Does the American woman always consider her lesser half? The following tale shows that she does, although the lady’s husband undoubtedly moved in a lower sphere. She was at that period in her existence where she gave literary afternoons and called her college-graduated daughter to her side and said:
“This afternoon, as I understand, we attend the Current Events Club, where Miss Spindleshank Corkerly of New York and Washington will give us her brief and cheery synopsis of the principal world events during the last month.”
“This evening the Birth Control Association meets at Mrs. Mudhaven’s, where I shall read my paper on the Moral Protoplasm.”
“To-morrow morning the Efficiency Circle will assemble here for its weekly discussion and will be addressed by Professor Von Skintime Closhaven on the Scientific Curtailment of Catnaps.”
“To-morrow afternoon the Superwoman’s Civic Conference Committee will take up the subject of the Higher Feminism, and in the evening the Hygienic Sex Sisters will confer with the superintendent of our school system on several ideas for our schools which we have in mind.”
“Yes, mother. That brings us up to Thursday. What shall we do on that evening?”
“I thought, my dear, that we would take a night off and go to the movies with your dear father.”
Many are the stories told of the late James Gordon Bennett. One, more than any other, reveals one of his weaknesses—a disinclination to acknowledge an error.
Before taking up his residence abroad he frequently breakfasted at Delmonico’s, then downtown. One Christmas morning he gave the waiter who always served him a small roll of bills. As soon as opportunity offered the waiter looked at the roll, and when he recovered his equilibrium took it to Mr. Delmonico. There were six $1,000 bills in the roll. The proprietor, sensing that a mistake had been made, put them in the safe.
When the publisher next visited the cafe Mr. Delmonico told him the waiter had turned the money in. He added he would return it as Mr. Bennett departed.
“Why return it? Didn’t I give it to him?”
“Yes. But, of course, it was a mistake. You gave him $6,000.”
“Mr. Delmonico,” replied Bennett, rising to his full height, “you should know by this time that James Gordon Bennett never makes a mistake.”
A pressman had just returned to work after a protracted spree. His face was battered, an eye was blackened, and an ear showed a tendency to mushroom. The night of his return was one on which Mr. Bennett visited the pressroom. He saw Mr. Bennett before Mr. Bennett saw him, and, daubing a handful of ink on his face, he became so busy that Bennett noticed him.