Williams news., 1918-04-18
A Matter of Postage
By MARTHA GAISER
Copyright. 1918. by the McClur,
 per Syndicate.)


 of joke that was joy to all who knew her well. for no condition ever arose in which she could not find some clever bright remark While she went her gay. happy way. refusing to take anything seriously, the serious minded shook their heads and proph- esied disaster. and rude awakening when it did come. And Lucille Vir- ginia, when she learned of it, enjoyed their predictions, and her reputation enjoyed it. indulged, it, and played up to it with all the vigor and daring of abounding youth. Even when the dark finger of war pointed to every Ameri- can his duty: and relatives. friends and sweethearts responded. she had talked of their going and finally said gOOd-by with smile and a gay little sally, picturing the glad. proud day of their return, instead of shedding tears as were most of her friends.
 Not even to the two men whose de- vOtiOn for months had furnished spec ulation for her friends as to which would win her if either-had she wa vered. Pride and natural coquetry had kept her silent, though to a close observer the big bluegray eyes had seriousness quite unrelated to the light words and laugh, for in her heart she felt that life had become very real and earnest all at once; so real that she did not want any sentimental emotion to play part and betray her or them into a false position. There are two kinds of lovers, those who make love easily and gracefully, and those who do not; that is to say, those to whom wOoing is natural gift, and those who only acquire it as the outgrowth of a deep feeling. Such were James Moore and Warren Fielding, and how much they had meant in her life, and what they really were to her, she knew only absence could determine. That would be the acid test. In the weeks and months following their departure, life was turned quite upside down for Lu- cille Virginia. With the zeal of true patriot she had thrown herself heart and soul into war work. Outside sports were abandoned for Red Cross work; dancing was supplanted by knitting; boxes of good things were made, pack ed and shipped with letters of cheer to the known and unknown, and all the while she was thinking. thinking. Lu- cille Virginia was doing this now. her knitting neglected in her lap as she gazed into the leaping flames of the open wood fire, wondering how long it would take her box to reach James, and if he would read between the lines of her note and divine her motive in sending the candy with it. If only he would see and understand, she unused, visualizing him at his post.
 Dreaming in the gloaming, pretty maid?" said the cheery voice of Uncle Charles, as he slipped his hand un- der her chin and tilted her head back.
 "I did not hear you come in," she replied rising for his kiss, but ignor ing his query except with a sudden ac- cess of color.
 "Did you mail my package?" she asked, as she turned on the lights and seated herself beside him on the day. enport.
 "Yes, but Hooverized on postage" he announced laughing.
 How" she asked puzzled.
 "WeIl, I sent 1t to Warren, as it cost so much to send it out West to James, and as long as it was only candy thought it was not worth all that post age-even though your pretty hands made it," he added teasingly.
 "Did you take out the note?" she questioned quickly.
 Mote? What note?'
 ooh, Uncle Charles" she ex- claimed. q had a note in there for James, and now Warren will get it. What shall do, what shall I do?" she cried, turning her distressed face to him.
 Nothing. Leave that to Warren
 "But, Uncle-"
 "No buts, there is nothing for you to do, but-wait. Warren can handle his own dilemma. or I miss my guess" he declared. as he put his arm about twinkle in his eye would not have placed him in the guiltless list, as Lucille Virginia would have known had her head not been buried on his shoulder.
 In his quarters at camp, Warren Fielding, a tired, homesick, heart-sick man. sat, pipe in mouth. given up to disconsolate thought. Despite hard work and his determination to be oc- cupied every minute. he could not get away from his memories-memories as warm, and fresh, and real as though they had been made only yes terday, yet many of them dated back to the very beginning of his acquain- tance with Lucille Virginia. who, after five months absence-months of eye and heart starvation-was still for him the one woman. With the intensity of strong, repressed natures he had given her his heart, but with the knowl-