Life — December 25, 1902 — page 44: what you’re looking at

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

Pt eCigs- LIFE Aes r€ 4 A Case of Absent Treatment. TPHERE was trouble in the Witherby household, or at least in one-half of it. The other half was serene— altogether too serene. The trouble lay at Witherby’s end. In that geutle- man’s expressive language, there was the devil to pay! Mrs. Witherby had become a Christian Scientist! Witherby had felt it coming for some time. Dark forebodings of what the future had in store for him had frequently crossed his mind. For one thing, his wife had gradually ceased to quarrel with him. Like the occasional thunderstorms that only serve to keep the atmosphere healthy, Witherby looked back now upon those brushes with mingled wistfulness and regret. He noticed also that his wife had gradually begun to lose interest in many of the things that hitherto had been a common bond between them. No more readings aloud. No more of that light airy persiflage that helps the matrimonial barque through many a doldrum. No more of those apparently idle and inconsequential common- places and confidences that seem so trivial and are in reality so important. Mrs. Witherby was in a dream. She began to talk even in a strange language, in which the terms “mortal laim,” “mother” d other expressions, more or less involved to Witherby’s dull mind, were mingled “Nothing is the matter with her,” said Witherby, half humorously, half pathetically to himself, “and that’s what's the matter with her. She never has a headache any more. She is never irritable. She never complains. She never even asks me for mone: But now that I think of it, I give it to her voluntarily. Good heavens! Can it be that she is treating me for this? All things are possible, and they say that a Christian Scientist can get money out of almost any one on earth, even a husband like me, inured by years of experience to all kinds of pleadings. And now she is content to do nothing but pore over that book and attend meetings. and act as if she had imported a little made-to-order heaven of her own for a kind of premature habitation. It makes me wild.” Witherby was a man who never allowed a situation to get the best of him, however, and he determined to make one more decided protest. So at the first oppor- tunity, he drew his wife into their little sitting room and closed the door. They had talked on the subject many times before, for he had never tried to conceal his impatience with her, but this time he meant to have it out, “When you told me the other d he said, “that you had really decided to become a Christian Scientist, I was pretty mad, as you know. Well, that wasn’t right. I shouldn't have lost my temper. My dear, I am just as much disturbed as ever about this miserable business, but I feel now that it is only fair to you to state my objections.” “T don't believe,” said Mrs. Witherby, “that you can frame any objections. I am so glad that you want to talk about it. It shows that you are making progress.” Witherby groaned. “Now look here,” he exclaimed, “get that idea out of your head, will you? Just because I've calmed down you think I am converted to your foolishness.” Mrs, Witherby smiled sweetly. All Christian Scien- tists smile sweetly. “You'll be one of us some day, dear, I know,” she sald. “And now, talk to me. I just love to hear you, Perhaps I can help you outwardly, as I feel that I am doing mentally.” Witherby made a strong effort to control himself ere he replied. This new talk of his wife's was just what was the matter between them. “Now, what's the use of your saying that?” he said. “Can't you see this, that I don’t care how much of a fool a woman makes of herself, as long as she doesn’t bring it into her relationship with her husband? You can take up any fad you please, if it passes away your time—all women have to have something of that sort— but don’t let it break up the home. You sit there, try- ing to act like an angel, and expect me to swallow all that rot. Don't I know you? Have I lived with you all these years for nothing? And when you try to make me think you've changed so much, why I know better.” Witherby couldn't express himself as well as he wanted to. He knew he was right, but it made him so mad to see his middle-aged wife, with whom he had been through so much storm and stress, sitting there smiling at him, when he knew that underneath the assumption on her part of so much “blessedness” or whatever she chose to call it, she was just the same woman that she always had been, that he couldn't do himself justice. “Confound it all!” he cried, “the whole thing is a fake. Can’t you see that it’s only a question of how much money they can make out of you? Aren’t just as many Christian Scientists dying every day as any one else? Don't you see—” Mrs. Witherby, while he had been talking, had picked up “Science and Health, With Key to the Scriptures,” and lovingly turned over the leaves. ® “If you would only read just a little of this book, dear, e said, “I am sure——" But her husband, no longer able to control his feel- ings, turned and left the room, and ran down stairs and out into the open air. It was no use, he said to him- self. All argument was a waste of time. In despair he struck out into the open country, to work off his emo- tion. Witherby was followed by his dog Connie. Connie comicbooks.com