The Emporia news. [volume] (Emporia, Kan.) 1859-1881, 1877-01-19
Hutton's wife. And what that wo-
man endures-it's just dreadful.

ulAH SuuuFSS-kl 5 just uEtdu 4 us
Now Kitty.
1t is, Jack. VIII reads all his fine
articles to her. wakes her mp at nigh
to listen to some new poem, PUSHES
away from the dinner table TO ioi
down what he calls an idea, is al
ways pointing splendid passages &c
her, and keeps her working just like
slave copying mis- manuscripts and
cutting newspapers to pieces. Oh,
it ia just dreadful!
But she thoroughly enjoys it.
| Yes: that is such a shame. Will
has quite spoiled her. Lucy used
to be real nice-a jolly, stylish girl
Before she was married she was
splendid company; now you might
just as well NOPE along with book.
Kitty, I'D promise you On my
honor lat the altar, if you like
never to bother you with anything
[ write; never to say word about
my profession.
No, no. sirI Then you would
soon be finding some one else to
botber-perhaps some blonde. SEN
timental friend. What is the use OF
turning good natured little thing
|
manger2 / am not naturally able
to appreciate you, but if you were
mine should snarl and bark and
bite any other woman who was.
Jack liked this unchristian senti-
ment very much indeed. He squeez.
ed Kitty's hand and looked so CRATE
fully into her bright face that she
was forced to pretend he had ruined
hsr glove.
I'll buy you boxes-full, Kitty; and
darling, / am not very poor; 1 am
quite sure could make plenty of
money for you.
Jack, I did not want to speak
about money; because, if a girl
does not go into raptures about be-
ing willing to live on crusts and
dress In calico for love, people say
she is mercenary. Well, then, I ana
mercenary. .Iwant silk dresses aud
decent dinners and matinees, and /
am fond of having things regular
it's habit of mine to like them all
the time. Now l know literary peo-
pie have spasms of riches, and then
| spasms of poverty. Artists are jus.
the same. 1 have tried poverty &C.
casionally, aud found it's uses less
desirable than some people tell us
they are.
Have you decided yet whom and
what you will marry, Kitty?
No sarcasm, Jack. I shall marry
the first good honest fellow that
loves me and has steady business,
and who will not take me every
summer to see views.
To see views?
Yes. / am sick to death of fine
scenery and mountains, 'scarped and
jagged and rifted,' and all other
kinds. / have seen SO many grand
landscapes, never want to see an
other. / want to stay at Brighton
or Scarborough, and have nice
dresses and dance every night.
And yon know papa will go to some
| lonely place, where all my toilets
are thrown away, and where there
is not soul to speak to but famous
men of one kind or the other.
JACK couldn't help laughing; but
they were now among the little
crush that generally gathers in the
vestibule of theatre, and whatever
he meant to say was cut in two by
downright hearty salatation from
some third party.
Why, Max, when did You get
home?
To-day.
Then there were introductions
and jingle of merry words and
smiles that blended in Kitty's ears
with the dreamy music, the rustic
of dresses, and perfume of flowers.
and the newcomer was gone.
But that three minutes interview
was wonderful event to Kitty
Duffan, though she did not yet re-
alize it. The stranger had touched
her as she had never been touched
before. His magnetic voice called
something into her being that was
altogether new to her; his keen
searching, gray eyes claimed what
| she could neither understand nor
withhold. She became suddenly
silent and thoughtful, and Jack,
who was learned in love-iore, saw
in moment that Kitty had fallen
in love with his friend, Raymond.
1t gave him a moments bitter
pang; but if Kitty was not for him,
then be sincerely hoped Max might
win her. Yet he could not have
told whether he was most pleased
or angry when he saw Max Ray
mond coelly negotiate change of
seats with the gentleman on Kitty 3
right hand, and take possession OF
Kitty's eyes and ears and heart.
But there is a greet deal of human
nature in man, and Jack behaved,
upon the whole, better than might
have been expected.
For once Kitty did not do all the
talking. Max talked, and she lis
tened Max gave opinions, and she
endorsed them; Max decided, and
she submitted. 1t was not Jacks
Kitty at sll. He was quite relieved
when she turned round in her old
piquant way and snubbed him.
But to Kitty it was wonderful
evening-those kings and queens
walked on and off the stage, the
music playing, the people applaud
ing, and the calm stately man on
her right hand explaining this and
that, and looking into her eyes in
such q delicious, perplexing way,
that past and present were all min
gled like the waving shadows of 8
wonderful drenm.
She was in loves land for about
three hours; then she had to come
back into the cold, frosty air, the
Veritable streets, and the unmistaka-
BILE stone houses. But it was the
hardest of all to Come back and be
the old, radiant, careless Kitty.
Well, pussy, what of the play
asked lem Duffan; you cut IS
criticism short this morning. Now,
what is yours?
On, don't know, papa. The play
was Shakespeare and Sullivan and
Mrs. Vein backed him up hand
somely.
Very fine criticism, indeed, Kitty.
[ wish they could hear ii.
wish they could; but I am tired
to death now. Good night, papa !;
good night, mamma. I'll talk for
twenty in the morning.
What's the matter with Kitty,
mother?
Jack Warner, expect.
Hum don't think so.
Men don't know everything, Tom.
They don't know everything about
women their hest effnrta in that