14
THE COURIER.
THROUGII A SPINSTER'S
SPECTACLELS.
Br ELTA MATHESON
The campaign Is over, and the dead
ly calm which follows a cyclone has
fallen upon us. The wrecking com
panies have bid for the debris and are
hauling it out of sight as fast as pos
sible. I notice among It some broken
hearts, many blasted hopes, blighted
ambitions and a multitude of dead Is
sues, the spawn of political mesal
liances, which it were well to bury
deep and quickly.
Battle axes are sheathed; war paint
dries in the can; torches can be had
for next to nothing, and red light Is
given away at the dismantled head
quarters. The swan song of silver dies in the
rustle of the corn shocks, and the old
est inhabitants are making them
selves disagreeable and conspicuous,
by telling how it all came about Jack
slaps Bill on the back, and gives vent
to the little pleasantry- with which we
are so familiar "Sore, are you, old
man? Well, I told you"
There is such quantity of those "I-told-you-so"
people. I look with posi
tive amazement on the humble posi
tions occupied by these "omnipotent
gentlemen. It seems sdqueer that the
ends of their trouser legs are always
frayed, several buttons generally miss
ing from their overcoats, and that
they Invariably want to borrow a dol
lar from the men to whom they are
demonstrating their perspicacity.
They xemlnd me of an old shoemak
er In the town where I was born. Af
ter every battle lost by our troops, he
used to say, "I knowed it I knowed
it I cud a-told you so; now ef I had
a-ben that general I'd of fetched a col
ume up here " Indicating the position
with his awl on the well-worn bench
"an I'd of brung a colume down
there"
Nobody ever waited to find out what
he would have done with the rest 01
his "columes," but everybody felt that
a great strategic leader had been lost
to no purpose but that men's soles
might be saved.
After three months of intense excite
ment and uncertainty, as a nation, as
cities and families, we find it exceed
ingly difficult to shake ourselves into
the old familiar ruts again. Since
shouting paeans of victory, it is hard
to attune the vocal chords to the hum
ble ditties of every-day life. Ameri
cans particularly have an abnormal
appetite for excitement to which the
age of electricity panders In a highly
satisfactory degree. If the Dowager
Empress has a few diplomats served
up as soup for dinner.with a mission
ary of two thrown In as entrees, we
know it the next day in all its grew
some details. TVe like it too; in fact
it would probably be impossible to
serve our daily news to us too highly
spiced. We have no hankering after
mush and milk our palate has been
seared by condiments.
The newspapers know this and en
deavor to meet the demand; if a bunch
of our "dallies" should be dropped
over the side of some air ship into a
quiet Dutch village, I can fancy the
consternation of the worthy burghers.
They would undoubtedly imagine that
the entire population of the new world
was being hurled Into eternity by way
of the bowie knife, sand bag, poison or
dynamite. This is just another phase
of our national restlessness. We fear
ennui more than we do the plague, and
the dread attacks young and old
alike.
I sat in the boudoir of one of our
society girls a week or two since, and
Mariana in her moated grange could
not have bewailed her lot more per
sistently. I am a friend of this girl's
mother, but the girl herself Interests
me. Sho is such a typical representa
tive of the buds forced Into premature
maturity by the high pressure of mod
ern social life.
She had just had her hair washed.
"In water with a little speck of soda
in it to make the hair fluffy," she ex
plained, as she sat in the sunny win
dow, picturesque In a Chinese gown
with the fluffy hair In gorgeous disar
ray. She was such a dainty picture of
luxurious idleness, that I suddenly be
came conscious that the ends of my
gloves were rather worn, my hat a
last season's creation, and that my
tout ensemble proclaimed loudly that
I owed my entre here, because of the
faint aroma about me of the long van
ished glory of my family. I winked
hard as hundreds of protesting ghosts
of as many dead joys passed before my
mental vision. Why do respectable
ghosts not stay in their graves?
"Do make yourself comfortable, Miss
Roxy. Mama will be in presently; in
the meantime, talk to me." Young
things have a way of confiding in me.
It Is the chief joy of my rather color
less existence.
"I suppose you are delighted at the
prospect of another season's gayety,
aren't you, Grace?" I began pulling
off my worn gloves I have rather a
pretty diamond ring left and settling
myself in an easy rocker.
"Delighted? Well, not exactly. I
don't know why I should be, Miss
Roxy. Now you do over and over the
things that you must do, and I sup
pose you get rather tired of it all, but
then you get your salary, too. Now
I do over and over the same things,
because there Is nothing else for me
to do, and it is rapidly reducing me
to Imbecility."
"But, Grace, isn't there constant dis
traction in all these social affairs you
go to? I see your name constantly."
She gave a scornful little laugh and
turning to her desk near by, picked up
a handful of little white envelopes.
"Do you imagine that these repre
sent much excitement? I have eaten
thro one season of Balduff s salad and
ices at over a hundred afternoons, un
til the monotony of it all drives me
distracted. I have felt sometimes like
chewing up the paper cases on the
scallops and marron glaces, just by
way of variety, you know."
"Well, I am certainly surprised. I
thought if there was a satisfied person
in this city it should be you; what is
the trouble?"
"There isn't any trouble specially.
Life is disgustingly smooth sailing
for me. If the coachman were even
passable looking, I would elope with
him. You see," lifting her shining
mane and letting it drop several times,
"I was educated and accomplished
with as much pains as if I were to
have a foreign mission and I came
back here to what? Listen to this,"
pulling out the contents of one of the
little white envelopes, '"Mrs. H
at home I to 6. Cards.' or this, "Mrs.
B at home 3 to 5. Kensington.'
and this, 'Mrs. X. Y. Z. At home, 2 to
4. Reception.' The rest repeat the
same story. I see the same women at
all of them, and after the first few
times the same clothes. If Mrs. A
wears that electric blue costume this
year, I shall certainly speak about It
to her. The fact Is that society is
just a huge woman's cluD, and there
is no denying it" Then she added
with a frank laugh: "A girl's idea of
society is to take it with a liberal pep
pering of black coats."
"O, that is It? Poor child! But
don't you go to balls and are there-
no society men in Omaha?"
"I go to precious few balls. Miss
Roxy, and men seem to have shaken
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The COURIER
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IV.
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