Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-10-13
I'D One Of the O. Henry Memorial Stories


out loud Isaiah Brewster, who in the name
of the Great Republic stood up on his feet and
told the port-bashaw of the Emperor of Siam
to go to Jerichol Andy Brewster, who with
his own hands put half his crew in irons at
the height of the Seventy-one Typhoon! The
two of them now, praying nothing but the
sound of Molly's dance-shoes the floor be-
yond the WALL the comfort of Molly's
doomsday youthfulness under the roof with
them!
Prayers aren't half-ton trucks though for
beggars to ride.
Isaiah is up now sitting as bolt and gray as
Andy.
Another mosquito? No Hardly louder than
a mosquito, to be sure, and oddly like the
insects silky whine-that whine of springs and
beams and gaskets all in one, mile away.
IT'S hint"
"'Tis! 'Tis!"
"Hes to the marsh now-or-or no"
"N-n-no-no- Isaiah!"
You mean it don't sound like twas OH"
'Tain't on. 'Taint on any road know Of,
Isaiah That's clear to the northrd some
where's. Sounds to me"
Sounds to me like it was all adrift some
where's UP Borneo Plain
Thud! The shadow of the phantom of a
shot That's gone So is the whine like the
whir Of night-hawk planning back into the
night again.
Isaiah" says Andy, you. lay down and go
to sleep. This is foolishness"
Five minutes, up they knife again.
step. clandestine sole on the porch
sneaking tread.
Andy wouldn't speak for million dollars;
neither would Isaiah
''MolyI" they call in the same breath
No answer. Only the scratch of a match,
out the kitchen way.
Molly Brewster!"
The match goes out. More footballs. Odd
footballs. Odd chills
Who? What?
Thoro O uiiu IF he
In the blinds. In the wrath of light Andy
lifts on an elbow and studies supine Isaiah
The youngster lies with his head cracked back,
as though by blow, his mouth open, the
shape of black egg and his whisker thrust
straight up In the air. He's not dead though;
he's asleep.
Andy lies back and summons all his resolu-
ton. Resolutely he emissions sheep, just such
sheep as Dave Burch used to run Borneo
Plain, matted gray-brown bodies and slender
legs swapping under them Over the stone
wall they go. One sheep over two sheep over;
four-or was it ive?-hve-six sheep
WHEN he awakens it is with gulp and a
kick
Who's that? BY the bed there, towering in
the new gray?
It's Isaiah. It's the youngster, getting his
pants on.
II can't stand it." says Isaiah, his teeth
aclatter.
What is it now?"
Il don't know. My godfrey, if I knowed, l.
there! Hark to thatl"
That trompin' like?"
"Trompin' yes Trompin' skitterin' shutter
in all about, whisperin', too, and groanin into
the bargain. There, now! Will y hark?"
In the wood house. Or more like Molly's
room. Mebby it's Molly
Il want to know"
"Or cats"
Andy fumbles his pale legs out of the quilt
and into his trousers. They go in stocking feet,
carrying their boots. In the kitchen Andy
pauses
I'm look in her room, anyway on the
chance"
Holding his breath. he edges open Mollys
door. His head disappears 1t reappears, the
cheeks collapsing with relief
by glory, she be- here all this time, to bed.
asleep. Us fools!"
Side by side. holding the door open, they
gaze into the chamber, cave-lit with the seepage
of dawn perfumed with violet water, tar soap,
carnation powder, hber-silk stockings, and all
the faint mingled emanations from frocks and
interchangeable rectangular gray whiteness of
the bed-the dark spot of head averted on
the pillow.
Don't wake 'er"
mo; easy's the word; take care"
The old foolsI
"Molly!" breathes Andy, just once. Just to
try.
The head on the pillow fops over The
heads in the door thrust out
Black eyes study them from the pillow hyp-
Noticed.
Jimmy the Creek
If he is hypnotized, what are they?
1t was in this room, in this bed, that Molly
White Brewster died, on Cleveland's election
day. 1t was through that window her soul