The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1913-02-20
the EVENING STORY
Andy McCurdy's Girl.

opened, jess was TOO BUSY D1nQlnS
up a splintered thumb to notice the
caller.
sit down, won't your" she called.
her back to the door, as she knelt by
the wounded one, little Tim Sullivan.
''Ah, don't be screwing up your face.
Tim. and groaning so. Be a soldier
| now. It's nothing at all. You're lucky
you didn't have the whole thumb
pulled off. Keep it clean and come to
me in the morning again, and keep
away from the emery wheels next
time
Willard waited until the factory
door closed on Tim before he APP
preached the desk. There was some
thing soothingly familiar about it all
to him after twenty-five years abb
sence. There was the big black wal
nut flat top desk across the south
end of the office, where old man Nc
Curdy always sat. The small table
| set against the inner wall had been
his own. Against the other side of
the wall throbbed and hummed the
huge belts. He had missed their lnu-
| sic often since his leaving. The tall,
narrow windows did not appear to
have been washed, either He looked
up at the weaving of cobwebs across
their top Lodges with a reminiscent
grin, and then dropped his gaze to a
level with the girls eyes.
Gould l see Mr.. McCurdy, please?"
| AS he spoke to her a little lump
seemed to rise in his throat. In per-
hapS half a minute he would be
looking in the old chaps eyes, grasp
ing hands with him, trying to let him
know what it means to him--Jock
Willard-to be back in the little old
town ready to pay the debt of twenty
years
The girls voice stunned him.
Mr. McCurdy is dead. He was
my father. I run the mills now.
Were you his friend?
! Was he McCurdy's friend? Will
lard set down his two suit cases and
| breathed a deep repressed sigh be-
| fore he spoke. He stared past the
girl at the old desk by the south
window, and seemed to see the stocky
old figure there, the pink bald disc
with its fringe of gray hair on the
behind the old silver spectacles
Il He was the only friend had those
days" he told her. I'm sorry he's
dead. You see, I've been waiting
twenty-odd years to come back here
and see him and pay him the money
he loaned me to make my start on"
Jess had been sizing him up, and
her eyes showed approval.
''Father'd be glad you made a good
start any how" she said, warmly.
| Did you live here in Loverton?
Willard pointed to the pile of bur-
| lap sacks under the tall shipping desk.
Il used to sleep on a pile like that
in here nights. l was errand boy and
shipping clerk and Hight Waterman
all in one. My names Jock Willard. /"
Jess hesitated, but the thought of
her father and of how he would have
acted was uppermost. And after all
| she could find a corner for him some
| place in the MILL
Were you looking for a situation,
| Mr.. Willard"
why, not exactly, Miss McCurdy."
He smiled down at her. Wasn't she
! just like the old man, though, with
the quick heartiness to foresee an
| others troubles. I've been west a
| good many years, and I've not done
| badly. l just came back on a sort
| of vacation to see your father and
the old place. I'm sorry I'm too
! Late
He stopped down for one of the
| suit cases at his feet, lifted it I'D to
the desk and started to unbuckle it's
straps. But it's not too late for
what I came for, anyhow It's all
the same whether l give it to him or
to you, only I'd liked to have seen
his face. 1 wanted him to know I
never forgot. Maybe he thought I
| wouldn't come back
Il guess if father knew you that well he
was satisfied you'd be coming back, well
enough. Jess watched him raise the
| cover and reach into the contents; watch
| ed him draw out long brown bill book
out of it to the old desk
Willard counted them out before her.
| his face happy as boys. One hundred,
and fifty, and two hundred, and fifty, ard
| three hundred, and fifty, and four hun
dred, and fifty more makes it up-five
hundred. And: Miss McCurdy, want to
| do just as I intended doing for the oil
gentleman Life's been mighty good 30
me, and L haven't anybody in the world
real Death Valley tonight or not I was
| going to just double it up on the old fell
low. see, and make it a straight Thousand
You'll let me, won't your
| Slowly the tears gathered in the girls
| gray eyes. She was not looking at hin,
| counter. She did not notice the opening
of the door behind them, but Willard did,
and set the suit case over few inches to
cover the yellow balls from curious eyes
Then he stood back and heard the little
knock Fate had been saving up for Andy
| McCurdy's girl
| Into receivers hands?'' Jess was rs-
peating. one hand against her forehead.
| MONDAY We wouldn't be bothering
/ you. Miss McCurdy. only it's Barrett him.
self that's pushing the thing He holds
the notes.
What notes. asked Jess puzzled II
| you signed for Archie, didn't you? He
| sold them to Barrett
| Jess turned impulSively to the tall fig
lure standing by the window.
Come here. please, Mr.. Willard, and
I SpeHN I'll there's Archie, too. besides me.
| He's my brother, and he's not good boy
Father left the mill to me to run; and
| money to Archie for his share, and hes
| gone through it, Then he got into troa-
| BILE and I signed some notes for him 20
| get him out. so he'd pay up what he
| owed and instead he's let the notes go
| to Barrett and he's going to have tee
M ney or force the mill into a receivers
| hands What shall dor
| .Where's Archie?' Willard's voice was
sharp and stern.
| The sheriff answered. Jumped west
Yesterday. It's $50 on one note and 81 $50
ON another. The whole blame mills amt