A, 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, di. vereee, for a Christmas visit. Waiting at home for them are Mary's mother, her younger sister, Ellen; her father'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. Mary is secretly in love with Doctor Cragg. In leaving, her Aunt Linnie urges Mary to visit her in New York, but Mary refuses. Mary works in a rental li. brary, where she spends her spare time writing short stories. Mary's father is let out as railroad attorney, the fees of which were almost the sole support of his family, To earn money she decides to begin writ. ing in earnest. Mary feels sure that her newest story, "At Sea,” would please the editors of National Weekly. After fin. ishing it she calls Doctor Cragg, who comes to the book store for a current novel. Fall. ing from a ladder while getting his book, she regains consciousness to find his arms around her. He tells her he loves her, and then tells her he is to be married the com. ing month to a girl he has known all his life. Despondent, Mary decides to accept her Aunt Linnie's invitation. In New York her aunt laughs at her for her plans to write, and insists that she meet as many eligible men as possible. The new week brings two letters. One, from the National Weekly, with a $100 check for her story, makes her deliriously happy. The other, from her sister, tells her that financial con. ditions at home are getting worse. The next day, at a party given by her aunt, Mary meets distinguished Jerome Taylor, wealthy middle aged man-about-town, and effusive Count Umberto Ballancl. The <ount’s oily manner nauseates her, CHAPTER V—Continued snl The Mulatto woman consulted the names on the envelopes with mad- dening precision, finally extending a letter towards Mary. ‘“‘Just one, honey. Looks like a man’s writing, too.” Mary caught the letter from the long, olive-tinted hand. ‘I hope it's from my father,” she said, almost as if to herself. Dad had not writ- ten to her since her arrival in New York, and she was hungry to hear, in his own words, how he was get- ting on. It was from her father—just one page of his small, scholarly hand- writing—neat, modest, suppressed, like the man himself. She read, with affectionate eagerness, what he had to say. My own little girl: Your money-order for eighty-five dol. lars came today, and it is with inex. presstble embarrassment, and deep grat. itude that 1 am accepting this loan from you. There is no use trying to conceal from you that I am terribly bard-pressed, and that your generous offering has arrived as something of a godsend, but Mary, 1 shall pay you back. 1 am doing everything 1 can to make a contact, and hope for something good to break this week. Don't, 1 beg of you, ever mention to your aunt the straitened circumstances in which I—through my inadequacy— have thrown my family. 1 could not bear the chagrin of having your dear mother's sister know the true state of our financial affairs, let alone suffer the Smbarransment of an offer of help from Try not to worry about us, dear, Have a good time while you may. Something, 1 am sure, will work out for me soon. Mary placed her unfinished piece of toast on the blue Spode butter dish. She could not eat any more. Her ravenous young appetite had deserted her. Poor Dad, trying to “make a contact’ at his age! Hop- ing for “something good to break this week!” Begging her never to divulge to Aunt Linnie, who could 80 very easily spare a thousand or two thousand dollars to relieve, at least temporarily, the devastating worry that gnawed at his heart and mind! No, she would not “let on,” by word or act, how desperate the Hawkinsville situation was. She would never betray Dad's confi dence, or do anything to hurt his pride. Hastily, she picked up the break- fast tray, with its powder-blue dishes and silver coffee pot, and car- ried it to Addie, who forthwith re- monstrated with her for “doi” my work.” Then, returning to the sunlit living room, she placed the type- writer on the table, inserted a sheet of white paper and put on the glasses which Ellen said made her look typically librarian. She had an idea for a plot—a simple idea, but so had been the idea for "At Sea.” Mr. Buchanan had liked that well enough to accept it. Her story was to concern a Bittle boy whose mother and father were on the brink of a sensational di- vorce. Just as things were reach. ing a crisis, he was hit, but only slightly injured, by an automobile, and this near tragedy brought the parents together again, the tale con. cluding in a sane and happy man- ner for all concerned. Fifteen minutes later, she was still waiting for an introductory line that would inspire within Mr. Buchanan an avid interest to read the rest of the story, but the portentous words were fearfully slow in coming. At last her fingers fell upon the keys, and sharply tap out a sentence --a sentence that &id not please her in the least, but which would simply have to do for the time being, She would have to get on. She couldn't sit there all day, waiting to begin. Paragraph after paragraph slow. ly but surely stretched themselves over the pages, but the story un. rolled with painful effort. “I've waited too long since the last one. My thoughts simply can't get down to business. Too many things have happened to me since I wrote ‘Ai Sea.’ If only I'd begun another story the very day after I finished that! I suppose your mind's just like any other kind of machinery. You've got to keep it vrorking all the time, or the wheels get rusty, and are hard to start up again.” Mary worked on “Their Son’’ again the next morning, rewriting whole sentences, transcribing phrases, de- leting words that appeared unneces- sary, but the conformation remained the same, and she could see no way in which to improve it. She was not satisfied with what she had done. The story lacked something. At one o'clock, she put it aside, telling her- self grimly, “I'm so saturated with the thing that I can no longer look at it from an unbiased standpoint. I'll go out for a walk. Maybe the fresh air will drive the cobwebs out of my brain, and I can get to work on it again tonight with a fresh outlook.” Then, she suddenly re- membered that Aunt Linnie had made an engagement for the eve- ning with Umberto Balianci, and, with a sigh, she resigned herself to She settled herself in an arm- chair and began to read. waiting until the following morning to work on the script again. Balianci called for them at seven, just shortly after Lelia had en- sconced herself comfortably in bed with Somerset Maugham’'s new book at her side, and a tray of delectable food over her knees. “Well, thank heavens, I'm not going out with you and Linnie tonight," she said with a mischievous grin. “Aunt Linnie said to wear a street dress,” Mary remarked. Lelia yawned luxuriously. *Oh, of course, with Balianci footing the bill! He will, no doubt, treat you to an eighty-five cent table-d'hote in some wretched place in the Vil- lage, and smugly feel that you and Linnie are in his debt for the rest of the winter, He's so accustomed to having somebody else pay the check that, when he does come across with an invitation, he damn’ well sees to it that his output of cash is of the smallest possible denomi- nation. He's a sponger, darling, looking for a rich wife, and no- body on earth can make me believe anything to the contrary.” Mary pulled on her Lapin coat, and caught her gloves up from the dressing-table. “You do look cozy, Lelia,” she said, "and heaven knows I wish I were staying at home tonight instead of going out into that horrid, raw weather. I'd have liked to work on my story.” “The afternoon paper says we'll have a regular blizzard by morn- ing,” Lelia announced, crunching a Julienne potato with tantalizing en- joyment. “Thanks be to Allah for my bed and board! See you later, my dear, unless you get lost in a snowdrift. I doubt if Balianci has the price of a taxi!” Balianci had the price of a taxi, or else had decided to spread himsel? for the evening, for, upon descend- ing to the street, he ordered the doorman to whistle for a cab. “Cor- liani's,’’ he told the driver, “in the Village.” A startled look sprang into Lin. nie's eyes, but was quickly, diplo- matically, succeeded by a smile. “Corliani’'s, Balianci?” she inquired brightly. “Is that a new place?” Balianeci plumped himself down on one of the small side seats, and lighted a cigarette. “It is a place I have b#t recently discovered, Miss Cotswell, and the food is most excel- lent—cooked as only the chefs of my country can cook. I thought per- haps Miss Loring would like a bit of atmosphere—something different from what she has been accus- tomed to seeing and doing since she has been in New York.” Corliani’'s was crowded, garish, and shabby, and the bare wooden tables were set so closely together that it was almost impossible to wedge a way through them. Sput. tering candles, set in wine bottles, furnished the only illumination, and the air was heavy with the stale, accumulated smell of garlic and cig- arette smoke. Mary wondered, during the long, spasmodic serving of the meal, if they were going some place later on, but her speculations as to that were soon brought to an end by Balianci’'s saying, a tentative tone in his voice, ‘“The weather, it is ex- ecrable. Should we not be happier to remain here for the evening?" Miss Cotswell, who had scarcely touched her food, replied that per- haps they would, lit a cigarette, and sat back resignedly in her chair. After which, Balianci divided his attention and his eyes equally be- tween the tawdry floor show and Mary. Once, during the evening, he put his hand over Mary's as it lay on the table, caught it to his lips and murmured, ‘A hand so beautiful, it needs no jewels.” Mary hastily withdrew her hand, and the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement as she thought, ‘Just as well—since 1 haven't any!” “You are so right, beautiful la- dy,” Balianci continued, his voice reminding Mary of the purr of a large Maltese cat. ‘“‘The lily should never be gilded.” Miss Cotswell caught Balianci’s eve at this moment, and neatly con- veyed to him by her expression that his remarks were not altogether to her liking. Eventually, at eleven o'clock, she rose. ‘““We must be getting home," she said tersely. Balianci managed to squeeze into the same seat with the women on the homeward trip in the taxi, and to take advantage of the closeness of the quarters by pressing his shoulder rather too tenderly against Mary's. "He can't be doing it on purpose,” Mary told herself. “It's Simply that this seat is so narrow.” Miss Cotswell turned abruptly, just as they reached the elevator in her apartment house, and extend. ed her hand to Balianci in an un- deniable farewell. Later, in the pri- vacy of her apartment, she said to her niece, “Umberto was loping right along with us into the lift. No doubt, he intended to come up for a nightcap, but I couldn't stand an- other moment of his company. Dreadful evening, wasn't it?" Mary, warming her chilled fingers before the dying fire on the hearth, smiled. “Maybe it was for you, Aunt Linnie. You're so accustomed to nightingale’'s knees on toast that I can imagine how low-life you con- sider a place like Corliani's. As for me, however, it was rather fun. Re- member, hot chocolate and salted crackers at Bowen's drug store have been the high points in my night life for years! I'd never tasted real Italian food before, and I was even intrigued with some of the rather strange-looking creatures that prac- tically sat in our laps.” For some inexplicable reason, Mary woke at six the next morning. Lelia and Miss Cotswell were, of course, still asleep, and even Addie could not be heard stirring about. The script of “Their Son,” which she had tucked away in the bottom drawer of her bureau the day be- fore, sprang to her mind, and with a sudden spurt of energy, she de- cided that now, in the early hours of this cold morning, with not one sign of life to disturb the calm, was the time to read it over. She could look at it from a fresh viewpoint, and, no doubt, discern in its struc- ture glaring flaws which she had been too weary to notice the day be- fore. A second later, she settled her- self in an armchair before the liv- ing room window and began to read “Their Son." It really went rather smoothly, she told herself. The phraseology was perfect: her choice of words, beyond criticism. she decided. “It's as good as it'll ever be, and it may be far better than I think. I'm going to submit it to Mr. Buchanan today, and it's got to sink or swim.” With eager fingers, she slipped it into a large, manila envelope, and, securing Aunt Linnie’s fountain pen from the tray of odds and ends on the desk, wrote across its front in large letters, “Mr. Phillip Buchanan, The Nation- al Weekly.” “I'll take it to him myself,” she thought, “and if he's not there, just leave it with his secretary. I wish it were later. I don’t suppose these editors ever think of rolling into their offices until at least ten. Well, I'll just have to take a long bath, eat a long breakfast, and spend an hour getting dressed. Maybe that'll consume the time between now— and then!” CHAPTER VI It was half past ten, and Mary sat with flushed face and icy hands in the reception room of The Na- tional Weekly, She had arrived ex- actly at the stroke of ten, and, aft- er giving her name to the efficient receptionist, had been told that Mr. Buchanan was in, that he was occu- pied at the moment, and to sit down, please. Two other persons had now en- tered the reception room: a good- looking young man with an intense air; a swarthy girl of twenty-five or so. “But I'll be next,” Mary told herself excitedly, her hands like blocks of ice beneath their tan suede gloves. The other callers had disappeared through mysterious doors and Miss Hickenlooper, the secretary, was now speaking through one of the tel- ephones in response to a buzz that had resounded throughout the re- ception room. “All right, Miss Lor- ing,” she said. “Your turn now." Mary jumped to her feet, drop- ping her purse as she did so. Miss Hickenlooper raised a supercilious eyebrow. ‘Your purse, Miss Lor- ing,” she said coldly. “And you'd better take your coat with you.” "Hateful woman!’ Mary thought, her face suffusing with a deep red. “She probably knows I'm excited.” *To the right, please,” Miss Hick. enlgoper was saying. “Office at the end of the corridor." “Thank you,” Mary said coldly and, elevating her chin ever so slightly, stepped through the door that led into the working quarters of The National Weekly. Offices opened off to the right and left of the long narrow hall but, with eyes straight ahead, she made for the one at the end--the sanctus. sanctorum of the lot—the office of Phillip Buchanan, She stood in the doorway an in- stant before the man at the desk became aware of her presence. He was scanning a typed letter, and a his eyebrows. He looked austere, and Mary, none-toc-assured at best, felt increasingly nervous. He was find him, perhaps thirty-five, and his Florida, which, indeed, he had. ing her standing there, rose hastily one would have judged, seeing him sitting down, glaring at that let. ter. He was as tall as Chris. the fear that he had inspired in her was instantly dispelled. His voice was kind, young-—-with the faintest trace of s&s Harvard accent. (TO BE CONTINUED) The line of a hand, the set of a jaw, the way of a walk or even the size of an ear all have been used to denote and define character. Now way one turns out words on a type- writer, according to a Paris United Press correspondent, « Like handwriting, say the French, different styles of typing denote in their way different characteristics. Whether it is a wide margin or a narrow one, pounding on the keys or hitting some letters harder than oth- ers, each peculiarity in typing marks some particular trait which can be interpreted if the different signs are understood. According to authorities who have compiled the rudiments of ‘‘read- ing typewriting'’ the general char. acteristics are as follows: A person who uses an overly wide margin and especially a wide mar. gin for the beginning of a paragraph is highly sensitive. . A very small margin or no mar- gin at all at the beginning of a paragraph means the person is lack. ing in good taste, is inclined to be miserly and overly frugal concern- ing small things, The average margin means the writer does things in an orderly and methodical way, is intelligent and has clear ideas. A letter which has been typed at a continuous speed and the letters are all struck with virtually the same force indicates that the writer is generally good in several fields but not necessarily specialized in any. The “pounder” who makes deep imprints in the paper is easily dis- tracted and is generally not a good concentrator, Those who type words where the letters are not all struck with equal force are sensitive and usually pos- sess a great deal of personality. Lastly, where this irregularity is more marked the person is overly sensitive and possesses a sketchy mind with instincts dominating rea- ADVENTUROUS AMERICANS y Elmo Scott Watson Long-Haired Sheriff | (YOMMODORE PERRY OWENS, to Texas in the early seventies and | spent 11 years there as a cowboy | before becoming foreman of a cow | outfit in New Mexico. { hair long—almost to his waist—and | carried his six-shooter on his left | side, the butt pointing forward. Old | timers in the Southwest were doubt- ful whether such a “show-off” had | “real sand.” | They found out he did have when, singlehanded, he killed three Navajo | Indian cattle thieves. Then the peo- ple of nerthern Arizona decided he {| was the man to clean up the out- | laws in their section and elected him i sheriff of Apache county in 1887, He broke up a band of 18 cattle | rustlers after killing Ike Clanton of { Tombstone fame and two others and capturing his brother, Finn Clanton, | leader of the gang. | But his greatest feat was his sin- | gle-handed fight with four members of the Blevans gang, one of the fac- tions in the famous Pleasant Valley war. In this fight, which took place in Holbrook, Perry killed three of the four, including Andy Cooper, one of Arizona's most dangerous gun- fighters. It was one of the most desperate encounters at close quar- ters in the history of the state, not even excepting the famous fight at the O. K. corral in Tombstone. Refusing re-election as sheriff, Perry became a special agent for the Santa Fe railroad, later express messenger for Wells-Fargo and then a United States marshal. He gave up his man-hunting work in 1800 and became a business man in Sel- igman where he died in 1819, . » »- First in Yellowstone Park \ HAT an adventure it Must have been for the first person who saw the Yellowstone! John Col- ter, who for three years had served in the famous Lewis and Clark ex- pedition, was the lucky man. He had just left the party and estab- lished himself with the expedition of Manuel Lisa from St. Louis who traveled up the Missouri river to trade with the Indians. A fort was established at the Big Horn and John Colter was sent ahead to notify the red men. With courage typical of that period, he began his lone expedition into terri- {| tory never before trod by even the most courageous trappers and pi- oneers of the time. Informed by the Indians that ahead lay a territory that was be- | deviled and that they would not pen- etrate it, his curiosity and his ad. venturous spirit impelled him to ex- | plore it. He was well rewarded for {| records show that, in 1808, he went {| through and then completely encir- | tional park. | person, the boiling springs, towering ! geysers and strange mineral depos- | its. Not only was he a pioneer | turous than even the red men, being {| years ahead of them in risking ex- | istence in a land where the earth and hissed steam. pits and the smell of brimstone that the men of the fort laughed at him It was several years before fy his discovery. » First Arctic Explorer ENJAMIN FRANKLIN is famous for a long list of achievements but one more should be added to the list—that of patron of the first Amer- ican voyage of Arctic exploration. Early in the Eighteenth century the English parliament offered a re- ward of 20,000 pounds to anyone who proved the existence of the fabled Northwest Passage to Asia. A Brit. failed to find it. . Then Franklin helped outfit the 60-ton schooner, Argo, which set Capt. Charles Swaine. Sailing in March, the Argo encountered ice off Cape Farewell, but finally succeed- ed in entering Hudson's strait in the latter part of June, Here the ice packs were so high that Swaine was forced to give up the attempt to penetrate further westward and to turn back to the open sea again. He then carefully examined the coast of Labrador be. fore returning to Philadelphia where he arrived in November, The next year he made a second voyage of discovery in the same Again he was unsuccessful 's latest biographer, says: ‘Here were the beginnings of (SHERI REP DEPARTMENT PUPPIES WANTED--We buy puppies of all types, Bend description a lowest cash rice In first letter. RONKIN, 331 N. utaw Bt, Baltimore, Maryland, HOTELS [ Come to Baltimore, Maryland | i Stop at | THE MOUNT ROYAL HOTEL | Mt Royal Ave, and Calvert Sts, 9 stories «= Five-proof Rates begin ot $1.50 per day { | Coffee Shop — Music and Dancing in the FAMOUS ALGCERIAN ROOM Welding Instruction WELDERS NEEDED, Learn now, Easy terms. 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Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers