The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1898-11-20

A THANKSGIVING STORY
? GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP.
Copyright. 1898. by Francis Lathrop.,

ct is believed that this is the last story
written by the late George Parsons Isathrop,
who died in April of this Year,
A dead leaf rustled behind Malvern as he
moved down the broad street under wasted
branches of November trees. Tt sounded
like footstep. and for an instant he was
on the point of turning Then he recognized
that there could be no one following him
and he went on alone.
All, yes, that was the trcuble-he was
alone. But the leaf rustled again. and this
time it seemed as though some message
was being blown after him-a bit of stray
paper perhaps, on which there might have
been traced words of the greatest import
10 him. He knew still that this, too. was
impossible, but he was in such mood that
he now stopped short upon the sidewalk and
looked around.
There indeed was the leaf, still fluttering
slightly, with one crisp indented edge graz
ing the inlaid bricks of the old footway.
Then it became motionless and lay at his
feet
Had not the passing gust of air brought
it to him with something like a, definite pur-
pose?
quite mechanically he stopped and picked
it up. Any trife that could occupy his
mind just now even for a few moments.
would have been welcome, and the leaf was
beautiful. The upper half of 1t above the
withered palior of the rest seemed still to
reflect the flush of a lost October sunset
in this cold late light of November. He car
ried il along with him, twirling it occasion
ally by the stem without thinking of it
again.
But by the time he had come into his
own room in his mothers house and had
begun to look around, with the eye of a
man who is measuring, at the various
objects which it contained he grew
aware of the leaf once more. He went
on looking at the photographs along the
mantel. some small knickknacks on a
bracket in one corner, the papers on his
table the books in their case. Then, cross
ing the room, he selected one book, a voi-
ume of poems bound in faded green and
gold, placed the leaf carefully in between
the pages and laid it on the table. After
this he gathered from their shelves small
assortment of other books, miscellaneous,
but mostly of a practical kind, and slowly
put them in order beside the volume of
poems where he also set some of the things
from the mantel and the bracket, leaving
the rest where they were. With glance at
a trunk which was standing within the open
door of capacious closet he sat down and
began an attempt to look over and arrange
his papers. But the papers-memoranda,
accounts, neat bundles of correspondence
were the last straw added to his days bur
dem He soon desisted. and the prepara-
tons for packing came to pause.
In Malvern's mind another room was
framing itself, with different walls, colors
and atmosphere, and so vivid became this
inward imagining that he could scarcely
have told at the moment in which place he
really was-the room called his own or the
one he had lately left. but now seemed to
see again so clearly. The whole scene was
being re-enacted-brief poignant shatter-
ing.
He did not find himself alone. Leila Grey
was sitting there opposite to him in a pale
violet dress, with flexible gold circlet lying
lightly about her neck in a sort of careless
price. There was something in her whole
attitude that exhaled a mood which this
CLEAN of geld merely accentuated as she
half reclined in the corner of a couch where
a small white fur lay beneath her arm. She
appeared to possess all that she desired for
the tir heing, yet to be only playing with
it. and yet thought Malvern, that could not
really be true
But how did it happen?' she was asking
him. How could you do it?'
Pay so much attention to Miss Bren-
DOM" he answered, for it was all actual to
him again at this moment, and he could
hear the sound OF his own voice. THAT is
what you mean of course. But might ask
you, How can you do such thing as to
be jealous Of her?"
Jealous, Dick? Nonsense! Yes, that is
nonsense for engaged people like u.s. If we
ever were in the stage where that would be
possible. we ought 20 have passed out of 1t
long before now, and indeed you ought to
understand me better"
well, I'll Try to-" he said, as though that
would be quite easy.
1T isn't that 1 worry about her or care
about it myself said Leila, giving the fur
skin a soothing touch, but Strengthening her.
self little. 1T is only what others may
think and say
It's very magnanimous in you," Malvern
laughed without thought of harm, Ito be
so considerate of them. But I'm not trying
10 please others-only YOU"
"Ah, that's right! But. as you feel so,
then. of course. you ought to do what
wish"
Certainly"
She rose now and moved slowly toward
the long window that looked out upon a
spacious garden lying forsaken and given
over to autumn.
MOP" responded Malvern, half carelessly.
with a feeling that something was going
wrong which he could not prevent. He did
not like his own tone, but it was too late
to change it. He had spoken, and his word
was in Tie air.
Not Leila repeated positively. turning
again to face him. He noticed that a
CLEAN of sunshine was splashed along the
gray Of the garden behind her. and in an
other room at distance the bright trill Of
canary seemed to answer the sunshine.
Il have only one DESIRE" he tried to say,
but Leila went right on:
Listen to me, Dick. Don't let US have
anything so vulgar as a dispute" Malvern
felt. though in looking back, that she had
made a mistake in using that phrase. But
triGes will often lead to something serious,
especially with people in our situation" She
had a habit of speaking with this air of
large experience and practical wisdom, and
It usually impressed him. but did not do so
IN the right way this time. Now. / am
going to be serious she continued, aud
about trifies. if you care TO call them SO. IT
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