Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-06-07
8 O'Clock in the Morning.

~ than on a night when a blizzard
is roaring up Michigan avenue.
When one hand is trying TO keep the
heavy coat down over ones knees and
the other is holding on firmly to one S
hat. But tears. like time. seem to
wait for no man. And the harder
Jane cried the more she wanted to
blow her nose.
Not another soul was abroad at this
klate hour. AS she struggled north
over the link bridge the desolation Of
the snow-chilled atmosphere added TO
the miserable thoughts already in her
mind.
Jane Harling was crying because
she hated the notified paper in her
hall bedroom. Horrible, dingy, I'M
meaning paper that looked sourly at
you when you tried to get inspira-
ton. There was also matter of a
new hat (never mind the BLIZZARD. the
stores were showing Spring bonnets).
And, worse still Jane Harling had
acted very foolishly that night for n
girl with but SIS in the bank and
IoEly weeks rent paid ahead. She
had proudly flung her position in the
teeth of Sol Rudenberg. Now she
was no longer a writer even in the
most remote sense of the word. For
Jane had come to Chicago to be an
author, and when her money had
given out, had accepted the job of
demonstrating some ones fountain
pens in a drug store. She sat in
the window from II till 2 and to 8.
smiling at the curious sightseers and
tapping on the window with a pen
and then writing on a pad.
Lately she had not been smiling
very much. There was a reason; it
Was-but wait.
Sol Rudenberg. the proprietor of
fIn
no mincing terms.
Il engaged YOU because Of your
looks, miss, and if you're getting too
ritZy to give the glad eye so the. men
will come in | know plenty that will"
Il suppose YOU think" flashed back
the foolish girl, that ] enjoy sitting
up in that window writing the same
thing hour after hour and seeing all
those people who have nothing to do
but stare look me over from head to
foot. You may take your position, Mr..
Rudeneeberg, and get some one else
who doesn't mind Srinning invitations
at loafers.'
1t is quite evident that beside being
pretty, Jane was proud
From loafers come my loaf of
bread, miss retorted the furious Sol.
and when you haven't got no loaf
yet, maybe you'll think of the loaf
ers'
So Jane cried on Michigan avenue.
But after all, it was not all the
foregoing reasons which were caus-
ing those salty drops to bother James
nose. Indeed, no. There was the
rea son.
He was feet . of sunbrowned
manhood when Jane had seen him
six months ago in the mountains.
1t was not a snow blizzard that
James blue eyes looked on now. 1t
was the canon of the French Broad
River where it rose in Pisgah Forest
And Barry was holding her hand. He
had climbed little way down Dunn's
rock and picked her a rare fern.
And oh, my darling. my darling, the
next six months will fly, and l will
come to make you mine on st. VAL
entine's day"
No letter from him for a month.
No card or sweet wish. The days
come and go Jane left her hat to
the wind for a moment while she
CROPPED for a handkerchief. She need
ed it.
AS Jane cried she glanced back
every now and then to see if a bus
was coming. Till by and by she
found herself at her beloved house
A manufacturer of an Insulating
material had conceived the idea of
building a miniature Spanish-Hol
lywood mission home, furnishing the
tiny living room, bedroom and kitch-
en- with odd and quaint things that
made it a desirable, livable, coy, to-
be-copied retreat. Every day visitors
thronged the little house while sales
men explained all about the insulat-
ing material. But in truth it was the
paneled walls, the well chosen pic
lures, the valuable rugs and china
that drew their attention.
Jane know every nook and Granny
of the little house. She had planned
to take Barry over it when he came
on that precious mission, and they
were to have a home furnished just
like it.
At night hidden ref1ectors shone
now green, now red and now a daZ-
cling white on the succeed walls.
Jane paused by the little garden
in front. This was home to her.
She went round to the back and
looked through the glass part of the
kitchen door. Then for some un-
known reason she tried the knob of
the door.
1t turned almost Of its own accord
and the wind flung Jane inside.
The wind flung Jane into the
warmth and coZiness of the little
kitchen with its porcelain and nickel
shining palely green as the light from
outside drifted in.
There was the matter of that mot
tied paper in her hall bedroom.
Jane went into the bedroom. She
felt the silken coverlet on one of
the twin beds. lovingly. Her feet
were sopping wet. Jane took off her
hat. And then Jane took off her
coat. She was very, very tired. Jane
fell on the bed, and long before the
refiectors automatically shut them
selves off Jane was sound asleep.
What is it that brings us back out
Of the unconscious? Out of that state
of semi-death we call sleeping?
Jane sat u2 suddenly, every nerve
taut. She had heard a voice calling
her name. She had heard despair
ing voice call Jane Harling. three
times. She could have sworn it.
But there was silence in the little
house. A ray of moOnshine shone
frostily into the bedroom. The bliz-
Zard had ceased to blow.
Jane sat on the edge of the bed
listening. There had been an odd
note in that voice. An insistence
Il must have been dreaming"
thought the girl; Il was mad to come
here. Surprising I am caught. they'll
think / am burglar"
But it was not that that kept her
nerve-strung on the edge Of the bed
She felt that she was being required
TO do something.
Tell met she suddenly cried.
Tell me"
A clock somewhere struck 3.
Jane moved ON tiptoes into the
living room. Everything was dim
now. She sensed rather than saw "A
bulk in the corner where there had
once been a console table large,
round thing crowned the bulk.
It's a radio" brcathed the girl
1t surely was not Of her own Volt
ton that the girl switched on the
battery N0 C,reaa spa--Soyoo ono