Daily capital journal. (Salem, Oregon) 1903-1919, 1919-02-22


had been partitioned with rough red
wood boards into a bed chamber on
the right, a combination dining room
and ''parlor" on the left. Her glance
Immediately segregated the three
stalks Of pink geraniums in the center
Of the Mexican drawn-work cloth that
covered the table. Gerty. herself. in a
fresh pink gingham frock. was dancing
around the table TO the tune of forks
and spoons. 1t was just like Gerty to
dress up to her setting, even though it
were only pitiful water-starved bou-
quet She had often tried to analyze
her sister-in-law's hold on her brother;
certainly they were not happy. Was 1t
because she made him comfortable?
Was it the little air of formality, or
mystery. which she drew around her?
Her rooms when Innes was allowed to
enter them were always fiawless;
Gerty took deep pride in her house
keeping. Why was it, lnnes wondered,
that she could never shake off her sus-
pieion OF an underlying untidinessg
There was always a closed door on
Gerty's processes.
May I helpT The sun was still
yellowing the room to her.
"HeIlo!" Hardin looked up from
the couch where he was lying. Innes
suspected it of being a frequent re-
treat. She had found it tumbled once
when she ran over early. 1t was then
that Gerty made it understood that she
liked more formality. Innes was rare
ly in that tent except for meals now.
or during her alternating week Of
house chores.
II was afraid was late" said the
girl.
Lunch will be ready in a few min
utes," announced Gerty Hardin. won't
you sit down? There's the new Jour-
nal. Sam came to clean this morning,
and couldn't get to the lunch until
an hour ago."
Innes, settling herself by the reading
table, caught herself observing that 1t
would not have taken her an hour to
get cold lunch. Still, it would never
look so inviting! If Gerty's domestic
machinery was complicated and pri-
vate, the results always were admir-
able. The early tomatoes were peeled
as well as sliced, and were lying on
bed of cracked ice. The ripe black
olives were resting in a lake of Cali
fornia olive oil. A bowl of crisp let
tuce had been iced and carefully dried.
The bread was cut in precise triangles;
the butter had been shaved into for
eign-looking roses. A pitcher of the
valleys. favorite beverage, iced tea,
stood by Hardin's plate. There was
platter of cold meats.
1t came home to 1nnes for the hun
dredth time, the surprise of such a
meal in that desert. A few years ago,
and what had a meal been? She threw
the credit of the little lunch to sulky
Tom Hardin lying on the portiere-cov-
cred couch, his ugly lower lip out
thrust against an unsmiling vision. 1t
was Tom, Tom and his brave men, the
sturdy engineers, the dauntless sur
veyors, the Indians who had dug the
canals, those were the ones who had
spread that pretty table, not the buxom
little woman darting about in pink
gingham.
"Is it because I don't like her?" she
mused, her eyes on the pictures in the
style book which had just come in that
morning. Certainly Gerty did have the
patience of a saint with Toms hu-
mors. If she would only lose that set
look of martyrdom 1t was not for an
outsider to judge between husband
and wife, even if the man We're her
own brother. She could not put her
finger on the germ of their painful