Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 205, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 September 1918 — Rummage! Rummage! [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Rummage! Rummage!

By ROBERT JAY

(Copyright, IHB, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Sinclair Knox was spending the day In a small village on the north shore of Long The business he had come to transact had taken only a few moments of his time and he had learned, on going to the ferry landing, that he would have to wait till five o’clock In the afternoon for another boat. It was late in the season and the ferry ran very much according to the whim of the captain. - The town did not promise to offer ranch excitement, but the stranger took a turn along the shore and then returned to the village square. Immediately he was attracted to a crowd that stood about the entrance to the chapel of a good-sized church on the main street. He crossed the road and stood opposite the gathering of inhabitants, and presently a very handsome young woman appeared with a cloth sign, which-she tacked to the door. Then she opened the door and the crowd rushed in. Sinclair Knox then stepped across the street to read the sign. “Rummage sale Friday and Saturday under the auspices of the Ladles’ Aid Society” was what he read. He had heard of rummage sales, but he had never come in contact with one. Trying to decide whether or not to go in and broaden his knowledge of the ways and means of workers in village churches, he strolled up the street. As he retraced his steps he took courage when he saw a man enter the chapel. “It can* do me any harm.” he de-

tided, “and I can’t find anything more exciting around these haunts.” And then in the back of his mind lurked the Image of that young woman who had tacked up the sign and thrown open the doors. She must be a part of the Ladies’ Aid, for she never could be classed with the rummage he soliloquized as the drew close to the edifice. The sound of ja deep, vibrant voice entreating someone to step up to the table and look at the wonderful bargains entirely settled Sinclair’s mind. He would go in. A long tableful of wearing apparel stood on one side of the room. Other tables held hats and boots, and in a corner stood furniture, ranging In design from Jacobean to modern mission. There were ruffled silk skirts, and there were infants’ bootees. There were plush albums and Florentine frames; and the patrons of the rummage sale rummaged mercilessly among the goods. The girl behind the table of wearing apparel looked at Sinclair and smiled as he entered. x She knew at once that curiosity must have brought him thither. She watched him with an amuked smile as he eyed with interest the persons who were attending the sale. After a while other members of the church society came to assist the young woman, and each one stood behind a table and tried to sell her wares. It was a most unique sight to Sinclair Knox. He wanted to linger and the only excuse he could find was to pretend to be looking for something. Nothing that he could be expected to want came to his mind. At last a thought flashed into his head. He stepped to the young woman who had first been in charge. “Do you have such a thing as a—a —an antique picture frame with a—well, with a French print, perhaps?” he Inquired, with hesitation. “I’ll see,” the girl said in a most charming manner. “We have almost everything, I think.” And aba led the way to another table. “Cora, have you seen any old French prints anywheret” she asked, smiling meaningly- at another young woman. “Don’t go to too much trouble,” admonished young Knox at her side. “Oh. that’s what we're here for,” Mid the young woman behind the

table. "It’s no trouble—ls we have It I" Both girls searched every available spot for something resembling the young man’s specifications, but the only thing that could be found was an old hand-wrought copper miniature frame that had been stripped of its pictured ' Sinclair took It. "It’s hardly a French print—is it?” he laughed. "Hardly 1” both. girls echoed, with laughter. "But it's not bad,” Knox admitted. "Not with the right girl’s picture in it,” the young woman behind the table suggested. . ► Sinclair looked at* the other girl for a moment, and then, his eyes on the frame in his hand, said: “I’ll buy it at your own price if I may have —a picture—in it.” • “Yours, Gerry, yours!” cried Florence Moore, catching her friend by the arm. “And we’ll charge a pretty penny for it.” “It is for the church, you know,” reminded the young man. “It’s In a good cause.” Geraldine Bonner’s face was covered with blushes, but her friend was whispering in her ear. Sinclair stood aside. “Father,” Geraldine began, but Florence clapped her hand quickly over her mouth. "Father need know nothing of it.' I’ll put in that picture you gave. me. I can easily have another.” Sinclair looked inquiringly at Geraldine. “I’d like the frame and I’d like the picture to put in it. I’m a stranger in the village. It’s a fancy I’ve just taken. I don’t even know your name, and I won’t ask it — now,” he said, more earnestly than he realized. “For the church, Gerry!” urged the other girl. Geraldine threw up her head with determination. “AII right—and come next year and I’ll give you another one,” she said laughing. Sinclair waited while the photograph was found and fitted to the frame and then he took his leave of the two girls and the rummage sale. He stood that picture on his mantelpiece and he learned to love it The eyes were so friendly and he could always hear the girl’s voice as he had first heard it coming out of the church door that day. He did not know how best to get In touch with the girl; It was a delicate situation and he did not want to jeopardize his opportunities by plunging headlong Into the wrong method of procedure. But, at least, he decided, nearly a year later, I can do no harm by going across the ferry to the same village again. “And —” he thought, “I might chance to see her.”

On the ferryboat a dodger Mew off its nail on the side of the cabin. He picked It up and read it out of sheer curiosity. “Rummage! Rummage! At the chapel of the First M. E. Church, Friday and Saturday, September 3 and 4,” he read and his eyes widened. He folded the dodger carefully and placed It in his pocket. When he stood face to face with Geraldine Bonner In the church chapel again he took the printed dodger from his pocket. “The wind tossed this to me on the ferryboat this morning,” he told her by way of excuse for being there. The girl blushed. “‘lt’s an 111 wind —’ you know,” she laughed. “It is, Indeed,” Sinclair said earnestly. “And I’m the one to whom It has blown ‘good’ today. Do you remember that I was to have another' picture?” Geraldine hung her head. “I do—you may have It. I know It’s not conventional —” “Never mind conventions,” the man Interrupted. “We’re past that. I’ll tell you all about myself when you’ll let me and we’ll be splendid*—friends,” he said. But they were more than friends before they had really begun to know each other.

Looked at Sinclair as He Entered.