Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1919-12-19
A DAUGHTER of TWO WORLDS
A Story Of NetU
BY LEROY SCOTT
Author mo- fS Washington Square" Be0ar." eo

But back at Silver Bluffs she kept to
herself, and most Of that night she lay
awake. Her mind went back and went
over and over all the acts Of unselfish
kindness, of constant thoughtfulness, of
her patient Aunt Mary who had
mothered her through nigh a dozen
years-and she could see the white,
worn face, the frail figure, now lying
rigid in eternal silence in the little
sitting room above the Pekin. She re-
called her own impatience, her selfish
ness, the advantage she so often had
taken of her none too clever aunt. Hot
tears trickled down her cheeks; her
soul throbbed with quivering pain that
was a sense of loss, of yearning, that
was the call Of blood to blood. And so
itFwas during most Of the night.
The next morning she had made a
decision. She was going to slip back for
glimpse of her own people. She had
to mo matter what happened.
And her plan for securing this glimpse
was based upon her remembrance that,
however largely attended funeral in
her neighborhood might be, usually only
a single carriage followed the hearse on
the far and expensive journey to the
outskirts of Brooklyn where are colo
nized the city's dead.
She dressed herself in dark, unpre-
tentious suit, and told Mrs. Harrison
that she was obliged to go into New
York for further conference with her
lawyers. At half-past ten, in big
department store, she was buying the
thickest mourning veil, and few min
utes later, the veil on and lowered, at
another doorway from the one at which
she had entered. she chartered a taxi
and stepped in. The car stopped as or.
dered block away from, but in full
sight of, the Pekin and, the curtains
drawn, Jennie sat peering at the front
of her old home. Her heart beat wild
ly; she was back once more among her
old folk, in her old country. 1t all
seemed so close to her--yet so far, far
awayi
Jennie had calculated time and pro-
cedure almost exactly. Her taxi had
been waiting at the curb only few
minutes when she saw solemn, strag.
Cling little groups come out of the door
way--and then she saw the coffin borne
out and placed in the motor -hearse--
and then she saw her father come out
and, refusing the company of Uncle
George, enter a solitary taxicab. Pur-
suant to her directions her own car
followed this cortege of hearse and
single carriage at a blocks distance
uptown through East Side streets
across the high swung Queensborough
bridge-and then at thirty miles an
hour (for New York motor -hearses must
earn their keep and so have no time to
waste) over Long Island macadam. Ar
rived at the graveyard and the open
grave, the motor hearse quickly dis
charged its black freight and then sped
away on its next errand Of expressnge.
Jennie, glancing about, saw a score
or more of little groups scattered among
the slabs of marble. She had the sense
that here the burying of the dead was
lust great business-so many funerals
to be disposed of per hour; that the
graveyard was just a great freightage
receiving Office. where human beings
were transshipped from the present to
whatever points might lie beyond.
With SO much routine business going
on, only the days work attention was
given to this last scene in the mortal
drama of Mary Graham, spinster. AS
soon as Jennie was certain that no one
was beside her aunt's grave except a
swiftly working stage crew and her
father, she slipped from her taxi to the
edge of the grave. She saw her father
glance at her. and she was quite certain
he recognized her despite the disguise Of
the heavy veil. But he gave no sign,
and turned back to the grave. Thus,
silent, side by side, they stood watching
the moist, yellow clay pour from deft
shovels down upon the dead Black
Jerry, his derby pulled down tightly,
his square face set and emotionless-and
Jennie, behind her veil, crying all the
while; and thus they remained apart.
unspeaking, until the workmen had
slapped the earth into shapely mound,
and had swung along to their next
task.
Black Jerry turned abruptly away
toward his taxicab. Silently Jennie
rlipped a hand through his arm, and
walked beside him. Even then he gave
no sign of recognizing her presence. Ar
rived at her taxi, she whispered,
You're coming with me-" He hesi-
tated then, settling with the chauffeur
of his own taxi, he stepped into Jen-
nie's car.
Her fingers clutched his big hand
tightly and she drew up her heavy veil :;
but despite the privacy he sat gazing
straight ahead, his heavy jaw clenched
his eyes hardly winking. Jennie was
suddenly bereft of the power to open
conversation; the old habit of child
hood returned to her, not to speak to
her reticent father until he had first
spoken.
1t seemed to Jennie that they had
gone miles before he looked at her.
And. then his voice was abrupt and
gruf.
"You shouldn't have come here.
Jennie. You shouldn't have took such
a risk