Rensselaer Republican, Volume 23, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 November 1890 — THE WIFE WHO COULD NOT COOK. [ARTICLE]

THE WIFE WHO COULD NOT COOK.

Arthur Morton was very proud arid happy witch he won Irene Lee’s hand and heart, and When the first year of their married life came to a close they had not had- the slightest disagreement. But at length, Arthur met with several pecuniary losses in rapid succession, and the result was, that, almost unconsciously, he grew nervous and irritable. This reacted ori his wife and made her nervous and irritable also. - In ‘fact,- the domestic atmosphere - became highly charged, and a tempest was not long in coming. One day, Arthur went home to iris' dinner feeling decidedly cross and uncomfortable. Unfortunately, the' meal was late: but ho said nothing, until, on sitting down to the table, the beefsteak proved to be badiy burned, and the potatoes had an unpalatable look. "I wish you would make your cook give one something tit to oat?” he exclaimed. This -beefsteak is burned to a crisp, ami tlie potatoes are like mush." Irene looked at him in surprise. " Can’t you speak?” he cried, vehemently. “T don't see th t the potatoes are much worse titan usual,” said the wife.

“'Perhaps hot, for they are nearly'ill-' ways poor." ' E “ They tire not always good, I know. I spoke to cook tlii«nmrniuc. She says It’s the fault of the potato ■ s." “ She knowsthatyou will believe anything she tells you. You know no more .about housekeeping, cookery especially, than an Indian chief." “ Indeed!” “I've kept silent as long as 1 could; b;it oven a saint's patience must give way at last” “Do you call yourself a saint, Arthur Morton?” “You are what the world calls accomplished, yet you are an ignoramus,” the young man went on, ignoring his wife’s „ai\-a«tic question. " You never broiled a beefsteak, I'll be sworn. Perhaps it isn't altogether your fault girls are not brought up to do anything useful. But we’ve been married over a year, and I think it’s time for you to have an interest in the affairs of your kitchen.” Irene rose from the t ;ble, and rushed from the room, banging the door behind her. By this time, Arthur had no appetite. His anger had begun to subside, for it had found vent in words, and that is always a safe-valve. He started up, acid paced the floor uneasily for several minutes. •‘Arthur Morton, you are a fool!” he said aloud, “and you better go up stairs and ask your wife's forgiveness. 1 ’ So he went upstairs and entered Irene’s pretty sitting room. She was there, reclining on a lounge, with her face buried in the cushions. “I've been a brute, dear,” he said, earnestly, "Can you forgive me?” “No; I cannot. Please go away.” “Don’t be cruel, Irene. P m very sorry that I talked so!” “Will yon go a wav?” Slowly he went back down stairs, declaring to himself that.he .would not again seek a reconciliation. ********

Weeks passed, and the husband and wife were very miserable. Irene reasoned that Authur no longer loved her. True; he was kind to her; nothing of the old watchful care was wanting? but the tenderness seemed gone out of it. Yet, perhaps all would have been well had she not repulsed him so coldly when he had asked her to -forgive him. Ami now they were drifting away from each other, and foolish pride prevented her from confessing how she regretted her folly. Ope afternoon, she found upon his writing-table, an open note. Mechanically, she took it up. Part of it had been destroyed. That which was left ran thus; ‘•Remember, the steamer leaves at three. Do not fail me.” It was written in a woman’s hand. What did it mean? Would her pride allow her to ask an explanation? Had she the right? She found herself looking with a new impatience for his coming. When it was nearly five o’clock, the doer bell rang, and her little waiting maid announced “Mix Williams.” ' 5

Mr. .Williams was Arthur’s cousin, lie was an unmarried man of about thirty, and his handsome face bore unmistakable marks of dissipation. Irene greeted him, coldly. "I came to offer you my sympathy,” he said. ‘‘Surely you will not assume the mask of happiness, now.' 1 “What do you mean?” she questioned, haughtily. “Arthur sailed for Europe two hours ago.” “It is falso, or some cruel mistake!” “I beg your pardon! I saw him standing on the deck with a lady, a few minutes before the steamer drew anchor, and know that he was among the passengers.” Site put out her hands, blindly. “Dear Irene,” he began, but paused as she turned, her face toward him. Hor cheeks were crimson; her eyes were flashing inuignantly. “Leave me. sir, at once,” she said, hoarsely • - “Very well;I will follow the exampl&of your husband,” ho said, as a last cruel tauut, a low bow accompanying his words. Alone, Irene stood one moment erect.

“It is true,” she said aloud—“it must be. My God! my God!” The room grew dark, and without’ moan or cry she Sink senseless on the carpet With the morning's dawn she . regained, consciousness, but Only to lapriHnte delirium. - Wheu its shades cleared away, she looked up to meet her.husband's.anxious gaze. •Arthur.”'she cried. a great joy in her voice, “you are here! You have not descried me! Oh. my love!" When ?he was calmer he told her of the error Low he had gone lo see ■ some friends who were on the point of < sailing, and for whom he had promised. ! to transact, some last Commissions of | importance; bow the steimer had carried him oil until he found himself | far from land, and was obliged to wait ’ until he could signal a pilot to lake him back to the shore; and how he id med liitnsolf for being so careless, and causing her so much I anxiety. | And of course that long-10-be-remenv i bored quarrel was alluded to, and own, - 1 ’ thing was satisfactorily-ex plained and ■settled. - j We may tidd that Irene became an ; excellent housekeeper, and often pre- : pares delicate dishes for her husband. And Arthur loves her more than ever for this, and she declares she is hap- | pier than when: she seldom entered her kitchen.—Yankee Blah-.