The Wahpeton times. [volume] (Wahpeton, Richland County, Dakota [N.D.]) 1879-1919, 1917-11-08
Without Sin

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wrote Mildred Newcomb. Then SHE
slammed down her desk. pushed her
pompadour back off her forehead and
flung herself on the bed in her pretty
bedroom.
1t seemed to her as if she were
asleep a long time when the incessant
tinkle of the telephone beside her bed
aroused her.
ooh, it is you. Mr.. Norris?" she an.
swered, very sweetly. whats that
Pardon me. I didn't quite get what
you said. Oh. yes, you have the letter
ready. Thank you, so much! Yes, ]
just finished the last line of it today.
can hardly wait to get your letter
and start for Chicago"
For the past three years Mildred
Newcomb had dabbled in stories. As
the only daughter of prosperous
middle West farmer, she had had ex-
ceptional educational opportunities.
Almost every week since her gradua-
ton from the state college she had
written some story or other.
The editor of the local paper, very
close friend of the family, decided
to be brutality frank with her. And
so when she handed him one of her
literary attempts some months before,
he told her the truth:
Miss Mildred, writer of fiction
requires more than a good education.
A writer must come down to the peo-
pie, live their lives, breathe their air.
The successful writer must rub shout
ders with the great. throbbing human
ity Of which the world is composed.
You know but one kind of people.
The people in your world are small
people. The men splitting into the COM
munity sawdust cuspidor at the gen.
eral store will tell any stranger who
will buy q few cigars or several drinks
of soda-pop just what girls have gone
wrong in your section. They will tell
you eagerly why Doctor Blair lost his
license and any other bit Of slanderous
information you desire.
you don't know women. You know
the school girls Of your class and you
know these extravagant country wol,-
en- whose greatest ambition is to pur-
chase more expensive silk stockings
than any other member of the mail
order club. When you have had some
real rubs with the red-blooded women
of this world, write a story. and If ]
think 1t a good one, I shall give you
a letter Of introduction to Mr.. Mar.
vim, editor Of the New York Chatter
Until then, We'll forget literature"
Mildred was just twenty-three. She
could not be called a beautiful girl
nor even pretty one. Her hair was
rather straight and of washed-out
brown shade. Her complexion was de-
cidedly sallow. But her excellent
grooming and exquisite daintiness
made the casual observer think her
"a mighty pretty girl"
1t was almost two weeks after Mr..
Norris comment before anything hap.
pened in River county. The Chris.
tan Reform club of River county
called a special meeting. 1t seems
that somehow or other Red Letter
Kate had purchased ticket for the
annual Sunday school excursion. She
wore veil as she boarded the Mis-.
sissippi excursion boat, and no one
recognized her. Everyone thought her
"a perfectly respectable woman" un.
til
Well, Mildred was on the excur.
sion, too. 1t wasn't many moments
before everyone ON the excursion
knew their boat had taken fire. Panic
seized the pleasure-seekers. Lifeboats
were lowered. Lifebelts were torn
from their places in the excitement
which prevailed. The minister. scarce
ly recovered from the recent death Of
his wife, begged God to spare him his
little child. he had searched the boat
franhcally for him until the guards
had forced him into lifeboat.
Several heroic men plunged into
the river when they had landed on
shore, but only to return since they
could not get anywhere near the burn.
ing vessel.
Then a woman tore of her skirt,
her sfirtwaist and shoes and plunged
headlong into the river. On and on
she swan until she disappeared from
sight.
The good Christians on the shore
cried out to God to give her strength.
Through the marine glass someone
thought she saw a tiny, curly head
above a charred board to which the
woman seemed to be clinging.
Then a woman's form seemed to
struggle in the river away from the
charred board.
The cry Of "Have a boat ready to
meet her." echoed down the beach
from the little group of spectators.