The Anaconda standard. [volume] (Anaconda, Mont.) 1889-1970, 1890-06-12
THEIR FIRST uNPLEAsANrNEss.
A Ripple Of Discord Disturbs the Har-
manx nj thu Rxka Family.

A Ripple Of DiscorA Disturbs the Har-
mony Of the Pyke Family.
From the Chicago Tribune.
Mr.. and Mrs. Bolivar Pyke had been
married about six weeks, and were still
oppressively happy. Not n ripple OF dis
cord had stirred the frog pond Of their
domestic harmony, and their life had run
ms smoothly and unobstructively as a Chi
cago base ball clubs progress Town the
tobo9Ran slide. II there was anything
that could nave made Bolivar happier he
didn't know what IL was, unless, possibly,
IL was to hear that his tough, leathery and
grasping old uncle in California had gone
TO the good world; while the addition of
forty more cupboards and closets to the
house could hardly have added to the fe-
licity of his young wife.
This may sound like exaggcration, but
you have positively no idea how unreason-
ably and absurdly happy these two young
persons were.
Ii was an evening in May-an ordinary
evening in May. 1s9O-and the rain hadn't
stopped. II was falling as IL fell in the
seventeenth day of the second month Of
the GO0th year of the life of one Noah, and
in sheer despir the signal service men had
begun To predict wet weather.
"Beunavista," said Bolivar, looking alb
stractcdly about the room, IF IL wouldn't
he asking too great a favor"
"what Is IL, DEAR" asked Mrs. Pyke,
tcnderly. ..
"Please try the other knee awhile. This
M is getting tired"
"You nave never said anything like that
before, Bolivar" she protested, reproach-
fully. Perhaps I'd better go and sit on
n chair"
snow don't get huiTy, darling. You
don't look so pretty when you frown."
IL am not frowning, darling"
"You certainly are, ~Beunavista."
"Then | don't look pretty"" she cx-
ten feet away. "All right. Mr.. Pike!
You-ou-you're getting tired of me. /
wish | was"
Now look here, B~uenavista. don't be
foolish. There's nothing TO quarrel
about"
10 quarrel. either. IL there's anything OF
that kind done you will he the who
Ices IL, Mr.. Pike"
~ am glad TO hear il, my dear"
"You needn't call me your dear. | am
not dear to you any more
II thought you said you were not going
81 did, sir; and | am not. In spite Of
your conduct, Mr.. Pyke. I am still your
loving wife,"
'Then, dearest"
"No, sir; l am not your dearest"
tNtlls lot BENitf
tiff you are still my loving wife, won't
you please sing something"
"What for2 Are You afraid I'll try to
sit on your knee again? You needn't."
mo, no, B~uenavista. | thought il might
clear NJ the atmosphere Of this room "a
little. That's all"
With the aspect of a martyr going
cheerfully to the stake, Mrs. Pyke went
to the piano and sat down before IL.
"What shall ! sing" she asked meekly.
"Perhaps-h'm-perhaps il would make
things s Seem mS Sw. sse SGma 4 you should
Mrs. Pyke fixed her eyes on a spot near
the ceiling where the wallpaper didn't ex-
actly match, n walled ont the touching
melody:
"''Mid plc-a-a-sures and pa-a-laces,
tho-o-ugh'Il know well enough, MIR. Pyke,
you have only asked me tn sing this to
make me appear ridiculous, but I'm going
10 do tive may BE il
e~-e-cve-e-er SOL think any man who
tries To make his wife an object of ridicule,
never, never, cared anything for her
'hu-u-u-mble, there's no-o-o place like
| have always lone everything | could tn
make home pl-pl-easant; and you, you
know it-'ho-o-me, A cha-a-arm from
the ski-i-ies seems to'-secms like
the ghastliest mockery in the world, but
you would have it-'ha-a-llo-o-ow us
~the-c-crc. Which se-e-cek through the
w-o-o-orid is ne'er mc-e-et with else
wlc-e-crc. Ho-o-o-omc, ho-omc, sw'-I1l
sing il through IL il k-k-kills me
'swe-c-e-eet. swc-e-e-cct home. There's
no-o-o place like'-ain't you ashamed Of
yourself, Bolivar Pyke, To sit there pre-
tending you care anything about our
home any more,or me her:I'ho-o-ome,
There's no-o-o-oo place like'-B-B-olivar,
dear, ! cant! Yes, ! will! will
lio-o-o-omer"
As her quavering voice sounded the