The Washington times., 1923-08-18

store he had discovered on Mis-
sion street. Mary, her gloves
streaked from handling the con-
tents Of the dusty shelves, was
rewarded by finding a copy Of the
first edition of Christina Ros-
setti's poems, and Philip acquired
a worn but handsome calf-bound
copy Of an anthology Of English
Letters of Junlus' which Mary
urged him to read. With their
treasures beneath their arms, the
two sailed out into windy Mission
street to discover that the after
noon light was fading. and it was
getting late. Philip wanted the
girl to have tea downtown with
him before going home. They
were both tired and : the cars
would be crowded at that hour.
It would be much pleasarter to
rest and smoke and talk over
their tea cups for a little while.
They were passing a cheap little
restaurant, hardly more than a
lunch room, whose front windows
bore in glazing white letters of
script across Its glazed expanse
the name: Johns. Through the
window and doorway could be
seen a double row Of bare.topped
tables, arranged symmetrically
with cutlery, and tumblers from
which blossomed colored Japanese
crepe napkins.
''I'n go in here, Philip" Mary
said by way Of compromise, indi-
eating the almost deserted lunch
room; I'm too tired to walk any
further. though It would be really
wiser to go back to the hotel"
Philip had a vision Of white
haired Mrs. Rowland tiptoeing
around them, fiddling with cup
and spoon, fussily setting herself,
and drinking her tea bird-like
with audible hisps.
Come on, then. let's- see what
kind OF a place this IT," he said
quickly. "The tea probably will
be acid strong. but well have q
chance to talk and rest q Bit"
He guided Mary to a table in
the dim region at the rear, and
they were rewarded by excellent
tea in glazed earthenware. pots
and hot buttered toast, thick but
freshly made. Another Of their
delightful half hours that were
becoming Of almost daily occur
renee ensued. for Philip tele-
phoned regularly every morning,
and II Mary was coming down
town he managed to leave his Of
flee long enough to meet her at
the library or in a book store or
wherever her errand took her, and
il the hour in any way justified
it he would persuade her to lunch
with him or have tea.
There is something so luscious
and musical about this man."
Mary said. She had picked up
Philips recent purchase, the
Keats volume, and was glancing
from page to page in it. Listen
to this: Lucent syrops, tinct
with cinnamon Isn't that deli
cious. 1t makes you feel hun
cry, doesn't it?''
Poetic Tit-Bits.
Philip smiled appreciativelys
I've always thought those
opening lines in The Eve Of st.
Agnes" she continued, "froze
one into the bone with their sug-
gestion Of cold" She read:
"Ah, bitter chill It was!
The owl. for all hi; feathers, was
a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through
the frozen grass,
Anu SILENT WAS the 1lock IN
woolly fold"
"Bur-r-r,' said Philip. "It
makes you actually shiver; that's
genius. isn't it?"
He remembered the lines In his
reading. and was pleased that
their beauty had not escaped him.
What perfect companionship
he enjoyed with this woman!
What ecstacy could be theirs, If
she with her great and glorious
soul, her magnificent self. her
gifted mind, could be persuaded
to listen to the passionate plea
which was at that very moment
trembling on his lips!
There was a crash-a sudden
ugly diversion!
In another part of the restau-
rant a child and its mother had
been having an early supper
There had been an accident, some.
thing had been spilled and there
was a clatter of broken crockery,
the harsh rasp of showed chairs
and the strident voice Of the won
an. who slapped the little boy
angrily. and wiped his stained