Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 235, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 October 1910 — In a Proper Place [ARTICLE]

In a Proper Place

By JOANNA SINGLE

CoDjright. 1910, by Associated literary Press

Rushing lunchward with the healthy ardor of youth, Stephen Carr turned a corner and ran, head on, into a girl. She nearly lost her balance, and her packages and purse flew from her hands. With a grasp''uk her arm k® restored her equt-' librium. Then, inwardly cursing his headlong awkwardness, he restored the belongings and apologized profusely. As he* did so he noticed that sne hardly heard him, that her deep Kray eyes were wide with a sort of fear, that she was refined, but shabbily dressed, and extremely young. She was the sort of girl that brings to men the Instantaneous thought Riat this is a hard world for women. As she took her purse she assured him that she was quite unhurt. Her voice was most satisfactory. Then there was nothing for him to do but to lift his hat and take himself off. Her manner told him the episode was closed. Five minutes later he drank to the memory of her eyes in a cup of excellent coffee, and-V-forgot her. The next morning, gding to his office earlier than usual 1 to do some reading on a troublesome case, he suddenly observed, in the elevator, that she stood facing him. Their eyes met, and at the recognition in her own, slight though it was, he lifted his hat gravely. She got off nt the fifth floor—he continued to the seventh. Again, for all her gallant bearing of high head and wellheld shoulders, he was impressed with the strange look of fear In the depths of her straightforward eyes. He had this morning noted the extreme beauty of her fine brown hair, arranged with Madonna-like simplicity. Who could she be? It was several days after this that the elevator refused to work, and returning from lunch, young Carr, unwilling to wait, climbed the stairs. As he turned the corner of the dark hall on the fifth floor, he came suddenly upon her. She did not see him, but stood near a window overlooking the dingy court. Her small hands wore crushing and tearing at a bunch of fresh, perfect tiolets. With a shudder she flung them out. Then she turned and saw Carr. At his intense gaze, another girl might have blushed, or simpered, but she only turned a shade paler, and with perfect composure gave him a grave and very small bow of recognition. She passed him, and Just then he saw Simeon Herbert looking out of his office door. • - “Oh, there you are, Miss Everett! Ready for some dictation? Eh, Carr,” he said in his oily, Joking manner, “are you responsible for keeping my pretty stenographer out in the hall? I won’t have a handsome young chap like you about her—take that from me!” - He chuckled at his own wit. The girl could not pass her employer, who filled the door. She waited quietly.

“I went to the window for a breath —I was choking with the smoke In here,” she said steadily, In that low voice and not looking at Carr. Then Herbert stepped aside, let her pass, and followed her. Carr gasped a little. This man’s office was not the proper place for any young girl. And this one, this Miss Everett, was not the sort to have to look after herself. He had an Impatient wonder that she would stay there. She should leave —immediately —and find a safer berth 1 she must earn her living. He wondered what cursed combination of circumstances should have sent a girl like this out into the wage-earning world. And on the spot he resolved to keep his eyes open for her. Chivalry, despite public opinion, is yet far from being dead. The protector of women is still at work. But he Is no longer spectacular—spectacular rescue, in this age, lands the rescued lady in the front pages of yellow Journals. That night Stephen Carr went home to thfe spinster sister who gave him a share in her comfortable home, a home given her by an old aunt, and told her about the girl. Unworldly, and yet worldly wise, she shared his interest and intention,' and still gave him some wise advice. It seemed now that they were always meeting, and she progressed to giving him a faint smile with her nod of recognition. The look of him would have told any discerning girl that he would not trespass on mere acquaintance. Several times he held back the heavy swinging doors of the building as she entered or went out, and always she thanked him. Once she said it was a beautiful morning, but it was absently, and as if beautiful mornings had sadly little to do •with her life. The perplexed, fearing expression persisted in the deep long-lashedeyes.„— The young man began to long to «ee a smile Jn her eyes—now her smile touched the edges of her lips and stirred a dimple in her white cheek He thought that at eighteen —she could not be more than that—a vnunx girl should be rosy, confident, alive And in May she should be radiant, wearing violets—not throwing them into dark corners with a shiver What could be done about Thus far he had done no more then discover her first name—that name of names, Mary. It was «m Sie fly-leaf of * book be bad picked Z, for her in the elevator,. And the JSok was a little Aurelius”

in brown leather. Surely not the book for the average stenographer. That evening,, thinking of her, Stephen Carr grew restless, and took himself off for a long wal£. Sunset Mas brilliant in the sky as he started, hud led him toward the river. As Ala reached the'North bridge, and becrossing it absently, he saw before him a girl, leaning over the parapet, gazing into the water. And, as he watched, a rough fellow, passing, stopped and spoke to her. She drew back, butj the man persisted. This was Cgrr’s moment. He stepped up quickly. “Get out of here!” The girl shrank toward him gratefully, as the fellow with an impudent word or two betook himself off. Then he turned to her. “You must let me take you home. Where do you live?” But she shook her head, and stood stubbornly by the railing. “You are good—but you must —go away.” “I shall not. You do not know the risk you take —being here. Why did you come?” His tone was masterful, and she weakened a little, .then with a queer look of determination she answered him. “I came—to Jump in. It’s really nobody's business. And it’s not a new story to tell. Everybody I had died —suddenly—and there was "only money enough to get me through business school. I am in my first place—and I’ve no money left and I —can’t stay there any longer. I am —afraid. He —Mr. Herbert —told me to come back and work tonight. I won’t go there at night—and he’ll discharge me if I don’t. That’s all—but it’s enough. I thank —and thank you, for sending off that man who spoke to me, but he’s only one. Men are always speaking to me—not men like you, for you seem different —but the kind that come into the office. I can’t manage them as other girls seem to. I don’t know how. I never had to —and I can’t—seem td learn.” She paused and he came to her side and took her arm in his. “You’re going straight home to my sister till I, or some one else gets you a proper place to work in, if you have to work. You needn’t be afraid of me, and nothing could be worse than —this. Come.” She tried for a moment to resist, but he had the mastery. He called a taxi and took her home. Fate works according to unknown laws. The next morning the girl lay in a delirious fever. Miss Jane Carr called Herbert & Co. by phone and told them Miss Everett was ill and would not work for them longer. They did not believe the woman, and simply thought the girl had somehow escaped them. Meantime, the girl went into the valley of the shadow, came slowly out, began to remember, then to recover.

It was a month later—well into June—when one soft, summer-warm evening, Stephen Carr brought his little phaeton to the door and carefully helped Mary Everett down the steps and out for a drive. Miss Jane solicitously tucked the dust-robe about the girl. Then the two rode away. She was long silent, but at length she spoke. “Heaven—does not last,” she said, “and now I am well and in the real world again, you must help me a little further by finding me a proper place to work—" He had turned and was looking steadfastly into her deep eyes. A smile leaped up for him. She blushed. It was a blush that devoured her. Her eyes drooped. The man turned his horse down a side street, and presently drew up before a very pretty and very new little tfottage. He got out, tied his horse and then came and held up his arms to the girl. “I have built this place—l thought it was for a friend of mine, but I would rather give it to—my wife. Won’t you have it? Don’t you think it would be a proper place for you to work in—all your life? Won’t you, Mary?” She rubbed her hand across her eyes to be sure she saw aright. He held up his arms for her. "I’m waiting—l shall always be waiting! Will you?l!~ With a suddpn glad little movement she rose and leaned over tiat he might lift her down. And, man and girl, they walked together into their future home. Home, she thought, was the proper place for any woman!