Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 235, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 October 1915 — HIS PERFECT WIFE [ARTICLE]

HIS PERFECT WIFE

By WILL ADAMS.

George Anderson Davis looked out of his office window and saw a man and a woman walking up the street. The couple passed from view, and the fist of George Anderson Davis came down on the table with a thud. "By Jove! That’s the twentieth couple I’ve given a wedding present to in the last ten years.” “Twenty wedding presents, and fifteen silver mugs marked ’Baby, and nothing to show for it, not even a baby named for me, by Jove!" Georges- Anderson. Davis picked up his pen and continued his writing "Old Hicka thinks he has the only wifdt They all think that, I suppose,” was his inward comment. “But I wouldn’t let my wife dress like that.” The words, "My wife,” struck him. He had never used them before. Somehow he liked them, they sounded proprietary. “By Jove! I ought to have a wife.” The fist struck the table the third time. “I’m ten years older than Hicks, and he has one.” A peculiar smile played over the face of George Anderson Davis. He closed his desk with a bang. He was a man of quick decision.

“And I’ll have one inside of thirty days—by Jove, I will! Every man ought to have a wife.” But when on the street a new thought assailed George Anderson Davis. "Whom should he marry?” George Anderson Davis had an excellent opinion of George Anderson Davis. His wife must be perfection —good and. sweet, of course, but domestic, intelligent, stylish and beautiful aq well. “I’ll build the finest house in town, by Jove, and I want a wife to suit it. if I have to go to Europe to find her.” After supper at the boarding house Anderson asked Margaret Allen to take a walk with him. He wanted to talk to somebody, and she was a nice quiet girl who wouldn’t offer suggestions like the other boarders. Margaret was not surprised that Mr. Davis was going to be married. George Anderson Davis went to bed feeling good. It was just as Margaret had said, he could get any girl he wanted. Margaret was a real nice girl anyway; too bad she didn’t have any style about her. He would send her some post cards While on his trip. George Anderson Davis notified the firm the next day that he would leave Monday for his vacation. “Just a little wedding trip, boys!”

At the little mountain hotel George Anderson Davis walked wearily to the far end of the porch and lit a cigar Several people at the other end seemed to be having a good time. It irritated him, people made such idiots of themselves, especially girls. They giggled so they made him nervous. George Anderson Davis had been everywhere, New York, to Niagara and to California, and all the girls were the same; they made him sick. George Anderson Davis was disgusted; he was* going home. The blooming little fools could have all the wedding presents, and the silver mugs, too. As fbr him, he was through with matrimony. He flicked the ashes from his cold cigar and felt for a match. He had nc match at all —even in his vest pocket. He smiled at the appropriateness ol it Someone came softly across the porch and sat down near him. It was quite dark, and he could not see the intruder, but* a sweet voice called "Mother!” George Anderson Davis started suddenly. That voice had a familiar ring It reminded him of home. “Here, mother!” That sweet vdfce was mysteriously near him, his pulse quickened, he sat and waited. "All right, Margaret!” Margaret Allen! Like an electric shock It flashed over him. He was at her side In an instant. “Margaret, you here?” ' “Why, Mr. Davis, you?” He assured her that it was he, and Ke was very glad to find her here also George Anderson Davis had traveled far, the world was disappointing. He was tired. It was good to meet some one from home. It Seemed to him that Margaret always had a way oi being in the right place at the right time. “Is Mrs. Davis with you?” inquired Margaret. Davis laughed and caught the girl’s hand. "No, and lam glad she isn’t. I want to talk to you.” She slipped her hand away from his with a soft little “Oh!" The sweet intelligence of that remark pleased George Anderson Davis. He caught her hand again. And because Margaret was a very good girl, and George Anderson Davis a very old friend, she didn’t remove it > And then —the world slipped millions of miles away. The hotel lights were as. stars in the heavens, George and Margaret were alone, and the moon kept watch. George Anderson Davis looked into eyes—not found in California. He touched soft brown curls—unknown in New York. And he was thrilled —as Niagara never thrills.