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The Floating Press - Edward Bellamy

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16 pages

English

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In this charming tale from American author Edward Bellamy, a group of young friends strikes upon a novel idea for a get-together: they decide to pretend it is 50 years in the future and adopt clothing, behaviors, opinions and mannerisms reflecting what they predict their older selves will be like.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776537617
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0064€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE OLD FOLKS' PARTY
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EDWARD BELLAMY

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The Old Folks' Party First published in 1898 Epub ISBN 978-1-77653-761-7 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77653-762-4 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
The Old Folks' Party
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"And now what shall we do next Wednesday evening?" said Jessie Hyde, ina business-like tone. "It is your turn, Henry, to suggest."
Jessie was a practical, energetic young lady, whose blue eyes neverrelapsed into the dreaminess to which that color is subject. Shefurnished the "go" for the club. Especially she furnished the "go" forHenry Long, who had lots of ideas, but without her to stir him up was asdull as a flint without a steel.
There were six in the club, and all were present to-night in Jessie'sparlor. The evening had been given to a little music, a little dancing,a little card-playing, and a good deal of talking. It was near the hourset by the club rule for the adjournment of its reunions, and the partyhad drawn their chairs together to consult upon the weekly recurringquestion, what should be done at the next meeting by way of specialorder of amusement. The programmes were alternately reading, singing,dancing, whist; varied with evenings of miscellaneous sociality likethat which had just passed. The members took turns in suggestingrecreations. To-night it was Henry Long's turn, and to him accordinglythe eyes of the group turned at Jessie's question.
"Let's have an old folks' party," was his answer.
Considering that all of the club were yet at ages when they celebratedtheir birthdays with the figure printed on the cake, the suggestionseemed sufficiently irrelevant.
"In that case," said Frank Hays, "we shall have to stay at home."
Frank was an alert little fellow, with a jaunty air, to whom, by tacitconsent, all the openings for jokes were left, as he had a taste thatway.
"What do you mean, Henry?" inquired George Townsley, a thick-set, sedateyoung man, with an intelligent, but rather phlegmatic look.
"My idea is this," said Henry, leaning back in his chair, with his handsclasped behind his head, and his long legs crossed before him. "Let usdress up to resemble what we expect to look like fifty years hence, andstudy up our demeanor to correspond with what we expect to be and feellike at that time, and just call on Mary next Wednesday evening to talkover old times, and recall what we can, if anything, of our vanishedyouth, and the days when we belonged to the social club at C——."
The others seemed rather puzzled in spite of the explanation. Jessie satlooking at Henry in a brown study as she traced out his meaning.
"You mean a sort of ghost party," said she finally; "ghosts of thefuture, instead of ghosts of the past."
"That's it exactly," answered he. "Ghosts of the future are the onlysort worth heeding. Apparitions of things past are a very unpracticalsort of demonology, in my opinion, compared with apparitions of thingsto come."
"How in the world did such an odd idea come into your head?" askedpretty Nellie Tyrrell, whose dancing black eyes were the most piquantof interrogation points, with which it was so delightful to be puncturedthat people were generally slow to gratify her curiosity.