The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1878-06-08
Select Story.
THE SOBER SECOND THOUGHT.

Il must have it, Charles" said the
handsome little wife of Mr.. Whitman.
$50 don't put on that sober face"
"Did put on a sober face ?" asked the
husband, with an attempt to smile that
was anything but success.
"Yes, sober as man on trial for his
life. Why, It's as long as the moral law.
There, dear, clear it up, and look as if you
had at least one friend in the world.
What money lovers you men are !"
aHow much viii it cost?" inquired
Mr.. Whitman. There was another effort
to look cheerful and acquiescent.
@About forty dollars" was answered,
with just little faltering in the lady s
voice, for she knew the sum would sound
extrayagant.
Forty dollars Why, Ada. do you
think | am made of money!" Mr. Whit
mans couutenance underwent a remarka-
bic change of expression.
II declare, Charles said his wife, a
little impatiently, ayou look at me as if l
were an object Of fear instead of affection.
don't think this is kind of yoa. I've only
had three silk dresses since We we're mar
ried, while Amy Blight has had six or
seven during the same period, and every
one Of hers cost more than mine. |
know you think me extravagant, but l
wish you had a wife like some women l
could name. / rather think you'd find
out the difference before long"
There, there, pet, don't talk to me
after this fashion I'll bring you the
money at dinner time; that is, f.
"No "ifs" nor "buts," if you please.
The sentence is complete without them.
Thank you, dearl I'll go this after
noon and buy the silk. So don't fail to
bring the money. was in at Silkskin' yes
terday, and saw one of the sweetest pat
terms ever laid my eyes on. just suits
my style and complexion. 1 shall be in
cousoIable if it's gone You won't disap-
point me p
And Mrs. Whitman laid her soft white
hand on the arm Of her husband, and
smiled with sweet persuasion in his face.
aOh, no. You shall have the money,
said Mr. Whitman, turning from his wife,
as she thought, little abruptly, and hur-
rying from her presence. In his precipi-
tation, he had forgotten the usual parting
kiss.
"Thats the way it is always" :" said Mrs.
Whitman, her whole manner changing, as
the sound Of the closing street door came
jarring upon her ears. "Just say money
to Charles, and at once there is a cloud in
the sky"
She sat down pouting and half angry.
"Forty dollars for a new dress r. mental
ly calculated the husband Of vain, pretty,
thoughtless Mrs Whitman, as he shut
thc door after him. "I promised to settle
Thomson's coal bill to-day-thirty-three
dollars-but don't know where the money
is to come from. The coal is burnt up,
aud more must be ordered. Oh, dear
Tn discouraged. Every year I fall be-
hindhand. This winter 1 did hope to get
a little in advance, but if forty dollar silk
dresses are in order, there is an end to
that deyoutly to be wished-for circum-
stance. Debt, debt How have always
shrunk from it; but steadily, now, it is
closing its Bri@rian arms around me, and
my restricted chest labors in respiration.
Oi, if coald but disentangle myself now,
while I have the strength of carly man
hood, and the bonds that hold me are
weak. If Ada could see as I sce-if
could only make her understand my posi-
ton rightly. Alas that is hopeless
fear.
And Mr.. Whitman hurried his steps,
because his heart beat quicker and his
mind was unduly excited.
Not a long time after Mr.. Whitman
left his house, the postman delivered let
ter to his address. His wife examined the
writing on the envelope, which was in q
bold, masculine hand, and said to herself,
as she did so:-''I wonder who this can
be from ?"
Somethi ne more than a curiosity moved
her. There intruded on her mind vague
feeling of disquiet, as if the missive bore
unpleasant news for her husband. The
stamp showed it to be a city letter. A
few times, of late, such letters had come to
his address, and she had noticed that be
had read them hurriedly, thrust them
without remark into his pocket, aud be.
come silent aud sober-faced.
Mrs. Whitman turned the letter over
and over again in her hand, in thought
ful way, and as she did so, the image of
her husband, sober-faced and silent as he
had become for the most of the time, of
late, presented himself with unusual vivid
ness. Sympathy stole into her heart
"POor Charles p she said, as the feeling