The Mineral argus., 1884-10-09
MRS. BATTERDYSCRAZY QUILT.
By AMELIA SULLIVAN.

CHlcoSO AElD0I6
Mrs. Batterby was a model wife and mother.
Please to remark, dear reader, 1 say was, be-
cause after careful observation and deep con
sideration Of the subject, L am convinced that
3 woman who allows herself to fall under the
baleful spell Of crazy patchwork, becomes
surely and swiftly lost to every other influence
and needless of every appeal either to her
conscience Dr. her affections.
Well, Mrs. Batterby was a dear little roly-
poly of a woman, with dark blue eyes, and a
soft ~gurgling laugh that was perfectly infec-
tious, and which had the added charm of sud
denly bringing into view two rows of little
white teeth and some hitherto unsupported
dhnples. Her bright brown hair waved natur-
ally on either side of her smooth white fore
head, and Mr.. Batterby who had the reputa-
ton of being quite a connoisseur in
female beauties, and given TO admiring
snowy, brilliant women, thought there never
was anything in these days of bangs and friz-
yes, 80 ~exquisitely feminine, and bewitching,
and suggestive of home and Happiness, as
that tiny white parting in his wife's bounteous
brown hair, and the little ripping waves on
her white brow. However, he simply re-
marked that he "liked that way of wearing her
hair, - and let it go at that In his instantane-
GUS mental conceptions of her there was al
ways distinct in his mind, her bright, loving
glance, her pretty brow and hair, her dark
dress and white apron, and plump, white
hands; and generally he thought of her with a
baby in her arms. They had been married
ten years, and there had been three children,
so that Mr.. Batterby had good cause to re-
member his wife as holding a babe
Such a woman it was who fell a victim to that
"crazy quilt" mania, which is now insidiously
undermining the moral and intellectual charac-
ter of the females in all ranks of life through
out the whole country.
1t was Nine. Pumpernickel, who, being her
self demented, introduced the contagious mania,
into this hitherto happy household Who is
Nine. Pumpernickel? Everybody asked that
the moment they saw her. With her gray hair
coiled like a coronet on her well-poised, head,
and her air of good breeding, and her lively wit,
and her gracious manner, one almost expected
to hear she was a duchess. But in reality
she was only a woman of defeated possibilities.
She might have been a world-renowned plan
list if she had been born to poverty. She might
have been a Senator's wife, if she had married
her first love. She would have been a great
writer if she had been a better talker, and she
would have been celebrated as a wonderful
conversationalis if she had been bornt to wealth,
and in Boston, instead of spending her first
twenty years in learning and teaching music in
a Western State.
But despite her disadvantages Nine. Pun
pernickels consciousness of her own superior
ffv 70 oritsoteuo navo~ Jaoa-faI har onI vavo,
failed to impress, with more or less inten-
sity, those with whom she came in contact
So when Nine. P~umpernickel opened her
valise, and from every part of it came tumbl-
ing out silk rags, snippings and clippings of
every shade and shape, she said in her gay
way:
81 travel like an aesthetic ragman. It's my
crazy quilt You must have one. They are
elegant" And Mrs. Battery Immediately de-
cided to have one.
That night, when Mr.. Batterby, who as one
of Chicago's prominent men, had been re-
quested to attend "a ratification meeting down
town, arrived home at 1890 p. m, he looked
over the banisters into the dining room, and in
voluntarily exclaimed:
Cup yet? Why, what in the world are you
doing?S
Well might he exclaim-
The floor of the room into which he looked
was strewn with rags; the dining table was
strewn with them; and bending over the table,
arrayed in loose wrappers, their cheeks
flushed and their hair dishevelled in their
eagerness, were his wife and her guest, pulling
about and tossing around the heap of silk
scraps.
"Oh, I'm making a crazy quiltlr' distracted
ly returned his wife, scarcely raising her eyes
from her work. NINE. Pumpernickel is helping
me plan squares"
Nj. Batterby looked on a moment, his habitual
abiding sense of a mans inability to comprehend
the mysterious workings of the feminine intel
lect enabling him to maintain a becoming COM
posture of
"Well, goodnightl'' he said. with the air of one
who was giving up a problem.
But as he turned to go his eyes was caught by
the familiar pattern of one silken fragment. He
drew it from the heap.
'My old necktiel another of my ~scarfsI'
ssNow, Gustave!" cried Mrs. Batterby, snatch
ing it away; you gave up wearing that~years
ago."
''Here is one boughtin Paris" said Mr.. Bat
terby, giving another pull at the pile, and bring
ing out a rich blue satin scarf.
And she is so close and stingy with them
she won't cut onel" cried Nine. Pumpernickel,
gayly.
'Here, Nine. Pumpernickel, IN give you
this for your guilt, " very gallantly responded
Mr.. Batterby, handing over the bright silker
ribbon.