The Little River news., 1919-12-24


 Spade drew his typewriter closer, thrust his feet into waste basket, and began to write.
 On the three following nights Ran. dolph Spade did not come to Peters chop house at all, and Milly arrived at the unhappy conclusion that her fail ure to give him the Grant story had angered him. Then fell the Saturday night that ends this story It rained that night-a gusty, lash ing autumn rain that swept madly through the downtown streets to find them silent and deserted. like thor oughfares in a city built by careless people and forgotten At midnight Jimmy Clark came into Peters for a cup of coffee The water glistened on his shoddy coat and ran in rivulets from his cheap derby. He flung wide his coat, scattering glittering drops in every direction, and let fall to the floor the Sunday section of newspaper.
 This isn't on the street yet" he said, picking 1t up and laying 1t on the counter 'I thought I'd bring you an advance copy, Milly. There's story in it you'll want to read"
 "Whose?" Milly inquired,
 Spades" retuTned Clark, taking seat Made q big hit with it. Same old gag. Here been on the paper ten years-on an off-but it's the kids get the plums."
 "So he's made good?" said Milly smilingly. "I certainly am glad to hear it. Where'd he get his story? Whats t about?"
 Clark laughed his unpleasant laugh.
 Its about you" he said. "A little sketch of you, Milly."
 Milly grasped the counter and looked at him queerly.
 Draw me a cup of coffee an slide over Q couple of sinkers," he went on. while I find it for you"
 She set the things before him and he handed her the paper, his dirty fin ger pointing to a two-column story. As Milly took the sheet the heading. "Omelettes and Sympathy for All.
 
 read, the pink flush in her cheeks.
 The paper Milly held in her hand was not given much to illustration, but it needed no artists brush to com plete the picture Spade had drawn of a certain girl he called lilly. As Milly read she realized this. Mercilessly he had painted her as she was; cruelty he had exhibited to the reading public the tragedy that was her life. Nor had her features escaped He reveled in her lusterless hair, her faded eyes, her sallow cheeks It was the inspired work of a man who had newly found himself, and the subject was-just Milly.
 While Clark guzzled his coffee Milly read it through. Strange emotions struggled in her flat breast. So this was her pay She had kept from him, in her selfishness, the story that could have made him, and in revenge he had turned upon-her. By her colorless hair, her nondescript eyes, her unlove- ly cheeks, he had climbed to his suc- cess. They had been as the rungs of his ladder Now he would leave her, as had the others, forever, and wni!e she had thought she was keeping him. she was aiding him to go-just by be- ing herself She clutched the damp paper in her hands.
 frank injustice" Clark was say ing They're going to make room for him on the Sunday staff in 8 few weeks. And here been with"
 Milly did not hear. She clutched the paper.
 Tell Spade" she said slowly. that I'm glad he made good"
 "Why-can't you tell him yourself?" muttered Clark.
 q won't see him." she explained. "He won't be back here. Not even to say by-after this"
 She held out the paper with a pa thetic gesture. Clark wiped his scrag- gly mustache with his handkerchief
 Well, all right" he said "I'll tell him. You spilled the salt. Milly. That's bad luck"
 He handed his dime to Peter at the desk, and paused to light the cheapest of cheap cigarettes. Then he drew his head down into his coat like a turtle retiring into his shell, and dodged out into the dripping alley.
 For a time Milly sat alone behind the counter with the brilliantly writ ten story of her life before her. Here and there she read odd snatches- good bits over which the author must have smacked his lips as he wrote One in particular held her:
 There are blue rings under Tillys eyes, and those who sit at her counter often wonder if she may not cry at night over some romance of the pots and pans-some poor little love affair that was quickly told to the clattering accompaniment of heavy crockery-"
 Milly crumpled the paper on her lap and bowed her head on the greasy counter. With an almost angry ges ture she raised her arms to shut out the sight of Peters soiled waistcoat and the faded legends on the wall.
 Suddenly the door slammed, and she kN Ryd nh