Yellowstone monitor. [volume] (Glendive, Mont.) 1905-1928, 1909-02-18
or off bar 1aef in a mighty hug.

waist Why, good evening, Mrs. Fink
i didn't see You at first. HoW's old
Mart coming along?"
ssHe's very well, Mr.. Cassidy, thanks, =
said Mrs. Fink. II must be going
along up now. Mart II be home for
| supper soon. I'll bring you down that
pattern you wanted tomorrow, Name. :
! Mrs. Fink went up to her fat and
had a little cry. It was a meaningless
cry, the kind of cry that only woman
knows about, cry from no particular
cause, altogether an absurd cry-the
most transient and the most hopeless
cry In the repertory of grief. Why had
Martin never thrashed her? He was
as big and strong as Jack Cassidy.
! Did he not care for her at all? He
never Quarreled. He came home and
/ lounged about, silent, glun, idle. He
was a fairly good provider, but he 1g-
| nored the spices Of life.
Mrs Fink's ship Of dreams was be.
Gained. Her captain ranged between
plum duff and his hammock. II only
he would shiver his timhers or stamp
his foot on the quarter deck now and
then! And she had thought to sail SO
merrily, touching at ports in the De-
Iectable isles! But now, to vary the
figure, she was ready to throw up the
sponge tired out, without a scratch
to show for all those tame rounds with
her sparring partner For one moment
she almost hated Mame-Mame, with
her cuts and bruises, her salve OF
presents and kisses, her stormy voy-
age with her fighting, brutal, loving
mate
Mr.. Fink came home at Z. He was
permeated WITH the curse of domes-
ITCHY Beyond the portals Of his coy
home he cared not to roam, to roam.
He was the man who had caught the
street car, the anaconda that had swal-
lowed its prey, the tree that lay SIS it
had fallen.
''Like the supper, Mart?" asked Mrs.
Fink, who had strfven over it.
an -n-m-yep," grunted Mr.. Fink.
After supper he gathered his neWspa-
pers to read. He sat in his stockinged
feet.
Arise, some new Dante, and sing me
the betting corner of perdition for the
man who stitch in the house in his
stockinged feet! Sisters Of patience
who by reason Of ties or duty have
endured it in silk, yarn, cotton, Isle
thread or woolen-does not the new
canto belong?
The next day was Labor day. The
occupations Of Mr. Cassidy and Mr..
Fink ceased for one passage of the
sun. Labor, triumphant would parade
and otherwise disport itself.
Mrs. Fink took Mrs. Cassidy's pat
tern down early Name had on her
new silk waist Even her damaged
eye managed to emit holiday CLEAN.
Jack was fruitfully penitent, and there
was hilarious scheme for the day
afoot, with parks and pIcnics and
Pilsener in it.
A rising. indignant jealousy seized
Mrs. Fink as she returned to her fat
above Oh, happy Name, with her
bruises and her quick following balm!
But was Name to have monopoly of
happiness? Surely Martin Fink was
as good a man as. Jack Cassidy. Was
his wife to go always unbelabored and
unearessed? A sudden,- brilliant, breath
less idea came to Mrs. Fink. She
would show Name that there were
husbands as able to use their fists and
perhaps to be as tender afterward as
any Jack.
The holiday promised to be nominal
one with the Finks. Mrs. Fink had
the stationary washtubs in the kitchen
filed with a two weeks wash that had
been soaking overnight. Mr.. Fink sat
in his stockinged feet reading a news
paper Thus Labor day presaged to
speed.
Jealousy surged high in Mrs. Fink's
heart, and higher still surged an auda-
cious resolve. liz her man would not
strike her-if he would not SO far
prove his manhood, his prerogative and
his interest in conjugal affairs, he must
be prompted to his duty.
Mr.. Fink lit his pipe and peacefully
rubbed an ankle with stockinged toe.
He reposed in the state of matrimony
like a lump Of unblended suet in a
pudding. This was his level Elysium-
to sit at ease yicarious1y girdling the
world In print amid the Wifely splash
ing of suds and the agreeable smells
of breakfast dishes departed and din
ner ones to come. Many ideas were
far from his mind, but the furthest one
was the thought Of beating his wife.
Mrs Fink turned on the hot water
and set the washboards in the suds.
Up from the fat below came the gay
laugh OF Mrs Cassidy. It sounded like
a taunt, Haunting Of her own hap
piness in the face of the unslugged
bride above. Now was Mrs. Fink's
time.
Suddenly she turned like fury upon
the man reading.
''You lazy loafer!" she cried. Must I
work my arms off washing and toiling
for the ugly likes Of you? Are you a
man, or are you kitchen hound?'
Mr.. Fink dropped his paper. motion
less from surprise She feared that /