The Post. (Buffalo, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 17, Ed. 1 Friday, October 4, 1907 Page: 1 of 12
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THE
POS
VOL. III.
_BUFFALO, HARPER CO. O. T
Kitty’s
Cousin
(SEE DATE INSIDE. NO 17.
By Paul Cres wick
(Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.)
“Oh, there you are, Reggie! How
<lo you do? 1 m so glad to see you
again.” Kitty beamed delightfully
upon me. “I hear you have quite set-
tled Mr. Rollison’s affair—so clever
of you.”
T had very little—”
“What a bother it has been, hasn't
it? But I can't have my best young
man doing nothing,” continued my
charming hostess. "Now there's such
a dear little thing over there, by the
window. Come along at once—I have
a thousand people to arrange yet. And
some of them are so uneven.”
"Why don’t you say ‘odd,’ and be
done with it? What does the dear
little thing do; and shall I have to
make love to her?”
Don t argue—I haven’t a minute to
lose. Here come the Ponsonbys, with
an artist mao whose name I have en-
tirely forgotten. Be quick!”
I must know whether she paints
or writes, or sculpts—”
"She doesn’t do anything now, be-
yond being very good and sweet—and
she’s all alcne.”
Kitty, without permitting me an-
other word, steered us both marvel-
lously across the wide studio. Then I
heard her usual introduction—quite
unintelligible, until my own name was
reached. “—My Reggie—he has been
begging for an introduction! Do be
kind to him, and excuse my rushing
away at once. I see a heap more ar-
rivals.” 1
I turned dutifully towards the “dear
little thing.” I instantly rather liked
her;- and had a vague feeling that we
had met before. I began carefully,
“I have been hearing how frightfully
good you are—”
“But I’m not frightfully good,” sho
interrupted, gently—stirring familiar
chords chaotically within me.
“Honor bright?” I questioned.
She nodded. I’m only a country
cousin of Mrs. Frazer's. She’s awfully
I suppoa*
“Then I suppose we are cousins, too.'*
kind. Introduces
of course,
Artist, author, or—”
“Philosopher,” said I, taking a sur-
reptitious peep at her. Surely th*t
straight defiant little nose, that slight-
ly self-conscious trick of flushing—
But she was expecting a full definition
of myself “I’ll tell you a secret-quito
a true little secret. It’s the easiest
thing in the wor.d to be a philosopher
and the best paying. You merely hav,-‘
to wear a high forehead, and loch
profound. Nature most obligingly has
permitted me to achieve the former—
I rather want her to stop just wheie
8he is; whilst I have acquired a
sphinx-like look through attenlirs
cousin Kitty’s tea-parties_”
“Cousin Kitty? Then
we are cousins, too?”
Indubitably. But I’m a town cousin
which only counts since she has been
a widow—four, or is it five years? As
regards philosophy, however—but do
you like hearing me talk?”
“It’s . . heavenly,” she breathed,
with shy conviction.
I was at that moment thinking
where I had heard your name befoie
I mean the Muriel part of it.” I ex
plained, as I hadn’t heard the other
nowever, it has just come back to me
and thereby hangs a tale, it’s a
Muriel, and is quite respectable. You
might be able to advise me about it
—since it’s a problem.”
“To whom?’
“Myself indirectly; and a friend
chiefly. Hes a decent fellow. I met
him at a dinner. In the course of his
lunches he encountered a girl She
was cashier at the shop. The shop is
a very nice luncheon place, and the
people live over it. I have seen he,
Well, my friend saw her—”
“Yes?” My partner was flushing
again in her delicious way.
hell over head and ears in love
AH the while I never guessed a word.’
- “How did you find out?”
“Just sheer braininess. I perceived
that Wally was not well. He .-seemed
altogether peculiar. Ethereal and
poetic. He left off swearing when
dinner was late—studied harder than
evei. After a little inward cogitation.
I drew him on one side. I said quietly
but distinctly: ‘My boy, it won’t do.
What is her name, and how did you
discover Wat she was an angel?’ Wally
—•bis reaj name^ is Wallace Rolltsou.
by the way—turned gray as the law
courts tnemselves
“What did he say?” asked Muriel, in
a queer sort of voice.
1 he whole miserable story burst
forth, as from a volcano. I sat down
heavily on the nearest seat—we were
in Temple Gardens—and gasped. He
clung to me, and instructed me that
she was a dear. . . . They always
a.ro, you know. That her name was
Mattel. . . . I’m sorry to drag you
into it.”
Never mind that. Please go on.
I m so anxious to hear the moral.”
Don’t be impatient. I talked about
his career; and about marrying in
haste. I expounded that he hadn’t
known her long enough—”
“That she was primarily only a
cashier; and that she had been in a
shop?’
“No. Those facts were patent—and
flidn t so much matter. But he was
infatuated.”
“Well?”
“At my earnest request, he kept
sway from her for a wreek. I said that
be would get her into a rowr, and make
her lose her place. That, no doubt,
she was poor—and had relatives. I
was quite a father to him.”
“Didn't it strike you that the girl
might have had feelings?”
“Providence made me essentially
normal. Everything I eat digests, you
Kind, introduces me to everyono. normai. Everything I eat digests, you #
Now, of course, you're a somebody 7 know. But pray hear the denouement. ’
” Wallv came back at four o’clock Ha ♦
naa seen the girl and had asked her
the great question. And she . . .
had said NO.”
I paused to give this effect. My
companion was looking away. Her
small hands were restless in her lap.
She spoke to me presently, very soft
and low. “Were you surprised!” she
inquired, nervously.
"Very. But my respect for Miss
Muriel went up at a bound. I began
to be angry with Rollison. I told him
he hadn’t asked her properly. He pro-
tested miserably that he had implored
. . . until she had told him that there
was someone else.”
“Someone else?”
“More in her own position, she had
declared. And then had incontinently
commenced to cry. Quietly and pa-
thetically, Wally said. He couldn’t
understand anything but the NO. He
came away.”
“Wa« there anything else to under-
stand?”
“Now you are touching the problem.
Of course there wasn't ‘someone else.’
I saw through that, after ten minutes’
hard thinking. The plucky little beg-
gar had judged the case as I had. She
really loved him, and so wouldn't let
him take the risk.”
“And possibly she thought that he
would lose his friends, as well as his
chance. That his mother would, per-
haps—”
“How well you see it,” I interrupted.
His mother . . , you would never
credit it; but she actually told Wally
to try again! Said she was sure that
no boy of hers would ev”er ask her to
love a new daughter who wasn’t
worthy. I felt awfully mean and small
—when I heard him answer that fair
play was a jewel. That he wasn’t go-
ing to ask the little girl to be disloyal.”
“Why did you feel mean?”
“Because I only had to tell what I
had guessed—which, mind you, I’m
as certain of as I am of anything in
life—and he would have gone back.
And would have persuaded her, in
timet.”
“In time'; ’
“Yes. I made a few inquiries, dis-
creetly, myself. She had left the shop
and had gone home; and, all the while,
I knew in my heart that she would
make him the best little wife in the
world. She would have helped him.
. . . Don’t you think I'm a beast?”
“Perhaps you were wrong. About
the guess, I mean. She might have
had another lover—”
“She hadn’t, absolutely.”
“If they had married—would you, as
tne of his friends, have cared to still
know him? They would have been
poor, and through it all—th,c worry, I
mean—he might have failed. Again,
she mightn’t have been his equal.”
“1 feel a culprit,” I protested. “When-
ever 1 see his face, it comes home to
me. I ought to tell him—”
“Would you ... be best man at
tiis wedding?”
The problem again! I have seen
so many unhappy marriages; and
Jet—”
My companion turned towards me
bnce more, and her gray eyes seemed
to hold tears. It was full dusk in the
room, the gabbling riot going on—pic-
tures and shows, and mediums and
manners—all were curiously remote.
It myself strangely drawn towards
.be little girl. . . . She put out her
luud as if to take something from
mine. “Don't you feel that she was
light?” she asked, gently and patient-
ly. Then, altering her tone, she con-
i bided abruptly, “I’ll take your check,
j lease.”
J knew her, (hen. I knew that I had
town her all along. Of course, of
uirse! That true contralto voice;
»<»se unforeetable eves ) answered
soberly. "We have both been
^ ong; but Wally was right. It is
\ y love that matters, in this poor
-le world. ... Let me get you
..nc tea?” .
On my way 1 almost ran into Kitty.
' ou haye been good," she whispered
( provingly. Do you see who is by
ne door? It’s Mr. Ilolllson, looking
verywhere for you.” "
Not ioi me, 1 said, decidedly. “So
c.u put it into my head, did you? It
;as very ingeniously suggested’ rm
bout to get Muriel some very nice
ea—two cups—and then I’m going to
at Rollison carry the tray.”
Kitty squeezed my arm affectionate-
y- “You’re quite my best young
r.an, she murmured. “I hare great
fopes of you, Reggie.”
•
“MANLY ART” IN FRANCE.
8port of Boxing Just Now Something
of a Craze.
Boxing has become quite the rage
In Paris; the old savate, with its ef-
fective high kicking, has been dis-
carded for the “noble art” of Britain.
But our lively neighbor the Gaul has
always had a sneaking affection for a
manly bout of fisticuffs a l’Anglais.
When Owen Swift, the famous cham-
pion of the lightweights, took refuge
In Paris after killing his opponent,
Brighton Bill, in a prize fight, he was
patronized by all the members of the
French Jockey club. After a fierce
battle at Charenton with Jack Adams,
another pugilist of renown, Swift was
arrested and brought before the Paris
tribunal of correctional police on a
charge of “having inflicted wounds oc-
casioning an incapacity to labor for
less than 20 days.” Owen’s description
in his evidence, of the course of
training which he had to go through
had an amusing effect upon the young
sporting swells of Paris. For months
afterward these young exquisites
might be seen going at their best
pace along the streets and boulevards,
muffled up to their eyes in sweaters
and greatcoats, getting into condition
for boxing.—T. P. O. of London.
No< an Unmixed Evil.
August Anderson, a wealthy Min-
nesota farmer, brings his family into
Duluth during the deer season. He
holds that hundreds of prowling hunts-
men, delirious with “buck fever” then
make the country dangerous to human
life.
“But every cloud has its silver lln-
b’ig,” said Mr. Anderson in Duluth the
'Ither day. “My family enjoys this
yearly trip to the city and we manage
to get a good ueal of shopping done.
“So you see, our flight from the deer
shooters has its advantages. It is like
the case of the housewife who at the
sound of a crash started suddenly
from her chair and cried:
“ 'There! Another of my best porce-
lain tureens gone.’
“ ‘Never mind, dear,’ said her hus-
band. ‘It has stopped the cook’s sing-
ing.’ ”
Kansas Woodchucks’ Holes.
In the early ’70s a series of torna-
does in Kansas drove quite a numbei
of inhabitants back east. Among
them was a negro, who went to Con-
cord, N. H., and entered the employ
of the Hon. Mark R. Holt.
One day Mr. Holt asked the fellow
about the tornadoes, the damage done
and several other questions along that
line. The man replied:
“Ya-as, they was turrible! Sunthiir
turrible! Why, jest in our town the
whole riber bank was washed away
and left dozens of woodchuck hole!
a tickin' out as much as ten fe«L”
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Forster, William. The Post. (Buffalo, Okla. Terr.), Vol. 3, No. 17, Ed. 1 Friday, October 4, 1907, newspaper, October 4, 1907; Buffalo, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc941572/m1/1/: accessed April 24, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.