The Watertown weekly leader. [volume] (Watertown, Jefferson County, Wis.) 1912-1917, 1917-02-07


two rivals, and she marries one of
them-that's three. And"
"Why do they always outgrow that
foolishness?" His voice was unsteady.
"Oh, 1 don't know. Ones ideas
change"
Sidney was fairly vibrant with the
zest Of living. Sitting on the steps of
the little brick house, her busy mind
was carrying her on to where, beyond
the Street, with it's dingy lamps and
blossOming ailanthus, lay the world
that was one day to lie to her hand.
Not ambition called her, but life.
The boy was different. Where her
future lay visualized before her, heroic
deeds, great ambitions, wide charity,
he planned years with her, selfish, con-
tented years. AS different as SNUG, sat-
isfied summer from visionary, palpitat-
ing spring, he was for her-but she
was for all the world.
By shifting his position his lips
came close to her bare young arm. 1t
tempted him.
Don't read that nonsense" he said,
his eyes on the arm. "And-P1 never
outgrow my foolishness about you, Sid
ney."
Their, because he could not help it.,
he bent over and kissed her arm.
She was just eighteen, and Joe's de-
votiOn was very pleasant. She thrilled
to the touch Of his lips on her flesh ;
but she drew her arm away.
please don't like that sort of
thing"
"Why not?' His voice was husky.
ut isn't right. Besides, the neigh
bors are always looking out OF the win
dows."
The drop from her high standard of
right and wrong to the neighbors' Curl
osity appealed suddenly to her sense
of humor. She threw back her head
and laughed. He joined her, after an
uncomfortable moment. But he was
very much in earnest. He sat, bent
forward, turning his new straw hat in
his hands.
Il thought, perhaps" said Joe, grow
ing red and white, and talking TO the
hat that some day, when we're older,
yOu-yOu might be willing to marry
me, Sid. I'd be awfully good to you"
1t hurt her to say no. Indeed, she
| could not bring herself to say it. In all
her short life she had never willfully
| inflicted q wound. And because she
was young, and did not realize that
| there is short cruelty, like the sur
geOn'S, that is mercy in the end, she
| tempOrized.
There is such lot of time before
we need think Of such things! Can't
we just go on the way we are?'
| I'm not very happy the way we
are"
! "Why, JOer'
She leaned over and put d tender
hand on his arm.
Il don't want to hurt you; but, Joe,
/ don't want to be engaged yet, l don't
| want to think about marrying. There's
| such lot to do in the world first.
| There's such a lot TO see and be-
| "Where?" he demanded bitterly.
Here on this Street? Do you want
more time to pull hastings for your
| mother? Or to slave for your Aunt
Harriet? Or to run up and down
stairs, carrying towels to roomers
| Marry me and let me take care of
you"
Once again her dangerous sense of
humor Threatened her. He looked so
| bOyiSh, sitting there with the moon
| light on his bright hair, so inadequate
| to carry out his magnificent offer. Two
or three of the star blossoms from the
tree had fallen on his head. She lifted
them carefully away.
| Let me take care of myself for a
while. I've never lived my own life.
You know what l mean. I'm mot I'M
| happy; but | want to do something.
| And some day / shall-not anything
big; know can't do that-but some
thing useful. Then, after years and
years, if you still want me, I'll come
| back to you"
| He drew long breath and got I'D.
All the Joy had gone out of the sum-
mer night for him. poor lad. He
glanced down the Street, where Pal
mer Howe had gone home happily with
| Sidney'S friend Christine. Palmer
would always know how he stood with
| Christine But Sidney was not like
that. A fellow did not even caress her
easily. When he had only kissed her
| arm He trembled q little at the
| memory.
Il shall always want you" he said.
| "Only-you will never come back
| 1t had not occurred to either of them
| that this coming back, so tragically
| considered, was depending on an en-
| tirely predetermined going away. Moth
ing, that early summer night. seemed
| more unlikely than that Sidney would
ever be free to live her own life. The
Street, stretching away TO the north
| and to the south in two lines of houses
that seemed to meet in the distance.
hemmed her in. She had been born in
the little brick house, and, as she was
of it, so it was of her. Her hands had
Smo0thed and painted the pine floors !;
her hands had put up the Irvine on
which the morning glories in the yard
covered the fences; had, indeed. with
what agonies OF stacking lime and add
ing blueing, whitewashed the fence it
self!
"She's capable" Aunt Harriet had
grumblingly admitted, watching from
her sewing machine Sidnay'S stronc