Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

SLEEP, GENTLE SLEEP. 113 he can think of. I don't believe he's going to the Lodge meeting." She rose and searched amongst the letters on the table. "Not there. No, Mr. Highboy is too experienced to be caught that way." Then she thought for a moment. "Well, if he won't keep his promise, I'm determined he shan't go out anywhere else. But how can I prevent him?" She looked around the room. What could she do? Suddenly her eyes lighted on a medicine bottle on the sideboard. As she went to take it up she knocked down a little box, labelled, "Sleeping Powders." With a cry of delight she picked it up. "Just the thing. The prescription the doctor gave me. He said they were perfectly harmless, but would send me to sleep, at least for an hour. Now, Mr. Highboy, you shall sleep here, or my name is not" — she took up a decanter — "Mrs. Highboy"; then she poured a powder into the bottle. With a giggle she left the room. At six o'clock Mr. Highboy returned in the worst of tempers. A puddle in a storm, a hen upon ducks' eggs, a pea on a shovel, were emblems of tranquility compared with him. "What's the matter, dear?" asked Mrs. Highboy, greeting him. "Everything," growled Highboy. "Things all gone wrong. I — " And Mr. Highboy went into a paroxysm of violent language. "My dear," whispered his wife, "if you go on like that you'll get clergyman's sore throat from swearing. Calm yourself. You know Mrs. Peppercorn " "Mrs. Peppercorn be pulverized !" — he really said something worse — "I'm not going out with that vixen. What on earth her husband can see in her I can't conceive." "Powder, my love," smiled Mrs. Highboy, quietly. "She puts it on with a muff." Mr. Highbo}' looked at his wife in surprise. "You seem especially good at repartee this evening. Glad I'm not going with you, I suppose?" "Oh, no!" returned Mrs. Highboy, demurely, "I'm accustomed to that. Still I think you might oblige me this once, won't you ?" she added plaintively. "Besides look at the weather. It's raining cats and dogs." "I won't look at the weather," sputtered Highboy. "I'd rather not. It won't do me any good." "Take a glass of wine then," suggested Mrs. Highboy coyly. "I don't drink," retorted Mr. Highboy. Mrs. Highboy almost burst out laughing as she ran from the room. Highboy sat down with his head between his hands. "It is a shame," said he to himself, "but I must go to-night. There's " then he stopped. "Couldn't I get away in some manner without making her feel so bad about it? I think that thought requires the breaking of a resolution. I will take a drink." He went to the sideboard, and taking a glass raised the decanter to pour the wine out, when he suddenly stopped. "Sleeping Powders !" he gasped. "Why, the very thing. Then she'll never know. She'll " He almost jumped to the door, and called out, "Clorinda, bring up some tea." Then he laughed. Mrs. Highboy came in shortly, and was surprised to see her husband in a more amiable mood. "Well," said Highboy, chucking her under the chin, "maybe after all I'll go with you." "You will?" gasped Mrs. Highboy in surprise. "I said 'maybe,' " smiled Highboy. "You're quite right. I have neglected you lately." Here Clorinda entered with the tea things. "Felt thirsty," began Highboy, so "You didn't touch the wine?" anxiously inquired his wife. 'Wo, my love, I ordered up tea. Xow, dear, let me make it this time just like I used to on our honeymoon." "Oh, that will be nice. You haven't forgotten. Just two teaspoonfuls, and one for the pot."