wa City. I was from right near there, but Bob was from Keokuk.
That's where he retired to. Anyway I got this job in Washington during
the war--World War II, that is--and I went back pretty often and saw
Bob but I was young and foolish at the time and kept putting off and
putting off the wedding and then it just never did happen. I offered
Bob his ring back but he wouldn't hear of it. Said maybe it would
still work out for us. Course by this time I knew it never would."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Kessler caught the note of real sincerity in
Margaret's voice. "That seems too bad."

"Oh, why be sorry?" Valeria asked gaily. "I'm not. Bob was real sweet
in his way but he was a real stick-in-the-mud even when I first met
him."

"I understand he was actually a recluse in his later years," Kessler
said.

"Later years! Lord, he was a recluse when he was thirty-five. Worried
about everything. I never regret it. My friends used to say I was
snapping him out of it but I could never see much sign of it. Wore
gloves all the time to protect his hands and so he wouldn't get any
germs. It must have been the lemonade I was making a little while
ago, Mrs. Kessler, when you called, reminded me of one time when he
was visiting me back in Iowa. Just like I said, we were sitting on the
veranda drinking lemonade I do believe and swatting flies and Bob was
laughing and talking along with everyone else. Well, he was in a
rocker just like this one and I gave him the fly swatter because he
was laughing at me and I said, 'O.K., mister, you go ahead and try to
hit one if you're so smart.' And he gave a great big swing, laughing,
and that rocker went right over the edge of the veranda!" She laughed
her breathless laugh till she had to dab at her eyes.

Kessler and Margaret smiled at her innocent memories. Kessler
suppressed a yawn. "Oh, my," Margaret said, "the poor man! How
embarrassing if he was that shy."

Miss Schmitt examined her lacy handkerchief in sadly smiling
recollection. "I shouldn't laugh now," she said, "but it was so funny.
He didn't think so, of course! He stomped right out of the yard
without a word. I wouldn't have thought it was funny then if I'd known
how bad he hurt himself. He was laid up for about three weeks. I guess
that was the beginning of the end for us. Bob said every time he went
out something terrible happened to him. Poor fellow. He was right at
that. Just a bad luck artist."

* * * *