The Rebellion of Mrs. Dalton.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 2, 10 July 1912, Page 60

The Rebellion of Mrs. Dalton.

i. /TA RH RUFUS DALTON’S lips set all in the manner that indicates, gj 1 7 to the initiated, incipient rc- / hellion. Her clear, blue eyes bad a steely glitter, and a epot of nervous colour burned on each check. Was it not enough, she asked herself as she mentally reviewed her wrongs, that she should know herself as the wife of a man who upset all the traditions in regard to the American husband, and systematically stinted her in the matter of pocket-money? Was it not enough that she should endure the torment of being the worst-dressed woman in her own drawing-room? Was not this enough, without having the author of her humiliation vaunt his selfish theories at her tea table and boast ingloriously of the success of his “system?” She heard 'again the chorus of protesting “Ohs!” from her afternoon tea guests, as, with a thumb in each armhole of his vest, Mr Dalton delivered his dictum: “ 'Die husband of to-day is a slave I Die liberality of American men, the extravagance of American women, are bywords Among the nations of the earth. The one back bent by toil that the other may be decked in silk and broadcloth; one forehead lined 'with worry that the other may be smooth and free from care! And the wonder of the age is that these willing slaves have the remedy in the hollow of their hands and fail to use it. 'Die cure is a proper division of the income!” A proper division of the income, fcrSOoth! Mrs. Dalton’s teeth shut with a decided click, and the last fork among the silver she was counting rattled into the drawer with a metallic din. Mrs. Dalton always dressed in gray, and resembled normally a gentle, uneompl’aining dove. Hardly dove-like, however, were the defiant features that met their own reflection in the sidebo: ! mirror that evening, as she turned key on her wedding silver; and even iesa so was the angry twist she gave the electric light switches as she darkened the house for the night. Almost hawk-like was her flight up the stairs, but dove-like ugaiu was her soft patter across the bedroom floor. Her lord was already sleeping the sleep of the most righteous of his sex. A faint, Self-satisfied snore came to his wife's ears as an echo of his eternal preaching. Mr. Dalton's clothes lay on a chair, folded as his dear mother—her hardly so dear mother-in-law —had taught 'him in h"s Well regulated childhood. Mr. Dalton's trousers, precisely creased, hung over the chair, the pockets bulging with bills, whose crisp crackle had emphasised the exhortation to economy with which he hud favoured her friends. They crackled again as Mrs. Dalton, with fingers tint trembled with their unaccustomed task, lifted the trousers from their restingplace and with guilty haste bore them to her dressing room. Undisturbed, however, the even bieath with its nasal accompaniment from the bed continued; no good angel brought a warning dream; no sense of impendin' Calamity ruffled that ealm brow. Triumphant and unrelenting, Mrs. Dalton returned to the room, tiptoed once more to the chair, creased the trousers in the self-same lines, and placed them on the exact spot where they had hung before. 1 his done. Mrs. Dalton went to her couch and slept dreamlcssly until morning. 11. “ W'.ikc up, Rufus; 1 have something to say to you!” Mr. Dalton’s last forty winks were suddenly interrupted. A sleepily interrogative glance from the gentleman met a surprising sight; Mrs. Dalton up and dressed a full half hour earlier than her wont, not in morning negligee, but in trim-fit-ting waist and stiff collar, with her ba r done in a style usu'.illy affected only for high social functions. Mr. Dalton’s look was one of reproof at her inconsiderate disl urlsam e of his w ell earned rest. “My dear Clara,” he expostulated, “is it anything that cannot ’kale until break-fast-time?” “ It is something that must be settled Jiere and now. I've struck!” “Struck?” Mr. Dalton rose on one elbow ami surveyed his wife as though doubting her sanity. “Do 1 understand Jrou J”

“ Probably not. I'll explain. 1 have joined a union, of which I am organiaer.

walking delegate, all the officers, and all the members. You are cupital, 1 am labour, and I’ve struck.”

Mr. Dalton rose to a sitting posture. *’ Your explanation, my dear, fails to—■ er—elucidate. It must also be explained.” “ Very well. You ’’—here Mrs. Dalton placed an index finger in the hollow of profits—the poor growing poorer, the country orator—" are capital, grinding, grasping, overbearing capital. Labour—that’s me—sees an unfair division of the profits—the poor growing poorer, the rich richer. Labour watches for an opportunity to get even, to find capital at a disa d va ntagte——” ” You certainly have me at a disadvantage; I do not understand you.” Wild eyed now, and a little alarmed at Mrs. Dalton's symptoms, Mr. Dalton gazed at her anxiously. ” I mean to keep you in that state,” returned the lady recklessly. “It is poor labour's only chance. My figures of speech seem to distress you, so I will come down to plain prose. You see your trousers?” Mr. Dalton did. “Do you know how much money you had in the pockets?” " To a penny,” Mr. Dalton replied.

“So do I. And I've taken it—to a penny! And I've hidden it, and mean to keep it. unless ” Mr. Dalton found bis breath and sat up in sudden horror.

“Do you mean to tell me, Chua Wesley Dalton, that you, representative of a good old Puritan family; you, reared as a gentlewoman, wife of a gentleman, deliberately went through my pockets like the common scold of the comic papers?” “ Not deliberately, Rufus—rather hurriedly.”

But Mr. Dalton was not to be diveited by such ill-timed levity. Dignity in pajamas is hard to attain unto, but Mr. Dalton performed the feat.

“ Will you tell me why you have thuß lowered yourself?” lie asked with icy displeasure.

“ 1 have already told you. I—have—struck! 1 am tired of making over last year’s gowns; 1 am tired of hearing other women rustle by in silks while 1 slink along in percaline. 1 want some money of my own. to squander, to throw away if I please! And I’ve taken it, and I’ll keep it all unless you promise me a third of what I’ve taken—just a third; 1 am moderate, not high-handed. Promise mo that - your word, Rufus, is as good as your bond and 1 will return every rent. Labour when she has the upper hand lays down the law; defy her, and she works her worst; compromise, and you save a little from the wreckage. The walking delegate has spoken!” Purple in the face, with rage, Mr Dalton pointed an accusing linger at his defiant wife. “Do you know what you are?” be asked between gasps. “Just an ordinary thief! My wife a felon! To creep into my room like a thief in the night and shamelessly purloin my hunt-earned gold >■

“Currency, every bit of it, except seventy-nine cents in silver and bronze,** she interrupted.

“Felony,” he repeated, gathering acorn from, her flippancy, “ia punishable by imprrsonient!” Mrs Dalton nodded a cheerful affirmation. “Is it nothing to you that the mother of my children should be branded as a thief? Thia revelation of your character is a blow!” Overcome with self-pity, Mr Dalton leaned weakly back among his pillows. “Do I get a third?” asked the walking delegate. Anger and prudence warred in Mr Dalton’s countenance, and from the battle prudence emerged victorious. “Since you are so lost to the dictates of pride and the respect due me, I yield to the vulgar demand. You win at the cost of my confidence.” “I should have lost at the cost of my own! Rufus Henry Dalton, I’ve a mental picture of the new gown I’m going to buy that blinds me even to the stern displeasure on your manly brow I Breakfast ready —better hurry!” Mrs Dalton tripped cheerfully to the door. “Clara!” Mr Dalton called to her angrily- “Will you kindly treat me with the honour due your husband and tell me where you have concealed your stolen goods—my money?” “You'll stick to the letter of your bond?” She stood with her hand on the door. “Yon may credit me with too tnnch self-respect to descend to your level. You may be a felon, but I am a man of my word!”

Mr Dalton again proved that pajamas and dignity are not an impossible combination. Mrs Dalton waved a hand airily toward the chair whereon reposed the apparel of her former lord and master. “You see your trousers? Well, it’s there, every penny. I put it back into the pockets! ”

Edyth Ellerbeck.