N © Ben Ames Williams, CHAPTER XII—Continued ee 2 When Phil again looked at his mother, he saw that she had dropped the telegram, had bent down to pick it up; and he saw that she seemed unable to do so. Her arm hung straight down from her shoul- der; and her fingers lay with their backs on the floor, two or three inches away from the telegram, her knuckles touching the rug. Her hand was white and bloodless. He stooped for the yellow paper; and she said, laughing uncertainly: “That's funny, Phil! I was trying to pick up the telegram and I couldn’t seem to reach down far enough and then I saw my hand was touching the floor, but I couldn't feel it at all.” Her utterance was hurried; she mumbled the words as though her tongue were thick. One side of her face, Phil saw, was lifeless, sag- ging as though the flesh were dead upon her bones. They could hear Dan's voice, swift and eager, up in Barbara's room. CHAPTER XIII When in that moment after Dan went racing to find Barbara, Mrs. Sentry stooped to pick up the tele- gram she had dropped, and could not do so, and saw—though she felt nothing—her own nerveless fingers lying like a dead hand on the rug, she thought: This is the beginning of the end for me. As she thought: Oh, I am glad, glad! Let it not be too long. To be with Arthur soon! But then when Phil returned and she spoke to him, mumbling her words, feeling her tongue thick and clumsy in her mouth, she saw the terror in his eyes, and she made herself smile to reassure him; and he came toward her, urged her quickly: ‘Sit down, mother. Lie down. I'll call Doctor Mainton."” “I'm all right, Phil,” she said. “It's nothing. My hand went to sleep, that's all.” He started toward the telephone; but she checked him. “No, Phil. It's nothing, really. I'm all right now.” Her tongue was nor- mal; her hand too. Only she saw that her thumb was uncontrolled, when she tried to straighten it she could not, and she thought: It's my left side, of course. As though it were asleep. If only it would not wake. If only I could sleep, sleep, all of me. Till Arthur comes. Dan's voice above-stairs was no longer audible. Phil said heartily, fighting his own fears: “Of course you're all right! But just the same, Doctor Mainton—"' “I'll see him tomorrow,” promised. ‘‘At his office.” Phil looked toward the hall, as though expecting his sister to ap- pear. “How do you feel—about that?” he asked. “About Dan?” ‘““Barbara is the one to decide. If she is—if she loves him, then I shall be happy too.” She was thinking: Since I am to die, what does it matter? Certainly not to Barbara. She is so young, such a child. Dan will love her; and she will forget . . . Then she heard their voices, their steps on the stairs; and they were here, their eyes shining, yet with a sober gravity. Barbara came to her mother; and Mrs. Sentry wait- ed, and Barbara asked slowly, “Dan has told you, mother?” “Yes, Barb.” “We've been hoping and hoping he could find something!” Mrs. Sentry smiled almost teas- ingly. “Oh, you had it all decided, already planned?” “If he could—find the job he want- ed, yes,”” Barbara confessed. ‘And —I hoped it would be soon.” Mrs. Sentry's eyes fell, so that Barbara might not read them. Dan said quickly, “I have to be ready to start work out there on Monday, Mrs. Sentry.” “That is—July first?” “Yes. Phil thought her voice was mirac- ulously steady. “You will come back for Barbara later?” “l thought we'd be married at once, go to Cleveland together!” Mrs. Sentry nodded gently. “1 used to think hurried weddings lacked dignity,” she confessed. “But 1 expect they are sweeter than dignity.” Nellie came to announce dinner, and she said, “Stay, Dan?" But he could not. “I've still a job here,” he reminded them. “I'll have to run.” Barbara went with him to the door; and Phil asked his mother in a low tone, “All right now?” “Of course, Phil.” “If Barbara knew about you, she'd wait!” She shook her head, smiling. “1 won't cry-baby, spoil Barbara's happiness. She loves him, Phil. Only—it will be hard to have her go.” They heard Dan depart, heard the door close. Then Barbara, as they moved toward the dining-room, met them in the hall; and for a mo- ment she held her mother close. “Thank you, mother,” she said. “You're wonderful to me. Dan wants {5 t=ke me with him; and—I want terribly to be a coward and she go." She looked at Phil, reading his thoughts. ‘‘He says—even if we get married this week—he can fix it so there wouldn't be anything in the papers.” Mrs. Sentry said, “I'm sure he can!’ Barbara looked at her keenly; and afther a moment the girl cried: “But—I'm not going! I'll stay with you till—till afterward, mother. I'll go to Dan then.” Mrs. Sentry spoke carefully. “It's for you to decide,” she said. ‘“‘But— I should be glad to have you stay.” “I shall!” Barbara promised. “Oh mother, I shall.” She was sud- denly mature, a woman; and yet, Phil thought at dinner, she seemed conscious of this, and faintly diffi- dent, so that beneath the cloak of maturity which she put on he saw still the child, terrified yet brave . . He thought with a deep affec- tion and solicitude: I wish she could marry Dan and go. She could if mother did not need her so. But mother will need her, tomorrow, aft- er we see the Governor . . . Barbara was still asleep in the morning when he took Mrs. Sentry to Doctor Mainton’s office. The doc- tor heard their story, and then with that calloused insensibility charac- teristic of physicians, left Phil to ol ~~ - wn VS ~~ cre? y ‘She will not come?” ‘“‘She will not come,” said Phil. He waited a little before return- ing to the others. They had gone out into the garden together; and he saw them through the window, walking arm in arm, his mother with her head bent, Barbara talk- ing in swift eager fashion. When he came out to them, she was still chattering; and he asked with a wry grin, “Broadcasting, Barb?” “Oh, what did Mr. want?" she demanded. ‘““Nothing,”” he said. “Business.” He spoke to his mother. “That meet- ing is off,” he told her in tones which he tried to make casual. “Falkran is satisfied it would do no good.” He saw her instant understand- ing; but Barbara protested: ‘“What meeting? Don't be so mysterious!” “Why, I wanted to see Dan's boss,” Phil said with rock grav- ity. “To see if he wouldn't meet that Cleveland offer, try to keep Dan here; but he says Dan isn’t worth what they're already paying him, much less more! Says Dan can go and welcome!” Barbara laughed. “All right, have secrets if you want to. I can’t both- Falkran ’ applied to Mrs. Sentry every test known to scientific medicine. But his report in the end was re- assuring. He said, to them both: “Well, Mrs. Sentry, I've checked up in every possible way; there is nothing organically wrong with you. been no cerebral accident. Your | | I've too much on my mind." He strolled with them around the house toward the tennis court, think- ing he ought to go to town, but re- luctant to leave his mother. Watch- ing her, while Barbara's gay tongue i arms tight folded with your clenched fist under your left arm. That shut off the blood supply, perhaps; and the rest. That is all, I am sure.” Phil asked, “Ought we to do any- thing about it?” Doctor Mainton hesitated. your mother away somewhere,” he said then. at York Harbor, perhaps. go today?” Mrs. Sentry said, “I am to see the Governor at two this afternoon.” She thought Doctor Mainton might forbid this, tell her not to go; and she prepared to resist him. But he did not. “Then afterward?” he urged. “Later in the afternoon. Go up there and get plenty of rest and sleep. Those are the only drugs you need.” At home they found Barbara awake, and wondering where they had been, and surprised to find Phil not gone to his office; but she was too much absorbed in her own hap- piness to be diligent with questions, and they put her off. Then she re- membered that Mr. Falkran had telephoned, to speak to Phil “I told him he could catch you in town,” she said. ‘‘Maybe you'd bet- ter call him up.” Phil met his mother's eye, and he went into the library to phone. Falkran said, “I've bad news, Mr. Sentry.” Phil felt the blood pound in his ears against the receiver. “Yes?” “1 saw the Governor,” Falkran explained. ‘He is willing to see Mrs. Sentry if she insists, but only as a matter of courtesy. His decision is already taken.” Phil found himself nodding, with- out speaking; and then Falkran's voice came in his ear. “Hello? Sen- try? Did you hear?” “Yes. Oh, yes.” “He says the interview would be useless, but of course he will see her if she wishes.” Phil's shoulders straightened, he assumed the responsibility of de- cision. ‘Thank you, Mr. Falkran,” he said. “I should say it will not be necessary.” Can you watching Barbara, as though in wonder that the girl because she loved Dan could even in this hour be somehow happy: and he saw a Till at last she spoke, interrupt- ing Barbara's bright chatter. “I've been thinking, Barbara,’ she said, “about you and Dan. 1 suppose there's really no reason why you two shouldn't be married at once. him." Barbara's eyes were bright “After all, said, it would be in- struggling young newspaper magn-— to come way back here just to mar- ry you.” Her tone was light, affectionate, full of understanding. The girl stood very still, and her eyes filled and overflowed. She said gratefully: “You're sweet, mother! And I do want to marry Dan right away, be- fore he goes.” She hesitated. ‘But I'm not going to leave you yet. I'll wait with you, go to him by and by.” ’ “There's nothing to wait for here.” The girl spoke bravely. there is. will be—something. But if you don’t fore Dan goes—'' Mrs. Sentry smiled. mind.” Barbara caught her mother rap- er. minute she cried, and was gone. Mrs. Sentry looked after her; and Phil put his arm across his mother’s shoulders. ‘That was great, moth- er!” he said, “You've made her so darned happy! And—I know what it meant to you to let her go.” She said, half to herself: “I've built my life, Phil, on—pride. And I've been selfish too. But we've noth- ing of pride left, and—I'll be hap- pier if Barbara is happy. I'll have to start rebuilding my life on—some other foundation besides pride and selfishness now.” So Dan and Barbara were mar- ried, in the big living-room, with Phil, Linda and Mrs. Sentry as only witnesses. Mrs. Sentry during the intervening days and on that wed- ding day sometimes clung secretly to Phil's arm; but she managed to do nothing to alarm Barbara or distress her. They were married just after noon; then Dan took train for Cleveland and was gone. This was Friday, the twenty- eighth of June. After Dan's de- parture, Phil proposed to his mother that they all drive away to York. “Just for the week-end?” he sug- gested. She hesitated, asked then, “Phil, when will it be?’ She added firmly: “What day? What hour?” He spoke in a low tone. “Why, usually just after midnight,” he said. “The first day?" “Yes. Monday.” “l-—wanted to know.” plained, apologetically. *‘I'm-—much better here than in York, till then.” He urged: “But Doctor Main- ton—-"" “Afterward, possibly,” she said decisively. ‘For now, we will stay here." So they stayed. Saturday morn- ing, at Mrs. Sentry's insistence, Phil went to the office as usual. He and Linda drove in together, Phil at the wheel, Linda close against his side; and they spoke little. At his desk he ran through the morning mail with her; and when she had gone to her typewriter he sat idle, his hands in front of him, palms down upon the top of the desk, and he stared at his own hands as though he had never seen them be- fore. Then Linda came back in. He raised his eyes heavily; and she said, “Phil, Mr. Wines is here.” For a moment meaningless to him. “Mr. Wines?” “Her father,” Linda him. ‘He—wants to see you.’ Phil came tautly grr thing—"' words. But she shook her head. she said. had from Mr. Hare. your father’s sending him." Phil remembered that his father had created a trust for the old man; he said miserably, “I don't want to see him, Lin." He picked up his hat. “You take care of him. pose he wants more. Try to satisfy him. I'm going home to mother. You can handle him, can't you?” “Of course,” she promised. (TO BE CONTINUED) It is generally understood that growing plants require light. But few gardeners know the effect that certain colored rays have upon green stems and leaves. Dr. Earl S. Johnston, of the Smithsonian in- sitution in Washington, has carried out some interesting experiments with colored light to discover what hue is the most favorable for grow- ing plants. Sunlight is necessary for the for- mation of chlorophyll. Chlorophyll is as essential to flower foliage as is blood to human beings. It is the substance that gives the plant its green color. Without it, leaves turn brown, wither and die. Doctor Johnston has discovered that chior- ophyll is formed better under red light than blue. Sunlight, we know, is made up of many colored rays. The plant seems to pick out the col- ored ray it needs for substance. Plants require blue rays as well as red, in order to produce starch and sugar. Both red and blue rays are necessary to absorb carbon di- oxide, which is part of the process involved in the manufacture of starch. Doctor Johnston has made a ro- tating wheel, which varies the hues. He has found that as the mixtures of color rays closely meet the com- bination of rays in pure sunlight, the plants grow normally. While, on the other hand, plants appear to grow abnormally if any particular hue is accented. . The shapes, heights, and types of plants in one part of the world seem to differ from those in another lo- cality. This seems to prove that the sunlight in the polar regions is unlike that in tropical places. Steamships on the Atlantic The Savannah, built in New York, is usually considered the first ocean steamship. On May 26, 1819, she left Savannah, Ga., and reached Liverpooi in 25 days, during 18 of which she used her engines. Regu- lar steamship service across the Atlantic was started by the Great Western and Sirius. Both shi arrived in New York on April 23, 1838, the Sirius having finished the trip from London in 17 days and the Great Western from Bristol in 15 days. WHO'S NEWS THIS WEEK By LEMUEL F. PARTON temperamental inventor cently said he wasn't going to con- gress with his bad news about the devastating new German air bomb, because in the dog-house’ German Bomb committee something last But his story gets into the Record, via Senator Bennett C, Clark, who relays to Maj. Gen. H. affairs he had it from Mr. Barlow, and asks the general what about it. The general tells of army reports that the German bombs in Barcelona “killed every human being within the range of a quarter of a mile.” The U. 8. A. was supposed to have used about $300,000,000 worth of Barlow bombs and weapons in the World war, Several weeks ago, the senate voted him $592,719 in royalties for the wartime use of his pat- ents, He is a prolific inventor, now consulting engineer for the Glenn L. Martin Co., of Balti- more, builders of bombing planes. He describes the new German bomb as truly horren- dous, basically a combination of liquid oxygen and carbon, but with other ingredients, such as magnesium and aluminum. He thinks he can just about match it with his L. 0. X. bomb. In 19832, he offered to President Hoover a simple button-pushing rig which would wipe out a city hun- dreds of miles away. Even with the backing of Senator Frazier of North Dakota, he failed to get the government interested and was said to have offered his device to Russia and Germany. Later, he had other disappointing encounters in con- gress, offering, among other things, a shock-proof battleship, on whose ribs the heaviest projectile would be just the pat of a powder-puff, 1G, Bucko Giuseppe Creatore, puffing smoke from a cigar as unfailing as Vesuvius, makes a grand comeback, as he nears 70, to his own and ev- Creatore Comes orybody else's Back in Opera complete satis- For the Masses faction. The Bronx recently big splash of 40-cent grand opera, with Signor Creatore finding in “Aida’"’ something in the range of his titanic energies. The opera company will be permanent, finan- cial wind and weather permitting, to be supplemented by a series of symphonic concerts, As a band conductor, Signor Creatore used to earn as much as $5,000 a night. He slipped out of sight, and then, in June, 1935, was conducting one of the park bands of the New York Emergency Relief bureau. His cigar and his baton were still bold and unwavering and he told the reporters he was pacing the country back to better times. He had with him about half of the players in his old band of the days of their tuneful and triumphant national tours. tache and a heavy mane, but little stein’s roof. temporarily clipped — or be hoped. ——P HEN Britain and the United States begin to exchange cook- ing recipes, they are really getting neighborly. Carlota, the British poetess, ar- rived h re- cently, not Recipe Swap to Better British- : averse to favor- U. S. Relations Ng dl lations, prefaced her trip with a radio appeal for American recipes. She got more than 2,000. When we get to telling each other about our operations, the entente will be com- plete. Carlota is the wife of Louis Oppenheimer, managing * direc tor of the South African dia- mond syndicate. She has pub- lished many books of poetry in many countries, speaks seven languages fluently, and finds time to convert old houses into charming dwellings or “mews,” for working people. England. She knows the proverbial way to the now somewhat intransi- gent American heart. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers