Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 155, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 July 1914 — THEY MADE UP [ARTICLE]

THEY MADE UP

By CLAUDINE SISSON.

Could she cook? She didn’t know enough about it to fry an egg. Could she sew? She had once almost sewed on a button. Had she ever made a purchase in the line of provisions? She simply knew that breakfast foods were ten cents a package. How about sweeping, dusting, bedmaking and window and dish washing? Oh, mother had always done those things. ' ' ‘ ■' ■ — r J She had started out once to beat a rug, but after the third whack with a stick she had seen a girl friend passing and had run over to the fence to talk with her. And had he ever bought groceries? Yes; when he was a boy he had once bought three pounds of sugar and a bar of soap for his mother. Had he ever split wood or lugged coal? Never. Had he ever sat down to a meal where the meat was burned, the potatoes underdone, the coffee slops,' and the pudding tasting like a mixture of sawdust and molasses? His mother had taken good care that he hadn’t. Had he ever replaced a broken window pane, repaired a lock on a door, made use of a pot of glue, handled a hammer or saw? Never, but he had handled a billiard cue. Did he know the water rates his father paid, or the amount of his gas bills? No. Had anyone asked him the price of a ton of coal he could not have given it correctly! He had a place in the office of his father’s factory at a salary qf $25 per week, and was really worth about five dollars of it

And Benson Chivers passed his twenty-first year, fell in love with Constance Jewett, and she with him, and they had matrimony on the brain within three months! "Benson, you are an idiot!” said the young man’s father. “Constance, you are an idiot!” repeated the girl’s father. “But I love Benson.” “Perfect idiocy!” "And he loves me.” "More idiocy!” ' , "And we are going to get married!” "Go ahead. There may be a law to ’ prevent two idiots from marrying, but I never heard of it.” “David,” said Mrs. Jewett, when the daughter had run away to her room, “we were young once ourselves.” “Yes?" “And we met and fell in love.” "Yes?” “And got married.” ' “Well?” “We were perhaps too young, and no doubt folks said we were idiotic, but we pulled through all right” , “Good Lord, wife, you could run a house bang-up, and I had a trade that was bringing me in five dollars a day! Our Constance don’t even know how to use a feather duster, and as for the young man, he couldn’t earn ten dollars a week outside his father’s office.” “But they wljl pull through somehow.” "Well, I have had my say.” There was a marriage and a brief bridal tour, and then came the cottage and housekeeping. It was fun settling that cottage. They did it all themsqjves. Nothing fitted. There were wobbles and wrinkles and puckers even in the dishes. It took a whole week to get the window shades to hang straight It took another to get the ache out of their wounded thumbs and the carpet tacks out of their heels. It was great fun, though, and while settling was going on there was no attempt at cooking. Crackers, cheese and sardines were good enough for them. On the first morhing of their real housekeeping theywere tor have a breakfast of beefsteak, fried onions and delicious coffee, with graham gems hot from the oven. The young husband was walking in the back yard to sharpen his appetite up when called in to the meal. He sat down at the head of the table and began to carve the steak. “By George!” “What is it, Benson?” He tasted of the onions. ■<. “By thunder!" “Is anything wrong?” asked the wife. He took a sip of coffee and spat it out with: "The devil!” "Benson, I ask you what is wrong?” “1 don’t believe any human husband was ever called in to such a meal before!” “Is —isn’t it cooked right?” “There isn’t any cooking about it. You have spoiled everything. Why didn’t you tell me that you couldn’t cook?” "You never asked me.” “But I supposed you could, of course." “And I supposed you knew enough to drive a nail!" “You may give the meal to Brown’s dog." • “And you may cook the next one!" The husband was too impetuous, and the wife was defiant instead of tearful. She deserved credit for trytlng to cook the meal when she knew that It must be a failure, but that is all. Had she burst into tears and sobs she would have received a pat on the ' head and a kiss, and all would have been over in five minutes. But bursting into tears wasn’t her way. She felt that she had been picked on, and that she would rather fight than weep. . .a■ ■’ The husband arose and clapped on

his hat and marched out of the house. This is a husband's privilege, and he always makes the most of it while knowing at the same time that he is making a fool of himself. In such cases a wife also has a special privilege. She can put on her hat and go home to mother and be sure of a sympathetic reception. In this instance it was a mile to mother’s.

The young wife would go home. The idea of a husband finding fault with his wife because she couldn’t cook was something so outrageous that she knew her mother would advise immediate divorce. She might not be awarded alimony, but there was the stage to turn to. With her face and figure, and” the way she could sing “Coming Thro’ the Rye,” it would be as easy as grease to make S2OO per week. It was high noon when she was ready to set out, and she didn't even take Benson’s photo with her. As a matter of fact, she gave it a disdainful look as she passed out.

Arriving at the proper spot, she climbed the fence, and hadn’t progressed ten rods when she walked into an old uncovered well. It was six feet deep, with a foot of mud and water at the bottom, and when she had managed to get out, she was covered with a good deal of real estate and had lost a good share of her resentment. ' Some one that knew the young wife was passing and saw her, and further on he met her husband and told him about It.

“Going home to mother to tell what a brute I am!” exclaimed Benson to himself. “Well, I will follow on and relate my si’de of things.” He started off, took the short cut, and as if Fate had planned it for two weeks ahead, he, too, went into the old well. He, too, got a large and liberal dose of freedom’s soil. Behold husband and wife a quarter of a mile from each other, each under a bush, scraping off the mud and thinking of beefsteak and fried onions. Hearken to a low and ominous bellowing, such as preceded the Johnstown tragedy! Behold that bull who had scented and got his eyes on the trespassers! He paws the earth. He throws clods over his back. His tail switches the bushes. Mrs. Benson Chivers knew nothing about cooking, but she did know an angry bull from a placid cow. She knew that he was coming for her, and that her salvation was to climb up the tree behind her. She climbed. When the bull arrived where the woman had been she was there no longer. He figured over the mystery for about ten seconds, and then went looking for the man. The man was no boob to sit there scraping off mud while a bull as big as a freight car was looking up his record. He arose and looked for a tree. He saw one. The clutch was released and away sped Mr. Chivers. The bull got a fair sight of him with both eyes and bounded after him with bellows that made the bushes sway as in a gale. j When the man was fairly seated on a limb five feet from the ground he found a woman beside him. It took him only a few minutes for him to recognize her as his wife-—the wife who couldn’t cook for shucks.

She had recognized him as his coat tails flew and flopped across the pasture, but she had not welcomed him with glad words.

They looked each other in the face for a moment and then turned away. Fiye minutes passed, and the bull stopped his snorting to wonder what sort of people they were. Another five minutes, and then a snicker from the wife, followed by what might be called a giggle from the husband.

Another giggle. Another snicker, and then, as the disgusted bull walked away: “I ain’t mad, Constance!” “Nor I, Benson!” “Let’s go hoihe and be good!" And ie lias eaten of her cooking ever since. (Copyright. 1914, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)