Jasper County Democrat, Volume 22, Number 31, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 July 1919 — Borrowed Sunshine [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Borrowed Sunshine

By DORA H. MOLLAN

(Copyright. 1»1». by tfc» MoClarv «•»*- *ap«r ByaAloat*.) This la a story of two to the life of Joan Carruth era—two day* separated by two weeks. On the first, Joan stood, her face pressed against the window pane, engrossed In her one and only amusement For when one has risen no farther than salesgirl In a bargain basement in these times of high prices and must live on the proceeds of such daily toll, there Is but little left over for extras, and when one spends five evenings every week at school and a sixth and part of Sunday in study, there Is little time left over for frivolities anyway. Joan was studying stenography as a means to an end; not that she liked It so well, but It stood for shorter hours and more money. Most of the girls In the store had beaux, of course, and went to dances and shows with them —and married them and led lives just like Joan’s mother's over again, and Joan remembered that only too well.

Now, as It arose like a picture, blotting out for the mgjpent the entrancing one actually before her eyes, the color-note of that old life was a deadly drab. Not one ray of sunshine had penetrated into their dark basement home. Not a single bit of material or spiritual brightness had it contained. Joan’s mother had been a little drab wisp of a woman, with all the joy of life knocked out by her drunken, morose husband. Well, she was at rest now 1 Joan didn't know where the father was, and didn’t want to. As she shuddered at the thought of him, the picture changed like a fade-away and the one really before her eyes gained added brilliancy by the contrast

That scene typified everything Joan’s life had lacked and for which she was struggling. Even the one thin, watery beam of sunlight that found Its way into her third floor hall room was reflected from the window directly across the narrow street The apartment back of those windows over the way, so near in actual distance, was miles removed from the sphere of Joan’s life. To look into It was, to her, like a peep into fairyland. There lived a beautiful lady and a wondrous prince, in a country of gorgeous colors —end with one sweep of

the blue and orange curtains over those windows all that could be shut from her sight, Joan prayed -hard that they might be forgotten tonight, for a third person was present In that room. This third person, masculine, was by name Strickland —Dr. Stanton Strickland —and by nature endowed with a full share of good looks. Of- the first of these facts Joan was Ignorant; the second she magnified. To her he looked a Greek god—or a movie star! Joan didn’t know, either, that the prince was just plain Mr. Bertram Smith and the beautiful lady his wife and sister 19 Stanton. Neither did she know the subject "under discussion, but she could see' by the glow from the orange shaded light—for her own one dim gas Jet was dark —when they all arose and passed through a door Into another room fend so out of sight. Also, that before going, the visitor lighted a cigarette and threw theT match on a stand close by the window. But even emptied of Its glorified occupants the room, fascinated her. She would have one like It some day, If working hard would bring It! How that orange light brightened everything—was reflected everywhere, even on the curtains; on one In particular, the one nearest where the visitor had sat! Joan came to, suddenly, from her dreams, and looked hard at that particular curtain. Suddenly she turned away, opened her door and fairly flew down the two long flights of stairs. Into the street she sped, and across It. Breathlessly she ran up the stone steps of the house opposite, the house of the reflected sunshine, and pushed and pushed again and again the button of the electric doorbell. It seemed ages before anyone came, and Joan had time to wonder whether . she was doing the right thing. Finally; the door was opened by a stupid-look-

lug maid, who fled screaming at the only word of Joan’s breathless speech she seemed to grasp. Again Joan ran, this time up two other long flights, into a hall and through It straight into that fairyland she had glimpsed from afar. But the bad demon whose entrance Into this paradise she had witnessed was by this time writhing in long, curling flames up the beautiful curtains. With a fierce, militant resentment against this despoilment of her fairyland, and reckless of the danger in her battle to preserve It barehanded, Joan seized the flaming curtains, tore them from their fastenings, threw them to the floor and cast a heavy rug upon them. And so, hurrying In to discover the a use of the extraordinary commo•n, they found her, just awakening to a realisation of her surroundings, and her burned hands. Doctor Strickland reached Joan Just as the pain brought blessed unconsciousness. He carried her to a couch, demanded various articles and skillfully dressed the burns, the while they wondered who she might be and whence she came. Presently consciousness returned, and though with it returned, too, the agony of her wounds, Joan struggled to her feet, and with faltering voice started an apology for her intrusion. But strong hands gently pushed her back and three people voiced gratitude and questions. Joan tried to explain. “I love sunlight and colors so! Not much of either has ever come my way. All that I get comes from your windows. I was watching; but Tm going to get my own. I’m studying,” she began—then stopped short at a twinge of pain and gazed down at the poor bandaged hands. Mrs. Smith caught that look and read it Impulsively she spoke: "You’re not going to do any studying for awhile, nor anything else, but just stay right here and he nursed by, me, my dear; and Stanton will como every day to dress your burns." ”1 sure will,” the latter volunteered; “and perhaps Miss Joan, since she loves color so much, will be wHling when she’s better to tell me what ones to use In my new offices over among my poor folks on Carmine street.” Joan sat straight up. “Carmine street!” she exclaimed; “I was born there. Oh, doctor, make it bright! Bring some color Into their gray lives! Make It—like this!’’ She looked about her at the room, then sank back with a little moan of pain. They gave her a sleeping potion and put her to bed. So ended the first day. The fortnight has passed. The burns are healed, the bandages gone. But on Joan’s left hand something has been substituted that binds tighter than any bandage. She stands in a broad ray of sunshine watching Mrs. Smith hang silken curtains of bronze gold hue. Through the door strides—a Greek god? Or could It be a movie star? No; just a big-hearted man who has dedicated his life and knowledge to humanity. He puts an arm around Joan. < “Just see the beautiful sunlight, 'Stan,” she says, “and to think—l’m not away off across the street, looking In, but actually living in it —with you! Oh, Stan, If I can only help you bring It Into other peopde’s lives, as you have brought It into mine!” “I didn’t bring it to you, little wife; you flew straight Into it —but I’m going to keep you there always.”

Looked Hard at That Particular Curtain.