The Washington times., 1938-04-13


she was bored with the countr
knew the true reason.
She was coming back to New
York because of that glimpse yes
terday of the man who looked
like Rusty Carson. 1t was only {
glimpse. She had been in the car
coming out of Trenton, and the
man walking. The tan overcoa
with upturned collar, the arrogant
tilt of the head; the long strides
were all like Rusty. She hac
called his name so sharply thai
the chauffeur glanced back al
her.
She had strained for a sight Of
the mans face, but he turned q
corner and was lost, as the cal
rolled on. She had settled back
knowing that it could not be
Rusty. Absurd to imagine so. He
boosted of never leaving Manhat
tan. He was in the grubby flat
that he shared with Jim Pliny, de
veloping photographs that were
beautiful, but never sold. He was
miles away.
COULDN'T FORGET
But he was present and vital
in Karen's heart, though she had
spent a year pretending that she
had forgotten him. His red head
nodded to her from the limousine
window. His crooked grin, like
that of the Cheshire cat, Knocked
her from the trees along the drive
Oh, Rusty, why couldn't you
have been dependable and sensi-
BILE, instead of bent on a hopeless
struggle to be half-baked artist?
Why didn't you appreciate my
common sense, when I decided to
get myself a respectable job. be-
cause I was a flop as a writer?
Why didn't you beg me to stay
and starve with you? I might
have been idiot enough to do it.
But Rusty had only laughed.
You're a sensible Dutch girl,
Karen Van Nord," he had said.
"You were never meant to breathe
the murky, uncertain air of art." "
He hadn't even asked where her
Job was. He hadn't cared enough
to want to see her again or to
write to her., He was striding on
through life, regardless of her,
just as his double had done in
Trenton.
Karen went into the big house
carrying the parcels which Mrs.
Osmond had sent her to purchase.
She had never regretted coming to
work as social secretary here. The
estate was beautiful: her room a
miracle Of light and space after
the cramped room on Fourth
Street. She loved the garden and
the trees and the faraway gray of
the sea.
The Osmonds were old and
lonely and treated Karen more as
a daughter than an employee.
When she asked for day off to
60 to the city, Mrs. Osmond said:
"Of course, dear"
BACK FOR A VISIT
She would drop in casually at
Rusty'S, and say, laughing: Here's
the little Dutch hick back for a
visit"
Fifteen minutes by subway later,
she stared at the space where
Rusty's and Pliny's names had
once been printed over a bell. The
space was empty. She had an odd,
sinking feeling. They had moved,
of course. People move in New
York almost every year.
She went on aimlessly, along
Twelfth Street. Then she thought
of Betty and Cal, and walked up
five flights to their apartment,
where the river view would be good
if it weren't for the warehouse op-
posite. They welcomed her with
gay effusion, though they con-
fessed that they were having one
of their "bad times" Calls last
novelette, had been turned down.
She sat on the rickety couch
ana LnOugnC or Cne many ClmeS
that Rusty and Betty and Cal and
herself had drunk sweet, cheap
sherry, and talked the night away,
about art life and love and world
conomics-never their own.
She said trying to seem care
less: Whats happened to the old
croWd?"
"AND RUSTY?"
They told her about Jake who
had gone to Hollywood at a fabu.
lous salary: about Milly who was
married and living in White
Plains. She asked:
"And Pliny?"
They exchanged glances. Some
thing was wrong about Pliny, and
they didn't like to say so. Karen
didn't care about him anyway. He
was just good-natured newspaper
man who drank too much, impor
NJ nm