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Show The Healing of a Breach By MARIAN C. WALTON ''opy'rien't"' 1910." TT'TTIi''l "If I were only a man." Ellen exploded, ex-ploded, her eyes dark with tears. Clayton's eyes tvlnkl-d despite their open admiration "No doubt it is possible to Improve on the ways of providence," he said. "Still in this case, 1 cion't see any misfit." "Of course not you believe. 'Whatever 'What-ever is, is right.'" Ellen flung at him in a tone meant to be crushing Clayton took her hands In his, looked carefully at the pink palms, soft as s baby's, at the filbert nails, the taperting tips and went on: "It really seems to me the powers that be knew their business. What could you do with those hands? Besides men are not allowed to cry merely for getting vexed nothing short of losing a fortune or a wife excuses them for being lachrymose " "Hush! You are too hateful for anything! Anything!" Ellen burst out. "Of course, if I were a man I shouldn't be the ridiculous nuisance I am I should have reach and strength of body to match my strength of mind " "Dear me! Where do you keep it? I always thought you adorably feminine femi-nine not the least bit strong-minded," Clayton interrupted, teasingly. "It alarms me dreadfully to find myself mistaken. You know I've quite made up my mind to marry you." "Indeed!" The monosyllable spoke volumes of scorn, of anger, of smothered satisfaction. Clayton caught the smothered note and smiled covertly. cov-ertly. EKen saw the smile, read it aright, and grew angrier than ever. "Maybe I am ungrateful," she went on, choking chok-ing slightly, "but really, it seems to me I have some rights in the case." "All rights," Clayton conceded, promptly. "But see here, honey-bug, xf )f VM " '''' ''''ll'OrFER HCM n THROUGH, you MOT SiNCB&cST APOLOGy" don't, don't let's quarrel, even before we are engaged." "Then when can we quarrel?" Ellen demanded. "We surely , never will be engaged." "Do you mean that?" Clayton demanded, de-manded, a hint of seriousness creeping creep-ing into his voice. Ellen looked him up and down. "I mean it. Utterly, positively!" she said. "So I had better say good-by to you I fancy you won't care to stay for dinner." '"So; but I am not going until you hear me out," Clayton said half sternly. stern-ly. "We have got beyond jesting. Let me state the case. You know I love you I've been showing it the best I know how this year and better. bet-ter. I think you love me no matter mat-ter what you say- now. But you are flouting me, angry with me over the most foolish thing in the world. An old quarrel, one that belongs to the men of your family. If it means anything, any-thing, I'd joy to take it up. You are precious to me so precious any hurt or shame or scath to you would be worth a man's life if I knew it. But I don't intend to make myself a laughing stock for the county by refusing re-fusing to speak from the same stand with General Peabody at the rally next week. I want to speak for many reasons I ought to do it it belongs to me as a man and citizen. You wouldn't have me sit back, a snail In my shell " "I would when that creature Pea-body Pea-body was around. My father simply couldn't bear him. If I were a man I'd show him the blood was true to Itself no Burton ever forgets," Ellen said, her eyes flashing. Clayton was not sure whether he wanted most to kiss her or to shake her. He compromised by kissing her hands, murmuring fond words as he did it ociated Literary Press.) She snatched away the hands, saying say-ing scornfully: "No doubt you think I'm clay to be molded as you choose. But this I tell you and you may believe be-lieve It the day you shake hands with General Peabody, that day you cease to be even an acquaintance of mine." After the last word she turned away. Clayton whistled, and took an instant departure. He felt he had made the grand mistake of arguing where he should have entreated. "But Nell was always so sensible until now," he told himself. "How could i 1 guess she had so much of that old fire-eater, her daddy? Game's up, it appears without a special providence. provi-dence. Please send one quick kind Fate. Life without Nell Is duller than ditch-water." Ellen had not meant to go to the rally, but now a sense that going was imperative fell upon her. So she was there, very fine, very gay, with Johnny Goold at her elbow. He had begged to fetch her, but she had come alone in the family carriage, save for Mammy Nance. Johnny's tender mercies were over-tender over-tender he had been mad about Nell ever since they met. He was not bad-iooking, nor bad-hearted, only lax and coarse of fiber, also easily beset with a craving for liquor. Ellen had never seen him save strictly sober she was pardonable for failing fail-ing to understand his high color, his glib speech, his all-embracing affection affec-tion for the universe. He was gallant to every petticoat, but he never got far away from Ellen. Long before the speaking ended, though she had not fully sensed his condition, she had begun to be uneasy. un-easy. Prejudiced as she was, uneasy as she was, she had had to admit that General Peabody was worth hearing; not so well worth it as Frank Clayton, Clay-ton, to be sure but still he was eloquent, elo-quent, and had sense no less than sound to what he said. Deep down she began to wonder she had been regretting it ever since the day of the quarrel. If only she had left a loophole loop-hole but she knew how futile it was to think Frank would ever come back. "Won't you find mammy, please?" she asked Johnny. "I think we bad better go home before dinner. Tell her so and to come at once." "You're going to dine, not at this measly barbecue but with me up at the club," Johnny said, strenuously, strenuous-ly, clasping her hand, tucking it over his arm and striding toward his b:g motor car. "We'll get there in no time I hate crowds like this," he ran on, half carrying Ellen as he strode along. She was wildly angry, still more frightened. Pull as she might, she could not free her hand. To scream meant a scene and anything was better than that. Desperately she hung back, casting appealing glances toward the place where Clayton had been standing a minute earlier. He had vanished, but tall old General Peabody Pea-body was in evidence he caught Ellen's anguished eye. In three strides he was beside her, saying as he laid a heavy hand on Johnny's shoulder: "Pardon me, my young friend, but I must speak to Allan Burton's daughter. daugh-ter. Your father and I, my dear young lady, were, I regret to say, lifelong enemies. And all over a trifle tri-fle a trifle moreover in which lately, late-ly, 1 have found that I was wrong. So I offer him through you my sincere sin-cere apology, and beg pardon. Will you grant it?" "Oh, general!" was all Ellen could say. Clayton, behind the general, caught her trembling hand as it fell from the general's clasp, and said, smiling: "I am sure she is in a forgiving mood. Johnny Goold nearly always provokes one to repentance and remission." re-mission." "I am very glad to to forgive everybody," Ellen said in a s&all, tremulous voice. The general smiled, shook hands again, and bowed himself away. 'IDid you really find out you were wrong?" a crony asked him as "the two stood apart filled with joy and barbecue an hour later. The general's gen-eral's eyes twinkled. "I have quite forgotten what Burton and I hated each other about," he said, "but I shall never be old enough to forget the appeal of a girl's eyes when she's badly worried today I saw it, and acted accordingly." "Yet folks say you are less man than politician," the crony said, admiringly. ad-miringly. The general chuckled mildly. "1 hope I'm pretty much all there is of both," he said, "for the credit of my country, no less myself." |