Stanley Doble
Call Me a Cab
- Messages
- 2,808
- Location
- Cobourg
A while back there were a number of posts airing the idea that women of the golden age were poor downtrodden spineless ciphers with no power and no mind of their own.
This sure didn't describe my grandmother, or my great aunts (all born between 1880 and 1900). It seems to be a modern conceit that first arose in the 1970s.
Be that as it may, I was reading a novel by Rex Beach called Flowing Gold published in 1922. It is about a dirt poor farm family from Oklahoma who strike it rich in the oil boom.
There is a very funny chapter that takes place at a luxury resort. A dancing teacher steals a kiss from the young daughter of the family. So she slaps him down then drags him across the floor and throws him out a second story window. When her father hears of the affair, he sets out to kill him. Quite a family.
See for yourself.
The dancing master was tall and slim, his face was on a level with hers, and now he smiled into it, saying, “My mistake, my dear.”
“I reckon it was.” The girl’s eyes were glowing queerly, and the man was amused at her evident agitation. His first word had thrown the poor thing into a flurry.
They began to dance again, and, after a moment, with a gently rising inflection, Delamater murmured, “You heard what I called you?” He approved of the sachet that Allie used, and he became acutely conscious of the jewels resting in the palm of his left hand. The girl was rich and she was different, unusual. Ever since she had learned to yield herself to his embrace, he had been conscious of her strong physical attraction, and now it got the better of him. “You don’t care?” he said, with his lips close to her ear.
“Humph! I’m not caring for anything or anybody to-day.”
“Somebody has hurt my little girl.”
Allie threw back her head and stared at him with quick suspicion. “Your little girl?” she repeated.
It is the lot of any man in the heat of his desire to make mistakes, and Delamater erred gravely at this moment. He kissed Allie. Without warning he kissed her full and fair upon her red, half-open lips.
For the briefest instant of amazement the two stood motionless in the middle of the polished floor while the phonograph brayed on; then Allie shook herself free of her partner, and in the same movement she smote him a mighty slap that sent him reeling. Delamater saw stars. The constellation of Orion gleamed in dazzling splendor within his tightly shut lids; he collided with a chair and went sprawling.
With a cry he scrambled to his feet. “What the hell ?” he growled, savagely.
Allie’s face was chalky. Breathlessly, curiously she inquired, “Wha’d you do that for?”
“What did I do it for? Say! You ought to be complimented tickled to death.” Delamater rubbed his cheek and glared at her. “By God! I wish you were a man. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t touch you again! Who the hell would, after that?” Allie opened her lips to speak, but he ran on more angrily as the pain bit into him. “Thought I meant it, eh? Why, you lumbering ox ”
“Then you ain’t in love with me or or anything?”
“Love?” The speaker uttered an unpleasant sound indicative of scorn. “Wake up, sister! What d’you take me for? Why, your mother talks bird talk, and your dad lives in a box stall and eats oats with his knife! Here I kid you along a little bit slip you a little kiss, as I would any girl, and you you ” Delamater stuttered impotently. “Love? I guess I’m the first regular fellow that ever gave you a chance.”
Delamater was surprised when his pupil turned her back upon him, strode to the nearest window, and flung it open as if for air; his surprise deepened when she faced him again and moved in his direction. Her expression caused him to utter a profane warning, but she continued to bear down upon him, and when she reached out to seize him he struck at her as he would have struck at a man.
The silence was broken by a cry. Out of the air overhead came the sound of a disturbance, and every face turned. A most amazing thing was in the way of happening, a phenomenon unique in the history of tournaments, for a man was being thrust forth from one of the hotel windows, perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground a writhing, struggling, kicking man with fawn-colored spats. He was being ejected painlessly but firmly, and by a girl a grim-faced young woman of splendid proportions. For a moment she allowed him to dangle; then she dropped him into a handsome Dorothy Perkins rosebush. He landed with a shriek. Briefly the amazon remained framed in the casement, staring with dark defiance down into the upturned faces; her deep bosom was heaving, her smoky hair was slightly disarranged; she allowed her eyes to rest upon the figure entangled among the thorns beneath her, then she closed the window.
............................
“She chucked the dancin’ teacher out of a winder?” he repeated, blankly. “What for?”
“Goodness knows, Mr. Briskow! Something he said, or did I couldn’t make out precisely. I found her in a dreadful state, and I tried to comfort her, I did really, but oh! If you could have heard her! Where she learned such language I don’t know. My ears burn! But that isn’t the worst; you should hear what ”
“He must of said something pretty low down.” Briskow spoke quietly; his bright blue eyes were hard. “I reckon she’ll tell me.”
“You don’t understand,” chattered the woman. “She flung the man bodily out of the window and into a bed of thorns. It nearly killed him; he was painfully lacerated and bruised and Right in the middle of a golf game! It did something dreadful I don’t know what just as the world’s champion caught the ball, or something.”
“If he’s crippled I’ll get him that much easier,” said Briskow, and at the purposeful expression upon his weather-beaten face Mrs. Ring uttered a faint bleat of terror. She pawed at him as he undertook to pass her.
“Oh, my heavens! What are you going to do?”
“Depends on what he said to Allie.”
The woman wrung her hands. “What people! What savages! You’re going to shoot him, I suppose, just because ”
“Yes’m!” the father nodded. “You got it right, motif an’ all. ’Just because’!”
This sure didn't describe my grandmother, or my great aunts (all born between 1880 and 1900). It seems to be a modern conceit that first arose in the 1970s.
Be that as it may, I was reading a novel by Rex Beach called Flowing Gold published in 1922. It is about a dirt poor farm family from Oklahoma who strike it rich in the oil boom.
There is a very funny chapter that takes place at a luxury resort. A dancing teacher steals a kiss from the young daughter of the family. So she slaps him down then drags him across the floor and throws him out a second story window. When her father hears of the affair, he sets out to kill him. Quite a family.
See for yourself.
The dancing master was tall and slim, his face was on a level with hers, and now he smiled into it, saying, “My mistake, my dear.”
“I reckon it was.” The girl’s eyes were glowing queerly, and the man was amused at her evident agitation. His first word had thrown the poor thing into a flurry.
They began to dance again, and, after a moment, with a gently rising inflection, Delamater murmured, “You heard what I called you?” He approved of the sachet that Allie used, and he became acutely conscious of the jewels resting in the palm of his left hand. The girl was rich and she was different, unusual. Ever since she had learned to yield herself to his embrace, he had been conscious of her strong physical attraction, and now it got the better of him. “You don’t care?” he said, with his lips close to her ear.
“Humph! I’m not caring for anything or anybody to-day.”
“Somebody has hurt my little girl.”
Allie threw back her head and stared at him with quick suspicion. “Your little girl?” she repeated.
It is the lot of any man in the heat of his desire to make mistakes, and Delamater erred gravely at this moment. He kissed Allie. Without warning he kissed her full and fair upon her red, half-open lips.
For the briefest instant of amazement the two stood motionless in the middle of the polished floor while the phonograph brayed on; then Allie shook herself free of her partner, and in the same movement she smote him a mighty slap that sent him reeling. Delamater saw stars. The constellation of Orion gleamed in dazzling splendor within his tightly shut lids; he collided with a chair and went sprawling.
With a cry he scrambled to his feet. “What the hell ?” he growled, savagely.
Allie’s face was chalky. Breathlessly, curiously she inquired, “Wha’d you do that for?”
“What did I do it for? Say! You ought to be complimented tickled to death.” Delamater rubbed his cheek and glared at her. “By God! I wish you were a man. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t touch you again! Who the hell would, after that?” Allie opened her lips to speak, but he ran on more angrily as the pain bit into him. “Thought I meant it, eh? Why, you lumbering ox ”
“Then you ain’t in love with me or or anything?”
“Love?” The speaker uttered an unpleasant sound indicative of scorn. “Wake up, sister! What d’you take me for? Why, your mother talks bird talk, and your dad lives in a box stall and eats oats with his knife! Here I kid you along a little bit slip you a little kiss, as I would any girl, and you you ” Delamater stuttered impotently. “Love? I guess I’m the first regular fellow that ever gave you a chance.”
Delamater was surprised when his pupil turned her back upon him, strode to the nearest window, and flung it open as if for air; his surprise deepened when she faced him again and moved in his direction. Her expression caused him to utter a profane warning, but she continued to bear down upon him, and when she reached out to seize him he struck at her as he would have struck at a man.
The silence was broken by a cry. Out of the air overhead came the sound of a disturbance, and every face turned. A most amazing thing was in the way of happening, a phenomenon unique in the history of tournaments, for a man was being thrust forth from one of the hotel windows, perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground a writhing, struggling, kicking man with fawn-colored spats. He was being ejected painlessly but firmly, and by a girl a grim-faced young woman of splendid proportions. For a moment she allowed him to dangle; then she dropped him into a handsome Dorothy Perkins rosebush. He landed with a shriek. Briefly the amazon remained framed in the casement, staring with dark defiance down into the upturned faces; her deep bosom was heaving, her smoky hair was slightly disarranged; she allowed her eyes to rest upon the figure entangled among the thorns beneath her, then she closed the window.
............................
“She chucked the dancin’ teacher out of a winder?” he repeated, blankly. “What for?”
“Goodness knows, Mr. Briskow! Something he said, or did I couldn’t make out precisely. I found her in a dreadful state, and I tried to comfort her, I did really, but oh! If you could have heard her! Where she learned such language I don’t know. My ears burn! But that isn’t the worst; you should hear what ”
“He must of said something pretty low down.” Briskow spoke quietly; his bright blue eyes were hard. “I reckon she’ll tell me.”
“You don’t understand,” chattered the woman. “She flung the man bodily out of the window and into a bed of thorns. It nearly killed him; he was painfully lacerated and bruised and Right in the middle of a golf game! It did something dreadful I don’t know what just as the world’s champion caught the ball, or something.”
“If he’s crippled I’ll get him that much easier,” said Briskow, and at the purposeful expression upon his weather-beaten face Mrs. Ring uttered a faint bleat of terror. She pawed at him as he undertook to pass her.
“Oh, my heavens! What are you going to do?”
“Depends on what he said to Allie.”
The woman wrung her hands. “What people! What savages! You’re going to shoot him, I suppose, just because ”
“Yes’m!” the father nodded. “You got it right, motif an’ all. ’Just because’!”
