American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American -- Periodicals
Margarita laughed. She laughed so hard that Freddy had joined her, and
without knowing how, he was by her side, holding on to her hand while
they both rocked with merriment. When they could laugh no more he
snuggled up to the shoulder that smelled so nice. His face became
babyish and wistful. He stroked the satin of the lovely gown with one
timid finger, while his blue eyes implored hers.
"Ladies an' children is nicest, ain't they?" he appealed.
Suddenly the great Margarita d'Avala caught him in her arms and drew
him to that warm, beautiful breast where no child's head had ever
rested.
"Oh, Freddy, Freddy!" she cried. "You are right, and I must have you!"
"You kin, s' long's Florette's away," said Freddy.
WILD EARTH
By SOPHIE KERR
From _Saturday Evening Post_
The big department store so terrified Wesley Dean that he got no
farther than five steps beyond the entrance. Crowds of well-dressed
ladies milling round like cattle, the noise of many feminine voices,
the excessive warmth and the heady odour of powder and perfume--the
toilet goods were grouped very near the door--all combined to bewilder
and frighten him. He got out before the floorwalker of the centre
aisle could so much as ask him what he wanted.
Once outside he stood in the spring wind and meditated. There must be
other stores in Baltimore, little ones, where a man could buy things
in quiet and decency. Until the four-o'clock motor stage started for
Frederick he had nothing to do.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and started down the crowded
crookedness of Lexington Street. He reached the market and strolled
through it leisurely, feeling very much at home with the meats and
vegetables and the good country look of many of the stall keepers. Its
size amazed him; but then he'd always heard that Baltimore was a big
city, and so many people must take a lot to eat. He went on, all the
way through, and after a little hesitation struck down a quiet street
to the right. But he saw no shops of the sort he was looking for, and
he had thoughts of going back and braving the big store again. He
turned again and again, pleased by the orderly rows of
red-brick-with-white-trim houses, homey-looking places in spite of
their smallness and close setting. At last, right in the middle of a
row of these, he saw a large window set in place of the two usual
smaller ones, a window filled with unmistakable feminine stuff, and
the sign, small, neatly gilt lettered: Miss Tolman's Ladies' Shop.
Hemstitching Done.
There wasn't a soul going in or out, so he braved it, and was happier
still when he found himself the sole customer. The opening of the door
made a bell tinkle in a back room.
A girl came through parted green wool curtains, a girl so
flaxen-haired, with such blue eyes--like a friendly kitten--that
Wesley Dean almost forgot the errand that had brought him so far.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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