The herald. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1905-1953, 1914-12-03
THEIR FIRST QUARREL
BY LAURA KIRkMAN.
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/ 1t was their first quarrel. Helen
sat out on the veranda staring into
the darkness. John sat in the library
"a thing he had never done before
In the evening.
LAS II I were to blame because
Bridget happened to forget to iron
one Of his Shirts" sighed Helen.
For it was over so trivial a matter
as a shirt-trivial to Helen's mind at
least-that the quarrel had arisen.
John that morning, being in a hurry.
had put on a newly Numbered shirt
without giving it close inspection.
I'm delighted to have my friends
think We have our clothes wet
washed" he had told Helen. sarcas-
tically.
Then had begun the quarrel
Helen's defense of her housewifely
eflciency-John's insinuations that a
little less time spent at card parties
and little more at home was not a
bad thing for the general running of
the house.
HE was horrid-just horrid!" she
told herself, making a quick dab at
her eyes with her handkerchief For
now the tears were coming freely.
Then she sat up, petrified: John
was stepping through the door
coming toward her! II he discovered
her crying, he would think she was
sorry.
He halted before her. do you
know where my old fishing boots
are?" he asked briefly.
Then he was going away for the
night with the men-he was going
fishing or spearing, or something!
So he was tired of her!
She tried to make her tone convey
that she didn't care.
"Oh, in the closet under the stairs"
she threw out.
When he had gone in again, she
leaned forward and buried her face.
She did care-care horribly. She re-
membered when he had thrown the
old boots into the closet and said that
sports would never again hold any
attraction for him. That was a week
after their marriage.
She was still sitting with buried
head when a heavy step sounded
again on the porch. He didn't come
close, this time, however. He stood
near the door and called to her.
Il say! They're not there. Perhaps
Bridget has put them somewhere"
His tone said plainly: she seems
to be running the house"
Like an iceberg. Helen arose from
her chair and sailed toward him.
She passed him with a silence that
must have been chilly. Like a cold
blast, she blew along the hall to the
closet under the stairs. She found
the boots where she supposed they
would be. She picked them up GIN
gerly. Leaving him to dust them,
she set them down on the hall floor
and started back to the veranda.
But she was intercepted. In the
doorway stood John, obviously block
ing the way so that she couldn't pass.
He has seen her red eyes!
"Helen!" he said. Shall we make
up?"
He had said just the wrong thing:
That he could see she wanted to.
She sprang away from him, furious.
Her tone trembled as she hurled
back her answer:
Make up? No! A thousand times,
no! II have cinder in my eye.
fear you have mistaken their red
ness for signs of deep grief"
He let her pass now. He stood
back, as angry as she. With heavy
tramp he swung down the hall after
the boots.
Helen sat out on the porch till he
had gone; then she went in. She
went up to her room and flung her
self on the bed.
For full hour she lay there, then,
suddenly, she sat up. She leaned for
ward in the darkness and listened.
What was that sound?-a latch key?
It surely was a latch key. And
John was the only person who had
one. Then he had not gone of with
the men, after all! He had not found
sports more delectable than home!
With beating heart, she tiptoed to
the top Of the stairs and listened.
He had gone into the library. In a
moment the light fared up. Was he
reading, she wondered?
But she did not care much what
he was doing. The main thing was
that he was there! He had come
home! She gathered up her skirts
and started down those stairs with
noisy heels.
She found him sitting on the H.
brary couch with his head IN his
hands. At her entrance, he looked !
up fleetingly, then sank his head
again dejectedly in his palms.
She few to him. She raised his |
face. With happy heart, she noted
that his eyes, too, were red.
"John!" she cried. ooh, Johni
You want to make up, tool"
But he shook his head.
moi" he denied swiftly. It's
It's just a cinder in my eye!"
Then he kissed her.
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