New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1919-05-18

blank-blank blank--i This was the
end. This was the way she was always
dong. But never again now, not once
more. He'd get divorce now, Now,
by George, for once he would stand his
ground and be man, not q social door
mat, humble beggar of love, hanging
around hat in hand waiting for her
favors Never! Never. Never. .
Only
That letter Of hers on the dresser
there ,caiting for him, as usual,
Dearest Old Judge" it began as,
his face a-frown, his hands almost
trembling with rage and pain, he at
last opened it. This isn't the real
one. This is just a hundred-kiss one,
this. The real one is pinned to your
pillow over there-our pillow-where
it ought to be, don't you think? l
don't want you to be unhappy at not
finding me home, Judge, see? And
| don't want you to get mad and quar-
rel. And l do want you to be sure to
find the other letter. So don't be angry,
see? But call me up at the Gildas'
I'm dying to see you, dearie, really
and truly l am. I've been so lonesome
without you! (Yes,) You're sure to
find me out there. And you're not to
be angry-not one little frown, do
you hear? 1 just couldn't help it,
dearest. SO read the other letter now.
"IDELLE."
Damn her! Damn her! Damn her,
To think she would always treat him
like this! To think he was never to
have one decent hour Of her time to
himself not one, always this running
here, there and everywhere away from
him, as it were
He crumpled up the note and threw
it on the floor, then went to the
window and looked out. There over the
way at her own spacious door was young
Mrs. Justus just entering her car
a simple, home loving little woman, who
would never dream of the treacheres
and eccentricities of Idelle; who, if
she even guessed what manner of wom-
an she was, would never have any
thing more to do with her. Why
couldn't he have loved a girl like her
why not? And just beyond, the large
quiet house of the Walterses, those
profoundly sober people of the very
best ways and means, always SO kind
and helpful, anxious to be socable, of
whom Idelle could think Of nothing bet
ter to say than "stufTy." Anything
kind and gentle and orderly was just
stuffy to her, or dull. That was what
she considered him, no doubt That's
because she was what she was, curses
on her, She couldn't stand, or even UNI
derstand, profoundly worthy people like
the Justuses or the Walterses. (There
was May Walters now at her dining
room window And then there were
the Hartleys But that other
note of hers-what did it say? He
ought to read that now, whether he
/ left or no; but he would leave this
time, we'll enough
He turned to the twin bed and from
the fretted Counterpart unpinned the
second lavender colored and scented
note-the kind Idelle was always scrib-
bling when she was doing things she
shouldn't 1t didn't make one hanged
bit of difference now what she wrote. of
course-only- He wouldn't follow
, her this time; no, he wouldn't He
wouldn't have anything more to do
with her ever. He would quit now,
lock the doors in a few minutes, dis
charge the servants, cut off her allow
ance, tell her to go to blazes. He
would go and live at a club, as he
had so often threatened before to him
self-or get out Of C, as he had
also threatened He couldn't stand
the comment that would follow, any
how. He had had enough of it. He
hated the damned city. He had never
had any luck in it. Never had he
been happy here, in spite of the fact
that he had been born and brought up
here, and twice married here-never.
Twice now he had been treated like
this by women right here in this city,
his home town, where everybody knew
Twice he had been made fool Of
but this time
The letter, thought
Darling Old judge he read in
spite Of himself, setting his firm, even
jaws as he did so. He looked older
grayer, sadder by years. Dearest
and best of bubbles, l know you're
going to be disappointed at not finding
me here, and in spite of anything l
can say, probably terribly angry, too.
q wish you wouldn't be, darling. }
But, sweetheart. if you'll only believe
me this time Owe said that before
r