The Sunday Bee i ___ MAGAZINE SECTION [ ' __ \ VOL. 52—NO. 40. OMAHA, SUNDAY MORNING, MARCH 18, 1923. HIVE CENTS V-—--—--— Dora Sends a Successor °=<§>=~ By Elizabeth Jordan ---------. After His Sister Died Came the Check A That Might Have Saved Her Life; and He Knew What His Sister Would Have Wanted Him to Do With the Money. HHN DICKSON looked at the check which had fallen out of the envelope he had just opened, and his stern young lips curled sardonically. ThVn, very slowly he bent, picked it lip from the floor, unfold ed it. and read the amount on ith face. As he did so his eyes unconsciously widened. The check sot forth the astound ing fact that the Hank of New Amsterdam was to pay to David Henderson the sum of $000. Despite himself, and for one instant only, the young blood sang in David Henderson’s veins. Than resolutely he suppressed its music. The awful irony of the receipt of the check at just this time entered his soul, and he deliberately seized the fact and turned it around, as it were, as If it were the blade of a knife. A week ago—even a few days ago—that check would have meant more to him than life itself. It might have meant his sis ter's life—the dear, beautiful life of the one living creature who belonged to him. whom he had adored, whom he had tried, and f illed, to support, and who had died, he now re had said something which David now recalled with a boy ish gulp. "You are going to be very successful, Davy." she told him, "and your success is coming soon. I’m bo glad 1 was with >ou through all ihe early struggle, for you have al ways made me feel that I wasn't a burden to you but an Inspiration. Bless you for it! 1 loved feeling that. Davy; and wherever I am 1 am going to try to keep right on till some one* else comes—the right girl. Do—you—know—Davy —I seem—to—see her. She is coining soon—" That was the last message, though for a long time David sat very still, holding the chilling hand in his own, afraid to move, hoping and praying that Dura would speak again. Then darknc. s came and he aroused himself to do the tilings that must he d*>ne. The first thing to do was to sell the furniture of the three room flat. The proceeds of tl>is, he hoped, would pay the funeral expenses, and they did, though th'e secondhand furniture dealer who stalked into the little home the next morning at Davids invitation and fingered and appraised the former possessions of the silent figure on the bed couch seemed gloomily doubtful as to whether tin y would do It. They paid for a simple funeral indeed, which left David homeless and with a little less than $3 in his pocket. A neighbor across ,the hall offered him a bed for a few days, till he could "turn around," as that al truist put it, and David had spent the few days receiving his returned manuscripts and haunting the dismantled rooms that still seemed so full of his sister's presence. It was in tlie empty living room in which she had died Idiot and dafrdler! He had held the story—that editor —more than a fortnight. He had had it, therefore, during Dora's last week on earth, during the time when, conceiv ably, she might still have been saved. Vos, be had Jolly well taken his time td the story; and now here was the check, too late for Dora, and, therefore, too late for David. He would have liked to call at that editor's office and force that check down that editor’s throab lie rose and passed his hand a/ros his 'lamp forehead. Of course, that wasn’t the way to feel. Jt was not the way Dora would wish hirn to feel. That sort of thing got him nowhere. Therefore he must not continue to feel that way. But one thing was certain. The J'OO, since It tvas not for Dora, was n1 >. He had done noth ing since the funeral except walk the floor of the deserted flat and throw rejection slips Into the empty fireplace. It was time he took up life again, as Dora would liave wished Also, he now reralk ! a detail which, that morning, he minded himself with set teeth, through lack of a few liundied 00r.nra. Food, at least such food as she could eat, he had tieen able to give her. He had kept a roof over her head and warm cloth ing on her bed. He had found a doctor, and a good one, who was sufficiently altruistic to make daily visits to the sick room and to wait. Indefinitely for his fees. But the "change" this doctor was always prescribing, the delicacies he hinted at, the trained nurse the sick j girl should have had—all .these things were far beyond the reach of Dora Henderson's twin brother. This was not bec ause he had not worked. lie? had worked day and night. Kvery moment when ho was not be eicJl> her bed —and few nurs. s could have served the invalid better than her brother had *rtone—he was at his desk table n the corner of the combined living room and sickroom, writ ing, writing, writing. Most of bis work came back to him, in bloated envelopes and accompa nied by printed slips. Occa glonally—Just often enough to keep actual want from the shabby three room flat a check had drifted across Its threshold a chance affair. It al ways seemed, w-ith s -mi-thing of tin aimlessness of an autumn leaf blown In by a casual breeze. Efcnrt times the check was made out for $25; one in a great while for $50. On one stupendous oc casion, duly celebrated by the brother and slater, duriup the stages of Dora's Iona ill ness, a check had come f r $ 1 »>0. No drifting autumn leaf tills, but a glorious thunderbolt, a thing that magnificently shook the foundations of the flat and the very souls of Its occupant". How happy that check had made Dora not because of what It would bring to her. which was nil h<-r brother thotlglit of—but because it meant appreciation of l' c. M s Work by the real e.'lio.- o: a real magazine. Privudy Dora did not consider the senders of tho $25 and $50 checks real editors. True. they appreciated h*r brother's genius as Iheir great “ far * sake make u/> your mind to trust me!” 11 iiu UU!V I T'|| vs 41 It Ui i UIIJ ing It In. His host was becom ingly interested in his plans for the future. He had asked sev eral vital questions about them. Y>*s. it was time David bestirred hitnself. With a deep sigh he straightened to his five feet nine, adjusted his 24-year-old shoulders <0 the burden of exis tence, walked unsteadily to the door, and turned on the thres hold for a last look at the room he would ncv'-r enter again. Peril i-.- it was because he felt so que-r that morning and be i ; ' h.s eyes were dim that he iv. what clearer vision Could not 1 • shown him—the r» cumb- nt figure of Dora on h--r eou h. i.o longer ill, no longer suffering, nor yet In the awful pea ■ her la.-t two days th"ff but 1 free and .smiling ai ! gi\ ifig him til" quick little cheerful no-1 of farewell which nin e. - ,-u -mpanted one of his brief exits from the house. He s:i mbled along the dark passage into his temporary quarters, found tils hat and coat, left a penciled note of thank* for his lu'e host, and plunged out into the Pel ruary day. It was snowing and sub consciously the fact appealed to him. It seemed right and fit ting that it should be snowing. He could not have endured tl. Cheerfulness of sunshli and clear skJe-. Without knowtnq where tt,- v were n the north. He h .1 r-'t eat.-a that day, but he had no lmpui -* to eat. Neither had he a: pulse to 1 -»k up «iew quail s for hifhself—a sinqle room somewhere, in which he could work and sleep. He must find some such shelter, of com • *, but that little matter r old Ik? attended to lat. r. At pres nt he f. It too queer to attend to anything. He found himself drifting in the direction of the park. What he wanted, he fi nally decided, was to qo *>m» wiiete and sit down. Hia kno t felt weak, and there was still that mi . ual veil over hi* u Kion. lie would qet to the park and find a Ik-noli In some quiet sp.'t and sit there for a Inni time. Perhaps, if it was very er runfri res dill not; but they showed their appreciation tare ly and In such niggardly ways' Whereas the editor Who sent $100 had also sent a real letter, asking tho privilege of beholding mote of Mr Henderson's work. That privilege had promptly been vouchsafed him. J!e saw much of Mr. Henderson's work—too much, peibaps, for be saw all of it, and there was a great deal. And, it being the nature of finite beings to weary of too much of anything, the editor had apparently wearied of Henderson's work. Certainly he took no more of It, and his first Interested personal notes had S'on given place to the curt, printed rejection slips Semi ugly be had made up Ids mind that David Henderson was a one story man, that ids one story was out of him. and that thero was nothing more left to expeit. This was the point at which David had almost given up at Which he would wholly have given up but for two jV hinge. One of these things was Dora's Influence, the other was Dora's need. le ft to himself David would have dropped literature for snow shoveling or li digging or any other occupation wliich provided a sure Income, however small. J!ut Dora Would have none of this. Dora made him swear n > (hnt he would keep to his real work. Also and this f a vital point Dora was not In a condition which permit ted her In be left alone. As he could not employ a nurse, he himself must nurse her and within Immediate reach of her, earn what he could toward their Joint support. Ills work was Dora's big Interest, lie read It to her -every line of It and Dorn, listening wondered whv tin* world talked of Cbilsworthy and Arnold Ik nnett and Mr- Wharton while her gifted brother was on earth. Tien Just five days ago, Dot a had died, palnle.isly and beautlfullv. with her hand In that of her beloved brother and bei dimming r yes on bis faee .lust befon lb. end sb> th.it he had opened the letter and found the wonderful tlu-k. and the ironic coming of that financial life Hite seemed only emphasized hy the listening silence of the place. Dis mantled though it was, however, David felt more at home them limn anywhere else*. Now, seated on the edge of an empty wnodbox, ho raised his elbow* from his knees and his face from his cupped hands and looked at the com* r which still held the room's solitary piece of furniture, Dora's cr»u< h bed. Was she indeed lying there? Almost he believed who was as ho stared at It witty his reddened eyes. If she was there, there was something she still wished him to do What was it? The urgent message seemed to come to him in her familiar, whispered, breathless tones. Rend the let ter. Was that it? lie f. It that It was. He spread out and lead tho typewritten sheet: "My dear Mr. Henderson: My congratulations on this latent story. It is good Indeed it Is unusually good Mop over. It suggests an admirable series of stories, written around the same characters. 1 am sending >mi our chock f»*r $500, with the understanding that we are to have the first reading »»f the scries, and that the stories, If ac ceptable, will l e paid for at the rate we have made for this first one. “Sincerely yi»ui>." Tho signature was that of the editor who had snnt the $100 cht* k and who** interest had then so abruptly perished Apparently it \v • now rekindled. II<»w Dora would have rejoiced1 possibly she was rejoicing. Hut David himself • on Id not r«l be All ho could do was to put that $500 Into teims of comforts for Dorn tho comforts she might have had If it had r tine in ttmdi Its arrival now was noth ing ‘-hert of ghastly. He could hnrdly endure the sight of it ,111* Impulse was to destroy if, and the letter that had • ■•mm with H, md tb*' editor who hid written the left/ quiet, ho could Bleep lie had not had much, if any, si,- ,i for mure than a week, nor had he had much food. Rvi v acrap of food, every drop of milk, he had saved for Don, in the morbid fear thnt the limited food and cash supply might not outlast the sit k girl. He had exportenced aH sorts of morbid sensations during that last Week. 11c was experiencing them still, hut now they had ceased to m eter. I'ora was at peace and what happened to him would r„>t count, lie walked a long distance, os one In a dream. Then ha became aware that some subconscious impulse had rightly directed Ills steps. He was In the park. In one of the nar row Bide puthn, anti then not far away, was s- ill, thing that through the falling snow presented the outlines of a rustle bench. He stumbled to tt and sank down. He was realty feeling very odd, but the fact did not concern him. lie w • .! I be quiet for a while, lie would close his eyes and rest. lint Just ns ho was closing them the bench creaked im tier the abrupt movement of another body. Same one eise was silting on that bench, some one he had failed to observe w hen he himself dropped down 11 pen It. The * discovery brought a conscious emotion—a sense of disappointment, or a of Irritation. For onb blessed moment lie had felt «s much done here ns In a primeval forest and now- he had s com p inion. With all the benches tn the park from which to eh cose for surely ft w pedest i Ians were out on s day like this-—no other bench save the one he was occupying would do for the fellow at hls side lie was thinking quite clearly now. The surprise, the irritation, had had a stimulating effect upon his mental processes. He eat up and turn t coldly unwelcoming eyes upon hls companion Then the eyes widened anti their expression changed. Ills compan ion was not another fellow , but a girl—a girl who looked vet \ wilng snl pathetic and frightened and who shrink