Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1886-10-24
A TALE OF THE NOW.
An American Story by On American
Author Using American

-
Author Using American Ingredients.
The glorifed and infiamed west was Just
deepening into rosy twilight, and the eastern
hills were in the act of peeling of their ruddy
robes for the night, when a well dressed
Englishman Of American descent might have
been seen vending his way in q northeasterly
direction, regardless of the gathering night.
He was tall, 1.-the and pimply in the e1-
treme, with a large, wistful, dewy eye. The
other eye was also in the same condition. His
name was Edmund Clayborne Briggs, @ do
INVESTIGATED EngliShman from Massachusetts,.
He was a self -made man; but, aside from
that, he had never done anything repreben-
sible.
Edmund Clayborne Briggs ancestors had
toiled for a livelihood, for they were an igno-
rant people and did not know any tettsr. Hs
was engaged in trying to overcome this in
herited desire for industry-thls strange, NOR
bid yearning for something to 10. His sue
cess thus far had been phenomenal. Still he
hoped 10 accomplish even greater things in
that direction.
His dress was that of a Young man horn on
American soil, but who had trh,I 10 conceal
the disgusting and terrible fact from tho eye
of the world. His %pantaloons were worn iiow-
ing in the legs and glossy across tho seat. All
that he had lone thus far IN life had lHen in
the ~scdentary line. He was proud Of tho fact
that his hands were not hardened by low,
coarse toll. Some had claimed that there
were bunions on his brain where srlf-eStNcm
was located, but that was only an lido MINOR,
and this is no place for Anything Of that
kind.
How sorry he felt for those who wor"
American shoes IN New York hatS' As he
stood leaning against n fence, fo,Ilng n strange
yearning for something more definite, he
looked down at his own EngliSh-made shoes,
with their fat and pussy" appearance, their
droop in the middle and their vile, over
fed, choked look. He felt of his youngest
pimple and looked at the stars, which were
just coming out one by one.
We will leave him there a few moments
while we pass on to briefly describe a Young
thing named VaSelinia Couture, who stands
in the bay window patiently waiting for us to
do so. She is not negleCting her other work,
however, for she has no other work. She feels
that she was born to he loved, and though she
has been out otR job a COOL deal Of tho time,
that is her business. To love and be loved is
her aim in life.
She loves Edmund with all the deep, rip
snorting torrent Of her intense nature. She
is like him, for she diSlikes those who per
spirc. Her father was a toilcr, and now, ut
the age of 81, ho is an old man.
She will take warning and shun the mad
maelStrom in which he has wrecked his young
l;F, CIa Cln,llnrp ~ cbn tlinlu Of ~ Sha
recoils. 1t costs her an effort, hut she re-
coils. She then stands on the other foot
awhile as she peers through the cleaning.
Let us look Mt her for a moment rs she
peers through said cleaning. Her brow is
low, and it looks still lower, because she
wears her hair tossed wildly over it in little,
faky, fluffy giblcts Of redness, while at the
hack Of her head it is caught up into an in
famed ~douGhnut and held in place by a tin
dagger. Her throat is long and flexible, and
the poiSe OF her head, which she wears ut the
upper end of her swan like throat, is first
rate, The air is ono of dis1ain. She has O
naughty way Of taking out her gum and
seeking it on the ceiling that reminds one of q
duchess in good spirits.
She now changes back TO the other foot,
and looks %ycarnfully out through the gather
ing night. Her attitude is one which a
painter might long strive to portray on
canvas and fail to catch. Her dress is cut so
ms to conceal her shoulder blades as far as
possible, and she wears large wooden buttons
on the points Of her elbows, 50 that she will
not scratch the marble top dressing case when
she leans on it in order to ponder n few
hours over the i~ntcrrogatory, why was |
bOrnl'
The night has almost inStantaneously grown
intensely dark. 1t is rs dark rs the interior
Of a benighted Ethiopian. The wind is sigh
ing through the trees, and seeking out the
belated gentleman whose underwear has been
worked up into a rag carpet.
And will he never, never Gomez muir
murs Nashlinia as she sits on one OF her feet
on the lounge aud huns Il low refrain, en-
titled Climbing up the Golden Stair"
The bell now Invertebrates n Edmund
enters. They looked into each Others eyes,
but all is vacancy there. 1t is what they ex-
pected.
Anon Edmund seats himself. 1t is his nor
NAL condition. In his hand he holds a cane
with a white celluloid head to it. How he
envies the cane. Thoughtfully he leans for
ward with the whole white top of the stick
immersed in his mouth. He is Just about to
speak when there is q sharp, resonant eIplO-
sion, a dull cry of alarm from Va~selinia, the
smell Of gun cotton, %camphor, hair oil, dam
aged ideas and escaping gas.