.THE COURIER
A WOMAN'S DESIRES.
By Frank H. Irons.
The electric lights were shining on the margin of a lata and throw
ing brilliancy through many colored globes, far out into the water.
From a pavilion, built out into the lake a little ways, sounds of mus
lz were floating. A band was playing there. A hundred boats were
floating around. Crowds of people were strolling around the mar
gin. The electric cars were bringing more people and taking some
away. There were devices to catch stray nickels. A popcorn mam
a lemonade fakir, a "merry-go-round," and other schemes known to
those caterers to the small wants of people who are enjoying them
selves. Phonographs for the people in the pavilion, each with a slot
to receive the price of its services.
Outside benches close down upon the water whero many were sit
ting. There were lovers there. Girls just beginning to see what they
called "Life.'" Young men spending a large portion of their week's
salary to please themselves and the girls. Maids and serving people
mechanics and laborers, business men, bankers, and a millionaire or
two. All sorts and conditions of men and women. Good
women, who see the bad in everybody, and who suspicion everybody,
bad women who are as ignorant as the good ones; but whose ignor
ance has taken a different form. The same thing applied different
ly; the same songs set to different music
In the further corner of
the last bench a man and
a woman were sitting, en
gaged in close conversation.
They had not the air of
man and wife; they were
not lovers. They were
young, about 30, each onet
and well dressed; not
gaudily nor loud, but in
most excellent taste. "A
lady and gentleman'" any
body would have said, look
ing at them. Let them be
introduced:
The lady first: Laura
Estellc Chapman she wrote
her name. Laura Morris
she had ben called by her
friends before she had
married Phillip Chapman.
She had been a "bright
girl, meaning that she
had learned her lessons
in school; had written
somewhat original essays
had talked well, and grad
uated from the high school
with honor; had been viva
cious, fond of company,
and a beautiful, cheerful
person generally. Her parents were poor and commonplace. There
was not much to th"i ynti would say. They womed, ate, slept and
worked again. Father sat and read a newspaper, mother mended
and contrived. The problem constantly before them was how to
provide for and do their duty by their children. They were not re
ligious people that is, they were not members of any church; the
children went to Sunday school or church, or not, as they pleased.
They did not approve of many things that church people did ap
prove of. They had definite ideas of respectability and they want
ed to be respectable. They sacrificed some comfort to these ideas.
On Sunday Mr. Morris changed his comfortable working clothes
for a stiff Sunday suit, not so comfoi table. There was a parlor in
the house used only for 'company," and occasions. It smelled of
varnish and newness and was mostly closed up and inaccessible to
the family. These were some of the sacrifices laid on the altar of
respectability.
Mrs. Morris thought that she ought to go to church; that they
ought to make Dan go; but Dan was so hard to get started, and
there were so many family cares that the attempt at church-going
Deacon Fowler Lod, Brudder Snodgrass, what makes dat child's legs
dat shape? Hu?
Mr. Snodgrass He waz born, Parson, while a "Rainbow" was in do sky.
was finally given up.
When Laura was of age, she went to work in a down-town store.
She was pretty and attractive. Ladies liked to "shop"' with her
She did not flirt with the gentleman; but they always looked at her,
and decided that she was a lady-like, modest girl. At a "sociable"
of some sort, she became acquainted with Mr. Chapman, a traveling
man, and, after a short acquain tance, they were married. Mr.
Chapman was away from home a great deal of tho time. His wife
had books of various kinds during his absence. Improved her mind.
Her hands were mostly idle, but her brain was being trained. The
training was without any particularsystem. Her reading was what
ever chance threw in her way.
Chance? Well, what is it? Life is many times a purposeless
voyage. Adrift on a sea, bound to no port. Bored with tho silenco,
or amused with the chatter of chance companions in other boats.
Sometimes lashing fast to other crafts for a day, or an hour, mean
ing always to continue in their company; but torn assundcr by a
Btorm or dividing because of other skiffs that come along. One day
there is a sail of'unusual whiteness, a boat gaily decked and paint
ed; there is hilarity aboard, and music and dancing. A multitude
of craft are in the wake of this gorgeous one; they are crowding
n round it and following it wherever it goes. Then some drop astern;
or, with sudden impulse, forge ahead; they separate and reunite and
drift apart again. And there are boats floating bottom upwards,
with a tragic story under them. These wo do not care about. Let
us pass tnem quickly.
And there are boats being
rowed furiously in a circles
lashing and splashing the
water, and making it foam
with their oars. At these
we smile. And there are
dismal boats, painted black
with men and women
chained to the oars and
rowing mechanically.
Sometimes a man and a
woman, alone in a boat;
fastened to each other, each
hating his mate, row along
resolutely; one is pulling a
stronger oar than the
other, and they make little
progress. They are well
trimmed sailboats that
seem bound to a port, and
theie go by, sailing outo
sight, and the objectless
pilotless boats rock a
little in the ripple left
behind; the occupants
strain their eyes a little
in dumb wistfulnesc, and
their boats go iloating,
idly as ever, on the sea of
L chance.
Mrs. Chapman was young. She was more or less ambitious. She
boarded in a hotel with other women who were not sure of them
selves. They compared notes, envied each other, became intimate
formed circles and cliques which were constantly undergoing disin
tegration and rehabilitatiou; and, being thrown much upon their
own resources, because, as they would have said, "self reliant''; as the
truth was, "selfish,
One day, as the young wife had just laid down a book, which her
husband had brought home from one of his trips, a book which told
of various sorts of escapades, a clever book, depicting "Real Life;'
a vile book, with a painted cover, she was suddenly introduced to
Mr. Hyda. Let Mr. Hyde, sitting on the margin of the lake, hi in
troduced to polite society.
Mr. Hyde was in employment He was a single man. Had never
intended to be anything but a single man. Love, or love episodes;
as the good and pure understand them, were entirely unknown to,
and despised by Mr. Hyde. He was good looking, insidious, clever,
and where women were concerned, unprincipled. This is a combin-
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