The Celina Democrat. (Celina, O. [Ohio]) 1895-1921, 1917-05-04

manner was little apologetic when
she answered 1t.
"No, / think not" she said. "But
she was in such state when she
came home last alphabetically wet
through to the skin, and blue with
cold. So l thought 1t wouldn't do any
harm. :"
"Of course not" said Portia
"Rose is all right. She won't spoil
badly"
I'm a little bit worried about the
loss of the poor child's notebooks,
said her mother.
81 don't believe Rose is worrying
her head off about them" said Portia
The flush in her mothers cheeks
deepened a little, but it was no long
er apologetic. II don't think you're
quite fair to Rose, about her studies, u
she said. "If she doesn't seem always
to appreciate her privilege in getting n
college education as seriously as she
should, you should remember her
youth. She's only twenty"
I'm sorry, mother" Portia inter-
rupted contritely. 81 didn't mean any
harm anyway. Didn't she say the
mans name was Rodney Aldrich?"
81 think So" her mother agreed.
Something like that"
ITS rather funny" said Portia.
"It's hardly likely to have been the
real Rodney Aldrich. Yet it's not a
common name"
"The real Rodney AldrichY ques-
toned her mother. But, without wait
ing for her daughters elucidatiOn of
the phrase, she added, "Oh, there's
Rose! !"
The girl came up behind Portia and
enveloped her in big, lazy hug. Back
to work another Saturday afternoon,
Angelo" she asked cOmmiseratingly.
"Aren't you ever going to stop and
have any fun?" Then she slumped
into a chair, heaved a yawning sigh,
and rubbed her eyes.
"Tired, dear?" asked her mother
She said it under her breath in the
hope that Portia wouldn't hear.
mo" said Rose. "Just sleepy :"
She yawned again, turned to POrtia,
and, somewhat to their surprise, said
"Yes, what do you mean-the real
Rodney Aldrich? He looked real
enough to me. And his arm felt real
the one he was going to punch the
conductor with"
Il didn't mean he was imaginary"
POrtia explained. 81 only meant I
didn't believe it was the Rodney
Aldrich-who's so awfully prominent;
either somebody else who happened
to have the same name, or somebody
who just-said that was his name
whats the matter with the prOmi-
nent one?" Rose wanted to know.
"Why couldn't ii have been he?"
Portia admitted that it could, so far
as that went, but insisted on an in
herent improbabiIity. A millionaire,
the brother of Mrs. Martin Whitney,
wasn't likely to be found riding in
street cars.
"Millionaires have legs" said Rose.
II bet they can walk around like any
body else. However, l don't care who
he is, if he'll send back my books"
POrtia went back presently to the
shop, and it wasn't long after that that
her mother came downstairs clad for
the street, with her Modern Tenden-
cies" under her arm in a leather port
folio. Her valedictOry, given with
more confidence now that POrtia was
out of the house, was strong recon-
mendation that Rose stay quietly with
in doors and keep warm.
81 was going to, anyway" she said.
"Home and fireside for mine today"
The house was deserted except for
Inga in the kitchen, engaged in the
principal sporting event of her domes-
tic routine-the weekly baking. Rose
hadn't meant to go to sleep, but the
detective story she tried to read was
so flagrantly stupid that presently she
tossed the book aside and began
dreaming one of her own In which the
heroine got put off a street-car in the
opening chapter.
The telephone bell aroused her once
or twice, far enough to observe that.
Inga was attending to it, so when the