NEWPORT DAILY INDEPENDENT
t=J- —-■
PERCY H. VAN DYKE, Publisher end Editor.
NEWPORT, - - ARKANSAS.
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm mi ———
SPELL OF THE MAJJI.
BY K ATE MASTER SON.
Her Majesty beamed over her cup
of coffee at the Boy. She had arrived
in town unexpectedly just as he was
about to start for their summer home
at Daisyhurst to spend his Saturday
to Monday holiday.
She explained that she had grown
tired of the country and thought it
would be a jolly idea for them to go
slumming in the city. Her Majes
ty’s definition of slumming included
the most expensive dinners obtain
able on hotel roof gardens, trolley
ing, and table d’hoting and wild
suppers in German restaurants.
“I’m sick of cows and chickens and
pigs,” she declared, as she bolted into
the Boy’s office. “I’ve a bad ease of
New Yorkitis. I want to go up and
see the monkeys in the Zoo and be
helped over Broadway by a big police
man.”
So on Sunday morning they found
themselves having a very informal
breakfast in the closed-up house
wdiere the Boy had been keeping
bachelor hall.
“How delightful it seems to see
your face at the table once more!”
exclaimed the Boy. “I’ve stopped
breakfasting at home since you went
away. Home is not the same place
• , i , V it._99
WiLiiuui u wuiiittii a gcnnc jpujocu^.
“I should say it isn’t!” exclaimed
Her Majesty; “I found 37 empty beer
bottles under the piano and soiled
collars hung al 1 over the rubber plant,
just as though it were a Christmas
tree!”
“I entertained the Don’t Worry
club here one Friday evening,” ex
plained the Boy, “and they seemed to
imagine that I had invited them for
a week-end party. They didn't go
home until Monday, and I had to lend
them all clean collars. They were in
a decorative mood when they left, and
6o hung their own collars on the tree.”
“Then the idea of the cat!” ex
claimed Her Majesty in an annoyed
fray.
“You mean the kittens, I suppose,”
paid the Boy. “Well, 1 couldn’t help
that, you know.”
“Then the geraniums in the win
dow boxes are all in bloom,” pouted
Her Majesty; “it was so mean of them
to bloom while I was away!”
“That was a most remarkable
thing!” exclaimed the Boy.
“I’ve discovered that cigar ashes
will make plants bloom. I’ve been
■using the window boxes as ash trays.
It worked well with the flowers t hat
I realized that there was undiscov
ered and perhaps valuable chemical
properties in cigar ashes. Just as an
experiment I put some in the ca
nary’s seed, and, do you know, it has
grown quite fluffy.”
“I have decided,” said Her Majes
ty, seriously, “that it is a wife’s duty
to stay by her husband’s side during
the summer time. I shall not return
to Daisyhurst. 1 have decided to
K(>Tid for mv trunks
%r
“Don’t think of such a thing,” ex
claimed the Boy. 1 am quite content
ed, I assure you.”
Her Majesty looked sharply at him.
Then her face softened. “Ah, yes,”
*he skid, “you say that because you
are so self-sacriticing, so noble.”
“Not at all! Not at all!” protested
the Boy.
“Since I have been away,” went on
H er Majesty, “I have had more time
to think of serious things. When I
went away I thought of nothing but
new gowns.”
The Boy looked up in alarm. He
thought this angelic mood suggested
illness. Her Majesty had a decided
appreciation for new gowns nor
mally.
i “They were very pretty gowns,” he
remarked, gallantly; “they were
worth the money.”
“They are all worn out now,” said
Her Majesty, “to rags!”
The Boy started apprehensively
and looked keenly across the table.
He was accustomed to gentler meth
ods for the extraction of-new gowns.
This was more cyclonic than Her Ma
jesty’s usual form.
“I’m thoroughly sick of dressing,”
she went on. “The women at Daisv
hurst think of nothing else and talk
of nothing else. We women are mis
understood because of the attention
we pay to our gowns. Men think wje
are idiots!”
“Nothing of the sort,” said the
Boy. “We know better.”
“The best proof of it is beside you.”
said Her Majesty indicating a copy of
the Daily Jollier as yet unfolded be
side the Boy’s plate. “In that paper
you will find a certain page or pages
devoted to women.”
The Boy found a highly colored
supplement and handed it across ..he
table. Her Majesty opened it with
an air of distaste.
“Here,” for instance,” she said, “is
a charming article for Sunday morn
ing reading: ‘Eleven Ways to Kill
Cockroaches.’ ”
“One way would seem to be suf
ficient,” mused the Boy.
“Then comes an illustrated discus
sion of methods to rid the complexion
of impurities called ‘blackheads.’
Ugh!”
“It is clean literature at all
events,’ reflected' the Boy.
“But not elevating, you'll admit,”
went on Her Majesty. “The Jollier
seems to run to the insect world to
day. Here is half a column on the
subject of bugs in cereal foods!”
“It does sound a bit crawly, that’s a
fact,” admitted the Boy.
“Then right in the middle of all
this positively nauseating matter,
are recipes for making luncheon
ensues. v>an i you see now nioeous it
all is—how exquisitely vulgar? It is
a mass of unpleasant ideas placed in
repulsive association with the sub
ject of food.”
“Women don’t care to read serious
stuff,” said the Boy; “they like to
read about other women’s moles and
freckles and bleached hair and in
growing eyelids, even if they don’t
have ’em themselves.”
“We want something better than
«iup bones, blackheads and bugs all
in a bouquet,” said Her Majesty.
“The men who get out these things
have an idea that women have no
soul above buttons.”
“Or bugs,” said the Boy.
“It is quite true we are frivolous—
we know we are frivolous. Men are
never frivolous, they are foolish. But
they don’t know it.”
“Oh, give over! give over!” said the
Boy.
“Thousands of copies of this page
go out over the country to-day rep
resenting American womanhood. It
is a journalistic insult!”
Her Majesty seemed almost on the
verge of tears. The Boy watched her
narrowly. “Tell me,” said he,
“when did you begin this serious line
of thought. You showed none of
these symptoms when I left Daisy
hurst last week.”
“Since then my soul has awakened,”
said Her Majesty, looking deeply into
the eyes of the Boy. “The day after
you left a Hindu lecturer came to the
inn and gave one of his wonderful
talks on the soul. He was a dreamy
eyed. tall, silent man and wore a white
turban.”
“Ah!” said the Bov, interestedly.
. i_.1. _ i .* v •
nui, juu ivuuw w iiai/ I'liuoc JL/ai&y
hurst, women are. They immediate
ly surrounded him with all sorts of
silly chatter, and wanted his auto
graph and his photograph. He treat
ed them as though they were chil
dren.”
“I went out on the piazza. I didn’t
care to mix with them at all. I had on
my blue chiffon gown and a whitelace
hat, and theMajji noticed, he told me
afterward, that I wasn’t like the
others.”
“What told you?” asked the Boy.
“Majji. That was his name. The
others called him Mr. Majji, but he
explained to me that was siliy. In his
own country he was Maharajah or
an Ahkoond or something. He in
introduced himself to me and asked
me to- stroll with him toward the
ocean.”
“Oh, he did!” said the Boy.
“Of course, this made those cats
jealous to begin with. They were
simply furious!”
“Do you mean to say you went?”
asked the Boy.
“Why, of course! He was a stran
ger/’
“Yes—that’s just it.”
“But he isn’t like other men! He
is a Hindu priest. And he has beau
tiful ideas. He said that when he
looked into my eyes he could see my
soul smiling at him in recognition.
He said we had known each other a
thousand years ago.”
“Dear me!” said the Boy.
“His theories of life are very beau
tiful. The only thing that really
matters are soul transitions. And
look here!” She stretched one hand
across the table with the pink palm
upward.
“Just look at that faint star un
der the life line. That indicates that
the real romance of my life hasn't yet
unfolded. It is to sweep me away like
a mighty wave!”
“Great Scott!” said the Boy; “does
Majji look like a fighting man?”
“He doesn’t entertain any thoughts
but those of love, harmony, and the
soul. He thinks women are far, far
above men. He taught me for the
first time to appreciate how wonder
ful we are. He found new lines in
my palm every day.”
“Where did these seances occur?”
asked the Boy.
“On he beach. We walked down
there every morning and sat under
my green umbrella. Those women
up at the inn had field glasses watch
ing us all the time. We pretended to
be flirting just to make them mad.”
“That is very soulful,” said the Boy.
“How did you tear yourself away
from all this enchantment?”
“Ah, there is the marvelous thing!
All this time, while Majji w'as ex
plaining to me the beauty of the soul
and the romance—you see. he didn’t
know at first that I was married—at
least he imagined that I—er—was a
widow.”
“Did, eh ?” said the Boy. “Go on!”
“All the time I was thinking of
you alone here in town. You see, you
were my romance, but—he—Majji
didn’t know! I questioned him to
tell me more and more about the ro
mance, but he said it would just hap
pen. He said there were a great
many things so mysterious that we
just felt them.”
“is Majji still at Daisyhurst?”
asked the Boy. with terrible inten
sity.
“No. When I told him I was com
ing into town to see you he became
disgusted with the place and every
thing. He went on—he said. He
was always going on—on—on. It
was really beautiful to hear him.
“But those women at the inn had
begun to gossip. They talked and
talked and whispered whenever Majji
even said good morning on the piazza.
You know they have a very odd way
of saying good morning.”
“No—1 didn’t know,” said the
Boy.
“They bow very low—from the
waist—you know, very seriously and
solemnly.”
“I see,” said the Boy.
“But when Majji left Daisyhurst
I drove down in the bus—to sec him
off—and when I got back, would you
believe it!—those horrid old things
sat around and pretended to be read
ing or embroidering and didn’t see
me! I swept past them and went to
my room and cried. Then I packed
my grip and took the train for town.
1 left no word where I was going—I
just thought I’d leave them in the
dark.”
“Oh, you are a clever girl!” said the
Boy, smiling at 11 er Majesty. “Noav,
I think you’d better put on a goAvn
and we’ll go directly back there.”
“To Daisy hurst! Why?”
“Never mind. There are some
very mysterious things that you just
felt. 1 just feel as though Ave had bet
ter go back to the inn and sit on the
beach under your green umbrella.”
“But why?”
“There are 11 ways to kill cock
roaches,” remarked the Boy, mysteri
ously.
“But one will do,” said Her Majes
ty, thoughtfully.
“Exactly!” said the Boy, smiling
into her mystical eyes.—N. Y. Times.
An Ancient Joke.
From a Connecticut woman’s diary,
dated 1790: “We had roast pork for
dinner, and Dr. S., aa ho carved, held
up a rib on his fork, and said: ‘Here,
ladies, is what mother Eve was mado
of.’ ‘Yes,’ said Sister Patty, ‘and it’s
much the same kind of critter.’ ”
Chemistry and Trade.
A decree recently promulgated by
the government of Costa ltica estab
lishes chemical laboratories in the
custom houses of the republic.
DRS. B. A. & W. R. WASHBURN '
Physicians and Surgeons.
Special attention given to diseases
of Ear, Nose and Throat. Also Dis
eases of Women.
' '■ 1
-;o:
Offices: New Watson Building,
Rooms 12, 14 and 15.
Newport, Arkansas.
DR. H. O. WALKER,
Physician and Surgeon.
Office: Redman’s Drug Store.
Newport, ... Arkansas.
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H: C. Townsend, G. P. A., -
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