SYNOPSIS
Mary Loring and her father, Jim, an in.
effectual attorney, meet a train which
brings his wealthy sister-in-law, unmarried
Linnie Cotswell and her friend, Lelia
Ormsby, divorcee, for a Christmas visit.
Waiting at home for them are Mary's
mother, her younger sister, Ellen; her fa-
ther's nagging maiden sister, Aunt Mamie,
and Peter, the baby of the family. At the
depot Dr. Christopher Cragg helps the
guests with their luggage. Though secretly
in love with Doctor Cragg, Mary has paid
little attention to her beauty. In leaving,
her Aunt Linnie urges Mary to visit her in
New York, but Mary refuses. At work in
a rental library, where she spends her spare
time writing short stories, Mary is dis-
mayed when her father tells her that he
has been let out as railroad attorney, the
fees of which were almost the sole support
of his family. To earn money she decides
to begin writing in earnest.
CHAPTER III—Continued
—
Mary placed her typewriter and
paper on Mr. Hormel's oak desk at
the rear of the shop, inserted a sheet
of paper, and pounded out a title
and her name: At Sea by Mary Lor-
ing. For half an hour, she sat there,
cudgeling her brain, her vague
thoughts for a plot jangling about in
her mind along with the harassing
and insurmountable questions:
“What will we do, now that Dad’s
been let out? Where will money
come from? How will Mother react
when she hears?”
At last, her fingers fell upon the
keys. She had an idea. A simple,
straightforward idea, about a large
family at loose ends financially.
She wrote with eager haste, the
homely, fluid thoughts of her story
conceiving themselves in her fertile
mind; passing magically through
her fingers and on to the sheet of
white paper before her. At last, it
was finished—nearly five pages of
neatly compiled thoughts, of swift,
clearly defined action. She had done
it! She had at last written a story
that seemed, even to her own criti-
cal mind, to be worthy of editorial
notice.
“Of course,” she thought, “I'll
have to read it over again and
again, and revise it, and retype it,
but, at least, I'm on my way.”
It was not until the following
night, just before six, that Christo-
pher Cragg made his appearance
at Hormel’'s shop. Mary had re-
typed her manuscript, slipped the
story into a long envelope, and di-
rected ‘“At Sea" to the magazine she
prayed would accept it.
The front door opened, and Mary,
a copy of Sabatini’s most recent tale
of adventure clasped mid-air in her
hand, turned about.
“The late Doctor Cragg,” he an-
nounced with a grin. “People will
have babies in this town, and thus,
my dear Mary, keep enterprising
young doctors away from the best
sellers. But thank God for it! A
baby yesterday at four o'clock! A
baby today at half past three!”
“Paying babies, Doctor Cragg?”
Mary demanded in mock serious-
ness. ‘I do hope you haven't been
wasting your time!”
Chris brought his eyebrows to-
gether in what was supposed to em-
ulate an expression of severest rep-
rimand. ‘““Any baby is a paying
proposition, my dear Miss Loring,
for a guy that's just starting out
in business. Experience, my child,
is nine-tenths of the price, or some-
thing to that effect. However, if
you must know, one of the arrivals
into this vale of tears will bring
me absolutely nothing in dollars and
cents. The other—well, do you think
fifty dollars is too much to charge
for the safe, sane, and most—er—
modernistic of deliveries?”
“Fifty dollars? Why, it's really
pretty cheap, I think, providing the
proud rew parents possess the fifty.
—I've saved your book for you, but
not, I must admit, without consid-
erable difficulty. It's hidden away
on a shelf in the back of the shop.
A bit of favoritism I'm showing,
Doctor Cragg. Come on back and
I'll root it out for you.”
He followed her to the shadowy,
rear room of the shop, noting, as
he did so, the v#liant way she held
her shoulders, the slender lines of
her young back. “It's up here,”
she said, pointing to the shelf that
seemed to be the carry-all for every-
thing not wanted for display, and,
before he could say anything, she
had ascended the ladder.
“I could have done that,” he re-
monstrated. ‘Here, Mary, let me-—"’
“No. You wouldn't be able to
find it. I've hidden it behind a lot
of trash. Back there, somewhere—"’
And, reaching beyond her distance,
she lost her balance and toppled to
the floor.
For an instant, she felt herself to
be swirling in a great, black void.
She couldn't remember where she
was, or what had happened. Then,
she felt Chris’ arms about her, and
heard his anxious voice.
“Mary! Mary, darling!” he was
saying. “Are you hurt, dearest?
Darling! Look at me! Say some-
thing!”
He had called her dearest and
darling. He was clutching her close
to his heart as if he would never
let her go, as if—as if he loved her!
And now, his lips were touching her
closed eyelids.
“Mary!” he pleaded. ‘“Can’t you
hear me, darling? Are you all
right?”
Mary lifted a limp hand, and
swiftly, fleetingly, touched his lean
cheek. “I'm all—right,”” she mur-
mured, thinking, ‘I'm happier than
i have ever been in all my life.
He loves me! Chris loves me!”
His lips were on hers now, bring-
ing them back to joyous conscious-
ness. “I love you, Mary,” he was
saying in quick, breathless words.
“I've loved you from the very first
moment I saw you, darling, that
night last summer at the country
club, but I shouldn't tell you so. My
God, I shouldn't tell you!"
“Why not, Chris? Why be afraid
to tell me?”
Silently, he lifted her to her feet,
and gently, firmly, pushed her from
him. “Because,” he said, his voice
clipped and tense, “I haven't the
right. I—I'm going to be married
next month—to a girl I've known all
my life.”
With a vague movement of her
hand, Mary sought for something to
hold to, found the corner of a table,
and clung to it. Thank God, the
gathering dusk prevented his see-
ing her face with any clarity. Thank
God, she hadn't told him that she,
too, cared—desperately. He would
A
“Nothing's sensible for a pretty
woman except a good marriage,”
Linnie decreed.
never know now. He would never
She managed at last to
almost
She said, “Good luck to
I wish you the greatest
sardonically. ‘Happiness!’ And
right?
hurt?”
““Nothing—but my heart,” she
thought; but aloud she said, ‘Quite
positive, Chris. You aren't going
without your book, are you?”
Are you positive nothing's
her and towards the entrance door.
“1 don't want the damned book,”
he almost shouted, and disappeared
into the darkened dreariness of
Main Street.
said to herself. ‘‘And now that that
Aunt Linnie meant.
career. I'll mail ‘At Sea’ tonight;
her in New York.
stay here! I simply couldn't bear
to stay here, and meet the girl
Christopher Cragg is going to
marry.”
Jim and Janet Loring were quite
amenable when Mary informed
therm that night that she had de-
cided to accept Aunt Linnie’s invi-
tation to visit her in New York.
Janet, always eager to give her chil-
dren every possible advantage, felt
that a sojourn in her sister's com-
fortable apartment would be a great
treat for Mary.
As for Jim, he thought, “Mary
must have her chance, God bless
her! A change will do her a world
of good, and Linnie will be a fine
influence. She's a wholesome wom-
an, in spite of her sophistication,
and she has both feet on the
ground.”
Mary could pay her own expenses,
fortunately. There was the mag-
nificent balance of ninety-seven dol-
lars in her savings account—a bal-
ance that represented meticulous
saving over a period of five years.
With a feeling of daring, she went
to the First National Bank the fol-
lowing morning and drew out every
cent of it. This final gesture buoyed
her up considerably.
The entire family went to the sta-
tion to see her off. “Don’t worry
too much, Dad dear,” she whis-
to her father as he held her
in his loving farewell embrace. He
looked so gaunt, standing there on
the wind-swept platform, waiting for
the train to pull in, so sort of—
hunted. Mary had kissed him first;
then, with terror in her heart at
his appearance, returned to him,
after bidding the others good-by,
to give him one last hug. She
thought for a mad instant of panic,
“I don't believe I'll ever see him
again. Oh, God help him. Help us
all!”
Lelia met her at the Grand Cen-
tral Station, a redcap already in
tow, and guided her dexterously
through a milling crowd that had
gathered to pay homage to Robert
Taylor, boarding a nearby train for
Chicago.
“We'll find a taxi,” Lelia said,
putting an arm through Mary's, “as
soon as we plow through these
movie fans who are doing their best
to get a lock of that poor man’s
hair. Aunt Linnie sent me down to
meet you, and to inform you, post-
haste, that she is simply enchant-
ed over your change of heart about
visiting her. She's attending a guild
meeting at Saint Thomas’ this after-
noon, but she'll be home by the
time we get there.”
Aunt Linnie, true to Lelia's
promise, was at home when the
two girls arrived at the smart Park
Avenue apartment house. Rising
quickly from her deep, chintz-cov-
ered chair before the fireplace, she
came the length of the room to
welcome Mary with outstretched
arms.
““Darling!'* she cried. “I'm so
glad, so very glad, that you de-
cided to come. Did Lelia tell you
that she’s staying with me, too?"
Mary laughed. ‘‘Poor Lelia didn't
have a chance to tell me anything,"
she replied. ‘lI was so busy ex-
claiming about the sights and lights
and sounds and smells!”
“And you haven't seen anything
yet. Oh, Mary, you'll adore New
York! Well, about Lelia here, she's
sublet her own apartment for a few
months, contemplating, as is her
habit, a dash down South later on,
so I prevailed upon her to come and
thus brighten a few moments of the
declining years of my life.”
“And, at the same time, save me
a large number of precious dollars
on hotel bills!" Lelia added with a
brushing her hair back from
forehead. "Come on, Mary,
show you our room, and you can
says.”
“Addie?”
to maid, counselor, bodyguard and
friend.”
“She's been with me for ten
“and
Ring for her right
We'll have some
I know Mary's tired from her
and needs something to
We don't dine till
this minute, Lelia.
tea.
brace her up.
eight.”
“Eight?”
matically.
“Darling,
said Linnie,
“1 feel as if I were, Aunt Linnie,”
Mary admitted. ‘I've never be-
fore seen a room to compare with
this! Or such loads of flowers! Or
so many photographs of fascinating-
looking people!"’
“Well, you're going to meet some
Mary repeated auto-
you're in a dream,”
day. I'm giving a party to intro-
added dryly, “I hope you'll find
era has made them, but I doubt it.”
Mary placed a hand on Linnie's
parties for me, Aunt Linnie. I'm
here just to see you, and to work.”
“To work! What doing, for heav-
en's sake?”
“Writing, Aunt Linnie,” Mary re-
turned, her dark eyes wide and se-
rious. “I want to be an author.”
Aunt Linnie uttered a little shriek.
“Heaven help us! An author! Dar-
ling, you're far tco pretty to spend
your time messing around with
words. I've never met a woman
writer yet who didn’t look like the
witch of Endor! Besides, the Cots-
wells have never been noted for
their brains. It's been all they
could do to write a fairly decent
letter.”
“Don’t discourage the child, Lin-
nie!” admonished Lelia. ‘‘There’'s
an exception to every rule. I think
it's grand that Mary wants to try
her hand at something sensible.”
‘Nothing's sensible for a pretty
woman except a good marriage,”
Linnie firmly decreed. “I know—
because I've never been either beau-
tiful or married!”
CHAPTER IV
The days which preceded Linnie
Cotswell’s cocktail party were like
a dream to Mary Loring—beauti-
ful, enchanting, unreal, yet bedev-
iled by the ever-present worry over
home conditions in Hawkinsville, be-
set at all times with thought of
Christopher Cragg. Aunt Linnie
dragged her triumphantly through
one mad orgy of shopping after an-
other, on to lunch at the Marguery
ing at Knoedler's or Harlow’'s; then
on to someone's apartment for tea;
finally back home for a quick bath
and change to evening clothes, and
dinner at the Plaza, or the Waldorf.
Swank-looking boxes of all sizes,
shapes and colors were daily being
delivered to her from the shops,
and although she reveled in the lux-
uries which Aunt Linnie insisted on
presenting to her, her enjoyment
was decidedly tempered by the
thought: “The. money spent on these
frivolities would just about support
Mother and Petey and Dad for a
month."
“1 suppose I do look well enough,”
she conceded to the person in the
else—and this thing called beauty
doesn't get you to first base in a
literary career.”
It was at ti%s moment that Lelia,
taking a hasty shower in the adjoin-
ing bathroom, called to her. “Mary!
ters that came for you in the after-
noon mail?"
Mary, applying a dash of color
to her lips, glanced towards the
door which Lelia had opened a frac-
tion of an inch in order to be heard
above the noise of the shower. ‘No,
I didn't, Lelia. Where are they? Is
there anything from home?”
“You'll find them on the bedside
table, propped against the lamp. 1
believe there was one from Haw-
Sorry 1 forgot to tell you
sooner."
Mary's lipstick fell to the dress-
ing table, and with a mad dash, she
made for the table between the twin
beds. Two letters reclined in-
triguingly against the lamp. The
top one, she could tell at a glance,
was fron Ellen. Dear Ellen! Dar-
ling Ellen! She hungrily-tore open
the envelope and began to read El-
len's cramped, school-girl scrawl;
then, having got just to the end of
“Darling Mary, we do miss you so,”
her eyes wandered to the other let-
ter that awaited her. It was a long,
legal-looking affair; her address
was typed; and in the upper left-
hand corner was printed those mag-
ic words: The National Weekly.
Placing the fluttering pages of El-
len’s letter on the bed, she gazed,
as if fascinated, at the impressive,
businesslike envelope staring at her
from beneath the lamp’'s soft glow.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Many early American silver-
smiths, it is well known, took prom-
inent parts in the public affairs of
their times and served their coun-
try or their communities ably and
well, writes Stephen Decatur in the
American Collector. In this connec-
t'‘on, of course, the name of Col
Paul Revere, of Boston, comes first
to mind.
Although New York cannot boast
of having produced a silversmith of
corresponding fame, nevertheless in
the person of Ephraim Brasher it
possessed a member of the craft
who was able, at a critical time, to
render services to his fellow eili-
zens which, if not spectacular, were
of almost inestimable value.
With the close of the Revolution-
ary war and the recognition of the
independence of the United States,
business in the new nation was at a
standstill. As it attempted to re-
vive, an acute shortage of hard
money developed which seriously
hampered the efforts of the mer-
chants. Consequently gold and sil-
ver coins became profitable to im-
port. Every vessel making a suc-
cessful voyage to a foreign port
brought back foreign coinage and
this money immediately passed into
circulation.
Such a heterogeneous currency of-
fered a great opportunity to coun-
terfeiters. By 1786 the country was
flooded with bogus coins. At the
time Ep Brasher was a leading sil-
versmith and jeweler of New York.
Fortunately, he was also an expert
on precious metals and this knowl
edge enabled him to pass on the
genuineness of coins.
He soon conceived the idea of
stamping each good piece which
passed through his hands with a
punch he used for the silver of
his manufacture. This mark was
E. B. in a rectangle. Brasher’s rep-
utation for probity was unques-
tioned; it was immediately recog-
nized that his initials on" a gold or
silver coin were a guarantee of its
purity.
Town of Harpers Ferry
Harpers Ferry, Ohio, was origi-
nally known as Shenandoah falls and
some time between the years 1840
and 1850, its name was changed.
A ferry had been established across
the Potomac there for some years,
and this gave its name to the town.
|
{
{
i
|
i
By LEMUEL F. PARTON
EW YORK.—Progressive educa-
tion has been pushed around a
lot lately.
See What Came
have
Boones of the
educational wil-
tion.
tain Valley,
Colorado Springs, the boy,
York family,
to
was given
build his
The idea, as
in all progressive schools of those
years
green light to any creative impulse
But, at 22, here is Mr. Hare
with a New York exhibit of cam-
era portraiture, with President
Roosevelt among his subjects,
and with famous artists and
photographers, including Arnold
Genthe, cheering him as the
“Leonardo da Vinei of the cam-
era.” Specifically, they agree
that young Mr. Hare has proved
indisputably that the camera not
only may be, but now is an in-
strument of the highest artistic
expression, and that he demon-
strates an absolutely new meth-
6d and medium of color por-
trait photography.
His three-lens camera allows the
superimposing of color images, in
the manner of the color-printing
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