Dear Enemy [80]
trains, she intimated a desire to look about, so I showed her the kindergarten rooms and the little crib that Lily will occupy, and our yellow dining room, with its frieze of bunnies, in order that she might report as many cheerful details as possible to the poor mother. After this, as she seemed tired, I socially asked her to walk into my parlor and have a cup of tea. Doctor MacRae, being at hand and in a hungry mood (a rare state for him; he now condescends to a cup of tea with the officers of this institution about twice a month), came, too, and we had a little party.
The woman seemed to feel that the burden of entertainment rested upon her, and by way of making conversation, she told us that her husband had fallen in love with the girl who sold tickets at a moving picture show (a painted, yellow-haired thing who chewed gum like a cow, was her description of the enchantress), and he spent all of his money on the girl, and never came home except when he was drunk. Then he smashed the furniture something awful. An easel, with her mother's picture on it, that she had had since before she was married, he had thrown down just for the pleasure of hearing it crash. And finally she had just got too tired to live, so she drank a bottle of swamp root because somebody had told her it was poison if you took it all at once. But it didn't kill her; it only made her sick. And he came back, and said he would choke her if she ever tried that on him again; so she guessed he must still care something for her. All this quite casually while she stirred her tea.
I tried to think of something to say, but it was a social exigency that left me dumb. But Sandy rose to the occasion like a gentleman. He talked to her beautifully and sanely, and sent her away actually uplifted. Our Sandy, when he tries, can be exceptionally nice, particularly to people who have no claim upon him. I suppose it is a matter of professional etiquette-- part of a doctor's business to heal the spirit as well as the body. Most spirits appear to need it in this world. My caller has left me needing it. I have been wondering ever since what I should do if I married a man who deserted me for a chewing gum girl, and who came home and smashed the bric-a-brac. I suppose, judging from the theaters this winter, that it is a thing that might happen to any one, particularly in the best society.
You ought to be thankful you've got Jervis. There is something awfully certain about a man like him. The longer I live, the surer I am that character is the only thing that counts. But how on earth can you ever tell? Men are so good at talking! Good-by, and a merry Christmas to Jervis and both Judies.
S. McB.
P.S. It would be a pleasant attention if you would answer my letters a little more promptly.
JOHN GRIER HOME,
December 29. Dear Judy:
Sadie Kate has spent the week composing a Christmas letter to you, and it leaves nothing for me to tell. Oh, we've had a wonderful time! Besides all the presents and games and fancy things to eat, we have had hayrides and skating parties and candy pulls. I don't know whether these pampered little orphans will ever settle down again into normal children.
Many thanks for my six gifts. I like them all, particularly the picture of Judy, junior; the tooth adds a pleasant touch to her smile.
You'll be glad to hear that I've placed out Hattie Heaphy in a minister's family, and a dear family they are. They never blinked an eyelash when I told them about the communion cup. They've given her to themselves for a Christmas present, and she went off so happily, clinging to her new father's hand!
I won't write more now, because fifty children are writing thank-you letters, and poor Aunt Judy will be buried beneath her mail when this week's steamer gets in.
My love to the Pendletons.
S. McB.
P.S. Singapore
The woman seemed to feel that the burden of entertainment rested upon her, and by way of making conversation, she told us that her husband had fallen in love with the girl who sold tickets at a moving picture show (a painted, yellow-haired thing who chewed gum like a cow, was her description of the enchantress), and he spent all of his money on the girl, and never came home except when he was drunk. Then he smashed the furniture something awful. An easel, with her mother's picture on it, that she had had since before she was married, he had thrown down just for the pleasure of hearing it crash. And finally she had just got too tired to live, so she drank a bottle of swamp root because somebody had told her it was poison if you took it all at once. But it didn't kill her; it only made her sick. And he came back, and said he would choke her if she ever tried that on him again; so she guessed he must still care something for her. All this quite casually while she stirred her tea.
I tried to think of something to say, but it was a social exigency that left me dumb. But Sandy rose to the occasion like a gentleman. He talked to her beautifully and sanely, and sent her away actually uplifted. Our Sandy, when he tries, can be exceptionally nice, particularly to people who have no claim upon him. I suppose it is a matter of professional etiquette-- part of a doctor's business to heal the spirit as well as the body. Most spirits appear to need it in this world. My caller has left me needing it. I have been wondering ever since what I should do if I married a man who deserted me for a chewing gum girl, and who came home and smashed the bric-a-brac. I suppose, judging from the theaters this winter, that it is a thing that might happen to any one, particularly in the best society.
You ought to be thankful you've got Jervis. There is something awfully certain about a man like him. The longer I live, the surer I am that character is the only thing that counts. But how on earth can you ever tell? Men are so good at talking! Good-by, and a merry Christmas to Jervis and both Judies.
S. McB.
P.S. It would be a pleasant attention if you would answer my letters a little more promptly.
JOHN GRIER HOME,
December 29. Dear Judy:
Sadie Kate has spent the week composing a Christmas letter to you, and it leaves nothing for me to tell. Oh, we've had a wonderful time! Besides all the presents and games and fancy things to eat, we have had hayrides and skating parties and candy pulls. I don't know whether these pampered little orphans will ever settle down again into normal children.
Many thanks for my six gifts. I like them all, particularly the picture of Judy, junior; the tooth adds a pleasant touch to her smile.
You'll be glad to hear that I've placed out Hattie Heaphy in a minister's family, and a dear family they are. They never blinked an eyelash when I told them about the communion cup. They've given her to themselves for a Christmas present, and she went off so happily, clinging to her new father's hand!
I won't write more now, because fifty children are writing thank-you letters, and poor Aunt Judy will be buried beneath her mail when this week's steamer gets in.
My love to the Pendletons.
S. McB.
P.S. Singapore