The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1892-09-18
JOE'S WIFE.

anxious az to the result Of an important
operation performed that morning. The
mud spattered up from the streets as he
rolled along, and the chilling November
drizzle gave TO the familiar trees a forlorn ,
almost CHASTITY appearance. His heart
warmed as he pictured to himself wife
watching for him, with welcome smile,
from.their coy parlor, dinner ready, and
long, restful evening before them.
But, as he drew near home. no cheerful
light streamed from door or window. All
seemed as dark and deserted as the dripping
street. He threw the reius to the boy whose
duty was to hold the horse on his profess
sionAl rounds and flung open the front door
with an irritsted, injured feeling.
No tender smile; no sympathetic voice;
no freight; no dinner, apparently.
"Elinor!" he called.
| No answer.
| "Elinorr'
This time a voice spoke out Of the dark
| Mesa tired voice
do be more quiet, John; the baby is just
| going to slsep.n
"Confound It'll Why isn't there light
hersl And why isn't the baby asleep before
this time of night"
He has been lretful all day with his
teeth, and have not had chance to change
| my Dress
A wailing cry from the nursery sent the
| voice hurrying thither, and the doctor, with
| some inaudible words, proceeded to light
the gas and take off his wet overcoas. The
house was cold; the parIor had evidently
| been arranged by Hibernian HANDS; an
| odor Of something burning stole in from the
| kitchen. A pleasant reception for a man
after long days work.
he ran upstairs with no gentle footstep.
| His wife sat by the nursery FIRE; her face
wore q weary expression, and she had on
the same blue gown which she had donned
for breakfast. The baby at length slept in
| her arms. She held up warming finger as
| her husband came laundering 10; but al
ready baby's liRht slumber had bsen dis
| turbed, and the process OF soothing and
singing had to be repeated for the fifteenth
| time.
It seemed to the young mother as if her
| patience could hold out no longer. 1t was
| provoking so have the little one startled
from his uneasy dreams again. She knew
| Bridget would spoil the dinner. She had
| been trying all day to get downstairs to
| mako the house pleasant with a magic touch
here and there. She longed to get into q
fresh gown and brush her hair, but there
| had been no time for her to do one OF these
| things. Nurse was away with sick sister,
and babies always demanded more from
their mothers than from any one else. They
| are tyrannioal and know and seize every
opportunity to prove their power over the
| anxious, half~ignorent young mothers who
are happy, after all, to be their slaves.
| When at last the dinner bell rang Mrs.
| Ford laid the baby IN bis crib, sound asleep
| this time, warm and lovely in his utter re-
| pose. She gave a hurried dab at her wavy
| hair caught up a fresh handkerchief and
ran down to join her husband, at the table
| ~ l.. sIoI Lob q, p, T..
barely tasted the SOUP, then pushed it away
| in disgust
"Burnedp asked his wife.
| "Of course. Can't you smell IL all over
the houssl Why don's you look after Bridget
| a littleP'
"Why. John, have hardly been down
| stairs to-day"
where's Hannahi"
''She went TO her sisters last night"
20, yes; l forgot. What's thisa Cold
corned beef Really, Elinor, have you
nothing else to offerl"
would you like an omeletG"
"No"
What thenP'
"a beefsteak, IL there is one"
Mrs. Ford rose and went to the kitchen.
The girl, of course, had just filed up the
range with fresh coal so there was nothing
70 be done but make the best of the cold
meat, potatoes and macaroni, followed by
dessert of apple pudding aud cheese.
DIR. Ford found fault with the potatoes,
and said ne was tired OF maoaroni, the
bread was dry and the butter not perfect.
As to the pudding:
MY mother always had mince pies al
this season" said he.
This was the last straw, and his wife, un-
usually sensitive 60 strAws tonight, could
bear no more.
.. at is pity you ever left your mother. y
VI think go too" he responded, pushing
. his chair back.
|. His wife hssitated moment whether to
/ run around the table and burst into tears
, upon her husbands shoulder or to rush up
stairs and have good cry by baby's side
! She decided upon the latter course and
, with quivering lip left the room and shut
herself up in the nursery, where the fire
was dying on the hearth and the bRUy
breathing softly. in strange contrast to her
overweight condition.
"Well, 1t is provoking. Woman always
must cry and fly into q passion about
trihes."
But her husband, even as he thought thess
words, began to feel repentant. He remem,
bered the tesUhtnR baby aud the long day al
home alone. In another moment be would
have followed his wife upstairs and apollo.
glzed for the pain he had given her, but the
door bell rang and a summons to visit sicH
man at a distance sent him at once OUT int
the wet night And all domestic grievances
were forgotten before he had driven 2O(
yards.
The patient lived In squalii part OF the
town by the river The darkness seemed
deeper in this poor neighborhood. the rain
! more soaking and the wind keener The
river swept sullenly by, black, swollen
vide, rejecting tbs faring lights on the
bridge. But the doctor minded this dig
comfort very little. He was in love with his
. profession, ardent and young. Besides, the
despised dinner had given him new courags
to fight pain and death.
He entered the one room of the low house
:. to which he had been directed with a face
!, quite free from lmpatience. woman
opened the door for him-a lean, miserable
creature, with pale eyes void of expression.
Her thin hair hung over her neck, her calico
dress fell Imply from her sharp shoulders.
She stared at the doctor as he entered and
be could see there were tears In her child
! like eyes
: "JOe's sick" she said, slowly gazing into
I his faces
= whats the matterP
'He-he's goin' ter die, maybe, she fall
tered piteously.
mo, hope not"
''Joe's sick" she repeated in a whisper,
shaking her head.
at l. Il a -. L