The Winslow mail., 1917-11-30
WAR GARDENERS
BY LOUISE OLIVER.

was ra1nr aroma or something COOK
ing, just what he could not yet tell,
but he knew that 1t came from his own
kitchen as surely as he knew that the
sun was coming up next morning. As
he came nearer he was able to distin-
guish it more clearly-tomatees In
some process of preservation!
How weary he was of this canning.
Night in and night out it seemed
for weeks and months past it had been
the same thing. He had come home to
lind Laura overheated, overtired, not
dressed, and her temper at the snap
ping point.
The bungalow as he approached Ii
looked so bare and cheerless that he
was almost tempted to turn back to
the station and take the first train
away from trouble. The porch boxes
that last year had been varicolored
mass of foliage and trailing vines were
now innocent of so much as a coat of
paint; the awnings, so bravely and
cheerfully striped year before, hung
stained and despondent fromsdry, dus-
ty caves; the flower beds formerly
gorged with peonies, big orange pop
pies, roses and thousand varieties of
everything, and the close-clipped emer-
aid lawn, had given way to vegetable
garden.
But Fred's thoughts were bitter, not
so much on account of the war dress
of the house as with conditions with.
in. He thought of Mary Ann, that
precious family jewel who had come
to live with them after the honeymoon,
and of the three delectable meals he
and Laura had sat down to every day.
Mary Ann had left at Christmas. But
the worst of the whole thing was
Laura's Unsuitable penchant for can.
ming.
'For goodness sake, can't you ever
get through?" Fred had asked despond-
emily the day before, when Laura, up
to her neck in pear butter, had set
him down to a fried egg and potato
on the corner of the kitchen table.
"Goodness, no! There are the toma.
toes yet and picalilli and catsup!"
Fred did not argue. But he smelled
the tomatoes now and predicted an.
other triangular meal in the kitchen.
He was right-almost-ex that
tonights meal had but one dimension
"a baked potato.
"I was just too tired to cook, Fred"
declared Laura wearily.
And then Fred said things he'd never
meant to say about coming home to
mussed-up house and a dickens-of-a
looking wife, and flung out of the
kitchen and out of the house, climbed
on the train, got seat on the river
side, and settled back for his twenty
minute ride.
Suddenly some one leaned forward
and said in his ear, "Youre getting
back early, my boy"
Fred turned in surprise. It was old
Mr.. Prompter the senior partner and
by long odds the hardest worker in the
firm, in spite of his age. He was very
rich and lived in fashionable section
two stations beyond Fred.
Fred said something about his din.
ner, but the old man was deaf, some
what; moreover, he was changing his
seat to talk to Fred.
II was just thinking" the old man
was saying, 'that our young men in
the Office weren't taking the interest
in the business they ought to, but it
seems I'm wrong. I'm glad to see, my
boy, that you are willing to do your bit
in this sudden extra pressure Of work."
Little by little it was soaking in
Old Mr.. Prompter took it for granted
that Fred was going back to the office
to work like himself. And Fred was
too paralyzed to enlighten him.
"After ALL" thought Fred sit won't
hurt to let him think I'm a little tin
angel. I've been after raise and this
may help some. I'll go get bite
somewhere, telephone to Laura and
humor the old chap by working like
a sailor all evening""
That night Fred came tiptoeing in
ut twelve o'clock fearful of waking his
wife, but she was sitting up sewing be-
side the living room lamp and looking
like his honeymoon wife of last year.
and her hair, always lovely, looked
prettier than it had for months.
Before Fred could say word Laura
sprang up. poor dearie, you must be
tired. Come on and sit down and we'll
have one of our old parties. I've been
an awful person to you lately, and I'm
never, never, never going to put up an
other thing and neglect my house and
husband as long as live, war or 20
war;"
Fred took her in his arms and patted
her head tenderly. Listen, dearie, it's
the best investment you ever made.
Old Prompter got so worked up when
l was the only one who turned up for
work that he-you'l never guess it--he
took me into the firm. That baked DO
tato meant thousands of dollars a year
to us. You'd better mt IT in alcohol