The Monmouth inquirer. [volume] (Freehold, N.J.) 1865-1933, 1925-07-02
Condiments and
Cupid
By GRACE MeKINsTRY

\ All Saints day-the silent carni-
val of fiowers"-and had passed red
eyed, fearful Jane Emerson in Jackson
square, what would you have thought?
Perhaps that she, like all the world
in New Orleans (and none Of the world
outside) had just come from her All
Saints day visit to the cemetery.
Entirely wrong. Jane was just from
Massachusetts, and knew nothing of
the observance of All Saints. She had
simply mistaken pepper sauce for to-
matO catsup.
A French restaurant with bewilder-
ing creole dishes In rich red sauces /;
she had scarcely dared try them and
had ordered cold roast and a salad.
A glance around for the dish of
pickles Boston would have offered.
Well then. a little tomato catsup in
stead-and she tipped the good-sized
bottle over her plate. After that the
deluge-a deluge Of water down James
smartlng throat, and tears in James
eyes. She paid her bill hastily, al
most ran to a sheltered bench in the
square, and gave herself up to mop
ping her streaming eyes.
II you had seen, soon afterward, a
slender, black-eyed young man stridlng
rapidly past James bench, his frown,
his compressed lips, his tensely-clasped
hands registering suppressed emotion,
you would have said, poor young
man, he has laid wreath upon the
tomb of Madame, his mother. His
sorrow almost overcomes him."
Entirely wrong again. Vincent Lee
Blanc's family circle was intact. Vim
cent had been elsewhere. He was not
merely grieved. he was perplexed. dis
appointed, hurt and-yes, even angry.
Not pepper sauce-he had been
brought up on thati But New Or
leans was responsible for his acute dis
comfort also, though he was holding
Jane Emerson accountable.
He had known her one happy sum-
mer that he had spent ''up north.
Her name was austere, but she was
dainty, gentle. altogether angelic.
What Joy, now that she had come to
New Orleans for the winter II shall
call upon you tomorrow evening--it is
legal holiday, you know, and have
leisure" he had phoned her.
In Boston, evening is evening. In
New Orleans it is afternoon as well
any time after lunch, but Jane didn't
know 1t. So she hadn't thought of
staying home to receive Vincent at
three o'clock.
mo, sub, she sho' amt leave no
message" insisted the colored girl at
James boarding house. "Will you-all
wait fo' Miss EmehsOnT
No, Vincent wouldn't wait. He was
distinctly annoyed. TITS not neces-
sary to tell her 1 called" he told the
maid. II can telephone her"
Behold Vincent then, Fastening
through the old square. Not so fast,
though, that he failed to observe Jane,
weeping. Was it Jane, really? He
hadn't seen her for several years
he couldn't be sure. But the sight
was so disturbing that he turned
around and he went home. Jane
hadn't seen him, for she was dabbing
her streaming eyes.
II shall wear my light blue wolfe
tonight when Mr.. Leblanc calls,'
unused Jane. She was only thinking
Of the evening. And after the late din
ner when the thick velvet darkness
Of Louisiana had fallen down with its
usual suddenness, she poked up the
pleasant little fire in the stately par
lor of her boarding house and awaited
Vincent Leblanc
''Very well, Mr.. Leblanc, If that is
all you care for your engagements"
she said to herself. bitterly, as she
took of the blue voile, 1--WE had
enough Of your insincere French
ways" But Elsie noticed her dejec-
ton.
Elsie Atwood, her roommate-also
a New England girl-was consolingly
sympathetic. "Yes, but Jane, you've
forgotten that today is All Saints. i
understand it's really sacred day to
people in New Orleans. They spend
as much of it as possible in the ceme-
teries. 1 suppose Mr.. Leblanc had
to take his grandmother to some Gem
etery miles away (Elsie was drawing
on her Imagination now and couldn't
get back. Cars and trains are fright
fully crowded at such times. He will
come tomorrow night, I'm sure"
Jane cheered up perceptibly.
And if you could have looked in
upon Vincent Leblanc at dinner that
evening (real EVENING", you would
have heard him explaining to his
mother
''N-no, didn't find Miss Emerson at
home 1t was mighty strange, when /
had told her I'd call. At first / was
provoked. / felt almost insulted But
do you know, mother, I'm almost sure
I saw her a few minutes later on
bench In Jackson square. And she
was crying. OF course, I didn't make
myself known. What do you suppose
was the matterT