= ——
Bellefonte, Pa., June 14, 1929.
ee ]
DE NINETY AN’ NINE.
Po’ lil brack sheep don’ strayed away,
Don’ los’ in de win’ an’ de rain;
An’ de Shepherd He say, ‘‘Oh, hirelin’
Go fin’ dat sheep again.”
But de hirelin say ‘‘Oh, Shepherd,
Dat sheep am brack an’ bad.”
But de Shepherd He smile like dat lil
brack sheep
‘Was de onliest one He had.
An’ He say, ‘Oh, hirelin’ hasten,
Fo’ de win’ an’ de rain am col’;
An’ dat po’ lil sheep am lonesom’
So far away from de fol’.
But de hirelin’ say, ‘‘Oh, Shepherd,
Dat sheep am ol’ an’ gray.”
© But de Shepherd He smile like dat lil
brack sheep
Was fair as de break of day.
Ar’ He say, ‘‘Oh, hirelin’ hasten,
Lo! Here am de ninety an’ nine;
An’ dar far away from de sheep-fol’
Am ‘dat po’ lil sheep of mine.”
But de hirelin’ say, ‘‘Oh, Shepherd,
De res’ of the flock am here.”
But de Shepherd He smile like dat lil
brack sheep
He hol’ it mostes’ dear.
An’ de Shepherd go out in de da'kness,
An’ de win’ de’ rain was col’;
An’ de po’ lil sheep, He fin’ him,
An he bring him back to de fol’.
Rut de hirelin’ say ‘‘Oh, Shepherd,
Don’ bring dat sheep to me!”
Eut de Shepherd He smile an’ He hol’ him
close,
An’ dat lil brack sheep—was me.
—Selected.
THE 3 DARLINGS.
Gaynor was the middle one: there
were three of them. Patricia was
the eldest. The fact that never at
any time had she been called Patsy
or Pat describes her best. Tall and
slim, dark and regal, with aloof black
eyes and a sulky mouth. And with
two hobbies™—clothes and men.
Geraldine was the youngest. But
she never had been called anything
but Jerry since her christening.
Small, without hips or breasts like a
boy, was Jerry, with curling flames
of bright hair licking her little face
in a wind-blown bob and wide blue
eyes that looked at you with a blind,
transparent stare. And a rather
inadequate nose but the most satis-
factory mouth imaginable. And a
glorious golden-white skin. Her hob-
bies were more numerous and more
frequent than Patricia’s: tennis and
boys....... ukulele and boys........ frat
pins and boys........ then, after a while,
just boys.
Gaynor was two
years younger
than Patricia, three years old than !
Jerry. She was, if one bothered to
classify her at all, what the French
very nicely call chataine. But usual-
ly no one noticed Gaynor’s hair,
which was nut-brown, or her eyes,
which were a smoky-gray, or her
mouth, which was much too wide for
beauty, but beautifully generous. And
she had no hobbies—she couldn't
spare time for them—but she did
have many occupations. For the
Darlings were poor.
“Land poor,” the widowed Mrs.
Darling would smile ruefully, waving
a beautifully white and thin and.
blue-veined hand vaguely. “This
house and plantation are about the
oldest in Virginia, and I reckon the
poorest.”
So Gaynor sewed dainty organdies,
and dusted slender Chippendale, and
polished old silver,
rose-garden, and fed the kittens and
dogs with which the place abounded.
Mrs. Darling was very given to re-
marking: “I really don’t know what
I'd do without Gaynor.”
Gaynor could have told her, but, of
course, she didn’t. Instead, she went
on sewing and dusting and weeding
and wearing Patricia’s hand-em-
downs. For being the middle one,
Gaynor never got a new frock of her
own. Patricia did, because she was
the eldest; Jerry did, because by the
time Gaynor had worn Patricia's they
were too old to do over for Jerry.
Very simple and quite systematic
when one considered it. Gaynor had
considered it. Not that it really mat-
tered. Not even when Alan Colford
came into her life did it really mat-
ter. For there was always, of course,
Patricia and Jerry.
Patricia saw him first. At least
she said so, though Jerry claimed he
had seen and looked after her on the
Middlebury Road. However, Patri:
cia’s claim seemed to be the more
legitimately staked as she and Alan
had met at the Langhornes’ dance,
which Jerry had scorned as too wet
for expression, and Gaynor had ignor-
ed for reasons best known only to
herself.
But as a matter of actual record,
Gaynor had both seen and met him
first, though of course she never had
mentioned it. She had not wanted te
mention it at the time and later—
well, later, no one seemed at all in-
terested.
She had been walking in the rain
through the woods above the old Mill
Falls when she first heard it—that
low, whimpering whine. She stop
ped and listened. It came from her
right—somewhere beyond the path ip
the green density of a thicket—a soft
moaning, then suddenly a sharp, high
cry. Gaynor, recognizing that cry,
ran swiftly in its direction.
She found a collie bitch panting,
whimpering, twitching, trying to
make a bed for herself in the damp
leaves beneath an alder.
Gaynor sank to the sodden earth
beside her. “Poor darling, are you
trying to make a lyin-in kennel?
Have I time to carry you home, I
wonder.” And she bent over and
tried to lift the writhing collie while
the rain splashed down on her bare
head.
But the dog twisted from her grasp
and lay gasping and whimpering,
moving her head unhappily, her body
and weeded the |
twitching in agony. And Gaynor,
born and reared in the atmosphere of
the stcbles and kennels, knew that
the animal in giving life would be
denied it.
She knelt, stroking the whimpering
dog, miserably conscious of her own
impotence in the face of relentless
Nature. Then the collie raised her
head. Her body bent, then suddenly
relaxed. She gave again that sharp,
high cry.
A little later Gaynor gathered up
the litter in her sweater. There were
four of them with little red noses and
a persistent little snigger. Their
mother lay, exhausted and quiet, up-
on the dark, sodden foliage; her eyes
seemed to glaze even as Gaynor knelt
above her.
“Oh my dear, my dear, my dear,”
wept Gaynor suddenly, aloud, “if you
were so delicate, why didn’t you stay
at home and have your babies with
proper canine obstetrics?” But the
collie did not hear her.
And sitting there, with the rain
streaming over her, the dead dog and
the sniggering puppies, Gaynor wept
softly in unison with the day.
She was still crying when she saw
him. He stood a few yards beyond
the alder and he was as drenched as
she was. But she did not see that at
first. She saw only his face, miles,
miles, miles above her. A thin, dark
face with eyes that looked oddly tired
and worn so early in the morning.
He said: “Please don’t cry. It had
to happen. Thistle always ran away.
I've always had to go hunting her.
I've been hunting her all night.”
Perhaps that was why his eyes
looked so tired and haggard. She
forgot to cry, wondering about his
tiredness.
He knelt down across from her,
Thistle’s still, wet body between
them.
He said, flushing: “I'm so sorry for
you about this wretched business.
I'll take the puppies.”
She handed them, still wrapped in
her sweater, to him.
She said gravely: “I* doesn’t mat-
ter—only her dying. Then, very
seriously: Orphan collies are terri-
bly sensitive. You'll have to be very
careful raising them.”
His eyes rested thoughtfully on her
glistening face. He seemed not to
hear her.
But a moment later he said: “Yes,
very sensitive.”
She stood up. He continued to
kneel on the ground beside the collie.
She said: “Do you wish me to take
them, or send anyone to look after
Thistle ?”
He rose quickly, as if suddenly con-
scious of his delinquency.
He said: “Oh, no. You've done
quite enough. I can manage easily.
And thank you.” He thrust out his
hand. “My name’s Alan Colford.
I've just come to live at Arden Hall
for the summer.”
She put her wet, grimy hand in
his. “And mine’s Gaynor Darling.
I live at the Oaks—just off the Mid-
i dlebury Road.” She was suddenly
{overcome by an enveloping shyness.
She drew back her hand, flushing.
“Don’t forget to keep them wrapped
!in flannel......Good-by.” And she was
| gone swiftly.
Yes, she had seen him first. For
(it was the following day that Jerry
| announced that a handsome stranger
{—oh, a most magnificent Tellow—
had cantered past her on the Middle-
{bury Road and turned to look back
|even as she had turned in her own
i saddle. And it was the night follow-
ing that day that Patricia had come
(home from the Langhorne party to
tell Jerry and Gaynor the entire his-
tory, as she had learned it, of one
Alan Pell Colford.
Son and heir of the “Steel Colford.
(That had come first.) But not just
a rich man’s son—no, a real worker
Lafayette Escadrille at the very be-
ginning of the war and, of course,
all softs of decorations, not to men-
{tion wounds. Then, later, back to
| the engineering he was so mad about
—in a way, the real reason for his
presence in Virgina --they were Pitts-
burgh people. But something to do
with mines had brought him here—
some sort of engineering gadget to
prevent those awful explosions. And
he wasn’t married or engaged. Look-
ed like a god and drove his car like
a devil. Oh, yes, he had brought her
| home; was, in fact, coming to tea to-
| morrow, no, today, in order to meet
mother and the “family.”
“I'll tell the world you handed him
an uppercut that must have knocked
him for a kayo,” said Jerry, who at
that time was a devotee of the lit--
erature of Mr. Witwer, though she
did not at all times succeed in quot-
ing him correctly.
Patricia managed a frown for Jer-
ry’s slang and a faint smile for her
, own powers of fascination at one and
the same time.
Then she said suddenly, turning to
Gay: “Why didn’t you say that you
and he had met?”
Gaynor flushed.
of it.”
But Gaynor never had been a suc-
cesful liar.
Patricia's narrow dark brows drew
more sharply together. “Well, he did.
The very first thing he asked me
when we were introduced was, did
1 have a sister by the name of Gay-
nor.”
“I'm sure,” mocked Jerry, “that
Mrs. Price would not approve of a
young man with such blunt man-
ners.” She grinned maliciously.
“Feature anyone asking Patricia if
she even had a sister—Patricia the
Perfect. No family could be expect-
ed to produce another such rarity.”
“Neither expected, nor does,” re-
turned Patricia shortly. Then, to
Gaynor again: “I can’t imagine why
you were so close-mouthed about it.
It certainly put me in an awkward
position.”
Gaynor drew farther back into her
pillows. “I never thought that he'd
remember,
She had willed so
“I never thought
But she had!
hard that he would. Only at that
time she hadn't known he was Alan
Pell Colford, et cetera. At that time
he was only a tired young man in
shabby tweeds and muddy boots.
Patricia said, “As a matter of fact,
| he spoke of you quite a little.”
There -was a faintly patronizing
note in her sulky voice. It rasped
Gaynor’s nerves intolerably.
She said suddenly, bitterly: “And
quite a lot about himself, evidently.
Decorations and wounds, of course.
Oh, no, not married or engaged. Dear
me, no, I can’t abide living off the
governor's money.” Her imitation of
masculine pomposity was perfect.
Jerry giggled. Patricia’s nostrils
flared slightly.
But she laughed softly, said soft-
ly: “Oh, no, he didn't tell me. I
found out all about him from Jeff
Langhorne. Mr. Colford, after speak-
ing so nicely of you, devoted the rest
of his conversation to—to impersonal
topics.”
“Such as ‘Do you like to walk in
gardens? Isn't the moon beautiful ?
What a lively perfume—ah, yours,
Miss Darling........ Patricia Darling—
such an intriguing name but rather
dangerous—for me I mean; so tempt-
ing... Oh no, this isn’t a line. 1
haven't any line. Certainly not with
you, Patricia Darling—
A pillow effectively stopped Jerry's
bantering recital. But one—certain-
'ly Gay—could see that Patrica was
secretly pleased.
But when Patricia spoke, it was
with a peculiar, distinct emphasis:
“Such being the case, Jerry dear—
where Alan Colford’s concerned, don’t
poach out of season.”
And that is when the question of
priority arose.
“Apple sauce!” said Jerry.
him first.”
( “But he saw me more,” said Pa-
trict significantly, if ambiguously.
“More of you, perhaps,” said Jer-
ry, with a meaning glance at Pa-
tricia’'s frock. “But give me time
darling—just wait till I spring my
new swimming-suit!
Patricia smiled disagreeably.
“Don’t think that I'm asking you to
keep out of the way on that account.
I only meant, don’t turn the draw-
ing room into a community-house
parlor when he calls.” And her eyes
seemed to incluae Gaynor in that
edict as well as Jerry.
Hands off—out of the way—-no
butting in where you're not wanted
or expected, said those black-dia-
mond eyes.
Well, if Alan Colford had given
Patrica, in one evening, sufficient rea-
son to issue that ultimatum—
Gaynor closed her eyes as if the
shaded lamplight hurt them. She
saw a tired young man in shabby
tweeds. She opened her eyes and
saw Patricia—Patricia, the exquisite,
| Patricia, the real beauty of the fam-
ily—and poor, lovely Jerry—
| Gaynor turned her head to the
wall. She said, “Please go I want to
1 sleep.”
| They went. But what Gay really
wanted was to weep.
It was three months later.
| Upstairs, in the cool, dim bed-
room, Mrs. Darling said, “Gaynor,
I really think—I really believe
Patrica will bring it off.”
Gay looked at her blindly. “Bring
what off, Mother?” As if she didn’t
know !
“This marriage with Alan Colford
of course.” Then suddenly, sharply:
“Oh, if she shouldn't! If anything
should happen—after all my hopes,
my dreams, my plans !”
Gaynor closed her eyes. She saw
her mother’s hopes—a brilliant so-
cial career for the lovely Patricia,
a. brilliant launching of the fascina-
ting Jerry. Her mother’s dreams— a
London season, an apartment in
Paris, a villa at Cannes. Her plans
—perhaps, with the Colford fortune
behind her, even a title for the dem-
ocratic, slangy little Jerry.
i But Gaynor saw also the struc-
ture of her own hopes and dreams
.come crashing down about her—mo,
{flutter down about her, a jerry-
| built house of flimsy paper cards.
| She said, opening her eyes to the
{ Blue Virginia day that seemed sud-
‘denly dark, suddenly sinister: “What
could possibly happen, Mother?”
‘What? Only a miracle. But Gay-
nor did not believe in miracles.
| Her mother looked at her without
i seeing her—it was a peculiar little
‘habit Mrs. Darling reserved for Gay-
'nor—and said, “Oh, anything; per-
haps Jerry—"
Of course after Patricia there
would always be little Jerry. “It
would be the—the same for you
wouldn't it, Mother?”
Mrs. Darling stirred uneasily
“No. I don’t think he loves Jerry—
that is, seriously. She thinks she's
crazy about him and he might
amuse himself with her.
marry her—"
‘Gaynor said, with sudden bitter-
ness, “Then we’d better concentrate
on Patricia.”
But Patricia didn’t need it. She
was, said the little complacent air
about Patricia quite able to take care
of Patrica.
Jerry said, “Be a sport—give
somebody else a chance once in a
while. What are you trying to do—
sandbag and hog-tie him?”
‘Don’t be vulgar,” advised her
mother severely.
“Don’t you be Vere-ish,” return-
turned Jerry with cool impudence,
then suddenly vicious: “I'd like to
tell him a thing or two. Patricia's
nobody's prize Christmas package !”
“I suppose you think you're the
topmost angel on the tree,” said
Patricia, forgetting in her fury her
languid air of the ice-princess.
“You're burning up because he never
looks at you.”
“Oh, doesn't he!” mocked Jerry.
“What a lot you know !”
“Girls !” cried Mrs. Darling. “How
can you so utterly, so disgustingly
forget yourselves? Gaynor, will you
see if the drawing room has been
Gaynor went out. In the long
drawing-room, surrounded on three
sides by the white columned, double-
storied veranda which gave to the
room a perpetual dim twilight, she
stood rigid, her eyes moving slowly
from side to side, their pupils dilated.
This room, which she dusted every
day for his coming’; those Waterford
glass jars kept filled with her Mare
chal roses; those cushions, made by
her hands, shaken by her hands to
inviting plumpness, placed carefully
against. the sides and back of the
“I saw
But to:
Spehish ‘mahogany sofa—they were
always crushed and limp from his
road back, always faintly reminis-
cent of Patricia's favorite perfume,
after his going.
The bronze knocker clattered
sharply. Gaynor fled precipitately to
the upper floor.
dusted ?”
While he was in the house she
seemed unable to remain still. She
wandered restlessly about the halls
and bedrooms, and though it was
late afternoon, set to work again,
rearranged dressing-tables, put away drive.”
Patricia’s flame silk kimono, cleaned,
for the second time, their community tige of color.
bathroom.
| Jerry ran up to wash her hands
and powder her nose:
. She said, squintihg &t herself in
the dim mirror: “I let him in and he
gave me a look -—-like this—” She
looked hard, and what she consider-
ed passiondtely, at Gaynor. “Then he
said, “Jerry, Gear child, if you get
any prettier, the state will have to
{legislate against your appearing In
public.” And there stood Patricia in
the doorway of the drawing-room,
with that Dark-Lady of the Sonnets
lair of hers thinking, I reckon, that
she looked like Queen Guinevere or
the blessed damsel—”
' “Damozel,” murmured Gaynor.
“Damsel,” repeated Jerry—she
could be very stubborn. “And draw:
ling in that come-and-kiss-me-quick
before-I-die voice of hers, “Jerry,
darling’—can you feature that, Gay?
Darling ! ‘Jerry, darling, would you
—that contraption off your head and
drive over to the Hall with me to
give your opinion on a new filly I've
just purchased.”
She looked at him bitterly. She
said in a swift, bitter voice: “Thanks,
but I happen to be busy; and this—
this contraption cn my head happens
to be a dust-cap.” |
Alan said cruelly: “Well, whatever
it is, it is perfectly hideous. And
there’s no earthly reason why you
can’t get up from that ridiculous '
say ‘Alan, surely the place’—mean-
ing myself, naturally—‘must bore
you.’ But he always smiles in that
swift, fascinating way of his, and
says: ‘Oh, no, Patricia. This place
could never bore me.’ Only his eyes
are on me, and they say, ‘you’ in-
stead of ‘this place.’ ”
Gaynor interrupted with a sudden
deep weariness. “Patricia, I can’t
listen any longer. There's too much
to be done.”
She went down the steps and
, position and ceme with me for a around the house, carrying the pail
Her face was Jralnad of every ves-
She said slowly, “No |
earthly reason except that I don't
care to.”
“Ob,’ he said, and looked out &t
the garden. |
Gaynor stared blindly down at the
wet scrubbing-biush. There! she
| and soap and scrubbing brush with
her.
Of course that was what he want-
ed to discuss—Patricia. Patricia,.
| with that aloof, intriguing little pose:
of the untouchable ice-princess, made:
him uncertain, unsure of himself and
his suit. He thought, no doubt, Gay--
nor could help him; would, no doubt,.
; thought. Perhaps that took a little say: “Now listen, Gay, do you, or dos
mind asking Chloe to make some
iced tea ?’ to get rid of me, of course.
But at that, I reckon you'd better
make the tea, Gay. She meant you,
of course; she knows old Chloe is
napping this time of day.”
Jerry, satisfied with her beauty
labors, turned toward the door. She
said, “I'll take it in for you, Gay.
You'd better hurry.”
Gaynor gave a bitter little laugh
“Why? He won't go for ages yet.”
Jerry paused, her mouth rebellious.
“You bet he won't. She’ll spin his
visit out for all it’s worth—the
sneaky ’fraid-cat! Gay, what do yoa
suppose they talk about gall that
time in there alone? Do you think
he kisses her?”
“I don’t know—or care.” Gay
scrubbed the basin with fevered en:
ergy. “And you can make the tea—
I'm busy.”
Jerry ran down the curved stairs
singing. |
Gay sat suddenly down on the
bathroom floor and leaned her head
against the tub.
Didn't care! she had said. Oh,
liar, liar. When she suffered agonies
during these visits of Alan. When it
was only in a frenzied activity that
she could tranquilize heresif.
flying past her:
|
; Sometimes she saw him, but not
‘often. Sometimes Patricia would call
her to mix him a special mint julep
as only Gay could mix it. Or he
would come out of the drawing-room
just as she was passing through the
hall on her way upstairs. Or they
would pass each other in the garden.
On the garden-meeting occasions, he
always stopped her: “Where have
you been, Gay? What have you been
doing 7”
Where? Anywhere that was away
from him and Patricia. Doing? Any-
thing that would keep her from
thinking of him and Patricia. “Oh,
just for a walk—picking huckleber
ries for dinner.”
She heard Jerry
stairs and rose.
“Oh, Gay, Alan wants to see you a
minute.” Jerry looked in at the
doorway. Her eyes glinted mali-
coming up the
‘with you—
1
ciously. She said: “When I went in |
'with the tea, he gave me another
look—so I stayed. Pat was furious.
As if TI care!” Then, remembering
her mission: “He wants to ask you
something about a dog.”
Gay went down to the hall. Her
eyelids drooped over the hot flames
of her eyes. Something about a dog!
She did not seem to see that he had
- intended to shake hands.
Patricia, in her graceful Queen
Guinevere attitude by the door, said,
“Alan’s collie—"
Her words died away upon Gay-
nor’s consciousness. Alan’s collie—
the cause, the helpless deus ex ma-
china of their first meeting——
She heard Alan's voice explaining
something. “I took one of ’em tc
the vet in town, but I'm going for
her in the morning and I thought—
She nodded without actually know-
what he thought. What did it mat-
ter?
Gaynor was scrubbing the front
veranda the next morning. She wore
a checked gingham dress, its sleeves
rolled up above her elbows, a pair of
almost shapeless golf brogues—Jer-
ry’s, as Gaynor didn’t play golf and
had, therefore, no use for such ac-
coutrements—and upon her small
head a weird-looking turban. Her
face was unpowdered and more than
a little shiny.
! So she wasn't, one may see, exact-
|ly prepared for Alan. She heard a
sharp scrunching in the driveway and
before she could make a dignified re-
treat, there he was.
| He drove the huge shining dragon
1 he erroneouely called a car, and on
‘the seat beside him was one of Mrs.
Thistle’s progeny. It yapped at Gay-
nor ungratefully.
“Good morning,” said Alan, smil-
ing. “I've brought Mary, Queen of
| Scots, to call on our way home from
| the veterinarian’s.”
Gaynor sat back on her heels and
stared at him. She said, “Neither
Patricia nor Jerry are up yet.” Then,
accusingly: “It's not nine e¢’clock.
He was still smiling. “Well, I on-
ly just stopped to show you how
! splendidly our orphans are doing.
This little fraud didn’t have a
wrong with her—just tried to digest
a few tacks, didn't you, old lady?”
Gaynor let him talk to her profile.
She went on scrubbing—what did it
matter what she did? how she look-
ed? She went on scrubbing........
Then suddenly, impatiently, he
said: “Gaynor, for heaven’s sake stop
that swishing a minute! I want to
ask you something.”
“Well?” Her tone was not ep-
couraging.
He said: “I want you to take that
‘ing—only Patricia and Jerry would
of the conceit nut of him—trying to
patronize me, condescending to no-
tice me when there's no one else’
about to feed the flame of his vanity
....But her throat hurt her intolerably. !
Alan brought his gaze back to her.
He said quietly: “I'm sorry, Gay, I |
was so beastly rude. Won't you.
show I'm forgiven by driving over to |
the Hall with me after all?”
At his tone, the citadel of her pride
and resentment crumbled hopelessly.
She said, in a swift, choked voice:
“Alan, I'd love to. But I can't--I|
really can't. I must finish this ver- |
anda. Patricia's giving a bridge- |
party and Aunt Chloe is too busy.” |
“Perhaps later?’
But she shook her head.
isn’t possible.
do later.”
Then Alan said deliberately, dis-
tinctly: “Gaynor, when is your after-
noon off?”
“My afternoon off?” And she
stared at him in blank amazement. |
“That’s what I said: When is your |
afternoon off? Perhaps on tha: day
you might care to take a drive.”
His intent, his meaning was un-
mistakable. She put her hand to her
mouth to hide its sudden quivering.
He had deliberately, cruelly, shown
her what she was-—a dull drab, an
unattractive and uninteresting house-
hold drudge, spineless, resistless, fu-
tile, good only for the drab things
of life, such as—as——And in that
swift, bitter moment, the whole pan-
orama of her twenty-one years went
“No, it |
I've the sandwiches to
“Gay dear, give Jerry your dolly
—don’t make her cry.’
“Gay, dear, I'm sorry, but you can’t
go to the party with Patricia. Moth-
er has a headache and needs her lit-
tle nurse.”
“Gay, dear, would you mind press-
ing Jerry's pink organdy for the
church supper?”
“Gay, dear, have you time to mend
the lace on Patricia's slip while she’s
dressing ?”
Patricia, Jerry—Jerry,
always, always, always...
She looked at Alan with blind,
swimming eyes. She said, “I don’t
have afternoons off. But perhaps
tomorrow——""
He said, tickling Mary of Scots ab-
sently: “Well, then, I want you to
spend it with me, if you don’t mind.
As a matter of fact, I want to talk |
discuss something with |
you. What time shall I come and
fetch you?”
She still looked at him blindly.
“What time?” he said again, a
trifle sharply.
She said faintly: “About four
o'clock. Only please don’t come to
the house. I—I'd rather meet you at
the fork in the road.”
He said, that sharp note still dom-
inant in his voice, “Why?”
Her eyelids fluttered. ‘Oh noth-
Patricia—
expect to come too. And you said
you wanted to—to discuss something
with me.”
He laughed. “So I do. And I cer-
tainly don’t want Patricia or Jerry—
especially Patricia—to hear it. At
least, not just yet.” He flicked his
cigaret to the sunny lawn. “Well,
tomorow at four-—the fork of the
road. Cheerio till then.”
And with a sort of Fascist salute,
he was gone, roaring down the drive-
way.
Gaynor, on her mat, suddenly bur-
ied her face in her damp, reddened
hands.
She heard Patricia’s soft drawl at
the upstairs window: “Gay, who was
that ?”
Gay said through her fingers,
“Alan Colford.”
She heard the sudden sharp rat-
tle of blinds above her. She looked
up and saw Patricia’s dark, miracu-
lously smooth head and flame-silk-
covered shoulders thrust out of the
window.
“Alan? What on earth did he
want at this time of morning?”
Gay gathered up her scrubbing par-
aphernalia. “Nothing. Only stop
ped in on his way back to the Hall
with the collie puppy.”
Patricia was frowning. Something
seemed to annoy her. She said sharp:
ly, as if realizing Gaynor’s position
and attire for the first time: “Don’t
tell me he caught you in that-—that
awful make-up!”
Gaynor’s pointed little chin went
forward. “He did. What about it?
What do you care? It wasn't you
was it?”
Patricia laughed softly down at
her. “Rather not! But after ali,
Alan is a gentleman, and gentlemen
are inclined to be fastidious about--
about the appearance and habits of
their finance’s family.”
Gay said, not looking up at Pa
tricia: “Fiance? You mean—”
But what a silly, what a ridiculous
question! What could Patricia
mean except just what she had said?
Patricia never exerted herself to say
things = to Gaynor that she didn’t
mean.
Patricia now said: “You know ex-
actly what I mean. Not that we've
actually come to any definite under.
standing. Alan is absurdly shy for
so dominant a personality. But a
girl always knows a man is in’ love
with her, and heaven only knows Alan
has demonstrated his interest in this
house. Every afternoon and practic-
you not, think I've got a chance?
I'm mad about Patricia, but she’s so.
much the unapproachable Queen.
Guinevere—’*
But even Queen Guinevere had
succumbed to Sir Lancelot.
Alan, contrary to habit, did not
drive or ride over that afternoon.
“On account of my bridge” Patricia.
explained. “He loathes a lot of silly-
women.”
“Hot apple sauce,” said Jerry.
Gay said nothing.
But at six o'clock the telephone:
shrilied peremptorily.
“For me,” said Jerry from the ham-
raock.
“For me,” said Patricia from the:
piano.
“Fo’ Miss Gay,” said Aunt Chloe-
from the dim hallway.
Gaynor came out of the pantry.
She said into the mouthpiece: “Hel:
lo? Yes, this is Gaynor....Oh, no—no.
of course I've not forgotten... What?"
Before three?.. Before two? Why,
1 don’t know if I can make it... Well,
if it’s that important, III’ try. Good--
by.” She hung up and went back to-
ward the pantry.
“Who was it?” said Jerry in the:
doorway.
“What was it?” said Patricia on.
the drawing-room. threshold.
“Someone,” said Gay decisively,
“and something for just me.” And:
the pantry door swung to behind her..
Jerry went back to her hammock.
Patricia went over to the mirror to-
powder her nose.
Bui Alan did not drive over to the
Oaks that evening.
It was ten minutes past the hour
when Gaynor arrived at the fork. He:
was there, waiting for her in the blue
shining dragon, and they drove off
in the direction of town. But direct-
ly they had gone a few hundred:
yards, he reached into his pocket.
“Look™ he said exultantly. “Ive-
something to show you.” And he.
brought forth a section of a New York
paper. “Wonderful luck Gay. Here,
look at this.” And he laid the paper
on her knees and pointed with his
finger.
It was an article, illustrated with.
sketches of gigantic steel. structures
and a blurred photograph of Alan.
It announced, in discreet. headlines,
that the plans of one of Alan Pell:
Colford, son of the famous “Steel”
Colford, had been accepted for the:
construction of a stupendous bridge:
to be swung across some. terrific, un-
pronounceable chasm in Peru. and’
that said Alan Pell. Colford: would:
himself superintend that. construc-
tion. It said a lot. more.. But Gay:
nor saw only the last. words she hag’
read. “Operations will start imme-
diately and Mr. Colford expects to:
sail next Saturday.”
The paper was a week old. Why;
Saturday was—was day after tomor--
row!
She sat back, aghast at the wave:
of desolation that swept over her.
Day after tomorrow!
He said: “What is it, Gay? Aren't
you pleased? You know I once tol¢
you that this was my life’s ambition:
a man’s work—no, more than that—-
a work for the gods.”
She said her eyes fixed unseeing-
ly on the white ribbon of the high--
way: “Of course I'm pleased. Only
—only it came so suddenly—the
thought, I mean of your going.”
He accelerated the speed of the
dragon. It roared along the road.
He said at last, “That's why TI had
to see you today, alone, without Jer
ry or Patricia.” ‘
Patricia! The thought of her leap-
ed suddenly into Gaynor’s numbed
consciousness. What about Patricia ?
No wonder Alan felt he needed aid in
that direction. Only the evening in
which to get properly engaged, plans
formed and future dates set.
They were roaring through: a. small
hamlet where a few stately old man-
sions still. stood, unchanged, behinc
the high. pickets of their fences: Buf
several of them: carried’ discreel
boards attached to their gate-posts
Antiques. Ye Olde Booke Shoppe
The Lindens—Iluncheon, tea, dinner
Begore its green-painted gates Ala:
stopped the car.
He said: “Gay, I want to talk t¢
you and I can’'t—driving this nois;
blunderbuss. Let’s have tea here.”
She said idiotically, “But it’s to:
early.” Oh, to put off, to put of
forever that which he had to say t
her!
But he got out and held open th
door for her. “Well, we can have a:
ice, then. It doesn’t really matter.
No escape. She followed him u
the walk to an awninged verand:
where one old lady sat sipping lemon
water and reading a paper:
They sat down at one of the littl
green tables. They waited. Finall
an old darky wandered out smiled a
them toothlessly, repeated their or
der. ‘“Yassuh—two iced teas,” an
wandered off, to return a few minute
later with a pitcher of lemonade.
“We said iced tea——" began Alar
“Yassuh—but Ah reckon you all’.
like dis hyar lemonade bettah.” H
wandered off.
Alan began to talk about Sout
America. Gaynor merely listened an
suffered, waiting for that time whe
he had finished.
“It will be far from an easy lif:
Gay,” he said. “Nothing—certaix
ally every evening. TI sometimes
(Continued on page 7, Col. 1.)