Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 266, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 November 1919 — FAIRY CORNERS [ARTICLE]

FAIRY CORNERS

By JEAN HAWTHORNE.

It was almost n wee bit of old Paris, the Paris of boulevard cases, and yet it really stood in the business district of conventional, puritanical Boston. Sergeant Evans rubbed his eyes and looked again and, wonder of wonders, It was still there; a shallow court, filled with small, round tables, huge., gay-colored umbrellas and the whole facing a street lined with specialty ’ shops. Every <liy. after that discovery, at 12:30, Sergeant Evans took his .hat and cane and hurried;-’as fast as his limp would allow him, to the little restaurant, there to spend his lunch hour living again the wonderful year and a half he had spent in France. It had been a glorious break in his career as a very small clerk in very large insur- * ance companie--. It bad not been one of those “co-la-la" sOrt of things, that one learns.of from popular songs, but a real good Yankbe vacation, with a little hard work to pay expenses. And after he had been wounded, the whole country had seemed to open up to him and even Paris, the forbidden, had been his for a.couple of days. That was where he had learned to enjoy boulevard cases.

One day, as he sat and drearn'ed of the past and planned future trips to th'e old country, a girl came in and took a seat at the table next to him; a tall, straight, capable-looking girl. Sergeant Evans puzzled for it long time before he placed her. Then be crossed to her table, with his most military walk and saluted. “Pardon me, but were, you ever a nurse aT "the" Bordeaux reconstruction hospital?” with a most winning smile. “Yes .indeed," she -said. “Were you a patient there?” —‘T~TfiTiTir~y<>uTveTe the sister who ptTt~ some life into this tinkle!” he answered. . - ■ But there had been many patients and few nurses and it was only later ■on that she remembered him. Nevertheless, she asked him to sit down and they spent the rest of the lunch hour . talking over together the queer old days had been a war. The next day they met again, and this time the conversation became more personal. Miss Butler wanted to know if Boston was his home town. _"J£or.Yhe..presenf.-yeisT2he--an.'iwejxid. “I am really from the West, but good jobs don’t grow on trees; so when I was offered this, I said ‘Boston is -home? —How about yourself?” Miss Butler laughed. “Oh, I just grew like Topsy; no father, no mother, no home and no ties,-except -that-1 have found a doctor who wants a secretary with some medical knowledge, and 1 am it. But-«ome day I will go back to Paris and really see the country." “Of course," said Sergeant Evans. So the summer passed -rapidly and by the time the little boulevard restaurant closdtl for the winter the two war veterans had found other meeting places. —--- One evening he came to see her, his face all aglow. “Faith,” he said, for she was no longer - Mlss^Btitlertohim. ’ “it has come, at last, sootier than we expected ; a change to live in Paris fpr the next five years ; good job and a dandy salary. We sail in June.” * "We?” queried Miss Butler, in a very small voice. “Why, of cowsp yon nhd mo** “jAiid hoW’< do I go, • as secretary eras reconstruction aide?” asked Miss Butler, and the - small voice was almost .a whisper. But Sergeant Evans ha<l seen Iler eyes and did" Hot waste words. He just took her in his arms. “You will know before we applj* for passports,” was all he said. (Copyright, 1919, McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)