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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, January 03, 1914, NOON EDITION, Image 21',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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cut by r1j?-ss. Not only that, but a
streak of red ran from the toe up to
the arch of Tilly's foot Tilly looked
at it in dismay:
Wouldn't that scald you?" she
demanded plantively, aloud.
'-The flowers and her bad foot, and
not having had her coffee yet, -which
isFenough to make the strongest soul
pallid, 'got rather on her nerves. She-
put the egg inside the stove to cook,
and then .she sat down, with her
ulster over her nightgown, and" look
ed the said, pallid -soul in the face.
She had been a fool, and she knew
" it If she had pleased Weiniriger last
night, he would have looked after her
until her foot got better.
Tilly crowded a shoe over her ach
ing foot, put on her ulster, gathered
up her shabby little muff, and limped
out. She had not a krone to her,
name, and she was a vague number
of miles somewhere in the thou
sands from home.
She went to the Prater that after
noon, and sat on a bench watching
the carriages go by.
At ausK an omcer in unuorm,
sauntering by, stopped and looked at
her.. Then he said something in Ger
man;, Tilly was glad she did not -understand.
She looked past him frig
idly, and he went on, shrugging his
shoulders. He had only asked her if
she was cold, and would like a cup
of coffee, but Tilly was in arms
against the wGrld.
At ten o'clock that night Tillv
limped to the Bal Tabarin'and asked
to see the barmaid. The doorkeeper
w'ould not admit her, and' said rough
ly, in bad English, that the barmaid
was not there. Tilly did not believe
him. She staggered away, back to
her bench in the park, and lapsed in
to a sort of stupor from yeold and dis
couragement: It was almost midnight when a po
liceman roused her and made her
move on. She was acutely wratched.
Her foot was increasingly painful.
Ldng' before, she had unfastened the
buttons, buMne torture 01 tne swoi- I
len toe persisted.- She -was not starv
ing, but she was weak with hunger
and numb with cold. Still her deter
mination did not give way. All that
was gone was her perspective; she
could see only two ways out of her
wretchedness,- and one was unthink
able. The other ?
She turned toward the Prater lake
and made her way there slowly along
a snow-covered path. She was
shaking with fright, but her deter
mination held. There were only two
ways out This was one, the other,
being unthinkable. She said over
and overr mechanically, "I'll die first"
She even heard herself saying it
And so, limping and shivering, she
reached tie bank of the Prater lake.
She would not look at the water, '
She put her muff on the ground, and
tried with her stiff fingers to take
out hef hairpins. She was past
thinking; certainly there was no rea
son for saving the hat And then,
suddenly, her eyes fell on the lake,
and she broke into choking, hys
This way was closed. The lake
was frozen, solid.
Having seen his sister and her hus
band off for the opera, Sullivan had
his evening free. He went to a thea
ter, and found his meager knowledge
of German, complicated by the atro
cious Wiener dialect, inadequate.
Had he been quite frank with himself,
he would have acknowledged that he
was only passing.-thev.time until- the
Bal Tabarin opened &fter the opera.
Sullivan, had thought, at frequent
vals during the day, of Tilly
Reilly not, of course, that he called
iitx j. My Reilly. He had thought
mostly of her eyes, eyes that did not
belong to the Bal Tabarin, eyes that
had smiled frankly into his, eyes that
had dropped demurely as she-danced.
Sullivan went to the Bal Tabarin
very early. Instead of a logej he took
a table near the 'center of the room,
and sat back, smoking a cigaretta
and watching the place fill up.