Decatur Daily Democrat, Volume 28, Number 137, Decatur, Adams County, 10 June 1930 — Page 3

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_■ Rs hosra c jW /■ BREWSTER nl I S way a (leaned I ■! ■ house In Siphm- ■ tier and April She start mi with the R,t,C Rn<l jEBiKilV' ' worked her purl- ! tilth flown to the cellar In p" with Article 1. a.• i.n 1. Unwritten Rules for I* ihyuOC Cleaning For twenty-fiv. * rn she had done |t. For twenty«,t -.oars she had hated It— tictng *., uaelllrenit woman For twenty,,^S9E:.'tOV' l swathed about b ,, r head, skirt pinned back sleeves rolled up—the costume d.-dlcaled Io house cleaning since the days — What’a-Her Name, mother of Lemuel (»ee Proverbs ) Mrs. n r ewster bad gone through the eeremony twice a year IIF Furniture on the porch, woolens line. mattresses In the yard —everything that could be pounded, beaten, whisked rubbed. Happed, rhsken or aired was dragged out and subjected to one or all of these Indignities. After which, com-U-lelelv cowed, they were dragged ! n again and set In their places after year, in attic and in j3ar. thing” had piled up higher hf .her — useless things, sent:3Stal things things In trunks tn, chests shelves full of .wrapped up in brown paper HWIWr don't gather from this that Mrs Brewster was an ample, pleSfrlnr ginghamed old soul Nor that HoBBB C. Brewster xva? tacled and slippered Not at all *he Hosea C. Brewsters of Winnebago. ■yiaconsin were the people you've m«l on the veranda of the Moana Hotel at Honolulu, or at the top Os Pike’s Peak, or peering Into the restless heart of Vesuvius. They were the prosperous M.ddleWestern type of citizen who runs down to Chicago to see the new plays and buy a hat. and to order ( dozen Wedgewood salad plates gt Field's The Brewster house was honeycombed with sleeping porches and sun parlors and linen Closets, and laundry chutes and vegetable blns and electric surprises as your well-to-do MiddleWestern home is likely to be. That home had lone ago grown too large for the two of them—physically, that is. But as the big frame house had expar-<i-<l s-■ had they—in tolerance and understanding and humanness — until now, as you talked with them you felt that there was room and to Spare of sun-filled mental chambers. and Shelves well Stored with experience. and pantries and bins and eloaets for all your worries and confidences By noon of this particular September day—a blue - and - gold Wisconsin September day—Mrs Brewster had reached that stage in the Cleaning of the attic when ft looked ‘its if it would never be clean and orderly again Taking Into consideration Miz’Merz (Mrs. M‘rz b/fthe-day. you understand!' • and Gussle, the girl, and Fred tiw» was very little necessity fbr Mrs. Brewsters official hoKse-cieanlng uniform. She might have unptnned her skirt, unbound her head, called down her sleeves •Vd left for, the day. serene In the know ledge that no corner no chandvller, no. mirror, no curlicue so hidden. Bo high so glittering, so ornate t,hat it might hope to est»fK the rag or brush of one or the Other of this relentless and ex- ‘ pert crew. The smell of soap and water and cedar, and moth balls, and dust, gnd the ghost of a perfumery that Pinky used to use pervaded the hot attic. Mrs. Brewster, head •nd shoulders in a trunk, was trying hot to listen and not to seem pot to listen to Mlz' Merz' recital Os het husband's relations latest fiagrancy '"Families Is nix.' I rays, I got my own fam'ly to look out fuh.’ 1 says. Like that Will.' s's he, *w'en it comes to that.' s’s he. I guess I got some—' ” 1’ metuated by thumps, spatterlngs. swashing* •nd much heavy breathing, so that the sound of light footsteps along the second-floor hallway, s young. Clear voice calling, then tie same footsteps, fleeter now. on the attic Mairway, were quite unheard Pinky's arms were arourd her mother's neck and for one awful moment it looked as If both were to be decapitated by the trunk lid. So violent had been Mrs. Brewster's •tart of surprise. “Pinky! Why—my baby! We didn't ge» your telegram. Did you—" “No; 1 didn't. I Just thought I — Don't look so dazed, mummy— You’re all smudged, too—what in the world!" Pinky straightened her hat and looked about the attic "Why. mother! You're—you're house cleaning!'' There was a •tunned sort of look on her face “Os course. This is September But If I’d known you were coming —Come here to the window Let mother see you. Is ’hat the kind of hat they’re—why. it's a winter one, isn’t it? Already! D«ar me. I've just got used to the angle <’f my summer one. You must telephone father." Mix' Merz, damply callcoed rose from a corner and came forward Wiping a moist and parboiled hand On her skirt. ''Ha' do. Pinky? Ain’t forgot your old friends, have you r “It's Mrs. Merz!" Pinky put her cool, sweet Angers Into the other Woman’s spongy clasp "Why. hello, Mrs Merz! Os course when there's bouse cleaning—l’d forgotten all about houre cleaning- that there was such a thing. 1 mean ■' "It’s got to be done" replied Mia Merz severely. » They Mailed at each other then.

the mother and daughter They descended the winding attic stairs happily, talking very fast and Interrupting each other Mrs. Brewster's skirt was still pinned up. Her hair was bound in the protecting towel. "You must telephone father. No. let's surprise him. You'll hate the dinni‘r built around Mlz’ Merz: you know—boiled. Well, you know what a despot she is." IT was hot for September, In Wisconsin. As they came out to the porch Pinky saw that there were tiny beads of moisture under her mother’s eyes and about her chin. The sight Infuriated her somehow "Well. really, mother!" "Now just what does that mean?” said Mrs. Brewster equably, ’’Take off your hat and coat. Pinky, but don’t treat them that way—unless that's the way they’re doing in New York " Os course Pinky laughed then, and kissed her mother and hugged her hard. "It's just that It seems so Idiotic—your digging around In an attic In this day and age! Why. k’s—lt's—" Pinky could express herself much more clearly In colors than in words. "There Is no such thing as an attic. People don't clean them any more. I never realized before-—this huge house. It has been wonderful to come back to, of course. But just you and dad.” She stopped. She raised two young fists high in impotent anger “Do you like cleaning the attic ?“ "I've always done It. Pinky. And while they may not be wearing attics In New York, we haven't taken them off In Winnebago" IT was a cool and serene young daughter who greeted Hosea Brewster as he came limping up the porch stairs. He placed the flat of the foot down at each step. Instead of heel and ball. It gave him a queer, hitching gait. The girl felt a sharp little constriction of her throat as she marked that rheumatic limp “It's the beastly Wisconsin winters.” she told herself Then, darting out at him from the corner where she had been hiding: "S'prlse! S’prlse!” His plump, blond face, flushed with the unwonted heat, went darkly red. He dropped his hat. His arms gathered her In. Her fresh young cheek was pressed against his dear, prickly one. So they stood for a long minuteclose. “Need a shave, dad.” "Well. gosh, how did I know my best girl was coming!" He held her off. "What s the matter. Pink? Don't they like your covers any more?" "Not a thing. Hosey. Don't get fresh They’re redecorating my studio—you know —plasterers and stuff. I couldn't work. And I was lonesome for you." Mrs. Brewster's light footstep sounded in the hall. She wore an all - enveloping gingham apron "How did you like your surprise, father?" She came over to him and kissed the top of his head. “I'm getting dinner so that Gussie can go on with the attic. Everything’s ready if you want to come In 1 didn't want to dish up until you were at the table, so’s everything would be hot.” She threw a laughing glance at Pinky. But when they were seated.j. there appeared a platter of cold, thinly sliced ham for Pinky, and a crisp salad, and a featherweight cheese souffle, and iced tea. and a dessert coolly capped with whipped cream. “But. mother, you shouldn’t have —" feebly. “There are always a lot of things in the house. You know that 1 just wanted to tease you.” Father Brewster lingered for an unwonted hour after the midday meal But two o'clock found him back at the cold-storage plant. Pinky watched him go. a speculative look In her eyes She visited the attic that after- ■ noon at four, when It was again j neat clean, orderly, smelling of soap and sunshine. Standing there in the centre of the big room freshly napped, smartly coiffed, trim the very concentrated essence of modernity, she-eyed with stern deliberation the trunks: the chests: the boxes afl shelved and neatly Inscribed with ’heir “H’s Fshg Tckl" and "Blk Nt Drs" "Barbaric!” she said aloud, though she stood there alone. ••Medieval! Mad! It has got to be stopped. Slavery!" After which rhe went downstairs and 'picked golden glow for the livingroom vases and scarlet salvia for I the bowl in the dining-room. Still as one saw Mrs Brewsters tired droop at supper that night, there Is no denying that there seemed some Justification for Pinky’s volcanic remarks. Hosea Brewster announced, after supper, ’hat he and Fred were going to have a session with the furnace: she needed going over in September before they began firing up for the winter. "I'll go down with you. said And though she did not descend to the cellar until the overhauling process was nearly completed she ! did come down in time for the last jof the scene. She perched at the ’foot of the stairs and watched the two men. overailed, sooty, tobaccoI wreathed and happy When finally Hosea Brewster knocked the asi.es out of his stubby black, i pipe, dusted his sooty hands to- | gether briskly and began to peel his overalls. Pinky came forward. * She put her hand on his arm. “Dad, I want to talk to you ' "Careful there. Better not touch

DECATUR DAILY DEMOCRAT

81MB Or a '■ u 1 in Ut iwW I;O 1 vAwhiflk i' I' 1,3 k )Ju JW Ml wQL ■' ffiU ■ i&i 'J -i Slow steps ascending the stairs—the two women listened in silence.

me. I'm all dirt. G'nlght. Fred." "Listen, dad. Mother isn't well.” He stopped then, with one overall leg off and the other on. and looked at her. "Huh?" What d'you mean—isn’t well? Mother." His mouth was open. His eyes looked suddenly strained. "This house —It's killing her. She I could hardly keep her eyes open at supper. It’s too much for her. She ought to he enjoying herself—like other women. She’s a slave to the attic and all those huge rooms. And you’re another.” "Me?" feebly. “Yes. A slave to this furnace. You said yourself to Fred, Just now. that It was all worn out. and needed new pipes or something— I don't know what. And that coal was so high It would be cheaper using dollar bills for fuel. Oh. I know you were just being funny. But It was partly true. Wasn't it? Wasn’t it?" "Yes. but listen here, Paula.” He never called her Paula unless he was terribly disturbed. "About mother—you said—” •’You ana she ought to go away this winter —not Just for a trip, but to stay. You—" she drew a long breath and made the plunge — "you ought to give up the house." “Give up—” "Permanently. Mother and you are buried alive here You ought to come to New York to live. Both of you will love It when you are there for a few days. I don’t mean to come to a hotel. I mean to take a little apartment, a furnished apartment at first to see how you like it—two rooms and kitchenette, like a playhouse." Hosey Brewster looked down at his own big bulk. Then around the great furnace room. “Oh, but listen—" “No, I want you to listen first. Mother’s worn out. I tell you. It isn't as if she were the old-fash-ioned kind: she Isn't. She loves the theatres, and pretty hats, and shoes with buckles, and lobster, and concerts.” He did not even deny It. He seemed suddenly old. Pinky's heart smote her a little. “It's just that you’ve got so used to this great barractys you don’t know how unhappy it’s making you. Why.

mother said today that she hated lit. I asked about the attic—the cleaning and all —and she said she hated it.” He dusted his hands together, slowly, spiritlessly. His eves looked pained and dull. "She did, h'm? You say she did?” He was talking to himself, and thinking, thinking. PINKY, sensing victory, left him She ran lightly up the cellar stairs, through the firstfloor rooms and up to the second floor. Her mother’s bedroom door was open. A little mauve lamp shed its glow upon the tired woman in one of the plump, grey-enamel beds. “No. I'm not sleeping. Come here, dear. What in the world have you been doing in the cellar all this time?” “Talking to dad." She came over and perched herself on the side of the bed Mrs. Brewster looked Incredibly girlish with the lamp’s rosy glow on her face and her hair. Warmly brown and profuse, rippling out over the pillow Scarcely a thread of grey in it "You know, mother. I think dad Isn’t well. He [ought to go away.” As if by magic the youth and : glow faded out of the face on the pillow. “What do you mean, ■Pinky? Father—but he isn’t sick. He—" "Not sick. 1 don't mean sick exactly But sort of worn out. That furnace. He's sick and tired of the thing: that’s what he said to Fred. He needs a change. He ought to retire and enjoy life He could. This house is killing both of you. Why in the world don't you close it up. or sell it, and come to New York?" “But we do. We did. Last winter —" ”1 don’t mean just for a little trip. I mean to live. Take a little two-room apartment in one of the new buildings—near my studio—and relax. Enjoy yourselves. Meet men and women. Live! You're in a rut—both of you Besides, dad needs It That rheumatism of his, with these Wisconsin winters —" • Slow steps ascending the stairs —heavy, painful steps. The two

women listened In silence. Every i ] footfall seemed to emphasize 1 Pinky’s words. ' THREE days later Pinky left.,' She waved a good-bye from i 1 the car platform, a radiant, 1 electric, confident I*lnky, her work J well done. "Au 'voir! The first of Novem- i ber! Everything begins then, i You’ll love it. You’ll be real New 1 [ Yorkers by Christmas. Now, no 1 ■changing your minds, remember.” 1 1 And by Christmas, somehow, 1 miraculously, there they were, real ! New Yorkers; or as real and as 1 New York as anyone can be who ' is living in a studio apartment 1 I (duplex) that has been rented ' (furnished) from a lady who | .turned out to be from Des Moines, 1 Pinky had dinner with them the I i first night, and they laughed a ; [great deal, what with one thing : and another. After Pinky left J; there came upon them. In that i cozy, little, two-room apartment, a feeling of desolation and vastness. , and a terrible loneliness such as they had never dreamed of in the great twelve-room house in Winnebago They lay very' still in the little stuffy, rose-colored room, and the street noises of New York came up to them —a loose chain flapping , against the mud guard of a taxi: the jolt of a flat-wheeled Eighth Avenue street car; the roar of an L train; laughter: the bleat of a motor horn; a piano in the apartment next door, or upstairs, or down. I She thought, as she lay there, [choking, of the great gracious grey-and-blue room at home, many windowed, sweet-smelling, quiet. | Quiet! He thought, as he lay there, j choking, of the gracious grey-blue room at home; many windowed, sweet-smelling, quiet Quiet! THEY awoke next morning unrefreshed. Pa Brewster, back home in Winnebago, always whistled mournfully, off key. when i he shaved. The more doleful his ■ tune the happier his wife knew him to be. In the months of their gay life in Sixty-seventh Street, Hosey

Brewster never once sang “The Dying Cowboy’s Lament,” nor whistled “In the Sweet By-and-By.” No; he whistled not at all. or, when he did. gay bits of jazz heard at the theatre or in a restaurant the night before. He deceived j no one. least of al! himself. They saw Pinky less frequently as time went on and her feeling of responsibility lessened. Besides, the magazine covers took most of her day. She gave a tea for her father and mother at her own studio, and Mrs. Brewster’s hat. slippers, gown and manner equalled in line, style, cut and texture those of any other woman present, which rather surprised her until she had talked to five or six of them. She and Hosey drifted together land compared notes. "Say. Mllly," he confided, "they’re all from Wisconsin—or approximately; Michigan and Minnesota, and lowa, and around. Far’s I can make out there’s only one New Yorker. really, In the whole caboodle of ’em.” "Which one?” “That kind of plain little one over there—sensible looking, with the blue suit. I was talking to her. She was born right here In New York, but she doesn’t live here—that Is. not In the city. Lives in some place In the country, In a house.” A sort of look came Into Mrs. Brewster’s eyes. “Is that ho? I’d like to talk to her. Hosey. Take me over.” She did talk to the quiet little woman in the plain blue suit. And the quiet little woman said: "Oh, dear, yes!" She ignored her r's fascinatingly, as New Yorkers do. "We live in Connecticut You see, you Wisconsin people have crowded us out of New York: no breathing space. Besides, how can one live here? I mean to say— I live. And then the children —it’s no place for children, grown up or otherwise. I love it—oh, yes, Indeed. I love it. But it's too difficult." , This was the first woman that Mrs. Brewster had talked to—really talked to —since leaving Winnebago. And she liked women. She missed them. At first she had eyed wonderlngiy. speculatively.

the women she saw on Fifth Ave- ’ nue. Swathed luxuriously In I precious pelts, marvelously coiffed and hatted, wearing the frailest of boots and hose, exhaling a mysterious. heady scent, they were more like strange exotic birds than women. PA BREWSTER had taken to conversing with \the doorman. That adamantine individual. ( unaccustomed to being nddreseed as a human being, was star’led a* first surly and distrustful. But he mellowed under Hosey's simple and friendly advances. ”1 guess you ain't a New Yorker, huh?” Mike said. "Me? No." "Th' most of the folks In th' bulldin' ain't.” "Ain’t!" Hosey Brewster was startled Into it. "They're artists, aren't they? Most of 'em?" “No! Out-of-town folks like you. West. East an' Catlforny, an' around there. Livin' here, though. Seem t' like it better'n where they come from. I dunno" Hosey Brewster took to eyeing them as Mrs. Brewster had eved the women. He wond-red about them, these tight trim men rather short of breath, buttoned so snuglv Into their shining shoes and the'r tailored clothes, with the'r necks bulging In a fold of fat above the back of their white lln-m collar He knew that he would never be like them. It wasn't hl» squaretoe shoes that made the difference, or his grey hat, or bls bagvv trousers. It was him—something he lacked. he thought. It never occurred to him that It was something be possessed that they did not. His ruddy color began to fade. He took to haunting dennrtmentstore kitchenware sections Ho would come home with a new kind of cream whlpper. or a patent device for the bathroom He would tinker happily with this, driving a nail, adjusting a screw At such times he was even known to begin to whistle some scrap of a doleful tunc such as he used to hum But he would change, quickly to something lively. The price of butter, eggs, milk, cream and the like horrified his Wisconsin cold-storage sensibilities. He used often to go down to Fulton Market before daylight and walk about among the stalls and shops, piled with tons of food of all kinds. He would talk to the marketmen. and the buyers and the grocers, and come away feeling almost happy for a time. Then, one day, with a sort of shock, he remembered a farmer he had known back home tn Winnebago. He knew the farmers for miles around, naturally. In his business. For his family’s sake he had moved Into town, a ruddy rufous-bearded, clumping fellow, intelligent, kindly. They had sold the farm with a fine profit and had taken a boxlike house on Franklin Street. He had nothing to do but enjoy himself. You saw him out on the porch early, very early summer mornings. You saw him ambling about the yard, poking at a weed here, a plant there. A terrible loneliness was upon him: a loneliness for the soil he had deserted. And slowly, resistlessly. the Boil pulled at him with its black strength and its green tendrils, down, down, until he ceased to struggle and lay there • clasped gently to her breast, the ’’mistress he had thought to desert and who had him again at last, and forever. “I don’t know what ailed him." his widow had said, weeping “He Just seemed to kind of pine away." It was one morning in April—one soft- golden April morning—when this memory had struck Hosey Brewster. He had been down at Fulton Market Something about the place—the dewy fresh vegetables, the crates of eggs, the butter, the cheese—had brought such a surge of homesickness to him as to amount to an actual nausea. Riding uptown in the subway he had caught a glimpse of himself In a slot-ma-chine mirror. His face was pale and somehow shrunken. He looked at his hands. The skin hung loose where the little pads of tat had plumped them out. He thought, then, of the redfaced farmer who used to come clumping Into the cold-storage warehouse in his big boots and his buffalo coat. A great fear swept over him and left him weak and sick. The chill grandeur of the studiobuilding foyer stabbed him. The glittering lift made him dlzxv. somehow. this morning He shouldn't have gone out without some breakfast. perhaps. He walked down the flagged corridor softly: turned the key ever so cautiously. Hhe might still be sleeping. He turned the knob, gently; tiptoed In and. turning fell over a heavy wooden object that lay directly in his path In the dim I little hail. A barked shin. A good round oath. : "Hosey! What's the matter? What—" She came running to | him. Hhe led him Into the bright | front room. "What was that thing? A box 1 or something, right there In front 1 iof ’he door. What the—" "Oh, I’m so sorry, Hosey. You 1 sometimes have breakfast down- ' town. I didn’t know—" SOMETHING In her voice—he stopped rubbing the injured shin to look up at her. Then ■ he straightened slowly, his mouth ludicrously open. Her head was i bound In a white towel. Her skirt I was pinned back. Her sleeves , were rolled up Chairs, tables.

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ruga. «rtKin>«uta were huddled tn a promiscuous heap. Mrs. Hosea ll Brewster was cleaning house “MUly •" he begun, sternly. "And that s j‘jM the thing you cama here tn get away from. If Ptnky— * Truth—blinding, white-hot truth — burnt !i, upon him. "Mother." he said -<i>,g he stood up. suddenly robust, virile, alert-“mother, let’s go home." Mechanically she began to unpin the looped back skirt. "When?" "Now." > , Pinky—this flat—until June—" Now' Unleaa you want to stay. Unless you like It here In thisthis make-believe, double barreled, duplex do-funny of a studio thing, let s gr home, mother. Ixrt’s ge home— and breathe” IN Wisconsin you are likely to find snow In Aprll-snow or n.a “t The I2r <W”ters found >o h. Yet on their way up from the static n In *Gene Buck's flivver taxi, they beamed out at it as If it were a carpet cf daisies At the corner of Elm and Jackson Street Honey Brewster stuck his head out of the window "Stop here a minute, will you. 'Gene?" They stopped In front of Hengei a meat market, and Hosey went In. Mra. Brewster leaned back without comment. Inside the shop. "Well. I see you’re back from the East." said Aug. Hengel. "Yep." "We thought you'd given us tha go-by. you stayed away so long." "No, slr-ree! Say. Aug. give mo that piece of bacon- the big piece. And send me up some corned beef tomorrow, for corned beef and cabbage. 11l take a steak along for tonight. Oh. about tour pounda That’s right." It seemed to him that nothing less than a side of beef could take out of his mouth the taste of those fiddling little lamb chops and the restaurant fare of the past six months. All through the winter Fred Lad kept up a little heat In the house, with an eye to frozen water plpea But there was a chill upon the place as they opened the door now. It was late afternoon. The house was very still, with the stillness of a dwelling that has long been uninhabited. The two stood there a moment, peering Into the darkened rooms. Then Hosea Brewster strode forward. Jerked up this curtain. that curtain with a sharp snap flat! He stamped his feet ta rid them of slush. He took off bls hat and threw it high tn the air and opened his arms wide and emitted a wboop of sheer Joy and relief. "Welcome home! Home!" They did little talking after that By five o’clock he was down in the cellar. She heard him making a great sound of rattling and bumping and shaking and ixmndlng and shoveling. She smelled the acrid odor of ids stubby black pipe. "Hosey!"—from the top of the cellar stairs. "Hosey, bring up a can of preserves when you come." "What?" "Can of preserves." "What kind?" “VI "Any kind you like." "Can I have two kinds?" He brought up quince marmalade and her choicest damson plums. He put tnein down on the klb hen table and looked around, spatting his hands together briskly to rid them of dust "She's burning pretty good now. That I'redl Don't any more know how to handle a boiler than a baby does. Is the house getting warmer? He clumped into the diningroom. through the butler's pantry, but he was back again in n wink, his eyes round. "Why. say. mother! You've got out the best dishes, and the silver, and the candles and all And the tablecloth with the do-dads on IL Why—” • "I know it.” She opened the oven door, took out a pan of biscuits and slid It deftly to one side. -It seems as if I can't spread enough. I’m going to use the biggest platters, and I've put two extra boards In the table. It's big enough to seat ten I want everything big. somehow I’ve cooked enough potatoes for a regiment, and 1 know It’s wasteful, and I don't care. I'll eat in my kitchen apron, it you'll keep on youi overalls. Come on." He cut into tit steak—a great thick slice. He 1 new she could lever eat it. Bui she did eat it all. ecstatically And in a sort of ecstatic Nirvana the quiet and ' vastness and peace of the big old frame house settled down upon them The telephone in the hall rang startlingly, unexpectedly •'Let me go. Mllly.” "But who In the world! Nobody knows we're—” He was at the telephone. “Who? Who? Oh." He turned: "It's Mlz' Merz. She says her little Minnie went by at six and saw a light In the house. She— Hello! What? . . She says she wants to know I It she’s to save time for you at the end of the month for 'he April ■ denning.” • I Mrs. Brewster took the receiver i from him: "The twenty-fifth, as i usual. Mlz’ Merz. The twenty-fifth, i as usual. The attic must be a sight." i i -i, , ' (jJ 1/cC’lure Newspaper Syndicate.