The Spokane press. [volume] (Spokane, Wash.) 1902-1939, 1906-01-05
PATHETIC STORY OF A DRUM
MER, HIS WIFE AND
HER PHOTO.

shall soon be here when l shall
snap my fingers at fate and set up
as my own boss. Then we shall
have no more of these cruel part
ings."
"And you will be true to me?"
CAS- l always am" he responded.
you did not forget to put that
photo you had especially taken for
me in my gripsack, did your"
"Oh, dear no. Are you sure that
you will look at it, sometimes,
love?"
"You wicked doubter. You know
that l shall be wretched without at
least such semblance of my pet
to look at daily and nightly"
Draw the veil of charity over his
grief and the treachery of one in
wnom he had such unbounded con-
fidence.
In brief, she, his only love and
pet, his wife, had secretly planned
to make him wretched. She had
taken that photograph from his
gripsack and was gloating over his
misery when he should discover
that only memory remained to him
for the time being OF his darling's
| looks.
"The dear fellow, how he will
scold me for this trick" she
| thought, "but l will send him the
photograph in the first letter |
write to him."
Thus appeasing her conscience,
she waited for his first letter.
1t came from Chicago:
"My hearts delight it began.
Got here o. k. this a. m. Have
been wrestling with the trade all
day, and tough time I've had with
it. Weary and tagged, l have re-
tired to my room, shut out of the
gilded atmosphere of sin that en-
velops this terrible city, and taken
from my satchel your sweet pic
ture. 1t is before me when | write
shall kiss it when | have said
my evening prayers. 1t will rest
under my pillow. 1t is my one sol
ace, until l hold you, my sweet
wife, in these faithful arms again"
Thus far had she read when she
toppled over on the floor.
What comfort she found there, it
is hard to say, but great determin-
alton rose with the stricken wife,
who went out an hour later and
sought a telegraph office.
Her husband had been saying his
prayers abroad that evening, and
when he got to his hotel about
midnight his spiritual emotions re-
ceived a severe shock by tele
gram from his "only love-"
1t was elaborate for a dispatch,
but under the circumstances one
could not expect an outraged wife
to transmit her feelings by a slow
mail. The dispatch read:
you are no longer the only
drummer that is not a liar, as you
have always claimed. Let the fra
ternity make you the chief in their
art. Had you taken the pains even
to look for the photograph you say
your prayers to, you would have
discovered that had, to tease you,
removed it. My faith in you is
dead"
The husband clutched his ha;
"Why, what did | write to her
anyway" After a while his face
cleared.
"By Jove! must have been
piling on the taffy. That's what
man gets for trying his best for
making a woman feel good! Poor
little dear, what a fume she must
be in. Lucky for me she gave her
grievance away. What geese wom-
en- are! Bless her little noodle,
her faith shall De resurrected."
Forthwith he telegraphed to a
knowing friend:
"Send me, first mail, photograph
of my wife. Beg, borrow or steal
it; get it somehwo. NUNS the
word. Will write all particulars
soon"
About a week later a drummer,
in dignified martyrdom, stood face
to face with stern, but very
wept-out wife.
She expected to see him meek
and humble, but he gazed upon
her with much scorn, and then
passed ON to his room in crushing
silence.
She was ashamed. With quick
impulse she followed, thanking
he ha