The evening world. Newspaper, July 8, 1922, Page 13

| ___THE EVENING WORLD SATURDAY, JULY 8, 1922. ; 5 13 THE EVENING WORLD'S COMPLETE. NOVELETTE | ! CHARACTERS MISS LIBBIE KEATING, thirty, 's elite IN THE STORY. E, MINNERS, who appears to introduce the story/ and the style dependence of Thomas- MISS EVELYN KEATING, younge. and prettier than her sister LEN PRESION, the big catch of Thomaston, MAIDA PRESTON, rival beauty of Evelyn Keating. MRS. PRESION, leader of Thomaston’s best set. GEORGE, from Manhattan, but,born in Thomaston, HEN Columbus Avenue reaches the hundreds it seems also to reach a grim decision. It darkens and ; it huddles its buildings to- haphazard, like the soiled and sted packages that tumble out of dingy grab bag on the last night @ charity bazaar. Spring comes to these streets in ing huckster wagons at about the same time that she is floating on nt breezes to golden country lanes. Bhy silver pussy-willows bya marshy bank; tiny green-gold maple leaves issing their slim, baby fingers to the pril sky; wee white cloudiets racing in the heavens to peer at their reflections in hurrying brooks— ll these are the spring of the poet nd peasant. When April leaves ds for the narrow city streets she it in this wise: Green cabbages pd creamy cauliflowers on the push- ts, yellow tulips and white nar- in the newly painted window a red halr ribbon on Mamie y's hair and gray pumps and silk stockings for her big sis- s tripping feet that dragged so ly in their high laced boots only fmonth ago Spring and a little printed sign me to life together one April day one of the narrowest and darkest Columbus Avenue’s hundreds. The thor of the sign'’s being lifted it h enough to afford one thin ray of inlight unimpeded access to a box sunnier yellow tulips, and stared into the dull room to see whether @aylight could still find its way across @he dull walls to her sewing machine. hen she brought a saucer of flour- nd-water paste over to the window ill and fastened her masterpiece to ithe flawed glass. The sign read: Ls E, MINNERS, Wardrobe Doctor. Mending of All Kinds Neatly and Promptly Done. New Wristbands and Collars ‘3 Put on Men's Shirts. Special Attention Given to Remodeling Ladi Gown “It's a shame to cut off the view," murmured the woman. ‘‘But the view joesn't bring in any money; and I Idn’t be lazy when he works s0 { EB, Minners smiled with a refulgence that must have startled the one pale n of sunlight fecling its blind-fin- ered way across her little sign. She diated courage, cheer, calm, canny jolery and all the 's" needed to ize Success from Chance, "My," she murmured, “but I’m happy to help him! I'd like to know a woman shouldn't do her share, ¥ d of leaning on her man till he’s red and—lopsided!"* EB, Minners smiled again and looked ith warm, caressing eyes at the habby little room whose clean sweet - iP hess suggested that the Wardrobe | octor did at least her share of the 1 u { | i home-making. “Oh, God—I'm so happy!" The ords welled past her lips in a paean pf joy that had a pagan ring—but her yes were steady, glowing with the ight of happiness that is shy and verent. So E. Minners in her grim side treet in a sordid corner of the city fas happy. And that is all EB. Min- pers is brought into the story for— o prove a point. For the story really belongs to Libbie Keating, a very dif- ferent sort of person, indeed, al- hough she, too, was something of a robe doctor, who lived in a place wide, eclm-shaded streets and ng April breezes and was not at all. IBBIE KEATING was the Little Dressmaker of Thomaston— whether Connecticut or Maine does not matter. Both are of lew England; so was Miss Libbie. ‘When Libbie Keating was fourteen he had as liabilities seven little ers and sisters, an invalid mother nd a paternal grave that must be apt as green as any other in Thomas- am cometery. treadied and bobbined her lounger brothers and sisters into a \Wpving after their mother had given hem life. She threaded and stitched jer mother’s way away from Potter jeld into a resting place among tte ite of Thomaston and her first $9- Teeognition at one and the same me. She cut and fitted .he chil- ren into ‘‘their place in the world,"* ; nd as the younger Keatings made . food one after another, they made od their escape from Thomaston. o two of them were left at last—Mixs ibble, fading into old-maidhond, and | vvy, budding into the glory of | Fung womanhood. Evelyn Keating belled her lovely te teens through Thomaston ip which Miss Libbie bowed her u over the sewing machine to te late o’ nights when the two- liars - a -day-and-lunches - right- the-table-with - the - family trade wid not use her. was fresh and sparkling and She was like a fragrant pink upfurling to show @ drop of ystel dew on its petals and so con- } \ 7 ‘3 triving to make you forget the thorns on its stem. Dawn in a June garden— that was Evvy. And Libble was a gray day. She was tired—just tired Miss Libbie was twenty-nine years old—and Thomaston considered her a dull little udjunct to its sewing ma- chines. There had never been a man in her life—none of the bovs who went to Boston or Hartford or Providence to seek a place in the world and came back to Thomaston to seck a sweet- heart to come out into the world and share that place had meant anything to the ‘girl whose time and thought were all given to the struggle to find seven little brothers and sisters their “place in the world."' | Now that there was time to think—there was no one to think about! In all her life Libbie had known one masculine friend—that was Len >} ton, son of THE. Prestons: twenty three, Dartmouth graduate, paying teller in his father's bank—and avowed lover of thorny, dewy, flaunt- ing, melting Evelyn Keating, Len had begun trying to introduce ro- mance into Evvy's life when she was about nine—his mother, quite without trying, introduced Romance into Miss Libbie’s life when she was twenty- nine. The Little Dressmaker was making Maida Preston's rose-colored foulard at the time. Perhaps it col- oxed the dreams that came afterward “Make it very stylish, Miss Libble All the girls are perking up for the new beau who has come to town. He's the first real man we have had to visit us for ages—since Jim Melville came bs and married my cousin Sadie It’s an education for a girl to meet a mature New York man, Thirty-five I should say he was. I look for you to favor Maida with your time and. with the newest models, Miss Libble— your very best now for your very best friends. We must have Fridays, too, this month."* Mrs. Preston shook a coy finger with ponderous humor and good na- ture at Miss Libbie- Maida frowned ut her mother. HERE was a tense rivalry be- tween Maida Preston and Evvy Keating; each had been called the most popular girl in town, each had been entitled the beauty of Thomaston. Maida had the money to buy foulard, but Miss Libbie could make her sister radiant in last year's cotton poplin, turned und dyed and made over. “How is Evvy's new dress cut?’ demanded Maida carelessly. “In a But your shoulders slope so pretty, I'd love to make you one of those cowl collars, even if It doesn't show your throat.'” “Of course,’ sald Maida impati- ently, ‘Cut mine six inches down in a square, Miss Libbie. I don't blame you for standing up for your sister. She does for you, too, when it comes to letting you fit clothes on her! ‘vy's a good sister, Maida, You two have all the other girls on Thomaston wishing they were as pretty on Sundays as you are on wash-day mornings. You'd look sweet in the cowl collar". Len Preston strolled into the dining- room just then. “That's right, Miss Lib, doll up all the girls for the new man. We old fogies have to take a back seat for him now—but when he loves and rides away it will gladden our eyes to see your best models making glad the waste places of our little village. Say, Maida, did your new beau tell you he used to live here?" “He doesn't tell me much. He is Evvy's beau,’ said Maida spitefully. Len flushed—but his jaw set and his eyes flashed steady blue fire. ‘‘Ev- vy's playing, and she ts paying you up—for a few things. I don't blame her; I don't begrudge her any little thing like that. I'll even let her have George from Manhattan for a beau if she likes—but he doesn’t get her for his girl—we know whose girl she |: don't we, sister Libbie?" Libbie flushed. So did Mrs. Preston. “Len, you are a child—and sometintes it is very evident fa your conversa- tion. I am sure if Evélyn is inter- ested in this gentleman from New York your sister does not need to be assured of your—championship."* Len strolled over to Miss Libbie’ side. ‘‘Couldn't make it any prettier, he decided. ‘About the gossip about the New Yorker. He proves again that the real New York citizen always comes from somewhere else—and where do you think George started in amussing his fortune and crop of red curls? Right in little old Thomaston, Said he'd been looking forward to this fot years—coming back and cutting a swathe in the town where he was nothing but the butcher boy twenty years ago. Got busy in New York and couldn't make it before. Now here he is here with a roll of money, some good looking Fifth Avenue clothes and the girls a-chasing him, You'll be true to me, Miss Lib, won't you— in return for all this information, Or wasn't it new? Had Evvy told you?’ A note of jealousy crept into the boy's voice. “Evvy doesn't say uch about her beaux. She ne ientioned this man," Miss Libbie was trying to make the son happy—and not to an- noy the mother by protests of Len’s popularity with the impoverished house of Keating. Maida and her mother exchanged glances, “Evelyn does not consult you about—anything she does, I fancy,” said the elder Preston lady sweetly, ted stained the checks of the little dressinaker, ‘“Evvy tells me—what ever wouldn't hurt me—or make me— envious."* THE wey home that night O Miss Libbie passed the new man, He was swinging, down the street with her sister, The girl be wed nonchalantly to the woman arid the man lifted his hat with mechir {eal courtesy and looked over the gray-spangled brown head unseeingly. All the way home Libbfe tried to fur- get her sister's cool bow and the man's indifferent eyes and to remem- ber instead how fine and manly he was in his city clothes. Miss Libbie unbuttoned her ‘gray Seersucker blouse and turned it away from her throat. She fastened it with a little blue bow that was as soft and wistful as her own eyes. “Gee, Lib, you look funny with that pussycat bow under your chin and your hair all slewed down like you were posing for your great-grand- mother's picture! What put the big idea in your head?"' asked Evvy at the supper table. ‘Why didn’t you have hot biscuits—this bread is about as dry and stale as it comes.” “T was tired,’ suid Miss Libbie. “Don't you like my hair, vy? 1 kind of thought I looked better with my collar down instead of choked up under my chin--younger maybe."” “What do you wunt to look In your second childhood for? My, Lib, [ hope that when I get to be thirty, I'l know better than to be kittenish. I'm sorry you are tired, old lady, Running that machine all day must he awful. Goodness knows I get worn out punching a typewriter from morn to dewy eve, You walt, Lib; I'l! marry a million and then no machines except Rolls-Royces in ours.” “That new beau of yours, Evvy; he looks—so big and strong.”’ “Maybe he Is strong, I haven't—in- vestigated—yet. Say, Lib—he used to live here, Then he went to New York and I guess he made his fortune in Wall Street. He spends money like nothing. I guess he is eligible all righ’ “Do you like him better than—Len, Evvy?" “IL don't know. I like to keep Ma Preston guessing. She's scairt to death I'll get Georgie and Malda out in the cold—und scairt to death Mal- da will get Georgie and leave me out in the cold for Len to warm up At nine o'clock Libbie blew out her lamp, knelt by her bed and recited her prayers. The last one was a poem of James Whitcomb Riley's. When she came to the end Miss Libbie stopped a moment—"And with all the needy, oh, divide, I pray, this vat treasure of content that ts mine to-day “Content''—Libbie Keating sobbed, and then she said a new prayer, ona that had never found words before, one that had perhaps throush long, arid years been locked in the fast- nesses of her heart: “Oh, ¢ Tm not contented. I've never hed any- thing except work and planning and contriving, I'm tired, res ale ways been somebody depending on me. I'd like to lean on .vimnebody for a while. I don’t believe I ever elf before--80 asked anything for my! maybe You'll think that what's com- ing to me has kind of piled up a bit. It isn’t money I'm asking—it's just— a shoulder to lean on. HEN Miss Libbie got into bed, pulled the cool sheets over her own shoulders and settled com fortably back into her pillows “A shauider to lean on'*— mur By LILLIAN LAUFERTY ILLUSTRATED BY WILL B. JOHNSTONE mured sleepily ‘ so handyome and tall and br looking—and genorally have mighty even if they are kinda poppery tem- T don't s’pose he'd look ut mo by her bed to pra ing, you old fool, you go to sleep or I'll think you're. in take care second chil¢hood—you old fool. A shoulder to lean on. smiled wistfully, owed Misa Libbte quietly and efficient- relt each night her heart's de- deep feelings a shoulder to le never known love before now what It was now ntly In her heart iyiight through the leliness and the white Mias Libbie and she did r that bloomed struggled uj but there were tears in her wide-open, wakerul eyes. Miss Libbie et up very early the sray muri « She put on a fresh, fastened {t back dressmaking! throat with the She studied the effect critically see if Len Preston notices I've done heart to flash red fags of challenge on my hair like he sald," anxiously to her reflection. into am all-enveloping down to get ted her face New York man aced from her throbbing er she mot the —color that her white cheeks Thomaston did not notice. aray had noticed Miss Libbic, the could jog it from its somnolent Jindif- . ference to anything but “T think I'm going to ask George designing ability of its Little Dress- Sunday night have chicken and cheese and pickles cried Len Preston That won't be to hers as Miss she murmured and nothing the clothes- “Say, 1 have great news for you,” matching his step * walked home and shortcake and jelly and things. a Httle pulse beat in her throat. “THE MAN CROSSED THE ROOM AND LAID HIS HAND ACROSS THE FLOURY, TIRED LITTLE FINGERS.” much extra for you, will it, Libbie asked Evvy suddenly. Libbte flushed. from work in the soft twilight of the “Don't you want to have Maida and Dick Spellman? she honored us for this town sure ‘ by him, Now you won't have “No, I'm not going to have Maida, ‘There'll be just us four, vite my rivals any more than I have I'll risk competition from you— inviting any other,’ and T won't have to watch him our strawberry prechition of 'S aS SWeet us It is Libbie, you don’t think Evvy’s really on him, do you?" “I'd like you for a brothe! always been 1 here in town."' Then of a sudden, man had come to join them and was tching his step to the Little Dress- sunrise color Miss Libbie's suddenly flercely protective, laughed Evvy came round and kissed her sister lightly on the cheek. your skin's lovely and soft, Libble, think I’m going to bring you home a lite box of rouge you to seem nice Sunday night, with just a little pink in your cheeks you look real sweet,"’ Libble Keating flushed with Joy and strained her young sister to her with arms that ached to hold thelr own. The New York man came to lunch at the Prestons tha “This is our little dressmaker, Miss She always euts with us,’ Preston smoothly, It was not the purr, but the scratch that Miss Libbie felt. ened and a reluctant flush mounted to the New York too and was wondering what It meant, ven told you I'm leaving to- asked the man. me back at It's kind of u nice feeling -though [ was hey need you g my vacation.”” “I'd love to make you a I'll hurry right home il come to supper to-night— miss making the shortcakes for you," ventured Miss Libbie timidly. “This is where I I'm on my way down to the Evelyn—unless you ."* Len looked chal- «1 the older man. h the streets of Thom- le Dressmaker made 4 progress at the side Her eyes wid- “You bet she eats with us—but that isn't a marker to the times I eat with Say, George, ever get to meet one of Miss Libbie's strawberry shortcakes and drink « of her coffee, you'll know where the their nectar leave you folks. brosta stuff." “Strawberry idea of real living in New York—not monico's or the Ritz shortcake—that's ‘They can't mal said the guc elaborate nonchalanc “Am [ ever to be invited to partake of your Olymplan fare, » this splendid big man e and carry her patterns and shears and fash- cheeks are pinker than the Miss Libbie’s heart York women don't dignified title, kept her silent concerning the Sun- day night party. Again und again during the lunch- eon the New York man turned to Miss pr with friendly ¢ leaped to th Libbie's throbbing heart Little Dressmaker and her uest had a beautiful time in the spotless country ‘kitchen that comments concerning 4 gentleman and how nice When Libbie Keating arrived at tor ut night she found New York man sayi its swinging black tron little garden gut Evvy and the farewell over right back twenty this and swearing some shortcake Sunday night, | hear and { had my tain warm insistence that brought the th the other kids,"’ again to Misa Libbie's cheeks Miss Libbie was crushing the straws berries into their vestments of white sugar, She did not see the look, half quizatcal, half tender, that the man bent on her bowed head, “I guess you are a boy—yet—It playing round in Thomaston counts after New York, It must be wonder ful there; I've always wanted to see the subway and the elevated and Cen- tral Park and the Palisades, “Oh, New York! Little friend— tay here in the sunshine—away from the gray chasm of the subway and the elevated and Wall Street. New York 1s all noise and hurry and cold-blooded greed for money getting and restless longing for speeding on to somewhere elge. A man gets tired, so tired that he longs to run away from it all and put his head down on some one's shoulder and have her— have them—baby him." Their eyes met above the little pink rose on his coat. “Do you feel like that—ever?’ asked the woman gently. There wi a sound of crooning In her voice—and a Hina ii The man crossed the room and laid his hahd across the floury, tired little fingers that had never throbbed to a touch like his before. “Well, look who's here! See the new chef jollying the cook along for fair, it was Evvy's voice, gay, . oung, trilling out with cheery assurance of welcome wherever it was heard And so Miss Libbie's brief moment of romance passed. Evvy took pos- sensiun of Uw kilohen, Ble was force- ful, energetic, dynamic, She claimed the man's attention and Libbie yielded, as she (hed known from the beginning she must. ATER Evvy washed the dishes and set George to drying them, She had explained the apportionment of work to her sister, Maida waited till the last minute thinking maybe George would ask her—now she has tu go with Len, Maybe it doesn't make her sore to go with her own brother when every one knows he would have taken me if George hadnt. This Is where I show Maida that I'm good enough for her brother—if I think he’s good enough for me! I have to look just scrumptious, Lib. You sneak up and put new ribbons In things and drape « few of those rosebuds on my lace petticoat and lay out my clothes and seo if anything needs a stitch—there’ a dear, Georgie and [ will hustle the downstairs work out of the way.’’ Miss Libble accepted her portion of labor. Evvy permitted ber sister to lace the ribbons throug!. her satin sandals, and to sponge Magnolia Balm upon her shoulders, but she pushed the elder woman nervously from the room when she wag ready to pile up the soft masses of her glowing hair yove @ face she intended to make low more than Libbie might have thought desirable, A baby moon swung its slim arms low in the heavens. Miss Libbie would sit on the porch watching that moon until it crept away to sleep and left her alone to listen to the music that floated back from the town hall where the New York man and her sis ter danced In a world more radiant than a moonlit one. She stood in the doorway, aching with the lonelin that soon would chill her. “All ready?” asked the man. "Come out and sit with me if you are through prinking.” 188 LIBBIF selzed upon her moment, She came to the steps and George sprawled in the shadows at her feet Thay were ailent—with tne quietness between two wh'ch may mean they are very clone or may hold them Is apart. At last Miss Libbie coud bear tt no longer—she was bor- ing jim; he always laughed and chat- ted incessantly with Evvy and Maida. Don't you want to smoke?’ she asked "LT }ave my pipe—but that wouldn't Just before going to « dance." sive you some cloves—and r to put on your mouth, If be lilac wa you lke.” You think of everything—you know everything, how to sew and cook and —to make a man comfortavle, And then a man goes and plays round with pretty children when he might be making a friend of a woman like you." He fell to puffing his pipe and silence came again to throb about thom. “Aren't we friends?” asked Miss Libbte, daring much “You bet we are” ‘Tho man seemed to glow and expand az he spoke. u take that away with me And you understand why [had to ree round with the youngstera—an jay tho boyhood I missed? You do under- stand?” Miss Libbie smiled gent}: pérhaps I sort of can—gue: Sileneo again, until at last, abloom liké a pink rose In her soft swiss dress, dotted and sashed and ribbonea with tho color of a Killarney, Evvy came fluttering out to the porch in self- conscious, triumphant beau! ‘The man looked at her with level, quos- tioning eyes and tore himself back from silence. “Are you ready? Won't you want a cloak, Miss Keating?” “Oh, Libbie's not going — what would she do at a dance?” laughed Evvy. “Be a nice old thing, Sis, and Icave us a plate of sandwiches, 1 never could bear that ice cream they have. It's alwaym disappointed strawberry like the color of Maida's dresses, And 4 girl that has to divide every dance and parce! out her encores geta kinda hungry from oxercise,"” George had been knocking the ashes out of his ptpe—now he ceascd his obligato on tho porch railing and turned to Miss Libbie. “I'll go in with you while you get me that clove and the lilac water. 1 wieh you'd come with us—even if you don’t dance, Evelyn, can't you persuade your alster?”* Evvy's eyes finshed, Not for an Inglorious sharing with Libbie had she captured George from Maida. It was the New York man’s last night— and to come aa the object of hin part- ing attentions would make a memor- able triumph. She sent a pleading look to Libbie. “Now, it is nice of you to want me to come along,” sald the Little Dress- maker sturdily; “but [ really would not care for that at all. 1 think It would—bore me, I'd rather—stay here.” A hand clasp-/a quict goodby—then they were gone. Libble sat for a while in the quiet starlight—cione and cold with the loneliness of age rejected by youth. She did not know that Evvy had been cruel to her, She was only vaguely aware that life had been cruel to her. She waa not sorry for her- elf—she was Just cold and very tired. To-morrow he would go back to New York—back to his place among big men and big events. Thomaston’s hero would go away—and the town would settle down to its accustomed ways and forget him; but she would never forget. Thirty would come- and forty—age itself; but no real ro- mance would drive away the memory of the might-have-been. Miss Libble looked at the Iittle escent moon fadins dimly on the edge of the sky. “I guess it wouldn't be wrong to say my prayers out here right now,’’ she murmured, “I'm kinda tired and I have those sand- wiches to make, I guess I'm not so young—for a day’s work does take it plumb out of me. And probably when I get the sandwiches made I'll be 80 tired that I just won't be able to pray. My—if I only had a strong man to do for me—and didn’t ever have to work any more!"* Then, leaning in shadow against the porch railing, she recited her prayers and came at last to her little amend- ment to the verse about content: “And with all the needy, oh, divide, I pray, this vast treasure of content that is mine to-day." “Please, God, forgive me—but I'm less contented than ever, I just can't wet over my feelings. I'm tired— maybe you know how tired; and lone- some. Oh, God! do you know how lonesome a woman can be? Fyvy'll go away like all the others—to New York maybe—and then I'll be lone- somer than ever. Can't I have some one to look after me, some one I can leun on? I just can't go on working for ever, Oh, God, won't you let some big, strong man want to take cure of me? I want to be taken care of so much. Can't I have @ shoulder to lean on? 188 LIBBIE leaned her head on the unresponsive wood of the porch rail and sobbed with dull hopelessness. Then she got to her feet, went in and closed the windows and drew the shades—and fo nt last to the kitchen and the making of sandwiches. She piled a plate with triangular tid-blds ined with apple-butter and minced lamb; she inserted thin gold wedges of cheese between milk-white slices of wheaten bread; she flaked the soft green of lettuce with circlets of young radish ringed in red and tucked It away under bread coverlets; she stirred fragrant cocoa and set it back to wait its call to do and die—and then she sighed a little because there was nothing more for her to do, Now I s'pose I'll have to go to bed. No, fovon't! Ld@on't care if fam an fool; I'm going to get a warm wrap and sit out on the porch and wait for them to come home. He's going to-morrow and T might never e him again if I didn’t. And it vvy's got anything to tell me she'd wake me up. I couldn't sleep, any way.” Her unspoken thou ;hts carried Mis Libble past the coat closet and out ts the poreh. ‘There sat George, grin- ning like an uneasy schoolboy and puMing his pipe like a man quite at case. ' “Le vou fadn't come im five more “Tthink minutes I was going to ring tlie bell— and rcare you to death,” he ao. Ia Byvy all right?” Libbie's voice palpitated in ac cord with her heart's bidding. “Yes—and pareciling out tho en- cores as ehe said she would; she's a protty chill—the boys ike to walt on her. Sit down, Miss Elizabeth"—his voloe lingcred on the baptismal name which Thomaston had forgotten—"I got quite a piece to speak.” “But they'll miss you—tho quest of honor—an’ it's a couple of squares over to the Town Hall. Hadn't you bettor hurry back “I'm going to stay right here—if you'll let me. Wil! you let me?” Miss Libbio put her hand to her heart. Her throat was dry, but her eyes were bright with woshed tears. This was the answer to her prayer. She looked at the man's steady oyes. his strong hands, his broad shoulders —shoulders just made for tired, lonely woman to lean on, “I'd love to have you stay,” she said. “Then come and sit here by me on the stepa whilo I say what I've got to, You don't remember that red headed gro-ery boy that was deliver- ing goods to the back doors of Thom- aston when you were a little bit of a tyke. Woll, he wanted to come in the front dcors some day. He went off to the city and started there—asa delivery boy tor a butcher shop just like he had been here. But that was in New York. It was a stepping stone to big things. That boy was a-going to conquer the world—to get to the top,.you know that already Are. you interested? Shall I go on? “It's wonderful. That boy was after the Golden Fleece, and he got It. HE man puffed at his pipe “I'm telling tiis story! He got fleeced out of his hopes over in the big city—that boy did. Little friend, I have been saving for years so I could have this month's vacation and good clothes and plenty to spend." “I don’t understand—you—they said you were in Wall Street. [don’t un deratand,"’ “I thought you would. No, I'm not in Wall Street. I'm on Columbus Avenue—earning $20 a week as head clerk In a little grocery store. That won't take care of a man in New York—tet alone two. No woman worth having notice. you ever looks at me in New York That's why having the two prettiest girls in town make all the boys jealous for me meant #0 much! Evvy with her Len in his father'm shank; and -Malda, with her own little electric—and her airs. She wouldn't buy potatoes at my little grocery. How every one will laugh when they find out! Are you—laugh- ing, Elizabeth?" I'm not laughing. { don’t think any one could—laugh,"' said Libbie unsteadily. "Maybe they'll—sneer instead. Lis- ten, Little Lady; I'm a failure, 1 live in a dingy boarding house and | take my meals at Child 1 even made a failure of this visit—sham- ming, playing with children when [ might have made friends with you.” “Aren't we friends? Aren't you coming to me and—telling on your- sclf—when you don't have to?” “I do have to. That's why I was afraid of you from the first. 1 didn't mind bluffing those pretty littlo— dolls, But I knew I couldn't Hie to you.” “If—if you were only a little boy, you could just lean your head on my shoulder—and cry, I wish you wer a little boy so I could—comfort you. “So you could comfort me,” wh’ pered the man as if he were vision- ing the wonder of It. “I get to know you and how sweet you are, and then I have to go back and be alone agaih God, the loneliness of New York if you haven't any one to care!” He caught feverishly at the slender hand that was stroking his; he put it to his lips and held it there for a mo- ment, and then he slumped down on the steps and laid his head on Miss Libbie's shoulder and rested there like @ tired child nestling against he: heart. So life \inelf had leaned on her through long, wearying years unti! she had thought she was too tired to go on working—until she bad prayed for a strong man to come and take care of her, to lift her burdens. “I can’t even take decent care ef the woman I love. | haven't a thimg .o offer,” murmured t man, holding her closer as he offered to let hor go. “A woman like you ought to have It easy. Oh, Elisabeth, I dread to go back without you along as my wife— but I can't ask you to come with ‘ne and have tt hard all the rest of the time, I know what It is to be poor in New York and live in dingy side streets, You ought to have sunshine like you have here.” He lifted his head and laid hie lips on her—tenderly, timidly; not flerce ly and thirstily as she had dreamed. “I'm going y now without an- other word—you understand, don't you? I can't ask you to be Mrs. George Minners. I'm going now, Eliz abeth—while I can make myself go. But Miss Libbie laughed with crooning tenderness and held him in frail, tired arms grown etrong at need, “You aren't going without me, dear. Elizabeth Minnora—that's @ name I like a whole lot better than Libbic Keating! Be quiet, my little bey, I understand—I've been lonesome ‘too. But our lonesome days are over, Do you think I'd let you go Dack—with- out me? You fust lean on me, dear That's what you have been needing right along, my poor. tired, Uttte bow —a shoulder to lean on!” (Copyright, all rights reserved.) Printed by Ar amgement Metropolitan Noweoaten Mervice, New Fork.