Bonners Ferry herald. [volume] (Bonners Ferry, Idaho) 1904-current, 1914-12-11

incident to crystalline SHADES thought
into action. Mary had picked up a
portion of the paper after it had
dropped from her husbands hands
She started to read the printed page
with all the serious Importance of
little child trying to do something
very big and grown-up.
Suddenly her eyes lighted with
pleasure and a tender smile of pride
and delight Illuminated her features.
In turning the pages she had sud
denly discovered a picture of her hus-
band, under which she read simple
but significant line:
Daniel s. Slade, a Possible Cover
nor"
"Oh, Dan," she cried, happily. Isn't
this fine picture of you. could
almost imagine it was going to speak
to me-"
Then she paused a little wistfully
and doubtfully before she asked:
But do you really want to be gov
ernor?"
Want to be-"
Slade caught his breath as he re-
peated her question.
Want TO be-when every aim and
ambition the last few years had been
made in the one direction, toward
the one longed-for goal-political
power Want to be-when years be-
fore he had turned his eyes on the
governors chair and had been bat
Ting grimly. silently, persistently
toward that end ever sincel Want to
be--when that was his one ambition,
the one thing he had yet to achieved
He sighed YEARLY to himself That
Mary could ask that question was the
best proof of how irrevocably they
had drifted apart. Living in the same
house with him, eating at the same
table, day after day at his side, the
little woman knew no more of his
real sell or his ambitions than the
merest stranger
ITS nice story about yer, Dan, 8"
Mary went on, all unconscious of the
struggle going on just a few feet away
from her-the struggle between the
heart of man that calls out to the
companion of his youth, the sharer of
his joys and struggles and the brain
of man that demands the glory Of
power and the fulfilment of ambition.
But, DAN" questioned Mary's
gentle little voice. who's The Cover
nor's Lady,"
His wife. Of course" snapped Slade.
What does it say about your"
He reached over and took the paper
from her hands, leaned forward ca
gerly toward the light and frowned
as ne read
Should Daniel s. Slade, the ex-
miner, ex-towr marshal, ex-sheriff. ex-
United States marshal. ex-land boomer
and multimillionaire, arrive, it will be
| interesting to see the governors lady
busting the gubernatorial chair-prob-
ably the only occupation congenial to
this kind-hearted and plain little
woman"
busting the guhernatorial chair"
Slade repeated mockingly, cut to the
quick by this public allusion to his
wifes plainness and lack of social
graces.
That simple little phrase, singing
as 1t was brief, was as match fame
to dry timber. 1t was all that was
necessary to bring the hot rage surg
ing through him to the boiling point.
The sweetness of the little woman's
expression, the tenderness of her eyes
whenever they rested upon him. the
plaintive softness of her voice meant
nothing to him then. Through angry
eyes he saw only the lack of smart
ness in her somber brown dress, only
the note of absurdity she struck amid
the exquisite surroundings of the
room he had furnished for her. He
thought of nothing but the sorry spec.
tacle she would make at a brilliant
dinner or smart function where beau.
tiful women in fashionable chiffons
chatted freely and easily Of men and
things in the progress of the nation
! This is some oe Wesley Merritts
tin-horn footing writing" growled
Slade. Oh his dirty work."
AS her husband muttered to him.
self, Mary had calmly resumed her
endless mending of socks, long years
Of thrift and saving making 1t impos
sible for her to throw away even a
well-worn pair in spite of the fact
that the need for repairing had long
since passed.
Slade found himself looking at the
little woman who had been his wife
for twenty years, through lean years
and hard years, as faithful and pa
tent then as latcS, when success first
began to come his way, very much as
he might have scrutinized an entire
stranger. For a moment the tragedy
of their present state caught at his
soul, and he felt the infinite pathos
of the woman's predicament. A softer
note came into his voice as he asked
slowly:
Say. haven't you got any clothes
Mary? Haven't you any of the things
other women wear at night-silk OF
lace or ruffies or-whatever they
are?"
Yes, I've got EN-" Mary replied
indifferently, but it's too cold t
wear EN-, and those silk stockings
you told me to buy-I can't weai