The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1936-05-14
No More Clocks
By MINNIE POWERS
G. Mcclure Newspaper Syndicate.
WNU Service.

That morning the alarm clock had
awakened her at six-thirty. With steel
cold fury she hated the clock. The day
would come when she would beat 1t to
pieces with the hammer. This was one
of the vague satanic ideas that
swarmed in the WORKOUT woman's SUBJ
conscious mind.
Some time later, her own toast, cOf-
fee and egg (gone stale) had been
consumed perfunctorily, without zest.
From time immemorial, 1t seemed, all
her lackluster meals had been eaten
alone off the kitchen table end. She
almost never got out Long since had
friends and neighbors ceased coming
There was Shorty, but he always ate
at home.
More automaton than human being,
the burnt-out Martha waited on her
mother that morning as usual, toting
hot water, soap and towels from the
bathroom. Each morning the, invalid,
wrinkled, fishy dead weight between
| the sheets, had to be bathed and
rubbed completely.
When 1t came to her own bed /. /. /.
All! that was something different. The
sheets and blankets Martha smoothed
with strokes that were caresses. Pat
| ted the pillows as she would pat the
cheeks of a beloved. Her bed! The
very compendium of hearts desire.
How many more dreary, distasteful
years, she asked herself wistfully that
morning, before she could surrender
utterly to the seduction of her luxuri-
Gus, lavender-scented bed? Now it was
noon. Her mother must be read to ev-
cry day. The poor SOUL
Clump, clump, clump went the leaden
feet to the last step. Reaching the
door, Martha went into the sick room
and was about. to place the tray on the
bedside stand as usual when her glance
rested an instant on the white face.
Martha emitted a husky scream. Her
hands let the heavy tray slip and crash
to the floor. Her mother was dead.
Sounds of scream and crash occa-
stoned, in the room below. the hur-
ried clatter of feet to the foot Of the
stairs. 1t was Shorty, the kid next
door, who tended the Fleming furnace,
shoveled the snow and ran Martha's
errandS.
Up the staircase he called with a
show of friendly concern: "Wha-sa
matter? Need any help?"
For a brief space there was no an
Ewer, then Martha's fiat voice reached
the boys ears: Come up here, will
you?"
Shorty leaped the stairs three at a
time and presently stood beside gray
Martha Fleming. Pointing to the bed
with a claw-like finger, the woman
said: "Look, she's deadr'
Gingerly, Shorty essayed step for
ward and peered down at the CLASSY
eyes. "Holy smokes! So she is. But
look!" Reaching down he loosened a
paper from the rigid fingers of the
dead woman. A dull pencil stub lay on
the white counterpart.
Together they opened and read the
letter. Martha's stiff lips haltingly
framed the words:
'Dear Martha:
I feel my end is near. You have
been a faithful daughter and nurse.
Before your pa died, he and sealed
up some of his savings in a box In
the dining room. Take the pick axe
and dig open the second panel from
the right on the east wall. Take the
money now and make something Of
your life. :"
The scrawl ended there. Martha and
the boy stared at each other. Holy
cowp' calculated Shorty. Martha
swayed but did not faint. She found
her footing and her voice. Her wits
obeyed her. "See here, Shorty" she
said In low tone, promise me you
won't mention this note to a soul
Come to me the day after the funeral
and help me, with the pick, I mean,
and the-the box, will you? I'll make
1t worth your while"
''Wfll I? Oh boy, win L? And I'll
take care of everything now, Martha.
The undertaken, neighbors, preacher
you know-everything."
1t was the day after the funeral.
A sickly 25-watt ceiling bulb afforded
the only light in the room, for the
drawn shades excluded daylight.
Shorty welded the axe. Martha
stood by in decent black, nervously
twisting her shiny hands. Her breath
was fiuttery and she kept glancing
about with apprehension.
Lighting a match now and then, the
pecking went on. Little by little the
cement fell away. A match fiared. The
boy thrust it through the wall and
stared.
There she is I" Way In he reached,
hefted the box, found he could not lift
1t out with one hand, so impatiently
resumed his work. AT length it was
possible to thrust in both arms.
Martha fetched a pencil and pad.
"Count it" she commanded.
When the gold was stacked In piles,
the boy grinned, consulted his pen
ciled figures. We'll. Martha, it accounts
to nine thousand dollars. Gee! Waa'cha
goin' to do with 1t? Travel?"
Martha's countenance wore a queer
beatific expression and her faded eyes
were gazing far beyond Shorty. "Me?"
she said In a hushed tone. almost rev.
erent. "Oh, shall have me house
keeper-nurse and take to my eYn bed
st last. Maybe for good. And
there won't be any alarm CLOCK. :.
/ smashed it this morning.