When the Man came around to deliver the seven-pound copy of “Happy Hours with the Poets,” and he paid out his Six Silver Pieces for a queer Volume that he would not have Read for Six an Hour, he hated himself worse than ever.  He thought some of giving the Book to the Office Boy, by way of Revenge, but he hit upon a Better Use for it.  He put it back into the Box and carried it Home, and said to his Wife, “See what I have Bought for you.”

It occurred to him that after getting a Present like that, she ought to let him stay out every Night for a Month.  But she could not see it that Way.  He had to tell her that Some Women never seem to Appreciate having Husbands to Grind and Toil all day, so as to be able to purchase Beautiful Gifts for them.  Then she told him that all the Women of her Acquaintance had received these Books as Presents, and a crowd of Married Men must have been given a Club Rate.  Then he Spunked up and said that if she was going to look a Gift Horse in the Mouth, they wouldn’t Talk about it any more.

In the meantime the Grass Widow was living at the Waldorf-Astoria.

MORAL:  Those who are Entitled to it Get it sooner or later.

THE FABLE OF THE HONEST MONEY-MAKER AND THE PARTNER OF HIS JOYS, SUCH AS THEY WERE

The Prosperous Farmer lived in an Agricultural Section of the Middle West.  He commanded the Respect of all his Neighbors.  He owned a Section, and had a Raft of big Horses and white-faced Cows and Farm Machinery, and Money in the Bank besides.  He still had the first Dollar he ever made, and it could not have been taken away from him with Pincers.

Henry was a ponderous, Clydesdale kind of Man, with Warts on his Hands.  He did not have to travel on Appearances, because the whole County knew what he was Worth.  Of course he was Married.  Years before he had selected a willing Country Girl with Pink Cheeks, and put her into his Kitchen to serve the Remainder of her Natural Life.  He let her have as high as Two Dollars a Year to spend for herself.  Her Hours were from 6 A.M. to 6 A.M., and if she got any Sleep she had to take it out of her Time.  The Eight-Hour Day was not recognized on Henry’s Place.

[Illustration:  HENRY]

After Ten Years of raising Children, Steaming over the Washtub, Milking the Cows, Carrying in Wood, Cooking for the Hands, and other Delsarte such as the Respected Farmer usually Frames Up for his Wife, she was as thin as a Rail and humped over in the Shoulders.  She was Thirty, and looked Sixty.  Her Complexion was like Parchment and her Voice had been worn to a Cackle.  She was losing her Teeth, too, but Henry could not afford to pay Dentist Bills because he needed all his Money to buy more Poland Chinas and build other Cribs.  If she wanted a Summer Kitchen or a new Wringer or a Sewing Machine, or Anything Else that would lighten her Labors, Henry would Moan and Grumble and say she was trying to land him in the Poorhouse.