Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1898-09-08
CHAPTER III

Three miles lay between the Offices of
The Citizen and the trio of rooms Anne
had rented and furnished during the six
weeks of her residence in New York.
They were in a low, red brick house di-
vided from the street by a patch of
grass and iron palings. The neighbor-
hood had Washington square for its
nucleus, the. only part of the money
making town preserving the messy tone
Of Knickerbocker days, where occa-
sional low doorsteps and spindle legged
banisters keep the costumes and man.
ners of the century's infancy clear in
the memory.
Anne loved the queer street, the ven.
cradle church opposite, with its unfash-
ionable Pensioners and sweet tongued
bell, the amethyst light stealing across
the landscape Of roofs, the fret of trains
flashing past in aerial passage not far
off and leaving a plume of vapor be-
hind, the passing Of many people along
the pavements reaching into smoky per-
spective.
These impressions were q ripening
contact, helping to wake her to newer
perceptions of life, making her realize
that she stood unsupported in a crowded,
struggling place.
She had the exhilarating sensations
of q daring and capable swimmer who
plunges into deep water where only his
own skill can keep him afloat.
Her eyes were shining, her color
high, as she hurried up the narrow
stairway and entered the sitting room.
An old man was standing by one of the
windows and turned expectantly as she
came in. 1t was DR.. Ericsson. He look
ed at her with cool, friendly scrutiny.
GIVE been waiting for you again.
There's something witching about you,
Anne" he said helplessly. you've
quite spoiled me for solitude. Every
dinner I have away from you is like
sawdust.'
Anne laid her arm lightly around his
shoulder. She was little the taller
There was something charmingly auda-
cious III her young face and protecting
attitude contrasted with his gray hair
and sixty odd years. She had the i'm
petuosity and assurance Of fresh run
ner who fears nothing on the long, mys-
FERROUS race just begun. He had the half
defeated expression of one approaching
with tagging steps the end and who
thinks little even of the winning of that
race which nevertheless must be run il
one fashion or another
81 never knew a man SO eager for
compliments, she said, her lips curl
ing in playful scorn. "Shall fib and
say every meal is lonely without you?
Not bit of it. come home so hungry,
uncle, dear, and the man at the corner
sends in such good chops. I put on a
blouse and dream over my coffee, while
Nora in the kitchen sings Irish melo.
dies in an adorable voice and with
creamlike brogue."
She laid her finger under his chin
and looked into his eyes.
But when you do come, you dear,
cynical creature, shelve dreams gladly
and don't care pin for Nora's songs.
Satisfed?''
She hurried away to change her gown,
and DIR. Ericsson was left alone in the
dusk. He listened in dreamy way to
the maid crossing and recrossing the rug
covered floor, his arms hung by his
sides, his eyes were fastened on trail
Of smoke diminishing in the sunset.
Thirty years before, then a young
Swede newly arrived in America for a
bout with fortune, he had married the
sister of Anne's mother. They had set
tied in New York, and by degrees he
became successful and rich. His wife
was beauty, his children's future
bright, and life went we'll. But trouble
came. His children, with the exception
Of Olga, the youngest, died during
schooldays, his fortune intrusted to
false friends went to help their specu.
lations and was lost. Now, in old age
he was physician Of reputation, but
poor, possessing fashionably inclined
wife, whose weekly letters from Paris,
where she had elected to live when Oh
gas schooldays in Switzerland were