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About The Alliance herald. (Alliance, Box Butte County, Neb.) 1902-1922 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 24, 1916)
J.I SEMI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE SECTION "Tliat might be possible." " M inht, 1" t ho tone expressive of indignation, her eyes flashing into mini. "Do these words i.nply doubt? If no (turn remains nothing jnore for inc to relate." "By no means; you misunderstand. I believe all you Piiy, and merely quest ioned to better dear tli affair up in my own mind. Odd as this meet inn lias been, wo ran bo friends, ran we not?" Im pelled ly some sudden impulse I hold out my hand. Her face wan toward the light, and I rould per ceive the change of expression. There whs an in stant of hesitancy; then her gloved hand turt mine firmly. "I would be a prude not to pay yon," she responded frankly. "Although 1 rannot lot you dream that I ever contemplated such a thiiifc. This in all an accident 11 most unfortunate accident ho far as it concerns tin? yet I ran congratulate myself that it is no worse. I have .confidence that you are a gentleman." 1 bowed, still retaining the small liand, and con scious of the almost wistful look as her eyes met mine. "1 am Philip Dessaud," I said simply, "an officer of the French army." She drew it quick breath, apparently of surprise. "Why, 1 have heard the name before; you you are the aviator?" "Yes, Mademoiselle," with surely something not to lie "If all 1 have read be true that," she responded quickly. paper writers that your discoveries will revolu tionize flving. Of course," she added hastily, "as is a smile, "and it entirely unknown." it is much more than "They Hiiv the news- a woman I know about such thing only in the most superficial way." "And the supposition of the newspaper men have yet to be proven by experiment," I confessed good humoredly. "The end of the week will tell the tale." "And I shall bo so interested now in your success just from this little meeting, this brief acquaint ance. What small happenings change our outlook on life." "Do you call this small, Mademoiselle? I have begun to view it as of importance. Perhaps it is because you see it with other eyes beautiful as I imagine them to be that you still refrain from telling me whom I am addressing?" She withdrew her hand, but with a gentleness that left no sting, stepping back a little, so as to come within the shade of the stone. "You possess the French gift of compliment, Mon sieur," and her voice had in it the old accent of laughter. "I am not sure it meets my approval. However, I shall be fair with you I am Helen Probyn." "Not of the English Probyns, in Kent? I have been at their manor-house." "Xo such luck; while I may be a sixteenth cousin, who knows, the very best I can claim is an ancestral home on the coast of Maine. Xo, Monsieur, I abom inate pretense, and if you accept me at all it will have to be as a very common individual 'unknown, unhonored, and unsung.' " "Which statement 1 believe, or not, as I please." "Xo," decisively. "You must accept my word. I am simply an atom in the great sea of life a working girl." "A working girl," I mocked. "Your language, your dress betrays you." "You think so. That is because you judge from the viewpoint of the European rather than the Amer ican. Nevertheless it is true, Monsieur, for, al though my work may be of the brain instead of the body, I am still under orders. If my task is not done I suffer, and am told to go and come, fetch and carry, just as though I was a serf in the fields. In other words I am an employee, dependent on the whim of my employer for my daily bread. This fact changes the whole aspect of affairs, does it not?" "You mean my interest in you?" "Certainly. That is why I have been so frank. I know your class prejudice, your point of view. Over there a great gulf is fixed between those whe earn and those with nothing better to do than spend. Even in America it exists to some extent, but with you it is an inheritance of birth. Thinking me of your own class you became interested in my person ality; but now that I have confessed the truth all your desire will be to politely say good night. I prefer to anticipate," and she extended her hand. "Ciood night, Monsieur." 1 held it close, my heart beating more rapidly. "You think me a snob?" "Oh, no, Monsieur; merely what birth and en vironment would naturally make you." "Hut cannot a man, a cosmopolitan, overcome such prejudices?" I protested warmly. "Even if I admit being born into the class of idlers, yet my life since has thrown inc much into the society of those who work. I have even learned to work myself beside them, and have turned toward them for in struction. I have mechanics with me here common soldiers from the ranks who are my friends." "Not socially, Monsieur. That is the point I make." "A distinction in your case I refuse to admit, Mademoiselle. I bow to your will yes. If it is to be good-by, I submit, but never because I deem you not of my class, or beneath inc in any way. You do insist?" "It will be best. I am sorry, but I am sure it will be best." Our ryes met, yet she stepped aside, and passed me. It was accomplished with such quiet decision that I failed for the instant to grasp the truth. Put one fact impressed itself upon inc those eyes which had been lifted to mine were misty with tears. She was in trouble, in distress, and yet she was leaving me. In that second of time all suspicion, all doubt left my mind, and I became conscious of a new respect for this girl, a new desire to serve her. Whoever she was, however strange our meeting, I could not let her pass out of my life like this. In obedience to the first swift impulse, I crossed the broad walk, ami touched her arm. "You shall not disappear like that," I exclaimed "I am enough of a fatalist to accept destiny. You will tell me all." "AH?" "Yes, there were tears in your eyes as you turned away. You had held them back as long as it was possible. It was only because you could restrain yourself no longer that you left so hastily." "Oh, please -" "Xo. I am going to say what I think. You are in trouble, some real, desperate trouble. That was why you ventured to call upon t'is old-time acquaintance, Houser. Blindly seeking help, you had found his name on the hotel register, but at first lacked courage to approach him. When you finally did call up by telephone he had left the room, and you got me. Isn't this the truth?" "I I why do you insist upon my answering? You have no right to question me in this way." "Xot if it was idle curiosity; but I wish to assure you my motive is far higher than that. Forget how we have met it was no fault of either of us and believe me a gentleman. To my mind the first duty of gentleness is to relieve a woman in distress. I claim the privilege. Surely you will trust me? You will not refuse?" She stood with head bowed, her face hidden in the shadows. ."You you arc too kind," she stammered. "I I do not know what to say." "Which is a confession itself. My guess then is not far wrong? It was because of trouble your own trouble that you sought an interview with llouser?" "Yes." "And when you discovered a mistake had been made you were desperate? You did not know what to :lo?'? "Yes." "And you left me just now because you could stand the strain no longer? You realize that you must confess everything, or else go away?" She lifted her eyes to mine. "That is true yes." "Then that is what you are going to do," and I held out my hands. "What?" "Trust me as a friend, and make full confession." She made no movement to give me her hands, but stood motionless with eyes on my face. "But but how can I?" she questioned doubt fully. 1 I do not know you. "Years of acquaintance have friendship," 1 insisted. "I wish estly, and in all kindness. Surely merely on the plea of our short are far too sensible a girl." I felt the warm clasp of her fingers, and knew she was crying softly. "I would be idiotic if I did," she responded, her voice trembling in spite of every effort at control. "It is lrit because I am afraid of you; not because it is unconventional, Monsieur. I have advanced beyond that stare in life. I do what I deem to be right without being troubled by the opinion of others. There were two reasons which have kept me from confiding in you pride, and a hesitancy to involve a stranger in my trouble." little to do with to serve you hon- you will not refuse acquaintance you "Forget the word stranger." "You compel me to; 1 will not use it again. Shall I tell you rvcrvthing?" "That will be best; then no fresh mistake is p( j whip." She drew a deep breath, the heavy lashes hiding her eyes. "1 I am hungry," she confessed, almost in a whisper. "That is the bitter truth, Monsienr; I have not oaten since yesterday." I stared at her, too suprised for immediate speech. "You do not believe?" "Yes, but it is so strange; I can hardly realize the possibility. You must go with me to some rrstaurant at once," and my eyes searched the electric signs opposite. The story can wait. Where shall we go?" She tried to smile, yet trembled so that her fingers clasped my sleeve. The slight pressure appealed even more strongly than her words. "That that is good of you. I cannot talk until I have food; it is the reaction which makes me so weak; the the knowledge that I have found a friend." CAPTEU IV CNCOVERIXO A CONSPIRACY I II AVE small recollect ion of where we went, only it was not, far, but involved a ride in an elevator. Xot until we were seated opposite each other at a small table did I really have intelligent view of my companion. As I glanced across at her, while ordering from tho extensive bill of fare, I was conscious of a newly awakened interest. Not beautiful, per haps not even pretty, if judged by accepted stand ards, my vis-a-vis was certainly most attractive, a slender girl of medium height, with dark eyes a:id hair, the former thoughtful and a bit, dreamy; the latter most abundant and glossy. Her face was white, but the skin clear, and, as she turned her head to look at the occupants of the other tables, I could but observe the well-modeled features, ex pressive of character and high breeding. What ever she might claim to be child of the farm, girl of the working class her appearance, as well as her language, bespoke ancestry and social stand ing. I confess this discovery was to me a relief, ami I must have exhibited my feeling by some un conscious outward sign, for the lady glanced across at me quest ioninglv. "What is it, Monsieur?" "You will laugh if I tell you," I replied uneasily. "Then tell mi-, pray, for I want an excuse." "I have been looking at you for the first time in the light, and approve wholly." "Indeed," her eyes dancing. a confession that previously doubtful." "Why, yes; you see you" "Oh, I know," leaning forward, so to speak more softly. "You have been troubled by my humble origin; niy confession of having to work for a living. You began to fear you were in contact with one of the lower classes. And now?" "The thought will never again occur, Mademoiselle. I am convinced, converted. In America it is not as in France, in Europe; or is it that you work from love of art? because the soul aspires?" She laughed at this heartily, with white teeth gleaming between red lips, and eyes dancing. "Not so poetical: no! no!" a little gesticulation of the hands, now ungloved, but showing white and ritmless. "It is very prosaic, my work, and its mrin purpose is the purchase of bread and butter. Were you ever in need, Monsieur?" "Xot as you mean what you call 'broke'; I have been hungry yes; and thirsty. On campaign one suffers often, and I nave also been lost in African forests, and nearly perished. But money! 'tis true I have always possessed that." "Then you know nothing of what it really means to be born poor; to have to struggle from early child hood for every luxury, almost every necessity; to have to earn your ow n schooling, working while your classmates play, and then, at graduation, accepting the first offer of employment. That has been my lif:, Monsieur, and it is not an uncommon one. It does not seem to me I was ever a little girl, for I can scarcely remember back to a time when I was not burdened by responsibilities." She paused, leaning her head on her hands, but still with eyes on my face. "It is all right to talk of art and ambition, but some lives must learn early to put such dreams aside, and front the stern realities of existence, thankfully accepting what the gods send." "You have dreamed, however; it i written in your face." (Continued on Page 10) "That is nice, but you were somewhat H III) v thrtiout the alley, ers reach "week n large 'quota' of local orui ,riauo vauejF wr w " ho i-in,iu north of tfitt river were hm TF'