The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1922-07-27

here. Just you dare to-"
"Why, sweetness, 1 wouldn't hurt
one of them hairs in your head, girl,
not for nothing in the world"
you bet your life you wouldn't"
SHOULD say l Wouldn't
She could see him advancing through
the gloom, his white architectural
teeth shining out.
why, l wouldn't hurt one of the
hairs on your head girl, not for two
worlds" He paused, dangling the
waist cords. Cant a fellow, just to
prove to you how much he thinks of
you, have one little"
You can not" She tried to pass
him with flashing movement but at
the sight of her scuttling from him in
low detOur, he reached out, grasping
the edge of her sleeve.
Annie"
"NO, you dOn'tw And with a jerk
and a tear was free of him, darting
the rooms width to the mirror and
low toward the door.
Taken so suddenly that his fingers
relaxed like wax, Mr. Foddie stood for
a blinded instant, then cast the length
of his body across the table top,
reaching for the flying hem of her
sleeve as it slipped him.
"Annie-come baCk-girl." Reached
farther, dragging the table cover, and
with it the lamp until it tipped into a
burst of flame.
A geyser of fire shot up immediate
ly, blackening the white ceiling, its
reflection leaping at Annie Kineady
through the tip-tilted mirror like a
long, swift tongue. For a moment she
paused, gripped in fear, then hurled
back and at it.
stand back off that cribl Stand
back Stand-back! The crib :" And
with her body's weight flung against
1t, reached out, dragging it across the
rooms width the tent swinging and
the child Whispering
"NOw! Now, easy you, Mr.. Foddie.
You're all right. Easy! Quit waving.
Easy! For Gods sake quit waving!
It's out! Easy"
With her hands and an afghan
dragged off the couch she beat at him,
dealing out series of quick blows
across his shoulders, and with the
loose ends spanking out the last
sparks on his singed collar and down
the flannel front Of his robe.
"I' amt touched, Mr.. Foddie. Was
just the flannel singed Nothing's
burnt but the tablecloth. See? Was
just the flannel tiared up. Y amt
touched. Sit down. Don't faint!
Wait"
When Annie Kineady returned with
the pitcher, her own hands trembling
so that the water Topped out and over,
Mr.. Foddie was sitting upright in his
chair, quite as she had showed him,
but with a pallOr that caused her to
cry out:
"Beasley! Mr.. Foddie! Beasley
Foddie! Oh, my God Beasley!
When Mrs. Beasley, her yellow mus
lin nightgOwn clutched at her thin
throat, rushed into the scorched air
of that room, a dim line of tallow-
A''NSh A'iSClo GAME pcSllIS dIleE.
"Beasley, for Gods sake, Beasley
The lamp Nobody burnt, but look at
him, Beasley, hOw-hOw he sits there
crumpled! Not burnt, Beasley, but
but how he sits there! Oh, my God,
Beasley, look at him.
In the gloom of the single jet, shud-
deringly, but as one who has learned
that the lodger's first autopsy falls too
often to landladies, Mrs. Beasley
leaned forward her ear to the singed
flannel robe.
God Almighty it was his heart
give out. Snuggs, you run for the
doctor. Poor, poor man, and 1 knew
his wife before him. On Mondays he
paid like clOck-Work. God Almighty.
what'll become Of the child, not a stick
or stone of a relation? God AL
mighty, Annie. it was his heart, poor
man, it"
"Oh, my Cod cried Annie Kineady,
submerged by her rising hysteria
and sinking her face to her hands,
Robbie, little Robbier'
In the spring stirred by the rising
juices of life, Spartan emerges shame
facedly from her long and sullen WIN
ter. Roads with the ruts frozen in
them soften and smooth.
By May day the box-shaped houses
raise their shades for spring cleaning
and women wrap the upstairs base
burner in newspapers. Along the rail-
road tracks the millweed takes heart.
The GLACIERS wife, with her hair
cropped short, puts out her famous
crOcus bed, double row of them
leading along the walk and around to
the kitchen door.
On one such day, when the sun lay
too warm on the back, and the win
G"ws Of Spartan, newly flung, sucked
that warmth gratefully into their
damp interiors, Annie Kineady, with
her telescope sagging down the one
side of her and the sleeping bundle of
a big child clutched around the ankles
by her free hand and the small head
dangling off her left shoulder, stepped
clumsily enough off the AccOmmoda-