beheld a rainbow in the sky. Once
more life seemed to me a beautiful thing. Per
haps. after all, I had not lived in vain! And
don't you think she isn’t going to suffer too.
BETSY—Oh. I know! J know!
SUMNER —Oh, you can't guess how close we’ve
grown together—all the little sacred glimpses of
her heart she's given me —and all her little hopes
and feirs.
BETSY—It's nearly time. I'll see if the motor
is here, unless you'd rather I stayed
SUMNER—No—no; 1'1! say good-bye to my little
maid alone.
(CTRTAUV.)
BETSY Poor
Neil. Poor Neil.
SUMNER—Lis
not to know
ten, sis. When
she goes she’s
that she's not
coming back any
more.
BETSY—But I
don't quite-
SUMNER— Not
a word. Not a
hint! She musn’t
know. If she did
•
I couldn't bear It
She wouldn’t un
derstand. Betsy!
Do you think I
can tell my little
maid she's being
sent away so that
x she won't be poi
soned by the
air her father
breathes? I’ll
leave the place.
Use it as you
please.