The Hosley-Tescheron wedding was the happiest society event in my life.
Hygeia, as bridesmaid, dazzled me into forgetfulness; but I stood up and
did my part, nevertheless, with a fair degree of precision, but might
have done better had I practiced trying to find a ring in my pocket
while wearing a glove. Mr. Tescheron behaved admirably. He and his
lordly son-in-law on that day really began to get acquainted. The
sheepish look he gave me at the wedding betrayed that my letter with the
money had happily convinced him, and also his trip to the little
cemetery.
Concerning Gabrielle and Nellie Gibson, her maid of honor, I would need
to shower the technicalities of a fashion journal's vocabulary to
present a picture of the loveliness wrought by milliners and dressmakers
from the choicest fabrics to grace the slender figures of those pretty
girls. Mrs. Tescheron's tears were those of joy. My joy was without
tears, for the occasion brought a hearty welcome to Hygeia's Connecticut
home.
Jim Hosley and I are associated to-day in the management of one of the
largest industries rehabilitated by that great executive, John
MacDonald, with whom we are on terms of close intimacy. We are surprised
at the changes that have come in a few years, and as we look back, we
often wonder if the folly of those bachelor days was not after all
profitable. Mr. Tescheron has lived long enough to believe it was.
To-day he is a charming father-in-law and grandpa, with an improved
sense of humor which has robbed him of his keen interest in ornithology,
for I heard him say he wished the Stukeville collection would burn up.
As for myself, I am not willing to intrude my family affairs here beyond
the statement that my days of gloom are over. I ceased to try, and--but
as I wanted to add, Gabrielle is clever at housekeeping along the most
approved scientific lines. Cooking she regards as a form of chemistry,
and she keeps scales in her kitchen to save good dishes from disaster
due to the reckless "pinch of this and pinch of that" system. What a
contrast with Jim's system of frying eggs! And the marvel of it is,
that, in spite of this hospital-like regularity and method, her little
dinners at her beautiful home in our model industrial community are
amazingly gratifying--solid in breadth and foundation, and alluringly
decorated with the ornamental bisque congealments founded on the froth
and frosting of beaten egg and whipped cream. My experience as a
housekeeper helps me to appreciate fine work in this department of life.
I should say that an epicure would make no mistake in marrying a woman
lawyer.
The one hundred and sixty-two letters and fitments I have preserved in a
leather-bound scrap-book. I have not the slightest idea what they would
be worth in the literary market, but I do know they brought us much joy
and sorrow, and I would not part with these flowery souvenirs of the
days of youth when all jokes seemed legitimate. They contained more
poetry than truth, I fear; but like good fiction, they brought me face
to face with some of the most interesting phases of life.
Oh, I forgot to add that Gabrielle's beautiful home was the father's
gift to the bride, estimated to cost just $10,572.68, but I know there
were many "extras." Was Gabrielle surprised at this? Why, she thinks I
am a wonderfully fine fellow, and so does Jim.
What does Hygeia think?
Well--ahem!
THE END
FOOTNOTES:
[A] These cuts were too blurred to reproduce.
[B] Acting under Section 1519 of the Poetic License Act, I have deducted
one eye from the flounder. He is about to lose both, anyway.