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Show The Married Life of Helen and Warren 1 1 By MABEL HERBERT URNER U Z Originator of "Their Married Life." Author of "The T Journal of a Neglected Wife," "The Woman Alone," etc 1 Si They Find War Rates and Crippled Service in the Lon- j don Hotels i (Copyright, 1915, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) were always high. Her handkerchiefs and glomes she washed out in the I basin and hung about the room. j Then came the dreaded task of washing her hair, which was clinging and sticky from the sea air. On the wall by the telephone was the sign: Ladies' hair dressing parlor on first boor. Shampooing four shillings; facial massage, five shillings; manicuring, mani-curing, two shillings. But much as Helen hated to wash her own hair, she felt that she should not spend four shillings to have it done. In her own bedroom, with the spray and every convenience, it was hard enough, but here, without even running run-ning water, she found it a torturous process. Every time she changed the water she feared the heavy bowl would slip from her soagy hands. When they were here before Warren had dropped, one on the slop jar. She still had visions of that crashing catastrophe. Stooping over always made her head ache, and when she straightened up from the final rinsing water, she was sick and dizzy. i The mirror reflected her pale face1 and dripping, stringy hair. Why didi the English invariably place the dresser in front of the window? The: glaring light from the unshaded upper up-per sash would make anyone look hideous. With a sudden resentful strength-she strength-she shoved the dresser from before the window, toppling over a bottle of toilet water. She could have cried with sheer irritability. It was not often that Helen gave way to a temper, but now her eyes filled with angry tears. Her head throbbed she was wretched! That her first day in London should be spent like this! All the way over she had wondered what changes the war had made in the streets and shops. She had planned her first excursion through Piccadilly and up Oxford street. And now she had wasted the morning morn-ing fussing over her clothes and hair. She had given herself a sick headache head-ache and spoiled the whole day. A wad of paper lay on the rug before be-fore her. It had served as a wedge to tip forward the mirror, and had dropped out when she moved the dresser. As she picked it up to replace re-place it, she caught the headlines: Reads her husband's name among those killed, then wanders through streets insane. Mrs. W. F. Edwards of 42 Buckingham Bucking-ham road, was found wandering the streets in a pitiabe condition. Her husband, a lieutenant in the Third lancers, was killed at the siege of The rest was torn off. With a rush there came to Helen the realization of her own petty irritability. Her eyes were still wet with temperish tears. She had worked herself up over what? How much she had! How deeply grateful she ought to be if only because be-cause Warren was coming back to her at seven! She thought of this woman, of the countless women, to whom seven o'clock was now an hour of anguish. How insignificant all other worries would seem to them ' if only their husbands were home at seven! From outside came the sudden jangling jan-gling notes of a hurdy-gurdy. The air was "God Save the King." Helen looked down to the street below where a weatherbeaten old woman was grinding grind-ing out the tune from an organ draped with an English flag. Unmindful of her wet hair, Helen eaught up her purse and stepped out on the narrow balcony. The woman, who kept an appraising upward glance on the windows, saw her and hopefully held out her apron. Helen had nothing smaller than a shilling, but she threw it down. She had saved four shillings by washing her hair and perhaps this old woman wom-an had a husband in the war! As she stepped back through the window it dawned Hpon her that the woman's husband, if she had one, would be too old for the war. She wat merely a professional organ grinder grind-er a foreign one, too, and the flag-draped flag-draped organ was but a clever ap-per-:. Helen's eyes met their amused reflection re-flection in the mirror. How foolishly foolish-ly emotional she was! A few moments before she had been wretched becausa she had seen herself her-self with straggling hair, in an unbecoming unbe-coming light. Then she had been swept to an emotional height by a torn newspaper item. And now Impatiently she shook back her hair. She would stop dissecting her emotions and waste no more of the day. It was jti6t two, her hair was aknost dry, her headache better. She would still have time to see something some-thing of the London streets and shops before seven. "This isn't so bad." Warren threw himself into a cushioned etiair ana glanced critically around the room with its high ceiling, heavy English furniture and hangings. "But, dear, 16 shillings a day for the room!" "War rates. What'd you expect?" with a shrug. "Listen to this," and Helen read aloud a notice on the door: "Owing to the shortage of help, guests will be expected to make up their own beds until further notice." "Good stuff!" chuckled Warren. "Do 'em good to make 'em work. Here's another," going over to a sign by the washstand: "Guests will kindly use as few towels as possible. Laundries are now running only part time and deliveries are uncertain." "Better go slow en your own laundry, laun-dry, too. Now let's wash up and get down to breakfast. Ring for some hot water, there." Helen started to touch the button by the door, but over it was still another an-other typewritten notice: "Please make as few calls on the attendants as possible. The hotel is now being run with less than half Its former staff." "But, dear, we must have hot water. wa-ter. I feel positively grimy. That was the filthiest train!" "Punch away there! I want hot water to shave. Get me out a clean collar, will you?" Warren unstrapped the suit cases, and Helen began taking out the most needed things. "Dear, I'm going to give you this side of the dresser this small drawer and the bottom one. Here's your toothbrush and shaving soap. I'll put them on this end of the washstand." It was the inevitable long English washstand with the two massive bowls and pitchers. A single basin with running run-ning water would have been more convenient con-venient than all this double array, but their previous trip had reconciled Helen to the lack of English baths and running water. "Oh, these shelves are thick with dust!" as she started to put some things into the wardrobe. "Hold on there! Don't take that towel! What'd that sign say?" Helen put back the towel and wiped off the shelves with some crumpled tissue paper from her trunk. The maid brought the hot water, and Warren, who could shave with astonishing rapidity, was soon ready. "Dear, don't wait for me; you go on down and order the breakfast." "Nothing doing we're going down together," decisively. "Come on," rattling the doorknob; "you look good enough." Helen thrust is a few more hairpins, hair-pins, her finders nervously incapable under Warren's impatient glare. "Got the ky?" They went down the broad red-carpeted hall to the cage-like "lift." "That room's closed, sir," a page informed them as they crossed the rotunda to the main dining room. "The breakfast room's just beyond." Even the breakfast room had a cheerless, deserted air. A waiter pan forward eagerly and seated them at a table by the window. "Let's see your breakfast card," demanded de-manded Warren. "We don't have any now, sir." We're serving only one breakfast coffee, bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade." "How much?" "Five shillings, sir." "That's a hold-up," growled Warren, "but bring it along." "Five shillings," exclaimed Helen, "for just coffee and eggs? Why that's " "Now cut all that!" savagely. "Make up your mind they're going to soak us right and left. W'e're here, and we've got to eat. No use putting up a hdwl every meal," and Warren retired behind the war news of the London Times. When the breakfast was served, he threw down the paper and peered frowningly into the coffee pot. "Can't get a decent cup of coffee in England, "pouring out the black chicory mixture. But this disgruntled mood was somew-hat mollified by the delicious Wiltshire bacon and the delicately flavored English eg;s. "I'll not have time to go back to the room," when they left the table. "Now what're you going to do today? Got any English money?" "Why, yes, dear, you gave me three pounds on the train." "Well, take care of yourself. I'll meet you here about seven." Helen watched him hurry out throuji the revolving doors. Vaguely depressed, she went back to the room alone. The next hour she spent in unpacking, unpack-ing, in going over her clothes which needed attention after the week on the steamer. There was a button off her shoe, a rip in a too narrow skirt, and a spot on Warren's dinner coat. Then t:he made a list of the soiled clothes for the laundry. She would look up cne outside; hotel laundries |