Newspaper Page Text
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Monday, april 3, 1922.
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BEGIN HERE TODAY.
After eight years of married life
Mark Sabre comes to realize that
t he is neither understood nor appre
■ tiated by his prosaic and snobbish
w wife, Mabel, nor by his colleagues
in the firm of Fortune, East and
Sabre. A promised partnership in
the business has been denied him
and promised to Twyning, a jeal
ous associate. Suddenly in old
sweetheart, Nona, now the wife of
the dashing Lord Tybar, returns "af
ter two years of travel. Mabel be
comes jealous of Nona, who visit?
Sabre at his office. Something
makes Sabre suspect that Nona is
not happily married. She says she
is ‘ just drifting flotsam.”
GO ON WITH THE STORY
She said swiftly, as though she
were stirred, ‘‘Oh, Marko, yes, that’s
mysterious. Do you know some
times I’ve seen drift like that, and
I’ve felt—oh, I don’t know. But I’ve
put out a‘stick and drawn in a piece
of wood just as the stuff was moving
off, just to save it being carried away
into—well, into that, you know.”
"Have you, Nona?”
She answered, ‘‘Do you think that’s
what life is, Mr rko?”
“It’s not unlit. he said. And he
added, "Except about someone com
ing along with a stick and drawing a
bit into safety. I’m not sure about
that. Perhaps that’s what we’re all
looking for—”
He suddenly realized that he was
back precisely at the thoughts his
mind had taken up on the morning
he had met her. But with a degree
more of illumination. Two feelings
came into his mind, the second hard
upon the other and overriding it, as
a fierce horseman might catch and
override one pursued. He said, “It’s
rather jolly to have someone that
can see ideas like that.” And then
the overriding, and he said with
astonishing roughness, “But you
—aren’t flotsam! How can you he
flotsam—the life you’ve—taken?”
And, 10, if he had struck her, and
she had been bound, defenseless, and
with her eyes entreating not to be
stiuck again, she could not deeper
have entreated him than in the
glance she fleeted from her eyes, the
quiver of her lids that first released,
then veiled it.
It stopped his word's. It caught
his throat.
111.
He got up quickly. “I say, Nbna,
anever mind about thinking. I’ll tell
what’s been doing. Rotten. Hap
pened just after I met you the other
day.”
“The dust on these roads!” she
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said. She touched her eyes with her
handkerchief, "What, Marko?”
“Well, old Fortune promised to
take me into partnership about an
age ago.”
“Marko, he ought to have done it
an age ago. What’s there rotten
about that?” Her voice and her. air
were as gay as when she had eritered.
“The rotten thing is that he’s
turned it down. At least practically
has. He—” He told her of the
Twyning and Fortune incident.
“Pretty rotten of old Fortune, don’t
you think?”
“Old field!” said Nona. “Old
trout!”
Sabre laughed. “Good work, trout.
The men here all say he’s like a
whale. They call him Jonah,” and
he told her why.
She laughed gaily. “Marko! How
disgusting you are! But I’m sorry. I
am. Poor old Marko ... Os course,
is doesn’t a horse-radish what
an old trout like that thinks about
your work, but it does matter,
doesn’t it? I know hpw you feel.”
She was at the shelves, scanning
the books. Her fond, her almost
tender sympathy made him, too, feel
that it was rather fine. Her igiht
words in her high, clear tone voiced
exactly his feelings towards the
books. Talking with her was, in the
reception and return of his thoughts,
nearer to reading a book that de
lighted him than to anything else
with which he could compare it.
There was the same interchange of
ideas, not nece-sarily expressed; the
same creation and play of fancy,
imagined, not stated.
IV.
She sat briskly forward'in the big
armchair in which she faced him,
making of the motion a movement as
though throwing aside a turn the
conversation had taken. “Well, go
no, Marko. I’m not going to let you
stop talking yet. 1 love that about
bow people get success nowadays.
It’s jolly true. I never thought of it
before. Yes, you’re still a terribly
thinky person, Marko. Go on. Think
some more. Out loud.”
Caressing—drawing him on —just
as of old.
He said thoughtfully, “I tell you a
thing I often think a lot about,
Nona. You being- here like this puts
it in my mind. Conventions.”
She smiled teasingly. “Ah, poor
Marko. I knew you’d simply hate
it, my coming like this. Does it
seem terribly unconventional, im
proper, to you, shut up with me in
your office?”
He shook his head. “It seems very
nice. That’s all it seems. Look here, |
Nona, this really is rather interest-'
in*--”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
Just so he used to bring ideas t*
her; just so, with “Yes —yes,” she
used to leceive them.
But he went on. "Why, conven
tion, you know, it’s the most mysteri
ous, extraordinary thing. It’s a
code eiety, has built up to protect j
itself and to govern itself, and when
you go into it it’s the most marvel
ous code that ever was invented. All
sorts of things that the la\y doesn't
give, and couldn't give, out comen
tions dhov * >n on us in ti’-> most
amazing way. And ail probably origi
nated by a lot of Mother Guru.} i-h
. k
. it* rife
“One of his rfiends. Staying with
us.”
old women, that’s what’s so extraor
dinary. You know, if all the great
est legal minds of all the ages had
laid themselves to to make a social
code they could never have got any
where near the rules the people have
built up for themselves. And that’s
what 1 like, Nona—that’s what I
think so interesting and the best
thing in life: the things the people
do for themselves without any state
intereference. That’s what I’d en
courage all I knew how if I were a
politician—”
He broke off. “I say, aren’t I the
limit, gassing away like this? I
hardly ever get off nowadays and
when I do!—Why don’t you stop
me?”
She made a little gesture depreca
tory of his suggestion. “Because I
like to hear you. I like to watch
your funny old face when you’re on
one of your ideas. It gets red under
neath, Marko, and the red slowly
comes up. Funny old face! Go.on. I
want to hear this because I’m going
to disagree with you, I think'. I
think conventions, most them, are
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THE AMERICUS TIMES-RECORDER.
odious, hateful, Marko. I hate them?”
V
He had been strangely affected by
the words of her interruptions: a
contraction in the throat—a twitch
ing about the eyes . . . But he
vva able, and glad that he was able
to catch eagerly at her opinion. “Yes,
yes, I know, odious, hateful, and
much more than that, Cruel—conven
tions ran be as cruel, as cruel as
hell. 1 was just coming to that. But
they’re all absolutely rightly based,
Nona. That’s the baffling and the
maddening part of them. That’s
what interests me in them.”
- “1., ok at this stuff there’s been in
the- papers lately about what they
call the problem or the unmarried
mother. Now there’s a brute of a
case for you: a girl gets into trouble
and while she sticks to her baby
she’s made an outcast; every door is
shut to her; her own people will havp
nothing to do with her; no one will
take her in—so long as she’s got the
baby with her. That’s convention
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and you can imagine cases where it’s
duel beyond words. But it’s no
rood cursing society about it. You
c.tn’t help seeing that the convention
is fundamentally right and essential.
Where on earth would you be if girls
with babies could find homes as easi
ly as girls without babies?” He
smiled. “You’d have babies pouring
out all over the place. See it?”
She nodded. “I do think that’ in
teresting, Marko. Yes, cruel and
hateful and preposterous, many of
them, but all fundamentally right.”
Presently she said, “Yes, you do
still think things, Marko. You
haven’t changed a bit, you know.”
lie smiled. “Oh, well it’s only two
years, you know—less than two
years since you went away.”
"1 wasn’t thinking of two years.”
“How many years were you think
ing of?”
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“Ten.”
They just sat there.
VI
The insistent shrieking of a motos
siren in the street below began to
penetrate their silence. “What the
devil’s that?”
An extravagantly long motor car
was drawn against the crub. Lord
Tybar, in a dust coat and sleek
bowler hat of silver gray, sat in the
driver’s seat. He was industrious
ly ar.d without cessation winding the
handle of the siren. An uncommon
ly pretty woman sat beside him. SLy
was massed in furs. In her ears she
held the index finger of each hand,
her elbows sticking out on each side
of her head.
At Nona’s call Lord Tybar ceased
the handle and looked up with his
engaging smile; the uncommonly
pietty woman removed her fingers
PAGE THREE
from her ears and also turned up
ward* her uncommonly pretty face.
As they went down Sabre asked,
“Who’s that with him in the car?”
“One of his friends. Staying with
us.”
Something in her voice made it—
afterwaids—occur to him as odd that
she spoke of one of “his,” not one of
“our” friends, and did not mention
her name.
VII
Through the day Sabre’s thought,
as. a man sorting through many
documents and coming up and re
taining one, fined down towards a
picture of himself alone with Nona—
alone with her, watching her beauti
ful face—and saying to her: “Look
here, there were three things you
said, three expressions you used. Ex
plain them, Nona.”
(Continued in Our Next Issue.)