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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, July 25, 1914, NOON EDITION, Image 13

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1914-07-25/ed-1/seq-13/

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THE CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
THINGS I CAN TELL TO NO ONE
(Copyright, 1914, by the Newspaper Enterprise Association.)
Aunt Mary and I have been looking
for an apartment.
I "was rather anxious to have a
house, but a little remark that Dick
made caused me to change my mind.
We came back from one of the sub
urbs, where I had found a house that
suited me very well, indeed. There
was enough land about it for a big
garden, and there were a number of
fruit trees on the place. The house
was an old-fashioned one, but it
could have been made very comfort
able. I know Aunt Mary would have
liked the quiet, and if Dick had not
asked me: "Margie, what time does
the last train leave from the city for
this place that pleases you so much?"
I certain would have taken the house.
The truth of the matter was the
last train left at half past eleven at
night, and in imagination I could hear
Dick giving as an excuse the next
morning: "I missed that bally old
train, Margie."
Right here, little book, I am going
to make a confession to you. I can
understand perfectly why Dick some
times wants "to miss a bally old
train." I am so tired so tired of
staying in the house even this beau
tiful one all the time. It is three
months since I was hurt in that colli
sion, and since that time I have really
not done anything but just try to get
well. I haven't been any good to
anyone not even myself. I am sure
that Dick is chafing under this deadly
monotony that has settled about us
as much as I. I am just going to
throw away these old crutches today
and walk without them.
Yesterday I stepped a little and to
day I am going to walk into the din
ingroom for dinner. If I were to be
obliged to walk on crutches all my life
I should go mad. And, while Dick is
kindness itself, I know he must be
getting very tired of being tied down
to a pair of crutches. Tonight I am
going to propose going back to the
hotel until we can find an apartment
that will suit us, and I am going home
with him some night next week.
When Kitty came here she brought
me one of my long white gloves. I
lost it the night of her wedding. She
said: "Here is a funny thing, Mar
gie. You know that Mr. Sanders,
who was Herbert's best man and who
was killed in the accident in which
you were hurt? Well, some one
found this glove in his desk drawer
and, as it had your name in it they
sent it back to me.
"I presume Sandy found it and
dropped it in his drawer and forgot
it."
I felt rather guilty, but really there
was nothing to tell Kitty and it would
seem rather theatrical to say to her
that "Sandy," as she called him, al
though he had only seen me three
'limes, had told me he loved me when
he was dying and with his last
strength had tried to make my hurt
more comfortable.
She also told me that if Mr. San
ders had been found and taken to the
hospital in time his life might have
been saved.
And he insisted that I should be
taken out first!
"Greater love than this hath no
man, that he lay down his life for
another."
(To Be Continued Monday.)
o o
BAKED CUSTARD
Beat 4 eggs very light with 2-3 cup
of sugar. Add 1 quart of milk, pinch
of salt and any desired flavoring. Pour
into pudding pan. Set pan in skillet
of warm water and set in oven. Bake
slowly until when knife is thrust into
center it comes out free from any of
the custard. Take from oven at once,
and set pudding-pan into dish of cold
'water to stop the cooking.
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