1002 
T1IH RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
How Jenkins Kept House. 
Jenkins, who was a devoted husband, 
was yet rather glad when his wife said 
she’d spend a month “at Mamma’s.” 
She needed a rest, and they both would 
be better for the change. Not that she 
had so much work to do, for they had 
no children, and their little flat was a 
model in appointments, but Mrs. Jen¬ 
kins was one of those women who are 
always “making work” for themselves. 
At least, that’s what he thought, and the 
subject had been worn threadbare be¬ 
tween them. His dinner was never 
quite ready when he got home in the 
evening, and it was always dark when 
she was through with the dishes. Of 
course, he didn’t care about such trifles, 
but he felt sorry to see her wearing 
herself out over what seemed to him a 
very easy, almost trivial, round of du¬ 
ties. “What did she do all day?” was a 
question he often asked himself, but he 
was too kind to spring such a query on 
Julia who, whatever might have been 
her faults, was certainly the neatest 
housewife imaginable and kept the flat 
“like a pin.” 
“It ought to be like play for you,” he 
used to say, but here you are fretting 
and fuming and working away, as if 
you were housekeeper for a 20-room 
mansion on the boulevard.” 
“I’d like to see you do any better,” 
she would snap, sometimes. But for the 
most part tuey were very happy, con¬ 
tented and affectionate—when they had 
time. 
“Now you’ll get your fill of house¬ 
keeping, John,” she laughed when he 
told her that he meant to keep bach¬ 
elor’s hall. 
“Just watch me,” he boasted. “I’ll 
get up every morning at 6.30 and light 
the range. A canteloupe, some oatmeal, 
a boiled egg and a cup of coffee will fix 
me out. The few dishes can be done in 
five minutes. Lunch downtown. I’ll be 
home at six every evening, wet the tea 
in a jiffy and be out for a walk and a 
smoke in the park before eight o’clock. 
Oh, I’ll get on famously. You always 
did have an exaggerated idea about the 
work around this doll house.” 
She cautioned him about leaving the 
refrigerator a bit open at the top “for 
circulation,” told him to empty the drip 
pan underneath every other aay; she 
showed him where she had laid away 
his underwear and where his collars, 
cuffs and fresn linen lay; then she 
pointed out the coffee canister and the 
tea caddie, and the “sign” for the ice¬ 
man, and a score of minor details which 
struck him as proof positive that his 
wife was actually “getting eccentric” 
over the petty affairs of an establish¬ 
ment which struck him as simple as 
A, B, C. 
“Don’t forget to wind the clock, Sat¬ 
urday night, John,” she said as she was 
getting into the train, “and the gas 
man, I forgot the gas man! He always 
comes round to inspect about the last 
of the month. The bill for last month 
is due the 10th, John. You’d better ask 
Mrs. Smith to let him in to inspect the 
meter. And, oh, yes, don t forget to 
get enough ice Saturdays to last you 
over. Good-by, John.” 
She was gone and he, smiling pity¬ 
ingly on the platform, murmured: 
“Poor Julia! She’s got to have some¬ 
thing to worry about. If she had halt 
my business affairs to look after she’d 
go crazy.” And he walked back to the 
empty flat to get his pipe. 
The place, with its closed windows 
and echoing halls, seemed so lonesome 
that he determined to go downtown for 
a harmless lark. Two hours of aimless 
wandering through the streets convinced 
him that there was no place like home. 
He got on the train and went there. He 
raised all the windows just to try a lit¬ 
tle experiment which Julia had never 
approved of, out when he woke in the 
middle of the night, the rain was beat¬ 
ing in at the front windows, the floor 
was flooded and the new rug was 
soaked. 
“Just my luck,” he grunted, slopping 
around in the dark. “That would not 
have happened if Julia had been here.” 
He did not stop to guess that perhaps 
she had met such little difficulties a 
hundred times without his knowledge, 
but rolled back into bed again. He 
overslept himself the next morning and 
in his haste to get to the office on time, 
had to forego the little task of making 
his bed. He put the oatmeal on, but 
hadn’t time to wait for it. When he got 
on the train he found that he had no 
handkerchief and a dim realization 
came over him that Julia never kisssd 
him good-by in the morning without 
asking: “Got a clean handkerchief, 
John?” 
That evening when he let himself into 
the empty flat, an odor like a rag fac¬ 
tory fire greeted his nostrils. He rush¬ 
ed into the kitchen and found that he 
had forgotten to put out the gas under 
the oatmeal pot. There was a hole 
through the bottom of the enamel ware 
and the place was reeking with a sick¬ 
ening fog. Then he made tea in the 
coffeepot and couldn’t drink the concoc¬ 
tion. He forgot to grease the skillet 
for his egg frying, and, as it was getting 
late, he decided to eat standing up by 
the kitchen table rather than carry the 
things into the dining-room. It wasn’t 
a very good supper, but Jenkins wasn’t 
particular. He postponed the dishwash¬ 
ing till after he had taken his stroll and 
his smoke, and when he came back he 
was too sleepy. 
That was the “gait” that Jenkins 
struck on the first day of Julia’s ab¬ 
sence, and he never quite got out of it. 
He was always a little too “rushed” in 
the morning to wash the dishes or make 
his bed, and in the evening he was 
“fagged” or suffering for a breath of 
fiesh air, or eager to read the papers. 
On the eighth day he missed altogether, 
even his homemade cup of coffee, and 
galloped five blocks to get at a subur¬ 
ban restaurant. 
He spent two hours one night looking 
for clean collars, and when he gave up 
the search every chiffonier, dresser, 
wardrobe and closet in the house look¬ 
ed as if a burglar had ransacked them. 
Then he suddenly realized that he had 
forgotten to send his linen to the laun¬ 
dry. After that he couldn’t “find any¬ 
thing.” He made a few more half¬ 
hearted bluffs at getting his own break¬ 
fast, but the pile of dirty dishes in the 
sink began to grow mountainous and 
disheartening, and besides he couldn’t 
manage to keep any “fresh things” in 
the refrigerator. The ice man always 
came after he was gone, and he never 
could think of ordering butter and 
eggs. Then he quit coming home till 
bedtime. He found out by dint of many 
and expensive disappointments that it 
was dreadfully hard to get eggs poach¬ 
ed, or bacon and beans cooked “like 
home.” His bed began to look like a 
last year’s bird’s nest. The dust and 
lint of a month’s desuetude began “to 
show” on the floors, the furniture and 
the rugs. 
Julia had been gone nearly a month 
when Jenkins got a note from his land¬ 
lord echoing some vague protests of his 
neighbors. The letter hinted that there 
was “something dead” in the Jenkins 
flat, and that “Mrs. Smith and others 
were annoyed.” He intended to look 
after the nuisance that evening when he 
went home, but when he toiled up the 
back stairway and found the back door 
ajar and the interior of his home in a 
typhoon of dust he knew that his wife 
THERE IS A CLASS OF PEOPLE 
Who are injured by the use of coffee. Recently there 
has been placed in all the grocery stores a new pre¬ 
paration called GRAIN-O, made of pure grains, that 
takes tlK place of coffee. The most delicate stomach 
receives it without distress, and but few can tell *lt 
from coffee. It does not cost over as much. 
Children may drink it with great benefit. 15c. and 
25c. per package. Try it. Ask for GRAIN-0 
6 I 5 
was home. With subconscious clair- 
voyancy he opened the refrigerator be¬ 
fore he went into the maelstrom to con¬ 
front Julia. Some forgotten mutton 
chops, a mildewed cantaloupe and a su¬ 
perfluous pound of butter in various and 
emulous stages of decomposition ex¬ 
plained the complaints of the neighbors. 
But when he went in and Julia, poor 
Julia, who was always “making work 
for herself,” kissed him and smiled and 
said, “You poor boy! It was a shame 
to leave you like that,” Jenkins didn’t 
know what to say, and, like a wise man, 
said nothing.—Chicago Record-Herald. 
My Garden. 
Every woman delights in a garden, 
even though it may be no more than a 
small patch of lettuce or a half dozen 
new strawberry plants. I have had some 
experience myself this year. The men 
plowed four long furrows this Spring 
and harrowed the place very carefully. 
I intended to sow flower seeds and set 
my house plants along the edges for a 
border. But when I began work on that 
garden all my plans vanished and left 
me blue and discouraged. I felt sure 
nothing would grow on that mass of 
clods. I began bravely to dig up turf. 
It was hard work, and the flesh conquer¬ 
ed the spirit. I put the spade in the 
tool house, and at dinner confessed my 
utter inability to wrestle with such odds. 
“Well, plant beans,” my father said, 
with a twinkle in his eye. “Plant 
beans!” I thought, never, and in the 
afternoon I again tackled those lumps of 
turf. It was no use. I bought a quart 
of kidney beans and planted three rows. 
In the spaded part I set my geraniums, 
Begonias and the other house plants, a 
clump of Petunias, some larkspur and 
mountain daisies, a few Asters, three or 
four rare Verbenas. A row of Dahlias 
forms a fence between the two parts. 
Every six feet along the edge a little 
squash vine is creeping out over the 
grass. Now isn’t this a garden medley? 
Those beans have been hoed just once 
this Summer, and they are. growing 
splendidly. Next Fall, when I take up 
my slips and gatner flower seeds to tie 
up and label neatly for next year, I shall 
have my crop of beans and a goodly pile 
of squashes also. So infatuated have I 
become with this new kind of garden 
that next year I intend to set some onion 
sets, and later plant pop-corn in the 
same place, or peas. I have friends in 
the nearby city who count it a privilege 
to buy my superfluous roosters in the 
Fall, when the chickens go into Winter 
quarters, and 1 intend to gain a few 
extra dollars from my flower garden, 
with the corn or beans and anything 
else that I am convinced will take little 
time and labor to produce, yet find a 
ready market. Isn’t there some other 
“petticoat farmer” who will try my 
scheme? adah e. colcord. 
€ ®ipfjeb 
A If at 1 
in the coffee bin—not 
a pleasant thought, 
yet when coffees are 
kept open in bulk who 
knows what different 
“things” come climb¬ 
ing and floating in ? 
Lion Coffee 
f 
put up in sealed packages insures 
I cleanliness, uniform quality, 
I freshness and delicious flavor. 
ill 
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