The Coolidge examiner., 1932-04-08


He was waiting for her in the sta
tion. He blinked at her as she came
up to him. Until she got quite near.
he said, he hadn't realized who she
was. That was the polo coat, of
course, and the chrysanthemums,
which some of the girls at school
who'd remembered her birthday, had
| given her.
Wen take a taxi over to the
| theater," he remarked. "This is 60
ing to be a real party. It's a long
time since I've taken a pretty girl to
a show"
Edith had been to the theater nu-
merOus times, but this was her first
experience of being a pretty girl get
ting taken to a show, and she got a
real thrill out of it. For that proved
to be no mere idle compliment of
| dads. He didn't act parental at
| all. Along in the first act, as soon
as things began to get funny and
exciting, they found each others
hands and kept them clasped
through most Of the play for con-
venience in communicating their spe-
cial moments of enjoyment.
! OF course the curtain had to come
down at last. Dad helped her into
her polo coat and slipped his hand
through her arm as they walked
] up the aisle while the orchestra
played the people out, which some
how kept the spell alive a little
longer. But at last they were out
on the sidewalk, and it seemed that
/ the inevitable end had come.
\ faint, half-pleasurable melan-
choly invaded her spirit and cOlored
! her voice as she said, I'VE may as
well walk over to the station. We've
/ got lots of time for the five-eight-
Gen." Really, she wasn't limiting. y
cab had swooped down invitingly to
| the curb before them, and she had
felt her father, who still held
I her arm, hesitate. Otherwise she
wouldn't have said a word.
NO" he said with sudden resO-
luton, "well finish this thing off
! properly. Hop in" And then, amaz-
ingly, she heard him tell the chauf-
feur to drive, not to the North West
ern station. but to the street num-
| Der of their home in Lakeside.
;,,l~ hn oil In
the wonder of it, that this has been
just about the most perfect time I've
ever had!"
His only answer to that was to
find her hand and squeeze 1t.
They went back over the play once
more. 81 don't suppose" she admit
ter, that l. could have happened
really"
No" he assented, what a play
like that is trying TO do is to make
people forget for a while what can
really happen. We're all hungry,
you see, for adventure, for some
thing that's left out of our lives,
and that sort of play gives it to US.
It's like a dream, only better"
Are grown-up people like that,
too?" Shed almost said old instead
of grown-up, but sense, quite new
to her, that perhaps dad didn't think
of himself as old awoke in time to
make the substitution possible.
Il think they're more like that
than young people," he said reflec-
lively. You see, anything may hap
pen when you're young. Anyhow,
it's possible to believe that it will.
But when you're forty-six years old,
you know it won't. / know l will
never be rich nOr-cOnspicuously
successful any more than I'll find
bag of pearls or treasure box of
pieces-of-eight behind the wainscot-
ing in the library"
Il don't see," she argued, why
something wonderful couldn't hap
pen to you just as we'll as it can to
| anyone else"
Because, broadly speaking" he
told her, things don't-happen to
anybody. Life isn't like that really.
The next thing really grows out of
the one that's happening now, so
! that a man like me, who's lived two
thirds of his life, can tell pretty we'll
what the last third of it is going to
be. Even if he's wrecked by some
| fault or some disastrous mistake,
you'd be able to see, l suppose, if
you looked back. that it was the
sort of mistake that he would make
when he got the chance"
They didn't talk such a lot during
! the rest of the ride, but there was
nothing uneasy about the silences.
They were awfully close somehow.
When the taxi pulled up before their
house, the girl on an impulse,
slipped her arm around her fathers
neck and kissed him.
Thanks, dad" she said. I've had
a most wonderful time"
CHAPTER III