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Show Matrimonial Adventures The Perfect Husband BY Charles G. Ncrris Author ot "Salt," "Brass," eta. Copyright by United Feature Syndicate There was sullen silence across tlie breakfast tahle. Lucy Vallentine bent lifer head, and unseeing poked at her food. Her husband finished his ham and eggs deliberately, pushed away his plate, and lounging back in his chair, sucked the wind through his teeth with little smacking noises of his tongue. Then he leisurely folded the morning newspaper, rose, took his hat and coat from the closet, and stalked out of the apartment without a word, sharply slamming the outer donr behind him. Lucy sat on, thinking. A look of hopelessness. almost of despair settled upon her face. That was Tom that was the way Tom acted ; they were In for another dreary spell of his surliness! She thought over the thirteen years of her married life; she visioned the thirteen that might follow fol-low the twenty-six perhaps. That was to be her fate: yoked to a churl, uncouth and Ill-mannered, who was Insensible of how he offended her. And the thought that Infuriated her most was that Tom regarded himself as a perfect husband, faithful, good, generous, devoted to her and to his home! It was true enough. In fairness, fair-ness, Lucy had to. admit that Tom was generous; he was faithfulness Itself; he earned a good salary; he srved; he spent every night and even Sundays at home, and gave her an ample allowance. He considered that by this he discharged his duty as a husband, nobly, and regarded the cause of their constant bickerings, which recently he had chosen to treat In moody silence, as being entirely 1:1s wife's responsibility. He never missed an opportunity to point out to her that he had no vices; he did not even smoke. He regarded her sourly as an ungrateful spouse a cranky, rnreasonable, nervous woman. Lucy rocked her head In her hands, and moaned. Tom was so egreglously stupid, so self-satisfied, so blind. She could have forgiven his obtuseness, but she could not forgive his rudeness. Every day of his life he unconsciously affronted her, and almost as frequently frequent-ly did so deliberately. He growled at her, sneered at her, and when crossed, shouted her Into silence. She had rebelled this morning. The incident that bad precipitated the whole trouble had been of trivial inconsequence; in-consequence; It always was. Tom bad said the cream was sour, and she had casually remarked that she didn't see how that could be since It was the morning's delivery, and then he had shouted at her that he guessed he knew what he was talking about, and that when he said the cream was sour, It was sour. She had said nothing In reply; she hnd considered his ungraciousness un-graciousness dispassionately for a time, and then In the midst of the breakfast, she had suddenly put her clasped hands down before her on the table, and said her say temperately i'nd earnestly, urging her right to courteous treatment. She was familiar fa-miliar with the look of displeasure that came Into his face as he listened, arid reaching for an argument that would strengthen her words, she had rlluded to Mr. Oray and his wife, who. l'ved In the adjoining apartment, and 'hat had proved the spark to his anirer. ' For Tom hated the Grays, hated everything about them. The suite of moms these neighbors occupied was n the same floor as the Vallentlnes' ; : n air-well separated the two establishments, estab-lishments, and upon this source of 1'Tht and ventilation a bedroom wln-'mv wln-'mv of each apartment gave vent. Much that went on In the Gray house-bold house-bold could be heard by the Vallen-t'nos. Vallen-t'nos. and Tom and Lucy listened to 'ie stray words and casual conversa-t'ons conversa-t'ons that went on between their un-s"specting un-s"specting neighbors, unabashed. Lucy loved the way In which the ''nys spoke to each other. It was so ri'flcrent from that to which she was .customed. The man had extraordinary extraordi-nary nuances In his voice; It was I eautlfully modulated, and when he happened to address his wife as "my 'car." It was like a caress. Tom f b-e to ridicule the little Intimate things they said to one another, and to Imitate Mr. Gray's manner. It fade Lucy acutely uncomfortable, for she admired Mrs. Gray, was genuinely fond of her, and was In terror lest Tom should be In turn overheard. Lucy hnd had her misgivings as to t1 e decency of listening to her friend's confidential murmurings with her husband, hus-band, but she assured herself that l"T motive was not unworthy curiosity. curi-osity. It was merely that she enjoyed virh a hungry soul the manner In widen this particular husband and i :;'e spoke to one another. It was t cutiful. It soothed her, it was like ruuisite distant music. She had come to be more or less Irtimately acquainted with Mrs. Gray s'noo that lady hnd moved next door. Ti e two women visited one another, u.ade frequent shopping trips to gether, and sometimes lunched In euch ether's kitchens. Mr. Gray was an Interior decorator; decora-tor; he was often away for several days at a time when he went to supervise super-vise the work on some rich man's country home. He returned home, always, with a trifling present for his wife: a bangle, a pair of sliver buckles, a lacquered box, or perhaps only a handful of jonquils. Frequently Frequent-ly he took her out to dinner and the theater, and once, to Lucy's positive knowledge, he had Inveigled her down town In order to buy her a hat. That had seemed to Lucy the apotheosis of conjugal devotion. Her own husband had never brought her home unexpectedly a present in all his life. Once In a great while, she Induced him to go with her to the theater or the movies. He had never commented on anything she wore, or took the smallest notice of hat or gown. Lucy, considering her own lot and the happy circumstances that were Mrs. Gray's on this particular morning, morn-ing, said to herself with considerable bitterness that while she was in no danger of coveting her neighbor's hus-hand, hus-hand, she did long with all her soul for some degree of contentment with her own. And upon these reflections, came Alice Gray, her sweet, composed face free of worry, her serene beauty glowing today with unexpected Interest. In-terest. Alonzo had telephoned, she explained, ex-plained, that he was obliged to go to Boston ; he would have to be away for several days, and he wanted his wife to accompany him. Could she arrange her affairs to be ready to leave with him on the late afternoon train ? Could she? Alice Gray's eyes danced, with excitement as she caught Lucy's hand. There Tas nothing to detain her; she had never visited Boston, she thought It perfectly sweet of Alonio tO' want her to go. There was the whole day before her in which to get ready; she needed a new hat, a veil and a bag, and she urged Lucy to come with her and help her pick them out. Lucy could not resist. She was not small enough to refuse to share this friend's pleasure even though she felt the injustice of Alice Gray's having hav-ing so much and herself so little. And the bitter feelings of the early morning morn-ing were forgotten, as she hastily piled the unwashed dishes in the sink to soak, gave an indifferent glance at the unmade - beds, thrust head and arms Into her trim tailor skirt, and reached for the smart little yellow straw hat which she had only been able to wear once since she bought It, a month' before. Later, seated beside her radiant friend on the top of a Fifth avenue bus, the spring sunshine flooding the. city, the street gay with fashionably dressed women, she caught something of Alice Gray's exhilaration. The two women threaded the aisles of department stores, priced fabrics and exclaimed over the novelties. Alice Gray bought a charming hat, the veil, and a neat little handbag with nickel clasps, and Lucy indulged herself In a much-needed electric Iron. In buoyant spirits they made a leisurely leis-urely progress at a late luncheon hour to one of the smart, new French restaurants res-taurants on Park avenue. And almost in the entrance way, about to pass through the revolving glass doors to the street, absorbed and gaily chatting together, they encountered encoun-tered Alonzo Gray and a handsomely dressed woman. A happy exclamation burst from Lucy and she started forward for-ward with a delighted greeting. "Why, It's your husband it's Mr. Gray " But her words died on her lips. Alice Gray's fingers closed like a vise upon her arm, and the hand dragged her aside. Something ugly and unpleasant un-pleasant flashed into Lucy's mind. There was a whirling silence, a dizzying dizzy-ing moment while her pulses raced, and her breath was still. Then, unconscious un-conscious and still chatting amiably, Alonzo Gray and his companion passed into the street. "Two, please and In the corner. I like those upholstered seats." Alice Gray composedly addressed herself to the head waiter, and serenely followed him Into the cool and flower-scented restaurant. "Come, Lucy " Lucy, shaken, bewildered, the significance sig-nificance of what had occurred still half guessed, mechanically obeyed. Mechanically she ungloved her hands, mechanically she pushed stray locks of hair up under her hat, mechanically she ordered. But when the obsequious head waiter had murmured: "Bien, madame," and had departed, she could only keep her eyes on her plate, and sit tongue-tied, fearful of any comment she might hazard, miserably conscious of what must be her friend's humiliation humili-ation and discomfiture. That unquestionably unques-tionably had been Alonzo Gray, and the woman with him had been Lucy knew with unmistakable Intuition, that the woman was not of her world, or of the world of decent women. Alice had seen It nil ; she had understood, and had saved Lucy from precipitating a frightfully embarrassing encounter! "My dear my dear " Alice Gray laid her hand on Lucy's arm. "You mustn't feel so bndly. I understand what's passing in your mind but, my dear, you mustn't concern yourself on my account! ... I know; I know all about It." Lucy met her friend's unruffled gaze with widening eyes and parted lips. Mrs. Gray smiled at her, a wry, twisted little smile. "Oh. yes. I know all about It, and and I don'l care! Alonzo is all that I need in a husband; he Is considerate, attentl'. e, deferential; he likes to be with me, and to have me with him. and he loves me. Oh, yes. he dues; he loves me truly. . . There have always been women In Alonzo's life! This one happens to be a clever artist. Alonzo employs her as a decorator. I even know her name. She's Flora Balzanni. You know Balzanni, the opera sinr? She's his divorced wife, and is quite promiscuous. Alonzo has been well, attentive to her for more than a year. Of course, he has no idea I know anything about It, and I wouldn't have him suspect I've learned for anything in the world. You see, he wouldn't want to hurt me, and he, would think that If I knew, I would be offended. But I have no more feeling of jealousy for this passing fancy of his than I would have for a good cigar he enjoys after dinner. . . . Oh, I know my views are anything but conventional. con-ventional. I am shocking you"; Alice Interrupted herself, smiling a rather hard, cold little smile. "I would shock most women. But I believe altogether al-together too much emphasis is placed upon fidelity In marriage. As long as my husband In no way jeopardizes my rights as his lawful wife, why should I concern myself with what he does outside his home? Frankly, I would rather have him unfaithful to me in an occasional way, as he is. than have him drink himself Into besottedness, as many a man does, and bring home to me a throbbing head, a nasty temper, tem-per, and a rancid breath. Alonzo satisfies sat-isfies me; he more than adequately fulfills ful-fills his part of life's companion with me. I am thoroughly content; what else matters?" Her own apartment smelled close to Lucy, when, later the same day, stir closed the door behind her. It seemed cheerless, empty, desolate. The mood with which Alice Gray had Infected her all day, dropped from her like a cloak suddenly falling to the floor. She put away her things and set about getting dinner, washing the dishes, whipping the unmade beds together, to-gether, setting the table. After all, her husband was probably no worse than any other woman's. She made him a pan of hot biscuits, of which she knew he was particularly fond. At six o'clock, she heard him come in. She heard his creaking steps to the closet where he always hung his hat and coat ; she heard him creak his way back to the front room where she knew he had thrown himself down on the sofa, and was reading the evening paper with feet cocked over one hard, upholstered arm. He had no word of greeting for her ; he would have none ; a dark and sullen silence would enwrap him for days to come. She put the food on the table at the half-hour, and called him to ' dinner. He did not stop to wash his face or hands or comb his hair; he came just as he was, sullenly, silently, and hunched his" chair up to his place. Suddenly something snapped In her. She screamed; she screamed piercingly; piercing-ly; one wild, sharp shriek. She buried her face In her hands, forcing the fingers deep into her eyeballs. Then she began to sob, brokenly, passionately, passionate-ly, all the grief pent up lnher bursting burst-ing out in an agony of weeping. In 13 years, Tom Vallentine had never seen his wife cry. He was startled now alarmed and shocked. He watched her in pained uneasiness for some minutes, groping about in his mind for some way to check the flood of sobbing that beat upon his ears. It had been a long, long time since he had laid a hand upon her in affection, yet now he was moved- by the violence of her grief, and the unfamiliar impulse im-pulse came to him. He laid down his knife and fork and stared at her stolidly, stol-idly, frowning deeply. He thought of getting up and patting her shoulder; he tried to think of something to say, and In his perplexity began to talk at random. He did not know how to be gentle; he had forgotten how to be tender. The Iron bonds of habit were too well forged about him. He had always al-ways treated his wife with contumely, and now when he strove to reach her troubled spirit with gentle words, he found himself only mouthing a justification justifi-cation of his actions that morning. Lucy could not suspect that behind the harsh voice, and sJow, clumsy words, there stirred within him the first concern con-cern for her he had known in years. Only the dogged reiteration of the facts about the cream reached her consciousness. Her sobbing fell silent, but she still pressed her palms to her cheeks, her fingers to her eyes. Presently Pres-ently she was aware he had forsaken the topic of the cream ; now It was of his virtues he discoursed. "... I let you live your own life; you go and come as you please; you have your own friends. I never ask you how or why you spend the money every month, and I never let the first go by without depositing your check In the bank ! I never question what you do with yourself all day; all I ask of you Is to run the house and keep things nice. ... I don't see how you've got much fault to find with me. I don't drink or gamble or smoke; I don't go out nights, and I've never looked at another woman in all my life I Now, some men . . Lucy listened until she could stand no more. With wet tears staining her cheeks, her face convulsed, she suddenly sud-denly straightened herself and faced him, her lip trembling, her hands half outstretched to him across the table. "Oh, Tom, Tom," she cried, "I don't care how moral you are. I don't care anything about other women. I don't care whether you go after them or not. Seek them, kiss them, have them do I anything you like! Gamble, smoke and drink! Deny yourself nothing on my account. I don't care how wicked you are. All I want you to do is to be kind to me, Tom be kind, be kind! Hon't be so ugly and mean to me. And sometimes Just now an.1 then-try then-try to love me a little!" |