Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 September 1893 — A Blight on the Honeymoon. [ARTICLE]

A Blight on the Honeymoon.

The slush in, Fulton street was ankle-deep, but they didn’t seem to notice it. It was raining with all the ingenuity of a March storm, but they had no umbrella, and as they stood arm-in-arm at Broadway and Fulton streets, they looked as if they had been married about ten minutes. He was a thin young man, with a brown derby hat and a slightly troubled look. She was young and pretty, and she wore a pair of white kid shoes, and a big white hat with pink roses all over it and she was too happy to think of the weather. “Oh, William,” she whispered, as she nestled closer to the thin young man, “isn’t it glorious to be alone together, darling, in a great city?* The thin young man made no reply. The rainwater was dripping from his brown derby—like medicine out of a patent dropper. “All alone, ” she continued, gazing blissfully at the tower on the Western Union Building, and, getting a firmer grip on the thin young man’s right arm, “home and friends far away, and though the multitude is surging around us, we two are alone together, dearest, and its me and you against the world; ain’t it, William?" William made no response. He shook some of the rainwater off his brown soggy derby, and then he said: “Let’s go back to the hotel, Martha, and set down. If we was iled up like chickens to stand around on one leg in the rain, 1 wouldn’t mind. But there’s a hole in my left gum apumbin’ water like a house afire, and I tell you, Martha, this sort of thing is squeezin’ the honeymoon. ” —New York Tribune.