The Morning News

"I used to sit up for my husband o'nights," said a bright little woman to a New York Recorder writer the other day, "but I've gotten bravely over it.

"Of course it took me some time to ascertain that his excuses for staying out four nights a week wouldn't hold water, and there was a good deal of pain connected with the discovery, too.

"All this talk about luring or bribing your husband to stay at home with a bright fire, pretty and clean children, a neat dress, a sweet smile and both yourself and the tea-kettle ready to sing at a moment's notice is mostly humbug.

"My home is as neat and pretty as anyone's. I am not absolutely unattractive and have some nice people to call very often.

"But I say it, both in sorrow and anger, these things do not, with my husband, take the place of the saloon, the poker table or the music hall.

I don't mean that he drinks very much, or gambles very much. I have never seen him the worse for liquor, and if he loses money at cards it doesn't affect my allowance in any way.

He is simply what his set call 'sociable,' and he likes the society of men who are really much rougher and coarser than he is.

"Men seem to have some barbaric strain in them, some remnant of their ancient savagery, that no amount of gentleness or affection can tame.

"After nine years I have given up trying, and so when my savage says at dinner: 'Oh, by the way, Kitty, I've got to go up-town to night.'

"I know that it will be long after midnight when he returns. I don't plead or protest or inquire any more. I say, simply: 'Don't forget your latch key.'

"And off he goes.

"Then I send the servant around to the house of a young lady friend of mine with an inquiry as to her engagements. If she has the evening free we go to some theater, each paying her own way, or to some concert, and we have many a nice little time.

"It's certainly better than sitting at home wishing the time away and thinking bitter thoughts.

"We act as escorts to each other and were never molested but once… That was when a very affectionate and very drunken man chased us a block, and when he got in front of us kissed his hand and wanted to know if he shouldn't escort us home… When I had called him a contemptible scoundrel and Mary had given him a push that sent him up against the side of a house he concluded that he had made a mistake and really blinked at us in a terrible way as we flew up the street.

I told my husband of this, and he declared that he would always come for us in future.

"But he doesn't do it very often, and, really, we are getting so independent that we don't need him.

"Of course, it's a sad state of affairs, but, as I can't seem to remedy them, I try to be philosophical and bear what must be borne."