Evening star., 1935-08-10
CHAPTER VII.

shall at the Office. When ne
heard her voice on the wire he
Il promptly hung up. Betsy laun-
dered some of her undertakings pressed
them while they were still damp
and caught up the torn seams and
straps. Then she called Marshall
again. He cut her off, gruff1y, with.
please don't call me again, Betsy.
Don't make a nuisance of yourself.
I've got to think this out, see?"
She didn't call him again after
that. She told herself, Hell forgive
me after he thinks about it! 1t does
q man good to believe he has some
competition"
Her mother left to go downtown
at 10 o'clock and her father went
out to look for work, as he always
did each day, so Betsy did the house
cleaning.
But. no matter how hard she
worked, she was conscious OF a dull
ache around her heart. Suppose Mar
shall didn't forgive her? Suppose ne
made a very big and hideous thing
out Of her kissing John Storm? on,
he wouldn't do that! He couldn't!
And vet, hadn't she made big and
hideous thing out of his attention to
Libby? Hadn't she taken few harm
less things and twisted them into hor-
rible meanings?
At last she went wearily to Johns
room. She stood there for a long
while looking around before she start
ed to clean.
A photograph of a stern, gray
haired man who was probably the
father with whom he had climbed
the Tyrols last Summer, was on his
desk; and on his dresser, not -ramed'
but lying face upward, was the pic
ture of a girl. One of those misty,
dim-lit photographs that disguise the
soul and cost like the very dickens.
A blond, beautiful girl she was. Her
eyes were heavily shaded by long,
curling lashes and her mouth was
small and sculptured. Scrawled across
the bottom of the folder was: To
my darling, John. From Angelica,
Christmas"
So last Christmas John Storm had
been Angelica Somebody Others
darling! Betsy wondered if he were
still Angelica's darling, and suddenly
she didn't like the blond, beautiful
picture. 1t was silly to feel that
way about an inanimate object. of
course. John didn't mean anything
to her But the girl in the picture
looked cold and hard and, yes, cruel
oil 4La
to disguise her soul.
Betsy turned the photograph face
downward and said: Down with
you, my good woman! You're not
good enough for him! I've hunch
that you'd make him miserable, An
gelica whoever-you-are!"
Then she started to clean the room.
The telephone shrilled through the
stiffness of the small house and Betsy
flew into the hall, saying, Il call
that mental telepathy or something!"
But it wasn't Marshall. 1t was
Jennie Travers. Jennie wanted 20
know how Betsy was and if she had
completely recovered from her faint
ing spell. Betsy said: Its sweet
of you to call, Jennie. I'll manage
to live, I guess!" And Jennie said:
Libby tells me that you're going to
make your debut with her this Win
ter. That's great! I'm making mine
right after New Year. I'm asking
you right now, my little sister debbie,
to assist me that day. OF course,
I realize no one will look at me with
you passing cookies, but Ill have to
bear up under It'll" Then she asked
if John was there, and when Betsy
told her that he had gone to school
Jennie said: "Tell him that Angelica
Dodd blew in town from Europe and
is spending the week with me! Which
means she probably won't leave until
blast her out with INIT"
After few minutes more of non
sense Jennie said: Don't do any,
thing you can't do on q bicycle,
Betsy, and-Ill be seein' you'll" and
Betsy hung up and scribbled the note
for John and left it on the hall table.
Then she went to her room.
She locked the door carefully and
took the pads of paper, the pencils
and erasers from the bottom drawer
of her bureau. If Terry or mother
ever caught her at this she'd never
be able to live it down. Terry would
say: so you're going to be an au-
thoress, are you?" and his voice would
sound as if he had hit upon the
most Supremely funny thing N the
world. Mother would say: what
ever makes you think you can write,
dear? No one in our family ever
had a writing turn. You'd better
spend your time taking shorthand
at one of the business schools, so
you can get, exchanged from typist
to stenographer in the Government. "
But father knew about her ambition
and father had said: "Stick to it,
Betsy. If you think you can write
you can!"
And so, more than a year and a
half ago, she had started on he.
book. She had written patiently,
tediously, 80 whole chapters; had
cried over them because she had
expressed herself so clunlsily, so
poorly. She had torn them up, had
rewritten them twice and had almost
convinced herself that she couldn't
create anything that would be worth
q plugged dime to publisher. Yet,
In the end, she had kept at it.
Now she had 40 chapters that she
really liked. Two or three more and
the novel would be finished. It was
q beautiful story. 1t never left her.
Sometimes when she was dancing
with Marshall she'd say to herself:
"I'n make my hero's voice like his"
or II wish I could get on paper that
look that comes into Marshalls eyes
when he's angry. It's fiery and pas
sionate, and yet, at the same time,
its gentle. AS If he had two natures,
one battling against the other-one
good, one bad"
Today, as she wrote, curled up on
the bed like a fluffy kitten, she found
herself describing John Storms mouth.