Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

NAN'S DIPLOMACY 109 "I should say not," growled Ralph, who liked things hot, in the culinary line at all events, and had no idea of letting anything get cold while they waited for a belated guest. Dinner was served and eaten. Coffee was always served in the parlor, while Ralph smoked his after-dinner cigar. This hour was particularly enjoyable to him since Mae's arrival. As Nan went into the kitchen to give directions about the coffee, Ralph and Mae went into the parlor and proceeded to make themselves thoroly comfortable. Returning to the parlor, Nan saw Ralph sitting in an easy chair with his cigar in his mouth, Mae holding a lighted match for him while he puffed away contentedly. The sight did not stir up pleasant sensations in the breast of the young wife. "He always used to light his own cigars," she said, addressing a vase of flowers in the corner. "Oh, is that you, Nan?" asked Ralph, starting somewhat guiltily, "Come in and sit down. Is the coffee ready ?" "Pretty nearly," and Nan went into the kitchen to expedite matters. Ralph sat and smoked and drank his coffee. Mae played and sang, and Nan knitted something in soft, fluffy, white and pink yarn, keeping all except the part immediately beneath her fingers and the swiftly moving needles hidden from her sight. The tired, indignant look on her face might have been seen, plainly enough, but Ralph had eyes only for Mae. Bob Jones came in before the evening was very old, came in with a breeze and a noise and a general air of selfsatisfaction. Depositing a grip here, an umbrella there, his overcoat in one corner and his hat in another, he kist Nan, nodded to Mae, whom he seemed to know, and put out his hand to Ralph with a hearty : "Put it there, old man. I say, you're all to the sugar pot in this roost. Cosy little nest, I must say. No birdlings yet, T suppose? Well, Nan, you look as pretty as a stack of yellowbacks on pay-day. What arc you do ing? Knitting? Socks, I suppose, for his highness in the corner. No? Well, never mind. Don't get me anything to eat. I made that all right on the train, but, I say, they do clip into a fellow's bank roll, tho, don't they? Yes, I do affect the narcotic when I get a chance. Excuse me, Ralph, I thought you mentioned it, but I was so busy looking at that pretty wife of yours that I may have missed the tip. Hold the wire a second, will you? Thanks, I don't care if I do." Bob helped himself to a cigar from Ralph's box, lighted it himself and sat close to Nan, watching her intently. "Wouldn't you have a cup of coffee, Bob, if I brought it?" asked Nan, getting np. "Now you sit still, girly," and the breezy Bob pushed Nan gently into her chair, where she continued her knitting. "Don't you worry over your uncle. I'm on the water cart now and have cut out all poisons, but I don't put cigars on the prohibited list. Very good one, too, old man," nodding to Ralph. "Pipe up, son. I haven't heard you say a word since I reached the home plate." Bob Jones had a way of putting picturesque embellishments to his mother tongue which made his conversation most piquant, if at times somewhat puzzling to his hearers. He so interlarded his mental menu with slang that the original flavor was completely lost under the spice he put into it. Ralph paid little heed to him, and none to Nan, but gave all his attention to Mae, who sang, played and chatted till she was tired and went off to her room. Then he turned to Nan and said, angrily : "Oh, do put up that infernal knitting! It's nothing but knit, knit, knit, from morning to night. You don't talk, you don't play the piano, you don't sing, yon don't do anything but knit, knit, knit. I'm sick of the whole business. You used to play and sing and do other things, sometimes." "I'm sorry you don't like it, Ralph," said Nan, but she went on with her knitting.