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Newspaper Page Text
THE SOB WRITER ENVIES THE ARTIST IN THE
COURT OF DOMESTIC RELATIONS
It was the sketch artist who gave
the sob writer the idea as he sat in
her usual chair hi the court of do
mestic relations, sketching "types"
and she sat below and envied him.
"Here I am," she mused, "ordered
to get some humorous tale in a court
where everything is running over
with pathos, and I have to stick to
facts. There he is, just drawing lines
to make pictures and able to push
one that one there, for instance,
about that woman's mouth that she
got from crying every so often be
cause her man beat her and, pres
to, she has a smile of contentment as
though she had just been kissed."
She pulled a wad of paper out of
her muff, fished a lead pencil from
the pocket of her sweater where she
had put it in an idle moment, and
wrote down the names of the man
and woman before the bar.
"Little red-haired thing, the
woman," she jotted down. "Looks
like a scared rabbit The man is hus
kier, but I bet when things go wrong
with him he puts his head on her
shoulder and cries and she tells him
not to mind a bit, that things are go
ing to come all right some day."
The sob writer paused to listen to
the testimony of the policewoman
and a policeman interested in the
"Your honor," the policewoman
said to Judge Hopkins, "this case
was up lastt week. There are seven
children and the man hasn't worked
for some time. The woman has been
going out begging with the children.
We have taken the children away
from her, but one of them is down
with the measles and quarantined
so the case cannot "be taken to the
juvenile court that the Ghildren may
be disposed of until the "child is well.
These people have been locked up
since last week."
"Yes," said the policeman. "This J
man is no good. The woman sticks
up for him. They've been living in a
"He's doin' the best he can," said
the woman. "He tries to get work.
I begged bread for the children, but
it didn't hurt them. They are healthy
looking children and my man does
the best he can."
"I only want to straighten them
up," said the policeman. "I would
recommend that you put the man on
probation and make him get a job."
The sob writer stopped listening
and glared up at the sketch artist
"He'll probably sketch her as a
frail, little, sickly thing and remem
ber what they said about her being
subnormal, and maybe he'll get in her
eyes that look of a child asking you
to be good to it, and he'll make the
man show that he puts his head on
her shoulder when he's in tough luck.
If I coud sketch I know how I would
do it," she thought
She bit the end of her pencil and
"She was a rosy-cheeked little
thing, slender, it is true, but her face
had a healthy flush that comes from
life in the out-of-doors. The snow
fell and snuggled into her hair and
softened the flame of it, and her blue
eyes glowed as though they were
patches out of a warm June sky as
she watched her man come up from
the barn with the pail of milk on one
arm and a load of kindling wood on
the other arm.
"Out of the door of the farm house
seven kiddies romped, fat and
chunky, and they jumped about
shouting 'daddy' until the man put
the milk down in the shed and drop
ped the load of wood. Then they
threw themselves in his arms, grab
bed him by the knees and scrambled
all over him as he put his arm about
the shoulders of the tiny red-haired
" 'Supper's ready,' she said, with 9