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toights I just' move the furniture with
sharp corners out of the way, so I
won't cut my head when he gets his
work in. Sometimes I take the count
in the first round; but when I feel
like having a good time during the
week or want some new rags I come
up again for more punishment.
That's what I done last night. Jack
knows I've been wanting a black silk
waist for a month, and I didn't think
just one black eye would bring it.
Tell you what, Mag, I'll bet you the
ice cream he brings it tonight."
Mrs. Fink was thinking deeply.
"My Mart," she said, "never hit me
a lick in his life. It's just like you
said, Mamie; he comes in grouchy
and ain't got a word to say. He never
takes me out anywhere. He's a
chair-warmer at home for fair. He
buys me things, but he looks so glum
about it that I never appreciate 'em."
Mrs. Cassidy slipped an arm
around her chum.
"You poor thing!" she said. "But
everybody can't have a husband like
Jack. Marriage wouldn't be no fail
ure if they was all like him. These
discontented wives you hear about
what they need is a man to bome
home and kick their slats in once a
week, and then make it up in kisses
and chocolate creams. That'd give
'em some interest in life!"
Mrs. Fink sighed.
The hallways were suddenly filled"
with sound. The door flew open at
the kick of Mr. Cassidy. His arms
were occupied with bundles. Mame
flew and hung about his neck. Her
sound eye sparkled with the love light
that shines in the eye of the Maori
maid when she recovers conscious
ness in the hut of the wooer who has
dragged her there.
"Hello, old girl!" shouted Mr. Cas
sidy. He shed his bundles and lifted
her off her feet in a mighty hug.
"I got tickets for Barnum & Bailey's,
and if you'll bust the string of one
of them bundles I guess youll find
Ithat silk waist why, good evening,
Mrs. Fink I didn't see you at first.
How's old Mart coming along?"
"He's very well, Mr. Cassidy
thanks," said Mrs. Fink. "I must be
going along now. MartH be home
for supper soon."
Mrs. Fink went up to her fiat and
had a little cry. It was a meaning
less cry, the kind of cry that only a
woman knows about; the most tran
sient and the most hopeless cry in the
repertory of grief. Why had Martin
never thrashed her? He was as big
and strong as Jack Cassidy. Did he
not care for her at all? He never
quarreled; he came home and loung
ed about, silent, glum, idle. He was
a fairly good provider, but he ignored
the spices of life.
Mrs. Fink's ship of dreams was be
calmed. Her captain ranged between
plum duff and his hammock. If'only
he would shiver his timbers or stamp
his foot on the quarter-deck now and
then! And she had thought to sail
so merrily, touching at ports in the
Delectable Isles! For one moment
she almost hated Mame Mame, with
her cuts and bruises, her salve of
presents and kisses, her stormy voy
age with her fighting, brutal, loving
Mr. Fink came home at 7. He
was permeated with the curse of do
mesticity. Beyond the portals of his
cozy home he cared not to roam, to
roam. He was the man who had
caught the street car.
"Like the supper, Mart?" asked
Mrs. Fink, who had striven over it.
"M-m-m-yep," grunted Mr. Fink.
After supper he gathered his news
papers to read. He sat in his stock
.The next day was Labor Day. The
occupations of Mr. Cassidy and Mr.
Fink ceased for one passage of the
Mrs. Fink went to see Mrs. Cas
sidy early. Mame had on her new
silk waist. Even her damaged eye
managed to emit a holiday gleam.
Jack was fruitfully penitent and
there was a hilarious scheme for the