Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 139, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 June 1919 — Too Frivolous [ARTICLE]

Too Frivolous

By R. RAY BAKER

(Copyright, by the McClure New»paper Syndicate.) You don’t find Castlegrove on the map. If you approach a railroad ticket window and inquire as to the fare the man behind the wicket can’t shoot an answer at you in terse tones. He has to get out a little pamphlet and search through it, and after perhaps fifteen minutes have passed he can give you the requested information. Just where Castlegrove derived its name certainly is not known to any of its denizens. Surely there is no edifice in the town that could by the most ambitious* of imaginations be called a castle. The nearest thing to it is a church, which Is just a plain little white building—the kind you find at crossroads in the country. True, there can be and generally is as much religion in one of these little frame Structures as in many of the more pretentious houses of worship to be found in the cities. However, at the time of which I write there was no minister occupying the Castlegrove church pulpit. The parishioners were limited in number, because the population of Castlegrove and its environs had dwindled very noticeably since the church was built, and the ones that were left co u 1 d not a fford -to paya pastor’s salary, and a minister must eat. In the backwoods Ohio town came Genevieve Walters. City life didn’t agree with her mother, so Mr. Walters bought some land that for politeness’ sake was called a farm, and which came cheap, in spite of the flattery, and the family moved from the fairly large city sixty miles away in which they had resided over since Genevieve could remember. Mr. Walters bought out one of the two general stores, succeeded in getting the appointment as postmaster, which had been held by the former proprietor, and managed to’wrest a fair living from the The moving of the Walters family to Castlegrove brought another person to the village once a week. This person was Bert Holbrook, who was in love with Genevieve. He lived in her old home town, where he held a fairly lucrative position as pharmacist, and he managed to get down at regular intervals to see his heart’s desire, usually on Saturday, which was his day off on account of having to work Sundays.

' The two young people had kept company for two years, but there had been no direct talk of an engagement. It wasn’t that Bert was timid about such matters, but that he found one marked flaw in Genevieve that he wished to see corrected before they became betrothed. She was “too frivolous,” according to hisMdeas. He loved her nope the less, but he feared she would experience difficulty in “settling down/’ "I do like to see a girl smile,” he told himself repeatedly; “but I believe it would be a genuine relief to see Genevieve scowl or cry just once. It would relieve the monotony; —She’s smiling all the time, and it’s an attractive sinjle, tooj -but it shows she never has a serious thought. Then, she’s always telling something funny she*s seen or some joke she’s heard.” With the removal of the Walters family to Cast legrove Bert felt convinced that at last Genevieve was going to “become settled.” One couldn’t very well be frivolous in that town. But Genevieve failed to improve, so far as her sweetheart could notice. smiled just as much and saw just as many funny things in life. He couldn’t wait forever, however, so at lest he decided he woqld ask her to take a chance as Mrs. Holbrook, although be felt sure it was he that was taking the chance. It would not be quite right to intrude on the scene of his attempted proposal; so well wait and listen to his thoughts as he expressed them aloud under the rumble of the wheels of the train on which he journeyed home that Saturday night. He had a habit of talking aloud when something troubled him and this was one of those times. *

“A fine mess I” he said, as he half reclined on one seat with his feet on another and glared dejectedly out the window into the darkness flashing past. “Talk about frivolousness; Genevieve certainly has them all beaten. Can’t even listen to a proposal of marriage without laughing m your face. One would naturally think that when a fellow starts talking love a girl would stop playing a piano; but not Genevieve Walters’ She ■ keeps “right on and looks up at you anti grins. I’m through, that’s all. I.can’t keep this up forever. Me for a sensible girl.” And Bert meant it. His was a rather grave demeanor at all times, took life) seriously and cbuld not understand the kind of people who strive to see the funny side pt every oppor- . tunity. ' He was sincerely in love with Gene* vieve, but he was afraid to try matrimony with her. - So he decided the best thing -would be to leave her alone for a while, at least; perhaps forever.. As a result he stopped, writing and quit making his Saturday calls. One month was all he could stand. He had not heard from 1 her. which was not at All unnatural considering

his cessation of correspondence, but somehow he felt grieved over It. “She might at least invite me down there once more,” lie thought. “Well, anyhow, I’ve just got to see her again, frivolous or Dot frivolous, although > "suppose nothing will come of it. I’ll surprise her, to make sure she won’t refuse to see me just for spite.” About this' time Bert’s weekly holiday was shifted to Sunday; so for the first time be journeyed to Castlegrove on the Sabbath. Arriving ht the village he made his way at one® to the Walters home, but was surprised and disappoipted to find no one there. Thinking perhaps the family had gone out for a walk and that he would meet them, he walked up the main street, which seemed to be even more deserted than usual. He saw only one or two pedestrians and an uld man driving a scrawny horse, which was dragging a creaky buggy. Bert’s walk led him past the little church, and it seemed that he could hear a choir singing. Yes, a choir was singing one of the old-time

hymns. Curiosity and lick of anything pise to do prompted Bert to mount the steps and enter the building. As he did so the singing ceased and some one began talking. It was a woman, and there was something strangely familiar about the pleasant, wellmodulated voice. He entered the vestibule and-peered through the inner door. There were perhaps fifty persons in the church listening intently to a young woman who stood in the pulpit. She was quoting from the Bible, saying, “Woe unto the foolish prophets that follow their own spirit pnd have ■seen ' ■ .Bert slipped into a seat at the back of the church and immediately fell under the spell of the sermon or of the young woman, or both. That the rest of the congregation was under the same spell was evident from the way every one leaned forward in his seat, hanging closely to every word that was uttered, with eyes fixed intently on the girl that gave voice to them. No one was sleeping or even ingWhen the services were concluded Bert sat in a daze while the others trailed out of the church. “Too frivolous ’’’ he said repeatedly to himselt. “Here I’ve been criticizing her for smiling and looking on the bright side- of things, because I thought she had no serious thoughts; and all this time she’s been preaching. Talk about foolish prophets. I’m the prize one of the lot.” The girl who had delivered the sermon came along the aisle and stopped by his side. He leaped to his feet, groped for w’ords, stammered and twisted his hat out of shape behind his back, like he was a peasant standing before a princess.

“Genevieve,” he managed to say. “Genevieve, can you I—can 1 —can you—can you forgive me for the way I have acted and—and for the things I have thought? And —and will you let me go home with you and will you—do you think you can listen to me while I—while I try that proposal over again?” She smiled—that same old smile—and he was glad, because he had suddenly discovered that he liked it. “Perhaps I ought not to forgive you,” she responded, “but” —and she tapped the black, book under her arm —“this teaches us that forgiveness is right.—les« you may come with me, Bert, and I’ll listen to what you have to say. I was perfectly serious that other time; but you see sometimes a girl smiles to hide her emotion, and sometimes one gets so nervous that one has to keep the hands busy. That’s why I couldn’t stop playing the piano'. I’ll try this time, though.” ’’ “Please play it —and smile,” pleaded Bert. “I’d dearly love to propose to music, and smiles beat tears all to