Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1929-11-07

were stories of stars, ana rs iSciia Iea0
the stories she thought what q grand
life the stars led. but IT never even Oc-
Cured to her to have any ueiInte am
billions. She wasn't even enVlOuS.
These things were too lar away. she
was the wife of Harry brocKer OF
Shaeffer addition, onV
The Romillers went away for q va
cation and she missed them, was glad
when they were back again, though
she wondered just a little why Harry
liked to go over there SO much.
Then she found out 1t was the
long-nosed neighbor who told her,
Later. she forgot the name OF the
woman. but she always remembered
her face. a sort of witch'S face with
teeth and eyes that cleaned.
You better watch your husband and
Miz Romiller." she advised. H and
she was over to Plum CITY on Satur-
day. Some folks l know seen en-"
Rella told Harry and Harry laughed,
Harry laughed things oil easily.
IF you are going to believe an old
gossip like that you'll have a lot to
do" he told her. First thing you
know, I won't be able to call my soul
nv own. That dirty old gossip! OF
course I like Margie Romiller-but !
don't come to you with stories about
you and Fred, do I? Yet the other
night it seemed to me his arm was
around you all evening
His arm was at the back Of the
sofa" said Rella, pleased because Harry
was jealous. II your husband is Jeal-
Gus it means he loves you, doesn't 1t?
There were other signs, later, that
Rella couldn't ignore. though she tried
~dreadfully hard to be "a good sport
"Of course Harry loves me-" she told
herself. I'm lust imagining things. If
l get suspicious I'll spoil everything. -
She tried not to get suspicious. She
wanted to feel that everything was all
right. These pleasant things, this little
cottage. the quiet Auburn street. Surely
they we're real, just as Harry's loyalty
to her must be real, too. She tried all
of the futile things she had read about
to get her husband interested" She
dressed up for him, tried to make him
jealous, Surely, in the end, everything
would be all right.
Then, one evening, there was some
thing she couldn't close her eyes to
She had come downstairs quietly anC
gone into the living room, hadn't
turned on the lights. She thought
Harry had gone over to Romillers. AND
Margie and Harry were on the front
porch, talking. And she heard. You
can't ignore things you hear yourself
Why-Harry, her boy-Harry and Mar
gle were in love!
The next day she went next door
told the woman with the long nose heI
troubles. After all, that woman already
knew how things were, had limited q
dozen times. Now she was more than
consoling.
II told you it had been going on a
long while" she said. Everybody
knows it but you. I'd put a stop to
it, you bet. if it was my husband"
I'll tell you something else" the
woman volunteered. They write love
letters. I heard them talk. They're
pasted in some sort Of an advertising
book. I guess you know the book they
mean"
Rella went home and got the book
down off the shelf. Why not? Harry
had been suspicious enough of her, had
once read a letter an old friend had
written to her, had teased her about it
until tears came to her eyes.
The woman was wrong! There were
10 letters in the book! She looked at
the pages, those advertisements Of
shoes Harry had taken so much pride
in. Then, just as she was going to
put the book back on the shelf it
opened almost by itself to the last
page. Curious, that last page. 1t
seemed sort of stuck together-the
pages and the cover. She went into
the kitchen and got a knife.
The letters we're there! Things were
far worse than she had expected. Ten
der love letters. Harry had never writ
ten her love letters. They had never
been separated-she never knew that
he could write them. Why, they want
ed to get married and she-she and
Fred-stood in the way. Margie Romil-
Ter with a nose a little too big and
eyes and a mouth always wet and sulky
looking. Why, Margie and Harry had
been seeing each other for months, had
been writing letters whenever there
was the least excuse for writing.
The thing that came over Rella was
rage, but 1t was more than rage, a
combination of pride and hate and rage
and love, all in one. All the time that
ming little things for Harry-making
0SoSl SOOhlCO w LII UllC COOklt
jar-he and Margie-
Had they made fun of her, she Won
dered. Had they laughed behind her
back when they kissed? She hadn't
known what was going on! Hadn't
known anything, at all! She put the
letters back, pasted the pages together.
put the book on the shelf again.
She couldn't stay here, now. That
was certain. She didn't know what to
do. What could she do? She was
twenty-five. And she had been mar
ried four years-and Harry, whom she
loved, loved another woman
She mopped at her eyes until they
were red. Then she packed her suit
case, the little new suitcase she had
bought last summer for an outing,
Why, it had been an outing with the
Romillers in the Romillers' Garland
Margie and Harry had been together in
the back seat most of the time. Had
they held hands? Had they kissed?
Had they laughed about her? She re-
membered, now, a hundred little things
She crammed her clothes into the
bag. She looked over the little house
What could she take with her? There
were SO few things she owned. A pic
ture Of her mother taken when she was
a young girl. What curly bangs they
wore in those days! She started takine
some little things Harry had given hel
for ChristmaS-a chain, a funny little
pin. She put these back in her drawer
Margie could have them. She didnr
want ANYTHING at all. She was oIaf