hubby, Harrington, had simply got what was coming to him,
only a little late. Never was cut out to play the lead in a quiet
domestic sketch. Not with his temperament and habits. Hardly. Besides,
he was well along in his sporty career when he discovered this
19-year-old pippin with the trustin' blue eyes and the fascinatin' cheek
dimples. But you can't tell a bad egg just by glancin' at the shell, and
she didn't stop to hold him in front of a candle. Lucky for the
suspender wearin' sex there ain't any such pre-nuptial test as that, eh?
She simply tucked her head down just above the top pearl stud, I
suppose, and said she would be his'n without inquirin' if that cocktail
breath of his was a regular thing or just an accident.

But she wasn't long in findin' out that it was chronic. Oh yes. He
wasn't known along Broadway as Dick Harry for nothing. He might be more
or less of a success as a corporation lawyer between 10:30 and 5 p. m.
in the daytime, but after the shades of night was well tied down and the
cabarets begun takin' the lid off he was apt to be missin' from the
fam'ly fireside. Wine, women and the deuces wild was his specialties,
and when little wifie tried to read the riot act to him at 3 a. m. he
just naturally told her where she got off. And on occasions, when the
deuces hadn't been runnin' his way, or the night had been wilder than
usual, he was quite rough about it.

Yet she'd stood for that sort of thing nine long years before applyin'
for a decree. She got it, of course, with the custody of the little girl
and a moderate alimony allowance. He didn't even file an answer, so it
was all done quiet with no stories in the newspapers. And then for eight
or ten years she'd lived by herself, just devotin' all her time to
little Polly, sendin' her to school, chummin' with her durin' vacations,
and tryin' to make her forget that she had a daddy in the discards.

Must have been several tender-hearted male parties who was sorry for a
lonely grass widow who was a perfect 36 and showed dimples when she
laughed, but none of 'em seemed to have the stayin' qualities of Bruce
Mackey. He had a little the edge on the others, too, because he was an
old fam'ly friend, havin' known Dick Harry both before and after he got
the domestic dump. At that, though, he didn't win out until he'd almost
broken the long distance record as a patient waiter, and I understand it
was only when little Miss Polly got old enough to hint to Mommer