MRS. EDISON.

Wanganui Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 14234, 6 March 1914, Page 5

MRS. EDISON.

HUSBAND’S ABLE MANAGER. THE ONLY PERSON WIZARD OBEYS. Burdened with hard physical labour, and having to grapple with complex inventive ideas, Thomas A. Edison must be “tas.cn care of’’ by somebody, and the job of “bossing” the wizard and guarding him against interruptions and the dangers of sickness or fatigue is handled by Mrs Edison. Much has been written about the personality of the inventor, but that of his wife does not appear frequently in the newspapers and magazines. Izola Forrester, an interviewer of the New York “World Magazine,”, recently went to the pdison home in West Orange, N.J., and got a first-hand impression of Mrs Edison’s personality and learned something about her daily life. She writes; It was about 4 by the clock on the mantel in the library. Mrs Edison came down the wide staircase quickly, softly, and into the room, drawing on her gloves. She was dressed for outdoors, but not in motoring togs, although her electric runabout was waiting for her. Her whole costume carried out the tones and hues of the season, the delicate, shadowy grevs and deep rose reds. She is of medium height and rather plump. Her hair is brown and waves back from the face girlishly. Her complexion is clear and pink, as if she faced the wind often, as she does. Her chii. is rounded and she has the most understanding smile in the world. She doesn’t have to say a word to make you feel that she knows everything you want to say, and her wide hazel eyes look clear away into your soul. "How do we take care of Mr Edison?” she repeats, looking at the clock on the mantel. “Well, first of all, he needs quiet. We all guard him against any noise or confusion or interruptions. When he is home here he, needs perfect rest. Sometimes he stays down at the laboratory for twenty hours at a stretch and longer without sleep, but when he does come home he will lie down and. fall asleep as easily ns a child, and perhaps sleep straight through for twenty hours without waking. So the house must always be quiet for him.” “No, he has no regular habits.” She answered this with a little smile and shook her head. “No regular habits at all. No regular time. for rising, no regular diet, nothin? like that. He has been called a vegetarian, but he eats wild game and beef and lamb—only' they must be well cooked. Everything must bo thoroughly cooked, he believes. No cereals, salads, or uncooked foods. He believes that boiling or bringing them np to 215deg. destroys all germs and removes the danger from typhoid. “Exercise? Nt what other people call exercise. Aon see, he is on his feet down at the works all day, That is enough exercise, he thinks, so he does hardly any waljdpg, outdoors, but he loves his garden, ■ and motoring is his favourite recreation. We have our ride together in my car every day. lam just going down for him now. We ride for two hours before diiit nor, and he looks'forward to it, for I never let him forget that ho must be ready when I come for him.” It was 4 by the mantel clock now, and we went out to the waiting car. From the distant garden Theodore sent out a had to “mother.” And two figures rose trom the stone seat as she came toward them. There.was just time for a quick word of pleading from the woman. The ° d gentleman had some invention. It was all Ins life-work consummated. He had no funds to carry it, on, so he had come to M est Orange and following that winding hill-road up to the house of the great W1Z *j 'I.' 0 could " lako dr( ’ ama come tnio'. ,. An f , the ■beautiful, calm-cycd woman ho takes care of thc ; wizard listened to it all with that little smile of understanding on her lips and tod them gently that she would bring it to Mr Ed-son’s attention, that he had been ill and how careful everyone was not to disturb him, but she would promise that he should see it and would let them know. “There are so many, so many like that, she said, as wo spun around the driveway and took the road leading to the ravine. “And lomelimes it is their last hope reaching him. But I always try to see them first for him.” The runabout seemed like a living creature under her touch. There was no jarring, no noise, nothing but swift, exultant speed about the machine that carries Thofnaa A. Edison out every day for his afternoon spin. On one side rose the craggy grey rocks, overrun with crimson vines. Below were the cool, dim green depths of the glen. It is Mr Edison's favourite route to bis home. At - the park entrance the policcmau salutes her, and the little children playing by the road wave to her and cars swing off boys’ heads and men’s as she passes by. They all know she is’ going to take “the old man” out for his airing. Nobody out there ever calls him but that—jmt “the old man”—and it is said wiHi a wealth of loving proprietorship. They love Tom Edison out there. Isn’t he there with them every day of ins life? Doesn’t he work harder and longer than any of them? Isn’t the very sight of his tall, rugged, restless old figure darting around the big grey Puddings a-< inspiration and a lesion to every man there ? But when that runabout turns in under tho ivy-covered archway there is a- feeling of relief and approval. For any man in the place will tell you that “tho old man” would work himself to dea'h if it wasn't for “the missus.” “He’s in the library still, ma’am,’’ rays the door-tender as she steps down from the car. She goes in quickly, with that soft footfall and little, knowing, understanding smile. “Tam a little la'e, dear,” you hear her say. And then he comes out. No, he doesn’t. Ho simply bolts out, for all the world like a boy let out of ichool. And he needs a shave. He needs a clean collar. He needs brushing and combing and grooming all over, tins big, smiling, white-hared, bine-eyed, eixty-six-ycar-old boy of hers. Just as she thinks he is all ready to leave, he darts away from her, out of the door and across the courtyard into another big stone building. But she never-, loses that calm, happy smile, just waits? for him to come hack. Tho watchman at the door looks after him and the boy s;t:ing down by the big gate looks after him, and they both know that it is to the tender, unfailing watchfulness of “the mb'sus that the world owes the conservation of Tom Edison's powers. She is the woman at the switch that regulates the current of his life.