The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-02-10


 carry you through? I know the pay of private is not great"
 Thank you. I have saved nearly all of it. My father has sent me 8 draft for five hundred. 1 don't expect to use it, Of course"
 | "Your father?" asked Gable, with 3 quick, searching look.
 "And then I did save something in Chicago, strange as it may seem," said | Bansemer, with a smile. "I have a few of your per cents. I trust the road is all right
 The Cables left San Francisco on | the following day, accompanied by the Harbins and Graydon Bansemer. There | was no mistaking the joy which lay under restraint in the faces and atti- tude of the Gables. David Cable had grown younger and less gray, it ] seemed, and his wife was glowing with new and subdued happiness. Graydon, sitting with the excited Ethel, who was rejoicing in the pros pect of New York and the other young man, studied the faces of the three people who sat at the other end o1 the coach.
 Time had wrought its penalties. Ga. ble was thin and his face had lost it's virility, but not it's power His eyes never left the face of Jane, who was talking in an earnest, impassioned manner, as was her wont in these days. Frances Cables face was . eyt1 6ryf fY, v,c,if S<vN I,DT T>ol 1->1A Ay.. color and vivacity of a year ago, al. thought the change was not apparent to the casual observer. Graydon could see that she had suffered in many ways. The keen, eager appeal for ap. preciation was gone from her eyes; in it's stead was the appeal for love and contentedness. Happiness, now struggling against the smarting of a sober pain, was giving sweetness to her eyes that had been lost in the am. bilious glitter of other days. Ethel bored him, most unusual condition. He longed to be under the tender, quiet ing influence at the opposite end of the car. He even resented his temporary exile.
 "Jane," Cable was saying with gen. tie insistence, it is not just to him. He loves you, and you are not doing, the right thing by him."
 You'll find am right in the end" she said stubbornly.
 T can't bear the thought of your go- ing out as trained nurse, dear." pro- tested Frances Cable. 'sThere is no ne. cessity. You can have the best of bones and in any place you like. Why waste your life in"-
 Waste, mother? It would be vast ing my life if did not find an occupa- tion for it. I can't be idle. can't ex- ist forever in your love and devotion"
 Good Lord, child, don't be foolishp' exclaimed Cable. .That hurts me more than you think. Everything we have is yours.''
 I'm sorry said it, daddy. I did not mean it in that way. It isn't the money, you know, and 1t isn't the home, either. No; you must let me choose my own way of living the rest of my life. I came from founding hospital. A good and tender nurse found me there and gave me the hap piest years of my life. I shall go back there and give the rest of my years to children who are less fortunate than Il was. want to help them, mother. just as you dfd-enly 1t is different with me- You'll see 1t differently some day"| said Mrs. Cable earnestly.
 '1 don't object to your helping the foundhngs, Jane," said Cable, '@but Il don't see why you have to be nurse to do 1t. Ofher women support such causes, and not as nurses, either. TttseA "It's my way, daddy, that's ali," she said firmly. Then why, in the name of heaven, were you so unkind as to keep that poor boy over there alive when he might have died and ended his misery l You nursed him back to life only to l give him wound that cannot be heal. | ed. You would ruin his life, Jane. Is it fair? Pm uncouth and hard in many ways-I had a hard, unkfnd beginning l but I really believe I've got more heart in me than you have'' "Davidv' exclaimed his wife. Jane looked at the exasperaAed man in snr- prise.
 Now, here's what I intend you tc do: You owe me something for the love that give to you; you owe Gray. don something for keeping him from dying. If you want to go into the nursing business, all right. But I'm