"DISTRICT NURSE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 26 January 1939, Page 14

"DISTRICT NURSE"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

FAITH BALDWIN.

INSTALMENT XXIII. To Nancy's relief, her mention of Christmas did shift the conversation. Christmas was, as a matter of fact, just around the corner. Mrs Adams began to plan. She’d have them all home with her this year, Nancy, Ellen, —Carol. Pete would come when he could get off, if at all. Pete's getting off was a joke. Carol remembered out loud the last theatre date they had a week or so ago. Remembered how, as he had reported it later, when he was through and under the shower, a message had come. Two new cases on his floor, the man taking his calls busy with emergencies and would he hurry please— He had hurried, and they had made the theatre, but he hadn’t had any dinner and was, Carol said laughing, when she saw him, half dressed, and literally, one side of his face shaved. Yes, all there for Christmas. And Jim and his aunt would look in in the evening; they always did. Mrs Adams thought of Christmas and her heart, which was narrow, but very deep, expanded a litle. She said gaily to Ellen, “and perhaps Mr Bartlett would come?”

That was a real concession. But Carol had been at her, and Pete and Nancy. All of them, arguing, pleading. “What's wrong with him, mother? You only make Ellen unhappy by your attitude.” This would show Ellen, maybe, that she hadn’t meant to be unkind and suspicious. She had been afraid, that was all. She'd been so afraid ever since Carol . . But that was all over now.

Ellen was ghastly. Her mother repeated the question. She added, “of course we don’t know if he has other plans.” “It’s quite likely,” said Ellen briefly. Nancy said quickly, “He hasn’t a relative in the world except those people, you know, out west somewhere.” Ellen said nothing and her mother, forgetting her own astonishment, said, “You haven’t eaten a thing.” “It’s my head,” Ellen said and tried to smile, and rose and left the table “Aspirin in the bathroom, you know,” Nancy called after her. She went in, they heard her running the water. Carol and Nancy looked at each other again. “It isn’t like Ellen to have headaches,” remarked Mrs Adams worried, “I hope she isn’t coming down with something.”

By half past seven Ellen had gone. She met Gladys on the corner. Gladys, pathetically small in a shabby coat, was waiting impatiently. It was cold and cloudy. A few flakes of snow drifted down, melted when they reached the pavement. Gladys said gasping, “I was early ... I was afraid you wouldn’t . . . Gee, I started to go back twice

. . . I told Ma I had to go to the drug store . . . not that she believed me, or cared. She didn’t follow me, I looked . . . . I came the long way around.”

Ellen asked, not listening, “Are you warm enough? Here,” she hailed a cruising taxi and put Gladys in. She gave the address to the driver, steadily. They drove uptown almost in silence. Once Gladys said, “Gee, I’m cold.” Her teeth were chattering. Ellen forced herself to take the girl’s icy hands in her own. She said, looking down at Gladys’s feet, “those ridiculous heels and flimsy stockings! Gladys, you should know better.” She was talking to her as if she were, a patient, .any patient, forcing herself, trying not to think what waited for them both at the end of the long ride. She thought, when he sees her . . and me. She thought, I’m glad, I’m glad he’ll have to see me . . . with her . .

But she wasn’t glad. She was afraid. She was more than afraid. There were no words for her fear and her unhappiness and her resentment. She hadn’t thought about other women and Frank. That he must know many, that he must have cared for one for several perhaps, before they met. was obvious enough. That she had always taken for granted, without thinking very much about it. But Gladys and a cafeteria—and a man who “clowned.” No, she couldn’t understand it; she never would. Sh was trying not to think of the wife from whom, so he had told Gladys, he was separated. Whether it was true or not, whether he had lied to Gladys or to her, didn’t much matter now. Nothing mattered now. That was a non-essential, absolutely. It couldn’t mean anything to her whether there was a wife in the background, whether, for that matter, there were two wives . . now.

That was all just part of this senseless fabric.

They had reached the apartment house, standing back in the usual heavy, rather handsome massive architectural design, built around a great open court. A good neighbourhood, a respectable neighbourhood. Gladys's teeth were chattering again. She whimpered, ‘I can t. I m scared. He'll be sore; he’ll be wild at me. He’ have me thrown out, maybe. Let’s go back. I’ll manage Ma somehow, let’s go back.”

“No, we’re not going back,” said Ellen. She helped her from the taxi and paid the driver, and took the girl’s arm. “He won’t throw you out,” said Ellen, and her little jaw set and her lips were drained of colour. Her eyes were almost black, the stormy gray eyes, startling against the pallor of her face. They went into the apartment house. Warmth was there and subdued colouring and good furniture. She gave her name, the fact that she had an appointment. She was expected, they told her, looking curiously, not at her, but at Gladys.

The small cage of the elevator shot upward. They were alone in it save for the indifferent attendant.

“May I take her into a bedroom?” Ellen asked.

He went out and left them. About ten minutes later Ellen came out to him in the living room. He was walking up and down, chewing savagely on an unlit pipe. “What in heavens is it all about?” he began, “this girl . . Ellen . .

She’s half asleep,” said Ellen. “I thought you’d let her rest a minute before I took her home." She went on, “I know I owe you an explanation, Frank, I'm so ashamed . . .” He was gentler with her now, made her sit down, sat down beside her on the couch. But he was angry with bewilderment.

She said, “I don't know how to begin .'. .”

But she knew. There was only one way. She told him, straight forwardly, the whole story. He said, first of all, blankly, “And you believed all this ?” “I didn’t want to.” CHAPTER XXIV. Ellen had taken off her hat and coat in the bedroom and now, in the dark dress, her face blossoming up, purely as a flower, very white, her hair loose about her temples, the heavy knot of gold close to the nape of her slender neck, she had never looked so tired, so defeated . . nor so lovely, somehow . . “ I didn’t want to. I couldn’t at first. But the name, the address. Everything. He —had shown her his card,” she said, “and she’d called your office, and been told you didn’t know her.” “So that is the woman who called. Naturally. I didn’t know her.” He rose: he looked down at her. “I’ll have him jailed, whoever he is," he said furiously, “but —all that doesn’t mattex-. It’s you, I tell you. You, to believe!"

“Frank,” she said piteously, “what was I to think? It all fitted in, it was such clear evidence.” He would understand that, she was speaking his own language now, she thought. She said, as no sign of pardon, no line of softening or understanding altered the hard young face, the almost unknown face at which she looked, “I knew nothing about you really, nothing ” “Nothing? I’d told you everything." he said. She said. "He—the man told her—he was married . . separated from his wife ” “And you believe that, too?” He began to laugh. “Really. Ellen, it is funny. You believed that, too—” She pushed her hands through her hair, held them up to her aching, throbbing temples. (To be Continued.)

At the eight floor they got out, and Ellen half dragging the shivering girl

with her, rang the indicated bell. A man servant opened the door. He said, “Miss Adams? Mr Bartlett will be with you in a moment. He's on the phone.”

A square foyer. Ellen shook her head as the man made a gesture toward her coat. Gladys huddled herself more closely in her own. There was a living room, a fire burning on a hearth. Deep chairs, low smoking tables, books lining the walls. A pleasant room. A man's room. Old hunting prints agains the beige background of the wall space left untouched by shelves.

A door was shut somewhere. Through it faintly they could hear a man’s voice speaking urgently. A door opened. There were steps, down a hall. Frank came in. He said, quickly, his eyes going to Ellen at once, not seeing, in his impatience, Gladys, who stood over in a darker corner back of a great wing chair, “Ellen I’ve been out of my mind with worry all day . . . I’m sorry 1 kept you waiting a moment . . I had a long distance call He was coming closer to her. She thought, I’ll never see him again ... I must remember what he looks like . . no, I never want to think of his face again ... I must forget it. But she kept her eyes on his. She said clearly, “Gladys ” But Gladys was clutching the chair, swaying, making curious sounds in her throat.

Ellen ran to her immediately, ignoring Bartlett who stared at her and now came forward, ignoring his exclamation.

“Gladys," she said and put her arm around the girl and faced him, “this is Frank Bartlett —you —” But Gladys had screamed,. Gladys was screaming . .

“No, it isn’t . . I never seen him before,” Gladys was screaming, the hysterics she had so far restrained having their way with her. “I never seen him before . . .”

“She’s fainted,” said Ellen sharply, as the girl’s entire weight slithered trward her, leaned against her. Bartlett sprang forward. Together they carried Gladys to a divan and laid her down. “Flatter,” said Ellen. She was working over her. “Get water . . . have you spirits of ammonia?” she was asking. She had no time for anything, not even for this over-whelming relief, this utter shame, while she worked. ... Bartlett went out and came back without a word with the things that were needed; Gladys opened her eyes and shuddered, pushing Ellen’s hand away.

“I feel so sick,” she said. She wasgray.

Bartlett nodded. They helped the girl to her feet and between them they got her down the hall and into a bedroom. His. A frankly masculine bedroom, well, rather sparsely furnished, They stretched her out flat on the bed ar;d Ellen said, “If you’d leave us . . is that the bathroom there . . ?”

He said . . angrily, “If you'd tell me what the ”

“In a moment,” said Ellen frantically “please.’