HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Wingham Advance-Times, 1940-12-19, Page 21WINGHAM ADVANCE-TIMES PAGE THIRTEEN
terribly sorry, but Mr. Emery was in
conference and Could not be disturb
ed. On the other side of the partition,
Dot’s secretary, Connie, said to the
caller who waited in the doorway, that
she would leave a memo for ,Miss
Graves, Miss Graves would attend to
the matter as soon as she was free.
At the moment she was at a meeting
and couldn't be reached.
In the board room over the burled
walnut directors’ table, littered with
water-cc'sketches and piles of gay
ly colored pamphlets, Dot and Steph
en bent their heads.
Dpt took up a sketch and Stephen
noticed that the pink fuzzy sweater
she wore was extremely becoming
with the dark red skirt which belong
ed to her suit, and that on the whole
she was more animated and eager
than he had seen her for days.
“I think,” Dot said, “that the pale
green living room with those long
beige curtains from ceiling to floor
over this nice expanse of windows is
infinitely more restful than the other.”
“But if we take that apartment,”
Stephen said with a little frown, “that
definitely discards the game room, .and
I had rather set my heart on that."
He pawed through the sketches for
the cross-section of blue walls, and
the exciting murals. “I do like this.
I like the view from those red-cush-
ioned window seats. I like to. think of
us sitting th'ere watching the boats on
the East River.”
“Well—-” Dot reached for a cigar
ette “—we’ll have to compromise
somewhere. I honestly don’t think we
ought to take a bigger place, because
I’ve been counting on a house in the
country, too. I think we ought to
make our place in the city as modern
and as streamlined as possible. In
other words, as high up as we can
possibly afford, and, if need be, as
compact. In the country we can ex
pand and go into the past—old quilts
and chintzes and hooked rugs and old
glass.”
Stephen nodded assent. 1
“And I do think,” Dot went on,
“that we 4 really need separate bed
rooms. If we were younger, Stephen,
and each of us had not lived alone so
long, we might get along with one.
But you. will like to be alone with
your thoughts sometimes and so shall
I. After all, we’re mature personalit
ies and adjustments will probably not
be so easy for us as if, we were in our
early twenties. I think separate bed
rooms are an intelligent safeguard for
our happiness.”
Stephen rose and swept the sketch
es -into a pile. “Well, at- least we’re
agreed on- Trinidad for our honey
moon. Mother and Dad will be so
happy to have us there—and I’d ra
ther like to see how the old man is
getting along. Mother had practically
given up hope of ever having any
thing but an old bachelor for a son.
She’ll welcome you with open arms.”
“Do you realize,” Dot said turning
to him, “that our honeymoon will un
doubtedly be the only time we’ll ever
dare take a vacation together? All
the rest of the time one of us will
have to stay here to look after things.”
“Darn!” said Stephen, “C. C. Mit-
cheltree doesn’t own us.”
“No, but we’ve been here an awful
ly long time. Ten years is a long
time. Stenhen.”
Dot turned to her little black note
book and wrote down Cruise Clothes."
She sighed a- little and thought,• “We
could get the apartment ready if only
Christmas 'didn’t interfere.”
“Dot,” ' said Stephen, “would you
consider—” and even as he said it he
thought he must be a little soft in
the head-“—not working, say, for a
year or so? -1—then his voice trail
ed off lamely as. Dot stared at him
with amazement in her eyes.
But he took courage again. “Some
women consider marriage a. full time
job. I mean, why do we. strain to plan
every detail of our married lives now?
I’ll wager you have actually arranged
the decorations for your first dinner
patty and have the guest list com
plete. Darn it, Dot, planning a mar
riage isn’t exactly like making out an
advertising campaign, or launching a
new crepe paper item. We might
leave a few things to take care ,0f
themselves.”
“But, Stephen, I don’t understand
you.” Dot crushed out her cigarette
and withdrew a little. “You said your
self that when Sue was7Sick you were
in the most fearful jam. without me.
I was away from the office Pn’y three
davs and when I came back—
“Yes, yes,” Stophen said impatient
ly. “It was true enough, too, but it
oughtn’t to be that way. Somebody
else should be able to take oyer in an
emergency. It isn’t right to have one
person so completely int charge,
“Stephen, are you saying you don t
want me in the office any more?”
“Good Lord, no! But I want — I
want our marriage to be real and fun
damental, based 011 our feeling for
each other. I don’t want it to go over
just because ,we have spent hours in
planning how every minute shall be
lived. 1 don’t want it to be success
ful because we haven’t overlooked
anything that might wreck it. I want
it to go because it can’t help going--
oh, don’t you understand, Dot, it is
because I love you so terribly? I want
you, not your grand executive talent.
I want your heart, this time.”
Dot’s head swam a little. As if
through a haze she was trying to sort
out the meaning and the effect of Ste
phen’s words.
But Stephen had not finished. With
one swoo'p' of his hand he brushed the
sketches into the wastebasket. “I’m
right. I know I’m right. If we’re to
■hav.e anything from life, we’ve got to
make it ourselves. We can’t buy a
marriage'by hiring expensive decorat
ors and leasing penthouses. Darn it!
I want a home, not just decorations—
I want a home with a wife in it—not
a wife who returns fagged from the
office, not knowing what the cook has
in the oven.”
Dot’s face was white and drawn.. “It
seems to me, Stephen, that you might
have come to this conclusion before.”
Her voice,was calm and very. cold.
“Perhaps you’d like nay resignation, in
that case?”
Stephen turned quickly. “Dot —
Dot! Forgive me. Can’t you see what
I’m driving at? I don’t want to take
Mitcheltree’s left-overs. I want your
fresh bright energy. I don’t want you.
to love me when you have time and
when something else doesn’t interfere.
I want your whole time and attention.
It is probably selfish of me—but, Dot
—oh, Lord! I have waited and been
more patient than you’ll ever know,
and now that- you are here within
reach, I’m greedy, I suppose. Say
something, darling, please, he begged.
“•It seems to me, Stephen, that in
one sense—I may be quite wrong—I
am the person I am now because you
have had a hand in shaping me.. I
wasn’t very efficient when you first
knew -me, if you remember. I took
pains with my appearance because it
pleased you. I used to come to the
office with a certain amount of antici
pation because I knew you would no
tice a new dress or hat. I tried to do
a good job because I was eager for
your praise. And now you don’t like
me the way I am.” '
Stephen groaned. “Tell me just one
thing, Dot/ Do you love me? Do you
want to marry me?”
Dot put her head in her hands. “I’m
sure I do, Stephen. I think what I
have just said proves it quite clearly.
But you have stripped me of. all my
realities, imaginary or otherwise, and
1 feel a little lost and afraid. I am
wondering how much of me there is
left.” .
Stephen gathered her into his arms.
“I want you just as you are, darling.
“I want you any way—with or with-
‘out your job, in a penthouse or in a
cold water walk-up. Make your own
terms.” He kissed her hungrily.
Color flooded back into Dot’s
cheeks. "Oh, Stephen, this is so stupid
of us! This is the first time we have
ever disagreed on anything important.
And it just occurs to me that I have
a million things to do. But, Stephen,
I think I’ll take a few. days off. I
think I’ll go up to White Creek to
morrow.”
Stephen nodded. “Just the thing.
Maybe I could make it a little early,
too'. Why don’t you leave tonight?”
“But my Christmas dards and shop
ping,” Dot sighed.
“Let Connie' attend to them.”
Dot seized upon this suggestion.
She would give Connie her Christmas
list tonight and have her order things
sent from a department store. It oc
curred to her that this was the last
vear she would send out a card with
her own name on it. Next year she
and Stephen would choose one with.a
chaste lighted candle, aud( Noel in
block letters. Underneath in match
ing print would be Dot and Stephen
Emery.
CHAPTER XXIII
For the first time in years, Dot left
her office early, not because she had
a date elsewhere or for any reason
other than that she was sick of being
there. The talk with Stephen had jolt
ed her considerably and she was, she
told herself, slightly off balance. But
was that any reason why she shouldn’t
buy that sweet red accordion-pleated
dress which she had seen on Fifty
seventh Street? Then she reminded
herself that that had been a remedy
of hers for years, When anything hap
pened to upset her, she - invariably
went out and bought a new hat or
new dress, an act which usually res
tored her equilibrium.
“I might begin remaking my life
by not following the habit,” she
thought with a sudden feeling of ad
venture. Crpwds with packages in their
arms crowded in on her. and on the
corner she noticed a dreary Salvation
Army lass laboriously playing a
Christmas Carol on a flute. “Although
at this .moment I’m not even certain
that I intend 'to remake it. The only
thing I, am sure of is that Stephen
Emery has a rotten temper of which
I have not even been faintly aware
in all the time I have known him. The
discovery is exciting, interesting,, as
well as rather appalling. I suppose I
have been planning our lives a little
too farjn advance, taking Stephen in
to consideration no more than .a nec
essary. bit of furniture for a household
establishment.”
The thin uncertain flute notes of O
Little Town of Bethlehem followed
her along the street. With a growing
sense of excitement she realized that
she had nothing in the world to do
before train time but pack her bag, a
task of a few minutes. Connie, order
ing her Christmas presents, was bur
ied a foot deep in details. At the
same time Dot made the interesting
'discovery that once she left the office
and ignored its demands on her, she
had a life of her own which at the
moment seemed strangely empty.
“I’ll buy somebody a Christmas pre
sent,” she decided, “make a selection
alone—just for,the fun of it. I’ll buy
the first thing that reminds me of Ste
phen, if it doesn’t cost over a dollar.”
She stopped before a men’s haber
dashery shop window filled with slip
pers, dressing gowns, pipes and a large
placard labelled “Gifts for Him”. It
could be something small and rare
and old, a nicely carved piece of jade,
.or an antique paper-weight.
But she dismissed these ideas and
thought with dismay, “I can’t know
him very well if I can’t think of a
simple little present to give him. I us
ed to give Dusty pipe cleaners and
horehound drops and bright new pen
cils.”
She must have.been staring into the
window of the little corner shop for
five minutes before she realized what
she was doing. “Artist’s Materials”,
the sign said, and the window was fill
ed with modeling clay, opened boxes
of rainbow pastels, tubes of paint,
stacks of paper and canvases and box
es of charcoal. And for the third or
fourth time that afternon she had a
distinct shock. “Why, Dorothy Grav
es,” she said, “whatever has happened
to you? Once you were going to be
a painter, and a very good one, too.”
Then she was inside, sniffing the
familiar smell of paint and clay, eag
erly buying pads, pencils and paints
as if her life defended on it. The de
sire took hold of her so fiercely that
she couldn’t wait to begin.- She order
ed the big bundle to be delivered, ex
tracting only a tablet and pencil. “I’ll
make a series of street sketches for
Stephen,” she thought. “I’ll go back
and begin with the Salvation Army
lass.”
At ten o’clock Dot, in an old-fash
ioned paint-smeared smock, stood in
front of the easel in her own apart
ment, painting with a fine frenzy. She
had forgotten all about dinner, forgot
ten that’ she had intended to go to
White Creek and that Connie had sent
a messenger boy to pick up her reser
vations for a lower berth on a crowd
ed sleeper. When the bell rang she
looked at her watch, astonished. It
couldn’t be Stephen, for he had had
a dinner and evening date and had
apologized for not seeing her off.
Dot laughed when she saw Dusty’s
incredulous face. “If you’re that am
azed, darling, it’s a pity you couldn’t
have seen me on Forty-second Street
and Madison this afternoon sketching
the Christmas crowds.”
Dusty said, as he squinted at the
canvas. “It’s good, Dot. Really good.
Only her nose—”
“But you see I haven’t the back
ground in yet.” Then she said limply,
“Dusty, does that sound familiar? I
mean, don’t you remember—it was al
ways like that?”
“Yes,” said Dusty soberly. “When
you were living on Thirteenth Street
you never had the backgrounds in.”
“See, Dusty, what I found when I
was hunting for some old stuff in the
bottom drawer!” As she picked up the
old sketch book the pages fluttered
out all over the blue carpet, There
were hundreds of small rough sketch
es of Dusty in various poses. Of Dus
ty yawning, Dusty laughing, Dusty
lying on the ground asleep.
“We went on a picnic that day, re
member?’’ Dusty was down on his
knees. “Say, I had a little more hairj
then, didn’t I? And what’s this} Dot?”
He twisted a page upside down to look
at a row of figures, He read:
Weekly expenses
Apartment................. >„...$12.29
Food......................... 10.10
Laundry.......-.......... 2.50
Entertainment ........................ .50
Running Around ............................ 2.00
(Dusty and Me)
Dear God, please make it work!
Dusty handed the sheet to Dot, who
looked at it with a twisted smile. “The
past rises before me like a dream,”
she said quietly. Then she began to
gather up the sketches. “As a matter
of fact, when, you rang I was coming
to the. bitter conclusion that that’s just
what is was — an excursion into the
past. You can’t get a lot of new tubes
of paint and some clean fresh paper
and begin exactly where you left off.
There is the matter of constant draw-/
ing, and thinking in pictures, and
training your memory. I was think
ing, too, that I had been a silly goose
to give it up, that I liked to paint bet
ter than anything in the world, but
that undoubtedly I would have had a
difficult time making a living at it.”
Dusty said, “You’ve probably been
working hours without anything to
eat, haven’t you? All right,” as she
nodded, “take the paint off your fing
ers and I’ll bring back some food,”
It was heartbreakingly like the old
days. Dot opened the cartons which’
Dusty brought back. The same smell
of coffee, well creamed, in a paper
cup, the same hamburger, the same
thick paper napkins, the very same
wedge of layer cake.“Dot,” Dusty said as if it were all
a brand new idea, “why don’t you take
a year or„so off and do nothing but
paint? As a matter of fact, I could
probably manage the time, too. Why
don’t we just take a trip somewhere
and loaf along? I have some notes
for a book on, advertising that I’ve
planned for a long time. We could
even p-et a trailer—”
Dot started at him until she realiz
ed that he meant what he was saying.
She closed her eyes. Her head reeled
dizzily. “Dusty, dear,” she said, “have
you forgotten? I am marrying Steph-
’en on New Year’s Day!”
Dusty put down the coffee and
walked over to the window. When he
came back, he said, “Yes, of course.
For the moment I had forgotten. And
you know, too, that Sue and I are en
gaged. But we shan’t be married, until
June.”
“No, I didn’t know it was definite.
I knew that naturally you intended—”
for the moment she had completely
forgotten about Sue. She had forgot
ten why Dusty had gone to White
Creek, and why he had stayed so un
conscionably long. “Which reminds
me,” she added, finishing a crumb of
frosting, “that I was supposed to take
a train to White Creek tonight. ^I’m
treating, myself to a vacation. Dusty,
be a lamb and call Grand Central and
see if there’s anything else out to
night. If I stay in town, just from
force of habit I shall turn up at the
office, and for a little while I’d like
to forget it.”
There was a train at midnight.
Dusty said he’d help her pack, and
with a careless masculine hand threw
things .into a suitcase, which in the
end had to be repacked.
“But what’s this yellowed legal
document?” He took it out of the silk
pocket of her suitcase. “Great guns—
it’s one of our many marriage li
censes!"
Dot stared at it, then said in a
voice harsh and strained. “The past
is past, Dusty. You can’t ever go
back. You have-to go .on!”
"Yes,” Dusty said. But you couldn’t
tear ten years out of your life in a
moment. Even in the fine fervor of
his deep passion for Sue, he would go
on loving Dot, he supposed, to the
end of his life.
CHAPTER XXIV
At breakfast Gran made a little
ceremony of pouring hot milk and
coffee from two silver pots at the
same time.
She took the proffered cup and ob
served that she .had never seen Dot
eat so much breakfast. “She never
takes anything but orange juice and
coffee before she dashes off to the of
fice.”
“Sue!” laughed Dot. “Well, do pass
me another buckwheat cake. I don’t
mind saying that I feel as fresh as
new-fallen snow this morning. I can’t
remember when I’ve slept like that,
I just wasn’t here—*”
“H’m,” Said Gran. “No wonder you
looked so peaked in New York. No
thin’ starts a day so right as a good
breakfast. Why, my mother used to