The Ely miner., 1913-08-15


ing, tinny sounds, breaking the long
silence. The clank of the cable-cars
was borne over the roofs, clearly now
in the damp, heavy atmosphere; from
somewhere came the jingle of a street
piano. Floating down the mild after
noon came the deep, mellow note OF
some big propeller, loosing her winter
moorings at last and rousing to greet
the tug that would tow her out of the
narrow river. Kelley, the policeman,
strolled along the sidewalk, with his
hands locked behind him, his nose in
the air, shifting eagerly and pleasur-
ably. He had left off his skirted over
coat, and changed his clumsy cap for
his helmet.
Annie had sat at her window all the
afternoon, but, as the spring day wore
toward its close, she began to realize
that only the melancholy, and none of
the promise of this first spring day
had touched her. She had thrown
open the window, to test the quality
of the air. Now and then a warm
breath came wandering in off the
prairies, though when it met the cold.
persistent wind from the lake, it hesi-
tated, and timidly turned back. But
Annie would not let herself doubt that
the spring had come. She knew that
in time the prairie wind would WOO
its way until it would be playing with
the waves of the lake itself, the little
waves that danced all day, blue and
white, in the sunshine. And then the
summer would come, and on Sunday
afternoons Jimmy would take her out
to Lincoln Park and they would have
their supper at Fishers Garden.
Leadam street was dull enough on
week days; on Sundays it was wholly
mournful.
Once Annie saw a woman, with a
shawl over her head and tin bucket
in her hand, go into Englehardt's
place, down the street. The woman
went in furtively, and brushed hastily
through the Family Entrance"
though why could not be told. She
went there nearly every hour of every
day. Then Annie was left alone. She
did not turn inward to the fiat; that
was too still and lonesome, and it was
growing dark now. as the shadows
gathered She heard the strenuous
gongs of the cable-cars over in State
street and she could imagine the
crowds, gay from their Sunday holi-
day, that filled them clinging even to
the running-boards. She might have
gone out and been with them, as ev-
cry one else in the street seemed to
have done, but she would not for
worlds have been away from home
when Jimmy came She heard the
jingle of the street piano, too; she
wished it would come down that way.
She would gladly have emptied her
purse for the Dago.
1t was not unusual for Annie to be
left alone, and she had grown used to
it-almost; as used as a woman can
even the wife of a politician
Jimmy has told her that she must not
worry at any of his absences: an
alderman could never tell what might
detain him. She had but a vague no.
tion of the things that might detain
an alderman, though she had no doubt
of their importance. At times she
thought she felt an intimate little
charm in the Importance that thus re,
flected itself upon her, but, neverthe
less, her heart was never quite easy
until she heard Jimmy's step on the
stair and his key in the latch, and
then-joy came to the little fiat, and
stayed there, trembling and fearful
grown to be so dependent on Jimmy
Ever since she had been graduated
from the convent his great, strong
personality had stood between her and
the world, so that, as her girlhood had
merged into womanhood, she had
hardly recognized the change, and she
remained a girl still, alone but fol-
him; he was her whole life. She had
doubted his entrance into politics al
first, just as she had doubted his go
ing into the saloon business, though
she scarcely understood either in their
various significances. Father Daugh
erty had told her she was fortunate
SlIl W nave lOI d duU
that had been enough. Her only OBJ
lection was that politics seemed tc
keep Jimmy away from home oftener
than the old work in the packing
house used to; she had trembled at II
at times, and at times had grown q
little frightened. His success in poll
tics had pleased her, of course, and
made her proud, but it could not have
made her prouder of him than she
had been. He was all-sufficient fol
her; no change could make any differ
ence. without Jimmy, what
could she have done? He had never
been gone so long before; here it was
Sunday evening; he had left at eleven
o'clock Saturday morning; there was
to be an extra session of the council
Saturday night, an unusual thing, and
she had not been surprised when she
awoke to find that it was Sunday
morning-and that Jimmy had not
come
The morning wore away, and she
had made all the arrangements fol
the dinner she would have awaiting
him. She had gone about lightly, hap
PLY, all the day, singing to herself
the gladness of the new spring in her
But, one by one, all the tasks she
could think of were performed, even
to drawing the water for his bath and
laying out his clean linen. And then
when there was nothing else to do
but wait and nothing with which to
beguile her waiting, she had taken her
post at the window to watch for his
cab.
The day waned the Sunday drew