“Married Flirts”

Franklin Times, Volume XXIV, Issue 139, 3 December 1934, Page 7

“Married Flirts”

* (Copyright)

CHAPTER XXVII. But before Gypsy had a chance to face Tom with what she assumed was plain evidence against him something happened. Lila came. Gypsy was just carrying the baby’s luncheon upstairs. Clytie had cooked it and there remained now only the task of seeing that David tucked it away as his mother painstakingly spooned it into his small mouth. He was having a few spoonsful of pureed carrots and some beef juice. Clytie came panting after her “There’s a lady asking for you, Miss Gypsy. She says she’ll come up if you’re busy.” Gypsy had a feeling of annoyance. She was tired; her head ached. Sue’s call had upset her. Who on earth could it be? Clytie produced a thin, ivory coloured card. “Mrs Derek Bliss.” “Oh, bring her up, of course. Gypsy frowned. How odd —how extremely odd! Lila rushed in upon her a moment later, filling the big, high-ceiled room with scent and a feeling of excitement. The shades in the guest room had been raised to the top to allow every bit of morning sun to stream in. It lent the room a cheerful aspect but there was no disguising the shabbiness of the tan carpet nor the fact that the wallpaper, with its roses and faded blue garlands, had long since been outmoded. David sat erect in his high chair, beating at the tray with a mother of pearl rattle to which were attached -three silver bells. “My dear, I’m so ashamed, barging in on you like this,” Lila began. Gypsy silenced her. Lila was positively emaciated—her eyes were like great pools in her face and not all the cosmetics in the world could have hidden the telltale circles under her eyes. “Go' ahead, I’ll watch,” Lila said. She settled herself in the old rocker as Gypsy alternately coaxed and bullied her son into some show of interest in his food. The talk was necessarily desultory. Meantime Gypsy’s thought roved wildly to the state of the family larder. Common courtesy demanded that Lila be asked to lunch. But it was Saturday. There would be, of a certainty, the usual homely meal ol tomato soup and devilled ham sandwiches. Could one, Gyps} thought, taught between laughter and tears, invite Lila to sit down ,to that?

She squared her shoulders. “Bea, ask Clytie to lay another place. Lila’s staying.” “No, indeed I’m not. I couldn’t eat a bite.” Lila was feverishly twisting a lacy handkerchief. “I only wanted to see you for a moment, Gypsy.” “If you’ll wait until I tuck this young man away,” Gypsy began doubtfully. Already David was nodding in his place. She mopped his sticky little face and hands and trundled him off into her sister’s cubicle where, in a paradise of drawn shades, he collapsed into that divine, untroubled sleep of small babyhood. Gypsy, dropping a light kiss on his down head, envied him. “I wonder if you would do something for me,” Lila began hesitatingly. “I —r m in rather a jam, Gypsy. The fact is—well, I can trust you; I’ll tell you the whole thing. Marko and I are going to he married —as soon as I can get a divorce.” Gypsy simply looked at her and Lila had the grace to flush. “Oh. I know what you mean, I know what you’re thinking,” she said with some heat. “But it isn’t true. Marko —he’s really the man for mb, Gypsy. He understands me. Derek never did. He doesn’t like our life nor my friends, nor anything . . .” “It’s really none of my business,’' Gypsy said with distaste. “But, since you tell me about it, perhaps I may say I think you’re making a great mistake.” ' “Say anything you like, think anything you like,” Lila urged in a soft, wheedling voice. ‘But do something for me, darling. There’s a good girl! I was driving in from Pompton Lakes and suddenly I thought of you. 1 said to myself, you can trust Gypsy. She’ll not give you away.” “Well?” Gypsy was waiting. She felt a little sick over the whole thing. “I want to get Marko at his office,” Lila rushed on. “The thing is, I don’t want to call myself. The operator knows my voice—naturally. Marko advises me to be careful. We don’t want any scandal. You call for me, darling: give my message. That’s all I ask. Then I will go straight away and not bother you any more. But don’t judge me 100 harshly, Gyps. This thing just—happened. You know iiow those things do?” The words recalled Gypsy’s own problem and she frowned. “T suppose I do.” “Some marriages just naturally turn out well,” Lila observed smoothly. “Like yours, for instance. People with the same interests—the same ideas.” She waved her hand to illustrate what she meant. “Now Der-

(BY MABEL McELLIOTT).

ek and 1 want an entirely different sort of existence. Marko knows 1 must have things happening, excitement. And of course money.” .

“What do you want me to say to Marko?” Gypsy inquired, anxious to have the task over and done with.

Lila considered. How exquisite she was in this shabby room, reflected the other woman. Lila's clothes, her skin, her long shining shoes, all bespoke the woman of taste, of means, of elegance. Gypsy felt crude and unfinished beside her.

Lila lifted her beautiful eyes in a vague smile. “Tell him that I’ll be at the Ritz at five, the usual place,” she said slowly. “Say I couldn’t possibly get away before and that I wasn’t able to wire. Too many people about. I got the flowers and they were love-' ly. And, oh, of course, I want to pay for that city call 1”

Gypsy demurred. The whole thing made her feel a party to some sordid affair. Why was she doing this for Lila? Why didn’t she refuse? Ah, but when they had been little girls together Lila had done many charming and gracious things "for her. You didn’t refuse your friends favours just because they behaved in a manner you considered unbecoming.

“I can’t do it now. I’ll have to wait until Mother takes her nap,” Gypsy explained. Lila had to be satisfied with that. She had, she said, an appointment at the hairdresser’s in an hour and the chauffeur (a new one) would just be able to make it. So she went away, lovely and suave and just a little smug. About this time Tom was rising from his desk in the office and glancing at the clock to make sure he would be able to catch the ferry which connected with the 1.57 train at. Jersey City. He was anxious not to miss it. Gypsy would be waiting, and she had seemed oddly , touchy recently about small things. When he was late she seemed suspicious and bitter, not like her old self at all.

The telephone rang as he reached for his coat and one of the stenographers in the outer office answered

“For you, Mr Weaver.” She was a toothy girl in blue with ia friendly air, and he smiled at her. For the thousandth time the stenographer reflected what an enviable, position Mr Tom Weaver’s wife had. Some girls had all the luck.

Tom held the telephone cradle close and said hello. His expression changed slightly, took on a grimmer aspect.

“Sorry,” he said. « “I can’t make it. I’m just leaving.” Evidently the person at the other end was importunate, because he had to repeat his excuses over and over. When he put the instrument down he looked very grim indeed. The girl in blue wondered mildly what had happened to upset him. That woman—for it was a woman’s voice that had asked for him —must have been a nest of some kind. It wasn’t like Mr Weaver to go for the day without saying good-bye. Tom’s long legs cleared the distance between subway and ferry house quickly. He was panting as the boat nosed its way out of the slip. This

commuting was no easy jobj he

thought, watching the water glide past. He would like, for Gypsy’s sake, lo have a house somewhere near Blue Hills. She could see the family oftener then. Maybe she wouldn’t he so lonely. She was cooped up in that apartment all day with no one hut the baby to talk to. It wasn’t much fun.

For all bis baste, be missed the train he had tried to catch. It was moving out of the station .just as he rushed through the stile What rotten luck: There was a wait of half an hour before the next one and Gypsy would be. meeting him with the car. She might think he was not coming at all! It was not his fault; a chain (if circumstances had led up to the telephone call, but it would be difficult fo explain all this to Gypsy. She would not understand, might not even listen.

He went into a telephone booth and gave the number of the Morell house.

It would help matters if he caught Gypsy before she left for the station. She would know he was on his way. As he waited he whistled softly. Surely he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Gypsy was normally the sweetest and most reasonable being imaginable. Whatever he had done or had failed to do she would forgive and understand.

He heard a buzzing, the operator’s voice. Then Gypsy’s clear tones came to him. He smiled, was just about to speak, but realised in time that he had broken into a connection.

Gypsy said very distinctly, “Marko? I have a message for you. It’s rather important. ‘The flowers came, and they were lovely . . .’ ” Tom put the receiver on the hook. The man waiting for his turn at the booth stared curiously, “Fellow looked mighty funny to me,” he said later to his companion. “Looked as if he’d bad bad news.” (To be Continued).