THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 45, 2 June 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

THE GREAT REFORMER Quite accidentally, I happened upon one of these "How to be Happy Thougn Married" symposiums, and of the million or so suggestions there made this one most impressed me: '"Treat your wife with, the same courtesy that you do other women!" There was food for thought in that. I knew that I was reasonably considerate, but when I compared my attitude towards other women with my attitude toward my wife it was easy to see that in the latter case I was careless and neglectful. Most men are. "But these little things," I reasoned, "mean much to a woman. If 1 can add to her happiness at so trilling a cost, surely I ought to do it. It is worth trying, at any rate. Just let me get that rule so firmly impressed upon my mind that it will be ever .present, and I'll surprise her." I thereupon repeated it to myself many times, meanwhile mentally picturing the many little courtesies that X invariably extended to other women and too often neglected to extend to my wife. I was thus engaged when Sally entered the room. Of course, it occurred to me at once that I should rise. No gentleman remains seated, except in a street car, while a lady stands. I got up and offered her a chair. "What's the matter?" she asked. ''Do I look faint?" "Not at all, 1 answered. "I never saw you looking better." 1 A gentleman always tries to say something nice to a lady. "Don't be silly, Tom," she returned. "Sit down and talk sense." '"While you are standing?" I said. She eyed me suspiciously. "What's on at the olub to-night?" s'he asked. \"Xothing at all," I replied. "Why?" "I thought, perhaps, you were going to be out late," she explained signficantly. Tims were my motives misconstrued, but 1 knew that later she would understand, and I was not to be turned from my .purpose. She seated herself at last and told me some trilling thing about the baby. Then she rose to go, and I also rose. "What in the world has got into you, Tom?" she exclaimed. "Are you training for a jumping-jack?" I held the portiere back for her. "I wish I 'knew what you're up to," she remarked, "but I suppose I'll find out in time." Sally has a way of bobbing into my den /every now and then to ask me a question or tell me something. She came in three times that evening, and three times I rose, just as I would,in deference to any other woman. I could see that Sally was puzzled. She was late for breakfast the next morning and I waited for (her. Breakfast is a light repast with us, and it had been our custom to sit down to it without 'formality as we reached the dining-room; but this time I waited. Son Tommy objected to this, but 1 was firm. Son is Tommy, by the way, and I am Tom. Better get that straight. "Just remember, Tommy," I said, "that you should treat your wife—l mean, your mother—with the same courtesy that you do any other woman. If she were not your wife—l mean, your mother —you would not think of taking your place at table before she appeared, would you?" Somehow, this did not impress Tommy as I thought it would. I heard him tell his mother later that I seemed to be getting "nutty." Tommy has a reprehensible habit of using slang, and I sometimes think he is lacking in respect for ■his elders. Sally was surprised and puzzled when she came down. "What are you waiting for?" she asked. "My dear," I explained, "it is only the most ordinary courtesy when a gentleman is dining with a lady to see that she h seated first. Naturally, Tommy and I had to wait for you." "This isn't dinner," she objected; "it's breakfast." "That does not alter the rule," I said, j "Well," she declared, quite excitedly, ■ "if I can't be a few minut-is late to breakfast in my own 'House, what's tlie j use of keeping house at all ?" [ "My dear," I soothed, "you may be as late as you please, or you need not come down at all. If you are coming, . however, it 19 not more than courteous , for us"* to wait for you." 1 It seemed to me that Sally watched me closely and curiously during breakI fast, but she said nothing more. | That afternoon she dropped in to see j me at the office. She frequently calls | at the office when she is down town, j usually to get some money or to ask if | we can afford this, that, or the other j thing. There was a worried look in .her ! eyes when I rose and placed a chair for ; her, and she seemed really disturbed i when T escorted her to the ejevator and : rang for the car. I "Has anything happened to upset you I lately?" she asked. I "Nothing," T replied. "Why?" j "Oh, I 'don't know:;" she returned ; evasively.- "You don't seem to be quite i natural, that's all." ' I was-, apparently, an object of deep ■ and anxious interest to .Sally after that: but. curiously enough, her visits to my den became infrequent, and, after being late to breakfast once more, she was ever afterwards the first down. I could see that my plan was working well. Sally appreciated the courtesy, and showed it in this way. I was glad of it, for I like to have 'mv breakfast—when 1 j happen to be ready for it —on time. ! There never was another wait for bVea'kfast. but there was one for -dinner. : Sally went out to interview the cook j one day just as dinner was announced. ', That is almost a halbit of Sally's. The | dinner .announcement always seems to • remind.her of something in the kitchen ! that she wishes to see about. Tommy and T stood behind our chair, patiently waiting, when she returned. It was just an ordinary little courtesy. but it affected her deeply. 1 could see that. Her'face flushed and

'her eyes flashed, but she calmed herself quickly. In some ways, however, I was finding thia courtesy business rather irksome. For instance, Sally's dearest friend was Mrs. Updyke, who lives less than a block from us. and they are always running bade and forth. It naturally occurred to me, when she said she was going to see Mrs. Updyke about something, that I would escort another woman in the same circumstances. I recalled that I invariably walked home ■with Mrs, Updyke when'she ran over to see Sallv .and .that Updyke always walked back with Sally when she ran over to Airs. Updyke. Clearly, then, I should escort Sally over, although I found lij>dyke such an intolerable bore that I saw no reason for going in. This little attention may have pleased Sally, but she was strangely .silent and almost morose about it. In fact, I believe she said something, quite incomprehensible, about cutting off all her pleasures.

Another of the little tilings I found I rather irksome was foregoing my be-tween-the-acts smoke at the theatre. Sally had always -graciously permitted me to retire for at least one smoke—ex-1 pected it, in ifact—'but I knew that ij should not insult another woman by intimating that I preferred a few puffs of smoike to her iur;-j»ny, and surely ay wife was entitled to cnqual courtesy. Sally became quite restless when I lingered by her side. "Don't you want to -'moke?" sue asked. "My idear," I answered politely, "I much, prefer fo re; iain here with you." "I'm sure "i don't need such constant watching," she complained. I assured her that it was not espionage at all, but merely one of the little attentions to which she was entitled. "I wish I knew what you've done," she mused. "It must have been something awful, to make you atone tor it like this." To be thus persistently misunderstood was very trying, but I knew it would come out all right in the end. The culmination was reached when I went to church with her twice in one day.: This followed the shopping experience, which was quite an event in itself. She wished me to meet her at a department store, and I agreed without a murmur. I had usually managed to squirm out of this sort of thing before, but I realised that I should never be so ungallant if another woman flattered me by asking my advice upon any subject. 'Sally was late, and I could see that s : he expected me to scold her. It was my custom to turn loose a few sarcastic remarks upon such occasions, but sarcasm was quite out of the question now. You can't be both sarcastic and polite. "It's of no consequence," I told her. "I was late myself." This was a lie, but you must lie to a lady in such circumstances. Also, you must be .patient. I narrowly escaped a display of my usual impatience once or twice,'but t held myself in check and insisted upon buying Sally a. box of candy before we parted. She was very thoughtful when she left me. I knew, however, that I bad lived up to my new Tule of conduct. ' Then came the affair of the church. I had not been to church for six months, but 'Sally asked banteringly if I were going, and I went. I couldn't do any-

thing else, of course. No gentleman will | Jet a lady go to church unattended. So I went. That was' in the morning., Sally seldom attends evening service, but; this time she did. So I went -again. "I'd feel that common politeness re-! quired it," I reflected, "if it were another woman." ; The next morning Sally had the doctor up to see me. \ Tie felt my pulse, looked at my tongue, took my temperature and asked me a lot of foolish questions. "I can't see that there is anything wrong with you," he announced finally. "There isn't," I declared. "Who said there was?" ■'Your wife is much worried," he explained. "Fears there's -some mental trouble, but I can't see that you're any queerer than you always were." "Thank you', doctor," I said gratefully. "I hope you'll tell Sally." . ■'l will'," he promisee. "You see," I confided, "I'm getting a little tired of' (being misunderstood." : Sally invaded my den that evening. ) rose instantly, of course. She picked up an iron paperweight. "If you don't sit down," she said fiercely, "I'll throw 1 this at your head." Bewildered, I sank back into my chair. "Why are you trying to harass me?" slie demanded. "Harass you, my dear?" I repeated. ' "Yes, harass me!" she insisted excitedly. "You're either crazy, and the doctor says you're not, or you're the meanest man that ever lived!" She shoolc an accusing finger in my face. "You're making life a 'burden to me! I have no freedom any more, just because you want to he hateful and pose as a martyr. Martyr!" she cried. "I'm the real martyr! You get the credit, hut I'm the martyr! I can't be late for oreakfast, I can't go to church, I'm uncomfortable at the theatre, I can't run oyer | and see Mrs. U'pdyke, I can't do anything I want to do without feeling that it's a dreadful imposition on you! .... Oh, Tom, why can't you be human once more? Why can't you let me be -human ?" "Sally," I said, with the utmost deliberation, "you're a little fool! Get my slippers!" Her tears of woe instantly became tears of gratitude, and she smiled at me happily. "That sounds so good, Tom," she said. "Please say it again. And 1 want to run over to Mrs. Updyke's for a minute," she added doubtfully. "Go ahead," I growled. "Nobody's holding you!" And she kissed me for those ungracious words.