The day book. [volume], March 21, 1917, NOON EDITION, Image 22

About The day book. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917

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

                
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CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
LAUGHTER MOCKS LIFE'S ILLS.
Do you know, little book, I some
times think fate is an awful joker?
One needs a sense of humor always
on tap to live with any degree of con
tentment. We poor mortals make so
many, many plans which fate plays
fast and loose with that, unless we
can laugh, we are lost
I had told Donna Tenney so much
about 'Malcolm Stuart that I think
she was quite excited about meeting
him. She was wonderful today when
.she left for the boat a picture in
white soft white wool with white
furs, against her white hair a stun
ning black hat.
"You are looking simply wonder
ful, Donna," I said.
"Yes," she answered rather wear
ily. "I wonder if any woman who is
universally called beautiful gets as
tired of being told of it as I do. You
would think I had to be flattered and
complimented perpetually. Some
times I think if I could find a man
who did not tell me every minute and
a half how beautiful he thought I
was I would marry him immediately
that is, of course, if he had the
grace to ask me.
"Now look here, Donna," I said.
"Don't get foolish. You may be very
tired of being complimented, but
think, my dear, what it would mean
never to have any one tell you you
looked nice. It would be simply aw-
f uL When I get so old and ugly that
no one can find anything in.me to ad
mire, I know I shall wish I were dead.
. "But, Margie," said Donna, "don't
you find it hard to live up to your
friends' valuation of you? Take my
white hair, for instance. Every one
says, 'How perfectly beautiful!' but
it means hours of time spent in keep
ing it clean and perfectly dressed."
Poor Donna! I think, little book,
some malignant fairy crossed her
with discontent. The thing she has
r the thinsr she never wants. When
she got back from the sailing party
tonight she was a sight Her face
was dH swollen up and her eyes red
and almost closed.
"Why, Donna!" I said. "What is the
matter?"
Although she seemed to be in pain
there was a little twinkle in her red
dened eyes.
"What kind of an impression do
you think I would make on a man?"
she asked.
Before I could answer she contin
ued. "I arrived on board the boat
and was introduced to your paragon
and my host, and just as I opened my
mouth to smile I felt a twinge of
pain. In less than two minutes I had
a jumping toothache it ached to
beat the band. I tried to keep it to
myself, but it was impossible, and
when my face involuntarily screwed
itself up in pain and I gave a jump,
your friend, Mr. Stuart, asked me so
licitously if I was ill.
"All at once, Margie, I determined
to be natural instead of polite and I
said, T have a frightful'headache and
I wish I was home this minute with a
bag of salt and a piece of red flannel
on my face instead of on board this
beautiful yacht trying to look ten
years younger than 1 am, while I feel
at least ten years older.' "
I laughed uproariously, little book,
and Donna said that was just, what
Malcolm Stuart had done, though, of
course, he apologized immediately
for laughing.
"My dear Mrs. Tenny," he said, as
Donna repeated it to me, "I am very
sorry for you, but, you'll forgive me,
I know, when I tell you this little
glimpse of you with the toothache
makes me feel as though I had been
acquainted with you always.
"I am going to send you down to
my room, and while I shall not send
you a salt bag, I will have the stew
ard bring you an electric pad."
"I went, Margie," continued Don-