Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1922-08-17
''By Katharine
NetvLin Burt
Mary or
Heioise?
Which
Should Win
Unusual Heroi
He moved a pawn forward and took


all the creamy complacency Of his big
warning tremor run through her
nerves. 1t was as though a strange
light fell into the little room. Its
familiarity vanished, the man In front
Of her changed before her eyes. Com
Portable and kindly DIR. Sales, who had
kept lemon drops for her in his con-
stricted waistcoat pocket-she remem-
bered a hundred odd and disconnected
things while he sat there, dumbly star.
ing after speaking her name.
Tell me something" he said at last.
'IOu think Of me as an old man, don't
your"
why, no-only as an old friend"
"Ah--un ancien ami ~ he muttered.
1t would be easier IL our word for such
friendship was amiete, easier to change
it as 1t ought 10 often to be changed.
I'D like you to begin all over again,
Mary"
Begin WHAT" She pushed away
the chessbonrd and moved back little
from the table. Her face was pale.
She was saying to herself--and hating
herself for it: Papa and I owe him
hundreds Of dollars. II it hadn't been
for his help! fit hadn't been for
| his help
Begin all over again with me, my
dear He got up and began moving
| about the room in his seeking, undecid-
ed fashion, stopping sometimes by the
! mantel, sometimes near her chair, his
hands sliding over his pockets, across
his big stomach, lingering the big gold
chain. He talked gently and fluently,
perhaps tritlc bookishly, as people
brought up in the Victorian school still
talk in moments Of emotion.
i've been troubled about you, little
Mary, and it's by troubling that I've
found out the truth about myself and
you. I don't want you, please, my
dear, to say anything at all to me now;
l want you. please, my dear, to sit just
where you are and as you are and listen
to me. And don't be frightened, I've
never frightened you in my life and
I'm not going to begin now. It's true
I've been your friend and your fathers
friend"
Very, very true" she gasped, won
derng why it was gasp instead of the
quiet little assertion she had intended
it to be.
"And I mean, please God, to keep on
being your friend"
Her eyelids trembled with uncertain
ty. "What has been troubling you
about me?" she asked.
you've never been silly girl, nor
a sentimental girl. You've been sober
and steady"
Like n work horse" Mary yielded
to her tart sense of the ridiculous and
| ,ytn ri tn. ytne,,l lIHr Ar
his adjective.
Like good woman" he said. 81
1--we always had confidence in you.'
She was coloring. What have /
dOne-to-!'
"Oh, you haven't lost this confidence,
only l feel I ought to warn you, that
perhaps you do need warming"
CDR. Sales It's Too Late
"Dr. Sales" she cried out unexpect-
edly, Its too late and scarlet en-
gulfed the fine courage of her face like
n red fog Of shame through which her
eyes shone up at him dauntessly.
DIR. Sales stopped heavily and stood
The tiny clock licked. A child pelted
with tap tapping feet beneath the win
dow. Slowly Mary bent forward her
|
with small work -roughened hands the
wicker arms of her chair.
But it's no use, DIR. Sales; he
doesn't care for me-that way-at all
Mary. Are you talking of-of this
o."
Yes"
DR.. Sales seemed to gather voice.
"This rough product of cow camps
illiteratc, without an ounce of culture
or refinement But I thought you had
good sense" He laughed, his lips
shaken.
Mary had lifted her chin; the red
fog of her shame had dropped back on
her heart, leaving her white and mark
ed with purple under her eyes.
81 oughtn't to care" she said, as
though to herself. i've called him
most of those things myself"
"And you are telling me that you--
love this man? l can't believe 1t,
'fts hopelessly and humiliaungly
true. Nothing would have dragged 1t
out Of me, DR.. Sales, but the dread
Of what I fancied you were going to
say"
Again he laughed. 'Why, this
young man will have to be taken serious.
ly. He is more dangerous than I
thought. And cool hand! Any young
fellow that strols in from COW camp
and juggles with the hearts Of three
young women at once
"Dr. Sales!'
He went on breathlessly, Miss
Heloise Grinscoombe and Miss Mary
Grinscoombe and-the waitress at the
River Hotel--something Of record,
eh?'
Mary stood up. She had drawn her
Icyelids together and peered at him now
as though she had difficulty with her
vision.
Il don't know you," she announced
slowly, and the strangeness of this re-
mark made him step back. She went
over to little battered desk. "Dr.
Sales" she said, II have been earning
a good deal of money lately. | want
to pay back some part of papa's great
debt TO you--and mine.
While, shakily, she opened an un-
willing drawer, while she took out
small bundle of bills, while she counted
these, white Tipped, there came from
William Sales not Il sound. He stood,
ponderous, uncxprcssive, blowing noise
iessly in and out his tapping lips. He
took the bills from Mary's hands and
she had the cohrage to look him In the
face as he took them.
$50 you're paying me off, he said
Everything, she cried out in a
voice of extreme suffering, "is just ut
terly unbearable. If 1t weren't so