The Coolidge examiner., 1937-11-11

worth millions.
Greg said it softly over to himself
when he was out on the desert
alone:
Pm clearing outl I'm going back
East. I'm going home wealthy, just
as / said / would"
But it won't be homei" he add
ed. mot with mother gonei There'll
be nobody there I care about. No
body left! Not even little Alice
Blairi"
He had never expected this thing.
The utmost he had hoped for when
he first came out to these wiids had
been the right to do as he pleased,
to hide his stricken young life after
the death of his mother, to hide
away from people who thought they
were elected to manage him, and
earn a meager living through hard
daily toll.
Then suddenly in a night he was
rich! He was going backI Back to
the place where they wouldn't lend
him $50 to start a newsstand down
near the station. Back where they
wanted him to be bound out to learn
tradel
Inc moon was shining when he
reached his shack He could see its
silver light on the opposite hillside.
His eye fingered on the wide ex-
panse of sky, the purple mountains.
the dark plumy woods, the river
winding like a silver thread in the
valley. Would he some day be home
sick for all this quietness as he had
longed for his home when he came
out here?
1t was little past noon the next
day when he finished packing and
cleaning, for he took certain pride
in leaving everything immaculate.
On the saddle were fastened two
bundles, one sewed into an old piece
Of burlap bag, to be forwarded to
him in his home town, the other,
crudely wrapped in newspaper, con-
tanning a few necessities that he
was taking with him.
When he reached the settlement
town and left the bony old horse
with his new owner he found an un-
easy regret in his heart at parting
from him, and when he bought his
ticket he stuffed it into his pocket
with a strange distaste.
An unanticipated shyness came
upon him as the train drew in.
He gravely stepped forward,
swung himself aboard the lowest
step, his newspaper bundle under
MS arm, and quite casually rode out
IF town into the great world.
A few days later Gregory Sterling
stood at the front window of the
luxurious room that had been as
signed him in the great new apart
ment hotel in his home town, look
ing out at the street that had been
a meadow when he went away.
He had chosen the Whittau house
from the list the taxicab driver had
suggested because it seemed to be
located out on the edge of town,
and his soul was weary for the qui-
etness and peace of his wilderness
lodge. He had spent several days
in Chicago shopping, having ac-
quired what seemed to him ridicu-
lously large supply of clothing and
several quite correct pieces of bag
gage. Porters and hotel clerks no
longer looked at him askance. He
was as well turned out as any mod
ern young man could be.
The street was wide, and the little
park ran down the center, making a
boulevard of it. Traffic was whirl-
ing on either side, but the little park
in the middle made a haven, a
wide nice pleasant place to rest be-
tween the crossing. There were
paths of cement wandering across
the park, curving this way and that
among the trees, and there were
flower beds with late fall flowers in
blossom.
A girl was sitting on a bench
under a tree, droopingly, as if she
were tired and discouraged 1t was
good to have a bit of green in the
midst of the whirl, a quiet place
where the traffic could not come,
for tired people to rest in. But
better still if the meadow were there
the way it used to be-
Then suddenly as he gazed the
girl slumped in a little crumpled
heap and slid off the bench, as if
she no longer had the power to help
herself.
Greg sprang toward his door and
started down the stairs, thankful
hat he was only three stories up,
forgetting that an elevator could
ravel faster than his feet.
The doorman was startled as