Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 February 1915 — MATTER OF TEMPER [ARTICLE]

MATTER OF TEMPER

By LOUISE DRISCOLL.

(Copyright*) Elsworth pushed the Httle electric button and turned to look again about the neighborhood. A long line of hrownstone houses stretched on either side of the way, little pointed bay windows displaying a variety efcheap net or Nottingham lace curtains. The street had never been fashionable. Numerous ash barrels stood quite frankly on the sidewalk and the mistress of the house, as a rule, answered the bell. A maid admitted Elsworth, regarding him with th© indifference born of long service in a lodging house. “Madam win be right down,” she said, and left him standing in the narrow parlor. He recognized some of the furniture. There was a rocking chair he had chosen himself. He felt a little pain creep into his throat as he looked at it. It was as though the inanimate thing had* risen to strike him. And there was the piano. So Rose had kept the piano. It showed the effect of having been moved more times than was good for it. There was an air of disorder in the room, little wads Of dust lay on the floor against the wall, where the rug didn’t meet the baseboard. The table was overlaid with a light cloud of dust. An impulse to run away seized him, a new fear joining the old repugnance; but he conquered both and rose to greet her, looking quiet, only his eyes were tense. Rose had come in carelessly. She supposed he was looking for roqms. “Well, of all things!” she said, and sat down suddenly; and then: “I suppose you’re looking for rooms? Ain’t it funny?” Elsworth found his voice. “Why, no,” he said. He found it was not easy to tell her the truth. “You see—l was looking for you. . I met Sara Walton in London last month. She told me about you. All you had been doing these last years. The time you were on the stage—ln the store —keeping boarders —” She interrupted him. “You didn’t think I was living on what you sent, did you?” she inquired tartly. “I sent all I could," he protested, “and as long as I knew how to reach you; but after Desborough died I couldn’t find out where you were. I have more money now. My last book really paid—you find it hard to believe that?” he smiled for the first time. She refused to meet his jest. “I got along,” she said sullenly. He felt very awkward. Rose hadn’t Changed. He laaghed uneasily. “We made rather a mess of things, Rose,” he said. She flashed another look at him without making any answer, 90 he rfpoke again: “It was rather a shock to meet Sara as I did. She brought it all back to me so vividly. She set me wondering how much of it could have been helped. I know I was wrong a good deal of the time. I want to be fair about that.”

“You haven't changed a bit,” she declared hotly. “You just sit there and talk; and you’ll sit there and talk all night, if I’ll let yon.” Elsworth was slightly offended. It Was all ridiculously like the past they had both dropped. “I only wanted to make the thing clear,” he told her; “if we could talk it over quietly, we might both feel better.” • Rose shook herself impatiently. “What’s the use of talking it over?” she exclaimed. “Who wants to talk it over? I’ve got along all right and you look as though you had." People are good to me—l’m that kind. You got notice of the divorce, didn’t you?” “Yes I—yes,” 1 —yes,” he said, “from Dakota. Yes. To tell you the truth —I confess —I didn’t pay much attention to it. I’ve never thought of marrying again, and I was so busy with my book —•” Rose sniffed audibly. “I can believe that,” she remarked with some asperity. “Perhaps I gave too much attention' to my work,” he confessed. “I can see that now. At first It was with the idea of making more money—you always needed money, Rose.” He was very uncomfortable. “What ground did you give for divorce?” he asked with a pew curiosity as he reviewed their life together. “Nonsupport and extreme cruelty,” -replied Rose glibly. He laughed involuntarily, and Rose stiffened perceptibly, half insulted. Then he rose, and paced the little parlor; twice and three times he went before he stopped in front pf her chair. “Of-course that’s all nonsense,” he said. “You know that as well as I do. I gave you more than I could afford, and you didn’t know what cruelty was. I probably did spend too much time over' my work. You needed a lot of things I never thought of. I don’t blame you for being dissatisfied. I was so tired of quarrels and worried with debts that I wasn’t really sorry when I found, you’d gone. We may as well be honest about that. I just went into my work a little harder and left the country before long. “I sent you money through Desborough as long as I could. After he died I couldn’t seem to reach you.” “Ob; ~rgbr t&mrySm saldT ways do. I’m the Bind people look' out for. I got paid pretty well in the chorus because I’m pretty, and they

put me In the front row. But I couldn’t learn to dance, so I couldn’t get in the next show. Then I went in Oppershatn’s and sold lace for a while till they put me In the millinery to show off hats. Then I had a friend who had a boarding house and she wanted me to come with her, so I did and stayed until she died. We did pretty good, but since then I’ve only kept lodgers because I wasn’t going to bother to try to suit people with meals.” Elsworth stood looking at the rocking chair. It seemed to understand him better than she did. After a minute he came back to her. "There is one thing, Rose, I’ve got to know,” he said. “Sara said —the child—was that true? Was there a child. Rose?” Rose’s eyes went wide with a look that flashed deep into his soul. She clenched her little hands and opened them befores he spoke. “That was soon over. It was born dead,” she said. “When?” “It was eight months after I left I didn’t know till I’d gone. Then it was too late. I went to a hospital. It was bom dead. It was a girl. I didn’t think I had to tell you.” “How you must have hated me,” he said. Rose moved uneasily. “Oh, I don’t hate you now,” she assured him. “I’m like that. I get over things.” Elsworth paced the floor and came back to her again. “Will you try it again, Rose?” he said gently. "I was very wrong. I wish you’d try it again.” Rose edged away from him, shrinking. “Oh, no!” she said. “Oh —no — no! It’s foo late. You’re all right I’m not mad at you. Only—” The door bell rang briskly three times. A sudden change crept into Rose’s manner, a shade of anxiety came into her blue eyes. “You better go,” she urged. “You’re all right. I’m not your kind. It was a mistake always. You’d be sorry. I wish you would go.” She pushed him gently out of the room. It was impossible to mistake her sincerity in wishing him to leave. At the door he passed a portly, redfaced man of prosperous appearance who vouchsafed him a civil nod and entered as one who knew the place.' Elsworth hardly saw him, but stood for a minute looking back at the house before he went on down the shabby street. He had no regret for what he left, but his breath came unevenly because he thought he felt a little hand laid on his heart. The prosperous gentleman gave Rose a cordial greeting. “Got a new lodger?” he inquired. “No,” said Rose. ‘He’s not going to stay. I’m awful sorry I’m not ready —I hadn’t finished dressing.” “That’s all right,” he said indulgently. “You run along and get ready. I’ll wait. And, say—don’t take any more lodgers, anyway. We better get married Vight away. There ain’t no use waiting as I can see. I don’t want you working so hard.” Rose looked at him real affection. “You’re awful good.” she said.