Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1914-09-11

I
piano they begin to howl for Italian
rag. Why, I'd rather play the piano
in fve-cent moving picture house
than do what I'm doing now. But
the old man wanted his son to be a
business man, not a crazy, piano-play-
ing galoot. That's the way he put it.
And | was darn fool enough to think
he was right. Why can't people stand
up and do the things they're out to
do! Not one person in a thousand
does. Why, take you-I don't know
you from Eve, but just from the way
you shed the briny / know you're
busy regretting''
"Regretting?" repeated Emma Nc
Chesney, in a wall do you know
what / am? I'm a lady drummer.
And do you know what want to do
this minute? l want to clean house.
want to wind a towel around my
head, and pin up my skirt. and slosh
around with a pail of hot, soapy
water. / want to pound couple of
mattresses in the back yard, and eat
q WIZ 0AA1AOA O4A LILO h1lSASA lSAOAOs
That's what want to do"
We'll, go on and do it" said the
fal man.
do it? haven't any house to
clean. ! got my divorce ten years ago,
and I've been on the road ever since.
don't know why stick. I'm pull
ing down a good, fat salary and COM
missions, but it's no life for woman,
and know it, but I'm not big enough
to quit. It's different with a man OH
taking in two or three nickel shows,
or he can stand on the drug store
corner and watch the pretty girls go
by, or he can have a game of bill
lizards, or maybe cards Or he can
have nice, quiet time just going up
to his room. and smoking a cigar and
writing to his wife or his girl. D'you
know what / do?"
No." answered the fat man, inter-
estedly. "What?"
Evenings go up to my room and
sew or read. Sew! Every hook and
eye and button on my clothes is
moored so tight that even the hand
laundry can't tear. EN- off. You
couldn't pry those fastenings away with
dynamite. When I find a hole in my
stockings I'm tickled to death, be-
cause it's something to mend. And
read? Everything from the rules of
the house tackled up on the door to
spelling out the French short story in
the back Of the Swell Set magazine.
It's getting on my nerves. Do you
know what do Sunday mornings?
No, you don't. Well, l go to church,
that's what / do. And I get greer
with envy watching the other women
there getting nervous about 11:45 or
so, when the minister is still in knee
deep, and know they're wondering
enough, and if she has put the celery
in cold water, and the ice cream is
packed in burlap in the cellar, and If
she has forgotten to mix in table
spoon of flour to make it smooth. You
can tell by the look on their faces
tAdCs InSI q . CO11lpcuJ LII O1hnCAs 1AAO
you know that after dinner they'll sit
around, and the men will smoke, and
the women folks will go upstairs, and
she'll show the other woman her new
scalloped, monogrammed, tandem
broidered guest towels, and the waist
that her cousin Ethel brought from
Paris. And maybe they'll slip off their
skirts and lie down on the spare room
bed for ten minutes nap. And you
can hear the hired girl rafting the
dishes in the kitchen, and talking to
her lady friend who is helping her
wipe up SO they can get out early.
You can hear the two of them laugh
ing above the clatter Of the dishes"
The fat man banged one fist down
on the piano keys with crash.
I'm through" he said. Il quit to-
night. I've got my own life to live.
Here, will you shake on it? I'll quit
if you will. You're born housekeep-
err. You don't belong on the road any
more than I do. It's now or never
uhututuMvl