The Socialist press., 1914-06-20
HER HEARTS BLOOD
BY JULIA CORNELL.

Herbert Englerth, bachelor, man oi business, was sitting on the veranda of the California hotel smoking pipe, when an eastern Sunday news paper was handed him.
 Silly sentiment to have this trail ing after me. Surely in six months should be acclimated even to the extent of reading coast news.".
 After looking over the different { pages. with stifled ya1 he turned to the magazine section, /
 "'To the Unknd Nh T4umpM Queer title for Q storyn
 You are the man. I am tfAe woman. am sitting by the window, ny, harp beside me, looking at the stH 5, thinKs-- ing of you. Indeed. you hal lived in my thoughts ever since the day I packed my dolls and stopped climbing ISees.
 During girlhood hours I pictured you clad in purple, dashing into towrt on 6 prancing steed, carrying me off ip your arms! What if other girls haA boy lovers, I was happy in the thought that my Prince was on the way. I was six teen then. Tonight the clock of time shaft strike thirty for me! An. You can never know what 1t means to a girl to face thir- ty unloved, unmarried Why, why have you made this possible for me? Is it that your time Is taken up with busi- nes cares, or have you drifted into an easy-going, careless life, content with your pipe and a dog, a man who prefers a dream-wife to the real? No, the thought is unworthy of you. who are unselfsh and true. My faith in you has not wavered, but. dear, the time grows long. I am waiting. waiting. not for the schoolgirl ideal but for you. in any form you may come. have trav- eled much. I have gazed into the eyes of men. An! should know each other Am I good to look upon? you / may wonder Dearest, let me whisper that I am considered fair of face. The wind plays with my curls. I have kept myself pure and sweet for you. No man has entered my life.
 Oh, the happy, happy hours I have spent embroidering linen, making cuSh- ions for my home-your home. I h been collecting all these years. chest is overflowing An! the tender dreams I have of you and me in our own home, sitting in the twilight or by the evening lamp, you reading to me while I sew At such times I am very happy. But sometimes. at night, when the wind is blowing and the rain dash ing against my window, the cruel thought that you may never come flashes upon me-a long, lonely life without you! It is torture, because, dear, I am not one of
 
 can rise above the old law of nature. I'm simply home-loving girl who asks noth- ing of life but her inalienable right of husband, home and children.
 Oh. dear. unknown man. visit me in my dreams tonight and promise that you Will will come.
 By George! I'm the mani" gasped Herbert Englerth. For twenty years I've been on the lookout for just that type of girl. Heavens! that article was written with hearts blood! I'll find the girl or I'm not the man think I am. Of course, she's eastern, possibly southern. I'm away out here, but what's distance! I'll get her ad- dress from the publisher"
 With Herbert Englerth, thinking vas doing. But to his dismay he found no addresses were given out. It was, however, characteristic of him when he started out to do thing he did it. This quality had made him an indispensable factor in his bust. ness firm. So when he asked for an immediate leave of absence it was granted.
 Upon his arrival east, after spend ing some time posing as a man Of letters, he at length learned that the article had been written by Angela Harrington of Baltimore, Md. She was one of the new writers who were slowly gaining a foothold in the lit erary world, he had been informed.
 Timidity was an unknown element in Herbert Englerth's life. He. how. ever, found himself as timid as the proverbial schoolboy when little maid ushered him into the Baf rington home.
 Did you say it was Miss Barring ton you wished to see?"
 "Yes, the writer of short stories"
 "Oh, yes; she is not in just now. But, sir, she's no miss; she's married and has four children"