CHAPTER XIV—Continued
we] rm
The next morning she wandered
about the apartment, and eventually
settled in her own room. Her clothes
needed a good looking-over, and
now, if ever, was the perfect time
to do it. There were stockings to be
mended, gloves to be washed, sev-
eral things to be sent to the cleaner.
It was while her hands were deep in
soapsuds that the telephone rang,
and, in an unconscious attempt to
beat Addie to the instrument, she
ran to answer it.
The Mulatto, emerging from the
kitchen, and observing Mary's
haste, grinned wisely, and let her
win the race.
“Mary?’’ asked the vt
other end of the line.
“Hello, Phil,” she returned, and
was surprised to find that it was an
effort not to appear too eager.
“Doing anything tonight?”
“Um-—no, I'm not.”
“Would you like to go to a party?
The Archibalds are celebrating
something or other, with a couple
of theatrical stars as the drawing
cards, and they want me to bring
you along. How about it?
“1'd love it, Phil. What time?"
“Well, the party doesn’t begin un-
til eleven, but let's have dinner to-
gether somewhere, and take in a
play afterwards.”
“All right, Phil
of course.”
“Yes, unless Spike's forgotten to
remove the paw marks Oscar plant-
ed on my dinner coat the other
night! I'll be around for you about
seven. Oh, by the way, did you
take “Storm,” et cetera, to be
typed?”
“Yes. Yesterday morning. They
say everybody in New York's writ-
ing novels and that they're so
swamped they can't have it finished
till Thursday noon.”
“Well, nobody's
like yours! Supposing I get
Porter to lunch with us at the Al-
gonquin Th y, and you can turn
the script righ to }
we're there?”
“Could you
That'd be ru
in a perfec t
i 1 didn
ver sto
ice at the
Evening things,
Tony
over
't a w
ped to
with a grass-green aut Bart i
“They do, my en the edi-
torof A
pens to ask them! Be
ny Porter's more enth
your novel and its auth
old poker-face "
“All right,
know!”
“I do, darling. See you later.
“See you later, Phil! Good-by.’
CHAPTER XV
child, wi
1siastic about
or th
lets on.
Phil. You
She took more pains
in dressir 1at night,
than usual
and was shy-
reflection the
1g th
ly pleased with
mirror threw back at her,
it one last glance,
to enter the living room.
ing big and somewhat
the
she made ready
Phil, look-
austere in
chair in which he'd been lounging,
to greet her. “Darling,”
claimed, ‘you look lovely tonight!"
And then, as if fearful
been lush, he hastily asked
where she wanted to dine.
Nor did he show, by any
sign throughout the whole
that Mary Loring meant
more to him Yon: ght than she had
the first day they had met. 4 fact,
she might have thought that she
had only dreamed he'd asked her
to marry him--that he didn’t care
anything at all about her—had he
not said, *““If there's nothing more
exciting in your life tomorrow night,
Mary, what about having dinner
with me? I could call all bets off at
the office around four o'clock, and,
if you'd like, we could drive some-
where on Long Island. The dog-
wood trees are in bloom now.”
“Thanks, Phil, I'd love it,” Mary
replied, and realized, an instant lat-
er, that she had experienced a mo-
ment of disappointment when she
had thought he was not going to say
anything about seeing her before
their luncheon engagement on
{Thursday.
“Do I feel--keen about seeing him
simply because I'm not busy writ-
ing now?" she asked herself, “and
am rather lonesome? Or do I really
care for him in the way he wants me
to? But how could 1? People don't
fall in and out of love so quickly.
I'm in love with Chris. I've always
been in love with Chris.”
But she was destined not to know
for some time whether her eager-
ness to see Phil, to be with him, and
listen to his clever, lazy talk, was
due to lack of other interests, or
not. The days went on. The lunch-
eon engagement with Anthony Por-
ter became an accomplished fact.
“Storm on the Mountain’ was now in
his hands; he had already submitted
it to a popular magazine for wom-
en. She was writing a new short,
her feeling of distaste for sentences
and situations having deserted her
at last. She was seeing Phil every
day now--a Phil still as cold and
aloof as if he had never spoken
those words of love to her, yet a
her
word or
evening,
any
man deeply, undeniably, devoted to
one girl. A radiogram had come
from Lelia. She had received Mary's
letter, and she and Linnie would sail
on the first boat that was heading
for New York. They would be home
on the twenty-fifth of May.
It was on the night of the twenty-
third that Mary, coming home with
Phil from an evening at the Van
Winkles', found a telegram for her
beneath Aunt Linnie's door. Phil
switched on the hall light, and fol-
lowed her into the living room as
she tore open the message. She
stood there for an instant, reading it,
staring at the slip of paper as if
the words she read were too star-
tling to believe; then, as they at last
penetrated her benumbed senses,
she uttered a low, hurt cry.
Phil was at her side instantly.
“Mary! Is it bad news?”
She silently handed him the yel-
low sheet; then, like a little girl too
stunned to cry out,
with her hands.
Phil glanced apprehensively at
the telegram. It read:
PLEASE COME
ATELY ELLEN.
Dropping it on the table, he went
to her, and taking her, unresisting,
in his arms, held her tenderly, pro-
tectively there. ‘‘Poor little Mary,”
he said softly. “Darling, I'm so sor-
ry! So very sorry! Rest your head
against me, my sweet, and cry. Let
the tears come. It'll help, darling.”
And standing thus, within the safe
warm circle of his embrace, she
wept—wept for the loss of the dear-
est friend she'd ever had—wept for
the sacrifices James Loring had
made for his family—wept for the
defeat and heartache that had
HOME IMMEDI-
life.
At last, struggling for co mposure,
she raised her tortured eyes to Phil.
“How soon can I get away?" she
asked. ‘Is there a train
have to go by way of Chicago,
’”
Phil's hold about her rel
seeking in his p« >
he found one
too late tor
New York Cer
vania, and fin
axed, and
garette,
and “It's
ight,
tomorrow}
can get to Haw kinsvil
a radi gram.
Mary?"
“Yes?
“Would you like for
Hawkins
me fo go
you? I hat
ing the trip alone.’
Mary averted her haggard young
“No, Phil dear. Thank you.
You're so good—so very good to of-
fer, but—I want to be alone. "
Silence, and then, "All right dear.
Hadn
your family right away?"
“I'll wire,” Mary returned huski-
with
“Write out the message then, and
nd it for you. I know you
don't even feel like giving it to the
telephone operator.”
Mary automatically
wards the desk,
per, and scr
moved to-
sought
ibbled a pitiful message
Then, again
come by her loss, compassion for
heartache for her fa-
OVETr-
she buried her
the desk.
with understand-
moment;
then turned, and went towards the
kitchen, and Addie’'s room that led
off from it. ‘Addie!’ he called,
knocking on the door. Eventually,
Addie’s sleepy voice responded, and
the door was opened.
“Addie,” Phil said in a low voice,
"Miss Loring’s had bad news. Her
father's passed away.”
“Oh, my God!" the woman ex-
claimed. ‘‘My poor baby! I'll be
there right away, Mr. Phil—soon as
I get on my robe and slippers.”
‘Stay with her while 1 do some
telephoning,’”” Phil whispered.
A second later, she joined Mary,
and, all thought of caste and color
thrown aside, had her arms about
the girl. "Poor lambie!” she was
crooning. “Poor little lambie. Had
your Daddy been sick, honey? Did
you know he was ailin’? What did
your sister say it was that took
him?"
Mary's hand fell to the woman's
shoulder in a convulsive grip. ‘He
was terribly worried, Addie. Terri-
bly unhappy. He had been for sev-
eral months—and Ellen didn’t say
what . . . Oh, Addie, could my fa-
ther have committed—suicide?”
“Hush, honey! Hush! Don't say
such a thing! No, he couldn't have
done that, He . .
“lI must get there as quickly as
possible,” Mary went on as if in a
Ds “and, Addie, I don't know
what it'll cost. Maybe I haven't
enough money . . .
“Don’t you worry "bout that, hon-
ey. Ihave plenty money in the bank
~and everything I got is yours."
“Oh, Addie, you're so good. I'll
pay you back soon. I'll sell my
novel some day. But, Addie, right
now, I've only about thirty dol-
Phil, speechless
“Don’t worry, baby. Addie'll take
charge of things. Hush, honey—
here comes Mr, Phil.”
Phil Buchanan came into the liv-
ing room. “There's a New York
Central train leaving at ten forty-
five in the morning,” he announced.
‘It reaches Chicago at seven-ten
the following morning. It's the first
one out, Mary, and I'm afraid that's
the best you can do, unless, of
course, you want to go by plane.”
“Oh, no!” Mary returned, think-
ing of the extra expense which fly-
ing would involve. *‘I can’t fly. That
morning train’ll have to do. I can
catch the eight-thirty train for
Hawkinsville the following morning.
and reach home about one.”
“Then, I'll call for you at ten,
Mary,” Phil said. "Try to get some
sleep, my dear. You'd better give
her some brandy, Addie, or hot milk
—or something.”
“I'll take care of her, Mr. Phil,”
Addie replied proudly. “Don’t you
worry. I'm goin’ to get her to bed
said, and, coming to where Mary
he stooped and kissed her gen-
tly on the mouth. “Good-night, my
dear,” he said tenderly. “Try to get
some rest.”
For one mad instant, Mary wished
she might put her arms about this
hig kind man, and tell him not to
go, not to leave her—that she need-
ed, and needed terribly, hi
ing presence. But he was making
for the door now, and saying to Ad-
die in the tone a father uses w
his child to
“Watch out for her, Addie,
me immediately if she
care,
call
me."
Addie
ment a
left Aunt
an hour ahead of Ph
arrival
Linnie's apart-
1 Buch
an-
draw out some money for
to the station and pay for
before Phil and Mary should reach
had accomplishe
arrangern
Mary '
his she
s you this little—cc
"" Mary replied dully
I don't m
"
lease, Phil. I couldn't let
right,” he agreed tersely.
along, then."
once in the Pullman,
*1I wish you'd let
for you, and I wish
ng the journey
't let me go
O1 Addie
Mulat-
“All
But he began
me get a
If you wi
what abot f
His worried eyes sought the
to's face.
“No!'" Mary said shortly. ‘‘No,
Phil. 1 really want to be alone.
There are so many things to think
about. Phil, I received a letter
from Anthony Porter in this morn-
ing's mail. The first magazine to
which he submitted “Storm on the
Mountain’ has offered five thousand
dollars for the first American serial
rights.”
“Mary! That's great! That's won-
derful! I knew . . ."
“But it's come-—too late,
returned, her voice almost inaudi-
ble.
-te
“Too late!” Phil repeated, bewil-
dered,
“Yes,
late.”
“But I don’t understand,”
turned. “What , . . 2"
“All aboard!" shouted the conduc-
tor. “All aboard!”
“You must be getting off,” Mary
warned. *'Good-by, Addie, and thank
for everything.”
She rose from ner seat, and throw- |
ing her arms about the woman,
gave her an affectionate, fle wating |
embrace, Then, turning to Pi Ju- |
chanan, she held out a black- HE d |
hand. ‘“‘Good-by, Phil. You've been |
80 good, so very good.”
I'm afraid—it's come—too
he re-
The house on Concert
in darkness when she
following afternoon.
next door neighbor of the Lorings |
for the past ten years, had met |
her at the station and brought her |
home. The window shades were |
drawn to the sill, and the heavy fra-
ies and roses assailed
as stepped into dim,
hall—and mother’s arms.
The women, benumbed by 1 their mu-
tual tragedy, greeted each other
wordlessly, embraced, drew apart,
then im pulsively embraced again.
Ellen, a new maturity in her bear-
ing, came Scitly down the bare
Steps, and, with a convulsive sob, |
Mary pont on one cheek and
the other. “Oh, Mary,” she
“thank God you've come!
tir father . . ."
sister tightly in|
speak, yet
g the |
street was |
arrived the |
Mr. Anderson,
her she the
ner
wien
Mar yy
held her
nable to
inwardly to
to her lips. She must k
» how her father die
y Ellen wouldn’
The girl's body,
ng sobs, was shakin
he rin
‘Where
“In the livin
Loring answere
want to see him
Mary, pleading
looked into her mo
Mother,” she said.
alone?"
Mrs. coring node
“Of course, darling.
compassion
We have
all wanted to do tha
She walked slowly into the fi
banked room where the
James Loring lay. The
flar ked the fireplace at the south
wall, and a great piece of sheer |
netting lay over it. For one ap-
she stood there gaz-
at her father's dear face, so
strangely young and peaceful in
death; then, lifting the veiling, she
tenderly touched his clasped hands,
“Daddy darling,” she whispered,
“you were always so good to me!
If only I could have eased your wor-
ries, my darling! If only I could
have saved your life! 1 love you so,
I love you so!"
Gently, she let the transparent]
cover fall back in place, and, squar- |
ing her shoulders, turned away.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
ower- |
body of |
casket |
Nine miles northeast of Alpena,
forming a part of Little Thunder
bay, is a curious water phenome-
non that has baffled scientists for
years. It is known as Miesry bay
and undoubtedly properly named,
for it is said that the waters never
have given up their dead, writes
Albert Stoll Jr., in the Detroit News.
As far back as 1876 Misery bay
claimed the attention of the curious.
At that time William Boulton, in
writing the history of Alpena coun-
ty, said:
“In Little Thunder bay is a curi-
ous freak of nature. It consists of
a deep hole some 200 feet in diame-
ter and a depth, according to a
sounding made by us, of 79 feet.
It is full of water and is supposed
to be the outlet of Sunken lake,
some 30 miles distant from shore.
In passing over this sunken hole a
person experiences a feeling as if
the bottom had dropped out, leav-
ing him suspended in the air. The
sides appear to go straight down,
and as far as can be seen, are
covered with weeds, amid which
large pike find a secure hiding
place. It is affirmed the hole never
freezes over.”
Misery bay has been one of the
projects recently undertaken as a
Federal Writers’ project and the
research workers now report that |
the bay itself, about one mile long, |
with the dark hole in the center, is |
fast becoming landlocked and sepa-
rated from Lake Huron by silt and
rocks piling up along its outer bor- |
der. They also say they were un- |
able to reach bottom in the hole |
with a 1,200-foot plumb line. They
report the water in the hole never
freezes, but in winter wears a plume
of vapor above the surfage.
The theory that this bay is con
nected with some underground river
féd from some lake far inland
sounds logical, for all through the
Alpena-Presque Isle district are nu-
merous sunken holes and disappear
ing streams that travel underground
through the soft limestone forma-
tion. These waters must find an
outlet somewhere, and Misery bay
seems to be the answer,
Pigs Know Their Tricks
In many parts of the world, pigs
replace dogs as pets and hunting
companions, Many act as beasts of
burden, and some, says Collier's
Weekly, know tricks, such as spell-
ing with letters, ringing peals of
bells and working pump
with their mouth, ,
‘
Cold Cuts for Variety
For a help-yourself-party (or al-
Designed to tempt
and
this good-to-lock-at
dish is a summer
esting variety,
and good-to-eat
liver sausage, thin
led ham,
corned beef or
sandwich lices
make an attrac-
tive and delicious
Salami,
flavorsome bx
cheese,
sprigs of watercress
platter.
These same cold meats have other
uses, too. For example, cubes of
salami add zest to a green salad,
corn ned beef m akes a
i slices of boiled
cream cheese
$39
ham
and
seasonings. Add the cheese to the
sauce and pour over all. Sprinkle
and bake in a moderate (375 de-
gree) oven for approximately 38
minutes or until browned and heats
Salami Salad.
(Serves 5)
{cut in cubes)
(s} iredded)
1 cup raw sp Vi
rh
saiami
abbage
sh arp
Am . rican
cl heese (grated)
cup French
dressing
, cabbage, and
cheese to French
the salad
Combine salami
spinach. Add
dressing, and
ingredients. Chil
bowl lined
Send for } Copy of This Book.
Luncheon Slices.
(Serves 435)
i
thick)
1 egg (beaten)
Fine crumbs
Dip meat in beat
in crumbs. Fry in deep
to 380 degrees, until golden brown.
Serve with sauteed pineapple rings.
Ham and Cheese Pinwheels.
(Serves 4)
1% tablespoons mayonnaise
1 jablespoon
ham
Combine cream
cheese, mayon-
naise and chives.
Spread generous-
ly on the slices
of boiled ham. Roll each slice firm-
ly, wrap in wax paper and chill
When ready to serve, cut the rolls
into slices % inch thick. Arrange
on a bed of watercress and serve
with French dressing.
Rarebit Sandwich Filling.
1% pound dried beef
1 pound American cheese
1 cup condensed tomato soup
Grind the dried beef and the
cheese in a food chopper. Add soup
and blend well. This may be kept
in the refrigerator for several
weeks.
Ham and Cabbage Slaw.
(Serves 4-5)
3 cups cabbage (finely shredded)
4% cup green pepper (cut in sliv-
ers)
1 cup boiled ham (cut in slivers)
1 teaspoon onion (minced)
14 teaspoon salt
14 teaspoon white pepper
14 cup salad dressing
1 egg white (beaten)
Combine cabbage, green pepper,
Add salt and pep-
per. Fold salad dressing into stiffly
beaten egg white, and mix lightly
with salad ingredients. Serve in
1 cup onions (sliced very thin)
(Released by Western Newspaper Union.)
Vacuum Cleaner With
Clean Dust Bag Best
A vacuum cleaner with a clean
just bag de es the best cleaning job,
i due university experi
ment station show. For best serve
ice the bag should be emptied after
use. Never wash the
finish that
daily
keeps it dustproof.
How much dust a machine draws
from a rug, the studies indicate de-
pends partly on how fast it is pushed
back and machines
clean best if they are moved at a
speed of from one to two feet a
are) ne
forth. Most
Naturally, the machine should not
sharp objects
ye bag or chip
glass because these
may poke holes in th
the fan blades.
It is also desirable to keep the
Important to Kitchen
When electric outlets are being
planned in a new house for lamps,
clocks and radios, the kitchen is
often neglected. It has more uses
for plugs than any other room.
Within reasonable limits, there
cannot be too many appliance out-
lets in the kitchen. In this room
electricity is used both for lighting
and for motivating power.
Consumption of current varies
widely with kitchen appliances, and
special attention should be given to
the load the outlet is expected 0
carry.
Just Sterilize Containers
To Prevent Ropy Bread
“Ropiness” in bread is caused by
a bacillus and it makes the bread un-
fit for use. All containers in which
the bread was mixed, baked, and
stored should be sterilized by boil-
ing. Ropiness in bread does not de-
velop immediately after the bread
has been baked, but announces it~
self by a disagreeable odor.
To Remove Jar Covers
To remove covers from preserve
jars place the jar top downward in
a dipper of hot water (not boiling)
and allow it to remain five or ten
minutes. Remove the jar from the
d r and insert a steel kitchen