The Stroud Democrat (Stroud, Okla.), Vol. 10, No. 1, Ed. 1 Friday, October 31, 1919 Page: 2 of 8
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THE STROUD DEMOCRAT
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The Magnificent Ambersons
5> BOOTH TARKINGTON
Copyright by Doubl«d y, Paf • A Ton r,*n t ... ^ H, ...
CHAPTER XIX—Continued.
—14—
A month after her denth ho wnlked
abruptly Into Fanny's room, one night,
and found her at her desk, eagerly
adding columns of figures with which
she had covered several sheets of pa-
per.
"George I Tou startled me."
"I beg your pardon for not knock-
ing," he said huskily. "I didn't think."
She turned In her chair and looked
at him solicitously. "Sit down, George,
won't you?"
"No. I Just wanted "
"I could hear you walking up and
down In your room," said Fanny. "You
were doing It ever since dinner, and
It seems to me you're at It almost
every evening. I don't believe It's good
for yon—and I know It would^worry
your mother terribly If she Fan-
ny hesitated.
"See here," George said, breathing
fast, "X want to tell you once more that
what I did was right. How could I
have done anything else but what I
did do 7"
"Oh, I don't pretend to Judge," Fan-
as you're answering—avaded, and
tried to be gentle! I donT core to be
handled with gloves I I tell you I was
right, and I don't need any coddling
by people that think X wasn't I And
I suppose you believe I was wrong not
to let Morgan see her that Inst night
when he came here, and she—she was
dying. If you do, why In the name of
God did you come and nsk me? You
could have taken him In! She did
want to see him. She—"
Miss Fanny looked startled. "You
think—"
"She told me so!" And the tortured
young man choked. "She said—'Just
once.' She wild 'I'd like to have seen
him—Just once!' She meant—to tell
him good-bye! That's what she
meant! And you put this on me, too;
you put this responsibility on me!
Rut I tell you, and I told Uncle
George, that the responsibility Isn't
"It's curious about the deed to her
house," he said to his nephew. "You're
absolutely sure It wasn't among her pa-
pers ?"
"Mother didn't have any papers,"
George told him. "None at all. All
she ever had to do with business was
to deposit the checks grandfather gave
her, and then write her own checks
against them."
"The deed to the house was never
recorded," Amberson said thoughtful-
ly. "I've been over to the courthouse
to see. I think It would be Just as
well to get him to execute one now In
your favor. I'll speak to him about
It."
George sighed. "I don't think I'd
bother him about It; the house Is mine,
and you and I understand that It Is.
That's enough for me, and there Isn't
likely to be much trouble between you
and me when we come to settling poor
I George were grown people, both of
ny said soothingly, for his voice and j you, weren't you? You were older
gesture both partook of wlldness. "I j than I, and If you were so sure you
know you think you did, George." | were wiser than I, why did you Just
"'Think I did!'" he echoed violent- stand nround with your hands hanging
ly. "My God In heaven!" And he j down, and lot me go ahead? You
began to walk up and down the floor. I could have stopped It If It was wrong,
"What else was there to do? What I couldn't you?"
choice did I have? Was there any [ Fanny shook her head. "No, George,"
all mine! If you were so sure I was 1 grandfather's estate. I've Just been
wrong all the time—when I took her with him, and I think It would only
away, and when I turned Morgan out confuse him for you to speak to him
—If you were so sure, what did you | about It again. I notice he seems dls-
let me do It for? You and Uncle tressed If anybody tries to get his at-
tention—he's a long way off, some-
where, and he likes to stay that way.
I think—I think mother wouldn't want
other way of stopping the talk?" Ho
stopped, close In front of her, gestic-
ulating. his voice harsh and loud:
"Was there any other wny on earth
of protecting her from the talk?"
Miss Fanny looked away. "It died
down before long, I think," she said
nervously.
"That shows I wns right, doesn't It?"
he cried. "If I hadn't acted as I did,
that slanderous old Johnson woman
would have kept on with her slanders
—she'd still be—"
"No," Fanny Interrupted. "She's
she said slowly. "Nobody could have
stopped you. You were too strong,
nnd—"
"And what?" he demanded loudly.
"And she loved you—too well."
George stared at her hard, then his
lower lip began to move convulsively,
and he set his teeth upon It but conld
not check Its frantic twitching.
He ran out of the room.
She sat still, listening. He had
plunged Into his mother's room, but no
sound came to Fanny's ears after the
sharp closing of the door; nnd pros-
dead. She dropped dead with apoplexy ently she rose and stepped out Into
one day about six weeks after you "10 but could hear nothing,
left. I didn't mention It In my let- What Interview was sealed away from
ters because I didn't want—I human eye and ear within the lonely
thought—"
"Well, the other people would have
kept on, then. They'd have—"
"I don't know," said Fanny, still
averting her troubled eyes. "Things
are so changed here, George. The oth-
er people you speak of—one hnrdly
knows what's become of them. Of
course not a great many were doing
the talking, and they—well, some of
them are dend, and some might as
well be—you never see them any more
—and the rest, whoever they were, are
probably so mixed In with the crowds
of new people that seem never even to
have heard of us—and I'm sure we
certainly never heard of them—and
people seem to forget things so soon—
they seem to forget anything. You
can't Imagine how things have changed
here I"
George gulped painfully before he
could speak. "You—you mean to sit
there and tell me that if I'd Just let
things go on— Oh !" He swung nway,
walking the floor ngaln. "I tell you
darkness on the other side of that
door—In that darkness where Isabel's
own special chairs were, nnd her own
Kpeclnl books, nnd the two great wal-
nut wardrobes filled with her dresses
nnd wraps? What tragic argument
might be there vainly striving to con-
fute the gentle dend? "In God's name,
what else could I hnve done?" For
his mother's Immutable silence was
us to bother him about It; I'm sure
she'd tell us to let him alone. He
looks so white and queer."
Amberson shook his head. "I won't
bother hitn nny more than I enn help:
but I'll hnve the deed made out ready
foi his signature."
"I wouldn't bother him at all. I
don't see—"
"You might see," said Ills uncle un-
easily. "The estate is Just about as
Involved nnd mixed up ns nn estate
can well get, to the best of my knowl-
edge. You ought to have that deed."
"No, don't bother him."
"I'll bother him as little as possible.
I'll wait till some day when he seems
to brighten up a little."
Hut Amberson waited too long. The
Major had already taken eleven months
since his daughter's death to think
important things out. One evening
his grandson sat with him—the Major
seemed to like best to have young
George with him, so far ns they were
able to guess his preferences—and the
old gentleman made a queer gesture;
he shipped his knee as If he hnd made
a sudden discovery, or else remember-
ed that he had forgotten something.
George looked nt him with nn air of
inquiry, but said nothing. He had
grown to be almost as silent as his
grandfather. However, the Major
surely answering him ns Isabel In life spoke without being questioned.
would never have answered him, and "It must be In the sun," he said,
he was beginning ti understand how "There wasn't anything here but
eloquent the dend can be. They can- the sun in the first plnce, and the
not stop their eloquence, no matter earth came out of the sun, and we
how they have loved the living; they came out of the earth. So, whatever
m
cannot choose. And so, no mntter In
what agony George should cry out.
"What else could I hnve done?'' and
to the end of his life no mntter how
often he made that wild nppeni, Isnliel
wns doomed to answer him with the
wistful, faint murmur.
"I'd like to hnve—seen him. Just
once."
A superstitious person
might have thought It unfortunate that ]
Fanny's partner in speculative Indus- j
try ns In Wilbur's disastrous rolling- {
mills, wns that charming but too hnp-
linzardous man of the world, George
Amberson. He wns one of those op- !
tlmlsts who believe thnt If you put
money Into a great many enterprises
one of them Is sure to turn out a for-
tune, and therefore, In order to find j
the lucky one, it Is only necessary to
go Into a large enough number of them.
"You ought to hnve thought of my
record nnd stayed out," he told Fanny,
one dny the next spring, when the af-
fairs of the headlight company bad
begun to look discouraging. Things
do look bleak, nnd I'm only glad you
didn't go Into this confounded thing
to the extent I did."
Miss Fanny grew pink. "Hut it must
go right!" she protested. "We saw j
with our own eyes how perfectly It ,
worked out In the shop. It simply—" |
"Oh, you're right about that," Am-
berson said. "It certainly wns a per-
fect thing—In the shop !"
"But think of that test on the road
when we—"
"Thnt test was lovely," he admitted.
"The inventor made us liappy with his I
oratory, and you and Frank Bronson
mid I went whirling through the night
nt a speed that thrilled us. We must
never forget It—and we never shnll.
It cost—"
"But something must be done."
"It must Indeed! My something
would seem to be leaving my watch nt
my uncle's. Luckily, you—"
The pink of Funny's cheeks became
do anything to remedy it? Can't he
try to—"
"He can try," said Amberson. "ne
Is trying, in fact. I've snt In the shop
"I Did the Right Thins, I Tell You."
I did the only right thing! You think
I was wrong!"
"I'm Dot saying so," she said.
"You did at the time!" he cried.
"You said enough then, I think. Well,
what have you to say now, If you're
so sure I wns wrong?"
"Nothing, George."
"It's only because you're afraid to 1"
he said, and he went on with a sudden
bitter divination: "You're reproach- watching him try for several beautiful
Ing yourself with what you had to do nfternoons."
with ail that; and you're trying to "But you must make him keep on
make up for It by doing and saying trying!"
what you think mother would want "Oh, yes. I'll keep sitting I"
you to, and you think I couldn't stand However, In spite of the time he
It If I got to thinking I might have ^pent sitting in the shop, worrying the
dene differentijr. Oh, I know! That's inventor of the fractious light, Amber-
exactly what's In your mind: you do ^on found opportunity to worry him-
thlnk I was wrong! So does Uncle self nbout another matter of business.
George. I challenged him ubout It This was the settlement of Isubel's
we nre, we must have been In the sun.
We go back to the earth we came out ot
(•o the earth will go back to the sun
thnt It came out of. And time means
nothing—nothing at all—so in a little
while we'll all be back In the sun to-
gether. I wish "
He moved his hand uncertainly ns if
reaching for something, and George
jumped up. "Did you want anything,
grandfather?"
"What?"
"Would you like a glass of water?"
"No—no. No; I dou't wnnt nnything."
The reaching hand dropped back up-
on the nrm of his chair, nnd he re-
lapsed Into silence; hut n few min-
utes later he finished the sentence be
hnd begun:
"I wish—somebody could tell me!"
The next dny he hnd a slight cold,
but he seemed annoyed when his son
suggested calling the doctor, and Am-
berson let him hnve his own way so
far, in fact, thnt after he bad got up
nnd dressed, the following morning,
he was all alone when he went awny
to find out what he hadn't been able
to think out—all those things he had
w ished "somebody" would tell him.
Old Sum, shuffling in with the break-
fast tray, found the Major in his ac-
customed easy-chair by the fireplace
—and yet even the old darkey could
see instantly that (lie Major was not
theie.
CHAPTER XX.
When the great Amberson estate
went into court for settlement, "there
wasn't any," George Amberson said—
that his health would suffer, and he avenue met Amberson boulevard here
had been downtown only In a closed at nn obtuse angle, nnd the reoioval of
carriage. He had not realized the the pillars made the boulevard seem a
great change. * cross street of no overpowering lm
The streets were thunderous, a vast portapee—certainly It did n<- seem tc
energy heaved under the universal be a boulevard!
coating of dinginess. George walked | George walked by the Mu«islon hur
through the begrimed crowds of hur- riedly. and came home to his mother'?
rying strnngers and saw no face that house for the last time,
he remembered. Great numbers oi Emptiness wns there, too, and ttie
faces were even of a kind he did not closing of the door resounded through
remember ever to have seen; tliey bare rooms; for downstairs there was
were partly like the old type that no furniture In the house except a
his boyhood knew, and partly like kitchen table in the dining room, which
types he knew abroad. He saw Ger- Fanny had kept "for dinner," she said,
man eyes with American wrinkles at though ns she was to cook nnd scrv<
their corners; he saw Irish eyes and tlmt meal herself George had his
Neapolitan eyes, Roman eves, Tuscnn doubts about her name for it. Upstairs
eyes, eyes of Lombnrdy, of Savoy, she hnd retained her own furniture
Hungarian eyes, Balkan eyes, Scnndi- ftIU' George hnd been living in his
navian eyes—all with u queer Amerl- mother's room, having sent everythlnl
can look In them. He saw Jews who own to the nuctlon. Isabel's
were no longer German or Husslnn or roon> was still as It had been, but the
, . , . „ „ , Polish Jews. All the people were soil- furniture would be moved wirt
an eighteen hundred-dollar-a-year con-. ( <) (he smoke.llllst thr0Ugh which Fanny's to new quarters in the morn-
sulship. An ex-congressman can al- hurrU.(] „nder ,he hpavv skT that Ing. Fanny hnd made plnns for be.
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hut not with great cheerfulness.
"We'll survive, Georgie—you will, es-
pecially. For my part I'm a little too
old and too accustomed to fail back
on somebody else for supplies to start
a big fight with life; I'll be content
with Just surviving, and I can do It on
ulship. An ex-congre
ways be pretty sure of getting soma
such Job, and I hear from Washing-
ton the matter's about settled. So
much for me! Rut you—of course
you've had a poor training for making
your own wny, but you're only n boy
after nil, and the stuff of the old stock
is in you. It'll come out and do some-
thing. I'll never forgive myself nbout
thnt deed; it would have given you
something substantial to start with.
Still, you hnve a little tiny bit, and
you'll have a little tiny salary, too;
and of course your Aunt Fanny's here,
and she's got something you can fail
hack on If you get too pinched, until I
can begin to send you a dribble now
and then."
George's "little tiny bit" was six
hundred dollars which had come to
him from the snle of his mother's fur-
niture ; nnd the "little tiny snlnr.v"
wns eight dollurs a week which old
Frank Bronson wns to pny him for
services ns n clerk nnd student-at-
law. George hnd accepted haughtily,
nnd thereby removed a burden from
his uncle's mind.
Amberson himself, however, had not
even a "tiny bit;" though he got his
consular appointment, nnd to take him
to his post he found it necessary to
horrow two hundred of his nephew's
six hundred dollars. "It makes me
sick, George," he said. "But I'd bet-
ter get there and get that snlnry start-
ed. Of course Eugene would do any-
thing in the world, nnd the fnet Is he
wanted to, but I felt that—ah—under
the circumstances "
"Never!" George exclaimed, growing
red. "I can't imagine one of the fam-
ily " He pnused, not finding it
necessary to explain thnt "the fam-
ily" shouldn't turn n mnn from the
door nnd then accept favors from him.
"I wish you'd take more."
Amberson declined. "One thing I'll
say for you, young George; you have-
n't a stingy bone In your body. That's
the Amberson stock in you—and 1 like
It I"
hung close upon the new skyscrapers.
nephew as well as herself; she had
nnd nenrly nil seemed harried by foun<1 " "three-room kitchenette npnrt
something impending, though here and «« t apartment house where
there a woman with bundles would be f*!"?1 °,d friends of hers had estab
laughing to a companion about some
adventure of the department store, or
ltshed themselves—elderly widows ot
citizens once "prominent" und othei
traffic of the streets—nnd not infre-
quently a girl, or a free-and-easy
young matron, found time to throw an
encouraging look to George.
He took no note of these, and, leav-
ing the crowded sidewalks, turned
. i_, ,i,„ retired gentry. People used their own
perhaps an escape from the charging " , ' , . . , . .
' kitchenettes" for breakfast and lunch,
but there was a tnble-d'hote arrange-
ment for dinner on the ground floor;
and after dinner bridge was played
nil evening, an nttractlon powerful
with Fanny. She had "made all the
arrangements," she reported, and ner
vously appealed for approval, asking If
she hadn't shown herself "pretty prac-
tlcnl" In such mntters. George acqul
esced absent-mindedly, not thinking of
what she said and not realizing to
what it committed him.
He began to realize it now, as tu
wnndered about the dismantled house;
he was far from sure that he wti
willing to live In a "three-room apart
ment" with Fnnny and eat breakfas-
and lunch with her (prepared by her
self In the "kitchenette") nnd dlnne'
at the table d'hote ,n "such a pretty
Colonial dining room" (so Fnnny de
scribed It) at a little round table tbej
I would have all to themselves In fht
| midst of a dozen little round tnblei
| which other relics of disrupted fam-
ilies would have all to themselves. Foi
the first time, now that the change
was imminent, George began to devel
op before his mind's eye pictures of
v bat he wns In for; and they appalled
Mm. He decided that such a life
verged upon the sheerly unbearable,
nnd thnt nfter nil there were some
things left thnt he just couldn't stand.
So he made up his mind to speak to
his aunt about It at "dinner," and tell
her that he preferred to ask Bronson
to let him put a sofa-bed, a trunk and
n folding rubber bathtub behind n
screen in the dark rear room of the of-
fice.
But at "dinner" Fanny was nerv-
ous, and so distressed about the fail-
ure of her efforts with sweetbread!
nnd macaroni; and she wns so eager
in her talk of how comfortable they
There Have Been Time, When I
Thought You Ought to Be Hanged."
He added something to this praise I n<mh ,nto Nntlonal nvenue, nnd pres-
of his nephew on (he day lie left for pntjy reached the quieter but no less; would be "by this tUne tomorrow
Washington. He was not to return, begrimed region of smaller shops and night.'
but to set forth from the capitnl on
the long Journey to his post. George
went with him to the station, and
their farewell wns lengthened by the
train's being several minutes late.
"I may not see you again, Georgie,"
Amberson said, and bis voice was a
little husky ns he set n kind hand on
the young man's shoulder. "It's quite
probable that from this time on we'll
only know each other by letter—until
you're notified as my next of kin that
there's an old valise to be forwarded
to you, and perhaps some dusty curios
from the consulate mantelpiece. Well,
it's an odd way for us to be saying
good bye; one wouldn't have thought
it, even a few years ago, but here we
are, two gentlemen of elegant appear-
ance In n state of bustltude. We can't
ever tell what will happen at all, can
we? Life and money both behave like
loose quicksilver in a nest of cracks.
And when they're gone we can't tell
where—or what the devil we did with
'em! But I believe I'll say now—while
there Isn't much time left for either
of us to get embarrassed about It—I
believe I'll say that I've always been
fond of you. We all spoiled you ter-
ribly when you were u little hoy aud
let you grow up en prince—and 1
must sny you took to it! Rut you've
received a pretty heavy Jolt, aud 1
had enough of your disposition, myself,
nt your age, to understand a little of
what cocksure youth has to go through
Inside when it finds that it can make
terrible mistakes. Well, with my train
coming into the shed, you'll forgive
me for saying that there hnve been
old-fashioned houses. Those latter had
been the homes of his boyhood play-
mntes, old friends of his grnndfnther
had lived here—in this alley he hnd
fought with two boys at the same
time, nnd whipped them; In that front
yard he had been successfully tensed
Into temporary Insanity by a Sunday
school class of pinky little girls. On
thnt snggtng porch n Inughing woman
had fed him nnd other boys with
doughnuts and gingerbread; yonder he
snw the staggered relics of the Iron
picket fence he had made his wlnte
pony Jump, on n dare, and 1^ the
After "dinner" he went upstairs,
moving his hand slowly along the
smooth wnlnut railing of the balus-
trade. Half way to the landing he
stopped, turned, nnd stood looking
down at the henvy doors masking the
black emptiness that had been the
library. Here he hnd stood on what
lie now knew was the worst day of his
life; here he hnd stood when bis moth-
er pnssed through thnt doorway, hand-
in-hand with her brother, to learn what
her son bad done.
He went on more henvily, more slow-
ly ; and, more heavily and slowly still.
shabby, stone-faced house behind the entered Isabel's room and shut th#
fence he had gone to children's par- door. He did not come forth again,
ties, and, when he was a little older «"d bade Fnnny good-night through
he had danced there often, and fallen, the closed door when she stopped out-
In love with Mary Sharon, and kissed 6'de It later.
her, apparently by force, under the j "I've put all the lights out, George,"
stairs in the hall. The double front she said. "Everything's all right."
doors, of meanlngiessly carved walnut, "Very well," he called. "Good night,,
once so glosslly varnished, bad been Aunt Fanny."
painted smoke gray, but the smoke jj|g YOjce ),ad n strangled sound In
grime showed repulsively, even on the
smoke gray; and over the doors a
smoked sign proclaimed the place to
be a "Stag hotel."
This was the Inst "walk home" he
was ever to take by the route he was
now following: up Nntlonnl avenue to
Amberson addition nnd the two big
old houses at the foot of Amberson
boulevard; for tonight would be the
last night that he and Fnnny were to
spite of him; but she seemed not to
notice it, and he heard her go to her
own room und lock herself in with
bolt nnd key against burglars. She
bad said the one thing she should not
have said just then: "I'm sure your
mother's watching over you, Georgie."
She hnd meant to be kind, but It de-
stroyed his last chance for sleep that
night. He would have slept little If
she had not snid it, but since she had
spend In the house which the Major snia It he did not sleep at all. For lis
had forgotten to deed to Isabel. To-
morrow they were to "move out," and
George was to begin his work In Bran-
son's office. He had not come to this
hanged—but I've always been fond
of you, and now I like you! And Just
for a last word; there may be some-
body else In this town who's always
felt about you like that—fond of you,
I mean, no matter how much it seem-
ed vou ought to lie bunged. You might
that is, when the settlement was eon- try IIHlo j niust run. y\\ 8end
times when I thought you ought to be conapse without a fierce struggle—but
eluded there was no estate. He
proached himself bitterly for not hav-
ing long ago discovered that his fa-
ther hnd never given Isnbel a deed to
her bouse. "And those pigs, Sydney
and Amelia I" he added, for this wns
iinotli
back the money as fast us they pny
me—so, good bye and God bless you,
Georgie!'
the struggle wns inward, and the roll
Ing world was not agitated by It,
and rolled cnlmly on. For of nil the
"ideals of life" which the world, in Its
rolling. Inconsiderately flnttens out to
nothingness, the least likely to retain
knew that it was true—if it could be
true—that his mother, If she still lived
In spirit, would be weeping on the
other side of the wnll of silence, weep-
ing nnd seeking for some gnte to let
her through so that she could como
and "watch over him."
He felt that If there were such gntes
they were surely barred: they were
like those awful library doors down-
n profile is'that Ideal which depends " hlfh 111111 sh1u,t'le,r ln
upon inheriting money. George Am- j suffering to which lie had coil-
berson, ln spite of his record of full-
signed her.
ures ln business, had spoken shrewdly I The room wns still Isabel's. Noth-
when he realized at last that money, Ing had been changed: even the pho-
ye passed through the gates, waved like life, wns "like quicksilver in a tographs of George, of the Major and
his hat cheerily from the other side j nest of cracks." And his nephew hnd of "brother George" still stood on her
of the iron screen, nnd was lost from j the awakening experience of seeing dressing table, and in a drawer of her
?r thing he was bitter about. gjgm jn ^e hurrying crowd. And as the great Amberson estate vanishing desk was an old picture of Eugene and
r1n« r r r "Tint Iqn't flint mnn cnlni* to uuiijtufc *.iuv u. auu no nn Kit-m niuuuouu um*
nnvthin^ tn rLedv If, r.„ t h.> I "They won,t do Rn-vtl,lnK- 1 m sorry lie disappeared, an unexpected poign-Unto such a nest—In a twinkling; it Lucy, taken together, which George
I gave them the opportunity of making ant loneliness fell upon his nephew so j seemed, now that It was Indeed so ut- I had found but hud slowly closed awny
n polished refusnl. The estate was bad- i,eavl|y und so suddenly that he hud terly vanished. nguin from sight, not touching it. To-
ly crippled, even before they took our no energy to reco(i from the shock. It On this lust homeward walk of his, : morrow everything would be gone;
their 'third,' nnd the 'third they took to him that the last fragment when George reached the entrance to ! and lie hnd heard there was not lrng
was the only good pnrt of the rotten |,|s fnm[iiar world had disappeared, Amberson addition—that Is, when he
Well, I didn't nsk them for res- |eilv|nK ),im nn nione forever. enme to where the entrance hnd for-
titutlon on my own account, nnd at jje walkotl homeward slowly through merly been—he gave n little sturt,
leust It will save you some trouble
whut appeared
be the strange and halted for n moment to stnre.
to wnlt before the house itself would
be demolished. The very spnee which
toulght wns still Isabel's room would
be cut Into new shapes by new walls
nnd Hours nnd ceilings; yet the room
young George. Never wnste any ttni" e|ty> as a matter of fnct, the city This was the first time he hnd no-
writing to them; you mustn't count on was Grange to him. He hnd seen lit- tlced that the stone pillars, marking would always live, for it could not die
them." tie of it during his years iu college, the entrance, had been removed. Then , out of George's memory. It would live
"I don't," George said quietly. "I
don't count on anything."
'Oh, we'll not feel thnt things are
and then hnd followed the long ab- lie realized thnt for a long time he hnd as long as he did, nnd it would always
sence nud 111. tingle retun,. Since tliut been conscious of a queerness nbout he murmurous with n tragic, wistful
he hnd been "scarcely outdoors at all" this corner without being aware of ( whispering.
v -I
a
i
quite desperate," Ambersou iHughcd, J us Fanny complained waruintr him what made the difference. Rational
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
\L
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The Stroud Democrat (Stroud, Okla.), Vol. 10, No. 1, Ed. 1 Friday, October 31, 1919, newspaper, October 31, 1919; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc120566/m1/2/: accessed May 2, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.