The L'Anse sentinel., 1920-01-09

avenue met Amberson boulevard AsrS
a. an obtuse angle. and the removal o1
the pillars made the boulevard seem .
cross street of no overpowering Inn
portance- It did not seem to
be q boulevard
George walked by the Mansion hur-
riedly. and came home to his mothers
house for the last time.
Emptiness was there, too, and the
closing Of the door resounded through
bare rooms; for downstairs there was
no furniture in tho house except q
kitchen table IN the dining room, which
Fanny had kept ''for dinner she said.
though as she was to cook and serve
that meal herself George had his
doubts about her name for II. Upstairs,
she had retained her own furniture.
and George had been living In his
mothers room. having sent everything
from his own to the auction. Isabel's
room was stlll as 1t had been, but the
furniture would be moved with
Fanny's to new quarters In the morn
Ing. Fanny had made plans for her
nephew as well as herself; she had
found a "three-room kitchenette apart
ment" In an apartment house where
several old friends of hers had estab-
ltshed themselves--elderly widows Of
citizens once prominent" and other
retired gentry. People used their own
''kitchenettes" for breakfast and lunch,
but there was table-d'hote arrange
ment for dinner on the ground floor:
and after dinner bridge was played
all eveMng. an attraction powerful
with Fanny. She had "made all the
arrangements" she reported. and ner-
vously appealed for approval. asking IL
she hadn't shown herself pretty prac-
tical" in such matters. George acqui-
esced absent-mindedly, not thinking Of
what she said and not realizing to
what 1t committed him. II
He began to realize 1t now. as he
wandered about the dismantled housei
he was far from sure that he wcS
willing to live in 'three-room apart
II
and lunch with her (prepared by her.
self in the "kitchenetteD and dinner
Mt the table d'hote N "such a pretty
Colonial dining room" ESQ Fanny de-
scribed it) at little round table they
would have all, to themselves In the
midst of dozen little round tables
which other relics of disrupted fam
lilies would have all to themselves. For
the first time, now that the change
was imminent, George began to devel-
Up before his minds eye pictures OF
vlIat he was In for; and they appalled,
lin. He decided that such a life
vc-ged upon the sheerly unbearable.
and that after all there were some
things left that he Just couldn't stand.
SO he made up his mind to speak to
his aunt about 1t at dinner" and tell
her that he preferred to ask Bronson
TO let him put sofa-bed. trunk and
folding rubber bathtub behind
screen In the dark rear room of the Of
fee.
But at "dinner" Fanny was nerv-
ous. and So distressed about the fall
ure Of her efforts with sweetbreads
and macaroni; and she was so eager
In her talk of how comfortable they
would be "by this time tomorrow
night
After "dinner" he went upstairs.
moving his hand slowly along the
smooth walnut railing Of the balus-
trade. Half way to the landing he
stopped, turned, and stood looking
down at the heavy doors masking the
black emptiness that had been the
library. Here he had stood on what
lie now knew was the worst day of his
liie; here he had stood when his moth
er passed through that doorway, hand
in-hand with her brother. to learn what
her son had done.
He went on more heavily, more slow
ly: and, more heavily and slowly still,
entered Isabel's room and shut the
door. He did not come forth again.
aud bade Fanny goodnight through
the closed door when she stopped out
side 1t later.
"Tve put all the lights out, George"
she said. "Everything's all right"
"Very WELL" he called. "Good night.
Aunt Fanny"
His voice had q strangled sound In
spite of him; but she seemed not to
notice 1t, and he heard her go to her
own room and lock herself in with
bolt and key against burglars. She
had said the one thing she should not
have said just then: "Pm sure your
mothers watching over you, Georgie."
She had meant>to be kind. but It de-
stroyed his last chance for sleep that
night. He would have slept little II
she had not said 1t. but since she had
said 1t he did not sleep at all. For he
knew that 1t was true-if 1t could be
true-that his mother. II she still lived
in spirit, would be weeping on the
other side Of the wall Of silence. weep
ing and seeking for some gate to let
her through so that she could come
and watch over him."
He felt that II there were such gates
they were surely barred: they were
like those awful library doors down.
stairs. which had shut her In to begin