Newark evening star and Newark advertiser. [volume] (Newark, N.J.) 1909-1916, 1914-11-30
Evening Star S
Daily Story
POLLY PERKINS
BY CATHERINE cooPE.
Copyright, 1911, by the Mcclure News
paper Syndicate

might possibly see her comfortably en-
sconsed in a home for insurables. For
the present she was happily IL whim-
sically domiciled in a tiny cottage on
Long Island. Miss Polly's mental
state was the cause of rude jests from
village children and one Of amused in
terest to older minds. Weekend
guests were sure TO be taken past the
abode of Polly Perkins just as they
were invariably RECALLED by the story
of the haunted house on the old farm
road.
She's dippy on the subject of
pink said Jimmy Rogers as he
strolled past Miss Perkins's cottage
with Bob Hawthorne after a swim in
the sound.
Il wouldn't have believed it,"
laughed Hawthorne as he eyed with
amused glance the pink-painted cot
tage, the pink flower gardens, pink
gate posts and outbuildings. II sup
pose she has pink bows on all the
livestock he commented.
.'She surely has, chuckled Jimmys
''every living chicken in the barnyard
has a pink bow on his neck"
you're jokingi" exclaimed HaW-
thorne, but at that moment the cluck,
eluelx of the discussed birds an
nounced their presence and both men
laughed aloud. A most tidy little
flock of chickens, each bird wearing a
pink bow on its neck, came pecking
away over Miss Polly's front lawn.
Il don't call that eccentric. call
It plain Cracked - said Hawthorne.
what kind of freak is this Polly
Perkins, he asked.
Not 80 much of a freak as you'd
expect said Jimmy, as they moved
along the street. "Of course, she
diseases entirely in pink and looks
not half bad under the pink sun bon
net she wears about the garden
You know she writes stories and
things for the magazines
THAT accounts for it, said HaW-
thorne; they are nearly all dlppy
on some line, these writer people
After that the two men fell into
discussion of the yacht races being
held at the club and promptly Tor
got all about Polly Perkins and her
chickens.
It was not until a few days later
that Hawthorne, lolling in Jimmy
Rogerss hammock, looked up to see
a lone chicken cluclSing away ana
pecking contentedly for vermin In
Rogers's well-kept lawn. The chicken
had a more or less bedraggled PINK
how on its neck that sadly inter-
f
dainties from the soft sod
"Hello,'' exclaimed Hawthorne,
drawing, himself up from his most
comfortable position the better to look
at the hen, 'if you haven't strayed
from Miss Perkins's pink domain II
eat my hat.
And because Bob Hawthorne was
trifle bored with his own society anu
more or less curious regarding the &c
centric Miss Perkins, he decided 10
make a martyr of himself and take
the straying bird home.
He had little difficulty in catching
the chicken. Evidently Miss Perkins
hens we're more in the nature of pets
than table delieacies. He wondered
If each and every bird had a name.
such as Florabelle or Sylvia or even
Peter Perkins. He supposed they
would have.
After a few moments of reconnoi-
terinp he discovered much to his sur
prise that a wing of Miss Perhnss
property practically adjoined that OF
Jimmy Rogers. He climbed the lat
ter's fence and found himself facing
the back of pink chicken coop. HaW
fhorne laughed shortly and would
have continued his progress toward
the restoration of Miss Perkins
ooIiltrv to its owner, save that
sharp turn around the fence brought
him into the awkward position OF nav
ing tripped over a pink-elad tlgure.
She was lying flat on her back among
the tall grasses, and Hawthorne sWore
softly under his breath. The chick
en- flew madly out of his slackenea
clutch and the pink-clad one opened
startled eyes that were shining with
recent dreams.
- nFlT1Nr q
was lost somewhere in the blue
depths of her eyes. He only stood
and stared down at her. Ii all men
tally unbalanced people were so love-
lv to look upon as Polly Perkins,
Hawthorne hoped he would meet
many of that variety on his LIES
path.
you've no right to be snoring in
that wet grass" he said-that hap
pening to be the only thought he
seemed able to give voice to-
IT was not snoring, and the grass
is as dry as bone" the girl said,
with asperity. She had arisen to a
sitting posture and was endeavoring
to coax back the frightened chicken.
II don't know why-all men think
that every blade of grass in the uni
verse is continually wet, anyway
Men creatures invariably think OF
sneezing and rheumatism instead OF
electricity and renewed life coming
cut of the grass"
She had got the chicken back by
continued coaxing the while she was
addressing her remarks 10 nav.
thorne and was petting 1t with two
charmingly white hands. Hawthorne
found himself wishing himself the
pet chicken of an eccentric writer
Derson whose mania was an over
tenderness for pink.
Are YOU Miss Polly Perkins, he
asked, when her wide-open eyes again
roamed toward his face. He wanted
to make sure of her identity.
Eyes, I am she said. rs there
anything else you would like to
know, Rude PERSON." she inquired
with peculiarly disconcerting
frankness.
Hawthorne stiffened perceptibly;
then, remembering Miss Perkins's
mental condition, smiled in what he
supposed to be most compassionate
manner.
TO Polly Perkins the smile was an
odd mixture of damaged pride and a
desire to hide the same by forced
amusement. She in turn cast quiz
zical look into Hawthorne's glover
ing eyes and burst into peal of
laughter.
sYou know" she informed him, Il
am not the Miss Polly Perkins you
think | am. / am her niece" With
that she turned swiftly ON her heels
and left Bob Hawthorne standing be-
side the pink chicken coop. He
smiled as he went back toward
Jimmy Rogerss garden and realized
that his holidays were going to be
more interesting than he had eX-
pected.
you Know" she confided to him
A,,-1 niri,ta late1. when they left the