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Updated: June 8, 2025
It was a fortuitous thing that Anna Roth should invite Angela and himself, as well as his father and mother, to her house to dinner. On one occasion when Frieda was visiting at the Witla homestead, Angela thought Frieda stepped away from Eugene in a curiously disturbed manner when she came into the parlor. She was not sure.
Naturally he looked at the different advertising men working for various publications, and quickly came to the name of Eugene Witla. The latter was rumored to be making a shining success of his work. He was well liked where he was. Two different business men told Colfax that they had met him and that he was exceptionally clever.
"Burgess says he might give you a position as a type-setter or a reporter on the Appeal if you'd come in and see him some day," he explained, looking over to where his son was reading by the lamp. "Does he?" replied Eugene calmly. "Well, I can't write. I might set type. Did you ask him?" "Yes," said Witla. "You'd better go to him some day." Eugene bit his lip.
Witla," MacHugh said to Angela when she came back to the fire. He was essaying portraiture as a side line and he was anxious for good opportunities to practice. Angela thrilled at the invitation, and the use of her new name, Mrs. Witla, by Eugene's old friends. "I'd be delighted," she replied, flushing. "My word, you look nice, Angel-Face," exclaimed Marietta, catching her about the waist.
Eugene Tennyson seemed rather strong to Witla père, as the name of a middle-western American boy, but he loved his wife and gave her her way in most things. He rather liked the names of Sylvia and Myrtle with which she had christened the two girls.
He was thinking of his last conversation with Angela, when she said she would do nothing. "Is your mother likely to call you up?" "I think not. Mama doesn't usually bother when she knows where I am going. If she does, they'll simply say I haven't come yet. Will Mrs. Witla tell her, if she calls up there?" "I think not," he said. "No, I'm sure she won't. Angela wants time to think.
It couldn't be that Suzanne was interested in some man. The only person she cared much about was Eugene Witla, and he was married and only friendly in a brotherly, guardian-like way. "Now, Suzanne," she said determinedly, "I'm not going to have you talk nonsense. This trip will be a delightful thing for you once you have started.
Still it may be a good thing for you. You're always welcome here, you know." "I know," said Eugene. They went finally to the train together, he and his father and Myrtle. His mother couldn't. She stayed to cry. On the way to the depot they stopped at Sylvia's. "Why, Eugene," she exclaimed, "how ridiculous! Don't go." "He's set," said Witla. Eugene finally got loose.
It is the high-born prerogative of tea servers to grin occasionally, but never, never, never under any circumstances whatsoever " Suzanne's lips were beginning to part ravishingly in anticipation of a burst of laughter. "What's all the excitement about, Witla?" asked Skalger, who had drifted to his side. "Why this sudden cessation of progress?" "Tea, my son, tea!" said Eugene.
Witla liked live things, so there were a canary bird, a cat, some chickens, and a bird house set aloft on a pole where a few blue-birds made their home. It was a nice little place, and Mr. and Mrs. Witla were rather proud of it. Miriam Witla was a good wife to her husband.
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