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Show 1" FICTION CORNER I ?V I THE RUG By VIItGINIA SULLIVAN TOMLINSON My father was one of the men wh took Skippy's little body out of ths water that night My mother sa with Mrs. Farraday when they brought him home. Dora Farraday didn't comehome at all. She sent a telegram. It arrived just as they were bringing Skippy's body into the house. Dora had left Skippy alone by the lake to elope to New York with her new beau. Ellen continued at school; she had always been very quiet. And after awhile, Mrs. Farraday went about the town again, holding her head very high, smiling her fixed, gay smile. Only Mr. Farraday seemed changed. He aged visibly that year. Nobody was surprised when the cold he caught just before Christmas Christ-mas turned into pneumonia. The doctors said that he just hadn't the will to live. Dora came home when her father died. Mrs. Farraday sent her the money. Dora's husband had left her and Dora had been working in New York, clerking in a store. People I thought that perhaps she'd stay ' I KNEW the Farraday family be-, be-, fore it happened. I knew them first when I was nine and Ellen i Farraday was eight and in my class at school. There were two other Farraday children: Skippy, the baby, who was five, and Dora, seventeen, Just 'entering business school. Dora was engaged to marry Danny Wright, who ran the service-station In town. Mr. Farraday was branch manager of our local bank. "Such a nice, quiet man," people said. "If only that wife of his were not such a fool." I didn't think Mrs. Farraday was a fool. I liked her. The sprawling old Farraday house, with Its sag- had always thought Aunt Abbey disliked dis-liked her; all those unkind remarks she used to make. But now she was grateful for the rug and meant to keep It. Since the narrow living room at the Farradays was too small for the rug, Mr. Farraday was persuaded to sell the home and rent a house with larger rooms. Their old stuff looked pretty shabby against the rug, so with the money from the sale of the home they bought new furniture. And after awhile, because of the friends they acquired in the new surroundings, the Farradays bought a new car, too. I saw less of Ellen now, txcept at schoo. Gradually my visits to the 'ging porch, was always In need of repair, the shabby living-room would be cluttered and dishes unwashed, un-washed, but Mrs. Farraday was never too busy to plan games for rainy afternoons or picnics in summer sum-mer In their rickety old car. She was little and quick and dark, with rather kittenish ways; always thinking up something new and "exciting" "ex-citing" like the dress she designed for Dora that won the prize In the Easter parade. There was nothing I loved mor than going over to the Farraday house whenever I had the chance. Saturday mornings they always had pancakes; Sundays they had sausages sau-sages and Boston baked beans and applesauce in a blue glass dish. And they had laughter. A great deal of laughter except when Aunt Abbey came to call. Aunt Abbey was Mr. Farraday's aunt, a very rich, very unpleasant old lady who lived in an Imposing granite house at the end of town. It was no secret that she disapproved bitterly of the entire Farraday family. fam-ily. Why she visited them nobody knew, unless It was because, of all her relatives, they refused to be im- fcv&Ut KVsY4 Jfl Shed Uken sk,PPy the Plonlo, jtfvM 1 tli n&$2 hadn' she? She should not have i J&r 4i w fone oB with that beau of he8,l Cj)JjgJf ijvL home now, since her mother needed fJCftyf tjgfo ner but nobody really expected she VlTS would- Danny Wright was marriedj lAiSy rWm ve now' one ' ora'8 ormer clasa-j vW7 altfiWrt ! mates, a plain little girltwlth ador- A. M''&Wns lng eyeSl They came t0 Mr" Farra"! ''jJf-'' day'f ri'neral, sitting closely to-l r ' gether in the church. The weeki pressed by her money or upset by her caustic tongue. They merely accepted her, all but Mrs. Farraday, Farra-day, who seemed to like having Aunt Abbey around. Curiously enough, it was of Mrs. Farraday herself that Aunt Abbey most bitterly bit-terly disapproved. "My nephew's wife isn't fooling me," she'd say. "Always pretending pretend-ing to be so gay. What's she got to be happy about, I'd like to know? If my nephew had married a sensible woman, he'd have amounted to aomething by now." "I declare," my mother said, "it gives me the creeps, the way that old lady looks at Mrs. Farraday. I believe she really hates her." "She hates them all," my father said, "because they've got what she never had. The Farradays have contentment. All Aunt Abbey has is money, and when she's gone they'll have that, too." Only they didn't. Because when Aunt Abbey died the year Ellen Farraday was nine, she left them no money at all Her entire estate went to charity, with one exception. She left Mrs. Farraday a rug. It was an Oriental rug, exceptionally large and lovely; golden in color, satiny to the touch, starred with dusty pink flowers. "It's a shame," people said, "when those children need money so. But of course they can sell the ' rug. It's valuable and Orientals are in vogue." Then a dealer offered Mrs. Farraday $25,000 for her rug. The town rejoiced for the Farradays. Farra-days. This meant college for the children and money to fix up the old house. But, to the amazement of everyone, Mrs., Farraday stubbornly stubborn-ly refused to selL She had always admired that rug. she, said. She'd been as surprised as anyone when Aunt Abbey had left it to her. She She'd taken Skippy to the plonlo, hadn't she? She should not have gone off with that beau of hers.l leaving the child alone by the lake.! home now, since her mother needed her, but nobody really expected she would. Danny Wright was marriedj now, to one of Dora's former class-j mates, a plain little girl, with adoring ador-ing eyes. They came to Mr. Farra-! day's funeral, sitting closely to-l gether in the church. The weeki after the funeral Dora went back to her Job in New York, and the day! after she left Mrs. Farraday came: to see my father about selling her rug to pay her bills. , My father did his best; but this, was a depression year and nobody, had money now for Oriental rugs.: The five thousand dollars he finally got from a dealer barely paid for! Mr. Farraday's funeral and fori Mrs. Farraday's debts. Mrs. Farraday Farra-day got a job at the hotel. Her salary included room and board, sol that Ellen could live with her, tooJ It was storming hard the day they, moved down there. We left them( alone and drove home through the snow-covered town, passing the old, Farraday house on the way. No-, body lived in it now. Tears crowded, behind my lids as we drove slowly! by. "They were happy in that house," my father said. "A great pity they, ever moved out of it. If Aunt Abbey knew what she was doing when she made that will, then she must be laughing now in her grave." My mother spoke suddanly.j "That's itl" she exclaimed. "She did know what she was doing. And I'm surprised that I never thought of it before." "What do you mean?" My father stared at her. Her voice had sounded sound-ed strange. "She knew exactly what she was: doing!" my mother said. "And wherever she is she probably Is laughing! Aunt Abbey knew that Mrs. Farraday would never be able to resist living up to that rug!" Farradays had ceased, partly because be-cause my mother 'disapproved of Dora Farraday's new friends. Dora had always been a sweet, docile little thing, ambitious to get along. Now she had given up business school. She had even broken off her engagement to Danny Wright. Dora had a new beau now; one she'd met through her "crowd." Nobody liked him, but he was rich and he gave Dora a good time. He had a weak, handsome face and a loud scoffing laugh. I'd see them together as I walked home from school, dashing around town in his rakish car or going into Van's Place for drinks. People felt sorry for Danny Wright. He'd been so crazy about Dora, and always so glad to have Skippy and Ellen around. DORA'S new beau didn't like children. chil-dren. He objected to Skippy trailing trail-ing her about Skippy was six now, very spoiled and rather a nuisance; but it seemed hardly fair to blame Dora entirely for what happened at the Elks' picnic that year. Everyone Elks' picnic that year. Everyone said, though, that K was Dora's fault. She'd taken Skippy to the picnic, pic-nic, hadn't she? She should not have gone off with that beau of hers, leaving the child alone by the lake. |