The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1936-09-17
DRAGONS DRIVE YOU
BY EDWIN BALMER
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him, which Agnes had given on the
previous day, had been printed fully
not only in Fridays late editions, but
was prominent in the morning papers.
'You got complete coverage. dar-
ling" Bee assured Agnes. Bee was the
only one able to assume any levity
over 1t. "Not only in the news but
in the chatty little social columns.
Some one has commented that If there
is an absolute zero In ways to an
nounce broken engagement, possibly
you hit on it."
At Albany next morning, Agnes
read, at last, that the jury late in the
evening had acquitted Myrtle Lorrie
on the fourth ballot.
They sailed-Agnes and her mother
Beatrice Gleneith and Rogna, their
maid-on Wednesday, Bob and several
friends seeing them off. The three days
in New York with her husband had
proved even more difficult for Tricie
than she had anticipated. They stayed
at the same hotel, of course; they pre-
served, outwardly, all appearances.
Tricie mentioned "Cash" but once;
and then not even by the name of
"Cash." Tricie asked-and TITS was
not until Tuesday: Bob. is she In
town."
NO" Bob told his wife. "Not since
before you came" For he had sent
her away on Saturday.
Cash had not wanted to go without
him; but he had told her she must.
No; he wouldn't like it, he assured
her; but they both must do it. Thus
he would keep his conscience clear;
such temporary abstinence was enough
for virtue in these days.
Prosperity, power, and impurities!
They strutted on the ship, with their
wives or the women whom they pre-
ferred to their wives-these men OF
America new to the millions which
they believed and they boosted they
had made"
There was no escape, on the ship,
from those people; and none, that
summer, in Paris: for Americans, as
never before, possessed the city.
Beatrice Gleneith had never intend
ed to linger in Paris. She fled to a
little quiet village of the Hautes Pyre-
nees; and she and Agnes settled, at
last, in a tiny inn a few kilometers
from the border of Spain, where no
man was in the least like BOb-and
the noon sunlight shone sharp and
warm, but always there was breeze
down from Maladetta or the snowy
submits of Mt. Perdu.
There, week after week, mother and
daughter waited.
Waited for what?
For human nature to change? For
years to reroll themselves? For the
world to fit its ways again, as once
happily it had, to the complete full
fillment of an individuals decent de-
sires?
Tricie did not deal with such mat
tiers through her mind; her emotions
always controlled her. She wanted
what she had had-her husbands de-
sire and devotion, which she had done
nothing to lose.
If she had "done" anything which
deservedly would have alienated him,
she might have seen the justice" of
what had occurred; but she had not.
Day and night, Tricie relived her
married life in review.
A letter arrived, once a week regu-
larly, from the husband; and always,
on the day one came, Tricie answered
it.
Bee wrote her mother and her sister
once week, but alternately; and she
always assumed that they shared her
letters, as indeed they did.
She had moved her household to
Mackinac Island for July and August,
Davis had been with her most of July,
but in August he came up only for
week-ends. Jeb had appeared several
times in his big boat, and always had
stopped. She-and Davis-had gone up
with Jeb, and several more people,
into Superior for a week.
Agnes lowered the letter and lay
back in her gayly painted chair gaz-
ing toward Maladetta but regarding,
really, her own life on the Illinois
shore four thousand miles away.
Plainly she saw herself and them
all in perspective; her home and the
city below it, and the long level sweep
of the lake.
Back and forth upon it, Jeb jour-
neyed in his splendid luxurious ship,
picking up people, dining them, win
ming them, setting them at little tables
for bridge or to dancing on the deck
while the ship sailed; when 1t stopped.
swimming and diving. Jeb paying for
it all, never tired of it until he re-
turned to Chicago to make more
money, and more and more.
She might be with him; but she had
no wish to be.
Here was no one, but her mother,
whom she well knew. Here were hours
with the sun, and the wind from the
mountain passes; with the tinkle OF
bells of cattle on the hillsides; the
herder's whistle, and sometimes his
song. But Agnes did not dream
of jobs big new boat.
ITO BE CONTINUED