The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1910-02-22
The EVENING STORY
Was 1t Brown?
BY Nellie Cravey Gillnore.)


never forget that dizzy walk home
from the hospital in the singing,
pouring rain; the savage pleasure she
experienced in the cruel way it whip
ped her hot cheeks and half froza the
angry blood curdling fiercely through
her rebellious little body.
She had been a fool to go there. of |
course. And she faced the verdict of |
her own common sense with the keen
est sense Of humiliation she had ever
known. To be refused admittance to
the room where her lover presumab bly, |
| lay dying because she could not give
an affirmative answer to the attend
ants inquiry as to whether she were
| anything to the patient" was bitter |
enough OF itself. but to come face to /
face with Chalmers mother and AL |
line Bester. about to enter where she /
had been denied. and to be met by a |
naughty stare of surprise from each, |
made her young blood boil.
AS matter of fact, they were every
u Ining to each other. Both she and
any spoken word or circlet of gold |
could signify. but formal engage
ment existed between them. and she |
! could not be the first to proclaim their
love.
They told her at the hospital that if
he lived through the night the chances
were he would recover. The follow
ing day paragraph in the paper stat
| ed that young Chalmers was pro-
| nounced comparatively out of danger.
| A succeeding item limited at his ap-
preaching betrothal to Alline Bester.
And within week the young fullback
was on the rapid road to recovery.
The day before Chalmers. was dis
charged from the hospital Sylvia. her
| mother and father sailed for Japan.
Nine weeks later Sylvia sat reading
with overnight, indignant eyes the
following letter from her lover:
Boston, Mass. Dec. 8.
| Dear Little Girl-Why did you run
away without one word of farewell?
| Is it possible that after everything,
you can still be in the dark about how
| taken in assuming that you felt the
same?
| MY last conscious thought before
that frightful accident was of you;
tional world was of-you. My very
| first act on being released from the
crucible of nurses and doctors was to
hasten to Wildmere, only to find you
thousands of miles away-and not one
word or line of explanation!
| The governor and my mater were
| SO cut up about the accident that I
have concluded to retire from the
gridiron for the present. Thus you
see, everything considered, I return
|
| soph. Will you not drop me a line
| from the far off orient that life may
seem something less than blank,
dear, and the world a habitable place
| instead OF one vast, aching wilder
ness? As always,
BILLY"
| Sylvia read the letter several times
with variety of emotions Then she
trash basket. Afterward, she went
over to her writing desk and penned
a cloudy polite little note in reply
that effectually shut off any possible
excuse for further correspondence.
| When the letter was sealed. the little
resolute line of her lips relaxed into
quivering and she broke into storm
| of tears.
| Early in the following autumn the
Marburys returned to America.
1t was on a glorious November
morning that Sylvia came in, flushed,
| from downtown expedition, and hur-
ried straight to the little white sitting
room in their new apartments at
fashionable New York hotel
Without stopping to remove her
hat, she turned her bag upside down,
emptying the contents on a small,
onyx table. There were several new
clippings, a few half -tones-of Brown.
She opened her scrapbook and pasted
them all in with painstaking fingers.
j Never had there been a man like
|
day added fresh laurels to his already
brilliant record. He was worshiped
by his classmates, idolized by his team
and adored by the girls.
FROM the wreck of her shattered
| hopes, Sylvia had risen to join in the
universal hero worship. On her mantle
was panel of the invincible Brown:
| in her bureau drawers were innumer-
able hkenesses and unlikenesses. She
carried his picture in a tiny locket
about her neck, and on her desk was a
porcelain painting of him.
She glanced sn1ilingly at the dozen
diferent caricatures each newspaper
had proudly named as the "only true
likeness Of the mighty one. Then
with queer little pang at her heart
she opened the secret compartment of
her desk and drew forth an old photo
graph of Billy Chalmers. She locked
into the handsome, serious ewes long
and earnestly; a little sob caught in her
throat. How she had loved him. Could
it be really true. she asked herself, that
he had changed SO much-and cared
for that other (?), cared enough to
marry her, as report said?
A sharp rap on the door interrupted
the painful train of thought, and Syl-
via rose and turned the knob, schooling
cial, in Billy's own handwriting, and
she tore open the envelope with GRIM
soning cheeks:
Dear Sylvia it ran: MAY 1 call at
| Ou d HldtlSI VI LlpOTtsdIlce! Am SAIL
ing at daybreak for Germany to take
| up the study of medicine in Berlin.
Please do not refuse me. BILLY"
/ For an instant Sylvia stood holding
the sheet between trembling, icy fin
i gers. Should she see him? All tile
fierce resentment and wounded pride of
! the past year surged up to her defense;
| with swift impulse she seized pen
| and dashed down a single word ANA
! signed it Sylvia
| The succeeding hours were the long
| est Sylvia had ever spent in her life,
| but Chalmers arrived promptly. She
greeted him with her most formal little
| manner, effectually screening wild in.
| ward turbulence from his eager meme.