The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1888-07-13
Welded TO BUSINESS


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Welded TO BUSINESS
How wife Gained Her Rightfal PesitisA
In Her HonseAold.
I'VE don't have to worry about girls.
thank goodness" David Atwood said to
his acquaintance when they complain
cd Of the kitchen despot; my wife does
her own work"
He was tipped back in an open
chair while be talked. and looked the
comfortable, prosperous business man
he was:
II run my end Of the work, I" he con-
tinued. "and my wife runs hers. 50 We
get on all right"
Then he stepped over to see chum
In another Office. and chatted on poll
tics until dinner time, when he went
home. 1t only took him fifteen minutes
to eat dinner; then he had nap. His
little daughter had usually eaten and
gone to school when he came. She
knew her father by sight. That was
about all. His wife was always busy
making home comfortable for him. 1t
took her the whole forenoon to cook
dinner for him. and she walked miles,
mechanical motion, from the pantry to
the dining-room, and back again.
Sometimes she sang as she worked.
She liked to hear q human voice.
Pinned up near the clock was this
psalm of life. which she sometimes
stopped to read while she waited dinner
for David. It sounded good:
Forenoon and afternoon and night-forenoon
and afternoon and night-forenoon and what:
The empty song repeats ITSELF No more yea:
that Is life; make this forenoon sublime.
This afternoon psalm, this night prayer.
And time il conquered. and thy crown in won.
David said he couldn't see any sense
in it, but his wife thought it rested her
in some way to read it.
That David Atwood was supremely
selfish never occurred to Mrs. Atw0Od's
husband. His wife never went any
where, but she was free agent-she
could have gone. if she had wanted to.
Wilkie Collins, in one of his minor nov
els, has q man who says to his wife, in
answer to her solicitations: ''You don't
want to travel. You won't like it l
never do" When she suggested sea
voyage, he said: ''YOu won't like the
water. You'll be sea-sick. l always
am"
Mrs. Atwood was not a complaining
woman. She would have liked as much
attention as a good cook gets. but her
excellent meals were eaten and never
discussed. Once her husband said to
his confidential friend:
MY wife makes elegant coffee, and
the best pies / ever ate anywhere, but
between you and me, Id rather run
around to Smack's and take cup Of
bouillon and q sandwich. than to sit
down to the best table 1 ever saw"
Such is the ingratitude Of men and re-
publics.
Atwood must be getting rich," the
neighbors said.
He was. Some day he intended to
move into larger house. but as things
were running smoothly, he invested his
money safely, and took things easy. He
did not even notice that his wife was
getting old. He would have laughed at
the idea. But one day a neighbor asked
the little girl il her mothers hair wasn't
getting white on top. The child said
she didn't know. She wasn't tall
enough to see. and her mother never
found time to sit down.
The truth came to David Atwood by
q strange revelation. His wife had
once or twice complained Of needing
some rest and recreation, and he had
suggested that she hire girl. Now.
the rest had come!
She who never sat down. or ceased
the monotonous grind of life for mo-
ment, was lying here in the best parl0r
among the pictures and books she had
busted every day, with no thought Of
any household cares to trouble her.
He could hear his little daughter crying
above stairs. II his own heart had not
been broken. he could have sorrowed
for her, who had lost her best friend.
He was holding his wife's hand. TWAS
cold and unresponsive. His hot tears
falling upon it awakened no sensation.
Oh. how much good 1t would have done
her poor. tired heart If he had occa-
sionally held her hand in that lover-like
clasp when she was alive! Now it was
too late. How was it that they had
drifted 50 far apart, they who in the
happy days Of their courtship had only
lived for each other? What had BE-
come Of the lovee-like atteati0as, the
caressing ways. the pretty couFtssies
that were expressed then in every
glance and motiole David Atwood
shed bitter tears Of remOrss. now that
Il was too late. Looking back. he saw
his sel6shness and carelessness looming
up like monuments OF warning and re-
proach. In his SORROW no called aloud: