Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 82, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 January 1919 — “When You’re Hungry” [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

“When You’re Hungry”

By IMES MACDONALD

(Copyright, IMS, by MoClura N«ww« Syndicate) “For heaven’s sake,’’ said Avis Rangome’s Aunt Martha caustically, “if you’re going to marry him —why marry him and have It over with l” The startled Miss Rnnsome pushed the telephone into which she had Just been talking back on the table and gazed out of the window absently. “I don't know that I do want to marry him,’’ she answered. “Well, If you don't know now, you never will know. You make me Just a little tired. You keep a perfectly nice young man dangling year after year hoping against hope, until some one else comes along to whom you take a sudden and Inconsistent notion —and the first thing Martin Garland knows he’s had a throw-down that will touch all the rest of his life with Just a shade of disappointment If not actual bitterness. It Isn’t falr—lt Isn’t square. If you love him —why, say so and marry him. If you don’t —at least be frank about It and give him a chance to love somebody else before he dies of old age and watchful waiting.” Perplexity was written large in and about the eyes of Avis Rnnsome. “But how do you know, Aunt Martha —how do you know when you love a man and want to marry him?"

“How do you know when you’re hungry?” snapped that good lady. “Why—why you feel It!” exclaimed her niece. “Exactly! You feel It,” said Aunt Martha significantly. So after five minutes of serious consideration the conscientious Avis reached for the telephone and called up Martin Garland. “Oh, Mart,” she began hurriedly, “I think I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think we’d better meet this afternoon nor any nfternpon—ever any more. I’ve been talking to Aunt Mnrthu — and—and I’ve come to the conclusion that It isn’t fair to you, Mart. And I want to be fair." “But, Avis,” came his quiet voice, “I understand all of thnt. You needn’t worry your head about It at all. I can stund it—it’s better than nothing, you know.” ‘No,’’ she said decisively, “It tsn’t right. And in all fairness to —to both of us it should be ended right here.” Garland’s mind was quick on the trigger, and he Immediately caught the Idea that the thing which he had feared had come. There was some one else. So long as there was no one else he had hoped. But Garland was a good lose*- and unconsciously there slipped Into his voice a note of pleasant friendliness that was almost impersonal. “Perhaps you are right, Avis,” he said.

But Avis Itansome arose from the phone with a little uneasy feeling that he had accepted the situation a little too readily. Ten days passed and this feeling grew Into a certainty, for she had expected him to make some effort to come back. But she hadn’t heard a word from him. Then some one told her that he had gone to New York, and all at once she felt like an abandoned child. She missed him; she missed him more than she would admit even to herself. And her aunt watched her and smiled to herself, i “Serves her right,” thought that lady grimly to herself. “Serves her right.” Three months of this went by. The fourth month lagged dreadfully,..and Avis Bansome was the most restless younfrwoman in Dayton. Then one day came a letter from a girl friend who had married a rich young broker in New York —a Jolly, devil-may-care, nice broker, who had never pursued chorus girls along the Great White bad always loved his own little wife from the very first time he set eyes on her. And the letter included a press notice of Martin garland's new play which was soon tq be produced, starring the well-kn6wn Neala Travers —also the letter sug-, gested eagerly that Avis come to New York for a visit, incidently they could see Mart’s new play—she and her husband were great first-nighters. She

didn't mention that she was curious to know how things stood between Mart and Avis, but she was. And so It happened that Avis wan one of the enthusiastic audience which* applauded the young playwright who) stood before the curtain after the third’ act, hand in hand with Neala Trhvara,| the lovely star. And that night went home with her friends, her In a tumult—both proud and feaifaLi But the next morning, late, she man-* aged to locate Martin Garland by tele-* phone. “And so you liked It?” he askadl genially, although It seemed to AviM that he seemed not sufficiently sor-t prised to hear her voice. “Yes,” she said, “It was splendid—* and I —l wanted you to know, Mart* how—how much your success mean* to me.” “All shy friends have been vem kind," he said, “and I do appreciate it. Avis, your being so interested —and) all.” But be didn’t suggest seeing her, andl implied that he was very busy and! had just signed a contract for that writing of u new play that was already *nder way. Sjf .with a baffled! feeling of defeat Avis tried gallantly' to enjoy her New York^vlalt. Once she happenea to see him rld-t lng In Ceutral Park with the fascinet-t log Miss Travers. Once she and her*bostess were coming out of a shop ons Fifth avenue aud they met him facet, to face. He was pleasant and friend-' ly, but Avis seemed not to be able to* break down the barrier that had risen*between them, and later that same afternoon she saw him glide by In m fashionable town car with Neala Travers at his side —and that night AvUK Kansome cried. The next afternoon a pale, dark-* eyed girl was ushered Into NealA) Travers’ apartment.

“Miss—Miss Travers,” she begnm nervously, “you are so—so splendid! in Martlu Garland’s new play. I think! it Is wonderful for you to have worked! with him and inspired him toward hlsj success. But please,” she said earnest-) ly, “please be gbod to him. He Is sot gentle and fine —lais ideals are so bight and full of dreums. He believes im women as few men do. The two of) you have so much in common- and] you nre so-so lovely—please don’t) hurt him. It would mar his life —de-« stroy his ideals aud dwarf his work—* please don’t." , And Neala Travers, who was a worn-) an first and a star afterwurd, underj stood, and put her arm around Avlsj Itunsoine and petted her Into u strangot sense of security. But that night when* Garland came to her dressing room ati the ttuiuter, as was his custom of the hekrt of Neala Travers ached Justi a Utile. , “You never told me about the gtrll back home—the little girl with th«f, tragic eyes,” she accused him ideally, yet half seriously. "She threw me down," he said ly, "so there was nothing to tell.” “But she’s wild about you and you’rsj. breuklug her heart,” she said gently. ♦ “You’re quite mistaken," he unswer-f ed. “She's visiting in New York, yoa( know. I’ve talked to her once on thsi. telephone and even met her once oa the street, but there was not a single sign that she eared.” 'c “Did you ask her?” „ * “No." - « “Then do. Ask her tonight. TouTl need a wife like her to tie to —with all the girls on Broadway making eyes at you." She smiled frankly. And thirty minutes later Avis fMj clinging to Martin Garland murmuring* pathetically, “I was afraid you didn’tt love me any more—and I do love ymf so, Mart.” “How do you know you love me,” bet asked gravely. * "How do I know when I’m hungry n she smiled through her tears. While at that very moment, In that great third act of Garland’s playj Neala Travers was saying, “No Lapj plness can survive that brings unhaps piness to another." * * ! ,

“I Don’t Know That I Do Want to Marry Him.”