of her care.

For a woman of taste, wearing made-over gowns is a very real hardship,
but Zulime bore her deprivations with heroic cheerfulness, taking a
never-failing delight in our narrow home. She made our table a notable
meeting place, for, if we had few dollars we owned many friends who
found their way to us, and often from our commonplace little portal we
plodded away in the rain or snow to dine in the stately palaces of the
rich,--kings of commerce and finance.

Apparently we were everywhere welcome, and that this was due almost
entirely to the winning personality of my wife, I freely acknowledge.
That she had scores of devoted admirers was only too evident, for the
telephone bell rang almost continuously of a morning. Always ready to
give her time, her skill and her abounding sympathy to those who made
piteous demands upon her, she permitted these incessant telephone
interruptions, although I charged her with being foolishly prodigal in
this regard. If she felt resentful of the narrow walls in which I had
confined her, she did not complain.

Whatever my wife's state of mind may have been these were restless years
for me. As an officer of several organizations and as lecturer, I was
traveling much of the time, mostly on the trail between New York City
and Chicago. Even when at home I had only three morning hours for
writing--but that was not the worst of it. My convictions concerning my
literary mission were in process of disintegration.

My children, my manifold duties as theatrical up-lifter and club
promoter, together with a swift letting down of my mental and physical
powers, caused me to question the value of all my writing. I went so
far as to say, "As a writer I have failed. Perhaps I can be of service
as a citizen," with my Oklahoma farms bringing in a small annual income,
the scrape of my pen became a weariness.

That I was passing from robust manhood to middle age was also evident to
me and I didn't like that. I resented deepening wrinkles, whitening
hairs and the sense of weariness which came over me at the end of my
morning's work. My power of concentration was lessening. Noises
irritated me and little things distracted me. I could no longer bend to
my desk for five hours in complete absorption. How my wife endured me
during those years I can not explain. The chirp of my babies' voices,
the ring of the telephone, the rattle of the garbage cart, the whistle
of the postman--each annoyance chopped i