"DISTRICT NURSE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 23 January 1939, Page 10

"DISTRICT NURSE"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

BY

FAITH BALDWIN.

CHAPTER XlX.—(Continued). She was, in her turn, puzzled. “I thought you didn't know—" she began. Jim looked down on her, as they were nearing her home. "Oh, I asked questions, around, after you told me," he explained. He -might, she. reflected, have given her that information earlier. . Even a •general' estimate of Fontana by the neighbourhood' would have quieted, a little, . her anxiety, and the casual statement about the elder Esposito was, in a sense, the key to him. When they reached her home they found something of an assembly. Pete was there. He had come to take Carol around to view the apartment Dr Travers had renovated for them over his own. Pete was saying seriously that as soon as he could afford it they’d put in .an elevator. For there were flights and flights to climb. Office floor, and the doctor’s bachelor quarters next and then theirs. And to Ellen’s astonishment, Frank Bartlett was there also, with Bill. He had, he solemnly explained, a date with that young man. and Bill had expressed a desire to come calling.

Bill was arrayed like the lilies of the fields. Bartlett had taken him shopping on the previous day and had outfitted him from sturdy square toes shoes to the cap which rode rakishly the red crest of his unruly hair. Bill had a suit with knickerbockers and a vest although Bartlett had a little protested against this final glory. He had a shirt, in fact several shirts, although to his sorrow he could not wear more than one at once; the same held true of ties and socks. He also had sweaters, and a leather, wool-lined coat. And warm underwear. And wool-lined gloves. He was absolutely radiant and every freckle shone as if it had been polished against the tan, now paling, which he acquired on the farm. High tea was in progress, presided over by Nancy. The little group appeared to be in accord. Even Mrs Adams unbent toward Mr Bartlett, the outsider, under Bill’s beneign influence. Bill was now attending school with an astonishing regularity. Bartlett had homehow persuaded him, and Bill, set upon following in his idol’s footsteps, was reluctantly confessing that once you got the hang of it, studying wasn’t so “turrible” hard, after all. On Ellen’s entrance with Jim a slight awkwardness pervaded the little group. Jim, to make an understatement, was not markedly cordial to Bill’s hero. But Pete was there to carry things off with his high hand, and Carol, and Nancy. They were soon laughing, all of them.

Frank and Bill took their departure present. But Bartlett had a word with Ellen at the door, Bill standing beside them, small and sturdy, regarding with almost hypnotic fascination the toes of his shining shoes. “That was grand of you,” Ellen said, "I had no idea that you ” “Oh, it was our secret. We wanted to surprise you. We carried all the bundles home, yesterday. Bill wouldn’t hear of having them sent. You see, he was afraid something would happen to them en route. Weren’t you, Old Timer?” Bill nodded, partially comprehending. Some instinct of chivalry, of astonishing tact, caused him to move off down the hallway, hands thrust into new deep pockets, whistling shrilly through his teeth. Bartlett said, “I phoned and Nancy told me you were out. But I decided to come and wait, anyway. Will you go out with me soon, Ellen?” She said she would and laid her hand in his for the brief but close and hurting grip. She smote Bill lightly on the shoulder, desiring to flutter a kiss on the tip end of his snub nose, but refrained sacrificially, knowing Bill’s prejudices. Presently she turned back smiling, and went into the living room. INSTALMENT XX. "When Ellen returned from saying good-bye to Frank and Bill, she was informed that supper would be late. Mrs Adams had decided to go around to Dr Travers with Coral and Pete and look at the apartment. “Oh no, all stairs!” argued Ellen distressed. Pete flexed his muscles. “I’ll carry her up." he promised. But Mrs Adams looked wounded. “I’m perfectly all right,” she said briskly, “I'll take them slowly.” She added, “Jim will stay to supper, of course.” Jim would, accepting with a delighted flash of his very white teeth. Nancy effaced herself in the kitchen, leaving Jim and Ellen alone. They could hear her singing, stacking and washing the tea things and looking over the constituents of the supper menu. “Plays up to you a lot," said Jim. smoking furiously. “Bartlett. 1 mean." "What do you mean, exactly?" she asked. “Oh, with that kid. Gentleman Bountiful or something. As if it meant anything!” “He’s very fond of the boy," Ellen told him quietly, “and intends to give him every opportunity to make the most of himself.’, A sententious sentence. But there still was between them that awkwardness which had its origin in the two men’s meetings. Jim burst out so loudly that Nancy, overhearing, dropped a pan to acquit her, a fleet second too late, of unintentionally eavesdropping. "Are you going to marry him, Ellen?” She replied, flushing, “I have no intention of marrying anybody.” "And that goes for me too. I suppose?” His hurt dark eyes turned to her own. He said desperately, "Why I i hang around here and keep on hoping. I don’t know. I don't get anywhere with you.” He made a gesture as if he repudiated her and everything about her. She did

not answer, having no true words to console or reassure him. He.said, pre-

sently, rising, "Guess I'll go on . . ." "I thought you were staying?” "I don’t feel like it,” he said bluntly. “Very well.” She watched him gather up overcoat and hat. He was sulky as a child is sulky, a child who has been reproved and disciplined. She smiled a little, inwardly. Jim had really never grown up, and never, she supposed, would grow up.

But there was nothing she could do. With each day that passed she realised her, as yet but half confessed, allegiance to Bartlett. Coming into the familiar room, seeing him there unexpectedly this afternoon, had made the room seem strange to her for a moment, the other people in it, beloved as they were as aliens, shadows. She had come in talking to Jim, laughing; and there he had been rising to greet her, Bill scampering about like a puppy at his feet, shouting at her, “See my new suit, Miss Ellen . . .” (Bartlett had weaned him away from that absurd “Miss Nois”)

Lamplight in the room and dusk outside, winter dusk. But for a split second in Ellen’s heart it was spring. This was pure love, which she carried hidden with her, which walked with her by day and dreamed with her by night. There was to be no permanent denial of it. That he waited, she knew. That he imposed upon him self a close restraint, she knew also. Had she not heard im say so, in as many words? “I've got to let you go now, if I don’t I’ll keep you here in my arms. I can't. I mustn't.” That he relied on her to come to him earnestly and tell him that everything was clear before them, she knew. And thought, some day, she .must. Things were altered, somehow. There was Carol, returned, and all the changes her coming had brought. Their mother would not now perhaps be so stubbornly set against the intrusion of Frank Bartlett in the family circle. Ellen realised suddenly and blindly that perhaps she would never have been set against it at all had she realised the possibility. It was merely that she had thought him casual, not serious, and therefore dangerous. Once regarded in the light of a sedate suitor, a genuine claimant, her attitude would surely change. Ellen had not thought of this before. Now- it pierced her with its certainty. And meantime, while she thought all this, while the swift thoughts and images passed through her mind, she was looking at Jim, watching him shrug his broad shoulders into an overcoat, take his hat in his strong dark hand. She was tender toward him momentarily as all gentle girls are toward mon who love them, and whom they do not love. She said, "I wish you’d change you mind and stay.”

'‘You don’t mean that.” But his face was eager, the look of the reprimanded child vanished. He dropped the hat somewhere and came over to where she was standing and took her hands in his own. “Ellen, don't be kind to me, I can’t bear it, you don’t mean it. All these months, ever since last spring I’ve been losing you. To him . . ” he added savagely. “You’ve been going further and further away from me . .” “Please,” she said, “don't be foolish

But he had taken her into his arms. She tried to laugh, to free herself, twisting, turning her flushed cheek aside. “Jim, let me go, Nancy’s coining in any minute.” For they could hear her banging oven doors, taking down plates, still whistling. “Oh, damn Nancy ” They did not hear the light knock on the door, which was not after- all. quite closed. Bill’s red head came in, cautiously, Bill said, “Say, Miss Ellen •” Bill stopped, appalled. “Jees,” said Bill out of his old habit. Jim’s arms had loosened. “Why, Bill,” said Ellen between laughter and embarrassment. “I forgot me new gloves,” explained Bill. “I run all the way from home.” She found them for him. He departed, thoughtful. Should he tell? You shouldn’t never tell on a lady. But, if she was two timin' his pal? . . That was different. Bill’s loyalty went out to his own sex. Bill’s allegiance was as fixed as a star. If she was double-crossin' the best guy God ever made . . . ?"

He set his square stubborn chin, but it trembled. Gee. he likefl Miss Ellen. She was pretty. She could laugh with him, she was a swell dame. But Bartlett came first. Somehow, he’d have to let Bartlett know. He didn't like O’Connor. He’d heard things about O'Connor. If Miss Ellen didn’t have sense enough to see the difference between the' two men . .

Frank, as Bill was permitted to call him. was crazy about her. Bill realised dimly that perhaps his own relationship with his idol was dictated, in part at least, by his hero’s desire to “stand in good” with Ellen. Gee, this love stuff was the bunk. It did things to you. It would, he feared, “do things,” to Frank. Gee, he hoped he’d never fall in love. Dames was all alike. Twofaced. Not for him the soft deceptions of the gentle passion.

He swore, feeling that this was the appropriate occasion, although Frank had pointed out to him that language could be expressively employed without the embellishments of picturesque profanity.

Bill spat, with accuracy, into the gutter. The warmth had departed from the new suit, the radiance from the shirts, the glamour from the ties. The shoes didn’t shine as they should. He stubbed a toe deliberately against the curbing. The thought of horse-hide coat, of sweaters, of wool socks with

gay turned down tops, of actually the faintly effeminate touch of pyjamas and handkerchiefs and gloves failed to move him for the first time in twentyfour hours. Frank was a good guy. He ought to bo put wise. This was the late autumn when certain wiseacres decided that the abortive launching of the Eugenie silhouette had been a base, secret scheme of the United Taxi Drivers because of the inability of Eugenie-clad women to travel in subways or cross crowded streets with any degree of safety or suitability. Eugenie, a wistful ghost, departed by degrees. Ellen, looking over a newspaper and regarding the advertisements asked Carolyn Mathers in the sub-sta-tion office, “Are you a mind reader or an astrologer?” (To be Continued.)