Part 54 (2/2)

He had not written her: she knew why. She must be all or nothing to John now. He had not spoken of her to Dean, he was trying in his blundering boyish way to forget.

The novelist's note was short, and written in a tone of disappointment and reproach. Martie read it, and winced as she crumpled it in her hand. Presently she straightened it out, and read it again. She flattened it on the desk before her, and studied it resolutely, with reddened cheeks, and with a little pang at her heart.

Sally came in, full of happy plans. There was talk now of making Joe resident physician at the hospital, with a little house up there right near the big building. It would be so dignified, bubbled Sally, setting little Mary on the desk, where she and Aunt Mart could each tie a small, dragging shoe-lace.

”Of course, this won't be for a year or two, Mart--but think of the fun! A pretty house with a big porch, to match the main building, I suppose--”

”But you'll be a mile out of town, Sis!”

”Oh, I know--but I can run the children in to school in the Ford, and you'll have your own car, and that's all I really care about! This is only a possibility, you know. What are you thinking about, Mart?”

Martie laughed guiltily.

”I don't know what I was thinking,” she confessed. Sally flushed, studying her with bright eyes.

”Have you heard--”

”From John? No, but he sailed. I have a note from Mr. Silver here. He was anxious to get him away, and they left suddenly. The sailing list was in the paper, too, with a little notice of them both. It's better so, I'm glad it's settled. But I wish I was a little more sure of what the next step should be.”

”I don't believe Rose's Doris has the measles at all,” Sally said thoughtfully, ”and in that case, the luncheon will be in a day or two, and won't that be rather--rather a relief to you? Oh, and Mart,” she broke off suddenly to say, ”I have a letter for you here--Teddy and Billy called for the mail yesterday, and they left this with mine.”

Martie took the big envelope, smiling. The smile deepened as she read.

After a minute she turned the letter about on the desk, so that Sally might read it too.

”From the editor of the magazine that took my other article,” Martie explained. ”I sent them another, two weeks ago.”

Sally read:

MY DEAR MRS. BANNISTER:

Your second article has been read with much interest in this office, and we are glad to use it. Enclosed is a check for $100, which we hope will be satisfactory to you. Our readers have taken so continued an interest in your first article that we are glad to give them something more from your pen.

If you are ever in New York, will you favor us with a call? It is possible that we might interest you with an offer of permanent work on our staff. We make a special feature, as perhaps you know, of articles of interest to growing girls, and when we find a writer whose work has this appeal, we feel that she belongs to us.

In any case, let us hear from you soon again.

”A hundred dollars!” Sally said proudly, handing the letter back. ”You smart thing! That's a nice letter, isn't it? Don't you think it is? I do. Listen, Mart, don't say anything about Joe's plans, will you?

That's all in the air. I've got to go now, it's eleven. And Mart, don't worry too much about anything. It will all seem perfectly natural and pleasant once it's DONE. Good-bye, dear, I wish I could have been some help to you about it all!”

”You have been, Sally--I believe you've been the greatest help in the world!” Martie answered enigmatically, kissing Mary's soft little neck where the silky curls showed under the little scalloped bonnet.

”Good-bye, dear--don't walk too fast in this sun!”

When Sally had tripped away, Martie sat on at the Library desk, staring vaguely into s.p.a.ce. Outside, the village hummed with the peaceful sounds of a mild autumn morning. A soft fog had earlier enveloped it; it was rising now; every hour showed more of the encircling brown hills; by noon the school children would rush into a suns.h.i.+ny world.

Shopping women pushed baby-carriages over the crossings; a new generation of boys and girls would swarm to Bonestell's in the late afternoon. Time was always moving, under it all; in a few weeks the Clifford Frosts would be home again; in a few months the High School would stand on the ground where little Sally and Martie Monroe had played dolls' house a few years ago.

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