Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 38, Number 238, 14 August 1913 — Page 8

PAGE EIGHT

THE RICHMOND PALLADIUM AND SUN-TELEGRAM, THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 1913 PALLADIUM'S MAGAZINE AND HOME PAGE A BACHELOR'S DIARY " SHOULD WORRY" Copyright, 19 IS, by International News Service. By NELL BRINKLEY

H Has a Bad Accident By max. w fUJT 3L You are the only relsx- . I aftion, Wary, that they permit '' I me to have, and my fingers, beJ cause of my weakness, feel as eVmar and big as telegraph, poles. ht Is fortunate no one will ever read this scrawl. I 'want to tell you what happened the last hour before I stopped knowlng what had happened. I was sitting on the end of a log engaged m watching a cork on" the water, thinking, as I bo often do, of Sally, and longing to see her, when I felt Manette's warm arms around my neck. She had crawled out on the log behind me, a perilous thing to do. "Puppy says," she whispered, making believe as he frequently did that the dog could talk, "that a big black cloud is scaring him." I looked up and found the skies overcast. There was a muttering threat In the waving of the trees, a sullen roar, and big, heavy drops of rain began to fall. "Puppy is right," I replied, and turned hastily to carry the child back to shore. The log was old and soft and worn smooth, and my foting with . the child in my arms, was precarious. Ordinarily cautious, I thought only of the need of getting Mannette to shelter, missed my step, and remember little else. I had a feeling that I was plunging down, down, with Mannette and the whole universe plunging on top of me. Everything turned black, there was a sudden, sharp pain in my head that seemed to spread over my entire body, and then I lost consciousness..

They tell me that the log, a fallen giant of the woods, must have turned, and that in my effort to save us from falling I caught hold of it and pulled it down on top of me. Then the rain began to fall in torrents. "It was merciful," said Richards this morning, while hovering around me while the nurse took her morning walk, "that you were unconscious. If you had realized Mannette's danger and your helplessness, you would have gone mad." Mannette, they said, was saved from injury by a miracle. I have a sort of indistinct recollection that when 1 felt myself crashing down I threw her from me. I don't know about that. No one knows what happened in the next two hours, for it was fully that leng till the dog appeared at the door of the kitchen, barking and howling. They had heard him . coming, they said, fully a half hour before he appeared in sight, and were ready with lanterns to follow him. They suposed when the storm broke that wo had found shelter, and were not worried, as we had been caught in so many storms before, and had always come home when they cleared, laughing and making merry over the experience. A FRIENCf IN NEED. The dog saved us. 'You may need him," Sally Spencer had urged when the question of taking him came up. She was right. We did need him. We neded him more than we needed anything else on earth. And he knew when he was needed. So many friends who have brains where he has only dumb intuition, do not meet the hour of need as he met it. Mannette said that when she crawled out of the mud, I was lying on the bank flat on my back with the tree trunk lying across me. She found her way, with the rain beating down on her, to my side, and in her baby way, tried to rouse me. Failing, she seemed to realize that something serious had happened, for she snuggled down beside me, put both arms around my neck, and tried as best she could with her arms and face, to shelter me from the storm. Her little skirts were torn into shreds,' proving the effect the dog made to pull her to a place of shelter. He pulled and barked and pulled, but she held to me with both arms. I can Imagine the scene the frantic efforts of the dog to get her to a place of safety.for the waters in the lake were rising, and her equally frantic efforts to cling to her Uncle Max. With a mournful howl he Anally desisted, and started off to secure help for the task he was unable to accomplish alone. Manette was uninjured, and the cold beating of the rain had no bad effects. Her name was the .first I spoke when I found myself in bed with strange faces bending over me, and her arms around my neck, and her face pressed against mine, is the

.vl!

Nell Brinkley Says:

the glass.

Y beaux are many! Back of the clutter of little bottles and .ivory things, vials of orange scent from Arabian, and Poudre de Riz from Paris, their pictures stand, worshiooine every time I look at my pretty eyes in

When I first stir under my silk-and-down coverlets I can

hear the rustle of paper and I know that means my morning consignment of love-letters, so I turn over, bury my nose in the curve of my arm and dream a little longer! After my chocolate I gather my letters, my candy, gold-labelled and ribbon bound, my flowers in their tall and long boxes, and I rip them all open and revel. I solemnly

absorb the praise in the missives. I tuck away bits of nectar-filled chocolates in my cheeks. I put my face down In the gloomy, dewy coolness of the fragrant flower nests. And then I shake out my hair, yawn a bit and smile, "I should WORRY!' M

MARRIED LIFE SECOND YEAR

By MABEL-HERBERT URNER. THE novelty of the baby was wearing away. Warren no longer hurried home every afternoon as he had in the first few weeks. He was again drifting back into the habits of stopping at the club on his way from the office

and of spending an occasional evening out. And to Helen was coming another phase of the realization that nothing can last, that no condition of things between two people can remain permanent, that in married life there is no stage that can be reached where one can say "Now, this will last; this

last I remember before I lapsed into unconsciousness again. AFTERWARDS. Since then, nothing else has mattered. I know that they secured a physician at the hotel, and that the next day my own doctor came by special train, bringing a nurse and Richards with him, and that he has been here ever since. "1 am not going to leave you, Max," he said, "till I pull you through. It was my fault that you came to this place." I am not sorry. Even physical suffering has its recompense. I do not concern myself over a thing in the world. Manette is safe, and it seems good to me, after so many years of fighting battles all alone, to have some one now fighting my battles for me. The doctor tells me frankly that it will be a battle. I do not care. They let me have just enough light to see these pages, and when I have grown tired writing, and I have paused many times in writing this, Richards takes you away, Diary, locks you up, and then the room is darkened

again. That is the reason I have begun to regard The Hands as disembodied. "They float around me in the strangest way sometimes, always, through the long hours of the day and night, moving with quick, deft touches to make me more comfortable. Sometimes I fall asleep holding a hand in mine, and its firm, cool touch seems to give me strength. "Please,' I asked last night, 'let me hold your hand, I don't have that horrible feeling of floating off alone to

an unknown sea when I have hold of

your hand. I have a notion," growing garrulous, for the hours at night are long, "that I would like to be holding your hand when ' the Pilot calls for me. Somehow I would not hesitate to go." "The Pilot isn't going to call for you, 'replied a voice from somewhere, I don't know where, she seems such an altogether disembodied person. I wonder sometimes if she is more than the Two Hands and a Voice; "and you must go to sleep now and not to think such things."

is permanent." There is always a subtle shifting, an ever-changing undercurrent in their attitude towards each other. Helen had thought the child woild be a bond to which they could anchor their permanent harmony and happiness. And now she was bewildered to find that it was not so. Many of the difficulties, the discords, the neglect that had confronted her before the coming of the baby were now beginning to confront her again. It was one dismal, rainy afternoon that he telephoned her that he would not be home for dinner, that an old college, chum was in town and wanted him to dine at the club. Apprehensions. With a heavy heart Helen hung up the receiver. Last week he had spent two evenings down town, and this was only Tuesday and he was dining out again. Was it to be again as it was before the baby came? Was he to spend most of his evenings away from home? And would he soon be coming in after midnight, flushed with wine? That had not happened yet. He had given her a promise at the birth of the baby that he would never drink again. And, so far. she. felt he had kept his word. But, somehow, this evening she was filled with dread. He was drifting back to his old habits in so many ways. How could she be sure that it would not be in all ways? She had her dinner alone, then bathed the baby and put her to sleep, straightening up the nursery and final

ly got down her work basket, and sat down to sew. Restlessness. But the sewing occupied only her hands. Her mind was full of Warren and of an indefinable dread of the future. At nine she began watching the clock. She knew it was foolish to expect him so early, and yet she found herself listening for every sound. At t-.n she laid aside her sewing and took up a magazine. If she could only interest herself in a story, the time would not seem 60 long. But she could not hold her attention to the words about her. She read a whole page without knowing what it was about. She almost wished the baby would awaken anything to occupy her time and attention. At eleven 6he resolved to go to bed. She knew that it would only irritate him to find her waiting up for him so late. But she could not sleep. She tossed and turned for almost an hour then she could stand it no longer. Slipping into a heavy bathrobe, she went into the front roo mand sat down by the window. It was raining heavily. The streets were deserted, save for now and then a dark umbrella hidden figure hurrying by. Each time her , heart leapt with the hope that it might be Warren. But always the figure passed on. The Fear of Drink. The sitting room clock struck one. She went back and threw herself down on the bed in sick despair. She knew now that the fear which had haunted her all evening was true he was

drinking. Nothing else would have kept him so late! It was almost two when she heard the hall door open. She did not move. She though it would be easier to pretend she was asleep. She hadn't the heart to talk to him now. And besides it would not help, anything she could say would only irritate and excite him. She heard him moving around the sitting room then in his own room. The door between was ajar would he open it to see if she was asleep? She lay quite still, her face turn3d away, but he did not come to the door. He was undressing now. She waited for the sound of running water in the bathrocm. However late he came home, he always took his bath. But tonight he didn't. There was a creaking of springs as he threw himself heavily into bed. For a long time she lay starg into the darkness before her. Perhaps, after all, she was wrong. Something might have detained him. He may not have broken his promise, he might not have been drinking at all. The Broken Promise. She sprung up, her heart beating fast. She must know! It was not fair to her to harbor even a doubt when it might be groundless! She stole quietly to the half-open door. From his heavy breathing she knew he was asleep. Very softly the entered the room. The rain had ceased and a bright moonlight shone through the window. He was lying like a child, his arms thrown over the pillow. His face was turned towards her; it was not flushed, there was nothing about him to

suggest that he had been drinking. Instead he looked very strong and virile there. hl3 well-built form outlineff by the covers, and yet with a face almost boyishly sweet In Its repose. With a sudden rush of tenderness she drew nearer the bed. And she had been wrong. She felt sure of It now. An immeasurable joy and relief swept through her. She stooped over to kiss him not to awaken him Just to kiss the covers or perhaps his arm. And then she drew back sharply!

The odor cf wipe, of alcohol, was un

mistakable. , For a moment she stood motionless gazing down at him. Then she turne4 and crept back to bed.

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