News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1914-05-06
CHAPTER |.

Daniel Slade sat reading the evening
newspaper in the handsomely appoint
ed library of his spacious home. To
all intentS he was a man at peace with
the world He had money and power.
He had advanced from a penniless
miner to millionaire figure in the
business world. At fifty his were the
fruits of a Well-spGnt, energetic life.
Handsome and immaculate in his per-
fsstly tailored evening clothes, he fit
ted into the beautiful room with it's
rich tapestries and oriental rugs with
AN the ease and naturalness of a man
born to culture and wealth.
Every now and then his eyes wan
dered from his newspaper to the fig
use Of his wife sitting at the other side
of the richly carved table. The tiny,
unimpOSing little woman in her badly
cut, dun-colored gown was the one in
cengruous detail in the room. She
was like a shabby little prairie flower
suddenly transplanted to a conseTya-
tory where brilliant orchids and lovely
roses blOOmcd all about her, her faint
little fragrance oycrpowercd by their
heavy sweetness-Ler delicate lowell
ness completely submerged by very
contrast with the radiant beauty of
her surroundings.
To SHADES critical eyes, the dowdy
little figure, with the work basket in
her lap and her head bent over the
stocking she was contentedly darning,
was an actual eyesore. He had fitted
up a magnificent home that would
have made perfect setting for prin-
cess, and his Wife's appearance had
not changed a particle from the days
when they lived in a tumble-down cot
tage and he worked in the mines in his
sbirtSleeves. With the getting Of vast
amounts of money he had acquired a
veneer of manners and tastes that at
times failed to conceal the rough and
brutal instincts Of the real man. His
social horizon was charging, but
within it his wife seemed to find no
place, He wanted, beyond this and
everything, to climb the political tree
and pick the fruits thereof His wife /
seemed not to know that there was |
such a thing as a political tree to /
Climb. With herself, her husband and .
her work she was coutented and |
happy.
The wives of other men Of his po- .
sttton were social queens noted for .
their beautiful gowns, their entertain .
ing and their clever wit. lie alone .
was shackled to a woman he would .
have been ashamed to introduce to .
his friends. Only he was tied to u .
wife he could not force either by
pleading or argument to enter into
the life which meant so much to him. /
Tonight as he rehearsed in his .
mind his many unsuccessful efforts to .
make Mary advance and take an inter
est in his life as it was now, rebellion .
surged in his heart. He had struggled .
year after year to attain his present |
standing, his present position in the
w0rld, and Mary, the one loved thing
of his life, insisted on hanging like a
milestone around his neck.
Why, oh, why, couldn't the woman
progress? Why hadn't she developed
as he had done? Why was she com
placently sitting there satisfied to re-
main just as she had been twenty
years ago, hopelessly behind the
times?
And if she wouldn't advance-why
should he consent to be held back by
her? If she wouldn't so on with him
he would leave her behind The
thought and the resultant decision
had their birth suddenly but positively
In the mans mind. lie would make
one more argument, one last appeal.
If Nary wouldn't meet him half way,
Mary could stay behind with her ever
lasting darning and her eternal knit
ting. She could wash and cook and
stew and sew, if she liked. but she
couldn't do it in his mansion.
But Daniel Slade was no more I'M
CON Portable at having her there than
Mary Slade was at being Obliged to
live in this great, elegant house, with
its crowds of servants and its routine.
absolutely foreign and well-nigh hate
full to her. She knew she didn't tit
into her surroundings. She realized
her own inharmony. Her attempts to
loek natural and feel comfortable
were pathetic. she felt lost without
the ask of overseeing the Mondays
wa ling. She was heaTt-bToken be
cause she couldn't personally superin-
tend the making of Dams coffee. Her |
life was Incomplete because a hired /
cook made the bread that was served 1
m +la fab1a and hpcauep Nan uavar Z
seemed to miss the evenly brown
Ioaves that had been her especial
pride in the old days.
Mary Slade was as commonplace as
4 cup Of boiled tea. She was a plain.
ordinary, everyday woman, who loved I