The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1914-03-30
Continued From Saturday.

w men L went uUWu SIdltS, MOlly
Mcguire was waiting in the kitch-
en-, and had the audacity to ask
me il | thought the coat needed a
new lining!
1t was on Monday evening that
the strangest event in years hap
pened to me. | went to my Sis
ter's house! And the fact that
! was admitted at side entrance
made it even stranger. 1t hap
pened this way:
Supper was over, and was
cleaning up, when an automobile
came to the door. 1t was Alma
car. The chauffeur gave me a
note:
Dear Mrs. Pitman-I am not
at all we'll, and very anxious. Will
you come to see me at once? My
mother is out to dinner, and l am
alone. The car will bring you.
Cordially, Ida HARVEY"
put on my best dress at once
and got into the limousine. Half
the neighborhood was. out watch
ing. l leaned back in the uphol-
stored seat, fairly quivering with
excitement. This was Alma S
car; that was Alma's card case;
the little clock had her monogram
on it. Even the flowers in the
flower holder. yellow tulips, re-
minded me of Alma trifle
snowy, but good to look at. And
/ was going to her house!
was not taken to the main
entrance, but to a side door. The
queer dream-like feeling was still
there. In this back hall, relegat-
ed from the more conspicuous
part of the house, there were even
pieces of furniture from the old
home, and my fathers picture, in
an oval gilt frame, hung over my
head. l had not seen a picture of
him for twenty years. l went over
and touched it gently.
Father, father!" said.
Under it was the tall chair that
/ had climbed over as a child, and
had stood on many times, to see
myself in the mirror above. The
chair was newly finished and
looked the better for its age. |
glanced in the old glass. The
chair had stood time better than
it. l was a middle-aged woman,
lined with poverty and care, shah
by, prematurely gray, a little
hard. had thought my father
an old man when that picture was
taken, and now l was even older.
"Father!" whispered again, and
fell to crying in the dimly lighted
hall.
Ida sent for me at once. l
had only time to dry my eyes and
straighten my hat. Had / met AL
ma on the stairs, l would have
passed her without a word. She
would not have known me. But
| saw no one.
Ida was in bed. She was lying
there with a rose-shaded lamp be-
side her, and a great bowl of
spring flowers on a little stand at
her elbow. She sat up when l
went in, and had a maid place a
chair for me beside the bed. She
looked very childish, with her
hair in braid on the pillow, and
her slim young arms and throat
bare.
"T'm so glad you camel" she
said, and would not be satisfied
until the light was just right for
my eyes, and my coat unfastened
and thrown open.
Pm not really ILL.," she in
formed me. "Tm-I'm just tired
and nervous, and-and unhappy,
Mrs. Pitman."
II am sorry" said. I wanted
to lean over and pat her hand, to
draw the covers around her and
mother her a little--I had had no
one to mother for SO long-but |
could not. She would have
thought 1t queer and presumptu-
ous-or not, not that. She was
too sweet to have thought that.
Mrs. Pitman," she said sud-
denly, "who was this Jennie
Brice?"
"She was an actress. She and
her husband lived at my house"
Was she-was she beauti-
full"
WELL" I said slowly, 81 never
thought of that. She was hand
some, in a large way"
WAS she young?"
Yes. Twenty-eight or So"
THAT isn't very young" she
said, looking relieved. But l
don't think men like very young
women. Do your"
II know one who does" l said,
smiling. But she sat up in bed
suddenly and looked at me with
her clear childish eyes.
II don't want him to like mel"
she flashed. Il want him to