The guardian., 1940-11-09
One Woman
.
By JOHN CAMPBELL HAYWOOD
Mcclure Syndicate-WNU Service.l
Mcclure

w OMEN have entered very little
W into my life. Except one. The
memory of her face, not beautiful in
regularity of features hRt in express
sion of love and tenderness is with
me still. The tones of her voice
haunt me. l cannot forget her. l
have lost all trace of her although
have tried diligently to find her,
aye, even hired a detective to bring
me news of her, alive or dead.
1t was dusk when left my office
uptown and entered the subway. In
a happy mood l took my seat.
A few seats away across the aisle
saw her. Shabby dressed but neat.
Then saw her face, half turned
to watch something on my side of
the car, guessed, from the gurgles
and occasional shrieks that rose
above the noise, it was a baby. And
such longing, such passionate ten
derness as shone in the woman's
face stirred me deeply. What was
her story? Had she lost little one?
1t could not be that for there was
no sadness in her look. AS l specu-
lated she turned her face to me. l
am twenty-eight. Not Unlocking My
clothes stamp me, | believe, for
what aim to be, prosperous man,
but through the drift of circum-
stances l am not that. Yet, from
my well-polished shoes to my gray
fedora the woman looked me over.
Calmly. Casually. Then turned with
soft gaze upon the child.
AT Fourteenth street | folded my
newspaper and prepared to leave.
The woman, holding in her hand
little purse, moved onto the plat
form of the car
About half way up | saw she had
dropped her purse Gladly I picked
it up With a thrill of Joy l called
"Madam!" Now l should have
speech with her She stopped and as
l reached her side and handed her
the purse she clutched it and leaned
as though faint against the side wall.
Il am glad" l said, Il happened
to be behind You might have lost
it."
Lost itl' her voice came thinly.
An echo. And it is all l have in
the world" She put her hand to her
chest. Tears came into her eyes.
Come" l put my hand on her
arm. Let me help you up. In the
air you'll feel better"
Thank you" Together we mount
ed the stairs. There we're many
passing. They jostled US. With the
woman leaning upon me l felt con-
spicuous.
"Come out of this crowd" l said
in a don 't-contradict-me voice, and
led her into the entrance way of
closed store. Now, cut out that
weakness. You have your purse,
haven't you? Be glad" She wiped
her eyes. And smiled, not exactly
a whole smile, but a good sample.
In the half light l saw her eyes
CLINT fercely at me. She bit her
lip, then with wonderful self-con-
troll, said:
"You must let me go. II think
you misjudge me. You have in
deed been wonderful. II liked
you" She gave me a tender glance
q forgot you were a stranger.
Don't go. I'm sorryl Tell me
about yourself. Perhaps l can help
you"
For a moment we were both ST.
lent. Then impulsively she took hold
of the lapel of my coat and told me
her story; the sordid story of an or
phan's struggle in a workaday and
heartless world. And as she told il,
her face lighted by a memory of
good in some man, wise and kind
and intelligent as you are" she had
said, her hand trembed on the
clutched lapel and she shook me in
her vehemence.
felt love growing in my heart
for her She told me her name was
Aileen Turner and she lived in a
cheap boarding house on the East
side. | promised to call. But l
did not. put her in a taxi and paid
the fare from some loose change in
my pocket. When the car disap-
peared, there went with it my watch
my wallet and considerably more
cash than | could afford to lose.