The Eternal Feminine

Carolyn Wells

Carolyn Wells

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 suppose I may as well take it all at once. What do you think?”

“I think probably your father meant for you to take only a part of it at a time.”

“Yes; I think so, too. He said it would teach me business habits. He chose this bank because you have a special department for ladies. But if this is it, I don’t think much of it. To be sure the plate glass and mahogany are all right, – but it looks like �put up complete for $74.99.’ Don’t you think Mission furniture and Chintz would be cozier? Yes, yes, I’ll draw my check! Do give me a mo