Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-05-04

The door flung open. A beautiful, bronze
skinned boy, with gay blue eyes alight with
joy, burst In. ooh, Mother, Mother!" and
flung his arms round her.
donald, Donald, why did you come
hereor she moaned
1t was moment tense with drama. The
General Manager stared at the boy, and
turned aside speeches.. Lindauer did the
same, and pursed his lips into low whistle
The Advertising Manager stared too, in in
credulous amazement.
For moment Miss Peake, still with her
boys arm about her, crouched at bay before
her accusers,- just wild, trapped, hunted
thing, struggling for life, for more than life,
while the leather walls of the office Kissed
and stung and lashed with silence. At the
end of the moment harsh, grating sound
passed from her throat and she lifted her
face.
But strange miracle had happened
Where soft smiles a moment before had
played were now entombed deep hollowss
in place of radiant dimples, haggard, twitch
ing lines of care; leaden gray pallor over
spread roseate bloom; and-oh, horror of
horrors!- was the grim specter of Mid
die Age grinning through a loosened Poudre
de Paris mask! And still the leather walls
Kissed and stung and jeered with silence.
Virginia Harcourt shuddered.
Ilc cA- w dist f1SSlSlt1lI IlcdIu
her arms despairingly. ooh, not even you!"
She stared about duly. II thought you'd
understand"
"Mother, Mother, don't look so queeri"
said Donald. @Come outside. I've heaps to
tell YOU" He reached not up but down to
whisper in her ear.
Miss Peake smiled wanly. ooh, should
rather have died than tell you, she moaned
3but now, now you've found it out, what
does it matter-you can all know"
The queer looking locket gave great
heave at her throat and fell to the floor q,
she staggered out with her son.
Herbert Highly quietly stopped and picked
it up.
Lindauer's acid laugh bit the air. 3So
that's Miss Peake!" with sheer.
The General Managers jaw snapped with
a click. Get out of here, Lindauer- quick
And you too, Miss Harcourt, with a glance
at his desk. Suppose you return at four |
thirty. Tell Watkins he can come In now.
PUT the Advertising Manager held her
= ground, her small hands tightly clenched/
her small vivid face atingle. From the ex
cited tumble of thoughts in her brain only
one leaped out, harlequin wise.
did you ever stop to think, she inquired
abruptly, "what you would do if you had
nothing in the world but your looks?'
The General Managers brows went up
and he smiled rather quizzically. But the
Advertising Manager had no thought of
humor, and plunged on with desperate ear
nestness.
did you ever think what it means just
to be freshly MARCHED and starched and
pink and white every morning at eight-fif .
teen on the floor? Take that one item alone
'starched it may not sound SO much to
you. But do you know what it means to
wear the same shirtwaist day after day, and
to iron it at night on the edge of the bureau
and watch back seam and wonder if it vii
hold one more week, to spend evening after
evening like that, when you're ready to
drop, after standing all day, scrimping and
pinching and pressing and turning and darn
ing and gasolening, though all the time YOU
soul may be crying out for just a little
warmth, a little perfume, little color? And
to do it all on about what Lindauer spends
for socks! Oh" explosively, @do you think
any woman is going to keep that up, year
after year, knowing that every year shes
getting older-that much nearer-the End
unless she has a Reason-a tremendous
Reason" She paused appealingly, carried
away by her own eloquence.
The General Manager brought the tips
of his fingers critically together. "You are
referring, | presume, to our Waist Assis
tant