The Glenwood post., 1924-01-17

AFTERNOON OF une CnlQreQS udnCluS
class. The house was deserted. Eliot's
spirits rose. He would actually sit
down in his own sitting room and read
or think-or do neither, without any
one saying, "What have you been do
ing all day, dear" or Did you remem'
Der the butter" or "Why must I, ia
ther?"
He did it. He clasped his hands be-
hind his head and looked at the cell
ing. The little country neighborhood
was silent. 1t was the first moment
of this kind that he had had for
months. He thoroughly enjoyed 1t.
He began to think about little
newspaper-he had been trying to do
it at odd moments-in the train or in
his bath-for several weeks. The oc-
casion that made it appropriate had
long since passed, but he wanted to
finish it if he could. Within few
minutes however, he heard the voices
of his daughters returning. He wished
the class had lasted little longer
Yet he was not an unnatural father
and when they entered the room
flushed with exercise, elegant in their
sheer white dresses and blue bows, he
felt proud of them and glad to see
them. He loved them even when the
following interchange took place:
"Hullo father. DO you like my new
shoes? What is jazz"
"Well, Marietta, it's kind of mu-
sic where the beat Is irregular"
"Why is it?"
Because people like it that way
the time changes"
what is time, father?"
Remembering Marys assertion that
he didn't try to answer them, he
paused moment to consider, but
Marietta went on: II was called out
in front of the class to make n cour
tesy, father. Where's mother? Why
did she go away?'
"She hasn't gone away" said Eliot
disengaging his mind with difficulty
from the problem Of time.
"She took bag with her. Why did
she, father?"
"We'll see," said Eliot, thinking to
himself that she had probably taken
the wash to the laundry, as 1t was
Saturday, and sometimes, If they were
short sheet and some one coming to
stay He fished her letter out of his
pocket. He had put Off reading 1t for
fear it would ask him to do something
that would have interfered with his
moment of solitude. He opened it,
with Marietta sitting on the arm of his
chair. and Doris aged four balancing
on his crossed feet.
The letter said:
Dear Eliot: Something strange has
happened that makes 1t impossible
that you and l should ever live to-
gether again. l want to be alone for IA
few days and think over how l can ar
range my life. / will come to the of
flee Monday, and talk it all over with
you. l am sorry this is Nora's Sun
day out, but you can probably manage
somehow with the children. They are
so good. Yours,
MARY.
He became aware that Marietta had
been saying for long time: What
does mother say, father? What does
mother say, father?'
He put the letter back in his pocket
'NOh, nothing. DEAR" he answered. "She
had to go away for Sunday"
"Why did she?"
There was question he couldn't
answer. He had no idea-no eXplana-
tion-no possible theory occurred to
him. What could have happened? Had
he done something? Or rather, for
his conscience was absolutely clear
did she imagine he had done some
thing to hurt her? Had she fallen un-
der the spell Of some sudden romance
one read Of such things happening,
but Mary! No. Had she gone mad?
He remembered now that she had
seemed silent at breakfast, but not
portentously silent. He had questioned
the children as to the events Of the
day-had any messages come-had
any visitors been there? No, nothing
It was almost Incredible that you
should live with woman seven years
and be unable to form even hy-
pothesis as to why she had left you.
Not that he admitted she had left him
1t was just some misunderstanding.
To his first shock feeling of anger
succeeded. How could anyone treat
another fellow creature like that-let
alone husband. And to leave him In
suspense for days. And the children
suppose anything happened to the
children?
They came to ask him to sit with
them while they had supper and read
aloud. They had asked him this al
most every evening, since they shad
been able to speak, and he often re-
fused. But this evening he consented.
1t was like reproof to Mary He
chose Thackeray's Rose and the Ring"
to read to them. He hadn't read it
for years. 1t was magnificent piece
of narrative. He read II well, too At
that place where the naughty Count