The colonel entered his sister's room abruptly, sat down on her bed, and scattered a drawerful of fluffy things laid out for packing. “You don't seem to think about my side of the matter,” he said gloomily. “What am I to do here all alone, for Heaven's sake?” “That is so like a man,” she murmured, one arm in a trunk. “Let me see: party-boots, the children's arctics, Dick's sweater—did you think I could live here forever, Cal?” “Then you shouldn't have come at all. Just as I get thoroughly settled down to flowers in the drawing-room, and rabbits in a chafing-dish, and people for dinner, you skip off. Why don't you bring the children here? What did you marry into the navy for, anyway? Nagasaki! I wouldn't live in a place called Nagasaki for all that money could buy!” “You're cross,” said Mrs. Dick placidly. “Please get off that bath-wrapper. If you don't like to live alone—Six bath-towels, Dick's shoe-bag, my old muff (I hope and pray I'll remember that!) Helen's reefer—Why don't you marry?” “Marry? Marry! Are you out of your mind, Dosia? I marry!” The colonel twisted his grayish mustache into points; a look of horror spread over his countenance. “Men have done it,” she replied seriously, “and lived. Look at Dick.” “Look at him? But how? Who ever sees him? I've ceased to believe in him, personally. I can't look across the Pacific. Consider my age, Dosia; consider my pepper-and-salt hair; consider my bronchitis; consider—” “Consider your stupidity! As to your hair, I should hate to eat a salad dressed with that proportion of pepper. As to your age, remember you're only ten years ahead of me, and I expect to remain thirty-eight for some time.” “But forty-eight is centenarian to a girl of twenty-two, Dosia.” The colonel was plaiting and un-plaiting the ball-fringe of the bed-slip; his eyes followed the motion of his fingers—he did not see his sister's triumphant smile as she dived again into the trunk. “That depends entirely on the girl. Take Louise Morris, for instance; she regards you as partly entombed, probably”—the colonel winced involuntarily—“but, on the other hand, a girl like Jane Leroy would have no such nonsense in her head, and she can't be much more than twenty.”
Josephine Dodge Daskam, Mrs. Selden Bacon (February 17, 1876 - July 29, 1961) was an American writer of great versatility. She is chiefly known as a writer who made the point of having female protagonists. She wrote a series of juvenile mysteries, as well as works dealing with more serious themes. She published books of poetry, which were well received by critics; as noted by one critic, some of her poetry was set to music. She was published under the name "Josephine Daskam". She also wrote on women's issues and women's roles as well. She was a pioneer in the Girl Scouts movement and compiled the guidebook used by that organization.
The colonel entered his sister's room abruptly, sat down on her bed, and scattered a drawerful of fluffy things laid out for packing. “You don't seem to think about my side of the matter,” he said gloomily. “What am I to do here all alone, for Heaven's sake?” “That is so like a man,” she murmured, one arm in a trunk. “Let me see: party-boots, the children's arctics, Dick's sweater—did you think I could live here forever, Cal?” “Then you shouldn't have come at all. Just as I get thoroughly settled down to flowers in the drawing-room, and rabbits in a chafing-dish, and people for dinner, you skip off. Why don't you bring the children here? What did you marry into the navy for, anyway? Nagasaki! I wouldn't live in a place called Nagasaki for all that money could buy!” “You're cross,” said Mrs. Dick placidly. “Please get off that bath-wrapper. If you don't like to live alone—Six bath-towels, Dick's shoe-bag, my old muff (I hope and pray I'll remember that!) Helen's reefer—Why don't you marry?” “Marry? Marry! Are you out of your mind, Dosia? I marry!” The colonel twisted his grayish mustache into points; a look of horror spread over his countenance. “Men have done it,” she replied seriously, “and lived. Look at Dick.” “Look at him? But how? Who ever sees him? I've ceased to believe in him, personally. I can't look across the Pacific. Consider my age, Dosia; consider my pepper-and-salt hair; consider my bronchitis; consider—” “Consider your stupidity! As to your hair, I should hate to eat a salad dressed with that proportion of pepper. As to your age, remember you're only ten years ahead of me, and I expect to remain thirty-eight for some time.” “But forty-eight is centenarian to a girl of twenty-two, Dosia.” The colonel was plaiting and un-plaiting the ball-fringe of the bed-slip; his eyes followed the motion of his fingers—he did not see his sister's triumphant smile as she dived again into the trunk. “That depends entirely on the girl. Take Louise Morris, for instance; she regards you as partly entombed, probably”—the colonel winced involuntarily—“but, on the other hand, a girl like Jane Leroy would have no such nonsense in her head, and she can't be much more than twenty.”
An “engaging and . . . thought-provoking” memoir of battling public health crises in early 20th-century New York City—from the pioneering female physician and children’s health advocate who ‘caught’ Typhoid Mary (The New York Times) New York’s Lower East Side was said to be the most densely populated square mile on earth in the 1890s. Health inspectors called the neighborhood “the suicide ward.” Diarrhea epidemics raged each summer, killing thousands of children. Sweatshop babies with smallpox and typhus dozed in garment heaps destined for fashionable shops. Desperate mothers paced the streets to soothe their feverish children and white mourning cloths hung from every building. A third of the children living there died before their fifth birthday. By 1911, the child death rate had fallen sharply and The New York Times hailed the city as the healthiest on earth. In this witty and highly personal autobiography, public health crusader Dr. S. Josephine Baker explains how this transformation was achieved. By the time she retired in 1923, Baker was famous worldwide for saving the lives of 90,000 children. The programs she developed, many still in use today, have saved the lives of millions more. She fought for women’s suffrage, toured Russia in the 1930s, and captured “Typhoid” Mary Mallon, twice. She was also an astute observer of her times, and Fighting for Life is one of the most honest, compassionate memoirs of American medicine ever written.
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