Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 238, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 October 1918 — THE ANNUAL PICNIC [ARTICLE]

THE ANNUAL PICNIC

By JOSEPHINE MURPHY.

(Copyright, 1918, by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) At the time of the annual picnic given by Lovett A Neville to their employees It was expected that any incipient romances that the year had developed would be haled forth into the gay light of publicity. Not that the number was so very great, but It must be admitted that even the most distinguished floorwalker loses a certain charm—the charm, perhaps, of the proud and unapproachable —when you have taken notes on him for a twelvemonth across the counter. Nevertheless, something was always to be hoped for at the annual picnic. A year ago, it was confidently predicted that Kenneth Moore of the book department and Cynthia Gray of the ribbon counter were to afford the necessary love Interests. There must have been an understanding between them, certainly; he hardly so much as said “Good morning” now to other girls; they had been seen together at theater and lunch. Oh, there were plenty of signs! The seal of finality was all that was lacking. The long-expected day brought only confusion to these cherished hopes. Cynthia, who was looked upon as one of the most refined girls In the whole store, appeared unusually gay and reckless. First she was devoted to one man, then to another, with an imprudence that set friendly eyes wide with horror. Finally, when the picnic dinner was over, the party broke up for games, swan-boating and strolls in the woods, Cynthia flung herself at a certain Mr. Green, newly of the shoe department, and before the eyes of all they had gone together toward the lake. “Well, wouldn’t that frost you?” gasped Florence Small. “Is the girl crazy? The way she’s treating Kenneth, and he the most refined fellow in the store, too!” They saw Kenneth alone, and sent one of the new men over to him with an invitation to come to the skating rink; but he only shook his head with a wan smile, and replied: “I have got sort of a headache; guess I’ll just sit around a while. Perhaps I’ll come down later.” He did not have a headache; but he wanted to be alone, for his heart was sore. He had not expected Cynthia to treat him like this. During the whole trip she had scarcely spoken a word to him. No one would ever have thought they knew each other. And it didn’t seem like her Either. He couldn’t understand it. Why, only the last time he called on her they had" sat together in her little “den,” and had talked on quite a number of subjects. There was nothing sentimental about Cyn-lj thia; they had been just good pals together; that was what he liked best in a girl. She sang well and loved poetry, both of which he also was fond of. What had first attracted him to Miss Gray was the sight of her burled in a volume of poems. He had asked her what she was reading. She had glanced up at him with a smile he could never forget. “Lucile,” she said. Now, Kenneth had never read "Lucile,” so he purchased a copy, which at this very moment was in his pocket He had brought IL thinking of how he and Cynthia—but what was the use of thinking. That was all it had come to. And he mused, as others mused before him. In the distance he heard the gay strains of the band at the skating rink, and the sound disturbed him, so out of harmony was it with his mood. He thought of Mr. Green, perhaps even now paddling down the lake with the faithless Cynthia. But Cynthia had ruthlessly deserted Mr. Green when he went in quest of a boaL and strolled off by herself. Kenneth arose from the bench on which he had been sitting and wandered up the path. Sitting down under a tree he opened his volume, “Lucile.” He was glad even now that Cynthia was not beside him

Afternoon sunlight began to peep through the trees. He got- up and leaped to the summit of a fern-grown bowlder, and, looking down the path, a cjdn of terror ran over him. Cynthia was walking toward him with downcast eyes, digging the toe of her little boot into the moM every now and then. All at once she stopped, and with a cry snatched something. It was "Lucile.” She pressed the volume to her lips. “It’s his!” he heard her murmur —“Kenneth’s.” There were tears in her eyes. “Kenneth!” —he heard her murmur again. He took a step forward. “Cynthia,” he cried. “Cynthia, dear!” He forgot the steepness and height of the bowlder; he slipped, lost Ms balance. and in a minutewas lying below. Cynthia ran to him, fell on her knees with a cry of distress. “Oh! Kenneth, are you hurt?” He sat up and shook himself, like an English sparrow after a bath. “I suppose they are all laughing at me; but I don’t care—l mean, not it you’ll call me ‘Kenneth’ like that again.” / Springing to his feet, he stung bib arms about Cynthia and kissed her ardently several times. “Cynthia !” he gasped. “I love you. You can’t get away." “I don’t know as I want to.” she retorted shyly. “I think we’ve been foolish enough for one day," she added; and after kissing her once more they walked down toward tM skating rink. '