r, manlike, he forgot, or he was
afraid of hurting my feelings.

One of the few things Tom did tell me I was forever forgetting. Napkins
belonged to Sundays at home, and they were not washed often. It was a
long-standing habit, to save back-breaking work for mother, to fold my
napkin neatly after meals. Unlearning that and acquiring the custom of
mussing up one's napkin and leaving it carelessly on the table was the
meanest work of my life.

Interesting guests came to Tom's house, and I would grow absorbed in
their talk. Not until we were leaving the table would I realize that my
napkin lay neatly folded and squared in the midst of casually rumpled
heaps.

One night, years later, I sat between Jim Hill and Senator Bailey of
Texas at a dinner. Both men folded their napkins. I loved them for it.

During that first year Tom made up a little theater party for a
classmate who had just married a Philadelphia girl. With memories of
Ben Franklin, William Penn, Liberty Bell, and all the grand old
characters of the City of brotherly Love, I looked forward eagerly to
making a new friend.

The Philadelphian was even more languid than Tom's mother. She chopped
her words and there were no r's in her English. I tried to break the
ice by talking of the traditions of her city. She was bored. She knew
only Philadelphia's social register. Just to play tit for tat, twice
during the evening I quoted from "Julius Caesar"--and scored!

We had just settled down in old Martin's Restaurant for after-theater
supper when two tall gentlemen entered the room.

"There's Tom Platt and Chauncey Depew," remarked Tom's friend casually.

United States senators are important people in Wisconsin--at least, they
were when I was young. If a senator visited our community, everybody
turned out. I knew much of both these men, and Tom had often spoken
warmly of Depew. As they approached our table, Tom and his friend both
stood up. Thrilled, I rose hastily. My eyes were too busy to see Tom's
face, and I did not realize until afterward that the only other woman
had remained coolly seated.

On our way home, Tom told me, in his gentle way, never to rise from a
dining table to acknowledge an introduction even to a woman--or a
senator. That night a tormenting devil with the face of the other woman
kept me awake. For the first time since my marriage I felt homesick for
the prairies.

And then we were invited to visit Tom's Aunt Elizabe