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    The Eternal Feminine
    The Eternal Feminine
    The Eternal Feminine
    Ebook60 pages48 minutes

    The Eternal Feminine

    By Carolyn Wells

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    About this ebook

    Carolyn Wells (June 18, 1862 – March 26, 1942) was an American author and poet.

    Wells wrote a total of more than 170 books. At the beginning of her writing career she focused on poetry on children’s books. Later in her career she devoted herself to the mystery genre.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBooks on Demand
    Release dateOct 26, 2015
    ISBN9783738645088
    The Eternal Feminine
    Author

    Carolyn Wells

    Carolyn Wells (1862-1942) was an American poet, librarian, and mystery writer. Born in Rahway, New Jersey, Wells began her career as a children’s author with such works as At the Sign of the Sphinx (1896), The Jingle Book (1899), and The Story of Betty (1899). After reading a mystery novel by Anna Katharine Green, Wells began focusing her efforts on the genre and found success with her popular Detective Fleming Stone stories. The Clue (1909), her most critically acclaimed work, cemented her reputation as a leading mystery writer of the early twentieth century. In 1918, Wells married Hadwin Houghton, the heir of the Houghton-Mifflin publishing fortune, and remained throughout her life an avid collector of rare and important poetry volumes.

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      Book preview

      The Eternal Feminine - Carolyn Wells

      Table Of Contents

      The Eternal Feminine

      AT THE LOST-AND-FOUND DESK

      TOOTIE AT THE BANK

      THE DRESSMAKER IN THE HOUSE

      THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

      A NEW RECRUIT

      SHOPPING FOR POSTAGE STAMPS

      AT THE BRIDGE TABLE

      SHE GOES SHOPPING

      A QUIET AFTERNOON

      TAKING CARE OF UNCLE

      IN THE DEPARTMENT STORE

      THE HOUSEWIFE’S HELPER

      MRS. LESTER’S HOBBLETTE

      AT THE COOKING CLASS

      ÆSOP UP TO DATE

      Copyright

      The Eternal Feminine

      AT THE LOST-AND-FOUND DESK

      Yes, that’s my bag. I left it at the lace counter. Thank you. Please give it to me. What? I must prove property? Why, don’t you see it’s mine? That twisty silver monogram on the side is really E. C. S. That’s my name, Ella C. Saunders. I told Jim I thought the letters were too wiggly to be easily read, but I never thought anybody’d want to read it but me. Describe contents? Why, of course I can describe the contents! In one pocket is a sample of lace, just Platte Val, you know, not an expensive lace, and with it—I think it’s with it—is a sample of rose-colored crêpe de Chine—that is, not exactly rose-colored—sort of crushed plummish or burnt magenta—but no—come to think, I left those samples with my dressmaker. Well, anyway, there’s a Subway ticket—or let me see, did I use that coming down? I believe I did! Well, there’s a little memorandum card that slips in—the celluloid sort, you know. No, there’s nothing written on it. I don’t use it because, though they pretend you can wash them like a slate, you can’t. They just smudge. What do you mean by saying I haven’t told a definite thing yet? I’ve told you lots! Well, there’s some money—I don’t know how much; some chicken feed, as Jim calls it—and a five-dollar bill, I think—oh no—I paid that to the butcher. Well, there must be a one-dollar bill—two, maybe. Oh, and there’s a little pencil, a goldy-looking one; it came with the bag. And some powder-papers—those leaves, you know; but I believe I did use the last one yesterday at the matinée. Oh, dear, how fussy you are! I tell you it’s my bag; I recognize it myself. Can’t I tell you of some personal belongings in it so you’ll be sure? Why, yes, of course I can. My visiting-card, Mrs. James L. Saunders, is in that small inside pocket.

      Why didn’t I tell you that in the first place? Why, you rattled me so; and besides, I thought I had to tell of my own little individual properties, like samples and tickets and things. Anybody might have her visiting-card in her bag!

      TOOTIE AT THE BANK

      Oh, how do you do? Are you the Paying Teller? Well,—that is,—could I please see somebody else? You see, I’ve just opened an account, and I want to get some of my money out. There’s the loveliest hat in Featherton’s window, marked down to—but, that’s just it! If I get my money from a Professional Teller, he’ll tell all about my private affairs, and how much I pay for my hats, and everything!

      Not at all, Miss. We are called Tellers because we never tell anything about our depositors’ affairs. We’re not allowed to.

      Oh, how lovely! Well, then,—if you won’t tell—I’ve never drawn a check before, and I don’t know how! Will you help me?

      Certainly; but I must ask you to make haste. Have you a check-book?

      How curt you are! I thought you’d like to help me. Men ‘most always do. Yes, I have a check-book,—that other clerk gave it to me. But I don’t like it, and I want to exchange it. See,—it has a horrid, plain black muslin cover! Don’t you have any bound in gray suède, with gilt edges. I’m willing to pay extra.

      We have no other kind, Miss. How much money do you want?

      "Why, I don’t know. You see, Daddy put a thousand dollars in this bank for me. I

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