The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1915-07-24
tSopyrfght, 1914, By Newayuprs
4 Enterpriss Aasociatisal

~ Entcrpriss Aasociatieal
i know now what to do with
sonny's little clothes. This morn
ing | received the following letter
from Kitty Maram I'll guess I'll
call her Kitty Malram until the
end Of time.)
p Margie, dear, dear, Margie,
you can't tell how sorry ! am for
you that your baby did not live,
for you wanted a baby, and you.
dearest of women, seemed to have
THE mother kind of nature. II
would make me almost laugh If
did not feel more like screaming
| against Fate, as ! sit here and
realize that you, whose whole
heart and soul seemed bound up
in your baby, should lose 1t, and /,
who don't want a baby, who am
not in the least inclined to moth
erhood, will probably have twins
or triplets.
Mature, my dear, seems to de-
light In playing practical Jokes,
and they are apt to seem tragic
to most of us.
Yes, dear. | am going to have
a baby-and. oh. Margie, don {
want it! | don't want to look
ugly for the next few months.
shrink from the pain and suffer
ing and I know in my Innost
soul that am not capable OF
shouldering the responsibility of
bringing up a child. l know l
shall love II and hate 1t. Don't
look shocked as you read this
many women, II they told the
truth, would say what / am. say
ing to you. At least they act this
way to their children.
"Margie, when a woman ac-
cepts motherhood she has dedi-
Gated her life to a cause of which
there is none boiler and, dear,
your poor friend Kitty is not big
enough to give up her foolish
little pleasures and sink into the
background Of Just a propagation
of the race.
az hate the word duty and it's
the word that is most ON Her.
bert's lips. l want to let all the
things which most people think
important slide and l want to put
in their places the unimportant
things which mean so much to
me. never can get used to the
idea of being an old married
woman to whom no man but her
husband must pay compliments.
I want to be flattered and ca
ressed, to have someone's eyes at
least tell me that am most good
to look at. even II his lips do not
form the words. Margie. I'll
never settle down and, oh! how
miss the fascination of little
Initiation.
1T wonder IL you have forgot
te8, dear, that you used to have
I8nty of admirers. Are you per-
f#tly satisfied with the prosaic
Neryday monotony of married
life. Don't you ever want the
tt3seness and Jingle of the nerves
tilt we used to cali good times?
1Hn't your feet ever ache to dance
al night with no thought OF the
9brrow?
III'Aren't you sometimes sick of
Gu roast beef and potatoes OF
n 1rried life and don't you long
lobster and artichokes? do.
N2rgie, and 1 can't help It.
S8lnetimes when I sit across the
t1ele from Herbert at breakfast,
aht hear him discourse on the
needs OF Mary Maloney and her
sore-eyed baby and on the likeli-
hood Of Pat Maloney staying
sober more than one day a week,
as he placidly drinks his coffee
and eats his invariabIe cereal, 1
want to get up and 60 around
and box his ears.
Anything to get him out Of
his seeming content. But instead
l say: Yes, Herbert. and No.
Herbert, where the words are
needed and patiently accept his
cool kiss ON my cheek while all
the while ! want to be taken and