The Celina Democrat. (Celina, O. [Ohio]) 1895-1921, 1918-04-05
A Matter Of
Postage
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BY MARTHA GAISER
Copyright. 1918. by the Mcclure Newspa-
per Syndlcate)

(Copyright, 1918, by the Mcclure Nowspa-
per syndicate)
To Lucille Virginia Cranston, life
had always been n Joke, but the kind
Of joke that was Joy TO all who knew
her well, for no condition ever arose
I'm which she could not find some
humor to Offset with the antldote Of
a clever bright remark. While she
went her gay, happy way, refusing to
take anything seriously, the serious
minded shook their heads and proph-
esled disaster, and rude awakening
when II did come. And Lucille Vir-
ginia, when she learned Of II, enjoyed
their predictions, and her reputation
enjoyed II, indulged II, and played up
to 1t with all the vigor and daring Of
aboundlng 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 n gay little
sally, picturlng the glad, proud day Of
their return, instead of shedding tears
as We're most Of her friends.
Not even TO the two men whose de-
vOtion for months had furnished spec
ulatlon for her friends as to which
would win her II either-had she wa
vered. Pride and natural coquetry
had kept her silent, though to close
observer the big blue-gray eyes had II
| 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 a natural gift, and those who
only acquire it as the outgrowth of
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-
ellie 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-
ellie 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 1t 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 mused, visualizing him at his post.
Dreaming in the cleaning, pretty
maid?" said the CHEEKY voice Of Uncle
Charles, as he slipped his hand I'M
der her chin and tilted her head back
81 did not hear you come in" she
replied rising for his kiss, but ignOr-
ing his query except with 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 dav-
enport.
"Yes, but I HOoverized on POSTAGE"
he announced laughing.
"How?" she asked puzzled.
"Well I sent it to Warren, as it cost
so much to send it out West to James,
and as long as it was only candy I
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.
"Note? What note?"
"Oh, Uncle Charles" she ex-
claimed. II had 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 butts, there is nothing for you
to do, but-wait. Warren can handle |
his own dilemma, or miss my guess"
he declared, as he put his arm about
her and drew her towards him, but the |
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-
lance with Lucille Virginia, who, after