The Bourbon news. [volume] (Paris, Ky.) 1895-19??, 1910-11-11
PROVING
A THEORY

udli, LII tduiuS d uScui6 VIII yellow
silk and attacking huge chrysanthe-
mum centerpiece.
Which theory?" inquired young
Mrs. Allison, serenely. Il have so
many, you know!"
Why" explained the fluffy haired
blonde, "the one you were airing the
other day, of course. Yes, know
you air good many every day, but
this particular one was about the per-
verse fate that leads you to abuse
some detail of your reputation of
which you are particularly proud"
She went on stitching reminiscently.
Well" demanded her audience.
how can you prove it?"
IF there is one thing upon which
/ fiatter myself" said the fluffy haired
blonde, manifestly willing to share her
grievance against fate. at is the fact
that l am not what you might call
bromide"
There you 60" interrupted young
Mrs. Allison, triumphantly. You're
proving the case against yourself!"
The fluffy haired blonde looked per-
picked.
For at least two years." went on
young Mrs. Allison, taking the floor
heatedly, every one has gone about
trying to label every one else as a
bromide or a-what is the other
thing?"
"Sulphite?" suggested the fluffy
haired blonde.
Thank you, DEAR" said young Mrs
Allison. Il knew 1t was something
explosive. And the inconsistency Of
1t all Is what astonishes me! Every
presumptuous person who labels the
rest of the world as bromide cher
ishes the secret conviction that he
himself Is the one scintillating excep-
ton, whereas" she fixed the fluffy
haired blonde with an accusing eye
whereas, say, he thereby must GER
tainly convicts himself"
You should have been a lawyer, Ce-
leste," responded the fluffy haired
blonde. Il plead guilty"
But it's your only bad habit" said
young Mrs. Allison, generously.
You're innocent of other innocuous
phrases"
What kind of phrases?" demanded
the fluffy haired blonde with a
frown.
"Innocuous," responded young Mrs.
Allison, firmly. tits almost insulting,
but not quite, so you needn't lay it
up against me. You see
Hush, Celeste" interrupted the
young matron with auburn braids.
I'VE want to hear about this theory
business. You don't mean 'innocu-
Gus. anyway: what you mean is OBJ
noxious.'
The fluffy haired blonde laid aside
her work. Celeste is quite right in
her theory" she admitted, amiably.
And | myself am not the scintillating
exception, either. But never had it
fully demonstrated by myself to my
self until last night.
You see," she went on, Il was din
ing at the Berkeleys,' and in the eve
ming Mr.. Dowland came in with some
others. He is professor of ethics,
you know, and I've always fancied
that he thought me rather clever.
You can tell from the way they look
at you-at least you think you can
as If they hesitated to inquire into the
weighty thoughts that lie behind your
outward calm.
Well, he sat down beside me and
waited for a brilliant conversational
opening. And right then subscribed
to Celeste's theory of the perversity
Ut vanity. My mind went around and
around in neat little circle, and
when articulation became necessary. I
said: What warm summer we have
been having!' Then l added: What a
bromide remark
He looked at me in a puzzled sort
of way, and said with smile that if
was perfectly good remark, never
theless. Then / asked him if he didn't
think bromide people more comfort
able to get on with, anyway"
Young Mrs. Allison groaned. my
DEAR" she said, nothing remained
then but for you to ask him what he
had been reading lately
Il came to that later" admitted the
fluffy haired blonde, meekly when
the next pause needed filing my vo-
cal apparatus had become automatic.
and the question shaped itself.
He gave me one plying look and
replied: Nothing much except my
regular lecture work. But what have
you been reading yourself?'"
The fluffy haired blonde sat up
straight and the light of great moral
inspiration came into her face: Never
ask that question of your helpless
friends she said. They probably
haven't been reading anything at. all.
As matter of fact they have un-
doubtedly been having a dressmaker
M the house doing summer sewing.
and the fashion plates then are their
only literary indulgence. They'll
hate to admit in intellectual society
that they've been delving into the
mysteries Of the latest thing in over
skirts.
al did admit n IN tho rrofor.-.