A warning to wives

Contents

Chapter Page

I Introducing the Richard Radcliffes ... 1

II Their Early Married Life.10

Chapter I

D INNER is now being served! Dining car forward!” shouted the dusky despot, as he passed through the Pullman car Montevideo, attached to an express train, which had just left Washington, D. C., for Chicago, on a late after¬ noon in June, 1902.

4 ‘Shall we go to dinner now?” queried Richard Radclrffe, addressing his pretty, young wife, who readily assented by rising and going with her husband through the Pullman to the dining-car.

As the couple took their seats at the table, there was a broad smile on the good-natured face of the black man, who came to take their order for dinner, when he observed on the back of the young man’s collar a little confetti, which had evidently very recently adhered thereto.

As the beaming son of Africa handed the menu card to the young woman, she remarked: /

“I believe I will have lamb chops. Let’s see, you don’t like lamb chops, do you? I had forgotten for the moment that you did not care for them. Well, I believe I will have them anyway.”

The tone of uncertainty in the young wife’s question only served to confirm the waiter’s well-grounded suspicions, — for as a matter pf fact, Richard Radcliffe and Eleanor Fairchild Radcliffe had been married that very afternoon, at the home of the bride’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Livingston Fairchild in Hampshire Avenue, Washington, D. C.

At the very time when young Radcliffe and his bride, were speeding along in the fast train, enjoying their meal in the dining car, the bride’s mother was presiding over her own dinner table, remarking to her husband, who sat opposite to her:

‘ 4 Well, they are married and gone!”

And as she did so, Elizabeth Fairchild breathed a sigh of regret, mingled with semi-satisfaction; for what mother, who has four marriageable daughters, ;and who is honest with herself, can claim immunity from an over-powering sense of gratification, when one of them leads off success¬ fully in the matrimonial procession?

Livingston Fairchild ate slowly and deliberated much, before commenting on his wife’s remark. Then he said:

“ Marriage is a mighty serious business. An innocent young girl reposes all her trust in the one man in the world whom she idealizes. She commends her whole future into the keeping of the man whom she regards as the worthiest of all men. When she is young and fair, she relies upon her youth and beauty to sustain the interest and affection of her mate. Danger often lurks about when a young bride neglects to develop the mental resources within herself and depends too much upon her mere physical charms for the perpetua¬ tion of the great epoch of romance in her life.

“Some one, I believe it was Ruskin, said: ‘True mar¬ riage, when it is marriage at all, — is only the seal which marks the vowed transition of temporary into untiring service and of fitful into eternal love. ’

“Few young people have the vision to comprehend the fullness of responsibility involved in marriage. Most of them are so full of the spontaneity and energy of youth that they expect too much at the beginning. They do not nur¬ ture the flower of romance with the delicacy which it requires in order to yield a full bloom. One fails to understand the sensitiveness of the other and the result is disaster.

“Eleanor, for instance, is a very sensitive girl, and if I am not greatly mistaken, Richard is equally sensitive, in his way. He has much feeling coupled with his tremendous energy. If he were differently constituted, he could not have achieved so great a degree of success so early in life. I entertain no fears, however, as to his business and profes¬ sional future. He is a mighty level-headed young man,” said Livingston Fairchild, in emphatic tones.

And there could be no denying by those who knew young Radcliffe that his conservative, forceful father-in-law had spoken the truth; for, as Richard Radcliffe departed from Washington he was leaving behind him an excellent record as a successful young attorney, who had practised law for the past three years in the Capital city.

Young Radcliffe had received the degree of Bachelor of Laws just three years before from the University of Indiana, in his native state.

During his entire professional career, he had been the junior partner in his older brother’s office, but toward the termination of the third year, Richard had decided that he would strike out for himself.

He believed that his future would be best assured by locating in one of the largest, most rapidly growing cities on the Pacific Coast. He knew that he had not yet struck his stride in his profession and felt sure that he never would if he continued in his brother’s firm, where the burden of the office fell upon him, while his older brother was making a legal reputation and handsome income, relying for much of his success upon the hard work and personal popularity of Richard Radcliffe.

The latter was known to those of the legal fraternity as an able young trial lawyer, while his older brother's judicial temperament expressed itself in his analytical and academic ability, which had won for him an enviable prestige for a man of thirty-five.

Richard, who was eight years younger than his brother, won the confidence of his clients, from the moment that he began to prepare a case. He used the same kind of skill in such proceedings as a clever playwright employs when he creates a dramatic situation and develops his plan or plot, by introducing the right character at exactly the right time, — with the proper lines and a perfect psychological grasp of the immediate circumstance.

Richard Radcliffe would arrange to call his witnesses in a case in such order that the testimony of the second witness would not only strengthen that of the first, wherever possi¬ ble, but would prepare the way for the third and fourth, and so on, — to build up a connected and logical story of evi¬ dence so well put together that it required the most accurate legal knowledge and subtle art in professional practice to refute or break down the testimony as established. Since the desirable acquirements of technical, legal skill and the power of convincing argument are so seldom found to be combined, to any great degree, in any one practitioner at the bar, the young attorney who is so fortunate as to find himself equipped with both these extraordinary qualifications, soon excels his competitor lawyers in the race for outstanding success.

And so it happened when Richard Radcliffe in his first case in Washington, D. C., took it upon himself to break the will of an extremely eccentric but wealthy old man, who had left his deserving widow poorly provided for, — he won his case, because he built up a sequence in the testimony of his client’s witnesses, which proved to the court conclusively the erratic tendencies and unbecoming conduct of the de¬ ceased husband, climaxed by his inexcusable treatment of his devoted wife.

Such continuity of purpose, as applied to other cases, had won for young Radcliffe a certain unique distinction, which justified him in assuming, thus early in his professional experience, that he could practise law successfully without a partner. If, in later years, he decided to form a partnership, he would be in a position to act as the senior member himself and to select a suitable aspiring junior partner.

For the present he would launch out for himself, — and he would take Eleanor with him to the far west.

She had been ready and willing to go ever since she had been able to read in Richard’s kindly deep blue eyes, the language of protector and defender, — as well as the assurance of his undivided and whole-hearted affection.

Eleanor Fairchild had always felt a sense of security in Richard’s friendship, even before they were avowed lovers. He had inspired her confidence just as he had won the abiding faith and loyalty of his clients.

And now that they were married and Eleanor leaned her slender form on the strong right arm of Richard Rad¬ cliffe’s tall, manly figure, and kissed his smooth shaven, florid cheek, as they were about to leave the Fairchild home that afternoon, she had no desire to take a round trip ticket with her on her transcontinental journey; — not even later in the day when the dining car waiter tipped off some of the other passengers to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Richard Radcliffe were bride and groom. This incident resulted in considerable embarrassment for both Eleanor and Richard; — especially Eleanor, who was very self-conscious.

Her pretty, dimpled face had been covered with blushes, when she observed that two travelling salesmen in the dining car were looking at her with fixed gaze, and exchanging remarks which seemed to afford them much amusement.

Eleanor was so obviously annoyed at this occurrence that Richard did not finish his dessert and the pair made their way to the back platform of the train, only to find that the word had already been passed along ahead of them to the passengers in the observation car. As soon as Richard de¬ tected the true situation, he led the way, and the couple retired to their drawing-room.

The confidence of Eleanor Fairchild and her exacting parents had been well placed, when she accepted young Radcliffe’s proposal, with both her father’s and mother’s consent; — for Richard was as high-minded as he had been successful.

“You know, Livingston, you always did like to theorize and philosophize on marriage. You always revel in flowery discourses on the subject of matrimony. I«think that Eleanor and Richard will get along all right,” Elizabeth Fairchild had said to her husband, when he had concluded his extemporaneous dissertation on the seriousness of mar¬ riage and its problems.

Eleanor Fairchild, the present Mrs. Richard Radcliffe, came of a family whose conduct was governed by precision, regularity and method in all things. They ate their break¬ fast at seven A. M., week days and nine A. M., Sundays, with¬ out varying as much as three minutes from the established routine, in more than twenty years. They dined promptly at six thirty in the evening for the same number of years. All the members of the Fairchild family had been brought up according to schedule. Their records for punctuality, in all their activities, could not have been beaten by the Empire State Express or the Twentieth Century Limited.

The Fairchilds were earnest students of their traditions, too, but unlike many others of their kind, who boast of a long line of worthy ancestors, they tried to live up to their traditions and not on them. Before they moved from Philadelphia to Washington, D. C., they had always voted,— that is the men of the family had always voted the same ticket as had their grandfathers. They ate many of the dishes prepared, so far as possible, as their grandmothers had prepared them. Even the bureau drawers of their house¬ hold were arranged in much the same manner as were those of their methodical and orderly grandparents.

Everywhere in the Fairchild home were evidences of system and painstaking regularity. While this all gave an impression of neatness and order, at the same time there was communicated to the atmosphere of the home a certain stilted uniformity, which detracted from the sense of freedom and spirit of naturalness which is always a part of all real homes.

For instance, there was no place where a man could put his feet, except on the floor, in the event that he wanted to rest himself leisurely and recliningly while he read the even¬ ing paper, — and as to smoking, this was permitted only on the back porch. There was no place where Howard or Frank or James Fairchild could stretch themselves unless they went upstairs to their rooms.

There was never an occasion at home when the boys m could tell a story with the least flavor of unconventionality and then release their surplus energy in healthy, boyish laughter. There was never a time when the boys felt free to go to the butler’s pantry or the refrigerator and help themselves to knick-knacks or sweet-meats.

Whenever amusement or entertainment was provided for the youngsters, it was according to form and formula. All stage performances, and the like, were passed upon by the senior members of the household, and a selected list prepared by them before the juniors were permitted the privilege of attending these places of diversion. Of course, every now and then, the juniors broke away from these restrictions unbeknowm to their parents, or the older mem¬ bers of the family.

The Fairchilds frowned upon the course adopted by their neighbors, the Stimsons, who apparently gave their children a freedom of choice in the selection of their amusements by discussing with them the different kinds of plays and con¬ sciously directing the juniors to choose the best of their own free wills. It was the same way with music and reading matter. The Stimsons permitted their children to believe that they were choosing their own standards and forming their own tastes, when in reality the parents themselves were directing their children as pointedly as were the Fair¬ childs, but evidently, with much less effort and greater effect.

Eleanor Fairchild Radcliffe represented the highest type of feminine Fairchild. She was thoroughly Fairchild from the roots of her long, straight, black hair, to the tips of her elongated, sinewy, nervous fingers. She was a trim, neat, attractive girl, —good to look upon. She was petite, in fact, very slight of build, with regularity of features, and calm, gray, penetrating eyes, the expression of which would have indicated to a close observer, a degree of innate coldness.

The only feature which had a tendency to mar her beauty was her nose; — this lineament of her face was slightly inclined to be Aquiline in form, and bespoke an inherited feature from the conventional Fairchilds, more clearly than any other of her facial characteristics.

And at twenty-two she had married Richard Radcliffe, and come out West with him, to the City of Mount Olympic, where her energetic and ambitious young husband had planned to engage upon his business and professional career.

“We’ll rent a modest house somewhere. If we like it, we’ll buy it later, or perhaps, build a house of our own.

“I still have left a thousand dollars in travellers’ cheques. I figure that this amount ought to furnish our house, without using any of the bank draft of two thousand dollars, which I brought along for deposit in a savings bank, and which will have to stand between us and starvation, until I can rustle around and get some clients,” suggested Richard to Eleanor, the first morning after their arrival in the Western city, where they were about to establish their home.

“Oh! I’m sure that a thousand dollars will be plenty for furnishing a very cozy dwelling. Just think of all the boxes and trunks of wedding presents which we have,” replied Eleanor.

Chapter II

W HEN they began house-keeping, their little home, situated on one of the side hills of the city, was the essence of neatness. There were window boxes, with a border of gay tulips and sweet lavender. There were ferns and herbs that followed the line of the house wall. These surrounded the cottage, which was a white-washed, brick structure, with a curved roof line. The lawn was carefully green-swarded, with a freshness of verdure which indicated constant care.

The house was as attractive inside, in its furnishings and decorations, as it was in its floral surroundings, lawn and garden, on the outside.

The living-room was in Early American style. There was a table, a Duncan Phyffe model of mahogany. The davenport was upholstered in rich, brocaded, wistaria velvet. The frame was of birch, with a mahogany finish. There were some Vassar chairs in mulberry velour, and a few Stratford Windsor chairs, with saddle seats. On the tea-table was an English pottery set, ornamented with a design of field flowers and blackberries. There were two or three antique paintings, which Eleanor had brought from her old home. The window curtains were of heavy, peach colored silk, while the windows were framed in blue and mulberry toile de jouy. The draperies and curtains were Eleanorown handiwork. The wistaria velvet rug harmonized with these decorations.

There was a small breakfast-room, combined with a sunporch. The floor of this room was a fascinating checker¬ board of black and white blocks. The rug in front of the fire-place was a composition of squares of the same size as those of which the floor was made. There was a close association of design between the floor and the rug, which bespoke the Fairchild care and precision in the process of selection.

The dining-room was furnished in mahoganized birch. The wall panels were of the same kind of wood, which cov¬ ered about two-thirds of the wall space. Above these panels was an artistic frieze,— an ornamental, deep band, which represented a forest of birch trees, interspersed by open spaces of landscape. The buffet and china closets were well filled with cut glass, silver, and hand-painted china-ware, — the most of which had been presented to Eleanor at the time of her wedding. She had brought West with her, the con¬ tents of her hope chest, which she had been preparing since her boarding-school days. Not content with its equipment, she continued to add to its store. Soon after she went to house-keeping, she had made a luncheon set, consisting of a dozen oblong place-mats and a table-runner on cream handwoven linen, in a new and effective design of needle point and embroidery. She had bought some old jars and vases at a second-hand store. These she had transformed into lamp-stands and then made the shades of pieces of ancient tapestries, which had come down to her from the past. She had fitted out a cream crackle lamp, with a parchment shade, and she had made some other lamp shades of orchid colored, crepe, which she had placed over the electric light bulbs in the dining-room.

Eleanor had taught herself to apply paint materials so as to secure artistic, enamelled and stained effects on both hard and soft wood, with the result that the floors in the Radcliffe cottage bore an appearance which could not be distinguished from that of the floors in houses where the highest grade building materials had been used.

Altogether, Eleanor had made the interior of her bridal nest most artistic and attractive.

All her efforts greatly pleased Richard, who was an appreciative soul, with a big, warm heart, and an innate liking for all things beautiful. Indeed, he had indicated this clearly when he chose his wife. From day to day, it seemed to Richard that Eleanor became increasingly resourceful in her ability to create artistic touches here and there, which added to the attractiveness of their home.

When he arrived at their cottage in the evening, he was prone to observe all the little things which Eleanor had done to beautify their place of peace. Not only would he notice these things, but he would remark upon them with a keenness of appreciation which greatly pleased his pretty young bride.

“You have more artistic skill in transforming barren, unfurnished rooms into paradisiacal spots than anyone else whom I have ever known.

“I could not have believed before you started in, that you could make a house so attractive with so little outlay of money. You possess positive genius as a home builder.

“Some day I hope to have money enough to build just the kind of house which will do justice to your decorative talents. You ought to have a better back-ground, — a more elaborate setting for the exercise of your artistic ability/’ exclaimed Richard, as he arrived home one evening, and sur¬ veyed with satisfaction the last touches of Eleanor’s handi¬ work in putting their house in order.

That afternoon she had actually made a buffet from the material contained in an old cabinet which she had pur¬ chased for a small sum in a second-hand store. On the front of the top cupboard she had painted some sketches, which resembled very closely the best Italian workmanship. She had devoted considerable time to painting during her boarding-school days and the short years following.

Eleanor really had a right to feel much pride in her artistic achievements. Her reproduction of an old Italian painted cabinet would have done credit to a much more experienced decorator. She had listened joyfully to Richard’s praise, which always fell in dulcet tones upon her ears. When he spoke of a better house, she only said:

4 ‘I really don’t know whether I shall ever want a larger house. This little place keeps me very busy. I find plenty to do to keep it neat and attractive, ’ ’ and with this remark, Eleanor went to an old trunk, which she had brought with her from home, and took from it a pair of antique, brass candle-sticks and a small, marble statuette of Minerva, which she placed on top of the buffet, with the Italian goddess of the handicrafts in the center,— with a candle-stick on each side.

“Well, here’s to the goddess. May the candles shed enough light on her benign countenance so that she will reflect the greatest wisdom in presiding over this modest household,” ejaculated Richard, as he took his seat at the dinner table.

Richard was already for a bouncing, big dinner. At this [ 13 ]

particular moment, he would have had more joy out of a nourishing roast of beef, with a few tempting side-dishes, climaxed by a little rich pastry, than anything else in the world.

But in his delectable, gastronomic desires, he was doomed to disappointment, because his artistic wife had de¬ voted nearly all her time that day to the big buffet in the corner, with the result that she had prepared just a “picked up” supper of a few hashed brown potatoes, a little fried bacon, and some canned fruit.

Richard ate sparingly, partly from necessity, because of the inadequate quantity and lack of variety of food, and partly, because he did not altogether relish that which was placed before him, for his young wife had proven herself, from the beginning of their house-keeping days, a better artist than she was a cook.

In fact, the first dinner which she had served to Richard had been so badly spoiled, that she had made many apologies and then broken down in tears, while confessing to her much adored, young husband that the smell of food when cooking always had made her ill.

On that occasion, Richard had been in very good humor, —kind and tolerant, and had said:

“Never mind, I guess we shall be able to get enough to eat. We shall never be so foolish as to let a little matter like a spoiled dinner interfere with our happiness.” Then he had taken Eleanor in his arms, caressed her fondly, soothed her troubled spirits, and dismissed the unpleasant incident with such good grace that it faded away as did the vaporous outpouring from the tea-kettle, when it was taken from the stove.

But this time, when the luke-warm, hashed brown [ 14 ]

potatoes came on, with the bacon not very well done, and the coffee too heavy, Richard was not in such cheerful spirits as he had been on the evening of their first home cooked dinner.

On this particular evening, Richard had come home, tired, hungry and depressed in spirits. They had been married about four months now. Richard was having an up-hill pull to secure clients and establish a practice. On this very day, a man on whom he had depended for a promised fee had dis¬ appointed him. He had worked under an unusually heavy strain for more than seven hours that day, preparing a brief for a case, which he was to try the following morning.

“Hard work bears hard on the average pulse;

Even with satisfactory results;

And when results are scarce, the heavy strain Falls dead and solid on the heart and brain.’’

Often when mortals are bothered, they seek blametimber, and light on some one else that they may give vent to their feelings. Sometimes this some one else is partly to blame, and sometimes not. In this instance, Richard Radcliffe was making a good many reservations of mind; but he had himself too well in hand to explode, as would many men have done under the same provocation, even though they had had the same training, which belonged to one of Richard Radcliffe’s birth and breeding.

Richard merely said:

“Tomorrow morning when I start for the office, I want you to put on your things and walk along a ways with me. I am going to see if I can’t help you to do your marketing. There are some good stores, — grocery and meat markets on my way down, and I believe if we visit them together I can make yon understand something about what a hungry man’s appetite calls for.

“You see, I’m a strong, healthy man and I need NOURISHMENT!” laughingly exclaimed Richard, while he playfully patted Eleanor on the cheek, raised her dimpled chin, and kissed her devotedly.

“I know you are tired, after your tussle at carpenter work, — making that old buffet, but tomorrow, suppose you just get dinner and don’t try to make our house look like a place belonging to really moneyed folks. After awhile we shall be able to buy all these things without trying to make imitations,” consolingly remarked Richard.

Eleanor concealed the peevishness which she felt, reply¬ ing: “All right. I’ll go with you to market. You know that during all this time, you have never told me, exactly, what you like to eat and don’t like. I do remember though, that you don’t like lamb chops. Perhaps, if I can find out what it is that you want, I shall be able to get it for you.”

When morning dawned there was a drenching rain. It promised to be one of those days of a steady down-pour, as every cloud in sight was so heavy that it seemed to be saturated beyond the point of containing any more water.

Richard protested, when Eleanor put on her rain-coat and arctics, and prepared to join him in the marketing expedition, which he had suggested the night before.

“You’ll get soaking wet and there’s no sense in it. You’re likely to catch cold, too. You had a hard day yester¬ day and the chances are you’re still a little tired from over¬ exertion. Take off your things and stay at home. We’ll postpone this trip to the market until tomorrow morning,” said Richard, very much as though he meant it.

11 No, I want to go this morning. I feel perfectly well. I had a refreshing night’s sleep. I feel as chipper as the poet who wrote about ‘The golden dew of slumber as it lulls one soothingly into rest, and then awakens one with fresh vigor.’ I shall not mind the rain in the least; so let’s be off,” insisted Eleanor.

“Well, if a woman wills, she will, I suppose,” exclaimed Richard, as he opened the door.

The rain was coming down in sheets and the wind beat fiercely against Richard’s umbrella, when he attempted to raise it.

“Holy Mackerel! This is too much,” ejaculated Richard. “If you still insist on going with me, I shall go back into the house and call a taxi.”

“No, I hear a street car coming now. We shall be able to get it in the next block if we hurry, ’ ’ suggested Eleanor.

It was all that Richard could do to hold the umbrella with both hands, until they reached the corner. Two of the stays were badly bent when he closed it and helped Eleanor aboard the car, which started suddenly and threw them both forward, with a jolt which landed them in a seat already occupied by a fat man who was attempting to read the morning newspaper.

As soon as Richard could recover his balance, he took Eleanor by the arm, and the two were finally seated com¬ fortably, as the cars in this section of town, so remote from the center of the city’s activities, were never crowded.

“I shall have to take my umbrella and have it re-covered. I see it is torn in two places. I am sorry about it, too, for it was presented to me by the members of my law-school fraternity, after I had served one year as its president,” re¬ marked Richard, as he commented, with appreciation, on the skillful craftsmanship necessary to carry out the detail in the chased gold mounting of the handle, which was ornamented with a carved emblem in Greek letters, surrounded by Richard’s own name engraved in Old English.

When the car stopped at the market on the way down town, Richard casually remarked:

“Well, the umbrella is completely out of commission, so we shall have to make the best of the situation.’’

The storm had not abated and before Eleanor and Richard could get under cover, she said good-humoredly:

“This must be the second flood, but in any event, we are here.”

“First of all, let’s find some good potatoes for baking.

“I believe I like good baked potatoes better than any other vegetable in the world. Here are some nice, smooth ones. They are very solid. I think these are just what we want,” suggested Richard, as he turned to the clerk and ordered him to send one-half bushel.