New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1921-08-28


Better turn down the gas jet little Mr..
Deacon said, and stretched up to do so. He
made this joke almost every night. He seldom
spoke speaks who has something to
say, but as man who makes something to
say.
We'll, what have we on the festive board
tonight" he questioned, cycling it. "Festive"
his favorite adjective. Beautiful" too
In October he might be heard asking: where's
my beautiful fall coat"
I'VE have creamed salmon replied Mrs
Deacon gently "On toast" she added, with
scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why
she should say this so gently no one can tell
She says everything gently. Her could you
leave me another bottle of milk this morn
ing?" would wiring a milkman's heart.
We'll now, let US see,' said Mr.. Deacon,
and attacked the principal dish benignly. Let
us see," he added, as he served
y don't want any," said Monona.
The child Monona was seated upon book
and a cushion, so that her little triangle of
nose rose adutly above her plate. He remark
produced precisely the effect for which she had
passionately hoped.
whats this?" cried Mr. Deacon mo sal
mon?"
"No," said Monona, infected up, chin pertly
pointed She felt her power and discarded
her "sr.'
sOh, now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, three
notes. "You liked it before
81 don't want any said Monona, in pre-
csely her original tone.
Just little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon
persuaded, spoon dripping.
The child Monona made her lips thin and
straight and shook her head until her straight
hair tapped in her eyes either side. Mr.
Deacons eyes anxously consulted his wife's
eyes. What is this? Their progeny will not
eat? What can be supplied?
"Some bread and mkr' cried Mrs. Deacon
brightly, exploding on "bread.' One wondered
how she thought of it.
"No" said Monona, infection up, chin the
same. She was affecting Indifference to this
scene in which her soul delighted. She twisted
her head. bit her lips unconcernedly and turned
her eyes to the remote.
There emerged from the fringe of things,
where she perpetually lowered, Mrs Deacons
older sister, Lulu Bett, who making her
nome with u.s." And that was precisely the
case They were not making her home,
goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast
Of burden.
L
asked Mrs. Deacon.
Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunc-
ton at accepting Luus offer, not diplomat
cally to lure Monona. But she hesitated
habitualy by nature, as another is by nature
vvacious brunette.
"Yes.' shouted the child Monona.
The tension relaxed. Mrs Deacon as
sented Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr.. Dea-
nof+
enacted every day. For Monona the drama
never lost its zest. 1t never occurred to the
others to let her sit without eating, once as
a cure-al The Deacons wire devoted par
ents, and the child Monona was delicate. She
had a white, grave face, white hair, white
eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen,
an@mic. They let her wear rings She ''toel
IN The poor child was the late birth Of a
late marriage and the principal JOY which she
had provided them thus far was the pleased
reflection that they had produced her at all.
"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr.. Deacon
inquired Isn't she coming to her supper"
"Tantrum," said Mrs. Deacon, softly
ooh, no. said he's and said more
The temper of Mrs Bett, who also lived
with them, had days of high vibration when
she absented herself from the table as a kind
of sef-indulgence, and no could persuade
her to food "Tantrums," they called these
occasions.
Baked potatoes said Mr.. Deacon "Thats
good-that's goods The baked potato con
tains more nourishment than potatoes pre-
pared in any other way. The nourishment is
next to the skin. Roasting retains it,"
That's what l always think" said his
wife pleasantly.
For fifteen years they had agreed about
this.
They ate, in the indecent silence Of first
savoring food. A delicate crunching of
crust, an odor Of baked potato shells, thu slip
and touch of the silver
Num- mum, nummy-num." sang the Child
Monona loudly, and was hushed by both
parents in simultaneous exclamation which
rlvaled this lyric outburst. They were alone
at table Di, daughter Of wife early lost
TO Mr. Deacon, not there. Di was hardly
ever there. She at that age That age
in Warbleton
clock struck the half hour.
Its curious Mr.. Deacon Observed "how
II