The Galleon, Volume 1, Number 1, December 1924 Page: 31
41 p. : ill. ; 22 cm.View a full description of this periodical.
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THE GALLEON
THE SINGER.
Mr. John J. Cromwell, fat,
lazy, and middle-aged, sat in an
easy rocker, smoking a twenty-
five-cent cigar. His home pap-
er, "The New York Times,"
which he had been reading, lay
in his lap.
"Well, well, well," he mused
to himself, his lips'slightly curl-
ed! at one corner. "So this is
what women cause. They are
forever and eternally chasing
after men for their money; and
when they do get what they
want, they don't want what
they get after all. I'm glad I'm
away from that society bunch
of women, and can at least en-
joy a few week's rest.Di vorces,
divorces!! This paper is full of
'em. And yes-they can all be
traced right back to the woman.
Everyone! If the men would
see the things I do, they would
leave the abominable women
alone !"
He threw down his cigar in
disgust, let his paper slide to
the floor, stretched his legs at
full length, and.leaned back in
his chair to think.
Mr. Cromwell had left his ele-
gant bachelor apartment in New
York City to come to Texas for
a few weeks' vacation. His re-
cent political affairs had un-
nerved him to such an extent
that his doctor advised the sea-
shore for rest. Therefore, he
chose Corpus Christi as an ideal
resort. Much to his satisfaction
he succeeded) in obtaining rooms
in a beautiful, old-fashioned
boarding house within walking
distance of the bay. He was
pleased with his surroundings
for several reasons, but the one
in particular was that there
were no women (or he had seen
none those few hours since his i
arrival) fluttering about callinghim "John, ol' deah," "Dear Mr.
Cromwell," "Good ol' Sport" or
"Sweet Angel." No, far from
that-everything was heavenly.
While he was thinking of how
lucky he was, he dozed off into
sweet sleep.
"Bang!"
Mr. Cromwell jumped as if he
were shot and gazed blankly in-
to space, He listened.
"Sounded like a door," he
thought, "but why can't people
have a little respect for oth-
ers?"
The next moment he heard
someone moving about in the
next room. Then that some one
began singing. It was a femin-
ine voice-sweet and melodious.
"I may be yours some day," she
sang.
"Well, I'll swear!" he mutter-
ed. "I hope to Heaven I won't
have to put up with that noise
all the time. I thought I had
escaped them, but here I am
within ten feet of one."
He began chewing his cigar
again, and listening with his
head inclined toward the next
room.
"She's probably one of those
noisy, painted-up vamps, who
does nothing but chase after
men. Well, I'll show her im-
mediately where I stand-I will;
ar:l I won't be long about it
either. One of us will pack our
suit cases before the day is
gone. But-well, I'll swear."
The singing continued, and
with it came the sound of two
perfectly good feet keeping
time.
"Well, I'll swear !" he mutter-
ed again, and by this time he
had become so disgusted that he
arose from his easy chair, re-
lighted his cigar, straightened
his black tie, and walked out of
his room like Napoleon prepared?31
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McMurry College. The Galleon, Volume 1, Number 1, December 1924, periodical, December 1924; Abilene, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth137771/m1/31/: accessed May 15, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting McMurry University Library.