The Denver star., 1917-12-01
POLLY'S INTRUSION
BY ELIAS klLLiAN.

AS Pearson sat on the little porch
and sent circles of blue smoke into the
soft night, snatches of gay talk, of
laughter and of music came to him
Jolly was at the old home once more.
The little Polly who used to spring
across the barbed wire fence that di-
vided them and drop on the top step
of the side porch, breathless; the little
audacious Polly who plucked her short
skirt full of his violets without even
"by your leave" and climbed his
cherry trees to toss his own cherries
down to him.
Polly had wintered at fashionable
school in New York, had summered
abroad, and, crossing again, had made
her smiling entrance into world that
seemed vastly interested in her.
A little Whitehead figure came
through the odorous darkness and
leaned on the barbed wire, q little
plaintive voice called Hello, softly.
Pearson took refuge in silence.
With Il flash and flutter of feminine
fiounces she was over.
That's still barbed wire" Pearson
called.
"Oh" she clarionetted, "a barbed
wire?" She sped across the space that
interviewed to drop on his top step
in breathless scorn. "Was 1t that7"
she demanded. 1--WE been home a
whole day"
mo" said Pearson calmly, II don't
mean to come. You've so many dane
ing about you that I'll never be missed.
7 r.
rageous things about you. Is it habit
of yours to whistle up your dog and
stalk from the room in the midst Of
all the proposals."
"Its because they make such a blum
der of it." said Polly. II know how
it should be DONE"
you're not so pretty" said Pear
son. disapprovingly.
mol" plaintively.
you're little and you're brown"
"Yes," more plaintively.
''Then why-why-" irritably, "d0es
everything In mans shape go down
before youY
81 don't know; but"-sorrowfully-
"they do. IL" she sighed heavily
"fell the bearded men at breath, and
the youths that grow between. But
perhaps you aren't familiar with Long
fellow?" Polly was gone. and her low,
mocking laugh drifted back to Pear
son.
Pearson had closed the door to his
heart and rolled big stone against
it, telling himself he was done with
womankind forever, as far back as
PoIly's pinafore days.
Polly came to the barbed wire some
times, but she made no attempt to leap
over it. Always she was very, very
gay, and after her going Pearson
counted up his birthdays, ran his I'm
gers through his hair turning gray on
his temples, and called himself an old,
old fool.
The twilight hour that Polly leaned
over the wire to pin rose that had
burned in the coils of her golden hair
on Pearson's coat she sang something
tender and foolish about the rose be-
ing her heart.
"Your heart" Pearson chided. "1t's
asleep, little child"
"It's his heart that sleeps" said
Polly. 1.-The little white guest cham
ber that is mine has its door ajar, but
he won't come in, ever"
Afterward he crept up to his room
to drop his arm on his desk and his
head on his arms, and sat there, while
night gathered deeper and deeper into
the room.
Pearson stumbled down the stairs
that echoed to his footsteps, the empty,
lonely stairway over which no wom-
nn's soft draperies ever trailed, and
out on the porch. there to find Polly
Or the top step.
He sank down beside her. what
becomes Of men who hang around he
side entrance Of heaven. stralning
their ears to catch the music xAa