Jasper County Democrat, Volume 7, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 July 1904 — ROSES Versus DAISIES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

ROSES Versus DAISIES

By MARAVENE KENNEDY

('npyriyht, 190 k, by As. K. H’ilum

The round fuced daisies, not the boy’s pleading eyes, held her gaze, yet she smiled winsoinely Into the eager little face as she gave him the coveted dime. She smiled whimsically as she took her seat in a crowded car. She held the daisies a moment against the crimson roses on her breast, then reread Walter Antler’s note: Margaret, Dear—lt's hard lines that I can't see you off, but Harding's out on Important business, and I can’t desert the ship. Shall be with you In spirit as are my roses in reality. Write me at once on your arrival. I shall be up soon t or my answer. Qoodby, dearest. My own dearest, Uod grant, some day. Yours only, WALTER. She leaned her fair face to the roses and breathed deeply. It was so sweet to know that she was all in all to the winning, successful man. Her eyes fell to the daisies, and with a sudden suffocation she opened the window. “Is it too much air for you?” she asked courteously of the plain, middle aged woman beside her. The woman laughed pleusantly. “There can’t be too much air for me. I’ve been to the city for two weeks, an’ I’m downright hungry for a whiff of fresh air. I had a good time, I guess. Leastways I did what folks there call havin’ a good time. But I've bad all I ever want. Mereerville's good enough for me after this.” The girl’s, face grew serious. It was the charm of the city that had taken Jier away from her father and mother—and Jack. For two years the city had held her, and till just the month before she had thought she loved It too well to leave for even a few weeks’ vacation. Then had come a longing, a desperate heart sickness, for green fields, peaceful nights and the fragrant, cooling of the hills. She would grow tired of them In a few weeks, she thought wearily. She would long then Just as earnestly for the brilliantly lighted restaurants, the Hungarian music, the sparkle and life of the gay

crowds about her. She would want the theaters, the concerts, the streets falsing with humanity. Jack met her at the train. He was the same Jack ahe had left—tall, loosely built, unconscious of himself. His pleasant face reflected his clean, honest life, and his easy going gait and ready made clothes spoke the custom as the town. She looked at him tranquilly. No, It was not Jack that had drawn her here. It was bar father or bar mother. How sweet to bare mother tuck her In bed and to feel the soft kiss on her cheek after tie heart hungry mother thought her little ewe lamb Cast asleep. How good, too, to bear father call her Daisy and Girlie once more. _ _____

And she was glad to see Jack. lie came next evening and told her In his soft, slow voice all the news of the place and—once more—how dearly he loved her. **Do you, Jack?” she nsked wistfully. “Could I mean more to you than this?” She reached out her arms caressingly toward the stretch of green and dewy fragrant flowers lying so peacefully beneath the soft moonlight. ‘‘Could you be happy with me on a hot, paved street, with no trees nor fields of flowers and where the air was—sick?” She laughed tremulously. ‘‘You can’t understand, of course, but—l came home Just for the smell of the grass, the stillness, the pure, sweet air!" His big, warm hand clasped her cold little fingers lovingly. “I do understand,” he said gently. “I went to the city once, was there almost a year, but I had to come back. I was doing well too. I never told you about It. It seemed rather womanish for a big hulking man to hanker for green fields and flowers.” She moved nearer to him. ‘‘There’s a man there,” she said softly, “that—that—l think I—love. He made It very pleasant for me, and he's clever and well to do. I thought a few weeks here would satisfy me, hut 1 know now It won’t. I must have the great big open—l can’t be shut In. Shall I write him ‘No?’ ” Almost to herself she breathed the question agitatedly under her breath. “Not if you truly love him, Daisy,” he said generously. “But I do want you, dear, and—l’d like my chance along with his. Give me two weeks, then send for him and talk things over and decide.” The two weeks were blissful ones for both, but Margaret could not determine how great a share of the joy giving was Jack's. They trudged contentedly along the dusty roads together, pickl'd berries, stole apples and waded streams. They jogged gayly behind old Don, Jack's raw boned delivery horse, and were as satisfied as though he were a thoroughbred. Then she sent for Walter Antler and waited In strange indecision for him to come. She wrote him frankly of her desire for the country, her uncertainty as to her feelings for him and told him about Jack. “I don’t think I understand,” he said uncertainly, standing tall and immaculate beside Margaret the evening of his arrival. His handsome, keen eyes smiled good liumoredly into the girl’s perturbed face. “You say if I will live In the country you will consider my proposal. U-h-m! I would lose my mind, dearest. This place is very sweet and pretty, yes, but two days of it would drive me to drink." He turned to her earnestly. “The city will seem different with a home of your own and plenty of servants and theaters and concerts. Inside of a year you’ll say the city’s the only place on earth to live. Really, my darling, you can’t mean this talk about the country. It’s rank nonsense.” Just then Jack swung lightly out of his buggy and ran up the walk. He did not know Antler had come. The two men eyed each other for a moment tensely. Then Margaret introduced them. She looked full into Jack’s tanned, earnest face, then turned slowly to Antler’s clean cut, virile features. The men breathed deeply. Each knew that the woman he loved was deciding for or against him. Margaret herself did not realize what she was doing. She broke the rasping silence with a low: “I can’t go driving this evening. Jack. Come tomorrow evening. I’ll go then.” “You’ve decided against me,” Antler said, a strange lump in his throat, as Jack drove away. “Yon—you love—him:” “Yes,” she answered gently. “He loves the l!*o I do. You and I are so far apart oa things. It's the outwardness of each other you and I love, I think, ai: i with Jack it's—it's something that comes from within. I thought till you came If you would live In the country I would rather live nor life with you than Jack, but”— "You would not—even then?” he asked eagerly. She was very lovely, tn£ h? thought he fovea her enough sos the sacrifice. She smiled In wondrous sympathy, for had she not measured love that way herself* “I loye him better for all time,” she

said softly./ ’‘He and 1 can be friends and comrades as well as husband and wife, and that’s the only way to be happy ever after.” t

THE TWO MEN EYED EACH OTHER FOR A MOMENT TENSELY.