Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1914-01-18

agonized voice No. she mustn't. What bliss to sink
back back forever away from pitching sinking desks
and somersaulting proofs with only the tired, tired
stars
The clammy trickle Of ice water down her back
brought sharp prodding reminder
@The Furniture Sale-starts Monday-forty nine
mahogany and weatheredoak Specials" The Adver-
Using Manager raised both hands to her choking collar
aOh can't be sick! can't, can't! If must be- let
wait till Monday. But not today, possibly
Those Specials" She thrust out foot and wrggled
it ambitiously @See can stand perfectly well! Let
me show you'll"
Then sharp iend of pain swooped her up in gasp,
great sickening circle whirled the nurses arms
closed. Through iron gate that screeched and
CRASHED and crunched in aching jerks, they dropped
down, down to bottomless depths to meet the stars;
raised again high aoft, by strong another
pillow there-and, unprotesting now. the Advertising
Manager was lifted into cab.
ANYONE who should be told?' A nervous, high
pitched voice rasping outside her door, when
she opened her eyes to find herself suddenly and mracu
lously inside the Bagdad bed How many voices were
there,-chillng with apprehension prcklng with
mild excitement hectoring with solemn dispute!
3Not that wouldn't work my fingers to the bone, one,
just ready snap cracking &but have my guests
to consider. "-3And quite right too a second was
warmly approving II always did say, if it was me,
I'd want to be taken there right away. '-3Me too,
agreed third sThere's no knowing! Now, I've
heard" The voices sank to the creepiest depths of
the Cave of Whispers.
The Patient sat up in dumb alarm. Were they going
to tear her from home? Not the hooking, impossible
Other Womens kind of Home of course, but the home
of a Morris chair and green shade and Bagdad
couch and Robert Louis the lfhome that alone
may make in a tiny and windowbox. Even by
the bleak mathematics of the Sickbed Half home is
infinitely better than the cammy terrors of hospital
The Patient clutched the gryish white of the spread
beneath the Bagdad with grim desperation, her
eyes strained wide with dread.
Then firm, quick tread Of feet up the creakng
stairs; of eager wanted feet leapng them three at
bound an angry explosion of profanity; scattering
murmur, of chickens scuttling before storm
The Patient stretched her and laughed aloud,
"a joyous weak little laugh of utter peace and secur
ty. No one but DR.. Ridgeley could swear like that.
But the last laugh heard for many days in the
narrow little room; for the Advertising Manager was
sick,-not at-home-a-day Atlantc-City-f
week, to-Bermuda sick, but how-long- can-we
manage, who-can-take-her-p place sick SO sick that
moving out of the question,-so sick there were
muffed mattings up and down the creaking stairs
and direfu sign @Please don't disturb that brought
hastily tiptoed steps and low. sepulchral mutterngs
though it would have taken more than whole
cityfu of crashing troleys to rouse the bright
head tossing hot and dry dropping Imply back
on the pillow; while to pair of eyes at least the
tense face looked willing white rose the mouth
scarlet silk bowknot twisted into grotesque loops of
painso sick that the Starched Lady stared incredu
lousy at the record of the little thermometer. Any
medical authority could tell you that fever could
mount so high; and the doctors jaws set like steel
traps he sat in grim, gray vigil to dawn blind to ALL
deaf to ALL but the faint flicker of pulse and the low
means from the pillow.
And so February stopped and drpped and froze and
relented outside and February Furniture played its
lead and must step aside for March Mattings,
while proofs checked and caught lost and
papers went to press, day after day. But the Adver
Using Manager knew it not.