Kankakee Valley Post, Volume 3, Number 3, DeMotte, Jasper County, 1 June 1933 — THE FABLE OF HOW WEDDINGS HAVE SOLD OFF [ARTICLE]

THE FABLE OF HOW WEDDINGS HAVE SOLD OFF

By GEORGE ADE

©, Bell Syndicate.--WNU Service. IT CAME about that during this very October, Rosalie, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. K. Jellaby, was fairly dragged to the Altar by Walter Dingleforth, whose Father owns the Furniture Factory and pays a jimcracking Income Tax, even if he does hire an Expert to protect him, so that on the Day when their highgrade Offspring left them forever (maybe), Mr. and Mrs. Jellaby could hardly refrain from doing Jig Steps. The Architect who planned the Jellaby Home had not counted on taking care of 200 Guests at one time, consequently, when the big Doings were pulled off, about half of the Ringside Spectators were parked in Hallways or Closets or on the Stairway. When the Bids went out, no one was overlooked, because the Young People would need almost everything when they started in to furnish a large Apartment. Mr. and Mrs. Jellaby decided to cut it wide and handsome because this would be their only Chance to make a Splash on the Society Page. Besides, they figured that it wouldn’t cost any more to put on the Show than it would to keep Rosalie in Stockings for another Year. They were getting rid of the main Expense Account and could afford to bust over. A Golden Gibbie. So they had a Strip of Red Carpet, Maiden-Hair Ferns, a special Harpist secreted behind Palms, a Caterer who brought a wagonload of Indigestibles and a Rector who was so High Church that you couldn’t understand what he said. Everything was Oo-la-la and right up to the Handle. A great Day for the Jellabys? You said it. It was a Daylight Affair, 12 o’clock Central Time, with everything sped up because the Young Couple had to get the Limited so as to catch the Boat for Europe which Rosalie rather wanted to see, as she never had been east of Akron. The Main Bout went off great. It had been rehearsed until it was as smooth as a Belasco First Night. They had Bridesmaids, who looked like festooned Marshmallows, and terrified little Girls strewing Posies and a freshly shaven Male Body Guard in Undertaking Costumes whose Collars were too tight. It was a regular Wedding. After the two Principals had been legally welded and the rabid Assemblage was fighting for Lobster Salad and Pimento Sandwiches, of course there were all sorts of Comments, mostly right out in the Open and favorable. Nearly everybody said that the Bride looked cunning and had done very well by herself in snaring a Gibbie who probably had a million already, with more in sight, and was sufficiently educated to sign Checks, even if he couldn’t read a Book. What you might call an Ideal Husband. Kickless Punch. Among those who were trying to last it out was a ruddy old Bachelor who dated back to the Happy Days when they locked people up for discussing Birth Control, but permitted them to drink Absinthe. He was sitting over in a corner with two ossified Crabs who could almost remember the Mexican War and he was telling them what a Hardship it was to get up at Sunrise in order to see some weakbrained Youth jump over the Precipice. “It’s all right if you suffer from Insomnia,’’ said the unmarried Renegade, “but now that I am up, what am I going to do all the rest of the day? Whoever invented these 12 o’clock Weddings had a swell idea, with the reverse English. Wait till the Whistle blows and then hop to it. I am telling you that in the by-gone Era when Nights were not wasted on Slumber, it would have been Impossible to have this Show at Noon. At that Hour the Groom was always in a Turkish Bath trying to get back ou Earth after the Dinner for the Best man, the Ushers and all others who happened to be thirsty. As a Rule the Lads didn’t come up for Air until 6 P. M. No one knew when the Ceremony would take place. After all the Stragglers had answered the RollCall, then the Preacher was given the High Sign and told to shoot the Works.’’ “Have you tried the Punch?” asked one of the Old-Timers. “I suspect that the Coloring Matter is Aniline.” “I have wrapped myself around five of them, hoping against Hope,” replied the Bachelor. “All of the Women still look Plain to me, so I suspect that the Recipe was borrowed from the Rockefeller Foundation. If the Stuff carries a Message, it must be in Code, because I can’t get anything out of it. A Rough-House Meal. “Things have come to a direful Pass when they got to have one Plain Clothes Man to watch the Presents and two to watch the Guests. The Refreshments may contain a lot of Vitamins, but they are shy on Mirth and Laughter. No one wants to make a Speech. The Bride hasn’t been mussed up. The Decorations remain Stationary. I’ll say the Party is a Flop.” In a secluded Apartment where the ladies had stacked their Wraps a wellpreserved Matron was letting off Steam. “I can remember,” said she, “when

the wedding Breakfast was a sitdown affair which lasted for Hours and all those present wouldn’t have to eat anything for Days and Days after it was all over. Instead of putting 'R. S. V. P.’ on the lower Corner of the invite, they should put ‘Cafeteria Service.’ If you haven’t trained for one of these Affairs the Chances are that by the time you get to the Trough there will be nothing left except Olives. The only safe Plan is to bring your own Lunch or else wear a Gymnasium Suit.” At this another Old Girl said that she could remember when Getting Married was an Event instead of a mere Incident. That is to say, when the Twain stood up to receive their Sentences there was much Weeping, because the Witnesses knew that both of them were in for Life. “Why don’t they change the Wording?” she demanded. “Instead of that antiquated Apple Sauce about staying on the Job until ‘death do us part,’ why not make it, ‘until we get fed up on Each other?’” No Left-Over. “Lady, you put a whole Chapter into a couple of Lines,” said the first Matron. “It seems only yesterday when all the Folks on the Side-Lines were worried about the little Fawn who going to emerge from the Sheltered Life and assume the large Responsibilities of Life. Nowadays the Fawn is just as timid as a Bengal Tiger. She has looked up his Nobs in Dun and Bradstreet and she knows, to a Nickel, what she can shake out of him every Year. She is stage-man-aging the whole Spectacle and the Parents are taking Orders. If she seems Nervous it is because she is wondering if her Picture will show up all right in the Papers. I can even remember when the Brides used to faint. All that is out. Nowadays the Groom is the only one who looks as if he needed a Trained Nurse.” “Did you hear about the Secret Ballot taken at a School for Girls last Month?” asked her friend. “It seems that each of the Graduates was given a Questionnaire, in which occurred the Query: ‘Would you Marry just for Money?’ The Returns showed that 99 per cent of the Sweet Young Things answered ‘You know it,’ and then underlined the Words. “When I married my Abner I knew that he had put his Roll into the $14 Spark Diamond and owed for the Suit in which he stood up but I took a Chance because I felt that his Love for me was such that he could go out and get anything not spiked down. We rode away in a Hired Hack and took a Day Coach to Springfield where we saw the Capitol Building and the first Electric Lights. When I go to a Wedding now I hear everybody asking, ‘Which one of them has the Coin?’ It seems to be taken for granted that Nobody will tackle Matrimony unless there is enough of a Sinking Fund to take care of the Overhead.” In the meantime the Caterer was packing up and he was heard to tell one of the Colored Boys that there was no longer any Salvage. He said that Weddings had become such a bore that the Mob tried to eat itself into Forgetfulness. MORAL: The Usual Charge by a Justice of the Peace is $2.