Produced by Mardi Desjardins, Cindy Beyer, RCool and the Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net ONYX SERIES THE ETERNAL FEMININE ONYX SERIES THE ETERNAL FEMININE By CAROLYN WELLS NEW YORK FRANKLIN BIGELOW CORPORATION THE MORNINGSIDE PRESS PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1913, by FRANKLIN BIGELOW CORPORATION ONYX SERIES THE ETERNAL FEMININE CONTENTS I. AT THE LOST-AND-FOUND DESK II. TOOTIE AT THE BANK III. THE DRESSMAKER IN THE HOUSE IV. THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS V. A NEW RECRUIT VI. SHOPPING FOR POSTAGE STAMPS VII. AT THE BRIDGE TABLE VIII. SHE GOES SHOPPING IX. A QUITE AFTERNOON X. TAKING CARE OF UNCLE XI. IN THE DEPARTMENT STORE XII. THE HOUSEWIFEâS HELPER XIII. MRS. LESTERâS HOBLETTE XIV. AT THE COOKING CLASS XV. ÃSOP UP TO DATE: THE MILKMAID AND HER PAIL OF MILK THE ETERNAL FEMININE AT THE LOST-AND-FOUND DESK Yes, thatâs my bag. I left it at the lace counter. Thank you. Please give it to me. What? I must prove property? Why, donât you see itâs mine? That twisty silver monogram on the side is really E. C. S. Thatâs my name, Ella C. Saunders. I told Jim I thought the letters were too wiggly to be easily read, but I never thought anybodyâd want to read it but me. Describe contents? Why, of course I can describe the contents! In one pocket is a sample of lace, just Platte Val, you know, not an expensive lace, and with itâI think itâs with itâis a sample of rose-colored crÃªpe de Chineâthat is, not exactly rose-coloredâsort of crushed plummish or burnt magentaâbut noâcome to think, I left those samples with my dressmaker. Well, anyway, thereâs a Subway ticketâor let me see, did I use that coming down? I believe I did! Well, thereâs a little memorandum card that slips inâthe celluloid sort, you know. No, thereâs nothing written on it. I donât use it because, though they pretend you can wash them like a slate, you canât. They just smudge. What do you mean by saying I havenât told a definite thing yet? Iâve told you lots! Well, thereâs some moneyâI donât know how much; some chicken feed, as Jim calls itâand a five-dollar bill, I thinkâoh noâI paid that to the butcher. Well, there must be a one-dollar billâtwo, maybe. Oh, and thereâs a little pencil, a goldy-looking one; it came with the bag. And some powder-papersâthose leaves, you know; but I believe I did use the last one yesterday at the matinÃ©e. Oh, dear, how fussy you are! I tell you itâs my bag; I recognize it myself. Canât I tell you of some personal belongings in it so youâll be sure? Why, yes, of course I can. My visiting-card, Mrs. James L. Saunders, is in that small inside pocket. âWhy didnât I tell you that in the first place? Why, you rattled me so; and besides, I thought I had to tell of my own little individual properties, like samples and tickets and things. Anybody might have her visiting-card in her bag!â TOOTIE AT THE BANK âOh, how do you do? Are you the Paying Teller? Well,âthat is,âcould I please see somebody else? You see, Iâve just opened an account, and I want to get some of my money out. Thereâs the loveliest hat in Feathertonâs window, marked down toâbut, thatâs just it! If I get my money from a Professional Teller, heâll tell all about my private affairs, and how much I pay for my hats, and everything!â âNot at all, Miss. We are called Tellers because we never tell anything about our depositorsâ affairs. Weâre not allowed to.â âOh, how lovely! Well, then,âif you wonât tellâIâve never drawn a check before, and I donât know how! Will you help me?â âCertainly; but I must ask you to make haste. Have you a check-book?â âHow curt you are! I thought youâd like to help me. Men âmost always do. Yes, I have a check-book,âthat other clerk gave it to me. But I donât like it, and I want to exchange it. See,âit has a horrid, plain black muslin cover! Donât you have any bound in gray suÃ¨de, with gilt edges. Iâm willing to pay extra.â âWe have no other kind, Miss. How much money do you want?â âWhy, I donât know. You see, Daddy put a thousand dollars in this bank for me. I suppose I may as well take it all at once. What do you think?â âI think probably your father meant for you to take only a part of it at a time.â âYes; I think so, too. He said it would teach me business habits. He chose this bank because you have a special department for ladies. But if this is it, I donât think much of it. To be sure the plate glass and mahogany are all right,âbut it looks like âput up complete for $74.99.â Donât you think Mission furniture and Chintz would be cozier? Yes, yes, Iâll draw my check! Do give me a moment to draw my breath first. You see Iâm not used to these things. Why, with a real bank account of my own, I feel like an Organized Charity! I suppose I ought to hunt up some Worthy Poor! Well, Iâll just get that hat first. Now, let me see. Oh, yes, of course you may help me, but I want to do the actual drawing myself. Itâs the only way to learn. Why, when I took Art lessons, I made a burnt-wood sofa pillow all myself! The teacher just stood and looked at me. He said I had Fate-sealing eyes. Why, youâre looking at my eyes just the way he did! You seem so rattled,âwhy do you? Donât you know how to draw a check, either?â âOh, yes, indeed; I have drawn millions of checks.â âMillions of checks! How exciting! What do you do with all your money?â âOh, it isnât my money, you know.â âArenât you ashamed to be drawing millions and billions of other peopleâs money! I have a friend who is engaged to a bank president who got caught drawing checks.â âExcuse me, but how much money do you want to draw?â âHow much is it customary for ladies to draw?â âWell, that depends upon how much they need.â âOh, I see. People in need draw more than those in comfortable circumstances, I suppose. I am not exactly what would be called âa needy person.â Since I left school, of course, I have my own allowance. Do you approve of girls being put on an allowance, or do you think it is nicer for them to have accounts with the trades-people, and not be treated like children?â âI should think that would depend. Would a check for $100.00 be enough for to-day? What did you have in mind to use it for?â âI think you are very impertinent. I am surprised that people in banks are allowed to ask such questions. Why should you concern yourself with how much money I want?â âI was endeavoring to help you about your check.â âOh, yes, certainly. How could you possibly draw checks if you didnât know how much the checks were to be! I like checks much better than stripes or plaids. Lucille is making me a beautiful walking suit that is the loveliest imported check that you ever saw. And checks are nice for men, donât you think?â âIs it for the hat or for the suit that you want to draw a check?â âYes, of course, it is for the hat at Feathertonâs that I want the check. I am afraid you will think I am silly, but really I have so many things to think about that it is hard to keep my mind on just one thing. You must make allowances for girls who have so many things to think about. Of course, with a man like you, who only has checks and money to think about all day long, it is so easyâIâd be bored if I had nothing but money and checks all day. I should think it would be diverting to have somebody call and talk about something else.â âIt is. Come, now, let us make out this check. You must write the number first.â âOh, isnât it exciting! Now, wait, let me do it. You just watch out that itâs all right. But are you sure you know how yourself? Iâd rather have an Expert to teach me. You know, nowadays, skilled labor counts in everything.â âI assure you Iâm competent in this matter, but I must beg you to make haste. Write the number in this blank.â âWhat number?â âNumber one, of course. Itâs your first check.â âThere! I knew you were ready to tell everything! Suppose it is my first check, I donât want everybody to know it. Canât I begin with a larger number, and then go right on?â âWhy, yes, I suppose you can, if you like. Begin with 100.â âOh, I donât know. I guess Iâll begin with 4887. I can make lovely 7âs. Donât you think 4887 is a pretty number?â âVery pretty, butââ âNow =_youâre_= wasting time. There, Iâve written the number. What next?â âThe date, please. And the year.â âWell, Iâve written the date, but it spilled all over the year space. It doesnât matter, though, âcause itâll be this year for a long while yet, and this check will be vouched, or whatever you call it, before the year is out.â âBut you must write the year.â âBut how can I, when there isnât room?â âTear that up, and begin a new check.â âAnd waste all that money! Oh, I didnât want an account, anyway! I told Daddy it would make me more extravagant! And youâre so cross to me. And here, Iâve spoiled a lot of my money the first thing!â âOh, no, Miss Young, you havenât! There, there, donât look so distressed! Iâll make it all right for you.â âYouâll make it all right! How dare you, sir? Do you dream for a moment Iâd take your money to replace my own losses?â âNow, wait, you donât understand. This check is worthless until itâs signed. Now, weâll tear it out, so, and begin again. Make smaller letters and figures, canât you?â âOh, how cute that check comes out! You just tear it by the little perforated dots, donât you? Let me tear one out!â âWrite it first; youâll probably spoil it, and have to tear it out.â âHow unkind you are! And Iâm doing my very best. Donât find fault with me,âplease, donât!â âWell, donât wrinkle up your nose like that,âit looks like a crumpled rose petal! And donât write your name there! Thatâs the place for the amount!â âOh, what a fuss! What does it matter, so long as all the spaces are filled? My goodness, the checkâs all done, isnât it? And itâs quite entirely all right, isnât it?â âYes, itâs irreproachable. How will you have the money?â âIf I take the money, do I have to give you this check?â âCertainly.â âThen I wonât take any money, thank you. I want to take this check home and show it to Daddy. Heâll be so pleased and proud! I know heâll keep it as a souvenir, and then heâll give me some of his money for the hat!â THE DRESSMAKER IN THE HOUSE SCENE.âA sewing-room, with the usual piles of unfinished or unmended clothing heaped on tables and chairs. Mrs. Lester, a pretty, fussy little woman, is trying on her own gowns and then tossing them aside, one after another. Enter Miss Cotton, a visiting dressmaker. Mrs. Lester: Oh, Miss Cotton, Iâm so glad youâve come! Iâm nearly frantic. Excuse the looks of this sewing-room. I donât see why a sewing-room never can keep itself cleared up! I suppose itâs because they never have any closets in them; or if they do, you have to hang your best dresses thereâthereâs no other place. And so this room gets simply jammed with white work and mending and hats, and I donât know what all! My husband says itâs like the Roman Forum done in dry-goods. But heâs a regular Miss Nancy about neatness and order. Now, to-day, Miss Cotton, weâre going to do sleeves. See? Sleeves! And nothing else. Iâm simply driven crazy by them. Oh, donât look as if you didnât know what I meant! You know, all my gowns have elbow sleeves, and I must either have long ones put in or throw the whole dress away. Yes, I know I said Iâd wear the short sleeves, if other people did insist on having long ones. I know I said Iâd be independent, and at least wear out the ones I have. But Iâm conquered! I admit it! It isnât any fun to go to a luncheon and be the only woman at the table with elbow sleeves! Yesterday I went to Mrs. Ritchieâs Bridge, and my partner, that big Mrs. Van Winkle, with chains of scarabs all over her chest till she looked like the British Museum, kept pulling her long sleeves down farther over her knuckles just to annoy me. Yes, I know it, my forearm is white and round, but I declare it makes me feel positively indecent to go with it bared nowadays. If those suffrage people would only get for women the right to bare arms, theyâd do something worth while. No, indeed, I canât afford to get new gowns. These are too good to throw away. Well, they may not be the latest style, but I donât want those bolster-slip arrangements for mine. Mrs. Van Bumpus, nowâyou know her, donât you? Well, it would take two kimonos to go round her, Iâm sure; and I saw her the other day in one of those clinging satin rigs. My! she looked exactly like a gypsy-wagon, the kind that has canvas stretched over its ribs. No, itâs sleeves, sleeves, Iâm after to-dayâand thatâs why I sent for you. Iâm going to superintend them, you understand, but I want you to help, and to do the plain sewing. Well, to begin on this mauve crÃ©pon. I want to wear it this afternoon, and I think we can easily get it done, between us. Iâve bought a paper patternâI bought threeâfor I mean to spare no expense in getting my sleeves right. So I bought three different makes, and think this one is best. It was a sort of bargain, too, for they sold the sleeve pattern and a pattern for little boysâ pajamas, all for ten cents. I donât know what to do with the pajamas patternâso that does seem a waste. Iâve no little boy, and I shouldnât make pajamas for him if I had. I think the one-piece nighties far more sensible. If you know of any one who has a little boy, Iâll sell that pattern for half price. Still, ten cents wasnât much to pay for this sleeve pattern. You see, itâs really three sleeve patterns. One plain, with dart; one plain, without dart; and one tucked. Iâll use them all, in different waists, but for this mauve crÃ©pon, I think, weâll try the tucked one. It would be sweet in net or chiffon. Yes, I bought both materials, for I didnât know which youâd think prettier; I trust a great deal to your judgment and experience, though I always rely on my own taste. Now, hereâs the tucked sleeve. Merciful powers! Look at the length of it! Oh, itâs to be tucked all the way up, you see, and that brings it the right length. Wouldnât it be easier to cut the sleeve from net already tucked? No, thatâs soâI couldnât match the shade in tucked stuff of any sort. I tried in seven shops. Well, letâs see. These rows of perforations match these rows. Noâthat isnât right. That would make the tucks wider than the spaces. Why, I never saw such millions of perforations in one piece of paper before! Look here, this isnât a sleeve pattern at all! Itâs a Pianola roll! Iâm going to put through and see if it isnât that old thing in F, or something classic. Cut out the tucked sleeve, Miss Cotton. Oh, wait, I didnât mean that literally! My husband reproves me so often for using slang. I mean, I wonât have my arms done up in Bachâs fugues; I should feel like a hand-organ. Letâs try this plain sleeve with dart. Hâmââlay the line of large perforations lengthwise of the material.â And here are large perforations sprinkled all over the thing! Oh, no, that isnât the way! Yes, Iâm quite willing you should show me, if you know yourselfâbut I see these directions confuse you as much as they do me; and if thereâs to be a mistake made in cutting this expensive material, Iâd rather make it myself. This says, âdeveloped in piquÃ© it will produce satisfactory results.â Well, I canât wear piquÃ© sleeves in a crÃ©pon gown! Can I? ThereâIâve cut it! Now, âclose seam, gather between double crosses, make no seam where there are three crosses, bring together corresponding lines of perforationsâand finish free edges!â Well! I rather guess those free edges will finish me! However, baste it up, Miss Cotton, and Iâll try it on. Itâs easy to make sleeves, after all, isnât it? Why! I canât begin to get my arm into that pipe-stem! What? I should have allowed seams? Why didnât you tell me? Oh, no, I didnât scorn your advice! Why, thatâs what I have you here for! Well, those sleeves are ruined. A living skeleton couldnât get into those. Itâs most confusing, the way some patterns allow seams and some donât. I was going to get one with âall seams allowed,â but it had another part to itâa âbrassiÃ¨re.â I donât know what that is, but probably some sort of a brass pot or other bric-Ã -brac junk, and I donât want any more of that. The den is full now. Well, Iâm tired of making sleeves. What do you think, Miss Cotton, of just adding lace lower halfs? I bought a lovely pair, in case the sleeves didnât turn out well. Now, Iâll put on the bodice, and you pin them on, and weâll see how they look. Oh, theyâre not nearly long enough! They ought to come well below my wrists. And such beautiful laceâitâs a shame not to use them. Yes, perhaps a band of lace at the elbow might help. No, that looks awfully patchyâtake it away. A ruching at the wrist? No, nobody wears that. Oh, dear, what can we do? I must have this gown for this afternoon! Hereâs a pair of long lace sleeves, whole ones, I bought in case I needed them. Would they do? Noâthe lace doesnât match that on the bodice. Dye them? No, thank you! I bought some dye once, and the package said on the outside in big letters: âDyeing at Home! No trouble at all!â and it gave me such a turn, I never could think of wearing a dyed sleeve! What can I do? I believe Iâll wear them as they are. I hate long sleeves anyway. They get so soiled, and they bag at the elbows, and theyâre terribly unbecoming. Oh, Iâve a whole black net guimpe! I bought it, thinking it might be useful for something. Suppose we rip out these sleeves, and the lace neck, and just wear the bodice over this guimpe! Oh! oh! it looks horrid! just like an old-fashioned âjumperâ suit! Youâll have to put the neck back as it was. But then what can we do with the sleeves? Nothing! Just nothing! I shall have to stay at home until I can get some entirely new gowns made. Itâs a sin and shame, the way we poor women have to be slaves to Fashion! And I know, just as soon as I am fitted out with long sleeves, the pretty, short ones will come in style again! THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS SCENE.âThe Pelhamsâ living room. It is decorated for Christmas, and on tables are displayed many beautiful gifts that have been sent to Mr. and Mrs. Pelham. * * * * * Mrs. Pelham (in pretty evening gown and a spray of holly in her hair, looks wistful and discontented. She stands by a table and fingers some of the gifts, and then sits at the piano and hums a snatch of a Christmas carol, and then throws herself into an easy chair. She speaks): Dick, do stop reading the paper, and be Christmassy! It might as well be the eighteenth of July as the twenty-fourth of December, for all the Christmas spirit you show! I do think this is the pokiest old Christmas Eve I ever spent, and I thought it was going to be the loveliest! I thought for once Iâd have everything ready ahead of timeâand now look at the result! Nothing to do, nothing to enjoy, no surprises. Everybody said, âLetâs buy our gifts early, and so save the poor shopgirlsâ lives.â And goodness knows Iâm only too glad to help the poor shopgirls in any way I can! Why, I never wait for my change,âif itâs only a few pennies,âand youâd be surprised to see how pleased and surprised they are at that. Itâs pathetic to see their gratitude for six cents. Why, the other day Mrs. Muchmore kept me waiting with her a long time to get her nine cents change, and when I suggested that she come away without it, and let the shopgirl have it, she looked at me as if I had robbed her. Well, then we were late for the matinÃ©e, and had to take a taxicab; so she didnât make much, after all. No; Iâm a great friend of the shopgirl, and Iâm glad to do all I can for them; but this buying Christmas presents in October is so tame and uninteresting! Then I bought all my tissue paper and holly ribbon and fancy seals in November; and early in December I had the whole lot tied up and labeled. I had three clothes-baskets full of the loveliest looking parcels! And then they sat around till I was sick of the sight of them! Donât you remember, Dick, how you used to tumble over them in the guest rooms? And you said I was a dear, forehanded little wife to have them all ready so soon? Youâll never have such a forehanded little wife again, I can tell you! And then, to save the poor expressman, everybody is urged to send their presents early nowadays. So I sent mine all off a week ago. And everybody sent theirs to me a week ago. To be sure, this plan has the advantage that often I can see what someone else sends me, before I send a return gift. My! it was lucky I saw Bertha Hamiltonâs Armenian centerpiece before I sent her that veil case! I changed, and sent her an Empire mirror, and sheâll think her centerpiece rather skinny now! But, all the same, I hate this fashion. Why, Iâve had all this junk set out on tables four days now, and Iâm tired of the sight of it. And even the p-p-paper and st-string are all cleared away. NoâDickâIâm not crying, and you neednât try to coax me up! Well, of course, it isnât your fault, though you did egg me on. But everybody does it now, and weâve even written our notes of thanks to each other. I always used to dread doing those the day after Christmas; but now it makes me homesick to think theyâre all d-done. And even this lovely necklace you gave me Iâve had it a w-week, and it doesnât seem like a Christmas present at all! Yes, I know I gave you your gold cigarette case two weeks ago; but I wanted to be sure you liked it before I had it monogrammed. It seems now as if I had given it to you last year. Oh, I think it used to be lovely when we didnât get our things until Christmas Eve or Christmas Dayâand then some belated presents would come straggling along for days afterward! And the night before Christmas we were madly rushing around tying up things, and Iâd be up till all hours finishing a piece of embroidery, and youâd have to tear downtown for some forgotten presents, and the bundles were simply piling in, and the expressman would come at midnight, grumbling a little, but very merry and Christmassy! Then Iâd have to set the alarm, and get up at five oâclock Christmas morning to press off my centerpiece, and pack off Claraâs box, and do a thousand things before breakfast. And weâd eat breakfast by snatches between undoing parcels and sending off boxes. And the rooms were knee-deep with a clutter of paper and strings and excelsior and shredded tissue, andâoh, it was lovely! And nowâall that has been over for a week! And it really didnât happen then; for itâs all been gradual since October. And here it is Christmas Eve, and not a thing to do! And to-morrow morning itâll be Christmas, and not a thing to do! Oh, Dick, itâs perfectly horrid, and Iâll never, never get ready for Christmas early again! Iâm so lonesome for the hurry and rush of an old-fashioned Christmas Eve! Whatâs that? Youâll take me downtownânow? Down to the shops? âDeed I will get my coat and hat! There isnât a soul left to buy a present for; but we can buy some things for next yearâOh, no, no, not that! But weâll buy some things and give them to the shopgirls. And, at any rate, weâll get into the bustle and cheer of a real Christmas Eve! Come on, Dick, Iâm all ready! Merry Christmas, Dick! A NEW RECRUIT âOh, good morning, Miss Coggswell! Do sit down. Yes, isnât it? So spring-like and balmy. Oh, not at all; Iâm never busy. Iâm always glad to see callers. On business? Oh, I donât know anything about business! About Suffrage! Why, you look so lady-like! Become a Suffragist? Me? Oh, Iâm happily married! Oh, excuse me! I donât mean but what you are far happier unmarriedâof course you are, or you wouldnât have stayed so. Butâwell, really, I donât know the first principles of this suffrage business. Not necessary? Oh, I think I ought to know what Iâm joining; and, besides, the suffrage people are such frumps. What! Theyâre going to dress better? Well, Iâm glad of it. But, really, you know, Iâm not a bit suffragy. Why, Iâm afraid of a mouse, and I just love lingerie ribbons! And, anyway, I should vote just as Bob told me to, and Iâm sure everyone else would, so it would just double the menâs votes, you see. The unmarried women? Yes, thatâs so; Iâd forgotten them. But I suppose theyâd ask their brothers-in-law or their ministers or somebody, for you certainly canât tell how to vote by reading the papers! âOh, itâs all in the future, and you only want me to help the cause? What! as an ornament? Oh, Miss Coggswell! Why, I donât know? Who? Oh, Mrs. Hemingway-Curtis! And Mrs. Vanderheyden-Wellsbacher! Oh, why they wear lovely clothes! Theyâre the kind of people that might be called âclassy.â I never use that word, but somehow it seems to fit them. They want notoriety, the same as the people in the country papers who have their back fence painted. âAnd you want me to write papers? Oh, yes, I could do that. I belong to the Pallas At Home Circle. You just tell the government how to make the laws, and you purify politics, and things like that. That part is easy enough. Of course Iâve kept up with the suffrage movement; one must be intelligent. I know all about how they want the shirtwaist makers not to make so many waists, and I donât wonder! I donât wear them any more, anyway; nobody does. âAnd vivisection? Oh, yes, I read a lot about that. They want poor, dumb animals to have a vote. Oh, I understand those things well enough, but Iâm really too busy to do much about them. Oh, you only want me to lend my name. Yes, I do want honest politics; but I think theyâre too honest as it is. They wonât let you smuggle in a little bit of lace or anything like that, as we used to do. I donât mind paying the customs, but itâs so much more fun to smuggle! As if two or three little bits of lace would hurt the United States government! âEqual rights? Have half of Bobâs money? Oh, I have more than that now! What! Some women donât? Well, if they donât know how to get it, they donât deserve to have it. âAnd, then, you see, Iâm such a home-body, and Iâm perfectly daffy over my children! You should see Bobbins since he had his curls cut off! Broke my heart; but such a duck of a mannie! And Gwen is the dearest baby! Just think! Yesterday she was eating her bread and jam, and she saidâOh, well, of course, if you havenât time to listenâYes, I see,âbusiness. âWell,âOh, I never could speak in public! Oh, just sit on the stage and wear lovely gowns? Yes, Iâd rather like that. âWell, I suppose I might be persuaded to become a suffragist; but I think Iâd rather have an aeroplane. âYes, I do believe in independence. I think every woman ought to have a mind of her own and decide upon her own actions. I hate a wobbly-minded woman! Well, about this suffrage business, Iâll ask my husband and do as he says.â SHOPPING FOR POSTAGE STAMPS âYou keep stamps, donât you?â âYes, Miss; what kind?â âWhy, I donât know. But I want something that will go well with blue note paper.â âYes, miss; do you want letter postage?â âOf course! I want to post letters, not chairs or tables!â âWhere are the letters to? United States?â âBe careful young man, or Iâll report you for rudeness. I wonât tell you where the letter is going, itâs private correspondence, but it is in the United States.â âThen you want a two-cent stamp; here you are.â âOh, red ones! Never! Do you suppose Iâd put that sickly shade of crushed gooseberry juice on my robinâs egg blue envelopes? Is this the nearest thing you have in two-cent stamps?â âThe very latest style, I assure you.â âWell, they wonât do. Why, they arenât fit for anything, unless to make a stamp plate with. Havenât you any blue ones?â âYes, we have a nice line of blue ones, at five cents each.â âOh, the price doesnât matter; let me see them, please.â âHere they are, beautiful shade of blue.â âHâm; good enough shade, but it doesnât quite harmonize with my envelopes. You see they are a sorty of greenishy-blue, and your stamps are more indigoish. Do you expect any new ones in?â âWell, not any different colors.â âOh, dear, thatâs always the way! But maybe I could take some of these and dye them with my Easter egg dyes, to match my paper. I did that with some lace, and it worked awfully well! Whatâs the lightest color you have?â âThese pale green ones are as light as any. But if you dye them blue you canât use them.â âWhy not?â âThe government wonât allow it.â âHow mean! As if it made any difference to them what color stationery people use! It almost makes me want to be a suffragette when I hear of such tyranny! Not that Iâd really be one! Iâm too fearfully afraid of a mouse! But Iâd like to have a few rights about postage stamps. I do think the selection is very limited. Thereâs more beauty and variety in cigar bands. Well, Iâll look at these violet ones. How much are they?â âThese are three cents apiece.â âHâm, two for five cents, I suppose. Well, I could get violet note paper, and use violet ink; then these stamps would do nicely.â âAnd theyâd match your eyes fairly well, too.â âIsnât that queer! Everybody says I have violet eyes, but, really theyâre not a bit the color of these stamps, you know.â âNo? Look at me and let me see; well, no, theyâre not exactly the same shade, but theyâre violet eyes, all right. How many stamps will you have?â âTwo, please; but wonât you give them to me out of the middle of the sheet? Those around the edge seem a little faded.â âWe canât tear stamps out of the middle of a sheet!â âOh, yes, you can, if you tryâif I ask you to try! Iâll take that one, and that one!â âWell, I suppose it doesnât matter. This one did you say? And this one?â âYes, please. Will you wrap them up in a neat parcel, and send them? Good morning.â AT THE BRIDGE TABLE âYes, indeed, Mrs. Sevier, Iâm going to play at this table. Where do I sit? Here? Perhaps youâd rather have this seat, with your back to the light, donât you know? Cut for partners? Ace low. Why, isnât that funny! I always thought the ace was the highest card of all, if you donât use a joker. And you donât in Bridge. Do you? No; I havenât played very much, but Iâm quick at catching on. I always say Bridge is for those who are too old or too married to flirt. Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Sevier, of course youâre not either! Well, I know youâve been married twice, but that isnât much nowadays. Iâm perfectly sure I never shall be married at all. Of course, Iâm only nineteen, but I think I look older. No? Well, one canât tell about oneâs looks. Mother says very few sensible men would want to marry me! But I tell her very few would be enough. Now, you neednât laugh at that, Mr. Chapman, itâs quite true. Are you my partner? No? Oh, I play with Mr. Ritchie, and you play with Mrs. Sevier. Very well, letâs begin.â âShall we play Lilies?â âPlay Lilies? Why, Mr. Chapman, I thought we were to play Bridge! I took half a dozen lessons a year ago. I havenât played since, but Iâve a marvelous memory. Oh, I see, youâre just chaffing me, because my name is Lilly! You mean youâll play Lillyâs game. Now, youâll excuse me, wonât you, if I sort my cards face down, on the table? Why, I seem to have five suits! I declare, my hand is a perfect rubbish heap! Oh, Mrs. Sevier, have you joined that new City Beautiful Club? Iâm on the Rubbish Committee, and I have to read a paper on the Ã¦sthetic decoration of ash cans, or Art in Rubbish. Itâs such fun! I love womenâs clubs. Iâm going to join another. I forget what itâs called, but they want poor, dumb animals to have a vote, or something like that. Well, come on, people, letâs play Bridge. Oh, donât look like that, Mr. Ritchie! Gay and festive, please! Is it my deal? Well, you just deal for me. I always come out wrong. âWhat are my conventions? Really, I havenât any. Iâm the most unconventional person you ever saw. Why, mother saysâbut speaking of conventions, our Federated Clubs are going to have a stunning convention next week. Thatâs where Iâm going to read my paper. Iâve a screaming new costumeâand a hat! Well, if I began to tell you about that hat it would interrupt our game. Wait till Iâm Dummy, Mrs. Sevier, and Iâll tell you. I expect these men wouldnât really care toâOh, my discard? Yes, indeedâIâwhy, yes, of course I always discard spades. They count the least, you know.â âUnless theyâre lilies.â âOh, Mr. Ritchie! How dear of you! Do you really set such store by my spades? Now, thatâs a partner worth having! I love to play Bridge, if I can have my own way. Do you know, of all things, I hate disapproval. I just canât stand it if people are cross to me!â âYou donât even avail yourself of a cross-ruff, do you?â âOh, Mr. Ritchie, how witty! Did I overlook a chance? That reminds me of a lady in our club, Mrs. Ruff. You see, she hasnât a very becoming husbandâat presentâand she always looks so discontented, we call her the Cross Ruff! YesâyesâI am going to play. I was just thinking. âMy heavens and earth, Mrs. Sevier, donât look at me like that! Your eyes are perfect sledgehammers! No, I wasnât peeking into Mr. Chapmanâs hand! But I just chanced to catch a glimpse of his Queen of HeartsâOh, Mr. Chapman, are you going to the Muchmoreâs fancy ball? Because, Iâm going as Queen of Hearts, and if you wanted to go as King of HeartsâHal Breston insists heâs going to take that part, butâwell, I want to pique himâYes, yes, Mrs. Sevier, I know itâs my play, I was just thinking. Bridge isnât a game you can play thoughtlesslyâlike Tit-tat-toe. You see, the Dummy is on my right handâdonât you think that phrase has a funny sound? âShe sat on her hostessâ right hand?â How could the poor hostess eat? Yes, yesâthere, Iâll play my king. Oh, heâs taken it with the ace! Why, I thought that was out long ago! Well, you made me play so fast, I scarcely knew what I was playing. Iâm afraid youâll think Iâm flighty, but really I have so many things on my mind, itâs hard to think of only one at a time. Of course, itâs different with you, Mrs. Sevier. Your life is more in a rutâif you know what I mean. Well, being married, you canât help that. Yes, I know itâs my playâI was just thinking. I guess Iâll play a diamond. I know Iâm returning my opponentâs lead, but I have a reason. Now, donât scold me, Mr. Ritchie; I simply cannot play if people disapprove of what I do. Yes, smile at me like that, itâs ever so much nicer! You seem a little put out, Mrs. Sevier! Are you holding poor hands? Come, come, if these two gentlemen and I are having such a pleasant game, you must enjoy it, too. What did you bid, Mrs. Sevier?â âI think I shall have to bid adieu.â âOh, must you go, really? Too bad! Well, good night, and thank you for such a pleasant time. âNow, let us play three-hand auction; itâs a splendid game.â SHE GOES SHOPPING âWhy, Mr. Willing, good afternoon! How pleasant to meet you on the avenue like this. But what are you doing in the shopping district? Hunting bargain neckties? There, there, donât look so utterly galvanized; I didnât mean it. Besides, I know perfectly well why youâre here; you came on the mere chance of meeting me! Ah, ha, you neednât look so embarrassed about it. I donât mind being seen with you; Iâm not a bit exclusive. Well, it was a shame to tease himâso it was. Now, as a very special favor, how would you like to go into Priceâs with me, while I shop a little? âHâm, you donât seem awfully eager. What? Walk up the avenue instead? Well, we will, afterward. But letâs run in here just a minute while I buy a veil. It wonât take any time at all. And then we can go for a walk. âOh, what a crowd! I do think the people get thicker every year. Well, did you get through? I thought Iâd lost you. When I saw you wedged in that revolving door with that fat lady you looked so funny. She was real cross, wasnât she? But you were so meek, I had to laugh. You looked like a feeble-minded jelly fish. âNow, now, Willy Willing, donât peeve. Smile a âittle bitsy; yes, you do seem to be the only man here. But Iâm glad to have you, it is so nice to have a man to pilot one through a shopping crowd. Oh, of course, the floor-walkers are just for that purpose, but they canât go outside their diocese, or whatever you call it. Now, you can go ahead and blaze a trail. The veil counter is over that way, I think, anyway, itâs quite near the ribbons and catty-cornered across from the artificial flowers. âYes, here we are at last. Now, Iâll sit on this stool and you stand right by me. Donât let women push in between us, for I want your advice. âOh, look whoâs here! Why, Tottie May! I havenât seen you since we were in Venice. Do you remember Venice? And those two long lines of Hoffman houses each side of the Grand Canal! Wasnât it stunning? You, darling, how lovely to see you again. Yes, yes, I do, I do want to be waited on, but do wait a minute, canât you? Yes, I want veiling, by the yardâthere, thatâs the kind I want. Oh! please donât let that woman carry it off! âGoodby, darling, must you go? Yes, the large meshed kind. Oh, no, not that one covered with little blue beads. I should feel as if I had turquoise measles. I want a sort of grayâthe shade they call âFrightened Mouseââthough why a mouse should ever be frightened when we are all scared to death of themâThere, Mr. Willing, do you think this one is becoming? When I hold it up against my face, so. Whereâs baby? Peep-bo. Oh, gracious, that floor-walker thought I peep-boed at him. âMercy me, I have rubbed all the powder off my nose. Oh, no, it wonât hurt the veil. I beg your pardon, madame, did I push you with my elbow? Indeed, Iâm not taking up all the room. Iâm fearfully crowded. And I rather fancy I can try the effect of a veil if I want to. âNow, Willy Willing, how do you like this one, with the big polka dots? Yes, I know, only one dot shows, theyâre so big and so far apart. But polka dots are so fashionable. âDo you know the polka is coming in againâthe dance I mean? They call it the panther polka? Itâs awful sinuousâa sort of stealthy glideâmakes you think of Sarah Bernhardt, or Elinor Weeks, but the best people have taken it up. âWhat? youâre afraid theyâll get taken up? Oh, Willie Willing, how witty you are. âThere, do you like this veil? Donât you think it suits my hair? Mr. Dow says my hair is a yellow peril. I donât know what he means. âYou like my face better without my veil? Why, how pretty of you. Now, just for that Iâll let you select one. âYouâd select a bridal veil? Oh, fie, fie, Mr. Willing. You donât reallyâYes, I do want a veil. Please show me some of your other styles. And Mr. Willing, what do you think? At Gladysâs wedding next week, she is going to haveâCertainly, my dear girl, Iâm ready to look at your goods, but these are not the veils I want. Show me something newer, these are allâWhy, Gladys said that Polly Peters saidâdo you remember Polly Peters? Well, youâd never know her now. Slim! Sheâs nothing but a spineâYes, my girl, Iâm looking at your veils, but I want the piece that lady has just picked up. Letâs wait till she lays it down. âNow, Mr. Willing, you mustnât get impatient. You men donât realize what hard work shopping is, until nowâOh, my gracious! I have to be at our culture class by 4 oâclock. Thereâs a lecture on âArt Uplift in the Kitchen,â and I know it will be fine. âNo, I donât cook, but itâs such a satisfaction to know that oneâs soup is made in a Greek-shaped jug, instead of a crude iron kettleâOh, mercy, no! I wouldnât wear a veil like that! Why, Mrs. Bailey had one like that once, and the very day I saw her wearing it I lost my amethyst hatpin. Iâve always considered a veil like that unlucky ever since. âWell, I donât seem to care for any of these veils, theyâre not a bit distinctive. And a veil is such an important part of a costumeâit dresses up the face so. These patterns are most uninteresting. âCome on, Willing Willy, letâs go down to Storerâs and look at veils thereâshall us? âWhy, you donât seem to want to go a bit. Now, donât go just to please me. I thought perhaps you were interested inâ âOh, do you want to go? Do you know I believe you men just love to go shopping, and you only pretend you donât. âI am sorry, dear, that your veils donât suit me, but, of course, I canât buy what I donât want just to help the store along; you couldnât expect that, could you? âAnd, anyway, I wasnât exactly buying a veilâI was just shopping for one.â A QUIET AFTERNOON âOh, how do you do, Mr. Willing? Iâm so glad to see you! I was just saying to myself itâs such a dull afternoon Iâd be glad to see anybody.â âEven me!â âNow, youâre just fishing for a compliment, but you wonât get it. Sit down in that big easy chair and weâll have a nice, quiet, comfy afternoon, and you can talk to me.â âI can do what?â âOh, well, Iâll talk to you, then. I want to ask your advice about something. Iâm in aâwell, a sort of a dilemmaâand I want the judgment of a man of the worldâan all-round knowing manâif you know what I mean. Oh, thereâs the telephoneâpardon me, Mr. WillingâIâll just see who it isâno, you neednât leave the roomâitâs probably Tottie, or some of the girls. Hello! Oh, hello! Is that you, Jack? Why, you dear boy, Iâm so glad to see youâhear you, I mean. âWhat? Not really? Oh, the idea! Now, donât you flatter me like thatâoh, no, noâI couldnât possibly!âwell, maybeâif youâll promise to be good. âWhat, now? Oh, no, Jack, you canât come up here now. Iâmâjust going out! Noâyou didnât hear a manâs voice exclaiming! That was Fido! Yes, he has a human sort of a bark. Well, yes, it is a little like Willy Willingâs voiceâheâs a perfect puppy! What! No! Of course, I mean Fido. No, Jack, you canât come now; I tell you Iâm going out. I have on my hat and coat alreadyâyes, that was Fido againâhe always makes that queer sound when anybody telephones. (Puts hand over transmitter.) Mr. Willing, you must keep still, or I wonât tell all these fibs for your benefit! But I donât want our nice quiet afternoon intruded uponâYes, Jack, come to-morrow. I have something I want to consult you about. I really need the advice of a (covers transmitter again)âMr. Willing, please step into the library for a moment. Look at the new books on the tableâYes, Jack, truly, I need the experienced advice of an all-round man of the worldâlike youâoh, yes, you areâyouâre awfully well balanced and all thatâdonât talk when I am talkingâwait till I ring offâoh, Jane is just bringing me a cardâwait a minute, Jackâwhy, itâs Mr. StrongâI like that man awfully wellâshow him in, Jane. Goodby, Jackâno, I canât listen nowâgood-by.â âHow do you do, Mr. Strong? Do sit down. Take this easy chair. Iâm so glad to see youâyes, isnât it dull weather? So good of you to come and brighten up an otherwise lonely afternoon. Excuse me, just a moment; thereâs a new book in the library I want to show you. (Goes into next room.) âNow Mr. Willing, you must stay here till Mr. Strong goes. Because, if you show yourself, youâll have to leave here before he doesâââ âI wonât!â âHush, heâll hear youânow, I wonât be a bit entertaining to him, and heâll soon goâand then we can have our nice, quiet afternoon. Now, will you be goody-boy and stay here and not make a sound?â âYes, but Iâll eavesdrop everything you say.â âI donât care. I shanât mean a word of it!â âAnd if you donât fire him pretty swift Iâll come in there and stir up a hurrahâs nest!â âThere! there! there! little one. Rest tranquil! Read a nice, pretty book or something, but donât smoke, or heâll know somebodyâs in here.â (Lilly returns to drawing room.) âYes, Iâm so glad you came, Mr. Strongâwhat book?âOh, yes, I was going to show you a book, but Iâit wasnât there. Never mind, letâs just chatâI want to ask you something, something serious, you know. May I?â âOhâI donât knowâyou see, itâs Leap Year!â âNow Mr. Strong, donât frivol. It doesnât suit your iron-bound countenance. And, truly,
{'title': 'The Eternal Feminine by Carolyn Wells', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}