The San Francisco call. [volume], February 08, 1903, Image 1

About The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913

Image provided by: University of California, Riverside; Riverside, CA

                
again.. The woman who invented earning
Uti own living uusht to be compelled to
do that, and nothing, else, all through
eternity." '< ¦ • .
"You really don't mean what y«u say?"
He seemed quite vexed.
"Honor bright," laughed Sailie. "Of
course J-do. '-Women were : never meant
to pay rent. It is v the only outlay that
worries me. I hate It. I keep my rent
In an old- vase, which I use for nothing
else, and as 'soon as the time comes— if
It ever comes— when Miss Sydenhsun can
suy.ta-ta to pefi;~a;hd tnk. Hhe will break
that* vase into a thousand pieces-Srftrt less
than a thousand. It is a very handsome
old vase, but I detest the Sight of it It
always seems to say to me. .'Fifty dollars
a month, please, in advance.' "
"Still you like ta.be Independent?!'* :-¦''
"I don't. I am 'obliged to ba. Independ
ent, but I don't like it. The girl who earns
her own living Is an anomaly. Every
Jack should labor for a Jill (she blushed
as she remembered that his name wu
Jack. and. hurried onj, and If there *:•
too many Jtlla In the world they should
go to Salt Lake I've no. patience w'tii
girls wha pretend that they like working
and are quite, satisfied with their lot. They
may have to- do it, but they can't lika
lt» Th^re'ta nitnlng to like Jn tt. Besid»a.
we were meant to do nothing of the sort.
I'm sure of that. Everything poinu^to iw
Bat." rapidly* chatrjlrig- the strbject, "Ira
going ' to ask Mrs. Atwood to Join u*.
Sailie plunged again into ' owldom's
ceaseless-, goalless whirl — a i whirl tliat
slowly the vitality from . s-tron;;
men, making of them soulless, gr p;e.is
automata. She threw herseif into a ¦ strug
gle that eaps the vigor and paralyzes tfif
energries. . She consented to be squee^r-d
In the gigantic, resistless owl machiiiosr
for she aid. not know that when the ma
chines had dredged every drop of orlgi- 4
nallty from her intellect they won d cast
her aside— on orange pulp trttS its julcra
gone, an apple skin lorRoiteii In a.tar
ml.of cider, a grape that Uu* gi^J' *'<¦*
life principle to a promising vintage. . a
j-'keleton denuded pf all thai differetitiatts
it from other skeletons. ,
Into the safe. Usurious gr;^p of the
owls she gave all her, CMPJ'^-'-^l'er .brain
— and the owls paid h«sr, interest at con
ventional rates, reserving all "COndit>. J n3
unto thfraseivffl wihi logic that was o i
answerable. skilled r*aVoning ngyJnst
which the proudest;. it»o?t eloquent law
>ers in the land .woiilxr &? power. ess. Like
the other owls, 'ylie riisiied blindly onward,
shedding her substance as she wprI, and
tending— nowhf.re. For owMom has no
limits. or boundaries. Its votaries are con
demned, like the Wandering Jew, to per
petual peregrination. The owls newr
'¦get there," for there is nu "there." Owl
dom.-like a circle, is. a symbol of eterr.ity,.
for the "finis" to its swirling chapter is
never written.
She was satisfied with the elusive, will
o'-the-wisp glories that surrounded her.
She ate ravenously of Dead Sea fruit, and
never noticed the ashes that it left In
her^mouth. Completely ostracized from
the society of her human fVHo'ws— uw s
to the right ' of hfr. owls to the left of
her— she viewed the world from one point
of view — a view that- makes of the ik>
blest and the best, as well as of the s.id
dest and the worst. Jual so much •.copy."
She knew that there were a few ow a
that silH reserved their reasoning p >w
ers. and were exempt from the getieial
verdict, and Fhe flattered h.-rse f tiiHt t.. e
was among them.-. Most owls delude them.
Belves in this -way.' .
; 'T could Qult.it nil in a^moment." she
would gay to herself at times, when in
the darkness of the night haunting appc
ters of. relentless things - that she - had
written— base, taunting giuoto conjurej
up by the abandon of her -pen— won d
stand by her sleepless .booVide and men
ace her with threatening ringers, *"I couM
quit it all in a. moment. Pei;hahii J will
fccme day. 1 am young. , When l'am did-,
er it will be time enough to b#w «nd <Joftk2
Besides. 1 am not a womanly- woiifan/
There Is a masculine strtak in/rne.' 1 : '%»n«1
I must do a mail s work (or a man'?- fc
mur.eration.'- '/'" * " ¦ ¦ • '
The rit?t "lit fie rift within the lute", had
made Itself i'*U nt tiie owls' rece,pi,loii.
The man for wTio'&e .frienrttOSlp ?'ne wvu'd
have cast hers^f'f till further : fqr
whose cherished an<J fiealUTk^fOThratI?8(i|t^
phe. would have hio ,*clariger£\*:.rn??l
not seen fit to present ' Tlit*fHt (he w.9^n>h
who presided over, liis homej X\ ms thp;
unl:indest cut of. all, an.j \ et — at.d o e^K?
It was eminently logical. >ad 1 'siie
to do with the Irjner Fife of the owls?
Why should she fjejlfve thj»t the. qunli
ties that endeared her to Newspaper How
were of the faintest avail i6ut*fde of It?
She could not eat a pie and have" a'ple-^
a species of jugglery that had never yet
been known to succeed. . ¦ •*.-•. .-
Still, it was bitter to know that vsKe
was just a journalistic comrade and nntn*
ing more— that she began and ended in
owldom'a territory— that where she made
her exit Ivy Hampton perhaps achieved
an entrance that was of more durable ac
count and of finer intrinsic value. Sviien
the horrid specters and taunting -gnomes
that materialized in the shadowy solitude
of. tier room bent over, her they. seemed
to tell her that she stood on - .shifting
quloksards, and that whatever -ahe .did
mattered little in the long run..
The specters and gnomes, with grin? of
malice, would raise to her eyes a shining
vision. She would see Jack Chllders,
shaking off the thraldom of owldom in
his own discreet and elegantly appointed
home.- And as he entered— perhaps he
had just left her . after, the coveted ride
uptown— Ivy. her luminous golden hair
shimmering around' her pale and delicate
ly outlined face, would meet him and bid
him welcome. And they, would talk far
Into the early hours of the morning on
topics of human concern and' beauty.
There would be none, of the jargon of
owldom In their converse, no, HUnatu'red
comments crude jests and epigrammatic
stupidity. ' She could see htm wrenching
himself free from., t.h.e, .sauvenU&^orrf the.
day. she herself Vas'one* of tnosa
souvenirs, the last to cling to him before
i :¦
• lie entered those placid domestic portals.
Before she slept the utter seHisliness of
her mood would be realized. Why should
ohe rebel, like u dog in . the- manger, at
her, cherished comrade'* happiness? Mere
ly beca se she could not see it. How
giadly fc.« would have welcbnifd an in
troduction to his home women, and what
a joy it would have been to her to watch
these domestic pictures from a privileged
viewpoint. But he hail willed it other
wise, and she was shut out. And then
s«he would tall asleep, (o awake and laugh
at herself. The labois of' owldutn were
certainly prostrating.
§ After one of these distressing ' nights
Sailie wa* blithe to tiie point of desper
ation. She would go to the ofiii'c and con
vulse the entire est;*hliphment with her
recklessness and irreverejice. She .would
pe*p into the flanctum occupied by tiie
freckle remover, the poetess, the society
" butterfly; ami. the other perfect ladies of
the nest, and withdraw. quickly, as infu
riated gldiites were cast at her. Once
she sen! them an Invitatim to tea in
sh'eer* deviltry and received a crushing
- note of rtgiet signed by each of the vo
taries. ' • . V *
On these occasions Mr. Childers t would
take horto> ( Mouquin'§ lo dlnner.a'nd *he
sit in', an atmosphere' of oookshop
•and talk to' h'ifa as thouph her very soul
>ere in her Tip*. She was 'happy it-by
any chance Ajiastajsfa. t>r Amelia. Anibei a
Ilutchlnson. or. Klta. Kieensiejn. detained
tty,Btre!fs of worlt, sat rear her. It amused
her lo watch their bj-play. ' It was as
good as a farce— better, than a good many
, that cruel fate compelled her to see — to
• notice their smiling, servile salutation of
i Mr, Chiiders whileuhey glaringly igrnon-d
: *her. his companion. This appealed to Sal.
lie's notions of the ridiculous, for there
was no malice In ;her nature.
\ Once. Rt one of these dinners. Satlle
saw Anastasla Alwood, tired nfter work-
Ing all afternoon' on a poem tailed "Ah.
If I Could Fly!" (that was the refrain),
[•sitting alone at Jjn'.tidjoining table. v The
poetess looked inpTTably weary, and Sailie
forgot her dislike of the woman In her
sympathy for the fagged'owl.
"Do you mind If 1 ask her to join us?"
she queried of Jack Childers. \
Mr. i.'hilders minded very much Indeed,
and said so. suggesting at the same time.
that, as Anastusia seemed so fervidly
anxious to fly-, it would be as well for her
to realize that now was her; cue. Let
her fly. - ' "
"I'm not sorry for her," he gaid. "She
has a nusband. Why- doesn't she stay at
home and mend his^socks?"
Sailie laughed. "The husbands of ladien
who write, 1' she said; "weax socks that
are . warranted' never to develop holes.
But that is-not the point. The poor thins
looks, fagged out. and I know— I feel it
¦ In my .bones— that she will treat herself
to a glass of water. In the Interest of
the office she needs Burgundy."
I Jack Cl^ilders. shrijgged his shoulders.
"Would you be sitting at c a table in a
masculine all by yourself, If
you had a husband. SaIHe?" (He had
never returned to the formal "Miss Syden
ham.") i , . . - - .
. *,'Not I," "she answered quickly. "If*I
; only owned somebody; who would- bring
\ me in my, rept everyi?xnonthj you -would
never a'ee me In this region of the city
CHAPTER IX.
"1 am .waiting: for you," he slid,
"Thank goooncss, its over. "Lrts ritje
uptown, talk it all over, and hammer" 1
tiie whole horrid .crowq.. ¦-.._.
•¦ -Atift all she sj»fd was, ''I nm/fady.V. ;
internal lOiii^UyroC. woman — comedy
that is tragedy. " ; "
smiled at her. He wore h:s overcoat and
held his hat in his hand.
iir. CMlders appeared at the door and
"Oh." replipd Mr. Covlngton, embar
rassed, for lie hated to speak 111 even
of those who invited an illness of allu
sion, "ilia reputation Is — er — rather
shady."
"While min* merely — er — looks
•hady?" she retorted, with a tinge of
bitterness. "Well, that makes all the
difference. 1 ant intelligent enough —
you admitted my intelligence; Charlie,
thanks — to know it. Th«* i>er»on who is
shady, but who doesn't look it. is much,
more popular than Hie person who looks
It. but who Isn't it. Don't you think so?
Perhaps I'm a failure. Perhaps it would
be better if I settled down to a pittance
and devoted myself to the 'household
column'— recipes .for pickled cabbage,
making eranberrv sauce ami Jams. And
I could dres? to fuit the part."
"You did not enjoy yourself to-night,"
be said, slowly. "Own up. Sallfe."
"I did — I did." Rfj« exclaimed. "I en
joyed it hugely. But you come and. spoil
my pleasure, and tell me things that I
don't want to hear — a.nd wet-blanket
everything. It is a nuisance.' I won't
have it. Good-night. Mr*. Covington.
Good-night." . . - • . ¦' a - ;
"I intend to see you home." he said,
doggedly, though a trifle unnerved.
"Thank you, but I am not going home
just at present. an<~ when I go I shall
not trouble '¦ you." • •
She left him. planted there, and went
to the doakroom. where she slowly
donned her coat, hat and gloves. Shs
was Indignant, and was pleased to vent
•her, spleen .upon i<oor -loyal old Charlie.
Sh«» had been a dismal failure, and if the
will to obtain what one most wishes
•ipnifled anything- at all. hers had been
notoriously unsuccessful.
Jack Chllders had evidently decided
that it was not fitting she should be in
troduced to his aunt anil cousin. Why?
She did 'not know. She was good enough
to be ills comrade, his j»st«=r. his llgrlit
mooded friend. And SaMie marveled
that a" man of th<> world, who made no
pretense of disguising his interest In a
gjrL, should- keep her for one side of his
.-life onlv. fcihe had no right to feel vexed.
Mr. Childers was her "boss." and she
was not Justified in resenting anything
he did — unless, perchance, he . . ,re
duced 'her salary.
Still, she felt humiliated, annoyed.'
eore at heart. She could not afford -to
"pay -Wui out' 1 ! but she would.be tess.
"amiable to him. less ready to conform to,.
his nUKjds, jijVre, unwilling to pose as
the Jeslfcr ttfat lightened his hours of
t^il. *IC he -4'd not njped her when he
"Was aijfliln jpleasures^— well, she would
make herself scarce on aJl occasions.
V AndAfoothing — no. nothing on earth —
positively, absolutely nothing— should
e\frTftduce her to ride uptown with him
again after -office' hours. She would
show him that she had a Jittle pride. If
l)ae ca^n© to her and said "Miss Syden
lMB&??Qifl had. called her/ Sallie one hour
* mjo. ' Perhaps It was too familiar); "I
you to ride uptown with me. Please,
please do" — she would say. 'Thank you,
Mr. Childers. not to-night." r ¦¦
She' buttoned her Ions coat • slowly, 1
¦peareid a pin through her hat and drew
on her gloves. . • ¦ * • ¦
lie did not like. to tell her that Mrs.
Hampton and Ivy would have been use
ful for her to know.' If he did, he would
be impelled to explain that he had at
tempted to effect a.n introduction, and
had failed.
. "Whom would you have wished me to
meet?" she persisted — daring him.
He was silent.
"Oh. I can guess." she said, lightly.
"Vou mean Mrs. Hampton. Well, evi
dently Mr. Child^rs did n<">t second your
wish. It was not at all necessary. Mrs.
Hampton can scarcely be expected to
worry herself witli all tier nephew's sub
ordinates. Then. I am alraid" — with a
Kmilo — 'that Miss Hampton is not my
style."
"Why not?" he asked, aggressive for.
her sake. rSho is a gentlewoman— a
quiet, exclusive, high-bred pirl. Wfi'y
should ehe not be your style? 'She un
bent to-night. Why. 1 saw her talking
with Arthur Stuyvesant! 1 confess that
I was a llltje surprised."
"Why?"
— by some of the ladies here. No. I do
not refer to the Journalists. 1 disllk*
tltem quite as much as. you do. The at
tention of a few rowdy men means noth
ing., /They would Rive their attention
t» anything a little bit outrt. . The wo
men count. 1 should advise you to
meet — " "*
"Whom r* Sailie asked, quickly rebel
lious. -¦ ' ¦ -
"That i.« not quite all, Sailie." he said.
(?e.,t!j.-_ ,.l - »NoC<4U!te^aJl. ¦ I. Khotild- Jiave
Ii1<--J to see you sought out to-night — as
sucli a clever pirl should be sought out
Sailie paused, her period of defiance
ovur. She felt . that <leii«nce waj« a
weapon, effective enough in its wav;
but Charlie «;nvinprton was her friend,
nfter all. and bcr thrusts were aimed at
in«-re loyalty.
If I looked that sort of a frfg-ht. r>verr
r'*^f t icosi t prosptit woultj l>f hov**rin*
around mo. The Amelias and th>- Aiwis
tasirfs would simply hang upon rny
skirts. Ijecause 1 Bhould I«j«>k mere hide
ous than they do — if possible (and could
it be possible?*. 1 am lif-re to-night in
my bcFt clothes — my only clothes. I'm
not rich. Out I'm sat Us lied with wl n.t
1 h»ve. f may be intelligent, as you so
kindly suggest — and thanks, awfully —
but I cant see that I'm committing any
crime because I don't !-.«ik like lli<« oth
crw. I make mor<* money than they •]•¦»,
anyway— and — and~-iti<it : s all I care
about." '
"No." h* answered crimlv. "I <!o noL
Kallle. you are an intelligent plrl. but
)ou do not teem to b« able to distlnpul^h.
brivrcn tii* de<orou« and. the Indecorous..
Vou are et»-riiiilly inappropriate — a squar»
re» in a ryun<j situation. You come hora
to-night drc»»-d /or a bal jnasque— tb«
mas«iuo only, lacking— r.hile'>very other
wornxn w«»rs sedate. , unremarkable.
town«. I Jiatcto tcee you; perpetually
• potted r>uV in- an unenviable way. Why
<io you «Jo thi«. Sallle? Is it Iw-cause yo'u'
mun, pcrfoicej^be unique? Don't you
know tlial Jo be-unlque ls> to be fearfully
i no a*fuily lonely?"
«'h«rll« t.7ovlnitton spluttered - ln h1«
t«rni"ltni>w. He had 6«ir lier pitiful
pllrht u.i evening, and to him it was' » ;
tragedy. This Kirl. with a heart nf cold,
htd attracted the gaudy attention of th*
mwn. but not a woman had seen her with
out contempt and derition in her >ye».-
Mr. C'ovlr.eton was too old to
reraxd this as a tribute tu-Mlss fc'ydcn
b«m'8 charms. tf ' ;
"I im not awfully lonely," ehe cried—
• nd the He made her llps/tlnpie— "and If.
•trn not popular with the <old frumps here
.to-night I'm. *lad of K— yes. Km glad of.
It. I nuppori you ttilnk, I ought to plas
ter down my hair. <>art It In the middle
and hang a curl- ever each ear. TherM
to be quite a lady— yoy'd like to see me
In a nest aerge ¦ Jfpwn,- • < with a
wide white collar around my neck. And
-j^n he feminine— I ought to- feel chilly.
<n drape a white wbrsted shawl over
my shoulders. Oh. I 1<iiow th.*} sort of
•roman you ! like, Charlie: I hate her.
"Do you think 60?"-tilth a little, light
laugh. "I have rather enjoyed it. It has
cot been wUo dlss ipatlon. Certainly it
lias not been t>:e ;¦>.¦¦ that kills— and alt
that sort of thiiif.'. Hut we have seen and
been seen, We are dressed for the fray."
"You are,** Le retorted emphatically,
with his eye* on her low-cut bodice, and
-ber <Jre*s faded, faked together, frippe.
I Sailie looked at him anxiously. She felt
tetlalai from his tone, that he hated her
attiic: but the did not believe that this
**s due to its inappropriate gaudiness
•nd tla tousled Inelegance. £he thought
'that slic wa* too pay for this solemn
>o.- _ nnU-i.-ii\rue. '-Ife would have pre
ferred in f.-e ii,-;- in black alpao*. hiyh
10 the throat, relieved— as are the cos
tumes of .tiie penitent ,Ma?iUlpn> jn mod-,
ern romance— by .a ruehiiij; of "priceless,
l*c«" uitiutid t!.p :;eck.
"Vou doij't lik« Ji?" she aaked Indiffer
ent i>.
HE looked up. and ran Charlie
Covlngtoti coming toward h^r.
Ills fac» was pale and tired, and
j^^ Its care rtroaks appeared 10 her
unusually tray and indented.
The man tv:is young, but the
man's mood was old. and the mood doml
na:ed his appearance. Mr. Covfngton
iniili»d st her. and she «as conscious of
a stienuous desire to be flippant and care
less. This was her way out of ell diffi
culties. Ker detestation of serious mo
ments led her always to etrange- ex
tremes. Salllo looked upon "the emo
tional" 89 the acme of flagrant enormity.
"Where have you been all evening.
Charli"??" she esked the words that she
tried to send forward bo quickly rattling
tn ncr throat. "You have avoided me
mo&t Eivdiously. and as I haven't writ
ten anything to offend your sense of pro
priety for at least three hours I can't un
derstand It."
"It has been a dull evening," he eald,
rather viciously.
C*p>riffct in tt>« t>.tt«J 5-ta.tp» »tA Great Brit
ain. IXC. by Quail & Warner.
Three issues of The Sunday Call
pire you this pTeat novel complete.
It is one that you cannot afiT<yd to
miss! Bemember the dates of its pub
lication and eave your Sunday Calls —
February 1, 8 and 15.
Alto bear in mind our other great
novels that are to follow. Immediate
ly after the completion of "A Girl
Who Wrote," The Sunday Call Will
. publish that sensational problem,
•tery, "The leopard's Spots," by
Thomas Dixon Jr.; then will appear
\n rapid succesEion, "The Gentleman
trom Indiana/' by Booth Tarking
. ton; "Tainted Gold." by Mrs. C.
Williamson; "The Turnpike House/'
by Fergus Hume; "The Mississippi
Bubble/' by Emerson Hough; "The
Thirteenth District," by Brand Whit
¦ lock, etc., etc.
There are other announcements to
be msde later that wij be right in
line with the splendid literary policy
of The Tunday Call already outlined,
f \j which our readers get the best fic
. tion of the day without any extra
' cost.
THI Sunday Call has secured
the special rights for the Pacific
Coaat of "A Girl Who .Wrote/'
by Altai Daie, the great New York
dramatic critic, and will publish this
t pleadid novel complete in three is
sues of it* magazine section — Febru
ary 1, 8 and 15 inclusive.
The name of Alan Sale la to well
known in the world of letters that
he needs no further introduction. "A
Girl Who Wrote" is one of the
¦trongest stories of newspaper and
theatrical life that has ever been
printed. It throbs with the actuali
ties of life and the characters stand
forth as living and breathing human
beings in sharp contrast to the usual
. creations of latter day authors.
Mr. Dale has been so long familiar
with the doings of newspaperdom
. and the actor-world that he knows
whereof he writes, and it is with na
uncertain hand that he paiuts these
•startling pictures of realism. His
plot finds its motive in the strongest
of human emotions and passions.
. There is not a page where the inter
. est is allowed to flag and his work
has this additional charm that it
gives a striking; pen picture of a
phase cf life known intimately by
only the comparative few.
A GIRL
WHO
WROTE
SUNDAY CALL
LITERARY SECTION