Evening star. [volume], June 28, 1936, Page 9, Image 81

About Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972

Image provided by: Library of Congress, Washington, DC

                
t’s what
ho
i
never marry if I live to
be a hundred.”
“At that age, few
women do!”
"I guess the only thing
that would restore my
self-confidence would be
to pull a big, fine public
jilt of my own!”
“Well, why not?”
“Why not what?” she
asked.
“Why not get your
self engaged to some es
timable young man, then
throw him over?”
"How could I play a
rotten trick like that!
How would yoi4 like to
be jilted?"
“I? Oh, I should hate
to lose the girl if I loved
her, but the jilting
wouldn’t bother me a
bit."
“You say that only
because it’s never hap
pened to you. You’d feel
like an absolute worm,
take my word for it.”
Jane looked at her watch.
“It's late, and I have to
pack and change for din
ner.”
“Run along then,” he
said.
“Thanks for the cock
tail ’n’ everything. Shall
1 see you tonight?" she
rushed on. “I know you
don’t dance — ”
“Perhaps," he said
noncommittally. Jane’s
ears burned as she turned
away. Then she stuck
her round chin in the air.
That was part of this
nascent inferiority com
plex. Mr. Trench hadn’t
meant to snub her. He
was just a self-contained
man who didn’t involve
himself if he could avoid
it. He had talked straight
from the shoulder — and
they understood each
other.
~ " The people at Jane’s
table had one great bond
- a vast interest in one
another's affairs.
Miss O’MaHey. the
isterish buyer from Chicago, ojjened fire,
isee the distinguished stranger has thawed
M
What’s that? What’s that?” rasped Mr.
ms, the middle-aged bachelor who fancied
iself a Lothario.
1 saw that Mr. Trench having a drink with
Miss Bassett before dinner.”
Trench?” asked the typewriter salesman
n Chicago. “Some fellow did tell me John
nch was on board. A great guy, that
nch.”
Why do you think he's great?” asked Jane.
Don't you know ? He’s the economist who’s
i driving all the politicians crazy. He wrote
well book that made the other highbrows
{like school kids."
Isn’t he that tall, sad-looking man?” asked
5. Richard Carter Lee. the Third. “He’s
ully handsome in a funny way."
ane laughed. “What a lovely description!"
Well.” said Evans, “he’s one of the biggest
i in the country. If he'd go in for politics.
TH
John Trench would have a brilliant career.”
As Jane was sipping her demi-tasse, a page
boy laid a note on the table.
She read: "When you’ve finished, will you
come and dance with me? I'm waiting at the
door of the lounge. John Trench.”
Jane finished her coffee, managed a few
pleasant words, and wandered out of the room
to discover what an economist knew about
dancing. The first thing she realized was that
John Trench was taller than he looked - al
most as tall as Abraham Lincoln, she decided,
and rather like him, too, but handsomer. He
didn’t dance a bit like an economist.
She looked up at him. "I didn’t know you
went in for this.”
"I don’t really like to dance,” he said, “but
1 had to lure you out. I've a big idea to discuss
with you.”
She sighed. “All right — but it seems a
nitt; "
He laughed. “Well dance together often
enough if my idea clicks.”
“Where can we talk?” said Jane.
They plowed into the wind, up the narrow
stairway to the top deck and dropped, breath
less, into two waiting chairs. He tucked a
rug around her. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“Divinely," breathed Jane, relaxed, and
glowing.
"This idea of mine,” he said. “It’s pretty
cockeyed but you can blame yourself. You
said the cure for your state of mind would be
to pull a big, fine public jilt of your own. Well,
1 can make that possible.”
“How?" gasped Jane.
“We could announce our engagement,” he
said slowly, “and you could chuck me, with
sound and music, after a couple of weeks."
There was no word from Jane. He spoke
again. "I told you it was cockeyed, but you
suggested it — unconsciously, when you asked
me how I'd like to be jilted."
Jane found her voice, “But why — what
makes you want to do this for me? You hardly
know me.”
She leaned against the stiff bosom of the
shirt. Its harshness was comforting. The arm
across her shoulders, warm and strong, tight
ened protectively. Slowly her sobs trailed off
into silence. She looked up at him. He was
smiling but his eyes were grave.
“I’m a faker.” she said. “That book of yours
— I never read it.”
John chuckled. “Very few people did. Well,
let's go down and have another dance. If my
plan is objectionable, forget it.”
"But it’s not—it’s too incredibly sweet.”
Jane hesitated, then met his eyes squarely.
“Mr. Trench, why do you want to do this?
There’s nothing in it for you.”
“There’s your friendship, I hope — and the
nice, smug feeling that I’ve helped you out of a
tight place.”
“I — I couldn’t do it. The publicity would
hurt you.”
“It would roll off me like the proverbial
water. Listen, Jane Bassett, if that’s your
only objection, you may consider yourself
engaged.”
“But Mr. Trench — ”
“John, to you. And we’ll have no more
argument tonight. Jane. I’m going to see
9
you safely to your room. A good sleep won’t
do you any harm."
Next morning, when Jane had passed through
quarantine inspection, she climbed to the
boat deck, opened the wrinkled radiogram she
was clutching and read it for the sixth time.
There was so little there, only: “Welcome
home Alan.” He had radioed, although she
had never expected to hear from him again.
It was his olive branch.
She was thinking of John Trench and his
extravagant suggestion proffered with such
nonchalance when she heard his voice. "Jane!”
His head and shoulders appeared at the top
of the companionway. “I’ve been combing the
ship for you. Come on down. They're waiting.”
“Who’s waiting?” asked Jane absently,
thinking that he had never looked so vital.
“Come along," he replied, tucking her arm
in his. “They’re growing restive.”
“On the deck below. Jane saw a group of
men who had evidently come aboard from the
cutter. “Who are they?” she asked.
John grasped her arm firmly. “They're
reporters waiting to meet the future Mrs.
Trench.”
Jane gasped. "But I told you I couldn't — ”
The newsmen encircled her, as though they
were playing London Bridge. Someone had just
greeted them with some very fine Scotch.
They were in a mood to appreciate anybody’s
fiancee and do right by her. They took pictures
of Jane looking up adoringly at John. They
took pictures of John looking adoringly down
at Jane. They took pictures of John and Jane
looking adoringly at each other. Then they
departed to drink some more very fine Scotch.
Jane looked at John. "I think we're both
insane.”
“Don’t think,” he said. “This is my party.
Look! The gangplank’s down.”
Only a sparse crowd had assembled to watch
the docking of the big liner. Jane passed
through the hands of the customs men in
record time. Her bags were tumbled into a
taxicab before John Trench and his numerous
fellows, under the letter T. were half through
their examination.
Installed in her little apartment on Tenth
Street. Jane opened a telegram which the
janitor had handed her.
“Tried to meet you but was detained. So
(Continued on pagm 13)
IS WEEK
“Eccentric —I’m that way. I like you for
being human. If it’s going to help you any.
I'm yours to jilt! At the moment. I’m bask
ing in popular favor, and you can show your
public you have a minor celebrity at your
feet. It’ll make you seem so independent when
you pull your big. fine jilt."
Jane began. “I couldn’t ” Her voice
broke. “Damn, I can’t find my bag — "
“Take this,” he said, and thrust a large
handkerchief into her hand. To Jane’s horror,
her shoulders began to heave, her breath
came in little catches, and tears kept right
on rolling. She kicked off the steamer rug and
ran over against a friendly smokestack. The
tears came faster. She felt an arm around her
shoulders. Her face was turned towards a white
shirt-front, while an awkward hand stroked
. her hair.
‘‘YOU CLUTCH YOUR
SKIRTS WITH TWO HANDS WHILE
YOUR HAT FLIES
INTO THE OCEAN!”
Illustrations by
Ralph Pallen Coleman