CHAPTER XIII—Continued
we] Ge
The dinner Spike served was deli-
cious, and it was fun to be at Phillip
Buchanan's apartment after four
solid days of no companionship oth-
er than Addie’s. Both Spike and
Oscar greeted her like a long-lost
friend, Spike smilingly taking her
hat and jacket, Oscar offering his
great paw in a handshake of wel-
come.
The evening had turned cool, and
a bright fire of channel coal crackled
on the hearth. A table was already
set before it when she and Phil ar-
rived, and, shortly after, they were
sitting down to English lamb chops,
creamed new potatoes and buttered
peas. Phil, himself, mixed a spring
salad in a wooden bowl, while black
coffee percolated in an electric pot
on a side table,
“I've already spoken to Anthony
Porter about your novel,” he said,
adding a dash of olive oil to the
dressing he was making.
“Is he—an agent?’ Mary asked,
biting into a piece of spongy French
bread.
“Best in New York,” Phil replied.
“If your work's good enough for
Porter to handle, you'll go to town.”
Eventually, dinner was a thing of
the past, and a well-fed Oscar lay
asleep on the rug before the fire.
Mary settled herself in one corner
of the couch, and began “Storm on
the Mountain’ in a voice which she
knew was a bit shrill with excite-
ment.
Phil Buchanan, slumped into a
deep chair nearby, filled his pipe
from an oilskin pouch, and listened
with half-closed eyes. On and on
she read, able at last to overcome
her nervousness; calmed yet puz-
zled by Phil's failure to make any
comment whatsoever. She hadn't
the vaguest idea what he was think-
ing, and, finally, at the completion
of the third chapter, unable to stand
his silence any longer, she put down
the script.
“Are you thirsty?" Phil asked im-
mediately. ‘‘How about a liqueur?”
“Well, yes, I am thirsty—for some
water, but that’s not why I stopped.
I think I'll scream in a moment if
you don't say something—anything!
Tear the story to pieces, if you like
—only don’t keep me in such sus-
pense!”
Phil puffed slowly, maddeningly,
at his pipe; then removing it from
his mouth, smiled lazily at her. “Do
you really want to know what I
think of ‘Storm on the Mountain'?"’
“Yes! For heaven's sake, say
something!”’
“Well,” he returned slowly, "it's
great! I'm crazy about it. The only
thing that worries me is—can you
carry on with the same style
throughout the story? There's some-
thing almost breath-taking about
your way of telling this tale. Frank-
ly, I'm—fascinated with it; it's held
my interest from the very first
page.”
Mary looked at him incredulous
ly. “Do you really mean that?” she
asked.
“My dear child, haven't 1 told
you the truth about everything else
you've written? Why on earth should
I suddenly go soft? Naturally, there
are a few rough spots that need pol-
ishing up; occasional sentences to
be interchanged; here and there a
word to be substituted; but funda-
mentally, it's darned good. Wait a
second before you go on with that
next chapter; I'll get you some ice
water.”
Phil returned shortly, a tall silver
pitcher in one hand, and a tray,
holding two tumblers, in the other.
He poured some of the cold water
into one of the glasses and handed
it to her, and she drank from it
swiftly, greedily.
“You were thirsty!”
smiling at her. “More?”
“Yes, please. And then I want to
go on with the next chapter.”
“All right. And when that's fin-
ished if you still crave a few com-
ments, I'll make 'em.”
Mary picked up her script, and
began to read. At last, the fourth
chapter completed, Phil left his
chair and came over to sit on the
couch beside her. “Now, let me
look at that,” he said, and Mary
obediently placed the script on a
table he had drawn up before the
couch. ‘There's a paragraph in the
first chapter—about page four . . .”
And bending over the gcript, their
heads almost touching, they worked
over the typed pages for the next
two hours. Notes or the margin,
notes on the back of each page;
whole lines crossed out, and, the
thoughts of the man and girl work-
ing in unison, new lines substituted.
“You don't mind my tearing this
to pieces in places, do you?’ Phil
asked, looking askance at the pen-
cil marks that defiled one of the
sheets,
“= “Mind?” Mary returned, her eyes
filled with gratitude for Phillip Bu-
chanan who bothered to rewrite the
sentences she had composed.
“Mind! Why, Mr. Buchanan, I can’t
tell you how grateful I am! You're
terribly nice to help me . . .”
Phil picked up his highbell and,
with head thrown back, drained its
contents. ‘Don’t be silly! 'm not
“terribly nice’ at all. I''!n a mean,
Phil said,
grasping old man, taking great
pleasure in indulging in my favorite
sport—the business of discovering
new talent! And, Mary, 1 believe
you've got the goods!”
“Well, you've done enough ‘dis-
covering’ for one night,” Mary re-
plied, a smile curving the corners
of her mouth. “Look at that clock
over there! It's twelve o'clock, and
I must go home!”
CHAPTER XIV
The weeks slipped by—weeks that
were almost identical in their pat-
tern, yet strangely thrilling for Mary
Loring. She was making excellent
progress on her novel; the letters
from home were fairly cheerful al-
though her father had not yet found
a position; she was seeing Phillip
Buchanan two or three times a
week, and he was, invariably, en-
thusiastic over each group of the
newly-finished chapters which she
read to him. This spurred her on
to even greater efforts.
March had slid into April, and
April had brought the publication of
‘““At Sea’ in The National Weekly.
With it had come a number of fan
letters, a glowing article about her
in the Hawkinsville evening paper;
and a small but significant spot in
Phillip's circle of friends.
Anthony Porter had now read the
first fifteen chapters of “Storm on
the Mountain,” and agreed with
Phillip Buchanan that it was *‘good
stuff.” "Yes," he said, “I'll market
it for you, providing the remaining
chapters come up to what I've
seen.”
It was during the last week of
April that Mary heard something
rather startling about Jim Ormsby,
and after several days of hesitation,
decided to write Lelia an air-mail
letter, and tell her what she knew.
Phil Buchanan had been her in-
formant. “So Lelia’s having a time
for herself in Jamaica, 1s she?’ he
had asked, using that belligerent
tone which he invariably employed
when speaking of Jim Ormsby's ex-
wife.
“Yes,” Mary replied coldly. “Why
shouldn't she?”
Phil scowled at her.
retorted, “it seems a little unfair
when Jim's having such rough sled-
ding.”
“ ‘Rough sledding?’ What's
matter with Jim Ormsby?”
“Don’t you know?"
“Know what? How should I know
anything about Mr. Ormsby? Lelia
hasn't mentioned him over three
times since I've known her—and
then, of course, only casually.”
“Jim Ormsby's just dropped a lot
of money in the Barstow Amalga-
mated failure,” Phil returned, ‘“‘yet
he's kept on paying that ridiculously
large alimony he signed up for when
they got their divorce.”
A shadow passed over Mary's
face. “I'm sure Lelia doesn’t know
about Jim's losses,” she said de-
fensively. ‘‘She’s one of the squar-
the
a——
“My dear child, haven't I told
you the truth about everything
else you've written?”
est, fairest women I've ever met,
and, what's more, 1 believe she's
still terribly in love with Jim."
Phil Buchanan's chin thrust for.
ward angrily. “Well, if she is, now's
the time for her to show it! Jim's
not only almost completely down
and out as to finances, but he's also
a very sick man. Ulcers of the
stomach, or something. And he’s
at his Connecticut place, sick, broke
and alone except for his houseman.”
“Perhaps Lelia ought to know,”
Mary had thought at the time. “I
wonder if I should write and tell
her. She might think I'm an offi-
cious little prig—yet I just know
she's still in love with Jim, and
She want to do something about
t.
It was almost a week, however,
before she could make up her mind
to write Lelia, and, even then, it
was with trepidation that she sent
off the air-mail letter.
She and Phil had been seated on
the lounge in Aunt Linnie's living
room, and, finished with the reading
of the last sentence of the last chap-
ter, Mary looked up at the man, a
shy unspoken question in her eyes.
“It's great, Mary!” Phil ex-
claimed. ‘Tony Porter can't help
liking it! He'd be a fool to turn it
down. It's got everything a popu-
lar novel should have—love and
hate, revenge and vindication, con-
flict and suspense. And it's beauti-
fully written, my dear.”
The girl's eyes filled with sudden,
unwanted tears of relief and happi-
ness, and, looking at her, Phil
thought, “Those eyes are like shin-
ing dark pools.” Quite without warn-
ing, he put his arms about her, and
drew her to him. ‘‘You little nut!"
he said brusquely. “What in the
world are you crying about?”
“I'm—I'm so happy!” Mary re-
turned, smiling through her tears.
“It's so wonderful to have the
noved finished and to hear you say
it's all right.”
The man’s arms tightened about
her. “But,” he protested, "I've said
all along that it was good stuff!”
‘“Well—yes. But you were so ter-
ribly insulting about those short sto-
ries!"
Phil extracted a big sheer hand-
kerchief from his pocket and dried
two shining tears that were sliding
down her face. ‘I was frank about
those stories, Mary,”” he said, and
his gray eyes had grown serious,
“because 1 wanted to help you. I
suspect I was in love with you even
then, but I didn't actually realize
it until tonight.”
“What!” Mary exclaimed, and,
apparently aware for the first time
that Phillip Buchanan's arms were
about her, hastily drew away from
him.
“Yes,” he said in a low voice,
making no effort to hold her, ‘yes,
I'm in love with you, Mary, but nev-
er having been in love with anybody
before, 1 suppose I didn’t recognize
the symptoms! Darling?"
“Yes, Phil?”
“Will you marry me? I need you
awfully. It's just dawned on me
how important a part of my exis-
tence you've become; how alone and
lost I'd be without
you."
Mary regarded him silently, her
This man was so different
rom--the others; so unlike Jerome
Taylor and Umberto Balianci, even
Christopher Cragg. He was so hon-
orable and straightforward He
loved her; he was, well, rather a
wonderful person, and she should be
elated over his wanting her for his
wife-—yet a vision of Chris precipi-
tated itself before her mind's eye.
“Phil,” she finally began, “Il hard-
ly know what to say. 1. "
He leaned towards her,
ly took one of
“Then don't say anything just yet,’
he replied, his speech blurred with
a gruff tenderness. ‘‘Don’t give me,
editorially speaking, a rejection slip
tonight! Wait a while, dearest, and
think things over. I an't even ask
you if you care anything at all about
me. Perhaps I'd rather not hear.
Perhaps I'm just a little afraid.”
Mary tried valiantly to regdin her
equilibrium. “Phil,”’ she began
again, “1. . ."” But her speech was
halted by another blinding thought
of Christopher Cragg.
Phil flung aside her hand, and,
jumping up from the couch, started
to pace the length of the living
room. "Don’t answer me now,” he
admonished shortly. ‘Give yourself
some time! I won't force things,
my dear. I'll simply wait until
you're quite sure-—one way or the
other . Listen! You'll have to
get ‘Storm on the Mountain’ typed,
and into Porter's hands right away.
I'm going to trot along now. It's
twelve o'clock.”
Mary got up from the lounge, and
followed him into the entrance hall.
and quiet-
her hands in his.
"
“You've been so good to help me
with the novel, Phil,” she said tim-
idly. “Ican'ttellyou. . .”
He opened the entrance door; then
wheeled about and looked at her
intently, a worried frown between
his eyes. “I hope 1 haven't upset
you, Mary,” he said, his voice taut,
“but remember I'll be waiting for
your decision. There'll never be
anyone else in my life, darling!”
Abruptly, he caught her in his
arms and kissed her warmly, ten-
derly, on the mouth. ‘I love you,
dearest!’”’ he murmured.
Then, almost roughly, he released
her, stalked to the door, and
He caught her in his arms and
kissed her warmly, tenderly.
slammed it behind him.
where he had left her,
to the floor.
Unconsciously, her hand
her lips. Phil had ki
the first time-—and she h
kiss! “Yet how can I "
herself. “I'm in love with
pher Cragg!”
Mary stood
as if rooted
went to
sed her
f¢
ior
Mary took "Storm on the Moun-
to a public stenographer’'s to
be typed the next morning Yes,
she was told by the efficient young
man behind a desk in the outer of-
fice, they'd charge twenty-five dol-
lars for three copies, and they'd
bind it for her if she wished.
» was back
and the rest
tain
on Forty-second Street, a
of the day before her. She didn't
know just what she wanted to
do, or where she wanted to j
was utterly satiated
She felt as if she'd scre
had to look at
in someone's else novel r at least
another week, She'd like to make a
sort of holiday, a gala affair, of to-
day, but a girl can’t be particularly
festive all by herself.
She wished that Phil had invited
her to have lunch with him, but he
hadn't even mentioned a future en-
gagement when they had parted the
night before. A deep red suffused
her face as thoughts of that parting
recalled themselves to her mind,
and a pleasant sensation flooded her
heart as she remembered his kiss.
“I've never felt quite like that be-
fore,” she admitted to herself, “yet
it's so silly for me to be-—touched
at all when I can’t possibly be in
love with Phil Buchanan. I wonder
if he'll call tonight."
But “Mr. Phil” did not phone, and
after eating dinner and reading the
Sun, Mary, feeling lonesome for the
first time since Linnie Cotswell's de-
parture, went to bed.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
another word--even
Sometimes the scientist seems to
be spending his time and other
people’s money on things that seem
to have little apparent practical
value to the everyday world, and
sometimes a few scientists have per.
haps pursued the study of the sec-
ond toe joint of the third left leg of
a microscopic bug rather far afield,
yet how difficult it is to be sure in a
given case whether research is real-
ly worth while is well shown by re-
searches made on the genes, or in-
heritance cells, by the geneticists,
writes Barclay Moon Newman in the
Scientific American.
The gene, or inheritance cell, is so
small that nobody has ever seen
one, yet by all kinds of experiments
on it, and By putting together all
kinds of findings, an important puz-
zle has now been largely worked
out. Today it is possible to say that
the remarkable discoveries of the
geneticists who work on the genes
in the laboratory, as applied to ani-
mal and plant breeding and with al-
most incredible success, have been
of practical value running far into
billions of dollars.
Far greater yields of grains, fruits,
vegetables and cotton; far higher
quality both in domestic plants and
domestic animals of every descrip-
tion and their products, including
milk, meat, eggs and wool; in-
creased and sometimes perfect re-
sistance to disease; entirely new
varieties of animals and vegetables,
and the lessening of the chances of
famine—all these have resulted from
the labors of a few scientists doing
things which to the average man
without an understanding of their
ultimate purpose might seem ab-
surd,
In the realm of science it has been
demonstrated time after time that
it is almost impossible to date in ad-
vance what apparently valueless re-
search nray lead toward billions of
dollars of value to the world,
Production of Plate Glass
Prior to 1850 almost no plate glass
was produced in this country. Sev-
eral factors at that time prevented
development of such an industry.
There were few skilled glass mak-
ers. The foreign producers were al-
ready firmly established in the mar
ket. Transportation of such a prod-
uct was costly in America because
of the lack of good roads.
ADVENTUROUS
AMERICANS
By
Elmo Scott Watson
Indian Painter
HE early painters of American
Indian life were all adventurous
but John Mix Stanley had
Stanley first became interested in
1838 and went to Fort
Snelling, Minn., to paint them. Dur-
of the Southwest. In 1846 he joined
the famous march of General Kear-
he laid down his painter's brush to
take up a gun and fight in several
engagements.
The next year Stanley found more
excitement awaiting him in the
North. He narrowly escaped being
in the Whitman massacre when that
missionary, his wife and 11 others
were killed by the Cayuses in east-
ern Washington. He had another
close call when he returned to San
Francisco to take ship for New York
via Cape Horn, for he arrived just
too late to go aboard. That ship was
lost at sea and was never heard of
again.
In 1853 Stanley was appointed art-
ist to the expedition sent to explore
a route for a Pacific railroad from
St. Paul to Puget Sound. After a
series of adventures with that expe-
dition, he returned to the East,
where he died in 1872. The last
years of his life were saddened by
the loss of more 150 paintings
of Indian life wi! he had spent
10 years in making and which were
destroyed by a fire in the Smithsoni-
an institution in 1865.
* * »
Aguinaldo’s Captor
N 1001 America had a new nation-
al hero—‘‘a little man with a
slight limp, with a Vandyke beard
and a sense of humor that bubbled
in him like the effervescence of
wine.” His name was Frederick
Funston, former student at the Uni-
versity of Kansas, newspaper re-
porter and member of a filibuster-
ing expedition to deliver to Cuban
revolutionists five Hotchkiss guns
for use the Spi }
was made a captain of artil
in 18 months fought in 22 engage-
ments. Then the Spanish put a
price on his head and he barely
managed to escape and return to
the United States.
At the outbreak of the Spanish-
American war Funston raised a reg-
iment of Kansas volunteers and was
made its colonel He was sent to
the Philippines and aided in the
capture of Manila. In August, 1898,
Emilio Aguinaldo started an insur-
rection against the new masters of
the islands and for the next three
years led 70,000 American soldiers
and their native auxiliaries a mer-
ry chase.
Finally he was located in south-
ern Luzon and Funston, by now a
brigadier-general of volunteers,
formed a daring plan to capture
ich
against
is
lieutenants, Funston led a party of
80 Macabebe scouts toward Agui-
naldo’s hiding place. They were to
pass themselves off as a detach-
ment of insurgent Tagalogs who had
captured these five Americans and
were bringing them to Aguinaldo.
It was a risky business for every-
thing depended upon the faithful-
ness of the Macabebes.
But they played their part to per-
the American ‘‘cap-
tives” were delivered to Aguinaldo.
Confederate Mail Runner
Louis and St. Paul.
raised
west of Hannibal,
military career’ in that company
Grimes then volunteered for serv-
jce as a mail carrier between the
Missouri and Kentucky troops in
the Confederate army and their rel-
atives at home. It was an extreme-
ly hazardous duty for it meant go-
ing through the Union lines at the
peril of capture and execution as a
spy. During the siege of Vicksburg
he ran the blockade successfully by
wiring his mail in tin boxes to the
bottom of an overturned skiff and
floating beside it among the Union
gunboats until he had passed them.
Grimes was repeatedly captured
by the Union forces and twice he
was sentenced to death, He spent
several months in the old Gratiot
prison in St. Louis and was there
under sentence of death at the end
of the war. However, his life was
saved by an unconditional pardon
issued by Abraham Lincoln-—-amon
the last acts of mercy perform
by the President before he was as
sassinated.
© Western Newspaper Union.
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Ask Me Another
é A General Quiz
. What is the greatest solvent?
. Why is an acorn so often seen
in carving on Colonial hous
3. What is meant by ‘ih
American novel’?
4. Who described
as frozen music?
5. What does corn mean?
6. Why do birds throw
heads back when drinking?
The Answers
1. Water. It dissolves to a
greater or lesser extent almost all
substances which it contacts.
2. It was considered a symbol of
hospitality.
3. It is a phrase applied to a
novel not yet written but dreamed
of by all who are interested in
American literature.
4. Goethe described architec
ture as frozen music.
5. To the American, maize; the
their
6. In order to swallow. The
by suction.
entinels
of Health
Don't Neglect Them !
Natgre designad the Mdneye to 40.5
toxic impurities, Ret of Tein lis
self-in constantly producing waste
matter kidneys must remove from
(by Blood if good hesith I to endure
When the kidneys fail to function as
Nature intended, there is retention of
waste that Inay Same body.-wide dis
geiting wp nights, swelling,
under the eyes—deel tired, nervous, all
worn out.
may be further evidence of kidney of
Fe recopnived and
an
fo a diuretic medicine to herp