There was little Annie Hoffmeyer. Her pa was a carpenter and doing well.
But Annie couldn't get into the Kokomo Ladies' Literary Club, and her
name didn't show up in the society column four or five times every
Saturday morning, so she got her pa to give her the money to marry Artie
Seymour, the minister's son--and a _regular_ minister's son he was!
Almost broke Hoffmeyer's heart, but he let her have her way and went in
debt and bought them a little house on North Main Street. That was two
years ago. Annie's workin' at the depoe candy-stand now and Artie's
workin' at the hotel bar--in front--drinking up what's left of old
Hoffmeyer's--settlement!
ETHEL [outraged]. And you say you understand--you who couple the name of
a tippling yokel with that of a St. Aubyn--a gentleman of distinction.
PIKE. Distinction? I didn't know he was distinguished.
ETHEL [in a ringing voice]. His ancestors have fought with glory on
every field of battle from Crecy and Agincourt to the Crimea.
PIKE. But you won't _see_ much of his _ancestors_.
ETHEL. He bears their name.
PIKE [with authority and dignity]. Yes--and it's the _name_ you want.
Nobody could look at you and not know it wasn't _him_. It's the _name_!
And I'd let you buy it if it would make you happy--if you didn't have to
take the people with it.
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