Henderson daily dispatch. (Henderson, N.C.) 1914-1995, 1939-02-18

SHABBY AND commonplace as
it was the hotel room YVES almost
unbelievable luxury to Iona after
Mrs. Peterman's and the park
bench. Brushing her curling brown
hair before the dresser mirror, she
wondered what her father would
say if he could see her now, and
what he would think if ne knew she
had taken money from a strange
man. She would never tell him, She
decided
In her letters these last three
months she had never breathed q
word about being out Of work, CT
the sickening tramp, tramp of the
streets that had been grinding her
shoes to pieces and her soul to
shreds. She hadn't the heart to add
to his already too heavy burden.
Especially when it couldn't have
done the slightest good.
She had seen her father only
once since that black day six years
ago, when the gates of the gray
prison at the state capital had
closed on his bowed head. He had
permitted her only one visit.
II can't stand to have you see
me here" he had told her sadly,
and she would never forget the
sight of his white face shining
against the drab plainness of the
tiny prison sitting room, face al
ready touched, after only months
absence from her, with the slow
ness of expression she had learned
to associate with prison bars.
You're not to come again" he had
commanded her, in his quiet voice.
She had stared at him unbeliev-
ingly.
But, daddy" she had burst out.
1--WE got to come! Surely you can't
mean you don't want to see me?"
IT can't stand it, Iona, I tell
your The pain in his eyes had cut
her to the heart. you're too young
and too unspoiled to be coming to
this place. 1 want you to try and
forget me. And you must leave
Bridgewater, too. TIL never be sat-
isfed until I know you are away
from it all. want you to go to the
city. Start over where nobody
knows you and about-me. You're
young and strong and you'll find
work. And maybe there'll be a
young man some day soon, and he
mustn't connect you up with-all
this. Don't you see, Iona, girl?"
She had nodded, unable to speak.
In her heart she knew he was right.
She hadn't told him that, since the
trial that had put him in prison,
all Bridgewater had been watching
her, talking, whispering behind
their hands. She had never intend
ed to let him know that. But he
had guessed. Poor daddy!
After that visit to him, she had
sold the furniture in the old house
where she had lived ever since she
could remember. And with every
piece of it, there had seemed to go
something out of her heart.
When it had been reduced to a
few pitiful dollars, she had gone to
the city as her father had wanted
her to do. She remembered herself,
a raw, wistful little girl with brown
hair and sad blue eyes, walking
into the beehive of big city office
with the letter her fathers lawyer
had given her clutched in her hand.
That letter had secured her a
job. Work had been plentiful then.
And she was really a competent
stenographer. Daddy had seen to
that. He had been a teacher in the
business school back in Bridge
water, and he had just finished
testing her on her last lesson in
shorthand when-it happened!
Her hand relaxed on the hair
brush now, as she recalled the first
time she had taken dictation in the
Ardmore offices. Old Stephen Ard
more had read her letter of intro