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About The Alliance herald. (Alliance, Box Butte County, Neb.) 1902-1922 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 24, 1916)
SEMI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE SECTION t;i v ft "Tlint might bo possible." "Might be," the t one expressive of indignation, her eyes flashing into mine. "Do these word i.uply doubt? If so there remains nothing juoro for me to relate." "Hy no moans; you misunderstand. I believe all you pay, and merely questioned to lietter clear the affair up in my own mind. Odd as this moot ing has lieen, wo can lie friend, can wo not?" Ini m'11c1 by homo sudden impulse I hold out my hand. Her face wi toward tlio light, ami 1 rould per ceive tlio change of expression. Tliero was an in stant of hesitancy ; then her gloved hand mot mine firmly. "I would 1e a prude not to pay yes," she responded frankly. "Although I cannot lot, you dream that I ever contemplated puch n thing. This is nil an accident a most unfortunate accident, po far a it concerns mo yet 1 can congratulate myself that it is no worse. I have .confidence that you are a gentleman." I bowed, ptill retaining the Pinall hand, and con scious of the almost wistful look as her eyes met mine. "I am Philip Dossaud," 1 said pimply, "an officer of the French army." Hie drew a quick breath, apparently of purprise. "Why, I have heard the name before; you you are the aviator?" "Yes, Mademoiselle," with a smile, "and it is surely something not to he entirely unknown." "if all I have road he true it is much more than that," phe responded quickly. "They say -the news paper writers that your discoveries; will revolu tionize flying. Of course," phe added hastily, "as a woman I know ubout puch things only in the most superficial way." "And the suppositions of the newspaper men have yet to he proven by experiment," I confessed good humoredly. "The etui of the week will tell the tale." "And I shall he po 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 pmall, Mademoiselle? I have begun to view it as of importance. Perhaps it is because you pec 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 moots my approval. However, I shall be fair with you I am Helen Probyn." "Not of the Knglish Probyns, in Kent? I have been at their manor-house." "No such luck; while I may bo a sixteenth cousin, who knows, the very best I can claim is an ancestral home on the coast of Maine. No, 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." "No," 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 Furopcan 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 anil 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 who 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. "Good night, Monsieur." I 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 lias thrown mo 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 hero 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 me in any way. You do insist?" "It will be best. I am sorry, but I am sure it will be best." Our eyes 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. Hut one fact impressed itself upon me those eyes which had been lifted to mine were miMy 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 now 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 mil enough of a fatalist to accept destiny. You will tell me all." "All?" "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" "No. I am going to say what I think. You are in trouble, pome real, desperate trouble. That was why you ventured to call upon tis old-time acquaintance, Houser. Hlindly seeking help, you had foimd 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." "Not 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?" with head bowed, her face hidden in she stammered. "I My guess then of trouble your interview with She stood the shadows, ."You vou are too kind I do not know what to say." "Which is a confession itself, is not far wrong? It was because own trouble that you sought an Houser?" "Yes." "And when you discovered a mistake had boon made you were desperate? You did not know what to do?'' "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. "Hut but how can I?" she questioned doubt fully. "I I do not know you." "Years of acquaintance have little to do with friendship," I insisted. "I wish to serve you hon estly, and in all kindness. Surely you will not refuse merely on the plea of our short acquaintance you are far too sensible a girl." I felt the warm clasp of her fingers, anil 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 not because I am afraid of you; not because it is unconventional, Monsieur. I have advanced beyond that .staj'e in life. I do what 1 deem to be right without being troubled by the opinion of others. There wen; two reasons which have kept me from confiding in you pride, and a hesitancy to involve a stranger in my trouble." "Forget the word stranger." "You compel me to; 1 will not use it again. Shall I tell you everything?" "That will be best; then no fresh mistake is pos sible." She drew a deep breath, the heavy lashes hiding her eyes. "11 am hungry," she confessed, almost, in a whisper. "That ii the bitter truth, Monsieur; I have not eaten since yesterday." I stared at her, too su prised 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 restaurant 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." C AFTER IV CNCOVEHIXU A CONSHRACT I HAVE small recollection of where we went, only it was not, far, but involved a ride in an elevator. Not unlil 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 the extensive bill of fare, I was conscious of a newly awakened interest. Not beautiful, per haps not even pretty, if judged by accepted stand arils, my vis-a-vis was certainly most attractive, a slender girl of medium height, with dark eyes and 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, und I must have exhibited my folding by some un conscious outward pign, for the lady glanced across at me quest ioninglv. "What is it, Monsieur?" "You will laugh if I toll you," I replied uneasily. "Then tell me, pray, for I want an excuse." "I have boon 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, po 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 Franco, in Europe; or is it that you work from love of art? because the soul aspires?" She laughed at this heartily, with white teeth gloaming bet ween rod lips, and eyes dancing. "Not so poetical: no! no!" a little gesticulation of the hands, now ungloved, but showing white and ringless. "It is very prosaic, my work, and its mrin purpose is the purchase of bread and butter. Were you ever in need, Monsieur?" "Not 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. Hut money! 'tis true I have always possessed t hat." "Then you know nothing of what it really moans to be born poor; to have to struggle from early child hood for every luxury, almost every necessity; to have to earn your own schooling, working while your classmates play, and then, at graduation, accepting the first offer of employment. That has boon my lif;, Monsieur, and it is not an uncommon one. It does not seem to me I was ever a little girl, for 1 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 lo put such dreams aside, and front the stern realities of existence, thankfully accepting what the gods send." "You have dreamed, however; it ii written in your face." (Comtinned on Page 10) "That is nice, but you were somewhat "rrtan"ce6rtlie"tfltntntiBlty? n .1 it-. .11 lrunix'n thniotit the Valley, ers ;-iwwin'wi .w.iyw. yprta piatt- valleys-tor long each week a large quota of local ... .. -i- , POT 3TT