California, Southern -- Fiction; Motion picture industry -- Fiction; Petroleum industry and trade -- Fiction; Political fiction
Mrs. Groarty stood by the centre-table of her living-room, awaiting the
arrival of the expected company. There was a bowl of roses in a vase on
this table, and immediately in front of it, conspicuous under the
electric lamp, was a handsome volume bound in blue cloth and stamped
with gold letters: “The Ladies’ Guide: A Practical Handbook of
Gentility.” It was the only book in the Groarty home, and it had been
there only two days; an intelligent clerk in the department-store, after
selling the satin robe, had mentioned to the future “oil-queen” the
existence of this bargain in the literature department. Mrs. Groarty had
been studying the volume at spare moments, and now had it set out as an
exhibit of culture.
The first to arrive was the widow Murchey, who had only to come from the
end of the block, where she lived in a little bungalow with her two
children; she was frail, and timid of manner, and wore black wristbands.
She went into raptures over Mrs. Groarty’s costume, and congratulated
her on her good fortune in being on the south slope of the hill, where
one could wear fine dresses. Over on the north side, where the
prevailing winds had blown the oil, you ruined your shoes every time you
went out. Some people still did not dare to light their kitchen fires,
for fear of an explosion.
Then came the Walter Blacks, Mr. and Mrs. and their grown son, owners of
the southwest corner lot; they were in real estate in the city. Mr.
Black wore a checked suit, an expansive manner, and a benevolent
protective gold animal as watch-fob on his ample front. Mrs. Black, also
ample, had clothes at home as good as Mrs. Groarty’s, but her manner
said that she hadn’t put them on to come out to any cabbage-patch. They
were followed by Mr. Dumpery, the carpenter, who had a little cottage in
back of the Groarty’s, fronting on Eldorado Road, the other side of the
block; Mr. Dumpery was a quiet little man, with shoulders bowed and
hands knotted by a life-time of toil. He was not very good at figures,
and was distressed by these sudden uncertainties which had invaded his
life.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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