Life — December 4, 1913 — page 34: what you’re looking at

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

974 suddenly on his companion, “you're not going to write this up?” “ Anything to write up?” fenced the reporter. “Nothing. Honest Injun.” hen what's the real trouble?” “Would you tell me?” asked Riggs. “1 guess not,” agreed the reporter. ¢ that train.’ y missed it. That meant a delay of hours, and a longer walk to the junction. lt was noon when Riggs got home. The landlady, who was not a lady at all, however evident her grimy relation to the land, met him inquisitively. “Young woman here early to see you,” she announced. “But a gentleman came in a big auto and took her away. They said they'd be bac ‘The boarder ran upstairs, shedding his overcoat. He threw it on the greyish honeycomb coverlet, tore off his draggled clothes, upset the bureau drawers over the bed to find fresh ones. “Every doggone stocking’s a sieve, and not many of ‘em would hold nut coal,” he muttered, rummaging. He was tying an English cravat, the one he had been married in. A knock interrupted. He tossed the ited linen behind the bed, and admitted his brother =merson, There was in erson a quality of high disapproval that could manifest itself through his most civil bearing. It settled like a cloud over the frayed coat, the dingy room the varnished bureau with its sticky drawers that would not shut, the shabby younger brother, half welcoming, half hostile. 3ut Emerson was for peace. glove and shook hands heartily. “You've stuck like a bulldog, Joe,” he congratulated the younger. “Father's waiting down at the Bellevue. Heart's set on having you to dinner. You're coming, aren't you “T expect to dine with my wife.” Emerson permitted himself a supercilious survey of his surroundings. “Planning to bring her here?" he asked impertinently. “Ts that any of your affair?” suggested the younger, but he reddened. “Joe,” approved the brother kindly, “you've forced us all to admire you. You'll make good—with back: that is—you realize you're not a pusher. What are you getting? Four? Five? Three a day! That's fine—splendid! But you can’t rise. Now, there’s Letty, used to admiration and luxury...” “Luxury!” echoed Joe scornfully. “Cooks her own meals over an alcohol stove, and rooms with another girl.” “Formerly perhaps,” corrected Emerson. “ Well, we'll say she could have luxury if she pleased. She could marry money. Abramson, the manager, is crazy to marry her and star her. You stand in her way. She's a fine girl, but you know, Joe, she’d never have taken you but “We're not going He pulled off a well-cut for father’s name. en if she’s game, don’t you think it’s pretty low in you to insist? Give her a chance to free herself without seeming too heartlessly See if she doesn’t jump at it.” “IT wouldn't hold her,” said Joe uncertainly. against her will. Has she been talking to you?” “She has indeed,” assented Emerson. And if you imagine that any girl who really cared for you would go off on her wedding day—now keep cool! I'm not criticising. She couldn't with dignity have acted otherwise. But it isn’t the behavior of a—er Juliet, now is it?” He broke off at a gathering scowl. “Mind you, Joe,” he added simply, “this isn’t my funeral.” There was a gleam of human feeling in Emerson's face. He touched his brother’s shoulder affectionately. “Prodigal son comes home and all that, but it’s no special sport for the elder ‘other. Just con- sider. What's your interest? What's her’s? Forget your emotions for a while, and think of board and clothes. Give her a chance. Let her tell you the truth.”* Joe stepped to the window, and through its dusty panes contemplated a sea of slushy chimneypots. He swung around. “Where is she?” he demanded harshly. Emerson recognized the psychological moment. “T'll fetch her,” he promised and vanished into the hall. This was not the way one would plan to welcome a wife. Confound Emmy! what business was it of his? While Joe stood, perplexed and dejected, his brother re- appeared with Letty. She was a vision of smartness. Her glowing face was almost extinguished between the plumed hat and the black fox furs. She held out a hesitating hand. Doesn't one embrace one’s wife when she has been away for a year? It seems not. Do real wives go away for a year, anyway? He dropped the doubtful hand. Letty turned a little pale. However, the hat covered all that. Emerson beamed. Apparently he did not feel superfluous. “T hate to see you romantic simpletons sacrifice each other,” he said briskly. “I'd square you if I could. But you know father. Here’s Miss LeMoyne with a career before her. This surely is no place for her. Nor for Joe,” he added. “ You wouldn't bring her to this sordid hole, Joe,"—Letty made a gesture of protest, but he con- tinued quickly—* any more than she could bear to condemn you to it forever.” “Not forever.” Joe refused this fate. What do you want me to do, Joe?” asked Letty in a spiritless little voice. Riggs fixed troubled eyes on her. “Could we make it, do you think?” He handed her the bank-book. “T've saved that. And I’ve about a week's wages in my pocket.” She opened it. mercenary. “Not She turned her eyes to his threadbare