Evening Star Newspaper, November 13, 1921, Page 78

9 < IJ' HEN a Man anda Woma; ‘Are i United by a i | i f Lie, Can Anything | Efface the Memory of It? A New | Treatment of the Problem by One of :_ ‘:‘LAmerica‘s Leading Authors. NE thing the gods will never forget in their careless min- istry over the lives of mice and men. Hunger is the su- premest passion, and as such it has caused more blooasned than either love or hate. Some there are wio will group love and hate together Bs spiritual manifestations of hunger. But it is a crass physical yearning after more bread and more cheese that sets bright-claa fleld marshals astride their white hovses and turns national boundaries into vast grave- yards, a million crosses, FoW on row. Let us begin, then, with a very minor character in our drama—a mouse. In the lowering dusk of early Feb- ruary a mouse peered round a square tin box, fictiously labeled “Cake” 1n kitchen of a square-shouldered wherein Turnbulls had flour- -cayed. Like the church mouse of tradition he was thin and scrawny, @ the tiny jet beads through which he surveyed his nar- row world were bright with famine as he crouched and waited for the su- Derior being whom he hated and upon whom he depended for his crumbs. Down the creaking stairs she came at last, the withered old woman. The mouse knew her step, and he marked her progress through the gaunt faded ball toward the kitchen table where- on she had set a thick blue plate be- Side an almost empty bottle and 2 She was late tonight; new that by the intelli- at dwelt in his stomach. But not until she had groped her kitchen and reached .shakily to turn up the gas that the change in her appearance was visible, “ven to the mouse's limited powers ot wbservation. She was dressed, cerem an appearance in the great v ce the funeral of her s Yine. nearly a vear before, had she decked herself so punctiliously in her Iittle black bonnet and the cloak which had been dyed and still showed an undertone of brown. Miss Octavia Turnbull was quite evidently going somewhere, and the shabby™ travel- ing-bag which she set beside the oil- clothed table indicated that her jour- ney might be far. the house ished way across the oniously, for world. Not ter, Caro- * ok kK HE mouse lay in wait. Famine gnawed his little vitals and steeled his heart to a sort of cold ferocity as he lurked in shadows, an- ticipating her next move. She rolled her black gloves into a neat ball and laid them on the oilcloth before, with the irritating deliberateness of old age, she opened the cake box and brought out the sum and substance of her evening meal. A box of crack- ers and a 4lab of moist yellow cheese. The mouse glided forth a quarter of an inch, slinking like the beast of prey that he might easily have been. Had he been a larger animal—a lion, perhaps, or a leopard—with what a triumphant growl might he have thrown himself upon the crone who nibbled crumbs between her withered jaws! For the old woman and the mouse hated one another with all the hatred of those who compete for something which seems hardly worth fighting for. Crumbs. Within the . memory of mice there had scarcely been sufficient food in that echoing house to support one family of long- tailed robbers. The food supply had dwindled again as the months wore into winter, and now something meanly dramatic had come into the ©ld woman’s ebbing life. Out of the long-necked bottle with the label “Currant Wine,” written in a hand as _shaky as the talons that asped it. Miss Octavia poured a thin, nkish trickle into her nicked glass: she drained the bottle, but the liquid fell short of the brim by a full half inch. Gingerly, then, she sipped the sour comfort between Tibbles of crackers and cheese. In appearance she was not unlike her enemy, the mouse. Her ears were round, her face thin and pointed; her eyes were like shoe buttons that had been endowed Wwith a sort of starved intentness. And as she ate she scattered crumbs. Crumbs! The mouse hitched forward * another length. An inviting silence had fallen over the musty kitchen. So intense was the hush that the asth- matic wheeze of the crooked gas jet sounded. by contrast, like Niagara's roar. He tensed his muscles for a firal leap, then stopped. Her eyes were upon him. How could he know that their filmy stare was fixed in the vacancy of her ancient dream? “Mercy me!” she was thinking. “The train leaves at 6:47. Or is it 6:497 do believe I've lost my time-table. Oughtn’t T to stay and see that those people get into the house? She seemed a real lady—but they're Australians. Tut-tut! Jooked a i Charlottesville—only ' rent in advance. hope she didn . charging them. “She says her husband's an invalid. Lawsy me! Thank goodness, those nervous diseases aren’t catching. must see Judge Mallok about th do hope he won't forget to collect the rents on the first of the month. Aus tralia! What a place to come from! La! T haven't done a thing about my currant wine. But I'm sure she's a Jady and can be trusted, although I don’t know any Leffleys who are any- Dody in the south: ‘At that instant the train of her thought was interrupted by a move- ment under her eves. A mouse. “Scat, you little pest!” Her voice came sharp, like the cgckle of a startled hen, and her eyes snapped venomously as she laid hold of the bottle and brought it déwn clublike on the space where her enemy had but lately cowered. “The bottie cracked itself against empty oileloth. [After that she set herself busily 1q brushing away crumbs. Fussily, nrinutely she gathered the precious flakes into her thick blue dish, car- tied them over to the stove and cast them ruthlessly into’ the burning moath of Moloch. A sizable nugget of golden cheese and a depleted pack- age of crackers she put away in the cakebox and fastened the lid against dépredations of robber mice. From a hole above the wainscoting two little evil eyes peeked out. * x ¥ % NOW Miss Octavia Turnbull, after having the day before exacted a three-month lease, at $60 a month, from the lovely Australian lady with the sad brown eyes, had planned to treat herself to a visit upon her dis- tant and elderly cousin, Mrs. Darius Pennybank of Middleboro. There- : fore her heart was all a-flutter that f night as_she quit the big, shabby house—after having gone the rounds ; of the gas-jets and seen that the par- ‘lor was tidy as she knew how to ‘ make it—and at last minced forth on, an adventure which was as for- eign to her as It would have been to the mouse in the kitchen. She had just opened the wrought- iron gate and was scurrying in the timid hope that she wouldn't miss *1 her train when an automobile came up the dusky street and stopped be- side the Turnbull hitching post. Jelen Leflley leaned across her hus- ; band’s figure, swaddled in scarves, “ and called out in a voice which was sweet and slightly rough—like the .sweeping of winds over harpstrings of rusted gold. = . “Miss Turnbull? - paid _her Sixty dollars! I do think I was over- 1awry from the weight of the bag she carried, peered nervously around. “It's Mrs. Leffley. I'm sorry we' 80 late. I hoped we might have chat before you left——" “They're right inconvenient, these apologized Miss Turnbull. “The railroad has never done a thing for Scarletburg since 1880—it leaves at_6:47, or is it 497" Her look was 8o helpless that Helen volunteered. “Won't you let us take you over to _the station in the car?” “Mercy, no! Thank you ever so much, but I wouldn't ride in one of those things.” the cushioned seat. “I don't think I have your address, Miss Turnbull,” ventured Helen, whereat the little being straightened proudly to mention the important name. “In care of Mrs. Darius Pennybank of Middleboro.” “Shall we send the—rent there? ‘The rent? Oh.” The old woman stood collecting her wits. “Judge Mal- lok will - handle all that. He's com- ing over tonight with the lease—he lives next door, you know. And it you want anything, call on him. He's our coroner, you know." Helen Leffley might have smiled at this, but the jangled discord of the day was in her ears; and fear of her husband was growing like a can- cer against her heart. “I hope you'll find the house in good order,” the old lady wandered on. “And, oh, yes—there's the ice. I think you'll find some traps in the cellar—Caroline must have put them down there. I left the key on a nail beside the front door. Some groceries came from Pratt's and I left them out on the storm porch. Oh, dear! Something to do with the six forty- seven—or forty-nine, perhaps—in- spired the little body to desperate action. With an agility quite unex- pected in so decrepit a frame she {scurried away into the dusk. N “Fred!"” called Helen to her husband, {who had sat silent all during their Utrip from Charleville. i Reaching impatiently to the thick muffler which had concealed the low- er part of his face, he tore it away, revealing haggard, handsome fea- '!u{es in which his burning eyes were se | “Well?" he suggested sullenly. I “We're here, Fred,” she announced L With a sort of lip-cheerfulness. “If you'll run up and find the key I'll pay the chauffeur.” The tall man lumbered out of the car, trousers flapping loosely around his thin legs. The sight of those uncouth garments brought back to Helen's mind something of the terror which had smote her on the day be- fore when she had come upon him, attired as for a masquerade. Her eyes followed him anxiously as he creaked open the iron gate and slouched up the worn brick walk. Her hired car dismissed, Helen followed quickly; a gray loneliness struck into her heart like the damp chill of night. Metallic deer and dogs stood frozen on a windswept lawn. From a square brick house on the lot beyond a yel- low light beamed heartily, glinting through the twigs of skeleton trees. This companionship gave her comfort and lent a feeling that Judge Mallok, whom Miss Turnbull had mentioned as her neighbor, would prove to be as kind and hearty as the light of his windows. In_the dingy vestibule around the big front door she found Fred strik- ing matches, each momentary flash giving an infernal glare to the bleak surroundings. He was not hunting for the key, it proved, but had taken advantage of the shelter to light an- oiher cigarette. The {llumination showed Helen the nail which Miss Octavia had indicated; in another in- stant she had the door open and the breath of the house came to her like winds out of a sepulchre. Un- steady light from the match she held caused witch-shadows to dance across the wall paper, whose faded Egyptian border and gilded cornice combined to give the impression of a tomb in which some fiecbnd-gfldo Pharaoh of middle-class tastes had lain molder- ing through the centuries. * ok K % SHE carried the flame to an ornate gas fixturs which tipped the newel- post. The interior, she thought, took on a world of cheerfulness in that steadier light. “It's really a dear old place, Fred,” she told him in the voice of one in- viting a sulky child. “Some of the furniture’s dreadfully ugly, but we can move it around. And the most wonderful light will come through those high windows. With a little money—" She broke off, embarrassed, despite her effort. She remembered the in- sane suspicion which was growing in Fred's poor mind at the thought of Spurling. How tould she tell him that it was Bob's money that had brought them thus far? H Fred Leflley still stood there, his overcoat thrown open to show the impossible clothes which a demented fancy had caused him to buy from a colored waiter. The cloth was of a faded blue, shiny with wear, and it hung shroudlike over his emaci- | ated form. . But she could have cried out her joy at the look which had stolen into his pallid face. He was smiling and looking round him with a glance that was pleasantly natural. “It's not half bad,” he said, “and m ad we're in the country, old Birl. On the impulse of his humor_ he laid a hand heavily on her arm. She hoped that he did not feel her wince away. “I was going fair balmy with that boarding - house phonograph, howling all night long, under our hedroom. There seems to be a bit of lawn outside, too, and some trees. This is the medicine, Nell" Her heart leaped ug. She never failed to rally and to hope whenevet he revived like this, after days hateful_melancholy and insane di trust. Possibly the country would do Lim good, as the eminently expensive New York physician had sald it would. Possibly he would become normal again so that she could talk to him reasonably and tell him about Bob Spurling and ask him for the telegram which he had intercepted and might be hiding now somewhere in_those misfit clothes. She bounded into the parlor and lit the in_every jet. The glint of oval-backed rosewood chairs and of the grosser mid-Victorian walnut filled her eyes as she gazed across the drabbish Brussels carpet and set her mind to scheming out a new ar- rangement which would make the place more livable. ' Nothing much could be. done with the mantel; it was one of those dismal pagodas of black marble with gilded grooves and a succession of aimless shelves, mounting up and up, almost to the ornately molded cornice. “We can have a colored woman in —at least for half a day,” she said brightly. “The place is fright- fully cluttersd. We'll move a lot of these things to the basement—it'll be And oh, Fred! ever so much fun. Do e that darling, grandfather’s clocl The look of interest w: eyes, she saw, as m corner by the dining oh, ador: 11t 1 might " eThat THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, and replenish the fire which M Octavia had left in the kitchen stove, she found him still staring at the sil- ver dial. ; “Jally old clock!" he was muttering. : “Makes one feel at home, doesn’t it? By Jove, Nell, we're going to be cosy a8 two squirrels in & treo—lost in the ‘woods!"” His tone gave her courage, yet even then she looked into his wild eyes to read some hidden sarcasm. Intuitions warned her that she had acted too blindly upon impulse in taking this lonely house, merely because Fred had groaned for peace and she had seen an advertisement in a sleepy uthern paper. 1l take a wonderful brace here, he assured her, atill staring glad, Fred!” she told him, nd dared to pat his sleeve. “It's what you need—what we both need.” 'Of course, we're paying quite a rent—eh, what? wheeled suddenly, but she was relieved to see nothing but good hu- mor in his g eyes. “We—we can manage that, dear. The main thing now is to get you well again.” “I'm feellng a bit seedy—I wonder lie down.” senaible, my dear.” Already ‘The man, whose face she had never! she was leading him toward the seen, sat, wrapped to the eyes, against | gawnt black walnut staircase. “Miss “HERE SHE MOTIONED SPURLING TO A SEA’ D. C, NOVEMBER 13, HICKORY DICKORY DOCK - 1921—PART 4. ‘T BESIDE HER AND THEY TALKED IN GUARDED TONES.” Turnbull put the big front bedroom in order—a sort of order. You take a little snooze, Fred, and I'll have something hot for yeu in a Jifty.” “Something hot.’ He smacked his dry lips. “You didn't chance to bring anything along in a flask?” “Don’t be silly,” she was brave enough to command, and he followed her meekly enough into the shadows of the second floor. Helen found the storm porch which Miss Octavia had mentioned and there, true to specifications, she dis- covered two boxes laden with paper parc These she dragged into the kitchen and was searching for a bag of rice when something small, gray and disgustingly alive began a fren- sied acampering under the papers and leaped up, almost in her face. A mouse! She gave a little scream and tightened her akirts instinctive- ly. She would search in the morning, she resolved, for on of those traps which Mlss Octavia’s deceased sister had hidden in the basement. * k% % OOKING is the most reflective of the arts. The simmering of a tea- kettle, tie dropping of quartered vegetables into a hollow pan, the comfortable chuckle of beating eggs, induce a philosophical train of thought. No wonder Maecenas, lover of food and genius, went to his cook, when poéts bored himd, for Olympian views upon the destiny of man. ~ Helen Leflley loved to cook: and as for philosophy, hér way of life had made that a necessity. She worked busily between stove and table, planning a little menu which would be a rellef from Mrs. Bas- comb's greasy and soggy school of southern cooking. The mouse stirred egaln behind its listening posge—she frightened it with a spoon. And her thoughta raced on and on. She had introduced herself to Miss ‘Turnbull as an Australian. In that she had spoken a partial truth. She had been born of American parents who had dled in Sydney, and as a young girl she had met and married Lefley, picturesque wanderer of the planet. He had been a mercurial, charming neurasthenic with a little money of his own. Their child had died in @ Chinese port, and after that her dJevotion been all for the man whose eccentricities, as the years ‘went by, gathered into storms that devastated his miml ‘The story of her nine years martyrdom had been nobody’s busi- but _her own. How could she tell it? No true martyr goes to the stake crying out his sacrifice. Only she had talked a little to Bob Spur- ling, and had guessed so much without telling. was the wonder of the man, heavy, blunt and unimaginative, to all outwarl seem- ing; yet how much he could observe with those eyes of his, amall end wise as an elephant's. ® ¢ ¢ The winds of chance had ‘blown the LefMeys to New York at the close of a great war in which poor Fred, useless for uymmul work, had had no position in a British mercantile con- cern had gone a-glimmering wi internment in a hospital—the doctors hed been 0 kind as to call it “a nervous breakdown." Whatever it was, & mild_indulgence in whisky and soda had brought it on again. where a tall, graceful tower of mar-|The veriest sip of liquor seemed to quetried wood arose above the ugly|destroy the fragile g of Fred's contour of a jigsawed couch. Inlaid|mind. L with floral wreaths of slender and patrician in every line, the eighteenth century clock loomed over a waste of Victorian furniture like an exiled Prince among grubby parvenus. Its fretted hands lay jdly on the silver dial, pointing the hour of 10 in some forgotten day. When Helen returned, after -l.l:‘lh-g The lUttle old spinster, her. body'the reunds to turn om more Bob Spurling did not come into her life, by any stretching of that hackneyed phrase. She gone into his. 3 One morning, sbout a week after Fad won ta the Rompiral & 1iile satty gone o a little to be told by the nurse that he Was N She t hj S, memS: i the last of her war bonds to obtain this comfort; and it was while she was reading in the little sitting-room outside that a plumply cheerful woman in a white cap came in and asked: “I wonder if you would mind add- ing_another good deed to your list?* And in answer to Helen's questioning look shp hai explained, “Mr. Spurling feels dreadfully low sometimes. It's really convalescence—he'll be sitting up in a week, His leg was dread- fully mangled in the same accident that killed his wife. He seems to have almost no friends in New Yorkj he’s been living in Cuba so long—" Helen followed the nurse into a sunny room to see a bulky man of forty propped up among the pillows. One of his legs, swaddled beyond recognition, was hoisted up on an apparatus, which, feigning an instru- ment of torture, was doing the work of mercy. At first she thought him dull and unresponsive, but before she had fin- ished the. quaint little interview she learned how shy he was and how alone. “Isn’t there something I can bring you?' she had_asked before depar- ture—she had been doing nearly all the talking. “Yes,” he said, and his big face had | glowed into a smile. “Just bring me | ¢thyough hollow depths In the another look at you. That was the beginning. Until his recovery Helen's attitude had been one of kindness and protection. Then the situation had reversed. Why they had come together had been a matter as simple and as intricate as the opening of flowers and the decay of weeds. Crushed under the weight of her own misfortune, shs had flown in- stinctively to his goodness and strength. She had accepted him as an elder brother and:he had never taken advantage of that acceptance. During Fred’s long illngss it had been a daily comfort to see the big-framed man Hmping on his cape as he came to pay his bashtul friendly call. How little she had told him, yet how much he understood! Only once had he of- fered to help her financially. * * ¢ * ok k% SLAV]NG tonight over the hot stove in Miss Octavia Turnbull's kitch- en, Helen had in her heart nothing but a wistful gratitude for the man who had tapped.so gently upon the door of her life. But from the day of Fred's release into the world of men and women Bob Spurling had been no boon to her. The invalid had display- d a distempered cunning in his treat- ment of her benefactor always gayly cordial in Spurling’s presence, he had reserved his artful sneers for Helen as s00n as they were alone together. She 'had enjoyed a sense of relief when their physiclan—undoubtedly anxious to be rid of a hopeless case— had ordered his patient to the mythi- cal quiet of a southern town. But Helen Leffley, her hands flying {(l;(:;nh bow! to knife in Miss Octavia's 0! the pages of & crisply worded note, mentioning repayment in three years at a regular rate of interest. She had carried that letter for several days before pride had yielded to want and she had made a deposit in a Charle- ville bank. It was as though furies had pursued her for that wicked deed. She seldom left ¥Fred alone, but she had stolen away to the bank at midmorning, while he was still asleep; had met Syria, the capable negress, on the ing-house stairs and besought her with bribes to stand alert in the event that Mr. Lefley should awake and ask for her. The errand had tak- en longer than she had hoped, and fi I upon her return she found Syria, her eyes rolling with excitement. Her terror gathered force at the black woman's wandering tale. A telegram had come for Mrs. Leffley and_ Syria, with racial genius for misdelivery, had given it to the mad- Appalled by his rage and fury Syria had acted according to her lights—she had. stolen his clothes. “Cuz he done try to bust away, Miss Leffley,” was the black woman's excuse. (3 Helen had found her husband sit- ting perfectly calm, but marvelously arrayed in a_miefit suit of spotted blue. He had bought it of a negro waiter, he explained with one of his frozen' smiles, his features twisted to the look of cloying sweetnems which he used when his soul was Caesar. Like Caius Julius of old. my Caesar is not of royal blood. but he is ruthless in the cruel maximum semper vigilans.” Despite her feeling that the dinner was burning and that Fred might awake in a fury, Helen made a show of hospitality by inviting the judge into Miss Turnbull's drawing room. “You're right kind,” admitted Scar- letburg’s official coroner, with a state- ly little bow. “But I'll be going back. Miss Octavia—a fine lady, Mrs. Lefl. ley. but getting on in years—has asked me to draw up a form of lease. If you'll be so kind. ma'am, as to show it to Capt. Leffley for his ap- proval—" Disregarding the military title thus easily conferred, Helen took the folded document which the judge whipped out of his little cock-robin gone and the black beast was astride | ...+ his_back. Helen Leffley went on with her cooking, now moving a saucepan to the back of the range, now carrying the skillet to the sink to drain hot water from her mess of potatoes She felt sure that in yesterday's tele- gram Bob Spurling_had calied her Was he in trouble? What had he said that had thrown poor Fred again intc the abyss? Ting-a-ling-a-ling! A loose-tongued clamor rang rn- bull house. A mouge scuttled away from behind the cake box. Heler stood palsied for an instant, then she remembered ‘the doorbell, one of those pre-electric arrangements which work by a knob from the out- side. Who would be calling at this time of night? Fearful lest the noise should be repeated and arouse Fred to another rage she rescued her half- cooked supper from the hot stove lid, wiped her hands and hastened through the Egyptian splendors of the Turnbull hall. * k ¥ X “HOW do you do?” asked a pleas- ant voice out of the darkness. “This is Mrs. Leffley, isn't it?" «Yes, Im Mrs. Leffley,” she agreed, and from the vestibule’s dimness step- ped the jolllest little man In the world, his hair enow white and a withered turkey neck sticking loose- 1y out of a stift collar which showed above a low-cut waistcoat and one gold stud, somewhat smaller than a lima bean. u!!\Ifell. I'm Judge Mallok,” he ex- plained, shaking hands with a l‘plrlted cordiality. “I hope you aren’'t ner- vous, ma'am. I've left my shotgun taide.” D“"Shot‘un?‘ she echoed, although there was nothing about Judge Mal- lok to inspire nervousne: is a reign of terror in Scarletburg, ma'am,” he announced, stiffening himself to his full height, which was not colossal. “An epi- demic of thievery and lawlessness has made it g0 that no citizen can go abroad at night unless he is armed for self-protection. Last week the post office was robbed and govern- ment property—to wit, stamps—was removed. Col. Grant's wine cellar: was plundered Wednesday night and Mr. Hugo Sperritt, our tax collector held up by a masked bandit on the open highway. Not that I wish te arm you, Mrs. Leffley.” “Oh, no. You couldn’t do that” she answered, quite sincerely. . occupy the position of coroner here,” said the little man. “So Miss Turnbull told me,” re- pll;d Helen, amused in spite of her- [t ‘And my public position commite me to the side of law and order. But 1 am free to say, Mra, Leffley, tha I should condonme any violence—to wit, shoe or lynching—in the name of public decency. My son and his wife have gome out to dine and them taken with my watch dog; e S e e e e e e e e at. “You're very kind,” she told him, and hoped that he would go. He arose at the unspoken hint, bowed again stifly and wished her & very good night. “I hope Capt. Leffley’s health will be improving,” he said, as he backed away. “And if you hear suspicious noises in the night, ma'am, don't fail to enlist my services and those of my very capable dog. Good night, ma'am.” “Good night, and thank you, Judge Mallok.” The door was scarcely closed upon him when Fred, his dy bent, his eyes alert, came slinking down the stairs. “Who's that?” he asked, shrilly. “Our neighbor from next door,” she informed him. “He's been attending to éi;le__leue for Miss Turnbull.” Something in that monosyllable told her that his suspicions had been ranging far afleld with a monstrous jealousy. “B-r-r-r{” Fred shivered. “This chateau's like & barn. What do these A people do in winter—hibernate? . n great fireplace in every room nothing to burn.” “Miss Turnbull left plenty of wood in the basement,” she said. “I pald her for a cord and a half.” He had followed her to the kitchen, and when she had turned toward the basement door he stayed her with an starved,” he drawled. “Go right ahead with the cooking, old girl. T'll bring up wood and we'll start a blase in the dining room.” As he shuffied toward the door the scarecrow shabbiness of his attire struck her anew. The negro who had owned the suit must have been tall and fat, for the coat hung straigh! from Fred’s narrow shoulders as though it had been stretched across a lath. Was it a _hope that he would speak and tell her what she must know that caused her to ask, as light- ly as she could: ; “Really, Fred, if you're putting on a disguise, why don’t you get one to fit you?” He wheeled suddenly and faced her with a scowl. . “Aren’'t they good enough for me? he snarled. “Am I any better than a nigger and a tramp? Can't I wear my rags in peace?” His grumbling died away like his footsteps, down the basement stairs. She went on francelike with her work. In the tin cake-box she found the nugget of cheese which Miss Oc- tavia had cpncealéd from robber mice; this she ldid out on the table with some vague idea of a recipe she could not remember. The terror came upon her this time in another form. What it she, too, should lose her reason in this lonely house, chained to the half- man with whom she was foresworn to endure? Agaln she bullied herself int. calm and fell to setting the black walnut table with nicked Turn- bull china. * % ¥ ¥ HE was gone a long time, Helen thought—or did it only seem a to her hensive mind? l;l‘;‘k‘:?; how it him to be 3 spled upon, therefore she went on Wwith supper preparations, straining her ears the while for any sound coming out of the depths. A musical tinkle, something like the touch of glass ‘on glass, sounded from some- Wwhere underfoot. Unable to endure the uncertainty, Helen tiptoed over to the basement door and peered down the dimly lighted stairs; the flickering candle made wild shadows through the cluttered vault. A great shadow moved like a hunchback gob- lin_against the farther wall. “Fred!" she called softly. There came at first no answer. Then she heard the freezing sound; & serles of low, idiotic chuckles. She bounded down the stairs to find him seated qn the floor. The candle stood sentinel on the shelf and illuminated a company-front of Eo!t;lre‘:dln‘llhlpe- and sizes as il an awkwa; those bottles Fred had removed from the ranks and was flourishing 4t wildly. As she approached he tilted it to his lips and permitted a rill of thin pinkish liquid to trickle down the waistcoat of his borrowed suit. ‘Currant wine!" he explained va- cantly as soon as the lingering swig was completed and he had broken the bottle on the floor. “Good place this, Nell. O lady brews her own. g;ur and snappy, makes you hap- “What in the world are you doing?" she asked In a half whisper. = ‘What do you think I'm doing— keeping books in a Turkish bath? Why didn't you teJl me the old maid had a stock of hootch? Wouldn't 2aid & word against the place—not a word. No grouch for me, no grouch ‘rlt:x; me, we'll all stay drunk till Sun- “No grouch for me!" resident gnomes of the basement as Fred reached out and snatched the tallest bottle from its regiment. Fred, you can’t do that!” she cried, fomembering all the things the doctor ad said about the effects of al- cchol on an unbalanced mind. };l:utfl:’m doing it, my dear.” ose to his feet an clumsily at the cork with a grajgmabg:‘é of ice-pick he had found somewhere. My word, but that's & tight cork! Too bad I threw away my knife yes- terday when 1 went into a disguise. That knife had a corkscrew blade. M“ls;:!lve a corkscrew—" you can’'t——" She had plucked him by the sleev roughly aside. L s “There's too much can’t in your vo- cabulary, old girl,” he said thickly— it was strange how instantly the sour wine had affected him. “There's a thing or two you can't do, too, if you'll think ‘em over.” She stood irresolute, terribly afraid of him, yet more afraid of leaving him alone with Mies' Turnbull's col- lection of bottles. “Understand me?" echoed the i he growled, thrusting his pallid face close to hers. |a fow “I'm referring to Bob Spurling.” “You don’t know what you're say- ing." she managed to reply. You sold your bonds, didn't you?" he jeered. “You know damned well you sold 'em before I left the hos- pital. Now look here, if you're going ta :eep on taking money from Spur- “You can't talk like that to me:" she cried, cold tears rushing to her eves. ‘Put down that bottle and come up- stairs.” “T'll put it down, all right. You worry ’bout that, old zirl." The bottle's long neck protruded fpom. his misfit coat as he went stumblingly up the steps. She fol- lowed him to the kitchen, where he fumbled in a‘drawer and found a corkscrew. The cork came out with a silly pop. “Give that to me, please,” she plead- ed, laying hands on the bottle. In the struggle currant wine spurted across the floor. “Leggo, I tell you!" He had snatch- ed the bottle away from her and stood at bay. “Touch it again and I'll bash you with it 5 “It will make you deathly ill, Fred.” she said, and she was giddy with the fear of him. “Hands off!" His face was all con- torted, like & Japanese mask. “You needn’t go on playing the school teacher with me, Nell. 1 wasn't born vesterday. I know a bit too much about you and your little affair- - There was something snakelike in the speed with which his hand plung- ed into an inner pocket of the col- ored walter's wrinkled coat and brought out a yellow slip of paper. So he had been carrying the telegram all the time! He handed it to her with 2 bow of mock chivalry and stood smiling as she read: “Ordered to Cuba; would like to see | how Fred is doing; will arrive in Charleville today. BOB.” “Well?" sald Helen, deathly pale, as she held out the scrap of paper. “What do I want of it?" he asked. “I'm not coilecting your love letters.” Without another word Helen opened the kitchen range and tossed Bob's telegram into the coals. “You might go into the dining- room,” she suggested, having sur- rendered him to his bottle. “Oh, no,” he announced, pleasantly. “We'll eat at separate tables, if you don’t mind. T'll take the drawing- room. Perfectly satisfactory arrange- ment. Hello! Plece of cheese. Love cheese. Tao good for me, but love it just the same. And see the pretty mouse!” Fred and spied the thief be- hind the cake box. “Come on, mice! Misery loves company.” He snatched & nub of bread from the ollcloth, placed it on a thick blue plate beside the slab of cheese and bore his Spartan supper with royal dignity into the parlor. Helen. too discouraged for either words or tears, watched him from a distance as he sat on the jigsawed sofa beside the grandfather's clock; between long| pulls from the bottle of sour wing he boltea ssvage mouthfuls of bread and cheese. Up to this moment she had pitied him. Without tasting the supper she had prepared she raised a stove-lid and began scraping pan and skillet into the fire. The sight of food sickened her. \ Not So the mouse. Even though another feast of Tantalus had been snatched away from under his yearn- ing nose, he raised that nose to en- joy the distant smell of cheese. Charmed if_by a call from the piper's whistle, he scampered into the parior. “My God, what's that?’ e The madman on the sofa raised his cheese dish as if to throw it. then lowered his head cunningly until his eyes were almost on a level with the carpet. “Parbleu, 3 mouse!” he gurgled and sat bolt upright “Wélcome, little mice. I called and you came. Righto! Isn't every friend would keep a date like that. Have something with me? He apilled a drop of currant wine on the carpet, with the result that the mouse, who had been crouching in plain_ view, took a safer station in the shadow of a chair leg. “On the wagon, sonny? you a bit of good, ol' mouse. don't.go 'way. Take off your hat and have a bite—" He tossed & crumb of cheese across the carpet. It was not a large crumb, but it had scarcely ceased rolling be- fore the mouse was upon it He picked {t up daintily between his fore- paws and sat up to his food, never forgetting his manners. The game proved diverting to the extent of a few crumbs, then Fred Leflley gave himself up to the sensual joy of rawnin, Y8 gee here, 11I' mouse,” he said in a tone of gentle chiding, “cheese you get that way won't do you & bit of good. Not strictly honest. That's what I've been trying to tell the wife. Lot of good it's done her! Now I'm going to sleep, understand? Trust in your honor. Don’t want any looting see? Do I make myself plain, mouse?” Don't ] % % NDER less .rying circumstances U Helen would have laughed at the drunken dignity of the man sitting there in his comic suit, a half-empty bottle in one Mand and in the other a heavy dish of broken cheese; on the carpet before him, as though fas- cinated by his lecture, the mouse sat upright. - |7 * One of Wallace Irwin’s Best Stories “Y' see that clock?" asked Leffley pointing his bottle at Miss Turnbull's graceful heirlocm. “Let that repre- sent the Woolworth Luilding to you. And there's no elevator. Would | shinny up the Woolworth building for a chunk o' cheese? Cernly not!” With amazing agility Fred Leffley stood on the old-fashioned sofa and proceeded to set wine bottle and cheese dish on the decorative sum- mit of grandfathar's clock. The bot- tle was braced sacurely enough be. hind a little turfet, but the dish, polsed on an ornate cornice, teetered precariously, threatening an ava- lanche at the least vibration of the antique works within, “That's borrowed cheese,” said the lecturer solemnly, his feet struggling among broken springs. “We got to pay that back, gvery ounce of it, to Bob Spurling so:me da: 4 The anclent springs gave way and a spout of dust marked the spot where Leffley fell mto the faded up- holstery. When Helen came in a few minutes later Fred was fast asleep on the sofa, his mouth wide open to the earnest work of snoring. She had closed the kitchen door on his empty talk. Now the sight of him sprawl- ing and snoring roused in her heart a bitterness she could not down. She might have gone away to weey quietly, as she often had before. But the time will come when a heart can no longer fecd on tears. There was a new hardness in her eyes when she Jeancd over the fallen image of her ove. Fred!” sihe cried. shaking him by the should, He opened his eyes to a gla: “Iet me alone!” he growled and beat her hands awa Tho rest of the evening was a 3 for Hel daze in which she moved from room to room, candle in hand. like anothier Lady Macbeth, through echoing chambers where sleep had been murdered for her. sho found herself in a great faded bedroom whose heavy pieces of wal- nut stood around like waiting mon- sters. She had workced automatical- v, bringing warmth and order into uninhabitable spaces. An ancient gas heater under the mantelpiece had imparted a mild glow; she had con- verted the bed into a possible place of rest. The night lay under a deathly stillness. ~Well, they had come to Scarletburg for quiet, and they had found it. Helen went over to the bay window and peered through frosty panes to see a moon drifting among cold clouds. The air was soundless. There was no movement among the naked twigs, etched the whiteness of freshly-fallen snow Suddenly the Mallok dog barked the sound exaggerated out of its true value against a background ot silence. It startled her as a gunshot might nave done. Coming across the snow from the lot beyond Helen saw the figure of a tall man, draped in furry overcoat. He advanced rapidly At 11 o'clock steps, then paused to look around. Then he came forward again. Again the dok barked, and th. man made straight for the Turnbull door. Terror had Helen Leffley brave. She had no fear of the out- side world, since the great fear lay sleeping in her house. Her only thought now was: “If he rings the bell he'll wake Fred. and there's nc telling w might happen.” She tiptocd down, past the couch where her husband lay and out into the vestible. Drawing the night-latch she drew the door open and faced the intrduer Bob Spurling. swathed in furs to the brim of his soft hat, stood in the patch cf light, and when he saw her he smiled and held out his hand. It was like a bad dream for Helen Lef- nse of dreadful peril prompt- to lay finger to lip and say made be very quict. Fred's having He's been drink- “T'm and his broad face kindled to sym- sorry.” whispered Spurling. pathy. The sight of him seemed to bring health and normality to the sick air of the place. “Please don't g0 away,” she said on an impulse. “If you only knew how I've been wanting to talk to yo And you've come all this distance— Bob, he's asleep now.” She left him standing in the vesti- bule and peered into the drawing- room. Fred lay motionless beside the tall clock. A volume of snores, un- couth and frankly animal, told how thoroughly he had abandoned himselt to_slumber. Helen beckoned and led her visitor a-tiptoe through the hall. In a niche under the walnut staircase there stood an ornate oak Settee, conceived by some German woodworker in the reign of President Arthur. Here she motioned Spurling to a seat beside her and they talked together in guarded tones. Bpurling’s bigness. ight Americanism, his very d_incoherence, brought of protection. He wus a homely man; the slight limp in his gait betrayed a physical defect. To very lamemess scemed to his ‘strength. id you find us? £he asked. “Easy enough,” he grinned. “Col- ored woman at the boarding house d r address. I came by the 10 o'clock train. You scem to be the only people in town who haven't gone to bed. Sorry 1 came so late, but £ot 1o run back in the morniny rou're going to Cuba right away asked. fes,” he replied in the deprecating way he had when mentioning his own affa “It was either that or Porto Rico He looked at her for a moment with eves which were small and = ou’ve done so much al- was all he said. money was a godsend jusi ok here, Helen.” The seams in his cheeks deepened as he turned to regard her. “1 was going to Cub “You mustn’'t do anything foolish, she told him weakly. “This mess here has got to be straightened out. Fred's in no shape to take care of himself, let alone look out for you. IUs ridiculous to think of your trying to swing it alone.” * X ¥ X «NJO Bob” She shook her head hopelessly, and after a moment of reflection, said, “You'd only make things a lot worse—I can’t tell you how much worse.” “Of course 1 Helen.” “I know you wouldn't if you under- stood. But he seems to be susplcious of everybody. Bob, he's so jealous that I'm sure he'd do something dreadful—" “Jealous of me?” Spurling’s mouth fell open at the Idea. “I @idn't dare tell him where the money was coming from.. This morn- ing he read your telegram. He's been quite insanc all day.” “I see. And that's what I'm doing He gazed reflectively round sgyptian spiendors of the Turn- bull hall. “Helen,” Spurling held her with his earnest eves, “I've been fooling my self along, thinking 1 was doing a little something for—for both of us. But the time's come to look at things wouldn't do that straight. If you really think I make it worse, I'll go. But that's no sela- tion. He paused and sat shyly studying her face before he whispere: “Id do anything for you. Therg was no trace of tRe expe- rienced philanderer in that worship- ful lgok he gave her. Yet always since she had known him she had dreaded the hour when he might speak like this. And now that the houry had struck she knew teo her shame what bitter-sweetness his €a- vogion brought to her. 1 didn't come here to talk th wiy,” he.apologized. “It's just calise I'm stepping out. What 1 o;:hzn‘t to matter no 'She made no answer and he blurted /“What a love you've given him,