The Sunday Bee
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MAGAZINE SECTION [ ' __
\ VOL. 52—NO. 40. OMAHA, SUNDAY MORNING, MARCH 18, 1923. HIVE CENTS
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Dora Sends a Successor °=<§>=~ By Elizabeth Jordan
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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 n<jt for him. He must try to find some way
of spending it which would do for s me one else what It
had failed to do for Jnm and Dora. Tin- wild thought of
putting up an expensive block of granite to Dora's memory
had perished almost before it was lorn. That would be
Ironical—as Ironical as the check—but It would not please
Dora. No. the money must be spent in a different way.
It should he a rather unusual and effective way. It must not
Is? a perfurj lory way.* Therefore, it would not do to en
dorse the check and send it to some charity. That would
be too easy. He himself ought to < hoose the beneficiary.
That would give him something to >1 >. 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<lns, hi* feet turned '•>
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
