THE GREAT EUCHRE BOOM
By Charles Fleming Embree
To Euchretown, Los Angeles County, came Mr. Stoker and his wife. He bought ranches, and, strikingly dressed, drove about in the rubber-tired buggies of real-estate agents; while Mrs. Stoker, a handsome young woman, sniffed the social air. Just what should she do to win, with éclat, the commanding place in the local feminine view? For her no slow progress to social supremacy! Rather the Napoleonic sweeping away of rivals.
At that stage of its rise from a desert to a paradise Euchretown was belied by its name. A sombreness hovered over the thought of the place; the method of life was Puritanic. Euchre? One would have thought there was never a deck in the town.
“I don’t want to be un-Christian,” snapped the wife of Reverend Hummel; “but I wish that Mrs. Stoker had never stuck her foot in this town.”
Mrs. Hummel was out of place linked to a preacher. Fairly well had she clothed her mind in the prevalent Puritanic mood; but in her heart she was different. As for social leaders, she was the one, and she knew it.
“Why, Jennie,” complained the Reverend Hummel, a pale gentleman with eyes that ever bespoke a receptive surprise at his debts; “your words ring evil. And then the term you employed—stuck. How, pray, could Mrs. Stoker stick her foot?”
At this moment the maid (employed despite the mortgaged condition of Hummel’s real estate) ushered in Mrs. Banker Wheelock.
“And have you heard the news about Mrs. Stoker!” cried Mrs. Wheelock, as Mr. Hummel, wandering away, hummed “Throw Out the Life Line” in a fumbling voice. “Oh, haven’t you got an invitation?”
“What is it?” said Mrs. Hummel, darkly.