Henderson daily dispatch., 1939-07-21
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iNstA@ CENTRAL PRESS ASSOCIATION
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

were going to be friends, you
Know" Robert & kennedy's voice,
deep and haunting with its over
tones of something too strong for
music, yet richly melodic, spoke
again from the deep chair where
he sat, in the bay window of the
little southern hotel
Across the street, in the court
house, the clock chimed four. Sarah
Anne thought of another clock, one
in an old church tower this time,
and an hour it had struck in the
moonlight just before the dawn one
summers night. She and Bob had
discovered something important
that night. Discovered it, and de-
cided it was nothing, nothing.
One couldn't go back. The only
road went on.
She couldn't see him, except
when the lightning flashed. But she
knew he was near, for his voice
came and went. She would have
known anyway, for his presence
reached out and drew her closer.
But when she answered his ques-
ton she spoke lightly so he would
not know how fast her heart was
beating: do you recall the night
when you rescued the letters and
me?"
.I'd like to forget it." Five SIM
pie words. Yet the door that was
opening swung shut.
"Then why don't you?" Oh, 1t
was no effort now to be light. "One
should toss useless memories into
a mental waste paper basket and
empty the basket every night be-
fore bedtime"
"Why don't you like me?" he
persisted stubbornly.
Because all the debutantes do,
and I never agree with the glamor
girls! No, really, think you're
nice. ever so nice. But it's late-2nd
I must go"
She stood up. Something which
might have righted her world had
back-fred, and she was more con-
fused than she had been.
He did not detain her. He stood,
too, and held out strong, Drowned
hand. =
Good night, Sarah Anne. If 1
never seen you again, I'll remem-
Der your white face and your tou-
sled hair and your pink dress in the
window of an old hotel on a stormy
autumn night. I'll remember
them always"
Then he let her go, and she went
to bed, but it was light in the
streets before she slept. At noon
she arose, bathed and dressed and
went into a sodden, dreary dining
room where the small candle on her
table made the only oasis of COM
fort. IL
Rains are worse in the middle
west and near the Ohio," the
waitress said. "Tiresome, isn't it ?"
Coffee, iced orange juice, but
tered toast and jam, and crisp ba-
con came and went away almost
untouched. This afternoon, tonight,
all day tomorrow, most of Monday,
she must be alone here. Alone! The
word became terrifying. All Of her
life she had had her family, her
friends, her church, and this last
year her school. She had had more
than that. She had cherished the
memory of Jack who would be back
some day, somehow.
She did not mind the loss Of
Jack. She did not want him. But
his going had destroyed a hope,
and nothing had taken it's place.
No, that was not true. Bob had
taught her that Jack had been a
girlish hero, symbolic OF her
dreams, never coinciding with any
definite pattern. He had measured
up to the requirements she set, and
then he had told her she wasn't
worthy.
And sne hated him! Bitterly,
cruelty, terribly. She hated him,
and she loved him!
She would go home for day.
She would hear the church clock
strike and sleep in her own bed
under the caves. She would put on
new girdle of strength and faith
for the next week and the next.
Yes, that's what she would do. She
could arrange to meet Judith in the
next town where they had an en-
gagement.
It was late that evening when
she left the train. Her father was
waiting for her, and his eyes
searched her face.
you're tired, child"
mo, just so glad to be home!"
Let's drop into a coffee shop