TYPE-WRITERS.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VII, Issue 2, 10 January 1891, Page 15

TYPE-WRITERS.

TO THE EDITOR. SIK, —You are, I believe, very generous in allowing poor* womankind an opportunity of airing grievances which may or may not be capable of redress. In the present instance I have good cause for complaint— so have other wives, some of whom are too proud to complain—and I believe that determined action on our part will stop the evil before it attains top large proportions to be checked by anything but a social revolution. Please allow me a few lines in which to explain what I mean. Why should business men invariably choose pretty young women to do their type-writing for them? At present there are not many young lady type-writers in this colony, but I am taking action thus early in order to save other wives from the misery I undergo. About a month ago my husband began, to show unusual attention to his appearance before going into town in the morning. He would entirely usurp my place in front of the minor, and spend ages in arranging his cravat and collar. ‘ Good gracious, John !’ I used to cry, ‘do you suppose your clerks will notice how you look ?’ He went in early, ceased growling on hot days about that ‘ detestable business,’ and never hurried out to his dinner. He did not dress to please me, for he didn’t care how lie looked all evening. One day I even caught him putting a little rosebud in his button-hole. lam not in the least inquisitive, ami, as I was very busy just then with the children’s summer clothes, I let this nonsense go on for aw’eek. Then one afternoon, not having much to do, I just put on my bonnet and went to his office. I walked straight in. I should like to know who has a better right than I ? Oh, MiEditor, do pity me ! He was bending over a pretty girl who seemed to be playing something. Then I found out she was a type-writer, and he was dictating a business letter to her. Now, sir, is it necessary when the young woman is not deaf to stand so very close to hei to make her hear ? His sweet soft tone changed when he saw me into loud and rough ones. ‘ What do you want ?’ he said. ‘ Who’s that ?’ I retorted, pointing my sunshade at the girl. ‘ She’s only my type-writer,’ he said. ‘ And, pray, how long is it since you have lost the use of your own hands ?’ I said. I kept my temper beautifully, and he got sulky. ‘Go home, Jessie,’ he said, * I shall follow you directly.’ I told him what I thought, but he has still that young woman to do all his writing. Even his private letters she answers. I never wasallowed to see one. Do tell me what to do, and help An Injured Wife.