Carney Enterprise. (Carney, Okla.), Vol. 15, No. 49, Ed. 1 Friday, July 7, 1916 Page: 6 of 12
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Oklahoma Digital Newspaper Program and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
CARNEY (OKLA.) ENTERPRISE
Faith of
Women *
By ALBERT REEVE
*+*++*++*r+-rTri-*TTT-r1-++++ l
(Copyright. 1916. by W. G. Chapman.)
"Do you know why I liko you, Miss
Oray?" inquired Doris Dinomere, seat-
ing herself In her friend's comfortable
chair. "It's because you're so sensi-
ble."
"That's a mixed sort of compli-
ment," answered Elizabeth Gray,
laughing. "I think I know what you
mean, though."
"I mean you're the sort of person to
come to for advice," said Doris, pat-
ting her friend's hand coaxlngly.
Elizabeth Gray and Doris Dinsmere
had been school friends Five years
afterward they had met In New York,
where Doris was studying art, at the
expense of her well-to-do parents,
while Elizabeth lived in a tiny flat
and worked as a stenographer.
Miss Gray was the sort of a woman
who would never be quite beautiful, as
Doris was, but there was more in her
head than had passed through Doris'
flighty one in all her life.
"You are In love again," said Miss
Gray calmly.
Doris nodded. "To Charlie Ross,"
she answered. "We're engaged."
Elizabeth was unable to repress a
little sense of pain. It was she who
had introduced Charlie to Doris. Char-
lie had been quickly Infatuated with
the empty-headed lltfre girl, who rep-
resented all that was sacred In his
eyes. She thought with a pang how
much he had begun to mean to her be-
fore he met Doris and ceased coming
to her apartment. Thay had discussed
things together; he had told her every-
thing that was in his life, all his ideals.
And he had been thrown off his bal-
ance ty Doris, who I.ad nothing but
beauty and vivacity.
"This Is what I want you to do," said
Doris. "He writes me the most beauti-
ful love letters. And I—I don't know
how to answer them "
"Just be natural, dear," said the
older woman. "Don't tr;- to say what
you don't mean. Charlie will come to
understand."
"But you don't understand," said
Doris plaintively. "He thinks I am
all sorts of things I am not. He thinks
I am clever and—and all that. Eliza-
beth"—she used the word when she
meant to coax—"won't you write me a
love letter to Charlie?"
"My dear child!" faltered Miss Gray.
"Oh. you must," pleaded Doris. "Or
else I shall lose him. You don't know
how much be means to mo, and all he
thinks me which I am not. Please,
please, Elizabeth."
Doris wis very winning when she
meant to be. And so I.er friend capitu-
lated and, conscience stricken, sat
down to lndito a letter t Charlie Ross
(hat sLould pound like Doris and yet
be what Doris was not.
She wrote It from her own heart.
She spoke of what love means to a
woman, of all the things that she
knew and Doris could never know.
She poured out her heart in that let-
ter, and In many oth )rs
For the first letter brought back a
reply that touched her vividly. It
showed something In tho man's na-
ture. something idealistic which even
Elizabeth Gray had never known ex-
isted In the ninn, something to which
her heart responded as the steel to t^ie
magnet. And after tha*. the descent
was ei.sy.
"Charlie Is devoted," said Doris hap-
pily one day. "He thinks I write all
iho«e letters, and you know, Eliza-
beth, that they are incomprehensible
to me."
Yea, there were many things that
were incomprehensible to Doris. Eliza-
beth Gray began to see that more and
more clearly as the weeks went by.
"He Is so serious," pouted Doris one
day. "And he talks of such heavy
things! They make my head ache.
And I have to pretend to understand—
because of this silly plot. Why did
you ever let mo Into it, Elizabeth?"
That was Elizabeth's thanks. She
smiled; she could afford to smile, for
she knew from Charlie's letters that
she held his heart absolutely, although
he never dreamed of It. But that night
she prayed for his sake that he might
not marry Doris.
The prayer seemed to be strangely
answered. For the next week Doris
came to her, after a longer interval
than usual. She sat down at her feet
and began patting her hand.
"What is it, Doris?" asked Eliza-
beth.
"I don't love Charlie," Doris burst
out. "It was all a mistake. I have
found the man I love, and he loves
me. So you will not have any more
of those horrid letters to write. He
isn't the sort of man who is above me.
He Is Frank Bewlett."
"The actor?"
"Yes," answered Doris meekly.
"What will Charlie say?"
"I want you to write and tell him,"
answered Doris. "Promise me. You
know, you got me Into this trouble,
Elizabeth, and you must get me out
—you must!"
Elizabeth sat down that night with
a heavy heart and wrote to Charlie.
Doris was going home; she loved an-
k
"Just Be Natural, Dear."
other; he must forget her and never
write to her nor try to see her again.
She did not sleep that night, and went
to work with a heavy heart next day.
That evening Charlie called, and
she was totally unprepared for It.
He came In with a white face.
"I haven't been to see you since I
met Doris," he said. "I can't forgive
myself for neglecting an old friend in
my happiness, as I supposed it to be.
Do you know—know—?
Elizabeth nodded. She could not
manage to utter the trivial sympathy
In her heart.
"Why did she do it?" he demanded.
"Wo loved each other. If you could
have seen the letters she wrote me!
They were not the letters of a foolish
girl. There is something I can't un-
derstand in this. The man she thinks
she loves now is—well, not the sort
of man that girl would love."
He forgot himself in his despair. He
pared the room. Suddenly he stopped
beforn Elizabeth's desk. Elizabeth
sprang up He was looking at a half-
finished letter she had been writing
when he came in.
He turned and faced her. "What
does this mean?" he asked, looking a«
the handwriting "Doris has been
here this evening. See, the ink Is
scarcely dry! She has been here, and
she is here now."
"No, Charlie," said Elizabeth help-
lessly. "You don't understand. Our
writing is very much alike."
"I have never seen her writing," he
answered, with slow suspicion. "But I
know that the writing of that letter is
hers."
"It isn't. Charlie, I—"
"Then you wrote those letters at her
dictation! She showed you my letters
and dictated her answers to you. So
they filtered through two people—all
those fine professions of love and eter-
nal loyalty!" he said bitterly.
Elizabeth did not know what to say.
And she solved her problem in a wom-
an's privileged way, by sinking down
Into her chair and bursting into bitter
tears.
She looked up at him. "Go, now,
please!" she sobbed. "Yes, think any-
thing you please. I wrote them for
Doris, if you like. What does it mat-
ter, now that your trust has been be-
trayed by a heartless girl?"
He stood irresolutely in the door-
way; then he came forward to where
she sat, her head bowed on her arms,
striving to still the sobs that rent her
as she thought of the bitterness that
had overtaken their two lives.
"It means a good deal," he said. "Did
you—did you help her to compose those
letters? And were some of those
thoughts yours? Believe me, I see her
in her true light now, and it seems to
me incredible that she can ever have
written to me as she did. The wom-
an who wrote those letters was a
woman of a soul as far above
Doris'—"
"Hush! Do not think unkindly of
her," said Elizabeth softly, raising her
streaming face. "It is all over now.
She would never have understood
what love means."
"You inspired them," he persisted
doggedly.
"I wrote them all, Charlie." said
Elizabeth, rising and facing him. "She
was afraid you would look down on
her. She loved you in her way—
rt member that. She is only a child.
She asked me to help her keep your
love, and l wrote them."
He held her hands. "I thank God,"
he answered gravely, "that at least I
can keep my faith in women."
And lie was gone. But Elizabeth
Gray's heart was singing. For she
knew that he would come back, and
that her love for him would find its
reward—some day.
HAVE QUEER NAMES
HAWAIIANS SHOW PICTURESQUE
NESS IN THEIR CHOICE.
Fancy Liberally Drawn Upon by the
Islanders—Question of Gender or
Appropriateness a Matter of
Little Consideration.
More Common Sense Needed.
Before our children draw their first
breath we start closing in upon them
with every kind of theory. Theories
to the right of them, theories to the
left of them, they are often victims, as
really as were the immortal Six Hun-
dred to the fact that "Someone haa
blundered." In taking our children
conscientiously, why must we let our
idea of duty ride roughshod over com
mon sense?—Atlantic Monthly.
Leave Him Alone.
When a man comes home at night,
"dog tired," and perhaps worried about
his business, questions, even sympa-
thetic questions, are like turning the
knife In the wound of his mental
weariness. Let silence like a poultice
come to heal the wounds of sound.
Have sense enough to leave him alone
until his brain is rested and his mood
changes. Thus advises Eleanor Clapp.
writing for Farm and Home.
The natives of Hawaii are singular-
ly picturesque In their choice of names
Mr. Scissors, The Thief, The Ghost,
The Fool, The Man Who Washes His
Dimples, Mrs. Oyster, The Weary Liz-
«ard, The Husband of Kanela (a male
' dog), The Great Kettle, The First
Nose, The Atlantic Ocean, The Storn-
ach, Poor Pussy, Mrs. Turkey, The
j Tenth Heaven are all names that have
uppeared In the city directory.
They are often careless of the gen-
der or appropriateness of the names
they take. A householder on Bere-
lania street, Honolulu, is called The
Pretty Woman (Wahine Maikai); a
male infant was lately christened Mrs.
Thompkins; one little girl is named
Sainson; another The Man; Susan
(Kukena) is a boy; so are Polly
Sarah, Jane Peter and Henry Ann. A
pretty little maid has been named by
her fond parents The Pig Sty (Hale
Pan). For some unknown reason—or
for no reason at all—one boy Is
named The Rat Eater (Kainea Ol i
Ole).
Rev. Dr. Coan of Hawaii possessed
the love of his flock. One morning a
child was presented for baptism whose
name was given by the parents, Mikia;
when the ceremony was finished the
parents assured the doctor that they
had named the baby for him.
"But my name Is not Michael," said
the doctor, supposing Mikia to be
aimed thereat.
"We always hear your wife call you
Mikia!" answered the mother. She
had mistaken Mrs. Coan's familiar
"my dear" for her husband's given
name.
An old servant In Doctor Wright's
family at Kohala caused her grand-
child to be baptized in church The
Doctor (Kauka) ; that was its only
name. By way of compliment to the
early physicians many children were
named after their drugs, as Joseph
Squills, Miss Rhubarb, The Emetic,
The Doctor Who Peeps In at the Door.
Names uncomplimentary, or even
disgusting, are willingly borne by their
owners; others convey n pleasing and
icrnceful sentiment. Among the latter
uro the Arch of Heaven (Ka Itla Lani),
The River of Twilight (Ka Wla Lanl),
The Delicate Wreath (Ka Lei ma Lll).
The name of Llliu O Kalanl, the
queen now In retirement, means A
Lily In the Sky.—Youth's Companion.
Preventable Disease.
Senator Owen recently presented to
the senate a memorial from the south-
ern sociological congress asking for
the establishment of a national depart-
ment of health. It is stated that BOO,-
000 citizens of the United States die
annually of preventable disease and
that 6,000,000 are needlessly sick. The
economic loss per annum from the last
Item alone is declared to be $500,000,-
000.
Most Wonderful Thing.
"I suppose you see some very re-
markable things?" said the inquisitive
traveler to the sailor on leave.
"Aye," replied the sailor. "There's
some wonderful things. Now the most
wonderful thing to my mind—"
lie paused to (111 a pipe, and the
railway carriage held Its breath as It
awaited submarine revelations.
"The most wonderful thing about
this war," continued the sailor, "Is the
old cat on our ship. She's got a
aininock of 'er own, and when our
watch turns in she 'ops Into 'er 'ain-
inock and puts 'er 'end on a little pil-
low like a Christian. Me and my mate
Is goin' to take that cat round the
'alls when the bloomln' war Is over."
—Manchester Guardian.
By Degrees.
"My dear, isn't this dress a trifle
extreme?" She—"Extreme! Why, I
put this on in order that you may he-
come accustomed to the one I am
having made."—Judge.
Lonesome.
"Did you attend the reunion of your
Mass at college this year?"
"I did, but never again! Half my
old classmates were so prosperous
that I couldn't afford to nnsociate with
them, and the other half were so hard
up that I didn't dare go near them for
'ear they would try to barrow money
'row me,"
)*
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Matching Search Results
View four places within this issue that match your search.Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Albert, H. R. Carney Enterprise. (Carney, Okla.), Vol. 15, No. 49, Ed. 1 Friday, July 7, 1916, newspaper, July 7, 1916; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc143131/m1/6/?q=central+place+railroads: accessed June 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.