The Colorado statesman., 1915-03-13
HIS FRIENDS WIFE
BY GORDON TOMBSTONE.
lCOpYrightl

the carpet and stared at the tousled
head of the boy reading the newspa-
per.
Did l hear you right, Denny?' he
asked. Did you say Nora Reagan"
Denny scanned the column and
found the paragraph.
Yes" he answered. Mrs Nora
Reagan, East Thirty-fourth street"
Malone pressed the hot ashes in his
clay pipe and rubbed the bowl medi-
tatively with the palm of his big hand.
Read it again, lad" he urged soft
ly, as his gaze returned to the fiowered
pattern of the carpet.
The boy read it with the intonation
of child reciting a memorized lesson
at school
"a young widow. Has child for
adoption. Unable to support. Baby
eighteen months old. Irish blue eyes.
Weighs twenty pounds"
Denny laid the paper in his lap and
looked at the big man sitting on the
horsehide chair
"Will you tear that out and give it
to me, Denny?" the man asked. The
boy complied with his request.
Crossing the room, he picked up his
hat and opened the door.
Where are you goin, Barry?" called
Murphy senior from the kitchen.
For a bit of walk, john" Malone
answered.
Reaching the avenue, he turned
down. By the light in a store win
dow he took out the ragged paper and
studied the address. Replacing it in
his pocket, he took up his walk, re-
peating the number to himself.
Halfway down the street he found
the address, and searched the dimly
lighted hallway for the name. Run
ming his eyes over the dirty mail
boxes, he found it.
He pressed the button. A pause en-
sued. There was no response. Again
he rang and waited. After what
seemed an interminable time the latch
clicked.
Pushing his way In, he climbed the
stairs covered with oilcloth. On the
second landing he backed into a cor
nar to let a much-perfumed woman
pass.
On the floor above Nora Reagan
stood in the lighted doorway, little
red head pillowed against her shoul-
der. Malone paused near the top and
looked at her. The woman peered into
his face. N..-
Barry" she cried. Barry Ma
lionel" She staggered back into the
room. "Is it yourself, or am / dream
ing?" 1910.
It's no dream, Noreen," he an
swered. Its myself"
A bright flush crept up from her
white throat over her face and lost it
self in the bronze hair. She had not
heard that old name in ages. To her
husband she had always been Nora.
No one but her mother and Barry had
ever called her Noreen, and that was
years ago on the bogs round Wexford.
She reached out her disengaged hand
to him.
Come in, Barry" she said, ''and
bring your happiness with you. 'Tis a
sight you are to cure blind eyes. And
it's a girl | am again to see you"
Malone stepped into the room and
closed the door. Turning, he looked
at the frail little figure radiating her
joy, but showing the signs of battle
against odds.
The face would always be beautiful.
There was the milklike skin, and the
charm of eyes and hair. The girls of
Nora Reagan's coloring were the glory
of Ireland. Malone's eyes rested on
the little red head pressed against her
shoulder and the wonder of child
less man dreamed in their depths.
He dropped into the chair she point
ed out to him.
Barry" she cried, at was my good
angel that sent you tonight. There
was a woman here just now that want
ed to take the baby"
Noras voice fell to Mortified
whisper:
And, Barry, there was paint on her
cheeks. Think of it! Red paint!
Malone remembered the woman he
passed in the hall.
Yes" he said; 81 met her on the
way"
The woman shuddered and hugged
the little bundle closer.
Malone glanced up at the crayon on
the wall.
when did Tim go?" he asked
quietly.
Twelve months this morning Tues
day"
I've been down in Panama." he
working on the canal.
don't know much about what's going
on"
''He was killed in the expressman's
strike" she explained. HE used to
speak of you very often, Barry and
wonder where you were keeping your
self"
God never made better man" he