Ive Married Marjorie

Margaret Widdemer
I've Married Marjorie, by
Margaret Widdemer

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Title: I've Married Marjorie
Author: Margaret Widdemer

Release Date: October 6, 2007 [eBook #22904]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
E-text prepared by Al Haines


Author of "Why Not," "The Wishing Ring Man," "You're Only Young
Once," "The Boardwalk," etc.

A. L. Burt Company Publishers New York Published by arrangement
with Harcourt, Brace and Howe
Copyright, 1920, by The Crowell Publishing Company
Copyright, 1920, by Harcourt, Brace and Howe, Inc.

The sun shone, that morning, and even from a city office window the
Spring wind could be felt, sweet and keen and heady, making you feel
that you wanted to be out in it, laughing, facing toward the exciting,
happy things Spring was sure to be bringing you, if you only went a
little way to meet them--just a little way!
Marjorie Ellison, bending over a filing cabinet in a small and solitary
room, felt the wind, and gave her fluffy dark head an answering, wistful
lift. It was a very exciting, Springy wind, and winds and weathers
affected her too much for her own good. Therefore she gave the drawer
she was working on an impatient little push which nearly shook the
Casses down into the Cats--she had been hunting for a very important
letter named Cattell, which had concealed itself viciously--and went to
the window as if she was being pulled there.
She set both supple little hands on the broad stone sill, and looked
downward into the city street as you would look into a well. The wind

was blowing sticks and dust around in fairy rings, and a motor car or so
ran up and down, and there were the usual number of the usual kind of
people on the sidewalks; middle-aged people principally, for most of
the younger inhabitants of New York are caged in offices at ten in the
morning, unless they are whisking by in the motors. Mostly elderly
ladies in handsome blue dresses, Marjorie noticed. She liked it, and
drew a deep, happy breath of Spring air. Then suddenly over all the
pleasure came a depressing black shadow. And yet what she had seen
was something which made most people smile and feel a little happier;
a couple of plump, gay young returned soldiers going down the street
arm in arm, and laughing uproariously at nothing at all for the sheer
pleasure of being at home. She turned away from the window feeling as
if some one had taken a piece of happiness away from her, and
snatched the nearest paper to read it, and take the taste of what she had
seen out of her mouth. It was a last night's paper with the back page full
of "symposium." She read a couple of the letters, and dropped the paper
and went back desperately to her filing cabinet.
"Cattell--Cattell----" she whispered to herself very fast, riffling over the
leaves desperately. Then she reverted to the symposium and the
soldiers. "Oh, dear, everybody on that page was writing letters to know
why they didn't get married," she said. "I wish somebody would write
letters telling why they did, or explain to those poor girls that say
nobody wants to marry a refined girl that they'd better leave it alone!"
After that she hunted for the Cattell letter till she found it. Then she
took it to her superior, in the next room. Then she returned to her work
and rolled the paper up into a very small ball and dropped it into the big
wastebasket, and pushed it down with a small, neat oxford-tied foot.
Then she went to the window again restlessly, looked out with caution,
as if there might be more soldiers crossing the street, and they might
spring at her. But there were none; only a fat, elderly gentleman
gesticulating for a taxi and looking so exactly like a Saturday Evening
Post cover that he almost cheered her. Marjorie had a habit of picking
up very small, amusing things and being amused by them. And then
into the office bounced the one girl she hadn't seen that day.

"Oh, Mrs. Ellison, congratulations! I just got down, or I'd have been
here before!" she gasped, kissing Marjorie hard three times. Then she
stood back and surveyed Marjorie tenderly until she wanted to pick the
wad of paper
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