Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-01-28
JUDY'S MAN
Washingtons Social whirl and Official Life Are the
Background of This Fascinating Love Story.
By HELEN BERGER.
'opyioht. 1897. By the PENN Publishing Co.

, Jack Darien, That his death had been
a thrust into her very heart. No
| lying there.
! II tainted because l read that Jack
| Darien was missing" she said. very
low. Every word was an effort. Her
| lips felt stiff, cold.
A sudden new excitement leaped
| into Honeys eyes. Were you en-
| Judy shook her head miserably. She
could not force herself to speak.
| Compassion was shining in Honey's
| eyes. You poor little kid, you9 she
said very softly, and her tone was
the old mothering one she had used
to Dabs. Judy's heavy heart surged
with relief, but the very softness of
the tone broke down her resistance.
She buried her head in her arms and
sobbed, frankly and without shame,
as child cries.
Deceit was dreadful to Judy, but
necessity bound her to it. Very soon
after her confession to Honey of her
feeling for Jack Darien she had
begged Honey not to speak OF 1t
again.
II can't bear it, she told Honey
honestly. please don't let's talk
about it any more"' And so the mat
ter had never been discussed between
them again.
Judy, to whom honesty was as nee
essary as fresh air, found herself en-
meshed in web that she dared not
break and struggled against it iii her
lonely night hours and hated both
herself and the deceit. but rose each
day to pick up the burden of 1t afresh.
And she was bound to admit that
i - u IL 6AA
Her sorrow had been. apparently. the
one thing needed to rouse Honey from
her apathy.
She was like woman made over
now. Not that she was always happy.
Judy often stumbled upon her weep
ing, or found her before the window,
searching the sunset sky with empty,
bitter eyes. But she was no longer
vague. There was no longer sly
triumph In her eyes. She ate and
slept fairly well. and began. strangely
enough, to take an interest in the
apartment and in Judy's clothes.
The change in her came at a most
welcome time. Expenses, never very
low. were mounting with the months
Of the war, and even Dabs' small
earnings were missed. Judy found
herself faced with the necessity for
increasing her output Of toys unless
she wished Honey and herself to feel
the fangs Of poverty.
Her dreams of some time taking a
vacation from her toy making while
she learned to be real artist and
make figurineS was pushed aside
under the pinch Of necessity. Then,
too. she was attacked with the wage
earner's usual passion for a rainy
day" fund Suppose she should be Ill?
How would they live? What would
Honey do?
She began spending every day over
her toys from the time she got up in
the morning until the light died at
sunset. Streams Of grotesque little
animals flowed out from under her
busy fingers.
For Judy was unhappy Life was
not the shining. clean thing she had
believed 1t to be. 1t was not a fairy
tale where the fairy prince always
married the poor little girl and they
lived happily ever after. Life was a
thing of compromise. Of necessary de-
ceits, Of kind cruelties and cruel kind
nesses. And fairy princes died just
like other mortals. And poor little
girls made toys and fought away very
real wolves all by themselves.
AT first the pain of Jack Darien'sa
death had been unbearable. But
klnQIy Time WAS tIldL d III
tie now. Her dream of romance was
beginning to have the lovely sadness
Of Autumn leaves and Autumn hills.
And her thoughts dwelt much on the
two boys whose death had made such
a change in her existence. Gay, laugh
ing Tommy. How was it possible to
think of him as dead?
Had he carried away with him the
memory Of the smoky blue and tar
nished silver Of the Washington he
had loved? Had that beauty lifted
him to meet death beautifully?
One day. pushing back her toys,
she began a figurine. She began it in
humility. II will make Dabs as he
looked to me-" she thought, simply.
And that day she forgot luncheon,
forgot Honey, forgot time even and
looked up surprised at the gray twi-
light coming through the windows.
She locked the door upon her work
room that night as though something
precious rested there.
In the cold, hard light Of the next
morning she approached her creation
in fear and trembling. And then the
artist in her leaped, exultedi For it
was good! Here and there her crafts