Mrs. Radigan: Her Biography, with that of Miss Pearl Veal, and the Memoirs of J. Madison MudisonLloyd, Nelson
General
Mrs. Radigan: Her Biography, with that of Miss Pearl Veal, and the Memoirs of J. Madison Mudison
Lloyd, Nelson
New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Satire; Social classes -- Fiction; Women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction
Pearl said to-day that Tumm was the Bumpschus jester. I protested, but
it was just one of those little cuts which make a woman all the more
lovely to those for whom she has only balm. I think of him, I told
her, as the minstrel of the house, at his type-writer all day long,
singing of its glories, of the riches of the master and the beauty of
the daughter, of the greatness of her lover and of their love--for
under a hundred flaring black heads the world has been told that this
is a love-match. A safety match, said Pearl, blowing a smoke ring
solemnly--she was evidently thinking of his Grace's debts. Singing,
I went on, for I always ignore these little jibes of hers, singing
and carolling of the vastness of the trousseau and the value of the
presents, of the smartness of the bridesmaids and the colors of their
dresses; singing of the ushers, of their waistcoats, their spats, their
gloves, and boutonnières; of the music at the wedding, of the breakfast
later, with its menu and its wines. Fortunate the world that every word
that Tumm, the minstrel, sings is caught upon the manifold, seized
by the educating press, illuminated with pen-sketch and photograph,
and sent forth to be read by the millions in the outer darkness!
Fortunate, indeed, said Pearl, for she always agrees with me in the end.
Sometimes I suspect that because she can always agree with me, she
declined the proffered heart and hand of his Grace, and now is
perfectly contented with the humbler rôle of maid of honor at the
great wedding of the season. I must confess that I was surprised that
Ethel Bumpschus asked Pearl to accompany her to the altar, but then
the reason was very evident when I saw the list of the wedding-party.
Ethel is going in for beauty. No expense is being spared on flowers and
music, and she must have been conscious of the discord created in the
first bars of many a grand sweet song by a procession of exquisitely
gowned ancients moving slowly down the aisle at the heels of a lovely
bride. Now Ethel is not beautiful, but she will have the advantage of a
veil.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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