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EIGHTH INSTALMENT "I’d advise you to shut up, old man,” said Dick, sternly. "I don’t blame you, in a way, but there’s something here that neither you nor I understand. Only this-—you said!—laughing’s all that Ellen can do, just now. If you haven’t en ough sense to see it, if Claire isn’t woman enough to get it, I do. The kid’s at the end of her rope.” j Still formidable, still gaunt, he, had left Sandy standing wordless-1 ly beside the sofa on which Claire, sat. He had left Sandy, and had gone swiftly to Ellen’s side, and his long arms, reaching out, had drawn her little figure—in its beaded play suit—close to his chest. "Easy now, youngster,” said Dick. "Lay off that stuff! Cry if you want to, if you must. But lay off that business of laughing. You’ll be ill—” Ellen found that she was clut ching Dick’s arms, way up close to the shoulders. They were tense, like iron. They Were bony they weren’t cuddly, they were just something to hold on to—but, oh, how dreadfully she needed them! As h^r slim fingers bit into their tenseness, she began to regain a certain amount of self-control. She could realize, as she fought to keep back her spasmodic giggles, that it was because she had been relieved to know that it was Sandy who had come up the stairs—Sandy, and not ' Tony. But at any moment it might be Tony! For hadn’t Claire said that , his car was waiting, at the curb? Ellen was wrenching herself free from Dick’s grasp. Was beginning to shake again, to shake as if she were chilled, as if she were fever ish. "I’m all right n-now, old thing,” she tried to say breezily, although she found it almost impossible to articulate. I’ll go n-now and g-get my things on. ... I really have a date, you know.” Sandy threw himself down on the sofa, beside Claire. "With the baby you met, last n’ght, I suppose?” he sneered. "With the boy who rode around the park with you—oh, I know all about it.” "Then,” Ellen’s eyes were blaz ing. "then you can just be still lbout it! For even if you did buy my ticket to the Six Arts, you don’t own me. I’m sorry that I left you —at least, I was sorry! But I’m lot, any more.” Dick had been very quiet for a few minutes, but although Ellen ;truggled to be free his hands weren’t relaxing their hold, not a, ^article. "You’re not leaving this studio, lot in this condition,” he told her. What s it all about, youngster, rnyway r Did you have anything o drink last night? Answer me :hat!” Ellen tried to master this bu iiness of nerves. If she didn’t, Dick vouldn’t let her go. She knew Dick. "Of course, I didn’t have any hing to drink,” she said, almost jently. "I never drink. Don’t you' rust me?” I used to, myself,” said Sandy, trust you. But not any more. : tven Gay wouldn’t treat a guy—” "Be still!” roared Dick. Like nost men, his helplessness had the ffect of angering him. Ellen, there in Dick’s arms, wanted to scream at them. She wanted to call Claire ugly names, nd she’d never wanted to call any :ne an ugly name, before. This lantering, when her whole future vas at stake! For if Tony came up iearching for her—how could she !xplain things? These arms—Dick’s irms—that held her? How could ;he say anything in the face of this cene? ' Oh, Dick,” she begged, "let ne go. I’ve got to get dressed. This late—it’s very vital; you don’t un lerstand. I’ve got to keep it. Let ne go, now—and I’ll call you on he phone, tomorrow, and explain. 11 stop by in the morning and tell ou all about it. You’d not try to ;eep me, if you knew. When you mow, you’ll say it’s , all right—” Dick was nuzzling his chin into he hair at the top of her head, vith a movement unexpectedly ender. "What I’m afraid of, honey,” he aid, "is that you’ve gone and got /-ourself ito some had sort of a rrono I*- _ ‘ C fou told me now. I’ll kick them >ut, Claire and Sandy, if you like, [’ll have seme dinner sent in for ifou, and you can get all calmed lown.” But Ellen was crying, now. 'I’ve got to go,” she sobbed, "I’ve ^ot a date! "Is—” it was Sandy speaking; before her tears some of his wrath had vanished, but he still desired information—"Is the date with the same boy that you ditched me for, last night?” The time for evasion—some of it, at least—had passed. "Yes,” sobbed Ellen. "Who,” it was Dick now, "who is this insistant young man, child?” Claire was gazing up at the ceil ing "He’s tall,” she said, "and God, how glum! And he has blue eyes and a swell sunburn, and the snap piest red Rolls-Royce in the city.” But Dick was insisting, himself. "What’s his name, Ellen?” he questioned. "I’d like to know, my self.” Ellen had relaxed hopelessly against Dick. At the moment no thing was any use, any more. Sud denly she was more tired than she had ever been in all of her life— and older, too. "'His name is Tony Brander,” she said. "Anthony Brander, the sugar man, was his father.” Claire yawned. The yawn was far too elaborate to be plausible. "Nothing of the piker about you,” she said, "is there?” Sandy whistled. "One of those!” he said, "saw his picture snapped at the races, in Vogue last month. He’s an orphan, they said.” Claire laughed. "What a break!” she murmured. But Dick didn’t say anything for a moment. In fact, his silence made . 1 11.1* *1 r> UK WUU1C 91UU1U JCtlll 31K1U. JU 31 lent that the clock, chiming five forty-five, seemed only an echo to the knock upon the studio door. Claire was the one who called a summons. It wasn’t her studio, but she was like that. And then Tony walked into the room. There was a narrow white line around his mouth as he look ed across Ellen’s head, into the eyes jf the man who was holding her. Ellen, with her face twisted back awkwardly so she could watch across her shoulder, noticed that Ine and wondered about it, mutely. But it was Dick who spoke. ' This is my place,” he said. "I’m \lven. You—you haven’t been le’re before, ever. Who are you?” Tony’s voice was so steady when be answered that it was almost ibsurd. "It may be your place,” he said, 'but it’s my wife you’re holding in mur arms. My wife! Funny, isn’t t?” You could have cut through the itmosphere of Dick’s studio with a cnife the air was so thick with con _ "or if Tony came up searching for her—how could she explain? licting emotions. They were such nixed emotions that, though the aysteria rose again in Ellen’s mind, ihe couldn’t even laugh. It wasn’t oossible any more to do anything so ;imple as to laugh! Again, by some miraculous :hange, she wasn’t a part of the thing. She was startding on the side ines, she was reading from a print ed page. These people—she didn’t know them. Not Dick, with his face gone suddenly old and greenish in its pallor. Not Tony, her Tony, with pain looking out of his eyes at her. Not Sandy, with his mouth hanging, ever so slightly, open. Only Claire retained her noncha lance. "So!” said Claire. And then lan guidly she rose from the sofa and strolled across the room toward Tony. And extended to him a pink tipped white hand. "Congratulations,” she said. "I suppose they’re in order.” Tony wasn’t seeing Claire—he was staring at Ellen, though Ellen wasn’t in Dick’s arms any more. "I suppose,” said Tony, "that they are!” It was then that Dick spoke. Dick, with a vague color coming back into his cheeks—Dick, with a great effort, justifying a girl’s three-year faith in him. He advanced toward Tony and extended his hand. "I can’t pretend that I’m not shocked by this news,” he told Tony. "Ellen is very dear to me. She’s been rather like a little sister. I feel that I’d have liked knowing, slightly better, the man she mar ried. But you look awfully regular, Brander,” his voice never wavered, j "and I know, sudden as it seems, I that Ellen must care for you very 'deeply. And I’m sure, very sure, that you’ll be good to her.” Tony was flushing. He was very vnrnip nr tbp mnmpnt He took the proffered hand. "You can’t blame me,” he said grimly, "for wondering. It seemed rather strange. Ellen asked me to wait for her a five, by the door, and she didn’t come. And then—” Dick’s hand was on the boy’s shoulder. It said as plainly as a voice could have said: "Steady, old chap. . . . Steady!” "I don’t blame you one bit,” he said aloud. "I’d have felt just as you do, myself, if the situation had been reversed.” Sandy’s mouth had come shut. He, too, was standing. "My name’s Mackintosh,” he said. I should be telling you where you get off instead of welcoming you to our city. I took Ellen to the party last night, so I suppose I’m directly responsible—” Claire interrupted. She allowed herself to display direct and un varnished curiosity, in a big way. "But you knew each other, didn’t you, before last night?” she ques tioned, "I ought to be told.” n_-U:_u. ttii_ --***£>*/ —- -J —-o Tony’s eyes. Claire mustn’t know the irregularity, the suddenness, of the whole thing. It would be a beautiful morsel of gossip for Claire and her intimates. An agony of em barrassment lay in Ellen’s gaze, and Tony, seeing, responded to that agony. Swiftly he had crossed the room, swiftly his two hands had enfolded Ellen’s «utflung hands. "Oh,” he saidMjuite aiirly, "Oh, we’ve known each other for cent uries. When,” Ellen was stunned to hear him quote the line, "when she was a tadpole and I was a fish—” Claire laughed. "When the world,” she said, "was even wetter than it is now!” Sandy was laughing, too. "Speaking,” he said of wet worlds, I think this calls for a party. Party? Ellen wanted to scream out at the thought of a party. "Oh—no party!” she murmured. But Dick, with his white face oddly aloof, was the one who fail ed her. "Certainly a party!” he said. Claire was already at the phone. .Her high chuckle was floating 'through the room. | "Ellen,” she was saying, "yes, married! Come around and make it legal. | In the excitement Tony’s arm I was around her shoulder. It wasn’t a chill arm any more, but Ellen— -wanting his embrace with keen de speration wished that Dick weren’t watching. "Tired, dear?” questioned Tony. And then, "You’re cute as a but ton in that get-up!” Ellen had forgotten the white buckskin, the beads. "Let me go, Tony,” she said. "I must change into my own clothes. . . Just behind this screen—” (She was acutely conscious of his un spoken, "Do you dress, and undress, !behind that screen? Alone—with a man—in this studio?”) | "No,” she added, "I’m not tired, 1 rpsllv ” ! Walking sedately she went be hind the screen, and began to pull the white buckskin frock over her head, and to untie the endless strings of gay beads. From the other side of the screen sounded a babel of voices. Voices that talked incessantly. Dick’s voice, dispassionately, "You are a nasty little cat, Claire. Why don’t you try being decent for a while. And then Tony’s voice—Tony’s voice. Saying, “If there’s going to be a party,1 seems as if it ought to be my party, j Seems as if I ought to throw it. i Seems as is some of my friends ought to be in on the big time—” Ellen, buttoning her straight lit tle blue crepe dress, paused. Tony’s friends—why, she’d never even stopped to consider Tony’s friends! She hadn’t thought of Tony as be ing—She hadn’t thought of him exactly, in terms of having his own group of friends! Some how she didn’t want to meet those friends! They’d known Tony for so long—so much longer than she had known him, so infinitely much longer. All as once, she hated them. So this was jealousy! Tony had already taken Claire’s place at the phone. He was ring ing up numbers, one after the other. Saying— "Yes, I’ve news for you! Yes,‘I’m married. No—not Jane. No, it’s ■ someone you don’t know. Oh, to day! Come to my post bachelor! dinner. . . So to one friend, so to another, so to another. c£>NTINU^D NEXT WEEK The boys and girls of North Carolina who need education the most, usually drop out of school the first. J Some people who are suffering from the alcoholic blues, need a treatment of lock-up blues. LAND POSTERS—For Sale at The Watchman Office. People who forget the home mer chant when they have plenty of time to buy things, can usually re member him when they want some thing in a tearing hurry. The people are urged to "talk turkey,” but Junior says he is go ing to do something more than talk about turkey, if Father ever gets around to him after serving the long line of older relatives. Much is said about the wolf at the door, but if he comes around the door nowadays, he is likely to find the porch filled with salesmen. 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Carolina Watchman (Salisbury, N.C.)
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Dec. 7, 1934, edition 1
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