COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER XI—Continued
RR
Nora laughed, and Jim Perkins,
finding his voice at last, exploded:
“Well, I'll tell the world you can
play, Mis’ Mason! I never heard
nothin’ like it except over the radio;
and if you ask me, you've got that
feller named Hoffmann beat to a
frazzle!”’
Leonora arose from the packing
box to acknowledge his honest trib-
ute with a curtsey; while Don sug-
gested: ‘‘Give them some more,
Nora, before they leave,” and for
twenty minutes Nora played to as
appreciative an audience as any
artist could desire. Indeed, the
Portland men would accept only the
minutest payment for their serv-
ices.
“It wa’n’'t nothin’,” declared the
older man as they arose to go.
““Nothin’ at all; and the music was
pay enough anyhow. Wasn't it,
Joe?”
“Joe,” still dazed, assented with
a mute nod. They departed munch-
ing Nora's molasses cookies, and,
Don told her (when Tom Littlefield
had returned to the box stall which
he was converting into the north end
of a “banquet hall”), with ‘‘their
souls refreshed.”
And next morning, as if Fate were
really trying to make up for past
unkindnesses, Don received a note
from the editor of an American
weekly, to whom he had sent one
of his “Letters from Cape Town.”
long-felt want.
coming year.
received from England for the same
material, was almost dazzling; and
they both appeared to go a little
mad. Nora rushed to the piano,
while Don, to the exceeding joy of
his small sons, proceeded to dance
the Highland Fling.
When the music ceased and he
dropped breathless into the red lac-
quer chair, Tom Littlefield, who had
arrived during the commotion, in-
quired if he should call the doctor,
“or are you comin’ out o' that con-
aniption fit all right alone?”
In answer Don tossed him the in-
credible check.
“That's yours, Mr, Littlefield. You
can blame that innocent strip of
paper for this vaudeville act of mine
which was put on merely to cele-
brate the fact that, for the time be-
ing, anyhow, the dark cloud of finan.
cial worry has vanished from the
horizon. We're sane again now, and
I'll get back to the shingling if
that's what you want.”
Not until the last possible mo-
ment did they leave the place. Nev-
er had they left any place with
such regret. The weather had been
almost miraculously perfect for that
time of year, a fall long remem-
bered by the natives. Tom Little-
field, possessed of minute directions
from Leonora, planned to go on
with the work when other jobs were
scarce.
“It'll be a real life-saver to me,
Mis’ Mason,” he assured her.
“There ain't much doin’ here come
wintertime, and I get restless. I'll
be more’'n glad to keep an eye on
the place and do a day's work now
and then; and when you come back
next spring things’ll be ship-shape.
I declare, I—I'm downright sorry to
see you go.”
“And I'd give almost anything to
stay, Mr. Littlefield,” Nora con-
fessed. ‘‘After all, there's no place
like home, is there?—and I've nev-
er had one of my own before. Not
for worlds would I have Mr. Mason
suspect it, but I don’t mind owning
up to you that I dread to leave.”
She did; yet a happy winter with
Constance Venable (who had sold
the ill-fated island where Carl met
his death, and for financial reasons
was staying abroad indefinitely) lay
just ahead. Things were going ex-
tremely well when they returned to
Maine for another summer; and as
a complete surprise Nora discov-
ered not only running water in her
box stall kitchen, but a small and
shining bathroom, the result of an
intrigue between her husband and
the old Maine builder.
Not until that summer did she
hint to her father of this permanent
abiding place. Going to the beauti-
ful antique desk which they had
purchased of ‘“‘our egg lady,” as
the boys called her (‘“Because,” the
woman explained when Don told
her honestly that it was worth much
more than he could give, *“‘them
antique dealers is makin’ my life
miserable anyhow, and Mis’ Mason
never forgets to ask after my sick
boy’’)—going to that desk Nora con-
structed the postal card that was
to play an important part in her
life some three years later. Glanc-
ing over her shoulder as she fin-
ished it, Don smiled a bit sadly
at what he feared was merely an-
other disappointment.
It was, he observed, a fantastic
postal. First came the verse from
which the old notary had quoted
the day they signed the deeds. Be-
low this Nora had written her ad-
dress, followed by: “If taxi is un-
CHRISTINE
available, take trolley car to end of
line and proceed as follows,” after
which was a tiny map drawn in
red ink.
She said, turning to look up at
Don: “That verse about the shin-
ing palace is an invitation, and if it
arrives when Dad’s in a relenting
mood, he may accept it.”
Don said nothing. It sometimes
troubled him that in all these years
Nora had never lost hold of the con-
viction that her father would reach
a moment of surrender. Person-
ally, Don didn't believe it, not after
the old man's silence when in-
formed of the arrival of his name-
sake, James Lambert Mason. It
was hard for Don to forgive that
silence when he recalled how, spent
with the hours of fear and anguish,
Nora had looked up at him from
her narrow berth on that storm-
tossed ship, to say: “If—if it's only
a boy, dear, so we can name him
for Father, I sha'n’t mind—any-
thing. It—it will bring us togeth-
er.”
Well, mused Don, turning away
from his wife's eyes, it was a boy,
and it had not brought them one
inch nearer. Jimsy was more than
three years old, and his grandfather
had not expressed the slightest in-
terest in his existence. It wasn’t
“There's our theater
ahead now.”
in Don to comprehend how anyone
could be so stubbornly resentful
so unkind. Impatient at the situa-
tion he once said as much, and
Nora answered:
“It's not just that, Don. You see,
he loved my mother above anything
on earth, yet she hurt him unspeak-
ably. And, though it wasn't my
fault, perhaps, I hurt him, too. 1
think he doesn't dare let me get
near him any more. Don’t you un-
derstand? He's afraid of being hurt
again.”
So she mailed her postal, hoped
for a time, and then decided that
the hour of relenting had not come.
But despite this disappointment
Nora was very happy that summer.
Don was always glad to remem-
ber how happy she had been. As
the months passed, her new home
became almost as perfect as she
dreamed it could be; and even Tom
Littlefield admitted that the *‘ball
room’ was not too big.
“And it's cozy, isn't it?” prod-
ded Leonora, determined to make
the old carpenter give in.
“0, it's cozy enough,” he as-
sented, albeit grudgingly; “but I
still think, if you was to ask me,
Mis’ Mason, that it's all out 0’ pro-
portion to the size o’ the kitchen.”
“But we don’t live in the kitch-
en,” Nora retorted.
“And I ain't ever heard o’' any-
body livin’ in a ball room, either,”
snapped the old man.
He was a frequent caller, as was
the notary at the Port. The latter
had a standing invitation to Sunday
dinner, which was quite as likely
to be served on the beach as in
the banquet hall. Afterwards he
would find his way into the big liv-
ing room and browse among the
books, sometimes reading aloud
from his beloved poets to Nora,
sometimes reading from “Peter
Rabbit” to the boys.
‘““He’s as good as a grandfather,”
said Don one Sunday afternoon
when he found the old man with
both children mn his lap; and then
wished he hadn't spoken because
Nora's face clouded at the words.
The summer drifted by. Septem-
ber came, and with it the chance
Don was hoping for, something he
had kept secret from his wife fear-
ing to cause her disappointment
should it not work out. For Nora
had hinted to the little boys that
Santa Claus might possibly bring
them a ‘‘baby sister,” and Don was
determined that their mother should
not be dragged to Europe if such a
step could be avoided. He knew
that the “Letters from Cape Town"
had proved even more popular than
the American editor expected.
a
’
PARMENTER -—
There was no reason to think he
would not be amenable to the sug-
gestion that there was a vast
amount of interesting material on
their own West. Don planned a se-
ries of articles called ‘‘Seeing
America First,” submitted the idea,
and waited impatiently for the ver-
dict.
Not knowing that the great man
was away on a vacation, the letter
seemed long in coming; but it
brought good news. The editor con-
sidered this plan ‘“‘most interest-
ing,” and requested that Don stop
off in Chicago on the way West to
consult a personal friend of his who
had been over the ground recently
and might give him some valuable
data And would he plan so
that the first article could be run in
February?
Nora wept with relief when she
heard the news—Nora, who so sel-
dom gave way to tears.
“I've been dreading so awfully to
start out again,’”’ she told him, "but
this is different. If, as you say,
we can stay at San Diego until after
New Year's, everything will be
easy. I can settle you somewhere,
and then go to a hospital for the
event. And next spring we can
come home for a long summer.
Don’t mind my crying, Don. It-—
it's only the heavenly relief.”
“You poor dear nomad!” said
Don tenderly. And then added: ‘If
all goes well, darling, we'll install a
furnace here next summer so we
can stay as late as you want to in
the fall.”
“1 believe,” smiled Nora, wink-
ing away the last of her foolish
tears, “I believe you've discov-
ered the advantages of a home
yourself, Don!"
CHAPTER XII
They reached Chicago on a bleak
November morning. Wind was blow-
ing across Lake Michigan in wintry
gusts, and the weather man pre-
dicted snow. It came, a blizzard
out of the north. For two days they
were storm-bound in a boarding
house run by an old nurse of Con-
stance Venable's—one of the many
whom Carl's unfailing generosity
had helped.
On the third afternoon when the
city was digging out of snow drifts
and the sun was making a half-
hearted effort to show its face, their
hostess said: "Why don't you two
go for a little walk? I'll look after
the children. I'd really like to; and
a breath of outdoor air will do you
good.”
“Come on,” said Don, brighten-
ing at the prospect of some activ-
ity. “If you get tired, Nora, we'll
drop in at a movie for an hour.”
“That's right," urged the woman,
glad to be of service to these friends
of her beloved Venables. “You'll
find a theater three blocks down.
It's a cheap place, opened only a
week ago; but it'll do to get warm
in."
“Sure!” agreed Don, “and a lurid
picture won't hurt old folks like us!”
The wind sprang up again as they
started out; and the sun, discour-
aged, retired behind a cloud.
“I guess three blocks'll be about
enough!” Don laughed as they
ducked their heads against the
weather. “Those Italian winters
have spoiled us, Nora; but I hear
we're liable to fry in Arizona. That's
one place I haven't been, my dear,
and I'm crazy to see it. There's
our theater ahead now. Looks cheap
all right. I bet the snow’'s packed
solid behind that false front roof.
There's weight to this snow, Nora.
I hope—""
What Don hoped was lost in a
gust of wind that fairly blew them
into the lobby of the theater.
WXNU SERVICE
“Perhaps we'd better go right
back,” gasped Nora. “The wind is
certainly getting worse. It wouldn't
surprise me if it stormed again.”
‘Me, either; but you're complete-
ly out of breath, dear. Let's get
inside and rest for a few minutes.
It'll be easier going home with the
wind at our backs, you know. We
can sit in the last row, Nora, and
slip out any time we're bored. You
need to rest after that fight with
the elements.”
This was sane logic, so they went
inside.
“Looks as if all the kiddies of the
neighborhood had come in out of the
storm,” Don whispered as their
eyes grew accustomed to the dim-
ness. “Why didn't we think to bring
the boys?"
Nora smiled. Don always regret-
ted his sons’ absence when other
children were in evidence. She said,
softly: ‘They're better off where
they are. There's such a crowd,
and the air is terrible. Why!—Why
what-—"’
Her voice rose a little. Her head
lifted. Later Nora was to remems-
ber that she had thought herself ill
because the whole building seemed
to tremble and the roof looked as
if it were crumbling up, slowly.
The most curious sensation, a sort
of chill, ran over her—all in a sec-
ond, of course, for Don was already
on his feet, holding her wrist in a
grip that tortured. Just as they
reached the lobby the crash came.
And then a cry went up behind
them—a cry that was to ring in
Nora's ears for months. It sound-
ed, she thought, like an awful and
terrifying wave of protest from a
single throat .
They were in the street , . . Al-
ready a throng of morbid onlookers
had gathered People (Oh,
fortunate people!) were pouring out
of the doomed theater Po-
licemen, dozens of them, it seemed
to Nora, sprang up like magic . . .
Firemen were there, trying to rope
off space . pushing them back.
It was then that Don, who had
been stunned into a horrified si-
lence, roused himself with a convul-
sive shuddér. He turned to Nora—
looked down into her upturned face
—stared into it so curiously that
she grasped his arm, crying:
“Oh, thank God we are safe, Don!"
And still he looked at her . . .
An ambulance gong sounded . . .
Somewhere beyond the rope a wom-
an screamed . . . A man pushed
by them, wild-eyed, dishevelled . . .
Above the tumult a child's terrified
voice cried out: ‘Mother! Where's
my mother?” . .
Don said, still staring down with
that extraordinary gravity: “But I
must go back, Nora. Those children
«+ . They might beours . . . I've
got to help . . . You must go home
now, darling. Go home to the little
boys. They need you . . . Don't you
see that—that I have got to help?”
Before she could say one word,
he stooped—kissed her—was gone,
eluding the quick grasp of a fire-
man-—unheeding the shout of protest
from another. Those feet, those
buoyant feet which had borne Don
so joyously on his adventures, were
bearing him now on still another,
bearing him swiftly, swiftly, lest
they falter . . .
Nora was standing there three
hours later when they brought him
out. Three hours of horror—three
hours of numbing cold—three hours
of torment. He was the last to
come, his broken body carried ten-
derly by two firemen. Nora, close
to the ropes, cried out at sight of
him: “Don! Dearest! I'm waiting
for you. I—-I am here, Don!"
(TO BE CONTINUED)
The natural enemy of the crow is
the hawk. Blackbirds, bluebirds,
swallows, and at times robins, will
fight them viciously. However, the
crow is smart—smarter than most
of the feathered world—in that he
will fight only when backed by a
company of his kind. Virtually all
other birds and animals hunt alone.
The crow will feed alone, but
when trouble arises he begins caw-
ing for help and a whole platoon
of his companions is soon on the
scene to help. Because of these
gang methods, however, the crow
furnishes excellent sport for the
shooter because he is easily de-
coyed.
Anyone armed with a crow call
can have excellent sport calling and
shooting the black robbers. There
are several ways in which to hunt
them, advises a writer in the Chi-
cago Daily News.
A stuffed or live hawk or owl
is an excellent decoy. The decoy
takes some time and quite elaborate
preparations. Once the roost is lo-
cated the shooter should watch the
line of flight of the crows and build
himself a blind in a woods or field
in line with this flight. Then around
the blind he should stake out decoy
crows, silhouettes or stuffed imi-
tations of the black birds.
When the flight to the roost starts
in the afternoon the shooter occupies
the blind, calls lustily at the ap-
proach of the crows, and decoys and
kills them much as a hunter kills
waterfowl.
Crows, conservation departments
declare, are excellent eating,
Grant Not Interested in War
Ulysses S. Grant, one of the
strangest characters in all history,
made a mess of everything he un-
dertook till near middle-age, to be-
come commander in chief of the
Union armies and President. And
perhaps the oddest thing in the odd
story of an odd nature was his life-
long distaste for the military life in
which his reputation was made.
He always disclaimed the calling of
warrior, and when visiting kuiope
after the war he told the astonished
Bismarck that he took no in
in military affairs, . . -
wo m———
a Basic Dress
1482
O YOU need something new to
dawdle in or to dress up in?
Here are two new designs, one for
play and one for afternoon, that |
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for yourself, with these simple de- |
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low with no difficulty, And of|
course you can splurge on some |
really luxury fabrics, when you |
sew your own.
Play Suit and Sports Frock, |
This new design gives you both!
The play suit has beautifully cut
shorts and a nice bodice top with
the sunniest kind of sunback. The
frock is created merely by fasten-
ing that straight seirt around you, |
and bolero goes with both!
Notice how cleverly the ricrac
braid is used to simulate a square |
yoke in the front. The smartest
thing for this design is linen in a’
the
dusty pastel shade; calico, pers
cale and pique are good, too. Be
sure to trim it with ricrac,
Dress With Bodice Detailing.
Here's a design that brings a
breath of fall smartness in the
bosom detailing that you'll see in
expensive models this coming sea-
son. Also in the Victorian sleeves,
high at the shoulders and fitted to
the arm below. The straight pan
el in the back, the gathers at the
waistline in front, give you a love-
ly figure-line., Although it's so dis
tinguished looking and subtly de-
tailed, this dress is easy to make.
Just six steps in the detailed sew
chart. Make it now of silk crepe,
linen or georgette, Later in sheer
wool, satin or velvet.
The Patterns.
1557 is designed for sizes 12, 14,
16, 18 and 20. Size 14 requires 5%’
yards of 35-inch material. 10
yards of ricrac braid to trim.
1482 is designed for sizes 32, 34,
36, 38, 40, 42 and 44. Size 34 re-
quires 4% yards of 38-inch ma-
terial with long sleeves; 4% yards
for short
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Success in sewing, like in any
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the task in hand. To
help you turn out clothes profes-
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have a book which plainly sets
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perienced sewer there are many
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sewing short cuts. Send
(in coins) today for your
SUCCESS IN SEWING,
every home dressmaker will fin
Send your order to
Circle Pattern Dept.,
Forty-third street, New
N. Y. Price of patterns,
(in coins) each.
© Bell Syndicate. —~WNU Service.
The Sewing
247 W,
York,
18 ~~ vy
19 cents
ASK ME
ANOTHER
A Quiz With Answers
Offering Information
on Various Subjects
The Questions |
1. In what lake does the Mis-
sissippi river have its rise?
2. Who were the Druids?
3. Who was the author of this
quotation: ‘America never lost a |
war and never won a confer-
ence’’? |
4. What is a papal bull?
5. What is the largest city south
of the equator?
6. What is the most traveled |
highway in the United States?
7. Why was the state of Florida |
given that name? |
8. What percentage of motion |
| picture films shown all over the
world is made in the United
States?
The Answers
1. Lake Itasca in Minnesota.
2. Priests of the religion of the |
ancient inhabitants of Britain, |
| Gaul and Germany.
3. Will Rogers.
4. An edict of the pope.
5. Buenos Aires, Argentina.
6. The American Automobile as-
| sociation says that U. S. Highway
%
No. 1 in the vicinity of New York
city has the heaviest traffic.
7. It was discovered on Easter
Sunday-—in Spanish, Pascua Flo-
rida, the Feast of Flowers.
8. A survey of the department
of commerce shows that Ameri-
can motion pictures constitute 70
per cent of the showings in all
foreign markets.
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they should be angry only with
the faults that are told them.
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