New-York tribune., 1920-10-10

that comes of long abuse. Susan
bent her shoulder to the radiator of
the f1ivver and pushed with all her
strength; she couldn't bulge it. She
looked up again. The young man
was halfway down the bank, with a
crowbar in his hand
"I'm stuck" she said.
The young man knelt at .he rear
of the machine and studied the stu
alton.
$50 I see," he commented, and
applied the crowbar.
& USAN watched him without any
- conscious curiosity as to who he
was; she did not need to inuuire
how he came there, or the reason
for the crowbar. 1t was perfectly
obvious that he had been engaged
in rebuilding the old-fashioned dry
wall that surrounded the Bingham
estate. Susan reflected, without emo
ton, that he was an exceptionally
good-looking young man, with a
pleasant face and a we'll made body.
She had not the slightest fear of him.
You see, she did not observe his
boots. She saw the denim overalls
the disreputable felt hat, the clumsy
canvas gloves, and took him for g
workman. If she had only looked
more closely, if she had only noted
those boots, everything might have
been different.
They were the kind of boots that
an astute British maker, having
studied the mud of Flanders, put on
the market in the winter of 1914-15
under the name Of "Norwegians" and
the price Of 10 shillings. Five
years later, in this particular April,
1920, they cost just under $40 in
New Bond Street and $65 just off
Fifth Avenue. To put it fatty, they
were not the work shoes of a worthy
young builder Of walls. But Susan
did not recognize them for what they
were, and so, completely missing the
one chance to sense her danger, she
stood calmly by while the young man
pried the flivver off the rock, and
even admired the sturdy lift of his
bent back as he did it.
The young man Strengthened IN
rs the axle slid back down the face
Of the smooth rock and the wheels
again rested on the ground. and
as he Strengthened he looked into
Susan's eyes. It was perfectly natu-
raj that he should look into Suaan's
eyes. Indeed, it would have been a
reflection on his manners if he
hadn't. And any observer would
have said that his glance was con-
ventional one, the glance demanded
by the occasion, glance not only
innocent but negligible. Unhappily,
any observer would have been wrong
The glance was anything but neg
ligible-unless the music of the
spheres is negligible, or the start of
spring, or the tide in the river. 1t
was a glance that swept through
Susan Beal as the warm wind from
the south sweeps through the young
leaves, setting them afiutter And
yet, because she was woman, it oc-
Cured to her in the same moment
that her shapeless yellow slicker and
her bell-shaped sou'wester hat were
rather fetching after their own spe-
cial fashion, and that her hair al
ways curled in the rain.
"If you'll get in," the young man
said, an crank"
The sentence was like the glance.
1t said nothing that it was not nee
essary to say, and it said everything.
1t spoke language over and above
its plain words, a language that had
never been written and can never
be learned. language that every
woman is born to Understandable
to use. Susan Beal, who had never
heard it before, Immediately pro-
ceeded to use it, without effort. with
out thought--as she breathed.
THANK you ever so much," Those
were her precise words-the most
ordinary words in the world. But
they did the mischief.
Susan climbed in behind the wheel;
the young man lifted the starting
lever sharply; the motor roared
The young man stepped close and
took off his hat.
MY name is Rodney" he said.
Rodney Bingham"
Susan held out her hand. He took
it firmly in his.
"I'm Susan Beal," she said. Good
BY"
NTlTH never a look behind at
" the young man in the road