Evening Republican, Volume 59, Number 85, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 May 1917 — The Double Love [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Double Love

By Walter Joseph Delaney

(Copyright, by W. G. Chapman.) “I have something serious to say to you, Phyllis." There Ray Landis was halted abruptly, for Phyllis Eastburn had placed one of her pretty white fingers across his lips. Then, snatching it away and flushing and paling by turns, she lifted both shapely hands to her pearly pink ears and had him routed completely !” “I won’t hear it!” she cried defiantly. “I know what it is—that is, I mean we are the very best and jolllest of friends, aren’t we? Some other time.” Ray, shrugged his shoulders resignedly. They were, indeed, good friends, and had been that, and only that, for two years or more. Light-hearted and gentle-spirited sprite' that she was, Ray sighed and realized it, and deferred the “something serious” he had to say, little dreaming the true reason why Phyllis had acted so peremptorily. For he was minded to tell her that friends and busy-bodies were speaking of their possible engagement, and that, because he loved another, a certain Nellie Warren, he wished to have her understand his position. Manly young fellow that he was, pleasurable as was the company of Phyllis, whom he adored in a brotherly way, he felt

guilty. Unconsciously they had drifted along, more like two chums than lovers. Perhaps he had done wrong in monopolizing her company, but enjoyed this mutual companionshljLSP delightfully that until just now he had not analyzed the Injustice he might be doing her. He would have been surprised could he have looked into the secret mind of the singularly sweet and erratic maiden. She had impelled silence because she had feared a declaration of love. And to answer him truthfully she might break her dear good heart, she had girlishly decided. For she loved Ray as a sister. As to real love, that had not as yet come into her innocent, buoyant life. “Ah! by the way,” she added, as Ray turned away to depart, “there is something I want you to dp.” “Yes?” he Interrogated, with his usual pleasant smile. “You remember that calendar poster we saw at Nellie Warren’s home last evening?” Ray nodded assentlngly. He strove to conceal some trepidation, for Nellie was the veritable idol of his soul. “Well, I want one. I think the face in the picture is the most angelic I have ever seen. I noticed that it advertises Ward & Chandler, dealers in art goods. Couldn’t you get me one, Ray?” “I shall certainly try,” he replied. “I’ll start after it right now.” “You won’t forget Here,” added Phyllis-in her quick, impetuous way, “this will be a reminder.” She unstrung a bit of pink ribbon from her neck, and, brushing aside his outer coat, affixed the delicate fragment to a button on the inner one. “When will I see you again?” she “This evening, if you have no objection.” "Have I ever had?” challenged Phyllis ; "only—no serious lecture, dear friend!” and she emphasized the last word.” “Phyllis is simply Impossible!” uttered the young man, as he left the grounds of the Eastburn home. “I hope I haven’t made the Impression I fear, or am I a misguided boob, imagining that she cares anything for me? t hope not. All the same, dear artless creature that she is, if I hadn’t tnfet Nellie, it might have all come out differently.” , Ray .want on his way. He visited

Ward & Chandler’s forthwith. He stated his mission. The store manager smiled as he preferred his request for the calendar. “Sorry,” he said; “we have had constant calls for that calenda|, although it is two years since we distributed a limited number. One of our new ones, now —” - “No,” demurred Ray. “A young lady friend of mine was particularly attracted by the one I described. ‘Dear Heart’ it was called, I “You’re right," nodded the manager. “It was quite a hit for Paul I|Vlnters, the artist who made the original.” “Who’s he?” inquired Ray. “A young artist, and, say, I think we havehis address. Yes, here it is,” and, consulting a card, he announced: “Webster building.” “Thank you,” spoke Ray, and ten minutes later reached the address given. The building was given over to offices and studios. He arrived at a roonvon its top floor, to be admitted to a dingy, poorly furnished apartment. A young man with a worn, but Intellectual face answered to Paul Winters, and Ray stated the object of his call. The artist’s face whs illumined by a transient smile. “I am pleased to think that my humble effort is prized so highly,” he said. “Miss Eastburn tells me that the face in your picture has appeared to her as the most beautiful she has ever seen,” explained Ray. “It’s original was that of my mother when she was a young girl,” said the artist reverently, in a low, intense tone. “If you will leave me the address, I will send a copy to Miss Eastburn. I think I know where I can get one.” “And any expense yon may be put to,” began Ray, but the other silenced him with a quick gesture of pride and that way the end of the Interview. Ray left the place, feeling that the surroundings and appearance of this gracious donor did not indicate freedom from illness, perhaps poverty, but he saw no way to follow out an impulse to proffer aid that appealed to his sympathetic mind. It was the next day that Phyllis, running down the front steps of her home, halted with a shock. A young man who walked as though weak or ill, had advanced from the street into the grounds. Suddenly he tottered, sank to a rustic seat, closed his eyes and fell over to one side, prostrated. There was something in his face that at once attracted Phyllis. She started in speedy comprehension as a roll dropped from his hand, and, spreading open, revealed the coveted calendar poster. Then she sped back into the house, reappearing with her elder brother and excitedly chattering forth her suspicion that the insensible visitor was the artist whom Ray had seen. Ray, himself, appeared on the scene at that moment. The artist partially recovered. His tired, mournful eyes rested fascinated upon the, eager, s sympathetic face of Phyllis. “If this is Miss Eastburn,” he spoke with some difficulty, “I have brought the picture you seemed to like.” “How can I thank you?” Phyllis expressed herself warmly. “So much trouble, and you are ill?” “My auto is at the curb and I will be glad to see you home, Mr. Winters,” said Ray, and assisted the artist to the street. "Now then,” he added peremptorily, when they were alone in the machine, “it is my home you are going to. Come, old fellow! I can read your trouble and Pm man enough to risk offending your pride by insisting upon helping you.” He had guessed right. Dark days had come for Paul Winters —poverty, the actual lack of sustaining food. His pride broke down under the kindly Influence of the genuine friendly sympathy of Ray Landis. It was Ray who put him on his feet again. It was Phyllis who co-oper-ated in making his visits to the Eastburn home periods of full content and happiness for the young artist. And one day Ray Woke up to the fact that Phyllis, who had loved him through the years only in a sisterly way, had, like himself, found her real affinity. “Always good friends—oh, never otherwise!” said Phyllis one day when they were revealed soul to soul. “And you have further blessed my life by bringing into it the being who has rounded its completeness!”

Bank to a Rustic Seat.