The Bismarck Tribune

Dumont thought it strange that he had not seen either Chummy or Steyne at the Cafe Turc for several nights. Perhaps they had gone off and been married without saying anything. They couldn't have made much of a festivity of it, anyhow, with Judy laid up.

He thought he would look in at Chummy's studio on his way back. It was then about half past six.

The day had been one of melting heat, and the atmosphere was dark and threatening. It felt like a storm. A few heavy raindrops fell as Bastien reached Chummy's building. He hoped it was not the break up of those wonderful, golden days.

Not a sound was to be heard in the building. Dumont reached her floor and knocked at her door. There was no response. He knocked again with the same result.

He tried the door, then, and found that it was not locked; so he went in.

Chummy's place was rather dark at all times. There was a little dark lobby that led into the studio, where, of course, it was light, but a curtain shut off the entrance. Leading out of the lobby on the right was a dark passage that led into the tiny gallery where Chummy's cooking was done. Her bedroom was on the other side of the studio.

The storm made it even darker this evening. Dumont stumbled against a tall oil jar that was meant to hold umbrellas. He called out Chummy's name, but there was no reply.

Just as he was going out, he smelled gas. The odor was strong. He thought Chummy must have gone out and left a burner on. He had better look into her galley; so he went along the little passage and opened the door of the tiny kitchen.

Here the fumes of gas were almost overpowering. He dared not light a match, so he groped his way forward, as the little place was almost dark.

He gave a cry as he nearly fell over something soft. Bending, he found that it was Chummy, quite unconscious, her fair head lying almost in the gas oven, the door of which was open. He began to choke and splutter, as he felt for the gas burners and found them all turned full on. When he had turned them off, he picked up Chummy and carried her into the studio.

He opened all the windows, top and bottom, and felt the fresh air rush in and purify the place. He felt very queer and cold.

What had happened to Chummy? Had she gone mad? Or had she been cleaning her gas stove and succumbed to the fumes? But one didn't clean a gas stove with the burners turned on.

Curiously enough, Bastien had once before been present when a friend had been resuscitated after having nearly killed himself in this self-same way. He knew what to do, and he did it without going for a doctor. Chummy was very far gone; but he satisfied himself that she could be revived; and he knew she would not wish him to call a doctor.

For by this time he realized that Chummy had intended to commit suicide. He was still numbed. It was so sordid—Chummy lying there, with her head in the gas oven, Chummy so badly hit by life that she had sought this way out!

He could imagine other girls doing it—even Judy, under certain circumstances; but not Chummy—Chummy, who had made up her mind that love came before work, and who was going to be married and live happily ever after!

Her eyelids stirred, and she moaned faintly. Dumont held cold water to her lips. She drank a little. Then he hurried out to the galley, and, knowing it was now safe to strike a light, put some water on to boil.

When he came back she was sitting up, greenish white about the face, but breathing more or less normally.

"Bastien!" she gasped.

"Chummy!" he replied, with as much reproach as relief. "What a dreadful thing to do! It was luck that I came in time!"

And then the proud, reserved Chummy came to the end of her self-control.

"I wish you hadn't come!" she cried. "I wish you hadn't come!"

She broke down completely, and it was terrible to watch.

Little by little, Dumont managed to soothe her and to bring her back to normal behavior; but she was completely demoralized mentally, and could no more control her words than a person out of her mind.

She did what she would never have done, what she would rather have died than done, if she had been herself—she told him the truth.

"Bastien, you should have let me be. It's the only way out of it. Judy and Alan love each other, but they won't take their happiness because of me!"