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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 2, whole no. 6, Spring 1944
31858063101376_023
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Much to Sonia's chagrin, Ward left her on the sidewalk in front of her own apartment and drove away with a cheery wave. It was a mechanical gesture, in spite of its seeming cordiality. Ward had much on his mind. He had been disgusted with Sonia's call this afternoon, principally because her presence had interfered with a certain line of thought he had wanted to pursue. Nevertheless, he had spent the afternoon, silently digesting an appraisal of her charms, comparing her with one who had captured his fancy in the extreme, yet who, so far as he could be certain, did not even exist. Perhaps, if he had paid more strict attention to his driving, he would have seen the other car. As it was, the careening machine completely escaped his notice until he was aroused from contemplation by the scream of tortured brakes. The sound cut through the murmer of downtown traffic, and startled him into alertness. He automatically whipped the wheel around and bore down on the accelerator. A thousand miles worth of rubber vanished in shreds from the convertible's smoking tires on that break-neck turn. He had avoided the danger, but the excitement had done its worst. Ward felt a sharp pain pierce his left side. It was not particularly hot on the desert, but the sand was loose and made walking difficult. Ward moved among the stunted cacti and incongruous Joshua trees with the assurance of one in familiar territory. In spite of the tedious going, he hurried, for he knew what he should find when he reached his destination. He could not have been very long on the desert, for the sun never seemed to move from its position almost in midheaven. Ahead he perceived the rounded, green tops of low-lying hills, He knew that once he crossed the bridge spanning the river at the base of the hills, the desert ended. He knew, because he had been this way before. The river was a placidly flowing stream, clear as crystal, with a pebbly bottom. Before, he had been content to rest a while at the bridge and watch the fishes dart about in the water. But now the fish had been frightened away by some boys who were diving and splashing in the stream. Naked, they played with shrill shouts, oblivious of Ward looking down at them from the bridge. He smiled and passed on. Kids had a lot of fun - especially country kids. He hoped no cop would come along to run them away from their happiness. On the other side of the river, he followed a winding country road that led up into a fold among the hills. It was a wonderful day, just like the other days he had visited here. Birds sang in the leafy poplars. A frog croaked in the nearby marsh. At the foot of a hill, a man was plowing a field. Ward heard him shouting to his horse. The horse stopped, and the man rested, wiping his forehead. He spied Ward and waved to him. Ward waved back and hastened on. He was in a hurry to arrive at the end of the road. Perhaps this time.... The house at the end of the road was not exactly a mansion, but it was rather imposing. It was a two-story structure with several gables, built in no particular style, yet plainly designed for the comfort of its dwellers. Before the broad veranda some careful gardener had planted numerous flowers. They made the lawn gay with their color. Too, there was a monstrous weeping willow that cast a great pool of shade - just the place for a tired man to while away a sleepy day. The road ended at the white-painted gate. Although Ward looked carefully, he could find no mailbox or sign that would let him know the name of the people who lived here. He pushed the gate open and started up the walk. As he did so, a girl came out upon the veranda. His heart leaped suddenly, and a wild throbbing set up in his temples. This was precisely as events had proceeded the three or four times he had been here before. Perhaps this time he should see the girl's face. She had her back toward him and appeared unaware of his presence. She wore a simple print dress that fitted her youthful form with bewitching snugness. The gorgeous cascade of chestnut hair that descended to her shoulders caught the light like polished bronze. Now that he paused to think of it, Ward realized, chesnut had always been his favorite color for hair. -- 19 --
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Much to Sonia's chagrin, Ward left her on the sidewalk in front of her own apartment and drove away with a cheery wave. It was a mechanical gesture, in spite of its seeming cordiality. Ward had much on his mind. He had been disgusted with Sonia's call this afternoon, principally because her presence had interfered with a certain line of thought he had wanted to pursue. Nevertheless, he had spent the afternoon, silently digesting an appraisal of her charms, comparing her with one who had captured his fancy in the extreme, yet who, so far as he could be certain, did not even exist. Perhaps, if he had paid more strict attention to his driving, he would have seen the other car. As it was, the careening machine completely escaped his notice until he was aroused from contemplation by the scream of tortured brakes. The sound cut through the murmer of downtown traffic, and startled him into alertness. He automatically whipped the wheel around and bore down on the accelerator. A thousand miles worth of rubber vanished in shreds from the convertible's smoking tires on that break-neck turn. He had avoided the danger, but the excitement had done its worst. Ward felt a sharp pain pierce his left side. It was not particularly hot on the desert, but the sand was loose and made walking difficult. Ward moved among the stunted cacti and incongruous Joshua trees with the assurance of one in familiar territory. In spite of the tedious going, he hurried, for he knew what he should find when he reached his destination. He could not have been very long on the desert, for the sun never seemed to move from its position almost in midheaven. Ahead he perceived the rounded, green tops of low-lying hills, He knew that once he crossed the bridge spanning the river at the base of the hills, the desert ended. He knew, because he had been this way before. The river was a placidly flowing stream, clear as crystal, with a pebbly bottom. Before, he had been content to rest a while at the bridge and watch the fishes dart about in the water. But now the fish had been frightened away by some boys who were diving and splashing in the stream. Naked, they played with shrill shouts, oblivious of Ward looking down at them from the bridge. He smiled and passed on. Kids had a lot of fun - especially country kids. He hoped no cop would come along to run them away from their happiness. On the other side of the river, he followed a winding country road that led up into a fold among the hills. It was a wonderful day, just like the other days he had visited here. Birds sang in the leafy poplars. A frog croaked in the nearby marsh. At the foot of a hill, a man was plowing a field. Ward heard him shouting to his horse. The horse stopped, and the man rested, wiping his forehead. He spied Ward and waved to him. Ward waved back and hastened on. He was in a hurry to arrive at the end of the road. Perhaps this time.... The house at the end of the road was not exactly a mansion, but it was rather imposing. It was a two-story structure with several gables, built in no particular style, yet plainly designed for the comfort of its dwellers. Before the broad veranda some careful gardener had planted numerous flowers. They made the lawn gay with their color. Too, there was a monstrous weeping willow that cast a great pool of shade - just the place for a tired man to while away a sleepy day. The road ended at the white-painted gate. Although Ward looked carefully, he could find no mailbox or sign that would let him know the name of the people who lived here. He pushed the gate open and started up the walk. As he did so, a girl came out upon the veranda. His heart leaped suddenly, and a wild throbbing set up in his temples. This was precisely as events had proceeded the three or four times he had been here before. Perhaps this time he should see the girl's face. She had her back toward him and appeared unaware of his presence. She wore a simple print dress that fitted her youthful form with bewitching snugness. The gorgeous cascade of chestnut hair that descended to her shoulders caught the light like polished bronze. Now that he paused to think of it, Ward realized, chesnut had always been his favorite color for hair. -- 19 --
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