Three weeks ago, a plump, pretty, motherly lady of some 50 summers, was taken ill on her way from Albany, N. Y. to an evening party in Manhattan. Her husband. Governor Alfred Emanuel Smith of New York, hurried her to a hospital. "Appendicitis," said the doctors, and operated.
Mrs. Smith "did well." Soon she was sitting up in bed, surrounded by flowers, inquired after by throngs of distinguished callers, visited daily by the hardworking, wide-smiling, cigar-chewing man whom she kept from becoming an actor 30 years ago when his...
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