The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1908-04-01
THE EVENING STORY
On .Aprll LIST.
(By Philip Kean.)


with the air of one being led to the
stake.
Her husband, watching her gloom
lily from the top Of trunk. said Pc,
litely. "At least you will wait Until
the shower is over 2"
"No," said his wife. with decision
ST wish to go at once"
"But." began the gentleman on the
trunk.
Eat once" Mrs. Merriman
reiterated. and her husbands gloom
relaxed suddenly into a SMILE.
"Oh, Polly" he said. you look SO
funny when you try to be stately
Twill you kindly order my cab?"
Merriman slid down from the
trunk. "Ill do anything" he said,
miserably. "if you will only tell me
why you are going"
But Mrs. Merriman had picked up
the suit case. the weight OF which
made her sag dreadfully to one size:
Let me carry that" her nuspan0
insisted. ITS 200 heavy for you
But she chung to it. desperately
81 might as well begin to bear M
burdens alone" she said, FOR snail
have to do it hereafter"
"Oh, piffle,'' said Merriman, and
then begged pardon. Ike a gentle
Polly" he said. 81 should not forget.
"It is rather Late his wife re-
minded him. "to be considerate Of my
feelings
"oh, pif-" her husband began.
and then he stopped, "Iu telephone
| for the cab at orce."
When he had gone, Mrs. Merriman
sat down on the suit case and sighed.
| The severity died out Of her counten-
| ance and was succeeded by sweet
| seriousness "Oh, DEAR" she MUIR
INJURED.
When Merriman came UP to an
,nounce the cab. however. she was
| standing at the window looking out
at is raining very hard" Merri-
man said. 81 wish I might induce
She turned around with uplifted
| hand. mot another moment" she
said, twill 1 stay in this house"
Merriman crossed the room quick
| ly. "Polly." he demanded. sternly,
what is the meaning of this. When
I left for the office this morning you
were the same sweet wife I have al
ways known-everything was the
same. come home tonight to find
your trunks packed, and you dressed
| and ready to leave me-forever--
| His voice broke. and for moment
she again picked up the suit case
with determination.
| ''I'll write" she said, "from moth
| er's."
| And so he was forced to let her go.
| He stood for some time on the
| front steps in the rain, watching the
| cab as it was swallowed up by the
| grayness, and then he went into the
| empty house.
| Everything seemed to speak to him
| Of Polly, of their two happy years of
| married life. There was the mission
furniture in the library. the fascinar-
| ing bookcases with loaded glass, the
| books that they had read together.
| the motto over the fireplace on which
| they had looked night after night
when the lamp was out and only the
| flames lighted the dimness of the big
| library behind him and went up
stairs. only to be reminded again and
again of Polly as he tripped over her
Turkish gold-embroidered slippers on
| the threshold of her pink and white
room, and noted her frilly dressing
| gown flung across a chair, her cut
| glass bottles on the chiffonier. her
| ivory brushes on the dressing table.
A sudden thought came to him.
1 Why had she left these things be-
hind?
She had been deliberately locking the
big trunk when he came in that after
/ noon. I'll send for it later she had
informed him, and had crushed the re-
manning articles into her suit case.
/ Why hadn't she taken her brushes
| Why hadn't she taken her dressing
gown? Why were the slippers left?
AS a dawning thought came to him
his face frightened. He went over to
that he moved 1t easily. Then he sat
down on the floor deliberately, and
picked the lock and opened it. It was
| empty.
Still smiling. he went over to the
closet and threw the door wide open. 1t
was full Of Pollys clothes.
Evidently Polly was coming back.
| With a mind at ease. he returned to
| the library and prepared to wait for
her. With a book and a cigar and the
comfort of his easy chair, the time
would pass quickly.
| But it did not pass quickly. He miss
| ed Polly awfully, and he grew very SER
| ious as he thought what 1t might mean
| if she should never come back. And
| in the terror Of that thought he went to
the telephone and called up Polly's
| mother.
/ said that Polly was not there, had not
been there, and it was midnight. Why
/ was he asking her? What had happen
/ ed to Polly-what?
] Merriman quoted her fears. Polly
was out and was late getting home. But
of course, nothing had happened-and
then he hung up the receiver.
| But he could not quiet his own fears.
Polly had never been so late. Perhaps
| the cabman wasn't trustworthy. Per-
haps-oh, there were SO many dreadful
possibilities.
He stumbled upstairs to get his street
coat. He would go out into the night
| and look for her. He would hunt up
that cabman, he-and then he stopped
dead still on his threshold of the pink
/ and white room.
For there in the big chair, with her
| shining hair falling all about her with
| the northumberland slippers peeping
| from beneath the folds of the frilly
| dressing gown, was Polly-fast asleep!
| And pinned to the top of the chair
was placard, on which in big letters,
was written: