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The Strange Part It Played In a Love Affair By CLARISSA MACKIE The suburban train was crowded with homeward bound shoppers, and Owen Fuller frowned as he settled into a seat and discovered in front of him an audaciously large hat trimmed with foams of black chiffon and bil lows of curling ostrich feathers, while a pale pink rose was tucked in some where. Owen did not know chiffon from mosquito netting or feathers from quills, for he was a very mannish sort of fellow and did not have even the touch of femininity that lurks in near ly every male being. What he did know was that he hated enormous hats, and it was his strong ly expressed opinion that the larger the hat the smaller was the brain be neath it. In church the previous Sunday morn ing he had been exasperated by the tickling feathers of the woman who sat behind him. This afternoon, coming uptown in the electric car, he had sat between two umbrella-like structures, the own ers of which talked animatedly to each other with many nods and checks of their feathered heads, with dire results to Owen's temper. Now he was confronted with an other creation of the milliner’s art and as he surveyed it with a baleful eye he marveled at the patience of husbands and congratulated himself upon the fact that he was free from the tolls of any brainless woman who could lower her own dignity and that of her husband by wearing a cart wheel hat on her silly head. He had arrived at this conclusion ,and was recollecting with a degree of elf satisfaction that Doris Stanly ‘wore nothing but the most coquettish of small toques, when his newspaper ripped to the floor. He stooped to recover it and bent his head. As he straightened up sud denly he received a sharp scratch on his forehead from the point of a hat pin. *“Blankety blank!” ejaculated the thoroughly exasperated young man. “Sir!” exclaimed the owner of the Monstrous hat, and Owen was con fronted with the indignant eyes of Doris Stanly herself. For an instant they stared at each other, and then Doris’ lips trembled with suppressed laughter, while wave after wave of exquisite color rippled over her face. Owen Fuller smiled sheepishly and pressed his handkerchief to his scratch ed brow. Her face grew serious. “Oh, Mr. Fuller, you have hurt yourself. How did it happen?” “Haven't the least idea,” protested Owen glibly. “I hope you will pardon OWEN WAS CONFRONTED WITH THE INDIG NANT EYES OF DORIS STANLY, my exclamation—something happened just then to annoy me, and it slipped out.” “It must have been on the tip of your tongue,” said Doris demurely. “Are you especially vexed about anything today?” Owen looked at her sweet face fram ed in the big black hat and hardened his heart against her. He recollected how a week ago Blake Ellis, the brilliant young archi tect, had remarked to Doris that he should choose for her to wear a very large black hat, that it would suit “her style” better than the conserva tive chapeau she usually wore. It was impertinent of Blake, but he seemed to be a privileged character among the women, and he was the only man whose attentions to Doris Stanly had the power to stir Owen Fuller to jealousy. Now he thought of that remark and decided hastily that Doris had been flattered by Blake's remark and had chosen to wear the style of hat he ad mired. All of which made Owen detest large hats the more bitterly He replied to her question lightly and then asked her whither she was bound. “Your sister has invited me down for the weekend. I wrote I'd come on the 11:50, but I missed it, so there is a chance we may have to walk down to Sunny Oaks unless you expect some one to meet you,” said Doris. “I always walk over from the station. It's only a mile, and it limbers me up after the ride down,” responded Owen. “Perhaps Madge will expect you to come along about this time and send the motor down.” “Never mind if she doesn't. I can walk that distance easily, and she can send up for my trunk. My box is such an awkward one to carry”—hesi tated, Doris, glancing up at an im mense hat box that was wedged in the rack overhead. Owen's eyes followed hers, and dis gust took possession of him. “Another merry widow?” he almost sneered. “You don't like them,” asserted Doris quickly. “How do you know?” he fenced. “Oh, because. Everybody wears these huge hats.” Doris looked at him through the screen of her thick lashes. “They don't become everybody,” said Owen disagreeably. Doris stiffened. “If it offends your taste, Mr. Fuller, I will relieve you from looking at it any longer.” So Doris turned her face away, and Owen was once more staring disconso lately at the big black hat trimmed with foams of black chiffon and bil lows of curling feathers, while the pink rose blushed at him for being so chur ish. Just then the train drew to a stand still “Grasmead!” yelled the brake man. Owen reached up a long arm and tugged down the big hat box from the rack in front. It was curiously heavy, and he mar veled at a delicate little thing like Doris Stanly attempting to lug around such a weighty article, much less hope to wear it on her head. Doris sailed out of the car ahead of him, while he meekly followed bearing the hat box. Down the station platform the last of the smart traps was driving away with its burden of arrivals, and there was no one left save Doris and Owen. “I don’t see anything of the car,” re marked Owen to his companion. “I'll go over and ask the agent if they've been down today.” “There was a car down from Sunny Oaks to meet the 11:30 train, and it came down to the 3:02. I didn't notice any this time, sir,” said the man. “Stage cone?” inquired Owen. “It doesn’t meet this train.” “We will have to walk it, Miss Stan ly,” said Owen, approaching the girl, who stood with her back to him look ing wistfully down the track. “Very well,” she said quietly. “It am sorry about the box; it must be very heavy, but I don't dare to trust It to anyone else to carry. It must be held just so.” Owen held the box out awkwardly, carrying it by the heavy cord which secured it. As they stepped down the frosty road between the wild rose hedges, now ruddy with the scarlet hips, the brim of her great hat brushed his shoulder. In the past her lightest touch had thrilled him or the merest contact with her dainty garments had set his heart to beating dangerously. Now he moved a little that her hat brim might not remind him that she had caricatured herself through van ity. Altogether he worked himself up into a most disagreeable temper which might have found its beginning that day when Blake Ellis had recommend ed the picture hat. In short, Owen Fuller was jealous, fiercely jealous, and he was wrecking his vengeance on picture hats, large and small, and especially the ones in tended for Doris’ sunny head. Silently they trod the road, these two who never found the hours long enough for the exchange of confidences. Owen's arm grew tired, and he shift ed the box to the other hand. He could feel the hat slide heavily around in side. “Can't I carry that for awhile?” ask ed Doris hesitatingly. “It must be frightfully heavy, and it is such an awkward box.” “Dear me, no,” said Owen, holding the box out gingerly from one aching wrist. “We will soon be at Sunny Oaks. Then I suppose you will shift the responsibility of this hat to your head. Sort of a heavy weight affair, isn’t it? He glared malevolently at the flowered box. Doris’ lips twitched. That was all he could see beneath the curve of her hat brim. She was laughing at him. Great joke, indeed, for her to cater to Blake Ellis’ taste in cartwheels and then ex pect Owen to carry her hideous hats home! “You don't care for large hats?” asked Doris sweetly. “I hate ’em.” responded Owen, with vigor. “You don't like this one, then?’ Doris turned her head and gazed at him out of innocent violet eyes. He admitted rather grudgingly that the hat WAS becoming from that view point. He was saved the necessity for an swering her last embarrassing query. His foot slipped on a bit of treacher ous ice, and he felt a queer thrill of triumph as it fashed across his mind that perhaps the hated hat box would meet disaster. For an instant he swayed alarming ly, then as neatly as if he had planned fit all beforehand his right arm swung the box rearward, his feet flew from under him and he came crashing down into the towered bandlar. Doris screamed once and then stood with clasped hands, gazed at him with despairing reproach in her eyes. “Oh, how could you, Owen Fuller?” she cried. “I didn't know I could.” said Owen, rather viciously, as he picked himself out of the ruins of the box. “I'm sor ry I've caused you such distress, Miss Stanly, but the hat can be replaced. I hope.” Doris was crying softly. “It isn't that so much,” she sobbed. “Only you're so hateful today, and it seems as if you spoiled it on purpose.” Owen was ashamed. “I'm a beast,” he muttered with bit ter self condemnation. “But I'm near ly mad with jealousy, Doris. Yes, I will confess it to you. It is the least I can do to atone for my behavior today. It must have been that that irritated me, because all the women in the streets and in the cars wore cart wheel hats. I always thought them rather harmless acreages of feminine vanity, but after what Blake said the other day—well, you see what a bad temper ed fellow I am. And the worst of it is that I have no right to”. “Wait a moment, please,” interrupted Doris, mopping her eyes with a bit of lace handkerchief. “You don't under stand the matter at all! After I have explained you can say anything you like.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone softly. “You may be sorry you granted me that permission,” said Owen boldly. “Wait. To begin with, this hat I have on is not mine. I think it is hor rid, only don’t tell Madge I said so. You see, she telephoned down yesterday and said she had read in the paper that there was to be a sweeping reduction in Paris hats at Mme. Leonore’s, and she commissioned me to buy the big gest and blackest hat I could find for her.” “This is it, Mr. Muller, and I know Madge will think it a love of a hat. Now to explain why I am wearing it. You see, I had something to bring down to Sunny Oaks—a package that must be handled with care. It exactly fitted into this box, so I decided to wear Madge’s hat down and borrow one of hers to wear home again. You see my trunk had already gone, and the purchase of this bargain hat lim ited my time so that I could not think of a more sensible way. And that’s all.” She was smiling adorably at him from underneath the brim of Mrs. Frear’s hat. “All?” echoed Owen ruefully. “And see the disaster I've brought on your precious package—whatever it is.” He bent down and pulled aside the crushed cover, displaying masses of crumpled white tissue paper mixed with fragments of dark fruit cake and flakes of white frosting. “What is it?’ he asked blankly. “A cake? “Your birthday cake,” explained Do ris meekly. “Perhaps you don’t know, sir, that I can make the most delicious fruit cakes imaginable, so Madge ask ed me to make one for your birthday— tomorrow is the day—and she invited ed me down to help eat it”— “You made it for me? stuttered Owen incoherently. “Why, you can't hate me entirely, Doris, darling!” “Who said I did?” asked Doris, with drooping head. “Why—it’s all my infernal jealousy! Can you—will you—Doris, will you make me another birthday cake? Will you make all my birthday cakes and— and—my wedding cake—I mean our wedding cake?” Owen Fuller had Doris in his arms, and in spite of the size of her hat he had no difficulty in reading the an swer under its sheltering brim e . “you DON'T CARE FOR LARGE HATS?” AsKED DORIS.
Newspaper Details
Clearfield Progress
Clearfield, Pennsylvania, US
Thu, Aug 07, 1913
Page 13
Full Page
Clipped by
Owen F.
