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Show " O " He was a famous man who had lost ': f himself through fear, but found ' L ( courage in an inspiring woman's love IM - Sy Mary Roberts Rinehart tells the story j In the first installment we were introduced to Sidney Page, to Joe Drummond, her boy sweetheart, whom she promised to marry "after years and years," and to K. Le Moyne, the new roomer taken by Sidney and her mother in order to piece out family finances. And In this Installment In-stallment we see Sidney stepping step-ping Into womanhood and making mak-ing important decisions right and left. CHAPTER II. Sidney could not remember when her Aunt Harriet had not sat nt the table; It was one of her earliest di.s-lllnsionnients di.s-lllnsionnients to learn that Aunt Harriet Har-riet lived wit li them, not beeiiu.se she wished to, but because .Sidney's father laid borrowed her small patrimony and she was "hoarding It out." Ki'liteen years she had "boarded It out." Sidney bad been born and Krmvn to girlhood; the dreamer father laid fjotie to his grave, with valuable patents lust for lack of money to renew re-new them none with his faith in. himself him-self destroyed, but with bis faith In the world undiminished for be left bis wife und daughter without a dollar of life insurance. Harriet Kennedy had voiced her own view of the matter, the day after the funeral, to one of her neighbors: "ih? left no insurance. Why should he bother? lie left me." To the little widow, her sister, she had been no less bitter, and more explicit. ex-plicit. "it looks to me, Anna," she said, "as If by borrowing everything I bad (leorge had bought me, body and soul, for the rest of my natural life. I'll stay now until Sidney Is able to take lioltl.' Then I'm going to live my own life. It will be a little late, but the Kennedy's live n long time." The day. of Harriet's leaving had seemed far away to Anna Page. Sidney Sid-ney was still her baby. She bad given up her dolls, but she still made clothes for them out of scraps from Harriet's Rowing room. In the parlance of the Street, Harriet "sewed" and sewed well. Who had taken Anna into business with her, but the burden of the partnership part-nership had always been on Harriet. To give her credit, she had not complained. com-plained. She was past forty by that time, and her y uth bad slipped by in that back room with its dingy wallpaper wall-paper covered with paper patterns. On the day after the arrival of the roomer, Harriet Kennedy came down to breakfast a little late. Katie, the (.eneral-bousework girl, was serving breakfast. Mrs. Page, who had taken advantage of Harriet's tardiness to read the obituary column in the morning morn-ing paper, dropped it. But Harriet did not Sit down. "Sidney." (jr "Yes, -Aunt Harriet." .v'l'ijinnoy, 'wiien your father died, I frirtntved to look after both you and your mother until you were able to take c.lre of yourself. That was five ye'APs'ajrc'f. Of course, even before that ,1 llail' lietrSed to support you." '':''V' j'Sfi. wuuld only have your coffee, JJrr'Wt'!"?',' ,m ijrs. l'aiie sat with her hand on the fcuudle of. ; the old silver-plated coffee-'pot;-- Harriet ignored her. ' "Toll' are a young iwOman now.. You ftave health and energy, and you have youth, which I haven't. I'm past forty. -Iu the next twenty years, at the out-.siiie,. out-.siiie,. I've got not only to support my-.selC my-.selC but to save something to keep me after that, if I live."'. ' Sidney returned her gaze steadily. "1 see. Well. Aunt Harriet,' you're quite right. , You've been a saint to us. but if yeni want to go away " "Harriet '" wailed Mrs. Page, "you're cot thinking " ; . "Please, mother." Harriet's eyes softener! as she looked at the girl. ' "We can manage," &Jid Sidney quietly. qui-etly. "We'll miss you. but it's time we learned to depend on ourselves." After that, in a torrent, came Harriet's Harri-et's declaration of independence. And, mixed with its pathetic jumble of recriminations, re-criminations, hostility to her sister's dead husband, and reseutmeut for her lost years, came poor Harriet's hopes and ambitions, the tragic plea of a woman who must substitute for the optimism op-timism and energy of youth the grim .dot.cc::i!.ua:ioa of middle age. '1 can do good work," she finished. - "I'ai full of ideas, if I could get a chance to work them out. But there's no chance here. There isn't a w-oman on the Street who knows real clothes when she sees them." Mrs. Page could not get back of Harriet's revolt to its cause. To her. Harriet was not an artist pleading for her art; she was a sister and a breadwinner bread-winner deserting her trust. "I'm sure," she said stiffly, "we paid you back every cent we borrowed. If you stayed here after George died, It was because you offered to." Her -bin worked. St fumbled for the handkerck'eT at her belt. Bui SJ- i ncy went around the table and flung a young ana over her aunt's shoulders. "Why didn't you say all that a year ago? We've been selfish, but we're not us IkiiI as you think. And if anyone any-one in this world Is entitled to success, you are. Of course we'll manage." Harriet's iron repression almost gave way. She covered her emotion with details : ".Mrs. Lorenz is going to let me make Christine some things, and if they're all right, I may make her trousseau." trous-seau." "Trousseau for Christine !" "She's not engaged, but her mother says it's only a matter of a short time. I'm going to take two rooms in the business part of town, and put a couch in the back room to sleep on." Sidney's mind flew to Christine and her bright future, to a trousseau ! bought with the Lorenz money, to 1 Christine settled down, a married woman, wom-an, with Palmer Howe. She came back with an effort. Harriet had two triangular trian-gular red spots in her sallow cheeks. "I can get a few good models that's the only way to start. And if you care to do handwork for me, Anna, I'll send it to you, and pay you the regular rates. There isn't the call for it there used to be, but just a touch gives dash." All of Mrs. Page's grievances had worked their way to the surface. Sidney Sid-ney and Harriet had made her world, such as it was, and her world was in revolt. She Hung out her hands. "I suppose I must do something. With you leaving, and Sidney renting her room and sleeping on a folding bed la the sewing room, everything seems upside down. I never thought I should live to see strange men running in and out of this house and carrying carry-ing latchkeys." This reference to Le Moyne, whose tall figure had made a hurried exit some time before. Harriet's eyes were brighter already as she went out. Sidney, kissing her in the hall and wishing her luck, realized real-ized suddenly what a burden she and her mother must have been for the last few years. She threw her head up proudly. They would never be a burden bur-den again never, as long as she had strength and health ! By evening Mrs. Page had worked herself into a state bordering on hysteria. hys-teria. Harriet was out most of the day. She came in at three o'clock, and Katie Ka-tie gave her a cup of tea. At the news of her sister's condition, she merely shrugged her shoulders. "She'll not die, Katie," she said calmly. "But see that Miss Sidney eats something, and if she is worried tell her I said to get Doctor Ed." Very significant of Harriet's altered outlook was this casual summoning of the Street's family doctor. She was already dealing in larger figures. The recklessness of pure adventure was in her blood. She had taken rooms at a rental that she determinedly put out of her mind, and she w-as on her way to buy furniture. No pirate, fitting ; at a ship for the highways of the sea. ever experienced more guilty and delightful de-lightful excitement. The afternoon dragged away. Doctor Doc-tor Ed was "out on a case" and might not be in until evening. Sidney sat in the darkened room and waved a fan over her mother's rigid form. At half past five Johnny Rosenfeld, from the alley, who worked for a florist after school, brought a box of roses, and departed griuniug impishly. He knew Joe, had seen him in the store. Soon the alley knew that Sidney had received a dozen KiUarney roses at three dollars and a half, and was probably engaged to Joe Drummond. "Doctor Ed," said Sidney, as he followed fol-lowed her down the stairs, "can you spare the time to talk to me a little while?"' Perhaps the cider AYilson had a quick vision of the crowded office waiting across the Street; but his reply re-ply was prompt : "Any amount of time." Sidney led the way into the small parlor, where Joe's roses, refused by the petulant invalid upstairs," bloomed alone. "First of all," said Sidney, "did you mean what you said upstairs?" Doctor Ed thought quickly. "Of course; but what?" "You said I was a born nurse." The Street was very fond of Doctor Ed. It did not always approve of him. It said which was perfectly true that he had sacrificed himself to his brother's career that for the sake of that brilliant young surgeon. Doctor Doc-tor Ed had done without wife and children; that to send him abroad he had saved and skimped; that he still went shabby and drove the old buggy-while buggy-while Max drove about In an automobile automo-bile coupe. Sidney, not at all of the stuff martyrs are made of, sat in the scented parlor, and, remembering all this, was ashamed of her rebellion. "I'm going into a hospital," said Sidney. Sid-ney. Doctor Ed w-aited. He liked to have all the symptoms before he made a diagnosis or ventured an opinion. So Sidney, trying to be cheerful, and quite unconscious of the anxiety in her voice, Ui her story. "It's fearfully hard work, of course," he commented, when she had finished. "So is anything worth while. Look at the way you work !" Doctor Ed rose and wandered around the room. "I don't think I like the idea," he said at last. "It's splendid work for an older woman. But it's life, child life in the raw. It seems such an unnecessary un-necessary sacrifice." "Don't you think," said Sidney bravely, brave-ly, "that you are a poor person to talk of sacrifice? Haven't you always, all your lift; " Doctor Ed colored to the roots of his straw-colored hair. "Certainly not," he said almost irritably. irri-tably. "Max had genius; I. had ability. abil-ity. That's different. One real success suc-cess is better than two halves. Not" he smiled down at her "not that I minimize my usefulness. Somebody has to do the hack-work, and, if I do say it myself, I'm a pretty good hack." "Very well," said Sidney. "Then I shall be a hack, too. Of course I had thought of other things my father wanted me to go to college but I'm strong and willing. And one thing I must make up my mind to, Doctor Ed ; I shall have to support my mother." Harriet passed the door on her way in to a belated supper. The man in the parlor had a momentary glimpse of her slender, sagging shoulders, her thin face, her undisguised middle age. "Yes," he said, when she was out of hearing. "It's hard, but I dare say it's right enough, too. Tour aunt ought to have her chance. Only I wish it didn't have to be." Sidney, left alone, stood in the little parlor beside the roses. She touched them tenderly, absently. Life, which the day before had called her with the beckoning finger of dreams, now reached out grin j insistent hands. Life in the raw. CHAPTER 111. K. Le Moyne had wakened early that first morning in his new quarters. Because Be-cause he was young and very strong, he wakened to a certain lightness of spirit. But he grew depressed as he prepared for the office. He told himself him-self savagely, as he put on his shabby clothing, that, having sought for peace and now found it, he was an ass for ikH7 JMtS t "I Don't Think I Like the Idea," He Said. resenting . it. The trouble was, of course, that he came of a fighting stock soldiers and explorers, even a gentleman adventurer or 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 woman. That, of course, is figurative. figura-tive. He had been too busy for women, wom-en, and now he was too idle. A small part of his brain added figures in the office of a gas company daily, for the sum of two dollars and fifty cents per eight-hour working day. 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 as he worked at his task. He breakfasted at Mrs. McKee's, The food was rather good, certainly plentiful ; and even his squeamish morning appetite could find no fault with the self-respecting tidiness of the place. Some of the "mealers" the Street's name for them ventured on various small familiarities of speech with Tillie. K. Le Moyne himself was scrupulously polite but reserved. He was determined not to let the Street encroach on his wretchedness. Because he had come to live there was no reason rea-son why it should adopt him. But he was very polite. When the deaf-and-dumb book agent wrote something on a . 'it toward him. poncil pad a..a pashea it to Le replied in kind. t0 "We are very glad to wei the McKee family," w 1,Bt written on the pad .. -Very happy, 'ucll'a reiUized wrote back Le Jcaat it. headway with Tillie. . ..pon't you want a toolhpick? she asked, as he went out. IQ K's previous wa.! :o M. e e coat pocket, as he had seen the others Change was in the very air of the Street that June morning. It Harriet, asserting her right to ve in Sidney, planning with eager eyes a Ufe of service which.did not include Joe; in K. Le. Moyne, who had built up a 'wall between himself and the world, and was seeing it demolished by a deaf-and-dumb book agent whose weapon was a lead pencil pad ! And yet, for a week nothing happened. hap-pened. Joe came in the evenings and sat on the steps with Sidney, his honest hon-est heart in his eyes. Anna, no longer sulky, accepted with childlike faith Sidney's statement that "they'd get along; she had a splendid scheme, and took to helping Harriet in het preparations for leaving. And K. Le Moyne, finding his little room hot in the evenings and not wishing to intrude in-trude on the two on the doorstep, took to reading his paper in' the park, and after twilight to long, rapid walks out into the country. The walks satisfied the craving of his active body for exercise, ex-ercise, and tired him so he could sleep. When K. was sure that the boy had gone, he would turn back toward the Street. Some of the heaviness of his spirit always left him at sight of the little house. Its kindly atmosphere seemed to reach out and envelop. Within was order and quiet, the freshness fresh-ness of his turned-down bed, the tidiness tidi-ness of his ordered garments. Life, that had seemed so simple, had grown very complicated for Sidney. There was her mother to break the news to, and Joe. Harriet would approve, ap-prove, she felt ; but these others ! To assure Anna that she must manage alone for three years, in order to be happy and comfortable afterward that was hard enough. But to tell Joe that she was planning a future without him, to destroy the light in his blue eyes that hurt. After all, she told K. first. One Friday Fri-day evening, coming home late as usual, he found her on the doorstep, and Joe gone. She moved over hospitably. hospi-tably. The moon had waxed and waned, and the Street was dark. The colored man who drove Doctor Ed' in the old buggy on his daily rounds had brought out the hose and sprinkled the street. Within this zone of freshness, of wet asphalt and dripping gutters, Sidney sat, cold and silent. "Please sit down. It is cool now. My idea of luxury is to have the Street sprinkled on a hot night." K. disposed of his long legs on the steps. He was trying to fit his own ideas of luxury to a garden hose and a city, street. "I'm afraid you're working too hard." "I? I do a minimum of labor for a minimum of wage." "But you work at night, don't you?" K. was natively honest. He hesitated. hesitat-ed. Then: "No, Miss Page." "But you go out every evening!" Suddenly the truth burst on her. ' "Oh, dear!" she said. "I do believe be-lieve why, tow silly of you !" K. was most uncomfortable. "Really, I like it," he protested. "I hang over a desk all day, and in the evening I want to walk. I ramble around the park and see lovers on benches it's rather thrilling." Quite suddenly Sidney laughed "How very nice you are !" she said and how absurd! Don't you know that, if you insist on walking the streets and parks at night because Joe Drummond is here, I shall have to tell him not to come?" This did not follow, to K.'s mind They had rather , a heated argu eui over ,t, and became much better ae quainted. , ac" "If I were engaged to him," Sidnev ended, her cheeks very pink, "i-! might understand. But, as I am not-" Ah! said K., a trifle unsteadily So you are not?" LlU'"y. What do you make of K Le Moyne by this time? And "sup. Pose your daughter, at the age of eighteen, decided to be a trained nurse-would you let her take up the work? UU BE (Ju.NTlXiJEij.) ' |