The Somerset herald. [volume] (Somerset, Pa.) 1870-1936, 1896-12-30
A MODERN W00ING.
A NEW YEARS INCIDENT.

Bachelors apartments! Humph! A
blot OH civilization, libel Of the Crea-
tor. \ miserable tribe, the whole iotw
Since the Armitage lifted it's brown
stone front on Washington square, east,
Jonathan Standish had been master OF
its most spacious suit. Ten years the
black and white enamel placard, Bach
elors' Apartments" had confronted
his entrees and his exits to always ir-
ritate him.
bachelors indeedr' he groaned,
brushing the snow crystals from his
iron gray mustache. "They ought to
be killed, every mothers son of them
wiped off the face of the earth.
Dad night, Mr.. Standish."
''Beastly. 8eastly."
"Its coming in like lion"
The elevator stopped at the third
floor. The dean of the Armitage's bon
vivants alighted.
"What did you remark, Toby?"
''New Years is coming in like a lion,
sir"
"Ah, yes. New Years? Why, so it
is. You're right, Toby. May it bring
luck to you, my lad. God bless you"
Richer by a gold eagle, Toby de-
scended in glee, while Standish crossed
the threshold of his luxurious semi
blance Of a home. a fire cracked
! brightly. Creature comforts were on
every side, but the lord of the manor
felt stifled. Was il the ominous silence,
the pertinent placard in the vestibule
or disappointment in not meeting a
single boon companion at the club?
Where were they? What was up?
1t was New Years eve. They were
doubtless in the bosom of their families
or the guest of honor in the homes of
kindred, while he, Jonathan Standish,
boy and man for 80 years in the me
tropolis, was without home, kith or
kindred. More than one of his fore
fathers slept in Trinity churchyard.
The stately house in Stuyvesant square
where so many, many happy days OF
his boyhood had passed was long since
relegated to a boarding house. And
they were going-Oh, 50 rapidly,-ail
the old familiar faces.
won't do, won't do" he muttered,
slipping into his elder gown. Antago-
nistic to his tastes and temperament
was the life he led. He was the victim
of a series of circumstances that he
fancied he was powerless TO have avert
ed. ard so his life had drifted. ''Too
late, too later' Memory recalled what
might have been, egotism what was yet
possible. "All the good old fashioned
women are gone. There's nothing left
but that caricature, the new woman.
Bah, with her ologies and her isms, her
suffrage meetings and good govern
ment clubs. She is not only driving
men from stores, offices and counting
rooms, bat by George. she has robbed
him of his coat, vest and four-in-hand,
and now she wants his breeches y
He set about TO clean up his secreta-
nv. An old address book rolled out.
Leisurely he turned the pages. The
addresses smacked for the most part OF
the turf and the counting room.
"Nfiss Blackmure, ls9 Broadway"
1t was the one woman's name in the
little red book. Standish lit his pipe
and drew up his chair to the open
hearth.
"What game of whist that woman
pIaysi / wish she were here now. What
a rubber we could have if Daniels and
the captain would drop in! There's
not a man at the club that can match
her. There's woman fhorse sense!
No New tangled notions about her!'
And Standish's thoughts went back to !
Mrs. Vandyke's parlor at Manhattan.
Mrs. Vandyke was a dilapidated socie- |
ty woman who resorted to summer |
boarders TO replenish her Golfers. Late
i'm the season Standish chanced at her |
cottage, and the domestieity of the en- |
vironment charmed him, and soon |
Standish wss enrolled among the wild
owls most substantial guests.
The night of his arrival it rained in
cessantly. The guests were driven |
from the verandas to the parlor. Be
fore Standish could escape, Mrs. Van
dyke proposed a game Of whist. He
had an old fashioned reverence for |
woniankind, but when it came to play |
ing with them he had his prejudiees,
but he consented. 1t did not escape |
his keen glance that his partner, Miss
Rlackmore. was not of his world or the |
type of women he had known and ad-
mred in his youth.
Certainly she had little in common
with the s'set" in which Mrs. Vandyke |
had singed her wings. But hers was |
the voice and manner of the well bred |
woman of experience-experience de-
rived from personal contact with cruel
facts rather than from the dilletant- |
ism OF the bouGoir or the drawing |
room. She was, moreover, such
strong partner that he did what hc had I
not been guilty of for 20 years-frans- |
ly pleaded that an acquaintance 30
pleasantly begun might not end so an
ruptly. Miss Biackmore smiled, hand
ed him her card and told him she was
always at ls9 Broadway.
"a clever woman. 30 nonsense
about her nIeaut % hunt iieE ap be- |
fore this.u said Standish aloud as he
awakened from his reverie. '
zone hundred and eig,ity-nine Broad
way? What lie deuce can ~oalso--
such a yoman-be doing SO far down