By Mary Schumann | Copyright by Macrae Smith Co. WNU Bervice CHAPTER VI-—Continued a] Hugh stood still. He was con- scious of something different in Joan. An unwilling response tin- gled through him. ‘Shall I crack the ice now?” he asked calmly. Sunday Joan was standing close beside him, dangerously close. “Hugh.” He laughed nervously. ‘What's got into you, Jonny?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek; his arm went around her with a little squeeze. Then he pushed her away. She came back with the swift light movemen. of a bird. Her smoky eyes burned with tender- ness. ‘“Would I be so hard to love?” “Of course not.” “Then why—1?" “Lots of reasons, Jonny. You know them as well as I do. Be a good girl—step back to the table. Dish out the crackers—do some- thing.” She stood still and very close to him. She said in a small distinct voice, “There are no good rea- sons.” He stared at her. A hollow some- thing beat in his brain like the blow of a mallet. One two three crack. One two three He wet his lips and was suddenly conscious of the taste of brass in his mouth. “Explain.” “Don’t you know?" He turned his heavy gaze on her. “I don't know—"" He paused stu- pidly. She went to the kitchen cup- board, and with trembling hands began to set out some glasses. He followed her, seized her arm. “What do you mean? You'll have to tell me.” She fell back from him. won't tell you.” His eyes held hers shining fearful depths, destroying truth » “No, I and in their he read the He pushed open the swinging door to the hall. The soft chenille rug gave no sound of his footsteps. He felt as if he were a soldier go- ing to meet a destined bullet. The lights were dim in the living-room; the card table was vacated. stood in the door for a moment, then went back very quietly. He leaned up against the wall of the kitchen. His face was swept with agony. It burned like acid, and it froze like ice. He had seen it with his own eyes. If someone had told him, he would have explained it away to meet the desirous need of his soul to believe in her. seen it—Dorrie and Cun were lov- ers. Joan looked at him ately “Poor Hugh,’ mured. It came upon him in black waves that this knowledge was the thing he had been fleeing from. He had turned his face away; denied the possibility to his soul. A secret voice had whispered that her coid- ness had a reason . . He had re- fused to listen. Finally he said in a croaking, foggy voice, “You knew it that night at Freeland Farms.” “When I cried? Yes, I was so sorry for us both. I hoped when he was working, things would be different—"’ “How long?" “l don't know. It must have started early last winter—Janu- ary, perhaps. I wasn't sure who it was until that week—the day or two before Freelands. But 1 thought you must know by this time they're so very they don't care any more.” She had known about it, yet had been able to entertain them-—at Cun’s insistence, probably—come to their house, act a part . . . “liv ing for the day.” Her courage was beyond him. He took out his hand- kerchief to wipe his dripping fore- head. His hand trembled. He slumped into a kitchen chair. A groan escaped him. Joan poured something in a glass. ‘Here, drink this. It will do you good. You're so white.” He lifted it to his lips and the odor of the liquor sent a violent and uncontrollable nausea shudder- ing through him. He rose and plunged toward the back door. “Sick, Joan . . sick . going out.” In a few minutes she heard his car drive away. CHAPTER VII compassion- she mur- Hugh fumbled through the fog to the street and climbed into his car. He drove automatically, stopped at through streets, shifted gears, rolled into his own driveway and garage. He shut off the engine, sat humped over the wheel, his heaG on his arms. If death would come now . . . suddenly . . . end this chaotic desolation! The agony was more terrific than any physical pain. ® He went into the house, dragged two suitcases from a closet. He reeled as he deposited them orn the bedroom floor. He sat down on the bed, shaking with weakness. Pres- ently he got up, opened a drawer of the chiffonier, lifted a pile of shirts. A car stopped in front of the bouse; he heard light footsteps on the porch. Dorrie came running up the stairs. Her hair was blown a little; her blue scarf trailed over one shoul- der. “I must say that was a queer thing to do—go off withou$ saying a word,” she said, angry excite- ment in her eyes. ‘“What was the matter?’ Her voice had a raw edge, unlike her usual tone. When he did not answer, she went comb, ran it through her hair. the car? felt before Joan?” She was thinking he was the ing to carry it off as if she were the offended one. Now-—even now. That was what she had been do- ing right along, making him feel at fault, because she was so horribly at fault herself. He was beginning to understand. Everything that had puzzled him And the under- standing poisoned his soul. She must have seen his white face in the mirror for she turned suddenly. She saw the suitcases, the open drawers, the expression on his face. Arrested, she scarce- ly breathetl as she stared at him. Comprehension blanched her face. “What—does this mean?" When he did not speak, she said in quivering low voice, “Hugh?” She caught the dresser behind her with both hands. Her tone curled and lashed. Presently she said, ‘You were spying on us!" He gave a laugh that was like a sob. ‘‘Do you call it that?" “Well, now you know, what of it?’* she flung out. “What of it? . a Am 1 any worse than a hundred women you can name?” A hundred women. She was im- plying there was no such thing as virtue—fidelity. All their friends in the same treacherous business. Flimsy defense. “And you—what about you?" She was smiling scornfully. "You can't make me believe you're as lily white as you're painted! What about that stenographer you've had so long? And you and Joan getting clubby? And that El- len Pendleton whom you kiss each time you see her at your moth- er's? And—-" “You're lying, and you know it.” She looked sullen She began again, heaping blame upon him. “Even if you haven't met anyone you care for, I should think you'd be understanding and sorry for me if I have! Do you think we could help it? Don't you suppose we struggled against it? Tried not to see each other, hoping we'd get over ii? And didn't 1 try to make you leave this town? “So you care for him," Hugh re- peated dully. Her long green eyes looked at him with cruelty and contempt. She threw back her head with a little gesture, and the words came out with a passionate ringing stress: “Care for him? . I love him—love him!" A sword ran through him two swords—with the agonizing knife thrust of her repeated words. She loved Cun—not him. Love. The word was hideous. He put his arm weakly across his eyes. ‘‘Please—~no more—just now." went on in a tangential torrent of reproach. ing me what a prize I've won in you, their fair-haired boy!—as if I were nothing! And you've humiliat- ed me-—yes, you havel It's your fault—yours only! I meant to be a good wife to you—intended to be—but all you think of is, that old business! You never under- stood ——"" “Shut up!” he thundered sudden- ly. A vein was livid across his tem- ple. She stared at him. Then threw herself into a chair and began to ery, long, tearing sobs that set his raw nerves quivering. Grimly he emptied the drawers, throwing things to the floor, then crowding them into the cases. He snapped them shut, lfted them and started out. She flew to the door, barred it with her outspread arms. don’t go.” tiently. “Not tonight. Tomorrow . . .' “I'm going.” He looked at her with set face. “There is no place for me in this house—haven’t you told me?” “I said wild things . . .” “That have been in your mind. Waiting to be said.” “I didn’t realize-—"' “You talk about understanding well, I didn't. 1 thought of you as something special, rare, and en- chanting. My life revolved around you—you knew it—I told you. I never saw you as you really are— common, vulgar and selfish. When you said things that disturbed me, I thought it was caprice. I worked hard to make mbre money to give it to you, because I loved you. No one could have made me believe this thing if 1 hadn't seen you in his arms, seen your filthy caresses ." He choked, turned his head aside. “Now let me go!” (TO BE CONTINUED Hugh-don't go. Prepared by the National © ograpt fe Society, Washington, D, « “WN ry .. NLY seventeen and a half miles long and nowhere more than nine miles wide, Malta, important island in Britain's lifeline to the East, is the principal island of one of the smallest archipelagoes in the world, It survives from those remote days when continents were differently shaped and the Mediterranean was a series of lakes, divided by land bridges that connected Europe with Africa Of one of Maltese arc sole existing pier, the ment extant of a causeway which prehistoric pachyderms and ruminants groped their puzzled way to the African warmth when from Europe by its increasing ciation. Some of th gered too lo an and the ¢ these bridges the frag one ese mighty | ng on ve of Gh the southern extrer land, is full of their the course preserved Toget sther with the other u islands of the group, Gozo, tion 23.796, and Comino, and including the and air force verted in perfectly ita has some 258 is “to say, square m most densely units. In Strategic Position, Why has this rocky little excres- cence from the bed of the Medi terranean played a major part in tory? Why does it play a part In life of the modern world at such with its topographical di- first, in strategic position North Africa, its all- be- and, nswer lies, important tween Sicily and y, in its px of the finest harbors in the world. The tongue of Yock on which La Valette built h ] not unlike M 1 the Grand harbor, ships are berthed, corresponding to the Hudson, and Marsa harbor, the anchorage of destroyers and smaller craft, to the East river 3ut there is the difference that, both from the Grand harbor and Marsamuscetto, there branch sev- eral subsidiary creeks, providing secure and ideal anchorages, in the past for the galleys of the knights and their predecessors, at the pres- ent day for the Mediterranean fleet of Great Britain. All around Grand harbor rise, bold and still perfect, the Knights’ magnificent fortifications, intended to insure that never again should Malta and the order have to en- dure at the hands of the Moslems, to whom the Hospitalers were an ever-present menace, another such siege as that of 1565. Then, after a desperate struggle of nearly half a year, the Knights and the local population were just able, by superhuman efforts, to re- pel the flower of the army of Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. If Malta's quarter nf a niillion population is large, measured by the area on which it has to live, it is small for a separate nation. For the Maltese are a nation unto them- selves, with their own language, their own traditions, their own phys- ical characteristics, and a history that is perhaps one of the longest Very Ancient Civilization. In Malta and Gozo the art of building in remote Stone age days refinement unknown in other cen- pestuous wind called Euroclydon,” that still whistles across it during the winter months under its modern name of gregale, the “Greek wind,” drove St. Paul to its shores. There- after, the Roman chief of the island, Publius, became its first bishop. During the many centuries of their recorded history the Maltese have had many rulers: the Phoe- nicians and their offspring, the Car- thaginians, then Romans, Arabs, Normans, Aragonese and Castilians, then for two and a haif centuries the international Order of St. John of Jerusalem (we also krow them as the Hospitalers, and as the Knights of Rhodes and Knights of Malta) and finally, after a brief French occupation, the British. Despite so cosmopolitan a his- tory, the Maltese have clung te- naciously to their ancient Semitic tongue, which is recognized by ex- perts to be of Phoenician structure, and, to all intents and purposes, the language of Dido and Hannibal. Neolithic Sanctuaries. Naturally, the old Maltese lan- guage has borrowed, in the course of ages, words from other lan- guages, but it has always fitted into its own Semitic frame- The Maltese who emigrated and to the coast of Africa have no difficulty in making elves understood by their Arab ic - speaking neighbors, gspe. cially in Palestine Moroct A paleontologist may war oder about the cave of Ghar Dalam and ains of the elephants v8 whic h le ft their was yet these and in, of whom found in years nd in thic Hyp: »- work. ‘1 north and Oth er surviv f a different sort are the cart tracks which traverse y of the barren rocky st island, the ] irfaces storic man tracks of the two - wheeled which, with their little ponies traditional vehicle } today, correspond those or exactly with predecessor On the small, uninhal Filfla, now used on et of “target practi rvives a of dark green ) with occurs nowhe rise ex- this group The museum in admirable collection of the artistic products of the Stone and Bronze ages. Among them are the aston- ishing fat deities charac tic of Maltese neolothic sculpture If one wishes to see how the dis- sent popu- one has only to watch the Maltese farmer of today plowing his field; and a student will note the eyes of Osir is still painted on the bows of Malta sturdy little oe oamers In Malta, during mid-Lent, are the carnival festivities common to other Mediterranean places, with features of more special interest. One of these is the Parata dance in lizard Valletta has an tort VOTE Maltese bride by a Moslem corsair. The Imnaria Races, At the feast of St. Peter and St. Paul, June 26, are the densely thronged Imnaria races. These of unknown but undoubtedly great age. The course straight, hard road leading uphill to the big square in front of Nota- bile, where from his great stone box the grand master in former days handed down, and now the gover- nor of Malta hands down, the ban- petitors. Spectators, including leading fam- ceedings from two smaller but sim- ernor. wont in former times to choose their wives from coming to watch the contest. The banners still given as prizes are long and narrow pieces of bro- cade of different colors. The fortu- nate winners take them back to their village to be used as altar cloths of the parish churches for the ensuing year. Visitors are always interested in the faldetta (more properly called ghonnella) of the Maltese women. This headdress does not owe its existence, as some allege, to the excessive gallantry of Bonaparte's troops, but is of much more anciemht origin. It is a voluminous hood of rich silk, stiffened inside the top edge by a piece of cardboard about a yard long, black everywhere save in the villages of Zabbar and Zei- tun, where it is blue. One end rests on the head while the other has to be held. SECOND BEST A Philadelphia firm advertising for a salesman received a reply from a man who said that he was the greatest salecman in the world. They eng.ged him and gave him three lines of goods to sell any- where in the West. They expected him to do great things. After he had been away and they had received no they were surprised to get a gram saying: “l am not the world's greatest salesman. | am the second best The greatest salesman was the man who loaded you up with these goods.”’ a week orders, tele- TAX ADDE D “How much do yo for marrying people isually get “Anyth Wasted Energy A gentleman feeling a b with life J ded to comm by hanging A friend ca to the room and discovered hin tanding with a rope round aist, and he inquired what he it fed up it suicide £ LITO the rope said the iy neck it you “Well,” tied it rou ing me." nd or Knew Her Habits Customer-—1 want a pair ¢ for my wife Saleswoman-—Yes, sir. or? Customer Saleswoman-—-What size Customer—Doesn’t matter. She'll be certain to change them in any case! { gloves What col- Doesn't matter. o Assurance Officer—But how that you are the perso this letter is directed? Man (pulling ph self out of his pocket)- me or is it not? Official- your letter. Whiskers Ernie — My uncle can play the piano by ear. Gurney — That's nothing. My un- cle fiddles with his whiskers. —Co- lumbia Jester. Obliging Lawyer—Get my broker, Miss “Yes, sir; stock or pawn?" —Ev- ENEW HIS STUFF “1 shuddered when Jim pro- “Was he so awkward?” “Oh, no; he did it so well.” He Missed It count for that? Philadelphia Inquirer. Obliging Child about, dear? if it will amuse you. They Don’t Speak Now “How did you like the sample of my marrow jam | sent you?" “Was that marrow jam? O, my dear, I'm so sorry! My husband's it for sticking stamps in his album!’ Indianapolis News. No Cure “How can | cure myself,” asked the patient of the quack, “of sleep ing with my mouth open?” “The trouble is incurable. 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It takes centuries to win a little freedom and a very few minutes to destroy it.—Sir Ernest J. P. Benn, Broadcasting the culture of other nations helns us to understand their thoughts. Guglielmo Marconi. I attribute my long life to having been extremely considerate of my iol Frohmen, Tt was not Germany which lost the lost war: it was Another war would destroy us. Benito Mus solini.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers