The Winslow mail., 1899-04-01
HER PUNISHMENT
BY Florence "A. Smith.

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had been married, in fact-and con-
sidered him rising fellow in the lit
erary world. He had not done any
thing very great, but his work was dis
tinctly promising, and his name was
gradually making itself known. I'm
luckily, he had married the wrong
woman.
But nv friend was not like some
men-he did not whine and cry, he
made the best of it. He did not go
out and search for a twin soul' to
whom he might confide his marital
sufferings, though, Phoebus knows,
he had enough to put up with. 1t was
not bad temper. 1t was jealousy-bit-
ter. mean, incessant jealousy-that
crudged him even his literary fame.
Agatha Arbuthnot was one of
those little, pale blue-eyed women,
with a spiteful tongue and narrow
heart. who have ruined the career of
many a sensitive man. She hated to
hear her husbands praises sounded
in her ears.
One afternoon Agatha was slanging
Arbuthnot because some women who
had happened to call the day before
had gushed, and told her how fortu-
nate she was to be the wife of such
rising genius. Her face was crimson
with anger, and her voice was very
shrill as she mimicked her callers.
Dear Mrs. Arbuthnot! How proud
you must be of your clever husband!
He's quite a genius. How I envy you
living with the man who can write
such exquisite stories!"
Then she stamped her foot, and
turned savagely on Arbuthnot.
Clever! Exquisite. A genius! 1
never saw any genius in your silly
tales. Beastly rot. call them. wish
10 goodness I'd married Harry jenkins
instead of you. At any rate, people
wouldn't have praised him up just in
| order to run me down. / know what
they mean. Of course I'm stupid, and
brainless and silly-not good enough
| fer you to wipe your boots on"
And then Arbuthnot did the most
sensible thing possible. He walked
out Of the diningroom. and locked him
self up in his study. Agatha. on seeing
| the lines of his mouth more firmly set
! than usual. and guessing nothing of
the tempest that surged in his mind,
Immediately went off into a violent
| fit Of Mysteries. and called the sym
pathetic housemaid to witness that
George was perfect brute-it would
serve him right if she ran away with
some one else"
Georges den wasn't much of a
study" merely smoke-begrimed
! den, furnished with a secondhand
bureau, two or three chairs, and some
shelves of books. Agatha called it
Georges sullNing-room, but | knew
it was the only haven of refuge Ar
buthnot could find in his own house.
"a man must dree his own weird.
Arbuthnot said, as he sat down weari-
" at the bureau and looked at the
sheets of paper that Uttered over his
desk. "I'n not the only fool who's
found marriage a failure; and. after
all. I've got q brain as we'll as heart.
III give myself up to work, and waste
70 time in morbid self-pity. That's
form of cowardice that leads to the
! cutting of ones throat; and if I've ex-
hausted the possibilities of marriage,
I'll lie hanged if I've exhausted the pos
sibilities of life"
He smiled gr;mly, and taking from
one Of the pigeon holes a notebook,
laid it On his desk and began to read
its contents.
From that day Arbuthnot pro-
cressed swiftly through the book that
was t O make his name. This was to be
his masterpiece, wherein he would
show his best of brain and heart; and,
as The weeks rolled on ard the novel
neared its end, Arbuthnot realized his
work was good, and in that knowledge
could afford to live, and did live, with
out love and sympathy.
In truth, he needed every support
that work and philosophy could give
man. Agatha's conduct grew daily
more shrewish and violent, and her
tongue less fastidious in its choice of
words.
$50 you've taken to locking yourself
I'D in your sulking room" she cried one
day, when Arbuthnot had perforce
been compelled to answer her heavy
banging on his study door Its nice
thing when a husband comes to lock
himself up from his wife! 1 suppose
my society's not good enough for such
q clever man as you.
Arbuthnot saw that she was in one
of her paroxysms of rage, and resolved
10 control his own feelings.
81 wanted to finish some work. he
said, calmly, looking at the floor lit
tered with loose sheets of paper. And
this room is hardly fit for lady's So
ciety. You see, I have scarcely chair
that is rnoccupied with books"
eyes, it's horrid hole said Agatha,
curtly; "but you men who write are
more like pigs than human beings.
just look at the dust on the desk; it's
shameful. And Sarah says you won't
let her touch your papers. I'm
ashamed of having such dirty hole in
nv house; I'll come and dust it my
self tomorrow"
At these words Arbuthnot lost his
philosophical self-control.
81 must ask you rot TO touch the
papers on my desk" he said. hastily.
II allow Sarah to brush and dust every
thing in the room but my desk, and
that l attend to myself"
"Of course, you fly at my throat
when I offer to do anything for you,"
said Agatha, angrily, letting her hand
fall on the desk and crumpling several
of the loose sheets together. 81 can't
speak TO you but what I do wrong.