Evening star., 1941-10-29

dden feeling OF freedom and enjoyed
logically inspire him to bolster ur
his courage. He would drink more
than he normally could manage
and then because drink never gave
any one any more courage than they
had in the first place, but only ex-
aggerated what had been there all
along, had become maudlin and
foolish, and offensive.
A Sudden Decision.
When she aWoke next morning it
was after o'clock and she decided
to skip her 9 o'clock appointment at
the airport. She went to her phone
and called Hanley's Office. The girl
who answered said that Mr.. Hanley
was not in at the moment.
This is Miss Claridge calling"
Clare said. Tell him I'll be out
there at l for my lesson. instead
of 9. Thank you" And then, be-
cause she didn't feel like going
back to bed she went downstairs for
breakfast and spent a comfortable
hour reading the morning paper.
What suggested the thing to her
she didn't know, but time after
time as she sat there on the terrace
the idea occurred to her to go and
see Rogers mother. She had never
done that; she had never been to
the Caswell house. 1t had been more
than her courage could undertake
to pay visit to the woman whose
home her own mother had wrecked
even after Rogers death. The fu-
neral had been private, naturally
because of the violent way he had
died, and there had been no oc-
casion then to call on her. And
ever since the thought of going had
occurred less often. and each time
been less attractive. and seemingly
less necessary. But now there was
some compulsion deep within her.
and almost automatically she went
and dressed and called down to
Colby to have her car sent around.
Mrs. Caswell was in the garden,
IN kind of summer house that was
screened on four sides and covered
over with a striped awning. 1t was
shady and cool inside and it looked
like she spent most of her time there
with several wicker rocking chairs
on the fagstones surrounding a
deep blue pool in which goldfish
swan and nibbled at mossy. flow
ering plants. A trim little maid in
a starched white dress took Clare
out there without the formalitv of
announcing her until she was al
ready inside.
A Pleasant Reception.
How do you do, my dear" Mrs.
Caswell said, and even her voice
seemed old. She stopped her knit
ting, laying the needles and yarn in
the basket alongside her chair. IT
have often hoped you'd come some
day, but I had almost despaired."
Clare was so pleased and at the
same time so surprised by the re-
ception that she couldn't speak for
a moment. She bent over and
clasped the frail little woman's
hands and smiled down into the
eyes that seemed to have so much
live really want
ed to come" she said at last, "but
I didn't know"
Mrs. Caswell nodded understand
ingly. L know what you thought.
my dear but it was so foolish YOU
know. My boy loved you; couldn't
do any less"
you knew"
of course, I knew, long time
before he told me. When you have
sons OF your own some day you
will understand . Sit down. Clare
and tell me about yourself-and
about your father. I read about
him in the papers from time to time
and he is wonderful man. No one
could have gone through what he
did more handsomely"
Glare sat down in one of the rock
ers and found herself talking easily
about herself and about her father.
Mrs. Caswell looked SO much like
Roger and had so many of his char
acterlSticS that at times it was al
most as if she were talking to him.
They seemed to be good friends from
that first handclasp and even in
of silence they were at
ease.
When at last Glare said that she
must go, Mrs. Caswell got up, too
First, I want you to come up to
Rogers ROOM" she said. There are
some things there that I want you
TO have"
Sad Memories.
Clare followed the little woman
into the house and up the broad
staircase. They turned down q long
hallway at the top of the stairs and
at the end of the wing stepped into
a huge, Walnut-paneled room that
looked almost like a library except
Tor the handsome Gouble-deck bunk
against one wall. There were two
broad windows on each of three
walls and under them and between
them were bookshelves jammed with
books. Opposite the bed was a
broad, walnut desk, and the most
prominent thing amidst its litter of
books and ash trays and mechanical
drawing instruments was Clare's
picture, the one she had inscribed:
With All My Love-"
Clare looked around the room
and she knew there were tears in
her eyes, but she didn't care. Mrs.
Caswell wouldn't look at her; she
knew she wouldn't. Rogers mother
was standing just inside the door,
way, her bright blue eyes in her
tired face moving slowly, affection
ately over the room. They seemed
to caress every book on the scores
Of shelves and to fill with happy
dreams and memories all the while.
Clare almost envied her the inti-
macy of those memories; Roger had
been hers so many more years than