Verhovayak Lapja, 1940. július-december (23. évfolyam, 27-52. szám)

1940-10-31 / 44. szám

October 31, 1940

When Kenneth Saw Red

Branch 430 By STEPHEN J. ROTZ Homestead, Pa.

Fage2_____________________________Verhovayak Lapja

Hope

The war continued; cloud on cloud Of the smoke and fire from Hell arose,

Its strangling, suffocating shroud A nation held in Death’s last throes.

Four Horsemen rode as oft before With the ravishing of friend and foe,

Death, the head of the gruesome four,

A spectre reaping row on row.

Now all alone she stumbles past

Black smoldering ruins, where once had stood

White picket fence and home,—a blast—

A gaping hole, the burning wood.

Within her dimming mind she feels

That her heart and soul hava had their share.

For Melancholia now reveals

Her wounds and scars, the half-mad stare.

The wounds of soul and mind the worse For her spirit has been crushed near death,

“No hope, no hope,” the voice is terse As it beets her heart and snatches breath.

Then from oblivion she is brought A ray of hope, just a tiny spark,

Land to the West that should be sought For peace, to light once more the dark.

She said the words so often o’er

With Peace for the first and last, the best,

Though trampled sore she laughs once more,

A human smile, and faces West.

—BETTY CAROL BALEGA

(The second in the series of three poems that began with “Melancholia—1940,”).

It was a quarter of three. In the Potts ville National Bank, the clerks and tellers were going through the lastminute activities of summing up figures, balancing cashed checks against cash on hand, and then transferring the results into the large vault.

Fifteen minutes more and the bank would close its doors for the day.

Behind his grilled window, Kenneth Mervalle, a paying teller, gazed owlishly through thick, horn-rimmed glasses at the balance sheet in his hand. He was a slight build and his manner cringing, as though he were a walking, talking apology for having been born.

No one—at least, no one acquainted with this personification of timidityplus—would have suspected Kenneth of being capable of thinking in terms of violence. But that’s exactly what he was doing.

He was thinking of Nettie Bronson—his Nettie; and the villain named “Flash” Serrano. Looking around hastily to find himself unobserved, Kenneth allowed himself a silent snarl. That was always the way, he sighed. Whenever he thought of Flash Serrano he wanted to hit and tear; but in the fellow’s presence he cringed and sweat in deadly fear—• fear that Flash would carry cut his threat to “Sock yuh!”

Here’s how it all happened: For a year Kenneth Mervalle had been keeping steady company with Nettie. Everything had been flowing along smoothly; Kenneth decided that life could never be the same without Nettie beside him as his wife; he had, in fact, been working himself up to the point of asking her—well, within the next month or two.

Then, suddenly, Flash Serrano had appeared to darken the horizon. Darkly handsome, wearing loud red ties and tight-waisted, expensive suits, Flash immediately attracted the attention of Nettie Bronson.

Last week Kenneth had heard that Nettie had been out several times with Flash. Immediately he had scurried over to her house to demand an explanation.

“Kenneth Mervalle!” she had -fumed at him. “If you think that I have to account for every evening that I go out, you’re crazy. And what

if I have been out wit! Flash Serrano; he’s good iooking and a nice dresse and—and a gentleman.” A' this thrust, Kenneth winced He suspected that Nettie had her ideas of gentlemer all muddled.

“But darling—you know that I don’t trust that man. He’s oily-looking. he has a line, and he dresses too flashy. And what’s he do for a living? He’s no good and I’d rather you wouldn’t go out with him.”

He had left then in a huff.

Next day Flash had stopped him on the street. As he stepped out of a restaurant at lunch-time, Flash grabbed his arm. “Listen, buddy,” he started, glowering darkly, “I heard you were over to see Nettie yesterday an’ kicked up a fuss about her going out with me. Well, you stay away from her yourself or I’ll sock yuh, see. I like the little chick an’ I don’t want any funny business from you while I’m in town. Y’understand,”

Kenneth’s eyes had shifted uneasily from side to side as he looked for some avenue of escape. “Y-yes sir-r,” he had stuttered.

When the man released his arm, he had darted up the street as fast as his skinny legs could carry him. Serrano’s laugh floated to his ears, adding an insult to injury, and Kenneth opened her up another notch, to the amazement of the passers-by.

Oh, how he hated the man with his smug confidence, his darkly handsome face, bright red ties. The very thought of his inability to best the man, to stand up to him, made him furious. His right hand clenched tightly into a little round ball of a fist—

He was about to smash a crushing blow into that leering face when he realized that he was holding a crumpled wad of bills in his right hand. He smiled ruefully at the imagination which had got the better of him.

Kenneth looked at the big clock over the main entrance. The hands indicated that it was ten minutes of three. He busied himself by putting the cash and the cancelled checks into his steel drawer. Even as he picked it up to carry it to the vault, he thought of

Tettie and Flash Serrano.

He knew that as soon as "lash would leave town ■Tettie would be willing to ake him back. But... Oh, vhat was the use when—

Kenneth’s thoughts were udely interrupted. The first indication of danger was the wicked-looking revolver thrust between the bars of his window. His eyes widened slowly as he looked into the tunnel-like muzzle of the weapon.

His first impulse was to dive beneath the counter and out of range, but paralyzed muscles refused to cooperate with Kenneth’s mental self, so he slowly, fearfully, raised his eyes.

The masked bandit behind the gun laughed evilly. “Put ’em up, mamma’s boy,” he growled from under the silk handkerchief covering his face.

Shaking as though the temperature had dropped a hundred degrees, Kenneth raised his hands. “D-don’t shoot!” he quavered, in spite of his Adam’s apple which seemed to move down to his toes and back. He swallowed and looked around.

There were two other masked men who held guns on the five clerks and the bank’s officers. They were busy gathering bundles of currency into bags brought with them. The bandits had struck at the right moment: just when the cash was in evidence and the safe was still open.

Kenneth drew his eyes back to the bandit before him. The armed man’s dark eyes glittered and Kenneth imagined the man was going to shoot him. He shivered like a leaf in a storm. Oh, he was so weak. If they didn’t leave soon ...

But the bandit was demanding the money. With one shaking arm Kenneth was shoving the steel drawer full of money through the opening in the grillework.

Suddenly he hesitated, his eyes staring incredulously at the bandit stuffing money into a sack. He forgot to shake with fear for himself. Instead, for the first time in his life somethingincredible happened inside to Kenneth: a blinding cloud of rage enveloped him,, accompanied by a fire of dauntless courage.

In a pigeon-hole beneath the counter rested a blackhandled .38 revolver. He had never handled the gun much but...

Choosing a moment when the man was thrusting a handful of currency into the bag, Kenneth quickly lowered his right arm, reached down and out. With a prayer on his quivering lips, his hand curled about the smooth butt of the revolver. His hand shook as though from palsy, , but somehow he found strength enough to raise the heavy, unfamiliar weapon. Straight at the unsuspecting bandit he aimed. This was worth all the years he had lived in timidity, thought Kenneth triumphantly. This—aha!—

was the moment supreme. Just as his finger constricted caressingly on the trigger, the bandit looked up.

Tho gun exploded; the bandit stretched to full height and fell.

But Kenneth was unable to gloat over his fallen foe. He was unav/are of the result of his bullet. You see, Kenneth couldn’t stand the exhilaration any longer. He had promptly fainted.

When he came to his senses Nettie was hovering ever him. When she saw he was awake she knelt beside him and cried.

“Don’t cry, Nettie,” he comforted, his thin hand on her shoulder. “Is—is he dead?” he asked, slowly. There was a look bf pain in his eyes.

Nettie looked at him with starry eyes. “You knew it was Flash, didn’t you?” Kenneth nodded dumbly. He didn’t trust his voice.

He coughed. “The rest of the bandits? They got away?”

“No. When they saw their leader shot down, they all surrendered.”

“I’m sorry about—about Flash,” he stammered.

She gazed at him with loving eyes. “Forget it, Kenneth, dear. You are the only one I’ve ever loved.”

Kenneth felt his heart turn a flip-flop. He had his Nettie back! He heard Nettie’s voice.

“But tell me, Kenneth, how did you know it was Flash who was the bandit leader?”

Kenneth grinned at her. “It was his passion for wearing red ties. He was wearing one when he held up the bank!”-------------------o------------:------THE FRATERNAL METHOD of providing life insurance protection on the monthly payment plan is the only practical way for most men. It best meets the need of the average person.

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