Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1904-06-15
BURYlNG
BANQUO'S GHOST
Copyright, 1901, by Daily Story Pub. Col
F. HI. LANCASTER

Copyright. 1901, BY Daily Story Pub. co.,
TIER husbands friend had been
making a series of severe remarks
anent the inkspot upon her finger, he1
flushed face, disordered hair and several
sheets of scattered manuscript:
I've cannot serve two masters, and
1t is my duty as your friend and his
friend to tell you so plainly. And I
must say that 1t seems to me that this
inspiration-I believe that is the word
you literary people use-this love of
scribbling, could be easily buried be-
meath love of husband and home'
1T is not an easy something to bury
beneath anything" the young wife OBJ
jected. "or rather, like Banquo's ghost,
it refuses to stay in the ditch"
Rises at the feast and mars it, eh
Well, I'm sorry for you'll am sorry
for you both" Severe gray eyes looked
down critically into bothered brown
ones, and her husbands friend smiled
loftily. We'll. I've said all that I feel
justified in saying. Good-by, dear child.
l suppose you know what generally
happens when a man begins to feel
himself neglected."
Helen murmured that she did and
watched the erect figure sweep down
the garden path. Co." she quoted soft
ly, land stand not upon the order of
your gOing'.' Then she sat down to
think. Was she neglecting Dick, the
dear old darling? Conscience came
ready accuser. Last evening she had
written from tea until bedtime True,
he had seemed to be enjoying his
paper, but he was so kind and patient,
SO strong and forceful. and so much
Older than she. Of course he wouldn't
complain. And this was not the first
time it had happened. "Oh," with a
thrill of nneasiness. ''he might just as
we'll have gone on being an old bache-
lor' Then. with quick self-reproach,
i should be ashamed. I am. 1t is
silly. My stories never amount to any
thing anyway. Half the things l write
are rejected. Why can't 1 bury this
ghost that is haunting our feast and
keep 1t buried?" She dropped her head
into her hands. 1t would be hard to
foresWear scribbling-how hard only
those who have scrubbed know-and
she shrank from making a resolution
that she might not be strong enough to
keep. But as his step, with a tired
sound to it. struck the stair she started
up. seized the scattered sheets and
thrust them into the CRATE.
1T is concluded she muttered
whmsically. 'Banquo. thy souls
flight if it find heaven, must find il ont
tonight. "
"Oh. Dick. dear. am so glad Won
have come. I have just been planning
one of those cosy. chatty little even
ings like we used to have when we
were first married."
"Sure. sweetheart" Dick said, cor
daily. but his spirit groaned. He had
just been planning a repetition of last
evening. Peace and pipe and paper.
with his little wife scribbling happily
at his elbow. 1t rested him to lean
back and smoke and watch the light as
1t came and went in her dear YOUNG
face. 1t is so much easier this silent
presence. when one is tired. But Helen
was saying:
"Or if you feel like reading aloud I'll
find some fancywork" Dick was de-
lighted, of course. and after the tea
table was cleared and the curtains
drawn. he took down book and be-
gan to read like a little man. Helen
listened with conscientious alertness.
Frequently. at the suggestive turn of
phrase the ghost would arise and sit
down in the chair opposite; but look
ing at her dear boys tired face and
feeling the WEAKNESS in his voice, she
found it easy to order her BanQuo back
beneath the sod
Il will hem those sheets tomorrow,
she reflected exultingly, land make
pair of pillow shams. l must not try
to read. That would be regula: pick
ak for letting the ghost out. Poor fell
low, I wonder if he has been feeling
neglected."
And the next day and the next, Dick,
no longer neglected, came YEARLY home
to read aloud until he began to think
wistfully of bachelor days. At last the
Inevitable evening came that brought
the despairing question:
What has become Of your writing,
little woman?"
ooh. don't know" Helen replied
hurriedly. Just then she was longing
for her writing" with all her soul, and
this abrupt entrance of the ghost shook
her like second Macbeth.