10-Story Book, July 1931 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

44 10-STORY BEGINS ITS 30TH SUCCESSFUL YEAR! “Oh, I didn’t know she was married,” said Michael. ‘When was that?” “Two years ago.” “Oh,” said Michael. He thought, He’s not in touch with his family anymore, and he made a mental resolve to look up Peter’s father and mother for old time’s sake and to speak about Peter. “How’s your wife?” Peter asked. Michael made a grimace, and said, “Splen- did, old man. Why don’t you run up and stay with us sometime? We’ve a grand place up in Wisconsin.” Peter’ said, “Oh, I’d love to.” But he thought, I would never trust myself alone with Michael like that. Michael, who had been standing all this time, sank into a chair, and Peter sat near him. “Shall we talk about your books, Michael?” asked Peter. Michael said, “Oh my God, no. I have to lecture about them almost daily. I’m sorry, old man.” Peter said, “I meant those things you had published privately in Paris, not the drivel _ you write for the public.” ~ Michael said, “Peter! Old man, I didn’t know you knew about them!” Peter said, “I’ve got every one of them, and two copies of some. But your pub- lisher did set a devilish high price on them.” Michael said, “Peter, I don’t khow what ' to say.” He thought, How splendid of him. How splendid! Peter, I could hug you, old man. Peter began to talk about Michael’s books. He could see that Michael was starving to hear someone say something about those things he had had published in Paris, and Peter had read them all so carefully. It was long after midnight when Michael Bourne left. In spite of not wanting to, he had gone way back into his childhood with Peter, and now he began to feel bad about coming back to the present. As he was rolling along toward the hotel, he thought, If Peter had only known. After Peter had closed the door behind Michael, he sat before Michael’s picture, looking at it. After a while he got up and examined it closely. He thought of all those young men and women whom he knew so intimately, and he smiled somewhat bitterly. What was it that kept Michael from me? Why did I want him so, and yet keep him away? What a mess I made of things! He sighed. Then he opened the drawer and took out the picture he had put there. This he put up where Michael’s had stood, and put Michael’s back into the drawer. When he put out the light and sat there in the darkness, he could not help feeling somehow incomplete, and he thought, The fault is mine, and Michael’s. But if Michael had only known... . Later, when Michael lay reading in bed, his thoughts, creeping back over the years, fastened upon a time when Peter had kissed him, and he thought, My God, Peter, how I love you! Then at once he felt a panic of fear at the thought that he should not be able to keep himself in. He got out of bed, thinking, I must not see Peter again. But he was not satisfied until he had called the hotel clerk and bidden him send off a wire to Marsala. “How are you, darling? Is everything all right? Will be home next week. Love, Michael.” When he crept back to bed he thought, Oh, what an ass I am! because he had a pic- ture of Marsala standing in the doorway when he got home, the telegram in her hand, saying in her patient voice, “Michael Bourne, what have you been up to this time?” and he knew that he would have to manufacture something for him to have done, because he could never ask Marsala to forgive him for kissing Peter twenty years ago. ECORNICOOKS.EO© im