Read Online Hanno’s Doll by Evelyn Piper - Free Book Online

Miss Mildred had shown him how far he was committed. “Police,” Miss Mildred had said, and every bit of him answered, “No, you shall not!”)
    It had been Puppchen who suggested that Miss Mildred come home to lunch with them to be helped. Puppchen sat next to him in the front seat of the station wagon while Miss Mildred huddled to the door, and he had pressed Puppchen’s hand in gratitude and homage, for her impulse, unlike his—unlike his—had been pure kindness.
    Someone had had to talk on that ride home, so he had talked. He told Puppchen Miss Mildred’s story, and how the young man in question had said he would return and then scooted, left her standing at the church. “All Miss Mildred can think of is to go to the police, Puppchen. Miss Mildred naturally sees her young man lying on a hospital bed. This, to me, seems unlikely. These young men don’t have accidents, do they, Puppchen? They run off.”
    â€œThey run off,” Puppchen had agreed, and the look came on her face when she remembered her own young man who had run off. She turned to Miss Mildred. “You must forget about him. You must never think about him or talk about him. You must wipe him out.”
    Quite a speech for Puppchen! Quite a blaze in her eyes, too.
    â€œYou forget him and Hanno will help you.”
    She meant he would help this girl the way he had helped her. Puppchen had given him the way out.
    â€œDon’t cry,” Puppchen said. “There’s no good crying, really.”
    And there was no good crying. Spilt milk was spilt. He said, “First we will have a gorgeous lunch; nothing is as bad on a full stomach. I Hanno say this. Have you ever had pfannkuchen , Miss Mildred? We three will eat and then you and I will have a little talk.”
    After the lunch, there had been a moment of panic when he couldn’t remember the doctor’s address. (We forget what we wish to forget.) But Puppchen remembered. (We cannot forget what we cannot forget. It was one thing to sit outside in the waiting room and another to be in the operating room.) Puppchen left them alone after lunch, and he had settled Miss Mildred on Puppchen’s ottoman, while he, from the big Poppa chair, dispensed wisdom.
    He had had to tell Miss Mildred over and over again that if the young man had been hurt in an accident, she would have known. It was remarkable how one always knew about accidents. Now, if she wanted everyone to know, then she could ask the police. Miss Grace Metal would know, the college would know, Clifton, Idaho, would know.
    Yes, probably the police could find him for her. Yes, even if she knew so little about him. Give the police his letters. But she had no letters. He had never written her.
    A photograph, then?
    She had a snapshot, yes, she had one snapshot. They had been so happy when she took that snapshot of him. Oh weh! Oh weh!
    He had to remind her of what Puppchen advised. Forget. Never think of him or speak or dream of him. Wipe him out. She must not be sentimental over him; anger served better. Puppchen knew. Experience had taught Puppchen what she had tried to teach Miss Mildred. Puppchen had turned to ice over her young man, and that was the best way, the only way. “Now I am angry with him,” he said. “I personally do not like these young men who hit and run.” That much was true. That terrible boy hadn’t intended to go back to Miss Mildred, was hitching back to New York, leaving her. “Where do they run, Miss Mildred? Straight to some other girl’s bed, believe me.” It was the truth that Miss Mildred would have needed help in any case. (This made him feel a bit better.)
    â€œNo more tears, Miss Mildred. Listen to me. I will help you, but only if you take Puppchen’s advice. Wipe him out. Can you do this?” he had asked her. “If, once this emergency is past, you try to find him again, start again, the whole thing, then I will not