Grants Pass High School - Toka Yearbook (Grants Pass, OR)

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(Iljp alnka 1Z As he stood thus she began to speak. It was her voice, yes, her voice. Mr. X did not, could not analyze his feelings. To him it seemed in fact that all sense of feeling had left him and that he was only cold stone, but yet fashioned into two senses—eyes and ears. “Yes, he comes home tomorrow,” she was saying. “Comes home on the night train. I got his letter this morning. But it’s just the same, business-nothing, nothing but business.” And here she buried her head in her small white arms and leaned forw’ard on the scarcely more white keys of the instrument before her. Now the man came closer to her and took her hand. He had been standing in the shadow of the chandelier, but now he came out into the full light and Mr. X from his vantage point of seeing without being seen scrutinized every feature w'ith that awful tenseness, with that world-of-hate-in-a-glance expression with which viper gazes upon viper. The man whom Mr. X looked upon was tall, slender and had a queer, graceful movement as he walked about. His light blonde hair w'as cut pompadour and was the same color as his pointed beard and drooping mustaches, which he caressed now and then with a slim, ladylike hand. Light blue eyes, which seemed to waver and flicker like two blue flames, and a curved Roman nose filled out the first impression of his features. A contrast in every way with the stocky figure, square jaw, thick nose and coal black hair of Mr. X. This blonde man had a peculiarly deep but pleasant voice which reminded one of the heavy gurgling of some river. “I understand that it is not because Mr. X is improvident or uncaring, but he is incapable of appreciating you. He does not realize your worth. He is not constituted for deep affections.” I know that,” she replied without lifting her head, “he only thinks of dollars. He has given me everything he could give me, too. George has been a dear to me, but now he thinks of nothing but deals and bonds and business, and I was counting up this morning and he has only been home four weeks since Christmas.” “A man like that can’t care much for home,” was the blonde man’s comment as he pressed a kiss on the brown head. From the ivory keys there came a sadder sound than was wont to come from them. The woman was sobbing. She raised up and said passionately, “Oh, he has bought me. That’s all. He has been a brute, besotted with business. He does not think of anything but money, money, money. He never talks of anything else. Oh. my God. and tomorrow he is coming home to bring his cares and business. He’ll kiss me once and then read his paper, eat three times a day, and just enjoy it all like a beast. It wasn’t like that when we were first married. Oh, if he would only show that he appreciates me a little! He’s been a beast, just a beast, and he’s coming home tomorrow—coming home just to eat and talk business! I could be

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IB a hr (Enka letter and he had done this a dozen times. In the fading green dusk he read it once more: “Dear George: It seems that you have been away for ages, dear, and you don’t know how lonesome I get; it’s almost like being a widow to have you always away. Let me know, if you can, exactly what time are you coming, for I want to have things ready for you. And remember to forget all about business when you are home thts time, George.” Then it pursued various accounts of happenings and occurrences and incidents of the past few days, but he read it all through again; kissed the signature, folded it up and put it in his pocket with a tenderness almost surprising in a man five years married. When the train stopped he was the first passenger to touch the asphalt pavement of the yard. In leaving the train it seemed that a great care had been left behind; that he had forgotten all his troubles as one might forget a traveling bag, he was so expectant. He glanced out over the railroad yards, looked down at the dark water by the wharves, cast his eyes up to the stars and whistled. He was happy with that jubilant, airy, almost desperate happiness of a man who, being denied much of pleasure, enters into the spirit of the occasion much as if he were entering a combat, resolved to grasp every atom of happiness possible and let none escape. As he neared the open hallway of his home, he heard a young girlish voice singing and it reminded him of the days of his courtship. He listened and the words floated out upon the still night and struck deep in his heart. It was part of an old song which he had once known, hut had forgotten in his grapple with dollars. Bend mast, bend to the breeze;” “Fly ship, fly o’er the main;” ’’Come, love, come from the seas,” “Never to sail again!” And he sighed and tightened his lips and resolved once more to give up the road. He walked hurriedly now, frantically even. How long absence had endeared everything. Now he could see the strip of light at the edge of the front blind. She was yet. awake then! When he reached th ewindow’ he noticed that it was open and he could not restrain a temptation to glance In before he mounted the steps. The curtain had been drawn over this open window, but the evening breeze tossed it restlessly and as he neared it a zephyr moved it and he caught a glimpse of her brown curls as she sat at the piano. He came up close to the edge of the casement. He wished to take one more glance at her beauty while she was all unconscious of it. He gnetly thrust the drapery aside and peered over the window seat into the room flooded with light. But what a scene of hellish mockery it revealed to Mr. X. The piano had ceased. She was no longer singing, but a man was standing beside her, gazing into her upturned eyes. Mr. X did not move. He did not breathe. He seemed scarcely alive. He was like one suddenly become stone. He only gazed upon the scene with eyes of steel which never quivered. His glance was as cold as a rattlesnake’s.

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IB El|f dnka happy without these fine things if somebody would only show they love me. Oh, why must he come now?” She was overcome with emotion and the words had seemed to rush out panic stricken from her lips and tumble over each other in her desire to relieve her pent up feelings. She glanced up appealingly aud repeated once more ‘‘And tomorrow he comes home.” ‘‘After a moment she added, “And, Harold, he must never know this. Never know how happy I’ve been with you. We must part. Yes, it’s tomorrow he comes. Oh, why must he come now?” She fell forward again and the keys gave out a little agonized shriek as they felt her weight upon them. To Mr. X standing there by the open window listening to this confession, to this outpouring of emotions and heart yearnings, it was all as a horrible, horrible nightmare, which even his practical mind could not cope with and which chilled his very existence; which seemed to put its somber fingers in his throat and stifle his breathing. He wanted to tear himself away, to shriek, to gather her in his arms and call her back to him. Now he was impelled almost to springing upon that creature before him and kill him as a hot wave of wrath would sweep over him, now he wished to fly in cold terror from the scene. That sharp note which came from the piano seemed to waken him to realities. He gave a start backward, but a vine near the window caught him by the lapel of the coat and held him. He remembered in that subconscious way that they had planted that vine together just after their honeymoon and the remembrance maddened him. He tore it loose and fled from the scene. He ran, ran, ran. He did not know where. At last he seemed to fall from exhaustion and lay upon the ground. How long he did not know. He tried to persuade himself that it was all a dream, a trick of the imagination. Perhaps he had gone mad and had only imagined it all. He pinched himself to see if he were really awake. No, no, no, how could such a thing be? Once again he looked up to the starlight heavens, but this time with a soul which seemed crushed beneath. This time the sky seemed to be made of wrought steel and shut down to the very earth. Now there was no heaven above it. All was enveloped in a vast, boundless void of misery, of which his heart was an atom. So the hours of the night passed. At three o’clock in the morning an old man found himself walking down the asphalt pavements of the Central yards. This old man was a certain Mr. X, representative and manager of the Bonell Honeymann corporation’s business. At a turning a reporter met this old man, but In the shadows hs did not see a face grown gray in a night.