Smyrna times., 1931-08-19
WEEKLY SOCIETY STORY FOR
EVENING ROUND THE LAMP.
READING TO WHILE AWAY
TIME AFTER DAYS CHORES
Zone Blessed Interlude," An In
teresting Short Story Written
by Leete Stone

teresting Short Story Written
by Leete Stone
THERE is a photograph en-
L largement, eight by ten inches.
of a rather ordinary snow scene
hanging prominently over the man
tel of the cozy fireplace in the
home of the Harmsworths. They
are very happy. They have been
manifests itself in the quiet, abid-
ing terms that rise from something
much deeper than the sparkle of
mere Sentimeatality.
But this photograph enlarge
ment! 1t tells the story of deep
affection, something none too COM
mon. The background is a sweep
of billowing snow, dotted by great,
graceful white birches and pines.
In the central foreground is an
enormous old barberry bush, tufted
with snow. and standing in the mid
die of a semi-circular driveway,
deeply tramped and shOveled out.
Most remarkable of all. however,
on the deep, smooth eXpanSe of
snow, lying presumably between the
front door of dwelling house and
this mammoth, snow-clad barberry,
there are little circles ScraWled in
ink on the print around a series of
tiny dots on the snow that, if not
explained. would remain a mystery
10 the casual eye. Studying them,
one realizes they are footprints i'll
the snow-hastily, joyous footsteps.
Why should this particular pic
ture be so dedicated with ugly ink?
And why should the young Harms
worth couple stand before it, with
the smOldering embers of a fire be-
low, SO very often: stand silently
with arms about each others
shoulders, and smile mysteriOusly
into each others eyes. Why?
Simply because it stands for
reconciliation. in capital letters
that picture. 1t typifies the depth
and forgiveness of a woman's love
and the fight that any decent man
makes to be at least a little worthy
of it.
1t happened like this: Marjorie
Gailson and Jerry Harmsworth
were true Greenwich Villagers
the type that works hard and has
little to do with the overdrinking
over-petting contingent. Jerry had
4 job as rewrite man on a Newark
paper; commuted every day on the
Hudson tubes, and almost every
night took Marjorie to dinner. and
sometimes to a little party among
friends of their set afterwards
Marjorie was stenographer, and
good one, in a publishing house.
Both workers; both decent people:
waiting until they could save
enough to marry and swing a little
hnme-hungalOw in the adjacent
suburbs of WeStchester or New Jer-
sey.
SO-the break came suddenly.
Trouble between them started
by both attending different par
ties one Saturday night. This was
nothing new. Often they had
done so before: Ann with some
other man; Jerry with another
girl.
Village gossip is as deadly as
that of any small hamlet. The
next day Jerry was told by boy
who had attended Mariorie's party
that she was petting all over the
place with an erstwhile beau. Some
people are made that way-trouble-
makers. Anyway. it started Jerry
off to a bad finish when he called
for Marjorie the next evening as
arranged by telephone.
They parted in the white heat of
anger which flared up suddenly
70 the accompaniment of bitter
words blown between them-anger
not famed so much from the orig
inal point of query as from the
deadly cumulative power of wrath
to pile accusation upon accusation
until mutual forgiveness fades be-
yOnd ordinary sight.
Marjorie told Jerry she never
wanted to see him again. Jerry
told Marjorie she was an idiot TO
think he would ever try.
Two days after this occurred,
Jerry's father, who was living out
the scant years of weIl-earned re-
tirement in a snOw-bound cottage
in the north of Maine. wired that
he was sick-that he needed his
son. Jerry went on the State of
Maine Express that night. Worn
and sore at heart after his quarrel
with Marjorie-wanting to phone
her and try to make amends-yet
he went without a word to her.
Then, to the tune of a bitter,
moaning wind one night a month
after his arrival in Maine, with
deep snow beating a faint wall on
the roof OF the northern cottage.
there came to him in his attic room
a soft cry from the driveway:
"Jerryl oh. Jerryl Jerry Harms
worth, is this where you live?"
Through the snow-bound win
dOws this cry of love drifted up to
him. Is it any wonder they en-
larged the photograph. taken next
day of the barberry bush where
she stood. and that they marked
mis- gallOping footsteps as he raced
out TO fold her in his arms? This