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Show Dawn of Desire By FRANK PEAPxSON McClure Syndicate VNU Service.) ' I 'O BE ushered by an office boy who was a model of decorum into DeWitt Wright's private sanctum sanc-tum high above Wall Street was to be Immediately conscious of the severe se-vere setting that served only to emphasize em-phasize the austerity of the great financier's expression, so frequently displayed on front pages and rotogravures. roto-gravures. There was not a single soft or rounded line in the great, .square office room, as there were none in the harshly angled features of DeWitt Wright The financier's stenographer-secretary was one of those young women wom-en who craved all the tilings of life that are toth beautiful and secure. She wanted marriage: a home of her own and children to love and scold. Her name was Jane Warden, and there was something angelic about her. DeWitt Wright was one of the most eligible and desirable bachelors bache-lors In New York. Jane Warden was his secretary by reason of her skill and intelligence. How could she surmount this business barrier, and influence him to see her now and then through eyes that would reveal re-veal her desirability as a woman and a companion rather than a keen, efficient tool? One day when Jane was particularly particu-larly blue over the prospect of drab servitude that stretched before her, she chanced on the formal card of a well-known astrologer in one of the magazines. In one corner of the card appeared this simple line: "Let me help you." Jane tonk fifteen dollars from her slim bank account und sought the sacred, incense clouded ante-room of society's pel astrologer. Jane was nothing if not direct. "I don't want a signed, figured horoscope with all my likes and dislikes. dis-likes. I just want to know one thing how can I win the man I love?" Madame Francisco's reputation was not without foundation. She had helped many. She liked this girl's directness. "Miss Warden? Sit here In front of me. Tell me the date of your birth, and the hour as nearly as possible then let me look at ynu a little while . . . two . . . three minutes." Jane did as she was bid and the ceremony proceeded. Mmc. Francisco's Fran-cisco's great dark eyes seemed to hold the girl spellbound; her magnetism mag-netism enfolded Jane in a wealth of sure appraisal. "You are not human enough." the woman said softly. "Slop being the cold angel your name suggests. Ho some little human thing like oh, anything that will show this man without words that he is always in your thoughts " DeWitt Wright loved flowers. Aside from his pleasure In It he was vaguely vague-ly aware that the rose In u slender vose on his desk, every morning fresh and fragrant as dew Itself, was In some slrange sense n message mes-sage or un emblem. Uut the financier was u bir.y man, not fashioned for the subtleties of romnnco, so morning ufter morning he remained in his slate of passivity passivi-ty regarding the rose until the day whon he chanced to arrive extruor-diuurlly extruor-diuurlly early. Ills oMlce door was Biuig wide, axil!. UU tubbur sulcd gulf oxfords were noiseless on the wide cement approach. What he saw from his threshold gave him pause. Jane Warden bending bend-ing over his desk, with the early sunlight from a tall window unsealing unseal-ing gold glints within her trim blonde bob. She was arranging his rose in its receptacle with delicate Angers that, now he thought of it, seemed moulded for caressing. With graceful movements, utterly unaware una-ware of the hungry eyes that covered cov-ered her, Jane stooped and patted into puffiness the flat little leather pillow she had but lately installed in the financier's rigorous desk chair. Something far alien to his being, something queer and warm stirred in the heart of DeWitt Wright. He pictured this girl in his bachelor palace arranging flowers, patting pillows, using the wand of youth to turn a solitary domain into an intimate inti-mate home. Dawn of desire! Acknowledgment Ac-knowledgment of a great lack! He retraced his steps far down from the door as quietly as any cat then wheeled and entered his office with his accustomed authoritative tread. Jane was sitting ready for dictation dicta-tion poised at her desk as usual. They exchanged the customary negligent neg-ligent "good morning." At closing that evening, DeWitt Wright watched Jane Warden straighten her desk, cover her typewriter, type-writer, sharpen a pencil for the next day, and don a smart hat and tailored tai-lored jacket. Ideas clashed in his brain. Oh, to say something to her. For the first time in his powerful life words failed him. Sudden terror seized him as she spoke her bright "good night" and approached the door! She must not go. She could not go. He must unloose the words from his lips; unroot his feet from the floor. DeWitt Wright actually lurched and stumbled as Jane's hand clasped the doorknob "JANE!" Brilliant achievement from DeWitt Wright But be could not have said more. |