The Minneapolis journal., 1903-04-25

pearances, if, just as. I was putting the
cream on a helping of wine jelly. and pre-
pairing to pass it,, with a frozen stare, to
the sour-faced man at the other side Of
the table, I hadn't choked and a pelting
shower of tears hadn't overtaken me.
They ran right down into the wine jelly
before John, frightened and surprised out
of his wits, could rush to the rescue with
big, SOFT lavender scented mans hand
kerchief, a broad shoulder, abject con-
cessions, apologies, and such vigorous
pats on the back that you might suppose
I had been trying to swallow a wishbone.
1T was my stupid pride I was swallow
ing instead. When emerged with a large
and joyous smile from my good cry. l
spologized and . conceded literally, too.
Then it was that realized that one pound
sure applied to these domestic difficulties
is worth all the new scientific intellectual
methods put together.
=" we kissed again with tears, like the
poets couple that fell out, and if my nose
was trifle. pink, and if Johns shirtfront
looked as though a cyclone had passed
over it, he was happy and my eyes were
bright we both felt about ten years
younger and there wasn't the least; sting
Of the late unpleasantness left behind.
"Since that epoch-making occasion, I've
had the conn sense to respect the pow
er of tears and to use these potent Weap-
ons of defense when the occasion de-
mands.
''Idind you, I don't hold any brief for
the cry-baby, or the tyranny Of tears, but
I've learned that, while to the ma sculine
mind they are a fearful and distressing
phenomena, he respects and yields to them
as he won't yield to the most virtuous an
ger, or the best brand of feminine logic.
And, they stir all the chival1y of his ma
ture. t~
Last summer, when the hot and badg-
cred agent at the railroad station said, in
the tone Of voice of a not very forbear-
ing bulldog, that there was no chance OF
my carrying my trunk thru on the next
train, thought, for one wildly imprudent
moment of protesting, reproaching, or de-
manding my rights. You see, I was on
my way to. a wedding, where I was to be
matron of honor, and my .nausee chiffon
with its Irish lace motifs, was in the
trunk. In the heat and disappointment,
just subsided into my luggage, put my
nose. into my handkerchief, and let go q
couple of big sobs. It threatened to be q
regular breakdown when I heard the agent
say, in a voice husky with remorseful fear
| that was not to take on in that fashion
and that he'd get my trunk aboard, if he
had to wreck the road. '.
"And he did. It went on to the trair
like bird. The agent hoisted it up him.
self and swung off his cap like Ches.
terfield when I gave him moist anG
grateful smile. And once more I realized
| that it's better to touch the knightly
generosity in a mans heart than to ap.
peal to his intellect always and that it's
a funny thing we are no longer taught
to bring out the native ctivalry of ou,
men in =,
IF you'll excuse me-" Interrupted Mrs
Topf1at, suddenly jabbing in her hat pins
and speaking in rather uncertain voice
| II think must go home
| And she went and Mrs. Bliss is ready
| to lay her new hat against a box of cand,
that there was a reconciliation in the
| Topfat apartment by dinner time, an6
| that it wasn't affected by the fearless
method, either. Emily Holt.