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Graeve, Oscar (ed.) / Delineator
Vol. 119, No. 1 (July, 1931)

Lewis, Grace Hegger
Half a loaf,   pp. 16-17 PDF (1.2 MB)


Page 17

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"Say, you don't think your husband has written a good book, do you?". .. Tim was rising, his fists clenched
There arose in Susan the fury of a woman scorned
all day with each successive proof of her superiority over
him.
Now it had burst, but she was not ready to apolo-
gize. Tim did not always leave her alone at this point as
he should, but would argue with her. Today, however,
the presence of Miss Ainlev and Roger and his own fa-
tigue counciled absence, and with the closing of the door,
not too softly, Susan was at once remorseful.  She
yanked off hat and gloves, and went into the other room.
"Mr. Hale will fix everything, I know, Miss Ainley, but
you can't imagine what a phobia I have about low ceil-
ings . . . You didn't give Roger a drink from the
faucet, did you?"
"I am afraid I did, Mrs. Hale. He was so thirsty."
"Oh, but you mustn't, ever! Public water in Europe
may be better than it used to be, but we mustn't risk it.
Always order bottled water."
"I'm still thirsty, mother."
"Have you seen a telephone, Miss Ainley? Let's all
have tea."
"And ice cream, mother!"
T HE Paris the Hales were to see in the next two weeks
was the obvious tourist Paris, humanized by the pres-
ence of several English and Americans who knew what
they called "the ropes" but who were as much strangers
to the French as were the Hales.
Two chapters of "God's Own Country" had been
translated in "Le Revue des Deux Mondes"-it bore the
same relation to its original as a dark twin to its fair half
-but literary Paris was not yet aware of the new author.
So the Hales had the leisure, unbroken by telephone calls,
to visit "historical spots" which were no less historical or
thrilling because the glazed eyes of a billion tourists had
passed wearily over them. With no housekeeping to do,
with the efficient Miss Ainley taking Roger to the Bois or
the Champs Elvsbes or the Tuileries Gardens, Susan made
a business of sightseeing, for though she had seen it all
before in her childhood she saw it now afresh with the
eves of Timothy's wife. Tim was willing enough if she
let him off at the twilight hour to join his latest cronies at
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the caf6, and as that was the hour she liked best to be
with Roger, both were content.
It was part of the sightseeing that they should spend
several evenings at the Dome and the Rotonde, those
Greenwich Village tea rooms on the Left Bank. In the
days of "Trilby" there was doubtless the same playing at
being artists as there was in 1921, with the difference that
they were not all Americans playing at being French
artists.
On their first visit there the Hales had sat quietly on
the sidewalk, cool though the night was, drinking their
little drinks and feeling rather lonely at a party where
every one called the other by his first name. At last they
were noticed by a young man, equally spotty of face and
lapels, who swayed over their table and accusingly
asked, "You're Timothy Hale, aren't you? . . . You
don't remember me, but you turned down a novel of
mine once. said I didn't know what I was talking about.
Neither did you. But you've put it over, haven't you,
with a commercial best-seller? Why don't you come and
live on the Rive Gauche and write a good book, now
that you can afford to?"
The man was drunk; should they take offense?
"CAY, would you like to meet some real writers?" and
before Tim could reply the young man began to
beckon in half a dozen directions. "Come on, boys and girls,
'God's Own Country' has condescended to call on us."
"Tim, this is preposterous, gratuitous insulting. Let's
go at once."
"No, sit down! It's going to be interesting, though
I hope to sock my pimply friend in  (Turn to page 43)
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