The Bridgeport times and evening farmer., 1921-12-16
(Continued from Yesterday.)

D. thetic that EmeHne stayed with her for dinner, a casual meal which Myr- tie Montague and a sister actress came in to share. Julia sat with them fresh bread and cheese, crab salad and smoked beef, hot tomato sauce and delicious coffee. The coffee came to table in a battered tin pot, cups from the little dairy bottle. with it's metal top, but Julia saw these things as little as any one else-as little as she saw the disorderly welter of theatrical effects in the Povey's s neglected rooms, the paint on the women's faces, the ugly violence ana coarseness of their talk.
 But she did see that they were an inpulsive, warn-hearted, generous set Nobody ever spoke grossly to her, she was given the freedom of their rooms, she listened to their chatter, she was often caught up for embraces heavy with cologne; they loved to dress her up in preposterous costumes, and shouted with laughter at the sight of her in Dolly Warden bonnets, Scotch kits, or spectacles Honey Babe" were Julia's names here, and she was a child hungry for love and eager to earn 1t. Tonight she ate her supper in that silence so grateful to grown people, and after ward found some stage jewellery and played with it until her head was too heavy to hold up any longer. Then she went to sleep upon an odorouS couch piled deep with al sorts Of odd garments, her feet trust into a tangle of lifeleSs satin pillows, her head up on the fur lining of some old cape, banjo prodding her uncomtortably whenever she stirred.
 Julia-au pins and needles-was presently jerked up into a. glare Of lights, and tied into the rose ed bonnet, and buttoned into the vel vet coat again. She had not been covered as she slept, and sneezed and shivered in the cold night air. Fine line walked along briskly, and Julia stumbled beside her. The child was in such an agony of fatigue and chill that every separate step toward bed was dreaded by this time. She fell against her mother, as Emel.ne tore off shoes and stockings, stretched blundering, blind little arms for her nightgown sleeves, and sank delict- ously against her pillows, already more than half asleep.
 But Emeline sat wide eyed, silent, waiting for George.
 George did not come home at all that night. On the next afternoon Sunday afternoon-Julia was playing in the street with two other small girls. Their game was simple. The three huddled into the deep doorway to each other, laughing and shout ing. Then at a given signal they rushed, screaming forth, charged across the streets as if pursued by a thousand furies. and took shelter in a similar doorway, next to the sa- loon across the street. This per fornance had been repeated, back and forth, perhaps half dozen times when Julia found her father waylay, ing her.
 "where y going?" asked Julia, no. ticing that he carried a hand bag. l George sat down on the dirty ce ment steps that connected his dwell 1 ing with the sidewalk, and drew Juli' 1 between his knees.
 'I've got to go away, baby" sai' he soberly.
 the Park-never?" asked Julia, with trembling lip.
 1 George freed a lock of her hair tha
 had gotten caught in her collar, witt | clumsy, gentle fingers.
 l 'fMama's mad at me. and I'm goin
 away for a while, Babe" said he
 clearing his throat. But you be good girl, and I'll come take you t | the Park some day"
 Something in the gravity Of his ton Impressed Julia.
 'But I don't want you to go away, 1 she said tearfully. George got u, hastily.
 Come on. walk with Pop to tn l car." he commanded. and Julia trot ted contentedly beside him to Mar ket Street. There she gave him l CnlIu SOlly 1lllpeISOIlSCl hASS' oIoA | up at the buildings opposite as sh' so. George jumped on a cable car 1 wedged his bag under his knees as h. | took a seat on the dummy and look ed back at the little figure that wa moving toward the dingy opening ot | O'Farre1 Street, and at the spring sun shine, bright on the child's hair.
 THE STORY OF-Pge Thirty-five 1 CHAPTER II.
 In summer the rear barbour tha was Mrs. Pages bedroom was 1 rather dim and dreary place; sucl | light as 1t had fell through one loni | high window that gave only upon l narrow air shaft; it was only in mid 1 July that the actual sunlight | bright and fleeting triangle-touche, | the worn red carpet and the curly l maple bed. In winter the windoI 1 gave almost no light at all. 'JuIi dressed by gaslight ten months oII ---..-...- 1sAIssszs- .kA 1 .-s@.a~s@@zaa -zRaVs BSSS77&A1AA SS SssIsQ
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