United States or Sudan ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
She was as eager to have him gone as he to go, and each blamed the other for that. "I'll write you every day," he said, "and I'll send the fare to you as soon as I can get it." "Yes, of course," Kedzie mumbled. "Well, good-by don't miss your train, darling." "Good-by, honey." They had to embrace. Their arms went out about each other and clasped behind each other's backs.
Gilfoyle did not call for the letter in Chicago, since he was in New York. It was held in Chicago for the legal period and then it was sent to the Dead Letter Office, where a clerk wasted a deal of time and ingenuity in an effort to trace the sender or the addressee. Kedzie meanwhile had watched for the postman and hunted through her mail with frenzy.
Kedzie did not know what he was talking about, any more than she knew what Caruso was singing about when she turned him on in Mrs. Jambers's phonograph, but his melodies put her heart to its paces, and so did Gilfoyle's. Gilfoyle wrote her poems, too, real poems not meant for publication at advertising rates. Kedzie had never had anybody commit poetry at her before.
Kedzie stumbled over this, because she had not yet eradicated the Western final "r" from her pronunciation. She thought Mr. Gilfoyle was awful swell because he dropped it naturally. But she read on, scrambling over some of the words the way a horse jumps a fence one rail too high. You are so adorable I find it deplorable, Absurd and abnormal.
She felt that the immortal crime of the Lusitania with its flotsam of dead women and children was more disgraceful to the nation that endured it than to the nation that committed it. She was very, very bitter, and Kedzie found her most depressing company, especially for a dinner-table. But she excited Jim Dyckman tremendously.
Some man in Nimrim, Mo., would have wed the little stay-at-home. Kedzie, the pretty fool, apparently fancied that she would have been happy if Gilfoyle had been a handsomer sleeper, and the apartment a handsomer apartment, and the bank-account an inexhaustible fountain of gold. But would she have been?
I never did love her. I'll never forgive her for this." But he had not the courage to go and meet Kedzie and her mother and her father. They were an unconscionable time coming. He did not know that Kedzie and Skip Magruder were renewing old acquaintance. While he waited the full horror of his dilemma came over him. Kedzie would undoubtedly sue him for divorce.
That made her practically irresistible. Would it come off if he kissed her? He had to find out. Finally he said, so helplessly, passively, that it would be more accurate to say it was said by him: "Say, Miss Adair, I'm a dead-goner if you don't gimme a kiss." Kedzie was horrified. Skip Magruder would have been eleganter than that. She answered, with dignity: "Certainly, if you so desire."
And thus Kedzie by her departure brought them together in a remarriage, a poor sort of honeymoon wherein they had little but the bitter-sweet privilege of helping each other suffer. The picture of their welded misery brought Kedzie a return, too, to her child hunger for parentage. She wanted a mother and a father and she could not have them.
She got along famously with the men, but their manner was not quite satisfactory, either. There was a corrosive something in their flattery, a menace in their approach. There were the horrible experiences when Mrs. Dyckman called on Mrs. Thropp and the worse burlesque when Mrs. Thropp called on Mrs. Dyckman. The servants had a glorious time over it, and Kedzie overheard Mrs.
Word Of The Day