Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 64, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1918 — Beecher Street [ARTICLE]

Beecher Street

By R. RAY BAKER

(Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newipf. per Syndicate.) If Ethel Drayton had done some real reasoning Instead of leaping at conclusions and acting on impulse, it is likely that her bark of romance, with Clif Elbridge in Command, would have sailed serenely down the river of agreeableness Into the sea of matrimony without encountering a storm. On the other hand, that kind of journey would not have been real romance—it would have lacked zest —so perhaps it is just as well that Herman Kartell came over 'to Ethel's desk that dreary, rainy afternoon in April and unfolded the secret. "I have something to say that is very disagreeable to me,” began Kartell as he brushed a hand caressingly over his miniature moustache and looked down at Ethel’s curly brown hair colled On the back of her head In " a business-like knob that served as a pencil holder. “Nevertheless,” he went on, “I feel in duty bound to say it” Ethel jerked a sheet of paper from her typewriter and turned her black eyes up at the head shipping clerk. The tiny, bristling ridge of hair on Kartell’s upper lip forced a smile to her face, but this was dispelled when Kartell explained:

“It’s about Clifford. You see, last night— * . t While this conversation was taking place, the subject of the remarks sat on a high stool at the other side of the Lewis Wholesale Paper company’s shipping office and poured over a file of orders. Out of a corner of his eye he saw the head shipping clerk approach the stenographer’s desk, and he frowned. Kartell leaned over Ethel’s chair as he revealed the secret, and Cliff ruffled his flaxen hair with one hand and thrummed on his desk with the other. Half an hour later Cliff slipped from his stool and into his light overcoat. Carrying his hat, he approached Ethel, who was still busy at the typewriter. He passed and smiled pleasantly, but she continued rattling the keys. “You needn’t "trouble yourself to wait for me,” she informed him in icy tones without pausing in her work or looking up. “I’ll be a little late, and Mr. Kartell has promised to see me home.” Cliff’s smile vanished. Before he had a chance to reply, she had slipped a ring from a finger of her left hand and extended it toward him. She looked Into his eyes with a stare encrusted with ice. “I can’t wear this any longer,” she said, “after the way you have acted lately. I have heard that all men must sow wild oats, but I assure you that my man won’t. If you must gamble and carouse, you can’t expect to become my husband. I have learned all about your going to a saloon or gambling den on Beecher street almost every night, and that’s enough for me. Good-night.” Cliff stumbled down the steps to the street and walked three blocks, heedless of the pouring rain, before he came to himself and ’found the ring clasped in his hand. Then he stopped dead still in the middle of a street crossing, undecided whether to leap in the river or go back and throw Herman Kartell from the roof of the sixstory Lewis building. He decided to do neither; instead, he headed for Beecher street.

Ethel completed her work and was escorted to her rooming place by Kartell. At the door she took his hand and said earnestly: “Ton d6n’t know how I appreciate the revelation you have made to me. I know it must have been hard for you to come and tell me about seeing Clifford go into that terrible place so many times; and lam grateful.” “Don’t mention it,., please,” protested Bartell, striving unsuccessfully toreach his mustache with his tongue. “I couldn’t bear to see you throw yourself away on a worthless fellow. I save a good many blocks by cutting through Beecher street on the way home and that’s how I happened to notice him there.” The next day Ethel failed to appear at the office; telephoning she was suffering from a headache. The succeeding day was Sunday. The rain had ceased but the weather had turned chilly and the sun hid behind clouds. Ethel listened In vain for the doorbell or the telephone, hoping Cliff would appear as he had done each Sunday for more than a year. True, she had told him It was all over; nevertheless, she had expected him to come and make somfe kind of a protest and attempt an explanation. The morning passed very gloomily for her. Early in* the afternoon the landlady summoned her to the telephone, and Ethel tripped over a chair In her haste to answer the call. “This is Mn. Bartell,” said the voice on the wire. “Could I call on you this afternoon?” *Tm sorry,” die. replied, "but I’m too 111 to entertain.” And she went back to her room to gaze thoughtfully at a picture of a flaxen-haired, smiling youth. ' About five o’clock a delegation of three girls from her Sunday school cjass called on her. “We were anxious to learn If you ' were 111,” said one, “and if not we wanted you to go with us to visit a poor family that the class has decided to help.” t Ethel took decided Interest In the ex-

curslon when it was explained that the family lived on Beecher street. They walked past the gloomy, rickety wooden dwellings, through throngs of dirty urchins who hooted and made faces at them, and finally came to a dingy opening that proved to be the entrance to a flight of stairs. . Up these steps the girls stumbled, their way lighted by only a few rays that sifted through the cracks in the flimsy outside wall. One of the party knocked at the door that confronted them at the top of the stairs. Footsteps sounded on the floor, evidently those of a child. Some one fumbled at the knob and the door was swung open to reveal a chubby, roundfaced boy of about four years. A maimed, disreputable toy bear was suspended by its leg from one hand of the tot, who blinked curiously at his four visitors. The opening of the door permitted a warm, pungent odor to penetrate the hall and each of the girls Involuntarily shuddered. “Who is it?” called a voice from within —a weak, plaintive voice, that of a woman. The tot, who was clothed in a nondescript suit of several materials and colors, turned and called: “T’ree dirts.” “Come right in,” answered the voice. “I am ill and cannot come to the door.” The girls entered and noticed that the pungent odor increased. The room was permeated with an unhealthfuM warmth, caused by keeping all the windows closed and thus conserving the heat radiated from the small wood stove.

The designs on the wall paper had all but become eradicated by accumulation of smoke, grease and dust On one wall was a framed picture of a young man and woman, evidently a bridal couple. A row of picture postcards was the only other decoration. A table occupied the center of the room, and nearby were a three-legged stool and a dilapidated rocking chair. The floor was covered with a faded rag carpet “Here I am,” called the from the dingiest corner of the room .“Don’t look around. I’m too IM to keep the place clean, and Jlnimy here is too young,” The girls found her lying on a napg row bed, or rather, a bunkr She was frail and emaciated, but she carried a pleasant smile of greeting. Jimmy hovered near, still clinging to the bear. Ethel, a lover of children, picked him up in her armse “My, my, what clothes I” she mu» mured to herself, but' Jimmy overheard her. “I’m donna have new suit,” he announced. “Mun’s donna bring it.” “Who do you—” Ethel began, but at that moment Jimmy, hearing familiar sounds on the stairs, scrambled’ from her arms and dashed toward the door. “He hears his man,” explained the woman on the bed. “Nearly every night he brings us food, and sometimes candy or something to wear. He found Jimmy on the street one night and came home with him. Jimmy told me his man was going to bring him a new suit today.” The door was flung open and a young man entered, placed a bundle on the stool and gathered the little tx.7 in his arms. “My man,” breathed Jimmy, hugging the newcomer, while EthA started forward in amazement upon recognizing him. “Cliff!” she cried. Clifford Eldridge placed his human burden on the floor and stared in astonishment that equaled her own. So it was decreed that a home of poverty should be the setting for a proud, sensitive, impulsive girl to ask forgiveness —and get it.