The Pleasantville press. (Pleasantville, N.J.) 1912-1929, 1922-04-26
LIFE vs.. FICTION
BY GERTRUDE HIEsToN

U newspaper Synuichte.
John felt bitter and discouraged as
ne banged the door of the pretty fiat
ne la prepared S lovingly a few
months ago for his bride.
ITS hard enough to get a living and
win success, anyhow" he muttered de-
Jectedly, as he hurried down the
street, but l just know I could If l
had the least bit of encouragement at
home. Lydia seemed so interested
n kind before l married her-I
thought she'd care-but now all she
thinks of is her career The coffee's
cold, biscuits burned, bacon raw, and
everything in disorder.
What if h did get five dollars for
that silly story-maudlin stuff. l
wonder editors are fools enough II
accept lt-I'm left to get along any
old way. l suppose she sits and writes
all day. I'm sure she does nothing
for me. She won't even fix herself up
so I'll have something good to look at.
1 guess the boys were right to laugh
at me for putting my head In the
moose"
AT the Office his employer looked
critically at him many times that day
and frowned at careless, listless work.
Lucky l did not tell him 1 thought of
promoting him. I'll have to look
round for someone else" he said to
himself.
AT home Lydia yawned and stretched
herself. Even the solled wrapper and
hair in curl papers could not wholly
disguise the fact that she was young
and pretty. Pushing the breakfast
dishes n side, she got out her writ
ing materials and became absorbed.
The "diyinely beautiful maiden with
coal-black, starry eyes and raven
curls, clad in shimmering golden It's
sue" had just fallen rapturously into
the arms of the prince when the bell
of the fiat rang and Lydia reluctantly
went to the door.
1t was the postman, and she brought
back to her table a pile of rejected
manuscript. n after another she
read the inclosed printed slips. $50
sorry-unsuitable for our publications.
This does not mean that they may not
possess merit ETC., etc.
One kindly man had written a few
hastily penciled words: "From your
story / judge you to be young. My
advice to you is to get married and
lose yourself in your husbands
career; help him win success. You
can write later and have something
to write about"
Lydia angrily tore up the letter, but
the words persisted in her memory.
Her pen went more slowly and her
thoughts turned from her h%eroine's
starry eyes to the sad, disappointed
brown ones Of her own John. She
tried again to write, but the story be-
came hopelessly mixed In her thoughts
with her own life.
with the fainting maiden In his
arms the gallant prince leaped upon
his horse and dashed away" Poor
John, he couldn't drink his coffee, and
the dinner last night was bum" She
opened her wonderful eyes and gazed
at him soulfully-"John always used
to say I looked so dainty and pretty
and now"
She sprang up and looked at her
self In the mirror.
well, you are a sight for sore eyes
you'd make them sore! l guess I'm
a fool"
She hurriedly seized the manu-
scripts, tore them into pieces and
crammed them into the scrap-basket.
She then dragged off the wrapper and
put on a trim working-dress. She was
young and energetic, and housekeeping
was a game-sO 1t was not long before
the whole place vas spotless and in
order. She went out and bought some
flowers, and when John came home
that evening his brown eyes opened
wide and the light sprang up in them
at the dainty, laughing little wife and
the festive board. q.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Sold all YOU stories? Made a for
tuner"
mo-" she laughed. "They all came
back. I've decided It's more fun to
live a We ourselves will be
the radiant lovers and our home the
enchanted castle where everything is
always beautiful and in order. VIII l
do for the princess?'
"Bet your life," he said gayly, as he
bent and kissed her.