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Newspaper Page Text
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A FOOL THERE WAS
By H. M. Egbert
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
Mortimer Strange-.at on the ve
randa of the Gloss Country club and
sipped his whisky and soda. He was
thinking hard so hard that pretty
Mrs. Lydia Emmons, at his side,
tapped him playfully upon the arm.
"What is the matter that you are
so silent, Morty?" she asked.
"I was thinking," returned Morti
mer Strange, gulping down his drink.
He had been thinking extremely
hard. He had been thinking over his
past At the age of 35, four years
ago, he had suddenly found himself
transformed, through a mixture of
luck and ability, from a hard-working
clerk in the war office to man
ager of the Ginever powder factory,
at a salary of $15,000. The powder
factory was in intimate touch with
the government at Washington and
was the only maker of the famous
new thermolite powder.
As a clerk, Mortimer Strange had
lived contentedly with his wife, who
was a couple of years older than him
self, in their pretty cottage outside
Washington. Doris had worked hard
for him. At 37 her beauty was a lit
tle faded. But they had cared sin
cerely for each other.
Then had come the removal of
Gloss, and Strange found himself in
an entirely new atmosphere. Por the
first time in his life he realized that
evening clothes were an indispensa
ble item in a man's wardrob. Then
there was the social life, and the
country club and, in short, he had
come into the world of which he had
often speculated but which he had
never thought to enter.
Doris had tried to keep up with
the new life. But the motherly little
woman had hated the glare and glit
ter. She pined secretly for the kitch
en and the fireside. At last she had
given up the attempt to live Morti
mer's life. Gradually they had
drifted flnart. The wistful look on h&
wife's face was the hardest thing
that Mortimer had to bear.
And the friends that had grown up
around him as if by magic were of
the fast set. There was Mrs. Lydia
Emmons, for instance. Nobody knew
where Mr. Emmons was, but she had
money and spent it royally. Nobody
thought it strange that she -and Mor
timer were always together.
The man had lost his head in his
surroundings; they were too big for
"That Was Why I Came to You."
him. He was a little statue on a
mighty pedestal, the important man
agership of the powder factory. None
of his business acquaintances en
tered into the social whirl. A staid
lot, he left them at the factory door
at 4 o'clock. His life thereafter was
"What's the use of thinking?" in
quired Lydia, pouting.
"No use!" cried Mortimer hilari
ously, starting up. "Come in! They're
going to dance."