CHAPTER VIII—Continued an) om “Offended! How could you possi- bly offend a Lambert, Martha, after all you've done for us? But there's more to this business than you un- derstand.” The man's face dark- ened. He was recalling a hot June day—a blow that had left his jaw lame for a week. ‘‘There are things one can’t forgive, or . . .” He paused, not knowing just how to proceed; and the woman said, in the gentle way she had told him many truths in the years gone by: “Excuse me, Mr. Ned, but there's nothing we can't forgive—if we care enough. Run along up now. Run up and see your father.” “And when I got there,” Ned told his wife later that evening, ‘‘Dad was sitting in the big wing-chair in Nora's bedroom. There was a fire on the hearth, and the place did look more—well, more cheerful, perhaps, than the rooms downstairs. He was reading a letter, but when he glanced up and saw me he stuffed it into a pocket, which made me wonder if it was from Leonora. I thought—honestly, Corinne, I sort of felt that he didn’t like my find- ing him there, He got right up and said: “Why didn't you telephone? If I'd known you were coming over I'd have been downstairs.” “Did you go down then?” “No. It was plain he wanted to; but I said: ‘Sit still, Dad. I'm only going to stay a minute. Did you know that Nora sailed for Italy this afternoon?’ You see, Corinne, 1 thought it was better to speak right out. I felt, after what Martha'd said, that it might do him good to talk, if he once got started.” “What'd he say?” think my question took him a bit off guard. But you know Dad! He can always pull himself together. And after a minute he said quietly: ‘Yes, I know.” That's all, Corinne. It made me feel almost uncomfort- able—as if he'd said: ‘It's none of your business, Ned. Get along home.” You know what I mean.” “Oh, yes, I know!" Corinne’'s eyes narrowed unpleasantly. ‘‘He made me feel that way just after Nora left, when I was trying to tell him that he'd done exactly right. I'm fond of your father, Ned, but there are times when he irritates me to | distraction.” A vision of the faithful Martha slinging teacups, caused Ned Lam- bert to smile a little. Then his wife asked: “Did you speak of Nora any more?” ‘““We did because I rather forced the subject—not because 1 was cu- rious, you know, but I wanted to help him if I could. Dad's had such a lot of trouble through his family, Corinne. I've always—ever since I was old enough to think about it— wanted to feel that I, who've never gone against his wishes, had made it up to him. But tonight, sitting there in Nora's bedroom, it came over me that I was accountable for this last break that's hurt him more than anything since the trouble with my—my mother.” “You accountable!” Corinne closed the most talked of novel of the month, forgot its 50 unread pages, and gave him her entire at- tention. *‘‘Of all the absurd state- ments! What would your father have had you do when that fellow hit you? Turn the other cheek?” “It was a jaw, dear,” Ned re- minded her in a feeble attempt at humor. He hated his wife to get “worked up.” “If that's supposea to be funny,” she retorted, “I don’t see the joke. Why, you were black and blue! If your father hadn’t stood by you he'd have been a beast, Ned. Well, what | else did you say?” | “Not much. 1 ventured the re- mark that I wondered how their trip was financed; and Father answered with that uncanny way he has of understanding something you haven't said: ‘Well, I didn’t finance it, if that's troubling you.” That riled me a little, I'll admit, but I kept my temper. 1 felt so sorry for him, Corinne. I've never thought of my father as being an old man; but he looked old tonight, old and unhappy. I decided not to say anything further about Nora; and then with the best intention in the world, I put my foot in it!” “How?” Ned smiled, regretfully. “It was this way: As the atmos- phere seemed a little strained I got up and began moving about the room. That's such a beautiful room, Corinne.” “Beautiful? That shows your ig- norance of such things, Ned.” Cor- inne spoke as one with authority. “I'll admit it has a sort of charm; but it’s no special period, so in an artistic way it's not correct. Why, that wing-chair you spoke of is cov- ered with flowered chintz — and there are silk hangings at the win- dows! Imagine making such an er- ror. And the bed and bureau are early American, while the rug (which must have cost your father a small fortune, too) is Oriental. Besides, so many books are out of place in a bedroom. Any good dec- orator would tell you that. But Nora refused any advice, you know; and that room's just like her. Aw- of thing, but—well it's really a hodge-podge.”’ “A damn fine hodge-podge,” re- torted Ned. ‘And it was that early American bed that made the trou- ble. I've always thought it the hand- somest bed I ever saw. 1 stopped beside it to admire one of the posts. 1 never expected to stir Dad up when I asked where it came from. He didn't answer right away, so 1 turned around and-—honestly, Cor- inne, he looked as if someone had struck him. Then he pulled him- self up and said: ‘It came from a country auction down in Maine. It was a rainy day. Only one antique dealer to compete with and he didn’t know his business. I got that bed for forty dollars.’ “I said: ‘You certainly got a bar- gain, and any time you want to get ridof it . . .'" “Well?” prodded Corinne as her husband stopped. “That, it seems, was my mis- take. Father said, and his voice was exactly as cold as if I'd been some smart Aleck trying to get the better of him in a business deal, “What do I care about a son.” as you unpleasantly put it. longs to my daughter.” Just that, Corinne.” Ned's wife sat up so suddenly on the chaise longue that the great American novel dropped unheeded to the floor. “He has no right to answer you like that, Ned. I hope you told him so.” “Oh, calm down, my dear. 1 didn’t have to. I guess he saw by my face how awfully surprised I was, for he came over and put his arm across my shoulders—said I mustn't pay any attention to him-— that he was upset about something. We didn't quarrel. Never have, you know. We sat down again and talked about nothing in particular— the stock market—the weather— anything in fact, except Nora! He promised to go to bed soon as I left.” But James Lambert didn't go to bed just then. Nora's big wing-chair (‘I want one big enough to curl all up in, Dad- dy!’’) until he heard the front door close and knew that he would not be interrupted. Then he drew from a pocket the letter he was reading in. Not that he having already perused it a dozen times, as he did all Nora's letters. His eyes lingered on the signature— those childish black crosses below it. James knew instinctively that to in the days of little-girlhood. The same Nora, and yet not the same . . . Never, never, he vowed with stubborn bitterness, would she be the same to him . . Never again would he let her get near enough to hurt him . . . And then, softly: “1 wonder if she could possibly have seen me, there on the pier . . . I don’t be- lieve so . . . I kept well back until the very last, and there was such a crowd . . . But it was strange, too, the way she waved at the last mo- ment . . . very strange . . . I could have sworn, even at that distance, that her face brightened . , .” CHAPTER IX It is a wise Providence that blinds our eyes to what lies ahead. Nora little thought as she stood on the deck of the Larino with Don's hand on hers, that she would be twice a mother before she saw her native land again—that she was to descend into the shadow of death herself— that she was to watch fine lines etched by the ruthless hand of Care gather about Don’s happy, sea-blue PARMENTER eyes—that she was to fight for the life of a little boy tossing with fever in far off Cape Town. Her first son was born in England on a May night. The winter had gone well. As Carl Venable prom- ised, Don’s “Letters from Capri” were welcomed with enthusiasm by the London editor; and the same letters (supplemented by thumbnail sketches by the great Venable) found a ready market in America. And living in Italy was inexpen- sive. Nora soon made a home of the tiny pink villa with its glimpse of sapphire waters and rocky hill- sides, which Constance Venable had ready for their arrival. “This is the most heavenly spot,” (she wrote her father) "and I'm fast becoming a thrifty Italian wousewife, or should be if I weren't compelled to stop my work every ties of this twin-humped camel of an island, kneeling so gently in the blue, blue waters of the Medi- terranean. fort of climbing the million or so steps that lead to our front door (I can hear you say, ‘Don’t exagger- ate, Nora. It's a bad habit'!), to gaze down on this wealth of flowers and foliage. Nature was inf a lavish wish you could see it, Dad. In fact, the only thing needed to make me supremely happy would be to look out day and discover that my handsome father had overcome his prejudice against every country not flying the Stars and Stripes, and was climbing that rocky path though he wouldn't have a enough to kiss me when he reached the top . » “The Venables utes walk (perhaps I climb!) away; and if you could look upon the now, you'd mortgage the house to possess it. Incidentally, they have a beautiful piano on which they some are only fiv to practice; grow stiff, might. ables ranging from sixteen to sixX— such jolly youngsters! And their mother is every bit as good a moth- ér to me as she is to them, though sO my as I had feared they OF . This was quite true. Nora had not counted Constance Venable in vain. “You say it's to be in May?" the older woman questioned thoughtfully. And then: "We must take you to England. Not that bam- binos don't arrive daily in Italy!” she smiled; “but my Phil was born in London and I had a most skillful doctor. The nurse was a wonder, too. I'll write at once and engage her for you, Nora. I'll arrange ev- erything. You'll want a room in a nursing home; and I'll write the doc- tor. We were planning to sail for New York the first of May. I must tell Carl to put it off another month." And no protest on the part of Leonora would make her change. “Of course I shall stay with you!” she said, almost indignantly. “Don’t you know that our Alice wouldn't be here if it weren't for Don? He kept on working over her when ev- erybody told him it was useless. Nothing you ever ask of us, Nora, will be too much.” What Don and Nora never knew, was that half the expenses incurred by the arrival of this first son of theirs, were paid by Carl Venable, who would have paid them all had it been possible to do so without arous- ing Don’s suspicions. All the young couple ever knew was that the bills were far, far less than they'd antici- pated; for Nora was very sick in- deed. Don sometimes wished he could on SERVICE forget that nightmare time when the firm hand of an English doctor thrust him unceremoniously from the bare, white room which shel- tered Nora. “Get outside and sit down, my dear chap,” he commanded brisk- ly. “She won't suffer any more.” He had a very English accent, that doctor, which made Don won- der if the man were quite efficient! There was a bench in the corridor and he sank down on it, very weak as to knees; wondering how long this horrible business would go on; why the universe had to be popu- lated in such a manner: and what for had they sent him out and let Connie Venable stay inside? And after an interval which seemed hours, there came from be- yond that door a cry like nothing he had ever heard before, but Don knew it instantly for the wail of his first-born. It was then that all the remaining strength went out of him, and he wiped the sweat from his d said: "1ieak God it's no one came from n except a nurse. She had a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms, and was hurrying so fast didn't see him: but forehead ar ’ Bu r over!" a she when minute later hout bundle, Don caught her skirt, though his question wouldn't to the girl appeared to underst: and told him hastily: A i o 4 “It's a boy. A splendid little boy, the and seem come, i h that “but” he door nent it ha and sickish scen rifted out to him. It was able who came next lifetime, it seemed to Don, “but” and with face his Literally. was left closed, i ’ 14 11S ears); Connie's beating afterwards OK into heart stopped He told No that he a minute. And then Con- stance sat down and took his hand. She said: “You've a Don-—a beautiful little boy—"" and he broke in harshly: "What do I care about or y va ia son, still his the Constance was stroking hand as he'd seen her stroke hands of her children when she to calm She an- “Nora will be all right, I don't care what they say, be all right! There were— complications — something no one had foreseen. Just at the last we very nearly--lost her; but she will wished them. Don che will she will Then, after another aeon, the door opened. It was the English doctor -—the man with the accent. He threw one significant glance at Con- nie and his hand gently on Don's shoulder. “She needs you, old man,” he said—just that—but Don knew, and Constance knew, what he was think- ing; and Connie still held Don's hand when he crossed the thresh- old of that quiet room. He stood there looking down on Nora, a Nora as white as the bed on which she lay—as white as mar- ble. Her eyes were closed. Don could not see her breathe. He won- dered . And then the doctor spoke, softly: “I'd take her hand, my dear fellow, if I were you.” His voice, despite the accent which had sounded so la-de-da an hour before, was very kind. And because no one had thought to bring a chair, Don dropped to his knees beside the bed and took that white, strangely transparent hand into his own. He had forgotten the nurses, the doctors, and Constance Vena- ble. He said (s6 Connie told him later), “Come back, Nora. I can’t go on without you. Come back, dearest 4 laid (TO BE CONTINUED) tes, who welcomed travelers at his home in a lonely spot beside the road. Procrustes had only one bed, but he always made his wayfarers fit the bed. If they were too long, he chopped off their feet. If they were too short he stretched them on a rack. Finally, he was slain by The- seus. Saucer-eyed as are youngsters reading the exploits of Procrustes, even grown-ups blink in amazement at the achievements of chemists in the petroleum industry in stretch- ing, shrinking and reshaping petro- leum molecules. Nature has given this country a bountiful supply of crude oil, but some of the oil mole- cules are too large and some too small to fit the requirements for gasoline in modern high-compres- sion motors. Petroleum chemists have discov- ered effective methods to break down the fat molecules into smaller ones. Chemists wiso are able by other methods to rebuild molecules to a desired size and composition. What this juggling means to the average person is just this: if the petroleum chemists were unable to perform a Procrustean act, an addi- face every year to meet the gasoline demand of the 25,000,000 motorists in the United States. Chemical re- search in the oil industry has had the practical effect, by reducing the amount of crude oil needed, of dou bling the oil reserves of the United States. Without these chemical achievements of the petroleum sci- entists, the price of gasoline would be beyond the means of millions of families, Yellow-Bellied Sea Snake Though the yellow-bellied sea snake may not be ferocious-looking, it is nothing to get gay with, accord- ing to a writer in the Wash Post. A member of the dreaded cobra clan, it is among the most deadly of poisonous reptiles. In cap- tivity it is particularly dangerous, becoming sullen and striking at ev. eryone. It is the only poisonous sea snake found in the waters around America, although there are 49 oth- er species just as deadly, else- where. As the name indicates, this slender snake is a brilliant yellow underneath, though its top side is black. It has no gills, must come to the surface to breathe. It is some- times caught in fishing nets. Winners Kit the Mt Rot he St economists the ! the Ex Laboratory, on > i hen conducts AND WHY" & ade ¢ who have reached their the prize winners recent Cake Recipe Cor ers have already and have received » of $25.00 wer ly, 1004 Charles Second Prize Winners. prizes to Mrs. H. Harshbarger A. Williams, 12075 Ros Detr t Box T8¢ b Sadie Cunningham, As e. Pa anda M Lat a NEY Third Prize Winners. George | Pleasar Re yinson, Box 57 Jean be the Rehabilitation en who are bad are because they want to bad You've got to change view mav admire those ianui sha laughter has and dema the first, thrones rom ttered ues. por it. t'* you should be vocal about Silent moral support is worth- Mrs. Bonduel, Wis Alden, Mich. Honorable Mention. RY i%3 Jlakely, Damon, WM re mir ind, Mich y n, Box 335, ect] Skine Joe Fur- 58., Neb. rt that the ges repo at t y have of Je- were ex~ the win- i Scoring the cakes a finer collection 4 bled at one time a ryY » appeal and fer; ind taste; luding tex- 5 fineness, ten- and elasticity, size A ors ar granu Houston Goudiss has said woman ntest could not his con- the and the many other helped to make 1» a splendid he regrets that en very He offers winners ci SUCH This Free Chart Makes It Simple as A-B-C Helps to Safeguard Health lanning a balanced diet will cease to be a puzzle if you send for the Homemaker's Chart for Check ing Nutritional Balance, offered, free, by C. Houston Goudiss. Itlists the foods and the standard amounts that should be mcluded in the daily diet, and includes skeleton menus for breakfast, dinner and lunch or supper, to Juide you in selecting the proper oods 1a each classification. @ A postcard is suffecient to bromp you this valuable ard 10 good mens plan nmg. Jur ask for the Natritsow Chart. Address C. Houston God iss, 6 East 39th Street, New York Cay Q.. STATE has accomplished a scien tific “miracle” . . . produced from the finest Pennsylvania crude oil a motor oil so pure that the common ailments of sludge, carbon and corrosion are wholly overcome. Four great, modern refineries equipped with every scientific aid are at the service of the motoring public . . . deliver to you Acid-Free Quaker State which makes your cag run better, last \ | MOTOR OIL! | STATE a Ra Ny
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers