Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1913-11-07
Continued from last week

haste. 81 can't. But heaven bless you,
Grace, for your dear thought of me-"
"You will bless me with more rea-
son." said Grace softly, when Fran
decides to go away. She'll tire of this
house-I promise it. She'll go-just
waiti-shen go, Is unceremoniously
as she came. Leave it to me, Mr.. Greg
ory." In her earnestness she started
up. and then, as If to conceal her
growing resolution, she walked swiftly
to the window as IL to hold her manu-,
script to the light. Gregory followed
her.
IF she would only goi" he groaned.
"Gracel Do you think you could?-
Yes, / will leave everything to you"
She'll co." Grace repeated ixedly.
The window at which they stood
overlooked the garden into which Fran
had wheeled old Mrs. Jefferson.
Fran, speaking through the ear.
trumpet with as much caution as deaf
ness would tolerate, said, Dear old
lady, look up at the library window,
If you please, for the muezzin has
climbed his minaret to call to prayers"
Very little Of this reached Its desti,
nation-muezzin was In great danger
of complicating matters, but the old
lady caught library window" and held
1t securely. She looked up. Ham.
ilton Gregory and Grace Noir were
standing at the tower window, to
catch the last rays of the sun. The
flag of truce between them wal only
a typewritten sheet of manuscript.
Grace held the paper obliquely toward
the west; Hamilton leaned nearer and,
with his delicate white finger, pointed
out a word. Grace nodded her head
in gentle acquiescence.
"Amen," muttered Fran. Nov let
everybody singh
The choir leader and his secretary
vanished from sight.
Just like the play in Hamlet" Fran
said half-aloud. "And now that the
for old Ham to be doing something"
Mrs. Jefferson gripped the arms Of
her wheelchair and resumed her tale,
as If she had not been interrupted. 1t
was of no interest as a story, yet pos
Aessed a sentimental value from the
TACT that all the characters save the
raconteur were dead, and possibly all
but her forgotten. Fran loved to hear
the old lady evoke the shades of long
ago, shades who would never again
assume even the palest manifestation
to mortals, when this old lady had
gone to join them.
Usually Fran brought her back.
with gentle hand, but today she di-
vined subterfuge; the tale was meant
to hide Mrs. Jefferson's real feelings.
Fran ventured through the trumpet:
II wish there was a man-secretary
on this place, instead of a woman.
And let me tell you one thing, dear
old soldier-there's going to. be a fight
put up IN these grounds. / guess you
ought to stay out of 1t. But either
/ or the secretary has got to git"
Fran was not unmindful of gram
mar, ever of rhetoric, on occasion.
She knew there was no such word as
''git," but she was seeking to symbol
ize her idea in sound. AS she closed
her teeth, each little pearl meeting a
pearly rival, her "git" had something
of the force of physical ejectment.
Behind large spectacle lenses,
sparks flashed from Mrs. Jefferson.s
eyes. She shifted battle. But her
tightly compressed lips showed that
she lacked both Fran's teeth and
Trans ~intrepidity. One steps eau
itiously at seventy-odd. .
Fran comprehended. The old lady
must not let it be suspected that she
MWts a