--DAILY SHORT STORY-————
HAPPY IN FAULT
By Josephine Warren.
HP HE old lady
A sank Into an
armchair trembling
with emotion she
was trying hard to
repress. Her white,
old face looked
haggard and the
silver hair, usu
ally so perfectly
groomed, straggled
unheeded about
her face.
"Why —why did
you do It, Dave?”
It was hard for her
to say.
“I didn't do it,
Mrs. Martin! I
didn’t." The young
man caught his
breath sharply and
hi* head drooped
in despair.
“Vet, I caught
you myself, my
diamonds in your
"I saw you standing in my door."
from beneath the
white teeth pressed
on his lower lip.
His dark eyes glit
tered and his
finger nails dug
deep Into hi s
palms, then stead
ily he walked
across the room
and out of the
door.
The night air was
cool against Dave’s
face and he was
grateful. Somehow
it brought relief
to the scorching
cheeks and the
violently pulsing
temples. He was
walking rapidly. He
did not know where
he was going and
did not care. He
was just walking
walking, trying to
nancis tier voice
was calmer now.
“I know. but. I didn't take them.
I‘ve told you—I was asleep in my
room when I was awakened by some
one running down the hall. Then I
heard my door open and a man ran
through the room and out the French
doors leading to the patio. As he ran
across the room he threw a white
bundle in the corner. I saw him run
through the yard, jump over the back
wall and disappear in the shadows.
"I ran and picked up the bundle
and opened it. I discovered it was
your diamonds tied in a white linen
napkin. My first thought w’as to call
the police and as I turned to do so
I saw you standing in my door and I
heard you say, ‘You'd better go quickly,
Dave. I've called the police."
"Why didn't you go?" The old lady
searched him with steelly, blue eyes.
"I—just couldn’t," faltered the
young man. ‘To have done that would
have been to admit my guilt."
‘‘Then you won’t admit it?’’
* * * *
“^O." The boy’s voice was firm
now. “Why, Mrs. Martin, I’ve
been with you for two years now. I
could have robbed you long before this
if I had wanted to. I've had plenty
cf opportunity. I know my story
seems pretty thin, but it's true. Please
try to believe it! You’ve done so much
for me and I’m so grateful Please
don’t think of me as—a thief.’’ His
Voice died in a wrhisper.
Old Mrs. Martin leaned back fn her
chair and gazed at him through misty
eyes.
“You know, Dave. I've loved you as
if you had been my own son. I had
e son once—he—he got into a boyish
scrape—his father turned him out of
the house and never relented to his
dying day. The first Christmas my
boy was away from home he sent me
the locket you have seen me wear so
often. That was the only time I ever
beard from him.” Se paused an in
stant, then
“Finally, I decided to give some
other young man the education I
would have given my son. In my
search I found you. I took you from
the tenements, a ditry boy, well on
the road to ruin. I brought you into
my own home, taught you the
decencies of life, sent you to school
and thought I was developing a
character that would be a credit to
me and to the world. I see I was
wrong-” Her voice dropped.
She rose and walked slowly to the
fireplace, then suddenly she turned
end cried. “Dave Murray, get out of
my house! Go back to the slums you
came from! I won’t have you ar
rested, but I never want to see you
again!”
* * * *
jps face turned crimson, almost
as red as the blood that oozed
Sonnysayings
S-5
Oft W?. Ki»t Pum* Uc . n*ha ***** —'
Hist! There goes Aunt Bella out
In her limozium—the plop thickens!
—-•
Bad Mixture.
Several proposals have been made to
substitute alcohol for gasoline as a
motor fuel. Tests which have been
made seem to indicate that alcohol for
regain his com
posure, for Mrs. Martin's words seared
across his brain like firebrands. Sud
denly he stopped. There before him
was the bridge—"suicide bridge” they
called it. An ironical smile twisted
his mouth. Slowly he walked on to
ward the bridge.
It seemed strange. A moment ago
Dave could not remember feeling tired
at all. and now he could hardly drag
his feet along. He was on the bridge
now. He sat down on the curb.
A milk truck with bottles faintly
jingling slid by him and on across
the bridge. Dave's hand fumbled In
his pocket for a package of cigarettes.
Slowly he drew one out of the package
and put it in his mouth, then fished
in his pocket until he found a match.
Carefully he struck the match and
lighted the cigarette. It was then
he noticed a man slinking along in
the shadow's on the opposite side of
the bridge. Dave’s eyes followed him
absently. He wasn't thinking of the
man at whom he was looking, but of
the old lady with the white, bedrag
gled hair.
Quickly, and with amazing ease, the
man lifted himself to the top of the
concrete railing. With his arms
stretched upward, he stood on the
wall.
* * * *
\\ ITH a start Dave sprang up.
Swiftly he ran across the bridge
and. leaping up. threw his arms
around the man's hips and dragged
him off the wall. Roughly pushing
him under a light. Dave peered Into
the man’s face. He had a strange
sensation of having seen the face be
fore.
"Why were you going to do that?"
Dave asked hoarsely.
The man looked at him blankly, then
suddenly burst into convulsive sobs.
In a few minutes he grew quieter.
"Why didn’t you let me do it? Why
did you stop me? I don’t want to
live—I’ve made such a miserable mess
of my life. I never realized until to
night how low I'd sunk," said the man
in a broken, pathetic voice. He un
clasped his hand and looked longingly
at a locket on a long gold chain.
Dave snatched it away from him.
"What is this?" he cried. “Where did
you get it?”
The man hung his head. "From a—
a house I was in tonight," he faltered.
“It was my mother's." His voice
choked.
Dave looked at it closely. In the
dim light the diamonds twinkled
M. M.—Mary Martin.
The lockett fell from his hand and
Dave walked on across the bridge into
the darkness. He didn't mind being
blamed now. He was glad the old
lady would never know the truth.
fCopTright, 1937.)
this purpose is considerably less effi
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i. e., when the gasoline is in the tank
and the alcohol in the driver. It is a
bad combination. Driving an automo
bile is a business which demands the
full possession of all of the operator's
faculties.
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U. S. CONSUL HAVEN DIES
FLORENCE, Italy, May 5 (>P).—
Joseph E. Haven, United States con
sul here for 10 years, died yesterday.
He waa 62 yean old and a native of
Chicago.
He had been suffering a stomach
disorder for several weeks and died
despite an operation.
In addition to his consular duties
Haven was United States diplomatic
representative to the smallest repub
lic in the world, San Marino. Haven
will be buried in the Florence Protest
ant Cemetery.
PROPOSAL REJECTED
LIMA, Peru, May S i/P).—Peru has
rejected an Ecuadorean proposal for
settlement of their 100-year-old
boundary dispute, the foreign office
said yesterday, because it would
amount to cession of “enormous terri
tories” to Ecuador. Peruvian and
Ecuadorean negotiators began meet
ings in Washington last September in
an effort to agree on fixing the
boundary.
London Is increasing its auto park
ing accommodations.
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