Evening Star Newspaper, January 18, 1931, Page 82

"ESCAPE Brown Turner. “You sneak, you’ve « spying on been me! Thelma. screamed “Not spying” hissed Mazt, ting “Just the get- truth about things.” ROM the ice fields of the North a blizzard in all its fury was lashing the city. Snow was piled high in the gutters and against the sides of buildings, and laborers with snow- plows were making valiant efforts to avoid a traffic tie-up. The usual 5 o'clock crowd hur- ried along the streets, brushing against one another rudely in their impatience to move on quickly, and jamming the already over- crowded cars. As Matthew Carlisle reached the corner, the traffic light turned red. He joined the waiting group, stamping his feet against the icy pave- ment and occasionally rubbing his frozen ears. Fine bits of snow cut his face. With an impa- tient gesture he pulled his hat farther down over his eyes and turned up the collar of his overcoat. He hated cold weather and thought with longing of the warm, sunny climate of Yucatan. ¥ Thelma would only consent to go! A 15-minute walk brought him to his apart- ment. Shaking the snow from his clothes, he entered the building. The elevator was no- where in sight, and he wearily climbed the two flights of stairs. The thought of a good, hot dinner revived his spirits, and entering his own apartment he called, “Hello, there! Din- ner ready? I'm as hungry as a wolf!” “In just a minute, Matt,” came a voice from the kitchenette, and in a few moments Thelma came into the room. She was a pretty little thing with her short, curly brown hair, deep blue eyes and laughing mouth. Her bright yel- low smock gave the plain little apartment an impression of life and color, and Matt, putting his arms about her, kissed her lovingly. “My, but you're cold,” she laughed, shiver- ing involuntarily, “but this coffee will warm you up.” IAS they ate, Thelma prattled on in that frivolous manner which Matt used to think so0 amusing. He still liked to hesar of her day’s happenings, but sometimes the apartment gossip was a bit tiring. He answered her in monosyllables. His mind was occupied with the idea of a diplomatic conversational approach to the offer he had received to go to Yucatan. She had flatly refused to go when he had broached the subject to her a week ago, and he dreaded another stormy scene. She was pretty, and he did love her. The fight between his ambition and his desire to make her happy must be brought to a close tonight. How he wished she could see his side of the argument. “Matt, you're not listening to me. I've asked you the same question three times,” her voice sounded childishly hurt. He started. “Excuse me, dear. I was think- ing about the office. Hope this will be my last week.” he ventured. “Oh, Matt, you'’re not thinking of that offer #again, are you? I thought we settled that.” “You mean you settled it. I still want to go and Mr. Blanford asked me to think it over again. I'm to give my answer tomorrow.” This was his final plea, and he plunged headlong. "Thelma, why won't you consider it? 1It's a big promotion for me. Even if it’s not so pleas- ant for you down there, we're young. and two years won't make much difference in our lives. At least we could accumulate a littie money, and things won’t be so hard when we come back.” Even as he spoke his heart sank, for he saw her eyes harden and thete was de- termination in the set of her jaw. “I won't be buried for even a fi:'w years in that mosquito-infested country,” she stormed. “I'd die of lonesomeness down there with all those natives. You don’t love me or you wouldn’t even ask me to go to that horrid place!” Her voice broke. She put her head on the table and sobbed. It was a procedure which seldom failed to work with Matt. With a sigh, Matt rose from his chair, nervously lit a fresh cigarette and walked slowly to the window. Below, snow-covered automobiles slowly made their way along the slippery streets and a few pedestrians hurried by as if the thought of warm homes accelerated their progress. “At least we’d be away from this beastly snow,” he muttered savagely. Thelma's sobs answered him and, going to her, he sat on the arm of her chair. She raised a tear-stained face. “Surely it's not too much to ask of you when you know what it will mean to me,” he pleaded softly. She raised her head angrily. “That's just jt. You're only thinking of yourself.” Gradu- ally her eyes softened and she slipped an arm about his neck. “Oh, Matt, I've never fussed because you're poor. But I just couldn’t be happy there a minute. Please let's stay here.” _As her lips found his, Matt drew her close. Her happiness was the most important thing after all. “We won't go if you feel that way about it,” he whispered. She smiled happily. “Why don’t you go over to Mr. Blanford’s tonight and tell him you won’t go,” she coaxed. “You might change your mind by morning.” “It's too cold,” he protested. “And anyway you know I'll keep my promise.” “Just the same I'd feel lots better if you'd tell him tonight.” “All right, then. To please you I'll go over and have a talk with him now.” “How long will you be gone?” she asked. “Oh, a couple of hours. I'd rather talk to him away from the office. Maybe I can sound him out and see if there’s any chance of a promotion here.” He slipped on his coat and walked slowly toward the door. Thelma was humming softly as she cleared away the din- ner dishes. S MATT made his way toward Blanford's house, a feeling of intense disappointment surged over him. Now he realized how much he had counted on that last plea to bring Thelma around—and it had ended by Hhis giving in. Why must she always have her way? Surely she did not realize how much the promotion meant to him. If he turned dowa this offer, Mr. Blanford would be slow in sug- gesting something else. As for promotions in the home office—well, 'he felt tolerably certain that two years hence would find him just that much deeper in the rut. He was a fool to give in so easily. Why couldn't he stand his ground against a few tears? He loved her. That was his only excuse. In answer to his ring, a maid opened the door. “Is Mr. Blanford in?” inquired Matt. “No, sir, he’s isn't here right now. He phoned that he wouldn't be in until after 8. Do you want to wait for him?” she asked, opening the door invitingly. Matt hesitated. He had promised Thelma he would see Blanford tonight. The thought of a long walk home and back again was too disagreeable to be considered. Yes, he’d bet- ter wait. In the library he nervously paced up and down. Not since the days when he was a small boy with all his hopes centered on a pony had he wanted anything guite so much as this trip. NHE BSUNDAY S$STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JANUARY 18 193L By .y 120 Men in I.ove With One Woman Solve Their Problem in the Last Line of This Story. He felt that he was slowly and surely sinking into the deadly routine of office work and that a few more years would find him devoid of the courage to make a break. He was so ready for it now. The stimulation of a new environ- ment, the responsibility of being the head of an office, small though it would be, aroused all the ambition he had felt. at his first job. The minutes ticked by, slowly and solemnly, until finally the grandfather’s clock in the hall struck 8. Mr. Blanford would be in any time now. Should he stay and have a talk with him now or appease Thelma by saying that Blan- ford wouldn’t be in until late and thereby gain- ing a few more hours before the final decision would be made? Cautiously he opened the library door. The hall was deserted. His hat and overcoat were invitingly near. The tempta- tion was too great. Before he fully realized what he was doing he had covered the distance to the front door, opened it quietly and slipped out. He chuckled to himself as he thought of the maid’s surprise when she found the library empty. It was like the “sudden elation of a schoolboy playing truant His mind was busy with arguments as he made his way home. Coming in sight of the apartment his eyes involuntarily sought his own windows. The shades were drawn, the windows subdued patches of amber against the immense blackness of the night. Thelma had drawn the shades. Matt turned this over idly in his thoughts. How often had he had to remind her to lower them when the lights were on. And how careless she had always been. That was a woman for you, trying to please a man by remembering little things when she wanted her own way about something. Thelma was a sweet kid after all, and he half regretted not having waited for Blanford. He would get her a box of candy anyway. That would ease his conscience some. A broad smile came to his face as he made his way to the corner drug store. With the box tucked snugly under his arm he hurried up the two flights of steps. He would surprise her, bless her heart. With the cunning of a hunter he quietly inserted his latch key and opened the door. Across the tiny hall was the living room, its lights ruddy and inviting after the walk through the bitter wind. As Matt removed his overcoat he saw with a start that there were two shadows on the living room floor. He stood still. Suddenly the two shadows moved forward and there was but one, a thicker, heavier shadow which swayed slightly, this way and that. Matt dropped his coat and stepped into the room. Between him and the lamp stood Thelma, the light making an aura around her curls. With her stood a man, his arms about her. A sickening realization swept over Matt. Then fury obsessed him. His eyes grew wider with his sudden hatred. He made an inarticulate sound at which the lovers jumped guiltily apart. ® “Richardson,” exclaimed Matt, recognizing with a grasp a well known man about town. Richardson stared. Thelma’s face was crimson. There was a silence deadly with its heaviness. “I hope I'm not intruding,” Matt laughed harshly. “You sneak . youw've been spying on me!” screamed Thelma. “Not spying,” hissed Matt, “just getting the truth about things.” Richardson’s face was ashy and his eyes shifted uncertainly. He made a move as if he would brush Matt aside and escape through the open door, but as Matt stepped forward, he moved back. Quick as a flash Thelma ran be- tween the two men. “Don’t you hit him,” she shrieked. “You little fool,” Matt’s words were harsh as they came through clenched teeth, “I'm not going to hurt him.” His words seemed to reassure Richardson. Thrusting Thelma aside, he faced Matt. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” “Plenty—but first you get out and get out quick,” retorted Matt, his voice rising to an angry pitch. “But——" began Richardson. “You get out, do you hear me? this affair in my own way.” Tl settle D ICHARDSON looked intently at Thelma as if waiting for her to say something. She did not look at him, but stood nervcusly pulling at the handkerchief crumpled in her hand. With & shrug of his shoulders, Richardson made his way to the door. At the threshold he looked back. Matt had raised the shade and was staring with unseeing eyes into the darkness. “I say, Carlisle . .” faltered Richardson. Matt turned quickly. He still held the for- gotten box of candy in his hand. The sight of Richardson infuriated him. Before he realized what he was doing, he had thrown the box at Richardson’s head. His aim was entirely accurate. The box hit him just above the ear. The door shut with a bang and they heard him running down the steps as if he were afraid Matt might decide to follow him. The remembrance of his undigni- fied exit, the reddened ear and rumpled place in his sleek hair brought a grim smile to Matt’s lips. Suddenly Matt's expression changed. A look of eagerness began to obliterate the lines of anger and disillusionment. He hastened to the telephone and dialed Mr. Blanford’s home. Yes, Mr. Blanford was in. “Hello, Mr. Blanford. This is Carlisle. Yes I came by to see you tonight, but couldn't wait. Just calling you now to say that I've decided to take the Yucatan post. What? Yes, I can get a sailing Saturday. Inquired about that this afternoon. See you tomorrow, then. Thanks.” He snapped the receiver back on the hook. His eyes spied Thelma, who had thrown herself on the divan, muffling her sobs with a pillow. Matt sat in a chair and stared mood- ily at the floor. After a time Thelma’s sobs ceased and she glanched shyly at him. Could she work around him as she had always been able to de before? His silence terrified her. It was more ominous than his fury. “I guess we're going to Yucatan after all,” she ventured timidly. Matt slowly crushed his half-smoked cigarette before he answered. “Yes and no. I'm going, but you can’t afford to go down there. Too many mosquitoes and natives. Besides, you have more interests here.” Three days later Matthew Carlisle stood ag the -ail of a steamer and watched New York's skyline slowly recede umtil at last it looked like a toy city at the far edge of the world. What'_ a little place it was, after all. He had a strange sense of freedom, a detached feeling as though he were merely a bystander watching life ebb and flow about him. It gave him a deep sense of peace which followed him through the suc- ceeding days as the boat nosed its way toward the Equator and each new dawn brought softer winds and warmer sun. Matt spent most of his time pacing the decks, revelling in the gen- tler air, enjoying to the fullest his new-found freedom. One day as Matt rounded a corner at his usual brisk pace, he bumped into a man who buried his face in his coat collar and hurried off without a word. He did not even wait for Matt's apology. Matt watched the retreating figure in amaze- ment. Queer duck, he thought, must be deaf and dumb, maybe dopey. He's the one I've been seeing around here for the past four or five days. Al™ays disappearing around the cor- ner or ducking into some place. Come to think of it, there’s something vaguely familiar about him. Wonder where I've seen him before. LL through the day Matt sought his man, but as before when he chanced to get a glimpse of him, he was disappearing in the dis- tance. He seemed to have an uncanny way of finding places to duck into, and although Matt reached those places but a few minutes after him, he never found his man. If I hadn’t bumped into him, I'd think he was an evil spirit that followed the ship, he mused. Maybe he’s not so shy after dark. There’ll be a moon tonight. Wonder where he eats, anyhow. Haven't seen him in the dining room. That night Matt was at his usual place by the rail. The moon was gorgeous. It was too beautiful to go to bed. He'd wait up and see the sunrise. That would be a fitting climax to his last day on board. The sound of rapid footsteps coming toward him broke his train of thought. He glanced behind him just in time to see a man stumbie over a deck chair and fall, his coat spread out like a fan and his cap at Matt’s feet. Matd picked up the cap and ran toward him. The Continued on Sevenieenth Page