Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 204, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 August 1919 — Little Sister [ARTICLE]

Little Sister

By R. RAY BAKER

(Copyright. 1»1». by th* McClure New»fpaper Syndicate.) Frances Hayden sat at the window of her room and looked out on a dreary, drizzly day—Sunday, March 30. In one hand she held a letter, which was somewhat crumpled, as though she had started to convert It Into waste paper and had thought better of it Two rpbins were holding a conversation in the tree whose branches brushed the window. The birds started out as If they were quarreling, but the excited chirping diminished into a sound that was as near cooing as can be expected of robins. . “Wouldn’t It be fine’to be a bird?” Frances sighed. “They’re always bappy, it seems.” She looked at the letter and a wry little smile adorned her face. “He calls me sister,” she mused. “That’s what they all say when they want to leave you for someone else. ‘Little sister* —that’s what he says. It sounds pretty, but he used to say things that were prettier." She stood up and made a motion as though to throw the letter in the wastebasket, but changed her mind again and placed it in a drawer of the dresser. Then she stood before the mirror and surveyed herself critically for several moments.

The person who gazed back at Frances from the glass was not exactly beautiful, but there was something about her that would not permit her to pass unnoticed in a crowd. The eyes were just common eyes; that Is, there were no special arches to the brows, and the long, graceful lashes that are considered so desirable were not there. There wat a lot of good, wholesome blue in the eyes, which could not be discounted in an inventory of attractive points. The nose was inclined to be “pug,” which gave the face a kind of saucy look, and the hair was nearly stringy, being of a rusty hue; but there was plenty of it, and it was done up attractively, if not up to the minute in style. The teeth were the principal attraction of Frances Hayden’s countenance. When she smiled even the least bit they showed, dazzling white and even, and the smile was about as sweet as any girl could hope to offer. But Frances was unhappy. She had long suspected that Melville Clark had ceased to care for her —in the way he once had cared. But, she told herself, it was hardly unexpected, despite the protestations Melville had made, when he left Glendale two years ago, that he would never care for another girl and that he was coming back "some bright, sunny day” to make her Mrs. Clark. She remembered the apprehensions she had entertained at that time, regardless of his earnest words, that he would come across someone else in the big city. However, Melville had written steadily for a year, and in every letter had reiterated his intentions. During the next year, however, she could not help noticing that his letters alluded more and more to friendship and less to love. Finally they dropped off altogether, until for a period of five months none came at all. Frances went about her stenographic duties in the real estate office with the usual smile and the same capacity for work that she had always displayed, but when she got home at night she often shut herself in her room and thought hard, and sometimes cried a little. Frances had given her heart to Melville when he went to the city to make a name for himself and a few coins for his pocket. It was a hard and rocky road,’ as his letters showed during that first year, and then his communications began to take on a more hopeful tone. “Things are coming, slowly but surely,” he would write. Frances hoped in vain that Melville would return home for a visit. He had said he would come for her when he “made good;” but now, when he was making good, there was no mention of the visit. Tnen came this letter referring to her as “little sister," In which he told her that he had at last attained the object he had sought. He was a successful stock broker, with an office of his own and a neat sum in bank. But never a mention of coming to Glendale did the letter contain. Later in the day the sun chased the clouds away and warmed the earth again and Frances went for a walk. • “Maybe this is the bright, sunny day he referred to,” she said, as she threaded her way through the village; and she laughed, with a tinge of wistfulness, when she recalled the “little sister” passages of the epistle from Melville. At the edge of Glendale was a wooden bridge which spanned a silent little brook, wending its way through the valley with many tVisis and turns. Foliage was begfcning to adorn the numerous trees on either side of the streanj, which looked delightfully refreshing. Frances leaned over the railing and looked into a miniature whirlpool created by a bend which formed a pool just above the bridge. A fish coming up to dine on an early bug left spreading circles in the water, and it caused something like a sob in Frances’ throat She had seen that same thing happen —perhaps it was the same sish —when she and Melville stood looking over that same railing of that same bridge on the same kind of day two years ago. It was the day

on which he asked her to marry him. A purring sound along the road made her look up the slope and see an automobile approaching the bridge and the village. In the car was Melville Clark, on his way to Jenson City, 15 miles distant, to deliver a proposal of marriage to Julia Armstrong, daughter of Benjamin Armstrong, the wealthy importer, who lived in the same city where Melville had made good In the financial world. Melville had decided to marty Julia, not because of love but because she would get a dowry that would increase his little fortune at least threefold. A taste of riches had made him hungry for more, and he had set out deliberately to win Julia for his bride. She appeared responsive, and he could see that her parents did not object. When Julia went away for a week as the guest of honor at a house party at Jenson City and invited Melville to join her Sunday he had decided it was the opportune time to make his proposal. He arose Sunday morning when the watch under his pillow told him it was eight o’clock. Picking up a timetable he made cure that the train for Jenson City left at 9:30, and then he smiled when he saw that one for Pembrook went exactly an hour later. The smile was occasioned by the realization that his old home town was on the Pembrook line, and because he had never gone back for visit. Frances Hayden did not enter his thoughts; they were busy with more important matters. When Melville arrived at the station he had five minutes, according to his watch, and a train was standing on the track. It was a branch station, and he did not have to show a ticket at the gate. It was only after he had been riding half an hour that he discovered he was on the wrong train. That was when the conductor came to take up his ticket. "Your train left an hour before this one,” said the official. “You must have forgotten to set your watch ahead. ( Shall I let you off at the next station?" “Can you beat that?” Melville ex“etaimed in vexation. *T forgot this was the day the daylight-saving law went into effect.” He thought swiftly. “I’ll get off at Glendale,” he told the conductor. “I can get an automobile to take me to Jenson City. It’s a 15mlle trip." As the car approached the little bridge and Melville discerned the girl standing there a strange feeling came over him. The memory of that day two years ago flashed across his mind, and it made him smile with mingled sadness and pleasure. "Stop a minute,” he ordered the driver. “Stop right on the bridge. I , used to live here and I want to glance things over.” The machine paused on the bridge and Melville’s eyes met those of Frances. There was silence, broken only by the chugging of the motor. A moment later Melville was out of the car and clasping Frances in his arms. He stood off and looked at her. Yes, she was the same girl. There was the reddish hair, the sincere, wholesome blue eyes, and the flashing, fascinating teeth. "By George! You look good, Frances!" he said, and he meant it. In the two years he had been weaned from the influence of that smile and those eyes; blit now he was back in their power again. “You mean ‘little sister?’ ” she said, somewhat mischievously. •‘Hang the little sister I” he ejaculated. “Let’s go down to the little nook on the bank of the river and talk Jt over.” Then to the chauffeur: “Move ahead and wait beside the road. I’ll be back soon.” The driver did as directed. The sun was rather hot. and he pulled his cap over his face. The air made him drowsy and he curled up on the seat* In a few minutes he was sleeping. An hour later the chauffeur was awakened by a poke in the ribs. “How much do I owe you?” asked Melville. “I’ve decided not to go on to Jenson City. I’m going to stay right here for a week.”