The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1930-01-10
FOR HER
HUSBANDS
APPROVAL
CO by d. ]. Walsh,

wandered, often sadly bewil-
dered, through approved picture gal
leries. They had dined at the Cheshire
Cheese. They had been secretly dis
appointed that Shakespeare's house
was so tacky looking, as Mrs. Willis
expressed it.
But Mr.. Willis had been bitten by
the mosquito of European culture tas
he understood it, that Isl. He pre-
scented his wife with a cigarette
holder and the good woman nearly
tainted. She contided in the occupant
of the next deck chair (from Ohio)
and that worthy suggested a psychi-
artist.
mot that awful psychoanalysis?
cried poor Mrs. Willis, who had been
given a book on that subject by her
enterprising husband and never
rightly recovered.
"No. no, my DEAR" soothed the To-
ledo woman, nothing like that" Ut
would never do to admit she'd never
heard of Freud, but she hadn't. Il
mean, well, just doctor, who, well,
takes care Of"
"Crazy folks?" cried poor Mrs. Will
lis. swell, do you know l was half
afraid that awful hot day in Paris,
and Mr.. Willis would sit and eat out
doors. And no real cooling ice cream
sodas, either. | can't see myself why
people go to Paris for food. Give me
good pile of hot cakes, or a nice
fried pork chop"
That's just what my Gerald says,
but you have to come abroad just to
be thankful you aren't a foreigner,
guess" rather lamely, for just then
the sprightly Willis hove in sight. He
bowed, in what his distressed wife
thought French manner.
week later Mr.. Willis poked the
hash in front of him in disguest.
"Why can't we have croquettes?" as
asked irritably.
Because, Wednesday, when your
poor uncle Timothy came to dinner he
thought | said croquet, and you know
you laughed, and, after all, even if
he is deaf, he has what little money
there is in your family"
"Well, but Uncle Timothy isn't here
tonight. | insist on more modern
ways. You have defied me about
smoking. Well, l suppose every one
can't like the taste of tobacco. But
l insist, insist, mind" (Mrs. Willis was
reminded of peppery general in an
English play, and was certain that
trying character had precipitated this
scene), II say again l insist on mod
ern cookery. We are no longer
obliged to consider every cent. We've
travelled"
"Unhappily, yes," sighed the poor
wife, wondering if the psychiatrist
was urgently needed. you've never
been the same sensible man since we
started that trip, never"
81 will not put up with nagging. -
cried Willis, starting for the door.
That afternoon Mrs. Willis motored
quietly to town. She had long talk,
not with the mental specialist, but
with the up-to-date bookseller. And
her topic was cookery books. The
bookseller was very modern. He
sprinkled vitamines all over his con-
versation as If they were paprika.
Mrs. Willis was impressed. She took
an exotic volume with pictures of car
rots and tables of calories. She drove
musingly home.
The next day was Wednesday, the
day sacred to the deaf and wealthy
Uncle Timothy; the day, also. when
other members of the families were
wont to drop in after dinner to listen
to the really excellent Willis radio.
Mrs. Willis was not without humor.
And she had quite full share of
common sense, albeit she refused
point blank to wear Spanish heels.
rouge her nice red cheeks or make
herself ''sick at the stomach as she
worded it, with a cigarette.
"I'm Victorian" she asserted,
land a Victorian I'll die"
However, she cooked varied and
appetizing appearing meal, using a
multitude of odd nut combinations of
which she'd never heard and of whose
power to delight her newly fastidious
husband and the robust Uncle Tim
othy she had grave doubts.
Laboriously she wrote menu cards.
They'd had them at the club once
when a noted temperance lecturer
had come to Grassville, and she knew
they were CLASSY"
Putting on dog" growled Uncle
Timothy, adjusting his specs TO read
the card. "Pity for Americans to go
abroad if they can't keep their senses.
Percy Ito Mr.. Willis), why d'you let
that good wife of yours lose her
head? She'll be trying to smoke next,
like some of those fiighty fiappers
see. Disgraceful, l call it, and wom-
an well past forty, too"
He picked over his salad. whats
this? Carrots don't look cooked to