The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1935-11-01

ed pressing, was as drably conventional
looking as himself.
And as far as Duncon himself ever
knew she was still laughing perhaps
e they brought him home in his
gally striped and utterly incredible
Jocky clothes and laid him like a brok-
en- rainbow, a shattered stick Of candy,
on the great bed which he had never
occupied before without first turning
down the spread.
Mrs. Duncon was exceedingly sorry
Tor him and exceedingly kind to him.
She was a good nurse, and as I've said
course, it all made a lot of extra work
Tor her and she had never been a wom-
an to take work lightly.
Duncon himself, on the contrary,
claimed that the tragedy had brought
him the first real holiday that he had
ever known. Robbed of all knowledge
OF good" as it were he had also most
fortunately been robbed of all know
ledge of evil" There was. that it to say,
no pain left in him. For which Ahllah
be praised!
Merely like a much surprised, but
by no means dismayed, child he lay in
his great, quiet bed and watched the
strange wheels of his wife's domestic
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and never get anywhere except just
round and round. For a little time,
perhaps, just the drone and monotony
of it may have struck him as amusing.
He was at least able to use his hands.
Now and then his wife brought him
peas to shell, but never considered that
he shelled them thrifty. Now and then,
at his own request, she brought him
silver or copper to polish, but never
conceded that he did it as we'll rs she
could have done it. Friends brought
him books to read. Quite indifferently
he turned both to and from them.
Rather too much" he said, "like
buying trout instead of catching them
yourself OF bringing home a wild duck
from the market instead of from the
Marshes"
Now and then of an evening my hus-
band and I went to play cards with
him. Now and then of an evening his
new friend, the doctor, dropped In on
his homeward way to join the group.
Duncon was always in good spirits on
these occasions and sometimes almost
hilarious.
1t wasn't, indeed, till late summer
that he began to show any signs OF rest
iveness. The weather vas enough to
upset any one, muggy, yet with a threat
of autumn in it.
Guess I'll write a book myself" he
affirmed one night right in the middle
of a card game.
After that he never played with us
| again, but just lay there in his great
bed, half agrin and half afrown, scrib-
bling in a funny old %blankbook that he
had dug up somewhere. The book had
a lock and key to it and looked myster-
ious.
"Where in the world did you ever
| get such a book?" questioned his wife,
II got it from an old gypsy woman
a long time ago." said Duncon. II
| don't know where she got it. It had
a Lord Somebody's name written on the
| fly leaf, but I tore it out"
"Duncon!" protested his wife.
Fact" said Duncon.
But what on earth are you writing
in the book?" she would glance back
across her shoulder to ask from time
to time.
Making up my personal accounts
| Duncon would answer quite proSily.
This reply seemed to amuse her more
than almost anything else that he hao
ever said.
tits I, you know. who always keep
the family accounts" she would lear
across the card table with a frank
| chuckle to confide to the doctor. "And
| believe me-" she would almost always
add with palpable pride, "1've never
had a page yet that wouldn't balance!'
God himself couldn't balance mine!'
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