Montgomery County Sentinel

AN EXPERIMENT
IN MARRIAGE

By COSMO HAMILTON

©, by McClure Newspaper Syndicate
WNU Service

OHN WARRINGTON entered what he called his studio in his usual jaunty way. More jauntily than usual because he was cold with fright and horror at something that he had done. He was trying to hide that fact even from himself.

He went immediately to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. On this his secretary had pasted a cutting of an advertisement which had appeared in his favorite morning paper. With a crinkle up his spine and a feeling that his hair was rising on his head, he read the words of his own composition for the hundredth time.

WANTED.—A charming, alluring, but extremely sensible girl, with a keen sense of humor, the gift of keeping a secret, a deep sympathy, to act as a week-end companion to a man of rectitude; must provide proofs that she is eighteen years of age, of an unblemished character and high morality. Salary generous, dresses provided, all expenses paid. Must not sing or recite. Intelligence not wholly necessary. Applicant should apply at 2-A East 52nd Street, on Friday between ten and one.

Warrington was a playwright, who saw himself in terms of comedy and farce, who looked at life from the point of view of a manipulator of scenes. A delightful person, though, kind, considerate, loyal, supremely decent, deeply in love with his wife and very proud of his home. This scheme of a week-end girl was to show his wife, the beautiful Lallah, the gross disloyalty of running a gigolo. Acting on the assumption that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and also of ridicule, he had devised a plan of taking home a girl who would be even more attentive, sweet, sympathetic and snuggly than the Orlando Lulworth, commonly known as "Dodo," who followed his wife about. You see he had arrived at that state of matrimonial irritability, jealousy and outrage which makes such an experiment the alternative to a lamentable break.

His secretary's name was Pilgrim and her eyes were extremely cold as she greeted him. "There are twenty-two girls in the apartment," she said. "There would be sixty-two if I hadn't put a notice on the door which runs as follows: House full—standing room only now."

Warrington was aghast. What had he brought on himself? Feeling extremely frightened he studied a large sheet of paper on which the exemplary Miss Pilgrim had typed the names, ages, occupations and outward characteristics of all the applicants. The first entry ran like this: "Carlotta Potthast, eighteen (?), temporary blond, plucked eyebrows, Angora eyes, large hands, muscular calves, resonant voice, frequent laughter. Remarks—P.L.B.E.N."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand..."

"A person likely to be an extreme nuisance," Miss Pilgrim explained these mythical letters in a cold and level voice.

"So I should think," said John. With considerable concentration and a rapidly increasing fright, he read the rest of the entries, hot and cold by turns. He guessed N.D.E. stood for "No darned earthly," of course, and he felt the nasty sensation which comes to men in air raids and when they stand on altar steps during marriage ceremonies. He looked at the list, shut his eyes and blindly stabbed a name.

It was Betty Bickel, twenty, mediocre: A.C.O.F.I.

In answer to his elevated eyebrows, Miss Pilgrim translated these letters as "conveyor of false impressions," and added, "I think she ought to do. I'll send her in at once." And almost before our worried friend could adopt an attitude, the room was filled with a drenching whiff of most disturbing scent. Behind this entered a typical giggler with a permanent blush on both sides of a little nose which might have come out of a box of somewhat Turkish Delight. Such teeth! Such ruddy lips! She said immediately,

"Well, what's the great idea?"

John didn't answer her question. He asked her one instead. "What made you answer this advertisement?"

"Anything once," said she.

Which proved beyond all question that she wouldn't do. "On your way out be kind enough to leave your telephone number with my secretary," he said.

With a blinding flash of understanding she allowed a cloud of cigarette smoke to issue from her nose.

"Scratched," she said. "Well, you're making a mistake. As a week-end companion I should be quite unique."

She gave a skip and was gone.

Miss Pilgrim's voice was deep. "I suggest that you see the girl idiotically called Percy Piercy," she said. "She seems to possess every requisite for the—shall I say position?"

Although stung by her sarcasm, John took it like a man.

You see, he was all against divorce, and until the advent of Orlando, would have sworn in any court that he and the lovely Lallah were the happiest couple on earth.

"You have her down as 'Actress, experienced, possessed with what is coyly known as It.' Well, as I have got to do it I may as well do it well. I will see Miss Piercy, please."

In came one of the prettiest creatures he had ever seen in his life. A skin like that of a child into which came little rushes of color from time to time with the most astounding ease; eyes friendly and unsuspicious, filled with a simplicity which, though utterly convincing, was almost beyond belief. It was only when one looked at her mouth that one fell with a crash from confidence to a queer uncertainty.

"How-do-you-do?" she said. "I answer in every particular to the requirements set forth. Will you explain just what you mean by week-end companion, please?"

"Yes. I will," said John, "in the strictest confidence. Five years ago I fell in love and won the girl of my choice. She was and is the most charming, beautiful and sterling girl in the world. I'm an idealist, a fanatic, in fact, an old-fashioned man. That is, I detest divorce and regard marriage as the most beautiful thing in life. I have invented this scheme because my wife has been bitten by a microbe which is doing more to undermine marriage than any other bugs which attack the modern home. She has taken up the latest craze of adopting a young man who dances to perfection, utters words of fatuous flattery at all times of day, carries little parcels and takes the dog for a run. It is the new profession for every man with curly hair who simply refuses to work. I detest the little beast. I stumble over his well-shod feet in every room of my house. It's Dodo. Do-do, Dodo, all the blessed time. I simply hate to go home."

"Why don't you kick him out?"

"I can only do that if I go in for a frightful row with my wife, and I'm too much in love with her to do anything like that."

"I see," said Percy Piercy.

Everything's quite clear. I'm to be the female Dodo and shock your wife into realization that the poor old worm has turned. The role of the week-end girl is right down my street."

John clasped her outstretched hand.

"Yes," he said. "You are to do for me, only twice as well and twice as horribly, what this wretched Dodo does for my demented wife. You are to drive home with me today and commence proceedings at once, be wholly at my disposal, follow me about, treat me as your pet whenever my wife is present, snuggle and adore and say all the sweetly idiotic things that will make even Lallah squirm."

It would be too rash to report exactly what happened during those dreadful days. It must be stated simply and carefully that John and Percy ran about hand in hand, allowed themselves to be caught in petting postures and cooed all over the house; sat cheek to cheek in public places and sighed when the moon came out. It was a desperate and horrible business played to perfection by both. It almost went to prove that John was a better actor than he was a dramatist.

By twelve o'clock on Sunday John was "Squoosalums" to Percy and Percy was "Woozy" to John. Oh, lady, think of that!

But when on Monday morning John's car was brought to the door and Lallah stood framed in the archway, there to say good-by, where was "Woozy”—where? Echo answered the word.

Did it matter in any case? The experiment had failed. John had worked for nothing. He had provided his wife with a week-end of ceaseless laughter and fun. She had said at the end of breakfast, "Do it again, dear boy. Repeat it all next Friday. It's all too gorgeous for words. Percy, you little wonder, you have the run of the house."

"Smithson, where's Miss Piercy?"

Failure or not, it was John's job to drive that lady back.

"Miss Piercy left in a station taxi, sir, while you were up in your room."

To which was added a perceptible sigh of relief.

"You must be wrong," said Lallah, showing her beautiful teeth.

"No, madam. Mr. Lulworth phoned for the taxi before going in to breakfast and then drove off with Miss Piercy, sir. I put all his baggage in. Miss Piercy left a note for madam. Would you like me to fetch it, sir?"

Lallah took the letter from Simpson's soft, plump hand. "Your little companion tells me," she said, "briefly and rather well, that she and dear old Dodo had a conference last night. He has a friend, it appears, who's been trying to cast a play, and Dodo came to the conclusion, having watched her work with you, that she was born for the part and he's going to take her to the manager and ask for the part of the boy. I'll read these lines to you. 'Dodo and I are soul-mates and this engagement will lead to wedding bells.'"

There was a ripple of laughter as the letter fluttered down.

"Camouflage," thought John. "Poor Lallah's deeply hurt."

With indescribable gallantry he went to her at once. "I'm awfully sorry," he said. "But it's as easy to find a Dodo as it is to buy a dog. I swear I never supposed that Percy would take him away from you. What do you intend to do?"

Lallah continued to laugh, and as it went on it grew warmer and more like the laughter of the Lallah of those once good days, the sensible, wifely Lallah to whom John went home with joy.

"I intend to be unfashionable, John," she said, "and drop gigolos—or start a newer fashion and take up with my husband again. You know, this may be a wonderful day for husbands and bring back joy to homes! Imitation is the sincerest—but of course you know the rest."

Poor dear old choking John! If he never had a success in the theater he was to have a long run in his house.