Part 4

It must not be concluded either that Mrs. Johns was a vixen or a virago. No; she was simply a woman who had been made too much of; one whose path had been made so smooth that she had never been forced to think very much about anything; one who had received no training whatever in her development from a loving and gentle maiden to the equally beautiful, but somewhat sterner, married woman of three years’ standing. Possibly also she had been badly advised by sundry old women of her family who were satisfied that they were authorities on the management of a husband, and that they knew all about the animal man and his varieties. Mrs. Johns was also influenced in her method with Johns by what she had seen in her own home, where her calm and dignified, but rather shallow, mother walked on all the rights and liberties of her father, who only claimed his own soul by stealth.

The foregoing is, of course, commonplace enough. Married people are to be seen on all sides dragging out a miserable existence, just for want of a little thought about the real cause of their wretchedness. Johns did not propose to be of the many. He had given the matter thought and saw wherein he was himself to blame for the discomfort in his life. He decided to make a change, and as a preliminary wrote in his diary:

“This day I have decided things.”

The business of the day being done, Johns started for home. On the way he bought himself a hat, and put it on. He had never bought a hat since he was married, without the style, price and color, being passed on by Mrs. Johns. He dropped into his club, played a game of bridge and had a glass of wine with a friend, much to the astonishment of the boys; for all these things were known to be objectionable to Mrs. Johns. If Johns’ name was mentioned in club circles, men smiled and said he had taken the veil. Leaving the club, Johns took a hansom and drove home, smoking a cigar, which hansom and cigar were other things objectionable to Mrs. Johns.

At first thought, the behavior of Johns may seem to have been positively brutal, in doing with malice prepense so many things objectionable to his wife. But there was some wisdom in his course, as will appear.

To relate such an incident as the action of Johns in the hearing of ladies would be productive of sundry indignant sniffs and snorts, and such remarks as, “I would like to have seen him try it on me;” but the sniffs, snorts and remarks would all come from the same type of women--old stagers, not young, inexperienced things, like Mrs. Johns, just turned twenty-three.

When Johns arrived at his home, Mrs. Johns was on the verandah waiting. She was not looking very agreeable, for Johns was late for dinner--an unpardonable offence.

Mrs. Johns saw the cigar, saw the hansom, saw the hat, smelled the wine as Johns kissed her, and saw the time by her tiny wrist watch. Her first impression was that Johns was intoxicated; but a second look into his eye, and a consideration of his general bearing, told her he was quite sober. She was quite perplexed, non-plused, and, in consequence, mad, very mad, and hurt, too. Beyond all, however, she was curious to know what it all meant. She concluded, finally, that Johns had met one of his horrid former friends, and had been “showing off.”

Mrs. and Mr. Johns, like well-behaved people, walked silently and decorously into dinner and sat down, both thoughtful. Johns had nothing to say, until cross-examination opened by the plaintiff. Mrs. Johns had lots to say; but was undecided where to commence in order to make the most of her efforts. She did not wish to seem puzzled or curious, so refrained from asking questions. She sullenly waited, hoping that Johns would venture to report and offer explanations, thus giving her an opening. But Johns did nothing of the kind. He silently and complacently proceeded to take his soup, which was very exasperating, altogether too much, in fact, for Mrs. Johns, who finally cast discretion to the winds and allowed her pent-up anger to have its way. She stormed and raved, and abused poor Johns till she was spent, Johns meanwhile making vain attempts to calm her and explain just in the way he had planned to do; but he got no chance till Mrs. Johns broke down and gave way to tears. Then Johns explained how he had been thinking about the many things his wife worried herself with, and how he had decided that she had too much to think of; and that he had done all the things he ought not to have done, like the miserable sinner mentioned in the prayer book, just to illustrate the number of things she was attempting to regulate, all to no end, because she only made him uncomfortable and failed to achieve happiness for herself. He put the matter very nicely and coolly, without losing his temper; but the kind of oil he attempted to throw on the troubled waters of Mrs. Johns’ temper did not seem to be the right kind of oil, for she waxed frantic under his disclosures, and said things of all kinds, many of them quite untrue, among which last she said that she did not love Johns, never did love him, and never would; that she despised him; that he was a low, uncouth, and uncultured brute, and that it was only for the sake of appearances that she had remained with him and tried to make him fit for polite society, and that he was just like other men, selfish and thoughtless after a few years’ marriage.

Women say this kind of thing every day to men whom they worship, and never expect to be taken at par and never should be. The value of a statement by a woman is entirely different to the value of a statement by a man.

At this point Johns made a grave mistake. He took his wife’s intemperate utterances at par. He was deeply grieved to learn what he thought was the real condition of her mind, and, believing, that all happiness was gone for him, and that there was no use continuing the painful scene, he made for his hat, intending to leave the house.

Mrs. Johns, seeing his move, ran to him and clung about his neck, saying: “Don’t go out Jack; please don’t go; you have never done this before; stay and be what you have always been to me; forgive me for saying such wicked things; they are not true, Jack; I do not mean them at all.”

Here Johns made another mistake, he thought it was all over. He assured his wife that he loved her, and received like assurances from her. He kissed her, and she tossed his hair with loving fingers and smiled. Then as they sat together on a tete-a-tete sofa in the drawing room she sweetly said: “Now, John, promise me that you will never do anything like that again. You know I am always right about things, and so promise me that you will never go to the club again, or smoke horrid cigars, or play cards, or drink wine, or be late for dinner, or wear clothes I do not like, or, or, or anything.” Johns paused. If he had said, “Yes, dear,” he would have been ruined for life, and Mrs. Johns would have loved him less and less as years went by, and would have despised him always; but he did not say, “Yes, dear.” On the contrary, he said, “No, dear; I cannot promise so much.” And he explained as well as he could why he could not make foolish blanket promises, covering all his future life in all its petty details, and he tried to make her see how unreasonable she would be to insist on such a demand promissory note. He exampled husbands she knew, who notoriously hood-winked and humbugged their wives with wicked and foolish lies, because they were afraid to be themselves. He pictured to her the forlorn state of her father as a horrible specimen of petticoat government. He was eloquent, and he thought convincing, in his plea for some liberty. If Mrs. Johns had had half the common sense she prided herself on having, she would have accepted his explanation. She would have seen that it was just as foolish to expect to manage all the details of a man’s doings, comings and goings, wearings and tastes, as it would be for a man to offer to do the same for a woman; but, of course, no person, man or woman, is quite as wise as they believe themselves to be, and besides, Mrs. Johns was still mad and thought she was in a contest for her liberty, instead of seeing that she was attacking her husband’s liberty. She became cold and dignified, and calmly told Johns that he was a calculating, unsympathetic brute, and that she would forthwith return to her ma.

Johns begged her not to be hasty. He prayed her to think it over; but he was forced by the stubborn, spoiled woman, to choose between a general promise to give up all liberty of thought, speech and action, or allow her to go back to her mother.

Mrs. Johns, without delay or preparation, went to her mother, and remained exactly eight days, receiving during that time eight letters from Johns; but refraining from reply.

During these eight days Mrs. Johns made great progress in wisdom. She made many useful discoveries, and thought much. She discovered that living with mother was not half as pleasant as living with Johns; that home was not what it used to be in her single days; that mother was very self-opinionated; that Johns could write much more interesting letters than she thought he could; that there are several kinds of love and several kinds of love letters; and that Johns knew how to write them all; that Johns was not so pliable as she had imagined he was; and that, anyway, she would rather love a man who had character enough to assert himself than a weakling.

On the eighth day of her separation from Johns, Mrs. Johns was sitting alone in her mother’s drawing room in the dusk of the evening musing on things in general, on her lot in particular, and on the revolt of Johns. She had the last letter from Johns tightly clasped in her hand, and she surprised herself saying aloud, “Poor Jack.” A week prior she would have murmured, “Poor me.” She was also surprised to feel tear drops in her eyes, and to find that resentment against Johns had no more place in her heart. She knelt down by the grate fire, and by its light she noticed the time on her wrist watch--half-past five. If she had been at her own home, Jack would be in or just coming in; he would be putting his arm around her and kissing her. What had he done, anyway, that was so dreadful, that she should leave him? He was certainly the best behaved man she knew. What was he doing now?

A sudden impulse seized her. She rushed to her room, and hastily donned a wrap, and hurried out towards her own home, wondering what she was going to do, what she was going to say, and what she was going to see; but nothing seemed to matter except that she must see Jack.

As she neared the familiar door she automatically put her hand into her bag for her key. It was there. Trembling now and eager, she opened the door and slipped in. All was quiet. Without expecting to see any one, she pushed her head between the portieres of the drawing room door, and peeped in. Horrors! Some one was there, and looking right at her. What Mrs. Johns saw was certainly unexpected and disconcerting. It was big Jack Johns, lying stretched on the best sofa, his head bolstered with the best sofa pillows, and puffing clouds of smoke from a pipe about her lovely drawing room. What she said was, “Why, Jack!” and Jack said, “You, Florry! Have you come back to hubby to be a good girl?”

Mrs. Johns’ reply was tears for a few seconds. Then she said: “Oh, Jack, I thought I could come back; but I see I cannot, because you do not love me or you would never have smoked in my drawing room, put your feet on the sofa, and your head on the best sofa pillows in the house.” Johns, now sitting up, laughed, drew his wife down beside him on the sofa and replied:

“Why, darling, it would be as wise for me to say that you do not love me or you would not mention such things as sofa cushions and sofas in the same breath with love. What does anything matter, dear, if two people love each other? If you love me, it is because I am myself, as I love you because you are your own dear self. I love you, faults and all, and you must love me faults and all, too. The way for us to be happy is for each to allow the other nearly as much liberty as though we were single. Love cannot stand continuous worry about small things. You know very well that I would not have desecrated your drawing room had you been here; but you being gone from me, drawing room, cushions or sofa had no value to me, other than the comfort they could afford me. Come now, is it a new start?”

“Oh, Jack, you do not understand,” said Mrs. Johns. “But I do understand,” replied Johns. “I understand very plainly, indeed, that we could never be happy in the way we were going. I could not be happy in one continued round of obeying orders, so like a private in a regiment of soldiers; and you could not be happy with a man you had to worry over and fuss about all the time as if he were a child. In that way we would worry each other out of all comfort in life, as I see many couples foolishly do. Let us be different from other couples.”

Mrs. Johns was thinking: “Where have you been, Jack, the last eight nights?” she asked.

“Why, I do not remember, dear, exactly;” answered Johns, “to the club mostly, and down town and around.”

“There, I knew it,” cried Mrs. Johns, “I knew you had been around, and you know how I hate men who go around.”

“But don’t be hasty, dear,” said Johns. “Where have you been? Have you not been around during the past eight days?”

“Yes, I have, Jack, but you know a woman’s around, and a man’s around, are not alike,” sobbed Mrs. Johns.

“No; no more than their clothes are alike, thank heaven,” said Johns.

“And where is the maid?” asked Mrs. Johns.

“Fired,” replied Johns.

“Discharged!” exclaimed Mrs. Johns. “Oh, Jack, you are dreadful. Where will I get another? You are turning out so different to what you used to be; so different to what I expected. I don’t believe I love you any more.”

“Try a little,” said Johns, kissing her without her offering much resistance. “Try,” kisses, “try again,” more kisses. Oh, it was disgusting the way she gave in.

“You are different too, dear;” continued Johns, “so different from the pliable, unsophisticated young thing of twenty I courted. At twenty-three you are quite old and domineering, and it does not become you a bit to become domineering. It makes lines on your face to be domineering. Will we go down to the cafe for dinner?”

“I don’t know, John.” “Well, I know,” said Johns. “Go and get your things on and we will take dinner at the Place Viger, anyway, without conditions; perhaps people have begun to talk already about your being away.”

“Jack,” said Mrs. Johns, with arms about his neck, “you are a horrid, practical beast, and I love you. I’ll be back in a minute,” and she ran upstairs to dress for dinner at the Place Viger. She was a dear woman, and Johns knew it.

Twenty years have passed since that dinner at the Place Viger, and Mrs. Johns has now assorted little Johns; six, from 2 feet high to 5 feet 6; and all Johns’ friends swear she is the best fellow in the world, and all her own friends say she is a charming hostess, a good wife, a fond mother, a sweet woman, or a true friend, according to the degree of intimacy they enjoy. Fact is, she is all of these things.

[Illustration]

L’ENVOI

If I should die to-night, And in the course of time arrive in hell, I would not feel discomfort or be nervous, After ten years’ experience in the Civil Service, If the devil himself should undertake, For my reward my few grey hairs to comb With a red hot, sharp, electric rake, I’d say “Why, this is just like home.”

THE CRUISE OF THE “PORKYPINE”

Being as I wuz gettin’ To be in the seer and yeller, I didn’t expec to sail no more But to stay at ’ome an’ meller; When my ole Capting Mark He bellers over the phone: “Wot, ho! Mate, bizzy with yer kit, We sails fer parts unknown. I’ve shipped me crew, An’ a goodish slew, Of the best prog I ken afford. We sails termorrer at seven bells, Screw yer nut and git aboard.” So this is ’ow I comes to sail As Mate of the Porkypine. I gets aboard and we pulls out At a quarter to arf past nine. When I comes to look over the crew, Fer the Capting leaves all to me, I finds as tough a lot o’ swabs As ever put to sea. The cook were a ginger-colored duck, Hailin’ frum Bosting taown, He sartinly cud cook a bit An’ he cud swar me down. He wuz tall an’ lanky an’ thin, With a mouth like a gash in a pie, At cookin’ an’ swarin’ he were good, Wot else ye cud stick in yer eye. Then there were the dorg, Which Wiggles were her name; She were shipped as Mascot An’ acted well as that same. Then fer a general utility ’and, We ’ad the Scientific To swob the decks and dishes, Which ’is duties was not specific. When all wuz cleared away, An’ everything was snug He amuses hisself with a bottle O’ dope, a-pottin’ fly and bug. I’ve hearn tell of a bug house But never seen one afore, An’ I’ll be swat in the neck if it ain’t The rummiest game off shore. Then there were Sid, a bit of a kid, Who signs as a Ginger Beer To run the machine, save gasolene, An’ we let the skipper steer. These and me and the skipper was the crew, Of the good ship Porkypine, And Lord wot a time I ’ad A makin’ ’em tow the line. Well, we sails away on A werry fine day, I think it were in June, The Porkypine makin’ her eight mile, So we gets there pretty soon. Up, up we goes the Rideau Canal, Not carin’ fer wind nor weather, An’ at each of the locks, cook hits the ice box, And we ’as our grog together. We ’adn’t pawsed mor’n forty lock Before the sun wuz settin’, An’ the Capting ’owls “down anchor, Fer ’ere we’ll fish be gettin’”. So we outs with our rods and drops our lines, While cook in the galley cuts loose, But blow me tight if ever a bite Worth a squirt o’ terbacker juice. Then we goes below an’ does the eats, At which game that Sid is a prize, He stows more in his hold than any soul I ever seen twice his size. He eats an’ eats an’, tear me sheets, If he ever turns a hair, An’ washes all down with a quart o’ tea Till I thot he’d bust in ’is chair. Then the Scientific he cleans up, An’ the yarns begin to spin, An’ we puffs our pipe an’ sips our grog Till it’s time fer to turn in. An’ so we goes along all fair, Fer three whole nights an’ days, Fishin’, drinkin’ an’ eatin’, And a-soakin’ of our clays. Then the ’orrible thing ’appens That ends our ’opes to roam, Blow me blarsted mizzen lights, We all ’ad to come ’ome.

THE MATE.

AN OPERA IN ONE ACT

ENTITLED “THE TIME SERVERS”

As the curtain rises a large and motley crew of nondescript humanity is discovered, of all shapes, sizes, and complexions, no two being alike, except in the special feature that all wear a halter about the neck. All howl to Calliope obligato:

At us please take a look, You’ll find us on the List In the Auditor’s Blue Book, Where none of us are missed; We scribble and figure and write From morning until night; We’re in a sorry plight, And oh--oh--oh--oh--oh!!!

Cages are arranged R. and L. and up stage. The chorus disappears into these as Deputy enters. Deputy comes well down stage throws out his chest and sings:

I now declare There’s nothing to compare With my style and air, When I’m in my chair: And I further declare, without fear of opposition, That no man alive can fill my position.

Chiefs, 1st, 2nd and 3rd class clerks. Class A and B, with sub-divisions, messengers, and packers crowd out of the cages and come down and sing similarly:

Deputy in high falsetto:

You see, you see, They all agree With the opinion I express Regarding me.

Chorus replies, forte:

You’re all at sea, You’re all at sea, The fellows we sing about Is we.

Enter the Minister, gazing heavenward. Deputy dives into a hole, and pulls hole in after him. Chorus proceeds to look like thirty cents. Minister sings:

It’s curious to contemplate The ways of different men Who by the force of Character Do climb on top, or when By scheme or lucky circumstance Their little selves they find Perched on high public prominence, Far above common kind. One does a funny dance, Or some weird trick fantastic, Oblivious to the smiles and tears He causes by his antic. Another swells his chest And apes a thoughtful front, And fondly hopes the world looks on To see him do his stunt. A third would lead society, And in cultured circles shine, And thinks the fact accomplished when Instead of “eating” he must “dine.”

Enter the Civil Service Commissioners. The Minister takes a back seat. Commissioners sing duo (Chorus stand at attention):

Did it ever strike you That if you knew The reason for the other fellow’s Point of view, You’d have some information Fresh and new? So when you disagree With any he, Just take a look about and try and see If what he thinks Can really be.

Chorus sings doxology in parts. Curtain.

[Illustration]

The whole universe is a contest between what we call Life and Death, that is, motion and rest. Every THING will eventually come to rest and other things be evolved. Given eternity and it is easily conceivable that a world will die and be resolved into its elements, what then is so objectionable in the thought of a FINAL death to the individual whose life is but a flash as compared with all time? You cannot logically think the persistence of personality.

THE IDIOT WHO THOUGHT

A PRESENT DAY TRAGEDY

BY VON LUDWIG