The Kevin review. [volume] (Kevin, Mont.) 1922-1929, 1924-07-10
She Was MOI
the Spring
Poetess
BY CLARA

the height Of his position as editor O.
the local paper. "Er-of course W
don't pay for poetry, you understand
The honor Of appearing in our col
umns2"
ooh, I know, 1 know" gushed Myrtle
Suffield. II don't want the money, Mr.
Holme. Just the honor and encour
agement Of appearing as n of your
contributors"
She drifted out, and young Holme
gazed admiringly after her. He was
a newcomer in the little town and he
had never seer Myrtle Suffield before.
When he read the first poem he
whistled. At the second he gasped.
At the third he tore his hair. He
flung the whole lot into the waste
basket, then ished them out, smoothed
them out, and looked around for a re-
lection envelope.
"Say, Mr.. Wheeler" he told the
proprietor later, "a girl drifted in
with some poems this afternoon.
S%corchers. Gosh, I'd hate to print
them"
LET me see 'em," said Wheeler,
shifting his cigar. "Why, they amt so
bad. What's this? Myrtle Suffield?
Why, doggone it, we've got to print
these. Myrtle's the niece of Alton
Suffield, the banker"
Holme whistled again.
"Lives with her bachelor uncle and
old-maid aunt, Tabitha Sufield. Didn't
know Myrtle went in for this sort of
thing, though. Fine girl she Is. Have
to introduce you, Holme."
A few days later Holme met Miss
Myrtle at her uncle's house.
"Oh, Mr.. Holma, l have to thank you
SO very much for putting by poor little
verses into your paper" said Myrtle.
II was in fear and trembling and
then in raptures when 1 actually saw
them, signed with my name. Did you
like them?"
"Er-yes," said Holme, glancing to-
ward the prim maiden aunt, who sat
with her hands folded in a corner.
"Why the 'er-yes,' Mr.. Holme?"
asked Myrtle coldly.
"Why"-Holme grasped desperately
they were $3.50 very unusual, you
know"
would you like some more?' asked
Myrtle.
"Er-yes," said Holme.
He showed Wheeler the next batch
that came in. "We can't print these"
he said.
Print EN-" said Wheeler.
II wonder what sort Of a mind that
girl has," muttered Holme.
But as the weeks passed he came to
look for Myrtle Suffield's periodical APP
pearance at the Office. He looked
forward to those Saturday nights at
the bankers house. In fact, three Or
four months later he discovered in
himself unmistakable symptoms of
in love.
He fought against it. "a girl who
can write that sort of stuff he said
to himself.
And then when he looked at Myr-
ties clear, honest eyes he forgot.
But Myrtle seemed to be troubled,
too. Even after Holme had taken her
In his arms and kissed her, and she
had promised to become his wife she
to have some secret on her
mind.
And, though the poems stopped
forthwith, Holme was vaguely uneasy.
Myrtle seemed to be at least tempera-
Could a man be happy, mar
RED to a temperamental poetess?
Could he? Could he have any doubt
IF it? Three weeks before the day
liked for the wedding, Myrtle said to
aim:
Darling, are you sure you're going
% be satisfied with me?'
"Er-yes," said Holme.
"Is there anything at all about me
you don't care for, darling?"
The leading question could not be
Holme wriggled; he blurted
,ut:
"Why, darling, only-about those
you know. They seemed rather
rather strong for a young girl to
I'll have to tell you, darling, then,"
aid Myrtle. "Auntie wrote them"
"What!" Holme gasped.
"She-she made me take the authors
anne because she-she felt they !
quite proper for a spinster lady
f her age to have written. l felt so
shamed and Inundated that you j.,
| was the author. Tell me, {
airing, it didn't make any difference /,
1 your love for me, did itT !
"Er-no,' said Holme.