"The Melody Girl"

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXVI, Issue 3438, 3 March 1932, Page 6

"The Melody Girl"

CHAPTER XXVll.—(Continued.)

Since she would not take up the lead thrown her Irene came out in the open. "I know you'll be relieved on Tommy's account," she said tartly, "since you've made it plain enough that you don't think I'm good enough for him. But I'm not sore about it. I think you're right about one thing. I'm not meant to be a poor man's wife. I'd hate it, and poor Tommy hasn't even a job. ..."

She stopped. Beryl was staring at her with a fierceness that frightened her.

"What do you mean—no job?" Beryl demanded. "Well, don't blame me," Irene said, shrinking back. "I had nothing* to do with it. His uncle fired him." "Fired him?" Beryl cried. "When and what for?"

Irene shrugged. "I guess he didn't exactly fire him," she corrected "but it's practically the same thing. Mr Hoffman sold the theatre and Tommy is just naturally out of luck." Beryl laughed, a broken, mirthless series of sound. "Just naturally out of luck," she repeated. "And you're throwing him over because of that—out of luck. I wonder 1"

"You would saj something like that," Irene replied, jerking her chin into the air.

"Yes, I would," Beryl flared back at her, "and if you don't get out of here I'll say a lot more." She was thinking of Tommy whistling at the gate while Irene hid in another man's car a few feet away. It might have been a protective act if Irene had meant it that way, but Beryl knew she had done it because she was as scared as a rabbit. She'd like to tell Prentiss Gaylord what she thought of him—taking art engaged girl out . . . and laughing maybe, at Tommy. Irene was at the door when Beryl called "Wait a minute 1" with such commanding earnestness that Irene halted against her will and looked back.

"Did you tell Prentiss that Tommy was looking for you to-night—that you're engaged to Tommy?" Beryl shot at her. Irene did not answer for a few seconds until a little of her self-assur-ance returned. Then, "Well," she said with a sneering little laugh, "you could hardly expect me to say that I'm engaged to Tommy when I've just promised to marry Prentiss."

CHAPTER XXVIII. So that was Irene's secret! Beryl was speechless for a moment. Irene engaged to marry Prentiss Gaylordl The younger girl waited for her sister to speak but Beryl only looked at her. Irene wanted Beryl to say something, to show by some sign that she was impressed. She stirred restlessly, but Beryl seemed not to notice. As a matter of fact she had forgotten Irene, standing there in the doorway. She was thinking of Tommy. Tommy was free now. And Tommy was broken-hearted!

Beryl sank back on her pillows and closed her eyes. 'Well," Irene said and her voice betrayed her disappointment, "I wanted to tell you in a sisterly way, but you wouldn't have it. So I guess you don't care to hear any more." Beryl did not answer. After waiting a little longer Irene stalked out of the room and went to rouse her mother and tell her the good news.

They whispered together, paying no attention to Mr Everett when he said he wished they'd shut up and let him sleep. Her mother's excitement made up to Irene for Beryl's calm acceptance of her important information. Her self-approval was restored, her ruffled feathers smoothed, and she felt once more like a princess in a fairy tale. One of the good princesses. Let Beryl take the news any way she liked! Mentally Irene turned up her nose at the thought of caring about what Beryl might have to say. That was because she didn't guess to whom Beryl would choose to express herself. While Irene discussed with her mother the glory of her n.w estate Beryl dressed herself and slipped out of the house. She had to go by way of the front porch roof, but she was adept at athletic stunts, so she found sliding down a porch pillar no trouble at all.

She hastened as fast as she could straight to the Hoffman house. There she stood a moment, surveying its darkened windows and considering a course of action.

Tommy'd had plenty of time to get home. But had he time to get to bed? No. he couldn't have gone to bed, Beryl decided. He wouldn't be wanting sleep. Was he in the house? Most likely he was not. Should she sit down somewhere and wait for him? Then'she reflected that if he were inside she might sit there all night and not see him. She wanted to see him. She was sure that Tommy needed her.

Presently she gathered some small stones and tossed them at his window. There was no response except the sound of the stones as they struck lightly against the glass and then fell back to the ground.

By RUTH D. GROVES.

(Copyright.)

Beryl walked around the house to the kitchen windows. No light there, Suddenly she shivered. Her feet were wet from the dew-soaked grass, but she did not think of possible consequences to herself. Tommy was somewhere near. It was awfully late for him to be out. Maybe she could get into the house and search for him.

She would not admit it, but she had a vague fear that Tommy might have come to harm. Or he might have gone away. She seized upon this thought hungrily. It was so much better than thinking that he might have . . . might have . . . Beryl tried all the outside doors and found them locked. Then in despair she sat down on the front steps and thought about life without Tommy. He might never come back again. There was nothing to hold him to the town.

Presently a finger of pink pointed upward in the eastern sky and Beryl realised that day was dawning. Here she was out on the streets, clothed in beach pyjamas, and all alone. She might even meet the milkman. He knew her, and Beryl had sense enough to understand that he was likely to put a damaging construction upon the incident. She arose and hurried away, keeping to the shadows of the treelined streets.

Getting back to her room was not quite so easy as getting away from it had been but she managed, with a goodly tear in her pyjamas and a skinned knee.

Quietly she changed to sweater and skirt, and left the house once more. This time she went out through the kitchen and sat on the back ' porch. She could not bear to be under a roof closed in by four walls.

It was quiet in the house. f rene must have gone to bed. Beryl could picture her, curled down in the sheets that their mother" had tinted pink for her. She would be sleeping—oh yes, Irene would be sleeping. She was going to marry Prentiss Gaylord. She would want to enjoy her dreams, Beryl thought. Filled with rich and costly things. There'd be no room in them for a boy with hurt eyes and a sag in his young shoulders.

It was better out here. The early morning belonged to people who wanted to be alone. It belonged to a boy with tears in his heart and a girl with tears in her eyes. The tears ran unchecked down Beryl's cheeks as she lifted her face to the brightening sky. It was a blessed relief not to have to hide her feelings as she would when the family were up and about. They would not think it strange to find her away. She would leave signs of having breakfasted, in the kitchen, and that would allay their suspicions. She frequently went alone on early morning walks. When it seemed not too early to be abroad Beryl went inside and busied herself for a few minutes in the kitchen. Then she left, without having eaten.

She returned to the Hoffman house, but she did not linger there. She was convinced Tommy had not spent the night at home. There was a place, a diner, where some of the boys of Tommy's age hung out, she remembered. She went there, walking by as slowly as she could without attracting attention, but she did not see Tommy within the brightly lighted car.

She started toward the theatre. No, he would not be there now. She did not know where else to look for him. Tommy hadn't been in the habit of frequenting gang hangouts. Well, she'd have to give it up until she could see his uncle. But she didn't feel like going home. Her mother and Irene would be prattling and bragging of Irene's conquest. Beryl turned her steps toward the beach, as almost always when her heart was heavy and she wanted complete solitude. And there, by the rock where she had seen Tommy sitting with Irene on that night so long ago—there she found Tommy.

He was lying on the sand in a heap. Beryl's heart contracted with sharp fear when she saw him, and she rushed forward with a cry. Tommy did not answer. She knelt by him and turned his face toward the morning light. It was an ugly face. There was nothing of the chiselled fineness that belonged to it at other times. The wood-brown eyes were swollen and red. The good lips hung loose, and the clear skin was mottled. The red-dish-brown hair fell over it in lanky strands which dripped sand as Beryl lifted the head to her lap. She cried: "Tommy, Tommy, what's the matter with you?" But she knew. It was the first time she had seen him like that, but she knew. There was nothing much that she could do. Tommy was too stupifled to walk and she had nothing to give him. So she just sat there and held his head tenderly in her lap while she scolded him severely.

Tommy did not hear her. Her words made no impression upon his deadened brain, but when she shook him roughly, as she did now and again, he grunted in feeble protest.

She was with him like a mother whose child has endangered Its own life and escaped. Tommy's life had been endangered. He had dropped by the rock at low tide.

Beryl looked at the water oreeping

nearer. "You need a good wetting," she said in insincere harshness. "I should just let you lie here and . . ."

His clothes were a mess anyway It couldn't do any harm, this new idea of hers, if she carried it out. She did not' stop to think about it, but got up and tugged and dragged at Tommy's inert body until she had it in the water. They both got pretty wet, but she saw to it that Tommy got plenty of the salt water in his face. It helped, and when the water became dangerously deep around them and Beryl started to drag Tommy out of it he was able to stand and stagger —propelled by Beryl—to higher ground. There she tormented him with jerking him about and finally—when he seemed about to fall asleep in spite of her efforts to keep him awake she put both hands in his tangled hair and shook him roughly. He blinked at her then with a gleam of intelligence in his eyes. "Tommy, please, come out of It!" Beryl pleaded.

"What's the matter with you?" Tommy mumbled. Beryl shook him again, harder. "I'll show you, you young idiot!" she cried, the tears of a moment before gone from her voice.

And now the understanding in his eyes had increased. He sat up by himself.

"Listen, Tommy, listen," Beryl entreated him. "I have something to tell you."

GHAPTEB XXIX. When Tommy was in condition to talk he and Beryl climbed upon the big rock and let the water wash around it without concern. Wading out wouldn't matter now. They were already wet. The sun was quite warm and they would dry out pretty well in a little while. Beryl did not want to stay too long, being anxious to get

Tommy home before the whole town saw him. Walking home in wet shoes wouldn't matter —but dripping wet

Even now Tommy wasn't fully recovered. He could talk, but Beryl realised she had to be blunt in what she said to him. She did not tell him at once what was on her mind, but asked questions about himself. She thought if he talked his mind would clear faster.

Tommy told her, somewhat Incoherently, about the sale of the theatre and the loss of his job. Honesty compelled him, when Beryl berated his uncle, to admit that Mr Hoffman had got him another job.

"But I wouldn't take it," he added with a burst of ire. "The guy called up yesterday and I told him to go to the devil."

"What was it?" Beryl asked. "Cleanin' out cesspools. Can y' imagine?" Beryl wanted to laugh, but she wouldn't. Her sense of humour, as she frequently reminded herself, wasn't a proper one

She said soberly, "You might get a job at the Majestic," and held her breath. Now he would say whether tie was going away or not. He only shook his head and muttered that "They're satisfied with Harvey."

Beryl answered impatiently: "I know, but I didn't mean you might get Harvey's job. He's only the manager while you can do anything, Tommy I" "Quit your braggin' about me," he grumbled. "You'll be tellin' me I could be a speshlist in cleanin' cesspools 'n a minute. 'N I won't take the job." "No, of course you won't," Beryl said soothingly, "you'll get a good job because naturally you've got to show your uncle . . . and Irene that you're no bum."

(To be continued.)