The Glenwood post., 1922-10-12

of stray Circumstances dropped by
Cornish in their chance talks.
"He has little inheritance coming
to him-shortly," Dwight wound up.
"An inheritance-really? How much,
Dwight"
it?"
II thought he was from good
family" said Ina.
"My mercenary little pussy"
"Well," she said with sigh, 81
shouldn't be surprised If Di did really
accept him. A young girl is awfully
flattered when good-looking older
man pays her attention. Haven't you
noticed that?"
Dwight informed her, with an air
of immense abstraction, that he left
all such matters to her. Being mar
ried to Dwight was like perpetual
rehearsal, with Dwight's self-impor-
tance for audience.
A few evenings later, Cornish
something overpowering in this brown
haired chap against the background
of his negligible little shop. his whole
capital in his few pianos. For he
looked hopefully ahead, woke with
plans, regarded the children in the
street as If, conceivably, children
might come within the confines of his
life as he imagined it. A preposter-
ous little man. And a preposter0us
store, empty. echoing, bare of wall,
the three pianos near the front, the
remainder of the floor stretching away
like the corridors of the lost. He was
going to get dark curtain, lie ex-
planned, and furnish the back part of
the store as his own room. What
dignity in phrasing, but how mean
that little room would look-cot bed,
washbowl and pitcher, and little mir
ror-almost certainly mirror with a
wavy surface, almost certainly that.
"And then, you know" he always
added, I'm reading law"
The Plows had been asked in that
evening. Bobby was there. They
were, Dwight Herbert said, going to
have sing
Di was to play. And Di was now
embarked on the most difficult feat of
her emotional life, the feat of remain
ing to Bobby Larkin the lure, the be-
loved lure, the while to Cornish she
lnstinctively played the role of wom-
anly little girl.
up by the festive lamp, every
body" Dwight Herbert cried.
AS they gathered about the upright
piano, that startled. Dwightish instru-
ment, standing in its attitude of un-
rest, Lulu came in with another lamp.
DO you need this?' she asked.
They did not need it, there was, in
fact, no place to set it. and this Lulu
must have known. But Dwight found
place. He swept Ninian's photo
graph from the marble shelf of the
mirror, and when Lulu had placed the
lamp there, Dwight thrust the photo
graph into her hands.
"You take care of that" he said,
withsa droop of lid discernible only to
those who-presumably- him.
his old attitude toward Lulu had
shown terrible sharpening in these
ten days since her return.
She stood uncertainty, in the thin
black and white gown which Ninian
had bought for her, and held Ninian's
photograph and looked helplessly
about. She was moving toward the
door when Cornish called:
"See here! Aren't you going to
sing?"
"What?" Dwight used the falsetto.
Lulu sing? Lulu?"
She stood awkwardly. She had
piteous recrudescence of her old
agony at being spoken to in the pres
ence of others. But Di had opened
the "Album of Old Favorites," which
Cornish had elected to bring. and now
she struck the opening chords of
"Bonny Eloise." Lulu stood still,
looking rather piteously at Cornish.
Dwight offered his arm, absurdly
crooked. The Plows and Ina and D
began to sing. Lulu moved forward,
and stood Il little away from them,
and sang. too. She was still holding
Ninian's picture. Dwight did not sing,
He lifted his shoulders and his eye
brows and watched Lulu.
When they had finished, Lulu the