ee
pruaiadpan.
Bellefonte, Pa., February 1, 1929.
SS
RECOMPENSE.
Straight through heart this fact to-day
By Truth’'s own hand is driven;
God never takes one thing away,
But something else is given.
I did not know in earlier years
This law of love and kindness;
But without hope through bitter tears,
I mourned in sorrow’s blindness.
And ever following each regret
For some departed treasure,
My sad repining heart was met
With unexpected pleasure.
I thought—it only happened so—
But time this truth has taught me;
No least thing from my life can go
But something else is brought me,
It is the law complete, subline,
And now with faith unshaken,
In patience I but bide my time,
Wien any joy is taken.
No matter if the crushing blow
May for the moment -lown me;
Still back of it waits Love, I know,
With some new gift to crown me.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
MONEY OR HER LIFE.
Excuse for what Eileen did there
may be none; save, perhaps, that ex-
citement is the cream of life, espe-
cially when one is but twenty-two.
And Eileen, whose years numbered
no more, lapped it up with all youth's
healthy appetite.
She was fashioned to achieve her
full share of it, too, being equipped
with a charming, if slightly tiptilted
nose, a lovely adventurous mouth,
and in the wide and collected depths
of her eyes a challenge to all so-call-
ed lords of creation—the uncon-
scious, yet definite challenge of a
flame of all moths.
Epecially those sinister moths that
are to be found in that part of down-
town Chicago which is known as the
Loop because elevated tracks encircle
it.
“Loop-hounds,” was Eileen’s gener-
ic classification of these, and to deal
with them she was equipped too—
without appealing to a policeman,
either.
But Jimmy Sturgis was not that
sort of moth. Elieen knew that from
the first, for all that his method was
much the same as theirs.
They met as informally as Adam
and Eve did—with no more introduc-
tion, that is—of a November morn-
ing as Eileen walked to work. A
brisk, bright November with just
enough nip to the air to give life a
quickened zest.
A closed car, which suggested a
private one but which, as she after-
wards discovered, was not, crept to
a standstill at the curb just ahead of
her.
“Ride?” Jimmy grinned at her, his
engaging head stuck out.
Eileen surveyed him with eyes that
dripped disdain. “No, thanks,” she
assured him coldly. But added, un-
necessarily, “I'm walking for my
health.”
“I'd like to drive you--for mine,”
he persisted cheekily.
A pick-up, absolutely. But what
price conventions anyway? Formal
introductions do not prevent unde-
sirables from being added to a girl's
acquaintance; why, therefore, ignore
the surer promptings of instinct?
It had been Jimmy's eyes that had
decided her to ride with him. They
were such unmistakably nice eyes-—
if audacious.
Nevertheless, it wasn’t anything so
thrilling as love at first sight on
either side. It was just youth seek-
ing excitement; the promise of color
and movement and adventure. Tak-
ing a chance, perhaps—but why not ?
That had been the beginning and,
so far as Eileen was concerned,
was to be the ending, too. Eileen
knew what she wanted of life and
Jimmy didn’t fit into that picture.
The car he drove was his own and
could be hired by the hour, the day or
the week. So he had told her. A
shrewd youngster who knew his way
about, she guessed, for all that he, .
like her—and so many Chicagoans—
was a small-town product.
From Ohio, he had confessed as
with careless skill he maneuvered his
way through the Loop as if he had
been reared in that madhouse of traf-
fic.
“I've watched you every morning
for weeks,” he added impetuously, as
he set her down before the office-
building in which she worked. “I—-
will you ride again sometime ?”
At the moment she hedged. But
of course she rode again lots of
times. Especially evenings when he
was free and they took swift, soar-
ing trips along the North Shore
where the great ectates lie either side
of the road.
“I'm going to have one of those
myself, one of these days,” he assur-
ed her purposefully.
That was in December when Jim-
my was beginning to display certain
well-known sympotoms. But Eileen
still kept herself well in hand.
Nice—but full of hop, like most
men. Such was her mental reserva-
tion. All men talked big that way.
Jimmy's vision was of a fleet af cars
of his own. That sort of stuff—as if
Chi wasn’t so full of taxis now that
you couldn't move without taking a
chance of getting run over!
This she didn’t tell him then, how-
ever. They didn’t know each other
well enough as yet for the brutal
frankness that develops later.
And he was a perfectly good boy
friend—so far. The only trouble
with him was the common masculine
one. At Christmas he gave her a
wrist watch which must have set him
back a plenty and which she told him
she cculdn’t possibly accept but finally
did. After that he began to act as if
he owned her. And she didn’t belong
to him or any cther man, thank the
Lord. She wanted something more
it
out of life than a three room flat—
even with him.
The time came—in late January —
when she told him so.
“Not a lot of money, necessarily —
though 1 wouldn't pass up a chance
at a million.”
“Yeah—TI'll bet you wouldn’t,” cut
in Jimmy with exceeding bitterness.
“But I do want enough to enjoy
life a bit and not be cramped at every
step,” she finished definitely.
That should have settled it. But
of course it didn’t. They still saw
each other. But not even Jimmy’s
eyes, now hot and tortured, now
placating and penitent, could swerve
her from that decision. A kiss now
then she yielded him, simply because
she couldn’t help it. But she wouldn't
even be engaged to him.
“Nathing doing,” was her unvary-
ing answer. “You try to run me too
much as it is. It’s bad enough hav-
ing a boss during working hours
without taking on an all-time one.”
Whereupon Jimmy, who a moment
before might have been making love
as passionately as Romeo could have,
would savagely assure her that she
was heartless—hard-boiled.
But Eileen refused even to get
ruffled. “Of course I'm hard-boiled,”
she would confess equably. I
wouldn't have a chance in the world
—or at least not in Chicago— if 1
wasn’t. I've got nobody but myself
to look after me, you know.”
This was true, for all that Jimmy
wanted the job terribly.
“Ch-Chicago?”’ the aunt who had
reared her in a little Michigan town
had echoed when Eileen had an-
nounced her intention of moving
thither. “What will you do there?”
“Get me a job,” Eileen had retorted
coolly.
“But there are thousands of girls
looking for jobs,” her aunt had pro-
tested.
There were. Particularly stenog-
raphers. But not, most of them, as
pretty as Eileen, or even as compe-
tent, for all that she had no more
than a small town high-school train-
ing. In Chicago Eileen, then a col-
lected, confident twenty, had got her-
self a job easily and quickly. As in
the last two years she had got sever-
al more because she had discovered
her employer's interest in her work
had a tendency to become too person-
al.
“I don’t mind just when they make
eyes,” she had informed Jimmy.
“They all do that more or less. But
when they begin with their hands---
help it.”
Of that Jimmy approved. Abso-
lutely. Although he saw no reason
why she should get red-headed at
him, which she did on this April af-
ternoon when he sought to slip a
comforting—and perhaps optimistic
—arm around her.
“Cut it,” she commanded sharply.
“I'm not in the mood to be pawed by
anybody.”
| This was true. At four o'clock
that afternoon she had told her latest
boss where he got off and chucked up
her job. Not that that bothered her
—she could get another-—-but she was
still red-headed.
Jimmy tried to remember that and,
to ease the strain, suggested a little
ride that night. But that only precip-
itated® a real quarrel, a regular
stand up and knock down affair, met-
aphorically, centering around the
fact that Eileen had a previous en-
gagement. With a man of whom
Jimmy plainly did not approve.
“I'm telling you straight,” he as-
sured her heatedly, “that that guy's
one bad hombre-—and I don’t mean
maybe. A regular Mister No-Good-—
where did you meet him, anyway?”
“Oh, he picked me up, too,” Eileen
replied cooly.
{ That was not true. But she knew
that it would carry a double sting in
its tail for Jimmy. It did. He swal-
lowed something. But not his wrath.
i “If you go out with him,” he an-
nounced, in a tone that should have
caused shy April hurriedly to return
| South, “I'm through. Absolutely and
forever.”
The result was what any man
might have foreseen—but what no
man ever does. They had parted for-
ever — once more — and Eileen
wouldn’t have considered Mister No-
Goods’ invitation to dine for any-
thing. It had become a point of hon-
or with her.
An error that.
For the Mister-No
Good was obviously all that Jimmy
had suggested and worse. She decid-
ed, even before they reached the
salad course, that she was not going
back to Chicago with him in his car.
y “I'll walk first,” she promised her-
: self.
| The possibility of its coming to
that and the problem this presented
sufficed to detach her from the atmos-
phere of general excitement which
surrounded her and which normally
| would have engrossed her. An atmos-
phere to which the life, the color and
the liquor to be found in one of the
smartest—and most notorious—night
clubs that lie within the outer are of
| Chicago’s radius each contributed its
charm.
Even her escort was momentarily
| ignored until he bent toward her, his
| sleek hair glistening, his eyes humid ,
| with liquor consumed.
| “Aw, e'm’on,” he wheedled.
little drink will loosen you up.’
| As he spoke his feet had sought
once again to capture one of hers in
A
| the silly amorous fashion men some- !
| times followed.
“Cut that out,”
angrily.
she commanded
, losing her temper, kicked his shin
| vigorously.
He colored darkly.
you can get away with that with
me,” he threatened thickly, “ you
don’t know who you're dealing with.”
“Neither do you, I should say,” she
cut in coldly.
Suprisingly, that silenced him for
a second. But he recovered himself
enough to bluster it out.
“You'll pay for that,” he announc-
ed.
The orchestra, silent for a space,
swung into action, horns and piano,
drums and strings blended in a
(I hythmic barrage. From tables
good night. I get red-headed. I can't
| Instead he persisted and Eileen, !
“If you think |
around them men rose,
scant-skirted silken girls to their
feet. Eileen's escort also rose, but
not to dance.
“Gotta telephone,” he informed her
briefly, but with a red hate for her
in his eyes. “Back in a minute.”
Ten minutes passed, twenty, before
Eileen realized what a goop she had
been not to guess what he must have
had in mind—ducking out, leaving
her with the check to pay.
“Somewhere between twenty and
thirty dollars, I'll bet,” she computed
hazily, “and I have a single dollar
bill and some small change.”
From her hand bag she drew com-
pact and lip-stick. Opening the com-
pact and surveying herself in its tiny
mirror, she deftly powdered her
charming nose, coolly re-etched the
adventurous line of her lovely mouth.
No one, to see her, would have guess-
ed that beneath the smart little hat
which she wore so cockily-——and dec-
oratively —her nimble brain was
working furiously.
Even the two men who sat a few
tables removed did not suspect that,
for all they had been watching her
this last hour.
“I tell you,” announced the older,
“that she's the girl we're looking for.
She fits the description and I was
told we'd probably find her in some
place like this.”
“Maybe—but if so what's she do-
ing with the guy she came in with?”
cut in his companion. “I tell you
he’s one of Big Mike's little bad boys.
He does a bit of hi-jacking now and
then and I wouldn't put machine
gunning by him. You may know
Boston, old top, but I know Chicago.
Take your time—sit tight.”
They sat tight. And so did Eileen
catching her breath in the lull of
the storm. Excitement was what she
craved, always, else she would not
be here. But just now——
| Now, from a corner of her eye,
Eileen saw the waiter drawing in.
“The gentleman who was with
vou,” he suggested—*“is he coming
back ?”
“Of course,” said Eileen. “He just
stepped to the telephone.” Her eyes
met his squarely, cooly; yet in his,
suspicion deepened.
“He’s a long time about it.” he
commented, with a new note in his
voice she did not care for at all. “I
‘guess I'd better speak to the head
' waiter.”
The head waiter appeared present-
ly and addressed her without pre-
tense or diplomacy.
“The man you came with drove
away twenty minutes ago,” he said
curtly.
tried before and it doesn’t work here.
Either you pay the check or—"
| “Just how much is the check?” a
suave voice intervened.
They turned, surprised; Eileen ev-
en more so than her ‘tormentors.
The elder of the two men who had
been watching her for so long had
risen and come to the rescue. Why,
she had no idea.
© “Twenty-two eighty-five,” supplied
the waiter.
Sheer bewilderment kept Eileen si-
lent as the amount was paid, and if
her mouth was open when the new-
comer seated himself at her table it
was not that she might speak.
“Now that that's settled,” said he
soothingly, “don’t you think you'd
better let me take you back to your
grandmother?”
“My grandmother?” echoed Eileen.
She must have had one—two, in fact.
But both had died before she was
born; even the aunt who had reared
her was now no more.
“I suppose that’s not a picture of
you,” he retorted easily, drawing a
photograph from an inner pocket and
passing it over to her.
Eileen glanced at the picture. She
had never had a dress such as the
girl in the picture wore, but other-
wise, feature for feature—even eye
for eye and tooth for tooth—the pic-
ture might have been of her.
“Let’s get out of here anyway,” he
suggested abruptly, as her startled
eyes met his.
' This, at least found Eileen respon-
sive.
place any too quickly.
He was making a mistake, of
course, but she decided it might be
as well to delay his discovery of it
for the time being.
The other man trailed him and
joined them in the car that was wait-
ing cutside. Eileen suffered a mo-
mentary qualm before she trusted
herself to it, but her suspicions were
allayed by the directions given the
chauffeur. She decided, again, that
she might as well let herself be car-
‘ried back into the city before she
took up the question of mistaken
identity.
So not until the car had swung in-
to the brilliantly lighted Loop did she
break the silence. “I may as well
tell vou,” she began, “that—"
“Tell it to your grandmother,” sug-
gested the elder man humorously.
“She’s here in Chicago and—"
The car came to a standstill; the
uniformed starter of one of Chicago's
great hotels sprang to open the door.
“But,” protested Eileen desperate-
ly, “you’re all wrong.”
A hand, half persuasive, half pe-
remptory, was thrust under her arm.
“Remember that your grandmother |
could have had you arrested,” she
was informed. “You might as well
come along peaceably.”
Eileen, glimpsing the crowded lob-
by, decided that she might as well.
So she let herself be led to an ele-
! yator which shot them all upwards.
A long carpeted corridor, then a
door which, in answer to a knock,
was opened by an early maid.
“Oh, Miss Sally!” gasped the latter
involuntarily.
| Eileen did not answer. She was
in the parlor of a suite. Beside a
| drop-light sat a sardonic-faced, bit-
i ter-eyed woman of more than seven-
ty, whose all spare figure the years
“had neither bowed nor bent. She
glanced coldly at Eileen and for a
| moment the room seemed shrouded
{in abysmal silence. Then she spoke
| inclusively to her maid and the de-
| tective.
“Leave the room!” she command-
ed curtly.
dragging :
“That little trick has been !
She couldn't get out of the |
Evidently she was used to being
obeyed. They left promptly.
“Well, who are you?” this terrible
old woman then demanded of Eileen.
“I'm beginning to wonder myself,”
confessed Eileen.
There was a full minute of silence.
Then, “Sit down,” she was command-
ed.
Eileen sat down, prepared for any-
thing save the bewildering cross-ex-
amination to which she found herself
subjected. It was all very well to
remind herself that this woman
didn't own her and she needn't an-
swer her, but she answered just the
same. Sarah Ames Thaxter had
been born on Beacon Hill, Boston,
and was used to having her ques-
tions answered.
“H-m,” she commented presently.
' “You have no family ties, nothing to
keep you in Chicago. You look
enough like my granddaughter—
the thin lips were briefly compressed
“to fool almost anybody. If you will
return to Boston with me, keep your
mouth shut and ask no questions—"
“Boston?” echoed Eileen uncer-
tainly.
“——and do as I say, I will see
that you are liberally rewarded,” fin-
ished Mrs. Sarah Ames Thaxter.
Eileen hesitated. Boston? To her
it suggested only beans and high-
brows. Why should she go there?
But again, why not? She was, after
all, but twenty-two and the red ad-
venturous line of her lovely mouth
indexed her truly.
“I'll try anything once,” she re-
plied recklessly.
“You talk,” commented Mrs. Sarah
Ames Thaxter, “in very much the
same deplorable way my grand-
daughter does. Her name, by the
way, is Sally Thaxter. It will be
yours, for the present at least. You are
not to speak to anybody and if any-
body speaks to you do not answer.
Simply give the impression that you
are sulking——in silence.”
“But,” began Eileen, “I don’t quite
, understand——"
“There is no need that you should,”
she was assured curtly. “You look
intelligent—do as you're told.”
“She can’t eat you, anyway,” Ei-
leen assured Eileen, privately. “Stick
around and see what happens.’
Eileen’s first discovery was that
as Sally Thaxter she was cut off def-
initely from her own life. She was
not even permitted to return to her
rown room. A messenger was dis-
patched the next morning to pay her
rent for the next month and order
i her things held for her.
“But—TI'll need clothes,
Eileen.
“They will be supplied,” she was
informed.
They were. Mrs. Sarah Ames
Thaxter disdained to shop, shops
were brought to her. Telephones
rang, curt orders were given and
messenger boys appeared, bearing
boxes of all sizes. And so, at the
end of two hours Eileen, freshly
equipped and exquisitely attired from
her skin out--and thoroughly thrilied
from the skin in—was ready to start
East.
“My adopted grandmother may
have her faults,” she told herself,
‘but stinginess is not among them.”
Nor was it. She had six frocks
any one of which would have cost
her a month’s salary, and the final
casua! contribution to Eileen’s ward-
robe had been a squirrel coat that
must have cost a thcusand if it cost
a cent. Eileen was positively enam-
ored of herself in it.
“If Jimmy could only see me now,”
began her thought—but was check-
ed. This was not the time to think of
Jimmy. Or to wonder what he would
think when she turned up missing.
The Twentieth Century bore her
' eastward that noon, a drawing-room
and compartment having been ,ocir-
ect. Eileen shared the compartment
with the elderly maid.
As the Twentieth Century coursed
on through the night Eileen slept on-
‘ly intermittently. This was excile-
ment—the cream of life.
“It ought to be like that million-
‘ aire-for-a-day stuff,” she mused con-
tentedly.
protested
But it was not to turn out just
that way. At a little after noon the
next day her new life began. Only a
glimpse of Boston and scarcely more
of the house whose roof now shelier-
ed her had been vouchsafed her. She
had, naturally,
|icence. Yet what she had glimpsei
as she had been conducted up the
stairs was oddly reminiscent of the
lodging-house in which she had room-
ed when she first came to Chicago.
© A high-studded, narrow hgll, a steep
stairway, an atmosphere of ancient
stuffiness and general depression of
spirit.
The room she occupied, which had
obviously been the mysterious Sal-
guess I'd better
beans.”
At three the maid appeared. “Have
you bathed?” she asked primly.
“I haven't even washed behind my
ears,” retorted Eileen, forgetting her
role for an instant.
The car—the same one that had
brought her from the station—was
waiting outside. In it Eileen ani
Mrs. Sarah Ames Thaxter set forth.
Presently the car stopped.
Eileen glanced inquiringly at the
inflexible profile of her companion.
The latter did not move. But the
chauffeur disengaged himself from
behind the wheel, stiffly mounted
stone steps and rang a hell. When a
maid apepared he touched his hat,
handed her cards and returned to
set the car in motion again. This
performance was repeated a dozen
times.
“Well, if this is the social whirl,
gasped Eileen, “you can give me a
merry-go-round. You can at least
make a grab at the brass ring.”
Long before six
again “in solitary.”
“Is there anything you wish?” the
chill aloof old terror had asked her.
“Well, a newspaper might help
break up the monotony a hit,” Eileen
had replied briefly.
“I'll see that you get it,” she had
been assured. ,
It came with dinner and Eileen
promptly propped it up against the
sugar howl.
She saw as she glanced almost in-
credulously at it that there were no
pictures on its first page. The heav-
iest type emphasis was held within
a single column and was devoted to
something Congress might or might
not do with regard to certain legis-
lation, all of which was nothing in
Eileen’s young life.
first page was devoid of interest.
“Everybody knocks Chicago, but
something happens there anyway,”
thought Eileen. “If this is Boston—
good night!” And she tossed the
paper aside.
Yet, finished with dinner, she turn-
ed back to it in pure desperation. It
couldn’t be as dead as it looked. And
there were, she discovered, pictures
inside. The one that held her inter-
est ‘ongest was of four debs who, it
appeared, were graciously helping
make some charity bazaar a success.
“They may go big at a charity
bazaar in Boston,” mused Eileen, un-
impressed, ‘but they certainly
wouldn't need the reserves to protect
them from the rush at any dance I
ever went to in Chicago!”
Beneath the picture was a column
bearing legend “Society.” She start-
ed to read this, seeking to discover
or I'll spill the
+ what this society she had called up-
expected magnif-"
ly’s, was not so bad. It was beauti-
fully furnished. But—the door was
locked. From the outside.
“You will stay here,” her pseudo-
grandmother had informed her curt-
ly, “and neither ask questions nor
answer them.” Whereupon the
strange old woman—Eileen trusted
.she wasn't crazy—had departed,
: locking the door.
“And what do you know about
that?” Eileen had gasped as the key
had clicked.
For a second she had stood at a
loss. Then it occurred to her to re-
.move her hat and coat. The latter
| provided immediate diversion as she
held it at arm’s length and let her
eyes adore it.
Presently a key clicked in the lock.
The elderly maid appeared, followed
by a butler carrying a tray, with
luncheon for one.
“Oh, well, I'm housed, clothed and
fed anyway,” ruminated Eileen phil-
osophically as she ate of what had
been prepared for her. “I hope,
, though, I get taken out for an airing
now and then—if only on a leash.”
| The butler, returning for the tray,
had a message for her.
“Madam requests you to be ready
at four to go calling with her,” he
announced.
“The plot thickens,”
| Bileen—but not aloud.
i if I were going to meet Boston's best
i highbrows.
| keep on being sulky—and dumb.
commented
I
on this afternoon, but was yet to see,
might be like.
Then swiftly her interest focused. ’
Mrs. Sarah Ames Thaxter, (she
read), has returned home from Chi-
cago where she went last Tuesday to
bring back her granddaughter, the
charming and popular Sally Thaxter
who has been visiting friends there.
Mys. Thaxter and her granddaughter
are to sail for Eurone within a few
days for an extended stay there.
Europe! Eileen caught her breath.
Did it mean. that she, Eileen, was to
travel? That was one of the things
she had always wanted most. The
very word travel suggested life to
her. It filled her with visions of the
things she craved nebulously, yet so
poignently as to deafen her ears to
all Jimmy's pleadings.
“I don’t want to stick in one place
all my life,” she had told him. “I
want to see the world.”
“Looking for a millionaire ?”
had jeered.
“Just give me a chance at one-—ov
his million, anyway,” she had re-
torted calmly.
Now, for a second, the vision seem-
ed close. Perhaps she was to be
adopted and—But there she checked
herself.
“She wouldn't take you,” she in-
formed herself firmly. “Or even if
she did, she'd probably keep you
locked up in a cabin.
She let the paper slip to the floor
and glanced at her wrist watch. The
Christmas present from Jimmy that
she had told him she could not ac-
cept, but had. It assured her it was
not yet eight o’clock.
Yawning like a bored kitten she
he
rose and moved around the room. |
She inspected the frocks hanging in
the closet—loads of them-—and then
opened bureau drawers to see what
might be in them. Lingerie mostly.
After that she turned to the writing
desk. In the cubbyholes were letters
which she virtuously refrained from
reading though she would have liked
to, mightily. But when she found a
frayed clipping she saw no reason
why she shouldn't look that over.
And so:
One of the most exclusive and in-
exible upholders of the ancicnt re-
gime in Boston, whose august pres-
ence only the ultra elect may enter
without fear and trembling, is due to
suffer severe shock ere long, we fear |
The personage in ques- |
(she read).
tion, rich in years but far from her
dotage, has a charming,
granddaughter to whom she looks Lo
carry on the family glory. The
granddaughter, whose parents died
some years ago, is now being pre-
pared for her debut in a school out-
side Philadelphia.
So far so good. But hark! Al-
most daily the damsel, a keen devo-
tee of riding, canters forth to the
most romantic of trysts. These are
quite sub rosa, naturally, for her
Romeo elect is but a groom on a
neighboring estate.
was gallant in war as well as in love
and is the possessor of a D. S. O.
An Englishman, we gather, and a
personable one. Older than our little
sub-deb in years and experience, and
having come to our shores to seek his
fortune, hopeful perhaps that he has
found it.
But alas, in America as well as in
England, rank is the guinea’s stamp
and though a man may be a man,
‘for all he’s a groom, he cannot eith-
“It looks as
I wonder if I'm going to
er here or there be considered a de-
sirable parti. This being so, we
predict that some day soon the
grandmother, who holds the purse-
strings, will awake to what is hap-
she was back
The rest of the .
if wilful |
"Tis said that he
a. som,
pening and will descend like a blight
upon this budding romance.
Did the clipping refer to the miss-
ing, mysterious Sally? Eileen won-
dered. If so, had she eloped with the
groom?
“I'll bet she did—or is going to,”
she decided. “That’s why her grand-
mother had detectives on her trail.
But then why did she stop searching
and bring me hack instead?” This
puzzled her for a second. And then
she caught her breath. “She wouldn't
—couldn’t dream that she’d have a
chance of getting away with anys
thing like that!”
Yet here was she, Eileen, being
used deliberately to impersonate the
missing Sally. “That's why she's
keeping me locked up,” her thoughts
raced on, at another tangent. “And
why I'm not to speak to anybody—
But she can’t keep me locked up for-
ever.”
Then she remembered what she
had read about Europe. “For an ex-
tended stay there” the newspaper
had said.
It all fitted together, anyway. Her
own identity had been stripped trom
her as completely as her clothes. The
paper had announced that Sally
Thaxter had returned from Chicago.
Besides which, she, as Sally Thaxter,
had called, if only vicariously, on her
grandmother's friends that after-
noon.
“Gosh, how that woman must be
able to hate!” mused Eileen thinking
of her pseudo-grandmother and won-
dering what the abandoned Sally
would say to all this. Then, swiftly,
her thoughts took a further leap.
The real Sally would probably be dis-
inherited. If so—gosh! “I may be
going crazy myself,” she assured her-
self, “but if this is my chance at a
million—lead me to it!”
The more she thought of it—and
it was after two when she finally fell
asleep—the more possible it seemed
, somehow.
Breakfast, served at eight, broke
her slumbers. The visions of the
night before began to lack credibility
and the morning dragged intermin-
ably. At luncheon, however, she was:
informed that Madam was taking her
to the Symphony rehearsal that af-
ternoon. She quickened at that.
Music! That was another of the gifts:
. Eileen craved from life. But would
she really hear it?
“It would be just like her to have
the chauffeur leave the tickets at the
door and come home,” she reminded”
herself.
Nothing like that happened, how-
‘ever. Eileen sat surounded by musie
lovers that afternoon, digesting a
new discovery. And that is that real
music, like olives, requires a taste
that must be acquired. A little of it
| will, until then, go a long way.
“I'd rather hear Jimmy play his:
old uke,” she confessed frankly to
herself.
Of many curious glances cast to-
ward her she was conscious. And’
when the rehearsal was over, a gicl
rushed up to her.
“Oh, Sally-—why didn’t you stick it
out!” she was asked, in an impetuous
whisper.
|
There was no chance for Eileen to
answer. But her mind returned to-
the riddle. In the limousine once
more she stole a glance at the rigid
old woman beside her but found no
answer there. “Supposing the real:
granddaughter should show up!”
conjectured Eileen suddenly. “Gosh,
, what a mix-up.”
Afterwards, she considered what
had been a perfect premonition. The:
moment they entered the house she
guessed that exactly that had hap-
pened. The butler, opening the door,
had lost some of his wooden imper-
turbability. His mistress gave him a
swift glance that silenced him.
“Go to your room,” she command-
ed sharply to Eileen.
Eileen started obediently up the-
stairs. But as she made the turn at
i the top she heard the hard, imperious
voice demand:
“Well, where is she?”
“In the drawing-room, Madam.”
“And little Eileen is on her way
out,” supplemented Eileen. “Good-by"
million.”
Even so, the next move was not
yet up to her. And so, back in the:
room that was hers, yet was not, she
marked time. Until she realized that
the door, not locked, was opening.
“Can I come in?” asked a gay
voice. “I—" The owner of the voice
stopped short to stare wide-eyed.
‘My heavens,” she breathed. We are
regular Siamese twins, aren't we?’
It’s uncanny—like looking in a mir-
ror.”
It was; Kileen’s eyes were as wide..
So this was the real Sally.
“Gosh !” Sally was saying. ‘I be-
lieve grandmother could have got
taway with it at that. I couldn't re-
sist the temptation to sneak up and’
take a look at you when she told me:
that I could not be her granddaugh-
ter—that any of the servants would
tell me that her granddaughter was in
her room—"
“You don’t mean to say,” began
Eileen, “that she—"
“Gave me the cold and fishy
stare? She sure did. Oh, I could’
| call her bluff if I wanted to— but I°
jdon’t. It’s not worth it. I'd have to
i give up Gerry—and I won't !”
| “Gerry?” asked Eileen uncertainly..
| “I've married him and believe me
{I'm going to stay married,” announc-
ed Sally blissfully. “No annulments
for me ! Of course if you want to be-
'lieve what grandmother says—that
‘he’s just a rotter who is after her
money—""
“I don’t think any such thing,”
protested Eileen. ‘I just—"
“Of course,” Sally went on, ignoring
, the interruption, “he was—well, just
‘a groom when I met him but that
'was because he was English and the
war busted him and he’d never heen
i trained to earn a living. And he is
| positively fascinating. I was crazy
about him from the first. Fixed it up.
{so we met a lot. Just so it would
seem an accident, you know.”
Eileen did know. For all that she
{had snubbed her Jimmy there had’
| been times, at first, when she had’
{used the same device.
“T guess I was pretty indiscreet,”"
(Continued on page 3, Col. 1.)