The Post. (Buffalo, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 23, Ed. 1 Friday, November 15, 1907 Page: 1 of 10
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!
V
VOL. III.
BUFFALO, HARPER CO. O. T (SEE DATE INSIDE. NO 23.
Whca Delia
Was Seventeen
By Gertie De S. Wentworth-James
JTZ
""(Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
It is no use trying to keep a daily
ary, because things don’t happen
rery day! but on birthdays something
ways happens, so from to-day, June
I am going to keep a birthday diary.
It is now*halt'-past ten; the sun is
lining, and I turned 17 just four and
| half hours ago—according to wliaj
lamma tells me!
Seventeen!
Of course everybody—at least, Lady
andor and Miss Cartwright and
Irica—says that I am too young for m>
air to go up and my skirts to go
own, and that I ought to wait unti.
oext year, when I come out and am
Sresented; but mamma agrees with me
tat an only daughter (especially when
hasn’t anv father) can’t help grow-
mai an uuij
ihe hasn’t any father) can t he p g'.o
fing up before her time; so I’m going
bo have a year’s informal fun at home
--feeling like a woman, yet finishing
|iy lessons at the same time!
! I told Erica mamma had promisee:
#o give a garden party on my seven-
teenth birthday, so that people migh.
understand I was "out'’ in a quiet sor
jpf way. „ ,
’ “I think it a pity, dear,” said Erica
(sometimes I almost wish that my
cousin had made her home somewhere
except with us, when her people wen
lway, because she always argues out
my pet theories!). “You see, if a girl
begins—er—things too early, she use?
up all her best emotions before she
5s at an age really to understand tl*e
Euxury of feeling.”
This morning as I lay in bei am
[watched the sun creeping through th
♦blind till it reached my new wh
jfrock and dyed it gold, 1 thought about
llove, and tried to make up my mint
twhom I would marry.
Of course, there is Dolf, but then
he’s going abroad for goodness onlj
knows how many years-six, seven
perhaps, making me an old woman
when he comes back; so, as I mean tc
marry early, he must be left out o
the question. Bertie Rogers isn t fa
enough, Archibald Wootton is too poo
(at least i heard Lady Landor say hi
father’s “financial affairs were in
very precarious state”), and Guy rn*
wears such hideous clothes. (I thm
it’s a positive crime for any man, par-
ticularly a husband, not to be wel)
dressed!)
Then as all those are impossible, i
leaves only—Nigel Ross! And I cer-
tainly shouldn’t mind Mr. Ross being
left—as long as he was left to me. 1
never read over the description. (W
The World’s Real '1 dings) of R°)
Kethwick” without thinking of him.
“Strange, heavy-lidded, magnetic
eyes, blue and full of things that
should not be there; the mouth of,
dreamer; the brow of a poet; the chit
of a voluptuary; and the chest oi
Norse king!”
He is Just like that, only more so.
And now it’s my birthday. He has
sent me a great bouquet of white dow-
ers- he is coming to the garden part)
this afternoon, and I am going to wea
my new white frock which touches th«
ground all the way.
~ Isn’t it all lovely, and isn’t^the sun
shining?
• * *
in-30 d m.: My first grown-up birth
day is o'v” and 1 am sitting hefor.
JlU t rvlrur to »t mv hair out ol
tangle (i-French-comnea it to mnao tut
plait thicker), and thinking ho*
stranjge everything is.
The garden party was lovely, unti
Dolf got silly and asked me to she*
him the new pups in the stable. 01 |
course I couldn’t refuse, and i real )
felt rather excited when he suddenl)
grab—er—clasped my hand across littH
ffit Toto’s back.
“D-do you know I’m g-g-gomg aw a)
to-morrow, Delia?” he said, stutter
111 “No I didn’t know you were off sc
soon,”’ I replied, languidly.
“Well 1 am, and—and Delia, dc
you think you could-er-would carl
to-to-?” ICO*
“To see vou off at the station, Dolf.
-No no"! I-I—don’t think l copli
stand that, because I’m going for years
you know.”
“Yes, I know.” (Here I picked ui
one of the pups and kissed its pin!
nose.) , ,.
“Well, Delia, if you—you—don t tint
any one else who seems to—to—to-
suit you, don’t you see, perhaps—oh
hang it all, dear, I love you awfully
and I want you to promise to marr)
me when I come back.
“But you’ll forget me after a month
Dolf,” I said, leaning back against th
dark stable door and smiling up a
him. . . ^
“I shall never, never forget you o
leave off loving you all my life,” h>
answered, in a voice that sounded ver*
real, although the “Duchess,” in Tht
World’s Real Things says that th.
most truthful man becomes a liar whei
he dabbles in love.”
Juct as I was thinking how dark am
strong Dolf looked, and wondering ex
actlv what i would do if he mentionec
kWsing me. I saw Nigel Ross turmm
rousd by the coachhouse.
“I \nust go!” I cried, dropping Spot
ties on his mother's back—“I must g<
at once!”
“Oh! Delia, stay and hear me. An
swer me, darling.
“Don’t be silly! 1 can’t stay—I don-
want to hear,” 1 whispered. Scarcely
knowing what I said, because of m]
fear that Nigel (a man of twenty-fou
and a half), would think that I wa.
Girting with a boy of twenty:
sorry; 1 didn t mean to both
V
V*s8J»
■m
V
x
j
Fv
■^x\.
K
i'
ordinary—tne most extraordinary tnrng
in all the course of my experience.
Erica came to tell me that she is en-
gaged to Nigel Ross, who proposed to
her over her puppies! Whether he pro-
posed to her out of pique because he
may have seen Dolf try to take my
hand, I don’t know; but L suppose it
must' have been so, as there is no
other possible explanation.
If it had been Nora, who is only just
19, 1 migh* have understood it; but
Erica_Erica, who was 25 last birth-
day! she said she wonders that I
hadn’t guessed something of the sort.
“Mr Ross Is only 24 and a half, isn t
he?” I answered.
“Yes, dear; but—”
“Well. 1 hardly reckoned upon a case
of disparity the wrong way round; but
I hope you’ll be very happy,” was all
l could say.
Erica only laughed.
-BLEST BE THE TIE.*
How the Familiar Old' Hymn Came U
Be Written.
er you. Good-by,” was Dolf’s only an-
swer, as he raised his straw hat and
turned right away.
The next minute 1 was speaking to
Nigel, who also seemed quite nervous-
It Isn’t much of a triumph to make a
sillv boy begin to stutter and stam-
mer, but when it’s a man with
“strange, heavy-lidded, magnetic eyes,
and the chest of a Norse king”—why,
that’s quite another matter!
“I_er—I—er—was just looking round
to S66--**
“To see the dogs?” I interrupted,
thinking it w-ould be tactful and wom-
anly to help him out.
“Yes,” he answered, looking right
and left, as if he was afraid some one
would come along and disturb us.
They are the new lot, aren’t they?
“Of course they are,” I said, nod-
ding towards the stables just as (oh!
how I would have loved to shake m>
passee relative) Erica came alon& from
the little door in the wall which leads
from the grounds!
“Oh! you are here?” she said, with
a silly little giggle (like sixpence rat-
tling in a glass) that is so absurd in a
woman of her age.
“Oh, yes, we are here?” I answered,
in a tone that I am sure must have
made her seem particularly foolish.
Then we all waited without saying
“I WANT YOU TO PROMISE TO
MARRY ME WHEN I COME BACK.”
anything at all, and the very silence
was enough to make Erica feel herself
the inconvenient third.
“Well—er—” she began, after a mo-
ment.
Now, to do her justice, I conclude
that she was going to say: “Well-
er—I must be going;” but, as ill luck
would have it, at that instant Bertie
Rogers came racing round the corner
to tell me that mamma wanted me to
say good-by to some people who were
leaving early.
“Oil, yes, I’ll come along now, 1
said, of course pretending to be aw-
fully delighted. “Erica will show you
the puppies, Mr. Ross,” I called out as
we hurried off.
Although it was a horrible pity to
have a proposal of marriage interrupt-
ed like this, still, 1 daresay the “tan-
talisingness” of being kept waiting will
only make him all the keener at least,
Nora says it will.
After that nothing else particularly
exciting happened, except that when
Nigel (I am practicing calling him
“Nigel” to myself, and I’m going to
write “Delia Ross” in a minute, to see
how it looks) said good-by, he held my
hand with one of those magnetic press-
ures one reads about, and said: “I
shall come in to-morrow, Delia, and
then we’ll have a long talk. Good-
night, my birthday girl!
His “birthday girl!” Wasn’t that
quite sweet? And to-morrow will soon
be here, and to-morrow we will have
the wonderful “long talk!” Oh, dear!
I wonder what my ring will lie like!
Of course 1 shall have diamonds, and
I think a marquise, as half-hoops seem
so old-fashioned somehow—everyone’s
mother has a half-hoop.
In a way I agree with Nora in wish-
ing that "Nigel” was dark.
It takes so little to make a fair man
look like a girl, while a dark one (take
Dolf. for instance) always seems to
to—oh! 1 don’t know.
I wonder if I shall ever be really in
lo VG ?
Of course Nigel will be a good match,
and as I am determined to marry while
the “lilies and violets bloom,” 1
couldn’t find a nicer fiance (he dresses
and dances so well, too); hut, all the
same, I shall never be in love with
him. „ . .
That will be all the more fashiona-
ble, 1 suppose; and then perhaps alter
I’m married some one will come along
who_Ob, bother! there’s a knock at
the door—it must be mamma or Erica;
I’ll finish when they’ve gofle.
11:45 p. m.
It was Erica. She has just left. I
can’t understand it. It is most extra-
Not one in a thousand of those who
ting that good old hymn “Blest b«
the tie that binds” knows the history
of its homely origin. According to
the Church Eclectic, it was written
by the Rev. John Fawcett, who in tha
latter part of the eighteenth century
was the pastor of a poor little church
In Lockshire, England. His family
and responsibilities were large, his
salary was less than four dollars a
week. In 1772 he felt himself obliged
to accept a call to a London church.
His farewell sermon had been preach-
ed, six wagons loaded with furniture
and books stood by the door. Hia
congregation, men, women and chil-
ren were in an agony of tears. Mr.
Fawcett and his wife sat down on a
packing case and cried with the oth-
ers. Looking up, Mrs. Fawcett said:
“Oh, John, John, I cannot bear this.
I know not where to go!” “Nor 1 eith^
er,” said he; “nor will we go. Unload
the wagons and put everything bac
in its old place.” His letter of accep-
tance to the London church was re-
called and he wrote this hymn to com-
memorate the episode.
WENT HOME FOR WARRIOR.
Dog Evidently Had Reasoned Out th«
Situation.
tv
Y
C. B. Shockley, who lives across tb«
river, was recently plowing in somf
new ground near the edge of the rivei
hills, says an Oklahoma correspondent
of t'ne Kansas City Journal. He wail
accompanied by a half-grown shepherd
dog. The dog in hunting went over *
small hill and soon came kiting bad
with a coyote close to his heels. See*
ing the man the coyote ran back and
the dog plucked courage to follow.
Out'of sight of his master he weato
ened and came back over the hill wit!
the coyote after him. This was r^j
peated several times, to the amuse*
ment of Mr. Shockley, who offered
neither counsel nor assistance, mean-
ing to see how the dog would figure i|
out. He had not long to wait. Tha
dog sat down and seemed to think ovei
the situation, and then started for tha
house on a keen run. He was back in
a very short time, accompanied b> a
big dog whose reputation as a coyota
fighter was established. The youna
dog led the old one over the hill and
soon the coyote had disappeared.
The Old Question.
“Sav if you put all your money into
building a house?” “Yes?” “And an
earthquake came along and shook the
house down?” “Yes?" “Wouldn't
that jar you?” . —
*K - !
'•re forify.
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Forster, William. The Post. (Buffalo, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 23, Ed. 1 Friday, November 15, 1907, newspaper, November 15, 1907; Buffalo, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc941367/m1/1/: accessed April 19, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.