Jasper County Democrat, Volume 22, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 April 1919 — Sentimental Values [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Sentimental Values

By GRAHAM ZINGFIELD

(Copyright, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) The girl with the mop of fair hair and the china-blue eyes laid down the dollar on the counter and said to the shopman: “All right, I'll call in for It tonight and pay the balance.” She nodded to the man 'and left the little store. That was about ten minutes before Joe Annerly happened along. Joe was hurrying home from work and as he passed the little old “antique” shop he hesitated. It was raining and Joe hurried on that account, not because he was particularly anxious to arrive at his solitary bachelor apartment —nothing much to hurry home for when there is no one when you get there I So Joe stopped and passed in among the antiques, or pieces of second-hand furniture, as they really were, rind Inquired the price of the elgant brass clock he had seen in the window. Fifty dollars! No, fifty dollars was too much. He didn't really want it, and . . . He was Just turning to go when a picture hanging on the wall at the back of the store caught his glance. It was just one of those colored lithographs which, in a good frame, look so well hanging on a parlor wall, and It was enough to give a throb of homesickness to Joe, for that very picture, for an exact replica of it, had hung on ! the wall of his mother’s parlor back iin the old home town. There Is noth- ' ing so reminiscent as the sight of a

picture which has been a familiar object in the years of long ago. He turned to the proprietor of th*

•tore and asksd the price. •'Sorry, mister," the man said, “but that picture la sold.” “Bold?” questioned Joe. “That sella me, too. But why la It hanging there if it’s sold?” “Well," said the man, “I guess I sh’d have taken it down. A young lady came in here not ten minutes ago and paid a deposit on it She’s fetching it this evening.” And suiting the action to the word, he lifted down the picture and laid it to one side. Joe turned away disappointed. He wanted that picture—it was Just like a breath from the old home days. And some girl had beaten him to it —Just his luck. He went Into a “quicklunch" and ate some supper—say, but a lonely man does have to eat anything that’s handed to him ! —and went home to his apartment—bedroom and bath. How should he spend the evening? A movie show? Shucks! What’s the idea of watching a lot of ginks making love all over the screen? Nix on that. He was in no mood of lovemaking. The loss of that picture was still affecting him 1 While Joe was in this frame of mind a certain young lady, of whose existence he was not even aware, was feeling quite elated. She had got back home from the office, and after eating her supper she was going to extract a certain number of dollars from a certain private cache and was going after that picture she had paid the deposit on. Funny how the same thing can have such opposite effects on diffierent people. But then, of course, the girl had not lost the picture! When Joe put on his hat that evening and set out to try and forget the old home days, his steps seemed naturally to bend themselves in the direction of the antique shop. The rain had stopped and a fresh wind was blowing. He was still feeling hqmesick on account of that picture, and was Just wondering what had becojne of those friends of his boyhood, Bill Smith and Larry Jones and that freckled-faced Red, when, on turning a corner, he was violently bunted In the middle by some one carrying a bulky and remarkably hard parcel. Joe staggered from the sudden Impact. He stooped to pick up his hat, and then looked to see what had caused Is. Instantly he realized what had happened. He had met the girl with the picture! As though to confirm his suspicions, the wind playfully whipped up a corner of the loose wrapping paper, and the glimpse he got proved him to be correct. Without taking his eyes off the coveted picture he addressed the girl. “Would you mind if I took a peep, a last peep at it?” he asked pleadingly. The girl nodded. Evidently this man must be the one-time owner. She thrust the picture toward him, and Joe gazed at is long and earnestly. “Guess you’ve seen It before somewhere?” she asked presently. “I should say I have! Gee,” he muttered, drinking in the familiar scene. “I wonder what has become of Bill Smith and Larry Jones and that freckled, red-faced kid?” A smile unseen by Joe lighted the girl’s face. “And Effie Farmer?” she suggested. For a moment Joe wondered if his ears had deceived him. Then, wheeling round on her, he asked amazed: “Say, were you ever in my home town ?” “I kind of think I must have been, one time,” the girl answered reflectively. “I kind of think there was a boy called Joe Annerley lived there. But I can’t be Just sure.” She turned her head away—this man was staring at her so rudely. He seemed to have been stricken dumb, too. He Just stared! He stared so long that she simply had to break the silence. But It was the man who spoke first after all. He had often wondered about the little girl who used to come to his mother’s house, the two blond pigtails hanging down her back. But that was years ago. She must be quite grown up by this time. “Did you know Effie?” he asked tensely. The girl nodded. She still held her head averted, and Joe wished, she would turn it* into the zone of light made by the street lamp. But she did not seem interested. She had tucked the picture under h?r arm again and moved as if to pass on. Joe was desperate. In all the long years he had spent in the giant city he had never felt quite the loneliness that oppressed him tonight.' “Say,” he asked wistfully, “do you ever hear from Effie these days?” If only he could get this girl to talk a little while It would help some. But he got no answer. Evidently she resented his persistence. Joe felt ashamed of himself and started to make matters worse with stammering ‘apologies and exclamations. He didn’t want to be rude, but he did want to hear news of the home folks and he wondered if Effie Farmer was married and where she was living. He — At last the girl did turn. She lifted her face to where the light fell fully on it. A smile was on her lips—a smile composed of mischief, of petulance and not a little happiness. “Joe Annerley,” she said, “I think you are very dull. If you happen to want to' know, my name Is Effie Farmer I” That did it! Joe took one good long last stare right into the girl’s face,

then, seizing the bundle from beneath her arm, laid it on the sidewalk. He opened his arms, then closed them again around the form of Effie Farmer. “Effie, darling,” he whispered, holding her close, “we’ve Just got to share that picture —got to!” And strangely enough a time came when the picture again hung on a parlor wall —their parlor wall.

“I’ll Call for It Tonight."