The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1938-04-29
SHINY If PALACE
BY EdilaE1lAls|Z1il11AY &RIIAIlAY1AiS
Y RyIAI ENTER
ARM ENTER SIlS9 - q nv 81

flushing: II sayl II think that's
ripping of you, Mrs. Masonl"
So in the chill, gray dawn, Nora,
lifting heavy eyelids, beheld that
woman in the doorway. Her mouth
was rouged into a cupid's bow; her
hair hung in untidy wisps about her
face; and, even in that surprising
moment Nora saw, embedded in
the flesh of one pudgy finger, dia-
mond that would have supported
Don's small family for a year or
more.
"You been up all night?" was
her only greeting. II saw your
light burnin' at two o'clock. Say,
lady, you amt built for job like
this; and there amt a thing you
could tell me about typhoid. near
died of it myself, and I've nursed
three cases. I'll look after your
mar now while you get a rest. May
be if you lay down side o. that kid
he'll quit his yellin'. You 60 lay
down.
Without one protest Nora dropped
like a log beside the baby. They
slept for hours. 1t was long past
noon when she awoke. The woman
had vanished, and sitting beside
Don's bed was the young English
boy. He said, as if it were the most
natural thing on earth to have found
such a woman guarding the sick
man:
"She said to tell you that Mr..
Mason had "a nap; and she'll be
back at midnight to spell you for a
while. The kiddie woke up once
and she gave him some boiled milk.
The doctors been, and thinks your
husband has turned the corner"
Nora felt sure during the next
few days, that the worst was over;
but before her husband was on his
feet again, the baby sickened as his
father had. Don, gaunt, hollow
eyed skeleton Git frightened Nora
just to look at hirn), rose from his
bed to help her with the nursing.
In those black days, watching their
little son waste to a shadow, fight
ing together for his very life, moth
ing else mattered, not even an
irate cable from the London editor
demanding copy long overdue.
1t was on a day when things had
been very bad indeed, that the
young Englishnan came in bearing
letter addressed to Leonora in the
familiar writing of Constance Ven
able. After long, fretful hours the
baby was asleep, and Don said soft
ly: "Read it aloud, dear. Perhaps
it will cheer us up a little.''
Nora opened the letter, glanced
down the page slowly, and then
said: Lets wait, Dom" Her voice
sounded, he noticed, very strange.
And she was breathing hard.
whats happened?" he ques-
toned, and would have grasped the
missive had she not held it back.
"It-it's Ven, darling" she told
him, her voice trembling now.
"Ven?"
"Gone, Don. Drowned on their
own beach off the island-a cramp
probably. He-he was all alone"
She arose then, to put her arms
about him. During those months
at Capri Don's friendship for Carl
Venable had grown into something
very close. For long time, it seemed
to Nora, Don sat there, his face
pressed into her shoulder. Then he
said harshly: "Read the letter,
Nora. 1t can't be any worse than
this"
They read it with tears; yet both
felt better after the reading. It
was long letter, and toward the
end Constance had written: "Try
not to grieve too much. for that
would grieve Carl, wouldn't it? He
was the happiest human being
have ever known. After all, it's a
wonderful thing to 60 out on the
crest of life, leaving only ones fin
est work as a memorial. He had
dreaded the time when bis hand
might falter-when that sure, clean
stroke Of the brush which marks
his paintings, would become un-