In order to develop the films a picturesque assortment of drugs and
chemicals have to be used.
Well, my wife had used them.
A silent little stream of wood alcohol was trickling down over her
left ear into her Psyche knot, and on the end of her nose about six
grains of bichloride of potash was sending out signals of distress
to some spirits of turpentine which was burning on the top of her
right eyebrow.
Something dark and lingering like iodine had given her chin the
double cross and her apron looked like the remnants of a porous
plaster.
Her right hand had red, white, green, purple and magenta marks all
over it, and her left hand looked like the Fourth of July.
"John!" she yelled; "here it is! My goodness, I am so excited!
See what a fine picture of you I took!"
She handed me the picture, but all I could see was a wood-shed with
the door wide open.
"A good picture of the woodshed," I said; "but whose woodshed is
it?"
"A wood-shed!" exclaimed my wife; "why, that is your face, John.
And where you think the door is open is only your mouth!"
I looked crestfallen and then I looked at the picture again, but my
better nature asserted itself and I made no attempt to strike this
defenceless woman.
Then she handed me another picture and said, "John, here is one I
took of you and little Peaches!"
Little Peaches is the name of our baby.
We call her Little Peaches because that's what she is.
I looked at the picture and then I said to big Peaches, "All I can
see is Theodore, our colored gardener, walking across lots with a
sack of flour on his back!"
"John, you are so stupid," said my wife. "How can you expect to
see what it is when you are holding the picture upside down?"
I turned the picture around, and then I was quite agreeably
surprised.
"It's immense!" I shouted. "It's the real thing, all right! Why
this is aces! I suppose it is called 'Moonlight On Lake
Champlain?' Did this one come with the camera or did you draw it
from memory?"
"The idea of such a thing," my wife snapped; "can't you see that
you're holding the picture the wrong way. Turn it around and you
will see yourself and Little Peaches!"
I gave the thing another turn. "Gee whiz!" I said, "now I have it!
Oh, the limit! You wished to surprise me with a picture of the
sunset at Governor's Island. How lovely it is. See, over here in
this corner there's a bunch of soldiers listening to what's cooking
for supper, and over here is the smoke from the gun that sets the
sun--I like it!"
Then my wife grabbed the picture out of my hands and burst into
speech.
When the exercises were over I inquired casually, "Where, my dear,
where are the other 21,219 pictures you snapped to-day?"
"Only these two came out good because, don't you see, I'm an
amateur yet," was her come back.
Then she looked lovingly at the result of her days work and began
to peel some bicarbonate of magnesia off her knuckles with the nut
cracker.
"Only two out of 21,219--I think you ought to call it a long shot
instead of a snap shot," I whispered, after I had dodged behind a
tree on the lawn.
She went in the house without saying a word and I took out my
pocketbook and looked at it wistfully.