Askov American., 1943-08-05
Fritz: Matchmaker
By LEETE STONE
Associated Newspapers.
WNU Release.

~ downward steps that led to
tritz's Greenwich Village bookshop
were rainstreaked stands stacked
with dusty books, magazines and
mid-Victorian color prints, nudged
out of neat ordainment by the linger-
ing, aimless hands of casual pedes-
trianS.
This was a dark, mausolean room
with all manner of books grotesque-
ly piled, tumbled and shelved in ev-
cry conceivable crevice of space,
with just one narrow, tortuouS aisle
to conduct the brave buyer back to
Fritz's gloomy corner by the stove.
Gaunt, gray-bearded Fritz was
monarch of all these forgotten rel
les of faded inspiration. For years
he had lived, and had saved enough
to buy tenement from the earn
1ngs of this literary tomb where lay
the prompting, both brave and Bit
ter, of many brilliant minds and fac
lie pens.
Annette Abbey lived in Greenwich
Village; but she was not of it. She
had drawn a French mothers hu-
NOR from a shaken hat of traits;
with the other childish hand she
had snatched British fathers men,
tai poise and fiber.
One day Annette essayed the for
bidding door of Fritz; entered the
dim room where Weed and Greeley
may have browsed in ante-bellum
days, bearing in her graceful hand
slim, lavender-hued volume.
Fritz was thoughtfully masticat-
ing his noon-hour cheese and onion
sandwich, reclining in a chair that
once, perhaps, had rocked, eyes up
wardly inclined, earnestly admiring
hanging fringe of cobwebs that
valanced his highest shelf of muSty,
blackboard sermons.
Something from the stand?" Mo-
tionless, he barely glanced at the
girl. His voice seemed ambiguous
and old, like the titles on his shelves.
''My book of poems!" She smiled
in friendliness and extended fifteen
cents.
"So?" Fritz laid aside his sand
wich and leaned a little forward.
<'Then take her poems as little
gift from Fritz"
Thus started the friendship Of
Fritz and Annette. A certain day
she stopped in to cheer the old deal
'er with sparkling, funny anecdote
about a Village character. They
laughed together. Footsteps ap-
preached them in front
An extremely serious-faced young
man found the rim of dull light;
F'ritz's sanctum. He balanced a
book on his palm.
Il found this on the fifty-cent coun-
ter" he said, scarcely above a whis-
per, as one making confession.
-'It's my novel and I hate it's being
homeless. I'm a trifle short today.
Will you trust me for the changer"
With a merry, rising infection,
Annette contributed:
'Just how felt about my silly
old poems; but you're way over me; !;
! found my book on the fifteen-cent
stand"
The youth faced her with a boy
ish, hesitant smile.
care you kidding me, or do you
mean it?"
Fritz cleared his throat with a
great cultural rasp and reached for
the long-stemmed cherrywood pipe
with the carved bowl.
Fritz with pleasure would have
you the book accept. So it hap
pened with this always smiling lit
tie girl. Your friendship, both of
you, 1 ask. l am much alone. Come
often and our girl will teach us
laughter"
The two young people strolled be-
tween the books and out in animated
conversation. Fritz's bearded chin
sank into time-yellowed celluloid
collar and his eyes gently closed in
benign reverie.
Time fostered rare companionship
between the two young writer's and
the old bookman. Once a week at
midday Gerald Brereton and Annette
would penetrate the murky silences
of Fritz's corner, bringing brown
paper bag stuffed with delicatessen
delicacies.
All three proceeded, between
bites, to reconstruct the world of
letters nearer to their hearts de-
sire. Often Fritz would tell tales
of his student life at Heidelburg,
fighting over again the duel that had
left a livid, crooked cheek-scar,
nearly buried by the beard. Be-
nign Fritz; laughing Annette, and
the so-serious Gerald!
On Christmas Eve Gerald in
formed Annette that he would re-
nounce hack writing and free lane
ing in favor of a forty-a-week job in
"a bank if she would do him the
honor to marry him.
"Good old SObersides, of course,
I'll marry you. 1 love you! But you
mustn't give up writing. Let's wait
until we make enough to marry by
our writing. Won't be long. Or
Gerald! Let's go talk to Fritz. He'll
know"
Zach, so. knew, I knew" unused
Fritz, eyeing the red-bellied stove.