The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1923-02-18

abuse. Instead, he smiled slowly at her.
She made a little gesture. There
seemed more appeal than anger in it.
"You don't care, John? | knew you
didn't carep'
"If you love him." said the villain slow
ly, 81 suppose I don't care"
sYou never have" she answered. 'You
merely bought me-with your court room
eloquence, and your money-just as you
would be a fine piece of furniture. You
wanted decorative wife for your home
some one you could be proud to show"
It was not a quarrel, you see For it
happened in the twentieth century; hap
pened yesterday, in fact. Neither of them
raised their voices. There fell little 81
lence, and silences always make woman
explain.
1--WE tried to love you" she said ''I've
tried to break through that hard exterior
you wear like armor I've guessed at
depths and tenderness in you, but the only
time I've heard poetry in your voice was
when you said before the minister, Il will
Since then I've waited for a touch of that
sound to come back into your voice, but
it never has, and gradually I've learned
l1e tiultt-SOu never really CefeQ lOI ME.
John Barrett was a villain; also vulgar
man.
"The proof of the pudding is in the eat
ing" he said "If l haven't seemed TO love
you, why--I haven't"
And nc grinned; it was not by any
means smile. She shuddered as if those
hands Of his, made for gripping great bur
dens. had closed on vital nerve that ran
to her heart. She turned away, yelling
her eyes with her hand. Surely it was
strange that a man could give up such
beauty,
And will you defend him." she asked
in whisper
'If you love him. said Barrett, 81 shall
set him free for you. Good night, Eliza
bethr'
He strobe out of the room She ran
after him few steps and followed him
with her eyes down the long vista of the
rooms; but the massive shoulders went on
their way with characteristic swagger; the
bowed, thoughtful head never once cast
back a glance toward her
at is donep' said the beautiful woman,
and sank into chair.
Her eyes were half closed. and she
smiled-the smile of the twentieth century
woman, which is harder to read than the
smile of the Sphinx.
The next afternoon she sat in a front
seat in the court room and bent eyes of
sad sympathy upon Harry McCurtney.
There were others who looked on him in
the same way. They were not, to be sure,
quite like the beautiful woman, but then
they were fair enough to have filled up
motion picture background
What woman under 80 could look upon
him without some such sad emotion? He
was very young; he was very handsome.
The brown eyes were as soft and liquid
as the eyes of thoughtful Byron-or
calf. The tall forehead and that long,
pale face-they brought home all the ro-
mantle melancholy of life to a woman un-
der 80. Even the IL good men and true
felt some ruth as they glanced on him
who was about to die; but being hard-he
ed fellows. these IL, they looked away
again and cleared their threats and
frowned. Metaphorically speaking, they
were rolling up their sleeves and preparing
to grasp the knife from the hands of blind
justice.
The hero knew it. He turned those
large, soft eyes on the jurors, and then
flicked them swiftly away and let them
journey from one fair face to another
along the benches of the court ROOM And
at last, as one overcome by the woes of
life. he bowed his head and yelled his eyes
with his long, white, tremulous fingers.
beautiful hand! 1t should have rested