The Greatest Works of Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Charlotte Perkins Gilman

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nonsense!" Sue protested. "Dr. Bellair said I should get married out here! She says the same old thing—that it's 'a woman's duty,' and I propose to do it. That is—they'll propose, and I won't do it! Not till I make up my mind. Now see how you like this!"

      She had taken a fine large block of "legal cap" and set down their fifteen men thereon, with casual comment.

      1. Mr. Unwin—Too old, big, quiet.

      2. Mr. Elmer Skee—Big, too old, funny.

      3. Jimmy Saunders—Middle-sized, amusing, nice.

      4. P. R. Gibbs—Too little, too thin, too cocky.

      5. George Waterson—Middling, pretty nice.

      6. J. J. Cuthbert—Big, horrid.

      7. Fordham Greer—Big, pleasant.

      8. W. S. Horton—Nothing much.

      9. A. L. Dykeman—Interesting, too old.

      10. Professor Toomey—Little, horrid.

      11. Arthur Fitzwilliam—Ridiculous, too young.

      12. Howard Winchester—Too nice, distrust him.

      13. Lawson W. Briggs—Nothing much.

      14. Edward S. Jenks—Fair to middling.

      15. Mr. A. Smith—Minus.

      She held it up in triumph. "I got 'em all out of the book—quite correct. Now, which'll you have."

      "Susie Elder! You little goose! Do you imagine that all these fifteen men are going to propose to you?"

      "I'm sure I hope so!" said the cheerful damsel. "We've only been settled a fortnight and one of 'em has already!"

      Vivian was impressed at once. "Which?—You don't mean it!"

      Sue pointed to the one marked "minus."

      "It was only 'A. Smith.' I never should be willing to belong to 'A. Smith,' it's too indefinite—unless it was a last resort. Several more are—well, extremely friendly! Now don't look so severe. You needn't worry about me. I'm not quite so foolish as I talk, you know."

      She was not. Her words were light and saucy, but she was as demure and decorous a little New Englander as need be desired; and she could not help it if the hearts of the unattached young men of whom the town was full, warmed towards her.

      Dr. Bellair astonished them at lunch one day in their first week.

      "Dick Hale wants us all to come over to tea this afternoon," she said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

      "Tea? Where?" asked Mrs. Pettigrew sharply.

      "At his house. He has 'a home of his own,' you know. And he particularly wants you, Mrs. Pettigrew—and Miss Elder—the girls, of course."

      "I'm sure I don't care to go," Vivian remarked with serene indifference, but Susie did.

      "Oh, come on, Vivian! It'll be so funny! A man's home!—and we may never get another chance. He's such a bear!"

      Dr. Hale's big house was only across the road from theirs, standing in a large lot with bushes and trees about it.

      "He's been here nine years," Dr. Bellair told them. "That's an old inhabitant for us. He boarded in that house for a while; then it was for sale and he bought it. He built that little office of his at the corner—says he doesn't like to live where he works, or work where he lives. He took his meals over here for a while—and then set up for himself."

      "I should think he'd be lonely," Miss Elder suggested.

      "Oh, he has his boys, you know—always three or four young fellows about him. It's a mighty good thing for them, too."

      Dr. Hale's home proved a genuine surprise. They had regarded it as a big, neglected-looking place, and found on entering the gate that the inside view of that rampant shrubbery was extremely pleasant. Though not close cut and swept of leaves and twigs, it still was beautiful; and the tennis court and tether-ball ring showed the ground well used.

      Grandma looked about her with a keen interrogative eye, and was much impressed, as, indeed, were they all. She voiced their feelings justly when, the true inwardness of this pleasant home bursting fully upon them, she exclaimed:

      "Well, of all things! A man keeping house!"

      "Why not?" asked Dr. Hale with his dry smile. "Is there any deficiency, mental or physical, about a man, to prevent his attempting this abstruse art?"

      She looked at him sharply. "I don't know about deficiency, but there seems to be somethin' about 'em that keeps 'em out of the business. I guess it's because women are so cheap."

      "No doubt you are right, Mrs. Pettigrew. And here women are scarce and high. Hence my poor efforts."

      His poor efforts had bought or built a roomy pleasant house, and furnished it with a solid comfort and calm attractiveness that was most satisfying. Two Chinamen did the work; cooking, cleaning, washing, waiting on table, with silent efficiency. "They are as steady as eight-day clocks," said Dr. Hale. "I pay them good wages and they are worth it."

      "Sun here had to go home once—to be married, also, to see his honored parents, I believe, and to leave a grand-'Sun' to attend to the ancestors; but he brought in another Chink first and trained him so well that I hardly noticed the difference. Came back in a year or so, and resumed his place without a jar."

      Miss Elder watched with fascinated eyes these soft-footed servants with clean, white garments and shiny coils of long, braided hair.

      "I may have to come to it," she admitted, "but—dear me, it doesn't seem natural to have a man doing housework!"

      Dr. Hale smiled again. "You don't want men to escape from dependence, I see. Perhaps, if more men knew how comfortably they could live without women, the world would be happier." There was a faint wire-edge to his tone, in spite of the courteous expression, but Miss Elder did not notice it and if Mrs. Pettigrew did, she made no comment.

      They noted the varied excellences of his housekeeping with high approval.

      "You certainly know how, Dr. Hale," said Miss Orella; "I particularly admire these beds—with the sheets buttoned down, German fashion, isn't it? What made you do that?"

      "I've slept so much in hotels," he answered; "and found the sheets always inadequate to cover the blankets—and the marks of other men's whiskers! I don't like blankets in my neck. Besides it saves washing."

      Mrs. Pettigrew nodded vehemently. "You have sense," she said.

      The labor-saving devices were a real surprise to them. A "chute" for soiled clothing shot from the bathroom on each floor to the laundry in the basement; a dumbwaiter of construction large and strong enough to carry trunks, went from cellar to roof; the fireplaces dropped their ashes down mysterious

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