Judge — November 9, 1918 — page 9: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a He Kept Her Smiling By Artuur C. Brooks Illustration by Witrrep Jones ROSSING to the mahogany book-case, he examined the neat rows, carefully avoiding the classics. He found an attractive volume in green, “How to Tell the Ferns,” and was soon learning how and what to tell them. After a short wait, he heard the outer door shut as the portiéres in the room billowed a su tion. Then twin French heels tapped a direct course to the room, and she stood in the doorway. He looked up and smiled his old smile, but shelved it immediately when he saw her expression. “Oh, hello, Clara!” she ended a brief silence. “Have you finished your knitting?” “Knitting?” he doubted. ‘“Why—what do you mean? And you know my name isn’t Clara!” He was amazed at this new side of her nature. “No?” she questioned coolly Then maybe it’s Clarissa, and you're just back from domestic science class!” The rebuke was as pointed as a toothpick. Why—what do you mean?” “What do I mean! If you say that again, I'll * slap you! You talk like a newspaper reporter.” “Well—what ... what is it, then?” “Justthis. I got three letters in the morning mail. One is from Bob, who is at Pensacola; another came from Camp Uptbn, where Ed is; and Sammie writes from ‘over there.’ Do you get the allusion?’ She bent her nose in disdain, Perfectly.” His nostrils were like John Drew’s. Arising, he lita cigarette. “O... don’t worry about that,” he exhaled.“ Remem- ber, my dear, there are many ways of doing one’s bit without putting on a uniform.” “Such as eating cornmeal muffins, for instance,” sarcastically. He was fast weakening under her barrage of irony. Angrily he tossed his cigarette to the artificial palm, which rustled its fronds gratefully. He turned and spoke. “Pamella ... Lcame here purposely to tell yousomething that perhaps will surprise you, but I hardly expected to say it under these circumstances. You think I’ma slacker, eh? You know that I haunted the recruiting places till the officers nudged each other you know, my heart. But let me tell you something, my dear ... I am in the service!” She dropped into a chair and seemed to become a part of its cushioned velour. Ina metamorpho- sis of amoment shehad grown white, weak, pale, puny, etc. For an in- terval there was no sound in the Re room, save the soft snoring of the “ies He Siren Down at Her, ETTING BrusQueNess canary. Then she stared up at him with an odd look in her eyes, a hybrid of fear and adoration. “You—you—don’t mean i she breathed with rare originality. He smiled down at her, regretting his brusqueness. What a tender, dependent little creature she was. These women! “Yes,” he assured her, “I certainly do.” She leaped up and flung her arms around his collar. “Oh, Edgeworth!” she commenced, in tears. “You aren’t going to leave me? You aren’t going away? “Oh, ne he comforted lightly. “I shall stick around here “Here?” she wondered. ‘O, the State Guard?” “No—selling service flags.”’ He hastened to stem her questions. ‘* You see,” he explained, “I’ve reasoned it all out. I can’t join the Army, so why not advertise those who have? It seems to me that I couldn’t do a better service than by staying home and keeping in touch with them in this way. Their official representative, you might say. If that isn’t the service, I’d like to know what i She gazed earnestly a moment, and then smiled. “Oh!” she exalted. “Howcleveryouare! My big, beau- tiful man!” She snuggled up to him, 'purringlike a contented kitten —meow! meow! Then the curtains opened and Noreen entered, carryingon behind a tea-wagon. She trundled it to the center of the room, and de- parted, smiling scornfully. The girl crossed the room and sat down to pour. He was right at her heels. With a quick, sparrow-like flirt of her head, she smiled into his eyes. “How many lumps, sir?” she laughed, poising the gold sugar tongs. “One and a fraction—not quite two!” he answered, simpering. About Due to treat of spiced Shakespeare love wine and mulled sack. “T know. It won't do now. We'll have to get out a bone-dry Shakespeare Different Now “Why is Wombat hustling so strenu- ously? I thought he retired with enough to live on.” “Tt looked like enough to live on—ten years ago.” One Way “How are you going to vote, Grace?” His “Depends on the weather. If it rains, I suppose I'll have to vote in a mackintosh.”” comicbooks.com