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Show : Hope i ' Eternal .' By Gwynn Jones W j WNU Feature. pPITAPH JONES closed the door of the crazy old cabin with a resounding bang. He gave the house ' a malignant look before he turned and stamped noisily off the sagging porch. Though he looked a carefree figure, fig-ure, Epitaph's thoughts were acutely acute-ly painful. ' 'A weepin' woman. Always Al-ways a-weepin'. Livin' in lux'ry, a lovin' man, all the work she can do and still she weeps. No sooner she stops weepin' for one thing she begins be-gins weepin' for somethin' else. Weep and cry cry and weep, till I gotta find me some real sunshine somewhere, quick." As though drawn by a magnet, his feet climbed a steep street, passed a pool hall, a fruit market, a barber shop, a pawn shop. He turned through a white-washed gate into a neat yard where red tubs set on great gray stumps waited their summer sum-mer cargo of flowers. Epitaph's knock was answered by a trim young woman who greeted him with a pleased laugh. "Why, how-de-do, Mr. Jones. I was jest sayin' to myself I wisht that nice Mr. Jones would drop along and here you come promenadin' in. Do have this easy chair, Mr. Jones, and lemme take your hat." Tearful spring had drifted into gracious summer and summer had faded into frost-tinted autumn when Epitaph again crossed the black and gray ash heaps where grimy children chil-dren and bony goats still swarmed. He did not swagger now. His raiment rai-ment was as natty as ever and his cap still clung at a rakish angle but there was a chastened air about him. He had a look of one who has suffered suf-fered a grievious disillusionment. j ' I "Why how-de-do, Mr. Jones. I was jest sayin' to myself I wisht that nice Mr. Jones would come ' along." Pausing before the crazy old cab-In, cab-In, he surveyed it fondly. Then h tip-toed across the sagging porch and slowly pushed open the protesting protest-ing door. A TALL thin woman in a dejected black dress appeared from an inner room. She saw Mr. Jones and began to laugh. Mr. Jones felt th universe reeling. Sissy laughing! "Why Sissy, I thought you was such a weepin' woman. You sick, Sissy?" "No indeedy. Never felt better in my life. Come right in, Epitaph." Sissy trilled merrily. "How come you to change so. Sissy?" Sissy chuckled, "Well, when you went ofl with that gigglin' Cyrene I took a thought to myself. If that no-account Cyrene can laugh another anoth-er girl's man away from her, I says, I better learn me some laughs too, o I did." Epitaph shuddered as at a prickling prick-ling memory. "But Sissy, I don't like laughin' women. Can't you weep jest a little, lit-tle, Sissy?" "No, I'll weep no more. How come you stayed at Cyrene's so long 11 you don't like laughin' women, Epitaph?" Epi-taph?" "This mornin' she got a a kind of laughin' fit and throwed a hammer ham-mer at me. So I took it was kind oi a hint and I jest natchelly snuck out and left. Hammer hit me, too." "Ain't that a shame. Cyrene didn'1 ought to act so. Now me when 1 have laughin' tits I jest hurl flal irons," and Sissy caught up one thai stood on a near-by table and advanced ad-vanced on her guest in a perfect gale of merriment. pHE west was still bright when Epitaph beached his boat on the sandy shore. A crooked path led him to a small clearing in a wood, On a ragged blanket before a ramshackle ram-shackle hut built mostly of packing cases and tin strips, sprawled I man, idle, relaxed, half-hidden in s haze of rank tobacco smoke. A scrawny hound, equally relaxed, dozed beside him. As Epitaph Jonei gazed on that peaceful scene a sens of relief, of security, swept over him The man on the blanket looked up. He spoke with a rare economy oi effort. "Hi, Ep'taph. Make y'sef t'home Meet nV sis' 'Vang'line." He closed his eyes, exhausted. Epitaph shivered half turned t flee. Then he made an about-face Said Mr. Jones most politely, "How-de-do, Miss 'Vangeline, I jes' dropped in to see would you like m( for a steady boarder. I need me I change of climate, bad, and with yoi j I could dwell forever in one apex o: glorious delightsomeness," conclud ed Mr. Jones in an ecstatic burst a I poetic fervor. |