The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1916-03-22


little book. how we label people In
our own minds. Some people ike
Aunt Mary and Mrs. Selwin are
always dear" to me, never
think of them without that pre-
fix. / never thought Of Eleanor
Fairlow without the word "fasci-
mating" bobbing up and settling IT.
self before her name. always
think of Eleine as Sweet" Of
Mollie as charming" Of Donna
Tenney as brilliant" Of Annie as
sensible" of Jim as faithful"
of Pat as patient" Of Mary as
true blue" and of Bill Tenney as
tickle"
Sometimes l change some OF
these adjectives, but in my mind
all my friends and acquaintance
are card-indexed with a word or
two that simply describes them to
me. Dick in the first years of our
marriage was dearest" then he
became "thoughtless." For a time
never spoke to him-never
called his name - that the word
"eruel" did not come into my
mind, and after that the word
false" used to make me shudder
for months whenever my lips
framed his name. Yet such is the
queer quirk of woman's love.
There, l have written the word
love-" but | am not sure that |
love Dick any more, at least | am
very sure | do not love him in the
way that / used to do. l never
think of him now that the words
Poor old Dick" do not end with
sigh.
Poor old Dick! He certainly
has grown old, and while perhaps
his friends are congratulating him
on his better financial success. he
is poor. Already his hair has be-
gun to whiten at the temples.
When ! noticed 1t the other day |
really think it hurt me more to
think that l did not want to run
my fingers through 1t and kiss the
gray locks any more. All it meant
to me was poor old Dick.
In one of John Galsworthy's
books he remarks of woman OF
the streets, "She expected to find
the joy of life and instead she
only found the life of joy, which
is very different thing
think men can find out this is so
as well as women. l know that
Dick has done so.
For him as we'll as for me illu-
sion has fled. l am satisfied he
blames himself for Eleanor Fair
lows death and my dreary out
look on life. He has plunged into
work, and like many another man
he is trying to forget his follies
in the fever and stress of bust
ness.
Just now he is doing penance
as vigorously as a flagellant, and
while his outside garments are in
the latest and smartest fashion,
yet his soul is feeling the rough
CALLING of a fabric that hurts more
than sackcloth does the flesh, and
his heart instead of his head is
covered with the ashes of lost de-
sire. Poor old Dick! l want to be
your friend, and yet all desire to
be your sweetheart and your wife
has fled!
Poor old Dick, l am really sor-
rier for you than for myself, for
you have to fight two devils, Re-
morse and Regret, and l have
only one. l only regret that |
married you without knowing
more about your life and your
loves.
And yet-oh, little book, it is
so hard to be honest with one
self. / was just about to put
down here that if l had known
about Eleanor Fairlow I never
would have married Dick; but
even as my pen was poised to
write the words | knew ! was
lying to myself. | know that |
would have married him had all
the women in the world stood in
line and said that he belonged to
each one of them.
Oh, little book, those early
days of living and loving were
glorious beyond beliof.
Time, place or circumstance
cannot take them from me.