The central Presbyterian. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1856-1908, 1906-06-27
THE FULL EQUIPMENT.
BY EVELYN Orchard.

women were to get living We have
not the full equipment, Alaric used to say, so
all the time we fight against odds" 1t was the
physical part of her that weary, nay exhaust
ed beyond power to express She was only con-
scious OF that dull feeling of misery which is the
heritage of the continually overwrought Yet
never had her mental faculties been more fever
lshly acute; each detail of her life each possibility
of her future, stood before her in startling WV
idness And before the prospect she felt herself
quail She thirty-three, and at the moment
looked her full age. She stood there by the table
In the sitting-room of her little fiat, on the EN-
bankment, her 1.-the, nervous figure thrown into
relief by the yellow light in the room. 1t was
summer afternoon, and though the yellow silk
blinds were drawn closely across the window, the
room seemed full of weird, searching light
She had chosen yellow because she had furnish
ed her little home in the dull days. when the heart
cried out for the glow of sunshine. And she was
too poor always to make a set of a cooler color
for summer use.
The little room very plain cheapness stared
at you from the coOred walls, the furniture of
bent wood, the thin art square upon the floor But
1t was not an offensive cheapness, there
any pretence. Things plain, neat and whole
some, proclaiming what they were; not suggest
ing or striving to appear what they not.
But there no beauty. lust above the man
tepiece one picture little river scene paint
ed by true artist, who might have been great
one had he lived. He had been a friend of Joans
in happier circumstances they might have been
lovers. But the struggle for recognition had kill
ed him, and she left with the picture and her
memories 1t the sheer LONELINESS of her lot
that had killed hope in her. she knew that day that
she must give up, that the limit of her endurance
had been reached.
She had a very beautiful face, for those who can
appreciate the spirtuelle beauty which is reflected
from within. And she was a lady; dress, manner
air, everything proclaimed it, Had she been made
of stuff she had doubtless Jared better on
the crowded way. Her profession was journal
ism, in which the finer susceptibilities do not
count. Joan had not yet, after five years of strug
gle, mastered the art of putting her best goods in
the front window She at once too shrinking
and too outspoken; it her misfortune always
to speak at the wrong time.
That day the last remnant of her accured occu-
patton had been taken from her by the firm that
employed her, and given to another whom she
knew to be less competent, though much more
pretentious. Disappointed, disheartened, on the
verge of tears she looked round hopeessly as she
spoke under her breath the words of her confess
sion: eve have not the full equipment" A
whole world lay behind them, world of bitter
ness and disillusiOnment.
Presently, conscious of the sicky faintness of
physical exhaustion, she went to her little kitchen,
boiled her kettle, and got herself cup of tea.
She had egg with it, and a slice of bread and
butter, after which she felt better. When she had
cleared away, and made her little place the picture
of order it always was, she sat down at the table
to write.
1t was an important letter, a letter which might
alter the whole color of her life. Small wonder
that she fingered and hesitated over it, tearing
up many sheets, altering every sentence, weighing
every word.
Although it was not so expressed it was prac-
ticay inquiry regarding a occupation, and
the thought of incompetency haunted her.
Her heart answered it even in the same words: 81
have not the full equipment" She read and re-
read it and finally, with little gesture of impa-
of he and 4 one
put it in an envelope and addressed it. Yet had
anyone opened and read it, they might have won
dered that it had taken so long or required such
planning to make il fit. These were the words