The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1917-07-06
CHAPTER x.
A Birthday.

Rodney heard young Craig, who
deviled up law for him, saying good
night to the stenographer. He waited
till he heard them go, then went out
and disconnected his own desk tele-
phone, which the office boy, on going
home, always left plugged through !;
went back to his inner office again, and
shut the door after him.
There was more than enough press
ing work on his desk to fill the clear
hour that remained to him before he
had to start for home. But he didn't
mean to do 1t. He didn't mean to do
anything except to drink down thirstily
the sixty minutes of pure solitude that
were before him. That hour had be-
come a habit with him lately like
he smiled at the comparison-like TAX
ing a drug. He was furtive about it,
too. He never corrected Roses as
sumption that the thing which kept
him late at the Office so much Of the
time nowadays was press of work.
1t was not that she had faded for
him-become less the poignant, vivid.
irresistible thing he had first fallen in
love with. Rather the contrary. She
hadn't seemed quite well, lately, nor
altogether happy, and he had not
been able to find out why. He had
attributed 1t at first to the shock &C.
casioned by her mothers illness and
her departure with Portia to Califor-
mia but this explanation seemed not
to cover the ground. She was all right,
she always said. He couldn't force
confidence from her, Of course. But her
pale face and eyes wide with a trou-
BILE In them he could not fathom.
stirred something deeper In him than
the former glow and glory had ever
reached.
And there was a new thing that
gripped him In positively terrifying
way-a realization of his importance
to her. He had discovered one day-a
fortnight or so ago, In the course of
a rummage after some article he had
mislaid, a heap of law books that
weren't his. He had guessed the ex-
PLANTATION Of them, but had said moth
ing to Rose about it-had found it
curiously impossible to say anything.
If only she had taken up something
of her own! It seemed as essentially
q law of her being to attempt to alb
sorb herself In him, as 1t was a law
Of his to resist that absorption Of him
self In her.
But resistance was difficult. The
tendency was, after his perfectly
solid, recognizable duties had been
given their place In the cubic content
of his day, that Rose should fill up the
rest. And yet there was a man in
him who was neither the hard-work-
ing, successful advocate, nor Roses
husband-a man whose existence Rose
didn't seem to suspect. (Was there,
then, In her no woman that corre-
sponded to himO That man had to
fight now for q chance to breathe.
He got a pipe out Of a drawer in
his desk, loaded and lighted 1t,
stretched HIS arms, and sat down in
his desk chair. The thing exactly in
front of his eyes was his desk calendar.
There was something familiar about
the date-some subconscious associa-
ton that couldn't quite rise to the sur
face. Was there something he had to
do today, that he'd forgotten? -.
Then, with a grunt Of relief and amuse-
ment, he got 1t. 1t was his birthday!
Another milestone.
A year ago! That was the day it
had all begun. How did he compare
the man who sat there now-with the
man who had unhestatingly jumped
Off the car to follow new adventure
the man who had turned up water
logged at Frederica's dinner and made
hay Of her plan to marry him off to
Hermione Woodruff
re was increasing his practice now.
making money, getting cautious-pru-
dent; he didn't bolt the track any
more. And the quality Of his work
was good; he couldn't quarrel with
that. Only. the old, big free dreams
that had glorifled 1t were gone. He
was In harness, drawing a cart; fol-
lowing a bundle Of hay.
The building was pretty well de-
serted by now, ard against the silence
he heard the buazer In his telephone
switchboard proclaiming insistently
that someone was trying to get him
on the phone. He thought Mt 6rst hs