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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.