Evening Star Newspaper, June 2, 1929, Page 98

Rl e 5 IR | 6 THE SUNDA TheManWho Wouldn'tLive On His Wife’'s Mo By Margaret Culkin Banning. € ¢ HIS is the way I like you best,” said Cornelius. “What way?” asked Olive, in- i tending to get that look of his ’ into words. “Oh, like this,” he repeated, “with simple things 21l about, and the luxury and trimmings gone. If I hadn’t seen you without them, you know, I never would have dared ask you to marry me.” She was standing beside the fireplace, one shoulder level with the ledge above the blocks ©of rough native stone. “¥You had me all wrong,” she told him. “I've had the best times of my life out here. I hate @ lot of fussy stuff, And I'm never so happy &s when I'm dressed like this.” He looked admiringly at the simple dress of green cloth cut close to the base of her neck, at the jacket of antelope skin thrown over it. Then he came to her face, and paused still longer; for not three debutantes of 10 seasons had eyes like Olive Mary’s. She had eyebrows that arched swiftly over them, the broad, full mouth of a child, and dark hair that grew in its own curves so determinedly that barbers treated it with respect and never tried to alter its direction. But that may have been partly because she was a Tillsbury and knew what she wanted so well. She wanted Cornelius just now. “You get to know a person so much better in R place like this,” she said reflectively. “Isn’t it funny that you should have thought I cared & lot for luxury and all that sort of thing? I don’t, not a bit.” She tossed the little hat she was holding on the bench beside her, and it rolled off, wabbling mbout until it came to an unsteady stop, with fts maker’s name on view. It was such a plain hat that Cornelius did not bother to pick it up. Hobbs, done in gold silk on a hat lining, meant pothing to him, “We'll have to have an awfully simple littlé place, you know, Olive.” “A cottage—that’s all we’ll want,” she agreed. ¥See how wonderful it’s been here, and how we Beem to fit.” 'HE Tillsburys had 14 acres along the No- komis, and where the Tillsbury acreage ended the Pomeroys took up theirs, and then came the Emersons, and so on, running right through to the rushy borders of Rice Lake. It was very still throughout the cottage, as still and solemn as the two within it, who-were frightened a little by their own happiness. They were uszd enough to gayety and their own lingo of badinage. But this other thing had come upon them suddenly, and found them almost unprepared for it. Cornelius had seen Olive Mary against the trees, he had sgen her swim- ming, he had seen her striding through the woods, even helping with the meals—and she had ceased for the time to be Olive Mary Tills= bury, and become instead the most beautiful end desirable girl in the world, and, like all girls, accessible to love. And everything had worked together to bring Bbout these astonishing happenings. For ex- ample, if his new tweeds hadn’t been ready Cornelius could hardly have come, for all his other clothes, except his dinner suit, were pretty well shot. Or, if he had come on any other week end, when the usual noisy lot of Olive’'s crowd were about and the sense of riot was everywhere, he would have had no chance to listen with Olive Mary to that murmur of the pines, and to hear their brave, inarticulate messages. gay crowd had been at the Pomeroys'. Here there had been only Olive’s mother, with two or three other bridge-playing women, and the Bateses, “Where are the Bateses?” he asked, smooth- ing Cilive’s hair, “They went over to the Pomeroys’. Jim Pomoroy came down with some guns and things from town. Why? Do you miss Billy?” “He certainly is a sad mess.” “Oh, I don't know,” said Olive. of fun—keeps things going, and all that. Every one likes to have him around. Why do you dislike him so much?” “I can’t see anything there at all. Any man who lives on his wife like that—and doesn't pretend to do anything else!—seems to me to be pretty nearly the lowest form of human animal.” “Poor Billy—you're awfully hard on him.” “I just haven't any respect for him!” said Cornelius. He gave that final judgment with the ardor ©f his creed, the creed of the young man who 45 making his own way, and knows that 1t can be done and what the methods are to do it. “When we are married,” he added, “remem= But this week end the “He is lots ber, it doesn’t make a bit of difference whether you have a family with money or not. We like on what I've got. We’ll begin small; but you watch my smoke after a few years.” “I love your ambition!” said Olive Mary. Of course, that was inaccurate. She loved Cornelius. But as for his ambition! What did Olive Mary know or care about the hier- archy of the Commercial Super-Electric Com- pany? What did she know about electrical equipment, wholesale or retail, about methods of supplying electric repair service to homes; about young men who were emploffed in the offices of such companies, and their chances to become assistant sales manager, with the man- agership and even a possible partnership in the remote distance; or about the ambition that kept such young men keen and spirited? But Cornelius did not analyze. He accepted the tribute. And the Bateses came in just then, Billy wearing his amused and almost constant smile, “You missed something, Alstyne,” he told Cornelius. “Pommy came down with some real guns. Be great shooting over there this Fall. You'll be down here a lot now, I sup- “I don't expect to,” said Cornelius. “I can’t afford much week ending.” Cornelius had wondered, going back to town, if there would be any opposition from Olive's parents. He was quite prepared to stand up to it, if need be, and he kept assuring himself that he and Olive cared enough about each other to see any adverse arguments through. But there were none, only a few courteous questions. The Tillsburys had passed the point where ordinary intermarriage could add much to their standing in any case, and they took Cornelius quite simply. MR. Tillsbury, Cornelius found, had made some inquiries about him, and what he had been told seemed to have satisfied him. All the Tillsburys asked was that he should remain a healthy, decent young man of reasonably good standing. All Olive asked was that he should adore her. In return, he was to marry into the Tillsbury family, and to have Olive. It was the generous arrangement of generous people, and Cornelius knew it. But still there were times, during those next bewildering months, when he felt the control of his own life slipping out of his hands. It seemed to Cornelius that he was two persons now: one the rather swagger young man who was known as Olive Tillsbury’s fiance, who stood his share of week end ex- pense, who paid for the supper at after-the- ater-parties, who rode around $5,000 automo- biles belonging to other people, and danced, and ate in great houses. The other, the very ordinary young man who spent the day at the Commercial Super-Electric, listening to the complaints of ladies whose ironing machines wouwld not work, and tried to sell electrical appliances and devices to shops and offices. He was better acquainted with the young man of the Commercial Super-Electric than he was with Olive Tillsbury’s fiance. But he wondered sometimes if Olive was. ‘Things shaped themselves. “Darling,” said Olive, “if we are married during the holidays, we can be all settled by the first of March. Do you realize that we've got the wedding all planned and the invita- tions will be out next week; but we haven’t decided about our trip? We'll have to decide pretty soon because of clothes, you know.” “Clothes?” “If we go to Bermuda, we'll want white clothes, you see—that sort of thing. If we go to New York, I want to get more formal things. It makes a difference.” “I see,” said Cornelius. “I don’t think much of the Bermuda idea, sweetheart.” He was reflecting that business suits would do better in New York than on southern steamers. “Why can't we just go off quietly into the country somewhere—where we’ll be alone? You know, Olive, I can't afford much of a trip.” “You don’t have to afford it at all,” laughed Olive. “Didn’t you know that, silly? It's to be Father's present. I made him promise. He'll take care of it all.” “I see,” said Cornelius, slowly. “Won’t it be wonderful?” asked Olive, with her face close to his. But, for the first time, Cornelius did not turn to it. He was thinking that she would not be really his, somehow, if he took her away on some one else’s money. It wouldn’t be like caring for her himself. “What's the matter?” “Nothing,” he told her. It seemed so un- grateful to object. And, after all, it was the heneymoon, which was really a part of the wedding. After that, they’d settle down and “You're quite mad, Cornelius,” she said. “We can’t live in a place like this.” adjust to simple living and begin the climb together. “About an apartment,” she suggested. “You know, I heard we could get one in the Belvi- dere. Mother thought it would be wonderful. Several people we know live in that building, and it’s just new——" “My dear child, I can’t afford the Belvidere!” “Oh, this apartment is very little, and I heard it was astonishingly cheap. Let's take a look, Corny.” “But I know——" “But looks don't cost anything” she said determinedly, “and we ‘have to begin hunting for a place. I'm afraid you aren't very prac- tical, Corny. I see what my job is going to be!” So they went the next day, squired by an effusive agent who knew who Olive Tillsbury was, to see the apartment in the Belvidere. It was a strange mixture of misery and delight for Cornelius. The joy of looking into rooms, any rooms that they might be going to share together, of mutually exploring a kitchen, of locking out over a view, and imagining that it might be what they would see in the morn- ing, was all there. But the absurdity of the place, with its French windows, its twin bath- rooms opening off the enchanting bedroom, for a man who aspired to be assistant sales man- ager of the Commercial Super-Electrict The rent alone was almost 2s much as he was making. “This is 'way beyond us, dear.” “I suppose so,” said Olive, reluctantly: “but you must admit——" The agent kept his eye on Olive. “I'm sure if you look around, Miss Tillsbury, you will come to the conclusion that I'm offer- ing you the greatest bargain——" ORNELIUS walked Olive away toward the elevator, They were having tea together, and neither of them talked much umtil they got in the corner behind the palms, where the isolation was almost complete. “That really was a bargain,” said Olive. “And—didn't it make things seem real? To think that we are choosing a place to live? By ourselves?” Cornelius regarded her. She had on a soft black coat and another thimble of a hat, black, and turned back with a twist from her domi- nant young forehead. “What did that hat cost?” he asked. She looked surprised, and put one hand up to it, wondering which one she had on. “This thing? I don’t remember exactly. Not much. Eighteen or 20 dollars, or something like that. It was pretty cheap.” “And your coat?” “The coat's rather a darling, really. It was something over 200 or thereabouts. Fig- uring out how much I'm worth as I stand?” “How many coats and hats like that do you suppose I can buy you?” “You won't have to buy me any—not for & long time. Believe me, I'm going to stock up. I know what you're thinking—that I'm ex- travagant. But you know I'm not. I don't care for clothes—just a few simple things. And as for that apartment, it was just big enough for us. Not a bit of waste space.” “Jt wasn’t the size, It was the price.” “If I spoke to Mother, she would give us the lease for a year. I'm sure, if I asked her——" She stopped, astonished at Cornelius. His face was a funny color. “No. I'll pay the rent of the place I live in, myself!” “Cornelius, you've got a grouch,” she said; and then, as his face did not lighten, her voice changed, “Cornelius, you do love me, don’t you?” There was no mistaking her tone when she asked him that. It had all sorts of lights and shadows in it, tremors and braveries. He met her eyes gravely. “I do, you know,” he said simply. “I almost wish, for your sake, I didn’t. Or that you didn’t care. Because I really am jusit a poor young man, Olive.” “Oh, foolish Cornelius, do you think I care?” she asked softly, “I don’t care any more about money than that!” She snapped two white fingers together, and Cornelius wondered how he could ask hands like that to work about an apartment. They saw other apartments in the days that followed. “Hunting for our cottage,” Olive called it. There was one day when Cornelius, having figured out on paper what he could pay in rent, what he should pay, asked the agent to show him apartments at that price. They were strange places to take Olive Mary into. She wore a fur coat that day, and as she poked into dark living rooms and dingy dining rooms, or kitchens with traces of pre- vious occupancy upon them, Cornelius felt his heart go down further and further. Even he could see the unfitness of places like this for Olive. And she grew rather quiet. “You see,” she said, as they went down the street after inspecting an apartment with such thin floors that they could hear the baby be- neath and the phonograph above, “I don’t think our things would fit in a place like that. I have my own piano. It would simply be. too big for the living room. And the set Mother wants to give me for the dining room would be utterly out of the question with that built-in oak sideboard.” She paused, and then went on a little timidly, for Olive Mary: “I admire your independence and all that, darling, but Mother would really like to take care of us for a year that way. Lots of people’s fathers and mothers do it. And money isn't very important, it seems to me, when you care for each other, and in a year or two you'll be mak- ing a lot of money.” “But, sweetheart, I won't. Not as you think of money. Tl be getting a raise, I suppose. But it’s not like a quick fortune. My business success means years of building, and getting more valuable, and buying stock when I can afford it, and other things you wouldn’t under- stand. What I mean is, there aren’'t any chances of fairy tale fortunes. Do you see?” “I know you're awfully clever, and that's the main thing,” said Olive. “Outside of the fact that I adore your stern and Puritan pro- file! But you ought to realize that you're marrying me, and, after all, I've got some claim on my parents. They ought to do some« thing for me, if they don’t have to shelter me any longer or buy my food or anything.” She spoke with a certain touch of reason= ableness that made Cornelius wonder if there wasn’t something in what she said. He was about to answer when they heard the bleat of a horn, and Billy Bates bore down on them. “Can I give you a lift?” he called. He broke the spell. “Come on,” said Olive. “I am going to be late, Corny. Let him take me home, anyway. We’'ll drop you on the way.” “Sure,” said Billy. “I'm a grand driver. I've been taking Nita all over town. Thinking of getting a license.” “Isn’t this a new car?” asked Olive. “It certainly is. Nita and I bought it last RNELIUS looked at Billy Bates. He was wrapped in a fur coat, and he seemed very affluent and care free. But he gave Cor- nelius a strange feeling of disgust. Every one who knew Billy Bates knew he hadn’t done & stroke of serious work since he married Nita. He drove cars, played chauffeur now and then, went to week end parties—all as Nita’s hus- band. That was all he was, no matter how he might look. He was Nita’s husband, and nothing more. “We've been hunting for our cottage,” said Olive, “and it's terribly discouraging. Rents are so high.” “an’t you get a house for a present?” asked Billy. “Better drop a line to Santz Claus, or