Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 152, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 June 1919 — A Springtime Thaw [ARTICLE]

A Springtime Thaw

By ANNA REDFERN

(Copyright, 1S1». by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Big Bill Sheldon was decidedly not a Westerner. One could have guessed that fact by his air of reserve—a refined, courteous, but nevertheless clearly obvious l-aiq-sufficlent-for-myseif manner. The manner, however, was not of Bill’s own choosing; rather was it a product of environment. Moreover, it was a source of deep grievance to him, for try as hard as he might he could not make friends, with a reserve as Impenetrable as the Rock of Gibraltar rising between himself and.every one he met. Even the glad spontaneity of a merry Western city, where friendliness was the rule, rather than the reverse, seemed not to melt the ice. How could his new-found acquaintances divine for themselves that within his six feet bulk of calm, blond nonchalance lay a desire for adventure as keen as that of some twelve-year-old devotee of Nick Carter; or that the wistful look showing forth every now and then from his deep gray eyes betokened only the strong desire that somewhere, sooner or later, some one would notice him and really like him in spite of himself. No wonder he moped; and no wonder Aunt Della stood at her wit’s end to entertain him. point; she had .introduced him in turn to every one she knew; she had waited on him more tenderly than his own mother would have done, and still he looked bored. “I think, auntie,” he said after the first week of agony, “that I shall have to be starting for home. Father can scarcely run the shop without me — much as I would like to stay,” he added as a polite afterthought. There was no doubt that Bill was homesick. And whether 6 feet 200 pounds suffers proportionately more than does 5 feet 100 pounds, even Bill had no heart to answer. Blue to the bottom of his No. B boots, he paced gloomily around Aunt Della’s sunny, comfortable living room, impatiently bumping against knick-knacks and chairs. Fourteen times without stopping he paced. On the fifteenth round he stopped by 4he long French window with a jerk. He pulled aside the blue cretonne curtains, and drawing himself erect in the soft spring sunshine he drank in the pleasing sight through eyes and nose and mouth. The morning was clear and fair and radiant; the. clouds were blue and soft and fleecy; the lawns' were lush and green with young grass; the trees were newly in leaf. But a fairer sight than all this caught and held his attention. In a neighboring yard, scarcely two rods away, there flashed a maiden back and forth with movements as graceful and dainty as those of some wood nymph. With a few deft movements site drew up the sagging white-string net and fastened it taut across the tennis court. She tried out her balls and rackets with a bubbling, boylike exultancy, as if the tonic of springtime had found affinity with her feet. “Yough,” gasped Bill, and “Yough!” “Oh, auntie, who’s the young lady next door?” Aunt Della carefully set her pie crust in the yellow mixing bowl, wiped her hands and came at her young nephew’s excited call. “That’s no young lady," she corrected. ‘That Is Irene Roberts. Why, I’ve known that child ever since she was born.” “How long is that, auntie?” Bob persisted. “Well, now, let me see. It must be twenty years or thereabouts.” Bob raised his eyebrows quizzically, but Aunt Della rattled on. “Yes, and just as you see her now she’s always been —jumping, running, playing tennis, riding horseback. She’s a regular tomboy.” To Aunt Della Irene was just the same madcap little girl that she had always known from childhood up. Not so to Bill! He stood by the window and watched his lively young neighbor’s gyrations with distinct approval. “She is flame and action,’* he mused as her red-brown bobbed curls flashed in the sunshine. Altogether he approved' of her—-of her trim*white flannel dress and high-cut russet boots, of her well-knit, graceful figure swaying in the sheer delight of motion, and her frank boyish activity. So much did he approve that the wistful look came back into his deep brown eyes, and the homesick feeling formed a hard lump and settled in his throat. That she had no companion in her game seemed not to bother Irene at all. Back and forth she scintillated, her tennis ball now on one side of the net, now on the other. Suddenly she threw down her ball and started toward Bill’s point of observance. “Auntie Bascom," she called, T*m coming in to see you.” Bill’s experience of twenty-two years, did not include instruction in chain-lightning action. Of course, he wanted to meet the girl. For what else had he been planning during the last fifteen minutes but for this? Hwever, this was sudden action. AS Irene called he drew back from the window and began measuring with his eyes the distance from his window to the-kitchen where Aunt Della kept busily at work. In the open he could have covered it with three leaps, but here there was furniture to intervene. Too, Irene had seen him at her first

glance. There seemed no. graceful way of escape. So Bill threw bafck the long French window and stood bravely waiting for events to happen. “Irene, this is my nephew, Bill Sheldon, from the East/* called Auntie Busconi from the the other room. __ Bill gravely acknowledged the introduction with- a bow, striving meantime to down the rising reserve which was always intensified by a meeting with a stranger. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Irene’s full-throated 5 voice rang out pleasantly as she extended her firm white hand and raised her blue, blue eyes to his. She waited for no reserve to melt. In fact, she neither felt nor noticed any “such thing. 77 ~~ “Do you play tennis?” she inquired, with a glance toward the racket in her hand. Then Bill surprised himself. “Just try me,” he answered, “when you finish your errand.” Auntie Bascom heaved a sigh of relief as they walked off together. “Irene'll keep him amused for a little while,” she ejaculated, "although I know he won’t approve of her romping ways.” Somehow there was not any more talk of going home, and somehow Bijl began to take an interest in his visit. Never did Aunt Della attribute this change to the lively Irene, for there was always a crowd of young people together. Hefr enlightenment came suddenly and unintentionally. Bill had gone away for the evening. The dishes had been carefully washed and dried. The Soft evening breeze blew by the open door with a pulling force. Throwing a shawl about her shoulders, Aunt Della, started across the garderi patii to lier neighbor's; Mrs. Roberts, for a chat. It was a walk that she loved. The moonlight was soft and scented. Her thoughts turned fondly back to the time when she had not walked this path alone. Passing slowly along, she stopped, for a moment by the summer house. Her attention was caught by a familiar voice: “But, Irene, are you sure that you can put tip with an old stupid like me?” Then a tremulously happy voice replied: “Oh, Bill, are you sure you»will never call me a tomboy?” Aunt Della wanted to pass quietly along, but her astonishment held her rooted to the spot. Bill sensing the presence of an outsider discovered her. He drew the gentle Irene out into the soft glamor x?f the moonlit night. “You may kiss Irene, auntie,” he generously offered in bold confidence. “You may have known her ever since she was a baby, but I shall even that up, for I expect to know and love her for the rest of her lifetime.”