Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 88, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 April 1914 — TOM'S DAY DREAM [ARTICLE]

TOM'S DAY DREAM

By MAY C. RINGWALT.

Most men prefer an after-dinner cigar, but Tom Norton had given up smoking when the twins were born and a new double baby carriage had to be bought, and there had never been a time since When he felt that he could afford to-begin again. And after all—if you have a lively imagination by way of a match —an after-dinJfer day dream soothes tired nerves in almost the same fashion — has the'same bright, steady gleam to it as the glow at the end of a Havana. Of course Tom Norton’s after-dinner day dream was going back east to Oshkosh. “Not-that I’d ever want to live there again,’’ he would begin from the depths of his arm chair as he got out the day dream from the pocket next his heart and at once lighted up. “No siree, California for mine! But just to see the little town again—a two weeks’ visit, say.”~ And with vociferous little puffs of enthusiasm and silent little pulls of thought, Tom would dilate upon the joys of an eastern winter blizfcard and the glories of an eastern summer thunderstorm until you felt quite apologetic over the tameness of a California earthquake. The attitude of Norton’s “women folks” toward the after-dinner day dream —his quiver was so tightly packed with daughters that there was no room for a son and heir—differed as widely as an opinion upon the weed itself at a female-of-the-species symposium. ■ His wife looked upon it with the same resigned expression with which she listened to Tom’s conundrums and jokes. Sophonisba, the highbrow of the family in her seventh year at college studying for her doctor’d degree, thought it a waste of time that father should spend improving hie mind reading the classics. Marla, the settlement worker, regarded it as a selfinh indulgence. "If Instead of lounging idly about after dinner’’ —Tom was a commuter who took the 7:30 train in the morning and did not get home until the 6:4s—"Popsy would only give an hour •r so to the study of civic betterment or some of the great humanitarian questions of the day!” Angelina, the beauty of the six sisters, who had social aspirations, was heartily ashamed of it, when Norton had the bad taste to Indulge in his hobby before company. Rosie and Posle, the twins, who looked so alike that you could never have told one from the other If the other had not had a small mole on her chin, declared dad’s day dream “the funniest ever” and giggled over it as they giggled over everything in life from a flying machine down to Judie’s new puppy. As for Frances, the youngest offspring, she simply ignored the whole matter, with that Indifference, not to say glumness, that was characteristic. Unquestionably Frances was the queer duck of the family. “The sort of girl," Tom would sigh to himself, “that somehow you can’t .figure out.” > A tall, awkward young person, with lusterless pale brown hair, nearsighted eyes that necessitated conspicuously ugly spectacles since she hadn’t the right kind 'of a nose for a pincenez; and a reinforced concrete rigidity of chin. The chin asserted itself shortly after France’s graduation from high school, when the young lady who possessed it took away the breath of all family’ traditions by announcing her determination to become a stenographer. *T want to be independent—to have money of my own to spend as I please,” she glumly answered the scandalized Angelina. *T’m not intellectual like Soph, and even if I could get a certificate would make a dead failure at school teaching. I haven’t Rosie’s talent for playing ragtime or Posie’s genius for painting posters. But I can learn to thump a machine and make little dots and curved lines as well as anybody. And I want to be independent,” she reiterated; “to have money of my own to spend as I please." Why Frances should so lust after filthy lucre retrained a family mystery even after she had finished her trainring and been working several months for a wage. Indifferent to dress, she continued 'to Wear plain as pipestem clothes, set 'dom went to theater or concert, walked to and from the station to save car fare; and ate a cold lunch carried 'from home. “Fran always was a tight wad,” sniffed Angelina as she tried on a new pink silk dressing sacque trimmed in real Vai. "A tight wad or a deep wad?" giggled Rosie. “I saw her poring over a bank book the other day, and have a hunch she’s saving up for some big thing that she’s set her heart on. Like I did for my piano, you know, only I never could hive saved enough if daddy hadn’t been such a generous dear in helping me out.” “Maybe she’s got the globe-trotting 'fever and is planning to go round the world,” contributed Posie, continuing >the gigglee. “I wish she’d take me with her as far as Paris. Angle, do ;you think if I coax him real hard father will let me have a at the academy?” “Not until he gives me my promised trip to Alaska, puss-in-boots,” retorted iAngelina with a pleased smile thrown over her shoulder at the pink reflection in the mirror. “Unless that gen-

tieman wishes to get himeelf into a heap of trouble." But all this time . the after-dinner day dream given such prominence in the opening paragraphs of our little story has been laid on the shelf, shamefully neglected. Neglected by us, that is, not by Tom Norton. -■ The more Impossible its realization had become, the dearer in his eyes that after-dinner day dream had grown. And to treat himeelf to so expensive a luxury as a trip back east had seemed more impossible each year. Tom bad forged ahead in business, of course. But they had moved into a larger house. New conditions required new expenditures. The cost of living ’soared higher. As we have hinted, hie growing family had growing ambitions. So the years had gone by from his young married manhood to middle age until this autumn, when Tom Norton and his sixtieth birthday unexpectedly came face to face. As he sank back in his arm chair after dinner that birthday night, for the first time the cherished day dream refused to light. Perhaps the clammy dampness of. low spirits that prevented its igniting was due to the dreary, solitary dinner that he had just finished. For instead of any festive birthday cake celebration it had happened that the scattered family were all dining out that evening—all, that is, except Frances, who had sent word down that she was very busy and would like a tray brought up to her room. “The sort of girl,” sighed Tom to himself as he mused upon this extraordinary behavior, “that somehow you can’t figure out.” Then his honest face turned crimson, for at that inopportune moment of judgment Frances entered Jthe room, and Norton felt as guilty as though she had read his thoughts. “What have you been so busy about, my dear?” he asked as the queer duck of the family approached and glumly stood beside his chair. “Packing." “Packing!” exclaimed Norton in astonishment. “Who’s going away?" “You are, Popsy—to Oshklsh on tomorrow’s overland. Not a word of objection, elr," she laughed tremulously, as she slipped a long envelope into his dumfounded hand. "Your ticket’s already bought, so it’s too late to back out”