The Washington times., 1923-11-21
A Delightful Narrative of Domestic
Life by a Popular Magazine
Writer.

A0A1dLSu hCA WAtA LIS SOOu ndI0lCS
his maddening deliberation, his
sluggish brain, his loud laughter.
She surmised that he loitered about
the offices of men he knew down
town, joking, swapping stories,
passing the time of day when he
should be on the keen scent for
new business. Philip shook all
over when he laughed now. She
could see his big body qualxing
with mirth, his jowl juggling, as he
leaned against some counter and
could hear his fat chuckle break
into a loud guffaw.
She worked herself into helpless
RACES. Her mind dwelt upon leav-
ing him some day-some day when
she had got a little money to-
gether. She could not do it yet;
there was the child. It had been
difficult to support herself be-
fore she was married. She could
not do it with little girl tagging
at her skirts. Besides, she hated
the thought of going back into her
old circle, where lay the only
chance Of a livelihood, unless she
went with money. She knew how
she had run down; she knew how
bedraggled she appeared. Her yell
low hair was streaked with gray,
there were patches Of criss-cross
wrinkles under her eyes, the
shrivelled flesh upon her eyelids
stuck together when she winked.
her hands were cut, bruised, the
nails broken, and they smelIed con-
tinually of the sink. She was a
drab, leading drab's life, and she
knew it.
A Little Fairy
The baby alone made it endur-
able. The child was a fairy with
laughing eyes and dancing feet.
She was the merriest kind of
companion, and Leila rarely let
her out of her sight, though the
little girls gaiety found no echo
in the mother. Sitting, corsetless,
in a loose, spotted Bingham dress
on the steep, narrow back steps,
that led odwn from the kitchen
door, she would soberly watch
little Lucy for hours at a time,
as the child climbed the leafless
appletree or dug holes in the ne
elected garden with short coal
shovel. She was not a demonstra-
tive mother, but she loved her
daughter passionately, making her
clothes; working tirelessly through
the empty hours Of the day over
linen frocks, dainty white dresses
which she ironed deity, while
sweat dripped from her forehead
and Missed on the hot iron in her
hand.
She took little care of herself,
and the garden, which she had
once thought so pretty, was now a
tangle of long grass and weeds.
The violets. the pansies, the mar
querites, were all dead; the yard
was dusty and filled with brown,
dry stalks. She never wore cor
sets except when going downtown,
and when shopping she frequented
the cheapest stores to avoid meet.
ing anyone she knew. In the
morning she twisted her scanty
braid Of tawny, graying hair
around on top of her head and
stuck hairpin or two into it; she
tied on a black petticoat over her
ribbed underwear, and slipped on
a bingham dress. This was her
costume for the rest of the day,
II She went across San Jose Ave-
nue. to the grocery on the corner,
she pinned on a cloth hat and
drew a cape over her shoulders,
carrying her bundles out of sight
beneath its folds. She frequently
did not lace her shoes, for she
found it easier to step out of
them to warm her cold heels
in the oven. Little by little her
intimacy grew with Mrs. Conboy,
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ITO Be Continued Tomorrow