The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1910-08-19


up; and the way he had considered 1t,
little humorously. down his long
nose, made her doubt the interest OF
cities to be reckoned in round num-
bers.
Its all extraordinary" he said.
you're quite as extraordinary in your
way as we in ours"
"Oh," she wondered, still vexed with
his inventory, 81 had always supposed
us awfully commonplace. What is our
way. please?"
"Ah," he said, measuring his long
step to hers as they sauntered lit
tie, "for one thing, you're SO awfully
good to fellow. In London"-and he
nodded back, as If London were mere
ly across the room-"they'r awfully
good to the somebodies. It's the way
you take in the nobodies over here
that is so astonishing stray
leaves that blow in with your trade,
and can't show any credentials but a
letter or two, and their faces; and
those"-his diablerie danced oNt again
sometimes such deucedly damaged
ones"
1t was almost indecent, this parade
of his nonenHty! She wanted to say:
ooh, hush! Those are the things one
only enjoys-never talks about" But
instead, somewhere up at the top of
her voice, she said: ooh, we always
lock up our silver!"
"But even them" he quizzed her, 81
wonder how you dare to do it?"
Perhaps we have to, because we
ourselves are all" ("without any
credentials but those you mention,")
she had been about to say-but there
she caught herself on the very edge of
giving herself and all the rest of them
away to him; all so awfully bored"
she mischievously ended with the
daintiest, faintest possible yawn be-
hind her spread fan.
He looked as If she had taken him
:. by surprise; then laughed out. "Oh,
that is the way they don't do here" he
provoked her. you mustn't, when
I'm not expecting It,"
Then what are you expecting?" she
inquired little coolly.
"Well," he deliberated, mot expect
ing you to get me ready for sweet,
and then pop in pickle; and present
ly expecting, hoping, anxiously antici
pating, what you really care to say"
He was expecting, she looked mali
ciously, more than he was likely to
get; but the fact that he did see
through her to that extent was at
once delightful and charming. She
swayed back into the shadow beyond
the dazzling line of light. She wanted
to escape his scrutiny, to be able to
look him over from a safe vantage
ground. But he wouldn't have it. An
instant he stood under the torrent of
white radiance challenging her to see
what she could-then followed her in
to her retreat "Shall we sit here?" he
said, and she found herself hopelessly
cut off and isolated with the enemy.
She couldn't withhold little grudg-
ing pleasure in the sharpness with
which he had turned her maneuver
and the way it had detached them
from the surrounding crowd. For
there, in the dusky center of the room,
it was as if they watched from safe
covert the rest of their party exposed
in the glare of light; though not, as
Flora presently noted quite escaping
observation themselves. For an in
slant Harry turned and peered toward
them with a look in his intentness
that struck Flora as something new in
| him and made her wonder if he could
be jealous. She turned tentatively to
see if Kerr had noticed it, and sur
prised his glance in quick transi-
| ton back to hers.
by your leave" he said, and took
away her fan, which in his hand pres
emily assumed such rhythmic motion
that it ceased to be any more present
to her than delicate current of air
upon her face.
He was not, she felt sure, in spite
of his light manipulation of her fan,
person who cared to please women,
but one of that devastating sort who
care above everything to please them
selves, and who are skilful without
practice; too skilful, she feared, for
her defenses to hold out against if
he intended to find out what she real
ly thought. Aren't we supposed to
be looking at the pictures?" she want
ed to know
He turned his back on the wall and
its attendant glare why pictures"
he inquired, when there are live peo-
pie to look at? Pictures for places where
they're all half dead. But here, where
even the damnable dust in the street
is alive, why should they paint, or
write, or sculpt, or do anything but
live?" His irascible brows shot the
query at her.
Again the proposition of life-what-
ever that was-was held up before
her, and as ever she faltered in the
face of it. 81 suppose they do it
here" she murmured, with a vague
glance at the paintings around her,
because people do it everywhere
else"
His disparagement was almost a