He took Lu to Chicago for the honeymoon, and Mose Greenebaum, who happened to be going up to town for his fall goods, got into the parlor car with them. By and by the porter came around and stopped beside Chauncey.
“Wouldn’t your daughter like a pillow under her head?” says he.
Chauncey just groaned. Then—“Git; you Senegambian son of darkness!” And the porter just naturally got.
Mose had been taking it all in, and now he went back to the smoking-room and passed the word along to the drummers there. Every little while one of them would lounge up the aisle to Chauncey and ask if he couldn’t lend his daughter a magazine, or give her an orange, or bring her a drink. And the language that he gave back in return for these courtesies wasn’t at all fitting in a bridegroom. Then Mose had another happy thought, and dropped off at a way station and wired the clerk at the Palmer House.
When they got to the hotel the clerk was on the lookout for them, and Chauncey hadn’t more than signed his name before he reached out over his diamond and said: “Ah, Mr. Hoskins; would you like to have your daughter near you?”
I simply mention Chauncey in passing as an example of the foolishness of thinking you can take any chances with a woman who has really decided that she wants to marry, or that you can average up matrimonial mistakes. And I want you to remember that marrying the wrong girl is the one mistake that you’ve got to live with all your life. I think, though, that if you tell Mabel what your assets are, she’ll decide she won’t be your particular mistake.
Your affectionate father,
John Graham.
No. 10