Not Running a Keeley Cure
The following story recently appeared in the Woman’s Journal: “At our hotel, where some of us were stopping a little while ago, was a beautiful young girl, educated, clever, thoroughly ‘up to date.’ A handsome fellow was paying her the most devoted attention, whenever he was sober enough to do so, and all of us felt very anxious lest his attractive manners and lavish display of wealth should win the girl. Late one evening she came into my room, and, settling herself among the pillows of the couch, said, ‘John proposed to-night; went down on his knees, said I was the only power on earth that could save him; and if I didn’t consent to be his wife, he should fill a drunkard’s grave.’ ‘What did you say?’ I asked breathlessly. ‘Well,’ she replied, ‘I told him that I was not running a Keeley cure; but if he really wished to be saved, I would give him the addresses of several which I had heard highly recommended.’”