The evening world. Newspaper, June 26, 1916, Page 13

PPP gg b S$ Romance and ¢ Et h infinitely inviting. shabby but eomfortania pleased him, Murety be thirty, have given one or two, of a sort. Thore was @ house across and @ Mitte way down the atreet, with @ rd in the window that anid, “Meais, twenty-five canta.” Evidently the midday Meal was over; men who looked like clorke and small shop- keepers were hurrying away. Tho Nottingham ourtaine were pinned ack and just inside the window @ throaty baritone was singing: “Home ia the hunter; home from the hil An4 the sailor, home from the sea.” Across the street tho man smiled erimly. Home! oe e © ew » For perhaps an hour Joe Drum- mond had been wandering up and down the etreet. “His straw but was wet on the back of his head, for the evening was warm; his slender shou dors, squared and resolute at 8, b had taken on a disconsolate droop, Under a street jamp he consulted his watch, but even without that he knew what the hour was. Across the street, under an old ailanthus tree, was the house he watched, a small brick, with shallow wooden steps and—curious architec- ture of the Middle West sixties—a wooden cellar door beside the steps. In some curious way it preserved an air of distinction among its more pretentious neighbors, much as avery ola lady may now and then lend tone to a smart gathering. No win- dows on the street were so spotiessly curtained, no doormat so accurately placed, no “yard” in the rear so tidy with morning glory vines over the whitewashed fence. The June moon had risen, sending broken shafts of white light through the ailanthus to the house door, When the girl came at t, she stepped out into a world of soft lights and wavering shadows, fragrant with tree blossoms not yet overpowering, hushed of {ts daylight pounds of play- ing children and moving tratfic. The house had been warm. Her brown hair lay moist on her forehead, her thin white dress was turned in at the throat. She stood on the steps, the door closed behind her and threw out her arms in a swift gesture to the cool air, From across the street the boy watched her with adoring, hum: ble eyes, All his courage was for those hours when he was not with he. Hello, Joe.” Hello, Sidney.” He crossed over, emerging out of the shadows into her enveloping radiance. His ardent young eyes worshiped her as he stood on the pavement. ‘m late, I was taking out bast- ings for mother.” “Oh, that's alb right.” Sidney sat down on the doorstep, and the boy dropped at her feet. “I thought of going to prayer meet- but mother was tired. Was Christing there?" x Palmer Howe took her crazy about Chris. Sh BO0d-looking, but she's not_my sort.” “Pray, what is your sort?” “You.” She Jaughed goose, Joe She settled herself mora comfort- ably on the doorstep aud drew a long breath, “How tired I am! Oh-—I haven't We've taken 4 roomer softly. “You're a She was half apolo- ‘A man.” “What sort of a man?" “How do I know? He ts coming to-night. I'll teil you in a week.” Joo was sitting bolt upright now, she young?’ good bit older than you, but that’s not saying he's old. Joe was twenty-one, and sensitive of his youth, “He'll be crazy about you in two days, She broke into delighted laughter, “Til not fall in love with him— you can be certain of that. He is tall and very solemn. His bair is quite gray over his ears.” Joe cheered. “That's what he said.” Interest in the roomer died away. Unexpectedly, Sidney yawned, He was outraged. “It you're sieepy"—— “Don't be silly, I love having you. I sat up late last night, reading. | wonder what you think of this; one of the characters in the book | was reading says that every man who— who cares for a woman leaves his mark on her! 1 suppdse she tries to become what he thinks she is, for the and is never just ber old self agatn. “Every man! How many man aro supposed to care for a woman, any- how?" “Well, there's the boy who—likes her when they're both young.” A bit of innocent mischief this, but Joe straightened, “Then they both outgrow that fool- Iskuess. After that there are usually (Wwe rivals, and she marries one of them—thut's three, And” “Why do they always outgrow that foolishness?” His Yoloe was un. steady, “Oh, I don't know, change. Anynow, I’ what the book sai “It's a, silly boo! “[ don't believe it's true,” she con- fessed. “When ¥ got started [ just read on, 1 Was curious." “Don't read that nonsense,” ne said, “And—I'll never outgrow my fovlish- ness about you, Sidney, ‘Then, because he could not help it, he bent over and kissed her arm, She was just elhteen, and Joc's de- votion was very pleasant. She thrilled to the touch of his lip on her flesh; but she drew her arm away. One's ideas only telling you ary Neveatng te inv Nita y y MARY ROBERTS RINEHART 7 Copy 1014 18, ty Mettare Puitieations, ine, Copa 18 by Mary Reterta Rinchert, CHAPTER I. HN wtreat atretched away north and south tn two Hines of ancient ane that eaemed to maet in the distance. It had the well worn look of an aid coat, | ‘The thought of coming there to live, Weld be peare—long evenings in which | to rend, quiet nights In which to sleep and forget. It wae an imprersion of | home, realy, that it gave. The man 414 not know that, or care partioulariy. He had bean wandering about a long time—not in years, for he Waa leas than Hut it seamed a very long time, At the little house Bo one had seemed to think about references. He coul; | He had gone to considerabdia trouble to ant them; and now, not to have them asked for—— The Evenin a a te nt ps The man found it) awe don't ike that eort of) ng.” “Why not? Mis voleq wae hunky. | “It tan't right. Hesides, the naigh- | boro are always looking out of the window: The drop from her high atandard of | ‘ht and wrong to the netgnbora’ wriogity appealed suddenly to her sense of humor, She threw back her head and laughed, He joined her, at- ter an tncomfortable moment, ‘But | he was very much in earnest. “T guess you know how I feel. fome of the fellows have crushes on girls) and get over them. I'm not like that, Since the first day 1 saw yow I've never looked at another girl. Books ean what they like; there are people ike that, and I'm one of} them.” There wae a touch of dogged pathor | In hin voter that sort, and Sidney knew it ity and tender- heas—those would be hers if she mar- ried him. “L thought, perhaps,” said Joe, ®rowing red and white, and talking | to the hat, “that some day, when} older, you-you might be will- ing to marry me, Sid. I'd be awfully good to you,” It hurt her to say no. Indeed, she| could not bring herself to way it “There is such @ lot of time before | we need think of such thin Can't we just go on tho way wa | “I'm not very happy the way wo! are. i} | “m not"—doggediy. “You're | pretty and attractive. Whon I soe a VOW! COD | SATE heal SIX DAYS OF Pouce DUTY FoR SITTING WHILE ON DUTY fellow staring at you, and I'd like to smash his face for him, I haven't the right." “And a precious good thing for) you that you haven't!" cried S.dnoy, | rather shocked. There was silence for a moment | between them. She leaned over and put * tender hand on his arm. “I don't want to hurt you; but, Joe, I don't want to be engaged yet. 1| don't want to think about marrying. | There's such a lot to do in the world There's such a lot to eee and | Where?” he demanded bitter! | Fe on this street? Do you want | ime to puli bastings for uw mother? Or to slave for your Aunt Harriet?) Or to run up and down stairs, carrying towels to roomers? belle me and let me take care of 0 'H et me take care of myself for while. I've never lived my own tite. You know what I mean, Ia not un- happy; but 1 want to de somethin: And some day L shail—not anything big; 1 know” 1 cai do that—but something useful, and years, if you come back to you,” “How soon?” “How can I know that now? {t will be a long time.” mit hen, after years still Want me, L'il She had been born in th Litth brick house, and, as she was of it. ae it was of Her hands had smoothed and painted the gine floors; her hands had put up the twine os which the morning glories in the yard covered the fences; had, indeed, with bend hag ste of slacking lime and dding blueing, whitew: fence itself! - Peeaed she “she's capable,” Aunt Harriet had srumblingly admitted, watching from her sewing machine ~idney's strong (ne arma at this humble spring ‘ he's wonderful!” her mother had said, as she bent over her hand work, She was not strong enough to run the sewing machine, So Joe Drummond stood on the Pavement and saw his dream of tak- ing Siqney In his arme fade into an indefinite futurity, “I'm not going to give you up," he said doggediy, “When you come back, Vibe waitin The shock being over, and things only postponed, he dramatwsed hia trifle, thrust hi eav- pockets, and scowled down the street, In the line of his vision, his quick eye caught a tiny moving shadow, lost it, found it again, “Great he shadow. “Watch for the McKees’ cat!" Sidney was running by that time; they were gaining, Thelr quarry, a four-inch chipmunk, hesitated, gave @ protesting squeak and was caught in Sidney's han “You wretch she cried, “You miserable little beast — with cats everywhere, and not a nut for miles Scott! There goes Regin- cried, and ran after the “That reminds me"-—Joe put a hand into his pocket—"I bought some chestnuts for him, and forgot them, Here” Reginald's ape had rather kno 4 the tragedy out of the even. ing. ‘True, Sidney would not marry him for years, but she had practi- cally promised to sometime, And when one Is twenty-one, and It {s & summer night, and life stretches eternities ahead, what are a few years more or less? Sidney was holding the tiny squir- rel in warmn, protecting hands, She smiled up at the boy, "Good nirht, Joe.” jood night. T say, Stdney. it's more than half an engagement. Won't you kiss me good night? She hesitated, flushed and palpl- tating, Kisses were rare in the stald little household to which she be- longed, “T—[ think not,” “Please! I'm not very happy, and It will be something to remember.” Perhaps, after all, Sidney's first kiss would have gone without her heart—which was a thing she had determined would never pen gone out of sheer pity. But a tall figure loomed out of the shadows and approached with quick strides, “The roomer!" cried Sidney, and backed away. “Demon the roomer!" « eRe, WO Days i Tew 1am Woo \ Guaao mouse foe |) My HaNOH ' | | | NOT LOomING Bage ele ae INES ne orecan ‘Leas © mer wen j pare 2 7" ) QNE WEEK oF KITCHEN enout ® By Ae € FOR STANDING mM WIFE MAyOR Aw ONSOLDIER Vin Posimion WILE ON — m ANE WALK CoL GEANT wou! LET ME TAKE A oon SS pai fe | i) KR “ \ “oase By Maurice Ketten i THe STamees Les O88 he 08 AMANOOMING STRIFE ene OM DUTY & ft em, be’ , | HANG & STONE IN MY SHOE Seraeant <n ? Ls) Hz: The roomer advanced steadily. When he reached the doorstep Sid- ney was demurely seated and quite alone, The roomer, who had walked fast, stopped and took off his hat. He looked very warm. He carried a suitcase, “Hot, isn't 1t? Sidney tnquired, after a formal greeting, She ind cated the place on the step just va- cated by Joe. “You'd better cool off out here. The house is like an oven, I think I should have warned you of that before you took the room. These little houses with low roofs are fearfully hot.” The new roomer hesitated. The steps were very low, and he was tal]. Besides, he did not care to establis any relations with the people of the house. Long evenings in which to read, t nights in which to sleep these were the things he had come for, But Sidney had moved over and was smiling up at him. He folded up awkwardly on the low step. He seemed much too big for the house, Sidney had a panicky thought of the ttle room upstairs. “I don't mind heat. don’t think about {t,” sald the roomer, rather surprised at himself. Reginald, having finished hia chest- ° nut, squeaked for another, The roomer started, “Just Reginald—my ground-squir- rel.” Sidney was skinning a nut with her strong, white teeth. “That's an~ other thing I should have told you, I'm afraid you'll be sorry you took tha room.” The roomer smiled in the shadow, “I'm beginning to think that you are sorry.” She was all anxiety to reassure im: “It's because of Reginald. He lives under my--under your bureau. H really not troublesome; but h building a nest under the bureau, and if you don't know about him, tt's rather unsettling to see a paper pat- tern from the sewing room, or @ p! of cloth, moving across the floor, Mr, Le Moyne thought it might be very interesting. Le Moyne, listening attentively, be- an to be interested. His quick mind ad grasped the fact that 1t was the girl's bedroom he had taken, suddenly practical, roke tn you going to get your adn't thought about It. I can stop in somewhere on my way down- town, I work in the gas office—I don't believe I told yo It's rather nap-hazard—not the gas office, but the cating. However, it's convenient.” “It's very bad for you,” said Bid- ney, with decision, “It leads to slovenly habits, such as going with- out when you're in @ hurry, and that sort of thing. The only thing is to have some one expecting you at a certain time.” “It sounds like marriage.” He was lazily amused, "It sounds like Mrs, MeKee's board- ing house at the corner. Twenty als for five dollars, and a ic puneh, Tillie, the dining room girl, punches for every meal you get, If you miss any meals, your ticket is ood until it 1s punched. But M cKee doesn't like it if you miss,” “Mra, McKee for me,” said Le Moyne, “I dare suy, It I know that— er—Tillle {s waiting with the punch, Vil be fairly regular to my meals.” It was growing late, “By shifting his position the man was able to see the girl's face, Very lovely it was, he thought, Very pure, almost radi- ant—and young. From the middle age of his almost thirty years, she was a child. There had been @ boy io the shadows when he came up the I—I suppose I yy street. Of course there would be @ boy-—a nice, clear-eyed chap-—— Sidney was jooking at the moon. With that dreamer'’s part of her that she had inherited from her dead and gone futher, she was quietly worship- ing the night. But her busy brain was working, too—the practical brain that she had gut from her mother's ai What about your washing?” she inquired unexpectedly, “Washing?” “I suppose you've been sending things to the laundry, and—what do you do about your stockings?” “Buy cheap ones and throw away when they're worn out.” “And buttons?” * “Use safety sed one can ell as”. “L think,” sald Sidney, “that it I# quite time some one took a little care of you. If you will give Katie, our maid, 25 cents a week, she'll do your washing and not tear your things to ‘em ins, When they're utton over them as squirrel ravaged the pockets of his Shabby coat. CHAPTER II. IDNEY could not remember when her Aunt Harriot had not sat at the table, It was one of her earliest disillu- stonments to learn that Aunt Harriet lived with them, not because she wished to, but because Sidney's father had borrowed hi smal! patrimony and she was “board- ing it out.” Eighteen years she had “boarded !t out." Sidney had been: born and frown to girlhood; the dreamer father had gone to his grave, with valuable patents lost for lack of money to renew them—kone with his faith in himself destroyed, but with "hme i his faith in the world undiminished; rd jae mond them ye for he left his wife and daughter Moyne's, “After a moment: without a dollar of life insurance. The day of Harriet'’s leaving had seemed far away to Anna I’ Sid- her baby, 6 girl, in her first the High School, In the parlance of the Street, Harriet “sewed"-—aud sewed well. She had taken Anna into business with her, but the bur- den of the partnership had always been on Harriet, On the day after the arrival of the roomer Harriet Kennedy came down to breakfast a little late, Katie, the weneral housework girl, had tied & sinall white apron over her generous gingham one and was serving break- fast. From the kitchen came the clump of an tron and cterful sing- ing. Sidney was ironing napkins, “Sidney.” (es, Aunt Harriet.” “will you come in, please Katle took the iron from her, “You go, She's ai! dressed up, and she doesn't want any coffee. Bo Sidney went in, It was to her that Harriet made her speech: “Sidney, when your father died, I promised to look after you and your mother until you were able to take care of yourself, That was five years ago. Of cor even before that | had helped to support you.” If you would only have your cof- “You're really rather wonderful, Page. Here am I, lodged, fed, wi mheas roned and mended for $7.75 Ce hope,” said. Sidney severely, “that you'll put what you save in the bank." He was still somewhat dazed when he went up the narrow staircase to his swept and garnished room. Never in all of a life that had been active—un- til recently—had he been so conscious of friendliness and kindly interest, He expanded under jt, Some of the tired lines left his face. Under the gas chandelier he straightened and threw out his arms. Then he reached down into his coat pocket and drew out @ wide-awake and suspicious Reginald. “Good night, Reggie!" he sald, “Good night, old top!” It was late when K. Le Moyne re- tired to bed. Wrapped in a paper and securely tied for the morning's disposal, was considerable masculing underclothing, ragged and buttonie Not for worlds would he have hac Sidney discover his threadbare inner condition, “New underwear for yours to-mor- row, K. L# Moyne,” he sald to him- self, as he unknotted his cravat. “New underwear, and something besides KK. for a first name." D Het’ He pondered over that for a tima, fe Harr g ie an 4 Mrs, I" sat with her hand on the ne Re it hie shoes slowly ad think? handio of the old silver-plated coffee pot, Harriet ignored her. “You are a young woman now. You have health and energy, and you have youth, which I haven't, I'm past forty, In the next twenty years, at the outside, I've got not only to support myself, but to save something None of them appealed to him. And, after all, what did it matter? The old heaviness came over him. He dropped a shoe, and Reginald, who had galned enough courase to emerge and sit upright op the fender, fell over backward. learned to depend on our- After that, in @ torrent, came Har- riet's declaration of independence. can do good work,” she finished. ‘I'm full of ideas, if I could get a chance to work them out. But thore's no chance here. There isn’t a woman on the street who knows real clothes when she sees them.” Sidney went around the table and flung a young arm over her aunt's shoulders, “Why didn't you say year ago? We've been selfish, but we're not as bad as you think, And if any one in this world ts entitled to success, you are, Of course we'll that a fron repression almost Rave way. She covered hor emotion with details “I'm going to take two rooma in the business part of town, and put a couch In the back room to sleep on.” By evening Mrs, Page had worked herself into a atate bordering on hya- teria. Harriet was out most of th day. She came in at three o'c and Katie gave her @ cup of toa. the news of her sister's condition, ehe morely shrugged her should “She'll not die, Katie, calmly. “Lut see that Miss Sidney eats something, and if she fs worrled tell hor I said to Ket Dr, Ed." The afternoon dragged away. Dr. Ed was out “on a case” and might not be in until evening. Sidney eat in the darkened room and waved a fan over her mother's rigid form. At half after five, Johnny Kosenfeld from the alley, who worked for w florist after school, brought a box of roses and departed to, sidney, grinning tmpishly. He knew Joo, had ween Lim in the store. Soon the alley knew that Sidney had received a dozen Killarney roses at three dollars and a half, and waa probably engagod to Joe Drummond, * & ¢ “Dr. Ed," said Sidney, as he fol- lowed her down the stairs, "can you spare the time to talk to me @ little while?" “Any amount of time." Sidney led the way into the emall parlor, where Joe's roses, refused by the petulant invalid upstairs, bloomed alone. “First of all," said Sidney, “Ald you mean what you said upstaira?’” Dr. Ed thought quickly, “Of course; but what? “You said [ was a born nurse." The street was very fond of Dr. Ed, It did not always approve of h aid-—which was perfectly tru that he had sacrificed himself to his brother's career; that, for the sake of that brilliant young surgeon, Dr. Ed va MF had done without wife and children; Sidney did not sleep much that 17,hoeh me aflor thal, if I live. Vit that lo still went shabby and drove night. She lay awake, gazing into want to live forever, but I've always the old bugay, while Max drove about the acented darkness, her arms under played in hard luck.” in an automobile coupe. i‘ her head, Love had come into her Iney returned her gaze steadily, Tin going into @ bospital,” ead Ife at last. A man—only Joe, of "I see, Well, Aunt Harriet, you're Sidney course, but it was not the boy biin- quite right, You've been a salnt to “it, fearfully hard = work, of self, but what he stood for, that us, but if you want to go away"—— D9 he commented, when she had thrilled her—had aske his : f Mra. z ne wife a her to be hip carries ete Page, “go is anything worth while, Look K, Le Moyne slept diagonally In his Please, mother.” at the way you work!” bed, being very long. In sleep the Harriet's eyes softencd as whe , PF. Ed rose and wandered around lines were smoothed out of his face. looked at the girl. sthe room, ‘ Ho looked like a tired, overgrown "We can manage,” sald Sidney “You're too young." boy, And while he slept the ground- quietly, but it's I'll get older. “We'll miss you, TAKE THE EVENING WORLD WITH YOU ON YOUR VACATION So that you will not miss any of the weekly novels and may continue to enjoy the daily magazine, comic and other special features, Include them in your summer reading, Order the Evening World Mailed to Your Summer Address > paid at last. I don't ¢hink I like the idea," he “It's splendid work for an older woman, [Hut it's life, enild— life In the raw. As we get along in years we lose our ilusions—some of them, you. not all, thank God at you ce with things as they But for ga, to be brought face are, and an unne Don't you said Sidney, bravely, “that you are @ poor person World Daily Mitestae. Monday: June 26; 1916 The Day of Rest way into a fortune, Love playa a vital part in not” he eat leritabty. weniun; 4 ability. Tinta different. One ral muccene ia tw than two halves Not” he finiied down at her-"not that | min) Ly my nafuinene, \ the Wack. it myeoit, fin @ protty | “Very weil,” said sidne Jahail be @ hack, too, Of & Hthought of other things-imy father wanted ma to go to college—hut Im strong and willing And one thing £ must make up my mind to, Or Ba jt batt have to Harriet paw upport my mother in The the tary «limpae f her slender tng mhoulders, her thin face, her undisguised middie age “Yeu he ant, when aha was ont of hearing. “Ita hard, but 1 dare aay ia right anourh, too, Your aunt ovght to have her chance, Only—f wiih It didn't have to be.” Sidney tood in the ttle \parior t #, She touched them te Life, which the day before had ealled her with the beckoning finger of dreama, now reached out grim, insistent hands, | Life-in the raw, | CHAPTER Il. LF MOYND had wakenea carly that first morning in his new quart When he sat up and yawned, it waa to sea hin worn cravat disappearing with vigor- oun tugs under the bureau, He ree- cued ft, gently but firmly. “You and I, Reginald,” he apostro- phized the bureau, “will have to come to an understanding. What I leave on the floor you may have, but what | blows down {8 not to be touched,” Because he was young and very ‘ strong, ho wakened to a certain Nght- ness of spirit. The morning sun had always called him to a new day, and the sun was shining But he grew de- ed for the office, If savagely, as he put clothing, that, having oe and now found tt, he was an 3 for resenting it. The trouble w ot course, that he came of a fighting stock: soldiers and ex- plorers, even a gentleman adventurer pr two, had been his forefathers, He loathed peace with a deadly loathing, Having given up everything else, K, Le Moyne had also given up the love of a woman, That, of course, ts figurative, He had been too busy for women, and now he was too tile. A small part of his brain added fixures in the office of a gas company daily, for the sum of two dollars and fifty cents per clght-hour workday, But the real K. Le Moyne, that had dreamed dreams, had nothing to do with the figures, but sat somewhere in his head and mocked him aa he worked at his task, He dressed quickly, ascertaining that he had enough money to buy a five-dollar ticket at Mra, McKee's; and, having given up the love of a woman with other things, he was careful not to look about for Bidney on his way, He breakfasted at Mra, McKee's, and was initia the tic 1 into the mystery of . The food was rather ood, plentiful; and even his squeamish — morning appetite could find no fanit with the self-re- specting tidiness of the place. Tillle proved to be neat and austere, He waa determined not to let the Street encroach on his wretchedness. ecause he had come to live there wi no reason why It should adopt him. But he was very polite. When the deaf-and-dumb book agent wrote something on a pencil pad and pushed it toward him, ho replied in kind, “We are very glad to welcome you to tho MeKee family,” was written © pad. happy, Indeed, to be with wroto back La Moyne—and ed with a sort of shock that he meant tt, The kindly greeting had touched him. The greeting and the breakfast oh him; also, he was evidently making some headway with Tillie, “Don't you want @ toothpick?” she asked, as he went out. In K's vious walk tn life there had been Bo toothpicks. Me took one and placed tt nonchalantly in his walstcoat pocket, as he had eeep the ry do. For @ weok nothing happened, Joa came in the evenings and sat on the steps with Sidney, his honest heart in his eyes. Sho could pot bring her- seit at first to tell him about the how. pital, Le Moyne, finding his litle hot in the evenings and not to Intrude on the two on the doorstep, to reading his paper in the park, and after twilight to long, rapid walk# out into the country, When K. was sure that the boy had gone, he would turn back toward the Street. Life, had wi reow that had seemed so simple, own very complicated for Sid- ney. ero was her mother to break the news to, and Joe. Harriet would approve, sho felt; but these otheral To assure Anna that sho must man- age alone for threa years, tn order t be happy and comfortable afters ward—thaut was hard enough, But to tell Joe that she was planning @ fue ture without him, to destroy the light in his blue eyes—that hurt. Aftor ail, Sidney told K. first. Ong Friday evening, coming home late as usual, he tound her on the doorstep, and Joo had gone, Bhe moved over hospitably, “Um afraid you'ra working too hard.” “1? Ido a minimum of labor for a minimum of wage.” But you work at might, don’t you?” “No, Miss Page, “But you a out every evening!" Suddenly the truth burst on her, “Oh, de she said. “I do believe why, how silly of youl” There ta always eomething fascinatiog show the story af 4 man whe “starts on « ghoestring” and makes hie Such a story te told tn Black Gold By VAEDERICK &. BECHDOLT |_ NEXT WEEK'S COMPLETE NOVEL HOTLY-CONTESTED FIGHT thie ing romance of a if 1 were ongaaed to him,’ Maney ended, ber Chowne very pink, “bmi wight vadertiaud, Muy as | ome Abi” mt oe ee trifle unatenaity. “We you are “Why did you think | wae ea. aNgrd aha \naieted. “Uh, t dent aaow, Those in the air, Lk am quite eart lot Malanee, (hat Keginaid To “Its Johnny Monantela,” y thins mot Final wens tw C e of fact, I'm not engaged, oF te be, Mr, ia Moyne, im going e hospi ial w be « puree, la Moyne suid motbing. Vor just @ moment he cused bis eyes, “You're too young, aren't you?* “Dt, Kd 008 of the Wilsons aeross the street—is going to help me about that, Ile brother Mas ie & big foun thore, | expect you've h him, Wo're very proud of him im the treet.” Lucky tor K, Le Moyne thet moon no longer shone on the Kray doorstep. Ho, even here, on thie quiet street in thie distant eity, there was to ho peace, Max Wilson just across way! It—-it was irdnic, Was there no place where a man could jose Nimself? He would have te move en empin, of course, Hut that, it eeomed, Was Just what he could not da, “I want to ask you to do something, and I hope you'll be quite érank, “Iva this. If you are comfortable, and—and like the room and all that, 1 wish you'd stay.” She hurried on: “If L could feel that mother had @ dopendable person jike you in the house, ft would all be easter.” Dependable! That stung. “Hut—forgive my asking; I'm reall: interested—can your mother manage You'll get practically no money dur- ing your training.” unin thought of that. A friend of Lorens, | mine, Christin arin | to be married. people are wealthy, the parlor and the sitting room be- hind, wouldn't interfere with you at all,” she added heetity, “Chria- tine’s father would butld a little bal- cony at the eide for them, a sort of poroh, and they'd ait there in the Behind Stantey’s carefully practioal tone the man read appeal. And he know then that he must do the thing she asked, He, who had fled so long, could roam no more, Hero on th street, with its menace just across, he must Itve, that © might work. In his world, men had worked that women might lve in certain plac: certain ways. This girl was going out to earn her living, and he would stay to make it possible, But no hiat of all this was tn his voice, “I shall stay, of course,” he said avely, “I-—this is the nearest Thing to home that known for a oe time. I want you to know that.” “You are very good to me,” sald Sidney. When she rose, K. Le Moyne sprang to his feet, 4 “I wonder if you would do me an- other favor? I'm afraid you'll take to avoiding me if I keep on,” “I don't think you need fear that” “Thin stupid atory about-Joe Drum- mond—I'm not saying I'll never marry him, but I'm certainly not en- gaged, Now and then, when you are taking your event walks, 1f you would ask me to walk with you"—— K, looked rather das ed, “IT can't Imagine enysaia ener but I wish you' sateen Sidney emiled at him. As be stood on the lowest step, their eyes were abmost level, knew oaid, . It I walk with you, they I'm not engaged to Joe," she with engaging directness, CHAPTER IV. IN the morning after @idney had Invited K. Le Moyne to take her to walk, Max Wil- J @on came down to breakfast rather late. Dr. E@ had breakfasted an hour before, Max's morning mood was always a cheerful one, So now Max brought hia handsome self down the etair- case and paused at the office door, “At it already,” he sald, “Or have you been to bed?" “It's after nine,” protested Ed mild. ly, “If I don't start early, I never get through.” Max yawned. “Better come with me," ho sald. “It things go on as they've been going, Vil have to have an assistant. I'd rather have you than anybody, of course.” He put his lithe surgeon's hand on his brother'a shoulder. “Where would I be if it hadn’t been for you? All the fellows know what you've done.” In spite of himself, Ed winged. was one thing to work hard that tl might be one success instead of two half successes, It was @ different thing to advertise one's medigcrity to the world. “L guess T'll stay where T am," he sald, “They know me around here, and IT know them,” Very proud of Dr. Max was his brother, unselfishly proud, of his easy good manners; vary humble, tao, of his own knowledge and experience. If he ever suspected any lack of finer fibre in Max, he put the thought away. Probably he waa toa rigid himself, Max wag young, @ hard worker. He had a right to play hand, On his way out he paused at the dit. ing-room door, “Are you going to the hospital?” “Operating at four—wish you eawhd come fn.” Tre about ber “I'm afraid not, Max, ised Sidney P. to speak to you, She wante to enter the - 4ng-school. |