Let him spend his money, she sticks to him; let poverty and want come to the home, she sticks. Let ill treatment be her portion, she sticks; and withal there are smiles on her lips most of the time. I'm sorry for the poor woman in the oil fields, and the only glimmer of compensation I can find is that she doesn't have nervous prostration like her wealthy society sister has. Those little husky children I see over there in the yard playing Indian will likely know the worth of a dollar later on. I peep into the future and predict that those boys will get on in the world, and Mother who is chopping wood for supper I see some day with a nice black grosgrain silk dress and a ball of knitting in her silk hand bag. I see her from necessity knitting stockings for her children. In the future some day, far beyond want, for her sons will be successful men, she still is knitting and mending and helping, a smile on her lips and a soft light in her eye. Plump, round and well fed, she sits there knitting with pleasure and dreaming of the pioneer days she spent in the Oklahoma cabin. Yes, that's the picture of the future. The train is pulling into a city; I don't want the picture of the poor, hard-working, unselfish, sacrificing woman and her worthless husband to remain in my memory. The sons will come out all right; they always do when they have a shiftless dad and a good mother. And somehow in this great open splendid Western country there is opportunity for such boys. The big men here were all poor a short time ago. Their grandfathers were rich, their fathers spent their inheritance, they suffered poverty and want and their extremity was the son's spur to ambitious activity. In the car are four young sports coming home from college on a vacation. Their daddies are all oil kings, and these youngsters will inherit fortunes. Those youngsters who were playing Indian will get on in the world; these four young millionaire kids will go broke; their heads are not shaped right; their jaws slant back; it isn't in them. I know something of character. Bye-bye, Mamma, with your little cabin and your boys; some day you will have peace and plenty. Those four oil Johnnies will marry girls who have plenty and some day those girls will have to do the family washing. The wheel turns, it's the history of the past. From shirt sleeves to shirt sleeves in three generations. Lincolns, Garfields, and Edisons came from just such little cabins and just such rough, hard, bare life as I have been seeing this afternoon. ANGER It's a Temporary Mental Derangement Anger and acts of revenge are great pull-backs to health. Anger makes the blood rush to the head, weakens the body, and distorts the vision. When a woman gets angry, she quarrels with her lover, her husband or her children. Any one of these things is a calamity.