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Show Bv JOSEPH Mc CORD wiyfv, ' INSTALLMENT FOLK THE STOBY SO FAR: Larry Cutter ally suggested the could realize her him additional money for work on hla fell In love with Jacqueline (Jack) An- dreams by marrying him. Her broker Inventions. In a fit of despair. Jack ac- tlumy, pretty public stenographer at the entered before she could reply and In- cepted Larry's proposal. She agreed to Hotel Kaynear. While he was die- formed her that her life's savings had meet him at dinner to make arrange- tating an Imaginary letter, she told him been wiped out. Only a month before, ments for their marriage, about her longing for travel. He casu- her father had left her when she refused Now continue with the story. At six o'clock, Jacqueline was in a quandary. She decided to give the . " cafeteria a wide berth, and make excuses later. But six-fifteen found her with a tin tray in hand staring aimlessly at arrays of food that held no inducement. She finally selected se-lected chicken croquettes with cream gravy, a concoction she particularly par-ticularly loathed. Jacqueline selected a table In a far corner where she could watch the door. There she nibbled nervously nerv-ously at the croquettes, tried to interest in-terest herself in her newspaper and stole a frequent glance at the lagging lag-ging clock hands. Six-forty-five and no sign of Mr. Cutter. Jacqueline breathed more easily. She would give him until seven. The paper was read now, save for the sports and financial sections. She avoided that last feature. "Hello, there," remarked a cheerful cheer-ful voice. There, smiling down over a well heaped tray, was Larrimore H. Cutter of Montreal. "So sorry I'm late." He deposited the tray on the table. "I've been busy . . . with our contract." Jacqueline achieved a faint "Oh" in response to Larry Cutter's breezy reference to their marriage. After all, that was what he meant by that "contract." In the face of it, the bride-to-be's formal greeting the one she believed she had prepared pre-pared evaporated. There was something very compelling com-pelling about this man, an easy assurance as-surance in all that he said and did. Jacqueline unobtrusively secured her check, slipped it into her lap and felt better. At least she would have the satisfaction of paying for her dinner. Larry ventured a few commonplace common-place remarks as he proceeded leisurely lei-surely through his meal. Jacqueline's Jacque-line's replies were even more commonplace. com-monplace. She was busy wondering wonder-ing what Mr. Cutter would say after dinner, how he would introduce the dreaded topic. She felt thoroughly helpless like a prisoner awaiting sentence. She was not kept in suspense long. Larry summoned a bus boy and had the table cleared. Then he dragged out his inevitable briar and filled it ' carefully. Through a faint haze of smoke she watched Mr. Cutter burrow in an inner pocket. "Here we are," he announced gravely, spreading a paper pa-per on the table and carefully smoothing out its folds. "It doesn't look very good, I'm afraid . . . But I think you can read my writing. I've tried to cover the points we discussed today ..." We! Instead of proffering the document, docu-ment, Larry laid his hand on it and removed his pipe from his mouth. His dark eyes were fixed intently on Jacqueline's face. He picked up the paper and gave it a final worried glance. "If I have overlooked anything, please don't hesitate to say so." He reversed the paper and pushed it across the table rather reluctantly. reluctant-ly. Jacqueline stared down at it. Its surface was covered with blurred lines that gradually proved to be a man's flowing handwriting. Vigorous Vigor-ous script. There were paragraphs, boldly numbered. She forced herself her-self to pick up the sheet and start reading. It was like reading something in a dream. But there was no mistake in the meaning of those numbered paragraphs. They set out plainly that Jacqueline Anthony would become be-come the wife of Larrimore H. Cutter, Cut-ter, in consideration of certain agreements by "said Cutter." Miss Anthony was under no obligation ob-ligation to relinquish her maiden name, or mode of living. Save as she saw fit. The same freedom existed ex-isted with regard to any association with the "said Cutter" during the ' life of the agreement. The mar- riage seemed rather an incidental thing. After six months, if she so desired, Miss Anthony might extend the terms . . Or tear up the contract con-tract and be free. It all was quite as she recalled the earnest oral account. All except ex-cept . . . A sudden color suffused her cheeks. She shook her head and looked up with consternation showing show-ing in her blue eyes. "Something wrong?" Larry's heart sank. And just as he had decided all over again that little Jack's face was the most beautiful beau-tiful thing in- the world. He did love her! He had worked hours over that contract, trying to make things as easy as possible for Jack. What had he done? He could not know that the girl was wondering what kept her from tearing the paper to bits . . . She could only nod miserably in answer to the question. "Tell me," he begged in a low tone. "It's all right." "I couldn't ... do that," she faltered. "Do what? Which paragraph is it?" "Four." Jacqueline managed it with a little gulp. "Oh . . that one? But of course you can! I told you this was strictly a business proposition, until you were ready to make it something else. You will. But now . . . I'm glad you mentioned it I was forgetting." for-getting." He dragged a long envelope from that same inner pocket. "It's only right that you should have security for what you're doing for me. I wouldn't have it any other oth-er way. It's the one sensible thing to do. You'll see that . . . when you think it over. You'll find a few government bonds there. They're yours to use as you like. Incidentally, Incidental-ly, there's a receipt showing they were purchased by me and in my own name . . . from the Guaranty Trust. So you needn't worry about the source. Property of the holder, of course." Jacqueline nodded her head helplessly. help-lessly. Then she offered a faint and feminine objection. "The envelope is too long to go in my bag." "Then stick it in . . . Oh, anywhere. any-where. Until you get home. Keep the contract, too. All the damning evidence." Larry essayed a grin. Something told him that the first skirmish in his battle was won. His smile faded as Jacqueline looked at him steadily to ask. "How BPS? rSlMiillilil "What a good little sport you are." many parties must there be in a contract?" "Two, supposedly. Why?" "Because you have signed this, but . . . There's no place for my name anywhere." "I know that," he responded with quick gruffness. "I'm not asking you to sign. I told you I wasn't asking for anything . . . Now." "But you would be willing to let me . . . not be fair. I can't do that. I gave you my word. Please make some dotted lines for me." In silence, Larry reached for the paper and produced a fountain pen. Jacqueline leaned forward and watched him jab a neat row of inky dots just above his signature. When he had finished, he held out the pen. Jacqueline took it and, with steady fingers, wrote her name in small neat characters. She recalled re-called afterwards how cold her hands were. "There," she said. Larry drew a long breath as he accepted his pen. "You always would be terribly square about things," he told her in a low earnest voice. "I knew that from the very first. You can't understand what this means to me ... It will take years." He caught himself. "There's one other thing we really should settle set-tle tonight. I told you I had been busy. I was . . . checking up on legal matters, among other things." "What do you want me to do now?" Jacqueline spoke in that small flat tone again, for the first time. The dark blue eyes were suddenly sud-denly bewildered, tired. "Nothing very bad. This is Thursday ... I want you to marry me Saturday morning." Jacqueline received this latest request re-quest from Larry Cutter with something some-thing bordering upon apathy. If he said this was Thursday, he probably was right. He had a disconcerting way of being right, or seeming to be. The past twelve hours had been an age. Tomorrow would be Friday. Then Saturday . . . Why not? It fitted well enough into this mad scheme of things. Might as well get it done with . . . Mr. Cutter was explaining. "I don't wish to seem to arrange everything, every-thing, but here's the plan I had in mind. We can take my car and run over across the State line. They're very liberal in their ideas of weddings . . . We can get a license li-cense and . . . have it over with in an hour. You don't work Saturday afternoons, do you?" "Not often." "How about taking the morning off?" "I suppose I might . . ." "Seeing that it's a sort of special occasion," Larry smiled. "I think it would be a good idea to get an early start. If you'll tell me where you live, I'll drop around and pick you up." "Nine hundred and seven, Court-land Court-land street." Jacqueline watched him scrawl the address on the back of an envelope. enve-lope. He was going to call there for; her. They would drive . . . somewhere. some-where. And be married . . . married mar-ried . . . married. That word seemed to be beating against her tired brain . . . "Would eight o'clopk be too early?" "I'll be ready." There surely couldn't be much left to discuss now. But Mr. Cutter still seemed preoccupied as he slowly rapped the bowl of his pipe on the ash tray. He looked up with a quick jerk of his head. "I'm afraid all this has been pretty pret-ty one-sided. I don't want it to be that way. Is there anything you want to ask me?" "Nothing." "What a good little sport you are." He said it warmly, half to himself. "I don't want to seem mysterious, but I'd rather like to have you . . . well, trust me for a little time. There are some things that ..." "Please," Jacqueline interrupted in a low voice. "You have asked me for nothing and I ... I signed, too. If you mean all that you've said ..." "And I do. Absolutely." "Then there is nothing to talk about now. If you don't mind, I'd like to go home." "Where's your check?" Larry demanded de-manded abruptly. "I have it." Jacqueline's hand closed over it. "I prefer to pay it myself," she added firmly. "Just as you say." The little stenographer pushed back her chair, walked quickly to the cashier's booth and paid for her dinner. She took the occasion to slip the folded contract into her bag. "I am going out the lower entrance," en-trance," she told him. "I see. I wish you'd take a cab home. Please. I will not see you . tomorrow . . . Until Saturday at eight. You can get word to me here, of course . . . But I hope you won't want to. Good night and . . . thank you." Jacqueline did take a cab to Courtland street. The gloomy privacy pri-vacy of the lurching taxi was a haven. ha-ven. The reaction to the day's strain possessed her. Was that what she had become? A chattel . . . ? Safe within her little apartment, the door closed and locked, she felt secure. The soft lights, the familiar furnishings brought a sudden sense of peace. For the first time since she had established herself there, she had a longing for companionship. companion-ship. If only there were someone to whom she could talk. Sleep was quite out of the question, ques-tion, ' activity of some sort imperative. impera-tive. Jacqueline opened the door of her wardrobe and stood looking at the neat rows of dresses and gowns suspended sus-pended on their hangers. At the small shoes in orderly array. Hat boxes on a shelf and a smart little week-end bag . . . No. She wasn't going anywhere. Just for a brief auto ride. And that brown ensemble was her going away costume. Her wedding dress! She was standing here staring at her . trousseau ... A strange little sound broke the silence of the room ... a stifled hysterical laugh. It was years before be-fore morning came. Mr. Cutter kept his word about Friday. There was no sign of him around the lobby. Jacqueline was grateful for that Not that she really real-ly wanted to see him, but a glimpse of those broad shoulders would have been reassuring in a way, would have made her positive that the whole thing was not a dream. Fortunately, Friday proved to be a rather busy day in the small office. of-fice. That was a help. Although, quite to Jacqueline's own surprise, she found herself looking forward to Saturday's adventure with an unexpected un-expected feeling of calm. Her only item of preparation for the event was a call upon Mr. Archibald Archi-bald Potter in his office on the mezzanine. She wondered if there would be an objection to her closing the office for the forenoon. "I should think you might do it. I'll leave word at the desk and arrange ar-range to have one of the girls up here take care of any emergency cases. Go ahead. Have a good time." That strange feeling of loneliness assailed her when she covered her typewriter and lowered it into the desk for the night. No . . . until Monday. The sensation persisted as she put the office in order. It was almost as if she never were coming back to the familiar little room. After all, Jacqueline Anthony wasn't coming back. When she came in here again, she would be a married woman ... a bride . . . coming to work. (TO BE CONTINUED) |