Audubon County journal. (Exira, Iowa) 1884-1993, 1917-12-27
.POLLYS INTRUSION
BY ELIAS kILLlAM.

l
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 a fashionable
school in New York, had summered
| abroad, and, crossing again, had made
| her smiling entrance into Il world that
| seemed vastly interested in her.
1 A little Whitehead figure came
through the odorous darkness and
| leaned on the barbed wire, a little
plaintive voice called "Hello" softly.
Pearson took refuge in silence.
| With flash and flutter of feminine
flounces 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 GREATNESS scorn. "Was it that?"
she demanded. 'Tve been home
whole day."
NO" said Pearson calmly, II don't
mean to come. You've SO many dane
ing about you that I'll never be missed.
And, anyway, Polly, I hear such out
| 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." -
cts because they make such blum
der of it," said Polly. 81 know how
it should be DONE"
you're not SO pretty" said Pear
son, disapprovingly.
"No!" plaintively.
you're little and you're brown"
eyes," more plaintively.
'"Then why-why-" irritably, "does
everything in mans shape go down
before you?"
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
N ind
Polly's pinafore days. Hsa
Polly came to the barbed wire some
times, but she made no attempt tolleap
over it. Always she was very, very
gay, and after her going Pearson
counted up his birthdays, ran his fin
gers through his hair turning gray on
his temples, and called himself an CID
old fool.
The twilight hour that Polly leaned
over the wire to pin Il 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" Pearsaz chided. "1t's
asleep, little child.' no
Its his heart that sleeps said
Polly. "The little white guest cham
Der that is mine has its door ajar, but
he won't come in, ever"
Afterward he crcpt 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-
ans soft draperies ever traiIed, ard
| out on the porch, there to find Folly
| on the top step.
| He sank down beside her. 'sWhat
| becomes of men who hang around the
side entrance of heaven, straining
their ears to catch the music, when
| they know it is never possible for them
\ to slip in; what becomes of middle
aged Pcris, Polly?'
II don't know" said Polly, '.but I
know what should become of Them"
scornfully. "lvhy doesn't your Peri
go around to the front? Perhaps she
| hasn't any spirit, either, his heroine !;
perhaps she sits on the doorstep and
waits. perhaps
"Polly!"
"He's-he's wooden Indian" said
| Polly. he lets the girl sit there on
his steps and pretend that she's look
ing at the stars. He doesn't care. He
| thinks she's don-baby stuffed with
sawdust; that she cares for all the
| empty, gay, frivolous things that she
hates; he thinks she likes to be for
! eyer surrounded by lot of pink
/ checked, light-headed boys that bore
| her so. And all the time she knows
| I'm sure don't know how, for he acts
| so qucer-that he loves her. and that
! Il little question Of arithmetic troubles
| him. 1t doesn't really trouble her.
The arithmetic of the heart isn't
counted by years. He's lonely and sad,
| and cbn CON MT info bic 1ifa all fgt,t