The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1916-09-08
deyilish. Paul"

too-too--it's devilish, Paul"
Gordon was staring moodily out
of the window. one arm hanging
idly over the back of his chair.
He had taken up office room in
an empty shop building across the
street from the hotel.
"It's so devilish, it's weird"
agreed the ranchman.
There was an ugly cut on his
forehead. He was pale, but he
had lost none of the old faith in
himself or in his power to DOM
mate affairs in the cattle coun-
try.
"I'll pull myself together again,
never fear" said Gordon. Just
give me tonight. You see that's
not all. I've something else to
think about, too, now that l have
time. 1t takes a fellows nerve
away to have everything that is
worth while drop out at once. But
I've rallied before. l know I'm
beastly selfish not to talk to you
tonight, but"
"Dick," interrupted Langford,
bluntly, Ibid she turn you down."
II never asked her. She is 60
ing back-home-next week"
IF you let her."
"You don't quite understand,
Paul." said Gordon, a little wear
lily. "She said she could never
live in this country-never She
would die here. Could / ask her
after that? Could l ask her, any,
way, and be man? know. She
would just pine away"
Girls don't pine-only in i'm
agination. They are tougher than
you give them credit for"
But somehow Mary seems diff
ferent," said Gordon, thoughtful
ly. He surprised flush in his
friends cheek. "You deserve her.
old man, you'll be very happy.
She is the right kind. 1 congrat-
ulate you with all my heart"
An odd lump came into Lang
ford's throat. Despite Gordon Wig
orous and healthful manhood,
there seemed always a certain
pathos of life surrounding him.
81 haven't asked, either" con-
fessed Paul. But you have made
1t possible for me to do so-to-
night-tomorrow whenever I
can find a chance. Take my adj
vice, old man, don't let your Girl
go. You'll find she is the kind
after all. You don't knew her
yet"
Paul left the room, and Gordon
paced the narrow confines of his
shabby office. Then he threw
himself once more into his chair
his arms fell nervelessly to the
table and then his head dropped
heavily upon his arms.
Alone in the night, Louise
awoke. She found 1t impossible
to fall asleep again. She slipped
out of bed. She would tire her
self into sleep. She even dressed.
Drawing the oil stove close to the
window fronting the street she
sank into a chair, drew a heavy
shawl ever her shoulders, put her
feet on the tiny fender, and pre-
pared to fatigue herself into obliv-
ion.
A light shone from the window
across the way. He was still at
work, then. He ought not to sit
up SO late. II she were not going
back next week. Only next week!
But there was no other way. She
ought never to have come. She
was not big enough. He, too, had
told her she was not the kind.
{. And now she noticed that his
head had sunk down onto his
arms. How still he sat. The min
utes passed away. Still he sat
motionless, his face buried.
IL was dark. The yellow CLEAN
streaming out of the window only
served to make the surrounding
darkness denser. The lamp on
the. table cast a pale circle imme-
diately i'm front of the office. Into
this circle there moved a shadow.
II retreated--advanced again -
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