THE PATTON COURIER
The Handsome
by Margaret Turnbull
THE STORY
Returninz to London, practi-
cally penniless, after an unsuc-
cessful business trip, Sir George
Sandison takes dinner with his
widowed stepmother, his old
nurse, “Aggy.” He did not ap-
prove of her marriage te his fa-
father, but her explanation sat-
isfles him. Little is left of the
estate, and Lady Sandison pro-
poses that they go to the United
States to visit her brother, Rob-
ert MacBeth, wealthy contractor.
Sir George agrees, MacBeth
lives on an island estate with
his daughter, Roberta, who longs
for city life. MacBeth is a vic-
tim of arthritis and almost help-
less. Roberta meets Lady San-
dison and Sir George and mis-
takes them for expected servants.
CHAPTER III—Continued
is
He remembered now that Roberta
had airfly observed that they would
have to get along somehow until the
mew servants came from the city, and
it was possible they might not arrive
at the Island until tomorrow. The un-
¢leasantness of this morning had be-
{an with a statement from Roberta
that in this place it was impossible to
get or keep a decent staff of servants.
It was too far from everywhere. The
servants brought from the city would
pot put up with its remoteness, and as
Sor temporary help, which -was all
one could get in this place, it was
$eyond speech.
Robert, the milllonaire, groaned, and
turned to watch the car cross the
bridge and make its way toward the
house. It came to a standstill just
beneath him, aad he saw Joe lift out
two or three traveling bags and then
turn to speak to the first of his pas-
sengers who alighted. This was a tall
young maa with golden brown hair,
which gléamed in the sunlight as he
took off his hat and looked about with
interest. He turned to help out a
middle-aged woman with a round and
dumpy figure. Bob MacBeth looked at
her idly.
Must be the cook-housekeeper and
the butler Roberta expected, but she
had not told him they were Scots.
Robert MacBeth prided himself on his
ability, gained from years of handling
Immigrant labor, of unerringly recog-
nizing nationality, even city or dis-
trict, at a glance. The woman was
talking to Joe Ligori, who evidently
fid not quite understand her. He saw
the young man gently touch her arm,
as though to bid her be quiet, and
himself address Joe. Robert saw that
Joe nodded and grinned with pleasure,
climbed back into the front seat and
composed himself to wait. The man
and the woman came toward the door.
They rang several times, but there
was no response.
He raised himself painfully in his
ehalr, rapped loudly with his cane
and called out:
“This way!”
They turned and came toward him.
There was no doubt the dumpy little
woman was a Scot. Robert MacBeth,
yo long a resident of this country that
he had ceased to think of himself as
anything but an American, felt a warm
feeling of kinship, strong as only
elannish Scots and possibly the equally
elannish Jews can feel at the sight
pf another of their race in a strange
land.
She was typical, this little woman.
A good-looking woman at that! But
what clothes! He found himself eager
to hear her speak. He knew before-
sand she would have a glorious burr,
ind maybe something of a dialect. It
was music to his ears. After all these
fats of Americanization, Robert Mac-
eth still thrilled to bagpipes, or the
purr in a Scot’s voice.
He glanced at the man to whom she
was talking, and whistled, low. Sel-
fom had he seen such a handsome
man. The fellow was striking, both
18s to his height, the clear-cut beauty
his features and his fine head with
brown hair, gleaming gold in the
anlight. Under his broad brows his
rown eyes, large and finely formed,
boked out with a curious directness,
, Oh, this man will never do! Robert
paid to himself decidedly. Have all
the maids neglecting their work to
look at him,
The woman came forward with a
guick, decided step. She planted her-
self solidly on her feet as she walked,
ps though each small plump foot was
s flatiron. Robert had an odd feeling
of liking for her. There was nothing
servile in the way this woman walked
loward and looked at him. She was
directly opposite him now.
“Pardon me, but I am unable to
rise, owing to a bad attack of
rheumatism. Won't you sit?”
+ She did not move, but képt looking
at him oddly and finally said:
“Rob, do ye no know me? I'm Aggy!”
He stared at her, speechless. His
eyes searched her face for traces of
the young and blooming sister he had
left, so many years ago, in Scotland.
It couldn't be Aggy! Yet, when he
looked again, this might be Aggy—an
Aggy that the years had stoutened
and thickened and rounded out a little
too much, and put gray in the great
mass sf red hair which Sister Aggy
used to have
“Aggy!”
pou? I cannot rise.
Aggy, if this was Aggy-—this strange
aoman—came nearer him and took
Mig aand in hers.
“Mt will be a surprise to
out, Rob after s~ n
He said it aloud.
“1s.
Man
Illustrations by
Irwin Myers
Copyright by Margaret Turnbull,
W. N. U. Service.
after my refusing your kind offer so
decided-like; but I'm Aggy.”
Robert, his eyes still on her sald
softly: “Aggy!” Then he smiled.
“It’s like you, coming this way without
warning.” He laughed. “Why, 1
thought you were the new cook or the
housekeeper.”
Aggy smiled. It was a slow and
reluctant smile, but it was pleasant.
“So did your lady-daughter, who
passed us on the road here. She told
yon driver that you were at home and
would see us.”
“You didn’t tell her—"
“Guid Sakes! No! I didn't tell
her anything about who I was.” She
looked at him again. “Rob, is it no
convenient? You need not stand on
ceremony with me.”
All the old protective feeling that
he, as elder brother, used to feel for
“wee Aggy” came over Rob MacBeth.
He forgot the years they had lost—
somewhere, somehow. He forgot that
this was a middle-aged, strange wom-
But She Had Not Told Him They
Were Scots.
an, almost as old now as the mother
they had lost so many years ago. He
forgot that he was a middle-aged man
with a grown daughter and a million
or two. He saw himself once more a
strong young man leaving Scotland,
while a red-haired girl clung to him
and cried: “Oh, Rob, I cannot let
you go! What'll I do withoot ye?”
He reached out his hand and said:
“Aggy, I'm glad to see you. Did I
not tell you that? Except for Roberta,
there’s nobody left but you and me.”
The little woman stooped over,
smoothed his hair and kissed him.
“Dear Rob,” she murmured.
He indicated a chair beside him and
she sat down.
“What brought you, Aggy,” he asked
her, reverting unconsciously to the
almost appalling directness of the
true Scot, “and who’s that?’ He in-
dicated Sir George, who was standing
at the edge of the terrace and looking
off toward the river.
“That's Sir Geordie,” sald his sister
quietly.
“What!” roared Bob MacBeth.
“Sir George Sandison,” explained
Aggy, with a self-conscious smile that
just escaped being a smirk.
“I might have known it,” sald Rob
MacBeth slowly. “I might have re-
membered those good looks. He's the
same handsome devil that his father
was before him. By the way, what's
become of Sir Steenie? Drunk himself
to death?”
“Yes,” sald Aggy solemnly, “just
that.”
“Well,” and her brother gave her a
puzzled look, “what's Sir George doing
here?”
“I invited him,” answered Aggy, de-
murely. “Have you room or shall I
send him back to the town for the
night?”
Her brother gave her a quick look.
“What's it mean?”
“Nothing,” said Aggy stubbornly.
“It’s but natural.”
“Good G—d!"” exclaimed her brother,
“jg anything wrong with him? Are |
you still his nurse?”
Aggy looked at him scornfully and
yet a little proudly. “I am not, and
have not been for many a year. I'm
his stepmother.”
“What!” roared the owner of the
island, who had been thinking how
best he could in a modest way intro-
duce to his poor, but proud, sister the
great story of his success, his millions.
“Yes,” sald his sister, with a mat-
ter-of-fact calmness that deceived her
brother, and then proceeded to spike
all his guns by her declaration: “I'm
Lady Sandison, of Sandisbrae.”
She kept her eyes away from her
brother, until she thought he had di-
gested this and then added: “I'm
traveling, with my stepson, Sir Geor-
dle. We thought we'd jist drop In
and see you on our way.”
The master of the island stared back
at his sister. There was a consider-
able pause during which Robert
thought hard before he asked: “How
did you manage it, Aggy?”
Lady Sandison looked at him with
quiet dignity.
“It’s a long story, but it'll be told
in time, Rob. Are we invited to bide
the night, or am I to tell the taxi-man
to wait?”
“Here, Joe,” called MacBeth, “put
the bags in the hall. Open the door
yourself. There are no servants in
the house. Get the trunks up from the
station tonight.”
“Sure-a, alla right,” Joe responded
blithely, and carried the bags toward
the door.
Lady Sandison waved her hand, and
summoned her stepson imperatively.
He started toward them.
“Is he no beautiful?’ asked Aggy
proudly.
MacBeth groaned. “Handsome is as
handsome does,” he countered.
“Aye,” agreed Lady Sandison, “in
the same way that beauty is only skin
deep, and Guid kens that's deep
enough. Sir Geordie, this is my
brother, Rob.”
“How are you, Mr. MacBeth?’ Sir
George asked quickly. “Can I do any-
thing?” he continued as Rob MacBeth
shifted uneasily in his chair and
groaned with pain at even that slight
movement,
“Sir George, you're welcome to my
house and everything in it.” MacBeth
paused, thinking with a little awe of | and
the changes time brings. The last
time he had seen this man was as a
|
The TIN SOLDIER'S ==
CHRISTMAS
by J. RAE
T WAS the day before Christ-
mas. In ‘Santa Claus’ work
shop all was noise and bus-
tle. The Tin Soldier was
standing very straight, He
looked towards Dolly Dim-
ple and a look of lonesome-
- ness came into his face.
“You don’t happen ¢o know
of a place where they want a doll and
a tin soldier, too, do you, Santa?’ he
asked anxiously.
“Hm-m-m, let me see,” Santa
stroked his long white whiskers je
thoughtfully, His eye traveled slowly
down the list of names before him.
“I haven't come to any yet, but I'll
see what I can do. You two have
always been great friends, haven't
you? You were made by the same lit-
tle brownie, perhaps that is the rea-
son.”
Dolly Dimple skipped over and
threw her arms about the bright, red
shoulders of the soldier.
“Let's hope for the best, captain. I
think we can trust Santa.”
Christmas eve came, clear and
frosty. At last all was ready; the
toys in the sack were tucked away
in the back of the sleigh, and with a
mighty leap into the air, the rein-
deer started.
Cheerily rang the bells as the
sleigh bounded over the ice. In the
sack the toys were chattering gaily.
“I hope I will go to some one who
will keep my pink silk dress clean,”
said Beauty, the proud, unbreakable
doll.
“Well, nobody can hurt me very
much,” piped Peter, the rabbit, pat-
ting his stuffed sides.
The Tin Soldier said nothing. He
could feel Dolly Dimple’s little hand
fn his and he was hoping for the best.
Suddenly crack, crack, crack! went
the ice beneath them. Then bump!
out of the sleigh bounced the
sack of toys.
“We're in the water!” shouted
tiny boy, in Aggy’s arms. With a start | 34. Tar, the dancing sailor.
he continued cordially:
And sure enough, there they were,
“Tm unable to do the honors. My | foating about in the cold water.
daughter is out and there are no
servants, temporarily. Will you go in
and make yourself at home? You will
find plenty to smoke and drink in the
library. My sister has something to
say to me before I ask you to help
me in.”
“Thanks,” Sir George said, hesitat-
ing a little. “Frightfully good of you,
I'm sure.
things, but remember I'm within call
if you need a strong arm.” He nodded
to Aggy and went toward the door-
way, inwardly amused and puzzled
at this country that could make a
millionaire of Rob MacBeth and yet
leave that millionaire alone and serv-
antless on his island. But he knew
he was going to like MacBeth. He
was as fine and simple in his way as
good old Aggy.
Rob MacBeth gave a long sigh, as
Sir George disappeared. “Out with it,
Aggy,” he said quietly, turning on his
sister. “I remember you of old. You
never made a trip all the way from
Sandisbrae to this island, without
wanting something. What is it?”
“It’s this way, Rob,” began his sister.
* * * - * -* *
As Aggy laid frankly before him the
urgent reasons for her visit, Robert
MacBeth's daughter sat in the cabin
at Indian Lodge some ten miles way.
The Lodge was an old Pennsylvania
stone house on the highway between
New York and Philadelphia, lately re- |
stored and operated as an inn.
Roberta MacBeth had often dinea
here with her father when servants
had failed them at home, for the
Lodge was famous throughout the
county for its food, but this was her
first visit without him. Indeed, so
short a time was it since Roberta had
left school that this was the first time
she had ever dined quite alone with
a young man, She was determined,
however, to keep that fact to herself.
(?O BE CONTINUED.)
ef ote
Justin Smith Morrill suggested the
plan of putting statues in the Capitol
of prominent men from each state.
The National Statuary hall, semicircu-
lar in shape and designed by Latrobe,
after a Greek theater, is one of the
most beautiful rooms of the Capitol.
On the north side it has a colonnade
of Potomac marble with white capi-
tals, and a screen of similar columns
on the south side supports a noble
arch. The domed ceiling, decorated
after that of the Roman Pantheon,
springs 57 feet to a cupola by which
the room is lighted. Above the door
leading from the rotunda is Franzoni’s
historical ‘clock. This room was the
hall of representatives, and was the
forum of debates by Webster, Clay,
adams. Calhoun and others whose
ox gre indelibly associated with
t enparess. fn 1864 at
denator Morrill of
20 %04% 474704704704 % 420400470470 4% + % + %a.%%
eter ot atsstetermioatestedte eit or Io eee Stat iDe FI
safeegreeateateadsataatsatesgeosoatoolnefoateelsasseleotsefestontrelootreoatoodsulsotsodsofsefeedsuleateoduuleeleot eu eo dud suluelou fue e edn Soutueluutuats
F amous Statuary Hall Senator Morrill’s Idea
Vermont (then a member of the house)
the room was set apart as a National
Statuary hall, to which each state
might send the statues of two of its
distinguished citizens. Rhode Island
was the first to respond, choosing
Roger Williams and Nathanael
Greene,
Ancient Counterfeiters
Money forging was a flourishing
business among the ancient Romans.
judging from finds at Treves, Prussia,
of tools and matrices for the coining
of denarii. Excavations brought to
light a great many matrices and cast
ings made of bronze which were useq
to manufacture these silver coins,
Proof that these Implements, dating
back to between 260 and 300 A, D,,
were tools of money forgers, 1s estab
lished by the fact that there was then
ne official) mint at Treves
I'll leave you to talk over |
Santa jumped from the sleigh which
luckily bid landed on firm ice. Just
Dolly Threw Her Arms About the
Shoulders of Tin Soldier.
then the Tin Soldier stuck his head
| out of the top of the sack. “Swing
| your whip this way, Santa,” he called.
| “I'll catch it and you can pull us over
the edge.”
Santa swung his long whip and the
soldier stood up very straight to catch
it. Once, twice, three times he tried
and missed, but next time, just as the
water was seeping through the sack,
he caught it.
“Oh, I want more than ever to be
' left with you, captain,” whispered
Dolly Dimple, as she snuggled close
to the Tin Soldier.
On and on they went, At times it
seemed they must be flying through
the air, but all at once they stopped.
“The coaster with the shiny run-
ners!” called Santa. ‘A little boy
lives in this farm house and he espe-
cially wants a sled.”
There was more room after the
coaster had gone and the stops came
more and more often as they drew
near to a big city. One by one the
toys were going and still Dolly Dim-
ple clung to the arm of the Tin Sol-
dier,
They were in the city now and sud-
denly the sleigh stopped before a
plain frame house.
‘There's no chimney big enough for
me here,” said Santa as he shoul-
dered the sack of toys and started
for the door.
On the back of a worn tapestry
chair was one thin little stocking.
Santa put his hand inside, pulled out
a note and began to read. The Tin
Soldier could hear the words though
they fell in whispers from Santa's
lips, and his heart almost stopped
heating,
“Dear Santa Claus:
“Please can I have a soldier with a
red coat? I can play fort with him.
That's all, Santa, and thanks, Santa,
lear, Your friend, Jimmie,”
Santa stopped and felt around in his
bag; only one soldier left,
| “I wanted to leave you two togeth-
w
T-O0 KE
er,” he said,’ as his hand touched Dol-
ly Dimple and the soldier. “What am
I to do now?” He looked at the note
again,
There was a rustling in the sack
and the Tin Soldier stood up. Then
he straightened his shoulders and
threw back his head.
“I'll go, Santa. I'm ready.”
“Thanks, captain, you're a brave
man,” said Santa as he stooped to
lift him up.
Gently he was placed away down in
the toe of the stocking while candies
and nuts came thundering down be-
side him,
For a few moments there was dead
silence all about him, then came the
creaking of the floor and a soft clos-
ing of the outside door. Straining his
ears he caught the last faint tinkle
of the sleigh bells as Santa and Dolly
Dimple sped away into the night,
How very still it was then and oh,
how dark. The Tin Soldier shivered
in spite of himself. Somewhere in the
house a clock was ticking: tick, tock,
tick, tock. How slow and tired it
sounded. If only it would go a lit-
tle faster. Maybe in the daylight he
wouldn’t be so lonely, Where was
Dolly Dimple. Would he ever, ever
see her again?
Pretty soon he could make out the
shapes of the nuts and candies around
him. Then suddenly he heard the
creak, creak of footsteps somewhere
in the house.
Nearer and nearer they came. The
chair moved, then a little hand came
creeping down into the stocking, and
then quick as a flash the Tin Soldier
was whisked up into the light.
“Oh! Oh! a Tin Soldier!” gasped
a little boy, and the Tin Soldier
knew it must be Jimmie,
“Look, Mamma, look what Santa
brought!” Jimmie whispered loudly
while he gently shook his mother’s
arm. “A soldier! I'm going to take
him with me to Auntie’s today.”
And that is how it happened.
Eagerly he ran on ahead of his par-
ents that night and was first at the
door of his auntie’s house.
“Jessie, Jessie, see what Santa
gave me,” he called breathlessly the
minute he was inside the door.
His little cousin came running to
meet him. “Oh, Jimmie, just what you
wanted, a Tin Soldier! But wait till
you see what he left me!”
She hurried out of the room and
came running back with something
held tightly in her arms. The Tin
Soldier's heart almost stopped beat-
ing.
There was Dolly Dimple, sure
enough, smiling her dimpled smile at
him from little Jessie’s arms,
“Santa found out that Jessie and
Jimmie were cousins, that’s why he
left me here,” Dolly Dimple whispered
in the ear of the Tin Soldier some
time later.
(©, 1930, Western Newspaper Union.)
Red Is Most Cheerful
Christmas-Time Color
Red is regarded as the most cheer-
ful of all colors. It is said to react
the most quickly on the optic nerve.
Decorations available at the winter
solstice include holly, the berries of
which are red. It grew to be the cus-
tom to use holly and berries of a
similar nature in preparing for the
festival of Christmas. By virtue of
the association of ideas red came to
be connected with tMe Christmas sea-
son,
GIRL WRITES
STORY OF LIFE,
TURNS ON GAS
Most Romantic Suicide in |
Annals of Washington
Police.
Washington.—A suicide which po-
lice term as being “the most romantic
in the history of the homicide squad”
was discovered recently when Miss
Draper Gill, twenty-six years old, a
saleswoman, employed in the book de-
partment of a local department store,
was found dying in the attic bedroom
of an old residence near Sixteenth
and K Street Northwest. A gas jet
on the wall was opened wide.
Books were scattered about the
room and several “intellectual” maga-
zines were on the floor and on a little
table in the room. On the table, neat-
ly written, was a story which police
say the girl wrote as an autobiograph-
ical sketch. It was titled “Thirteen
Cigamettes.”
The story opened with a description
of the little room in which the body
was found. speaking of the ‘‘discol-
ored, once white walls, the plaster
chipped and cracked, with a few nail
holes about all.” Like this little cham-
ber, the room in the story was on the
fourth and top floor of the house.
Devoid of Romance.
The character, named Carol, was
twenty-six, and her life had been en-
tirely devoid of anything suggesting
romance. Bills and debts were night-
mares and horrid, every day things
with which she was constantly being
worried, until there seemed to be no
romance left in the world for anyone.
“Just the other day,” the story ran,
“she had read a story entitled ‘Some-
thing Will Happen,’ but nothing had
happened, and in desperation she laid
out 13 cigarettes with a hazy idea of
It Was the End.
doing something to rid the world ot
herself and herself of the world when
|
her last stub had been committed to |
the ash tray,” and as the story ran, |
so were the 13 stubs found when mem- |
bers of the homicide squad arrived to
investigate and examine the room and
its contents.
Near the middle of the story there
was a single sentence paragraphed by |
itself: “There are eight cigarettes
left.” Further on there was another,
“Now there are three.”
It Was the End,
Nearing the end of the probable
biography was another sentence, po-
tent and suggestive of desperate ac- |
tion: “There are no cigarettes left.
The ashes of 13 are lying in a crum-
pled up heap in the ash tray.”
It was the end. Evidently the girl,
carrying out the story to the most
minute detail, tidied things about the
room, arranged her hair, straightened
the manuscript on the little table by
the side of the bed, and reached up
for the gas jet, opening it wide.
Heads of the department where the
girl was employed stated that she
had only been employed for about a
week this year and that she had been
reported ill for at least two days of
that week. Little was known about
her personally, except that she seemed
to have few friends, to be of a retir-
ing disposition, and to have a good
knowledge of current literature. She
was employed at the store for a long-
er period last year, but had left their
employ when she was out of town for
some time.
Miss Gill left no note specifically
explaining her act, only the story.
Police located an uncle, William H,
Gill of Cherrydale, Va., and efforts
are being made to get in touch with
a brother who is in the coast guard
service on the New England coast, He
was referred to in the story she left,
but only as “brother.”
Eating Caterpillars Sends
Small Boy to Doctor
Silverton, Ore.—Mrs. Pansy New-
port’s small boy was hungry. A cater-
pillar attracted. He ate it. When his
mouth swelled Mother Newport took
him to a doctor who removed many
hairs from the tender skin.
Takes Wife for Burglar
Forest City, Fla.—Mistaking his
wife for a burglar, Ora M. Parker of
thts place shot her to death.
He heard a noise in the house and
investigated. Seeing some one moving
in the semi-darkness, he fired. The
woman fell with a scream,
|
i
UT if you must convince yourms
B self, try some ordinary tobacca-
in an old pipe. Note result in chalk
on the bottom of your left shoe.
Then try some ordinary tobacco
in your favorite pipe. Note on other
shoe. Finally, try some Sir Walter
Raleigh smoking tobacco in any good
pipe. You won't have to note it any='
where, for you'll notice with the very
first puff how much cooler and milder
it is. It stays so, right down to the
last puff in the bowl—rich, mellow
and fragrant. Your regular tobacco-
nist has Sir Walter, of course. Try a
tin — today.
IT'S 15¢—and milder
RE A i rw
Long Five Days Spent
on Rock by Fisherman
How would you like to spend all of
five days and nights clinging to a
wave-beaten rock in the ocean?
That was the recent experience of
Edward Garvey, an Alaskan fisher-
man. His small boat was wrecked
in a storm, but he managed to swim
to a rock, the home of sea gulls and
mussels, jutting out of a storm-
tossed sea. While the rock was some
50 feet around it was only 8 feet
above high tide. A menu of raw mus-
sels and sea gull eggs kept him from
starving. And when the storm had
spent its fury at the end of the fifth
day signals made from his clothing
attracted a passing ship which res-
cued him.—Pathfinder Magazine.
Save the Baby from the ravages of croup
by prompt use of Hoxsie's Croup Remedy.
Druggists or Kells Co, Newburgh, N. ¥Y.
Not Possible
“Do you believe in that old saying,
‘marry in haste, repent at leisure’?
quavers a Louisville lad. “Son,” in-
structed the editor, “that’s just am
old threadbare platitude. Who ever
heard of a fellow who married in
haste having any leisure in which to
repent?”
The Ideal
Vacation Land
Sunshine All Winter Long
Splendid roads—towering mountain
ranges—Highest type hotels=—dryin=
vigorating air—clear starlit nights
California’s Foremost Desert Playground
Write Cree & Chaffey
Paim Spring
CALIFORNIA
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The medication heals sore
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or the many other stomach disorders send
today for Dr. Moore’s Stomach Remedy.
This easy to take tahlet yg quick, sure
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Mail $1.00 for large box and get your first
real relief,
DR. MOORE'S PRODUCTS LABORATORY
1814 Page Ave. E. C
eveland, Ohio.
PARKER’S
HAIR BALSAM
Removes Dandruff-Stops Hair Falling]
Imparts Color and
Bl Beauty to Gray and Faded
. 60c and $1.00 at Druggists.
d Hiscox Chem. Wks. . Patchogue. N.Y.
FLORESTON SHAMPOO == Ideal for use in
connectionwith Parker’sHair Balsam. Makes the
kair soft and fluffy, 60 cents by mail or at dru
gists. Hiscox Chemical Works, Patchogue, N.¥.
HERE cON
FELLER
PERCY L. CT
© br the McClure Nev