The Ocala evening star. [volume] (Ocala, Fla.) 1895-1943, 1917-12-08
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.eral times as the warm blossom-laden
breeze gently blew in the dining room
window.
Finally she shook herself free from
her reverie. Time was going and dishes
were to be cleaned up and she had
a full days wOfk ahead. She had been
SO busy with emergency classes and
sewing for the soldiers that the spring
cleaning had had to wait. Now she re-
allied that If she wished to finish be-
fore very hot weather, she would have
TO begin at once. The attic was
scheduled for today. Being model
wife and housekeeper, 1t shocked her
UNNECESSARILY to think that so much
dirt should accumulate In her house.
And for several hours her broom flew,
her scrubbing brush srattled, and
channels whined over the window
panes.
At last the dirt was "out," except
what had adhered TO her. and she came
20 the sorting-out process.
Reserve bed clothing had to be shak-
en- out Of it's moth-ball coma, summer
garments ousted from trunks to make
room for furs, and accumulated "junk"
sorted for the ragman, keepsakes gone
over, laughed over or cried over and
replaced In their pasteboard boxes.
Mrs. Irons had come down as far as
the keepsake process.
On the floor I'm front of an old bu-
reau with yawning drawers, she sorted
letters and pictures OF time gone by
-carefree, mad, happy time of her
glrlhood, when as Flora Fleming, she
had hearts strung aquiver, pierced by
the arrow OF her charms. The hearts
had offered homage by the usual vari-
Gus tokens that youth in love general
7y sends his lady, and Mrs. Irons now
fingered tenderly lunches of faded
flowers, strings Of candy spoons, rep
resenting on an average five, pounds
Of bon-bons apiece, photographs, etc.
And as the blossom-sweet breeze
blew dangerously in she suddenly
found herself with a dry bunch of vlo-
lets I'm one hand and a photograph of
Fred Mapleton In the other.
Why hadn't she married Fred? She
picked up the photograph again and
looked thoughtfully into the intense
eyes, and glanced rather fondly at the
dark hair waving back Economically
from the forehead. .sIf 7 had married
Fred" she reflected, ST wouldn't be
cleaning Emery Irons attic. I'd be
roaming hand in hand with him mid
the Blossoms Of Normandy as he used
TO say. Fred, mean" and her heart
stirred uneasily. II wonder why ] did
marry Energy Just because well, be-
cause he insisted so, I guess. He's
that kind -makes everybody do just as
ne wants. And, besides, Emery was
nice before he got so deep In business
and gray-haired and stout. But
Fred" she sighed softly again and
shook her head. 'Tm afraid I've missed
something In life. wonder where he
rs and tiff he Is married." she said,
Eenderly laying the flowers and photo
graph back In their box and closing
the drawer.
The bell rang and Mrs. Irons went
down, forgetting that she much re-
sembled blue-checked beetle In a
might cap.
Looking through the net curtains on
the glass door, she identified her visitor
as an agent, and opening 1t rather
belligerently, armed with a round OF
cOpper-tipped refusals, she suddenly
found herself voiceless and unable to
move with chagrin and establishment.
Her caller was no other than her for
mer sweetheart, OF whom she had just
been so fondly renliniscing, Fred Ma
pleton. Fred Of the curly hair, pas
siOnate eyes and supple, graceful con-
tour, but now partly bald, eyes faded
and embedded in puffs of fat, figure
rotund, but not portly, and clothes that
# they bespoke that their wearer had
taken the advice of Polonius, and that
his raiment was as rich as his purse
could buy, certainly attested to short
bank account.
But it was neither the clothes, the
badness nor the agents case he car
ried that fairly stupefied Mrs. Irons.
1T was the eyes-eyes that spoke OF in
diligence, soft living and decline, eyes
Auup Adu lOSl G1iciT leHuper-Ju6lr MAN.
hood. She drew back involuntarily,
and he caught the motion.
isis the lady OF the house in?'
ne asked, hurriedly.
'N-nol" said Mrs. Irons family,
starting to shut the door. Tim
sorry !" she added, rather compassion
ately before the latch clicked.
The telephone rang three times be-
fore she answered. It was Mr.. Irons.
That you, FLOP"
Eyes, dear"
''What you doing2'
Cleaning house."
ooh, it's too nice-cut It out and get
somebody to do It. I've sort OF got
spring fever-feel as moony as a two
year-old. Let's get the car and run out
to Mayfair inn for dinner, just us two.''
His voice was as firm and snappy as
fine steel. And Mrs. Irons knew the
clear, fearless look In his eyes. She
put her arm tenderiy around the tele-
phone.
'All right, dear, I'd love it. / think