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About Vernonia eagle. (Vernonia, Or.) 1922-1974 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 11, 1936)
VERNONIA EAGLE, VERNONIA, OREGON MAIDEN VOYAGE KATHLEEN NOURIS | Copyright, Kathleen Norrie. CHAPTER XIX—Continued —1 li ne came In, looking rather pale and tired on this hot day, and Joe wheeled up a chair for him, and for a few seconds the conversation was confused and general. Presently he said to Tony: "Everything serene In the city room ?” "Oh, perfection,” the girl an swered. "Greeny Is afraid to ask me for my copy, even, and Fitch hasn't been out at all.” "You mean you two haven’t seen each other since the other night?” Ruth asked. “Right in the same office!’’ “We’re on the same paper, not In the same office," Tony reminded her. “I see your brother’s engagement announced,” Larry said. “Oh, yes. And Clift’s In seventh heaven.” "He’s marrying one of the Bly girls, isn’t he?” Ruth asked Inter estedly. “Mary Rose—yes. The little cur ly one. There are five of them, I believe, but only three out.” “Well, that’s very nice,” Ruth ap proved. “Oh, I have to go, and I hate to go!” Tony lamented. There was a general repetition of engagements for the week-end as she went to the door. Don’t forget your book!” Ruth called. "Here, I’ll give It to her!” Larry followed her to the door. In a few seconds he was back In his chair again, and they could hear her speaking to Chevalier as he let her out Caroline Polhemus sat on, Idly chatting, planning, sipping more Iced tea. In her heart she said: “Of course. Of course that’s It! Good heavens, how completely ob vious. One could see It the Instant he came In—poor kid! She looked sick. Ruth doesn’t know. She wouldn’t It would never occur to her that her impeccable Larry and her round-eyed, blue-eyed little friend In the white hat—Larry,” said Caroline aloud, “where’d you pick up this clever little Tony of yours?” “I didn't. She came over to Pied mont to cover a club story a couple of years ago, and had tea with Ruth and your grandmother. She got a great case on Ruth, and they’ve been friends ever since.” An hour later, when Joe and she were alone before dinner, she had an opportunity to ask him direct questions. “It’s serious with Miss Taft, Is It, Joe?” “I like her awfully,” Joe admit ted, flushing.. “And do you think she likes you?” the sister pursued. “No,” Joe answered briefly. “I know she doesn’t” "Perhaps there’s some one else,” Mrs. Polhemus said. "No, I don't think so, Carrie. I think I’d know It if there was any one else.” “I think you wouldn’t," his sister assured him, affectionately scornful. She watched Larry curiously, close ly, all through the evening. Did he care, too? It was hard to tell, with Larry. She wondered If he had said anything to Antoinette Taft at the door. "I’ll bet she and the im peccable Larry made a lunch date,” Caroline thought Larry had Indeed breathed a “Lunch at one tomorrow?” and Tony had assented with just one up ward glance of blue eyes In the few seconds they had bad together. Then he had turned back into the room, and the girl had gone on her way, her senses in confusion, her mind hardly conscious of what she did and said. The days since the Walllster In terview, and the scene In the of WNt! Service. fice, and the Incredible moment when Larry had come Into this same room to find her alone, had passed without a glimpse of him. Tony had been feverish, despairing, heroic, broken by turns. On the day of the luncheon she went down to the city office looking her best and with her blue eyes at their starriest She and Larry had made no engagement to meet; supposedly It would be there. Tony settled down to her dally round; wondering Just how and when she would hear from Larry; she worked away busily. It was twenty min utes to one; it was one o'clock, and still no sign and no word. She called his office on the telephone. “Larry, this Is Tony.” A pause. Then he said quickly, briefly: “Coming right down.” "For some reason she felt ashamed of herself, chilled. But there was little time to think. He did come down, entered the almost empty city room, stood looking gravely down at her. “Come along.” They went out together, and Tony walked with him to the garage In Montgomery street and they got In the car together. Almost with out speech they drove through the park and to a restaurant by the shore. "This Is a lovely place,” Tony said, almost timidly. For something in his manner was new, was a lit tle formidable. “This used to be a great old roadhouse. But lately it’s gone rather respectable and goes In for women’s lunches.” They were placed at a little win dow table and could look out across the wide ocean boulevard. “Well, this is nice,” Larry said, when he had given the order. “Have you forgotten our lunch date that we made yesterday?” Tony asked. “No.” Larry put his hand In his pocket, took out a scrap of pa per, tossed It to her. Tony looked up at him surprlsedly when she bad read It, read it again aloud. “ ‘Dear Tony,’ ” she read. “ ‘I can’t lunch today; something has come up that I can’t get out of. I’m sorry, Larry.’ Were you going to send me that?” she asked. “I’d rung for the boy.” “Oh, Larry, and then I tele phoned? I'm so sorry.” "Oh, that’s all right It wasn’t Important” They were having an oyster cocktail, she and Lawrence Bel lamy. She bad made him take her to lunch. Suddenly somehow it was all very flat and stupid in the bright noon sunshine. Why should she be having lunch with Larry, or, for that matter, why shouldn't she? Larry and his wife were her friends. “Well, what did yon think of the famous Caroline?” "Oh, she’s beautiful." Had they come here to talk of Caroline? "Isn’t she? But of course it Isn’t that Charm — personality — some thing. Nobody knows quite what it is that Caroline's got but she's got It.” “Her busband died?” “Walt Polhemus, yes. Both hus bands died.” “Both? She hasn’t been married twice T’ “Oh, yes she has, and she’s been engaged all over the place. She's going away now to decide between a perfectly splendid fellow, another Walter, Walter Fritsch — he’s the tennis champ, or was—and Phil Polhemus, her husband's brother.” “Never a dull moment for Caro line,” Tony observed drily. “Why Is she going to China?” “Phil Polhemus is there, but I don't know that it’s that Her great friends the Faulkners are in Peking—he’s military attache, and it's a chance to see China under the most pleasant auspices—Tony, my dear," Larry said, breaking off the brisk, interested thread of his conversation, changing his tone, saying the last three words rue fully, hopelessly, appealingly. She looked at him, and the blood left her face, and she could not speak. “I’m so horribly sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say this—nor to come to lunch today, nor to ask you yesterday. But the minute 1 went Into the room and saw you—” “I know,” she said, in the pause. “It Isn’t what I want to do or ought to do, Larry,” she said, in a low tone, looking down at the ta blecloth without seeing it or see ing anything; “it’s what I can do, now. I think and I plan—It’s no use. It’s no use.” The desolate notes of her voice died in the air. Larry was looking down, scowling; now he looked up. “Tony, may I talk for a min ute?” “I guess you’ll have to, Larry. I don’t seem—’’ she smiled forlornly. "I don’t seem to have anything to say I” “Let me say this, then.” Larry got so far and stopped short He considered, frowning, with nar rowed eyes staring into space, and a bitten lip. “It’s only," he re commenced simply, “that there’s nobody like you—no one. You're —you’re Tony, and that means you’re everything. I’m not saying what I mean to say,” Larry said, stopping again. “I love you so much, my dear,” he added. “I love you very much.” Tony was silent looking down. He saw two tears roll over her cheeks and splash on her locked brown fingers. “That isn't it,” Larry began again, with an effort. “No matter what—what we feel for each other, that Isn’t the question, is it?” “No, that isn’t It," Tony agreed trembling. “Of course it’s Ruth.” “Ruth,” she said. “Things being as they are there’s no happiness anywhere for us, Tony, no—no out.” “No out" "I’m not going over the whole thing; what she did for me years ago, what she’s always done for me, what—what our kid meant to her and to me,” Larry said, think ing it out as he spoke, hesitating between words. “You know all that. You know her, how she clings to her own people, how—how— “It would kill her,” he said, af ter a pause. “It may kill me," Tony offered simply. “Then what shall we do, Tony?" the man asked. For a while Tony did not speak. “Do you know that I never—nev er have loved anyone before?” she asked then, looking away. “Is It true, Tony? Is it really true, my dear?” “Doesn’t that give me — any rights?” “It gives you every right, Tony. I’m the one that’s bound, my dear.” “All three of us unhappy, Instead of just one," the girl said. "She’s not unhappy.” "She would be. If she knew.” “She mustn’t know.” "Larry, you remember last week, when we were talking, when Aunt Meg came in?” “I had meant to say then what I’m trying to say now. But we had so little time.” “I’ve been In a fever since then,” Tony said. “I’ve not been eating— nothing matters, Larry, except if men wear coats like yours, or walk the way you do, or if the telephone rings.” "I know,” he said. "Oh, isn’t It too bad!” Tony ex claimed presently, in a shaking voice. •T’ve thought that What a hor rible pity It 1st What a waste! I’ve thought of going away. But —being just well started on the paper, and having no reason to give her—no excuse—” "Larry,” Tony said after a bit "how long does this feeling last?” “You mean our caring for each other?” “For it doesn’t feel as If it would cure up — very fast — ” Tony fal tered. with trembling Ups, "If you mean how long I am go ing to feel that you were made for me and I for you,” Larry said, looking down at his knotted fin gers, speaking very low, “I think It is going to last all my life, Tony. I don’t dare let my mind wander to the thought of what I would do If I were free. I can’t let my self think what It would mean to have you as my wife—mine, keep ing my house for me, waiting for me at the end of the day. We have to forget all that We have to go on from here. “No, my dear, there’s only one way. I’m not going to see you again. We’ll pass each other in the elevators sometimes; I'll be downstairs In the city room only "All Three of Us Unhappy, Instead of Just One.” when I can’t help It. Except for that I’m going to try to forget you. I’m going to tell you now—once and for all—I’ve been so hungry to say just this to you—” The luncheon was over and they walked slowly out of the restau rant together and stood In the sun shine outside, near the parked car. "No, I’ll not even say that to you, Tony,” Larry said, steadily, standing close to her, looking down at her. "The wonderfulness of you — the — the everything that’s you — isn’t for me. I hope,” he stumbled on confusedly—and she knew that he was saying what he had determined not to say, losing his bearings completely as she looked at him, "I hope they're all for some—some luckier man—” "Please—” the girl said breath lessly. “You are so beautiful,” Larry whispered, "I love you—I love you so much, my girl — my little Tony—” He turned abruptly and walked about the car and got Into the driv er's seat. Tony got In on her own side, they drove for some minutes without speaking. “You're going down to Monterey tomorrow?" “Yes. Cliff’s driving me. His girl Is at Pebble Beach for Easter week. I’ll be with Bendy.” “We're taking Caroline down to show her the sights. But I’m com ing up, Sunday night.” "You'll not be at Joe’s house warming, then?” “No. I think It’s better this way.” There was a long pause. When Larry spoke again they were at the door of the big office building. “I’ll drop you here. I have to go up to the club for a minute.” “It’s good-by, then, Tony said. She got down and said a muffled “Good-by, Larry,” and turned away. “Oh, my God. help me, help me.” CHAPTER XX DENDY had a square, sound lit- tie boy with a shock of black hair on his hard little head; even Tony admitted that he was one of the fascinating tiny babies of the world, and Brenda regarded him as she regarded Alvin, or rather perhaps as she had once regarded Alvin, with reverential awe. Tony, watching her sister per form the solemn ritual that was Anthony’s going to bed, fell into a dream. Bendy was happy, and that was all that mattered. “Tony, you’re not keeping any thing from me?” "Darling, what should I keep from you?” “I mean—are you still making yourself unhappy, are you still—I mean, how much do you see Larry Bellamy?" "Let’s see. Two weeks ago, once, when I got Into that Oakland mess, and he came out to the house— and Thursday at Ruth’s when her niece came; I told you about that. And—let’s see—Friday at noon in the office for a few minutes—” “Don’t you see him every day in the office?” "I do not" “But, Tony, you know what Pm trying to find out. Do you still feel as you did last winter?” "Yep." A pause. Brenda looked thought ful, shook her bead. Tony hummed lightly. “But, Tony, Ruth. She’s been so kind to you.” “I know. That's where the catch comes In." “Will you see him at Dr. Van- derwall’s house on Monday?” “Larry? No. He’s not coming down.” “Why not?" “There’s something else he has to do. He's bringing Ruth and all of them down to Del Monte to night, but he’s going back tomor row." Tony looked at the telephone. Larry’s voice was at the other end of it; the Bellamy’s party would be at Del Monte now. Every fiber of her being seemed drawn toward It Life went on In the contented, the almost smug groove that Bren da and Alvin had chiseled out for themselves. The baby went to sleep, and there were tomato salad and bran muffins and a cold cus tard for supper, with Alvin dis coursing upon the superiority of the meatless meat Tony lay awake al! night; all through the quiet Sunday she felt like an animal bound In a net; her mind, her soul, the very muscles of her body seemed jerking them selves away from this tame scene of Brenda’s Interests, Cliff’s girl and her mother, and the dull lunch at the Bly cottage — salad and strawberries and hot rolls and pink sliced ham— “Noblesse oblige," she said to herself sternly. Brenda was no good at this party; she was sitting in a trance most of the time with Anthony in her lap, saying rapturously to any one who would listen: “His first little social event, and I do think he’s good I" and Alvin was throaty and opinionated. Cliff was so ri diculously absorbed in Mary Rose that he could not see anything else. Tony threw herself Into the busi ness of being charming; she was the personality, she was Cliff’s tre mendously clever sister, who bad so much fun reporting on the Call. She told them some of her adven tures, and she saw that Cliff was proud of her; fat Mrs. Bly lis tened in rapt delight and said that Tony was as good as any actress she had ever seen. The festivity dragged on. Tony sat next to Dr. Bly at luncheon and painted so attractive a picture of the young Tafts and their or phaned struggles that the doctor said feelingly that he wished that his own daughters hadn't been born with all the Landvae money be- hind them: It wasn't a good thing to have life so smooth. ITO BE CONTINUED)
