The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1909-04-20
THE EVENING STORY
A Message from Marjorie.
(By Nellie Cravey Gillmore.)

harrington turned from the book
case with little gesture of annoyance.
His Shakespeare, of all volumes. How
stupid of Thomas to have let out his
books without his knowledge or con-
sent! Only last week he had missed
MS favorite, much-marked copy of
Rochefoucault; Presley had nabbed
that.
But this was little too much. Es-
pecially in view of the fact that Ham
let was playing that night and there
were a couple of passages he felt he
must run over.
He crossed the room impatiently
and pushed the call bell. 1t was an
swered at once by the redoubtable
valet.
1T seem still more of my books are
missing, Thomas. 1 am afraid you
red calf edition of Shakespeare any
where"
"You left orders, sir-begging your
pardon-to accommodate any of the
young gentlemen"
when 1 rushed off to Europe, Ell %
A whimsical smile made it's transient
passage across Farrington's scowling
face. Very well. 1 presume you are
right. 1 was a bit upset, 1 remember.
You may co.
But as the man started toward the
door he called him back.
by the way. are there any book
stores hereabout?"
mo first-class ones, SIR"
"Any-er-first-clas neighbors?"
"a few, sir"
Good. Scrimmage around and find
me Shakespeare before night and
I'll
But Thomas had already disappear
ed.
Marjorie Hayward was just coming
out of the front door when Earring
tons man stepped up on the veranda.
His request surprised her little, but
she was very glad, indeed, to be able
to accommodate him.
She had a copy of Shakespeare
somewhere, she said, an old, battered
one, but his master was welcome
to the use of it, certainly. And with
this information she went back into
the library to search for it.
What sort of people were they, any,
how, the new neighbors who had just
moved in the day before and were al
ready beginning to borrow peoples
books? she wondered good-naturedly.
At last she came across the rusty
little volume, stuffed to overlooking
with old letters, clippings and scraps
of memoranda.
She held it up and shook them out
in a shower, swarm of memories
suddenly aroused by the long-buried
sight of certain familiar bits of writ
ing, pressed flowers, crumbling to
atoms, yet vaguely redolent still of
dear, dead past.
With a smothered sigh she caught
herself back sharply from her foolish
reflections and returned to the door
with the book. Thomas thanked her
deliberately and fastened away. Mar
jorie waited till he had passed up the
short stone walk of the house next
door Then she buttoned up her coat
and walked down the gravel path to
the gate.
Harrington took the volume eager
ly, turning the yellowed leaves with
deft fingers till he should come to
Hamlet But suddenly he paused,
his eyes narrowed curiously and his
heart gave a startled jump. A brief
extract from 1.-The Merry Wives of
windsor caught his attention. ASK
me no reason why 1 love you; for
though love use reason for its preci-
sion he admits him not for his coun-
selor."
The passage was heavily underscor-
ed, and below it were scrubbed in cor
roboration. the initials M Nv.
f. They were hers-and his!
Marjorie Hayward! The name sent
his thoughts tumbling unanimously
back over the past. sent the blood
tingling even to his eyelids. How many
years-nearly ten.-since he had call
ed that name. Yet how many days,
1nQeeu, ndQ II DceL dDSSHt llOHl Ills
heart?
The minutes flew by as he sat there
wrapped in meditation. At last he be-
gan again to slip the leaves absently
through his fingers, when abruptly
they came in contact with something
alien.
He glanced closer, almost indiffer-
emily and started again as his gaze
rested, stupidity, upon an envelope
stuck to one of the pages and address
ed in full to-himselfl Addressed in
Marjorie Hayward's clear, resolute
characters half a score of years ago,
when they had both lived in the same
little western town.
Without a second thought as to
whether he should or should not open
it, Harrington deliberately tore the
letter from its Enclosure and read:
"Dear Walter have been thinking
things over, and after all you must be
right. I made the mistake and 1 am
willing to acknowledge it. We love
each other too much, do we not to
let silly quarrel separate US for life?
Come to me tonight. I shall be wait
ing for you. AS ever.
MARJORIE"
For an indeterminate space Walter
Harrington sat half stunned What
had happened? What could it mean
Had she changed her mind about
sending the letter? Or had there been
some oversight, some carelessness in
the posting?
And Marjorie herself-where was
she now? Could it be that she was
less than a block away at this min
ute? Perhaps she was married,-Or
was she dead, and had fate chosen
this ironical opportunity to thrust an
added misery into his bitter memoir
les?
harrington was not a man to hum
and haw. He thought quickly, and he
acted with proportionate dispatch. He
took out his watch. 1t was almost
eight. In fifteen minutes he was ring
ing the door bell next door.
But he was destined to disappoint-
ment. Miss Hayward had gone to
Hamlet Harrington hurried down
the avenue that led to the PLAYHOUSE.
Luckily. his ticket was to be called fnr