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Updated: May 31, 2025
How would you like her to be flirting with your Tom?" "Oh, it is quite immodest, talking so, Mrs. Dodd!" replied the meek lady, flushing scarlet. "Why, no one would ever think of such things a girl to flirt with a married man!" "That's all you know about it, Mrs. Broun. I tell you that girl will upset your home yet! Mark my words; but I'll not have her running after Wullie, anyway."
Broun put her hand on my arm in sympathy, but I annihilated her with a look as I swept back to my seat, and soon my guests were once more in their places. Then it was that Antony exerted himself to amuse this company. With the most admirable tact and self-composure, he kept the whole party entertained for half an hour.
I remained in haughty silence. I feared I should burst into screams of laughter if I attempted speech. Miss Springle had evaded us at the last minute, and could be seen once more by Mr. Dodd's side as we drove past the shooters again on the road. A meek woman, sister of Mr. McCormack, a Mrs. Broun by name, who had quietly stood by her husband and had not been in any one's way, now caught Mrs.
"Like all great ideas, it was simple. Broun figures that what we need to do is to convince Schneider we have wonderful prospects and so Schneider will give us back our credit. So Broun sits down that day and all day and most of the night he paints. I think it was the last canvas he had in the studio, too. And a big one. You know all of Broun's landscapes are big.
It was clear that "in many a tempest had his beard be shake," and certainly "the hote somer had made his hew all broun;" but farther the likeness would hardly go, for the "good fellow" which Chaucer applies with such irony to the shipman of his time, who would filch wine, and drown all the captives he made in a sea-fight, was clearly applicable in good earnest to this shipman.
"Then Broun and I go to the bank and draw out our $10 which we have saved up for a rainy day. And we go down town and get the picture insured for $2,000. You can imagine Schneider. We bring the insurance gink out there and when he gives us the policy and we show it to Schneider well, our credit is re-established. Herring, rye bread, roast beef, pickles and cheese once more. We eat.
'Max, says Broun, 'We go around the world together. And I saw a suit today and a cane I must have. "But we couldn't talk. We walk slowly to the beer saloon. We walk already like plutocrats, arm in arm, and our faces with a faraway look. We are spending the two thousand, you can imagine. "The saloon is burning fine. Everything is going up in smoke. Broun and I, we hold on to each other.
"Well, he paints and paints, and when he is finished we take the picture to Schneider, the two of us carrying it. I tell Schneider that it is one of the old masters which we just received from Berlin from my father's studio. Then Broun says that Schneider must keep it in his place. It is too valuable to hang in our attic. Schneider looks at the picture and, it being so big, he half believes it.
It is the only thing I save out of the whole saloon. And he wrings Broun's hand, and I say, 'thanks. That night, all night long, I played Beethoven. The Ninth Symphony is good for feelings such as mine and Broun's." It is cooler in the Art Institute and Max, smiling in memory of other days, looks at the Broun exhibition.
Literature and the Bastinado. The Woman's Place. Owed to Volstead. The Censorship of Thought. The Uninhibited Flapper. The Wowzer in the South Seas. Reformers: A Hymn of Hate. Prohibition. A Guess at Unwritten History. In Vino Demi-Tasse. Bootleg. And the Playwright. George S. Chappell demonstrating his Outline of Censorship. Heywood Broun finds America suffering from a dearth of Folly.
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