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A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME.
A Love Tale.
I.
"I won't do it--there!"
Miss ANGELINA VAVASOUR sat her little fat body down in a chair, slapped
her little fat hands upon her little fat knees, swelled her little fat
person until she looked like a big gooseberry just ready to burst, and
then turned her little fat red face up to Mr. JOHN SMITH, who was
standing before her.
"I regret," said Mr. J.S., "that you should refuse to be Mrs. JOHN
SMITH." (ANGELINA shuddered.) "Might I ask you why?"
"No," said she. "Say, my age."
"But I don't object to that," said J.S.
"Well, I won't," said ANGELINA, "that's all!"
J.S. rubbed the fur on his hat the wrong way, pulled up his shirt
collar, looked mournfully at the idol of his heart, and departed.
Why did she refuse him? Listen!
About a thousand or two years ago--well, perhaps we had better not go so
far back--anyhow, Miss VAVASOUR had ancestors, and she was proud of
them; she had a name, and she gloried in it; she had $100,000, and
therefore insisted on keeping her aristocratic name; she had kept it for
forty years, and was willing to take a contract for the rest of the job,
though she did feel that she needed a man to slide down the hill of time
with her, and she was rather fond of SMITH.
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