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Show coooooooocoooooococoooocoo One Letter He Did Not Mail B 3 By CORONA REMINGTON 8 OCOCOCXDOOCXXXXXXXDCOOOOOOCXD ((c) bv McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) (W.NU Sarvlce.) XJOW, I'll be out of town Monday but I'll be back Tuesday morning morn-ing and I'll call you. Maybe we could go to a show that night Would you like to?" "I'd love to go," she smiled up at him. "That's a bargain then. I'll call you Tuesday. Good-by." Big Jim Spearman pressed her hand llngf-ringly for a second and was gone. Constance Miller walked back Into the living room 8fter he had'left and wondered won-dered what had happened. There was a strange loneliness about the place and yet a peculiar cheer, too. She felt somehow both the nresence and the absence of his big wholesome personality. per-sonality. "And he's going to call me Tuesday Tues-day morning . . ." she whispered to herself. "Sunday, Monday . . ." she counted them off on her fingers "Only two days I" "I believe he likes me a little 1 honestly believe he does," she told her mirror as she stood In front of It brushing her hair for the night. "And Just think, two weeks ago I didn't know him. I didn't even know him." With the languid, preoccupied motions mo-tions of one who is thinking of something some-thing else she finished her toilette at last and slid Into bed. She was so sleepy yet so Incredibly happy. "Tuesday "Tues-day . . . Tuesday . . . Tuesday." She wished she could stay awake all night Just to think about It The words floated around In her brain, now distinct, now dim, now distinct again. "Tuesday . . . Tue " Down, down she sank Into the land of Nod. And when she awoke It was Sunday and time to get dressed for breakfast. break-fast. ' "Day after tomorrow 1" That sounded sound-ed so much nearer than Tuesday had the night before. "Day after tomorrow." tomor-row." Sunday jogged along somehow. Breakfast, church, dinner, a long afternoon after-noon of piano and books, peaceful, Informal, In-formal, servantless supper. Leavings from the midday feast chicken and dressing, sliced veal. Jam and bread and butter, tea, scraps. Delicious. And then Monday. Less time for dreaming. A hurried hour of piano practice, then the lesson and afterward after-ward more practice. The afternoon was filled with golf. And Tuesday Constance Con-stance decided to break her engagement engage-ment with the dentist to stay home. He mighl telephone while she was gone. She practiced a little, then went to the window and looked out, she did not know what for. The telephone tele-phone bell ra.ig suddenly, sharply. With a start she picked it up, her heart beating strangely. "Yes?" Her voice was athrill with expectancy. "Hello, Conny, this is Margaret. Marga-ret. ..." She could scarcely restrain herself. A tide of disappointment swept over her. That telephone bell rang again and again and each time she flew to it certain that it was he, only fo find that It was some one else. The tension ten-sion became unbearable, and that night she cried herself to sleep, one moment certain that he had heen killed in some way or had fallen suddenly sud-denly ill, the next moment certain that he was a flirt and had completely forgotten for-gotten her. Wednesday she decided to telephone to his office. But she hung up the receiver re-ceiver just as the operator asked for the number. "No, if he can't take the trouble to call me he may go for all I care." (That was one of the moments when she was sure he was a flirt.) Thursday was a replica of Wednesday Wednes-day only worse, cumulative tension and disappointment adding to the pain. Then came Friday and with the evening eve-ning Jim Spearman appeared, cordial, debonair, conscienceless. "Mighty glad to see you again." "Well, where shall we go tonight?" She had not spoken a word as yet. "I I don't think we'll go. . . ." "Why, Constance, you promised me tonight." "I did not," she answered with spirit. "I promised you Tuesday night and Tuesday's been gone a year I" "But I sent you a special delivery explaining that I'd be detained and asking you to go tonight I only got back an hour ago." "It it idn't come." "Well, I mailed it I put It In this pocket and ma-iled It Monday night at the post office myself." He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the letter. There it was stamped and sealed and addressed to her. Limply he dropped into a chair a big. pathetically crestfallen man. "Well, what on earth do you suppose I mailed that night ".nyway?" It was all over. All the suffering and suspicion and doubt. Conny laughed the happiest rippling laugh. "I can't imagine," she said, "but I know one thing It wasn't my special delivery." "Well, after we've been married a few years you'll find out what an absent-minded old man you have for a husband." He said It in the same cheery way he said everything else and with the same certainty and he was right. Jours later that night she turned over and over in joyful restlessness. "Once explained, how understandable understand-able the unuuderstandable is," she sighed happily. |