Bellefonte, Pa., February 19, 1982. nn ————— LET US SMILE The thing that goes the farthest toward making life worth while, That costs the least and does the most, is just a pleasant smile, The smile that bubbles from a heart that loves its fellow men, Will drive away the clouds of gloom and coax the sun again. It's full of worth and goodness, too, with | manly kindness blent— It's worth a million dollars, and doesn’t cost a cent. it There is no room for sadness when we see a cheery smile; It always has the same good look—it's never out of style, It nerves us on to try again, when fail- ure makes us blue; The dimples of encouragement are good for me and you. It pays a higher interest, for it is mere- ly lent— worth a million dollars, doesn’t cost a cent. It's and it A smile comes very easy-—-you can wrinkle up with cheer A hundred times before you can squeeze out a Soggy tear. It ripples out, moreover to the strings that will tug. And always leaves an echo that is very like a hug. So smile, away. Folks understand what by a smile is meant— It's worth a million dollars, doesn't cost a cent. heart- and it A BUSINESS MAN IN LOVE Theron Flagg stopped his beauti- ful roadster at the gate and step- ped out himself rather a beautiful object in immaculate and expensive sport clothes. It was not Theron's fault that he looked so much like an advertisement for one of our Bet- ter Collars. In shabby clothes, his good looks were intensified and he became promptly the male Cinderella, the poor boy who has not a chance, in the world of not winning the mil- lionaire’s daughter. The roadster and Theron and the house before which they had stop- made an incongruous trio. Pas- serg-by, had there been any on this sandy and little-traveled road, might well have wondered what such a young man, in such a vehicle was doing there. Even when it had been built, some seventy-five years before, this house had had neither beauty nor charm. Three-quarters of a century had add- ed nothing of mellowness, merely a bay window which protruded from its side with the unnatural aspect of a wen or a goiter, and an in- creasing air of shabbiness and ne- -glect. As he walked up the unkempt path Theron wondered what color the paint had been originally, before | the weather changed it to its pres- ent sickly raspberry. i A terrific pounding. was going on! within, a noise like the enemy bom- bardment in a sound-picture. Ther- on's knock was ineffectual against it. He hesitated, and then walked around to the back. No shrubsor flowers grew against the house; its brick foundation was bare and stark below the clapboards, like the gums of a snarling animal. But at the rear an enormous ctump of old lilacs spread outward, like an enchanted thicket, and behind them Theron heard a girl's voice, and in some surprise, because he had thought nc woman lived there, he walked to- ward it. “Yes, Sabra, my dear, my dar- ling,” it was saying :n a rich sing-| song, “you may well weep! Tears may well trickle And for what reason do your pretty eyes fill and overflow?” The voice paused. “Onins, my girl! A broken art, a disillusioned spirit are but trifies. Here you sit in the golden sunshine, polluting the summer air with your onions—" The singsong shifted imperceptibly into actual song, warm and deep and obviously improvised. ‘Oh, loveis brief, and so is grief—sing hey, for pickled onions! And love is sad, and life is made--sing hey, for pick- led onions!" | Theron rounded the bush and stop- | | said. ‘ flavor. | smarted. eccentric. “My name's Theron Flagg," “And—" “Do sit stand the onions!” He sat on the grass. said. an offer which rised him more than it did her. pickled onions well enough; in a dry cocktail a small onion lent a subtle tle about a bushel of onions. “Self-protection?” the girl sug- , smiling. “But think of your pretty clothes!” “You needn't be so snooty about my clothes just because they hap- pen to be clean!” he flung at her. Theron Flagg was not at all in the habit of being down,” she interrupted trimmed him, and added politely, “If you can neath i “Give me were no delicacies ‘a knife and I'll help peel em,” he precision of arrangement, no decora- ! i But there was nothing sub- Sabra There a tion of flowers. Plates were piled, He liked knives and forks dropped in a heap, three thick glasses set one the other. within But the copper casserole contain- (ed as excellent a stew as Theron had ever tasted in Provence, flavor- ed with thyme and bay and garlic ‘and a touch of saffron. The salad, insulting to ladies, and in view of the girl's faded and | undeniably dirty dress, carried its barb. She laughed and handed him a knife. “You're going to look right funny when you start weeping” she said cheerfully. He peeled an omon, and his eyes He had never felt quite such a fool. Without speaking, he peeled another, and another, and she watched him, chuckling a little to herself. “Besides being Theron Flagg, what are you?” she inquired, at last. “You haven't come to the wrong house or anything, have you?” He looked at her, aware already, the remark ‘and content. as though he had known her for a long time, or what her reaction to his errand was going to be. “You know that we're building a country club here in Foxport, don’t you?” he asked, selecting another onion. tennis courts, yacht landing, and a clubhouse. We need all the mem- bers we can get right now, so that the work can go on. I'm chairman of the membership committee and “That"s it!" she interrupted him triumphantly. like a chairman! When I first saw you, I thought: No, it's not brushes; it's not books. He's not working his way through Sollege, nor is he deaf and dumb. It might be insur- ance, although he's dressed. Or—" “Oh, shut up!” said Theron, who was never rude to ladies. He might as well get it over with, and then he would go. “Membership is a hun- dred and a quarter a year, but if you join now you can get a life membership for five hundred. That's a family membership, of course.” The girl leaned toward him, her tear-filled eyes shining. “What,” she demanded, in a whis- , “ha . to a life membership f . : Foy te of his irritation, he laugh- ed. man to you, but you don’t look like “You know, you look! “Eighteen-hole golf course, hea in a tin dishpan, was like no salad he had had in America, and the thick glasses were filled with a very palatable red wine from an earthen jug. Perhaps it was the wine or the sunshine beating down upon him which made Theron feel so languid Certainly he had no desire to stir himself, and the three sat smoking and saying little. From time to time, he looked at Sabra. The girl was really lovely: in repose, pale and gentle, like a Watts- Burne—Jones-Swinburne, lady, and in animation so conversely vivid and colorful. Salisbury was the romanticist’'s idea of a sculptor; he could have stepped intact from the pages of Du Maurier or Murger. A tremen- dous man, throated, who roared and pounded and could not speak a dozen consec- utive words tuned to the ears of a Sunday-school class. “Bating’s a fine thing!” he cried, now. “Eat and sleep and make love —why be a human being, anyway? I wish I was an animal.” His daughter's dark eyes came alive with humor. “You're not so far removed, darling,” she comfort- ‘ed him. Theron smoked his cigaret and was silent. Then Salisbury rose. “Come on in and see what I've done, Sabra.” Theron did not move. “Come on, if you like,” Sabra in- vited, and he followed them. The entire lower floor of the house with the exception of a small kitch- en, had been thrown into one room “thrown,” reflected Theron, was almost literally the word. had been pounded down and jagged cracks and seams remained on floor and ceiling where they had stood. * “Well, I may look like a chair- a country club member to me! How- ever—" “However, my onions are getting led,” she said beghtly. “Would you mind signing a jar for me?" There were a great many onions, and it did not seem fair to Theron to leave her with them, now that he had begun. his stopping, and they peeled in silence for almost tee minutes. «x are Dirk Salisbury's daughter.” “Why ?" she asked, looking at him sideways out of her dark eyes. He did not answer at once, and she laughed. “I'm afraid all the ladies bury's daughter,” she said. Theron had heard that, too. He peeled another onion. “Don't cry!” she murmured, in the coaxing voice one uses to a small child. “I'm Sabra Salisbury.” At one end, a couch, two chairs and a table looked like pigmy fur- niture; nor rugs. The rest was stone and clay and tools and great sheeted figures, the sculptor’'s workship. Fittingly, it ‘was a giant Pan on which Salisbury was it was beautiful, lazy and luxurious and subtly wicked. Theron wanted to say something of the pleasure it gave him. “Lord, that's great!” he said. “I don't know much about sculpture" She did not suggest presume,” he said, “that you | down your cheeks seen here are not ail Dirk Salis- | | | i “We'd be awfully pleased to have your father a member of the club” said Theron. “I should think you would!" Sabra retorted. “H r, he woulda't.” “And yourself?” Theron asked. She at him. “You just | said that I don't look like a country- club member.” good if he'd go back for it. “But you know what you like,” in- terrupted Salisbury dryly. “Yes, 1 know. Look here, Sabra" Father and daughter ignored him; Theron felt his neck grow hot. He wanted to turn ‘and walk out of their house, but he had eaten their food, and whether they were civil or not, at least he would thank his hostess before he departed. “It was good of you to let me shay. he told her—after Salisbury suddenly seized his chisel and uested them both to get out. he smiled and put out her hand decisively. “Good-by.” It was plainly enough a dismissal, and again Theron flushed, more with anger than confusion. He bowed briefly and strode off. It was not until he reached the car that he realized he had left his hat. was a hat, but he was hanged He started “hig motor and drove off. ‘and serene when he entered it: pleas- ant dignity of ivory The singer was sitting cross- “That,” he returned, ‘“‘is the coun- legged on the grass, ner feet bare beneath a faded black cotton dress, her black hair loose. A bushel basket of small silver onions was at | her right hand, and an enormous yellow bow! at her left, and she was | wielding a knife “Yes, my dear,” damn yourself! It is not as though you had to pickle onions. Of your y. own Tee will, ipelied BY yodr Sun | low tastes—" rubbed a bare arm across her face, and looked up with tear-filled black eyes at Theron. the New gina “Now just how long have you been standing there?” she demanded in- dignantly. Theron flushed. a minute.” “Well, why dint 0 call out— fool?” she asked, angry, and “I'm sorry,” “I...” His errand seemed suddenly absurd. : u like pickled onions?” she uired, and added, rather fiercely, “You don't look as if you 3” “I'm wild about them,” stated Theron, and suddenly she smiled and her e face was 10 y “I'm peeling with in my eyes!” she announced. * pearl an onion and onion a tear.” She looked up at swiftly. “Do you think I'm crazy?” » fie thought had entered Theron’s “I'm truly not,” she answered, be- fore he could reply. “I'm quite unhappy!” Her smile flashed again; she seemed amused as much at her- self as at him, and she sat, staring quite frankly, inspec him from his Panama to his feet. “I never saw such white shoes!” she said. Theron looked down at them. new.” he explained. “They wont be so. white long.” “‘Oh, both my shoes are shiny “Only | been merchants try club's loss.” Her laughter heightened. “Why what a pretty speech from a business man!” she cried, and clap- her hands. Tehron looked at her ness man?” he asked. “Aren't you?” she said. He was, unden think of hims her words and 53 i g§¥ gE 82 B= gf Hi Bg it | Theron now : i the days of | Ee : i sail for foreign g, con y i ‘booming from {lilac clump announced | Salisbury was—to such-and-such | this-and-that was not ? Then Salisbury 5 5 i | | £ : : ; i i i Behe: , thundering out ejaculations couched in even less elegant terms remark. LT oll sharp- p 1 and ‘Theron thougat that ste was e a Pekingese growling at a Great Dane. “You'd better stay and eat lunch with us’ she flung back over her shoulder, as she disappear- ed Jnto the house. 5 7 “Lord, Tm tired; the | fously. | | i { | ol you | ooiat makes you think I'm a busi- | far ‘and though its diffe 1_to garbed for CA His own home seemed t and ma- hogany, soft rugs fine chintzes. His mother had asked Elizabe Mason—who was not his fiancee— to dine with them, and the two wom- en were sitting indoors, the elder dainty and exquisite in gray die, the younger already in a dinner coldly. frock of blue crepe. It seemed very from that spot beneath a grapevine, as far as the South was the difference between ci tion and barbarity, he felt an unformulated lack in his own setting. At dinner, the excellent New Eng- land food, hot raised biscuits and a roast with Yorkshire pud , cried out to him its lack of and Jiugh ine-=which he kusw. waa-ab: “Do we ever use garlic, Mother?" he asked. . son. Nellie always ru the aod bowl with a kernel. Why?” That launched him on the Salis- ly. “Do tell me about Sabra Sal's ry,” she said, when he paused. did she have on?” “The dirtiest Theron chuckled. black dress I ever saw!” was funny, Elizabeth told listened in some | meet her. Couldn't Theron take her to call? Theron full-bearded and full- Walls | there were neither curtains’ and | it! th | organ- ly, “you d a jar of your own onions!” rrupted Sabra, her dark eyes bright as she handed them to | Theron mumbled. | The girls shook hands, and Theron could have slapped Sabra for the ‘amused and slightly mocking smile she turned upon Elisabeth. “Won't you come in and meet my mother and have some tea with us?” he invited, instead. She shook her head. The fashion ‘expert was clad, this day, in boys’ overalls. “I hadn't meant to come to town, but Dirk wanted a drink, so I hopped a truck. D’'you know where that Italian bootlegger hangs out?" Theron looked at her calmly. He suspected that Miss Sabra Salisbury was showing off for Elisabeth's bene- fit and Elisabeth like a little fool, was watching Sabra, round-eyed. “Come in with us, and I'll give you a bottle of decent Scotch to take back to him with my compliments,” he said, and as she hesitated, “Oh, don't be an idiot!” Elisabeth's round eyes his face wonderingly. Mrs. Flagg received her guest without a flicker of surprise at her costume, and sat her in a delicate Adam chair. “I've enjoyed your father's work so much, Miss Salis- bury,” she said pleasantly. “You have?” said Sabra, faintly stressing the pronoun. “Precisely why should that sur- prise you?” Theron inquired curtly. Sabra started. “Why, I don't know. Dirk's work seems S080 crude, and your mother-—-" Her confusion gave him a distinct satisfaction, but his eyes remained an “Don't forget that it is peo- ple like my mother who buy the work of people like your father,” he reminded her. “Theron!” Mrs. Flagg protested. “Miss Salisbury prefers that peo- ple say what they think,” moved to “Don't you?” Sabra smiled at Mrs. Flagg. “By all means. And may I say that I think this is a very beautiful house?” They got on fairly well after that, thcugh Theron was acutely con- scious of Sabra's amusement at his mother and Elisabeth and the pret- ty formality of their tea. “Will you be here all Miss Salisbury?" {her soft voice sounding suddenly, to Theron, peculiarly colorless. Sabra shrugged. “I don't know. I summer, good as another, I su “a Theron found himself remember- ing one of her first remarks to him: “I'm quite unhappy’ Was it the Hungarian ? He drove her home, not admitting to himself the skill with which he contrived not to have Elisabeth ac- and ‘excuse, no justification that he could little girl!" | said Sabra, and as he frowned, “Oh, company them. “nat was a dumb Lord, is she your something 7" sweetheart or he may have entertained on the sub- ject of Elisabeth's status were then and there dispelled. “But she’s a nice girl, and she isn't dumb. Sabra's eyes were dancing, “Don’t ” she murmured. “I have never,” said Theron delib- | erately, “wanted to slap any human beng as often as I have wanted to slap you!” “It ‘must be love,” she said, and | his desire to do her physical vio- lence was increased. “I always want | to sock e I like,” she added, and then fell into a reverie. Wasit the H ’ At her door she insisted that he { come in and have a drink with Dirk. The sculptor’s cordiality ‘his first taste of Theron's whiskey. | “Fine,” he rumbled. “Better have some, Sabra.” | She made a face at hm. ‘and the two men sat in the crazy ' studio and had several drinks. | “You know,” said Theron abrupt- and Sabra give me a de- ‘cided pain! Just because I some- times wear a boiled collar and have ‘an office doesn't mean that I have ' less uppredigtion of art than some | other who needs a hair cut!” | Salisbury ‘he commen { "Sol" 4aid Py I That Pan of | yours good, ar now it as ‘well as anyone else.” The sculptor poured out two more dri nks. “There's an artistic snobbery,” con- tinued Theron, “that's just as bad as any social snobbery. father looked at her, and then roared with laughter. “I told you no hroken heart more a month!” “Oh, shut up!” said Sabra, and for the first time Theron saw her blush. Dirk refilled Theron's glass. “To 4 Sabra bottle. A He did not feel that ire NY yet it was an undeniable fact that he forgot completely that he was to accompany Elisabeth to a dinner y that evening. table he told his mother gently. And less gently, Elisabeth asked, | haven't any plans. One place is as + relati “No,” said Theron, and any doubts rose with “I hate the stuff,” she said, and though it was none of his affair, Theron was She disappeared into the kitchen, squinted at him. “So?” | nigh ted at him. “Becom- to what?” he demanded ‘Becoming how? She She hesi- Theron did not think obedience which their clothes, and | cerise handkerchief tied about her | feeling. This was Sabra Salisbury. ought to look worn— pronounced Salisbury. need color and form just t i fashion expert indulgently. “iy know,” said the sculptor. “The initial object of clothes, of course.” Theron leaned back, enjoying him- self, not considering it in the least odd that he, Theron Flagg, be spending an evening discussing women's clothes. They had finish- ed the bottle, and he was about to suggest going back for another Sabra, he reflected pleasantly, could ride with him-—when the thought of home brought up the thought of Elisabeth and their engagement. “Remember something?” Sabra asked, at his exclamation. “Lord, yes!” he said, getting up a little unsteadily, and shaking Salis- bury’s hand. “I wondered when you'd remem- ber,” she commented, at the door. “What do you mean?” She was smiling, and more than ever he wanted to choke her. If she had known that he had an en- gagement, if he or Elisabeth or his mother had mentioned it in her hearing that afternoon! She was laughing, now, and he clutched her with sudden violence and kissed her. “That,” she said, in a cool voice, “is the first time I was ever kissed by a solid busines man. I had no idea they'd do so well.” They! This time the pressure of his mouth upon hers bent her head back so that she cried out; she seemed very small and fragile in his arms, and he wanted to hurt her, and did. She was not laughing when he released her, nor did she seem angry. White-faced, with dark eyes wide and lips trembling— “I don't know that I particularly like you!" said Theron, and pushed her back into the house, and strode to his car. The morning brought several | things to Theron beside a headache and a bitter taste in his mouth. He had seen Elisabeth the night before, and she had found, and said that she ‘found, his conduct inexcusable. In five minutes, the inti which had existed between those two who had known each other since childhood was swept away, like a bridge be- fore a flood, and Theron knew that there was no rebuilding it. He was not unhappy, but infinitely sad, with that melancholy which reminders of the instability and frailty of human always bring. His m r was definitely wound- Led. gentleman; he had been both drunk discourteous. There was no offer her, nor did he try. He had-—or ‘perhaps he had not-- | offended Sabra Salisbury. He did not know. In any case, he felt that he had allied himself with her whether for war or , and he was not yet sure that hie wanted the alliance. Yor the first time Theron become consciously aware of a lack of emo- tional kinship with Elisabeth; with many things for which his mother and home stood as symbols. But he did not feel that he was part of that ‘other sort of living, that careless, slipshod, rned life which is called “Bohemian.” He liked, he re- flected, curtains at windows and damask on tables; he liked women to be gentle-spoken, and men to speak gently in their presence. His headache and his tangled thoughts drove him out of doors; his car, almost of its own volition, drove him to the Salisburys’' house. He was sitting in it he had ‘not come, when ry mation. Was he glad or sorry? | “She got a telegram from IH lover of hers”—Salisbury ‘q the musician with adjec- tives which Theron somehow appeoy- ed—“and hopped the morning He needs her!” The was contemptuous. So it had not been because of last t that she was gone! He had flattered himself, reflected Theron grimly, by thinking that. Salisbury brought out the wine jug, and the two men sat down be- neath the vine which gives wine. “Women are queer animals,” said the sculptor. “Take Sabra.” He | laughed suddenly. “Don’t take her!” he interrupted himself. “She's not for you." “Why not?” Theron inquired. Why don’t dogs mate with cats? Salisbury retorted. It's almost bio- logical. I don't know how many | kinds of people there are in this ‘world, but sometimes I think there ‘are only two. Artists and non- | artists. And they mix just like oil ‘and water.” ‘ | “Rot!” said Theron flatly. “There you go again. |” “It's true,” said Salisbury, unper- turbed. “Sabra's not an artist, but she has the artistic temperament. Besides which, she’s one of those poor unfortunate women who are constitutionally incapable of caring for any man who is—one might al- most say whole! She was born to mother weaklings.” “She's strong, isn't she?” “Strong!” cried her father. “She's like a well-built ship, like one of the clippers that used to sail out of this harbor. Strong and sturdy and de- pendable.” To Salisbury looked at him in- “It's very becoming,” said Theron. roared and | painting. '‘em,” suggested the should ‘had first seen her, and now helov- ied her and wanted to He looked hel | trying to i Her son had not acted like a that | booming voice, tently. “In love with her, aren't you?” “Am I” Theron had never talked sc with a man or a woman in his life “Why doesn't she marry this Lup- | esco?" | Salisbury shrugged his real with a wife? He'll probably marry ber ultimately —when he's sick or not ure. a lt Se inniog i | way ge ' 's | to realize it.” i "Way do you sulk she wouldn't ppy marri me?” Theron hy | “You've seen her here,” said Salis- bury. “Can you see her happy in | your setting? Can you see her pay- Tew |p r people entertai | business trie > BIE your Theron obediently tried to see | Sabra in those roles, and found the | phantom disturbingly lovely and de- | sirable. Sabra across his dinner table; Sabra in a white kitchen; |Savia in a garden— “Look here!” he said, sipping his wine. “You talk ry a {form in art, form in dress. What's the matter with form in living? Why shouldn't the accessories of life hold as much beauty and order of form as anything else? If you strip away too much of symmetry from a work of art, it loses out. Why can't you see that living bears the same loss?” Never had Theron Flagg talked like this, and the morning wore in- to afternoon, and the sun commenc- ed its decent. Sabra was gone for a week, and Theron and Dirk talked almost | daily, talked for long, tireless hours, | far into the nights. “I like you, Theron,” Salisbury told him. “You've got imagination. In a way, I'm sorry that none of your children will call me grand- pa—and wouldn't I break their little necks if they did!” | Theron laughed, and then was silent. His children—He looked at Dirk Salisbury oddly. Men, he knew, sometimes thought of women as potential mothers for their sons; it was strange to think of a man as a potential grandfather. Strange for Theron to be thinking of children at all. He was thirty-two years old, and never, until moment, had he given the prolonging of the Flagg line a thought. During her absence, his thoughts of Sabra had held a paradoxically impersonal quality. He had thought, and even spoken, of love and mar- riage in conjunction with her; he ‘had pictured her, in turn, a wife, companion and mother. Yet it was ‘not until he stood face to face with her again that he realized that he loved her, was in love with her, ‘head over heels, madly, completely, (as he had never expected to be | Jove with any woman. | The realization made him at first | awkward and unhappy. Here, before him, was Sabra Salisbury, again in the faded black dress in which he tor” ap y y them. What had gone on in New York betmeen her and his unknown rival; how did she compare him, Theron Flagg, with that other? At least, one could be frank with | Sabra; such a short time of know- ing this father and daughter had taught Theron the advantage of openness and directness. | Dirk Salisbury was working, and | Theron and Sabra moved once again | to the shelter of the green lilacs. | “Sabra, I'm going to tell you this ‘now, and then, if you want, we can ‘let it wait for a while,” he said. She looked at him evenly, smiling. | “I love you,” he said, “more than I t I could ever love anyone. I want you to marry me.” | Her face did not change; her | smile was steady. She put out her ‘hands. “All right, Theron,” she said | softly, and then burst into laughter. “Darling,” she cried, “don’t look so startled! Didn't you mean it? Was 1 supposed to say no?” “Do you mean it?" he asked. | “You'll me? Right away?" She her eyes still laugh- | ing at him. “It's very humiliating to see you so taken .aback. Should been coy?” New Englander indulged him- gos = Soho : § £ skst F285 FI8Ests i : i i HH 1 it 2 Ee i g £250 EF. £3 Fg a little self-con- scious, a little foolish, yet entirely happy. " “If that rude man would get out, said Sabra to Theron, “I could go oO like that indefinitely—you dar- ” Recklessly, Theron kissed her. groaned. “What did you do with the hungry Hungarian, Sabra?" His daughter looked at him bright- ly. “Not that it's any of your busi- ness. But for Theron's benefit I'll tell you both that Jan did me the exceptional honor of asking me to (Continued on page 7, Col. 2)
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers