Capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1919-1980, 1921-03-03


to me-because you were your
fathers son whom had loved
pasaonately all my life In one
way. and was wiling to learn 70
love in any way you asked OF me-
Jimmy brother-my lover" !,
She flung herself into his arms,
choking, clinging to him. strug-
Cling to control her voice:
1T am nothing-I am nothing,
she sobbed passionareiy. why
should not all my gratitude and
loyalty be for your fathers son Z
What is so terrible to me is that l
can't give myself! That can't
throw myself at your feet for life.
To marry you wouId be too heav-
enly wonderful! Or, to snap my
fingers in the worlds face for your
ake-dearest-that would be so
little to do for you-so easy.
"But I can't. Your father-dad
would know it. And then the
world would blame him for ever
harboring a gutter waif-"
Steve, dearest"
"Oh, Jim," she stammered, IT
haven't even told you how those
inherited traits have raised the
deuce with me. I've got in me all
the low instincts, all the Incidence,
the selfish laziness, the haphaz-
ard, irresponsible, devil may care
traits of the man who was my own
| father"
Steve"
Let me tell you I've got to tell
you. can't keep it any longer. 1t
was something in Oswald tina, ap-
pealed to that gypsy side of me
awoke it, 1 think. The first time
I ever saw him, as a boy, and un-
der disagreeable circumstances.
felt an odd inclination for him. He
was like me, and [ sensed it l told
| you that once. It's true. Something
in him appealed to the vagabond
| recklessness and irresnonSibility
latent in me-the tendency to wan
der. the indolent desire to drift
and explore pleasant places.
After you went abroad / met him.
| I wrote you about it, / liked him.
He fascinated me. There was some
thing in common-somethi COM
mon in common between us.
went to his studio, at first with
Helen. and also when DINERS were
there. Then 1 went alone. l didn't
care, knowing there was really no
harm in going. and also being at
the age when defiance of conven-
ton is more or less attractive to
every girl.
"He was fascinating. He was
plainly in love with me. But that
means nothing to a girl except the
subtle excitement and flattery OF
the fact. But he was what I want
ed--a fellow vagabond!
Every time I came into town I
went to his studio. My aunt had
no idea what was up to. And we
did have such good times, Jim!A
you see he was successful then,
and he had a wonderful studio
and a car--and we ran out .nto
the country and then returned to
take in his studio. And, Jim,
it was all rieNt-but it was not
good for me-"
She clasped his arm with both
Of hers and rested her head on
his shoulder: and went on talking
in a steadier and more subdued
voice:
Il didn't write you about it; I
was very sure you wouldn't ap-
prove. And my head was stuffed
full of modernism and liberty and
urge and the necessity for self ex-
preston. / felt that l had a per-
feet right to enjoy myself
And then came trouble. 1t always
does. Oswald's father, Chill
tern Grismer, came to the hos
pital one day, terribly wrought up
and looking ghastly.
MY aunt had gone to New York
to consult a specialist, but he ask
ed for me, and l came down to
the private reception room. l was
graduate nurse then. Oh, jim!
it was quite DREADFUL He seem
ed to be scared until he saw what
was. Then he was fearfully
harsh with me. He told me that
my aunt was about to begin suit
against him to recover some money
"a great deal of money-which
my aunt pretended l should have
Inherited from my grandmother,
Mr.. Grismer's sister.
HE said we were two adven-
turesses and that he would expose
me and my unhappy original
thnA .,f - Il Al q