Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 233, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 September 1916 — The IDYL of IWIN FIRES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The IDYL of IWIN FIRES

by WALTER PRICHARD EATON

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SYNOPBIB. —l3 r crow tired of mjr work u a college tastructor and buy a Now England farm on alght I Inspect my farm and go to board at Bert Temple's. Bert helps me to {lire a carpenter and a turner. Hard Cider, the carpenter, estimates the repair* aad chanres necessary on the house. Mike oommences plowing. X start to PT UI V® ■orchard trees. Hard Cider builds book* nsasi around th 6 twin fireplaces. Mrs. Temple hires Mrs. Will* for jne as a housekeeper, and announces the coming of s new boarder from New York, a halfolflk young woman who needs the country air I discover that Stella Goodwin will snake a delightful companion ami believe ■he ought not to return to the hot and dusty city for a long time. I squeere her hand slyly. Together we dedicate Twin Fires." I surprise her waling to the brook and enjoy a delightful thr JlV.. *■ PtlUg. my housekeeper, arrives with her ■on Peter and his dog Buster I wonder If I love her. We take a ? ul «* p b > the brook. Stella returns to New York.

“It—lt was nice of Buster to send you.” she said. “You look so white, so tired,” I anawered. “Where is all your tan?" “Melted,” she laughed. “Have you business in town? It’* awfully hot here, you poor man." “Yes,” said I, “I have business here, very important business.— But first some supper and a spree. I’ve got ’most two bushels of peas to spend!" We had a gay supper, and then took a cab, left my grip at my college club, where I had long maintained a nonresident membership, and drove thence to Broadway. “How like Bentford Main street!” I laughed, as we emerged from Fortyfourth street into the blaze of grotesque electric signs, which have a kind of bizarre beauty, none the less. “Where shall we go?” “There’s a revival of ‘Patience’ at the Casino,” she suggested, “and there are the Ziegfeld Follies—” “Not the Follies," I answered. “I’m neither a drummer nor a rural Sundayschool superintendent. Gilbert and Sullivan sounds good, and I’ve never beard 'Patience.* ” We found our places In the Casino Just as the curtain was going up, and I saw “Patience” for the first time. I was glad it was for the first time, because she was with me, to share my delight As incomparable tune after tune floated out to us the absurdest of absurd words, her eyes twinkled into mine, and our shoulders leaned together, and finally, between the seats. I squeezed her fingers with unrestralnable delight. “Nice Gilbert and Sullivan,” she whispered. “It’s a masterpiece; It’s a masterpiece!” I whispered back. “It’s as perfect in Its way as—as your sundial! Oh, I’m so glad you are with me!” “Is It worth coming ’way to New York for?” “Under the conditions, around the world for,” said I. She colored rosy, and looked back at the stage. —■— After the performance she would not let me get a eftb. ‘“You’ve not that many peas on the place,” she said. So we walked downtown to her lodgings, through the hot, dusty, half-deserted streets, into the older section of the city below Fourteenth street. I said little, save to answer her volley of eager questions about the farm. At the steps of an ancient house near Washington square she paused. “Here is where I live,” she said. “I’ve had a lovely evening. Shall I see you again before you go back?” I smiled, took the latchkey from her hand, opened the door, and stepped behind her, to her evident surprise, into the large, silent, musty-smelling hall. She darted a quick look about, but I ignored it, taking her hand and leading her quickly Into the parlor, where, by the faint light from the hall, I could see an array of mid-Victorian plush. The house was silent Still holding her hand, I drew her to me. “I am not going back —alone,” T whispered. “Yod are going with me. Stella, I cannot live without you. Twin Fires is crying for Its mistress. You are going back, too, away from the heat and dust and the town, into a house where the sweet air wanders, into the pines where the hermit sings and the pool is thirsty for your feet.” I heard in the stillness a strange sob, and suddenly her head was on my breast and her tears were flowing. My arms closed about her. Presently she lifted her face, and our lips met. She put up her hands and held my face within them. “So that was what the thrush said, after all,” she whispered, with a hint of a happy smile. • “To me, yes,” , sm& I. “I didn’t dream It was to you. Was it to you?” “That you’ll never know,” she answered, “and you’ll always be too sttF pid to guess.” “Stupid! You called me that once before about the painters. Why were you angry about choosing the dlningroom paint?** -——- She grew suddenly wistful. “I’ll tell you that,” she said. “It was—it was because you let a third person Into our little drama of Twin Fires. I—l was a fool, maybe. But I was playing out a kind—a kind of dream of home building. Two can play such a dream, if they don’t speak of it. But not three. Then it becomes —it becomes, weil, matter-of-faety, 'and people talk, and the bloom goes, and—you hurt me a little, that’s all.’*’ I could not reply for \a moment What man can before the wistful sweetness of a woman’s secret moods? I could only kiss her hair. Finally words came. “The dream shall be reality now,” I said, “and you and I together will make Twin Fires the loveliest spot In all the hills. Tomorrow we’ll buy a stair carpet and—lots of things—together.” “Still with the pea money?” she gurgled, her gayety coming back. “No, sir; I’ve some money, too. Not much, but a little to take the place of the wedding presents I’ve no relatives to give me. I want to help furnish Twin Fires.” She laid her fingers on mv

You’d never guess how John Upton made the decision of hla life and carried It out. If you, reader, are married you’ll hugely enjoy this Installment. If you're not married and are wondering how to persuade a girl to marry you there’s all the more reason why you’ll enjoy the following continuance of the story.

John Upton takes his first mess •f peas to town and sells them to the hotelkeeper—with whom he enters ja conversation.

CHAPTER Xll—Continued. « skepticism which annoyed me. I hastened from him, and left my manuscript with the stenographer, who had arrived for the summer. “I’ll call for the copy tomorrow «oon,” said I. Then I went to the telegraph booth and sent a day letter to Stella. “Buster sending me to thank you,” It read. “Meet me Hotel Belmont six tomorrow. Sold over a bushel of peas today. Prepare to celebrate.” “Mike," said I, returning to the cart, “drop me at-the golf club. Tell Mrs. f*llllg not to expect me to lunch.” It was ten o'clock when we arrived at the entrance to the club. I jumped «ot and Mike drove on. The professional took my name, and promised to hand it to the proper authorities as a candidate. Then I paid the fee for the Iday, borrowed some clubs from him, and we set out I had not touched a club since the winter set In. How good the driver felt in my hand! How ■weetly the ball flew from the club (as the golf ball advertisements phrase it), 0B the first attempt! I sprang down the course In pursuit, elated to see that C had driven even with the pro. Alas! may second shot was not like unto it! tTta second spun neatly up on the green mad came to rest. Mine went off my masble like a cannonball, and overshot Into the road. My third went ten feet. But It was glorious. Why shouldn’t a • farmer play golf? Why shouldn’t a golfer run a farm? Why shouldn’t elther write stories? Heavens, what a lot of pleasant things there, are to do In the world, I thought to myself, as I finally reached the green and sank my put: Poor Stella, sweltering over n dictionary In New York! Soon she’d be here, too. She should learn to play golf, she should dig flower beds, she should wade In a brook. I flubbed my second drive. “You’re taking your eye off,” said the pro. “I'm taking my mind off,” said I. •*QI ve me a stroke a hole from here, for double the price of the round, or Suits?” “You’re on.” said he. That night I slept ten hours, worked over my manuscripts most of the next morning, packed a load of them in my suitcase, and after an early dinner got Peter to drive me to the train. “Peter ” an Id T at. the station, “your Job Is to take care of your mother, and Iceep the kindlings split, and drive to market for Mike when he needs you. lAIso to water the lawn and flower beds (With the spray nozzle! If I find you’ve Btsed the heavy stream. I’ll —PH —PH sell Buster!” Thai amiable creature tried to cllmh_ aboard the train with me, and Peter bad to haul him off by the tail. My last sight of Bentford was a yellow Uog squirming and barking In a small boy’s arms. The train was hot and stuffy. It grew hotter and stuffier as we came out of the mountains Into the Conjnecticnt lowlands, and we were all sweltering in the Pullman by the time Clew York was reached. As I stepped -* out of the Grand Central station into FOrty-second street my ears were asMaulted by the unaccustomed din, my nose by the pungent odor of the city streets, my eyes smarted in a dust whirl. But my heart was pounding with Joy and-expectation as I hurried across the street. 4 I climbed the broad steps to the lobby of the hotel, aftd scarcely had my feet reached the top than I saw a familiar figure rise from a chair. I ran toward her, waving off the boy who rushed to grab my bag. A second later her baud was in mine, bar eyes ilDoa my eyes. . .

protesting ftps. *1 shall, anyway." she added, “We are two tone orphans, yon add I, bat we have each other, and all that la mine ia yours, all—ell — all!’’ Suddenly she threw her arms about my neck, and I was silent In the mystery of her passion.

CHAPTER XIII. I Do Not Return Alone. Many people, I presume, long to fly from New York during a late Jane and early July hot spell. But nobody who does not possess a new place in the country, still unfurnished, with a garden crying for his attention pnd a brook wandering amid the pines, can possibly realize how the dust and heat of town affected me in the next ten days. It affected me the more because I saw how pale Stella was, how tired when the evenings came. With her woman’s conscientiousness, she was struggling to do two weeks’ work in one before leaving the dictionary. She even toiled several evenings, denying herself to me, while I wandered disconsolate along Broadway, or worked over my manuscripts at the club, surrounded by siphons of soda. At the luncheon hour and between five and six we shopped madly, getting a stair carpet, dining-room chairs (a present from her to herself and me, as she put It — fine Chippendale reproductions), a few ruga—as many as we could afford — and other necessary furnishings, including stuff for curtains. For the south room the curtains were gay Japanese silk from an oriental store, to balance the Hiroshiges, and while we were buying them she slipped away from me and presently returned, the proud possessor of two small ivory elephants.

“Look, somebody has sent ns another present!” she laughed. “Folks are so good to us! These are to stand on th# twin mantels, under the prints.” “From whom are they ?” I asked. “Your best friend and my worst enemy,” she answered. For three days after she left th# office of the dictionary I saw little of her. “There are some things you can’t buy for me—or with me,” she smiled. Then we went down together to the city hall for our license, sneaking In after hours, thanks to the kindly offices of a classmate of mine, the city editor of a newspaper. The clerk beamed upon us like a municipal Cupid. The last evening she left me, to pack her trunks, and I went back to the club, and found there a letter from the magazine where I had submitted my story. It was a letter of acceptaneel Misfortunes are not the only things which never come singly. I danced tor Joy. It the stores had been open I should have rubied out then and there and bought the mahogany secretary we had seen a few days before and wistfully passed by. Fortunately, they were not open. In the morning my cab stopped in front of the old house near Washington square, and Stella came forth with a friend, a sober little person who appeared greatly a impressed with her responsibilities, and bore the totally inappropriate name of Marguerite. “Dear, dear!” she said, “I’ve never attended a bride before. It’s very trying. And it’s very mean of you, Mr. Upton, to take Stella from us, and leave me with a new and stupid opworker. How do you expect the dictionary to come out?" “I don’t,-” said I, “nor do I care if it doesn’t There are too many words in the world already.” Bill Chadwick, another classmate of mine, came up from downtown, and met us at the church door. The rector was a friend and fellow alumnus of ours. It was like a tiny family party, suddenly and solemnly hushed by the organ as we stood before the altar, and in the warm dimness of the great, vacant church Stella and I were made man and wife. The four of us "“Went out to the cab again, and Bill insisted on a wedding breakfast at Sherry’s. “Good Lord!” he Bald, “you two gumshoe into an engagement, and get married without so much as a reporter In the church, and then expect to make a getaway like a pair of safe breakers! No, sir, you come .with me, and get one real civilized meal before you go back to your farm fodder.” '* Bill had the solemn little bridesmaid laughing before the luncheon was over, but the last we saw of them they were waving us goodfby from behind the grating as we went down the platform to our train, and the poor girl was mopping her eyes. “Isn’t the best man supposed to fail in love witt the bridesmaid?” I asked. “At least I hope he’ll dry her tears.” “Good gracious, yes!” cried Stella, “I never thought of that. You-don’t know what we’ve done! Marguerite is -a dear girl—and—an excellent crossindexer, but she’s no wife for your gay firiend William. You’d best send him a telegram of warning.” “Never!” said I. “Bill hPs cruised so long in Petticoat bay as a blockade runner that I hope she-shoots him full of holes and boards him in triumph Besides, everybody ought to get mar ried."~’' - Stella’s eyes looked up at mine, deei and happy below their twinkle, and we boarded the train.

But we haven’t reached the finish yet, by a long shot. Moat stories end with wedding musio but not so this tale about John and SteLla. How Peter and Buster and the others greeted the newlyweds and how Bill Chadwick and little Marguerite spun out a romance is told entertainingly hereafter.

(TO BS CONTXNUfiIto