Democratic Press, Volume 1, Number 8, Decatur, Adams County, 6 December 1894 — Page 8
A QUESTION IN ETIQUETTE BT RICHARD HAMILTON COTTS. Ecurs of aristoi houses to the right of me. a park to the left of me; a lunch-party four long blocks ahead of me. my home, in the far distance, behind me; a cloudy sky, from •which descends a tine, but steady sprinkle, above me—l wish 1 could add, and an umbrella—a damp, and rapidly growing sloppy pavement beneath me; no possible car or omnibus, no cab-stand. Oh, for a plebeian street, with its multitude of conveniences! Hut my mind refuses to grasp the bliss therein conveyed. It flies, instead, to the feathers on my hat, the velvet on my gown. I had left my home rather hurriedly, and, deceived by a hypocritical little ray of sunshine, had been lured forth to find myself in this plight- Os course 1 could mount the steps or one of the irreproachable houses that line my path; but there 1 should be tied, and the rain would only increase, and I should late for the luncheon. No, it is impossible. 1 quicken my steps. I have proceeded to the crossing; the drizzle is maturing into well-defined drops that come faster and faster. Despair has me in his fell grasp. I see my pet costume a bedraggled and ruined wreck. I reflect on the state of my finances, ■which precludes the possibility of my rising above cashmere — nay, even serge—again this winter. I give my skirts a vigorous hitch that would lead one to forget my ankles and reflect on my knees, and make a forward lunge more remarkable for its desperate energy than its grace. “Er —pardon me," says a manly voice, a trifle hesitatingly, at my elbow. I start violently and mj’ skirts seek their proper level. A large umbrella is sheltering me; the rain no longer patters among the feathers that crown my head. “Allow me to share my umbrella with you. I see that you are without one," adds the manly voice. “Ob, thank you,” 1 say, as I recover somewhat, and gather, from the owner’s general appearance, that he is a gentleman and, in all probability, means his protection in kindness and not as a means to getting up a flirtation. Perhaps I ought to refuse his aid, politely and graciously, of course, with the simple remark that I have pot far to go and so shall not require his assistance. Maybe I should draw myself up, in the approved insulted maidenhood style, and say: “Sir! I thank you, but I can get along very well by myself.” If he looked a trifle less respectful and gentlemanly 1 think 1 would sacrifice Mme. Boland's latest, and as yet unpai I for, effort iu my behalf; : but I am sure he is not going to say ' anything the most prudish could object to. At any rate my situation, un- ! til now, has been really pathetic; so I I shall try obeying my own instinct, and if 1 have cause to regret it I shall * know better in future, aud the experience will not hurt me. We have traversed a block in silence. He walks by my side, perfectly grave ; and quiet, and only seems to glauce in I my direction to see that I am well ! protected. lam thankful that I took his offer the way it was meant, and did not give him reason to regret his generous impulse. On we pace, md there enters my mind the quotation: “Thou art so near and yet so far.” But, seriously, he certainly is very nice not to try to get up a conversation which would only make me thoroughly stiff and uncomfortable. I can just hear an ordinary man beginning: “It’s a damp day;” or, “Pretty wet, isn’t it?” or “Have you far to go, miss?” or addressing some equally commonplace sentence to me. It seems strange, though, to walk along so close to anyone and not utter a word. I wonder if I ought to speak; but no, he appreciates my position. What could I say, anyway? I will thank him when we separa.De, and that is all I can do. I may not be gracious enough, considering his politeness, but how can one be gracious to a stranger? Oh, for a surreptitious peep at a book on etiquette! Instead, I take a quick look at him. lie is very frank looking, and he has straightforward, steady, brown eyes, as I discovered in my first startled glance at him. Altogether, it would have been impossible to have snubbed him. Perhaps lam a little shaky in my conviction, and 1 am trying to justify myself, but— Here I stumble (thanks to my vanity in wearing French heels, which did make me a trifle unsteady), and should fall were it not for his quick assistance. “Thanks," I murmur, with my cheeks burning. My eyes meet his, and a piuso ensues; but then a pause has been ensuing ever since we met—or—that is—came together. "I hope I am not taking you out of your way," I add. with a happy inspiration. “Not at all,” he rejoins, earnestly. “I trust you will allow me to see you to your destination.” "You are very kind. 1 am going to nine hundred ami twenty-seven on this street, so we are nearly there.” In another moment we have reached the door, and I look up at him gratefully, and say: “I thank you very, very much.” "Pray do not mention it,” he answers, as he raises his hat; and bowing with a charming smile he turns and runs lightly down the steps. Lunch is nearly over, and I have been unusually silent and distrait. Even the announcement of a new en gagement has failed to arouse me to more than momentary interest. Did I do right to accept half that umbrella? or should I have declined it courteously, but conclusively? Os course, no man could pass by a girl who was in such a fix as I without some slight compunction, particularly if it were so evidently in his power to assist her But, having made thproposition, would he not have fe
more Tespect for me h:i| »t ■ .-_-:i politely refused? Or would be have though’, me a prude, and re .retti 1 his chivalry? "Er—yes. thank you, very chivalrous." Ail the girls laugh, and 1 realize, with a start, that 1 have answered Lulu’s simple request, if I would not have more ice cream, somewhat ab-sent-mindedly, to put it mildly. “You must be in love, Nathalie,” laughs Lulu, aud, like a simpering school miss, I blush, which makes me so angry that a further accession of color waves up to my forehead, and the conviction isstrong within me that 1 resemble nothing more than a fullblown peony. “Reflect on my appetite, aud don’t say I’m in love,” 1 answer. “Talking of being in love, you should see our handsome neighbor,” said Lulu. "He is a young physician, but well known. Perhaps you have heard of him—Dr. Bernard Burke.” “YY hy, he is the doctor we are going to have if any of us are ill!" I exclaim. “Is he really nice looking?” “Indeed, lie is. I have been trying to develop some interesting disease ever since I first saw him,” she replies. “And, by the way,” she continues, “he generally passes here just about this time. Come to the window and watch for him, Nathalie, and I will wager you'll manage to get up some ailment within the week. The stakes to be soda water.” 1 jump up as she speaks, and make a rush for the window, closely followed by the rest of the girls. As I get half way across the room my high heels again fail me; my’ ankle turns, and I measure my length on the floor. The girls laugh, after the manner of girls. A tumble is to me generally a source of infinite mirth, anil I cannot blame them for their merriment. I try to rise, but a sharp twinge of pain in my foot causes me to sink back with a groan. No doubt 1 turn pale, for the girls become sober and cluster around me anxiously. Every moment is agony, but when I am perfectly still it is not so bad. YVhat is to be done? YY’e consult anxiously. “I shall send for Dr. Burke,” declares Lulu, seriously. There is a burst of laughter, and even I smile. "Y ou owe me a debt of gratitude for this, ' I murmur, rather weakly, to Lulu. I am beginning to feel faint and ! sick, and after I am helped to the sofa I lie back with my eyes closed, while ; Sue Dalton fansme, aud May Bostwick runs for some salts. “Here's the doctor,” whispers Sue. at last in my ear. “Under other circumstances I couid pity you more,” she adds. I open my eyes languidly and look up. Shades of my rainy morning’s walk! It is my knight of the umbrella! ' “And shall I be able to walk with- ! out a crutch this wdek?” I ask, I anxiously’. It is a month since that never-to-be-forgotten luncheon at Lulu Bradley’s aud my foot is still in statu quo, as it were, although I can get around the house and am in the parlor, now, with Dr. Bernard Burke. It is the first time I have seen him alone, and we have never mentioned our rather unconventional walk. “I am quite sure you will be out by Saturday. Perhaps you will still need 1 a slight support—a cane or”—his eyes ! twinkle —"an umbrella.” YVe both laugh. "Bid you expect me to refuse your j help that day? Tell me what you I thought of me. But if you think I was brazen, do please gloss it overas much as you can.” “If I had thought it at all out of the way for you to accept my offer I never should have ventured to make it, for in 1 that case I should have had no right,” he replies; and I wonder that I never thought of that before. “I should have been both disgusted ' and disappointed if you had declined : my slight service.” he continues. “1 will tell you just how it was. I walked | behind you for about a half-block, debating in my own mind what I should do. \\ e were both going the same way, and I saw there was no shelter you could seek excepting a doorway, which ; involved tedious waiting, and would have been an impossibility if you had an engagemen t. To pass you seemed impossible, and to walk behind you, too selfish to be thought of for a moment. “ ‘lf she takes my offer the way I mean it,’ I thought, ‘I shall respect I her and admire her good sense. If she • treats it as an impertinence it cannot hurt me, and it will not prove that my impulse ought to have been suppressed. Judgingbythe independent poise of her head I think she possesses judgment, and will be grateful to me.’ “I must acknowledge I felt some trepidation as I approached you, and I voted you, in schoolboy vernacular, ‘a regular trump/ when, after a searching look from a pair of beautiful eyes, ! you smiled so sweetly and allowed me • to hold my umbrella over you.” I glanced at the doctor. “Was it not strange that we should ; have met again that very day?” I be- : gin, hastily. “I think it was fate,” interrupts Dr. Burke, audaciously. And then he goes on and says so much that I quite lose track of it all. But we agree wonderfully; and I have a great respect for—fate. —Demorest'd Magazine. Physiology and Pertness. Mr. Veryfresh—l weigh one hundred and fifty-four pounds, and do you know that in a person of that size analysis has shown that there are ninety-six pounds of water, three pounds of albumen, less than one pound of pure glue, thirty-four and a half pounds of fat, eight and a half pounds phosphate of lime, one pound carbonate of lime, three ounces of sugar and starch, seven ounces of fluoride of calcium, six ounces phosphate of magnesia and a little salt What do you think of that? Miss Keene—l think it is all right except in this instance in the matter of the last item. —Detroit Free Press.
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Central : Grocery. Lemon Cling Peaches 25c can. ! Peninsulars 15c per pound. Citron 25c per pound. Boiled Cider 40c per gallon. Seedless Raisins. Kippert Herring, 20c. per box.. Sardines, 5, 10, 15c. per box. Salmon, 15, 18, 22c. per box. Boneless Herring, 15c. per box. Potted Harn, 15c. per can. Horn Harbor Oysters, 15c. can. Spanish Olives, 25c. per bot. Shredded Pine Apple, 50c. per quart jar. Sliced Pine Apple, 50c. per quart jar. Silver Leaf Maple Syrup. Buckwheat Flour. BiMVAi i mum Money to Loan. I have money to loan onthe Loan Association plan. No fees to be paid by borrowers, ('an furnish money on a few days notice. Buy a home and stop paying rent. Low rate of interest. Office over Donovan & Bremer, camp.O-ntralGrocery, Decatur. Ind. PAUL HOOPER You can fool some of the people all the time, you can fool all of the people some of the time; but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time with humbug insurance when they can get first class insurance just as cheap. Go to Edward Coffee and be insured in such companies as the Prussian National, and you will make no mistake, ts Blank receipt books for sale at this office.
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