CHAPTER XIV-—Continued
oe] Pre
There was a desk by the south
window, a desk that any antique
dealer who knew his business would
give much for. It looked to James’
discerning eyes like something
brought over from England ages
ago. A beautiful antique. And sure
enough, here was the photograph!
No wonder his small namesake
hadn’t recognized him. This pic-
ture was taken when Nora went to
college. Here was her husband, too
—an enlargement made from a snap
shot. Don was just starting for a
climb, his rucksack slung over one
shoulder .
Recalling the wheel-chair, James
Lambert winced, and laying the pic-
ture down as if it hurt him, lifted
another. The children, of course.
His grandchildren! A thrill of pride
stirred in the old man’s heart. Here
was his namesake; an older boy;
and baby Iris. A flower indeed!
She seemed to resemble faintly that
other Iris whom James had loved
so dearly that he could forgive the
anforgivable, and still think of her
with tenderness after all these
years. He was glad that Nora had
not forgotten her mother. When
Ned's first daughter had arrived
and he ventured to suggest the
aame of Iris, Corinne had been ap-
palled. What! call her baby after
a woman who had deserted one
child and had another by her lover!
James smiled tolerantly at this
old memory. Best not go back to
it. After all, Corinne was a good
woman, a good housekeeper, and
always invited him to Sunday din-
ner! If she were inclined to be un-
charitable to the erring, well, time
was already fixing that—time and a
boy she had spoiled with too much
money and too little work.
He wondered, mildly amused at
the idea, what Corinne would think
of this big room. She would un-
doubtedly spot the packing boxes
and the shabby chair. No such de-
tail ever escaped her. And the fam-
ily photographs! Her father-in-law
could hear her say: ‘Photographs!
{s it possible that Nora's not aware
that photographs of that sort are
taboo, save in a bedroom? Why,
Lambert, it simply isn’t
this vivid picture.
had felt annoyed at‘Corinne: but
in the least. He believed there was
{t was so friendly, as if it bid you
to be comfortable. One felt in-
stinctively that those who
loved one another and were happy
together. Ti
the old chair—the worn hangings at
the windows, were of no
A healing nse of
pervaded ever g. This was a
home. Ah! That was the exp
tion, James reflected Stabl
palace, this was a real heme.
head lifted.
heart quickened. A door }
—closed again softly. Light foot-
steps sounded—were coming nearer.
He wanted to turn—must turn to
face the door, but found he could
not. And then a dear remembered
voice broke in.upon him:
“You wished to see me? I am
Mrs. Mason. Jimsy says you are
a friend of-Why, Father!”
It was then James turned—
stretched out his arms .
He was holding her close, his lit-
le Nora. It took him back to that
long-gone, tragic day when he had
first held her, comforted her, and
all unknowing comforted himself. A
sense of that same comfort flowed
through him now, healing the wound
of those ten years without her. And
though she wept, as she had wept
that other time, all that her father
found to say was: “Nora . . .
Nora
“You've been a long time coming,
Daddy,” she told him when at last
she could find words; and looking
down into her upturned face, James
saw, a quick pang of regret stab-
bing his heart, all that those years
had done to Leonora. Something
he'd loved and hoped to see again
was gone; yet meeting her tear-
wet eyes the old man knew that
his daughter's girlhood beauty had
not vanished. It had only changed
—changed into something more to
be desired—more beautiful .
“You've been a long time com-
ing,” she said again; and James re-
sponded:
“I've been a stubborn old idiot,
my darling. When you stopped writ-
ing I told myself that you'd ceased
to care—grown tired of a father who
had failed you. And yet I worried,
Nora—watched for your letters—
hoped . . ."
She drew him to the old pew by
the fire. Her hands, those hard,
brown hands James scarcely recog-
nized, trembled a little.
“How could I write?” she asked
as they sat down together. ‘We
needed help too badly—don’t you
see? You told me, Father—"'
He stopped her with an impatient
gesture that she remembered.
“*Oh, you needn’t repeat it! Were
you really foolish enough to think
I meant that threat? And how was I
rnhnlc
uphois
e shabby
quence. peace
Suddenly his His
to know you needed help, dear,
when you did not tell me? I didn't
dream how things had gone with
you, not for a minute.”
“But the papers, Father!” Nora's
eyes widened with surprise. ‘The
story was there for all the world to
read. I thought you'd come when
you knew how Don was injured.
I thought you'd forgive us. I lay
in bed after our little girl was born
—s0 frightfully worried about Don—
too weak to go to him, and every
time a bell would ring I'd think:
‘Perhaps that's Father! He wouldn't
leave me to face all this alone. He'll
come. He'll see that Don has ev-
erything he needs. He will take
care of us.” And—and you didn't
come, Father. Not that it matters
now you're here at last, but"
“Listen,” James interrupted, his
voice shaking. “I was sick, dear
child, down with pneumonia at the
time of that catastrophe. I never
read those papers, not one of them.
It was no longer front-page stuff
when I recovered. To be sure, Ned
saw something that made him suspi-
cious; but the name was misprinted
and he didn't want to worry me
about it then.
“You must forgive him, Nora. The
boy was going through troubles of
“Remembering what I had to face
alone, he kept on fighting."
his own at that time,
bles. 1 dare say
else. Don’t
he forgot
blame him any |
We
all do the wrong thin times. And
once in a great w thank God— |
we're given the opportunity to make |
night, you see, Ned
troubled. I'd
been talking with Martha. She had
been crying when I went up to see |
her birthday gifts, crying because |
of you. For the first time in all
these years, Nora, we talked about
you; and in her own, kind, care-
fully respectful way, she showed
me myself—told me the truth that
I had long suspected.
“lI went down at last, and sat on |
the old davenport where you and I
so often threshed things out togeth-
er, trying to think how I could find
you, dear. And I should have found
you, Nora, if you'd been at the
North Pole! Then Ned came in. He
had heard news of you—it doesn't
matter how. He wanted to come
himself but I refused to let him, I
was so hungry for a sight of you!
For you are my little girl, darling.
Nothing has altered that, nor ever
can. When I think what you've
been through—Tell me,”” he broke
off abruptly, “how did you manage?
What kept you going? Who helped
you when you needed help so des-
perately?”’
Said Nora, a far-away look creep-
ing into her eyes: “A woman in
South Africa, Father. The sort of
woman we're supposed to ‘pass by
on the other side.” It's too long a
story to go into now, but she gave
me a diamond. It was very beauti-
ful—so beautiful that, though it was
saving us, I wept a little when I
gave it up!”
Nora paused thoughtfully a mo-
ment; then went on: “You see, Fa-
ther, things were very bad indeed.
All we had saved had gone into this
home. There were only a few hun-
dred dollars in the bank when we
started West, but we weren't worry-
ing. There was plenty to see me
through my confinement, and more
was promised. We had never felt
so sure about the future—so light-
hearted.
“And then—the avalanche! For
weeks the doctors thought Don
would not live. For months he could |
not leave the hospital. He lay on one
of a long, long row of narrow beds— |
nothing to hear but sounds of sick-'
ness and clamor of city streets!
nothing to see but four bare walls; |!
and he so loves beauty! Only to
think about it tore my heart in two.
And the pain—grinding, unceasing,
wearing away his splendid strength
as water wears away the stones
upon a beach. I think all that he
dear.
g at
-
wanted then was to die, Father, to
end the struggle; but remembering
what I had to face alone, he kept on
fighting.
“It was very terrible.
even run in to cheer him at odd
times, for he was in a ward. I
couldn't buy him a single flower.
For the money was going—melt-
ing away so fast it frightened me;
yet how could I leave the babies to
earn more even if I had known some
way to do it? Constance Venable,
who would have shared her last
crust with us, was far away. I had
no one to turn to. I sold some of
the trinkets you'd given me; but
could not get half their real value
and what they brought only staved
off the inevitable for a little while.
“And then one night when I was
counting the endless hours, it came
I couldn’t
toc me like an inspiration that my
diamond was worth money-—real
money. It saw us through, Dad-—
kept us going—brought us back
home when Don was able to be
moved. Such a joy to be where he
can watch the sea and feel the wind
on his face! Almost from the first
minute he started gaining. He's |
writing again now-—-a book--but the
work goes slowly. You see, there
is still much pain; and his nerves
aren't steady. But he tries so hard |
to get the better of them, Dad. He's |
80 courageous . i
Her voice died down as if tears
threatened again; and James said,
his own voice husky with emotion:
‘See here, Nora. 1 realize that you |
can forgive me a great deal be-
cause you understand. You know |
that though I was too stubborn to |
admit it, I have always loved you
—missed you unspeakably. But how |
will your husband regard me now? |
In his eyes I have betrayed a trust |
—let you bear burdens too heavy
for your shoulders. Can he forgive
too, or—""'
“In just a moment,” broke in
SERVICE
Nora softly, one hand thrown out in
an expresive gesture, ‘‘I—I think
we'll know.”
James raised his eyes. The cur-
tains at the door had parted, and
standing before them, his hair blown
back in the familiar way, stood Don,
his boys beside him, his baby
daughter clinging to one hand.
Even that first quick glance told
much to Nora's father. He saw that
the once straight shoulders sagged
a little, as if the effort to stand
erect was now too great. He saw
that the wind-blown hair was white
above the temples—the eyes seemed
deeper set—the cheekbones higher.
But he saw also that the lines on
Don’s thin, tanned face were born
of suffering, not self-pity; and that
his head still lifted buoyantly as of
old.
Unconquered! The word, so singu-
larly fitting, sprang into James
he arose. Un-
conquered! That was Don Mason,
Never again could office walls im-
him. He had got beyond
as
them
There was a silence;
said gently: “Well, sir?”
Only two words, but to the old
man they were a challenge, and he
met it generously. Though his eyes
smiled, his voice was wholly seri-
ous.
“1 lay down my sword. The ene-
my surrenders to the better man.”
And then Don laughed, a laugh
that seemed to bring the clean,
gay spirit of adventure into the
room. Impulsively he started for-
ward, but stopped, remembering;
while James saw with quick com-
passion that one foot dragged.
“The enemy?’ Don echoed. “1
think not, sir.” He glanced down,
meeting the puzzled young faces
that were lifted to him. “Children,”
he said, “attention! Salute your
grandsire. The old King has come
home!"
then Don
(THE END.)
one of the customs of many Ei
pean countries. But hands
to be kissed abroad do not follow
the same rule In
1s customary to
ried and not
vice versa;
iT0~
bed '
iadies
all
and Rumania
ld and young. In
important to kiss
» end of
Hand-kissing, it has 1
me of our rough and
he-men from visiting Europe, as its
fine graciousness does not
nize with our pioneer individualism
wives might misunderstand.
when a European gentleman
this gracious act an
woman she usually is
deters s«
jut
confers
American
delighted. i
Customs strange, beautiful and |
on
people
First Color of
i Ack i WO ASS
French
the first cx
called
the oriflamme.
because i
3 red was
adopted by the English king
the French gave it up for blue.
was under the blue flag that Hugue-
subjects of the king of France. How-
ever, the red flag was preserved
fleet where terrible suffering was
endured by the unhappy men who
could not understand the injustice of
the king.
WILLIAMS
WHO’S
NEWS
THIS
WEEK
By LEMUEL F. PARTON
EW YORK.—Policemen seem to
have more social security than
almost anybody else, if they behave
themselves, and yet about 70 of
them have com-
mitted suicide in
New York in the
last few years.
Just why “a po-
liceman’s life is not a happy one”
was not made clear by Gilbert and
Sullivan, but members of the New
York force are out to find out and
do semething about it.
Their new and unique
clinic'’ has been inv
prescribing. It lists eis
why police get in
the list includes just
of money T
trouble. The news
is that th
artment
official sar
For Cops’
“trouble
and
estigating
men
headquarters in
ing.
Patrolman Joseph J. Burkard
of the traffic squad, an energet-
ie, resourceful self-starter, in
the department 20 years, pio-
neers the new clinic, with the
aid of a young patrolman who iz
a student of psychology at Co-
lumbia university.
They brought in
Gregory, famous
Dr. Carmyn J.
widely known as a specialis
tal disturbance. The clinic
has handled 150
them of extremely serious nature
The clinic was established under
the Patrolmen’'s Benevolent associa-
. tion, of which Mr.
Idea First Burkard was
Tried Out elected president
By Legion
Dr.
cases,
last year. It is
said to have been
his original idea, suggested by sim-
ilar work by the American Legion,
of which Mr. Burkard is a former
New York county commander.
He been a
the department
¢
has
Inspector
“There is
a policeman's
is in a
court
“That's bunk, and it always
was," said the lieutenant, “Col-
lege men are joining both the
police and fire departments. J.
Edgar Hoover, and others, are
helping to bring about a new
conception of a policeman, The
‘flat-feot’ era is ending.”
And then, said my frie
re made their own
~ -
1 Ine ~4 Williay ’ 3
»linic in Inspector Williams’ da
HE late
George Raft a pair of gold-g
garters. They brought him luck and
he still wears them. The sleek,
slow - ved roung
Tex Guinan It i als
Gave George of New York's
Gold Garters Hell's Kitchen,
has taken success
in his easy dancing stride—he’s an
ex-hoofer—but, like other moving
picture stars, he's beginning to look
a gift-horse in the mouth.
He doesn’t like his role in Para-
mount’s ‘St. Louis Blues,” and the
company suspends him. It is one
more instance of increasing es-
thetic sensitivity in movieland.
In and around Hell's Kitchen,
he was a professional light-
weight boxer, winning 25 fights,
kayoed seven times. He was an
outfielder for the Springfield
(Mass.) minor league team for
two seasons. He did well
enough, but it was a sideline of
impromptu hoofing and spoofing
which paced him into the night
clubs and the big Broadway
shows.
He achieved a sinister, reptilian
suggestion in his dancing which
gave
snake."
Brown Derby in Hollywood when a
prowling director seized him as a
“type’’ and ruthlessly sloughed him
into fame and fortune. His 19037
earnings report was $202,666, topped
only by Cooper and Baxter, among
the male stars. He owns 45 suits
of clothes and a piece of Henry
Armstrong.
© Consolidated News Features,
WNU Service,
Light-Colored Paints
Good light-colored outside paints
contain white lead, often mixed with
smaller quantities of other pig-
ments. Colored pigments are added
to the white to produce tinted paints,
or used without the white to pro-
duce dark paints. It is generally
recognized that the dark paints give
better service under the same
weather and exposure conditions,
CLASSIFIED
AY a i,
OLD MONEY
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COIN CO... 906 Filbert 8L., Philadelphia, Pa.
SEEDS
Abruzzi Rye $1.05 bu.—Fulghum Seed Oats 55¢ bu,
f. 0. b. our shipping station
Crimson Clover Seed, in chaff.
HICKORY SEED COMPANY, Hickory, North Carofing
"HOUSEHOLD /%
”
Washing Fine
vent runs while
Hose .—T«
1
squeeze gent]
ane
IQ rinse sev
(
un 4
U
1rv
up ) QI
y.
»
Shoes.—To dry
ric shoes, stuff
in to
Drying Fabric
wet satin or fabri
with soft paper,
shape but not strain
» »
Treating a New Broom.—Before
a new broon soak it in a
strong t water solution and dry
thoroughly. It will last 1]
3 used,
onger
longer.
For Creaming Butter.—A
forated
creaming butter.
efficiently.
. » *
Exposed Fruits, — Fruits and
vegetables that wait for hours in
a warm kitchen before cooking or
canning more of their
vitamin C than s
freshly picked or kept
per-
spoon is best for
It does b
wooden
the j
more
3 \
i0se much
refrigerator.
M * *
Corks That Fit.—If corks fall
out of salt and pepper shakers,
hot water to make
SOAK COrkKs
them swell; or use a piece of ad-
ness © MY
ng.
Doughnuts. Add a tea-
Cooking
spoonful of 1 old fat
iu negar t
mn the ¢
gal ) Une (
Spare the Wallpaper.—Protect
li or freshly painted
the side of old-
ansparent cello-
with
new walipa
area above
a
time sir
’
per
or on
hane paper ut in place
nb
Apple Complexions.—To prevent
ples from turning dark when
orange,
ce over
the refrig-
Sliced
in salt
ne tablespoon of
has been added {i »ach four
of cold wat
One Tear
It will afford sweeter happiness
in the hour of death to have wiped
away one tear from the cheek of
sorrow than to have ruled an em-
pire, to have conquered millions
or enslaved the world, — Ecce
Deus.
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and moderate
in price, the
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offers an ideal place to
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fireproof building. 285
comfortable rooms. All
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Also moderate priced
Coffee Shop and Bar.
an.
Richard B. Shanley
Manager
J. Leslie Kinonid
President
HOTEL
13th & Filbect
PHILADELPHIA