The St. Johns herald., 1922-08-10
as the real sweet one would

At this point Ramsey impulsively tore the note into small pieces. He turned cold as his imagination pro- jected a sketch of his mother in the act of reading this missive, and of her expression as she read the sen- tence: "It Is the sweetest thing now you are mine and am yours forever kiddo." He wished that Milla hadn't written "kiddo." She called him that, sometimes. but in her warm little voice the word seemed not at all what 1t did in ink. He wished, too, that she hadn't said. she was his forever.
 Suddenly he was seized with hOr- TOT of her.
 Moisture broke out heavily upon him; he felt definite sickness, and, wishing for death, went forth upon the streets to walk and walk. He cared not whither, so that his feet took him in my direction away from Milla, away from himself-of whom he had as great horror. Her loving face was continually before him, and its sweet ness made his flesh creep. Milla had been too sweet.
 When he met or passed people, 1t seemed to him that perhaps they were able to recognize upon him somewhere the marks of his low quality. "SoftyI Ole sloppy fool!" he nut tered, addressing himself. "Slushy ole mush SpoOnerP And he added, Yours forever, kiddoI"
 Convulsions seemed about to seize him.
 Turning a corner with his head down, he almost charged into Dora Yocum. She was homeward bound from a piano lesson, and carried a rolled leather case of sheet music something he couldn't imagine Milla carrying-and in her young girls dress, which attempted to be nothing else, she looked as wholesome as cold spring water. Ramsey had always felt that she despised him and now, all at once. he thought that she was justified. Leper that he had become, he was un- worthy to be even touching his cap to her! And as she nodded and went briskly on, he would have given any thing to turn and walk a little way with her, for 1t seemed to him that this might fumigate his morals. But he lacked the courage, and, besides, he considered himself unfit to be seen walking with her.
 He had long afternoon of an- guishes, these becoming most violent when he tried to face the problem of his future course toward Milla. He did not face 1t at all, in fact, but mere ly writhed, and had evolved nothing when Friday evening was upon him and Milla waiting for him to take her to the ''band concert" with "Alb and Sade." He made shift to seek a short interview with Albert, just before din- ner.
 'I got a pretty rotten headache, and my stomach's upset, too," he said, dropping upon the Paxtons' fence. q been gettin' worse every minute. You and Sadie go by Milla's, Albert, and tell her if I'm not there by ha'-pas'- seven, tell her not to wait for me any longer"
 "How do you mean 'wait'?" Albert inquired. "You don't expect her to come pokin' along with Sadie and me, do you? She'll keep on sittin' there at home just the same, because she wouldn't have anything else to do, if you don't come like she expects you to, She hasn't got any way to stop wait in'"
 At this, Ramsey moaned, without af- fectation. q don't expect I can, AL bert" he said. "Pd like to if could but the way 1t looks now, you tell her I wouldn't be much surprised maybe was startin' in with typhoid fever or pretty near anything at all." He moved away, concluding feebly: q guess I better crawl on home, Albert while I'm still able to walk some. You tell her the way it looks now I'm liable to be right sick"
 And the next morning he woke to the chaf1ngs of remorse, picturing 6 Milla somewhat restored in charm waiting hopefully at the gate, even after the half-past seven, and then, as time passed and +he sound of the dis tant horns came faintly through the darkness, going sadly to her room perhaps weeping there. It was pic ture to wiring him with shame and pity but was followed by another whicf electrified him, for out of school hC did not lack imagination. What il Albert had reported bis illness tOC