Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1915-Jan 1916)

64 HER HAPPINESS with Mrs. Curtis in New York and went thru all the throes known as getting started. Harry struggled along on a slender salary, got a raise, saved a little, worked nights, and finally made good — if not in the six figures, still substantially. • Viola kept house, worried over her grimly unyielding father and heartbroken mother, played a bit, shampooed her own hair, made her own clothes and sailed into success with Harry, very proud, a bit wistful, after the manner of women, and thoroly convinced of her own prophetic powers. Mrs. Curtis smiled on them both with pride, and approbation. They had made a good fight, she told them, a loyal fight and brave, and they deserved all that had come to them. And best of all to the heart-hungry woman was the lovelight that shone in the eyes of each when they rested on the other. She had not been mistaken. Youth had called to youth, and the answer had been true. They laughed together — laughter fraught with tears — at the memory of themselves leaving Bessie Hitchcock's front gate, their baggage in their hands, stark fear, grim determination and eager love in their young eyes. And thru it all — the dark days and the fair — Mrs. Curtis had stood by them. It was her cheery words that spurred the boy on to almost desperate effort. It was her calm that saved the girl from moments of despair when she thought of the home she had darkened and deserted. ' ' They have lived their lives as they saw fit," Mrs. Curtis told her gently; "so long as you commit no crime against society or yourself, you have a right to live your life. They will see it some day. It was some months after Harry's rise to a position that put them beyond financial need, that the tragedy took place that was to take the rose out of their lives for many a long day, and that, to the last day they should live, would cast its shadow before them. They had moved into and furnished a more pretentious apartment, and, to celebrate, Harry had given Viola her first piece of jewelry. Whether or not the superintendent or janitor of the apartment heard of this, or whether it was merely an ordinary burglarization they never knew, but about midnight one night Viola and Harry were roused by a scuffle in Mrs. Curtis' room and the sound of muffled shrieks. It was all over in a second: Harry springing for the man — the rebuff — the drawing of a revolver by the burglar — the wild shot — and the sound of Mrs. Curtis' body falling soggily to the floor. When her will was read, it was found that she had left her entire estate, which was not inconsiderable, to Viola and Harry. She had put them forever beyond the need of fear in so far as means were concerned. It was well that what happened did happen at this time, even tho it was another misfortune, for Viola pined and mourned for the loss of the woman who had been friend, counselor and mother to her, and Harry feared for her health. A telegram came from Mrs. Winters about a month after the tragedy, begging Viola to come home. "Papa in trouble," it ended. They took the first train, the fear for the only surmised trouble drowned in the excitement of seeing them again — the old folks, the snow-white church, the old house, the dear old town. They found the trouble to be pretty bad. Mr. Winters was at the bank when they arrived, and Mrs. Winters told them the sorry tale — a new Mrs. Winters, with hair grown wholly white and lips that sagged with worry and longing. Papa had been speculating with the bank's funds, it seemed. How he came to do such an awful thing mama didn't know, couldn't realize — and papa such an honest, God-fearing man — at his age, too. These things notwithstanding, papa had speculated — and the market had broken. Unless papa could raise a certain amount of money — enough to cover his shortage — they would be ruined, their good name gone and