Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1910-10-01
tn EVENING STORY.
RAW MATERIAL.
BY Joanna Single.
.,~l,x 400 n 'l.r eGor{o od Il

Press.
1t was Labor day, and the world 81
work was trying hard to play. All
day there had been parades, brass
bands, picnics in parks, the streets
full of gay young workers, Of bent,
discouraged. old workers-men and
women-of little children growing up
to heritage Of toll. Toward even
ing people went home, but later the
festivities eliminated for the young
in the pavilion dance at the park.
Here laughter and music, the beat OF
feet, were insistent.
In the big, lantern lighted pavilion
Rose Shaw in her white dress sat
quietly against the wall. She had
danced little, for the tide Of gayety
did not snatch her up and claim her
for it's own-she did not know how
to play. Why was it? She felt set
apart, and her blue eyes were wistful
as John Clifford passed In swinging
two-step with Name Paulson. Name
could dance so well, and she was SO
stylish, so entertaining, so inter
esting.
Rose. knowing the girl, whom she
worked with daily at the mill, to be
coarse and unkind, yet wished for
share of Names evident popularity
She herself, mouse of a homekeeper
for widowed father and younger
sister and brother. had from the pc
ginning of her mill work shrunk back
from the rough merry making OF the
others-she was too refined, too Quiet,
and they resented it. The holder
girls felt the silent rebuke Of her re-
serve, and though she was very
pretty. they tainted and tormented
the young fellows Of their crowd out
of any inclination to notice her.
John Clifford, this young carpenter
was rather a prince to Rose, who IN
stinctively felt him to be her own
sort. but she was both too proud and
too delicate to court his attention, as
Name did, as she was at the moment
doing, as the dance ended ana -she
hung laughing upon his arm.
The two sat down near Rose IN an
open window and the girl heard INN
say som ething in low tone, but his
companion's answering words were
unmistakable.
Rosie? Amt she little stick?
Kind of pretty, as you say, but aWfu
raw material! She's been stuck to
the wall most of the evening! She's
too good for our crowd on everyday
occasions, so OF course she amt popu'
lar when it comes to the blowouts-
don't see why she came at all. She
usually stays home and does house
work for the doddering old father OF
hers. Small thanks she gets! Cookin
and SEWN are all right, but little
more snap and go would do her more
good in society. Say, amt this the
SWEETEST dance? Oh, that you, Tom
this to a staggering young fellow who
was asking her for the next waltz
"WeIl, seeing Mr.. Clifford is tired OF
me, perhaps l will"
With a laugh and a word, John Gift.
ford slipped away.
He walked straight over to Rose
Shaw and asked her for the next
dance. Then he sat down and began
to talk to her He noted the sweet,
downcast modesty Of the oval face,
the deep blue eyes, the heavy brown
hair which, she had tried vainly to
torture into the prevailing upholstered
looking fashion. The small, hardened
hands lay in her lap. She tried to
talk-in fact she had come only be
cause she had been stung into 1t
through hearing the girls at the mill