® CHAPTER X-—Continued re] Grom After a while she drew the manu- script from its envelope. For weeks Nora had been too worn and tired to peruse the articles her husband was sending out. Now, reading crit- ically, her heart sank still lower. The editor was right. This wasn’t on of Don's joyous narratives. It was the work of a harassed, half sick man, driving himself on because the need of money was imperative. Part of the thousand dollars James Lambert had tucked into her gold mesh bag had paid the charges at the nursing home in London. The rest (long saved for an emer- gency), melted away during the months of sickness in South Africa. Dreading to run up bills, Nora had paid the Cape Town doctor at every visit, not realizing that if the man possessed a conscience he would doubtless have deducted something from the sum total. There had been medicines, too, expensive medi- cines; and nourishing food that cost real money. And now Don, burning the candle at both ends in a desperate effort to provide for his loved ones, was failing to make good. She would not show him that letter. She could not. What Nora did was to sit down at the kitchen table, spread out the rejected manuscript and proceed to imbue it with the missing charm. And because she knew her hus- band’s style so well—because she had listened spellbound while he talked of his adventures, she did it superbly. Her tired eyes lighted as she read it over, knowing by in- stinct that her work would ‘get across.” And then she made the wisest move of all: wrote simply and honestly to the London editor (she had to check herself from be- ginning the letter “Dear old life- preserver’’'!), confessing what she had done to this Cape Town Letter —telling him something of the un- foreseen troubles which had de- scended on them—agreeing to watch over her husband's work, speaking quite frankly of the reason why they must return to England at the time planned. And at the end: “You will understand, of course, why you must send no answer to this letter: but if in its present form you find the article available for publication, kindly forward a check to Mr. Ma- son as soon as possible , , .” “And never let anyone persuade you,” she said months later when Don learned the truth, ‘that Eng- lishmen, for all their cold exteri- ors, haven't the warmest hearts in the whole world!” For just when her husband was beginning to worry about the missing check, a letter ar- rived bearing the familiar heading. The editor, it seemed, had learned of his contributor’s recent illness, regretted it deeply, and suggested not trying to write till he was quite himself. Enclosed was a check for the last article (an especially good one), as well as for the three to fol- low, ““on which, my dear fellow, you are at liberty to take your time.” And with kindest regards to Mrs. Mason, he remained very cordially indeed . . “But how in thunder,” asked Don, lifting puzzled eyes from this wel- come missive, ‘‘did the old boy learn that I’ve been sick? And why does he lug you in all of a sudden?” “Well, don’t ask me!” responded Nora, so guilelessly that for the time being Don hadn't a suspicion of her intrigue. After that things really did im- prove. The tension lessened. Don did better work. The little son was growing rosy; and Nora, rested her- self, admitted (although it went against the grain to do so!) the surpassing beauty of Cape Town harbor — the grandeur of Table mountain rising majestically behind the city. Thus a day arrived when she braved the eyes of a scandalized community, and stopped at the house of a woman who, like a min- istering angel, had appeared one chill, gray dawn to offer help. “Whoever sees me will be horri- fied, 1 suppose,” she said to Don, “but after all, why should that mat- ter? 1 was at the breaking point when she helped me out, you know. It wouldn't be decent not to say good-by to her.” “Of course it wouldn't.” Don turned from locking a steamer trunk to add: “I'll go with you, dear.” But Fate had other plans. Be- cause of some error about their stateroom Don was called away; and Nora went alone. “I just dropped in to say good- by.” Her hostess, obviously aston- ished at the call, was leading her into a small, tidy living room. Nora had not expected its surprising neat- ness. Then she saw that the wom- an herself looked neater—more self- respecting, and continued: “We leave for home tomorrow; and I've never half thanked you for all you did for us.” “You don’t need to, lady.” The voice sounded a shade breathless. “It wasn't — nothing. I —" The woman, seated across the little room, arose suddenly. “I heard you folks was pullin’ out tomorrow and I got somethin’ for you—a-—a sort o’' good-by present, if you don’t mind. I was goin’ to carry it over after dark.” Touched, and a trifle puzzled, Nora watched her open a bureau drawer and take out a small box tied with a bit of scarlet ribbon. “*Will—will you promise me some- thin'?"" she asked, her voice still shaken. “Why not?" said Nora. “Weren't you a real friend in time of need?” “Friend!” echoed the woman, a nervous, unsteady laugh escaping her. “Well, lady, it's this I want: Promise you won't open this box till you're out at sea; and—and that you won't never try to get it back to me, noways." “That's easy,” smiled Leonora, anxious to put the other at her ease. “Why should I want to send it back?” “You'll know when you see ft. Your man might not like to have you take it—from me, you know. But you tell him that if I was to kick off sudden some guy would steal it off me most likely. And— and I wanter give it to you—"most more’'n I ever wanted anything. I—"" “Let's get back to the barn.” she hesitated, then broke out pas- sionately: “Say! you're the first good woman that's spoken a kind word to me for 15 years! I'm dirt to em all; but if they knew how 1 got this way-— Well,” her voice dropped, dully—‘‘that don’t matter now. I'm used to it. But you keep that safe, lady. I come by it hon- est. A man give it to me once— the only decent fella I ever knew . . And next morning, a bright, clear morning as if Cape Town were do- ing its best to overcome an unfor- tunate impression, they set forth in a second-class cabin (Oh, shades of Leonora Lambert!) on what was to be a most momentous voyage. Safe in the depths of Nora's hand- bag lay a small white box tied with a scarlet ribbon. The English boy, reluctant to see them go, was on the wharf. His was the last face they saw in Cape Town. His the last voice they heard. Above the confusion of departure it reached them clearly: “Good-by and Good Hope!” South Africa's farewell to the departing voyager. How near, and yet how infinitely far away that year seemed now! Thus mused Nora as she watched the rising tide encroach, slowly, but surely, on their resting place. What things one lived through and emerged from unbroken! And here they were where they started life together, she and Don, back at “the shack,” a very crowded dwelling place, “because,” said Don, regard- ing Carl Venable's last gift to Nora, “because, my dear, with a baby- grand and two grand babies, there's hardly room to come in out of the rain!” Yet Leonora was so happy at be- ing home again—sc lost in ecstasy over the piano, that nothing else seemed of the least consequence. It was a long, long cry from that day six years before when she had re- garded mere cobwebs and the lack of running water with such keen dismay. What inconveniences hadn't she put up with in those six years? Nora smiled at the thought, and ob- served abruptly: “What a parlor ornament I once was, Don! Do you remember that until you brought me to the shack I'd never known the want of a kitch- dishes; scrubbed floors; patched; darned; ironed; but on one finger blazed a thing of undying beauty: a matchless Kimberley diamond, the ‘““good-by present’ of a woman in far off Cape Town. Don kissed the palm of that work- worn hand, and said, addressing his small son: “She's a wonder, isn't she?” “A perfec’ wonner,” agreed the baby; and they both laughed before Don questioned: ‘“Where's brother vanished to?" Nora glanced down the beach to where a small boy in a scarlet bathing suit was beginning opera- tions on a tunnel that was to reach *“Aunt Connie way over in Capri!” ‘““He’s constructing a subway to It- aly, I believe. The U, S. A. agrees with the kiddies, doesn’t it?" This question, innocent in itself, was, as developed later, merely an open- ing. “Even this single month has made a difference in them,” Nora continued, choosing her words with care. ‘‘Jimsy has gained a pound, and Donald, two. 1 almost dread Don moved to scan her face for a stealthy moment, “I've been rather expecting that, my dear,” he said. Nora laughed, touching his hand as if to reassure him. “Afraid I'll turn domestic?” she queried lightly. “You are domestic,” asserted Don. “That's one of the reasons why I love you. You can create a home in the barest of hotel rooms, darling. Haven't 1 seen you do it numberless times? Haven't I seen you take a tumble-down villa over- looking the Lake of Como, and with the aid of a couple of Italian blan- kets and a brass candlestick trans- form it into such a place of peace and beauty that even Mussolini (if he had the good luck to get inside), would cease to dictate for a mo- ment and let himself relax? If we were to occupy an igloo in the Ant- arctic, I've no doubt you'd make it so attractive that the penguins would stand "round begging to come in! You are a wonder, Nora, just as I observed a moment since. Why, I'll wager you could take that weather-beaten old barn back there beyond the dunes and make a home of it!” “I could!” said Nora. Two words. Two words spoken with such a triumphant ring that in a flash Don comprehended things that had been puzzling him: a re- cent preoccupation. on the part of Nora; a day when he found her staring, dreamy-eyed, at the old barn; a trip to the Port that seemed unnecessary .iia He sat up suddenly; deposited his outraged baby on the sand, and ex- ploded with undue violence: “Nora, you can't mean it! You're crazy! That hideous old stable!” “It's a lovely stable,” defended Leonora, “and we can buy it for al- most nothing. The owners moved to Portland years ago when the house burned, Don. They're tired of paying taxes and waiting for a summer colony to spring up next door and boom land values. They'll take $300 for the whole place—an acre facing the broad Atlantic! Imagine that! And the barn’s thrown in. They don’t consider it worth mentioning.” “It's not,” said Don. His face was just a bit forbidding. “And it strikes me, Madam, that you're rather astonishingly well in- formed.” Nora was forced to laugh at this merited attack. “I've taken pains to be,” she ad- mitted honestly. ‘Not to deceive you, Don, or to put something over on you in an unguarded moment, but because I had to know just where we stood. could you earn a living in such a to call my own—a refuge in time of need—a nook to hold the lovely things we just can’t help collecting -a haven when there's a baby to be born. It's no fun bringing a child into the world during a storm at sea, as—as I did Jimsy.” moment. When he spoke there was a trace of anger in his voice. horror of that experience—for you, my dear? risked waiting so long to sail (even though we thought there was time to spare) if we hadn't been so dam- nably hard up that I felt I must squeeze every possible shilling out sidered alone, Nora, couldn’t stand the trip with the boy to look after! I wonder if you've the least conception of how I felt that night when you woke me to say that things were imminent and I found the ship rocking like a cradle and the only doctor on board too sick with fever to lift his head off the pillow. I—1 was sick myself, Nora, sick with fear, I mean, remember- ing what you went through before. You don’t know me if you think I'd let you take a chance like that again. You don't-" *‘Oh, come!" broke in Nora, smil- ing a little. “One would think I'd accused you of neglect! And I didn’t need a doctor with that marvelous Norwegian nurse you dug up from among the passengers and my ca- pable husband, who took her orders like a soldier. It's you who's the wonder of the family, Don. You never let me see that you were nervous—not for a minute. I re- member thinking: ‘Don wouldn't be so calm if things weren't going right’; but I was frightened just the same, terribly frightened, espe- cially when the storm was at its height and my vivid imagination pictured the ship just ready to go down. And if everything hadn't been normal this time—Well, let's forget that possibility. Let's get back to the barn.” “Pony?” questioned James Lam- bert Mason with what appeared to his admiring father as rare intelli- gence. “You hear that, Nora?" he asked grimly. *““Why, even the kiddie un- derstands that a barn’s intended to shelter only cattle.” Nora laughed. “Since when have ponies considered cattle, darling?” “Oh, you may laugh,” said Don, and his wife knew instantly that something hurt him, “but when I remember all you gave up for—for me, Nora, the thought of your liv- ing in a stable" “The Christ Child was born in a stable, Daddy." They both turned, startled, not having heard the approaching feet of their elder son. He stood behind them, his scarlet bathing suit a patch of gorgeous color against the dunes, his big, brown eyes regard- ing his parents soberly. “So He was,” said Don, and pulled the scarlet figure down on his knee. Across the child's dark head his eyes met Nora's. been uncanny way of getting at the heart of things. as it did now. “Cows?” and sat down again, this time on Nora. (TO BE CONTINUED) Cold weather holds little terror for the chipmunks, bears, raccoons and others of the tribe which holes up in the winter time and goes to sleep. Best known of all the winter- sleepers, says a writer in the De- troit Free Press, is the Michigan black bear, who crawls into a shel- tered hole under the root of some fallen tree for the winter. When he first goes into his den, his sleep is natural and he is easily aroused. If he is left undisturbed, his sleep develops into a real stupor. When he is in the midst of the winter sleep he can be aroused only by many proddings of a sharp stick. The woodchuck or ground-hog ri- vals the bear for popularity as a Woodchuck dives remains hidden until early in spring, when some bright day, he again be- courages about animals, lists a total of ‘‘sev- en sleepers’ to include the skunk, raccoon, jumping mouse and bat. All of these except the bat hole up during part of the winter when the weather is severe. The bat merely hangs itself head down on a con- ADVENTURERS’ CLUB HEADLINES FROM THE LIVES OF PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELF! “The Particular Thief” By FLOYD GIBBONS Famous Headline Hunter ELLO EVERYBODY: And who's the guest speaker at our Adventure banquet | today? Well, sir, it’s Mrs. Anna Robinson of Bronx, N. Y. And | what's she going to talk about? Why, Anna is going to tell the {strange tale of the thief who didn’t want money. That thief certainly made things complicated for Anna. | wanted money, it would have been simple. {to him, and he'd have been satisfied. If he had Anna could have given it But when a man demands some- thing you haven’t—and threatens to kill you if you don’t give it to him— Well, if you're ever in a spot like that, I hope you make out as well as Anna did, It all happened in a doctor's office in the little upstate New York town of Jeffersonville. In 1927, Anna was working there as a nurse. It wasn't a hard job, but it was a lonesome one, for the doctor was out on calls most of the day, leaving Anna in charge. One quiet afternoon in March, though, Anna had a caller. The doc- tor was out as usual when the door bell rang, and Anna answered the ring to admit a tall, ragged stranger with a desperate look in his eye. One look at him told Anna that this was an emergency case—but little did she dream that the emergency would be her own! This Caller Just Wanted “Coke.” The man pushed his way past her and hurried into the office. the doctor in’'? he wanted to know. That's where Anna gave the wrong answer. The man was obviously in a hurry. The doctor wouldn't be back for several hours. Anna told him she wasn’t expecting the Doc to return for quite a while and sug- gested that he try at the office of another doctor nearby. It was just what the stranger wanted to know. A change came over his face, and a crafty look gleamed in his eyes. “So you're alone, eh’? he said. “l was taken aback,” says Anna. “I said, ‘Yes, I'm alone,’ but the minute I said it I could have bitten off my tongue. If I'd only thought first—told him there were other people in the building—I could have saved myself the trouble that I was evidently in for. But the damage was done, and all I could do was stammer, “What do you want?’ He said: ‘Oh, I'll get it myself,’ and started walking toward the inner office.” At first Anna thought ne was just a petty thief, and as the man walked toward the office she remembered something the doctor had often told her. “If ever a tramp or a thief comes in,” he had said, “‘don’ try “Is : Hi pt “Where's the coke?” he cried angrily. to oppose him. Let him take what money there is and get out.” But the stranger didn't seem to be interested in money. He passed straight by the desk, went to the medicine cabinet and began staring at the labels on the bottles. He stared a long time while his forehead knitted in a puz- zled frown. Evidently he couldn't understand the labels. At length he turned angrily on Anna and cried: “Where's the coke?” Ready to Kill for the Drug. That explained things—and at the same time it threw Anna into a panic. This man was no petty thief who would be satisfied with money. He was a dope addict, crazed by a craving for cocaine. He would rob— kill—-do anything to get that precious “shot” of narcotic, and to her dis- may, Anna realized that there wasn’t so much as a grain of cocaine in the place. “We have no cocaine,” she stammered. The man turned on her in a rage, his eyes blazing, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Don’t lie to me,” he shouted. “Get it. Get it or I'll—" And he took a step toward her, raising his claw-like hands to her throat. Says Anna: “I was terribly frightened. My thoughts ran in circles. He stood between me and the telephone, madness and murder in his eyes. I could not hope that someone would come in, as the local people knew the doctor's office hours were in the evening. Screaming would do me no good, for screams coming from a doctor's office might only mean that some poor devil was having a broken bone set. And if I even tried to scream, those terrible claw-like hands would close about my throat. There was only one way out. I had to gamble on the one defense God gave to women-—talk.” She Talked Him Into Submission. With fear clutching at her heart, Anna began to talk quietly to the stranger. She explained that few doctors kept pure co- caine—that they used derivatives like novocaine instead, and that novocaine wouldn't give him the effect he wanted. She told him a lot of other things about drugs, too. As she talked, her fear of the man wore away, for the madness had gone out of his eyes and he sank into a chair, head hanging and dejected. Then Anna switched to another tack. She began talking against the use of drugs, painting a terrible picture of what they would do to him if he kept on using them. She told him the best thing to do would be to go to the local health officer and take a cure for drug addiction—told He waited while Anna called the health officer on the phone, and went After he had gone, though, Anna lay down on the couch and cried hysterically. When the doctor came back he gave her a sedative and All that was quite a few years ago, and Anna has been away from Jeffersonville a long time. She's married now, she tells me, to a spot, and remains in this position until warm weather comes. Gainsborough, Society Painter Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788), school of painting, was the most cel- His procedure was to have his sitter patiently wait while he painted the most attractive woman he could : that drug-crazed maniac right into the hands of the law. Copyright.~WNU Service. Wiped Out by Indians The first English-speaking settle- Name of Lake in Massachusetts Chargoggagoggmanchauggogogg- chaubunagungamaugg is the name of a lake in Massachusetts. It was named after the terms of an Indian fishing treaty, and means: “You fish on your side, I fish on my side, no- later. fish in the middle.” Hair Combs Long in Use Hair combs are of great antiquity and specimens made of wood,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers