The Bozeman courier., June 25, 1926, Page PAGE FIFTEEN, Image 15

About The Bozeman courier. (Bozeman, Mont.) 1919-1954

Image provided by: Montana Historical Society; Helena, MT

                
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CLASSIFIED
ADVERTISEMENTS — 1
X
FARM LANDS FOR SALB
SEATTLE LITTLE FARMS
Choice 5 acres op, 15 miles Seattle finest
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Work for thousands, mills, and near by
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where improved now making $1500 to
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FREE DEED to family and debt can
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If not satisfactory. Little places with
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Write today—Reference National
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Owner, 927 Seaboard Building, Seattle,
Washington.
City
Select Cat-Over Farm«
IN EASTERN WASHINGTON
Cutover lands easily cleared; 25 miles
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Washington.___
CATTLEMEN! Now is the time to buy
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132 ACRES, $25 per acre; 4-room house;
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20CTÂCRE RANCH, located 22 miles sooth
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M ontan
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» < *
2400 Acre
Sweet Grass Hills
RANCH. Well watered and grassed. Ex
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O. M. CORWIN COMPANY
618 First National Bank Bldg.
Great Falls, Montana.
FOUR-APARTMENT well furnished bun
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BUSINESS CHANCES
FIRST CLASS, small, furnished rooming
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POULTRY AN 1» PRODUCE WANTED
WE ARB IN THE MARKET every day for
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Highest market prices paid according to
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DOGS FOR SALE
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.
FUK-BEAR1NO aNIMALS
FOR SALE—Black Silver Blue and the
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RAISE BLUE FOXES for pelts and breed
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islands,
^^FOBJI A LE-MISCK^LANEOUS^^
IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING YOU WANT
to sell or buy, write us and we will
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r&uÂantrÆ
advertised line for established wholesale
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• If, Cleveland, Ohio 1
PK1NTEING MACHINERY
CYLINDER PRESS FOR SALE—five col
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Write the Glasgow Courier. Glasgow, Mont.
v
HELP WANTED
MEN^^R^WoSnON V ^wlshïng W 8pare FW tïmé
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CLEANING AND DYEING
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HEALTH RESORTS
i
I
Â88ÀYER8, CHEMISTS. BTC.
LEWIS & WALKER, asaayen, chemists,,,.^
108 N. Wyoming. Bntte, Mont., Box 114.
§ ■
pictures,
famed city.
Minn.
r- ,. *>
DEAFNESS, HEAD NOISES. A simple
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" M. N A—WK. —6 -ÜL26
V
9
U '
ie Tl
PEANUT 9
By Adela Rodgers St. Johns
J
C=1
(Published by special arrangement with
the Chicago Tribune Syndicate).
IN- TWO PARTS—PART TWO
THE STORY SO FAR
Her name was Jeanette Marie Joseph
ine Poulain, but Bobby Ross, assistant
to Murray O'Brien, famous movie direc
tor, had dubbed her "Peanut."
Mrs. Murray O'Brien is much troubled
over the report that her husband has
been paying his attentions to Peanut,
and has voiced her opinion in no uncer
tain terms, of all movie girls, to her
friend. Elise Lord. Elise knew very
little of Peanut, but had ran across her
during the filming of a play; at which
time Peanut had dared to beard the lion,
Murray O'Brien, in bis den of work.
Peanut was a French girl of a large
family, who bad had been attracted to
Hollywood and who was making good up
until the time of the slump. Bobby Ross
had many times befriended her. iOoe day
Murray O'Brien discovered her in front
of a restaurant, and hungry.
And, now tba story—
But Murray O'Brien had that strange
yearning over lost dogs and homeless cats
and down and out men and women to
which his race bad been slave for genera
tions. And he was himself that night in one
of those fits of black depression and pur
ple melancholy that beset him.
She was standing outside a little candy
store, with her small, impudent nose
pressed against the glass. eU noticed her
because of the droop of her shoulders and
the sag of her body, as though the nearest
breath of wind would crumple her. Though
he did not recognize her, be stopped be
cause be knew what that droop meant.
The homeward bound traffic in Holly
wood boulevard clattered and bonked and
buzzed behind them. In the faces of all
people was that tired eagerness to get
home. A mellow darkness was beginning
to blot out the lingering twilight. The big
boulevard lights winked on. The thud of
hurrying feet on the sidewalk seemed to
say "Uome-home-home."
She looked up and met his eyes, and tried
very bard to smile.
"Hello,' 'she said, "I—it Is nice to see the
lights in there, eh? This time, at home,
my mother lights the candles on the table
and shouts big and we all gather around
and eat—such good she makes,
mother. There is a fire, too."
The homesickness welled up and caught
her by the throat. Her chin quivered.
"Eeveryone is so good here," she said
apologetically, "but sometimes it is very—
lonesome."
And she leaned her forehead against the
plate glass window and began to cry, so
that she could no longer see the pink su
gar kewpie and the ornately frosted white
cake.
Murray O'Brien moved close to her side.
Odd how memory awakens. For Murray
could remember a big room, on the west
coast of Ireland, with a peat fire burning,
and candles, and the cold drizzling rain
against the window pane and children's
voices. Children's voices. In the innermost
secret place of his being, that was the
chord that vibrated when the word home
touched him.
"Why you poor little kid," said the great
director, who had only just turned thirty
himeelf. "I never realized. Look here—you
don't look very well. Are you just home
sick?" I
Peanut gave the tinyest shrug. "I—I am
not quite up 1 to my pep," she siad. "Just
a little something. Maybe—it is the food
here. I think it is the food. There Is the
slump—I do not work too much lately—
and your American food is different from
ours. At home, one can live well on soup,
but her
Again she shrugged.
"Good God," said Murray O'Brien, "have
you been trying to live on soup?"
"But sometimes one is lucky to have
soup, monsieur," said Jeanne Marie Joseph
ine Poulain, with a reproachful glance at
her reflection in the window. Sometimes in
the war, we have only potatoes and cab
hages. I am not fond of potatoes and cab
bages, me."
The sparkle was beginning to come back,
a little human conversation meant a great
! deal to Peanut. She loved her kind. And
I the rank and file of the studios is as con
stantly shifting as the sands of the sea.
J Gypsy friendships, only, a touching of
hands in passing, a bright greeting today
DON'T MISS THIS
BUTTE DRUGGIST HAS A PLAN
WHICH IS QUITE
UNUSUAL
^ j; Jensen GIVES Medicine Away
- 1 So This News Article Should Ap
peal to Our Readers who "Don't
Feel Just Right.
n
A. E. Jensen, who for twenty
five years has been a prominent
Butte druggist, has a hobby of
working out formulas of modern
remedies and is now offering to
those who suffer from stomach,
liver and bowel troubles, not a
mere sample but a full-sized pack
age of his new discovery FREE
for the asking.
This package constitutes what is
ordinarily a month's supply, and is
given for the sole purpose of proving
" erlta , f »«J" 1 «"";
So, those interested sufferers from
chronic constipation, toxemia (self
poisoning due to
*
accumulation of
body waste, etc.), by merely sending
this advertisement, together with
their name and address, to Mr. Jen
mftv se <. ure their uackaee bv
se "' may secure tneir package oy
return mall,
It is Mr. Jensen's desire that you
prove for yourself the happy re
sults that are obtainable from the use
the much talked-of Jen-Sen Physic
I and Liver Pills. All that is asked of
you jg that you use these pills for a
. fnnnth Thnnnanda nf
j P erloa <>* & monm. inousanos OI
free treaments have already been glv
1 en away to users in all sections of
Montana and it Is Mr. Jensen's de
sire to continue this distribution in
I order that those who hare not yet
(taken advantage of the free offer,
may do so. Write today! Get them
, and decide to use them, giving the
I urenaration a fair and reasonable
Pr®P ara ^ 10 u a lair ana reaso auie
| chance to benefit you.
Each pill Is eqnal In action to
about a tablespoon of most nasty
j tasting medicines Intended for the
| same purpose. Jen-Sen Pills are
chocolate-coated and pleasant to
| the tas ^6- One dose each day, or
every other day is all that is required.
Take one at bed-time—it will benefit
you sleep—your rest will not
*>« disturbed and when morning
| comes you'll feel like a rejuvenated
person. So. don't drag along "half
dead,'' as they say, when relief is so
Jnst address
Jensen, the Druggist. Bntte, Montana.
| ° retura Postage 1$ necessary.—Adr.
liberally offered you.
PERSONAL
WRITERS; Sell yonr ideas direct to film
producers themselves. I'll help you.
PAUL, 1531 N. Mariposa, Hollywood, CaL
LONELY little widow, tired
Very wealthy. 1 dare YOU |
Cnb. Box 306 (40), San Francisco, Calif.
MARRY IF LONELY: Join "The Sacoess
ful Correspondence Club." Reliable; De
scriptions trm, BOX 066, OAKLAND,
CALIFORNIA
living alone,
write! M. U.
and a farewell tomorrow. Peanut had
found that out. Already, as she talked,
two brave little flags of color were flying
in her cheeks.
"But I will work again soon. That Bob
by Ross—he helped me so much. Too have
sent him away for long?"
"Quite a while. Peanut He went to New
Tork with a picture and then be was going
to visit his mother down south some
where, and on the way back he was to find
me three or four locations. I say, have you
had your dinner?
Peanut giggled. "But yes—a wonder
ful dinner. 1 have—canape caviar, roast
young duckling stuffed with chestnuts,
champagne and strawberry parfait with
two dozen little cakes all covered with
pink—sugar. But—only in my mind.
Murray O'Brien tucked her hand under
his arm. "Come along with me," he said.
"We'll have a real feast.
At exactly the same moment, in a lofty
drawing room. Marguerite O'Brien was
raying to her hostess: "My dear, I'm so
sorry about Murray. But you know I
can never count on him. He simply didn't
appear, so I know he's working.
The hostess patted her hand just a lit
tle absent-mindedly. She was a rather
absent minded old dowager anyway, and
giving a dinner party for forty people ab
sorbed all her faculties, even with her
staff of expert servants. She wasn't real
ly thinking about Murray O'Brien at all.
She was wondering whether she had served
sweetbread entree the last time she had
this same crowd, but she said charming
yl, "That's perfectly all right, dear. One
can't expect reliability from a genius."
Elise Lord, pondering in the window seat
among the scented baby pillows, might
have understood much if she could have
known these things, but she did not. When
Marguerite turned to her suddenly and
said. "You know this girl? What is she
like?" Elise could only answer, "Cute, very
little, very French. No class, but probaby
capable of one of those doormat devotions
we so rarely see nowadays.
You never suspected—anything?"
No," said Elise, honesty, "I don't think
anyone did."
"You don't imagine it could be serious?
Dangerous, as you put it?"
"Certainly not !"
Marguerite smiled bitterly. "No? And
yet my husband wishes me to get a di
vorce. I wasn't going to tell you that,
»?
• ■
.
but—I must tell some one."
Elise sat upright, scattering the baby
pillows like flower petals all about her.
A divorce?" she repeated blankly. "Mur
ray wants you to get a divorce?"
"So that he may be free to marry—
Peanut. O, it's too ridiculous."
"1 don't believe it," said Elise Lord
I
"Because I don't imagine he thought It
was serious. A good many men cheat, my
dear, who never expect their wives to
know anything about it. There's some
thing—I don't quite understand this, Mar
got. WU1 you—get a divorce?"
Marguerite O'Brien sat very still, grow
ing whiter and whiter. At last she said,
very slowly and distinctly, "Never. Never,
not for any reason In the world." A long
gasping breath shook her, and she said
again, violently, "never!"
The afternoon was warm and lazy. Great
clouds of golden butterflies floated about
like autumn leaves blown by a merry
wind. A little figure in a cherry red dress
and an impudent black velvet tam-a-shan
ter came hesitatingly up the walk, be
tween he neatly trimmed box hedges and
the exquisitely flowering rose trees. The
little French heels made a click-click on
the cement—like the click of a telegraph
instrument.
While she waited for some one to answer
her ring, she buttoned and unbottoned the
neat bright gloves. Peanut loved bright
colors and she had the courage of her
convictions. But black gloves for im
portant occasions were part, of her edu
cation and code.
In the morning room, bright with chintz
and banked boxes of oylamens, looking
down over the sloping lawns to sunken
gardens below, she sat quietly, trying to
control the quivering of her mouth. Her
black eyes, that looked enormous in her
hite face, passed over the bowls of gold
fish, the canaries twittering In their paint
ed cages, all the bright furnishings of the
room, without seeing them all.
But her ears heard Instantly the light
footsteps, and she rose as Mrs. O'Brien
came into the room. After one look at
the tall beauty in white organdy and
cool white garden hat. Peanut felt ml
measurably Insignificant and hopeless. This
great lady and she was only—a peanut,
Mrs. O'Brien smiled graciously. She had
never heard of Mademoiselle Jeanne Marie
flatly.
Marguerite O'Brien made a gesture to
ward the letter lying open on the Louis
XIV desk, "He has written to ask me.
He didn't dare say it to my face. O.
I've sensed there was something wrong.
But I didn't dream. And then to write
me—like that. Men are such cowards.
Why didn't he play fair? If. he found he
loved someone else, why didn't he tell
me?"
w
Josephine Poulain, but she had started a j
charitable mission, and Mrs. O'Brien was
particularly fond of French charities.
"You wanted to see me?" she said. "Do
sit down. It is warm, for this time of
year. I'm sorry you had to walk from the
car. What can I do for you?"
The girl did not sit down. Instead she
looked straight into the shining gray eyes
and said, quietly, "Madam, 1 am Peanut!"
Mrs. O'Brien's gloved fingers closed on
the handle of the parasol she carried. The
slender stem snapped.
"Yes?" she said, coldly. "Then I am
sure you can have no business with me.
Forglve my saying so. but it is nnpardon
able of you to come here. I suppose you
do not know any better. Yon will excuse
me? I will send the butler to show you
out"
Peanut made one pleading gesture with
her hands. "Please—do not go, madam,"
she said. "I—I beg, for all our sakes,
that you will hear me for a moment. You
have perhaps the right to bate me. But—
there is something I must tell you."
Marguerite O'Brien looked over her head,
quite as though she were not there. It was
not hard to look over Peanut's head. "I
am sure you have nothing to say that can
interest me," she said. "Yon must under
stand, my girl, that so far as I am con
cerned, you do not exist. I have given
my final answer to my husband. If you
care to make yourself a—a convenience for
him. that Is not my affair."
"Madam." said Peanut, in a very small
voice, "I am going to have a baby."
That broke the Ice of Marguerite
O'Brien's face at last. The blood rushed
to it in a painful wave. "What?" she
cried, as though she did not know what
she was saying. _
Never, since she was a child, had Mar
gnerite been the slave ef an emotion that
drove her as a wild sea drives a little boat,
But she was now. "Yon vile creature,"
she cried, beating upon the table with the
wreck of the parasol she atlll held In her
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hands.
How dare yea come here and
tell me a thing dike that? Yon had better
go drown yourself in the ocean for shame.
Shame! Shame! Shame! Yon should be
groveling in your shame instead of stand
ing there in an impudent red dress, gloat
ing over it. O, you sicken me. I didn't
know there were creatures like you in the
.world. What have I ever done to you?
Why should you come in and destroy my
home, my very life? Why did you come
here? To blackmail me? Well you can't.
Tell what you want to. No one will be
lieve you. Anyone might be the father
of your child—anyone." *
There were little half moons of blood in
the palms of Peanut's bands, but she spoke
steadily. "You are wrong, madam. Be
careful what you say. I love your hus
band. He was so kind to me. So kind.
And, sometimes, if a girl wants kindness,
she will do what is wrong if the one who
is kind asks her. He does not love me so
much—but he loves this little one of ours
that is to come. I come to beg that you
will let him—marry me. Not for us—but
for the one who is coming. You have no
child of his. I hear you are good. So
good. I come to beg that now you know
how it is with me you will change. You
do not love him. What will it matter to
you? And—it matters very much to m
now."
».
What makes you say I don't love him?"
said Murray O'Brien's wife.
"But you do not have a child for him."
"That doesn't mean I don't love him,
yon little fool."
"You—love him and you know he longs
for children and you will not have them?"
Peanut's eyes were wide with a great puz
zled bewilderment "Bnt that is not possi
ble. 1 do not understand."
Neither woman spoke. A canary twit
tered and Marguerite O'Brien shivered.
And then, slowly, slowly, Peanuts bead
went up and her brow cleared, and she
stood with a new and wonderful dignity
that dwarfed the other woman's grandeur
as the sunshine dwarfs candle light
You are afraid," she said, feeling for
each word. "You have no desire for a
child of his, carried under your heart, laid
at last in his arms. You think of your flue
tody and your beauty and your amuse
ment I see. 1 did not know—I had heard
there were women like that; but I did not
believe.
-
I hear you are good and I come here
■
But
You are a
ready to kneel and ask your mercy.
you are not a good woman. -
bad, bad, bad woman. You are the worst
woman I have ever known in my whole
life. I should be ashamed before you? I
am ashamed before God, because I have
sinned. But I am proud before you, be
cause I am a better woman than yon are.
Who has the best claim to that man. eh?
The wife who will not bear his children
or the woman who is to be the mother of
his child? Yon will not free him? Ail
right. That is all right. But some day
(?od will understand and forgive me be
fore he forgives yon, I tell you that.
"Because this is all your fault, you bad
woman. If you are not so selfish and
• afraid he would never have come to me
I when I am lonely and filled with heart
ac he. We do not mean wrong. But when
k e f oun( i out—he was mad with joy. And
ye t p e does not love me as he loved you.
"Answer me one question, you wife. Has
jj e told T ou, have you known in your heart,
how much he wants babies running around
th5s Krea t. fine house?"
rp he woman the world called good stood
i 00 kj n g at t'»e girl in the cherry red dress,
au(1 abe dared not speak,
"There is much wrong in this,
Peanut, slowly, "and I have been a bad
g j r i— a very b a< j girl—and I shall be pun
jshed. But you will go to hell! You—who
wear hi 8 jewels"—her fingers scorned the
p ear j B a bout Marguerite's lovely throat—
.. w jj 0 live in his fine house—you are the
prostitute more than me."
^be pointed one slender finger, accusing
In t h e heart of Marguerite O'Brien the
g reat wave of wrath had broken aud Jay
shallow and spent about her soul. For the
f ir8 t time In her life she found herself
f ace to f a ce, not with Peanut, bnt with the
woman who was herself. It seemed amaz
i n{J that she had lived all these years with
t his strange woman and never known her.
gjj e never judged herself,
gf> ra tched the shallow veneer of her virtue,
And now. inexorably, she was judged.
what had Elise said about the sins of
t he flesh and the sins of the spirit? Some
thing Perhaps that was it. This girl
ha(1 s i nn ed the sins of the flesh, but some
w here within her burned a bright and
c i ear fl a me that would consume all that
,j ro88 a t length,
ß ut f or herself—she. Marguerite O'Brien
_h a( i sinned against the spirit. She told
them over like a chaplet of death's heads.
vanity! Fear! Selfishness! How petty
g jj e ^. a8 — ag sounding brass or a tinkling
cymbal!
she had denied the heart of the man
w bo loved her. She had. robbed him. She
— w ho thought she was giving so much,
what had she given but her body? She
^ a( j robbed him of bis fatherhood. She
i, a( j ro bbed him of the chance to live again
said
never
n bis son.
The fearless courage of motherhood had
been bred and sapped out of her. The
desire for children had been smothered
w itbin her.
What had she ever done in the world
but take, take? And now she had driven
Murray—her boy sweetheart, her husband,
w jth ht 8 ] ean , dark face and his sonl
hungry eyes—to find In another woman
the gi*at thing she had refused him. If
they had broken a commandment, hadn t
she broken one, too? What graven im
a g eg she had worshiped all these years,
How unloving she had been to her neign
bors! And these were the first of all
the commandments! So many people
seemed to forget that,
ghe loved Murray. She loved him. Ana
in the light of the furnace that Darned
a bout her she knew he loved her. bhe
wanted him ! She couldn't lose him.
Marguerite O'Brien had never bowed her
head to any woman. But she bowed it
then, because she went to beg forgiveness
of the girl who stood accusing her, and
Peanut was such a very litte girl that
Marguerite had to stoop to look Into her
eyes. .
Bobby Ross, having found locations in
the desert for the next Murray O'Brien
snper-prodnctlon, came back to Holly
wood. The sun and air of the sand placée
had tanned his young skin a rich, deep
brown, many shades darker than his sun
belacbed hair. He was glad to be back
Hollywood. It belonged to him and
he belonged to it. He was of the new
generation, growing up with Hollywood.
He sniffed the very air of it with delight,
his nose in the air, his eyes beaming. He
knew everybody. As he made his way
down the boulevard on the morning or
his return, hia heavy white sweater pulled
down over his corded riding breeches, his
head bare In the sunshine, he hailed every
other person he met. Prom a purple up
bolstered limousine a dark eyed star in
sable waved him a welcome, and the girl
In the orange juice stand on the corner
yelled an Impudent Invitation across her
white counter. The head of a great pro
ducing company walking to work for his
figure saluted him cordially, and at the
corner a dozen taxi drivers, lounging by
their cabs, engulfed him roughly.
Bobby Ross was Hollywood's
brother. , .
Coming out of a fashionable shoe shop,
he met Elise Lord.
"Hello!" he said, heartily. "Hello, hel
lo, hello! Greetings and salutations. Yon
get more beautiful every day Elise,
you'd been tracking cactus end sand as
long as 1 have you'd appreciate all this.
And, by the way, old girt, you're la for It.
We are all going down and hobnob with
Gila monsters and poison lizards ten feet
long and rattlesnakes with more battons
on than the doorman at the Blltmore. The
boss says, *Oo find me some real desert
locations. None of this Oxnard stuff. I
want the real thing whereyou can see the
sweat on the screen.' Well, yon know
Ittie Augustas P. Ross. I found '•«*. They
are lulas." _ ^
Elise shuddered. "Well, it can't be
helped." she said, philosophically. I don't
mind the heat, but I hate bugs. However,
I've been pretty lucky—last three pictures
la the studio. Well, a lot of things have
happened, Bobby, my hoy, while you've
been away. Have you seen the boss
you got hack?"
how Bobby
looked upon
little
if
about the
an
lO 1
ized older brother. Yet bow weil Bobby
knew his weaknesses!
Bobby shook bis head.
On my way
now, He's waiting for me over at the lot. '
"I'll drive you over," said Elise, nod
ding at the uniformed Japanese chauf
feur.
Elise had known Bobby Ross a long
time. Once in the early days, she had
known him very well Indeed. They bad
always been friends. In her mind now
she was debating rapidly. Bobby was a
funny kid, under all bis foolishness.
"Well, great news," she said, lighting
a cigaret from the electric torch. "There's
going to be an heir in the O'Brien famUy.
Yep, Marguerite is expecting a visit from
the stork.
Then, carelessly, she remarked: "Have
you seen Peanut? 1 had an idea you were
really more gone on Peanut than you let
anybody know, Bobby."
Her eyes rested on bis face. And when
she saw his forehead darken and bis eyes
light she went on slowly with the tale she
had decided to tell.
When the car stopped at the studio a
young man with a set face and white lips
shot from it and dashed through the sacred
gate and into the boss, sacred office with
out even seeing the crowd that greeted
him.
When he came out, half an hour later,
Bobby Ross was scarlet instead of white
and be bad no job.
Peanut was trying to write a letter. It
was not easy. Mother would understand.
But there bad been more than her share
of suffering already. Her first born son
lying dead on a battle field, buried in an
unknown grave. And now this—for her
girl.
4*
"But she loves me," said Peanut, fierce
ly, to herself. "She loves me. I would
understand, if it was my little baby. But
God—please don't let it be a girl!"
For a sinner. Peanut had rather a fam
iliar way of talking to God, like that.
She had written. "Ma petite Mere" a
good many times and could get no farther
when the door opened.
Peanut was still
drawn look of her face blossoming into a
wonderful sparkle.
Then she rushed to him. "Bobby, my
friend, my friend!" she cried, and she
stood on tiptoe to kiss him oa both cheeks,
shook his hands, both of them, and gazed
op Into his face, laughing.
an instant, the white,
"Bobby, how splendid you look!" she
cried throwing np her bands and letting
them flutter down like white butterflies
on his shoulders, "You are so nice and
brown and healthy. And you smell of the
sun. You have had a good time?"
Bobbv sat down on the edge of the bed.
There was only one chair. His embarrass
ment was evident by the way he knocked
his unllghted cigaret against the back of
his hand, over and over again. Peanut
retreated once more to the table.
"I'm all right," he said, "but I had an
awful time finding you. You don't look so
good Peanut."
The drawn look had come back. There
was no mischief in Peanut now, and not
much sparkle.
"Well, maybe not quite so good," she
said, putting her head on one side with the
old familiar gesture, "not qnite. Bnt soon
—I shall be all right again. I go up—I
go down. That is life. 1 am glad you
come back."
Silence fell. Slowly Peanut's eyes drop
ped. This was part of the punishment,
no doubt.
"Peanut,
you're the finest girl I ever knew.
It was the last thing she had expected,
that, and she pat her hands up over her
heart. "Don't you kid me, Bobby Ross,"
she said, smiling at him. "1 know how
you do, always kidding me."
"I'm not kidding you," said the tall
young man, trying to sit easily on the
low bed. "I mean it. O, I don't say you're
perfect. Everybody makes mistakes. I've
even made 'em myself. The worst one I
made was not marrying you before I went
away.
Peanut gasned.
"Do you think if we sneaked away now
and got married we could make folks think
we were hitched before I went?" asked
Bobby Boss, very busy with a new cigaret.
tapping it on the back of his hand and
making; a great fuss over lighting it, and
then miffing enormous clouds of smoke.
"Bobby P.oss," Peanut sat looking at
him, one hand creeping out gently a»
though she wanted to touch his shoes with
the tips of her fingers, "yon—would do
that?"
"Do what?" said Bobby Ross crossly.
"You know I've always had an awful
crash on you. Peanut. And God knows,
you poor little frog, you sure need some
body to look after you. Go get your duds
and we'll hike down to Santa Ana or some
where.
Bnt before she went to get her black
velvet tam and her little black coat. Pea
nut leaned down and kissed the sheet of
paper lying on the table.
That letter to "Ma petite mere" was not
going to be so hard to write .after all.
(Copvright 1925: by Adela St. Johns)
said Bobby Rosa, "I think
■
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