Part 145 (1/2)
”The Public Wants Facts!” says the Popular Editor; ”Give us the Facts!”
Haven't we had all the Facts in the universe before us always?
Isn't it time we learned _to think about them?_
WORs.h.i.+P
How does it feel?-- The drawing of the magnet on the steel?
All else gives way; No rivets hold, no bars delay, Called in that overwhelming hour, From far and near they fly and cling, Allied, united, cl.u.s.tering; And the great pulsing currents flow Through each small scattered sc.r.a.p below.
Scattered no more; One with that all compelling core; One absolute, one all alive with power.
How does it feel?-- The swift obedient utmost flight Of radiant sky-wide waves of light, Far couriers of the central sun, Crossing a million miles as one-- Still going--going-- Limitless joy that needs no knowing Each last least flickering ray One with the Heart of Day.
MY ASTONIs.h.i.+NG DODO
She was twenty-six, and owned it cheerfully, the day I met her.
This prejudiced me in her favor at once, for I prize honesty in women, and on this point it is unusual. She did not, it is true, share largely in my special artistic tastes, or, to any great extent, in my social circle; but she was a fine wholesome sweet woman, cheerful and strong, and I wished to make a friend of her. I greatly prized my good friends among women, for I had conscientious views against marrying on a small salary.
Later it appeared that she had other and different views, but she did not mention them then.
Dorothea was her name. Her family called her Dora, her intimate friends, Dolly, but I called her Dodo, just between ourselves.
A very good-looking girl was Dodo, though not showy; and in no way distinguished in dress, which rather annoyed me at first; for I have a great admiration for a well-gowned, well-groomed woman.
My ideas on matrimony were strongly colored by certain facts and figures given me by an old college friend of mine. He was a nice fellow, and his wife one of the loveliest girls of our set, though rather delicate.
They lived very comfortably in a quiet way, with a few good books and pictures, and four little ones.
”It's a thousand dollars a year for the first year for each baby,” he told me, ”and five hundred a year afterward.”
I was astonished. I had no idea the little things cost so much.
”There's the trained nurse for your wife,” he went on, ”at $25.00 a week for four weeks; and then the trained nurse for your baby, at $15.00 a week for forty-eight weeks; that makes $820.00. Then the doctor's bills, the clothes and so on--with the certified milk--easily take up the rest.”
”Isn't fifteen dollars a week a good deal for a child's nurse?” I asked.
”What do you pay a good stenographer?” he demanded.
”Why, a special one gets $20.00,” I admitted. ”But that work needs training and experience.”
”So does taking care of babies!” he cried triumphantly. ”Don't try to save on babies, Morton; it's poor economy.”
I liked his point of view, and admired his family extremely. His wife was one of those sympathetic appreciative women who so help a man in his work. But the prospects of my own marriage seemed remote. That was why I was so glad of a good wholesome companionable friend like Dodo.
We were so calmly intimate that I soon grew to discuss many of my ideas and plans with her. She was much interested in the figures given by my friend, and got me to set them all down for her. He had twice my salary, and not a cent left at the year's end; and they were not in ”society” either. Five hundred dollars was allowed for his personal expenses, and the same for her; little enough to dress on nowadays, he had a.s.sured me, with all amus.e.m.e.nts, travel, books and periodicals, and dentist bills, included.
”I don't think it ought to cost so much,” said Dodo.