The L'Anse sentinel., 1923-01-12
THE SOB SISTERS
BY GRACE cANFIELD


with difficulty kept himself awake,
thus far in anticipation of just such
a silence, looked up susptciously. He
rustled the evening paper nervously
as he put 1t down; the old morris chair
groaned loudly as he quilted its cav
ernous depths.
Half way to the door of his daugh-
ter's room, Mr.. Carver paused, for the
silence was suddenly broken by dis
turbing sound, deep, recking sob. 1t
was followed by another, and many
more, and the unhappy father, himself
groaning this time, sank back into
the morris chair, mopping his brow
with something akin to desperation.
For two years now he had been en-
gagged in the task of bringing up Molly,
and during that period he had found
life rather difficult, a succession OF
problems which called for immediate
attention. But no previous clash of
arms between father and daughter had
been at all comparable with this one.
week ago Molly had announced
her engagement to Richard Field. Her
father had at once advanced strenu-
Gus objections to the young man, and
war was on. Molly's attitude had been
one of open defiance, which had been
unaffected by any of the measures
which her father chose to employ.
He had overlooked the fact that
Twentieth century daughters are not
to be governed by Eighteenth century
methods. 1t did not suffice in these
days to put ones foot down. Molly
had remained unmOved by threats and
promises. And yet Mr.. Carver admit
ted to himself sheepishly that perhaps
1t had been bit unnecessary to shut
and water!
But Richard Field! The shadow
In the room deepened, and the tortured
father forgot for a moment even those
terrible sobs as he tried vainly to fight
Off the specter which peered at him
from the dim, ghostly corners. 1t was
another Richard Field that he saw
older and grayer and sadder.
But, dad" he could hear his daugh.
ter's voice again pleading, "what II
Dick is poor? He won't be very long"
He heard his own impatient answer.
'Poor! Who mentioned poverty? l
tell you, / knew his father, and I
would rather see you in your grave
shan married to his son!"
He looked up suddenly from his rev.
erie. The specter in the shadows was
holding its sides with silent laughter.
"Of course you would" it sputtered.
"Who would want his conscience for
son-in-law?" Mr.. Carver started an
erily. A hard, dry sob from the next
room made him vince. The specter
laughed again. and went on:
"Poor old Dick Field" it said. "He
was rich man till you met him.
Skinned him clean, you did. Every
cent. Committed suicide, poor fellow.
What else could he do?"
"That's lie," cried Mr.. Carver.
leaping to his feet.
as it?" mocked the ghostly voice.
"Then let your daughter marry his
son."
"I can't" groaned the man. Then, as.
cthe horrid weeping broke forth in the
next room with renewed vigor, he
bowed his face in his hands. IL Will"
he cried. "She can marry anyone she
likes, If she will only stop that. never
heard her cry like that before. tell
you she can" He leaped to his feet
and sprang toward the door.
''It's too late" said the specter voice.
With an angry muttering Alr. Carver
sprang to turn the electric light switch.
but paused in the act. His step sound
ed harshly In the sudden silence, for
the sobbing In the next room had alb
ruptly ceased. He stood as IL trans.
fixed, gazing at the closed door. What
cauld be happening there?
poor little kid" he muttered to him
self. "Tve been brute" He heard
whirring. buzzing sound, then II
crash, as Of broken, fragile stuff. Then
silence again--complete.
1t was unendurable. The shaken
father strobe to tine door, his resolu-
tions cast to the four winds. Turning
the key In the lock, he threw wide the
door. The room was empty. Did he
imagine 1t, or was there hollow.
satirical laugh behind him?
"Gone! r. For moment he felt only
an overpowering sense Of loss. Then
he rushed to the open window. There
was no sign of Molly except few tell
tale scratches on the window sill. But
the sobs? Had he not just heard ter
rible, heart-breaking cries which had
broken down his resistance as nothing
else had done? Duly he glanced about
the room once more.
From the table near the window
came dull whirring note, as pho
nograph whirled to lazy, incon-
sequential stop. Mr.. Carver's gaze be-
came fixed Not her own voicef
Could those wretched cries, which
haunted him still. have been merely
mechanical? A broken record on the
floor answered him. As he bent closer
to read Its title the f6w chuckle again
sounded behind him. 1T was sThe
Sob Sisters"
Mr.. Carver laughed--laughed as one
who Is determined to be game to the
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