CHAPTER I’
wi
They sat facing each other, sepa-
rated by thirty-seven years, two ut-
terly different temperaments, and
six feet of priceless wine-colored
Bokhara that covered the old daven-
port. James Lambert, who found it
difficult to relax when he intended
to be unrelenting, sat stiffly, arms
folded, at his end of the six feet.
Leonora at hers was curled up in
the manner of a little girl, her head
with its aureole of pale gold hair
resting upon a velvet cushion—one
small, silver-clad foot dangling
against the gorgeous color of the
old Bokhara like some barbaric
jewel from the Orient.
Though a log blazed cheerily on
the hearth, the atmosphere of the
room was tense with disapproval—
James Lambert's disapproval. Said
Leonora, resuming a discussion
which dinner had interrupted:
“But that's no reason, Dad.
reason at all.”
“No reason!” James paused, pre-
sumably to clear his throat but in
reality to curb his temper. Past
experience had taught him that it
was futile to rage at this bewilder-
ing foster-daughter. She merely
laughed at you. He wondered, the
old wound aching for a moment, if
the Italian baritone who had lured
his wife away from him, possessed
that quality. The girl's mother had
been quick to anger: but Leonora
simply wouldn't get mad no matter
what the provocation. She laughed,
and that made a man feel foolish—
disar®ed his dignity; and dignity,
James sometimes thought with bit-
terness, was all he had, unless one
counted a fat bank balance. His
sense of humor that Nora loved, but
which too often raised its head in
disconcerting moments, he refused
to consider an asset. But dignity
was something one shouldn't trifle
with, so he endeavored to be reason-
able.
“Unless a house is founded upon
a rock, my child, it will not sur-
vive.”
“Nor will one that isn’t founded
upon love,’ retorted Leonora. “You
can't beat that, Dad.”
“In my case,” he replied coldly,
“love did not prove a firm founda-
tion.” And added, not wishing to
pursue the subject of his own mari-
tal catastrophe: “Be sensible, Nora.
That boy will never in the world
provide for you.” He threw an ap-
praising glance at the silver slip-
pers. ‘“‘Just face the facts honestly,
my dear. He is twenty-seven. By
his own unabashed confession he
dropped college after a few months
merely because it bored him: and
what has he accomplished since
then, in the years that should have
given him a start in life? Nothing.
Absolutely nothing. Can you deny
4 id
A maddening smile curved Leo-
nora's adorable mouth.
“That depends on what you con-
sider a start in life, Dad. He's got
some perfectly corking memories.”
“Memories!” James was obliged
to clear his throat again: then said
with sarcasm: “You'll find, I fear,
that even the most delightful mem-
ories won't pay the butcher.”
“And a thousand dollars,” added
the girl naively. “It's in the Farm-
ers and Mechanics Bank down-
town.”
The sense of humor popped up
and grinned at James. His mouth
relaxed a little even as he contend-
ed: “Is it indeed? An appropriate
place for the savings of a—a vaga-
bond!”
This brought a laugh from Leo-
nora, a delightful laugh which
brightened the whole room.
“Sometimes, Dad,” she told him,
“you are simply priceless. It's an
enigma how so bright a man as you
can be so dense. But the truth is,
Don earned some of that thousand
on a ranch in California. That's
farming for you. And down at Santa
Fe he worked three months at a
garage, driving tourists. If any-
thing's mechanical that ought to be;
but you've no idea the amount of
history he picked up along the way.
And in South Africa-—"'
James Lambert's hand went up
in the forbidding gesture popular
with traffic officers.
“Don’t go all over South Africa
again, 1 beg of you. All this re-
markable young man did there was
to get into a diamond rush that net.
ted him nothing. That is,”" he
glanced at her sternly, “nothing but
memories. Now look here, Nora.
It’s no use quibbling. You're blind-
ed just at present by all the fellow's
exploits; but you're young and im-
essionable. You can forget him.
‘ll send you abroad again if that
No
self, though I loathe travel.
tells me--"'
“1 see,” interrupted Nora, as one
enlightened. “So Ned has been poi-
soning your mind? I might have
known.”
She spoke evenly, coldly, yet hot
color dyed her face and something
told her foster-father that she was
nearer anger than he had ever seen
her. But he was angry himself as
he retorted in a voice like ice: “Is
it anything deplorable for a man to
CHRISTINE
be interested in the welfare of his
own sister?”
“I'm only his half-sister.” the girl
corrected, ‘“‘and there are times
enough when he wishes I wasn't. Oh,
I know what a good egg Ned is—in
his own way; but he hasn't a spark
of imagination. He never sees the
other fellow’s side. He's content to
eat breakfast at precisely the same
time each morning, and to know
where he'll be every hour of the
twenty-four. He's perfectly satis-
fied with Corinne and her beauti-
fully kept house which changes with
every changing style so you can't
find your way around if you happen
not to go there for a month. Corinne
never does anything that isn't
‘done,” you know; but she makes
him comfortable, and that's all Ned
asks of life—comfort, plus an in-
creasing bank balance. He's a su-
perb example of the successful,
white-collared American business
man, like-—"’
Nora paused, suddenly inarticu-
late; and James finished her sen-
} ¥
111]
"I
Nora paused, suddenly
inarticulate.
tence with a question: “Like his
father?"
“You're not his father,” began
the girl, then stopped, fearing to
hurt him. “I—I mean—"
“I've been Ned's father longer
than I've been yours, Nora." he re-
minded her with unaccustomed gene
tleness. “The boy was less than
two years old when I married his
mother; and he's been compensa-
tion, as far as such a thing is possi-
ble, for all the trouble that came
later.”
‘“Meaning—me?”
She shouldn't have said just that,
of course; but her lip trembled a
little, and James forgave her. He
responded instantly: “Don't be a
goose, dear! I've never regarded
you as a trouble—not for a minute.
A problem, perhaps, because I don’t
always understand you, and you
want you to be happy, Nora, and
safe; and I can't see safety for a
woman, or happiness either, unless
there's a certain stability in the man
she chooses. Don Mason hasn't got
that stability; and I doubt if it's pos-
sible for him to acquire it now, 1
don't call him a ne'er-do-well,
though—"'
James stopped. The curtains at
the door had parted, and a maid an-
nounced: “Mr. Mason is in the re-
ception room, Miss Nora.”
“Ask him to step in here, please,”
replied the girl. Then to her father:
“Perhaps you'd bétter tell Don how
you feel. Ned and Corinne made
their attitude quite plain last eve-
ning at the Country Club. It hurt
me frightfully. That's why I blew
PARMENTER
Ww just now. If I felt that Ned
veally cared about me it would be
different; but he's never cared, not
like a real brother—not as—as you
care, Dad. Sometimes I feel—Oh,
hello, Don! Come in. Dad wants to
see you.”
The young man paused on the
threshald. He did not speak, yet
one knew instinctively that he was
asking: “Is this a declaration of
war, or a friendly counsel?’ It was,
perhaps, only a few seconds that he
waited in the illuminating silence,
but, facing him, James Lambert
was conscious of a pang of envy.
Here was Youth!
and brightest. What
could a man of sixty use, he asked
himself, to counteract the sense of
high adventure which this boy
brought with him into the quiet
room.
Years afterward James was to re-
call every detail of that scene: how
as Don stood there his hair seemed
to be blown back from his fore-
head by a mountain
tanned his neck had looked above
the collar—how broad his shoulders
—how strong his hands.
as the girl came forward, his eyes
which had been shrewd and ques-
tioning, changed, softened, lighted
as if by magic
“You wish to see me, sir?”
James thought: “I wish I may
never see your handsome face
again,” but he gripped the out
stretched hand in not unfriendly
fashion as he replied with crisp
finality: “Only to say that I'm tak-
ing Nora abroad for the next year.”
eyes met Leonora's — held them.
What he read there James never
knew. He said, a smile curving his
engaging mouth: “Our tastes are
similar! I meant to do that very
thing myself.”
“Indeed?” There was a world of
sarcasm in the lifted eyebrows. “On
a thousand dollars?"
Don said, quite seriously: “It
bert. I've been from Persia to—"'
“See here,” James broke in with
matter where you've been.
doubt you traveled steerage —
roughed it—even mixed with
darkies as a deck passenger. May
I ask if you ever traveled with a
woman?"
young man silenced her with a
laugh.
“Sit tight, my dear. Your father's
not insulting me. He's merely point-
WXNU SERVICE
ing out the fact that a feminine com-
panion complicates things on a jour-
ney. He's right, of course: but as it
happens, Mr. Lambert, 1 did travel
for ten days with a girl I picked up
outside of Shanghai, We—""
He paused because James Lam-
bert had made a strange sound in
his throat. Nora recognized it as
the forerunner of a storm—a sort of
distant thunder. If possible that
storm must be averted, and she said
hurriedly: “Don didn’t mean,
Dad-—"'
“And do you mean,” blazed her
father, thoroughly roused, “that
you'll consider marrying a fellow
who admits traveling with strange
| women—'picking them up’ here,
| there, God knows where? Do you
{ understand, child?”
To his amazement a short laugh
came from Don.
{ "Calm down, everybody,” he
{ pleaded. “Calm down. The lady in
| the case was above reproach. This
| adventure of mine which sounds so
wicked to you, Mr. Lambert, oc-
curred during a Chinese rebellion.
The giri got separated from her
family and I took her under my
brotherly wing, as it were, until we
found them. Would you have had
| me leave a fellow countrywoman to
| the tender mercies of the bandits
1 who had wrecked our train?”
Nora laughed; while her father
experienced the unpleasant sensa-
tion of appearing foolish. This made
him angrier still, and he explod-
ed: “Why didn’t you say so in the
first place?"
“I'm under the impression,” re-
plied the young man suavely, “that
you didn't give me time. What I
started to tell you, Mr. Lambert, is
that we got on famously despite un-
natural conditions and innumerable
hardships. She was a sport, that
gir. I've often wondered why I
didn't fall for her—that is, I won-
dered till I met Nora.”
James, still slightly ruffled, snort-
ed like an angry horse.
“Very pretty. Very pretty indeed:
| but you must consider the fact that
my--that Nora has been accustomed
to every luxury. Hardship is some-
thing she doesn’t dimly glimpse.
| You're twenty-seven, and according
to Nora you've accumulated only a
thousand dollars. If she's mistaken,
I apologize. If she's right, what,
may 1 ask, have you to offer her
compared to what dozens of the men
| she knows could offer?”
So it was war! The young man
| comprehended.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Change of habitat frequently
brings changes in the actions and
food habits of migratory birds. Some
that we consider desirable and en-
tertaining summer residents are
looked upon as obnoxious when they
reach their southern range. They
may be weed seed and insect de-
stroyers while they remain with us,
thereby establishing their economic
importance to agriculture in the
North, but when they reach the
South they become crop destroyers.
This is apparently what happens
with the colorful red-winged black-
bird of our marshes and swales,
writes Albert Stoll, Jr., in the De-
troit News. While it may eat some
grain in farmers’ fields during the
spring and summer, by far its great-
est diet consist of insects and weed
seeds found near its marsh home.
This is the principal reason federal
officials placed the blackbird on the
list of protected birds by a special
order.
However, when this species mi-
grates to the South, and takes up
its winter residence in Louisiana and
Texas, it becomes a different bird in
food habits. It has proved so in-
jurious to rice fields that the gov-
ernment, after exhaustive investiga-
tion, has found it necessary to allow
rice growers to kill the birds by the
thousands. In the South they dis-
play nomadic habits. They make
daily trips to the rice fields, feeding
on the shocked grain in flocks of
many thousands and return to their
marsh homes to roost at night.
Here is one illustration of the de-
structiveness of the red-wing in the
South. One rice farmer with 230
acres of stacked sheaves used 4.500
shot gin shells costing $135. in keep-
ing the birds out of his fields. This
expense, with labor involved in pa-
trolling, was necessary to protect a
crop of 2,600 sacks of rice. Judging
by experience this farmer estimated
that his crop would not have ex-
ceeded 1,000 sacks if the birds had
not been controlled and driven from
the fields. He estimated his total
expense at $250 for control work,
but was able to save rice worth more
than $7,800.
Similar experiences are recorded
among other rice growers and they
were able to convince the govern-
ment that control measures were
necessary if they were to remain in
business.
James
Lambert did not come...
®
By
RUTH WYETH
SPEARS
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chair set
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