The Topeka state journal., 1919-12-15
Euening Story
The Mysterious Bungalow.
By BARBARA KERR.

counted the different KINDS, TOUR va
/ rieties crowed around the steps lead
ing up to the front door, as if they
! wanted to come in out of the arid
loneliness
Tho dignified by the name bunga-
low, it looked more like a. farmers
granary, with the windows covered
with pieces of old tarpaulin, cleated
fast so no one could get a glimpse of
the inside.
Some one else, evidently. had been
as curious as was Mary Minthorn. for
a jagged hole was cut in one tarp
shade, but try as she might, her eyes
could not penetrate the darkness far
enough to distinguish more than the
meager outlines of furniture. She had
too much regard for the property OF
others to make the hole bigger, SO she
would bring her book or bit of
handiwork. and perched upon the top
step. amuse herself speculating upon
the owner of the mysterious and lone
ly bungalow
"a lunger like me, no doubt" she
unused, pityingly. who has perhaps
gone away cured or been gathered to
| aloud, why 1 always think it a mans
house? It's set on high blocks as if
the owner was afraid the rattlesnakes
might crawl into it; maybe it's a
| woman lungers house? Well. if it is,
1 wish she'd let me live in it" And
she arose and tried to get a peep at
the interior.
She had asked many people around
| the scattered village about the owner,
| but no one seemed to know. and the
nearest neighbors were Mexicans who
merely shook their heads with mo
savvy'' when interrogated.
The bungalow still held a romantic
interest for Miss Mary Minthorn, A.
NJ, but her visits grew less frequent,
tho she would now and then drive by
| nd
ulatively at the lonesome shack.
| 1t seemed to have kinship to her.
| She had come to Llano ESta acado to re-
gain her health and she felt SO terri
| bly, isolated and lost in her incongru-
Gus surroundings. To keep busy and
whip up her spirits she created for
| herself unique business.
In her runabout, with shovel, a pair
of lawn shears-rather old sheep
! shears, knife and minor tools, she
drove necessarily over the plains gath
ering botanical specimens for class
analysis.
These she sent to schools and col
leges where enterprising botany teach
ers fairly snapped up her boxes of
/ plants labeled with interesting and
dron comments. She did not go into
scientific nomenclature, for that was
! the province of the student but she
would make sketchy notes that ex-
cited curiosity and led toward analy-
sis.
This is commonly called Catsclaw,
/ or Kittenclaw, but the nearest it comes
! to a feline is that its next door neigh
Dor was a perky little prairie dog. And
| OH how the honey bees of the valley
| love it-I mean the catsclaw, not the
doggie."
Now here are Mr.. and Mrs. Cactus
and their offspring, you may hunt up
the given names of the family"
J Il couldn't send you specimens of
| out some of his beard and send his
| picture" And the classes were always
as eager to find these little notes
| twisted around stems as they were to
classify and tabulate the strange
| plants.
This beauteous posy was almost
| born to blush unseen. for a rattler
rather contended with me as to my
right. but my watchful bulldog (auto-
matic) barked at him and Mr.. r.
to science. 1 send rattles to prove the
tale. Don't anybody dare to pun on
! that, it's not allowed"
As business increased and orders
multiplied her notes were merrier and
contents of boxes more varied. Mary
! even sang sna atches of old college songs
to the unrythmic humping of her
| Mary Liz as she called her car.
| After It's mother and father" she eX-
planned whimsically. Her eyes grew
I Il
her body strong, plant and steady of
nerve. She who had a natural an
| tipathy to firearms learned to handle
! them with ease and accuracy and she
was looking forward with pleasure to
| the opening of the wild duck season.
! Then one Sunday she decided it
should be a day of utter Incidence. so
/ taking spok she departed for the
| neglected bungalow. Humming to
/ herself, she sat down in the accus-
!
! signed and puhed it under the door.
In the lonely days she had written
many notes to the mythical occupant.
Some were pathetic in their attempt
to be merry and philosophical, some
chided the lunger for not being a
good sport why, look at me! Here
[ a a million miles from my kind, and
| I'm going to see it thru. I'm going
to be an example for some other poor
suffering soul or die in the attempt"
But today she felt so good, so
thoroly fit, that she merely wrote:
Who told you that I was a 1uneer.
| anyway? NJ. NJ" and slipped it un-
/ der the door. With a smile she flip
ped her book open to place and set
! tied down to reading.
| Had she noticed that the tarps were
removed from the back windows she
would not have been so shocked when
the door opened gently behind her.
| She sprang from her seat. almost top
pling from the steps in her fright.
I "Oh. I'm sorry. l didn't mean to
give you such a fright" said the own
er of the bungalow. And looking at
the last little note in his hand. then
at Mary: but you are no more a
/ lunger than 1 am
| Her mind like 4 flash ran back over
the contents of those foolish notes
Did you-did you read them all?"
she asked weakly.
| Why. of course. did. Didn't you
write them to me?"
No. I didn't" flared Mary warmly.
"I didn't know you were in existence.
I 1 wrote them toto your house"
| Pardon me- He bowed gravely-
I Miss n. NJ. please enter and be made
acquainted properly with my shack. 1
am Bart Drummond. geologist--"
"Oh. are you? ?" cried Mary. Then
| I know you, thru the letters you have
| written TO Your sister Rhnda am