The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1922-09-04
Euening Story
A Silver Lining.
A. MARIA CRAWFORD

caroled cheerful youngster evidently
familiar with the words of the pretty
musical comedy song.
1t was not easy advice to follow,
thought Bill Barton, limping in the
spring sunshine. watching the lads
sturdy legs that once in while
skipped a little thru sheer exuberance
We'd him. Once he had two good legs
like that and now-well-it might
have been worse. But the surgeons
had fixed him up. He wouldn't have
given dollar and half for his leg
when he/came off the battlefield and
first saw it. There was one thing GER
tain. He could never lose his soul for
toddIing too much now-did pretty
fair just to limp along.
He squared his shoulders-didn't
want one of them to sag. He had
always been proud of those broad
shoulders.
"Heigh-ho. Captain Bill What a.
jolly little place this old world is, after
alll'' cried a big, strapping fellow,
ninabl jumping the gutter to rush up
to him.
"Stan, old boy, this is lucki You
live here?" Bill smiled at him, pump
ing his arm up and down in genuine
pleasure to see him. Stanley Field
had been his first lieutenant and on
| that red day when he had got this,
Stan had stopped long enough to order
| Bill carried out of range of the big
guns
/ They went into SANKEY'S club and
| had a long talk about everything. Bill
told him how interminable the time
had seemed there in the government
! hospital in Washington. Years out OF
his life! Think of that! He grinned
when he said it, but his heart was
| lead, thinking of the WEAKNESS of that
| long wait. Leg pretty good now. or
course he limped, but he was jolly
well glad he was going on his own
! leg, reinforced, instead of one some
/ carpenter had made. He'd never cut
| a pigeon wing again! Remember, in
| camp? Gosh, he could whirl so fast
he looked like one of those twirling
| dervishes from Arabia in circus
| stunt.
Stan remembered all that and more.
.'Say, Bill, ever see that little blonde
any more? Looked like a Madonna
the one at our last billet? She used
to dance with you all the time. Never
| seemed to see the rest of us. Alice
somebody. Lord, there was regular
| grill"
"Alice Mobry.' answered Bill. all
the light dying out of his deep brown
| eyes. 81 wrote to her until-until I
was sure I was going to be real
| Grip. Then I just quit
you're no cripple" said Stan with
a frown. II don't even notice that
l 8
lost lot of sleep wondering, grieving
about you. Funny! I've often thought
about you and her. That was one ro-
finance of the war; told myself" Then
| seeing the strained look in his old pals
| face he quietly changed the subject.
| Meet me here tonight at and have
| dinner with me. Later I'll go down
to the boat with you if you are deter
mined to sail for home in the morning.
| Nice trip back by way of Charleston.
| Home, Gee, I'll bet those southern
parents of yours have killed the fatted
calf. all right"
They've had long time to fatten
it. haven't they?" laughed Bill.
/ Thanks, old man. See you at T."
1 Dear old Stan! Bill looked after
him affectionately. No use telling him
that he had already been home three
different times. only to have to travel
back to Walter Reed hospital for a
little more work on that game leg.
But this trip was the last. He was
| going home to stay. That morning he
| had caught a train from Washington
| to attend a little business in New York
before he took the boat for Charleston.
4 He looked up and down the street,
| humming with the busy life of the me-
tropolis. He had the afternoon before
him.
He would walk over to the avenue
and get up on top of bus and watch
the human tide ebb and flow. 1t al
ways interested him. Then, he might
catch a glimpse of her again. She
lived in New York. He had wanted
to telephone to her the first thing that
morning but, after four years she was
probably married. Anyway. she would
never forgive him for not telling her
| why he had failed to answer all those
letters she had sent Those letters and
his damnable prider His mind must
have been sick along with his body.
otherwise he would have sent her
some word. Too late nowi
He squared his broad shoulders, try
ing as always to keep one from sag
ging when he Hmped. There was no
traffic cop at that corner. but he de-
teEnined to move on and take his
chance with the other pedestrians.
| A blue limousine was purring noise
lessly down crowded Broadway. Pretty
thing. Brand-new model. too. Then
It's Bill! oh, Bill!''
He looked after the car. dazed a
bit. The chauffeur had jammed on
the brakes. The door of the car was
opening. Alice Mobry was running
back to him. He limped back to the
car, helped her in, got in beside her
; But to have saved his life he could
not think of word to say. He just
. looked at her. He had forgotten that
: q girl could be so pretty. Then his
devouring eyes rested suddenly on her
hands, little hands. gloved in grey
They were trem bling. She was clutch
ing them together. His subconscious
mind must have forced him to make
the movement. He certainly did not
think about it. But he put his owr
: over hers and held them close. Right
} there on Broadway, with all the world
to see.
Alice, dear. It almost killed me not
: to write to you, but when I found Out
thatI-I was going to be lame fol-
life2limping along painfully-did you
, care that much?"
She had presence of mind then tc
order the chauffeur to drive home and
, the run to Park avenue was made 81
lently.
Was she married? He didn't care
!, He was going to tell her, tell her once
more as he had whispered his love or