Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 266, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 November 1916 — ON CREST OF A WAVE [ARTICLE]

ON CREST OF A WAVE

By ELIZABETH SHIELDS.

Kathleen Travers Browning, of the Brownings of the Short Hills colony, staggered across the brilliant drawing room under the heavy weight of rich x. foods on the tray held aloof by her strong young arms. In the way of Inefficient waitresses, she placed Mrs. John Guyton’s coffee at the wrong side of her plate. “Idiot,” snapped that lady. Kathleen fled to the panUy. Standing wearily against the wall, she caught the whispered words of Pete, the head waiter, in his well-bred English voice: “It—it really makes me wapt to weep to see you doing this work. The trays are much too heavy.” He was very much concerned. “But, Pete, tell me, am I really an Idiot?” demanded Kathleen. The answer in Pete’s eyes caused a warm flush to cover her face. In her mad escapade of playing maid at a secluded hotel on a tiny island on the Maine coast, Kathleen had found in Pete the best of comrades and the most sincere admirer she had ever known. , Kathleen knew she was fair. All her lifetime she had been admired and courted. Since the winter season of gayety and pleasure, great curiosity had taken possession of her. She wanted to knew whether the homage she received was in part due to her wealth apd place in society. She found out almost Instantly. Her bronze hair and violet eyes evoked admiration, of course, but the men ot her own world showed it by furtive winks and flirtations. It was disappointing, too, to know that life behind the kitchen door was much the same as on the front piazza. The difference lay only in its uncouth exterior and a greater amount of tolerance for the faults of others, fln this Pete agreed. Being free every afternoon at two and each evening after eight, they spent the time together. Whether splashing about in the tumbling surf, paddling a canoe in the golden path of the moon, or just sitting at the end of the rickety old pier, Kathleen found life wholesome and satisfying. The problem of telling Pete the truth about herself became more difficult as the hours with him . grew more precious. He was J>t the head waiter, after all, and she a daughter of the Brownings. Then occurred an insignificant matter that was the turning point in Kathleen’s life. The extraordinary thirst of Mrs. Guyton had kept Kathleen busy on a dull, foggy day. The heat was intense and life in the kitchen unbearable. “I can’t stand it any longer,” she sobbed and laughed. “We’U go away from it all —we’ll go together,” Pete breathed in her ear. as he took her in his arms. Soothing and comforting her, Pete led her to the cozy spot they had arranged far out on the edge of the old pier. ' .. The worries of a waitress slipped easily and gracefully from Kathleen. She would have one last swim with Pete, then, high and dry in the sand dunes, she would tell him, and together they would adjust matters. Gracefully poised on the time-worn rail of the pier, Kathleen dived into an oncoming breaker. Closely following her powerful . stroke, a mountainous breaker grasped Kathleen in its embrace. Desperately fighting, she freed herself from the whirl of the terrific undertow and rose to the surface. She made a feeble effort to swim, but the furious sea, leaping after her, again caught and pounded her into submission, dragging her toward a low sea wall. Giving up the struggle, she called out: “Pete! Pete!” Two powerful arms grasped her body. Pete, fighting like a demon, was holding her up! With his right arm, he cut the water, and together they resisted the mad sea. In a sheltered spot among the sand dunes, resting in Pete’s arms, they watched a dull sun slip behind a distant mountain peak. “Dinner hour! It’s over!” gasped Pete, sitting up straight “We’ve lost our places,” laughed Kathleen fairly danced down the hill to the boat landing. Pete trudged silently by her side. "Both out of jobs,” she laughed ruefully. R- “We’ll find a minister at Portland,” said Pete. Kathleen was silent Perhaps the telling of her side of the story might be postponed. Their trunks were unloaded from the hotel wagon antr placed side by side on the makeshift boat dock. Kathleen sat on Pete’s trunk gazing at him with whimsical eyes. “I should tell you, Pete, about—” Suddenly she shrieked. She pointed to a card neatly printed on the top of Pete’s trunk. “How dared you?” cried. The card directed the trunk to bfc sent to “Sir Peter Gordon-Smith, London, England.” Pete, in retaliation pointed an accusing finger to a nam<s card attached to the express tag on Kathleen’s trunk. } ~~7. \ "I read it,” he explained, “just before we left the hotel. So thought PO best introduce myself at once.” “Why did you do this? Here, in dis*< guise!” Asked Kathleen. “To find you,” he whispered, “and to take a vacation away from th* blamed title.” (Copyright, 1316, by_the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) I .