The Marry-Go-Round

The Marry-Go-Round By Edna Nelson Sally was the oldest child and, conse¬ quently, the inherent leader in all the family at fault finding; — in what they did and what they didn’t, what they had and what they hadn’t, where they lived and where they didn’t live. This night there was a general airing of grudges at the dinner table, precipitated by a remark from Sally that she wished they lived “decently” near town so that she wouldn’t have to spend half her day get¬ ting there. "Every day I spend exactly one hour and one-half on my way to and from school,” she said hotly. “That means seven and one-half hours every week and three hundred hours every school year. Just think what I could do with that time if I lived near school,” she complained. "I could study music or get all my lessons in that time. And then,” she added haughtily, "it isn’t like there’s anything out here after you get here. I don’t see why you ever moved out here, anyway.” Her younger sister, Mary, of high school age and aping her smart friends’ senti¬ ments, interposed, “Yes, and I feel so mortified when I have to tell people we live way out here. They act as though we’re pioneering, and ask me if we have electric lights and street cars and every¬ thing.” Even young Tom chimed in and said he’d like to live where there was just about two square feet of lawn to take care of, no garden to irrigate and no chickens to feed. He, too, queried, “Why did you move out in the sticks, anyway. Mom?” His mother answered patiently, “We did it simply for the sake of you children. We wanted to give you room to play in and a place in which to develop healthy, strong bodies. I was lonesome at first, but I like it now.” “Well, believe me,” said Sally, “when I marry. I’m going to live right on Main street, where I can trot down town two or three times a day and have all the gayety, noise and bright lights of the street right outside my door. Even from the front, thisi house has no style. Inside, its nice and rambly and large enough, but who knows it? When I have a home. I’m going to have one with a grand, imposing entrance. And in my dining room,” she said scorn¬ fully, glancing acro.ss the room. “I’m not going to have an old couch like that relic under the window there. Nobody has couches in their dining room, now. I don’t see why we must.” “I hope, my dear,” said her father, “that you’ll be able to gratify all those whims of yours in your own home, and I’m sure as far as I’m concerned, you may arrange your furniture as you wish. But that couch there, I like. We had it made especially for you children — very low and wide and springy so that you could lie on it by the fire, in the days before the furnace. And we used to have some de¬ lightful romps on that couch,” he finished wistfully. “Just the same,” interjected Sally, “I think it’s hideous.” She went on in her reverie, “I’m going to have a lovely little new apartment, with cunning lamps and easy chairs and lots of pretty cushions. We’re going always to dine on lace doilies on a highly polished table. I don’t see why people can’t use good taste and style. It certainly is more stimulating to the ap¬ petite.” A month later, under a summer moon. Jim and Sally found they agreed per¬ fectly about an apartment. It was easily found, engaged, and August found Mr. and Mrs. James Stillman Payne ensconced cosily in a small, new apartment with its very windows giving a view of the daz¬ zling lights of Main street. There were pretty lamps and pillows in the room, easy chairs, and Sally and Jim dined in state.

702 IMPROVEMENT ERA There appeared, at first, only one flaw in the arrangement. Inasmuch as the liv¬ ing room acted at night as a bedroom, there was no adequate space for all of Jim’s shirts and all of Sally’s frilly things. The kitchenette cupboards were filled so soon that there was no room for Sally’s lovely vases or fancy glassware. The books they both liked were stored out of sight at Sally’s mother’s. But they managed, after a fashion, A few weeks after they moved in, Sally had to wash her curtains. She remarked to her mother, “I didn’t know curtains had to be laundered so often.” Her mother smilingly said, “Mine have been up six months.” But, after all, it was warm and cosy, pretty and conveniently near the center of interest to Sally. She and Jim enjoyed it until late spring. By June, Sally was, as she expressed it, “nearly suffocated.” Accustomed to cool nights in the country, fresh breezes and airy sleeping porches, she could not sleep in the hot, stuffy, cramped quarters. She tossed all night, felt ex¬ hausted by morning and inert all day long. Her only escape was a daily trip to the family home. In winter, she had despised its loneliness, but now, in the spring, with the apple trees in blossom, with its green¬ ness and growing things, its fragrance and coolness, it seemed heavenly. Her sister, Mary, suggested that they might as well move out, but her mother did not second the suggestion. Sally and Jim took it upon themselves to find a new home. After a fatiguing week house hunting, after Jim’s office hours, they found just what they wanted. It was selected according to their old day¬ dreams because of its air of grandeur and style and its imposing-looking entrance. It was let quite cheaply to them because of being slightly out of repair. Sally was in ecstasies over its large, high- ceilinged, cool rooms, its roomy clothes closets and its remnants of elegance. It was fun for her and Jim to scatter their possessions about instead of cramming them in, and it seemed to them that their souls expanded accordingly. After so fiercely hot a summer, the autumn seemed welcome and cool, but. one November day, the winter came in earnest. When Jim came home at night. Sally met him in the front hall with a sweater tightly buttoned over her woolen dress. “Didn’t you nearly freeze, today?” she asked. “No, I didn’t notice it much. Why did you let the furnace fire go out? That’s why you’re cold.” “Let it go out?” said Sally wildly. “I’ve poked all day on the old thing and its going at its height, now.” ‘Well, that’s that,” said Jim amiably, “now, we really know why we got it so cheap.” By December the high-ceilinged rooms, great draughty halls, and ill-fitting win¬ dows made them think enviously of their snug little apartment. That winter they lived around the fireplace and, as they expressed it, had “cold backs” all year. In the spring, young Jim arrived and all was radiant again. Sally’s young head became filled with very definite ideas of plenty of sunshine, fresh air and vitamines. The baby, she decided, now that the weather was warm enough, should have a daily airing and should sleep in the open. However, she was soon grieving to Jim. “The porch is so close to the street that the children wake him as they go past; and, when he is able to crawl or walk, where on earth can we let him play?” With the air of a discoverer, Jim said, “Let’s look around for a house where he can have a playground and sandpile; a house that has a big wide porch with plenty of sunshine, where its quiet and he can sleep peacefully.” “And where he can have some pets,” added Sally. He’ll love animals in a year from now.” “A garden would be kind of fun,” sug¬ gested Jim: “I get fed up on office work all day.” Sally and Jim, of course, would have liked an imposing-looking house, but they found buying a house quite a serious financial responsibility and so chose a roomy, sunny, comfortable house, certainly

THE MARRY-GO-ROUND 703 not stylish looking, but pleasant and at¬ tractive. with a large lawn, gracious shade trees and flowers, and the house had a glorious south exposure with windows full of sunshine. That night as they ate, from the cup¬ board shelf, a hastily improvised meal, and took turns with young Jim, who seemed to have acquired a little colic from the house hunt, they planned ecstatically. “Say, Sally,” beamed Jim, "I wonder if your family would sell us that old wide couch, to go right under those south win¬ dows. It would be handy for the baby to lie on during the day, and we could have a great romp on it in the evening." The Unlucky Draw By Elmer A. Graff It is thrilling to read or to hear of the hair-raising experiences of others, but to be the solitary, unwilling explorer of an uncanny cave, is many times more ex¬ citing. The incident happened while our school was on a nature-study walk. Some of us boys, looking for new worlds to conquer, pushed on ahead of the less im¬ portant nine-tenths of the school, and were soon out of their sight. After gathering flowers, chasing chip¬ munks. lizzards. and rabbits, we finallv found ourselves at the entrance of a large hole, into which a pursued rabbit had evidently disappeared. The opening drop¬ ped abruptly for about six feet, then formed an angle and extended back into the ledge and out of our sight. We felt that our quarry would be at the farther end of this opening, and decided that one of us should go after it. About this time all of us began to act rather strangely — much like the student who, unprepared, is seemingly much occupied when the teacher glances in his or her direction. The only way to find who should go into the gaping hole was to draw straws. I took my last draw: not so much for manner’s sake, but thinking that surely the unlucky straw would be drawn before my turn came; but. alas! I was to go after the bunny. Words cannot describe the agony of that eventful moment when, with legs dangling. I dropped the remaining few feet to the bottom of the shallow shaft. Before looking into the tunnel-like open¬ ing. I looked up to be perfectly sure that the fellows were really close to the edge. Then I stooped and looked into the open¬ ing ahead of me. There is no word or group of words in the English language which could describe my feelings when I looked — not into the eyes of my expected prisoner — but into the gaping sockets of a human skeleton. I could not talk, not even whisper, but I must have looked like a ghost, for, on turning my face up to call for help, the four luckiest boys in the world turned and fled at full speed. It would be useless even to attempt to describe my untold misery as I dug my bare toes into the little declivities in the sides of that terrible hole. By the time I had released myself from my predica¬ ment, my brave comrades had made them¬ selves heard or seen, and the teacher was running rapidly towards them. A few minutes later I stammered out the findings of my recent conquest. Mr. H - then proceeded to find out the truth or falsity of my statement, and dis¬ covered the skeleton of an Indian, which was covered with two decayed, rat-eaten blankets. An old saddle and rusty rifle were lying beside the remains. With great care we succeeded in re¬ moving the entire contents of the cave and took them home with us. Of course. I was declared the discoverer and told my story for the hundredth time to many eager listeners. To say that my fear had now turned to a feeling of very great im¬ portance, is not belittling the situation: for I was proud, very proud, to have be¬ come so important while yet only a young man. Provo, Utah