Judge — June 14, 1913 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Sundown Soliloquies By OREOLA W. HASKELL The Benedict Goop heavens, Ella! Keep those.chil- dren away for a while, can’t you? I've kissed the whole bunch a hundred times. I don't want to see their silly truck. Dotty’s made me a penwiper, and she'll be dreadfully disappointed if I don’t look at it? Gh, well—come here, Dotty! Kids are such nuisances!. There —the penwiper’s fine! Run along now and don’t bother me any more. And tell Bob I'll slaughter him if he uses his new roller skates in the hall and raises a hubbub. Gee! but I’m fagged out! Yes, Ella, if you could by iron self-control manage to stop jabbering, cease grinning in that idiotic way, and go out of the room and leave me in peace a minute or two, I'd be thankful! Well, she’s gone—to blub- ber a bit, I'll bet! Funny how a wife's feelings are always getting hurt over nothing! Wish the whole female sex would brace up and chuck their emotions overboard! No earthly use except to make them troublesome. Jiminy! what a life a benedict leads! All day long at the office, grinding away, noise on all sides—typewriters clicking— telephones ringing—clerks gabbing— clients grumbling—interruptions galore —all for the sake of a few sordid dollars to keep the blamed old race going! Then JGAANN HUET it’s home again and more bedlam! I'd like to wring the neck of the simpleton who made home synonymous with peace! Must have been a blessed bachelor. Didn't know what gab! females are and how nerve-racking kids can be. Well, I'm alone now. It's like an oasis of silence in a desert of sound. Sunset time is the hour to commune with one’s soul. Soul! Fine soul I’ve got! Must have shrunk toa pebble! Once upon a time I used to feel things at this hour. Yep, I liked to gape at a sunset and enjoy its beauty. Might as well hang a pork pie in the azure now as a sunset, as far as I'm concerned. I'd rather see one, especially if it dropped into my yard, to fill some hungry mouth! Once I read poetry. The butcher’s bill’s my sonnet now; the laundry list’s my lyric. That's what a chap gets, loading himself up with a family. Dunno what's going to become of us, anyway! I don’t seem to do any financial aeroplaning. Just scud along the earth and keep out of ditches. Those kids are like bottomless pits. You keep ramming the food in, and they're yawning like caverns for more! And there’s Ella—can’t tell me her silence meanscontent! But she’s broooding over my failure to hand out diamonds and chiffon! And as for me—who likes to go aronnd in a suit with a hardwood finish, shining like varnish? Oh, the bachelors are the lucky boys! There's Jimson, now. He goes home to a quiet spot, where he doesn’t hear a dis- cordant sound. There are hushed voices, deferential faces, noiseless movements, Big b01:—I thought both of your grandmothers died last year? Little boy—Yes, siz; but you see grandfather got married again, NOT SOLD Stranger—Do you keep canned salmon ? Fresh clerk—No, sit; we sell it. Stranger—Not always, my friend. You can just keep that dozen cans I was going to buy. Good day. He slips into an easy chair and for a blessed hour devotes himself to the arts —poetry, music, literature. He dreams over the sunset. Pleasant memories come to him. Carefree, he plans new pleasures, cies lure him and imagi- nation flies with him over land and sea. Rent, grub, clothes—these are my fine arts! Gee! but matrimony makes a fel- low coarse and sordid! I can see all my better instincts, my higher hopes, my nobler self dying by inches. Plain, prac- tical, prosaic thoughts and emotions have ed off all the delicate, elusive, in- spirational ideas that are the best part of aman’s nature. If I were only free, if 1 were only alone, I might woo back what T have lost through long hours of blessed silence. There would be no kids peeping through the keyhole to see what I’m doing; no woman hovering anxiously in the background, waiting to summon me to a dinner I don’t want, a talkfest I can’t endure. There—I knew it—time's up! Drag the slave back to his chains— the convict to his cell! Imprison his spirit! It is not permitted the mated one to soar. Dinner, did you say? Blast dinner! Yes, yes, I’m coming, I say! (One hour later) Well, Ella, that was good grub you handed out to-night! You've got a pretty gown on, too! Well, a fellow’s in luck to have awife like you, pretty and sensible and capable. Bob is growing fast. He’s some boy, too. And Dotty—well, what would daddy do with- out the cutest little girl in town? Put the kids to bed and let's have one of our good evenings. I'll read while you sew. Gee! but it’s a fine thing to have a home! A blind pool is one in which you can- not see your way out of losing. comicbooks.com