The Pulaskian., 1917-06-22

l 1NN opened windows, brought order and quiet. And then, with death in her eyes, she took up her position beside her mother. This was no time for weeping; that would come later. Once she turned to K., standing watchfully beside her.
 Il think you have known this for a long time" she said. And, when he did not answer: "Why did you let me stay away from her? 1t would have been such little time p
 We were trying to do our best for both of you," he replied.
 Anna was unconscious and sinking fast. One thought obsessed Sidney. She repeated it over and over. It came as a cry from the depths of the girls new experience.
 "She has had so little of Iife," she said, over and over. "So littlei Just this Street. She never knew anything else."
 And finally K. took it up.
 "After all, Sidney" he said, '.the Street Is life; the world is only many streets. She had a great deal. She had love and content, and she had you"
 Anna died little after midnight. a quiet passing, so that only Sidney and the two men knew when she went away. It was Harriet who collapsed. During all that long evening she had sat looking back over years of small unkindnesses. The thorn of Annals in- efficiency had always ranked In her flesh. She had been hard, uncompro- missing, thwarted. And now it was for ever too late.
 K. had watched Sidney carefully. Once he thought she was fainting, and went to her. But she shook her head.
 "I am all right. Do you think you could get them all out of the room and let me have her alone for just few minutes?"
 He cleared the room and took his vigil outside the door. And, as he stood there, he thought of what he had said to Sidney about the Street. It was world of its own. Here in this very house were death and separation; Har- riet's starved life; Christine and Palmer beginning long and doubtful future together; himself, failure, and an impostor.
 When he opened the door again, Sid ney was standing by her mothers bed. He went to her, and she turned and put her head against his shoulder like a tired child.
 "Take me away, K.," she said piti- fully.
 And, with his arm around her. he led her out of the room.
 Outside of her small immediate l circle Annals death was hardly felt. The little house went on much as be- fore. Harriet carried back to her busi- ness heaviness of spirit that made 1t difficult to bear with the small irrita- tions of her day. On Sidney-and in less measure of course, on K.-fell the real brunt of the disaster. Sidney kept up well until after the funeral, but went down the next day with low fever.
 l "Overwork and grief," Doctor Ed said and sternly forbade the hospital again until Christmas. Morning and evening K. stopped at her door and inquired for her, and morning and eve ming came Sidney's reply: "Much better. I'll surely be up to- morrow"
 | But the days dragged on and she did not get about.
 Downstairs, Christine and Palmer had entered on the round of midwinter gayeties. Palmer's "crowd" was a lively one. There were dinners and 1 dances. weekend excursions to coun- try houses. The Street grew accus- toned to seeing automobiles stop be- fore the little house at all hours of the night. Johnny Rosenfeld, driving Palmer's car, took to falling asleep at the wheel in broad daylight, and voiced his discontent to his mother.
 You never know where you are with them guys" he said briefly. We start out for half an hours run in the eve ming, and get home with the milk wag- ons. And the more some of them have had tc drink, the more they want to drive the machine. If get chance, I'm going to beat it while the winds my way"
 But, talk as he might, in Johnny Rosenfelds' loyal heart there was DO thought of desertion. Palmer had glv- en him a mans job, and he would stick by it. no matter what came. l ,no Such night Christine put in,