The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1943-10-22

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clothing" Anne said. cor why he
seems to follow me around"
Miguel Valera's dark eyes were
fixed on the shore line coming lu-
minously into view.
II heard him ask the captain why
you were coming to Puerto Rico"
he said, without moving.
Anne glanced at him quickly.
There was something little odd in
the even tone of his voice that dis
turbed her. It disturbed her too
that Mr.. Taussig should be wonder
ing about her, because she had been
wondering a little about Mr.. Taus-
sig.
She didn't know, exactly, why Ell
Their of them should make her feel
the way she did. 1t had all seemed
plain enough sailing the day Jim
Hawley, who was managing editor
Of her fathers paper in New York
City, called her in.
Look, sister-you've been asking
for good job, and I've got one for
you," he said cheerfully. There's a
story in Puerto Rico. The place is
hotbed, and Uncle Sans pouring
half billion dollars in. It's got
everything old Spain, new mon
ey, glamour, poverty, love, hatred,
everything. Go get it. You can kill
a flock of birds with one stone. You
can get a tropical tan and maybe
earn your pay for once. You might
even do service for your country
you can't ever tell"
And as Anne started out he'd
looked over the half-moon of his
glasses.
And while you're down there,
make up your mind about Pete Will
cox, will your"
And it was funny about Pete, Anne
Haywood thought. He was the only
man she knew that she'd thought Sc
riously about marrying, even if she
hadn't been able to make up her
mind, not finally. Everybody thought
that was why she was down here
now. But it wasn't. It was pride.
It was the business of showing them
al-Jim Hawley, and her father, and
Pete himself she could use her
own head, and stand on her own two
feet.
1t had been like dose Of vita
minis, carrying her confidently up
to that moment. With the yellow
masses Of the ancient weathered
rock of Ell MORO looming ahead Of
her now, and the gay excited clamor
of the people crowding around them
against the rail, all the confidence
was seeping out of her. She looked
up at Miguel Valera. There was
something in his dark eyes, fixed
on the stained and pitted fortress
rising sheer from the white pound
ing surf, that silenced the casual re-
mark she was about to make.
you really love Puerto Rico
very much, don't your"
He looked at her gravely.
Every much.-My father says it
is only a country whose people suf-
fer deeply whose people love it deep
ly. don't know. It's true that with
all the poverty and squalor and over
population that your magazines are
so full of, our people won't leave
the island. And when they do they
always return. Our country is an
emotion, with u.s."
He smiled.
"But we're Latins, and Latins are
an emotional people. You're Saxon.
Our standards, our backgrounds, our
customs, differ as much as our lam
guages."
Next to them along the rail fat
middle-aged woman in sitting or
nate black was clinging to her hus-
bands arm. Their faces were
streaked with tears as they watched
the narrow entrance of the harbor,
under the time-worn fortress, OPEN
ing its rockbound arms to bring
them home.
"But the human heart doesn't diff.
fer very greatly, does it?" Anne
asked.
For a moment Miguel Valera was
silent. Then he said quietly, "If
you have learned that, Miss Hey
wood, you have learned a great deal.
It is something most people never
learn. should have thought you
were one of them. Perhaps you
will learn even more"
Without turning her head Anne
could hear Mr.. Taussig. His voice
was MOSTLY oleaginous, his informa-
ton precise and pedantic, in a way
that reminded her Of the courier
guide who had taken them through
Notre Dame in Paris.
A sudden little panic of loneliness
made Anne catch her breath quick
ly. II should have told Pete was
coming" she thought. 1t had all
seemed SO simple in New York. Fac
ing it now-the noisy teeming city,
the babble of a language spoken so
rapidly that the little she knew was
hopeless-she had the sudden sense
of being an outsider with no right
to be there at all. And underneath
it there was a vague chill feeling
of apprehension, like the sound
of a stealthily opening door in an