Cosmopolitan 1930-03: Vol 88 Iss 3

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Jeayst’s praernationa combined with . AL A SSRAR’ = ean oF MICH. Bring — eath-taking . lovel by A Hovis ' OMFIELD | he NEW entures of TAIN BLOOD | Rafael Sabatini and IC SALES reports the NEW addresses of he Specialist

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FIXTURES, SEVENTY-FIFTH: ANNIVERSARY % ce. Bs 3 ¢ e. ' ; VEN Sarah Bernhardt, who threatened to sue a hotel because an uninviting bathroom spoiled her day and her evening performance, would have been charmed by the beauty of this typical Crane room. Even the most frugal will be delighted by the economy with which this beauty is here offered to American home builders. The Corwith bath with overhead shower, the Norwich lavatory, the Santon closet, all new fixtures full of character, cost no more than old-fashioned clumsy ones. The delicate India ivory hue in the fixtures adds only a fraction to the complete cost of a bathroom. The decorations . .. linoleum for the floor, canvased wainscot, papered walls . . . actually can be had for less than a stereo- typed room. For a book of twelve such beautiful rooms, one of which may exactly fit your taste, purse, and house, write for Bathrooms for Out-of-the-Ordinary Homes, with color schemes, floor plans, full informa- tion. Your architect and a responsible plumbing contractor will help plan and make the installation. VALVES, FITTINGS, AND PIPING, Crane Co., General Offices: 836 S. Michigan Ave., Chicago + 23 W. 4th St.,New York + Branches and sales offices in one hundred and ninety cities Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March 1930 FOR DOMESTIC AND INDUSTRIAL USE

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oa —— 1e USE Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 ] et Your First Book FREE- from the BOOK-OF-THE-MONTH CLUB NOTICE TO PRESENT MEMBERS: If you did not get your first book ¢ free, and wish to take advantage of this offer, you may do so by extending your subscription for an additional year from its present date of expiration. GREAT many people (we know) have been on the verge of joining this organization, but have “‘put it off’ through busyness or oversight. This special offer is made, frankly, at this time, in order to overcome this procrastination, and make it clearly an advantage to you to delay no longer. We suggest simply, that you get full in- formation at once, about what the Book-of-the-Month Club does for you, and decide once for all whether you want to join. Six distinguished foreign au- thors now serve as an Inter- national Advisory Committee for the Book-of-the- Month Club. The function the indi- viduals in this foreign group perform is to keep our judges In this connection, here is a pertinent fact that may be important to you. Of the 100,000 people who now belong to the Book-of-the-Month Club, not a single one was induced to join by a salesman or by personal advised about what they con- sider the significant new books published abroad, each in his own country. The Com- solicitation of any kind. They were simply given the facts as to what it mittee consists of: does for book-readers. After reading these facts, they subscribed. Seen Meetn nue And what sort of people are they? Cabinet members, senators, H. G. one an judges, governors; leaders of industry and finance; the outstanding Asia Renna figures in thousands of communities large and small. Our list of FoR FRANCE: André Maurois FoR GERMANY AND members, indeed, reads like a ‘“‘who’s who,” in every profession, in every walk of life. These are judicious people, in other words, not of . ; oie USTRIA: the kind to be easily influenced or to follow fads. They know what eer ye they want. and Arthur Schnitzler For SCANDINAVIA: Sigrid Undset This being the case—if you have ever thought of joining this organization—it does seem sensible to get the facts as to how it operates as quickly as possible, and then (if you want to) join before this special ‘‘first-book-free” offer expires. So, if you are interested mail the coupon now, before you forget to do so. | BOOK-OF-THE-MONTH CLUB, Inc. 386 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 34-3 Please send me, without cost, a booklet outlining how the Book-of-tthe-Month Club operates. This request involves mein no obligation to subscribeto your service. , DUNN 3 bo ccncbneceaceesedudasacandanniamhain Henry Seidel Canby Heywood Dorothy Christopher William Allen Chairman Broun Canfield Morley White 7 IIS i chic centage Doren eae amin omar tans hiadeaaaoeiaee THE EDITORIAL BOARD OF THE BOOK-OF-THE-MONTH CLUB : CM ie i AR NE RH pO Be la ieoke shipped to Canadien members through -of-the-Month Club (Canada) Limited nonce

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an Se VOL. LXXXVIII NO. 3 Hearst’ International combined with Contents of (Osmopolitan for March, 1930 serials by Louis Bromfield Illustrations by McClelland Barclay War Nurse by Rebecca West Illustrations by W. E. Heitland Party Dress by Joseph Hergesheimer Illustrations by Henry Raleigh by Rupert Hughes Ladies’ Man Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead The Office Wife by Faith Baldwin Illustration by R. F. Schabelitz Short Stories by Rafael Sabatini Illustrations by Dean Cornwell Indian Summer of an Uncle by P. G. Wodehouse Illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg Laugh, Fool, Laugh by John Held, Jr. by Rex Beach Drawings by The Author by Aldous Huxley Shattered Glass The Blank Shot Fourth Offense Illustrations by George Howe Dangerous Game Illustrations by James E. Allen So Much Depends on the Approach by William Almon Wolff Illustrations by Charles D. Mitchell When the Wind Blows by Katharine Newlin Burt Illustrations by Joseph M. Clement by J. P. McEvoy Lonely Heart by Anna Brand Illustrations by Charles R. Chickering It Pays to Advertise Illustrations by Penrhyn Stanlaws Sometime a Bridegroom at That Illustrations by George Brehm O’Bannion Rules the Roost Illustrations by Douglas Duer Special Features What’s Under a High Hat? by Ray Long The Fable of What Ivy Might Have Spilled—but Didn’t pigs Sane by George Ade ustrations by uyas lllams New Views of the Specialist by Charles ‘‘Chic’’ Sale A Lonely Boy who Must Be King vy Frazier Hunt I Can’t Sleep! by Sarah Gertrude Millin Illustrations by Harry Beckhoff The Ogre of Europe by Winston S. Churchill When the Ticker Tolled by O. O. McIntyre Illustrations by Oscar Cesare These Folks Know How to Play by Irvin S. Cobb Cover Design by Harrison Fisher by Royal Brown by Peter B. Kyne Invites you to meet some Gharming People of Mayfair who play at Love and because of Love, become involved ina MysTery that holds all London o)ociety in Suspense The Novel is called “CT he 7. ey ee and you may join.the party in APRIL Cosmopolitan io sol Published monthly by INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE CoMPANY, INc., 57th St. at Eighth Avenue, New York City. Ray Lone, THomMas J. WHITE, Austin W. Crark, President. Vice-President. Treasurer. Copyright, 1930, by International Magazine Company, Inc. (Hearst’s International and Cosmopolitan Magazine). ArTHuR S. Moore, Secretary. All rights reserved under terms of the Fourth American International Convention of Artistic and Literary Copyright. 35 cents a copy; subscription price, United States and possessions, $3.00 a year; Canada, $3.50; Foreign, $4.00. All subscriptions are payable in advance. Unless otherwise directed we begin all subscriptions with the current issue. When sending in your renewal, please give us four weeks’ notice. When changing an address give the old address as well as = new and allow five weeks for the first copy to reach you. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office, New York, New York, under the act of March 3, 1879; —— — at Atlanta, G Boston, Mass.; Chicago, Ill. ; ques: Pa.; Kansas City, Mo.; Los Angeles, Cal.; Minneapolis, Minn.; San Francisco, Cal. ; Syr , N. ¥.; Seattle. ja. 5 Wash. ; Pittsburgh. *Pa.; Cleveland, O. ered as second-class matter at the Post Office Department, *” “Manuscripts must be typewritten and accom 3 ana panied by return postage. They will be handled with care, but this magazine assumes no responsibility for their safety.

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ple IVE, ed lled 2% MARCH, 1930 Hearst’ International combined with osmopolitan RAY LONG Editor = hats under a ENERALLY, nothing. Of course, I don’t mean the silk hats public offi- cials wear; those are punishment for their sins. What I mean is the “high- hatting” which all of us encoun- ter. For instance, there is a shop in New York where I wouldn’t make a purchase ona bet. It is so annoyingly swanky that the salesmen try to convince the cus- tomer that they are doing him a favor in taking his money. Perhaps they are. I don’t want to be under obligations to them. Then I know an official who takes himself so seriously that in order to see him you have to go through more for- mality than you do to see the President of the United States. This chap works so hard to impress you with his importance that he proves he isn’t important at all. O25 jo with them a man who was President. If you had an engagement with Calvin Coolidge at the White House, it moved like clockwork; you got there on time and you finished your business on time. He never was hurried; never ruffled; never too busy to listen to what you had to say. You may have noticed that recently when he was in New York, Mr. Coolidge declined an automobile to get downtown to an engagement. He went on the subway. I happened to be with the ex-President that day and the thing which impressed me most was that he wasn’t at all impressed with what he was doing. He was in a hurry; the traffic was bad; the subway was quicker; therefore he took the subway. To him it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Andrew Mellon is of the same sort. At the minute that your appointment is scheduled, the door opens and in you go. He is never busy writing a letter or anything of that sort when you enter. He is ready to talk to you. igh Hae There isn’t a particle of swank about either of these men. ‘Fake a man like Charles M. Schwab. He loves to tell a story on Andrew Carnegie and him- self. They were dressing to attend a dinner at the dedication of a building which one of them had donated to a university. A valet entered, red-faced with anger. “T resign!” he announced. “But why?” asked Mr. Carnegie. “Because you two, who will give away a million-dollar building, have only one collar button between you—and I’ve lost that.” Can you imagine a high-hatter telling that one on him- self? Any editor knows that the bigger the writer, the quicker he is to accept suggestions. It doesn’t matter who it is that may see a way to improve the work, if the suggestion is good, your Rupert Hughes or your Irvin Cobb grabs it. The high-hat writer who thinks his words are inspired generally hasn’t anything to say and wouldn’t know how to say it if he had. ; SLOAN, of General Motors, spends a great part of his time traveling to see the men in his branches, instead of having them come to see him. He says he gets to know them better on their home grounds. Sloan’s New York office is across the street from mine. You’d think he’d arrive in the handsomest automobile General Motors could design. Not a bit of it; he walks to work. Why? Because it’s easier. He doesn’t have to con- vince anyone that he can own a good car. Big men don’t waste time in swank. If they did they might not have time to be big. R. L. 15

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‘She THE ORACLE pulled on Mark Antony or that Romeo could discover in Juliet or that Abélard told the other Boys about Héloise or that all the Hollywood Eye- Snappers and Hip-Tossers ever used in those Studios that have to be lined with Asbestos. Her name was Ivetta, but those who had known her fifteen or twenty Minutes called her Ivy, which wasn’t such a poor Moniker, because Ivy was all over the Place. But not Green. On the Contrary. In addition to the Looks and Personality and Duds and a Reserved Space in that Mess of Sirup known as the Society Page, Ivy was in Line to inherit a Wad which would sup- port almost any Husband in the Style and Manner to which he had been accus- tomed, even if he bought Cra- vats at nine dol- lars each and got measured for his Socks and Underwear. Consequent- ly, and needless to relate, our Heroine did not spill any Tears 6 NCE there was a big-eyed Seraphine who had Everything that Cleopatra able of what Ivy might ha oe Illustrations by Glauyas. Williams in her Date Book or Clap her Hands when the Phone rang, or secretively purchase any Love Philters. There was never any Ques- tion as to What she would do after the Sun went down. The only Details to be arranged were: With Whom and to what Extent. What with Going Places and Doing Things in the Company of bleating Collegians, puffy Bachelors, intellectual Bond Salesmen, and those busy little Arrangers who rub the Hands and show the Teeth and keep on saying “Let’s go,” Ivetta had a mean Low- Down on the Masculine Gender. She could hardly be blamed for privately | cherishing the Belief that Man, striking a General Average, was Thirty-Three and One-Third Percent each of Blah, Bunk and Boloney. She needed several Males in Evening Re galia to get her Wraps and hag- gle with Taxi Bandits, argue with Head Wait- ers, and take Requests to the Leader of the Moaning Moes who played the newest Grave yard Music, and to tell her if the Make-Up was THE POOR FISH-EGG

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hen any ues- Sun ged ings uffy the eeth Let’s LOW- iline rdly ately - that 1eral hree each ney. »ded ales - Re ; her hag- rgue N ait- take » the the Moes 1 the rave- , and f the The Slang is 1930 but the Moral would apply to 2O30 Just as Well mottled and kind of hover around the Royal Presence, providing Background and suggesting Importance, but when it came to picking out one of the Critters to have and to hold until the Courts do them part— that, as Dr. William Lyon Phelps might have remarked, was more Coocoo than Gaga and calculated to throw One into a Cold Sweat. Now, Ivy had a Busy Bean and an X-ray Discernment and could read a Man’s Char- acter even if he didn’t have any Character at all, which was sometimes the case. Natu- rally, she often had a Yen to bust out and tell what was churning around under the wavy Dome, but she had been to a Finishing School and knew all the Tricks of Polite Perjury. Often enough she could make the Orbs snap saucily and pull a frozen Smile and let on to be Charmed while she was dying on the Vine and longing to beat it for the rose-colored Boudoir and take a long relaxing Lay in a Hot Tub. Do you know who nearly got her into a Peck of Trouble? You have heard of a Play- wright called Eugene O’Neill, who made every Literary Club in America a Hotbed of Profanity. Rough Stuff was a puling Infant until Eugene took it and made it a roaring Husky with a Flannel Shirt and Bristles. He was the first Hero who refused to sup- press any Part of the Vocabulary or put a Soft Pedal on the Blankety-Blanks. Then, to be still more revolutionary, he turned out a Dramatic Opus in which all Mem- bers of the Cast spoke up and released every- thing that was on the Chest. And what they said took the Paint right off the Furniture. Also, a couple of brave (Continued on page 170) have pilled. —but didn’t : | F } THE HUMAN BEHEMOTH

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INNER was over at last and old Hector Champion sat like Lucullus, white and bloated, fingering a tall crystal Burgundy glass and surveying the beautiful table. It was, he reflected, like a jewel, with the four elaborate Champion family candelabra bought at Christie’s last year from the tax-ridden English Cham- pions and the high epergne filled with mandarins and black grapes and crowned by a pineapple. In the crystal glasses resting on a cloth of yellow old lace there still lingered traces of excellent wines: in the small glasses there was the pale gold of Chablis, in the shallow glasses the deeper gold of champagne and in the great crystal goblets the rich red of Romanée- Conti. And now before him and his three male guests the bronze-gold of fine brandy filled the air with a delicate evasive scent. 18 ector 6’ hampion Among his treasured possessions were twenty-four great goblets of crystal. There had grown up in his mind a superstition that if one were broken it would be an omen of calamity . . . Now, on this night of his dinner party, one HAD been broken—and by his own hand! ; To Hector the table was a thing so beautiful that the mere sight of it made him forget for a moment that he had himself eaten nothing but three digestive biscuits and drunk nothing but Vichy and that tomorrow he might be told that he had only three months to live. And the room which surrounded and dwarfed the big table made it appear even more extravagant and lovely. It was a room taken out piecemeal from a hotel in the Rue de Varenne which had once belonged to a cardinal, and piecemeal it had been brought to America to be put together once more in a great apart- ment twenty floors above the East River. To preserve the full beauty of the tan-gray wood and the perfection of the overdoors painted by Boucher with soft pink nymphs and fluttering cupids, steel girders had been cut and the ceiling had been raised to fit the transplanted jewel. The windows were

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t the at he cuits w he live. | the and ma nged it to art- wood cher steel rised were Rosa Du an Whence she had come or what she had been no one cared. Now she had a night club named after her. In her, Jim Towner had found what he had always been seeking; what he hadn’t found in his mar- riage. When Rosie sang: “Gee I'd like to see you looking swell, Baby, Diamond bracelets Woolworth doesn’t sell, Baby,” in that warm throaty voice of hers, he knew he couldn’t give her up. Illustrations by McClelland Barclay OUIS Bromfield At this hour the river was a ribbon of black and the three higher and wider than other win- dows in the huge building, but in- stead of looking out upon a green and intimate gar- den in the Rue de Varenne they looked out over a mighty river flow- ing between great Skyscrapers and whirring factories and crossed by three gigantic bridges. great bridges were necklaces of light. From these windows one could see all the way from the flares of Hell Gate to the lower harbor where the great liners slid out to the open sea. It was a view so vast and fantastic that at times it conveyed to Old Hector a terrifying sense of his own smallness and unimpor- tance and so filled him with a sullen sense of depression. As iF Hector had arranged to mul- tiply the beauties of the room, they were reflected back and forth, together with his own figure and those of his guests, from one great mirror to another. Hector Champion was seventy-one and soft, with a white- and-pink complexion that seemed unnatural and a little ghastly in a man so old, and although he had lost twenty pounds within the last three weeks, his short body remained grotesque 19

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In this Novel you follow these 4 Men through and unwieldy and still capable of inspiring repulsion in those who had not grown used to its peculiar ugli- ness. The image reflected back and forth in the tall mirrors was that of a round, rather shapeless face with a small mouth and two small pale-blue eyes that were malicious and feminine and rather like the eyes of a china cat. Feature by feature he was not an ugly man. The re- pulsion lingered just beneath the surface, shining out of the too-pale eyes, lurking in the puckered corners Jim owner of the tiny mouth and in the folds of fat beneath the small ears. The men lingered over the table instead of joining the ladies or going into the library because Old Hector believed that leaving the table for brandy and cigars broke the back of a good dinner. He scarcely heard what his guests were saying because his thoughts kept returning morbidly to himself- and his fear of death. It was worse when he was alone and so, lately, he had come to ask people to every meal—people of all sorts, even people whom he disliked and for whom he felt snobbish contempt or pity, people whom a year ago he would never have asked to his house. Anything was better than being alone. The nights were awful. The three men who sat at his table were as diverse in character as it was possible to be. At his left, drink- ing his third glass of brandy, sat Jim Towner, forty- five, heavy and handsome, a sportsman whose bull-like muscles and good looks were disappearing beneath the soft fat of dissipation; opposite Towner sat his nephew Philip Dantry Philip Dantry, who had lived with the old man since he was two years old. Philip was twenty-eight and good-looking in the way of a young man who led a regular life, with certain hours allotted to work, to riding, to swimming, to box- ing, and who took a rather stupid satisfaction in the efficient perfection of his body. He had dark curling hair and a rather high color and blue eyes, and he was the only person in the world for whom the old man had: any love. : As if the mere concentration of all his love upon this Only in New York, (city of Breathless Magic,

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the O24 most eventful Hours of their Lives one boy had magnified its intensity, Old Hector wor- shiped him, pestering him with spinsterish attentions and with a morbid unnatural jealousy. In a room filled with people he would watch Philip furtively, as he was doing now, fearful and exasperated if the boy appeared to be enjoying himself in the company of any one per- son, terrified secretly lest the boy should somehow escape from him. For Philip was more to him than a nephew; more perhaps even than a son. He was the child of Hector’s David Melbourn sister Mary who died in giving him birth, and of an Irishman called Patrick Dantry who eloped with Hec- tor’s other sister, the beauty Nancy, who deserted a dull, respectable husband to create one of the great scandals at the beginning of the century. And when Patrick Dantry was killed in an accident before he could marry his sister-in-law, the baby was left to the bachelor Hec- tor as all that remained of his two sisters and of Patrick Dantry. Afterward he never saw his sister Nancy again. It Was in a way as if young Philip was the flesh of the old man’s flesh, for Hector had loved Patrick Dantry, his protégé, more than he had ever loved any woman. The third guest, who sat exactly opposite him, was a tall man with powerful shoulders and an erect and wiry body, middle-aged and possessed of an extraordinary face, which at one moment appeared singularly hand- some and at the next possessed of a fascinating and almost sinister ugliness. Unlike the other three, he was of an origin obscure but of a fame and of a notoriety unknown in the circles commonly called good society. h ector (Shampion His name was David Melbourn and he had emerged out of the war a rich and successful man, still under forty, but of a richness and a success incomparable with that which had come to him afterward. Only a week earlier the newspapers of Europe and America had printed his name in the most important type as the first man in the history of the world to sign his name to a check for one hundred and fifty million dollars; not his own dollars, to be sure, but dollars which had been manipulated into a single vast bargain from which he himself drew a profit of several millions. There could such Exciting Drama be Jived so Swiftly

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Ms. Wintringham whom nobody knew—except that she was a kind of adventuress— but who had poise and dignity and a quality of mystery, born of her past, was quietly contemptu- ous of Fanny Towner’s enmity. ‘fanny ~ Sowner Jim Towner’s wife, who had everything — looks, fortune and an attractive husband— was desperate because she ~ felt she was losing David Melbourn to this nobody. pclelland (Jarclay

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ne Boss she vid dy. was about him a sense of enormous physical power. He sat at Old Hector’s table because he was important and because Old Hector was many varieties of a snob. He was a snob of family and tradition, neither of which could have included Melbourn, and he was a snob of wealth, which did include Melbourn, and a snob of the spectacular, which also included him. And Melbourn had been invited because Old Hector knew the rumor that he was the lover of Jim Towner’s wife Fanny and he wanted to see the three of them together in order that he might watch them morbidly and discover the truth. | = the dinner was half finished, he had discovered it when Fanny made a fool of herself and betrayed her interest in Melbourn and her jealousy of Mrs. Wintringham, who was sitting now in the drawing-room with Fanny and old Savina Jer- rold. For a time the comedy had absorbed him and it was only now, when the ladies had withdrawn, that the fear that had not left him for days returned to him like an evil smell that would not be shaken off. He tried to listen to what Melbourn was telling young Philip and Jim Towner but only snatches of the conversation a young man had come to live a kind of vicarious existence through his friend, accepting all Patrick’s confidences, worshiping him and helping him in his conquests. Patrick Dantry had been all that Hector was not and all that Hector desired most to be, and so his dazzling charm and good looks had led Hector to forget that Patrick Dantry was the son of a nobody who had got rich by means which people did not discuss. But in that strange friendship Hector had come very near to living, and even now, a generation afterward, he could not quite forgive one sister for having married his friend and the other for having taken Patrick from him forever. It was almost as if Patrick Dantry had pos- sessed a fatal, unearthly attraction for anyone named Champion. His feelings toward the memory of Patrick Dantry were compounded strangely of suffering and joy, of love and jealousy and hatred, and of a curious painful sense of incompleteness and frustration. In his loneliness it seemed to him that Patrick Dantry was the only person he had ever really known and that it was only yester- day a telegram had come saying that Patrick Dantry was dead in the crevasse of a glacier near Grindelwald. penetrated the cloud of his depression. He was aware that Melbourn was relating with a kind of scornful indifference the negotiations that had been necessary before he could sign the largest check that had ever been written. In young Philip’s naive, handsome face there was a look of intense admiration for this man who at middle age controlled factories and mills and mines and even cities. The boy’s interest annoyed the old man, for Hector in his snobbery considered it distin- guished only to live upon a capital which had come to him by inheritance and which in- creased from year to year with- out vulgar effort. But in the next breath he told himself that it was because Philip was really distinguished only on the Champion side of the fam- ily and that he came by his vulgarity from his father Pat- rick Dantry, whose father had made his money by heaven knew what methods in a gang of men who robbed the citizens EFORE he was thirty Louis Bromfield wrote “The Green Bay Tree,” a first novel of un- But the son Philip remained, grown now into a man so like his father that there were times when it seemed that Patrick Dantry was not dead at all. And Philip in a way was almost Hector’s own flesh, for he was the child of his sister. Hector did not remember his sister Mary very clearly but his sister Nancy, who was still alive somewhere in England, re- turned to him vividly in mem- ory. Of the two she had always been the more dashing and beautiful, and looking back, he thought now that perhaps Patrick Dantry had always been in love with Nancy and had only married Mary because Nancy already had a husband when he came to know her. es some force had been at work, softening the fat, bitter old man; he re- gretted now that he had not long ago forgiven Nancy. It would have consoled him to be able to go to her now for sym- of cil York. usual brilliance. Since then he has pathy. P The thought of Patrick Dan- . “Possession,” “ There was no understanding try created suddenly the phys- P ublished . “Po _— Early sympathy to be had from ical memory of him, tall and dark with high color and blue eyes, so like Philip sitting there a little way off listening to Melbourn. Patrick was like his son Philip, with perhaps more fire and a wilder way with women, for Patrick had pos- sessed the Irishman’s romantic temper and a capacity for in- dulging in indiscriminate love affairs without becoming soiled. No, Philip lacked the fire of his father. He could not have Autumn,” “A Good Woman,” Philip. It was unreasonable and “The Strange Case of Miss Annie Spragg’”—all best-sellers and all works of literary distinc- life. He saw that it was not tion. He has surpassed himself in “Shattered Glass,” which is likely to rank as one of the significant American novels of our times. to expect sympathy for the old and broken from the young who stood at the beginning of because Philip was unwilling. It was simply that he could never understand what it was to be old and ill and lonely. Watching young Philip’s handsome regular profile he wondered whether the fantastic story about Patrick Dantry’s body might be true—that as everything he wanted from the World, as his father had had. Philip was Patrick Dantry, dulled and blunted and efficient. Only now at seventy-one was Old Hector beginning to understand that what had always seemed impossible to himself had been to Patrick Dantry no more than the tossing off of a glass of brandy. And so Hector as the glacier advanced and melted away with each quick- ening spring and summer the body at length would be found encased in the transparent ice, as young and as handsome as on the day his friend and the lover of his sister Nancy fell to his death. If that were true, the body would look for all the world like young Philip, only it would be cold and dead as (Continued on page “ /

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@They’s jest one thing that comes in at th’ right time fer th’ farmer an’ that’s th’ bedtime story. thin’ an’ I ain’t goin’ t’ do it on this subject. We’ve heerd a lot o’ gabbin’ about this ma- chine age we're livin’ in an’ what it’s goin’ t’ do t’ th’ folks that does th’ work. Along comes one feller an’ sez th’ labor-savin’ machines is goin’ t’ make life jest one big picnic fer th’ workin’man an’ up pops another feller that sez they’re goin’ t’ throw th’ workin’ folks out o’ jobs an’ picnickin’ ain’t goin’ t’ be much fun if a feller ain’t got th’ price o’ a glass o’ pink lemonade fer th’ kids. Now I ain’t exactly fer an’ I ain’t exactly ag’in’ it an’ I’ll tell you why. Machines ain’t affected my business none an’ fur’s I can see th’ danged things never will. In th’ carpenter business they'll never make a machine that you can jest push a button on an’ have her grind out a job that’ll stand up alongside o’ th’ real handmade article turned out by a feller that’s a specialist with a hammer an’ saw. On th’ other hand they’s a lot o’ machines like, fer instance, th’ autymobile an’ th’ radio that’s come to stay. An’ how. Course they’re runnin’ in direct opposition t’ each other, you might say. Th’ autymobile keeps folks out o’ their homes an’ th’ radio keeps ’em in an’ fer a while it looked like th’ race wuz a tie. But I'll be slab-dabbed if you don’t have t’ hand it t’ th’ auty- mobile fellers; they jest took th’ bull by th’ horns because danged if I didn’t see a young feller ridin’ along th’ road, 24 R. PRESIDENT an’ Folks: Well, sir, I never wuz a feller t’ take a snap judgment on any- QI ain't exactly fer an’ I ain't exactly ag’in’ this machine New Views of pecialist the character who inspired A PAL iliion © ctcwies Ccrivin’ with one hand an’ sparkin’ his girl while a radio attachment on th’ dashboard wuz playin’, “Love Me an’ th’ World Is Mine.” It jest goes t’ show that all this talk about th’ young folks o’ this day an’ age bein’ so wicked is danged fool- ishness. They ain’t no question that th’ autymobiles have changed love-makin’ considerable from what she used t’ be in th’ days o’ th’ horse an’ buggy, but fur’s I can see she ain’t any dangerouser now than she wuz then, You take a feller that’s got his girl out ridin’ in a autymobile—well, sir, he can’t wrap th’ lines around th’ whip handle an’ drive along slow, devotin’ all his attention t’ th’ girl. No, sir! A feller is danged lucky t’ be able t’ do jest a little one-handed love-makin’ now’days. Some folks is always sayin’ that this one-arm drivin’ is dangerous. Well, sir, she don’t hold a candle t’ th’ dangers o’ two-handed love-makin’. With autymobiles passin’ back an’ forth every two or three minutes an’ th’ road lined on each side with so danged many signboards a feller can’t find a place t’ drive out in th’ field under a nice quiet tree where they can do a little talkin’, about all that can happen with one-arm drivin’ is a collision. But folks, you take one them old side-bar buggies— them wuz th’ babies—if a feller didn’t keep both hands on his drivin’ danged near anythin’ could happen. Es- pecially if he’s got a skittish horse. On th’ other hand, in them days they wuz a lot o’ fellers didn’t have buggies, so they’d set in th’ parlor o’ their girl’s house lookin’ at th’ album. Course that couldn’t run on all evenin’, so they’d git fidgety an’ not havin’ any radio t’ turn off, nine times out o’ ten they’d turn off th’ light jest t’ be doin’ some- thin’. Now you take th’ young folks o’ t’day, fer instance. If they git tired ridin’ an’ set around th’ parlor fer awhile, why, they can’t turn off th’ radio fer fear o’ th’ girl’s paw an’ if they turn off th’ lights her paw don’t have t’ come t’ th’ top o’ th’ stairs an’ yell out: “Emmie, what’s goin’ on down there?” He can jest push a little button in th’ upstairs hall an’ there they are—ketched. Huggin’ an’ maybe kissin’. An’ love-makin’ ain’t th’ only thing that’s been af- fected by them newfangled machines. Now you take radio, fer instance. They ain’t hardly a home that amounts t’ anythin’ but what’s got one in it—an’ every danged one age. turned on full blast whether

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by Koieanies ‘Ce ale fellers tell it, folks would think th’ radio’d done more t’ increase An Address on is Re Aetecl Age’ anybody’s listenin’ t’ it or While a not. ’, “Love Folks with radios is jest th’ farmers’ joy o’ livin’ than th’ like th’ fellers that wear ridin’ plow an’ that a feller ” young spats in th’ summer time couldn’t no more run a farm >d fool- —they don’t feel right if without one than he could with- mobiles they ain’t got ’em on out a good big first an’ second hat she even if they ain’t gittin’ mortgage. ut fur’s any good out o’ ’em. Well, sir, fur’s I can see he wuz Th’ wear an’ tear on a they’s two sides t’ th’ ques- radio is bound t’ be a tion—only we don’t never n’ in a lot more’n it is on a hear but one. around autymobile when you They ain’t no doubt that all his stop t’ figger out that th’ radio is a good piece o’ 1 lucky you never see a au- machinery fer folks on th’ makin’ tymobile runnin’ P farm t’ have but I’ve been round th’ streets studyin’ her out an’ th’ way I drivin’ empty with no- figger it they don’t git any- 2 t’ th’ body payin’ any ; ways near as much good out attention t’ her. ( o’ ’em as some folks thinks an’ ry two They’s an old I'll tell you why. le with sayin’ that talk’s You take fer instance when them 1 place cheap but danged if it don’t mornin’ settin’-up exercises is com- where seem like when you git her in’ in—well, sir, th’ farmer has lappen down t’ where she comes t’ jest already been up fer two hours an’ a few cents on th’ ’lectric bill, th’ chances are he’s out in th’ barn sgies— folks won’t listen t’ her. Yes, pitchin’ down hay fer th’ horses or hands sir, it looks t’ me like it won’t pumpin’ water fer th’ cattle an’ 1. Es- be no time till they ain’t no don’t git a blamed bit o’ good out hand, such thing as quiet talkin’ any o’ ’em. wuz a more unless you go out in th’ An’ if it’s summer time, as like as have woodshed t’ do it. Course not he’s ’way down in th’ south in th’ whisperin’ is jest plumb gone. forty jest finishin’ up th’ last two house It’s gittin’ so a feller can’t rows in th’ ten acres he’s plowed since do a little talkin’ around breakfast an’ he won’t think o’ sparin’ vt run home without yellin’ so loud th’ time t’ walk back t’ th’ house an’ y’d git t’? drownd out th’ radio that tune in, no matter how bad he needs n’ any it jest wears him out as th’ settin’-up exercise. times much as talkin’ t’ a deaf An’ another thing—you take one o’ th’ off th’ man. most important things on th’ radio, th’ some- After while he jest gives baseball scores. Well, sir, they’re always up an’ points. at jest th’ wrong time fer th’ farmer. young Now I don’t want you In th’ first place instead o’ puttin’ ’em on tance. folks t’ get th’ idee I’m in th’ winter time when a farmer might n’ an’ ag’in’ th’ radio. So fur it be able t’ do a little listenin’—especially or fer ain’t affected me but I figger on rainy days—why, danged if they don’t t turn if this situation keeps up it put ’em on in th’ summer an’ right in th’ 0’ th’ might. middle o’ th’ afternoon in hayin’ time. ; turn With all o’ this noise goin’ Jest th’ worst time in th’ world fer th’ don't on it’s goin’ t’ be a big relief farmer. 0’ th t’ a feller jest t’ have a nice They’s been a lot o’ gassin’ ’round about mmie, quiet place near home where th’ radio bein’ a blessin’ t’ th’ farmer’s ere? he can go t’ do a little thinkin’, wife an’ how it keeps ’em from gittin’ lone- little figgerin’ an’ ponderin’. Th’ only some. Well, sir, now, I figger they do git s hall place you can do it now is at a lot o’ company out o’ jest havin’ her iched. church. turned on while they’re workin’ around th’ issin . On th’ other hand, they must place. Maybe they don’t git t’ hear all ’t th be a lot o’ folks that’s gittin’ a that’s goin’ on but they can hear th’ sound n af- heap o’ good out o’ radios. But o’ it an’ a farm can be so dad-blamed quiet ngled danged if they ain’t one thing that any kind o’ a noise, even if it’s jest that’s kinda disconcertin’ an’ static, is comfortin’. o, fer that’s hearin’ so much jawin’ Th’ chances are if th’ farmer’s wife can ardly around about what a great spare any time fer listenin’ jest t’ be its t help they are fer th’ entertained, she can git a heap more it one farmer. satisfaction out o’ th’ party-line tele- d one T’ hear some o’ these Photographs by Lazarnick phone, an’ (Continued on page 202) 25 ether

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IRST of the NEw EXPLOITS of that Gallant Go" We're here toagree terms,” roared Easter- ling, “and we'll agree them be- fore ye leave!” HE story of the long duel between Peter Blood and Captain Easterling finds an important place in the chronicles which Jeremy Pitt has left us, and is of impor- tance to the serious student of Blood’s curious career. Indeed, but for Easterling it may well be that there would have been no chron- icles, since but for his intervention in the fortunes of Peter Blood the latter might never have become a buc- caneer. The lives of men are at the mercy of the slenderest chances. A whole destiny may be shaped by the set of the wind at a given moment. And Peter Blood’s was certainly shaped at a time when it was still fluid by the October hurricane which blew Captain Easterling’s ten- gun sloop into Cayona Bay. This Easterling—as nasty a scoundrel as ever sailed the Caribbean—carried under hatches some tons of cacao of which he had lightened a Dutch merchant- man homing from the Antilles. The exploit, he real- ized, had not covered him with glory. for glory in that 26 C pirate’s eyes was measurable by profit, and the meager profit in this instance was not likely to increase him in the poor esteem in which he was held by the Brethren of the Coast. Had he suspected the mer- chantman of being no more richly laden he would have let her pass unchallenged. But having engaged and boarded her, he had thought it incumbent upon him and his duty to his crew of rascals to relieve her of what she carried. That she should have carried nothing of more value than cacao was a contingency for which he blamed the evil fortune which of late had dogged him, an evil fortune which was making it increasingly difficult for him to find men to sail with him. Considering these things and dreaming of great en- terprises, he brought his sloop Bonaventure into the shelter of the rockbound harbor of Tortuga, and there dismissed his dreams to gaze upon a curious reality. It took the shape of a red-hulled ship that rode proudly

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asurable meager ice was him in hich he shren of he mer- 10 more illenged. thought crew of hat she n cacao fortune e which to find ‘eat en- nto the id there lity. It proudly s eo at anchor among the lesser craft, like a swan amid a 1 HN Z gaggle of geese. When he had come near enough to read the name Cinco Llagas boldly painted in letters of gold above her counter, and under this the port of origin, Cadiz, he rubbed his eyes. Thereafter he sought in conjecture an explanation of the presence of that magnificent ship of Spain in this pirates’ nest of Tortuga. ; A THING of beauty she was, from gilded beakhead, above which the brass cannons glinted in the morning sun, to towering stern castle, and a thing of power aS announced by the forty guns which Easter- ling’s practiced eye computed that she carried behind her closed ports. The Bonaventure cast anchor within a cable’s length of the great ship, in ten fathoms, close under the Shadow of the Mountain Fort, which crowned the great rock on the harbor’s western side, and Easterling went Illustrations by Dean Cornwell @Or not, as the case may be,” said Blood quietly. He had lost his diffidence now. ashore to discover the explanation of this mystery. In the market place beyond the mole, amid the crow? of buccan hunters, seamen, .each combers, negroes and Indians who loafed or trafficked there, the captain found a couple of rascals ready with the singular tale of how that noble vessel out of Cadiz came to ride so peacefully at anchor in Cayona Bay. She had belonged to a Spanish admiral, who, by way of reprisal for the injury done to Spanish settlements by English adventurers and privateers, had made a raid upon Barbados, paralyzed the garrison of Bridgetown, seized the governor and held the place for ransom. But that night, while he was ashore with all his force, a party of wretched slaves from the plantations had crept aboard his ship, surprised and overpowered the inadequate watch, and in’ the morning had turned her guns upon the boats in which the victorious Spaniards were returning to her. Thereafter they had sailed away with their prize to freedom. It was an amusing tale and an impressive one to 27

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@Monsieur d’Ogeron, the courtly governor of Tortuga, was not alone. He presented his richly dressed companion to Easterling: “Here, captain, is Mr. Peter Blood to answer you in person.” such a man as Easterling. He desired more particular knowledge of the men who had engaged in such an en- terprise. He learned that they numbered not above q score and that they were al] political offenders, rebels who in England had been out with Monmouth, preserved from the gallows because of the need of slaves in the West Indian plantations. They had been led by a man named Peter Blood, who, because of his skill as a physician, and so that he might practice it to the prof- it of his owner, had been emancipated from the ordi- nary labor of a slave. Thus he had enjoyed a certain measure of personal free- dom, which had _ enabled him to seize the opportunity when it presented itself. With his fellow convicts he had come for shelter to Tortuga, and here they had been abiding for the past month. It was thought that Blood desired to take ship for France at the first occa- sion and that most of his followers would accompany him. But one or two wilder spirits, men who had been trained to the sea, were likely to remain behind and join the Brotherhood of the Coast, as the buccaneering fraternity called itself. Au this Eas- terling learned in the market place behind the mole, whence his narrow eyes continued to con the red ship. With such a vessel as that under his feet there was no limit to the things he might achieve. The fame of Henry Morgan, with whom once he had sailed and under whom he had served his appren- ticeship to piracy, should be- come a pale thing beside his own. Those poor escaped convicts should be ready enough to sell a ship which had served their purpose, and they should not be ex- orbitant in their notions of her value. The cacao aboard the Bonaventure should more than suffice to pay for her. Captain Easterling smiled as he stroked his crisp black beard. It had required his keen wits to perceive at once an opportunity to which all others had been blind dur- ing that long month in which the vessel had been anchored there. He made his way through the rudely built little town by the road white with coral dust, so white under the blazing sun that the eyes

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asterling, Darticular men who +h an en- ned that , above a ’ Were all ebels who been out preserved ecause of s in the tions. led by a r Blood, S Skill as » that he the prof- iad been the ordi- fe. Thus _ certain ial free- enabled oortunity tself. convicts helter to hey had the past ght that ake ship rst occa- t of his company ro wilder ad been a, were lind and d of the aneering lf. his Eas- > market , whence inued to as that was no e might f Henry once he r whom appren- ould be- ‘side his escaped - ready 9 which purpose, | be ex- tions of . aboard should pay for smiled sp black red his at once hich all 1d dur- nth in d been shrough le town -h coral ler the le eyes instinctively sought the dark patches made by the shadows of the exiguous palms that bordered it. He went so purposefully that he disregarded the hails that greeted him from the tavern of The King of France, nor paused to crush a cup with the gaudy buccaneers who filled the place with their noisy mirth. The captain had business that morning with Monsieur d’Ogeron, the courtly middle- aged governor of Tortuga, who in represent- ing the French West India Company seemed to represent France herself, and conducted with the airs of a minister of state affairs of questionable probity but unquestionable profit. I. THE white, green- shuttered house pleasantly set amid fragrant pimento trees, Captain Easterling was re- ceived with dignified friendliness by the slight, elegant Frenchman who brought to the wilds of Tortuga a faint perfume of the elegancies of Versailles. Coming from the white glare outside into the cool spacious room, to which was admitted only such light as filtered between the slats of the closed shutters, the captain found himself almost in darkness until his eyes adjusted themselves. The governor offered him a chair and gave him his attention. In the matter of the eacao there was no difficulty. Monsieur d’Ogeron cared not whence it came. That he had no illusions on the subject was shown by the price per quintal at which he was prepared to purchase. It was a price repre- senting rather less than half the value of the merchandise. Monsieur d’Ogeron was a dili- gent servant of the French West India Com- pany. Easterling haggled vainly, grumbled, ac- cepted and passed to the major matter. He desired to acquire the Spanish ship in the bay. Would Monsieur d’Ogeron undertake its purchase for him from the fugitive convicts who, he understood, were in possession? Monsieur d’Ogeron took time to reply. “It is possible,” he said at last, “that they may not wish to sell.” “Not sell? In heaven’s name, what use is the ship to those poor ragamuffins?” “Come to me this evening,” said Monsieur d'Ogeron, “and you shall have your answer.” When Easterling returned as bidden, Mon- sieur d’Ogeron was not alone. As the gov- ernor rose to receive his visitor, there rose with him a tall spare man in the early thir- ties from whose shaven face, swarthy as a gipsy’s, a pair of eyes that were startlingly blue, level and penetrating looked out. : I. MONSIEUR D’OGERON in dress and air suggested Versailles, his com- panion as markedly suggested the Alameda. He was richly dressed in black in the Spanish fashion, with an abundance of silver lace and a foam of fine point at throat and wrists, and he wore a heavy black periwig whose curls descended to his shoulder. Monsieur d’Ogeron presented him: “Here, captain, is Mr. Peter Blood to answer you in person.” Easterling was almost disconcerted, so dif- ferent was the man’s appearance from any- thing that he could have imagined. And now this singular escaped convict was bowing with the grace of a courtier, and the buccaneer was reflecting that these fine Spanish clothes Would have been filched from the Spanish commander. He remembered something else. “Ah, yes. To be sure. The physician,” he Said, and laughed for no apparent reason. @. Aggressively the buccaneer demanded the elegant Mr. Blood’s reasons for retaining a ship that could be of no use to him and his fellow convicts.

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30 Mr. Blood began to speak. He had a pleasant voice whose metallic quality was softened by a drawling Irish accent. But what he said made Captain Easterling impatient. It was not his intention to sell the Cinco Llagas. Aggressively before the elegant Mr. Blood stood now the buccaneer, a huge, hairy, dangerous-looking man in coarse shirt and leather breeches, his cropped head The Blank Shot Still Captain Blood preserved his pleasant temper, “What we lack in men we make up in weight of metal, Whilst I may not be able to navigate a ship across the ocean, I can certainly fight a ship at need. I learneg it under de Ruyter.” The famous name gave pause to Easterling’s scorn. “Under de Ruyter?” “I held a commission with him some years ago.” The presence of Easterling’s entire crew of ruffians made Blood’s three swathed in akerchief. Aggressively he demanded Blood’s reasons for retaining a ship that could be of no use to him and his fellow convicts. Blood’s voice was softly courteous in reply, which but increased Easterling’s contempt for him. Captain Easterling was assured that he was mistaken in his assumptions. It was probable that the fugitives from Barbados would employ the vessel to return to Europe, so as to make their way to France or Holland. “Maybe we’re not quite as ye’re supposing us, cap- tain. One of my companions is a shipmaster, and three others have served, in various ways, in the King’s navy.” “Bah!” Easterling’s contempt exploded-loudly. “And what of the perils of the sea? Perils of capture? How will ye face those with your paltry crew?” Easterling was plainly dumfounded. “I thought it’s a doctor ye was.” “I am that, too,” said the Irishman simply. The buccaneer expressed disgusted amazement in a speech liberally festooned with oaths. And then Monsieur d’Ogeron made an end of the interview. “So that you see, Captain Easterling, there is no more to be said in the matter.” On his disgruntled way back to the mole Easterling thought that although there was no more to be said there was a good deal to be done. Already having looked upon the Cinco Llagas as his own, he was by no means disposed to forgo the prospect of possession. Monsieur d’Ogeron also appeared to think that there was still at least a word to be added, and he added it after Easterling’s departure. “That,” he said quietly,

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ght it’s dded it quietly, Rafael Sabatini “is a nasty and a dangerous man. You will do well to pear it in mind, Monsieur Blood.” Blood treated the matter lightly. “The warning was hardly necessary. His person would have announced the background to me even if I had not known him for a pirate.” A shadow almost suggestive of annoyance flitted across the delicate features of the governor of Tortuga. 31 levied by way of harbor dues on prizes brought into Tortuga, solemn counsels that Mr. Blood should follow in the footsteps of those heroes. Being outlawed as he was, in possession of a fine ship and the nucleus of an able following, and being, as he had shown, a man of unusual resource, Monsieur d’Ogeron did not doubt that he would prosper finely as a filibuster. Mr. Blood didn’t doubt it himself. He never doubted followers suspect with him that they had walked into a trap. It was too late to retreat. “Oh, but a filibuster is not of necessity a blackguard, nor is the career of a filibuster one for your contempt, Monsieur Blood. There are those among the buccaneers who do good service to your country and to mine by Setting a restraint upon the rapacity of Spain, a rapacity which is responsible for their existence. “But for the buccaneers, in these waters where neither France nor England can maintain a fleet, the Spanish dominion would be as absolute as it is in- human. You will remember that your country honored Henry Morgan with a knighthood and the deputy- governorship of Jamaica. And he was a worse pirate, if it is possible, than your Sir Francis Drake, or Hawkins or Frobisher, whose memory your country also honors.” _Followed on this from Monsieur d’Ogeron, who de- Tived considerable revenue from the percentages he himself. But he did not on that account incline to the notion. Nor, probably, would he ever have so inclined but for that which ensued, however much the majority of his followers might have sought to persuade him. Among these, Hagthorpe and Pitt were perhaps the most persistent. It was all very well for Blood to plan a return to Europe. He was master of a peaceful art, in the pursuit of which he might earn a livelihood. But they were men of the sea, and knew no other trade. Dyke, who had been a petty officer in the navy before he embarked on politics and rebellion, held similar views, and Ogle, the gunner, demanded to know of heaven and hell and Mr. Blood what guns they thought the British admiralty would entrust to a man who had been out with Monmouth. Things were reaching a (Continued on page 146)

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A lonely Boy who By Frazier Hunt I WENT away feeling rather sorry for the little fellow. He was a fine lad, too—strong, sturdy, with a friendly smile and a single fascinating dimple. And he lived in a great house, with servants and motor cars and horses and a hundred toys and apparently all the ma- terial things that a boy could dream of wanting. But I felt sorry for him just the same. I felt sorry that he had to be a king; that he could not be just an ordinary little boy and play marbles and get into fights and in the winter- time skate on old Eel River and on long August dog days swim for hours in Devil’s Hole. And I felt sorry that he would not grow up to dream of being a free agent, with his own life to make and with a whole world to roam over and to adventure in. Somehow, life seemed to have been stopped at the source for him. It was all thought out and arranged. He would be brilliantly dressed in gay sashes and medals and swords and moved about—a king on. the chessboard of Eastern Europe. And I repeat, he was a dear little boy, with a shock of light brown hair, gray-blue eyes and a shy, sensitive voice and manner. It was his “Saint’s Day,” his name day—St. Michael’s Day—and he was dressed in a new blue serge suit with long trousers, such as English boys wear. Two weeks before, on October twenty- fifth, he had celebrated his eighth birthday and these long trousers had been the present that had pleased him most of all. When I was ushered in he was standing by his mother in a lovely room in his royal palace in Buch- arest, Roumania, far off in the south- eastern corner of Europe—a lonely boy in a lonely palace in a lone- ly country. The day before I had had a long talk with his mother, the beautiful. Princess Elena of Greece, whose husband, the heir apparent Prince Carol, abdicated his rights to the Roumanian throne four years @. Michael has all the things a boy could dream of wanting except adventure in the wide world. ago and is now living in a chateau on the outskirts of Paris. She had explained about the boy Michael’s education and how she was trying to bring him up, and that evening his grandmother, the brilliant Dow- ager Queen Marie—the map-maker of the Balkans— had told me many little tales about him. Under my left arm I had a long pasteboard box, and after greeting the princess and shaking hands with the boy king, I handed him the package. “Here’s a present for your Saint’s Day that I’ve brought you,” I explained. “Now you try to guess what it is.” He shook his head rather shyly. “I couldn’t guess.” “Well, unwrap it and let’s see. Put it on the floor and dig right into it.” The next second we were both on our knees and young Michael was throwing paper right and left. Then he shouted with joy. “Oh, look! Isn’t it lovely? A motor boat! Did you bring it all the way from America?” “No; only from London,” I con- fessed. “Now let’s see if it will go.” W. FounD the dry cells and the place they were to go in, but something was wrong. The tiny lights would not go on, nor would the propeller turn. “Now, how in the world does this go?” the little king repeated over and over, while we tried every conceivable way of getting it started. “I guess I’m a pretty poor mechan- ic,” I said after a while. ‘“We’ll have to get some help, won’t we?” He allowed that the palace me- chanie could do it—but all the time he kept tinkering with the batteries. “Here, this paper comes off!” he ex- claimed, picking a bit of brown card- board from the connecting points. “Now it will go!” Sure enough, it did go—with the green and red lights glowing and the propeller whirling. He was as happy as any other boy would have been.

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o\ must be skirts of fichael’s him up, it Dow- ulkkans— OX, and vith the 1at I’ve Now you ayly. “I ee. Put into it.” both on ael was >. Then A motor the way I con- will go.” the dry to go in, The tiny ould the oes this Iver and iceivable nechan- e’ll have ce me- ihe time atteries. ” he ex- m card- points. vith the and the s happy ve been. How does the handwriting of this boy of 8 com- pare with the handwriting of your boy? Inci- dentally, this is the first picture of the boy king that he has ever auto- graphed for any- one. ING THE King of-all Roumanians, a ruler with a throne, a crown and a scepter; with all the fine trappings of royal- ty; with all royal prerogatives. But a lonely little boy just the same.

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“One thing is still missing,” I said. “Know what it is?” He shook his head. “A flag,” I explained. “I had an awful time trying to get a tiny Roumanian flag but I finally found one, and I had them sew it on this flagpole.” I took the two-by-three-inch bit of silk from my pocket and put its miniature pole in the proper place at the stern of the boat. “I don’t know whether I got these colors on right,” I added. “Does the blue or the red go to the top?” a blue,” he an- swered, in his soft boyish voice. “And the stripes run the other way—but it doesn’t make any difference. It is fine.” ; For ten minutes he played with the levers and the lights, and then he and I went over by the window and talked. His mother had already told me his daily schedule: up at seven; breakfast at eight; stud- ies with Roumanian tutors from eight-thirty to ten-thirty; then every other morning horseback riding, varied on alternate days with an hour of Swedish exer- cises in which three or four other little boys participate (the only real chance he has to be @.When Michael celebrated his eighth birthday, long trousers were the present that pleased him most. with children his own age); dinner at one; two to three, playtime; three to four-thirty, motor-car ride; four-thirty, tea; five to six, studies; six- thirty, very light supper; seven-thirty, bed. His nurses were English and from them and from his mother and grandmother he had learned first of all to speak English. He had also learned Roumanian and he was being taught in that lan- guage now. He had picked up Greek from his mother’s personal maid. : “What study do you have the hardest time with?” I asked. “Arithmetic?” The deep dimple fairly disappeared when he smiled at my guess. “Yes, I have the hardest time with that.” “Most boys do,” I went on. “My own fifteen- year-old boy can hardly get through it at all... He’s like you—he hasn’t any brothers or sisters, but. he’s got an old wire-haired dog he calls his brother.”

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fifteen- all . oH sisters, alls his “I have two police dogs,” the little king explained. “They’re fine dogs. My boy has an Airedale, too. Say, here’s a picture of my boy dressed up as a cowboy.” I took a snapshot from my pocket. “See his big hat and his cowboy saddle and his leather chaps.” “What are those chaps for?” he questioned. “When you ride through the brush they keep your trousers from being torn. You should come to America and go out West and be a cowboy sometime.” “Td like to,” he answered wist- fully. Then a uniformed adjutant an- hounced that a delegation of dig- nitaries had arrived to pay their formal respects to the young king. ‘Tm sorry; we must go now,” the princess said with a warm smile. We said good-by and I turned to go. I had just reached the door when across the room came the @The little king rides a bicycle in the lonely pal ace, wishing he could be a cow- boy out West. high, boyish voice of the little king. “I was the one who fixed the boat, wasn’t I?” “Yes, you were the one,” I agreed. “Good-by!” A minute later I was in my car. But my heart ached for a little boy who had to be a little king, in a day when kings are out of fashion. A little king who will be quarreled over and fought over—who will be sa- luted and bowed to and fussed with, and who will never be able to say for one single moment: “I am free; I can do as I wish.” For the next ten years he must be governed by three regents: his young uncle, the head of the Roumanian church and the president of the Su- preme Court of Appeal. At eighteen he will become the actual king. a for reasons of state, he will have to marry some poor little foreign girl who is a princess. Then some day there will be another little boy prince who may have to be a boy king. Only by that time there may not be any kings anywhere—and little boys can grow up to be citizen adventurers in a great, thrilling world. ie Pe)

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UMMET of an Drones’, and they will tell you that Bertram Wooster is a fellow whom it is dashed difficult to deceive. Old Lynx-Eye is about what it amounts to. I ob- serve and deduce. I weigh the evidence and draw my con- clusions. And that is why Uncle George had not been in my midst more than about two minutes before I, so to speak, saw all. To my trained eye the thing stuck out a mile. And yet it seemed so dashed absurd. Consider the facts, if you know what I mean. I mean to say, for years, right back to the time when I first went to Eton, this bulging relative had been one of the recognized eyesores of London. He was fat then, and day by day in every way has been getting fatter ever since, till now tailors measure him just for the sake of the exercise. He is what they call a prominent London clubman— one of those birds in tight morning coats and gray toppers whom you see toddling along St. James’ Street on fine afternoons, puffing a bit as they make the grade. Slip a ferret into any good club between Piccadilly and Pall Mall, and you would start half a dozen Uncle Georges. He spends his time lunching and dining at the Buf- fers’ and, between meals, sucking down spots in the smoking room and talking about the lining of his stomach to anyone who will listen. About twice a year his liver lodges a formal protest and he goes off to Harrogate or Carlsbad to get planed down. Then back again and on with the program. The last bloke in the world, in short, who you would think would ever fall a victim to the divine pash. And yet, if you will believe me, that was absolutely the strength of it. — old pestilence blew in on me one morning at JAMES [MATS WERY FLAGS G,‘‘Piggy! Fancy you being Lord Yaxley!” said UncleGeorge's barmaid. about the hour of the after-breakfast cigaret. “Oh, Bertie,” he said. “Hullo?” i\\ \ A “You know those Mra 7) haf fit ties you’ve been ROE eg ( MENG, AN wearing. Where 0/mnnnyii| did you get them?” | “Blucher’s, in the Burlington Ar- cade.” “Thanks.” He walked across to the mirror and - stood in front of it, gazing at him- self in an earnest manner. “Smut on your nose?” I asked courteously. Then I suddenly perceived that ho was wearing a sort of horrible simper, and I confess it chilled the blood. Uncle George, with face in repose, is hard enough on the eye. Simpering, he goes right above the odds. “Ha!” he said. He heaved a long sigh, and turned away. Not too soon, for the mirror was on the point of cracking. “I’m not so old,” he said, in a musing sort of voice. “So old as what?” “Properly considered, I’m in my prime. Besides, what a young and inexperienced girl needs is a man of weight and years to lean on. The sturdy oak, not the sapling.” L was at this point that, as I said above, I saw all. “Great Scott, Uncle George!” I said. “You aren’t thinking of getting married?” “Who isn’t?” he said. “You aren’t,” I said. “Yes, I am. Why not?” “Oh, well .. .” “Marriage is an honorable state.” “Oh, absolutely.” “It might make you a better man, Bertie.” “Who says so?” “I say so. Marriage might turn you from a friv- olous young scalawag into—er—a non-scalawag. Yes,

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ur of akfast >,” he those been Vhere 1em?” in the Ar- ACTOSS r and nt of him- irnest your eived und I face g, he it too ice. what eight ling.” [ said said. friv- Yes, ncle Good old JEEVES again brings Happiness to One and All confound you, I am thinking of getting married, and if Agatha comes sticking her oar in I’ll—I’ll—well, I shall know what to do about it.” He exited on the big line, and I rang the bell for Jeeves. The situation seemed to me one that called for a cozy talk. “Jeeves,” I said, “you know my uncle George?” “Yes, sir. His lordship has been familiar to me for some years.” “I don’t mean do you know my uncle George. I mean do you know what my uncle George is thinking of doing?” “Contracting a matrimonial alliance, sir.” “Good Lord! Did he tell you?” N.. sir. Oddly enough, I chance to be acquainted with the other party in the matter.” “The girl?” “The young person; yes, sir. It was from her aunt, with whom she resides, that I received the information that his lordship was contemplating matrimony.” “Who is she?” “A Miss Platt, sir. Miss Rhoda Platt. Of Wistaria Lodge, Kitchener Road, East Dulwich.” “Young?” “Yes, sir.” “The old fathead!” “Yes, sir. The expression is one which I would, of course, not have ventured to employ myself, but I con- fess to thinking his lordship somewhat ill-advised. One must remember, however, that it is not unusual to find gentlemen of a certain age yielding to what might be described as a sentimental urge. They appear to ex- perience what I may term a sort of Indian summer, a kind of temporarily renewed youth. The phenomenon is particularly noticeable, I am given to understand, in the United States of America among the wealthier in- habitants of the city of Pittsburgh. It is notorious, I am told, that sooner or later, unless restrained, they always endeavor to marry chorus girls. Why this should be so, I am at a loss to say, but——” I saw this was going to take some time. I tuned out. “From something in Uncle George’s manner, Jeeves, as he referred to my aunt Agatha’s probable reception of the news, I gather that this Miss Platt is not of the noblesse.” “No, sir. She is a waitress at his lordship’s club.” “My Lord! The proletariat!” “The lower middle classes, sir.” “Well, yes, by stretching it a bit, perhaps. Still, you know what I mean.” “Yes, sir.” “Rummy thing, Jeeves,” I said thoughtfully, “this modern tendency to marry waitresses. If you remem- ber, before he settled down, young Bingo Little was repeatedly trying to do it.” “Yes, sir.” “Odd! Still, there it is, of course. The point to be Illustrations by |James Montgomery By P. G. Woadichauce Flagg d of G Jeeves fancied the union Ja would turn out -an ex- tremely satisfactory one. considered now is, what will Aunt Agatha do about this? She is not like me, Jeeves. I’m broad-minded. If Uncle George wants to marry waitresses, let him, say I. I hold that the rank is but the penny stamp——” “Guinea stamp, sir.” “All right, guinea stamp. Though I don’t believe there is such a thing. I shouldn’t have thought they came higher than five bob. Well, as I was saying, I maintain that the rank is but the guinea stamp and a girl’s a girl for all that.” “For a’ that,’ sir. The poet Burns wrote in the North British dialect.” “Well, ‘a’ that,’ then, if you prefer it.” I HAVE no preference in the matter, sir. It is simply that the poet Burns——” “Never mind about the poet Burns.” “No, a “Forget the poet Burns.” “Very good, sir.” “Expunge the poet Burns from your mind.” “I will do so immediately, sir.” “What we have to consider is not the poet Burns but the aunt Agatha. She will kick, Jeeves.” “Very probably, sir.” “And what’s worse, she will lug me into the mess. There is only one thing to be done. Pack the tooth- brush and let us escape while we may, leaving no address.” “Very good, sir.” At this moment the bell rang. “Ha!” I said. “Someone at the door. Probably Uncle George back again. I’ll answer it. You get ahead with the packing.” “Very good, sir.” a

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38 I sauntered along the passage, whistling carelessly, and there on the mat was Aunt Agatha.” Herself. Not a picture. A nasty jar. “Oh, hullo!” I said, it seeming but little good to tell her I was out of town. “I wish to speak to you, Bertie,” said the Family Curse. “I am greatly upset.” Suc legged it into the sitting room and volplaned into a chair. I followed, thinking wistfully of Jeeves packing in the bedroom. That suit- case would not be needed now. I knew what she must have come about. “T’ve just seen Uncle George,” I said, giving her a lead. “So have I,” said Aunt Agatha, shivering in a marked manner. “He called to inform me of his intention of marrying some impossible girl from South Norwood.” “East Dulwich, the cognoscenti inform me.” “Well, East Dulwich, then. But who told you?” “Jeeves.” “How, pray, does Jeeves come to know all about it?” “There are very few things in this world, Aunt Agatha,” I said gravely, “that Jeeves doesn’t know all about. He’s met the girl.” “Who is she?” “One of the waitresses at the Buffers’.” I had expected this to register, and it did. The rela- tive let out a screech. “I take it from your manner, Aunt Agatha,” I said, “that you want this thing stopped.” “Of course it must be stopped.” “Then let me ring for Jeeves and ask his advice.” Aunt Agatha stiffened visibly. Very much the grande dame of the old régime. “Are you seriously suggesting A 2s . tsiik St me i QF = S\ G." What do you think of that knee?” asked Se \YS the friendly soul. Well, of course, one Ss has to be polite. “Terrific!” I said. Indian Summer of an Uncle that we should discuss this intimate family matter with your manservant?” “Absolutely. Jeeves will find the way.” “I have always known that you were an imbecile, Bertie,” said the flesh-and-blood, now down at about three degrees Fahrenheit, “but I did suppose that you had some proper feeling, some pride, some respect for your position.” “Well, you know what the poet Burns says.” She squelched me with a glance. “Obviously the only thing to do,” she said, “is to offer this girl money.” “Money?” “Certainly. It will not be the first time your uncle has made such a course necessary.” We sat for a bit, brooding. The family always sits brooding when the subject of Uncle George’s early romance comes up. I was too young to be actually in on it at the time, but I’ve had the details frequently from many sources, including Uncle George. Let him get even the slightest bit pickled, and he will tell you the whole story, sometimes twice in an evening. I. was a barmaid at the Criterion, just before he came into the title. Her name was Maudie and he loved her dearly, but the family would have none of it. They dug down into the sock and paid her off. Just one of those human-interest stories, if you know what I mean. I wasn’t so sold on this money-offering scheme. “Well, just as you like, of course,” I said, “but you're taking an awful chance. I mean, whenever people do it in novels and plays, they always get the dickens of a welt. The girl gets the sympathy of the audience every time. She just draws herself up and looks at them with clear, steady eyes, causing them to feel not a little cheesy. If I were you, I would sit tight and let Nature take its course.” “T don’t under- stand you.” “Well, consider for a moment what Uncle George looks like. No Greta Garbo, believe me. I should simply let the girl go on looking at him. Take it from me, Aunt Agatha, I’ve studied human nature and I don’t believe there’s a female in the world who could see Uncle George fairly often in those waistcoats he wears without feeling that it was due to her better self to give him the gate. Be- sides, this girl sees him at meal times, and Uncle George with his head down among the foodstuffs is a spectacle which——” “If it is not troubling you too much, Bertie, I should be obliged if you would stop driveling.” “Just as you SAMES (NOUTSSWERY FACE

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it you ct for > only uncle S sits early in on from 1 get 1 the rion, was ould paid you u're e do of a very with eSy. u, I ight ture der- ider ent cle like. rbo, let ‘im. me, I’ve lan ‘ve ale who cle se he ut it ler ive 3e- irl al cle 1is ng rs le say. All the same, I think you’re going to find it dashed embarrassing, offering this girl money.” “I am not proposing to do so. You will undertake the negotiations.” “Me?” “Certainly. I should think a hundred pounds would be ample. But I will give you a blank check, and you are at liberty to fill it in for a higher sum if it becomes necessary. The essential point is that, cost what it may, your uncle must be released from this entanglement.” “So you’re going to shove this off on me?” “It is quite time you did something for the family.” “And when she draws herself up and looks at me with clear, steady eyes, what do I do for an encore?” “There is no need to discuss the matier any further. You can get down to East Dulwich in half an hour. There is a frequent service of trains. I will remain here to await your report.” “But listen!” “Bertie, you will go to see this woman immediately.” “Yes, but dash it!” “Bertie!” I threw in the towel. “Oh, right ho, if you say so.” “I do say so.” “Oh, well, in that case, right ho.” I DON’T know if you have ever tooled off to East Dulwich to offer a strange female a hundred smackers to release your uncle George. In case you haven’t, I may tell you that there are plenty of things that are lots better fun. I didn’t feel any too good driving to the station. I didn’t feel any too good in the train. And I didn’t feel any too good as I walked to Kitchener Road. But the moment when I felt least good was when I had actually pressed the front doorbell and a rather grubby-looking maid had let me in and shown me down a passage and into a room with pink paper on the walls, a piano in the corner and a lot of photographs on the mantelpiece. Barring a dentist’s waiting room, which it rather @.“Mrs. Wilberforce, sir, announced Jeeves. “I know him, you know,” said the aunt. “He's taken tea with us.” —— or SS SSS SS Sh = EN ————— JANES MOTECMERY FIRS resembles, there isn’t anything that quells the spirit much more than one of these suburban parlors. They are extremely apt to have stuffed birds in glass cases standing about on small tables, and if there is one thing which gives the man of sensibility that sinking feeling it is the cold, accusing eye of a ptarmigan or whatever it may be that has had its interior organs removed and sawdust substituted. a were three of these cases in the parlor of Wistaria Lodge, so that, wherever you looked, you were sure to connect. Two were singletons, the third a family group, consisting of a father bull- finch, a mother bullfinch, and little Master Bullfinch. The last-named wore an expression that was definitely that of a thug and did more to damp my joie de vivre than all the rest of them put together. I had moved to the window and was examining the aspidistra in order to avoid this creature’s gaze, when I heard the door open and, turning, found myself con- fronted by something which, since it could hardly be the girl, I took to be the aunt. “Oh, good morning,” I said. The words came out rather roupily, for I was feeling a bit on the stunned side. I mean to say, the room being so small and this exhibit so large, I had got that feeling of wanting air. There are some people who don’t seem to be intended to be seen close to, and this aunt was one of them. Billowy curves, if you know what I mean. I should think that in her day she must have been a handsome girl, though even then on the substantial side. By the time she came into my life, she had taken on a good deal of excess weight. She looked like a photograph of an opera singer of the ’eighties. Also the orange hair and the magenta dress. However, she was a friendly soul. She seemed glad to see Bertram. She smiled broadly. “So here you are at last!” she said. I couldn’t make anything of this. “Eh?” “But I don’t think you had (Continued on page -_ 9

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aT From the Narrator’s Own Diary by Rebecca West The Story So Far: HE Corinne Andrews of this amazing record of how the war changed a woman’s life was the daughter of a well-placed New York family. With her sister Edna she was brought up in the innocence which the world expected of its women before the war, and which her trips to the Europe of those days did nothing to disturb. With such an upbringing it was especially hard to grasp the fact of war when it started, yet she felt the unleashed force in the air as she fled from France that summer, and then a sad certainty that there was never going to be a life in London with Oswald Fanshawe, whom she had met after Edna’s marriage to the elderly Joe Addison. “It is funny how I don’t want to describe Oswald. I am sure I loved him. But I have to bestir myself to re- member it. It’s as if someone who had an arm am- putated years and years ago was saying to herself, ‘Yes, on the third finger of that hand I used to wear a ne... 2 When Oswald was posted as missing early in the war, his fiancée, back in New York with her family, returned to France to nurse the wounded. “For I would get over Oswald’s death not just by forgetting it, which would be to lose him, but by entering into an equality and partnership with him by participating in the war.” 40 @,Waldron and I would go to some inexpensive restaurant. I would get out of him then the kind of things you want to know about people you are fond of. For Corinne Andrews the western front was a hospital at Neuilly, near Paris, where she became a volunteer nurse without preliminary training to soften the shock of her first impressions. Her first service, in fact, was in the operating theater “It was a queer life. Soon I became almost like a dis- embodied spirit, with only such parts of my mind and body working as the hospital routine required. Yet I wasn’t living a dead mechanical life by any means. Somehow my days were full of exaltation and happiness. “We did a lot of eye work. Before long I got used to regarding the eye as a detachable article. There was something disconcerting to peace of mind about it, though. Life isn’t so safe, really. “Of course medical science kept up a pretense of doing its miracle. But don’t forget there are some cases so bad that nothing can be done for them... “It always seemed to me that an attack was like a heartbeat of the war that shook pulses all over the war area, just as a man’s heart shakes pulses all over his body. When the wounded got to the hospital the doc- tors and nurses felt a quickening of their skill and their devotion. “It even seemed to set a rhythm to the hospital rou- tine. You stopped thinking of the war as something that people were doing. You thought of it as a natural

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al or LS 5- id iB: 50 us 1g $0 ur is id l- ¥4 al : force that was swing- ing Europe as the moon swings the tides.” And after a year or 80, with that thought uppermost in their minds, all the nurses at the hospital were nearly crazy with depression. “At the beginning I’d taken it as natural that I didn’t know what the war was about. But I also took it for granted that somebody knew. All of a sudden we found that we had lost that feeling. The thing was just going on and nobody could stop it. I can’t tell you how low In our minds we were. “Then suddenly there jolted out of us all a force that Saved us. “At least that was the way it seemed to me—though I suppose some people, even then, wouldn’t have called = it did to Waldron Hilder and me salvation, ex- meee 8 WAR changed the World for this American Woman who Lived, anil eakkctcd-on the , a Illustrations by W. E. Heitland Habitually calm and indifferent, even in his ambu- lance driving, Waldron Hilder was not one to analyze the thing—the new spirit of France at war. Yet he felt it, just as Corinne and his sister Mary felt it in the wards of the hospital, for one evening he observed: “Paris is waking up.” And that was what had happened in France. Nobody was weakening, but in the midst of war, in the face of the war’s horrors, the gay, voluptuous spirit of the old Paris had suddenly come back, so powerfully that it was noticeable everywhere. It showed itself, first of all, as a craving for more human relationships. At the dance that evening at one of the Overseas Clubs even Waldron seemed changed. “He managed to convey to me that our relationship had altered in some important respect.” In his queer, stolid way the ambulance driver from California made love to the war nurse from New York, and on her part, when Waldron announced that he had joined the aviators, the thought of the danger to him was blotted out by a wave of attraction toward him. But 41

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it was not until they returned to her hotel that he tried to kiss her. “And the funny thing was that I didn’t want him to do it, in spite of the fact that all evening I had been making plans that depended on his kissing me...” >i fm REALIZE, looking back on it now, that I had picked him out for a purpose as deliberately and in a way as Selfishly as any man ever picked out a woman. In fact, when I got down to brass tacks, I didn’t find there was so much difference basically between men and women. Nei- ther sex is a miracle of ethereal, altruistic love. Both are just looking for the _ best way to help themselves through life. He did succeed in kissing me once, but it was a smudgy affair, half on my forehead and half on my hair. Then all of a sudden he was leaning against the wall opposite my door, looking half asleep. Someone was coming along the passage. It was a girl who worked with me in the hospital. She said, “Good night,” and passed us; and then remembered something and came back. “I say, you know that boy who heard that his wife had had twins? Well, he’s had a telegram saying his wife’s dead. He’s in an awful state. He’s gone to pieces. He keeps on say- ing, ‘But it was I who was all ready to be killed!’ Isn’t it terrible?” I couldn’t say anything. Suddenly I couldn’t bear it any longer—all the death in the world, all the blood, all the suffer- ing, all the tears. As soon as the girl had gone down the passage I turned to Waldron and buried my face against his coat. “Oh, what’s the good of it all?” I wailed, and started crying. “You poor kid!” he said, and tried to comfort me. Bu: I couldn’t stop crying. I was so tired and there was this war, this war. So he guided me across the passage and into my room. It was lovely to have someone babying me as I babied the soldiers. We stood in the darkness for a little while. He whispered in my ear, “I do love you,” and we kissed. It was all right. I did love him. I knew that was fixed up for good. Then he felt for the switch, and the room was light. I was embarrassed, for I had dressed in a hurry and my things were all over the place. There was a rose-colored slip with some lace on it hanging over a chair, I remember. He looked at it and said absently, “Pretty thing.” Then he sat down on the bed and drew me down beside him. I put my head on his shoulder and went on crying. I did really want to cry because it was so awful to think that I had to get up next morning and go on seeing and doing these dreadful things, and it wasn’t going . to do any good because the war was just going on and on and on. @.Waldron and I were going Also I wanted to go on being comforted by him. pleasure either of us ¢ Pas slipped his hand under my chin and turned my face up too difficult. Our traditions

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to his. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re beauti- ful!” I wailed, “I’m not, I’m not! You should see my sister Edna!” He said, “You’re beautiful! You have the loveliest eyes and skin and hair!” I saw in my mind’s eye a picture of a plane spinning like a top down a blue sky, and I => cried out, “Kiss me! Kiss me!” = “Sure, Ill kiss you,” he growled. “Sure, I'll S| kiss you.” I remember flinging my arms around him and whispering, “Go on! Go on!” because it was so wonderful to feel his lips on mine, and because it kept me from seeing that plane spinning, spinning, spinning down the sky! It was like having the worst thing in the world blotted out by the best. We were there for the better part of an hour in my bedroom in the middle of the night. It was strangely unlike the cir- cumstances of my sedate engagement to Oswald Fanshawe. i. was strangely unlike them, too, in the nature of our feeling for each other. I had loved Oswald Fan- shawe because I thought him the finest man I had ever met: brilliant, honorable, fastidious, heir to all sorts of traditions and incapable of falling below his own standards. In that case my love was a kind of judgment, a bestowal of approval, an award of myself as a prize for merit. But now I loved Waldron Hilder not in the least because I approved of him, but be- cause I needed him. I knew he had some qualities that were admirable—courage and endurance and a capacity for loyal affection—but I also knew that he had as many qualities that were not. He was fundamentally uncivilized; he respected nothing but his own desires and convenience; he was habitually disingenu- ous and would pursue his ends with a slow, cold, red-Indian cun- ning. But he had an enormous vitality; a spring of life that was like salvation in a world which was being swamped with death. And as for giving myself to him as a prize, the idea was ab- surd, for I wanted him as much as he wanted me. I was tired; I was frightened; the foundations of the earth were shaking under my feet. I clung to him as a drowning man clings to a spar. Waldron Hilder’s kisses, too, were different from any I had ever known before. I got from them an ecstatic pleasure which Oswald Fanshawe had never given me. I don’t suppose that the post-war generation would believe how sexless, at any rate superfi- cially, the relations of pre-war engaged couples contrived to be. In those days, even though we had discarded the Victorian legend that sex was not quite nice, we still preserved a conspiracy of silence about it. So when a girl was going to be married her mind ran on the agreeable straiah social consequences of the marriage—the fuss of the wedding, straight to the supremest and the exciting change of going to live in a nice new house with imagine, yet we felt it was all her husband, and using his name instead of hers—rather than a hold on us, all right. on the physical love between them. So (Continued on page 7 ]

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Drawings bv The Author HERE she is now in her spangled ballet skirt doing her solo dance. How dainty she is as she pirouettes! See her little feet hardly touch- ing the stage as she seems to float to and fro to the tingling rhythm of the ballet music. Hear the gallery applaud. Little does that vast audience suspect that her beauty conceals a heart as cold as marble. Little does that theaterful of people know of my suffering. They laugh when I appear. They hold their sides in merriment when I perform my Silly antics. They do not know that this pierrot ruff covers a broken heart—a heart broken by the charming little dancer who they think is so lovely. What does the audience know of the trials and trib- ulations that we, behind the foot- lights, have to suf- fer? They come to be entertained and it is entertainment we provide. Music, joy, happiness, amusement, pleas- ure. The rosy side of life is what we show them. We dance, we clown, we tumble about and we smile. We always smile, even 44 (Little does the audience suspect that her beauty conceals a heart as cold as marble. though our hearts are breaking. That’s the theater, and we are here to please and to make merry. They will not see that my eyes are moist with tears. The spotlight will reflect on those tears and the people will believe that my eyes are bright with joy and rap- ture. My costume is spotted with my tears but they do not see. Oh, the pretense of it all! The years of study and work; the struggles and the merciless battle; bodily torture to perfect new tricks that will make them laugh. Pitiless driving of harassed soul and broken, pain-racked body. The indomi- table courage of show folks. How thin is the tinsel and how dark and meaning- less are the shadows that fall behind the painted scenery! Hi I must wait until her dance is ended and she comes out again and again to answer the encores. She will bow prettily, with tosses of her dainty head and smiles for het admirers. Then ], the mountebank, must go on and burlesque her dance. I stagger on and! fall about the stage. I tangle my feet as!

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e theater, y. vith tears. he people and rap- but they study and le; bodily perfect that will no laugh. iving of oul and in-racked indomi- e of show ’ thin is and how neaning- shadows hind the ery! 2E I must er dance .nd she zain and swer the will bow h tosses ty head for her Then I, nk, must urlesque n andl ie stage. feet asl @.When the dandy joined the troupe the charming little dancer had eyes only for him. She was impressed by his grandeur and his fine talk of how he panicked them when he opened the bill at the Pal- ace. No more could she watch the lowly clown perform his foolish gestures. ohn Held, ie. who put the Flapper on the Map, is the last man in the World you'd expect fo write Sentimental Stories about Dogs. But he Aas done just that. And here ts the First One circle about. Then they laugh, but my eyes are filled with tears. We are minstrels and must show only the bright side. She promised me that ere spring came she would be mine. O heartless that she is! The long winter months that we were on tour. The one-night stands; the bad food; the sleepless railroad journeys; the cold, dismal theaters in the sticks. All this was endured because I had her promise that with the warm spring sun and the budding blossoms she was to be mine. oe performances as we sat in our positions on the gayly painted tubs when our master would toss titbits as rewards for our tricks, I always managed to miss mine and let them go by me so that she might reach them. She’d smile at me and I was happy—oh, so happy. . My performance had sparkle and the audience could tell that I enjoyed my clowning. It was a pleasure ‘to be ridiculous. I made them laugh and it pleased her. but when the dandy joined the troupe with his fine dress suit and his high silk hat and his specialty of Sitting at a table and having a meal served to him like a gentleman, then she began to have eyes only for him. No more could she watch the lowly clown perform his foolish gestures. She was impressed by the grandeur of this dandy with curly mustachios and his metropolitan air, and his fine talk about how he panicked them when he Opened the bill at the Palace. If he is so good what is he doing with this turkey? She would sit in the wings and watch him do his tight-wire act every performance, and I could see the love-light coming into her eyes as spring approached. It was the love-light that was to be for me, but was for me no longer. The sight of her tantalizes me and her perfume drives me to distraction. But the fruit of love is not to ripen and fall in my basket. That is why my heart is broken. That is why I weep. Here is the cue for my entrance. The show must go on, and I must laugh——__ Laugh, Fool, Laugh! @.The audience does not know that this pierrot ruff covers a broken heart.

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HE young man from Clifton’s showed Odette Newman from room to room of her new apartment. He was the smartest representative of the smartest establishment on the East Side and he cer- tainly knew his “periods.” His name was Cowperthwaite or Hipplesmith or something. His shoulders were broad but he had the waist of a polo player and he wore spats. He had regular features and worshipful eyes. Excited matrons, eager to be soothed, were forever tele- phoning him about their tapestries or their taffetas or what not; when he talked to them he invariably looped himself over the edge of a table or the arm of a sofa, so that he could swing a leg. He breathed sympathy and Sen-Sen; his voice was like the gentle cooing from a nest of squabs. . His forbearance and his understanding were beauti- ful; oniy the plaintive lift of an eyebrow or a glance at Odette invited her com- passion and betrayed his impatience at these unrea- sonable women of wealth. Mr. Coppersmith, or Brokenshire, was the It Man, the Sex Appeal, the Bedouin Business-getter of the Clifton Shops, premier highjackers of the interior-decorating racket. Naturally he had been assigned to supervise this job. To Odette, who had been born back stage and brought up in the till of a Taylor trunk and who had associated most of her life with dancers, acrobats and stage hands with stubbly chins, he was the first chapter of Revela- tion. He was a symbol of the new and fascinating environment into which she had graduated. “That old altar cloth gives an int’resting touch,” announced Mr. Hipplethwaite. He threw back his hand- some head and eyed the object over the bridge of his 46 @.‘You and I will step over to the station house,” protested. ‘“‘He’s a friend of mine.” “Ollie nose. “The room distracted me for days. I couldn't sleep. Then it came to me—what was missing. A bit of color, a glow of warmth... Those Florentine cabinets are intriguing, if I may say so. Authentic, y’know. Historical pieces.” “I’m going to call them typhoid and pneumonia,’ Odette said. “They’re so expensive.” ? es can’t go wrong in leaving a room to us,” Mr. Collingsthorpe, or Throckmorton, told her. “So many women make the mistake of in- jecting their own personalities into their homes. A little over-enthusiasm, the yielding to some personal

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() Illustrations by George Howe omance comes toa onely a ta r knew she spent enough time and took sufficient pains with herself. That was a part of her business, of her stock in trade, like her dimpled back, her shapely legs and her feet —those twinkling feet which had danced her into fame and fortune and into this per- fectly appointed nest. Some time, perhaps, a man with a deep voice and large joints would look her squarely in the eyes and say roughly: “Gee, kid! I’m wild about you.” = none had done so yet, and she was al- ready in the sere and yellow twenties. The men she met were either timorous and overawed by her very name, or else they were frankly and avowedly predatory. The latter she hated; the former disappointed her and left her unsatisfied. She was heartily sick of applause, adulation from out front, and completely fed up with the obsequious servility of the yes-crew back stage. house.” the policeman told Drake. “You can't arrest Him!” Odette — Drake! A friend of yours? Well, well!” said the limb of the law. acing gree rane ay : ayie ty-one! uldn’t whim or prejudice or sentiment and—an entire har- Well, she was her own mistress at last. She had a A bit rend is spoiled.” Clifton’s machine-gun operator home and she stood on the threshold of a new life: entine owered his lids and stared about him. “Yes! I’ve vistas of a world completely divorced from the theater rentic, never done better with a place of this size. I’m sure opened before her. ” onia, your friends will call it perfect.” People in my line don’t have many friends.” lr. Coppleshire, or Carbuncle, raised his nice brows. Now, Miss Newman! As if all New York wasn’t at your feet! I’ve tried to fashion a shrine of perfect beauty for the most perfect beauty of the American When the esthetic Mr. Hipplewhosis finally finished rhapsodizing over his handiwork and bowed himself out, Odette made a solitary tour of the place. Then she sat down in her living room and let her impressions sink in. She adored everything she saw: the splendid rugs, the rich, stiff window hangings, the cabinets and paving M orton, —- consoles, the lights, the bronzes and porcelains, the of in- pple sauce!” Odette said carelessly. She wished Venetian mirrors—oh, there were a thousand things to os. A rsonal men wouldn’t always compliment her in that reverent, ecclesiastical tone. Of course she was pretty. Heaven look at, and they belonged to her! She was an extremely immature person to be the 47

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48 mistress of her own home, but her glowing Latin beauty went well with the warm Italian environment so cun- ningly fashioned by the artistic hands of Mr. Chipple- something. What did it matter if Clifton’s were robbers? Crimson was her color; here was harmony, perfection, luxury, class. There was an unaccustomed thrill to the mere feeling of self-indulgence which she experienced at this mo- ment, for she had never owned much of anything. All her life she had been a slave, a bondmaid; every hour of her days, every atom of her energy had been devoted to developing her talents. Work, lessons, practice, re- hearsals, matinées and evening performances; she knew very little else. V Manas she was still a gangling, bony child, her mother had put her into the beginners’ class at the Sophie Newman Ballet School and had taught her to kick and to pirouette and to pose. Ardu- ous years of rigid physical training had followed, years of drudgery during which the slim Odette had wilted like a flower. Month after month of bar exercises, during which she had kicked and bent and twisted before the wall mirrors until she hated the very sight of herself. Month after month of stretching, during which she had been man- handled and manipulated like so much putty in the hands of perspiring instructors. Sophie Newman had her own technique of training; in her effort to avoid bulging muscles she kept her students off their toes until their bones had set. Sup- pleness, grace, agility were Sophie’s aims, and once they had been attained, the real advanced training began. Then, indeed, she became a stern taskmistress. Odette could visualize her mother only with her fa- mous Malacca cane in hand, that cane with which she tapped and tapped as regularly as a machine. During class hours, Sophie might wax furious, or go into hys- terics; she might converse animatedly with visitors or grant interviews with reporters, but always that stick maintained its monotonous tap-tap-tapping and the girls kept time to it like so many capering marionettes. Odette of course had other things to do besides dance; she lived by a schedule as methodical, as unvarying as the beating of a metronome. There were fixed hours for study, for piano practice, for vocal culture; then, later, hours for dramatic lessons, lessons in expression, in carriage and deportment. She was watched like a prisoner. Sophie dictated what she ate and drank, when she went to bed and when she got up. Her health and her strength were jealously safeguarded; her feet, her hands, her teeth, her skin, her hair received daily attention. Illness was a foe which robbed her of just so much practice and handicapped her in her race against time. The years of preparation, as Sophie maintained, were all too short at best and it was necessary to crowd them full. Odette’s girlhood had been one long nightmare of work, discouragement, weariness and tears. \ ‘- finally she made her first appearance it had been with the lynx-eyed Sophie in the first entrance, beating with her cane. It was to her rather than to the audience that Odette looked for approval; it was to the beat of that Malacca stick rather than to the music that she danced; it was by her mother’s approbation, not by the applause from out front, that she knew she was good. Looking back on her stage career now, it seemed as if she had always danced with one eye on the first en- trance where the flaming, dominant Sophie stood smil- ing her encouragement or frowning her disapproval. There were occasional stormy moments in the dressing room when her mother would berate her, crying shrilly: “You’re a disgrace! Another perform- ance like that and I’ll close you” ... “A headache, indeed! My Lord! Are you a trouper or an amateur? Your business is to dance; leave the headaches to me.” That was a mild outburst. There were times when Sophie actually threatened violence. But she reserved Fourth Offense for herself the exclusive right to criticize her offsp and woe betide anybody who usurped that privilege. Then, indeed, she was like a tigress. With Odette’s triumph assured and her stardom at- tained, those bursts of temper became less frequent, but : up to the very last the watchful Sophie remained a typical stage mamma and held the girl completely under her thumb. Hers was the brain that planned the thousand-and-one strategies leading to professional recognition; hers the eyes that looked ahead. It was she who fought for increases in salary; hers was the hand that indorsed the checks for deposit. It was she likewise who stood as a wall between Odette and the world outside the theater. “Thank you, but we never go out,” she would icily, or in answer to some voice over the telephone, “This is Odette’s mother speaking. It’s very kind of you but the child has no time for anything outside of her work.” That had gone on for years. No time for anything but work! It had been Odette’s creed. Naturally, young men were not allowed to distract her attention. Sophie would bristle at the threat and such specimens of the opposite sex as betrayed a personal interest in her child she regarded with a poisonous distrust. “T had to refuse another silly invitation,” she would sometimes explain. “Society people, so called. If they want to see you, let them pay at the box office. You'll waste no time at dinners and dances until you’re over the top. Time enough for that foolishness when you're older and we can afford it.” As manager and watchdog, the tempestuous Sophie had been a conspicuous success; she had built up a reputation for her daughter unusual in the theatrical profession and the pair had lived a life of peculiar isola- tion. Odette had indeed become a sort of tradition. She had an army of polite and respectful acquaintances, but no girl friends, and she had never been alone for half an hour with a young man. N EVER having savored the Salty taste of freedom, she did not rebel, although there were times when she experienced dissatisfaction, resentment at her lot, and felt that she was paying a heavy price for stardom. More poignant by far, however, was her regret that she was mute. So far she had never been given a song to sing or a line to speak. To the public she remained a lovely automaton, a voiceless creature of surpassing grace and intoxicating beauty, and that, too, was Sophie’s doing, for in the mother’s eyes all art abided in the dance. Odette some- times wondered what her audiences would think if she burst into song, and asked herself what good it., done her to waste so many years in vocal and t study. But it was useless to oppose her mother’s ' ri The very passion of Sophie’s ambitions wore her out at last. She went to sleep comfortable in the knowledge that Odette was the highest-salaried danseuse in the world and had a sizable fortune in the bank. It never occurred to her that she had robbed the girl of her dreams and had broken the wings of all her butterflies. Lucille, Odette’s maid and dresser, arrived with the luggage and in frank amazement she stared at the new apartment. Lucille’s real name was Mary and she was a middle-aged Irishwoman. “Glory be!” she exclaimed. stage set.” “I—I’ve been trying to think up words to. fit it,” Odette told her. “Um-m! Well, your mother would have found some- thing to say about all this extravagance ... Tse! Tse! It’s not much like the old place, is it? How two women with your money could live like you did——” “It was one of her economies.” “Good Lord! Is that a yard yonder?” The dresser peered out upon the tiled terrace hung twenty stories above the street. “As I live! Flowers growing and little Christmas trees. Mind now that you never go out there unless I have hold of your hand.” “This is a penthouse. Isn’t it perfect?” “I can tell better when I see the kitchen.” “It’s as beautiful as a

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offspring privilege, rdom at- ure over en you're iar isola- ion. She nces, but for half the salty @_Drake wondered if he could be dreaming. Odette Newman, the darling of Broad- way, in his arms! ‘‘Well!” The girl was smiling. ‘This is the end of the line.” Odette leaped to her feet. “I'll show you around. perfect shrine for your perfect beauty, Mrs. McCabe. I'm Mr. Hippityhop from the Clifton Shops.” She _ I’m sure your friends will like it.” struck a pose with hand on hip, her head back and “T can tell better when I see the ice box.” her eyes half closed. Those eyes, by the way, were like It was later. Lucille had unpacked the hand bag- two enormous black pansies fringed with silk. “I’ve gage and the trunks which followed it; she was busy never done better with a place of this size,” she drawled. now in the white-tiled kitchen. Odette had finally “That old altar cloth gives an int’resting touch. A found her voice; jov intoxicated (Continued on page — : 4

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Me CTOUS HE was a tiny woman, dark-haired and with gray- blue eyes, very large and arresting in a small pale face. A little girl’s face, with small delicate fea- tures, but worn—prematurely, for Mrs. Tarwin was only twenty-eight; and the big wide-open eyes were restless and unquietly bright. “Moira’s got nerves,” her husband would explain when people inquired why she wasn’t with him. Nerves that couldn’t stand the strain of London or New York. She had to take things quietly in Florence. A sort of rest cure. “Poor darling!” he would add in a voice that had suddenly become furry with sentiment; and he would illuminate his ordinarily rather blankly intelligent face with one of those lightning smiles of his—so wistful and tender and charming. Almost too charming, one felt uncomfortably. He turned on the charm and the wistfulness like electricity. Click! his face was briefly illumined. And then, click! the light went out again and he was once more the blankly intelligent research student. Cancer was his subject. Poor Moira! Those nerves of hers! She was full of caprices and obsessions. For example, when she leased the villa on the slopes of Bellosguardo, she wanted to be allowed to cut down the cypresses at the end of the garden. “So terribly like a cemetery,” she kept repeat- ing to Signor Bargioni. Old Bargioni was charming, but firm. He had no intention of sacrificing his cypresses. 50 + AM € “All right, all right,” said Moira Tarwin hastily. “Let’s leave the cypresses.” “E la Tarwina?” questioned Signora Bargioni when her husband came home. He shrugged his shoulders sciocca,” was his verdict. Rather silly. Old Bargioni was not the only man who had thought so. But he was one of the not so many who regarded her silliness as a fault. Most of the men who knew her were charmed by it; they adored while they smiled. In conjunction with that tiny stature, those eyes, that delicate childish face, her silliness inspired avuncular devotions and protective loves. She had a faculty for making men feel, by contrast, agreeably large, superior and intelligent. And as luck, or perhaps as ill luck, would have it, Moira had passed her life among men who were really intelligent and what is called superior. Old Sir Watney Croker, her grandfather, with whom she had lived ever since she was five (for her father and mother had both died young), was one of the most eminent physicians of his day. His early monograph on duodenal ulcers remains even now the classical work on the subject. Between one duodenal ulcer and another Sir Watney found leisure to adore and indulge and spoil his little granddaughter. Along with fly-fishing and metaphysics she was his hobby. “Una donnina piuttosto

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b CA idous uxley Time passed; Moira grew up, chronologically; but Sir Watney went on treating her as a spoiled child, went on being enchanted by birdy chirrupings and ingenuous- nesses and impertinent enfant-terrible-isms. Heen- couraged, he almost com- pelled her to preserve her childishness. Keeping her a baby in spite of her age amused him. He loved her babyish and could only love her so. Most of his friends shared Sir Watney’s tastes. Doc- tors, judges, professors, civil servants—every member of Sir Watney’s circle was a veteran specialist. To be asked to one of his dinner parties was a privilege. Ox THESE august occasions Moira had always, from the age of seventeen, been present, the only woman at the table. Not really a woman, Sir Watney explained; a child. The veteran specialists were all her indulgent uncles. The more childish she was the better they liked her. When they started to discuss the Absolute or Britain’s Industrial Future, she interjected Some deliciously irrelevant remark that made them laugh heartily. Exquisite! @.Moira wanted her ex- istence to remain for- ever what it was at this moment—a kind of game with a pleasant and exciting companion. Illustrations by James E. Allen At half past nine she left the dining room, and the talk would come back to ulcers and Reality and Emergent Evolution. “One would like to keep her as a pet,” John Tarwin had said, as the door closed behind her on that first occasion he dined at Sir Watney’s. Professor Broadwater agreed. There was a silence. Tarwin broke it. “What’s your feeling,” he asked, leaning forward with that expression of blank intelli- gence on his eager, sharp-featured face, “what’s your feeling about the validity of experiments with arti- ficially grafted tumors as opposed to natural tumors?’ Tarwin was only thirty-three and looked even younger among Sir Watney’s veterans. He had already done good work, Sir Watney explained to his assembled guests before the young man’s arrival, and might be expected to do much more. Enviable opportunities. A great deal to be said for a private income. “Ah, here you are, Tarwin. Good evening. No, not at all late. This is Mr. Justice Gidley, Professor Broad- water, Professor Stagg and—bless me! I hadn’t noticed you, Moira; you’re really too ultra-microscopic—my granddaughter.” Tarwin smiled down at her. She was really ravishing. Well, now they had been married five years, Moira 51

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52 was thinking, as she powdered her face in front of the looking-glass. Tonino was coming to tea; she had been changing her frock. Five years. It was John’s photo- graph in the leather traveling frame that made her think of their marriage. Why did she keep it there on the dressing table? Force of habit, she supposed. It wasn’t as though the photograph reminded her of days that had been par- ticularly happy. On the contrary. There was some- thing, she now felt, slightly dishonest about keeping, it there. Pretending to love him when she didn’t... ... looked at it again. The pro- file was sharp and eager. The keen young research student intently focused on a tumor. She really liked him better as a research student than when he was having a soul, or being a poet or a lover. It seemed a dreadful thing to say—but there it was: the research student was of better quality than the human being. She had always known it—or rather, not known, felt it. The human being had always made her rather un- comfortable. The more human the more uncomfortable. She oughtn’t ever to have married him, of course. But he asked so persistent- ly; and then he had so much vitality; everybody spoke so well of him; she rather liked his looks; and he seemed to lead such a jolly life, traveling about the world; and she was tired of being a mascot for her grand- father’s veterans. “T oughtn’t to have married him,” she said to her image in the glass, and shook her head. John was the pet- fancier as well as the loving educator. There were times when Moira’s child- ishnesses. delighted him. He was less enthusiastic, howev- er, when she had been childish at his expense, when her silliness had in any way compromised his dignity or interests. On these occasions he lost his temper, called her a_ fool, told her she ought to be ashamed of herself. Four months ago, her nerves had gone all to pieces and the doctor had said that she must take things quietly, apart from John. Awful! The life had nearly killed her. And it wasn’t (she had come at last to realize), it wasn’t really a life at all. It was just a galvanic activ- ity, like the twitching of a dead frog’s leg when you touch the nerve with an electrified: wire. Not life, just galvanized death. One last dab at her lips and there! she was ready. She went downstairs to the drawing-room, to find that Tonino had already arrived—he was always early—and @.Moira’s solitudes were endless med- itations on the theme of Tonino. Dangerous Game was waiting. He rose as she entered, bowed over her outstretched hand and kissed it. Moira was always charmed by his florid, rather exces- Sive southern good manners. John was always too busy being the keen research student or the furry-voiced poet to have good manners. He didn’t think politeness par- ticularly important. It was the same with clothes. He was chronically ill-dressed. Tonino, on the other hand, was a model of dapper elegance. One of the pleasures or dangers of foreign travel is that you lose your class consciousness. At home you can never, with the best will in the world, forget it. Habit has rendered your own people as immediately legible as your own language. A word, a gesture are sufficient; your man is placed. But in foreign parts your fellows are unreadable. For Moira, Tonino seemed the characteristic flower of Italian gentility. She knew, of course, that he wasn’t well off; but then, plenty of the nicest people are poor. She would have been pained, indignant and surprised to hear old Bargioni describing him, after their first meeting, as “il tipo del parrucchiere napoletano.” The typical Neapolitan barber. Signora Bar- gioni shook her head over the ap- proaching scandal and was secretly de- lighted. As a matter of ac- tual fact Tonino was not a barber. He was the son of a capital- ist—on a rather small scale, no doubt; but still a genuine cap- italist. Vasari Se- nior owned a res- taurant at Pozzuoli and was ambitious to start a hotel. Tonino had been sent to study the tourist in- dustry with a family friend who was the manager of one of the best establish- ments in Florence. When he had learned all the secrets he was to return to Pozzuoli to be the managing director of the re- juvenated boarding house which his father was modestly proposing to rechris- ten the Grand Hotel Ritz-Carlton. M. EANWHILE, he was an under- worked lounger in Florence. He had made Mrs. Tarwin’s acquaintance ro- mantically, on the highway. Driving alone, aS was her custom, Moira had run over a nail. When Tonino came upon her, ten min- utes after the mishap, she was sitting on the running board of the car, flushed and disheveled by her efforts to detach the punctured wheel, and in tears. ; “Unq signora forestiera.” At the café that evening Tonino recounted his adventure with a certain rather fatuous self-satisfaction. In the small bourgeoisie in which he had been brought up, a Foreign Lady was an almost fabulous creature, a (Continued on page 119)

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A Love eo) toryN By William Almon Wolff I T WAS going to be another hot day, probably, but the morning that had just begun was still cool and fresh and sweet. It had rained in the night, and the sun wasn’t high enough yet to have dried out the Ren- clair course. Except for Steve Cruger only the birds, busy with their own affairs, seemed to be about; that suited him to perfection. : He hadn’t seen the Renclair links, until this week late in June, for six gloomy and depressing years; he hadn't, for that matter, played any golf in those six years, either. With any luck he would, now, for a month or two; he didn’t see why he shouldn’t come out like this every morning before breakfast. Unless the habits of Renclair folk had changed a good deal in six years, he’d Nave no company. He’d been worried, a few minutes before; he’d thought & flash of yellow against the green background of the woods that bordered the eighth fairway came from a girl’s skirt or sweater. He hadn’t seen it again, though; probably he’d been mistaken. He hoped so. He drove from the sixth tee; two hundred and forty yards, straight out; very nice. All carry, practically; there was no roll worth speaking of on the soaked turf. Still, had you been curious about his game, that drive would not have told you much; the veriest dub poles out a good drive occa- sionally. Steve’s second shot, Illustrations by Charles D. Mitchell depends on "Approach though, would have told you everything. He walked up to his ball, dropped his bag; sighted the line of the shot; swung back, shoulder high; took turf cleanly and dropped the ball dead to the pin. Only a real golfer can approach so. He smiled as he holed his tiny putt; for the first time in six years he had played a hole per- fectly. He had some reason to be pleased. He was frowning, though, as he stood on the seventh tee. Not because of the accumulated horrors of that short hole, which had ruined so many promising medal rounds. He wasn’t afraid of it, for one thing; for an- other, nothing hung upon his score. N.. Wuat bothered him was an old white Dutch-colonial house and an old-fashioned garden full of hollyhocks, of tall blue delphinium, of roses just coming into full bloom, that straggled down to the corner where the course turned sharply to the left. Steve Cruger, you see, had been born in that house. More than two hundred years before, a Cruger had cleared the land on which it stood and built the house, and Steve was the first Cruger since that time, in the direct line, who had not owned land and house. It was through no folly or fault of his own, to be sure, that Steve had 53

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54 So Much Depends oz the Approach to see it now in the hands of strangers; it had gone, with all else to which he had believed himself heir, in the smash that had killed his father. Yet that didn’t lessen the bitterness the sight of it brought into his eyes. He shook his head doggedly after a moment; dropped his ball; drove the green cleanly, hole high, leaving him- self a tricky twelve-foot putt. This time, however, he didn’t smile as he holed out for his two; a birdie here, he knew, was always pretty much a matter of luck. He replaced the flag, picked up his bag, turned toward the eighth tee, and stopped dead. He hadn’t been mistaken about that flash of yellow. There was a girl. She was sitting on the bench beside the sand box on the tee, hands clasped about her silken knees, laughing at him, full of mischief with me this afternoon, after I’ve had some sleep. You know you’re going to, now.” “T’d rather not, Miss Wilder——” She turned her back on him, elaborately. “All right—Joan!” he said. Then flatly: “I don’t want to.” “Spurned again!” she said cheerfully. “If it were only a line you’d be marvelous, Steve. You mean it, though, hang you! I’ve been throwing myself at you for months, and I’m all black and blue from bouncing back. I did think when I got you out here——” “Chuck it, Joan, won’t you?” he said. “Look here, you know why I can’t play around with you and your crowd. I’m only a clerk in your father’s office, even if he does have me live with you because it’s handier for him.” “That’s so silly!” she said. “I don’t see why you can’t and of mirth. She was ridiculous, incon- gruous, for she wore a yellow evening gown and gold slip- pers that the wet grass had stained, and yet, even in that cos- tume at that hour, eshe was very lovely. “Liar!’’? she said. “Pig! You told me you didn’t play golf!” ‘I hadn’t for six years, when you asked me,” he protested. “This is only the third time I’ve been out. I wanted to see if I could still hit a ball.” “Tll say you can!” she said. “I’ve been watching. I saw someone—we were coming back from a dance at Crooked Brook. I thought it was you. The boy friend was all for hav- ing me change and go for a swim, but I wouldn’t. And I sneaked across when he’d gone, and caught you in the act.” “Yes,” said Steve, scowling a little. He scowled too much, this young man; it was a habit with him. “oe \ Ae so dumb,” the girl com- plained. “Why didn’t you ask me to get you a guest card? I could, you know. They’d have loved to blackball us, but they didn’t dare.” “Good Lord!” Steve’s scowl deepened. “Did you suppose——-? I’ve belonged here all my life. I kept up a non- resident membership when I—I went away.” He laughed shortly. “Hanged if I know why!” “Fate!” she said, making her voice deep and throaty. “So you could play “Thought I'd made myself clear, this morning,” said John Wilder. There was

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William Almon Wolff be human. Oh, well, go ahead and drive. I suppose you'll let me walk around with you and watch you?” He was a little flushed as he drove. An odd picture they made. The boy—he was little more, for all the lines six years had etched in his face—in linen knickers and loose white shirt; the girl in an evening dress that clung to her slim golden legs, her wrap slipping from her tawny shoulders. ... was exquisitely made: tall and slender, with long, graceful hands; with hair touched with a faint hint of chestnut; with blue eyes full of smoldering fires. There was something untamed, undisciplined, about her; something about the way she 55 looked at Steve Cruger as he went on soberly about his golf that might have made a man a little older, a little wiser, thoughtful to the point of caution. They didn’t talk much, and when they did, it was about the game. Until he turned from the fifteenth green, not toward the next tee, but to a gate in a stone wall. “Oh, Steve, play it out!” said Joan. “You only need even fours now to break seventy—and that’s the course record, isn’t it?” : “Ts it still?” he said, and smiled. “It used to be. I made it——” He stopped short and flushed. “I haven’t time. I’ve an hour’s work to do to get a report ready for your father that he wanted done when he got back from this trip he’s been on.” He held the gate open for her. “Coming?” he asked. She bit her lip, and they walked : more uS é across the lawn together to the big stone house the Wilders had taken for that summer. Birds of passage, they were, for all John Wilder’s millions; that was something Steve couldn’t under- stand. But there were people, of course, who never put out roots. Joan’s eyes were mocking him as she turned toward her room at the head of the stairs. “ ‘Good night, sweet prince!’ ’* she said. “That’s in ‘Hamlet.’ Better look it up!” He grinned when she had gone, and went up to his own quarters to bathe and change. , * had better learn, as briefly as may be, how Steve Cruger came to be in that house. You are not, you see, to harbor any illusions about him. That sullen look of his needs ex- plaining; it testified to something that was wrong with him. And yet, as most people look at things, there was nothing wrong; he cut a wholly admirable fig- ure; he was a young man to be looked upon as a pattern, a model, a very paragon. He hadn’t been sullen as a boy. He had grown up as the sons of most well- to-do men with position and family background do grow up. There had been nothing singular about him except his golf, which had been good enough to lead the experts to hail him as a com- ing Bobby Jones. As most normal youngsters do, he had one or two death- less passions, and got over them. Then, when he was nineteen, there was a flurry on the Stock Exchange one day. The papers said it represented a healthy correction, in that it tended to eliminate some weak speculative ac- counts. Quite so. One of them hap- pened to be that of Steve’s father, who had been trying to see what could be done about adjusting an inherited in- come to the shrunken purchasing power of the dollar since the war. That flurry not only eliminated Mr. Cruger’s ac- count, and his income, but Mr. Cruger as well; his heart had not been good for some years. Lawyers and other well-meaning peo- ple tried to make Steve see that he had no responsibility for the debts that were left after the house and everything else that remained had been sold. Luckily for him, they pointed out, he had the income of the trust fund his mother had left him; enough, with economy, to enable him to go through college. nothing for Steve to say, if Joan chose to be silent. That was when he began to scowl as a fixed (Continued on page 220)

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The Storv So Far: INA HENRY is more N than forty on that Memorial Day when the donning of a new gown changes completely the pat- tern of her life. Hereto- fore she has been normally content with her lot: with her husband, Wilson Henry, who is a successful business man; with her children, Ac- ton, nineteen, and Cordelia, seventeen, who are good and sensible; with her beau- tiful home. But when she dresses for the Memorial Day dance at the Eastlake Country Club in the new dress her friend Mary Gow has brought her from Paris, she sees in the mirror a stranger. And sheisn’t sure she likes the renewed sense of power, of vitality, this revealing yet concealing masterpiece of the dress- maker’s art gives her. If that is what a dress does to you, Nina tells herself, it’s all wrong. It’s im- moral... * Others, it immediately became apparent, shared her views. Her husband’s caustic comments caused her to defend the dress, although only a moment before she herself had had the same thoughts about it. At the dance other men besides her husband became aware of Nina’s charm as never before. Francis Ambler, East- lake’s most eligible bachelor, who had long been in love with her, took this occasion to press his suit earnestly. But Nina, sure of her power over him, evaded answer- ing by vague promises of future happiness. Roderick Wade, one of the younger married set, kissed her roughly 20 Tilustrations by if and she responded involuntarily. Joel Bache, their old friend and neighbor, was captivated by her, too. Ob- viously, this was a dress that attracted men! After the dance Nina and Wilson invited some guests to their house for champagne. Nina, in her moment of triumph, generously included Cora Lisher in the party. Wilson, she knew, had been having an “affair” with Cora. Nina was strangely indifferent, though at times she felt unaccountably malicious toward the other woman, especially when Cora was singing the praises of her daughter Anna Louise. It was partly on Cora’s

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ef # ; GA feeling of disquiet weighed upon Nina. The air, she thought, was heavy with dis- aster. All the people of Eastlake crowded about her saying that her love for Chalke Ewing was immoral. account that Nina bothered about Francis Ambler: Cora so patently wanted him for Anna Louise that Nina Was impelled to keep him at her heels. When the guests left the Henrys’ house Nina was still restless. She walked home with Justin Gow and there met Mary’s brother Chalke Ewing. Ewing was a strange man with queer ideas on most subjects; ideas unfamiliar to Nina, unlike those of anyone in Eastlake. But Chalke Ewing would, of course, be different. He lived on a sugar plantation in Cuba, and he spent his time, she supposed, smoking and drinking rum swizzle ay > about a ovel te Boseph Hergesheimer and making love. life in Eastlake. Nevertheless, what he said was interesting. And though at first she felt she hated him, almost before His life was entirely different from ‘ she knew it she was defending him to Wilson, who didn’t like him and peremptorily ordered her not to see him again, one night when she came home very late. That was ridiculous, Nina cried. “I will see him again, of course.” She could manage her own affairs without his interference. “I hope you are managing your affairs as well as I am attending to mine,” she added angrily, though she hadn’t meant to reveal to Wilson her knowledge of his entanglement with Cora. Wilson was silent after that and Nina realized sud- denly that she no longer loved him. She’d help him with Cora as much as possible. But Wilson was con- ventional. He’d never be courageous—in public. If Cora expected more than she had now, she was sunk. It was soon after her quarrel with Wilson that Chalke Ewing kissed her. She had never realized before that a kiss was without end. Their physical closeness filled Nina with a high consuming flame. But she didn’t know what it meant to Chalke, for he said nothing, though she felt he really ought to explain to her what had happened to them... All the next day Nina waited for word from Chalke. She knew that he had been shaken as well as She. He must realize something of her state of mind. He simply could not kiss her and then do nothing about it. But the day passed without a sign from him. In the afternoon, Mary Gow came over. “My dear,” she said, “Chalke wants to give a party. At the coun- try club.” Nina’s happiness returned with a warm choking rush. Chalke Ewing was giving a party for her. He be Pe)

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a strange man—dar- ling but strange (Mary once had told her that he was an idealist!) — and he had a party for her in place of coming toher. It real- ly would make a per- fect occasion for their meeting. At Chalke’s party Nina again wore the Ishtarre dress. After dinner on the country- club porch, with the candle flames flicker- ing and the moonlight a silver veil about them, she and Chalke were able to talk. “T hope you liked the party,” he said. “It was your party.” “I knew that,” she admitted. “I knew it the moment Mary told me. I was terribly un- happy until then. But I didn’t know what you were thinking about— about us . . What did you think?” she demanded. “What you would like me to think, of course.” That was all she wanted to know there; all she wanted to know —then. The next afternoon Chalke came to her. He wanted to marry her as soon as possible and he wanted to tell Wilson at once. He wouldn’t have an “af- fair” with her. “There is only one question,” he said, “and it is de- cency. The rest can wait.” For Nina, however, it wasn’t as simple as that. They would have to be patient for a while. She would have to arrange an enor- mous amount before she could marry Chalke and be with him always. Besides, she wanted to be happy for a little. Free from bother. G,"Isn't it miraculous?” Nina said. “I'm entirely happy, Chalke, and yet I know I am going to be happier.” “I think that all my life I have been waiting for this,” Chalke admitted. ' “For you.” Next morning she and Wilson quarreled again about Chalke. “I don’t see what there is in Chalke Ewing,” said Wilson. “He looks cynical. A cynical man is an un- successful man. That’s all there is to that. He’s a failure and looking everywhere for the cause except where it always is—in himself.” “But he isn’t a failure,” said Nina. Soon, she thought, Wilson would discover for himself that Chalke wasn’t a failure. Where she, Wilson’s wife, was concerned! $1 A> HE ringing of the telephone met her; it was Chalke, and annoyed, she was almost willing to have Wilson hear everything. “Look here,” Chalke proceeded, “I have to be in New York tomorrow. I told you I’d. probably have to stay there two or three days. But I can go after dinner tonight. 58 What do you think? Would that be a good plan? How about this afternoon?” She replied that the first part was not a good plan at all. “I think it would be nice if we took a drive,” she suggested. “At four o’clock maybe. It will be coolef then.” That, he thought, was an excellent arrangement. Leaving Eastlake with Nina, driving into the intens greenery of the countryside ‘and the summer day, he admitted a certain pleasure in his surroundings. 1 like the trees,” Chalke explained. “After all, they have nothing to do with the people or politics.” Nina wore a white batiste dress scalloped with blue chenille and worked with a scattering of blue chenille flowers; it had no sleeves and was, naturally, very thil; she had even less than usual underneath it. Her was no more than a tight sheath of black silk. Nina

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lan? How od plan at irive,” she be cooler angement. he intense r day, he dings. “I they have with blue e chenille very thin; Her hat ilk. Nina drove with one hand; she had her cigaret in the other; and she felt very close to Chalke. Her shoulder was pressed against his; her knee touched him again and again. ’ She was almost more reckless than happy: her entire being rebelled against the restraints of her position and existence; her prudence had evaporated. Emotion in Nina had overcome everything else. At any moment, now, she was certain she would lean over and kiss Chalke; she would hold her bare arm closely about his throat, press his head hard against her breast. They were on a country road; the occasional gray stone farmhouses were set far back in their fields and orchards; few people passed them. Her desire to touch Chalke Ewing, to crush herself upon him, grew stronger and stronger. What was going on inside Chalke she was unable to imagine. She could not guess by looking at him, that ‘was certain. He was sitting erect and impersonal and cool. In a brown linen coat and flannel trousers. A aig necktie. His Panama hat was beside him on the seat. It occurred to Nina Henry that Chalke ought to do something. Take her hand or even kiss her. They en- tered an aged covered wooden bridge, a cool and isolated tunnel in the midst of the bright hot summer afternoon. The planks made a clatter under the wheels of her car and there was a close damp odor of old wood. At the middle there was an opening and a brief vivid glimpse of the broad stream and banks of pasture. Nina drove slowly; it was an ideal place and oppor- tunity for them to enjoy. They were out of the covered bridge. He had done nothing. She bit her lip sharply. “Yes,” he said at last, “this is a peaceful country. There isn’t much of the present in it. It’s asleep. Nina” —he turned squarely toward her—‘“we must get on with our engagement. I won’t tire you by going over again all I explained. We can’t stay like this. I insist on Speaking to Mr. Henry. * SS I have things to ar- Tange myself. I shall need to have some kind of talk with the sugar interest I’m a part of. I must look over my investments with you in my mind.” Thank you, Chalke,” Nina replied; “you are all I care about. You are my investment. I can’t think why you will mention money when we are really together for one of the very first times. I couldn’t be practical now. Nothing I said like that would mean a thing. I’m not Capable of thought. To begin with, I’m close beside you, and then it’s too hot for plans. You must remember I am in love with you. It’s all I am capable of. Perhaps it is all I'll ever be capable of. Perhaps I will never again pay attention to anything else. But how much love you. Chalke, would you like that?” He looked at her with a brief passionate tenderness. “You know I love you,” he answered. “T have shown you that in the most unanswerable of all ways. I love you so much I won’t wait a moment longer than neces- sary to have you. Mine,” he said, in a simple and firm man- ner. “T want to be yours,” she de- clared eagerly. “That is what I am trying to make you see. You can have me whenever you like. I don’t want to be a mo- ment longer than necessary.” She told herself that she’d stop the car now and go into the green thicket with him. Chalke’s arm was behind her, resting on the back of the seat, and for an instant he held her against him. “You mustn’t think I’m indifferent to you!’ he exclaimed. “I want to have it over with tonight.” Nina pressed close to him. “Oh, Chalke, not tonight,” she begged. “I have to have everything clear in my head first. Chalke, darling, you must listen to me. We can’t tell Wilson tonight because I couldn’t answer any of the questions he would ask me. You don’t realize what it would be like.” It seemed to Nina that a shadow again fell on Chalke Ewing’s face. “Chalke, it isn’t only Wilson—I have to think about the children. I mean about telling them. The truth is they are not children now: sometimes ’m really afraid they don’t need me any more. “Chalke, you must believe that if I have you I don’t mind leaving them. Not so much I couldn’t bear it. But I’ll have to say something to them. I want to leave as good an impression as possible. You see, when I do speak to Wilson he won’t be able to hide it. Everyone in the house, Acton and Cordelia and Rhoda and Harriet, will know.” Suc was suddenly, at the general vision of her house created by the thought of Rhoda and Harriet, breathless; a palpable sickness wavered in her stomach. Nina thought of Rhoda in the morning with the list for the day; she heard Rhoda’s sympathetic exclamations; she saw Harriet with a crisp white apron over her gray uniform bringing her breakfast tray. She sat staring over the wheel, through the glass be- fore her, over the changing peaceful country road. The familiar scene became blurred; the car swung uncer- tainly toward a gutter. She desperately hoped that Chalke had not noticed the signs of her feeling. Nina recovered immediately. Her late, more familiar hardness returned; she drove in a careless surrender to fate. Nina realized it was time to turn toward home. Chalke Ewing was silent, gazing in a pleasant relaxation over the countryside. The sun was like fire and her lips were dry with dust. At least she could end that. “I have to fix my face,” she said; “will you hold the wheel?” She powdered her nose and rouged her lips. There was a sensation of tears in her eyes. A vague fear in- vaded her. Why wouldn’t he kiss her and be tender and tell her that everything was all right? Instead of any of that, Chalke Ewing lighted a cigar. This made her laugh and she felt better at once. “What are you laughing at?” he demanded. “At you,” she acknowledged. “Here we are in love with each other, we’ve had a long drive through the country and in covered bridges, and you haven’t kissed me once. “You gave me one hug hardly better than a pat and then you lighted a cigar. We might have been married forever.” He said cheerfully: “Nonsense. I explained to you the difference between love and marriage. I am going to marry you, a dignified (Continued on page 203) 39

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or, Sleep! HIS is Tuesday night, and you feel you are not going to sleep. But your insomnia did not start this night. Oh, no. Lying awake last night, you knew you were not going to sleep the next night either. Lying awake a week ago you knew it. And, in- deed, a year ago, fifteen years ago, you knew you were not the sort of person who went to bed with the calm fore- knowledge of easy Sleep. Yes, it was written before you were ever born that a person would come into the world with whom Morpheus would shab- bily coquet. And before your parents and your grandparents and your great- grandparents were born; for among them were some who could not sleep. And be- fore them, and before history itself com- menced. When the earth was a molten ball it was decided that on this Tuesday night you would not sleep. Bed and the night, but no sleep. No sleep ... What! No sleep? Not evena struggle for sleep? But “struggle” is surely a bad word. You remember the wife of the great nov- elist who said the only way to cure yourself of insomnia was to make a fool of it. You went to bed and you thonzht: “Well, how nice this is! How pleasant to have a long evening just to loaf away; just to read, or to do anything I like.” She said pre- tending like that was splendid—magical—infallible. Certainly, it’s advice that can do no harm. You go to bed with a book, and you duly say to yourself: “Well, how nice this is! I’ve a splendid long evening just to loaf away!” You start the process of loafing. You read for an hour, and you begin to feel a lovely drowsiness. The thing has worked! You turn out the light; you turn in yourself; a quite ridiculous idea enters your mind, the sort of idea that means—ah, thank heaven!—you are going to sleep. You are going to sleep. There is no such thing as predestination. You are going ... most certainly ... A click. A flash. As if someone in the darkness had unlocked a door to a room flaring in magnesium light, you are awake, alert, maddeningly alive. The game is done. Let the novelist’s wife fool sleep if she can. You cannot. You crawl back into a world of disillusion. And per- haps, you tell yourself now, you ought to try this: not to think what you don’t believe, but not to think at all —as that man Cyril advised at the Embassy Club in London. They all called him Cyril. They all called one another by their Christian names. “You call me Cyril,” he said. Well, Cyril, who was really quite a man, explained that he had suffered terribly from insomnia until he 60 oe Hal Phyfe had trained himself to make his mind a blank when he wanted to sleep. Now, he said, he never went to bed before two; and then he slept at once; and he got up—it doesn’t matter when he got up; he got up refreshed and able to do a day’s work. Of course, it takes will pow- er to make your mind a per- fect blank. But haven’t you will power? Why not try? You proceed to make your mind a perfect blank. The minutes pass. - Strange how those people at the Em- bassy had eaten kidneys and sausages with their cham- pagne at two in the morning. Curious big features Cyril had. What he liked to talk about was how he had put the new Divorce Act through the House of Commons. He was a bachelor, but he spoke eloquently about un- happy marriages. He said the parsons preferred un- happy marriage to easy divorce. You remember the reverend gentleman who, a few day ago, spoke so bitterly, so contemptuously, about a woman and her abandoned ideas on sex. You wonder if the reverend gentleman knew that she and her super- civilized husband were conducting an experiment in the education of young children. But what, you speculate, is going to happen to those children, brought up in a world of reason to be flung into a world of emotion? Will they, in due course, adopt also the matrimonial doctrines of their apostle: “It’s better to marry—and stray in marriage—than burn,” and will that stop the burning? Will the spouse temporarily deserted, and the lover suddenly abandoned, will they never have the old-time griefs of jealousy and shame, or the stiff agony of saving face? Will there not be untidy scraps of feeling left behind? H E FORGETS emotion, the super- civilized gentleman. And yet it couldn’t have been only reason that made him a conscientious objector in the days when it was so shameful to be one. Now all the world wants peace. And colonels weep over “Journey’s End,” and generals say the Nobel should be given ten years running to “All Quiet on the Western Front.”

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to make when he v, he said, ed before Slept at ; up—it n he got shed and ork. will pow- 1d a per- ven’t you t try? ake your Strange the Em- neys and r cham- res Cyril had put ‘ommons, bout un- rred un- 0, a few about a 1 wonder er super- nt in the to those be flung 2 course, apostle: —than to 1e spouse andoned, ousy and ‘ill there e super- een only r in the els weep bel Prize t+ on the People thought years ago that war pooks and war plays were dead. And perhaps they were then, and will be again. But at this moment there’s a new conception of life cracking its way through the shell of yesterday. That was one of the things Cyril said about marriage, too. He said——— Cyril! Good heavens! What are you doing there, thinking? Make your mind a blank. No use. Too late. = turn on the light. Eleven o’clock. Perhaps you can’t sleep because you are hungry. You boil some milk and take two biscuits. While you eat and sip, you go on reading the book that was to have beguiled your delusion of a pleasant long evening. You turn out the light. And there it is again! The motor car across the road that always starts up at eleven-thirty or so, starts up. What does that motor car do there every night? It must be paying court. You wish the gallant could af- ford'a motor car that wouldn’t suffer so much in the effort to go. Perhaps it symbolizes his feelings. “Part- ing is such sweet sorrow,” and that sort of thing. “I will hold your hand but as long as all may, or so very little longer.” It’s reading that’s done it. It’s artists have made love seem desirable. No swain too illiterate to find himself spurred by some love jingle. The letters read out in court! How unwise to write letters! That hot milk’s not going to help. You should have taken it before you engaged in the activity of making your mind a blank. You go on thinking in a desultory way. How long can it be now since you took the milk? You turn on = light. It is half past twelve. No sign of sleep. What _ Well, there was the girl who said she was cured of Msomnia by putting a damp cloth round her middle. Over the damp cloth you folded a dry towel, and by the time the damp cloth was dry too, you were asleep without fail. It isn’t agreeable to put a cold damp cloth round your middle in the night’s middle. And you are probably “King an internal chill. But you didn’t sleep last hight. Tonight you must sleep. Risk it! You dampen a cloth. Perhaps you damp it too much. By Sarak Gaseous Miillin Illustrations by Harry Beckhoff After an hour it is not dry, and you are still awake. Not cold, strangely enough. But how do you know you haven’t got a cold inside? Perhaps if you have quite a lot of port it will ward off the cold inside, and make you drowsy too. You have quite a lot of port. It makes you mag- nificently wakeful. You be- gin to think about this ar- ticle you will write tomor- row. You remember the Scot whom you told that alcohol, which you took so seldom and with such reluctance, had no effect on you, and how wistfully he said: “You have a gift.” You think of the motor class you are attending. Full of too-talkative Scots. What is this Scottish pas- sion for machinery? You think about Scotsmen: of how they like to be born in Scotland and go elsewhere to make a living; of how emotional they can be; of their kilts and bagpipes. Bag- pipes!. How exciting they are! Like the Kafir tom- toms. How maddening their insistence! You almost think you can hear a distant tom-tom. But that’s nonsense. You do, however, presently hear the milkman arriving. So it must be two o’clock. You decide to take some aspirin. You have a sleep- ing draft in the cupboard, but you don’t use that till you’re desperate. And at two you are not yet desperate. You know yourself. Somewhere about three-thirty is desperation time. You crush three aspirin tablets. gon make you feel too warm, and you throw off a blanket. You recall W. S. Gilbert’s patter-song: “When you’re lying awake with a dismal headache.” He must have known something about insomnia, Gilbert. So did most poets. So, supremely, did Shakespeare. How often doesn’t Shakespeare talk of sleep and sleeplessness! You quote to yourself the things he said about it in “Henry the Fourth,” in “Henry the Fifth,” in “Macbeth’—-oh, everywhere. He knew what it meant not to sleep. You pity poor Shakespeare because he couldn’t sleep. You pity yourself. How serene you would be, how well you could work, if you could sleep—if you could sleep, and your mind were not merely a dim light in a fog that was all existence. Of course, what the greatest of American writers said was that insomnia meant only (Continued on page 227) 61

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The atory of a ‘Woman who wanted to BUY a MAN HE old gray house stood on its old gray hilland all about it the tall old trees kept turning and talking to the wind; for there was always a wind across that hill- top. The wide land to the west lifted it and the long narrow valley to the north made a funnel for it, and across the sloping meadows of the east and south, it flowed unhindered. Damaris thought she knew the mind of every sort of wind: of the long gray traveling wind, of the fitful gusty earth- bound wind, of the watchdog wind, barking and leaping on its chain, of the fretful and the lovelorn summer winds, and of the little plaintive wind like the voice of a sick child. But the mind of the great autumn wind she never tried to know. It frightened her. It shook the house and grew greater and greater like a storm surf until she held her ears. For a pale young clerk and a clerk’s young wife, it was a lonely height, and for the day-long prisoners of desk and typewriter, of kitchen and of nursery, it was a trumpeting spell to lie under all the night through. The trees tugged at their tight old roots and the house strained, but there is no human heart so firmly rooted as a tree, no human mind so deeply founded as an old house. In the veins of the anxious clerk ran the blood of frontiersmen and seafarers. It was never the rooted men that went westward across a strange sea and west- ward again across a blue land, while the women who would go with them were still-eyed adventurers, one and all! Damaris looked as sleek as a dove. And she moved like an iris-tinted- pigeon bright with sun, picking up grains now here, now there, contentedly. To her mate she seemed to coo and to stroke him with a gentle bill. The children were her loves, her nestlings. It was John who wore visibly the faint scar of a chain. That old house had come to them by a chance inher- itance, and because it came rent free and could not, for loneliness and largeness, be turned to any better profit, they had moved into it themselves: John and Damaris Kane and their four children. Always, while they played, the little girls’ frocks flickered across their limbs and their hair lifted on their brows. They had already the eyes trained to horizons and coming storms. 62 ie @_People who are afraid of the wind’s will . —want to go. Damaris was afraid. Damaris on an afternoon of late September came out and stood on her western porch to watch them as the wide sun went down. For a breath, the trees and the children’s dresses were still. During that brief stillness, to her windworn senses as sudden as a pistol shot, 4 footstep sounded in the empty house. Damaris had no servant and her husband should not yet be coming home. It was the footstep of a man. The hill was lonely. Damaris, however, did not feel afraid. She went to her back door and looked into the high square hall. A YOouNG man stood, astonished, in the middle of the floor. He had been looking up at an old faded painting which hung there, but he had turned from it at the sound of her entrance and nov passed a hand across his eyes, smiled uncertainly ani spoke. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “I—you see, I didn’t know that the old house had been—left—sold—to anyone. ! rather thought it might be mine. I had a plan con- cerning it. I am her grandson.” He lifted his hand towards the faded hungry face of the portrait and Damaris saw a likeness—‘the old face released, intensified, feasted instead of starved. | “EF am Jesse Farr. It was stupid of me not to g0 to town first and get some of the facts. I knew, of cours, that she was dead.” Damaris had come in to stand beside him. She looked from the portrait to him and back again. “That was six years ago. Mrs. Farr left the place to

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: 1's will ° afraid. came out em as the s and the f stillness, ol shot, a hould not yf a man. d not feel d into the stonished, oking up ut he had and nov ainly and in’t know nyone. I lan con- ‘y face of the thin f starved. | to go to yf course, ne looked place to Le Illustrations by "= Joseph M. Clement my husband,” she murmured apologetically, ‘‘because he helped her in business matters. = is the lawyer’s secretary, you e,”? I see. She wouldn’t have left it to me in any case. I ran away from her.” As they stood there, not at all uncomfortably, the wind began to blow. He lifted his head sharply. “Ah! Do you like it —the wind?” His eyes, a raw shrewd blue, as his hair was a crude Ted, went wild. a Oh, Lord!” he said. “The nights I listened to it!” “€ Was as unself-conscious as a child. “Tell me, do you like the wind?” Towra listened. It poured across the roof and all about > deep as a tide, louder and louder. a ot that one,” said Damaris, speaking rather shrilly, } She must to be heard at all; “not that one. It frightens me.” a had put her hands to her ears, and, laughing now, Idly, casually, pulled them down. A bold clear face ind blows by atharine Newlin Furi he had, burnt and lean. He waited for a lull and did not until then let go of her two hands. Then, “Once you give up to the wind’s will,” he said, “you will not be afraid. The people who are afraid of that wind are the people who—want to go.” J OHN KANE, the at- torney’s clerk whom Damaris had described as “the lawyer’s secretary,” wore, while he worked, a green shade across his eyes. It made his smooth face look livid and strangely worn. Bent over his typewriter or his books, his young body, too, looked worn, anxious, almost aged. But when he threw himself back, jerked off the shade and twisted the cramp out of his shoulders, he looked like a strong young prisoner who was planning to escape. Not that John Kane dreamed that he was a prisoner. He was contented with his lot. The small bare outer office had to him a homelike air. From the big dusty window he could see the village street, its shade and sun, its rarely passing men and women; could hear the laughter of its children, the barking and the cackle of its animals—a pleasant village. In summer the girls wandered past with prettily colored frocks and the sun on their bare heads. ty It was a sheltered hamlet in a low and hidden place. Hills lay about it like big green watchdogs with drowsy noses on their paws. The attorney was also editor of a weekly newspaper and the owner of a stationery store. His daughter took charge of the store and of the buff house at the corner of the two largest streets. Nancy Tuckett was her name. Nancy came in every day at noon to walk home with her father to luncheon. Sometimes they took John with them. But usually he ate the lunch Damaris packed for him: beef and cheese sandwiches, apples, gingerbread, coffee in a thermos bottle. John liked the quiet hour during which he was alone eating the lunch, smoking, tilted near the open window through which the drowsy noonday made its droning noise of subdued security. “Gracious, I should think you’d want to get a little house in town, Mr. Kane,” said Nancy, fresh, cae

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64 with a large sweet voice and an eager, quickly moving mouth. “That hill of yours, say, a boy friend of mine took me up there once at dusk. Gee! It was lonesome like. Ycu could see a hundred miles, I reckon, and the wind kept twisting up those trees and shaking the house. Ugh! I feel real sorry for your wife sometimes—alone up there all day.” “Damaris? She’s always happy.” John was proud, thinking of his small wife and her sleek contentment. “So long as the kids keep well and I’m easy in my mind.” “But how can you be easy in your mind up there—that’s what I mean! Down here, now, why, I love this town. I was born and raised here and so were my parents and their par- ents, as far back as there was anyone here at all, and the feel of neighbors close by and the knowing what’s going on about you and— why, you don’t care about storms down here, and such things. Up there on the hill in that big lonely house”—she laughed at her own fancy—“about the only neighbor you can have ’s the wind.” “T like it,” said John curtly. “You like the wind?” x Mi: Miss Tuckett. I like it. I don’t know why. It makes me feel sort of—lonesome-happy.” “ ‘Tonesome-happy—what kind of ‘happy’ is that? Well, that’s real quaint. I don’t know anything about lonesome-happy. My! To be feeling lonesome is the most blues I have. And I don’t have them very often, you can bet. I should think you’d be scared those little girls of yours ’d get blown away. “Ah, come on down and live with the rest of us, why don’t you? You got a real lone- some look—not lonesome-happy, either. Hon- est you have—sometimes. Ask your wife if she wouldn’t be happier down here.” He did-not -ask her. He forgot Nancy’s Suggestion as soon as it was made until Damaris herself reminded him of it. This was a good many weeks later, on an October evening when the wind roared. They had been sitting in a sheltered corner of their porch. It was not cold yet; in fact, all day in the village it had been warm with an oppressive lifeless heat, so that John’s lungs and body drank and bathed in that cool free tide of air. Damaris had not come out at first after supper; she was putting the children to bed. Later she came and perched near his feet, tense and alert as though listening and waiting for a call. “They'll never get: to sleep in this wind,” she said, her lips set against the flowing night. “The house and the trees rattle and shout. It’s—awful.” “Don’t you like the wind?” asked John dreamily. Damaris twisted her body into a tighter knot and did not answer him. She crouched forward and wravped herself in her slim arms. Her brown hair for all its sleek- ness was lifted, ruffled. She looked as if she were bent over a bar, riding a bicycle downhill. John had forgotten his question when, at last, her answer came. al oe. When the Wind Blows Sudden as a gust she threw herself upon him, Cling- ing close, buried her head in the hollow of his neck ang shoulder, trembled and gasped. “Johnnie, Johnnie! Let’s live down in the village, This wind! This wind! It does queer dreadful things, @“You don’t know strange harbors—nor a strange Don’t listen to it, please! Keep me from listening to it!” John understood. She was nervous. She was t It had been an overbusy day. She’d been washing, hadn’t she? He sat up, tender, concerned, amused. soothed and smoothed her. She slept suddenly under his caresses, small, weary,

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Katharine Newlin Burt 65 im, cling. ner cheek wet. He wrapped her and held her safe from “Take it off, won’t you?” said the woman who stood neck and the wind. Perhaps she was too lonely; perhaps they in the doorway of the outer office. John flushed, had better move away from the old house on removed his eye shade e village, the hill. i i —— and stood up, confused. ul things, But John’s heart sank. He whispered above eg e es The woman was now “3 % 5 “) is near his desk. She was tall, reedy, vividly dark. Her clothes were the livery of Paris’ half- world adapted to the taste of the “Ameri- caine,” but her eyes, above the painted cheeks, between the heavily blackened eye- lashes, beneath the narrow cruel black brows, were those of a sophisticated child. Gray, they were, insou- ciant, and of a be- seeching width. “I did want to see Mr. Tuckett,” she said, “but I suppose you'll do. It’s merely the matter of witnessing a Signature. You have the power of a notary?” “Yes,” said John, troubled because she so caught and held his eyes. “Won’t you sit down?” At that she sat down close beside him, and got out her papers. After the business was done, she rose and drew on her gloves, and still she looked at him with a pondering gaze. “I’m passing through,” she said, “in my motor, going south. I find this village charm- ing. So quaint, so quiet, so sheltered. And the people look healthy and contented, prosperous. Yours is the only haunted face I’ve seen. I'd been watching you, you know, for some time before you saw me. “T thought at first the expression was due to the green eye shade, but it was not. No, it was not.” She smiled suddenly, a vaguely mocking smile, though it was generous. “I suppose women have told you”—John’s face at her tone went scarlet and then white—“I suppose women have told you that you have the beauty of a viking. A viking at a typewriter! You!” She twisted her smile into a grimace of scorn. “You ought to be standing in a ship’s prow with your face set against a great salt wind.” The door shut and she was gone. A FORTNIGHT later she came again. Again she stood looking at him for several moments before he saw her. But this time she came close to him at once when he looked up and, with an air of mysterious intimacy, she spoke. “T’m on my way north, viking,” she said. “My car is outside your door there. Do you want to come with me,.perhaps?” His eyes in a cold blaze, John told her sternly what he thought of her. He told her that his wife, Damaris, and four children lived up there on the hill, that neither he nor the town in which he lived was accustomed to such mete- oric visitors. Cool and hard of face he was and she lis- tened to him, as though she could not under- stand, but with greedy and submissive eyes and, as soon as he was through, she went out. Her eyes were fixed upon him, deep and greenish-gray, until the last second. They his wife’s head, half singing to that strange neighbor made him think of something he had heard during his of his, the traveling wind. sleep—something tireless and without the power of speech—something that went by and never did return. Young Kane looked up, sharp and sudden, from He could not work. He paced about. He could not his desk, for he was startled. He raised a hand to laugh, as he should have laughed; he could not rage, as the shade across his eyes. he wanted to rage. He felt (Continued on page 108) 2 MASA RENE EAM STR woman.” The mysterious intimacy of her words haunted John.

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Illustrations by Charles R. Chickering onely) 4 was going to buy a charred keg and be poured ‘ back into it. Ti I have $900 in orders coming forward tonight, Z Muncie was n.g. on the boxed novelties, but while : Gibson, Volland, Exclusive, etc., were sitting Kerrigan \ around with long faces, Handsome Denny, better Li known to the Gleason Home Office as “Old Faith- ful,” came through with two honest-to-goodness e' orders: one $325, another $275. Two orders, $600, al Show that to the Auditing Department and ask them K what in blazes they mean by holding up my expense Ci Chicago, Il. account last week. That’s another tail spin they’re in! } EAR AL, Denny st The Auditing Department is in a b a tail spin again! This time it’s ; 3 LONELY HEARTS 0! that $1000 check the Old Man sent b me to give Doris Miller, the little Trade-Mark Reg. dumb cluck who jumped off the x conducted by excursion boat, quoting one of our CaROLYN COMFORT Heart Throbs on the way down or L something like that. Rest your head on Carolyn Comfort’s They want to know why the check hasn’t cleared. I shoulder. Tell your troubles to her. c can tell them why it hasn’t cleared. I’ve been trying She will understand. i to find her. Picture her embarrassment when she it learns I’m following her all around Chicago trying to k hand her a big juicy grand. DEAR CAROLYN, P Of course, the Old Man thought the way her attempted I am 19 years old, and oh! so lonely. You can't y suicide boosted the sales of No. 100-HT-1, “I Could Sail imagine. A few weeks ago I met a wonderful man, or y the Waters,” etc., was worth the grand, and I guess he’s’ at least I thought he was wonderful at the time, but C sore at me for not having located her by this time but he-turned out to be a shameless liar, which so shat- y I’ll tell him when he stops off here on his way back tered my confidence in everything that I didn’t want to t from New York. You see, I went € over to the hospital where they had ( taken her after they had pumped most of Lake Michigan out of her, but she was all washed up, dried off, and on her way. a ee ee S. THEN I went to the rooming house where I dropped her the night I met her, but she had been thrown out of there for not paying her rent and they didn’t know where she was, and cared less. So I thought maybe I might run into her sometime — you’re apt to run into almost anybody in this town. They say if you stand on Michigan Avenue long enough you'll meet everyone you know, which is as good a reason as I can think of for not standing on Michigan Ave- nue. I have asked a fella I know on one of the papers here how to go about finding her. He’s going to help me when he gets around to it. His name is Pop Higgins, a big hearty old bozo with a sweeping mustache the color of old snow except where it is dap- pled with tobacco juice. He certainly knows the town and spends all of his spare time and money collecting rare old lickers and hoarding them in his carcass. Why the government doesn’t keep him in a bonded warehouse I don’t know. I asked him where he expected to GI said, You're Doris Miller, aren't you? and her eyes got as big spend his old age and he said he as saucers. But I signed all my letters “Lonely Heart,” she said. 66

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['y fpeart be poured d tonight, but while re sitting ny, better 1d Faith- -Zoodness ders, $600, ask them y expense hey’re in! Denny ou can’t man, or ime, but so shat- _ want to live any more. Now I can see how foolish I was put still I can’t get him out of my mind. What shall I do? LONELY HEART LONELY HEART, You know the poet said, “Men are deceivers ever” but, even so, don’t despair. They are not all alike and some day you will meet the right kind and realize that Life is real and Life is earnest and the Grave is not its goal. Try not to think of him any more. Don’t forget that the darkest hour comes before the dawn. Get some new interests. Read a good book. Take brisk walks. “Why don’t you try keeping a pet of some kind—a canary may- be, or some goldfish? CAROLYN COMFORT Minneapolis, Minn. Dear Denny, Your agonized yelp of re- cent date to hand, will say in reply you have been out in the world long enough to know that the auditor is always right, but right or wrong, our country! Mean- while you might try to co- operate with the economy wave which is rolling up on these shores by holding your expense account down to company expenses. The auditor says he could detect a suit of clothes in the last one. I told him it was a case of Scotch. Just to settle a bet, what was it? Meanwhile it will stay filed under the general os of Unfinished Business or Just Too Bad For ou! The Old Man breezed in unexpectedly from New York yesterday. Seems he couldn’t find a poet. Said he had been interviewing shoals of them day and night but those that were gocd were not free and those that were free were no good. Told about meeting you and your newspaper friend, Pop Higgins, at that German Social Club on Milwaukee Avenue last night and said to tell you he likes the old coot a lot. He thought it was a great lark that a white-haired tobacco-chewing reprobate who could spit through a knothole at twenty yards should be running an advice- to-the-lovelorn column. Who is he supposed to be, Sophie Comfort, or Comfy Sofa, or something like that. Wii, Denny, you do know the darnedest people. I wish you knew a few more dealers that would buy Gleason cards. What good are you doing the Gleason Company running around Chicago with that old scofflaw? About those thousand bucks for the little cluck, it Seems to me you could try a bit harder on locating her. They ride me enough up here, and after all she didn’t Jump off the boat for me. Come to think of it, I’ve hever been able to make them get out and walk, let alone making them get out and swim. What is this strange power you have over females, and why don’t you bear down with a little of it on the lady buyers of Indiana? That Sheila Cassidy gal in South Bend, for instance. I was talking to Joyce who by y 2 F- MLivoy who wrote “SHOW GIRL” @.Of course Doris was a goofy kid. But my little day nurse, ah! she’s something else again—aren't you? carries the Buzza line in Indiana and he told me he had her eating right out of his hand, but after all he looks more like you did about five years ago before you went in so heavy for excursion boats. A man can’t work as hard as you do for the Gleason Company and then work Sundays and holidays too. You really should take a vacation at your own expense instead of prolonging it this way at ours. Maybe Sheila is too smart for you. Why don’t you go to night school? It might be a great relief. to spend a few evenings a week where you don’t jump through a window every time a bell rings. Al Dear Al, Your snide remarks at hand and contents noted. Joyce is a big bag of wind. I’ve known him for years and he’s always bragging about how strong he is with the lady buyers. As for the Cassidy gal, I can get twice as much out of her as he can, and that’s exactly nothing! She just ain’t human, that woman! When you think you have her all warmed up, you take a hold of her hand and it’s just like a halibut. Boy, I’ve lavished enough energy on her to cover the whole state of Indiana knee-deep in greeting cards and still she wouldn’t any more think of going out with me than she would with hip boots. I guess her father confessor has warned her about traveling sales- men, but gee, you’d think I was Martin Luther. I’m glad I’m not Joyce, either, going around vamping women in order to sell them things. I’m a salesman and a good one, too, even if you don’t think so. I’m glad the Old Man got a kick out of Pop. You would too, Al. He’s one of (Continued on page — 6

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INNY CARTON, at twenty-three, had an exasperat- ingly literal respect for the Fifth Commandment, to Mrs. Carton’s secret disapproval. It may be annoying to parental authority to be ignored—to see your small ducklings take to water in spite of clucking, but consider how thoroughly discon- certing it is when they follow instructions verbatim. When they become full-grown ducks and still squash themselves confidingly under your inadequate wings! Madge and Judy had been so much simpler. They had run true to form. Madge had paddled into flirta- tions and love affairs; seventy-five percent daring, Madge, with twenty-five percent of Mother’s caution for ballast. Judy, on the other hand, represented a heavier “take” of the maternal precept, but there was still a leaven of Judy herself, which saved the day. But Jinny! With unforeseen lack of filial disrespect she swallowed every teaching, absorbed every warning, followed every propriety, one hundred percent. “And you can’t,” reflected Mrs. Carton in irritation, “very well go to your grown daughter and say, ‘I was just kidding about that water. It isn’t as dangerous as it looks!’” No. She could only wait and hope 68 ays to Illustrations by that web-footed ancestry would eventually do its stuff. Mrs. Carton gave a baffled sigh as she paused at Jinny’s open door. The splash from the bathroom pro- claimed her daughter in the process of achieving that state which is next to godliness. On her bed lay an im- pudent little frock. Jinny was going to a dance. In surreptitious haste Mrs, Carton held up the geor- gette trifle and studied its alluring design. No, it wasn’t the clothes; it was just Jinny. She moved over to Jinny’s dressing table, picked up the hand mirror and regarded her profile with vague regret. To be twenty-three again and look like Jinny! What couldn’t she do! Of course, it was partly her own fault that Jinny wasn’t doing it, but who could have anticipated her whole-souled obedience? Jinny emerged from the bathroom. She glanced at her mother in dutiful pleasure. If she had ever har- bored a rebellious thought, Mrs. Carton hadn’t been able to discover it. She always met her gaze with @ cheerful, yes-mamma expression. “Whom are you going with, dear?” asked Mrs. Carton

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LO ons by ts stuff. used at om pro- ng that -an im- ie geor- 5 wasn’t *ked up 1 vague Jinny! 1er own id have anced at er har- ’t been with a Carton A, dvertise Penrhyn Stanlaws innocently, as she laid the mirror back on the table. “Judge and Mrs. Pilkington.” “Page Bassett asked you last time, didn’t he?” ques- tioned her mother mildly. Jinny faced her helplessly. Oh, they all ask me one time, Mother, you know that. But they’re all just alike. If I ever meet a man Who is nice enough to take me out and not try—well, I just know I'll be obliged to ask him if he hasn’t for- >. Something, if he doesn’t want to kiss me good Mss. CARTON’S eyeS were prop- erly shocked. She suppressed an iconoclastic impulse to Say, “I hope you do, dear, and see what happens!” In- Stead, she departed in resignation. d Jinny was glad she was gone. Dressing for these ances was a pathetically thrilling experience, but some- how she couldn’t get the thrill unless she was all alone. Not that it would be any different from the hundred-odd dances she had attended—but it might be. er * a a Tat Ce aaa a enw z oA Girl who ALWAYS Minded Mor HER Each time a pantie-clad Jinny inspected her stock- ing seams carefully, stifling a wicked hope that scme- one else might become aware of the fact that she had intriguing knees. Each time she wriggled into an airy effect, which, having conceded to propriety that it was a dress, did all that clinging revelation could do to prove that it wasn’t. Each time she viewed the fin- ished result—a delectable Jinny with eyes that held immature dreams and lips that were a full-ripe actuality. She was beautiful, she told herself, with a mutinous glare at the reflection which challenged the world to be kissed. If she could ever have walked onto a dance floor with that general effect, what a knock-out she would have been! But she couldn't. Tonight, as usual, she promptly froze into the stereo- typed Jinny who wouldn’t sit on the balcony, thank you, and who didn’t care to look at the moon. Saxophones sobbed. Cellos moaned _ seductively. Through the open balcony doors, laughter, strolling couples, wind-fluttered skirts and heads bent close in sweet absorption—and Jinny sitting on the divan inside the door waiting for her next partner. os »)

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@_Jinny stifled a wicked hope that someone - else might become ¥ \ aware that she had SA _\ intriguing knees. ae “Say,” whispered an irrepressible young lieutenant from Fort Bliss, who was executing (without mercy) a sort of doggy dance with Clytie Meadows, “who is that devilishly pretty little Puritan? Ill kiss her when I get drunk enough to try.” “You’d better say ‘if you ever get her drunk enough to try,’” corrected Clytie sweetly, “for she’s our annual débutante, a living demonstration that extra-good, un- emotional babies are found under cabbage leaves.” Jinny heard. A sudden pallor, followed by a deep flush and a blazing look full into the young officer’s eyes. The Jinny of the mirrored reflection revealed for a dizzying second in public. “Viva!” chuckled the lieutenant, clutching Clytie to him in prompt response. “She may be good—I dunno. But if she’s unemotional, I’m the Mayor of Juarez.” Melt) Tha is et tee ee = ae Pm Oo 89 at

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d with lots of Wncee— mn lan- ry hand ut she ration. dumb, » dust Ss! He ’t stop - direc- dance, on the ; make lg card nen in > noted out of akfast. ll your as , might 2d just bermis- ito the tt has smayed et him , stuffy d pow- iggling her in let me simply father 1 Barry on they ll eve- intelli- d seen orously 1 hand on the h her- nd she . Evi- n when recol- memo- - smile. ie dur- She’d r satin d have e keeps w any- O any- iddenly ste and strolled r street 1 ques- Anna Brand Jinny reached for the percolator. Complete attention on the matter of filling her cup; then her eyes met her mother’s with absent-minded innocence. “Why, yes, the library, unless you need me. Jua- quina came, didn’t she?” A rattle of pans from the kitchen and a muttered “Ay Dios!” pro- claimed Jua- quina’s presence before Mrs. Car- ton could answer, “Yes, dear, but I think she was drunk again.” Juaquina was an amazing model of domestic effi- ciency. A comfort unparalleled, she waddled about leaving a trail of shining order when she did ar- / rive, and her tem- seg a F fae ya peramental fail- Cu ures to arrive only SY . made her the ZL) ao: iy more appreciated. oy Mrs. Carton 4 would have liked to question her daughter further as to the unusual trip, but what was the use? If Jinny said she was going to the library you could swear that nothing but the library was her desti- nation. Maybe. Jinny’s first stop was the post office. With a hazy realization that she was doing some- thing rash, she was going to temper it with a fair amount of caution. There seemed to be just two methods of attracting attention. You could, as most girls did, be safe in a wild fashion, or you could be wild in a safe fashion; the latter, Jinny decided, offered the most excitement. “I want to rent a post-office box,” she announced boldly at the grilled window. H.. breath was coming un- evenly. She opened and snapped the little mesh bag three times before the nondescript woman pushed out a blank card with an equally blank expression. “Poor creature!” thought Jinny as she took the card to a table to fill it out. “Post-office boxes all around her and she’s never once thought of parking her inhi- bitions inside one.” Jinny paused a second at the line “Name”; then wrote with relish, “Olga Chandler’—a combination of mystery and class. From the box window to the money-order window, where Olga secured a money order payable to the El Paso Post advertising department for its part in her checkered career. From the money-order window to the mailing slot, and Jinny stepped out into the open air with a scared, triumphant knowledge that she was advertising for a man. Well, what of it? Wasn’t that what all the girls were doing in ways not half so original? It was perfectly safe. She’d covered her trail beau- tifully. No one on the paper had seen her. She had Inserted the box number in the advertisement. The men had to address their replies to the post office. How could they find out who she was unless she chose to reveal herself? All she had to do was to slip in tomorrow and get the answers. Simple. Afternoon found Jinny watching for the paper boy, watching with a nervous eye on the Meadows’ house across the street and a feverish hope that he would arrive before her mother returned from the Pioneers’ Club. What had seemed a delightful inspiration in the 71 beginning now began to resemble sheer idiocy. But maybe they wouldn’t print it. Maybe it was too daring. There “Pink” was, turning the corner at last. His bicycle made a serpentine trail down the center of the street as he flung his papers right and left. Jinny snatched the paper from the porch floor and made the cool sanctuary of the living room before the bang of the screen door across the street announced that Clytie Meadows had reached first base. Rest assured if it was in the paper Clytie would see it, and Clytie, of all people, must never guess. | hands shook as she rus- tled the pages over to the classified advertising section. Yes, there it was! WANTED TO MEET A MAN between the ages of thirty and forty who likes books, dogs and the occasional society of a small brown-eyed woman who doesn’t smoke, drink or pet. She’s never had a chance to learn how. Object —remains to be seen. Address Post-office Box 121. It looked perfectly scandalous! was perfectly scandalous. What in the world had possessed her? How could she! Jinny looked around the room wildly. At any mo- ment Mother would arrive. No lady with a still-smoking automatic in her hand ever surveyed her immediate surroundings in more nervous haste. Her eye lighted on the wastebasket. But no. That would never do. Mother would just phone the Post and complain that “Pink” had not left the paper and upon his innocent head would fall the consequences of her folly. She would leave it on. the table as usual and take a chance that the advertisement (Continued on page 140) What was more, it @.Tonight, as usual, she promptly froze into the stereotyped Jinny.

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Lhe Ovre HEN the usurper and tyrant is reduced to literary controversy, when the Communist instead of bombs produces effusions for the capitalist press, when the refugee war lord fights his battles over again, and the discharged execu- tioner becomes chatty and garrulous at his fireside, we may rejoice in the signs that better days are come. I have before me an article that Leon Trotsky alias Bronstein has recently contributed to John o’ London’s Weekly in which he deals with my descriptions of Lenin, with the Allied intervention in Russia, with Lord Birkenhead and other suggestive topics. He has written this article from his exile in Turkey while sup- plicating England, France and Germany to admit him to the civilizations it has been—and still is—his life’s work to try to destroy. Russia—his own Red Russia—the Russia he had framed and fashioned to his heart’s desire regardless of suffering to others or hazard to himself—has cast him out. All his scheming, all his daring, all his writing, all his harangues, all his atrocities, all his achievements, have led only to this—that another ruffian, his ‘subordinate in revolutionary rank, his inferior in wit, though not perhaps in crime, rules in his stead, while he, the once-triumphant Trotsky whose frown meted death to thousands, sits disconsolate, a — of old rags stranded on the shores of the Black ea. But he must have been a difficult man to please. He did not like the Czar, so he murdered him and his family. He did not like the Imperial Government, so he blew it up. He did not like the Liberalism of Guch- kov. and Milyukov, so he overthrew them. He could not endure the Social Revolutionary moderation of Kerensky and Savinkov, so he seized their places. And when at last the Communist régime for which he striven with might and main was established of Enrope throughout the whole of Russia, when the Dictatorship of the Proletariat was supreme, when the New Order of Society had passed from visions into reality, when the hateful culture and traditions of the individualist period had been eradicated, when the secret police had become the servants of the Third International—in a word, when his Utopia had been achieved, he was still discontented. He still fumed, growled, snarled, bit and plotted. All had fallen out as he had urged. But never- theless the vices of human society required, it seemed, new scourgings. In the deepest depth he sought with desperate energy for a deeper. But—poor wretch—he had reached rock- bottom. Nothing lower than the Communist criminal class could be found. a vaIn he turned his gaze upon the wild beasts. The apes could not appreciate his eloquence. He could not mobilize the wolves, whose numbers had so notably increased during his adminis- tration. So the criminals he had installed stood to- gether and put him outside. Hence these chatty newspaper articles. Hence these undulations from the Bos- porus. Hence these en- treaties to be allowed to visit the British Mu- seum in order to study its documents, or to drink the waters of Malvern for his rheumatism, or of Nauheim for his heart, or of Homburg for his gout, or of some other place for some other complaint. Hence these brood- ings in Turkish shades pierced by the searching eye of Mustafa Kemal. ; It is astonishing that a man of Trotsky’s intelligence should not be able to understand the well-marked dis- like of civilized governments for the leading exponents of Communism. In the article before me he writes as if it were due to mere narrow-minded prejudice against new ideas and rival political theories. But Communism is not only a creed. It is a plan of campaign.

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atorship w Order y, when vidualist lice had al—in a was still bit and t never- seemed, > energy 2d rock- criminal ze upon iate his , whose \dminis- 00d to- . Hence 1e Bos- ese en- to be allowed ligence <ed dis- ponents » writes rejudice plan of

TROTSKY | by the Right Hon. 1NStON ob. (shurchtl/

A Com- munist is not only the holder of certain opin- lons; he is the pledged adept of a well-thought-out means of enforcing them. The method of enforcement is as much a part of the Communist faith as the doctrine itself. At first the time-honored principles of Liberalism and De- mocracy are invoked to shelter the infant organism. Free speech, the right of public meeting, all forms of lawful political agitation and constitutional right are paraded and asserted. Alliance is sought with every popular movement towards the left. The creation of a mild Liberal or Socialist régime in Some period of convulsion is the first milestone. But nO sooner has this been created than it is to be

over- thrown. woes confusion must be exploited. Collisions, if possible attended with bloodshed, are to be arranged between the agents of the New Government and the working peo- ple. Martyrs are to be manufactured. An apologetic at- The resulting from titude in the rulers should be turned to profit. Pacific propaganda may be made the mask of hatreds never before manifested among men. No faith need be, indeed must be kept with non-Communists. Every act of good will, of tolerance, of conciliation, of mercy, of magna- nimity on the part of governments or statesmen is to be utilized for their ruin. Then when the time is ripe and the moment oppor- tune, every form of lethal violence from mob revolt to private assassination must be used without stint or compunction. The citadel will be stormed under the banners of Liberty and Democracy; and once the apparatus of power is in the hands of the Brotherhood, all opposi- tion, all contrary opinions must be extinguished by death. Democracy is but a tool to be used and after- wards broken; Liberty but a sentimental folly unworthy of the logician. The-absolute rule of a self-chosen priesthood according to the dogmas it has learned by rote is to be imposed upon mankind without mitigation progressively forever. All this, set out in prosy (Continued on page 230) 73

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N THE beginning Tommy Jones had no more than his hunch that Judy was telling the truth. The younger and more irritating daughter of his chief, Samuel Sears, was* many things of which he definitely did not approve. A complete catalogue of the flaws he found in her would have run to a con- siderable length. But she was not a liar. Of course the two offi- cers who placed her under arrest were not so un- gallant as to call her one. Her explanation they neither accepted nor re- jected. “Tell it to the judge, miss,” their manner said in effect. ‘We are just do- ing our duty as we see it.” Tommy did not blame them. They had a mys- tery to solve and Judy’s two damaging admissions were definite, damning clues. They obviously be- lieved they had the right person. Aside from that they made it as easy as possible for all concerned. One can’t, naturally, snap a handcuff on the sacro- sanct wrist of the younger *) daughter of a multimil- \ ¥ Vy lionaire. ee a ‘a In brief, everybody was s MRM tactful and diplomatic ex- j* 9 j cept Judy. She flashed ' fire and assured the offi- cers they were making perfect idiots of themselves. “I tell you I simply sidewiped a tree,” she announced passionately. The officers had looked torn between a human desire to retort, “That is what they all say!” and a hunch they had better look and remain dumb. The charge against Judy was manslaughter. The victim was one Annie Melehanty, aged sixty, late resi- dent of Baysport, Long Island. A speeding car had struck her just after eleven o’clock the night before, flung her body to one side and passed on, leaving her dead or dying. Tommy himself had passed the spot before midnight. He knew from the knot of cars gathered that there had been an accident but he had not stopped. “Automobile accidents are no novelty these days. I’m not morbid and I was late,” might have been his ex- planation. 74 ’ SS a uF i H pis e \ Lllustrations by a George Brehm egroom at that iF - GTI do whatever I can,” Tommy promised Sears as Judy reappeared. “I've heard this is the sort of costume to wear incourt,” she announced flippantly. It was nearing one o’clock of what was to develop into the day before Christmas, when he had reached Southampton. There were two other cars in the garage. One was the big sedan that the chief had arrived in earlier in the evening. “I’m opening the place for a few days,” Sears had told him that afternoon. “I feel like getting out of the city and I can give you more time at Southampton in the morning than I can here. Perhaps we can have a few holes of golf if the weather holds good.” Tx other car was Judy’s roadster. “You’d know it was hers by that crumpled mud guard,” Tommy had soliloquized. “She must spend more to remove dents than she does for gas.” He was surprised to find it there. “T’m not to spend Christmas in the bosom of my

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tever mmy 1s as ‘T've t of wt, ntly. evelop ached arage. ved in s had ut of npton | have dster. mud spend f my By Royal B rown oi; hero, Tommy JONES, hadn’t considered the Fact that in Matrimony the Female of the Species is more Determined than the Male family,” the chief had remarked dryly. “Sam, Martha and Judy have their own plans for the day and South- ampton at this season does not tempt them.” Evidently Judy had changed her mind. But perhaps that was not surprising, after all. Judy was like that. ‘Wherever she may be or whatever she may be doing, she has all the possibilities of a stick of dynamite barging around,” Tommy reflected. He had seen but little of her recently. Judy was now eighteen and she had made what was once known as a bow to society. But he couldn’t imagine Judy making a bow to anybody. Tommy had been invited to the ball that marked her début but had not gone. One of his intimates had. “Dancing started at ten and Judy wasn’t off the floor once until four,” the latter had reported. “I cut in about a hundred times and danced about a hundred feet with her, in all.” And that, presumably, was Judy’s life these days. So far as Tommy was concerned Judy was spoiled, self-willed, selfish, arrogant and—consult your own thesaurus. That she might be none the less attrac- tive to males who did not know her as well as he did, he was willing to admit. But-nothing more. Nevertheless, something quickened in him as he entered the house. At this hour the chief must be abed. But the lower floor was alight and in the library logs blazed high in an open fireplace. In front of this stood Judy. She lifted her eyes and let them meet his. “Oh, Father’s pet miracle man!” she mocked. “What are you doing here?” "Tn same Judy he remem- bered, yet subtly changed. He took her in at a glance. He was no Poiret of Paris, yet he felt that her black chiffon frock would be more suitable on a demimondaine than on a deb. “And that’s why she picked it,” he decided. That it was as devastating as it was daring he did not deny. It was the sort of frock a girl might wear and turn her back on a man, certain that she would still hold his attention. This Judy did. The frock was cut almost to the waistline, baring most of Judy’s slim, straight back. Evidently he might join her or not as he chose. Tommy would have said he did not choose. Yet he did linger. He was not sleepy. The bright, cold December night and the pace at which he customarily drove had brought a vague ex- citement. “I might ask you what you are doing here,” he commented, merely making conversation. He might—but she would not tell him. Not for all the mil- lions that she would some day inherit. Tommy was wrong on one point—Judy did not al- ways tell the truth. Instead, she turned her face toward him again. Smooth and mocking. Impudent of nose, too scarlet of lip. “Oh, New York bored me stiff, so I’ve come back to the farm for Christmas,” she gibed. Tommy, standing at ease, produced cigarets. Ashe placed one between his lips her eyes challenged his. “You might offer me one!” she suggested. “Why, of course,” apologized Tommy, but added de- liberately, “It’s hard to remember that you have emerged from the nursery.” Her eyes held his languidly. “It would be hard for you, of course,” she retorted. “I sometimes wonder if you will ever believe that I have.” She took a cigaret from his package, tapped it and let her too-scarlet lips receive it. He lighted it for her. She glanced up and, swiftly, he felt some subtle spell flung over him. But he was disciplined against such things. They gummed up the works. “Often a best man—but never a bridegroom,” was Tommy’s platform. Besides, there was an alcoholic savor to her. And Tommy, for all his modernity, didn’t like that. me b

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76 Naturally, he could not know that Judy had taken her first drink of the evening just a few minutes before. Defiantly, recklessly. Because she felt the need of something to carry her through this moment with him. “T take it from the condition of your right mud guard that you drove down,” remarked Tommy, ex- tinguishing the match and tossing it into the fire. “IT sidewiped a tree,” explained Judy. “And what had the tree done to you?” asked Tommy. “Nothing—but a truck running without lights and with a drunken driver, I should say, edged me over as I was trying to pass it to the right——” “To the right?” objected Tommy. “I perceive I am being put back into my place—the nursery,” said Judy. “But it hogged the road so that it was impossible to pass to the left.” “And of course you were in an awful hurry, as usual,” sympathized Tommy. Judy gave him a direct glance. “Did I hear some- thing about your being arrested for speeding not long ago?” she asked politely. tere merely grinned. “I do drive fast, but always with extreme care,” he assured her. “And so do I. In fact, if I weren’t a very skillful driver I might not be here now—and wouldn’t that be too bad?” Tommy ignored the last. “You may be skillful but just the same I’d suggest you carry a couple of mud guards instead of spare tires. You'll use them more.” “Oh, I can get the mud guard fixed in the morning,” @‘Why do you always have to be so perfectly horrid to me?” Judy demand- ed of Tommy. Sometime a Bridegroom at That Judy assured him. “The local garage is good at that.” “Practice makes perfect—they should be, with yoy here,” commented Tommy. He glanced at his wrist watch and added, “It seems to be morning already. Do you plan to stay up all night?” “Probably,” retorted Judy. “It gets to be a habit. a deb seldom gets to bed before dawn, you know.” “But I’m no deb,” interpolated Tommy. “Good night,” Sn gave him a swift glance. And briefly Tommy felt as if—well, as if Judy were even more kinds of dynamite than he had previously reckoned her. But Judy herself broke the spell. “Good night,” she said almost curtly, and turned back to the fire. She stood there but her ears followed his progress upstairs. “And that’s that!” she murmured. “What a fool I was to come!” The truth might be in Judy but it did not always come out. The reason she had come was that her father had mentioned that Tommy was to run down for the night. She hadn’t wanted to come, but some- thing stronger than herself had drawn her on. “To make a perfect idiot of myself,’ she told herself now. Tommy would not have understood what she meant. But she knew. She had changed to this shockingly expensive, shockingly daring frock in the hope that— oh, that something might happen. And nothing had. Nothing ever did with Tommy. He remained insulated. She wasn’t sure whether she hated him or not. But she did know that he made other men seem insipid. “He’s put some darned Indian sign on me,” was the way she summed it up. Nevertheless, she was no mid- Victorian maid dissolving in tears or pining away for love. She was angry at Tommy; angrier at her- self. She couldn’t understand why it had to happen to her. Or what she could do about it—except snap out of it. She wished she could do just that. “But it would be my rotten luck to be a one-man squaw,” she reflected dismally. She felt like getting into her car and driving back to New York. There was a party on that wouldn't end till four. And if Tommy couldn’t see her, there were those who could. Plenty! “But if I went off like that he might suspect something,” she de- cided. “And thank heavens he is dumb enough that way never to guess what a nut I am about him.” Nar was she mistaken. Tommy would have been appalled could he have known what was in Judy’s head. But he would not have been surprised had he awakened in the morning to dis- cover that she had gone. : “The debs nowadays all act as if they were in the first stages of St. Vitus’ dance,” was the way he saw it from the lofty eminence of his advanced age of twenty-five. “They’re always rushing from one place to another.” And so, with a clear conscience, he unpacked his bag in the rooms he had occupied the previous summer. There were flowers on the table, a fire in the grate in what had been his living room. In the other room the blankets of his bed were turned back. It was all as if he had vacated it the previous morning instead of almost two months before. “The miracle of millions,’ mused Tommy. Twenty-four hours before, (Continued on page 100)

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at that.” with you his wrist eady. Do habit. 4 od night.” t glance. udy were reviously ght,” she progress “What a it always that her un down ut some- d herself e meant. 10ckingly e that— ing had. osulated. But she Indian way she n0 mid- in tears She was at her- and why Or what spt snap could do be my squaw,” her car vy York. vouldn’t Tommy ‘e those that he she de- iS he is ever to it him.” is she ve been known But he sed had to dis- ct as if ; of St. he saw of his ‘ushing nis bag immer. rate in om the ll as if ead of e 100) Who Murdered y: amie Darricott? You will find the Solution in this Installment 6é 99 of A adtes’ _ O YOU re- call this illustration? It appeared in the first installment of “Ladies’ Man,” by Rupert Hughes. You learned in the open- ing paragraphs of the story that the horrified features of the bespangled fig- ure struggling for life were those of Jamie Carricott. But whose were the hands that held Jamie in such re- lentless grip; hands which released that grip and sent Jamie’s body hurtling to the street crowded with pleasure - seekers? For there were plen- ty of women and plenty of men who had cause to hate Jamie, to hate him enough to kill him. But was it man or woman? And which man—or which woman? Mr. Hughes has put all of the clues before you. Have you fixed upon the mur- derer? No member of the staff of Cos- mopolitan was. a good-enough sleuth to guess the real culprit. Beginning on the next page Mr. Hughes reveals to you what happened on the inside of the room pictured in the illustration. And this scene reveals the murder— and the murderer. You, of course, will be sorry that “Ladies’ Man,” which has entertained you for eight months, must come to a close. But here is good news for you. Mr. Hughes is at work on another novel, a novel in which is involved a fascinating and intricate riddle of life. Though it is, ma sense, a mystery story with an unusually seiz- ing and holding plot, it is of a sort never before con- trived, since the problem comes home to every reader, and involves every life. Mr. Hughes’ new serial will be- gin in a few months in Cosmopolitan. It is as new in treatment and as different from the usual run of mystery stories as was “Ladies’ Man.” The word “different” characterizes all of the serials we publish in Cosmopolitan. They must be more than entertaining—more than mere fiction. They must have an idea behind them; they must truly picture a phase of contemporary life. “Ladies’ Man” not only gave you a baffling mystery; it portrayed a cross-section of New York Society as only one who knows the people in that Social set and their activities could portray it. Real people, people you know in your daily contacts with life, people you read about in the daily papers. Peo- ple with problems much like your own, or problems which, while strange to you, are real enough to them. These are the per- sonalities you come to know in Cosmo- politan fiction. And new and fascinating parts of the world are made familiar to you. You will find a particularly good il- lustration of what we mean in the new novel by Robert Hichens which be- gins in next month’s Cosmopolitan. The setting is gay, fash- ionable Mayfair. You not only read about this playground of London society; you live there in Mr. Hichens’ novel. You will come to know the charming people of his story, share with them the in- trigue and drama of their lives—the cu- rious triangle of the homely, fascinating social arbiter, Lady Bettine, the striking . Oliva, war-poor and talented, and handsome Brett Arden. A wonderful girl, Oliva, honest and frank and modern, a girl who, to use an expression of Mr. Hichens’, does not mix moral values. You will like her and the story Mr. Hichens has written. In Cosmopolitan you find, of course, most of the writers who have won their literary spurs. That is not because their names are “Big” but because their work is Big. But we seek constantly the new name, the new fresh note. When we find this combination we rejoice. iC IE AL ul ME IB } \A} Ww: pip find such a combina- tion in a writer new to our pages and a novel she has written. You, therefore, will soon have the pleasure of reading “The Beauty Mask Murder,” by Viola Brothers Shore. Here again you have more than a murder, more than a mystery. You have a masterly analysis of woman psychology, see feminine intuition at work. Only a woman, we believe, could have solved the mystery of “The Beauty Mask Murder”—and when you meet Maxine Ainslee you will find her as charming as she is clever. ep

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UPERT UG HES ends his Mystery Novel with a Perfect Crime HERE comes a time in the life of the finest steel when a certain twist or an added ounce of bur- den makes it snap as if it were gossamer from the spinneret of the least spider. Women’s pa- tience is like that, and no one knows when the torsion strain or the tensile drag will crack it. Helena Fendley had seemed able to endure anything and everything from Jamie Darri- cott: scandal, spiritual ruin, the pitiful humiliation of her hus- band, the destruction of her home, but it was what he did not do that broke her at last. It was his silence that finished her. Perhaps it was the costume of the empress that exalted Helena’s pride. In her crown and ermine to learn of Jamie’s duplicity—it was the wrong moment. His failure to reassure her even with a glance ended her love in a puff of mist. When, a long in- stant later, Rachel proclaimed that Darricott had arranged a marriage with her, the shock was cataclysmal, but it rocked a heart already emptied of love. Helena marched in upon Darri- cott with all the high fury of an insulted czarina, and locked the door after her lest her children see her in a wrath they had never witnessed; for she had been the gentlest of mothers. She found Darricott setting on his head the grotesquely gorgeous hat, so heavy that a page was expected to carry it. The foppishness of his attitude revolted her. She had given herself to a coxcomb. He glanced at her from between the plumes with a bird’s bright impu- dence, and dared to say: “Ts this the best angle?” “From any angle you are loathsome to me, Jamie. This whole horrible affair—I told you I would go through with it as an atonement. I never dreamed how bitter it would be.” He took off his hat and set it down, the better to stare at her as she denounced him. “The punishment isn’t the gossip, the ridiculous fig- ure I cut, the wrong I’ve done; it’s learning that I’ve given my heart and my body to such a cheap——- Why, the only big thing you ever did was to drag my daughter into the mire with her mother. Only a fiend could rise to that. But you can’t have her. If you don’t promise Oo |, eae She was actually tugging at a brooch fastened to her @.The veil of the Oriental flew aside a moment and Darricott knew those eyes. His own glared recognition, though he could not utter a sound. breast; the pin was almost as iong as a stiletto. It had a safety catch and she had such trouble in releasing it that she ripped it free, though it tore her bodice. While she wrenched at it, Darricott was patronizing her. “Helena, if you'll only go on and get this night over, I'll marry you tomcrrow.” “Marry me!” She gagged on the words. “My atone- ment doesn’t include that, thank heaven. But if you don’t give me your solemn promise never to speak to Rachel——-_ Here I am asking you for another of your promises. Agh! The only way to be sure is to——” H. saw her with her hand up- raised and between her fingers the long needle, actually about tostabhim. Her features were almost unrecogniz- able with mania. He caught her arm, wrenched it back of her with a twist that brought a wail of pain from her, and holding her helpless so, murmured over her shoulder: “Unless you’ve gone as mad as you thought you would, my darling, you’ll save this outbreak for tomor- row. I’ll come to your house and let you call me all the names you like. And when you’re tired out, I’ll tell you 78 Copyright, 1930, by Rupert Hughes

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yer her ht you tomor- all the ell you Ladies ys oh ‘ “ — m ‘ - —— the truth. Even if you are crazy enough tonight to believe what your crazy daughter said, I’ll soon convince you that—that I love you as much as ever.” She tried to whirl on him, but could not. She turned her head as far as she could to groan: “Jamie, if you use the word ‘love’ to me again, I’ll——” “You'll hear it again!” he said. “I’m proving my love for you now by trying to save you from a lifelong dis- grace. For I do love you. There are thousands of peo- ple waiting downstairs to see you. You never were so beautiful. You’re magnificent. I love you. Go on and See it through. Tomorrow you'll be glad and proud, and we'll be happy yet—Helena—together.” In her present mood every word of praise or tender- ness seared her with a branding iron, but she could not fight him now. He tried another course. For the sake of your son and your daughter if not Man Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead for your own good name you’ve got to go through with it, Helena. You can’t be a quitter now, not you!” To this she yielded and bowed her head in submission to the duress of her own char- acter. Seeing that she was co- erced, he said: “Pull yourself together and play the queen. Tl join you in a minute.” He led her to the hall door and, bowing, kissed her hand. She snatched it from him and hurried along the hallway. But her knees gave way and she dropped into a chair, pinning the brooch where she could. The trumpets were blatant in the corridors, but she did not hear them above the laughter of the crowds moving toward the ballroom. Meanwhile Anthony and Weldon had pressed through the empty room to the locked door and stood irresolute there, hearing the sound but not the words of Helena’s voice and nothing at all that Darricott replied. They heard her short cry of distress as he twisted her arm. Then no more. They shook the knob, beat on the door and set their shoulders to it to break it down, but it was too stout for them. Anthony drew back and ran at it, jarring it. He drew back and ran again, just as Darricott turned the key and opened it. Anthony and Weldon plunged into the room so far that they almost fell. When Darricott laughed at the spectacle they made, they whirled and sprang at him with fingers clenched for his throat. He slipped aside, darted across the room to the bed, where his golden belt lay coiled against a golden sheath. Catching the (Continued on page 173) 79

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en thee licker UTSIDE my door I heard a laugh —a ghastly bloated cackle of hollow in- difference. Curiosity caused me to peer out through a crack. A bell boy and a doorman were sup- porting a sagging figure down the hall. There was a fleet- ing glimpse of a sickly, oyster - white face—a face that often adorned the front pages. I wait- ed for the bell boy’s return to inquire the trouble. ; “It is Mr. A,” he said. “He was hit for two millions in the market and his chauffeur just brought him home delirious.” Thus, as a specta- tor, I was catapulted into the whirling financial con- fusion of late October when the world suddenly shiv- ered, poised and turned completely over. Even now the whole thing is a phantasmagoria—blobs of nebulous gloom here and lightning flashes of terrible reality there. I am fortunate in living at what is con- sidered a fashionable New York hotel and I saw the catastrophe strike people who seemingly never had been touched by sorrow before. It was Stevenson, I believe, who observed that the most tranquil people were those living on the edge of the crater. In this fashion I had heard much chaffing in the hotel barber shop and lobby about the first dip of the stock market on that memorable Thursday. The week-end, despite the dark ugly rumors, was one of sublime optimism and then came what have become known as the “Blue Monday” and the “Terrible Tues- day.” Tuesday evening, of course, was the worst. When the newspapers came with their despairing thick headlines, the whole of New York seemed to stiffen tautly in a sort of miad terror. Even those of us who had nothing to lose read the thick headlines and had the sensation of floating off in space. I lifted a telephone receiver to talk to a garage and a crossed connection brought the voice of an anguishing woman, a voice whose intonation bespoke refinement. “ O BLESSED MOTHER OF JESUS,” she choked, “it can’t be true!” It was fraught with such emotion my hand trembled when I hung up. My wife and I suddenly abandoned our customary evening motor ride and decided to walk. On the busy corner of Madison Avenue and Forty-sixth Street peo- ple seemed to be standing dumbly as people do when they watch a funeral pass. A man was sick at the curb. “It is terrible, sir,” said the crossing policeman, wav- ~y his hand at the acres of traffic-jammed automobiles. Tliustrations by “They ioos like ghosts going home.” A block or so away on Park Avenue’s “Goid Coast,” a leather-lunged newsie was bel- lowing: “Panic in Wall Street! Here y are! Getcher pape!” His grin had a sardonic leer. At a fiftieth street corner a woman with woppy-red lips stepped from a coupé. She hatl the brittieness of spun glass and the coid isolation of those ladies who iove only iove. One of her obvious sisters of a dis- creetly sinful guild awaited her in front of a drug store. “Jim smashed up this after- neon,” said the lady of the coupe. “He won’t join us. He’s home with his wife and here I am with a twelve-thousand-a- year apartment on my hands.” N.: many steps away a softly sobbing woman and a pale man, followed by two bewildered children, crossed the pavement from an apartment-house entrance and stepped into a waiting taxi. “Anywhere. Just drive!” the man said to the per- plexed driver. At a restaurant on East Fifty-second Street, where we often dine, the maitre d’hétel swept his arm toward a room whose snowy-white table tops revealed a ghostly emptiness. “Any table you please tonight, M’soo!” he murmured. Ordinarily it is filled with from three hundred and fifty to four hundred diners. This night it held, by actuai count, nineteen. “Some others came,” said a waiter, “but when the soup arrived, they glanced at it and suddenly walked out.” 1 looked in at fashionable Sherry’s on the way home. It held exactly eleven diners—each like a death’s-head at the feast. Twelve were dining at the equally fashionable Colony. “Only one advance reservation was kept,” said the head waiter sadly. Westward, Broadway’s beacons were burning with the usual brightness but the cafés, the theaters and even the cheap dance halls were desolated. The lines that coil in front of movie houses had shrunk to nothing at all. Outside the Capitol, a gaudily caparisoned doorman dripping gold ropes had his elbow. on the cashier's cage chatting with the blond ticket seller. The door- man at the braggy-fronted Paramount was leaning against a pillar perusing a copy of Variety. Broadway had suddenly dried up like a raindrop on the parched desert! Even the “tip-off” men of the gambling houses, who stand in front of certain chop- houses to whisper the hotel room numbers of the nightly dice and poker games, had evaporated. Mayor Walker in a campaign talkie in Times Square wasted his political forensics on the proverbial thin air. Only 4 half-dozen mounted patrolmen on drooping horses com- prised his open-air audience.

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I tons by sts going ) away on Coast,” a ! Was bel- ll Street! r pape!” ic leer, corner a -red lips She had jun glass of those ove. One of a dis- aited her re. lis after- ’ of the us. He's 1d here I usand-a- hands.” any steps ’ woman ‘d by two »ssed the ice and the per- t, where 1 toward . ghostly soo!” he red and held, by ' said a nced at y home. 1’s-head Colony. he head vith the 1d even ies that hing at oorman ashier’s e door- leaning lrop on of the 1 chop- nightly Walker ed his Only a ‘S COM- ‘Lolled Oscar Cesare The cumulative effects of a sudden fear had completely prostrated the night life of the busiest city in the world. A hideous fright, like some nightmarish monster, was stalking the entire city— Broadway, Fifth and Park avenues, the Bronx, the Bow- ery—leaving it gasping, cow- ering, impotent. On West Forty-second Street, almost the lone driver on the block swerved to the curb with his empty cab and inquired: “Say, buddy, is the world coming to an end?” I could not put much en- thusiasm or comfort in my reply: “I hope not.” Back at the hotel, the lobby and coffeeroom were deserted. In the apartment we turned on the radio but in a few moments, by mutual consent, turned it off. I settled myself in bed to read an autographed copy of a novel which had just arrived from the author. Several weeks later I read it with interest. night it was a jumble of unintelligible phrases. So we snapped off the lights and sought escape in the That By O. O. McIntyre valley of moonbeams. Fear, it is said, is tangi- ble to wild animals. They can feel it as much as a blow. Psychologists or other mental experimentalists might explain it but there are few New York- ers who did not “feel ’ fear” that night. It had the impenetrable thickness and clutch of heavy fog. At four a.m. I had not slept a wink nor had my wife. It was at this time we heard what sounded like a hiccup in the apartment adjoin- ing. The hiccup was followed by a moan like that of a sleeper in the throes of a bad dream. At length we were conscious of two distinct voices. Someone, we thought, was desperately ill. It continued in ugly rhythm until we fell asleep long after day- light. The next morning we learned the story. In the apart- ment lived an elderly couple, each past sixty, from a western city. They had by industry and thrift amassed a million. He had come to New York with his wife to shop. Foolishly, he had been dabbling in the market—his speculations increasing with success. The first day’s plunge had ruined him. For four days thereafter they had remained in their beds from the shock—wide-eyed and sleepless. A maid tiptoeing through the rooms had thought them merely resting. A THOUSAND similar tragic epi- sodes were taking place in a thousand different hotels and homes, while New York was trying vainly to pull itself together in the blackest financial period the world has ever known. Everyone has had personal contact with the disaster —a friend or relative or at least an acquaintance wha has been stripped of everything. I hear many say that the world and especially those who gamble have learned a valuable lesson. It is a pleasant prophecy, but as Goldberg might say: “It doesn’t mean anything!” There have been Wall Street panics before with thou- sands ruined overnight. And there are likely to be future Wall Street panics with the same result. What we have salvaged chiefly out of this turbulent experience is the sublimity, the new stature of American courage. Just around the corner from my hotel is a tea room and at luncheon today the cashier handed out my change with a smile. Ten days before Wall Street rocked, she was a widow with two children in fashionable boarding schools, a $150,000 home and stocks with a potential value of $750,000. Multiply her plight by many thousands and you will have an idea of Yankee resiliency in over- whelming disaster. ‘o

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Illustrations by Douglas Duer OHNEEN,’’ said Mr. Malachi O’Bannion to his former employer and late shipmate in the United States Navy, Johnny Ken- drick, “answer me this. Am I or am I not as good a ma- rine chief ingineer as iver set foot on a deck?” *“‘You’re better than that, Malachi,” Mr. Kendrick, of the now defunct shipping firm of Kendrick and Son, almost sighed. “I think you’re the finest chief engi- neer in the world.” “Why, thin, in the name av all the saints, can’t I get a job?” Mr. O’Ban- nion pleaded. “Since bein’ fired out av the Makaweli I’ve been a year on the beach. I have stone bruises, corrns an’ bunions afthe walkin’ tin t’ousand miles lookin’ for a job. “The past t’ree months I’ve lost me pride intirely an’ have been axin’ the chief ingineers I raised meself for a job as firrst assistint. An’ divil a job canI land. ’Tis true I did worrk half a day on the Western Trader, but the minute the port ingineer saw me ’twas Kitty, bar the door!” “I’m sorry,” Johnny Kendrick murmured. “I’ve sunk so low,” O’Bannion almost wailed, “I’ve applied for jobs on shteam schooners—me that niver serrved a day annywhere but in a ship that sailed blue wather. An’ divil a job can I get.” “What do they say to you when you apply for a job, Malachi?” “Whin I make a written application,” Mr. O’Bannion mourned, “they write me an’ tell me they’ve received it an’ will place it on file an’ if annythin’ turrns up they’ll let me know. Whin I call at their offices neither the managin’ owners nor the port ingineers will let me in— so they don’t say annythin’ to me.” “I think,” said Johnny Kendrick, “you’re blacklisted!” “Begob, thin, if I am, Johneen, I’ll sue thim all for conspiracy.” “No, you’ll not, Malachi. ‘ In the first place you can’t pte it and in the second place you can’t afford the esas @.“‘Out o° me way or I'll slay ye!” the fire department. Then his ax luxury. Your savings must be held intact for your wife and children.” “T’ll have to quit the sea,” Mr. O’Bannion then de- cided. “Johneen, for the sake av ould sake’s sake, can ye not get me a job ashoore as a shtationary ingineer?” “Tl try very hard, Malachi.” “I’ve got to do somethin’, if it’s only shweepin’ the shtreets.” And with this final sad statement Mr. O’Ban- nion departed from Johnny Kendrick’s office. No sooner had he left than Kendrick telephoned to Mr. Pierce, president of the Transpacific Line, owners of the S. S. Makaweli, the steamer upon which Malachi O’Bannion had last been employed as chief engineer. “John Kendrick speaking, Pierce. Remember that chief engineer, O’Bannion, I recommended to you about two years ago? You gave him a job against your will and a year later you fired him. What was the trouble?” “He’s rebellious and contumacious. He will not obey an order if he thinks his superior is in error. On his first voyage in the Hispaniola she kicked off her wheel. He was ordered to buy a duplicate of the old wheel and refused. Instead, he bought one slightly larger and with more pitch, claiming the Hispaniola had ample power to handle it.

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howled Mr. O’Bannion and charged came down on the distended hose. “He was right and we were wrong, so I forgave him his crime. A year later the Makaweli, to which he had been transferred, knocked a foot off one blade of her Starboard propeller. She made Honolulu on the port propeller and we ordered her put in dry-dock to ship a Spare wheel we had aboard. _“The captain was in hospital for an appendix opera- tion when the order arrived. O’Bannion induced the mate to snatch all the cargo out of her after holds first; naturally her nose went down and her tail went up, and he keyed the spare wheel onto her in jig time.” ‘Then you only lost a couple of hours discharging.” “That’s right.” Aw you fired him for that, Pierce? Why, I should think you’d have been grateful to him for saving you a lot of money.” He risked the ship. You know very well, Kendrick, _that a big steamer out of balance that way might easily turn turtle, particularly if a sudden storm came up, even while she was lying at the dock.” But I know Malachi O’Bannion, Pierce. He must have taken some precautions to guard against such an A Story which proves T ' Vou Can’t a ex kvaehmaes by Peter B. ma K yne accident to the ship.” “He did. He tied her more securely to the dock and lashed a couple of big barges along the opposite side of her hull, to hold her up in case she took a notion to list.” “And you fired him for that eh?” “No, I fired him because he disobeyed orders. I’m the boss, whether I’m right or wrong, and I'll not have any employee dictating my course to me.” “There must have been something else, Pierce. No man dis- misses an employee who works overtime to save him money and who, even when he is disobeying orders, remembers to protect him against loss.” “Well, there was something else,” Pierce admitted. “That man just can’t mind his own business——” “I know it,” Johnny Kendrick interrupted. “He for- gets to mind his own business in his passion for look- ing after the business of the man who pays him his wages.” “Well, he saw his old ship, the Maverick, lying across the dock in Honolulu, and naturally he had a yearning to visit her. Her chief wasn’t aboard, so O’Bannion went down into her engine room to see (as he told me him- self) how far she’d gone down since he’d left her. He went prowling down the shaft alley and found the shaft couplings covered with oil and dirt. “Well, he got himself a handful of waste soaked in kerosene and cleaned the couplings, and in the after coupling of the tail shaft he found a crack he could stick the blade of his knife into. But did he say any- thing about it? He did not!” “You fired him in Honolulu, didn’t you?” “I did. I sent a man down to relieve him, and he licked the relief and came home chief of the Makaweli. However, he wasn’t paid for it, because he wasn’t in our employ. I imagine he crowded himself on us to save the expense of the trip home by passenger steamer.” “Then he realized all the time he was not in your 83

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employ; that he had been fired in Honolulu and would be thrown out of the ship in San Francisco.” ‘“‘Undoubtedly. He didn’t even ask for his pay.” “That explains the whole thing, Pierce. If he’d been in your em- ploy at the time he dis- covered the crack in the Maverick’s tail- shaft coupling he would have cabled you. “T know Malachi. He’s loyal, if he is mercu- rial, pugnacious and refractory. Not being in your employ, why should he bother telling you things your own engineers should have discovered? Didn’t he even mention that he could tell you some- thing of interest to you?” “Of course he did. He offered to trade me this important infor- mation for his job. I thought he was talk- ing through his hat.” “ce O\neneen never does that. He means what he says and says what he means. You hurt his feelings by firing him, so he let you take the consequences. A month later that cracked coup- ling broke, so the Mav- erick became a derelict, and the salvage job cost you thirty thou- sand dollars.” “Exactly.” “Consequently you’ve blacklisted O’Bannion. Every steamship com- pany in the country has had the whisper passed to it. I’ve been a steamship owner my- self. I know the ropes. We protect one another against employees we deem dangerous, but once in a while some- body passes the word to vent a private grudge and thereby ruins a good man in his pro- fession. “Pierce, you haven’t been fair to O’Bannion. He has the _ highest sort of recommenda- tion from me, but he left our employ four years ago and he can’t show a good recom- mendation since. Iknow he isn’t popular, but he is efficient.” “He’s an Irish blath- erskite,” Pierce growled. “Good-by.” 84 @,"May hivin forgive yer chief ingineer!” Mr. O’Bannion told Maverick. “We're in for it now. There's gas in the bilge an if I know annythin’ about it.” They had it! Swenson fled up to the

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the third assistant of the ye ll have another explosion deck shrieking: ‘Fire! Fire!” The following day Johnny Kendrick sent for Malachi O’Bannion. “Malachi,” he began, “I think it’s time to revive Kendrick and Son and get back into the shipping business. The Emergency Fleet Corporation is getting sick of the vast num- ber of big steel freighters it has on hand. A lot of them are war-time graft jobs; they might be better models than they are, but still the shipping world could use them if the govern- ment had only equipped them with reciprocating engines and Scotch boilers. They’re in the shop half the time and it costs too much to replace those inferior boilers and engines. “However,” he added, “I’ve had them all pawed over and have discovered eight splendid eighty-eight-hundred-ton boats with Scotch boilers and reciprocating engines in the lot. ees cost over a million to build and I can buy them for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars each, twenty-five percent down, balance at four percent interest over a period of ten years, provided I maintain them in certain trade routes for a period of five years. Those trade routes look good to me. I may not make much money, but I think I can pay for the ships in five years out of the profits.” Mr. O’Bannion’s face had begun to take on the radiance of a desert at sunrise. Kendrick continued: “It will require several months of negotiation before I can close the deal, but I think I can do it because nobody seems particularly anxious to run these smaller ships in foreign trade. They are interested in the ten-thousand-ton types. “However, I have an idea I can induce the government not to insist that the ships must be run in a foreign trade route for five years. I'll argue that they aren’t big enough and perhaps I’ll get away with the argument. “I want those ships for the coastal run. Their draft will enable them to enter such shoal draft harbors as Grays Har- bor and Willapa Harbor—ports the ten-thousand-ton ships cannot enter. I think I can load them with lumber for New York every voyage, and bring back five or six thousand tons of general cargo. If I can I'll have the world by the tail on a downhill haul.” “How does this concern me, Johneen?” “Well, when I close the deal I’m going to send you back East to take over each ship as I bring her out. They’ve been laid up a long time and I’ll have to make some repairs in the engine rooms, of course. It-will be your job to superintend these re- pairs and get those engines and boilers tuned up right. You'll have to ship new oil-burners. The present type are wasteful.” “An’ afther all the ships are in service—what thin, sor?” “You shall be the port engineer.” Johnny Kendrick smiled. “The men made for bosses come from Erin’s isle, Malachi. You’re always in hot water when you have to take orders, but you know how to give them, and when. Meanwhile, I imagine you'll be idle for another six months. How’s your bank ac- count holding out?” “I’m not borryin’ money to live on—yet!” There was a snap of finality, of Celtic pride and independence, in Mr. O’Ban- nion’s reply, and Johnny Kendrick knew better than to press his kindly suggestion. Wie, when you have to, Malachi, come to see me. Meanwhile, I suggest you hypnotize yourself into the belief that you’re on a vacation, and go into the country. You'll not get a job until I have one to give you. I am morally certain you’re blacklisted.” “Hivin bless ye, Johneen,” Mr. O’Bannion replied fervently, “an’ may the divil fly away wit’ me inimies, if he only flew a mile a day.” However, once an idea had lodged in Malachi O’Bannion’s ingenious head, it was well-nigh impossible to dislodge it. He was one of those who cling to an idea for its own sweet sake; when opposed by forces he could not defeat, it never occurred to him to cease fighting. He could not afford another six months on the beach and he could not afford to have Johnny Kendrick feel sorry for him but he was incapable of communing with anything but the salt sea and reciprocating engines. So he did not accept Kendrick’s advice to go to the country, but continued his weary round of the docks and shipping offices until, at his approach, men who might have stretched a point and put him to work, fled rather than face him. In a locker in the rooms of the (Continued on page ae 5

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“Shese folks know By Irvin O YOU think our coun- try is a melting pot? Give Brazil a look, then. With us the human atoms have not thoroughly fused; generally you can tell t’other from which. But down there under the tropic sun the intermixing of white and red and black goes on so furiously that the composite type is not a rarity but a commonplace, and a new race unlike any other race is being developed. ' Brazil today is one vast ethnological experiment. In spots the experiment has become a perfected demon- stration. Most of us would call it a mongrelizing process. By the philosophy of the Brazilian it is an amalgam evolved out of the needs and the conditions of the land. He looks on miscegenation not as a social error but as a social necessity. For proof that he has come nearer than any to solv- ing the color problem which so vexes us, he points to the incontrovertible facts that mulatto statesmen have helped to shape his national destinies; that half-breed Indians have made capable generals and admirals for his army and his navy; and finally that out of this welter and flux of bloods, a brilliant and luxurious literature has arisen, and a school of true national humor begins to emerge, and a harmony and tolerance as between the various elements—call it a homogeneous harmony—commonly is prevalent. By contradiction, though, the leading pure-strain Caucasians, while preaching the beauties of a system of political parity and cultural equality, nevertheless take steps to maintain for themselves and among them- selves an unmixed circle within these greater circles. So there are groups and cliques and family divisions across the barrier lines of which no person of a darker skin pigmentation may enter in. Certainly Rio is no negroid community, although it has, in proportion to its Aryan stocks, a formidable negro population. And of a certainty, Rio is, to my way of thinking, the most beautiful city and the most volatile and vivacious city I ever saw or ever expect Re Oe ae nee to see. Romance and light- heartedness abide with her as likewise they abide throughout the tremendous domain of which she is the chief city. “Rolling down to Rio’—why, the very sound of it has allurement. Here was the last stand of royalty in the New World. Here was the last stronghold of African 86 @Sao Paulo, the home of the coffee barons. Slavery in the _ civilized world. Here, on the thresh- old of the last great area of unexplored wilder- ness left in the whole world, sits a fair metropolis, mod- ernized and sophisticated and pleasure - loving; yet unique and peculiar. Here is where you get your black diamonds, your rare spices, your scented woods, your talking parrots, your chattering monkeys, your biggest butterflies, your smallest humming birds. On such rhapsodic prospects as these the appetite of the traveler is whetted; nor is it to me conceivable that he possibly can be disappointed in the feast provided. I guarantee that his first impression will be no dis- appointment provided he approaches Rio from the ocean side and slips in through her matchless harbor: © Pirie MacDonald W: AMPLY were thrilled, al- though our itinerary brought us in at the back door by way of a prosaic railway station. In fact, we had enjoyed a whole week of preliminary thrills, seeing that we already had peeped in on Santos, the great coffee port, and on Sao Paulo, the inland center of the coffee industry and the home of the coffee barons. Now be it known that Santos has its merits and Sao Paulo, as a rich and resplendent and bejeweled city, has enough merits to keep a careful statistician busy for quite a while. There is a certain vista of parks and palaces to be seen from a certain commanding height; and there is a. sort of cocktail that they make out of pineapple rum at the Automobile Club— but hold: this is no chap- ter out of a guidebook, but merely a sketch out of a sketchbook. The moment you touch foot on Brazilian soil, that same moment all things begin to be dif- ferent from what you've seen and felt before. Elsewhere in South America your eardrums were soothed by the soft- ly falling melodies of the Spanish tongue, but here they are speaking Por- tuguese; and Portuguese, when heard so soon after

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W vin BRAZIL— The Color Probleme The Lamp-post Lover The Jungle—Rio Harbor, THey LIKE Us Civilized so much Spanish, seems a choppy and a roily, yea acute paradoxes. Outlanders domiciled among them > thresh- verily, a muddied and muffled language. will tell you that the Brazilians are prone to grow ex- i great The people are more frolicsome, more care-free, seem- cited during small emergencies but become placidly | wilder- ingly more irresponsible than their neighbors across the fatalistic in the face of a real danger. I can well be- le world, poundaries. Gone is all suggestion of that heavy Span- lieve it. And they have a way of stepping around ‘is, mod- ish gravity. These folks are as unlike the hard-working bothersome technicalities, whereas we of the Nordic isticated Argentines, say, or the staid Uruguayans as San Fran- stocks are so prone to butt headlong against them. ing; yet ciscans are unlike Brooklynites—which is to say, very Going up through the mountains from Santos to Sao ur black unlike indeed. Paulo over the famous “gold-plated” railroad with its ds, your Essentially, Brazil is a land of sharp contrasts, of hand-polished roadbed, I observed a graphic illustra- ' biggest tion of this flexibility of dispo- Sition. oetite of At a small station where we ble that stopped, a smartly got-up rural rovided. guard had just made a prisoner no dis- of a truculent-looking peasant. om the From inside his tunic he pro- arbor. duced a length of stout cord and with it proceeded to bind the fellow’s wrists together behind led, al- his back, leaving one end free ck door to serve for a tether as the cap- we had tive was marched off to be jailed. ing that To a fellow passenger, a Brit- t coffee ish resident, I said: “That po- e coffee liceman appears to be pretty well equipped in matters of and Sao uniform and pistol and sword ed city, and everything. I should think un busy he’d (Continued on page 166) f parks landing y make rum at Club — o chap- debook, tch out u touch n soil, @ Approaching Rio, the Queen of the Tropics, you see not a single man-made blemish in the entire scope of the scene!

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“She (Oe tice Wife ATHLEEN, coming in rather late, found Ted still there. When she entered, he was walking the floor in a blaze of excitement. Anne, curled up in a chair, a little pale, her eyes drowsy, was watching him. And as Kathleen, entering, ejaculated; “Why the oratory? Where’s the soap box?” Ted seized her, implanted a resounding kiss upon her smooth cheek and announced gayly: “Congratulate me—sister!” Kathleen promptly extricated herself and looked at Anne. “Has he gone cuckoo?” she asked, astonished. “On the contrary,” Ted answered for himself. “I’m sitting on top of the world. How’d you like to be maid of honor at a quiet home wedding?” “Not really?” She ran to Anne, stooped to kiss her. Anne nodded. “Yes, really!” she answered. “Ted, do go along home. I have to work tomorrow,” she added mechanically, and then she stopped and bit her lip. “No, you don’t,” Ted told her; “never again. Kath- leen, will you leave the room or must I embrace my affianced bride before an audience?” Having received her cue, Kathleen departed. Ted, lifting Anne to her feet, held her a long moment and then kissed her with, she thought wearily, a new reverence, a new sweetness. “Good night, dearest,” he told her. “You’ve made me very happy.” At the door he turned. She was looking at him with a curious expression—one which he could not read, “May I tell people?” he asked. She hesitated, then nodded. Well, why not? When he had gone, Kathleen came back into the living room in a wisp of lace and a sheath of satin. “It’s true, then?” she asked Anne gravely. “Yes.” “Anne, you’re not happy. You don’t love him!” “T do,” said Anne. “I’m awfully fond of him.” “It’s not enough,” Kathleen answered out of a new wisdom. “Being ‘awfully fond’ isn’t enough. Nor yet being crazy about a person. I think I know now,” she went on dreamily; and Anne was too preoccupied with her own problems to wonder about that. “Anne, you can’t marry. Ted with another man in your heart.” I won’t. I promise you, Kath- leen, I’ll make Ted a good wife.” “Who wants a ‘good wife’?” asked Kathleen scorn- fully. “Anne, we’ve got to have this out. You’re in love with Lawrence Eaton and you're going to marry Ted O’Hara. It’s not fair to you or to Ted.” “T’ll make it fair!” Anne cried. “The other was madness, insanity. I’ll cure myself. Ill forget.” “I advise you to make the cure thorough before your wedding night,” said Kathleen. “Kathleen!” Anne cried, and then was silent, flushing. Her—wedding night? “Oh, Anne,” Kathleen told her, in affectionate exasperation, “get wise to yourself! You are grown up; you’ve worked for your living; you’ve seen what life does to people, what marriage does to them. You don’t believe in Santa Claus any more, do you? Face things. Don’t hide around corners

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ot read. nto the f satin. n!” a new Nor yet Ww,” she ed with ne, you i.” Kath- scorn- u’re in ing to o Ted.” ler was forget.” before Silent, tionate grown e seen loes to 7 more, sorners ‘ You now come to the conclusion of Faith oldwia's Novel about men and women you meet every day. Illustration by R. F. Schabelitz @ Next MONTH jou meet the gay aristocrats of London’s Mayfair in a new Novel 4y Robert hichens from them!” She put her arms around her sister. “I want you to be happy.” “T will be. I must be,” Anne as- sured her. Time went on. The family was told and received the news without much astonishment. Mr. Murdock was frankly pleased. “I hope you can manage her bet- ter than I’ve been able to,” he told Ted dourly. But Mrs. Murdock was grave. She liked Ted; she had hoped for just such an outcome to his devo- tion to Anne, but she was anxious. She asked her daughter, that first Sunday when the entire family re- unioned in the little brick house: “Anne, tell me, girl, are you sure?” “Quite sure, dear,” Anne told her steadily. “You must be,” her mother said. “Marriage is hard enough even for people who love each other very much.” Jim got Anne by herself long enough to ask: “Is it ali right, sis?” @.“Congratulate me— “Of course it is. eg J OU like Teddy?” ? ‘Sure, I like him; he’s a good scout. That’s not the point. I mean, what you told me”—he floundered — and what I said up at the office. That hasn’t forced you into anything you'll regret, has it?” Don’t be silly. Don’t O. PLEASE don’t worry about me. What I told you was true, only it was just what you Said: glamour, propinquity. This is different.” And with that he had to be content. bag news was not long in spreading over the office. wie 3 Howard was the first to know and she was gen- ely happy about it. And then Sanders, who sighed sister!” announced Ted. “It’s true, then?” Kathleen asked Anne. Well, she’s one We'll have to do something for Then Polly, whose eyes were red for a week thereafter and whose congratulations, extended to young Mr. O’Hara ‘himself, were compounded of honey and said, “Another good man gone! in a million, O’Hara. you both.” and gall. And finally, of course, Lawrence Eaton. Well, the fact that he had known it for some days was no consolation. Nor that he had made a fool of him- Self. Ted was insistent upon an immediate wedding. “No,” Anne told him, “not until next fall.” “Next fall!” Ted exclaimed in horror. “A year away!” It was then early autumn, a year from the time Anne had gone to Hot Springs with Eaton and Linda. “Yes.” me

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90 “But what’s the sense of waiting?” he wanted to know, in despair. “All the sense in the world. I want to get my clothes ready,” Anne told him, frantically hiding behind one of the oldest of all feminine excuses. “We must take time and look about for a place to live—and I want to go back to work.” “Work? But you promised——” “No, I didn’t. Ted, please don’t be angry,” she begged him. “I—I can’t be rushed into things. I must have time. You said you’d be patient.” He was terribly disappointed, but there was no mov- ing her. So he had to accept her decision. Soon there- after she took a job with the Barrows people and went to work as secretary to the general manager of the con- cern and tried to believe she was happy there, and con- tented. She had been frank with the new boss, McPherson. “I’m engaged to be married. Will that make a differ- ence?” she asked when he interviewed her. | looked at her in vexation. “Of course it will. That’s the trouble with you women, you’re always getting married,” he grum- bled, and added, as if to himself: “Just when I thought I had somebody who’d yank me out of the tangles six incompetent women have got me into!” She said, smiling faintly: “But it won’t be for a year yet; perhaps more.” “Can you promise me that?” “Yes, Mr. McPherson.” She had known of him for some time. A clever man, a keen one. She had even met him. “My secretary, Miss Murdock,” Eaton had said proudly, as if ke were introducing his competitor to a phenomenon: “Well,” McPherson told her, “you’ve got me where you want me. I must have someone at once. Someone who understands this game. And you’re the only possible person so far. I know how efficient you are; I know all about your work. I was ready to give you a life job if we got along together. However, a year... Lots of things can happen in a year,” he added hopefully. “Not that I wish your young man any hard luck, but if he breaks his neck or runs away with another girl I wouldn’t shed any tears.” So Anne went to work. She liked the position. It was much the same, in a way, as her work with Eaten. But McPherson was a very different chief. He treated her as if she were an intelligent boy. There was no con- sciousness of her sex in his attitude. Half the time he called her “Murdock.” Sometimes he swore, not at her but at life in general, when things were going badly. Often he praised her in his blunt, forthright manner, and he stood on no formal- ity whatever. He treated her as if she had been in his employ for many years. Anne liked him, but she was unhappy. After all, she told herself, it had been the man and not the job. For all the excitement was gone, all the thrill, all the feeling that she was a part of the work, that she counted. All the joy had departed. It was simply a good job that she tried to do well. That was the autumn in which Linda Eaton procured her divorce and sailed immediately for Europe. The papers announced the conclusion of her suit and her departure; and that was all. The incident was closed. Once during that winter Anne saw Lawrence Eaton. He had heard of her new position. For weeks he fought against an overwhelming desire to drop into the Bar- rows office to see her. Of course, had it not been for the fact of her engagement, the moment he was free he would have gone to her—but she no longer was for him. He told himself that it would be sheer madness to at- tempt to see her. Better to forget her. He had tried to, in a hundred futile ways. On this occasion his appointment with McPherson was not of his own seeking. He came to the office, therefore, schooled to the encounter, yet it was with a sense of absolute shock that he walked in and saw Anne sitting at the typewriter. She was alone in the big room and as he came in she lifted her hands from the keys, The Office Wife dropped them in her lap and drew a deep breath of weariness. Standing in the doorway, Eaton experienced a tre. mendous surge of emotion. She was just as he had seen her so many times; just as she was in his dreams and in his heart, since she had left him—little ang lovely, the sunlight on her hair, the small face a trifie thinner and more colorless than he remembered it, the slim, round figure, the simple, smart frock. “Anne!” he said and his voice shook. She had not heard him come in, so many miles had she been from the office, from the work just completed, Now she looked up and saw him, and he watched the color flood her face and throat, and die away. But her verbal recognition of his presence seemed perfectly composed. ‘Mr. Eaton, I’ll find Mr. McPher- son,” she said, and rose. Eaton came nearer and held out his hand. “Arent you going to shake hands with me?” he asked. “Haven't you forgiven my stupidity, my second blunder?” She laid her hand in his. Why, she wondered, in terror and agony, had this encounter been forced upon her? It was so hard, so terribly hard. And she had been trying to forget, to cut him out of her mind and heart, and to turn that mind and heart to Ted. He said, releasing her hand abruptly, because he go longed to hold it: “I heard that you were here. I won- dered—I thought, of course, that you and O’Hara——” She answered briefly: “We’re not to be married for some time.” “T see. He’s a fine chap,” Eaton admitted, and hated Ted O’Hara as he had hated no other living person. “I - don’t suppose it’s in the book of etiquette to congratulate the fiancée, but I do.” “Thank you,” Anne told him, smiling. He looked at her and if her eyes had not been so blind with terror she must have seen that which was naked in his own. “Have you forgiven me?” he asked again. Anne nodded mutely and stepped back a pace, twisted one hand in the other. If McPherson didn’t come in, if Eaton didn’t go, she’d scream, burst into tears, run away, escape somehow. But McPherson arrived in time. As his tall shadow darkened the doorway Eaton said low, hurriedly: “Anne, I hope you’re happy; I want you to be.” “Oh, I am!” she assured him and smiled brilliantly. What was it to him if she were happy or miserable? If he had cared for her, he had recovered soon enough. All his caring had been based on one appeal only, an appeal she had once tried to invite and to make use of, and which had almost destroyed her—and him. Happy? She was less happy than ever, now that she had seen him again. She gathered up her papers and left the men together. Eaton stared after her and McPherson spoke to him twice before he answered. She’d said she was happy. Well, what was it to her how he felt? ; eae went into the lavatory and put cold water on her wrists and forehead. She saw in the long mirror over the washstand the blue eyes that had darkened to black and were blazing with excite- ment; she saw the red lips that shook and the cheeks that flushed and paled. “Fool!” she told herself. She had not seen him since the day she left his office. Not many weeks, yet an eternity, and still too soon; t00 soon for her peace of mind—and for Ted’s peace of heart. When she returned to her desk he had gone. McPherson remarked in that careless, familiar, yet indifferent way he had with her: “Eaton looks badly, don’t you think?” She responded that she had not noticed, wondering that McPherson couldn’t see that she lied. For was not every altered line, every haggard trace in Eaton’s face known to her in the first moment she’d looked at him again? “Funny thing,” went on McPherson casually, “that wife of his divorcing him so suddenly and quietly. Good-looking woman. I met her several times before

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breath of ed a tre- iS he had lis dreams little and ce a red it, the miles had -ompleted, tched the k e seemed . McPher- a “ ‘Aren't ,, Haven't idered, in rced upon | she had Eke: and use he so e. I won- Hara——” arried for ind hated erson. “I igratulate looked at ith terror is Own. e, twisted come in, ears, run 1 shadow ly: ye.” rilliantly. ‘able? If - enough. only, an ce use of, Happy? had seen together. » to him s happy. tory and e saw in yes that 1 excite- e cheeks 1is office. oon; too peace of liar, yet ‘S badly, yndering was not nn’s face | at him his uncle’s death, at a time when he took her around a good deal to dinners and what not. She stopped that when he reached his present job. I hear he’s been hitting it up since she left him. One wonders, what’s in back of it. Well, I suppose he'll marry again, some little snip, pretty as paint and shallow as a saucer.” “why should you suppose that?” Anne wanted to know. “Qh, because that’s the sort of thing men nearing forty usually do. .It ap- pears to be routine. They marry, quite young, a suitable wife. Then, for some reason, they dissolve the marriage. And theyre lonely. So they look around. And there are plenty of girls waiting for just such a psychological moment.” “That is a generalization,” said Anne shortly. “And generalizations are apt to be wrong.” “Well, you know him better than I do,” McPherson admitted. Pies was astonished and angry at herself for her lack of dis- cretion. But McPherson had stung her into admitting to herself something she had tried not to face. Of course, now that Lawrence Eaton was free it was on the cards that he would marry again. Anne had never been jealous of Linda in a bitter sense save during that time at Hot Springs. And even then her jealousy had been more a wounding, self- tormenting agony, and had not affected her genuine liking for the woman who was then Eaton’s wife. But for that hypothetical, shadowy, unknown woman who might enter Eaton’s life intimately now that Linda had left it, she knew a devastating hatred. And McPherson, who had been watch- ing her face, repeated reflectively: “Well, you know him better than I do.” Anne said nothing further, and Mc- Pherson was left with a gnawing curi- osity. Had there been anything of a personal nature between her and Eaton? he wondered. She was, of course, an extravagantly pretty girl, a girl with whom any man might fall in love. Was there, he asked himself, any connection between Anne’s resignation and Mrs. Eaton’s divorce? But if so, where did Anne’s young man come in? And why? These speculations rather increased his interest in Anne, but the interest was neither personal nor emotional. If, as he conjectured, there had been some sort of mix-up in Anne’s former job, then Anne had all the potentialities of a stick of dynamite. Not that he, of course, was in any danger. She did not hold the position of trust with McPherson that she had held with Eaton. Now, coming to the conclusion that she had been in her former em- ployer’s confidence, McPherson decided that perhaps it would be profitable to pump her regarding the other agency. Here, he was consciously neither dis- honest nor unethical. It was simply of a piece with his unbridled curiosity. And Anne, who sensed something of this, was not concerned. When she could answer his careless questions with- out affecting her loyalty to Eaton’s busi- ness—a loyalty which remained as strong as if it had been born in her—she replied. When she believed that McPherson over- Stepped the mark, she evaded or said that she was unable to answer the query. Toward summer, however, a newly or- ganized company, having set aside a appropriation for the launching & new razor, teetered coyly between Eaton and Barrows when it came to selecting an advertising agency. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 McPherson, with his uncanny scent, got wind of this, and warily began to question Anne as to certain policies of the agency whose employ she had quit- ted—policies which it would be well for Mr. McPherson to know. Anne answered him with a blunt denial that she knew anything at all. And Mc- Pherson asked her if she was still em- ployed by Mr. Eaton. The answer to that was her instant resignation. She went home, worn out with won- dering whether she had been right or wrong. Strictly speaking, she would have been betraying no trust had she replied—as she could have—fully and with absolute knowledge to McPherson. But Anne, apparently, had not been able to free herself from her old asso- ciations. Her heart was not in her work for Mr. McPherson. Her heart was back where she had left it, in Lawrence Eaton’s office. And nothing that she had learned in the Eaton Agency could ever be passed on to a competitor. Ted was overwhelmed with delight when he learned that she had relin- quished the position. She did not tell him the reason. She could not afford to give herself away. She merely stated that she did not like the job and was already tired of it. His natural reply was to urge marriage upon her. “Tl get a vacation during July,” he said. “What’s the matter with making it a honeymoon?” Anne put his eager hands from her and turned her cheek to his kiss. “No. I said in the fall. Give me this summer,” she begged. “But what will you do?” he wanted to know. “You might as well marry me. You wouldn’t take a summer job. What’s the matter, Anne? Can’t you make up your mind?” “I made it up for—next autumn,” she answered. “Oh, please, dear, try to be patient! I want to go home and be with Mother for a time. Kathleen’s go- ing on the road. I'll give up the flat. I’d like to rest,” Anne said. “You don’t care for me at all,” he told her, wounded. “Yes, I do. Only—only——” To her surprise and horror, she began to cry. Ted was seized with instant remorse. He took her in his arms and tried to comfort her and all but cried with her. “It’s all right,” he said, over and over. “You’re tired and nervous. I’m a brute to nag you so. Forget it and make your own plans. I won’t say another word.” So the flat was closed and Kathleen went off on the road, her heart high with a sense of adventure, yet a littie low because of someone she was leav- ing behind. Frank Young, an impetuous and clever newspaperman whom she had met through her brother, had become an emotional factor in her life. She admitted as much to Anne. “That’s one reason why I’m taking this road-company job,” she said frankly. “It will keep me away all summer, and by then I ought to be sure. I am sure when I’m with him, but I’ve been that before,” said wise Kathleen, “and it’s being away that counts. If I don’t miss him as much as I’m afraid I’m going to—why, that’s proof enough.” “Has he asked you to marry him?” “Yes. Of course he has. The first time I met him, for that matter!” “If you marry him, will you stay on the stage?” Anne asked, feeling that this young sister of hers had matured amaz- ingly in the last year. “Of course. Frank doesn’t mind. He likes it,” Kathleen told her. “I’d like to have a baby,” she announced further, “but there’s plenty of time for that. We've talked it over.” 93 “You’ve talked it over, and still haven't said you’d marry him?” Anne asked. “Not yet. Not until I get back from the road. Not until I’m sure,” Kathleen answered. But her eyes were sure as she spoke. Kathleen gone, Anne moved back to the red brick house. Her mother told her flatly: not happy.” “Of course I am. What makes you think such a thing?” “You’re not,” her mother insisted— “not the way a girl should be who's looking forward to her wedding.” “Girls don’t sit on silk cushions and hem napkins and dream and flutter and swoon. the way they used to,’”’ Anne told her. “I’m perfectly happy, and Ted and I understand each other.” “I doubt that,” Mrs. Murdock denied instantly. “There isn’t a man and wom- an living who understand each other. If they did,” she added with unconscious cynicism, “they’d never fall in love, much less marry. Of course, it’s natural for a girl to have—misgivings. All of them do. I did. But I married your father and I’ve never really regretted it, although I used to think I did when you were all small and there wasn’t much money, and it was summer time and hot in the kitchen, and I had an ailing baby or two to look after and fret over. But that wasn’t regret, really. It was lack of faith in my own strength. You'll know, some day, when you’ve children of your own.” Children? Ted “liked kids.” He said so; he acted as if he did. Anne had seen him with Jim’s uproarious pair. Children—hers and Ted’s! She tried to face that veiled future. Kathleen’s open discussion of it had brought the matter close. And here her mother was talking, hinting . . But Anne’s first response to Ted’s love- making had vanished. It had produced in her a genuine if ephemeral emotion, born of her loneliness and her tired heart and her grief; born too of the natural demands of her unblunted senses. His kisses, his arms about her, had brought her a certain comfort. And she had thought, her lips warm under O’Hara’s and her heart longing for Law- rence Eaton, that that forbidden dream- ing, that perilous making-believe, would lessen, would vanish and leave her wholly Ted’s. But it had not. “You're Be she had faced as the weeks went by. And had faced also that dreams are not nourishment for healthy young appetites. There came, inevitably, a time when Ted’s arms and Ted’s lips were, as she had hoped, just Ted’s—and not, in imagination, another's. But once released from her imagination, once robbed of their dreaming, deluding quality, they left her indifferent, cold. And lately Ted had complained bitterly. “Why won’t you kiss me? Why do you always put me off?” She knew why and could not answer. If she was so numb to Ted’s ardor now, what would become of her as Ted’s wife, as the mother of his children? She did not want Ted’s children! This realization came to her, not sud- denly but painfully and slowly, over the first part of that summer in the swel- tering red brick house. And when it no longer could be evaded, she knew that she could not marry O’Hara. And after a time she told her mother so and told her why—in part, with no mention of Eaton. Mrs. Murdock was unastonished, but

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indignant. “I knew it,” she said, “and you knew it all along. It’s not been like you, Anne, to keep the boy dangling like this.” She was ashamed of her daughter and said so, and Anne answered humbly: “I don’t blame you. I’ve been dis- honest with Ted and with myself. It was a way out, an escape. I truly thought, when I said I’d marry him, that I could come to care the way I should— the way he wanted me to.” “You must tell him at once,” said her mother. Ted was taking his vacation. He had not left the city, but was staying with three other young men in a bungalow at Manhattan Beach. This was in order to be near Anne and to get the exercise he loved: tennis, handball, swimming. The evening of her talk with her mother, Anne was terribly restless. Hav- ing made up her mind, she was im- patient to have the whole thing settled. Ted had said something about a party —moonlight swimming—that night and had offered to drive in and take her down. She had refused, and he’d been hurt and angry about it. Sometime after dinner, she put on her hat, slipped a white flannel coat over her sheer sleeveless dress and spoke to her mother. “I’m going to drive down to the beach and talk to Ted,” she told her. “I must. I can’t go on a minute longer.” “You’ve gone on the better part of a year,” her mother informed her. “Can’t you wait until tomorrow?” “No. Please, please understand,” Anne begged. “I’ve been such a fool, and so unfair. I can’t go through another night, thinking, thinking.” “You can’t go down there alone with @ party going on.” _Anne argued that she knew Ted’s friends. They wouldn’t think it strange. The party didn’t amount to anything, just a few young people going for a swim and building a beach fire. “Tll be going with you,” said her mother. And that was that. They drove in absolute silence through the stupendous massed traffic of a hot summer night. When they reached Man- hattan Beach the wind was cool and salt and the rows of bungalows blazed with light, resounded with voices and laughter, the music of phonographs and radios. At the end of each side street the ocean rolled in, calm, dark, myste- rious, with the promise of light that the rising moon held out to it. The bungalow Ted shared with his friends was brilliantly lighted and a phonograph was playing on the porch. Ain parked the car. Her mother, speaking for the first time, said, “I’ll wait here,” and settled back to watch the ocean and the rising moon. Anne went in. Half a dozen young men and women, all of whom she knew, looked up at her entrance. They wore bathing suits and had been dancing. Harry Peters, Ted’s closest friend, came forward. “Anne! What a piece of luck! Did you bring your suit?” “No; I’m not going to stay.” She greeted the other, smiling. ‘“Mother’s out in the car. We went for a ride,” she improvised, “and I want to speak to Ted.” “He’s down on the beach,” Peters told her hastily. “I'll go get him.” “No, Ill go.” 4 “Please.” Peters’ pleasant face was troubled. “You'll get your shoes full of sand. I'll call him.” But she had run out, saying over her shoulder, “Thanks, Harry; don’t bother.” There was a silence after she had left

until one of the girls remarked resign- edly, “Well, that tears it, probably.” Peters said: “Oh, I don’t know. Anne’s sensible. Still, Jane, you shouldn’t have brought her down.” “Why not? She begged to come. It isn’t my fault that Ted gave her one sort of rush last year, and the bum’s rush this,” answered Jane coolly. “J should worry!” Anne went down to the private beach adjoining the bungalow. She called Ted once, and as she called she saw a dark blur near a pile of driftwood. She walked over, thinking he had not heard her. The wind was blowing hard and in the wrong direction. She stumbled upon them—Ted with a girl in his arms; Ted saying over and over: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Anne stopped stock-still. She wanted to die of shame at her involuntary eaves- dropping. But she couldn’t move. She heard the girl’s voice answer, a voice familiar to her: “You did know. I’ve loved you all along. You cared once, a little—or said you did. I can’t give you up, Teddy. I won’t.” Anne said quietly, walking nearer: “You won’t have to, Polly.” Polly Ames pulled herself out of Ted’s arms with a little shriek. “Anne!” Ted exclaimed. He moved forward, angry and at the same time abject. The moon, sailing out from under a cloud, flung a silver arrow on the scene: the driftwood pile, the two girls and the man, the white, shifting sand. “It doesn’t matter. see you,” Anne began. “TI can explain,” Ted said unhappily. “You don’t have to. I came down to break our engagement. I hadn’t in- tended to do it before an audience,” Anne went on, “but that doesn’t mat- ter either. I don’t love you. I’ve told you so. I told you I thought I’d care— some day. I’ve found that I can’t. This” —she indicated Polly by the merest ges- ture of her hand—“this accident has nothing to do with my decision. I came on purpose to tell you that I was sorry, that you must let me go.” Before Ted could answer, Polly Ames spoke, anger drying the tears in her eyes, anger lending force to her words: “You're a selfish woman, Anne Mur- dock,” she accused. “You used Ted as long as it suited you, and now you throw him over because you no longer need him. What’s the answer? Did Mr. Eaton give you your job back?” she asked. “There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know that you’re crazy in love with him, that you just took Ted because you hadn’t a chance——” “Keep quiet,” Ted ordered, turning on the other girl savagely. “All this is none of your business.” “It is my business! I'll make it so!” cried Polly furiously. “Listen to me, Anne. All the time Ted was going with you at first, he was going with me, too. Oh, I know I had your leavings, but I didn’t care. I was in love with him, really in love. I thought he’d come to see it; to see how little he meant to you, how much he meant to me. “I wanted him, I tell you. Not as a convenience, but as my own. I wanted a home and babies. I wanted Ted—and because I did, I let him make love to me; I let him kiss me with you in his mind. I thought perhaps some day he’d forget you and turn to me. “Well, when you lost your job and saw that your boss had no further use for you, you gave Ted his chance. Some chance! A fine life he would have led with you always comparing him with I came here to Hearst's International-Cosmopoutan for March, 1930

another man. Don’t I know what a life it would have been? Hasn’t he playeg the same game with me? “You make me sick, you business wom. en, competing with men, thinking your. selves so superior, always aiming. to get the man higher up, not giving a snap of your fingers for the man who hasn't got there yet! You wouldn’t be wi to work for a man. You’d always he throwing up to him how important yoy were to your job. “Work!” said Polly scornfully. “What does that amount to—to a real woman? It’s just marking time until a man comes along who'll work for you, who'll make a home for you; a man who'll come to you, not for business conversation, but for love, for comfort, for babies. A man who'll be head of his house, not just tolerated in it.” She fell on the sand, a soft heap of curls and rage, and with her face on her arms began to cry. “She’s right,” Anne said, her voice shaking. “She speaks for her type, [ guess, and puts mine in its place. I'm sorry this had to happen,” she told O’Hara. “But please believe me, it isn't because I saw Polly with you that I told you I’d quit. I’d made up my mind to it before I came down. She hasnt made any difference, except that she makes me see myself more clearly.” <i looked down at Polly and then across at Anne. He said, with utter wretchedness: “I’ve known for a long time how you felt about me. But I cared for you so much—Anne, it’s you I love!—that I was willing to take the chance.” “Tm not willing to take it for you,” she told him. “Good-by.” She turned and walked away. Ted, walking over to the pile of driftwood, cursed aloud and kicked at the logs with his sandaled feet. She’d found him in a ridiculous posi- tion. She’d let him down before another woman. Not that that was her fault, however, he was forced to reflect. A woman who loved him. Well, she’d heard that much—that someone cared for him. That was a sort of stinging salve to his pride. Polly—it hadn’t been her fault, either. It had been his from the beginning. But a man couldn’t be blamed for going where he knew he was wanted. Of course Polly had made a mess of this and he’d never get over Anne, but still Polly loved him and she hadn’t been responsible. He had taken her in his arms and kissed her after she’d asked him when he was to be married, and had started to cry when he told her. No, it hadn’t been Polly’s fault. She was the sort of girl a man wanted to take care of. She didn’t make you feel inferior and schoolboyish. She made you feel every inch of your height and every pound of your weight, and every atom of your strength, and perhaps 4 bit more. Anne? He’d lost her. He’d never had her, really. After a moment he walked back to Polly and set her on her feet. “It’s pretty much of a mess, isn’t it?” he asked gently. “Come on; let’s g0 back to the house.” “Please,” Polly begged, “please forgive me.” j “It doesn’t matter,” he said casually, and went with her back to the bungalow. ’ He was not thinking of Polly then; he was thinking of Anne. It would not be until much later that he would realize how completely, how gladly, how grate- fully he had come to forgive them

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Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 always be ortant you ly. “What al woman? man comes ho’ll make ll come to sation, but ss. A man » not just ft heap of ace on her her voice er type, I lace. I'm she told ne, it isnt ou that I > my mind She hasn't that she learly.” 2d down at . He said, of | Z ‘ve known about me. —Anne, it’s ng to take Wi; is the inevitable result of the combined action. “tive detergents, said the bachelor Professor ul : Piebdak / oT Mars. Watkins, mother of, OUT: iver : VE extra help / : , the | . . is Mrs. WatTKINs doesn’t lous posi- e thifk much of using long, strange- peg sounding words in talking about there isto wash them—boiling, soak- ete. an old friend like Fels-Naptha. ing, and now in these new washing 4 for Hae “Effective detergents, indeed!’’ machines. For ten years Fels-Naptha alve to his says Mrs. Watkins. As though has helped me to get clothes clean, ult, either. she didn’t understand better and no hard rubbing either. pe than a college professor why *“E use Fels-Naptha for washing aed” Of Fels-Naptha made those smudges on woodwork and linoleum, windows, gee o his shirt disappear—and without and dishes—in fact, just about every- n't bea hard rubbing. thing that needs soap and water, and St na ‘*Here,”’ says Mrs. Watkins, re- Fels-Naptha never hurts my hands. rried, and spectfully, but firmly, ‘‘take this bar It— old_her. of Fels-Naptha. Smell it. That's no “Oh, do you have to be getting a. what-ever-you-call-it—that’s naptha, _ back to your work, Professor? Well, e you feel and plenty of it. mind, now—any time you think any et ae ‘‘Naptha and good soap working part of your washing needs extra on together—that’s what makes help, you can be sure it’s getting just Fels-Naptha give youextrahelpevery that! For as.long as I’m here—so is never had time. I’ve washed clothes every way _‘ Fels-Naptha!”” © 1930, Fels & Co. : back to , int te APM rye foselgeagt de my lara re FELS & COMPANY, Philadelphia, Pa. C. 3-30 bs decided to try its extra help, we'll be glad to send you a Please send me, free and prepaid, the handy ise forgive Pater rg Brora v0 ee oad Fels-Naptha Chipper offered in this advertise- ; basins, find the eat handier than using cing ling os bangalea fei eee eee | Nam then: he The chipper will be sent you, free and postpaid, upon request. pee ald not be Mail the coupon. 1d realize City = State OW ier THE GOLDEN BAR WITH THE CLEAN NAPTHA ODOR Fill in completely—print name and address

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96 When Anne returned to the car she found her mother waiting for her. She looked at her daughter and asked merely, “Is it all right?” Anne nodded and got in beside her, and they drove back to the red brick house, Mrs. Murdock talking fluently and irrelevantly. She did not mention their completed errand again until they drew up at the house. Then she said: “Your father will have to be told. He won’t like it.” So when Murdock, smoking his pipe on the little porch, asked, “Where have you two been?” Anne told him. “We went to see Teddy,” she answered. “I’ve broken my engagement, Father.” “I’m not surprised,” Murdock answered evenly. “Girls nowadays don’t think anything of breaking their promises. Off with the old love, on with the new— that’s their game. You'll be sorry for this, Anne. O’Hara’s a good boy and deserves better treatment than what you gave him. He’s a worker; he’ll be a success. You'll travel a long road be- fore you’ll meet one like him again.” H.. wife spoke up, as usual, in her child’s defense. “Anne did right,” she declared. “I’d rather see her turn at the very altar and run away than talk herself into a marriage she’d regret.” “Of course you’d take up for the girl,” her husband said resignedly. Anne spoke miserably: “I’m sorry you’re upset about it, Father. But I don’t love him and I couldn’t go through with it.” “I’m not upset,” her father denied, “but it seems to me that you should have found out you didn’t love him before you gave him your word.” Anne’s shoulders moved in a gesture of hopelessness. She went into the house and up to her hot bedroom, leav- ing her parents on the porch. Molly sat down by her husband. “Anne’s unhappy,” she said simply. “Don’t make it any harder for her, Dad.” “I won't,” he said. “Only in my day a word given was a word kept. I don’t understand these young folk, Molly.” After a while he rose and went heavily into the house. Molly, lax in a creaking wicker chair, smiled as she heard him mount the stairs. Murdock thrust his head in at Anne’s door. He asked gruffly: “You all right?” “Yes,” Anne answered, and added, “Come in, won’t you?” She was lying on her bed, fully dressed. Murdock went in and sat down beside her and put his hand awkwardly on her hair. He was an undemonstrative man and Anne knew what embarrass- ment the gesture cost him. “Sorry I rode you,” he said. “Don’t worry. Young bones heal quickly, Annie.” He hadn’t called her “Annie” since she was a small child. Now it slipped out unawares, and she loved it. She put her cheek against his shoulder. “It’s all right, Dad,” she said. “I made a bad mistake, that’s all. And I hate to realize I haven’t been on the square.” “You'll come out O.K.,” he assured her. When he left she undressed and went to bed. She wondered momentarily what had passed between Polly and Ted after her departure. She found herself envy- ing the other girl’s lack of emotional reticence. She had turned under Anne’s eyes from an unintelligent, essentially soft and clinging, unimportant person into a virago, a shrew, a passionate wom- an battling desperately for—for whom? For a man who did not love her. But he would come to love her, Anne thought, in a flash of prophecy. She never would give him dreams—and her Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 own dreams would be centered not upon Ted, once she possessed him, but upon Ted’s children. But after all, a man would forget he ever had wanted dreams. “He will forget me,” thought Anne, with gratitude and relief, and an illog- ical, feminine sting of wounded vanity. Well, that was over. That way of escape was closed to her. Why, she won- dered, had she ever sought it? She faced the answer that she had engaged herself to Teddy in pique—out of hurt pride. She thought of Lawrence Eaton and she knew that she would not cease to love him until her young blood ran coel and her senses starved or were blunted. And she faced that, too, without regret. To have loved wonderfully was worth all heartache. And now that she had bat- tled through conflicting emotion to a sense of surety, if not peace, she could adjust her life. She would find work; she would make friends; she would be, if not happy, then not unhappy. Somewhere in the world he was alive; somewhere he visioned and achieved and had his being. With that she had to be, if not content, at least reconciled. She fell asleep dreaming that she saw him again, that he held her in his arms, that there were no more barriers, that only love remained. The days grew unbearably hot. Jim, who had settled his family in a Long Island cottage, announced that his mother and Anne must go to Sara’s and get some sea air and sound sleep. Jim had been told of the broken engagement. He made no comment except, slangily, “Well, use your own judgment, kid,” but his eyes, resting on Anne, were more satisfied, less anxious. Anne and her mother went out to Sara’s by car one Saturday afternoon, Jim and Murdock driving them and re- turning Sunday. The cottage was a small one on the ocean. Anne ate and slept, grew tanned and rosy; the lines went from her face and the nervousness from her hands; it seemed to her that she was caught up in an interlude of peace set to the music of the sea. She would watch it for hours: the broken unity of the waves, the struggle each incoming breaker made to complete the full circle, and the final foaming frustration. Life was like that, she thought: buoy- ant, rushing, striving, always beaten, always rising again, always repeating the endeavor, always falling short—but in beauty—of the full circle, the absolute perfection. Betty Howard wrote her from New York. “Ted tells us that your engagement is broken. I’m sorry, Anne; I thought you two youngsters would be happy. But you know best. You’re wise to find out in time.” She went on with news of herself and the boy, and concluded, “The office is rather at a standstill since the chief went away.” So he’d gone. It came to Anne as an absolute shock that she did not know Lawrence Eaton had left the city, per- haps the country—she who once had known all his plans. He had not gone far. He was staying at his club. But he found that his work went badly, that nothing was right. So he did something he hadn’t done in years: he took a vacation and went up to Westchester and played golf, and im- agined that he was feeling better. Sanders came up once to see him, and in the course of their business conversa- tion told him idly: “The engagement be- tween Anne Murdock and O’Hara is off. No reason given, of course. Just—off.” Trying to control his joy, Eaton askeq casually: “Is she still with Barrows?” “No. I heard she’d left some time ago.” Then, thought Eaton, if she’d given up the other job, now that Linda's divorce had gone through and the whole stupid affair with the press had blown over, perhaps she’d come back. It seemed to him that he wanted her back in his office, working beside him on any terms, so long as he had her with him again. Linda came back to town and wrote him. “Would you meet me somewhere, quite quietly?” she asked. “I want to talk to you, Larry.” ts So he met her for luncheon one day. They talked of Europe, of people. The over her iced tea, Linda stated: Be “Dick and I are going to be married in the autumn. I’m sailing again; we marry in England and live there iz definitely. I wanted you to know.” ~ He said, aching with poignant, inescap-— able regret: “Thank you, Linda. I want you to be happy.” = “I shall be. And you?” “Oh, I don’t matter.” “Yes, you do.” Abruptly she him, “Is Anne Murdock still with “No. She’s engaged. That is, was engaged,” he answered carefully, — “Engaged?” “To be married. But it’s been broke “Anne?” Linda’s brown eyes wide. “Had she left the office?” Eaton explained the situation to the newspaper gossip, Anne’s resigng his learning of her engagement, his m recent news. Linda listened, exclaimed indigna and then said thoughtfully, “Poor f Eaton didn’t answer. There was not ing to say. Linda, leaning forward, her trans ent hat tilted over her lovely, kind $ said: “Larry, I must talk to you—for the last time.” A little silence fell, and she went on: “It is Anne, isn’t it?” — “Yes. But when I knew it was too late,” he answered, low. S| “You are very blind,” she told him “She’s been in love with you all : Can’t you see it? This engagement—~ camouflage, an issue of unhappiness. Now it’s dissolved. She was | in time. Larry, I don’t advise; I dont even comment. But don’t make the gravest mistake of your life. Don’t.” After a moment he promised, and his gray eyes were shining. “I won't.” Later, they shook hands and parted. Eaton stayed in town. He went di- rectly to Anne’s flat and found it closed. After a time he dug out an address book and found the street and num- ber of Anne’s home. He drove out there through the dusty town. | ee had fallen when he arrived. Murdock was home. puttering around the yard in his shirt sleeves; and Kathleen was there, t00, having arrived unannounced as the road show had closed in the Middle West. Eaton went up on the porch, Murdock. a rake in his hand, following. He intro- duced himself and explained his errand. “Anne’s in the country,” said her father, and asked bluntly, “What do you want of her?” Kathleen, who had been presented in a rather informal fashion, listened. watching Eaton’s face. “I thought I might persuade her return to us,” Eaton answered. “I un derstand that she and Mr. O’Hara—— “That’s her business,” Murdock said, with disarming rudeness. Eaton looked at Murdock’s hostile face wa 08. St | OO. meee

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wanted her ide him on 1 her with and wrote somewhere, I want to ad fallen vas home, his shirt there, 00, s the road e West. , Murdock. He intro- iis errand. said her 1at do you Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 In This Soap .. the Secret Keep your skin lovely and smooth — the skin he loves to touch — by keeping the pores fine! Bc PORES, coarse texture—they are almost never seen in a very young skin. Definitely, unmistakably, merciless- ly, they say of a woman—“middle age!” Keep the pores of your skin small and fine! Small, clean, active pores mean lovely skin texture—freedom from black- heads and blemishes. Even if your pores are becoming en- larged—you can overcome this condition. Every day your skin is changing; old skin dies and new skin takes its place. This is your opportunity! With the right care you can arrest this coarsening process and make the new skin, as it forms, smooth—clear—fine-textured. A skin specialist has created the soap that will help you to do this—Woodbury’s Facial Soap, which was formulated after a lifetime of study of the skin and its THERE ARE THREE PLACES where your face pores are apt to be most conspicuous—on the forehead, nose and chin. Use Woodbury’s | Facial Soap to keep the ® pores small, clean, and ‘ active—the only way to ® = havelovelyskintexture. needs. Woodbury’s gives you lovely skin texture because it actually shrinks the pores. The first time you use Woodbury’s you will feel its astringent action on your skin. You will feel how much finer and smoother it is than ordinary soaps— how much more deeply it cleanses. Begin using Woodbury’s today! See how it shrinks the pores—makes your skin finer, lovelier in texture! Around each cake you will find the booklet of Wood- that keeps Face Po res Unseen You can feel it shrinking the pores - - Cleansing deeply: - the very first time you use it! bury treatments, which have helped liter- ally millions of women to free their skin from blackheads, blemishes, and other common skin troubles. To meet a skin specialist’s exacting requirements for a facial soap, Woodbury’s is very finely milled. This also makes it last much longer than soaps for general toilet use. : Get Woodbury’s to- day and let it help you, too, to have “A Skin You Love to Touch”! Woopsury’s ts 25 cents a cake at any drug-store or toilet-goods counter. It also comes in conve- 24 onient 3-cake boxes. Send for the large-size trial set The Andrew Jergens Co., 1605 Alfred St., Cincinnati, O. For the enclosed 1ro¢—send me large-size trial cake of Woodbury’s Facial Soap, Facial Cream and Powder, Cold Cream, treatment booklet, “4 Skin You Love to Touch,” and instructions for the new complete Woodbury “Facial.” Name Street — nina State City — ———— © 1930, The A. J. Co.

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98 at Kathleen’s lovely eyes and her lips curved to a smile. He urged: “If I could have her address?” “Of course you can!” Kathleen cried. Murdock said doggedly: “If she wants to go back to work in the fall she can come to see you later.” Eaton thought, “What’s the use of all this talk and animosity? I can’t blame him. She’s his child.” He turned a direct gaze to Murdock. “I’d better be frank,” he said. “It con- cerns you as much as it does me. I love Anne, Mr. Murdock. I wish to find her in order to ask her to marry me.” Stilted the little speech sounded, but the sense was clear enough. Kathleen’s breath escaped her in a gasp of happi- ness, but Murdock’s face was clouded. “She’s not in your class,” he said brusquely. “Come,” answered Eaton, “you don’t think that. Not really. You believe, do you not, that she’s good enough for any. man, and too good for all of them?” | smiled re- luctantly. “I do,” he said, and after a moment held out his hand. “If she loves you,” he told Eaton, “that’s all that mat- ters. I don’t approve of mixing the classes, but it happens every day, and I guess it works out. Her mother may be difficult. You are a divorced man, Mr. Eaton, and Molly has her notions on the subject. The children—they have their own ways of looking at things. I wished them to.” Eaton took the other man’s hand and held it in a firm clasp. “T’ll be good to her,” he told Anne’s father, in the simplest language of all, the language of the inarticulate heart. He turned to Kathleen. Murdock, with a nod, went back to weeding his little yard. Kathleen said, still breathless: “I’m so glad.” “Are you? And shall I be?” he asked. “I hope so,” Kathleen told him, but betrayed no confidence. “Her engagement——” began Eaton. “You didn’t understand that?” Kath- leen questioned. “But you will.” And that was all. He arranged to call for her the following morning and take her to Sara’s with him. “My ambassa- dor,” he told her, smiling. He went back to town, to his club. And left, after a practically sleepless night, early in the morning to pick up Kathleen and drive her down. He lis- tened to her chatter, thinking that every mile brought him nearer, nearer . . They parked the car back of the cot- tage, and Kathleen said mysteriously: “Wait here, and if I wave from the porch, go around to the beach. She spends her time there, she wrote me.” He waited by the car, lighting a cigaret and instantly throwing it away. Wind and water and the grass stirring—blue sky and a blue sea. He heard the door bang, heard voices, saw Kathleen wave. Eaton walked around the house, down the few rickety wooden steps to the sand. Anne was lying curled up in the sand by a small dune. No one else was in sight save, not very far off, two little boys who dug busily, building their castles. “Anne!” She looked up and somehow got to her feet. She wore a plain dark bathing suit, and her round arms and pretty legs were tanned, and the face she lifted was bronzed and rosy. The bright coolie coat she had slipped on over her suit was startlingly becoming. “T’ve come for you,” he told her, as still she did not, could not speak. “For me?” Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 She was pale under the tan, now, and her eyes were blazing. He stretched out his arms in a gesture of longing. “I can’t get along without you. I love you,” he told her. “You'll have to marry me, Anne.” But she did not quite believe it, even when the arms took her,. held her in their embrace. After a while he asked: “Why did you run away from me?” “Because .I loved you.” “Why did you engage yourself to O’Hara?” “Because I loved you,” she said again. “Then how long have you cared?” he demanded, after the fashion of happy _lovers. “Almost always—ever since I first came into your office. But I didn’t know it altogether. You see,” explained Anne, “I had you all confused with the work. I loved that, too!” “And when did you first separate me from your job?” he wanted to know, drawing her down to sit beside him at the sliding sand feet of the dune. Anne was silent a moment. She knew when the first full realization of bitter love had come to her—that night at Hot Springs. But she wished to erase it from her memory. So she evaded, with gay tenderness: “Oh, how can I tell? Suddenly I just knew, that’s all.” “I, too,” he said, and kissed her again. After a minute he told her: “That night at your flat—I must speak of it, darling—I came to ask you to wait until I was free. I was driven. I had sworn I would wait until Linda got her decree. “I argued that it was best for us both. But when I heard about O’Hara, I had to—ask you if it was true, and if it was not true, to tell you that you were mine and I would never let you go.” Anne stared at him, her eyes dark. “What’s the matter?” he asked. But she shook her head and smiled. Better not to tell him. Better that he never should know that his mistake, the word left unsaid, had caused them both so much misunderstanding and suffer- ing. Better that he never should learn that she had not pledged herself to O’Hara before Eaton had come to her. He was telling her how he had felt when he had learned of her broken en- gagement. He was telling her: “You never loved him, Anne. Say you never loved him!” “No,” she answered, him. Only you, Larry.” After a long interval she remembered to ask him: “How did you find me? How did you come?” He told her. “I brought Kathleen with me,” he added. “And by the way, your father thinks that your mother may di8- approve.” “Not when she realizes how happy I am,” said Anne. In a little while they must go into the house to be exclaimed over and ques- tioned and made much of. But these few moments, the sweetest, the never- to-be-recaptured, were their own. And Eaton planned happily: “We'll be married at once. And we'll go away for a while. Then I must get back to work. We'll find a place some- where—a house. Wouldn’t you like a little house all your own, Anne?” “T’d adore it!” “And a camping spot somewhere in the country—not a great barn for you to bury yourself in,” he said jealously; “but a place we'll escape to—together.” “And I’ll go on being your secretary,” Anne announced. “I never loved “No.” The arm about her tighteneg “No; never again.” “Oh, Larry!” She still said his name breathlessly, it was sO new a name to her lips. “Oh, Larry, why not?” “Because I love you too much. Gir), I have to work and I can’t have you near to distract me.” She nodded after a moment, but she was wounded with a sense of loss. No longer the Office Wife. Just—Wife. was better, of course, more wonderful, complete, perfect. Yet. . He said, frowning: “And getting a new secretary is something I'll have to about when we come home again.” : Anne asked instantly: “Who did vl work after I left? Miss Danton? No she won’t do permanently. Let me see” She thought a moment and then said suddenly, “There’s a girl—Mr. Po secretary—a Miss Conner. slightly. She’s had good training think she’d do splendidly, and I : break her in for you quickly. She's capable and quite attractive.” ee “As if the attractive part mattered!" “Oh, but it does.” Anne smiled at him wisely, and went on: “You could talk to her before—before we go away.” e “T’ll leave it to you,” he said content- edly. There was a silence, warm and sunny and golden. The ocean beat creaming on the wet broad sands, a stone’s-throw away. A gull flew scream- ing over the broken blue of the water. Happiness held them and desire and the radiant promise of fulfillment. wind sang softly in the leaning There were voices from the house, someone called. Soon they must go i ‘What fun we'll have!” he pro her softly. “What comrades we'll be!” His voice deepened. “What lovers!” Her heart shook with an intolerable rapture and the color rose into her throat and face. She tightened her hand in his*and looked at him sweetly, gravely. “Of what are you thinking, little Anne?” jf “Of you; always of you!” But she was thinking, briefly, of the suddenly important Conner girl, the girl Anne would train to be the perfect office wife; and she was wondering if ever she would be jealous, if ever she would be afraid. She knew, you see, how much @ man came to lean on the woman who shared his office hours. She knew. And she herself would be at home, waiting. , oom tilted her chin in challenge and defiance. No, she was not afraid. She knew that side of him, too. Nothing was sealed to her. No one could usurp her place. She leaned forward and kissed him. “We must go in and tell them our plans.” A caption danced before her mental vision, as on a silver screen: “Employer Marries Secretary.” Well, she knew how to keep her own. He rose and lifted her to her sandaled feet. “Dearest!” Very boyish he was, very young and gay-hearted in his unsearching hap- piness. Raising her lips to his, she felt how much older she was, how much wiser—with the wisdom of women. And not afraid. Never afraid any more. . “I love you,” she told him, and there was promise and passion and the gravity of unending vigilance in her voice. They walked slowly. back to the house —the blue sky overhead, the blue ocean like a pulse-beat in their ears, the sun- light full on their faces, warming the dark, enchanted troubling of their flesh. and blood like golden wine. THE END

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h, 930 tightened, his name ni me Ich. Girl, © you near t, but she loss. No Vife. wonderful, jing a new e to worry rain.” ) did your ton? No, t me see.” then said e. Power's knew her - — eS d I could ly. She's nattered!” led at him ld talk to y ” 1 content-_ and sunny sat there, sands, @ Ww scream- the water, lesire and ent. The ig grasses. 1ouse, and ust go in. promised we'll be!” overs!” intolerable into her i her hand 'Y, gravely. ing, little ver chin in 1e was not ' him, too. one could issed him. our plans.” sr mental “Employer » her own. r sandaled he gravity voice. the house glue ocean , the sun- rming the their flesh: Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, .1930 99 ™\ hI ‘a BEAUTY I me i \j | \ 3.1 £74 * 13S mee Ba naw Corp ca EAM ARE MRS. CORNELIUS VANDERBILT JR. - PONDS THE DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH * LADY VIOLET ASTOR 4 + MISS HELEN CHOATE Reaneercummenmaniene S88 FOLLOWED BY SOCIAL LEADERS OF THE WORLD - MRS. JOHN DAVIS LODGE LADY LOUIS MOUNTBATTEN * LA MARQUISE DE POLIGNAC + MRS. GIFFORD PINCHOT Il + THE COUNTESS HOWE - LA DUCHESSE DE VENDOME MRS. ADRIAN ISELIN If « LADY BUCHANAN-JARDINE + MRS. ALLAN A. RYAN, JR. » LA DUQUESA DE ALBA + THE MARCHIONESS OF QUEENSBERRY Follow the famous Method preferred by social leaders for the exquisite care of the skin. First, for immaculate cleansing apply Pond’s Cold Cream lav- ishly over face and neck. Pat mwith upward, outward strokes, waiting to let the fine oils sink into the pores. Wipe away all cream and _ dirt with Pond’s Cleansing Tissues, safe, ample, absorbent, and so economical. Note the charming new box that brings them ready folded for your use. Just insert your fingers in the slit and draw them out, two at a time. 3 Now ‘soak a sizable pad of cotton with Pond’s Skin Freshener. Briskly dab your face and neck all over till the skin glows. This wonderful new tonic and mild astringent banishes lingering oiliness, tones and firms your skin, closes and refines the pores. Faithful use is magic to brighten faded or sallow skin. 4 Now for the perfect finishing touch—Pond’s Vanishing Cream! A marvelous powder base, by day it protects from sun and wind; in the evening it keeps your beauty fresh and un- ruffled for hours. Follow Pond’s swift, sure Method several times each day, and always after exposure. At bedtime cleanse with Cold Cream and remove with Tissues. Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt Jr. says: “with just these marvelous Two Creams and the exquisite Tissues and invigorating Tonic, one can keep one’s skin young and lovely!” Send 10¢ for Pond's 4 Products Pond’s Extract Company, Dept. C 112 Hudson Street . New York City Name. Street ee City State © 1930. Pc d's Extract Company

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100 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Sometime a Bridegroom at That continuea srom page 76) the great house had been empty and deserted, without warmth or light. Now at a word from its master it was warm and living, with everything in its place. “There’s not much money can’t do,” added Tommy. That millions might actually serve to speed Judy toward prison he had yet to discover. Presently, ready for bed, he raised the curtains. The night was wind- less and the velvet of the sky was thick- ly powdered with silver dust. “I suspect there will be at least nine holes of golf with the chief in the morn- ing,” Tommy decided. “And then home for Christmas.” _To the little Massachusetts city in which he had been born. He was look- ing forward to that. Sears was liberal with those who worked for him. It had been Tommy’s pleasure this year to plunge lavishly on presents for the gov- ernor, his mother and his younger sister Jane. Tommy suspected that their eyes would open a bit. And he was young and human enough to look forward to that moment. rr his last waking thought was of Judy. Spoiled and selfish, mocking and—a bit mad- dening. But he analyzed that to his own satisfaction. “She ought to be spanked,” was the way he settled it. The day at least dawned bright with promise. Tommy was up early, for the chief was an early riser. After break- fast they had their conference. They were still discussing details when a car whirred by outside. Judy’s car, driven by Judy. “She came down last night—rather a surprise,” explained Sears. And a pleasant surprise for the chief, Tommy realized. The next moment they were back at business again, while Judy went on to the village. She had slept badly. Again she wished she was back in New York. But she was going to stick it out over Christmas. Her father had been so pleased to discover her there. “And I suppose I owe him something,” she admitted. “Although I'll probably yawn myself to death.” In this she was wrong. She was to have excitement enough. But intima- tion of that came to her father—and Tommy—before it did to her. “See what you can do about that mud guard,” she directed Joe, the local garage man, as she jammed on the brakes before his place of business. Joe stared at the mud guard in the funniest way. She couldn’t understand that. It was badly crumpled, but what of it? “How did it happen?” asked Joe. Judy told him. “I was. driving through Baysport just after eleven last night when——” Joe said hurriedly, “Excuse me a min- ute. I want to telephone.” In his office he hesitated. Then: “I guess I better tip off her old man first, anyhow,” he decided. And so a call went through to Judy’s father. The latter was still with Tommy but they had finished with business. “If you’ve got time for a few holes of golf——” he had just begun when the phone rang. He turned to it. Tommy quickened as he saw the change in the chief’s expres- sion. “You see,” Joe was explaining, “there was an old woman killed in Baysport last night just after eleven. Well, the police have been notifying all the garages to report on cars with right mud guards that have had grief. They have a hunch that the car must have been marked. Well, your daughter just drove in with a bum guard and she says she was in Baysport last night at the time and got dented there. I don’t know what to do about it.” “You'll have to report it, of course,” Sears told him. “Please ask Judy to come to the phone.” While he waited for Judy the chief gave Tommy a disturbed account of what had happened. He broke off in the midst of this to speak to the mystified Judy. “Something has come up. I want to see you at once,” he said. Evidently there was to be no golf this morning, after all. Sears immediately put through a call to New York to his personal counsel. The latter promised to come to Southampton at once. Then Judy arrived. After a moment of utter astonishment she gave her father the same explanation about the mud guard that she had given Tommy and was to give the police. The officers arrived at ten-thirty. The sight of them shook Judy a bit, for all that she tried to remain nonchalant. She did very well until she discovered that she was actually to be arrested. Then she became vocal. It did no good. Tommy himself felt she would be cleared eventually. As he saw it at that stage, she would be put to some inconvenience and the chief’s Christmas would be shadowed. He was mighty sorry about that. But one could expect Judy to mess things up. It was not until the chief turned to him that Tommy became really con- cerned. “I wouldn’t have had this hap- pen for a million dollars,” Sears said. The chief was not the sort to make such a statement lightly. And he looked both harassed and uncertain. They were alone at the moment. Judy had gone to her room to get ready to accompany the officers; the latter had courteously stepped outside. “T can’t understand it,” the chief went on. “I’ve never known Judy to lie. Of course she drives recklessly and it was late at night. If she had had a drink or two—why——” He did not finish the thought. But Tommy did. There was the possibility that Judy might have hit old Annie Melehanty and not have known it. This, however, he immediately dis- missed. It was hardly possible. The chief had resumed. “Stanton seemed worried,” he remarked grimly. He referred, Tommy knew, to his lawyer. “In fact, he wouldn’t come down if he didn’t think it extremely serious,” Sears went on. “I suppose he’s afraid the newspapers will make a case of it. And of course there is a lot of feeling against speeding cars these days.” Tommy remained silent, his own per- turbation deepening. After all, Judy’s admissions were damning. The chief’s eyes came back to him. “TI hate to spoil your plans for Christmas, Tommy,” he said abruptly, “but I wish you’d stand by. Stanton will look after the legal ends but there are others. I don’t know what you can do but I don’t know anybody I’d have more faith in.” Tommy was touched. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he promised, although he had not the slightest idea what he could do. He was not unduly modest but he had never considered himself a second Sher- lock Holmes. Or even a twenty-second one. Nevertheless, he must make some- move. “Suppose I go to Baysport and look over the ground there?” he sug- gested. The chief approved as Judy reap- peared. She had changed to a simple, almost severe blue ensemble, which none the less shrieked Paris in every line. “T’ve heard this is the sort of costume to wear in court,” she announced filip- pantly. “The rule is to sit with eyes modestly downcast and the skirt an inch above the knees, isn’t it?” Of course she would talk that way. But she was scared none the less. The way she produced an enameled toy and elaborately powdered her nose proved it. An oddly defiant gesture, that. “Well, let’s go!” she suggested when she had finished. The chief went with her. Tommy started for Baysport, with just cne thing to begin with—his hunch that Judy was telling the truth. “Of course I probably can find a tree with the bark skinned off,” he reflected as he drove. “The trouble is that I prob- ably can find twenty trees so afflicted. It wouldn’t prove anything—not with some young prosecuting attorney calling upon a jury to do its duty and wam flaming youth that the highways are not race tracks.” The quickest way to get into court these days was to own a car, he decided. “A man—or at least a woman—can commit murder and stand a good chance of getting away with it,” his thought ran on. “Gangsters shoot one another, and nothing seems to happen. But park your car on the wrong spot or step on the gas and you'll land in court sure as shooting. The police force of the nation have become traffic officers.” With one eye out for said traffic of- ficers he arrived at the scene of the tragedy at noon. Morbid interest had attracted a crowd; among these moved a pair of newspaper photographers. It struck him then that other camera- men were probably pursuing Judy and the chief at Southampton. That was to be expected. This was the sort of stuff that made headlines. ‘De was little to be photographed here. Just a stretch of road. The spectators seemed mostly na- tives of Baysport—nature’s noblemen. “I’m not saying. anything about the dead,” one of these announced to his companion, “but if old Annie hadn't been bumped off she’d have gone after whoever hit her with a shotgun. She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman you'd feel like meeting in the dark—not if you’d crossed her earlier in the day.” Tommy deliberately eavesdropped. He had, up to then, envisaged Annie Mele- hanty as an aged woman whom the newspapers would portray as a helpless and innocent martyr to a _ recklessly driven car. This might help a bit. But what he next heard gave him small reassurance. “Well, there’s no denying that,” admit- ted the second of nature’s noblemen. “But just the same something ought to be-done about the way these rich people drive their cars. They don’t think anybody has any rights at all.” He removed his pipe and spat vindictively. “They say she was going sixty,” he resumed. “Td like to be on the jury that tries het. She couldn’t pull any of those baby- eyed tricks on me. I’d give her the Why, them rich flappers that live down below must have killed as many 4%

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h, 1930 ake some sport and ” he sug- udy reap- a simple, mhich none y line. of costume inced flip- with eyes rt an inch that way. less. The ‘d toy and proved it. sted when one thing | Judy was ind a tree e reflected 1at I prob- oO afflicted. —not with ley calling and warn Ss are not into court 1e decided. yman—can bod chance s thought e another, But park or step on irt sure as the nation traffic of- ne of the terest had ese moved iphers. 2r camera- Judy and hat was to rt of stuff little to be stretch of mostly na- blemen. Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 101 | He saved a life--- and prevented a revolution Famous specialist calls yeast “‘best intestinal purifier known + +” N ASSASSIN’S BULLET ...a great Balkan political leader at the point of death... Telephone, airplane—and thenoted Dr. Singer of Vienna was at the wounded statesman’s bedside . . . He recovered! The gathering clouds of revolution cleared. All Europe breathed more easily, applauded. Such astonishing feats of medical skill have marked the career of Dr. Gustav Singer, famous Austrian in- ternal specialist. Dr. Singer says: “The best way to suppress intes- tinal poisons is a good yeast. It causes constipation to disappear. Another remarkable effect is the dis- appearance of skin eruptions, which result from intestinal putrefaction. “The vitamin D in yeast helps keep bones and teeth strong.” Every cake of Fleischmann’s Yeast is rich in the ‘wo indispensable vita- mins—vitamin B and the “sunshine” vitamin D so important for building up health after the confining months. Eat 3 cakes daily, following directions on the label. At grocers, restaurants and soda fountains. © 1930, Standard Brands, Inc. (ee What 3 noted doctors say Another famous internal specialist, Dr. Martin MENDELSOHN of the University of Berlin, says, ‘“‘ Yeast tones up the whole system.” The distinguished French stomach spe- cialist, Dr. Georces Faroy, states, “Yeast encourages digestion and overcomes con- stipation.” Dr. Epvarp Exters of Copenhagen, in- ternational authority on skin diseases, says, “I invariably prescribe yeast. Its effect is incontestable.” (Right) Mr. C. B. Wenner, of Boston, writes: ‘After an illness, I still didn’t feel right. My doctor said I hadn’t got all the poison out of my system, and ordered yeast. It did everything he said it would.’’ (Left) ‘‘ How miserable I was!’’ writes Mrs. P. J. Ritey of Cleveland. ‘‘1 had indigestion and constipation and felt only half alive... After eating Fleischmann’s Yeast my troubles cleared up completely.’’

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Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 193y Office Headache P Here’s the Simple Remedy: ON’T drag yourself through a long, hard morning in the fond hope that lunch—and coffee— will mend a throbbing head and a half-sick system! Keep a bottle of Sal Hepatica handy around your office as well as in your home. Into a glass of cool water, pour a spoonful. (Measure with the bottle cap if more convenient.) Drink the mixture! This sparkling combination clears your system quickly and its action, although gentle, is thorough. With its regular help, many women keep their complexions smooth and blemish-free. Men like it for it ends dull mornings and listless spirits. It defeats an “‘office” headache by getting at the source of the trouble! Sal Hepatica At your druggist’s Gell 30¢, 60¢ and $1.20 Constipation . . . headaches . . . colds . .. rheumatism and many other com- mon digestive disorders submit to Sal Hepatica’s efficient results. It neutralizes acidity, it cleanses the blood, it rids the’ intestinal tract of toxic wastes! Physicians, hereandabroad, point out the marked advantages of this saline method. In Europe the great spas are regularly visited by wealthy men and women... who “take the cure” by drinking the waters. Sal Hepatica con- tains the same salines and is the familiar American equivalent of these Continental health springs! Ask your physician about the saline method. Ask him about Sal Hepatica. Buy a bottle for your office as well as your home... Any time you feel not quite up to your normal level, put a spoonful in a glass of water and drink to your prompt recovery! BrISTOL-MYERS Co. Dept. E-30, 71 West St., New York Kindly send me the Free Booklet that explains the many benefits of Sal Hepatica. Name. Address. City. — | twenty of my hens tearing through here” Tommy grimaced. “Stanton had bet. ter be sure there are no poultry o on the jury,” he assured himself. “e He glanced at his watch. Twelve fifteen. There was apparently no’ . more to be developed here. He d to drive on into Baysport. 3 At this season the village would nor- mally have been as somnolent as a lazy old dog basking in the mild Decemiae sun. But this morning there was . in the air, intensified by the arrival oj the first New York extras. : Tommy bought one, glanced at the headlines: : MILLIONAIRE’S DAUGHTER DEATH-CAR SUSPECT It was then but twelvé-thirty. And Judy had been arrested at ten-thirty, “Quick work!” thought Tommy. 3 There were, however, minor dis- crepancies in the account he read. If statement that Judy had been a previously for speeding he did not d nor that she was one of the prettiest most popular debs of the season. he knew that she had not “collapsed when arrested.” Nor was he ready fo accept the implication that the car tha had killed Annie Melehanty had discovered unquestionably. He was interested also to note that deceased was referred to as “an and respected resident of Baysport, much beloved by her neighbors.” Not that it made much difference. The law is 9 strange and curious thing. It may pur sue a notorious criminal so long as he lives, striving to put him behind the bar or even put him legally to death. But let him die violently and the sanctity of human life enters in. The law that har- ried him stands ready to avenge him. And whatever old Annie might have been she was violently dead. The final paragraph in the account proved helpful, however. It read: The body was removed to the local undertaking establishment. To the local undertaking establish- ment he drove. The proprietor greeted him with professional decorum. Tommy at once decided to trust to his discretion “Confidentially, I’m here as the rep- resentative of Samuel Sears,” he said. “I’m looking the ground over; preparing a general report.” The effect of that golden name was not lost upon the undertaker. “What can I do for you?” he asked helpfully. “Would you care to view the remains? Of course I have no au- thority, but as the representative of Mr. Sears I will stretch a point for you.” But Tommy had no desire to view the remains. “You might tell me all you know about the accident,” he suggested. The other was only too willing. He even described how he had been awak- ened at midnight and all his activities since. “A man of my calling must hold himself ready for any emergency. There is so much to do, especially in a police case. The. garments—would you care to see the garments, by the way?” Tommy assented. The garments had been carefully laid out. A sou’wester, a slicker and rubber boots. A black skirt; a flannel blouse. “Old Annie was a character,” eX- plained the undertaker. “This was her usual costume at this time of year. She—— Excuse me; the telephone.” He departed to answer it, leaving Tommy alone. And in spite of him- self Tommy felt some awe. ., The room faced north and the win- dows were so curtained as to main a decorous semi-murk. And even the

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arrival oj ully laid d rubber blouse. er,” €&- was her of year. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Something to it There’s something to a dentifrice that wins leadership in 4 years. LISTERINE TOOTH PASTE, 25f. In nasty weather WATCH YOUR THROAT HY not make an effort to escape colds and sore throat during the months of February and March when these troubles seem to strike everyone? Simply try gargling every day with undi- luted Listerine, the safe antiseptic. Many thousands report the efficacy of this treat- . Ment. Ordinary colds and sore throat are infec- tions caused by germs multiplying in the mouth and throat. When the body is weak- ened by wet feet, sudden changes of temper- ature, over-heating, over-exertion, and chills, these germs get the upper hand. By gargling with Listerine you help nature combat them. For full strength Listerine is fatal to germs. Laboratory tests show that full strength Listerine destroys even the stubborn Staphylococcus Aureus Gargle full strength Lis- terine every day. It in- hibits development of sore throat, and checks it, should it develop. dition. (pus) and Bacillus Typhosus (typhoid) in counts ranging to 200,000,000 in 15 seconds. Yet Listerine is absolutely safe to use this way. In addition, it soothes and heals the most delicate tissues. We are prepared to prove these claims to the entire satisfaction of the U. S. Government and the med- ical profession. Keep a bottle of Listerine handy in home and office and use it every day as an aid in preventing infections of the mouth, nose and throat. Increase the frequency of the gargle, should any such infection gain a foothold. You will be delighted to find how often it relieves a trying con- If it does not, consult your physician. Lambert Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo., U.S.A. LIS TERIN E ™.« Safe Antiseptic Kills 200,000,000 germs in 15 seconds

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104 nondescript articles of attire old Annie had worn were invested with a certain dignity. The panoply of death. Tommy combated the prevailing gloom characteristically. He reached for a cigaret, flipped a match alight. Then checked himself. For two reasons. One was a sense of disrespect to the dead. Even to old Annie dead. The other was quite different. From the rusty old skirt had come an answering glint of flame. He stared at it and then bent forward. A second later his fingers discovered a needlelike sliver of glass caught in the stuff. At that something quickened in him. It was possible that old Annie might have had the sliver of glass in her skirt for days. At the same time another pos- sibility suggested itself. He was consider- ing this when the undertaker returned. “Oh, my dear sir!” the latter pro- tested. “I should have warned you not to touch anything.” “Sorry,” apologized Tommy. “I was interested—and had no idea that I shouldn’t.” -He added, “Have the police looked over these?” “Of course. Early this morning.” “Did they find anything?” “But what could they find, my dear sir?” protested the undertaker. “The case was not one of murder. The cause of death was obvious.” “Of course,” acquiesced Tommy. “By the way, where did Mrs.—or was it Miss?—Melehanty live?” “Funny, but although she had lived here for ten years I’m not sure whether it was Miss or Mrs. myself,” answered the undertaker. “She was an odd one. Con- fidentially, I have reason to believe that she did some rum running.” “Rum running?” echoed ‘Tommy. “De mortuis nil nisi bonum—I was valedictorian of my class and the old Latin comes back, sir. Yet the fact re- mains that many things have happened since old—since the deceased came to Baysport that reflected no credit on the community. Trucks came and went in the middle of the night——” “I think I’ll go over and look at her house,” interrupted Tommy. “You can’t miss it,” the undertaker assured him and added directions. “Thanks ever so much,” acknowledged Tommy. ges house lay beyond Baysport, set down in a bit of woodland that ran back to the shore. It was gaunt and in need of paint. A state trooper was on guard, stationed there to keep the morbid at bay. “Newspaper man?” he Tommy approached him. Tommy grinned. “No. I’m after fact, not fiction,” he said, and added: “Ser- geant’s stripes would look well on that uniform of yours.” The trooper gave him a challenging glance. “Say, what are you driving at?” “You answer a few questions for me —and I’ll answer that.” The trooper considered. “What’s the first question?” he asked. “You’ve searched the place. What did you find?” “Six revolvers, four blackjacks, thirty- five cases of hooch and two men, each sleeping a jag off. You'll find all that in the afternoon papers, anyway.” “And no reference, of course, to an earlier statement that the deceased was a respected and beloved resident of Baysport,” commented Tommy. “What did you do with the men?” “Jugged them.” “On what charge?” asked Tommy. “Suspicious characters, of course.” asked, as Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930. “Then you don’t connect them with old Annie’s death?” “Say, what are you driving at, any- way? They came to see old Annie but she wasn’t here. They sat around drink- ing awhile and then turned in. They were still sleeping it off when we came.” “How did they get here?” The trooper looked dashed. “Why, darned if I know,” he admitted. “They were cockeyed and pretty vague.” His eyes tried to read Tommy’s. “Say, have you got a line on something?” “There’s always that chance. Can you take a little walk with me? It might prove worth while.” The trooper turned, called to some- body within the house. “Oh, Bill, keep an eye out front here for a few min- utes, will you? I’m going off on a lead.” “Okay, Johnnie,” retorted the invisi- ble Bill. The eye Bill was requested to keep out front for a few minutes presumably re- mained there for many more, however. It was then not quite one-thirty. It was almost three when Tommy and the trooper emerged from the local police station. In the meantime apparently they had got somewhere. For: “It sure is white of you to say I can have all the credit,” the trooper was saying feelingly. “If it hadn’t been for your tip——” “You can use the credit in your busi- ness and I don’t need it in mine,” Tommy reminded him. “Here’s hoping you get your stripes.” “It will help, anyway,” the trooper as- sured him. “And believe me, if there is ever anything I can do for you-——” “There may be at that before long,” Tommy informed him. “I’m on my way to Southampton. If I drive the way you chaps think I should it will take me more than an hour to get there. But if I drive my own way——” “Step on it, and if you get pinched I’ll fix it,’ the trooper assured him. They shook hands and Tommy started back. He had already talked with Southampton over long distance. But not with the chief. “Mr. Sears is out but is expected back any moment,” the butler assured him. “If there is any message——” At that point there was an interrup- tion. “Who is it?” came a breathless voice. Feminine—and Judy’s. “It’s only me,” replied Tommy. “Will you tell your father when he comes in that I’ve cleaned up the case.” “What do you mean?” “Exactly what I say.” “But——” “I’m coming back at once and [’ll re- port to your father when I get there,” interrupted Tommy. “It’s a long story.” And also one that he wanted to tell in his own way and to the chief in person. The western sky was rose-flushed am- ber when he reached the house. Inside, Judy and a disappointment awaited him. The chief had not returned. So Judy told him, adding pointedly, “You made remarkable time!” But what else could she say? Her first emotion, a tremendous wave of re- lief—it had been a scary day for Judy— had been eclipsed gradually by a grow- ing resentment. Why had she ever come in the first place? And why had the police picked on her? And why—oh, why must it be Tommy to whom she must be grateful? “He'll make me feel like nothing if I try to thank him,” she had prophesied. And so, in spite of everything, Judy was still low in her mind. She’d have to phrase polite acknowledgment, she sup- oo “Hi after that he could go to the devil! And then—oh, darn him!—he come in and something undisciplined hag turned a complete somersault in her, He was so darned something or other— and so utterly invulnerable. Logs again blazed in the open fire. place. She turned her eyes toward them, “I can’t imagine what is keeping Father,” she murmured. “Perhaps you have not seen the news- papers,” suggested Tommy. “There was something in them about his younger daughter which may have upset him. It would me if I were in his place.” Judy flushed. He was going to be the same as always! But she roused her- self. “Why should it, when he has such a bright young man to fix everything up?” she shot back. Tommy merely grinned. He had draped himself against the mantel, cool, casual, maddening. He reached for a cigaret and she broke the silence. “I know you are simply dying to tell me all about it. You might as well be- gin,” she said satirically. “Oh, I can contain myself until your father comes,” he retorted. “You see, I am one of those sensitive souls who feel their audience. Lack of appreciation hampers me terribly.” A: THAT Judy’s eyes looked up swiftly. “Why do you always have to be so perfectly horrid to me?” she demanded passionately. “I—I———” There her voice broke; she bit her treacherous lip. She felt that she must have be-~ trayed herself. And if—if he laughed at her—— : But Tommy was instantly contrite. “T don’t mean to be,” he apologized sin- cerely, and so nicely. Too darn nicely, If he spoke that way, in another second she would be weeping. A car had stopped outside, its head- lights visible through the window. From it emerged Judy’s father and Stanton, the lawyer. Neither looked at peace. The interruption saved Tommy from the craziest of impulses. And in another minute the chief and his lawyer were entering the library. “The butler tells me that you phoned everything was all right,” said Sears at once. “You don’t mean that——_” “I mean it’s all right,” said Tommy. “Let’s be seated,” Stanton suggested grimly. “I’ve done more running around today than I’ve done in twenty years.” He glanced quizzically at Tommy and added: “Well, I haven’t been particularly successful in hamstringing justice. What did you do?” Tommy glanced at Sears. “I think perhaps I’d better begin at the start.” He did so but came swiftly to the mo- ment when he had struck the match in the undertaking establishment, and his discovery. There Stanton gave him a swift, keen glance. “But if it came from the head- light of a car, wouldn’t there have been glass in the road as well?” he ob- jected, anticipating Tommy’s theory as to the presence of the sliver of glass in old Annie’s skirt without accepting it. “I thought of that,” answered Tommy. “But there was also the chance that the headlight had only that one fragment smashed.” i “H’mph—rather a slim clue to go on, it seems to me,” remarked Stanton. “And I don’t see that it gets us any- where unless you got the car.” “I did,” Tommy assured him. “And the driver too.” He was human enough to get a kick out of the way they all stared at him. Even Stanton’s mouth opened incredu- lously. Then:

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1, 1930. —he had lined had | in her, r other— pen fire. ard them, keeping he news- ‘here was younger him. It to be the ised her- has such verything He had itel, cool, od for a ce. ig to tell well be- ntil your ou see, I who feel reciation ly’s eyes fer were phoned Sears at Tommy. uggested + around ’ years.” my and ticularly ». What I think start.” the mo- + match nt, and ft, keen e head- ‘e have he ob- \eory as glass in ing it. Tommy. shat the ragment ) go on, Stanton. us any- “And a kick at him. ncredu- Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 “Ordinary soaps can do great harm’ 105 ? says the famous beauty expert CARSTEN of Berlin “Daily cleansing with Palmolive Soap is the basis of all my treat- ments, even the most elaborate.” “Ordinary soaps can do great harm. Modern beauty specialists advise a soap made of vegetable oils...the pure oils of palm and olives. Palmolive Soap is fresh and bland, safe for the most sen- sitive complexion. It leaves the skin in the best possible condi- tion for a beauty expert’s treat- ment.” “a en. BERLIN Today, more than ever before, it is important to wash the face with this olive oil soap which is safe, bland, non- irritating. 'W beauty treatments, such as ultra-violet rays and radio-active preparations, un- doubtedly have their value in certain conditions of the skin, but it must not be imagined that older and simpler methods are superseded,” says Leo Carsten, proprietor of the famous “Figaro” beauty shop on the Kurfiirstendam in Berlin. “Soap and water, for example, are still the finest possible cleansers for the skin,” he adds. “You will realize the importance of this when I Say that daily cleansing with Palmolive Soap is the basis of all my treatments, even the most elaborate.” Herr Carsten, better known as “Figaro,” is head of the leading beauty salon in middle Europe... located on one of the most fashionable streets in the world. He, himself, is well known in Berlin social circles as well as in the world of beauty science. 18,000 famous experts agree In this shop ...in other beauty shops patron- ized by the smart women of the world’s leading ‘ glowing, lovely. PALMOLIVE RADIO HOUR - Broadcast every Wednesday night — from 9:30 to 10:30 p. m., Eastern time; 8:30 to 9:30 p. m., Central time; 7:30 to 8:30 p. m., Mountain time; 6:30 to 7:30 p. m., Pacific Coast time — over WEAF and 39 stations associated with The National Broadcasting Co. Facade of Carsten’s famous beauty salon on the Kurfiirst:ndam in Berlin... one of the most ele- gant shops on anavenue famous for its smartness. capitals... the advice to use Palmolive is part of every recommended home facial treatment. Palmolive is made of the oils of palm and olives...no other fats whatever. Its color is the natural color of these oils. Its natural odor makes unnecessary the addition of heavy perfumes. This is the Palmolive treatment This is the way to get the best results: make a creamy lather of Palmolive Soap and warm water. Massage it into the faceand throat. Rinse with warm water, then with cold. That's all. Yet thousands of great beauty experts, millions of their clients, find it the most effective safe- guard for beauty. And Palmolive costs so little that one uses it for the bath, of course, as well. Begin these twice-a-day treatments tomorrow. They will protect your skin from irritation ... keep it fresh, Retail Price JOC

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106 “Good Lord!” he exploded. “Where— and how? At one o’clock you found a sliver of glass and now, at a little after four——” “Something the undertaker said gave me a lead,” explained Tommy. “He said it was suspected that old Annie was run- ning rum; that trucks came and went in the middle of the night. That re- minded me of something Judy had said.” A little tremor ran through Judy as her name came from his lips; another as his eyes met hers. “What you said about the truck you had passed running without lights,” he explained. “That sounded like a rum truck to me, perhaps one of old Annie’s. And if she’was waiting for it and stepped forward, and the driver was drunk and running without lights——” They all scented the climax. “You found the truck at old Annie’s?” broke in Stanton. “At old Annie’s,” admitted Tommy. “With not only a battered mud guard but a cracked headlight as well. The splinter of: glass fitted perfectly.” Wiens, will you tell me why the police paid no attention to that —and came ’way down here to arrest me?” interrupted Judy indignantly. “Oh, the truck wasn’t as obvious as that. We had to search it out,” ex- plained Tommy. “It was hidden in the woods behind old Annie’s house. I had a hunch it might be. After we located it, it was all clear sailing. The state trooper who was on detail there went into high and did a sweet job.” “And expects all the credit, I sup- pose,” contributed Stanton dryly. “He rates it,’ Tommy assured him. “It was he who pushed the case through and made the arrest.” “You spoke about the driver,” said Sears. “Where did you get him?” “They had him already. He’d been arrested at old Annie’s earlier in the day as a suspicious character.” “One minute. Did you get a confes- sion out of him?” asked Stanton. “He admitted feeling an impact while driving—and then declared it was old Annie’s fault, anyway. She’d ordered him to drive without lights and he hadn’t an idea she was to be there.” Stanton glanced at Sears. “It seems to be cleared up, at that,” he grunted. “Cleared up?” echoed Sears. “How about that bet we made this afternoon?” “Oh, I’m no welsher,” growled Stan- ton. “I’ll pay. But I'll say one thing and that is——” “Didn’t you say it all this afternoon?” suggested Sears. “Something about its being a shame for you to bet on a sure thing and take money from the feeble- minded?” Sears turned to Tommy. “This hard-shelled old pessimist,” he explained, with a nod toward one of the most distinguished of America’s bar- risters, “was somewhat nettled this af- ternoon when after we had failed to get anywhere with anybody I suggested that you were still to be heard from. He told me that I was crazy to pin any hope on that, and when I protested that you al- ways managed to come through some- how, he offered to bet ten to one that you wouldn’t this time.” Sears glanced at Stanton, grinning broadly. Then: “I took him on,” he added. “And now if he’ll step into my office and make out his check I’ll indorse it over to you.” Tommy was taken by surprise. “Oh, that isn’t necessary,” he protested. “In the first place, I ran into a lot of luck.” “As usual!” ‘commented Sears dryly. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 “The luckiest man I ever knew. Just the same——” He stopped, put a firm hand on Tommy’s shoulders. “I know it isn’t necessary—and I’m glad it isn’t,” he added. “But if you stop to think you may realize what a kick I’m getting out of turning that check over to you.” Tommy did. The chief would get a kick out of it. He was that sort. And so Judy found herself left alone. She sat still, staring at the fire... He hadn’t even given her a chance to thank him. He didn’t care if she thanked him or not. Well, why should he care what she did or thought? He was clever. And she was a Silly little fool. Always getting into trouble. Her ears quickened. She heard her father’s voice, then Tommy’s. And after that she heard Tommy go upstairs. To pack, and go away. None of the love stories she had ever read was anything like this. No matter what the girl did or said, the man she wanted always went mad about her at the end. But then, truth was ever stranger than fiction. “He'll go away without even wishing me a Merry Christmas,” her thought ran. “He’s probably forgotten all about me.” But in that at least she was mistaken. Tommy was packing hurriedly. He was, as he should be, content with things in general. Yet there was a nagging con- sciousness of Judy in the background. “Why do you always have to be so per- fectly horrid to me?” she had demanded. That was in his mind. He couldn’t for- get it—or Judy. But he would have in- sisted that it was his conscience rather than his heart that was involved. “T’ll drop in on the way out and wish her a Merry Christmas,” he decided, adding a bit grimly, “And if it ends up by sounding more like a Fourth of July celebration it won’t be my fault.” But Judy was not in the library when he descended, bag in hand. The dis- covery left Tommy feeling curiously cheated. He lingered a moment or two, but time pressed. And so he continued out into the frosty night. The car was where he had left it parked. And—there was Judy. She glanced up at him. Subdued and shy, a shade defiant and yet oddly sweet. “I just wanted to thank you for—for everything,” she murmured. “You didn’t give me a chance to.” Tommy felt absurdly awkward. “Oh, that’s all right. It was hardly your fault.” “But I do get into jams—always. I suppose it is my fault but I can’t seem to help it. I just make people unhappy and——” Tommy was now acutely uncomfort- able. He might be resourceful in meet- ing some situations but here was one that he was handicapped in handling. “Often a best man—but never a bride- groom!” That was his program. Love gummed everything up. And Tommy had his way to make. And the ancient formula—marry the boss’ daugh- ter—was one he never had cared for. Yet out under the December stars strange things were happening. If he didn’t break loose quickly—— “And now I’m detaining you when I know you are in a hurry,” added Judy. She thrust .a slim hand into his and added: “Good-by—good luck, a thou- sand thanks and—M-merry Christmas.” She started to withdraw her hand. But Tommy did not let it go. She glanced up at him and—— “Oh!” breathed Judy—and swiftly shut her eyes tight. He was going to kiss her this time. She knew it. She had been kissed before, but not this way. ‘ Tommy felt it was madness. She was just a kid—and the chief’s daughter, What would the chief say? Even at this moment Tommy wondered about that, yet he couldn’t help it. And so—he kissed her. Judy, apparently, was dynamite in more ways than one. But presently he found voice. “Oh Judy,” he began, and she thrilled to q . passionate need in his voice, “what's happened?” “Just what I wanted to happen,” she informed him. At last she could speak the truth to him. “But your father. What will he say?” “Father?” she echoed, asto : “Why, he’ll be pleased as anything. Hes crazy about you. And I should 3 he’d be glad to get me off his I’m an awful nuisance, you know. was afraid I’d land in jail this e, And he has you to thank that I won 2 “He’s done more than thank me Tommy reminded her. “He’s already me Stanton’s check for a thousand.” — “And isn’t that nice?” commented Judy, with a flash of her old manner “You can buy a ring with it. It’s cuss tomary, you know, and——” She paused, caught her breath for an instant. 1eNn “Oh, you darned idiot!” she breathed “Stop worrying about Father. Do y think anybody in the world can make me give you up—znow? As for Fathe we can settle that this minute.” . “You mean that—I suppose you am right—I ought to go to him at ce,’ agreed Tommy. “If you'll wait here— “I certainly will not wait here,” J assured him. “I’m going right alo too. You don’t look—or sound—to mea if you would make a good job of it.” — And that was true. For once in his lift Tommy was without his usual cool as- surance. He could hardly say so to Judy but there was surely a point of ) involved. The chief had taken him into his household. There was no one whose good opinion he wanted or valued more. Supposing the chief——? “Come!” commanded Judy. “But I think I ought to go in alone,” protested Tommy. “It’s customary.” - “Don’t be mid-Vic!” counseled Judy. “You—why, you would start right off by giving Father an idea you were asking a great favor of him. That’s silly. You’re doing him a favor—and I’m go- ing to be there to remind him of that, if necessary. Not that it will be.” Nee was it! The chief stood by a window, alone. He turned as they entered and looked from Tommy to Judy. Then: “Good Lord!” he murmured. don’t mean to say that——?” “I thought you’d rather have him for Christmas instead of a necktie or a cigar lighter,” explained Judy, misleadingly meek. “So I went out and got him all by myself and——” She paused there. Her father, after a swift glance at Tommy, had stretched out his hand. He didn’t say a word but the grip of his hand said everything. When he did speak it was to ask quiz zically, “And how long has this been g0- ing on under my nose?” Tommy might have stuttered some- thing but Judy gave him no chance. “It all happened in a minute,” she said. “And not under your nos under mine!” She turned to Tommy, lifted her fiushed and lovely face. “Show him what I mean,” she com = manded. And being no more than humat, Tommy obeyed. Evidently he was to be sometime a bridegroom after all. “You

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ch, 1930 . She was | daughter, ven at this about that, ind SO—he mamite ip dice. “O Tilled to q . se, “what's ippen,” she ould speak ll he say?” astoni hing. ould think his hands, know. He this time , I won't nank hn ready given usand.” — Pomment d m f one whose lued more, in alone,” mary.” - sled Judy. ght off by are asking iat’s silly. e him for or a cigar sleadingly yt him all her, after stretched word but thing. ask quiz- been go- ed some- hance. ute,” she nose—but Tommy, ely face. she com- human, was to be 11. Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Your Teeth aren’t Really Cleanr if You Only Polish the Surfaces ECONOMICAL—The 25c tube of Colgate’s contains more toothpaste than any other nationally advertised brand priced at a quarter. 107 How Colgate’s Cleans Crevices Where Tooth Decay May Start Diagram showing tiny space between two teeth. Note how ordinary, sluggish toothpaste (having “high Surface-Ten- sion’’) fails to penetrate deep down where the causes of decay may lurk. This diagram shows how Colgate’s penetrating foam (having ‘‘low Sur- face-Tens ion’’) gets down deep into the spaces between teeth, cleansing them where ordinary brushing cannot reach. Half-clean teeth invite decay. Why not have the extra protection of Colgate’s, whose penetrating foam enters and cleanses the tiny pits and fissures where decay may start? Some toothpastes merely perform the single duty of polishing the outer surfaces of the teeth. Colgate’s does that, of course . . . and some- thing else besides! When brushed, it breaks into a sparkling, bubbling foam which has a truly remarkable property. This active foam penetrates into the tiny pits and fis- sures of the teeth and gums, softening the impurities which become lodged in these hard-to-reach places and washing them away in a surging, antiseptic bath. Thus Colgate’s cleans ... giving your teeth double protection against the impurities which cause decay. Scientific tests prove that Colgate’s has the highest penetrating power of any of the leading dentifrices . .. hence, Colgate’s ability to clean teeth best. Superiority and economy have made Colgate’s Ribbon Dental Cream the world’s favorite dentifrice—used by more people, recommended by more dentists. WARNING! Don’t attempt to ‘doctor’ your mouth with a dentifrice. A toothpaste cannot possibly cure pyorrhea, correct acid mouth, firm the gums. Its one and only function is to c/eax. Self-medication is always dangerous . . . if you have any fears for the health of your teeth or gums, see your dentist at once! For those who prefer a powder, Colgate’s comes in this form. Ask for Colgate’s Dental Powder. FREE COLGATE, Dept. M 513, P. O. Box 375, Grand Central Post Office, New York City. Please send a free tube of Colgate’s Ribbon Dental Cream, with booklet **How to Keep Teeth and Mouth Healthy.” Address

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108 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 When the Wind Blows by Katharine Newlin Burt cont. rom page ¢5 as though he were being drawn by a cruel, still tide. He composed sentences concerning folly and madness. But that night in his house on the high hill, lying abed, between sleeping and waking, he heard the traveling wind go past. It never paused, it never faltered, it did not look back, but half in a dream, he imagined that it went forward with wide green-gray eyes, tireless and pa- tient, to the end of a dark sea. When he had almost forgotten that experience, of which he was ashamed to speak to anyone, most of all to his wife, a ietter came to him. “T am not what you think I am,” it said. “I am only a life that has freed it- self a little from the chains and the fears. There is nothing sordid in my adventuring. I have been married and, through no courage of my own, I have been freed. I have all the money an ad- venturer needs. “If I buy chosen pleasures with it, buy them carefully, selecting them from the world’s big bazaar, am I so different from all the other buyers? Or am I blamable? Because my wares are odd and hard to find? Rich men buy their joys. Why not a rich woman? “And if, from my car, one day I see a boy trudging along in the dust, going a treadmill way from toil to sleep, is it so wicked of me to offer him a holiday? If the boy has a viking’s face? Has the hunger of adventure in his eyes? I never would try to waken that hunger in the face of any man, but if I find it— starveling——? “I am a ship for a viking—that’s all. It is my name and the reason for my living. That is what I offer you—a prow, and a salt-sea wind in your mouth. You have never yet seen or smelled or heard the sea. You don’t know strange har- bors—nor a strange woman.” That was all. It was enough. It haunted him all the day and filled his nights with dreams and restlessness. He wondered if Damaris, smaller and paler than she used to be, noticed the change he could see in his own face, heard the change he could hear in his own voice: that sharply bit- ten look, that rasping tone. Awo it was only in his home, in his house on the hill, that the strange woman seemed to have her power upon him. In the little village office, with the lazy street sounds in his ears and the typewriter keys beneath his finger tips, he felt safe and snug, ready to laugh at her romanticism, to sneer at her insolent wickedness. An adventuress with paint on her face to step into an attorney’s office and tempt a clerk to run away with her! The fool. The evil and abandoned fool! Trying to buy a man as though he were a doll! So he could think down in the village during the still day, but at night, in his own home, when the wind cried, she be- came something else. She became all the world that he had never seen, would never see. She became the long following foam of a ship’s wake; she became the cry of venders in dancing little boats; she became the twanging of high crazy music in a bazaar. She became unknown and unimaginable embraces, beautiful and new. He cursed her then—and prayed to her as though she had been an idol for which he had forsaken God. He planned to sell the house. Damaris hardly brightened when, the following spring, he told her that he had adver- tised it for rent or for sale. All winter she had been vague, unresponsive, .and now she looked weary-eyed. She trailed about all day long with an air of profound exhaustion as though she had not slept for nights. And as the summer passed, she grew white, big- eyed and thin. The look of a sun- painted dove had gone from her. Her hands were feverish. John was anxious about her. She sees the change in me, he thought, and wor- ries over it. She has too much to do. She is too often alone. Down in the village she would see her friends. Nancy Tuckett would be good to her. She’d take her up. Soon the children must begin to go to school. After all, neighbors were pleasant. Someone answered his advertisement for the house. It was a young man, strange to John, who came in person to the office. “I want to buy your house,” he said. “Have you seen it?” “I know it very well, Mr. Kane. I don’t intend to live there myself. I want to make it into a home for ancient sailormen. They can look out across the country and they can hear the wind in the trees. It will remind them of their lost home—the sea. My name is Jesse Farr. It was my grandmother who left her home to you.” “Will you come up with me this after- noon, Mr. Farr, to go over the place and to meet my wife?” The young man’s blue eyes grew dis- tant, frosty, grave. “I think not, thank you. I don’t need to see the house. For the price you have fixed, you should be able to get yourself and your children a nice village home.” “It’s what I aim to do,” said John, “for the sake of my wife.” For an instant the young man’s eyes met his. They looked startled. “She doesn’t like the wind up there,” smiled John. “Ah! Well, I'll be back. Will you have the papers ready?” “Mr. Tuckett has them prepared.” “Right!” He smiled and swung out of the office. He had a sailor’s walk. John thought he would not tell Dama- ris yet. He would wait until the deal was closed and Jesse Farr’s check in the bank. He was glad, for they were poor that fall. It had been a hard summer. He walked along the roadway in the dust, going home with his head bent. He was tired. It was Saturday and he had his wage envelope inside his pocket and began now to count over the dull, inevitable ways in which it must be spent. The children had been sick. They were all well now but the doctor must be paid. There had been extra food bills, medicine. What was he, John Kane, after all but just the means, the machinery for daily bread, a simulacrum of a man, Damaris’ slave, the slave of her big bare house with its crying babies? She, too, was a drudging slave to small necessities. But then she was happy—so long as the children were well and he did not com- plain. She would be happier, though, in the town. Thinking of the small neat village house, he felt choked, bitterly homeless and alone. Something wouid be lost. Something would be dead. There was really a little death in his heart. A smooth sound had been growing, unheeded, back of him and now, loud- ly purring at his elbow, it stopped. He saw a long gray car, a figure beckoning. He came over, astonished, awkward with a sort of fear. The woman had moved towards him from her wheel. In the back seat, a foreign servant sat with luggage heaped about him. “I saw you,” she spoke happily. “4 went into your office but you had just gone out. They told me what road yoy had taken. Dear viking, how dusty yoy are, how tired and how discouraged. It was a year ago—— Get in a moment, please. I’ll drive you just a little way out into the world—and back. You arent really afraid of me, are you? After all, I’m nothing terrible—just a woman and not a very large one. I couldn’t hurt you, could I? Even if I wanted to.” He got in beside her and the air began to stream across his dazzied face. “Did you tear up my letter and forget it?” she asked him. She was more beautiful: unpainted, pale, gray-eyed. “Didn’t you understand it at all?” I pipn’t forget it,” said John, his eyes on hers. “I don’t suppose I understood it. But I couldn’t forget it. You knew me too well. You're right, of course. I am a prisoner. I am hungry for freedom and adventure, day and night.” “Ah! With that confession you have taken the first step towards liberty.” “No. There is such a thing as duty, isn’t there? I am not rich and not alone. There is a woman who trusts me and there are little children who depend upon me.” “I know. I know. One must always look out for them—see that they don’t suffer. Not so difficult, when one comes with a long purse to the bazaar. Don't flush. I know. I know. But I’ve learned how to be tender and skillful with that wound called pride. You really could leave your pride safely in my hands. It is the commonest of all my cares. “In fact, consideration for it is part of the price one must pay in the bazaar. I will guarantee to pay down my pride for yours. Ah, well!” She paused. The car ran smoothly forward. Al- ready he had left familiar fields. Speed was exciting, and. very stirring were the long turning edges of the world. “I would—bring—you—back,” she said softly, not looking at him. His heart began to flutter like a drunken fool’s. “You could send them a message—to explain. I am going to the sea tonight. I have a boat. Yes, I have; a real boat, all my own. I'll lend it to you—for ad- venture. I know, and the captain knows, an island not so far away where they speak a foreign tongue and serve iced wine. “There, the sea is green and slides in; it curls down along the beaches. You can sleep all night in moon- and sand-silver with the sea’s music at your feet. “They—those people of yours up on the hill—they will forgive you when you come back to them. And never again all the rest of your long life will you be quite so hungry. You will at least know what satisfaction means.” Like a coursing hound the car ran. Like a mounting fever its cylinders throbbed in his veins. “It’s your only chance, my dear. Such offers don’t come into every clerk’s life. Your adventure will be over and you be safe again. Duty doesn’t change. It sits in its chair, like an old man asleep, until you come back. A few days—we will give them a good reason —a few days for—the wind’s will,” she

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h, 1930 page 65) awkward oman had ler wheel, ervant sat n ippily. “T 1 had just t road you dusty you Iraged. It 1 moment, le way out You aren't After all, oman and Idn’t hurt d to.” gray-eyed. all?” , it,” said 1’t suppose t forget it. e right, of nungry for nd night.” you have iberty.” z as duty, and not trusts me ho depend ist always they don’t one comes ar. Don't ve learned with that ally could hands. It cares. it is part he bazaar. my pride aused. yard. Al- =| Will you pay half the usual price , she said e 7 for white, lovely teeth? real boat, yay where tooth paste beaches. mouth exhilaration that you associate with the use of Listerine : a “wave essage—to tonight. : 4 ya OULDN’T you like to have snowy, gleaming teeth that Your for a are the admiration of others? ars . captain * : : P : . Wouldn’t you like to attain them without a lot of tiresome and serve scrubbing and rubbing? . see aoe ; will buy you nd slides Wouldn’t you like to experience that delightful feeling of joon- and : itself? ic at your ei : : Women who know And wouldn’t it please you to know that in getting these alien choose Lishecste results you cut your tooth paste bill approximately in half? ~ Tooth Paste at 25¢ in preference to other dentifrices in the 50¢ class, and spend the sav- ; : : a ing to buy things th others, you will be convinced you have made a wise change. nae wi stata Be aul Only ultra-modern methods of production and vast buying a ample. The saving is as a power make possible such a dentifrice at such a price. Lambert $3 per year, figuring you d you Pharmacal Co., St. Louis, Mo., U. S. A. use a tube a month. t change. old man s@t LISTERINE TOOTH PASTE rs up on rou when nd never If you’ve been using 50¢ dentifrices—and they are all good life will ; ‘ i a will at —switch to Listerine Tooth Paste at 25¢ the large tube. Look neans.” for the results we have outlined above. Like thousands of car ran. cylinders

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110 said gently, and he found his mouth upon her lips. He knew that he would go. He would go, free as the wind, and, free as the wind, he would come back to the town house and the windless village street, spice-laden with a freight of memory. She saw that he would go and she began to talk again. As the Snow Queen talked to little Kay, charming his heart, so did she talk to John, knowing just what to say to him, lifting, melting, eas- ing away from his cramped young mind the fetters of his will. Blood came to his face and biue to his eyes, the straightness vanished from his mouth— he found himself laughing—and his hands felt strong. As the sun set, they ran into the dim- ness of a leafy valley and followed along a hollow sandy lane. It was still now. ‘The car slowed. In that leafy silence, suddenly, John heard a thrush. This was a nesting song, gentle, sweet, a little chord made out of feelings of drowsiness and safety. The air was still. It was a sheltered hidden lane. Blind, white, the young clerk stood up and with a mad gesture flung himself from the car and bit the roadway dust. Indian Summer of better see my niece just yet. She’s hav- ing a nap.” i “Oh, in that case——” “Seems a pity to wake her, doesn’t it?” “Oh, absolutely,” I said, relieved. “When you get the influenza, you don’t sleep at night; and then if you doze off in the morning—vwell, it seems a pity to wake someone, doesn’t it?” “Miss Platt has influenza?” “That’s what we think it is. But of course you'll be able to say. But we needn’t waste time. Since you’re here, you can be taking a look at my knee.” “Your knee?” I am all for knees at their proper time and, as you might say, in their proper place, but somehow this didn’t seem the moment. However, she carried on according to plan. “What do you think of that knee?” she asked, lifting the seven veils. Well, of course, one has to be polite. “Terrific!” I said. “You wouldn’t believe how it hurts me sometimes.” “Really?” “A sort of shooting pain. It just comes and goes. And I'll tell you a funny thing.” “What’s that?” I said, feeling I could do with a good laugh. “Lately I’ve been having the same pain just here, at the end of the spine.” “You don’t mean it!” “I do. Like red-hot needles. I wish you’d have a look at it.” “At your spine?” “Yen” I shook my head. Nobody is fonder of a bit of fun than myself, and I am all for Bohemian camaraderie and making a party go, and all that. But there is a line, and we Woosters know when to draw it. “It can’t be done,” I said austerely. “Not spines. Knees, yes. Spines, no.” She seemed surprised. “Well, you’re a funny sort of doctor, I must say.” I’m pretty quick, as I said before, and I began to see that a misunderstanding must have arisen. “Doctor? Did you think I was a doc- tor?” “Aren’t you a doctor?” “No. Not a doctor.” We had got it straightened out. The Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 He heard a cry, saw the foreign servant waving his arms as though in agony, saw the woman bending down from her wheel to look at him. Fear in her face changed to anger, and to mockery. As he staggered up, bleeding, dusty, defiant, she called out a word of contempt and urged the car forward with a swift pres- sure of her foot. It ran from him with the speed of demons, leaving about him a great choking cloud. It was dawn when he struggled up the old hillside in the teeth of a dry autum- nal storm and limped, white as the lanes, into his crying, trembling house. A light was burning in the hall in front of the old portrait with its vacant hungry face, and beneath the light stood a sheet of note paper. This was Damaris’ message: He has been here often when you were away but I somehow did not want to tell you about him. He did not seem for a long time any more real than a wind. But the wind now is more real to me than you are or the children or the treadmill of our daily life. His name is Jesse Farr; he is the grandson of that old woman who left us this house, and he lived here when he was a boy and listened—until -he ran away. He will take me, he says, to the ends of the sea. Don’t try to forgive me, John, You can’t. You will never begin to understand. You are too good, too sane, too faithful. You are a duty- lover, a home-maker, a husband and a father, through and through. A woman need only to look at you to know that. It is a wild evil in me that makes me go. Find for yourself a mate— one who will never lie awake at your side to listen to the wind at night. In Mr. Tuckett’s office John found that the papers for the sale of his house had been signed by the lawyer and that a check was left for him. After a while he settled down in a neat village house and married Nancy Tuckett with her black eyes, her large sweet voice and her eager, quickly moy- ing mouth. She is a most loving wife and a kind cheerful mother, so that, ex- cept when the wind blows, John is quite content. an Uncle by P. G. Wodehouse cont. trom page 39) scales had fallen from our eyes. We knew where we were. I had suspected that she was a genial soul. She now indorsed this view. I don’t think I have ever heard a woman laugh so heartily. “Well, that’s the best thing!” she said, borrowing my handkerchief to wipe her eyes. “Did you ever! But if you aren’t the doctor, who are you?” “Wooster’s the name. I came to see Miss Platt.” “What about?” This was the moment, of course, when I should have come out with the check and sprung the big effort. But somehow I couldn’t make it. You know how it is. Offering people money to release your uncle is a scaly-enough job at best, and when the atmosphere’s not right the shot simply isn’t on the board. “Oh, just came to see her, you know.” I had a bright idea. “My uncle heard she was seedy, don’t you know, and asked me to look in and make inquiries.” “Your uncle?” “Lord Yaxley.” “Oh! So you’re Lord Yaxley’s nephew?” “That’s right. I suppose he’s always popping in and out here, what?” “No. I’ve never met him.” ; “You haven’t?” “No. Rhoda talks a lot about him, of course, but she’s never so much as asked him to look in for a cup of tea.” I began to see that this Rhoda knew her business. If I’d been a girl with someone wanting to marry me and knew that there was an exhibit like this aunt hanging around the home, I, too, should have thought twice about inviting him to call until the ceremony was over and he had actually signed on the dotted line. I mean to say, a good soul—heart of gold beyond a doubt—but not the sort of thing you wanted to spring on Romeo before the time was ripe. “I suppose you were all very surprised when you heard about it?” she said. “Surprised is right.” “Of course, nothing is definitely settled yet.” “You don’t mean that? I thought——” “Oh, no. She’s thinking it over. Of course, she feels it’s a great compliment. But then sometimes she wonders if he isn’t too old.” “My aunt Agatha has the same idea.” “Of course, a title is a title.” “Yes, there’s that. What do you think about it yourself?” “Oh, it doesn’t matter what I think. There’s no doing anything with girls these days, is there?” “Not much.” “What I often say is, I wonder what girls are coming to. Still, there it is.” “Absolutely.” There didn’t seem much reason why the conversation shouldn’t go on forever. She had the air of a woman who has settled down for the day. But at this point the maid came in and said the doctor had arrived. I got up. “I'll be tooling off, then.” “If you must.” “I think I’d better.” “Well, pip pip.” “Toodle-oo,” I said, and out into the fresh air. Knowing what was waiting for me at home, I should have preferred to go to the club and spend the rest of the day there. But the thing had to be faced. “Well?” said Aunt Agatha, as I trickled into the sitting room. “Well, yes and no,” I replied. “What do you mean? Did she refuse the money?” “Not exactly.” “She accepted it?” : “Well, there, again, not precisely.” I explained what had happened. I wasn’t expecting her to be any too fright- fully pleased, and it’s as well that I wasn’t because she wasn’t. In fact, as the story unfolded, her comments be- came fruitier and fruitier, and when I had finished she uttered an exclamation that sounded like “Gor!”—as if she started to say “Gorblimey!” and had remembered her ancient lineage in time. “I’m sorry,” I said. “And can a man say more? I lost my nerve. The old morale suddenly turned blue on me. It’s the sort of thing that might have hap- pened to anyone.” “I never heard of anything so spine- less in my life.” I shivered, like a warrior whose old wound hurts him. “Tq be most awfully obliged, Aunt Agatha,” I said, “if you would not use that word ‘spine.’ It awakens memories. E

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(Print name and address plainly) Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 The door opened. -. Jeeves appeared. “Yes, Jeeves?” “I thought you called, sir.” “No, Jeeves.” “Very good, sir.” There are moments when, even under the eye of Aunt Agatha, I can take the firm line. And now, seeing Jeeves stand- ing there with the light of intelligence simply fizzing in every feature, I suddenly felt how perfectly footling it was to give this preeminent source of balm and com- fort the go-by simply because Aunt Agatha had prejudices against discussing family affairs with the staff. I decided to do as we ought to have done right from the start—put the case in his hands. “Jeeves,” I said, “this matter of Uncle George.” “Yes, or:” “You know the circs.” “Yes, ir.” “You know what we want.” “Yes, sir.” “Then advise us. And make it snappy. Think on your feet.” I heard Aunt Agatha rumble like a voleano just before it starts to set about the neighbors, but I did not wilt. I had seen the sparkle in Jeeves’ eye which indicated that an idea was on the way. “T understand that you have been visit- ing the young person’s home, sir?” “Just got back.” “Then you no doubt encountered the young person’s aunt?” “T encountered nothing else but.” “Then the suggestion which I am about to make will, I feel sure, appeal to you, sir. I would recommend that you con- front his lordship with this woman. It has always been her intention to continue residing with her niece after the latter’s marriage. Should he meet her, this re- flection might. give his lordship pause. As you are aware, sir, she is a kind- hearted woman, but definitely of the people.” “Jeeves, you are right! Apart from anything else, that orange hair!” “Exactly, sir.” “Not to mention the magenta dress.” “Precisely, .sir.” “T’ll ask her to lunch tomorrow, to meet him. You see,” I said to Aunt Agatha, who was still fermenting in the back- ground; “a ripe suggestion first crack out of the box. Did I or did I not tell you?” “That will do, said Aunt Agatha. “Very good, madam.” For some minutes after he had gone, Aunt Agatha strayed from the point a bit, confining her remarks to what she thought of a Wooster who could lower the prestige of the clan by allowing menials to get above themselves. Then she returned to what you might call the main issue. “Bertie,” she said, “you will go to see this girl again tomorrow, and this time you will do as I told you.” “But dash it! With this excellent alternative scheme, based firmly on the psychology of the individual——” “That is enough, Bertie. You heard what I said. I am going. Good-by.” She buzzed off, little knowing of what stuff Bertram Wooster was made. The door had hardly closed before I was shouting for Jeeves. . “Jeeves,” I said, “the recent aunt will have none of your excellent alternative scheme, but none the less I propose to go through with it unswervingly. I con- sider it a ball of fire. Can you get hold of this female and bring her here for lunch tomorrow?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. Meanwhile, I will be phoning Uncle George. We will do Aunt Agatha Jeeves,” good despite herself. What is it the poet Says, Jeeves?” “The poet Burns, sir?” “Not the poet Burns. Some other Poet, About doing good by stealth.” “These little acts of kindness, sir?” _ “That’s it in a nutshell, Jeeves,” I suppose doing good by stealth ought to give one a glow, but I can’t say | found myself exactly looking forward to the binge in prospect. Uncle George by himself is a moldy-enough luncheon companion, he being one of those birds who can never be brought to believe that the general public isn’t agog to hear about the lining of his stomach. Add the aunt, and you have a little gathering which might well dismay the stoutest. The moment I woke I felt conscious of some impending doom, and the cloud, if you know what I mean, grew darker all the morning. By the time Jeeves came in with the cocktails, I was feeling pretty low. “For two pins, Jeeves,” I said, “I would turn the whole thing up and leg it to the Drones’.” “IT can readily imagine that this wil prove something of an ordeal, sir.” “How did you get to know these people, Jeeves?” “It was through a young fellow of my acquaintance, sir, Colonel Mainwaring. Smith’s personal gentleman’s gentleman. He and the young person had an under- standing at the time, and he desired me to accompany him to Wistaria Lodge and meet her.” “They were engaged?” “Not precisely engaged, sir. An under- standing.” “What did they quarrel about?” “They did not quarrel, sir. When his lordship began to pay his addresses, the young person, naturally flattered, began to waver between love and ambition. But even now she has not formally re- scinded the understanding.” “Then, if your scheme works and Uncle George edges out, it will do your pal a bit of good?” “Yes, sir. Smethurst—his name is Smethurst—would consider it a consum- mation devoutly to be wished.” An unseen hand without tootled on the bell, and I braced myself to play the host. The binge was on. a “Mrs. Wilberforce, sir,” announced Jeeves. Ge “And how I’m to keep a straight fa with you standing behind my chair and saying ‘Madam, can I tempt you with @ potato?’ is more than I know,” F the aunt, sailing in, looking larger and pinker and matier than ever. “I know him, you know,” she said, jerking 4 thumb after Jeeves. “He’s taken t with us.” ‘* “So he told me.” She gave the room the once-over. “You’ve got a nice place here,” she said, “though I like more pink about. It’s so cheerful. What’s that you've got there? Cocktails?” “Martini with a spot of absinthe,” I said, beginning to pour. She gave a girlish squeal. “Don’t you try to make me drink that stuff! Do you know what would happen if I touched one of those things? I’d be racked with pain. What they do to the lining of your ee a ee “Oh, I don’ Ow.” ‘I do. If you had been a barmaid as long as I was, you’d know, too.” “Oh—er—were you a barmaid?” “For years, when I was younger that Iam. At the Criterion.” I dropped the shaker.

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‘ch, 1930 S it the poet e other poet, remembered eves.” fealth ought can’t say I ng forward ncle George sh luncheon those birds believe that og to hear mach. Add le gathering le stoutest. conscious of the cloud, srew darker time Jeeves was feeling id, “I would leg it to the at this will , sir.” hese people, sllow of my fainwaring- gentleman. 1 an under- desired me | Lodge and An under- out?” When his dresses, the sred, began | ambition. ormally re- ; and Uncle > your pal ; name is a consum- ” tootled on lf to play announced raight face chair and taken tea -over. here,” she ink about. you’ve got osinthe,” I ‘Don’t you tT! Do you I touched acked with ng of your 1 barmaid too.” id?” nger than Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 113 DATED Coffee full strength ...at the peak of its flavor... You get it THE WEEK IT IS ROASTED This revolutionary new way of handling freshly roasted coffee like a perishable fresh food gives you a treat in flavor you have never had before "Dated Coffee’’ means the same thing as “this morning’s milk,” “fresh bread.” In adding this quality of dependable freshness to the rich depth of flavor of Chase & Sanborn’s blend of superbly aromatic coffees, Chase & Sanborn have taken the last step to make your coffee perfect. Chase and Sanborns Copyright, 1990, by Standard Brands, Inc. Coffee VERY can of Chase & Sanborn’s Coffee is dated... just as ‘24-hour eggs” are dated... just as your bottle of fresh milk is dated. Straight from the fragrant roasting ovens it goes to your grocer twice a week, delivered by the same motor trucks of “Standard Brands, Inc., Daily Delivery” which bring him Fleischmann’s Yeast fresh all the time. No stop-overs for re-handling or stor- age! No standing on your grocer’s shelf! Every can showing an eighth-day date reg- ularly collected and replaced with fresh! This way of distributing coffee is new —without precedent in the coffee busi- ness. To a blend already established for sixty-five years and preferred in many sections of the country for its smooth richness of flavor and exquisite “bouquet,” it adds a guarantee of absolute freshness. Get a package today at your grocer’s. LOOK FOR THE date ON THE CAN -DATED

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114 “There!” she said, pointing the moral. “That’s through drinking that stuff. Makes your hand wobble. WhatI always used to say to the boys was, ‘Port, if you like. Port’s wholesome. I appreciate a drop of port myself. But these new- fangled messes from America, no.’” I was eying her warily. Of course, there must have been thousands of bar- maids at the Criterion in its time, but still it gave one a bit of a start. It was years ago that Uncle George’s dash at a mésalliance had occurred—before he came into the title—but the Wooster clan still quivered at the name of the Cri- terion. “Er—when you were at the Cri.,” I said, “did you ever happen to run into a fellow of my name?” “I’ve forgotten what it is. silly about names.” “Wooster.” “Wooster! When you were there yes- terday I thought you said Foster. Woos- ter! Did I-run into:a fellow- named Wooster? Well! Why, George .Wooster and me—Piggy, I used to call him—were going off to the registrar’s, only his family heard of it and interfered. They offered me a lot of money to give him up, and, like a silly girl, I let them per- suade me. Is he a relation of yours?” I’m always | eae me,” I said. “I just want a word with Jeeves.” I legged it for the pantry. “Jeeves!” “Sir?” “Do you know what’s happened?” “No, sir.” “This female—she’s Uncle George’s barmaid!” 2 “eir?:” ; “Oh, dash it, you must have heard of Uncle George’s barmaid. You know all the family history... The barmaid he wanted to marry years ago.” “Ad, yes, -Sir. “She’s the only woman he ever loved. He’s told me so a million times. Every time he gets to the second liqueur, he becomes maudlin about this female. What a dashed bit of bad luck! The first thing we know, the call of the past will be echoing in his heart. I can feel it, Jeeves. She’s just his sort. The first thing she did when she came in was to start talking about the lining of her stomach. .You see the hideous signifi- cance of that, Jeeves? The lining of his stomach is Uncle George’s favorite topic of conversation. It means that he and she are kindred souls. This woman and he will be like——” “Deep calling to deep, sir?” “Exactly.” “Most disturbing, sir.” “What’s to be done?” “I could not say, sir.” “T’ll tell you what I’m going to do— ‘phone him and say the lunch is off.” “Scarcely feasible, sir. I fancy that is his lordship at the door now.” And so it was. Jeeves let him in, and I followed him to the sitting room. There was a stunned silence as he went in, and then a couple of the startled yelps you hear when old buddies get to- gether after long separation. ; “Piggy!” “Maudie!” “Well, I never!” “Well, I’m dashed!” “Did you ever!” “Well, bless my soul!” “Fancy you being Lord Yaxley!” “Came into the title soon after we parted.” “Just to think!” “You could have knocked me down with a feather!” Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 I hung about in the offing, now on this leg, now on that. For all the notice they took of me, I might have been the late Bertram Wooster, disembodied. “Maudie, you don’t look a day older, dash it!” . “Nor do you, Piggy.” “How have you been all these years?” “Pretty well. The lining of my stom- ach isn’t all it should be.” “Good Gad! You don’t say so? I have trouble with the lining of my stomach.” “It’s a heavy feeling after meals.” “IT get a heavy feeling after meals. What are you trying for it?” “I’ve been taking Perkins’ Digestine.” “My dear girl, no use! No use at all. Tried it myself for years, and got no relief. Now, if you really want some- thing that is some good...” I slid away. The last I saw of them, Uncle George was down beside her on the Chesterfield, buzzing hard. “Jeeves,” I said, tottering to the pantry. “Sir?” “There will be only two for lunch. Count me out. If they notice I’m not there, tell them I was called away by an urgent phone message. The situation has got beyond Bertram, Jeeves. You will find me at the Drones’.” “Very good, sir.” It was latish in the evening when one of the waiters came to me as I played a distrait game of snooker pool and in- formed me that Aunt Agatha was on the phone. “Bertie!” “Hullo?” I was amazed to note that her voice was that of an aunt who feels that things © - are breaking right. It had the birdlike trill. ~ “Bertie, have you that check I gave you?” eee, “Then tear itup. It will not be needed.” “Eh?” “I say it will not be needed. Your uncle is not going to marry that girl.” “Not?” “No. Apparently he has been thinking it over and sees how unsuitable it would have been. But what is astonishing is that he is going to be married!” “He is?” “Yes, to an old friend of his, a Mrs. Wilberforce. A woman of a sensible age, he gave me to understand. I wonder which Wilberforces that would be. There are two main branches of the family— the Essex Wilberforces and the Cum- berland Wilberforces. I believe there is also a cadet branch in Shropshire.” “And one in East Dulwich,” I said. “What did you say?” “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.” I hung up. Then back to the old flat, feeling a trifle sandbagged. “Well, Jeeves,” I said, and there was censure in the eyes. “So I gather every- thing is nicely settled?” “Yes, sir. His lordship formally. an- nounced the engagement between the sweets and cheese courses, sir.” “He did, did he?” "Yes, sir.” I eyed the man sternly. “You do not appear to be aware of it, Jeeves,” I said, in a cold, level voice, “but this binge has depreciated your stock very considerably. I have always been accustomed to look upon you as a counselor without equal. I have, so to speak, hung upon your lips. And now see what you have done. All this is the direct consequence of your scheme, based on the psychology of the individual. I should have thought, Jeeves, that, Know- ing the woman—meeting her socially, as you might say, over the afternoon cup of tea—you might have ascertained that she was Uncle George’s barmaid” 7k did, sir.” “What!” “I was aware of the fact, sir.” “Then you must have known what would happen if she met him.” "Yes, air.” “Well, I’m dashed!” “If I might explain, sir. The yo man Smethurst, who is greatly attached to the young person, is an intimate frieng of mine. He applied to me some littje: while back in the hope that I might be able to do something to insure that the young person followed the dictates ‘of her heart and refrained from permit herself to be lured by gold and the gla- mour of his lordship’s position. - There will now be no obstacle to their union.” “IT see. Little acts of unremembered kindness, what?” “Precisely, sir.” “And how about Uncle George? You've landed him pretty nicely in the cart.” “No, sir, if I may take the liberty of opposing your view. I fancy that Mrs, Wilberforce should make an ideal mate for his lordship. If there was a defect in his lordship’s mode of life, it was that he was unduly attached to the pleasures of the table.” “Ate like a pig, you mean?” “I should not have ventured to put it in quite that way, sir, but the expression does meet the facts of the case. He was also inclined to drink rather more than his medical adviser would have approved of. Elderly bachelors who are wealthy and without occupation tend somewhat frequently to fall into this error, sir. “The future Lady Yaxley will check this... Indeed, I overheard her ladyship saying as much as I brought in the fish. She was commenting on a certain. pufii- ness of the face which had been absent in his lordship’s appearance in_ the earlier days of their acquaintanceship, and she observed that his lordship needed looking after. I fancy, sir, that. you will find the union will turn out ar extremely satisfactory one.” cigs ‘It was—what’s the word I want?—it was plausible, of course, but still I shook the onion. “But Jeeves! She is, as you remarked not long ago, definitely of the people.” H, LOOKED at me in a reproachful way. “Sturdy lower-middle- class stock, sir. Besides, sir, remember what the poet Tennyson said. Kind hearts are more than coronets.” 4 “And which of us is going to tell Aunt Agatha that?” “If I might make the suggestion, sir, I would advise that we omit communicat- ing with Mrs. Gregson. I have your suit- case practically packed. It would be 4 matter of but a few minutes to bring the car round from the garage——” “And off over the horizon to where men are men?” “Precisely, sir.” “Jeeves,” I said, “I’m not sure that even now I can altogether see eye to eye with you regarding your recent activi- ties. You think you have scattered light and sweetness on every side. I am not so sure. However, with this latest sug- gestion you have rung the bell. I no flaw in it. It is the goods. I'll ge the car at once.” “Very good, sir.” “Remember what the poet Shakespeare said, Jeeves?” “What was that, sir?” ; “‘Rxit hurriedly, pursued by a beat. You'll find it in one of his plays. I re- member drawing a picture of it on the side of the page, when I was at school.

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rch, 1930 ascertaineg Ss barmaid” ar” nown what m.” The yo ly attached mate friend some little: I might be re that the dictates ‘of | permitting nd the gla- lion. - There 1eir union.” ‘emembered ‘ge? You've the cart.” > liberty of ' that Mrs, ideal mate 4S a defect ife, it was ed to the d to put it expression e. He was more than € approved re wealthy somewhat ‘or, sir. will check r ladyship in the fish. ‘tain. pufii- een absent e in the itanceship, 3; lordship 7, Sir, that, Irn out an’. want?—it ill I shook remarked e people.” it me ina or-middle- remember id. Kind tell Aunt. tion, sir, I nmunicat- your suit- ould be a bring the to where sure that aye to eye nt activi- ered light I am not test sug- 1. I find T'll get akespeare a bear.’ ys. I re- it on the t school.” peing of legendary wealth, eccentricity, independence. “Inglese,” he specified. “Giovane,’ and “bella, bellissima.” Acquaintance had. ripened quickly into friendship. This was the fourth or fifth time in a fortnight that he had come to the house. “a few poor flowers,” said the young man in a tone of soft apology; and he prought forward his left hand, which he had been hiding behind his back. “white roses for the white rose.” Moira laughed. The compliment was ridiculous, but it pleased her. Paying compliments was not the only thing Tonino could do. He knew how to be useful. When, a few days later, Moira decided to have the dingy hall and dining room re-distempered, he was invaluable. It was he who haggled with the decorator, he who interpreted Moira’s notions about colors to the workmen, he who superintended their activities. I. was such a comfort, she reflected, having a man about the place to help her. She wasn’t used to it. John always had something more im- portant to do. Little by little Moira came to rely on him for everything. He made himself universally useful. The fuses blew out; it was Tonino who replaced them. The hornets nested in the drawing-room chimney; heroically, Tonino smoked them out with sulphur. Next day the sky was no longer blue, but opaquely white. There was no sun- shine, only a diffused glare. The landscape lay utterly lifeless un- der the dead and fishy stare of heaven. It was very hot, there was no wind, the air was hardly breathable. Moira woke up with a headache and her nerves seemed to have an uneasy life of their own, apart from hers. Like caged birds they were, fluttering and starting and twittering at every alarm; and her ach- ing, tired body was their aviary. Quite against her own wish and in- tention she found herself in a temper with the maid and saying the unkindest things. She had to give her a pair of stockings to make up for it. Even in the best of health, Moira had always been painfully conscious of the approach of thunder. Her jangled nerves were more than ordinarily sensitive. The tears and furies and despairs of this horrible day had a purely meteorological cause. But they were none the less vio- lent and agonizing for that. The hours passed dismally. Thickened by huge black clouds, the twilight came on in a sultry and expectant silence, and it was prematurely night. With a kind of sinking apprehension—for she was terrified of storms—Moira sat at her window, watching the black hills leap out against the silver and die again, leap out and die. The flashes bright- ened; and then all at once the storm burst. _At the savage violence of that icy aownpour, Moira shrank back and shut the window. A streak of white fire zig- zagged fearfully just behind the cy- presses. The immediate thunder was like the splitting and fall of a solid vault. Moira rushed away from the window and threw herself on the bed. She cov- ered her face with her hands. And then suddenly a terrible thing happened: the light went out. Through er closed eyelids she saw no longer the red of translucent blood, but utter black- mess. Uncovering her face, she opened eyes and anxiously looked round—on Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Dangerous Game by Aldous Huxley blackness again. She fumbled for the switch by her bed, found and turned it; the darkness remained impenetrable. “Assunta!” she called. Her voice was drowned in a crash that seemed to have exploded in the very roof. “Assunta, As- sunta!” In a panic she stumbled across the grave-dark room to the door. The thunder exploded again. With a crash and a tinkle of broken glass, one of the windows in her room burst open. A blast of cold wind lifted her hair. A flight of papers rose from her writing table and whirled with crackling wings through the darkness. One touched her cheek like a living thing and was gone. She screamed aloud. The door slammed behind her. She ran down the stairs in terror. In the hall she met Assunta and the cook coming towards her, lighting matches as they came. “Assunta, the lights!” Only the thunder answered. When the noise subsided Assunta explained that the fuses had all blown out and that there wasn’t a candle in the house and only one more box of matches. “But then we shall be left in the dark,” said Moira hysterically. ‘Through the three blackly reflecting windows of the hall three separate pic- tures of the streaming garden revealed themselves and vanished. The old Vene- tian mirrors on the walls blinked into life, like dead eyes briefly opened. “In the dark,” she repeated with an almost mad insistence. “Aie!” cried Assunta, and dropped the match that had begun to burn her fingers. The thunder fell on them out of a darkness made denser and more hopeless by the loss of light. When the telephone bell rang, Tonino was sitting in the managerial room of his hotel, playing cards with the pro- prietor’s two sons and another friend. “Someone to speak to you, Signor Tonino,” said the underporter, looking in. “A lady.” He grinned significantly. Tonino put on a dignified air and left the room. When he returned, he held his hat in one hand and was buttoning up his raincoat with the other. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to go out.” “Go out?” exclaimed the others in- credulously. Beyond the shuttered win- dows the storm roared. “But where?” they asked. “Why? Are you mad?” Tonino shrugged his shoulders, as though it were nothing to go out into a tornado, as though he were used to it. The signora forestiera, he explained, hating them for their inquisitiveness; the Tarwin—she had asked him to go up to Bellosguardo at once. The fuses—not a candle in the house—utterly in the dark—very agitated—nerves ... “But on a night like this! But you’re not the electrician.” The two sons of the proprietor spoke in chorus. They felt, indignantly, that Tonino was letting himself be exploited. But the third young man leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Vai, caro, vai,” he said and then, shaking his finger at Tonino, knowingly, “Ma fatti pagare per il tuo lavoro,” he added. “Get your- self paid for your trouble.” Berto was notoriously the lady-killer, the tried spe- cialist in amorous strategy, the acknowl- edged expert. “Take the opportunity.” The others joined in his rather un- pleasant laughter. Tonino also grinned and nodded. “Tonino!” She held out both her hands to him; she never had felt so glad to see anyone. (Continued from page 52) The sky went momentarily whitish- mauve behind him, as he stood there in the open doorway. The skirts of his raincoat fluttered in the wind; a wet gust blew past him. The sky went black again. He slammed the door behind him. They were in utter darkness. “Tonino, it was too sweet of you to have come. Really too——” The thunder that interrupted her was like the end of the world. Moira shud- dered, and suddenly she was pressing her face against his waistcoat and cry- ing, and Tonino was stroking her hair. The next flash showed him the posi- tion of the sofa. In the ensuing dark- ness he carried her across the room, sat down and began to kiss her tear-wet face. She lay quite still in his arms, re- laxed, like a frightened child that has at last found comfort. Tonino held her, kissing her softly, again and again. “Ti amo,’ he whispered. And it was true. Holding her, touching her in the dark, he did love her. “Ti amo.” How profoundly! “Ti voglio un bene im- menso,” he went on, with a passion born suddenly of darkness and soft blind con- tact. “Fatti pagare, fatti pagare.”’ The memory of Berto’s words transformed him suddenly from a lover into an amorous sportsman with a reputation to keep up and records to break. “Fatti pagare.” He risked a more intimate caress. But Moira winced at the touch, and he desisted, ashamed of himself. “Ebbene,” asked Berto when, an hour later, he returned, “did you mend the fuses?” “Yes, I mended the fuses.” “And did you get yourself paid?” Tonino smiled an amorous sports- man’s smile. “A little on account,” he answered and at once disliked himself for having spoken the words. Why did he go out of his way to spoil some- thing which had been so beautiful? The sky was blue next morning, the sunlight glittered on the shiny leaves of the magnolia tree, the air was de- murely windless. Moira looked out and wondered incredulously if such things as storms were possible. But the plants were broken and prostrate in their beds; the paths were strewn with scattered leaves and petals. In spite of the soft air and the sunlight, last night’s hor- rors had been more than a bad dream. Moira sighed and began to brush her hair. Set in its leather frame, John Tarwin’s profile confronted her, bright- ly focused on imaginary tumors. Her eyes fixed on it, Moira went on me- chanically brushing her hair. Then, suddenly, she got up, took the leather frame and, walking across the room, threw it up, out of sight, to the top of the high wardrobe. There! She returned to her seat and, filled with a kind of frightened elation, went on with her interrupted brushing. y ea days passed, hot and golden. Summer approached. The nightingales sang unseen in the cool of the evening. “Usignuolo,” Moira whispered softly to herself, as she listened to the singing. “Usignuolo.” Even the nightingales were subtly better in Italian. The sun had set. They were sitting in the little sum- merhouse at the end of the garden, look- ing out over the darkening landscape. “I’m so happy,” Moira said; Tonino took her hand. “Ridiculously happy.” “So am I,” Tonino said. And he was not merely being polite. In his own way

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120 he was genuinely happy with her. People envied him sitting in that mag- nificent yellow car at her side. She was so pretty and elegant, so foreign too; he was proud to be seen about with her. And then the cigaret case, the gold-mounted, agate-handled cane she had given him for his birthday .. . Be- sides, he was very fond of her; really, in an obscure way, in love with her. The days passed and the weeks, Moira would have liked life to flow on like this forever, a gay bright stream with occa- sional reaches of calm sentimentality but never dangerously deep or turbulent, without fall or whirl or rapid. She wanted her existence to remain forever what it was at this moment—a kind of game with a pleasant and emotionally exciting companion, a playing at living and loving. If only this happy play- time could last forever! It was John Tarwin who decreed that it should not. ATTENDING CYTOLOGICAL CONGRESS ROME WILL STOP FEW DAYS ON WAY ARRIVING THURSDAY LOVE JOHN That was the text of the telegram Moira found awaiting her on her return to the villa one evening. She read it and felt suddenly depressed and appre- hensive. He would spoil everything. “Why does he want to come?” Miser- ably and resentfully, she wondered. “And what’s going to happen, what’s going to happen?” She felt almost sick with the questioning apprehension. John’s face, when he saw her stand- ing there at the station, lighted up in- stantaneously with all its hundred- candle-power tenderness and charm. “My darling!” His voice was furry and tremulous. He leaned towards her; stiffening, Moira suffered herself to be kissed. The prospect of a meal alone with John had appalled her; she had asked Tonino to dinner. Besides, she wanted John to meet him. To have kept Tonino’s existence a secret from John would have been to admit that there was something wrong in her relations with him. And there wasn’t. She wanted John to meet him naturally, as a matter of course. Whether he’d like Tonino when he’d met him was another question. Moira had her doubts. They were justified by the event. John had begun by protesting, when he heard that she had invited a guest. Their first evening—how could she? She had to listen to outpourings of sentiment. us finally, when din- ner time arrived, he switched off the pathos and became once more the re- search student. Brightly inquiring, blank- ly intelligent, John cross-questioned his guest about all the important things that were happening in Italy. What was the real political situation? How did the new educational system work? What did people think of the reformed penal code? On all these matters Tonino was, of course, far less well-informed than his interrogator. The Italy he knew was the Italy of his friends and his family, of shops and cafés and girls and the daily fight for money. All that histori- cal, impersonal Italy of which John read in the high-class reviews was unknown to him. His answers to John’s questions were childishly silly. Moira sat listening, dumb with misery. “What do you find in that fellow?” her husband asked, when Tonino had taken his leave. “He struck me as par- ticularly uninteresting.” Moira did not answer. There was a Hearst's International-Cosmopohitan for March, 1930 silence. John suddenly switched on his protectively, yearningly marital smile. “Time to go to bed, my sweetheart,” he said. Moira looked up at him and saw in his eyes that expression she knew so well and dreaded. “My sweetheart,” he repeated. He put his arms round her and bent to kiss her face. Moira shuddered—but helplessly, not knowing how to escape. He led her away. When John had left her, she lay awake far into the night, remembering his ardors and his sentimentalities with horror until sleep came at last to deliver her. Being an archeologist, old Signor Bargioni was decidedly “interesting.” “But he bores me to death,” said Moira when, next day, her husband sug- gested that they should go to see him. Ye voice! And that beard! And his wife!” So John had to pay his call without her. He spent a most improving hour, chatting about Romanesque architecture and the Lombard kings. But just be- fore he left, the conversation took an- other turn; casually, as though by chance, Tonino’s name was mentioned. It was the Signora who had insisted that it should be mentioned. Ignorance, her husband protested, is bliss. But Signora Bargioni loved scandal and, be- ing middle-aged, ugly, envious and mali- cious, was full of righteous indignation against the young wife and hypocritical sympathy for the possibly injured hus- band. Poor Tarwin, she insisted—he ought to be warned. And so, tactfully, the old man dropped his hints. Walking back to Bellosguardo, John was uneasily pensive. It was not that he imagined that Moira had been, or was likely to prove, unfaithful. Such things really didn’t happen to oneself. Moira obviously liked the uninteresting young man; but after all, and in spite of her childishness, Moira was a civilized human being. She had been too well brought up to do anything stupid. Besides, he reflected, remembering the previous evening, remembering all the years of their marriage, she had no temperament; she was utterly without sensuality. Her native childishness would reinforce her principles. Infants may be relied on to be pure; but not (and this troubled John) worldly-wise. Moira wouldn’t allow herself to be made love to; but she might easily let herself be swindled. Old Bargioni had been discreet and noncommittal; but it was obvious that he regarded this fellow as an adventurer, out for what he could get. John frowned as he walked. He came home to find Moira and Tonino superintending the fitting of the new cretonne covers for the drawing- room chairs. “It’s a pretty stuff, don’t you think?” said Moira. He only grunted. “Very modern, too,” added Tonino. “The shops are very modern here.” “Indeed?” said John sarcastically. Moira frowned. “You’ve no idea how helpful Tonino has been,” she said. Effusively Tonino began to deny that she had any obligation towards him. John Tarwin interrupted him. “Oh, I’ve no doubt he was helpful,” he said in the same sarcastic tone and with a little smile of contempt. There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Tonino took his leave. The mo- ment he was gone, Moira turned on her husband. Her face was pale, her lips trembled. “How dare you speak to one of my friends like that?” she asked in a voice unsteady with anger. John flared up. “Because I wanted tg get rid of the fellow,” he answered; ang the mask was off, his face was nakedly furious. “It’s disgusting to see a like that hanging around the house. An adventurer. Exploiting your silliness Sponging on you.” “Tonino doesn’t sponge on me. And anyhow, what do you know about it?” He shrugged. “One hears things.” “Oh, it’s those old beasts, is it?” She hated the Bargionis, hated them. “In. stead of being grateful to Tonino for helping me! Which is more than you've ever done, John. You, with your beastly tumors.” The contempt.in her voice was blasting. “Just leaving me to sink or swim. And when somebody is just humanly decent to me, you insult him, And you fly into a rage of jealousy be- cause I’m normally grateful to him.” J OHN had had time to readjust his mask. “I don’t fly into any sort of rage,” he said, bottling his and speaking slowly. and coldly. “I just don’t want you to be preyed upon by handsome, black-haired young gigolos from the slums of Naples.” “John!” “Even if the preying is done pla- tonically,” he went on. “Which I'm sure it is. But I don’t want to have even a platonic gigolo about.” He spoke coldly. “How much has he got out of you so far?” i Moira did not answer, but turned and hurried from the room. , Tonino had just got to the bottom of the hill, when a loud insistent hooting made him turn round. A big yellow car was close at his heels. “Moira!” he called, in astonishment. The car came to a halt beside him. “Get in,” she commanded almost fiercely. He did as he was told. “But where did you think of going?” he asked. “I don’t know. Anywhere. Let’s take the Bologna road into the mountains.” “But you’ve got no hat,” he objected, “no coat.” She only laughed and, throwing the car into gear, drove off at full speed. John spent his evening in solitude. He began by reproaching himself. “I oughtn’t to have spoken so brutally,” he thought, after Moira’s precipitate de- parture. What tender, charming things he would say, when she came back, to make up for his hard words! But as the hours passed, his heart grew harder. Midnight struck. His an- ger began to be tempered by a certain apprehension. Could anything have hap- pened to her? He was anxious. But all. the same he went to bed, on principle, firmly. ( Twenty minutes later he heard Moira’s step on the stairs and then the closing of her door. She was back; nothing had happened; perversely, he felt all the more exasperated with her for being safe. Would she come and say good night? He waited. Absently, meanwhile, mechanically, Moira had undressed. She was think- ing of all that had happened in the eternity since she had left the house. That marvelous sunset in the moun- tains! Every westward slope was rosily gilded. They had stood in silence, gazing. “Kiss me, Tonino,” she had suddenly whispered, and the touch of his lips had sent a kind of delicious apprehen- sion fluttering under her skin. She pressed herself against him. She could feel the throb of his heart against her cheek, like something sep- arately alive. Beat, beat, beat—and the throbbing life was not the life of the

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ch, 1930 - Wanted to wered; and as nakedly see & man house. An r Silliness, me. And about it?” hings.” 3 it?” She hem. “Ip. Tonino for han you've our beastly her voice ne to sink dy is just nsult him, alousy be- Oo him.” id time to y into any his anger done pla- Thich I'm t to have He spoke ot out of urned and bottom of it hooting yellow car mnishment,. e him. ‘ almost f going?” Let’s take ountains.” objected, wing the ull speed. solitude. nself. “I brutally,” itate de- ng things back, to nis heart His an- a certain lave hap- _ But all. principle, d Moira’s e closing nothing felt all for being say good 1anically, is think- i in the e house. > moun- ras rosily e, gazing. suddenly his lips pprehen- in. She 1is heart ing sep- -and the > of the Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Abolish "pink tooth brush’ from your household ! Ipana and massage bring healthy gums— flashing teeth F your tooth brush “‘shows pink” — even ever so seldom—you can’t neglect that sign and expect to escape scot-free from den- tal troubles far more serious! For, as your dentist will tell you, gum troubles are on the rise. Every year unhealthy gums are responsible for the loss of thou- sands of outwardly strong, sound teeth. Gingi- vitis, Vincent’s disease, even the dreaded but more infrequent pyorrhea, nearly always start with a slight bleeding, a tenderness and a softness of the gums. Fight “pink tooth brush” with Ipana and massage The trouble lies with the soft foods we eat. They deprive the gums of exercise. Circula- tion lags. Wastes clog tiny gum cells. But in Ipana Tooth Paste and gum mas- sage you have a potent aid in checking gum disorders. Thousands of dentists are spread- ing the new doctrine of gum massage—how it rouses the gums and speeds the rich, fresh blood through their walls. And thousands, too, urge the use of Ipana Tooth Paste. For Ipana has the power to tone and in- vigorate the gums while it cleans the teeth. Many dentists specify it as the agent for mas- sage, for it contains ziratol, a stimulating hemostatic and antiseptic used by gum spe- cialists for many years. A good tooth paste and a good dentist are not luxuries! Don’t be misled by a few cents’ difference between the cost of Ipana and other tooth pastes you can buy. Ipana is doubly good, for it protects your gums as well as your teeth. Send the coupon for a 10-day sample if you wish but—better still—get a large-size tube from your druggist. Tonight, begin the full month’s test! Your teeth will gleam with new brilliance. And before 30 days are up your gums will be pinker, harder and healthier! + A 7 7 BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept.H 30 73 Wesr Street, New York, N. Y. Kindly send me a trial tube of IPANA TOOTH PASTE. Enclosed is a two-cent stamp to cover partly the cost of packing and mailing.

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122 Tonino she knew, the Tonino who laughed and paid compliments and brought flowers; it was the life of some mysterious and separate power. She shuddered a little. Mysterious and terrifying. But the terror was somehow attractive, like a dark preci- pice that allures. “Kiss me, Tonino, kiss me.” The light faded; the hills died away into featureless flat shapes against the sky. “I’m cold,” she said at last, shivering. “Let’s go.” They dined at a little inn, high up between the two passes. When they drove away, it was night. He put his arm around her and kissed her neck, at the nape. “You'll make me drive into the ditch,” she laughed. But there was no laughter for Tonino. “Moira, Moira,” he repeated; and there was something like agony in his voice. Finally, at his entreaty, she stop- ped the car. They got out. Under the chestnut trees, what utter darkness! Wiss slipped off her last garment and, naked before the mir- ror, looked at her image. It seemed the same as ever, her pale body; but in reality it was different, it was new, it had only just been born. John still waited, but his wife did not come. “All right, then,” he said to him- self, with a spiteful little anger that disguised itself as a godlike and imper- sonal serenity of justice; “let her sulk if she wants to. She only punishes her- self.” He turned out the light and com- posed himself to sleep. Next morning he left for Rome and the Cytological Congress without saying good-by; that would teach her. But “Thank goodness!” was Moira’s first reflection when she heard that he had gone. And then, suddenly, she felt rather sorry for him. Poor John! Like a dead frog, galvanized; twitching, but never alive. He was pathetic, really. She was so rich in happiness that she could afford to be sorry for him. And in a way she was even grateful to him. If he hadn’t behaved so unforgivably, nothing would have happened between Tonino and herself. Poor John! But all the same he was hopeless. Day followed bright serene day. But Moira’s life no longer flowec like the clear and shallow stream it had been before John’s coming. It was turbulent now; there were depths and darknesses. And love was no longer a game with a pleasant companion; it was violent, all- absorbing, even rather terrible. Tonino became for her a kind of obsession. She was haunted by him—by his face, by his hands and limbs and body. She wanted to be with him, to touch him. Absent, he was still unescapably with her, like a guilty conscience. Her soli- tudes were endless meditations on the theme of him. Sometimes the longing for his tangible presence was too ach- ingly painful to be borne. Disobeying all his injunctions, she would telephone for him to come to her, she would drive off in search of him. Once, about midnight, Tonino was called down from his room at the hotel by a message that a lady wanted to speak to him. He found her sitting in the car. “But I couldn’t help it, I simply couldn’t help it!” she cried to excuse herself and mollify his anger. Tonino refused to be propitiated. Coming like this in the middle of the night! It was madness, it was scan- dalous! She sat there, listening, pale and with trembling lips and the tears in her eyes. He was silent at last. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 “But if you knew, Tonino,” she whis- pered, “if you only knew...” She took his hand and kissed it, humbly. Berto, when he heard the good news (for Tonino proudly told him at once), was curious to know whether the signora forestiera was as cold as northern ladies were proverbially supposed to be. “Ma che!” Tonino protested vigor- ously. On the contrary. For a long time the two young sportsmen discussed the question of amorous temperatures, discussed it technically, professionally. Tonino’s raptures were not so extrava- gant as Moira’s. So far as he was con- cerned, this sort of thing had hap- pened before. She was no longer the desired and unobtainable, but the pos- sessed, the known. By her surrender she had lowered herself to the level of all the other women he had ever made love to; she was just another item in the sportsman’s grand total. His attitude towards her underwent a change. Familiarity began to blunt his courtesy; his manner became offhand- edly marital. He permitted her to run her own errands and even his. Moira was happy to be his servant. Her love for him was, in one :.t least of its aspects, almost abject. She was dog- like in her devotion. Tonino found her adoration agreeable so long as it ex- pressed itself in fetching and carrying, in falling in with his suggestions and in making him presents. “But you mustn’t, my darling, you shouldn’t!” he protested each time she gave him something. Nevertheless, he accepted a pearl tie pin, a pair of dia- mond and enamel links, a half-hunter on a gold and platinum chain. But Moira’s devotion expressed itself also in other ways. Love demands as much as it gives. She wanted so much —his heart, his physical presence, his caresses, his confidences, his time, his fidelity. She was tyrannous in her adoring abjection. Tonino was bored and irritated by her excessive love. The omniscient Berto, to whom he carried his troubles, advised him to take a strong line. Women, he pronounced, must be kept in their places firmly. They love one ail the better if they are a little maltreated. Tonino followed his advice and, pre- texting work and social engagements, re- duced the number of his visits. What a relief to be free of her importunity! Disquieted, Moira presented him with an amber cigar holder. He protested, accepted it, but gave her no more of his company in return. A set of diamond studs produced no better effect. He talked vaguely and magniloquently about his career and the necessity for unremit- ting labor; that was his excuse for not coming oftener to see her. It was on the tip of her tongue, one afternoon, to say that she would be his career, would give him anything he wanted, if only ... But the memory of John’s hateful words made her check herself. She was terrified lest he make no difficulties about accepting her offer. “Stay with me this evening,” she begged, throwing her arms round his neck. He suffered himself to be kissed. “I wish I could stay,” he said hypo- critically. “But I have some important business this evening.” The impor- tant business was playing billiards with Berto. Moira looked at him for a moment in silence; then turned away. She had seen in his eyes a weariness that was almost a horror. Summer drew on; but in Moira’s soul there was no inward brightness to match the sunshine. For no sufficient cause and against her will, she would find herself uncontrollably in a fury, or cry. ing, or laughing. When Tonino came to see her, she was almost always, in spite of all her resolutions, bitterly angry or hysterically tearful. “But why do I behave like this?” she would ask herself despairingly. “Why do I say such things? I’m making him hate me.” But the next time he came, she would act in the same way. It was as though she were possessed by a devil, And it was not her mind only that was sick. When she ran too quic upstairs, her heart seemed to stop beat- ing for a moment and there was a whirl. ' ing darkness before her eyes. Looking into the glass, she found herself hideous, old, repulsive. “No wonder he hates me,” she thought, and she would brood, brood for hours over the idea that she had become physically disgusting to him. The idea became an obsession, indescribably pain- ful and humiliating. One evening Tonino’s old friend Carlo Menardi introduced him to his sister. After that he bore his martyrdom with even less patience than before. Luisa Menardi was only _ seventeen, fresh, healthy, provocatively pretty, with roll- ing black eyes that said all sorts of things and an impertinent tongue. Tonino’s business appointments became more numerous than ever. Moira was left to brood in solitude on the dreadful theme of her own repulsiveness. Then, quite suddenly, Tonino’s man- ner towards her underwent another change. He became once more assidu- ously tender, thoughtful, affectionate. He was patient with her, was lovingly and cheerfully gentle. Gradually, by a kind of spiritual in- fection, she too became loving and gen- tle. Almost reluctantly—for the devil in her was the enemy of life and happi- ness—she came up again into the light. “My dear son,” Vasari Senior had written in an eloquent and disquieting letter, “I am not one to complain feebly of Destiny; my whole life has been one long act of Faith and unshatterable Will. But there are blows under which even the strongest man must stagger— blows which .. .” The letter rambled on for pages in the same style. The hard unpleasant fact that emerged from under the eloquence was _ that Tonino’s father had been speculating on the Naples stock exchange, speculating unsuccessfully. On the first of the next month he would be required to pay out some fifty thousand francs more than he could lay his hands on. The Grand Hotel Ritz-Carlton was doomed; he might even have to sell the restaurant. Was there anything Tonino could do? S Ir possible?” said Moira, with a sigh of happiness. “It seems too good to be true.” She leaned against him; Tonino kissed her eyes and spoke caressing words. There was no moon; the dark blue sky was thickly constellated; and, like another starry universe gone deliriously mad, the fire- flies darted, alternately eclipsed and shining, among the olive trees. “Darling,” he said aloud, and wondered if this would be a propitious moment to speak. “Piccina mia.” In the end he decided to postpone matters. In another day or two, he calculated, she wouldn't be able to refuse him anything. Tonino’s calculations were correct. She let him have the money, not only without hesitation, but eagerly, joyfully. The reluctance was all on his side, the receiving. He was almost in tears as he took the check, and the tears were — tears of genuine emotion.

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h, 1930 ry, OF cry. lO Came to 'S, in spite | angry or this?” she ly. “Why aking him » he came, y. It was by a devil, only that 0 quickly stop beat- 4S a Whirl. ° Loo king lf hideous, e thought, for hours d become The idea ably pain- another re assidu- fectionate., S lovingly ritual in- and gen- the devil nd happi- the light. mior had lisquieting ain feebly been one hatterable Jer which stagger— * rambled e. t emerged was that lating on reculating the next > pay out lore than he Grand med; he estaurant. ould do? e?” said ness. “It he leaned eyes and > was no s thickly er starry the fire- sed and $. wondered ioment to > end he a another wouldn’t correct. not only joyfully. . side, in in tears pars were — Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 On |]) Condemned! Life, liberty—every- thing staked on escape... just as the success of a great movie was staked on the dependability of a camera, made by the makers of FILMO Condemned to worse than death on Devil's Island . . . innocent . . . a des- perate break for freedom and love, with one chance in thousands for escape... while vultures circled closer, awaiting failure. . . But the producers brooked no fail- ure in taking this intense Samuel Goldwyn picture, ‘‘Condemned"’. Bell & Howell Cameras were depended upon. For your personal movies, you need choose no less a camera than did the producers of this tale of the French prison isle. For Filmo is made by Bell & Howell who manufacture profes- sional cameras for most of the major film producers of the world. Filmo is built with the same precision, the same dependability as these studio cameras. (Above) Filmo 57 Projector in operation. Accurate, silent move- ment. Powerful direct illumina- tion. Fully automatic. $190 and up with carrying case. Filmo 70-D. Master of all personal movie cameras. Seven speeds, three- oe turret, variable viewfinder. Compact ‘and finel: up with Sesamee locked Mayfair carrying Case. Priceless are the movies you take of your children, your family, your sports and your travels. Choose Filmo then, and be certain that the movies you take and show are theater-clear. Be sure that in days to come they bring back old times, old places, or the children as they truly were. Easier than taking snap shots is the trouble-proof operation of Filmo, whose smooth, accurate action re- quires only a peek through the view- finder and a press of the button; then, *“What you see, you get’’. Ask your camera dealer for a demon- stration or write today for literature. All Filmos Take 50 or 100-foot Films For black and white pictures, Filmo Cameras use Eastman Safety Film (16mm.) in the yellow box—both regular and panchromatic—ob- tainable at practically all dealers’ handling camerasand supplies. Fi/mo Cameras and F:/mo Projectors are adaptable, under license from Eastman Kodak Company, for use of Eastman Kodacolor film for home movies in full color. Cost of film covers developing, and return postpaid, within the country where processed. BELL & HOWELL CO., Established 1907 Dept. O, 1803 Larchmont Ave., Chicago NewYork, Hollywood, London, (B.&H.Co., Ltd.) BELL ae HOWELL a tae PERSONAL MOVIE CAMERAS AND PROJECTORS

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b+ oo, Dy ae eS When- ever you have a cough USC Beech-Nut BLACK Cough Drops A cough drop with an agreea ble flavor BEECH-NUT PACKING CO. Canajoharie, N. ¥. Makers of BEECH-NUT LEMON, LIME AND ORANGE DROPS “You’re an angel,” he said, and his voice trembled. ‘“You’ve saved us all.” Moira cried outright as she kissed him. How could John have said those things? She cried and was happy. A pair of silver-backed hairbrushes accom- panied the check—just to show that the money had made no difference to their relationship. Tonino recognized the delicacy of her intention and was touched. “You’re too good to me,” he insisted—‘“too good.” He felt rather ashamed. “Let’s go for a long drive tomorrow,” she suggested. Tonino had arranged to go with Luisa and her brother to Prato. But so strong was his emotion that he was on the point of accepting Moira’s invitation and sacrificing Luisa. “All right,” he began, and then sud- denly thought better of it. After all, he could go out with Moira any day. It was seldom that he had a chance of jaunting with Luisa. He struck his fore- head; he made a despairing face. “But what am I thinking of!” he cried. “To- morrow we’re expecting the manager of the hotel company from Milan.” “But must you be there to see him?” “Alas.” It was too sad. Just how rad Moira only fully realized the next day. She had never felt so lonely, never longed so ardently for his presence and affec- tion. Unsatisfied, her longings were an unbearable restlessness. Hoping to escape from her loneliness, she took out the car and drove away at random, not knowing whither. An hour later she found herself at Pistoja, and Pistoja was as hateful as every other place; she headed the car homewards. At Prato there was a fair. The road was crowded; the air was rich with a haze of dust and the noise of brazen music. In a field near the entrance to the town, the merry-go-round revolved with a glitter in the sunlight. A plung- ing horse held up the traffic. Moira stopped the car and looked about her at the crowd, at the swings, at the whirling roundabouts, looked with a cold hostility and distaste. Hateful! And suddenly there was Tonino sitting on a swan in the nearest merry-go- round, with a girl in pink muslin sitting in front of him between the white wings and the arching neck. Rising and fall- ing as it went, the swan turned away out of sight. ‘The music played on. “But poor poppa, poor poppa, he’s got nothin’ at all.” The swan reappeared. The girl in pink was young and pretty. Tonino’s lips moved; behind the wall of noise what was he saying? All that Moira knew was that the girl laughed. Tonino took hold of her bare brown arm. Like an undulating planet, the swan once more wheeled out of sight. Meanwhile, the traffic had begun to | move forward. Behind her a horn hooted insistently. But Moira did not stir. Hoot, hoot, hoot! She paid no attention. Rising and falling, the swan emerged once more from eclipse. This time To- nino saw her. Their eyes met; the laughter suddenly went out of his face. “Porcamadonna!” shouted the infuri- ated motorist behind her. “Can’t you move on?” Moira threw the car into gear and shot forward. The check was in the post; there was still time, Tonino reflected, to stop the payment of it. “You’re very silent,” said Luisa teas- ingly, as they drove back towards Flor- ence. Her brother was sitting in front; he had no eyes at the back of his head. But Tonino sat beside her like a dummy. | “Why are you so silent?” He looked at her, and his face was Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1939 grave and stonily unresponsive to her bright and dimpling provocations. He sighed; then, making an effort, he smiled, rather wanly. Her hand wag lying on her knee, palm upward, with a pathetic look of being unemployed, Dutifully doing what was expected of him, Tonino reached out and took it, At half past six he was leaning his borrowed motorcycle against the wall of Moira’s villa. Feeling like a man who is about to undergo a dangerous opera- tion, he rang the bell. Moira was lying on her bed, had lain there ever since she came in; she was still wearing her dust coat, she had not even taken off her shoes. Affecting an easy cheerfulness, Tonino entered. “Lying down?” he said in a tone of surprised solicitude. “You haven’t got a headache, have you?” His words fell, trivial and ridiculous, into abysses of significant silence. With a sinking of the heart, he sat down on the edge of the bed, he laid a hand on her knee. Moira did not stir, but lay with averted face, unmoving. “What is it, my darling?” He patted her soothingly. “You’re not upset be- cause I went to Prato, are you?” he went on. Still she said nothing. This silence was almost worse than the outcry he had anticipated. Desperately, knowing it was no good, he went on to talk about his old friend, Carlo Menardi, who had come round in his car to call for him; and as the di- rector of the hotel company had left immediately after luncheon—most un- expectedly—and as he’d thought Moira was certain to be out, he had finally yielded and gone along with Carlo and his party. Of course, if he’d realized that Moira hadn’t gone out, he’d have asked her to join them. His voice was sweet, ingratiating, apologetic. “A black-haired gigolo from the slums of Naples.” John’s words reverberated in her memory. And s0 Tonino had never cared for her at all, only for her money. That other woman . . . She saw again that pink dress, lighter in tone than the sleek, sunburnt skin; Tonino’s hand on the bare brown arm. And meanwhile he was talking on and on, ingratiatingly; his very voice was a lie. “Go away,” she said at last. “But my darling——” Bending over her, he tried to kiss her averted cheek. She turned and struck him in the face. “You little devil!” he cried, made furious by the pain of the blow. He pulled out his handkerchief and held it to his bleeding lip. ‘Very well, then.” His voice trembled with anger. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. With pleasure.” He walked heavily away. The door siammed behind him. But perhaps, thought Moira, as she listened to the sound of his footsteps receding on the stairs, perhaps it hadn't really been as bad as it looked; perhaps she had misjudged him. She sat up; on the yellow counterpane was a little cir- cular red stain—a drop of his blood. And it was she who had struck him. “Tonino!” she called; but the house was silent. “Tonino!” Still calling, she hurried downstairs, out on the porch. She was just in time to see him riding off through the gate on his motorcycle. “Tonino, Tonino!” But either he didn’t, or else he wouldn't, hear her. The motorcycle disappeared from view. And because he had gone, because he was angry, because of his bleeding lip, Moira was suddenly convinced that she had been accusing him falsely, that the wrong was all on her side. In a state of painful, uncontrollable agitation she ran to the garage. It was

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ch, 1930 jive to her ations. He effort, he hand wag ward, with nemployed, xpected of id took it, eaning his the wall of man who ‘ous Opera- i, had lain 1; she was 1e had not fecting an ered. a tone of aven’t got words fell, abysses of rt, he sat he laid a d not stir, 10Ving. He patted upset hbe- ?” he went his silence outcry he ; no good, old friend, > round in as the di- had left ‘most. un- tht Moira ad finally Carlo and d realized he’d have zratiating, igolo from n’s words And s0 ler at all, er woman nk dress, sunburnt are brown Ss talking very voice ling over ed cheek. the face. ‘d, made low. He and held 211, then.” “If you pleasure.” ‘he door » as ome footsteps it hadn't ; perhaps at up; on little cir- ‘is blood. him. he house lling, she 1e porch. m riding otorcycle. ither he lear her. om view. cause he ding lip, that she that the strollable It was Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 essential that she should catch him, peg his pardon, implore him to come back. She started the car and drove out. “One of these days,” John had warned her, “you'll go over the bank if you’re not careful. It’s a horrible turning.” Coming out of the garage door, she pulled the wheel hard over as usual. But too impatient to be with Tonino, she pressed the accelerator at the same time. John’s prophecy was fulfilled. The car came too close to the edge of the pank; the dry earth crumbled and slid under its outer wheels. It tilted hor- ribly, tottered, and went over. But for the ilex tree, it would have gone crashing down the slope. As it was, the machine fell only a foot or so and came to rest, with its flank against the bole of the tree. Shaken, but quite unhurt, Moira climbed over the edge of the.car and dropped to the ground. “Assunta! Giovanni!” The maids, the gardener came running. There was a small babel of exclamations. “But can’t you get it onto the drive again?” Moira insisted to the gardener; because it was absolutely necessary that she should see Tonino at once. Giovanni shook his head. It would take at least four men with levers and a pair of horses. . “Telephone for a taxi, then,” she ordered Assunta, and hurried into the house. If she remained any longer with those chattering people, she’d scream. Going up to her room, she sat down before the mirror and began, method- ically and with deliberation—it was her will imposing itself on her nerves—to make up her face. She rubbed a little red on her pale cheeks, painted her lips, dabbed on the powder. “I must look presentable,” she thought, and put on her smartest hat. “My purse,” she said to herself. “I shall need some money for the cab.” She was pleased with herself for being so coolly practical. “Yes, of course; my purse.” But where was the purse? She re- membered so clearly having thrown it or. the bed when she came in from her drive. It was not there. She looked under the pillow, lifted the counterpane. Or perhaps it had fallen on the floor. She looked under the bed; the purse wasn’t there. Was it possible that she hadn’t put it on the bed at all? But it wasn’t on her dressing table, or on the mantelpiece, or on any of the shelves, or in any of the drawers. Where, where, where? And suddenly a terrible thought occurred to her. Tonino . . . Was it possible? The seconds passed. The possibility became a dreadful certainty. A thief as well as—— John’s words echoed in her head: “Black-haired gigolo from the slums of Naples, black-haired gigolo from the slums...” And a thief as well. The bag was made of gold chainwork; there was more than four thousand lire in it. A thief, a thief. She stood quite still, strained, rigid, her eyes staring. Then something Seemed to collapse within her. She ot aloud as though under intolerable ain. The sound of the shot brovght them Tunning upstairs. They found her lying face downward across the bed, still breathing. But she was dead before the doctor could come up from the town. On a bed standing, as hers stood, in an alcove, it was difficult to lay out the body. When they moved it out of its Tecess, there was the sound of a hard, rather metallic fall. Assunta bent down nee what had dropped. ‘It’s her purse,” she said. “It must =a stuck between the bed and the To men who ork * uit “e a as +S § HIS PAGE is addressed to those "W gemeence of earnest, hard-working men who want to take things easier some day. It tells how these men, by following a simple, definite plan, can provide for themselves in later years a guaranteed income they cannot outlive. How the Plan Works It doesn’t matter whether your present in- 125 want to some day a ability, even if that disability should continue for many, many years—the remainder of your natural life. 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Do not let your pores grow large or your skin rough and aged. Use MELLO-GLO and look younger! No face powder was ever made like ic—only MELLO-GLO has the secret formula and this new process. There are no substitutes. Get MELLO-GLO and keep your com- plexion young. MELLO-GLO is a square gold box of loveliness for one dollar, at any toilet goods counter. her and she twittered like a bird. Like a bird, too, she had flown from one thing to another. | She had changed into péche velvet | pajamas; she had bounced into and out |}of every chair in the place; she had turned on the radio and the phono- | graph and had danced to both; she had thumped the piano and sung snatches |from a dozen songs. She was flushed, vibrant, happy and hungry. While Lucille, a handy woman indeed, | prepared their first meal her mistress chattered. “T think I’ll hire a Chinese cook——” “Indeed you won’t,” Lucille told her. “I know what you like, and you can’t keep your strength on chop suey. China- men eat mice.” | “Not mice, rice! Mother never let me | have any friends but I’ll have oodles of them now. Nice people who don’t know anything about the theater. Nobody has ever heard my voice; they think I’m deaf and dumb, but wait! I’m going to |/sing and talk and laugh. I’m going |to parties and meet ladies and gentle- men and have them here. That’s why |I got this place and made Clifton’s fix Coe: Se “Smart people, who don’t have to work |in their evening clothes. They'll say pretty things and make love to me and use long cigaret holders. I'll throw din- | ner parties and use that crystal set and | we'll have cocktails and wine and high | balls. You must find me a bootlegger and learn to mix drinks.” | bartender’s widow?” Mrs. McCabe in- | quired. | “ll have to pretend to drink—touch my lips to the glass. You know. Maybe T’ll learn to really drink. But—I guess not. Gee! It’s good to be free and rich }enough to buy everything you want. | Why shouldn’t I enjoy my money? I’ve | danced for every penny of it. I'll invite | artists and dramatists and big writers to | dinner. I—TI’ll have a salon.” “If it’s a saloon we’re going to run, | darlin’, we’ll need a nice bar fixture and | some cuspidors.” Lucille laughed heartily | at her own joke. | The reviewers always wrote about | Odette Newman’s smile, the tender, joy- ; ous, wistful smile that curled her lips | when she was dancing. They praised the dancing itself, of course, and her beauty, ever fresh and haunting, but that smile had made a million friends, a thousand lovers. | Packed houses watched her nightly and she took bow after bow. Women exclaimed, “Isn’t she adorable?” “You want to hug her.” Men pounded their {palms to pulp and murmured, “What joy and grace and winsomeness!” “She’s a peach!” “I’d like to meet that kid.” Beauty, glamour, innocence, the breath of spring—-in their minds she stood for all of these, and while her disconsolate admirers went to bed sighing, she ate her bread and milk and cried herself to sleep. The loneliest creature in New York. Mr. Ollie Drake was one of those thousand lovers. Three times this week he had paid his six-sixty to see the show and nineteen dollars and eighty cents ran into a lot of money with Mr. Drake at the moment. So keen was the thrill she awoke in him that he loitered in the lobby after the performance to gaze at her pictures. As usual, he was tempted to join the i;crowd at the stage entrance and get !a look at her in the everyday flesh but Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Fourth O ffe NSEC (Continued from page 49) | “Who could do that better than a= he resisted it. Mr. Drake was some. thing of an idealist and he clung to the few illusions he had left. He knew a good deal about Miss New. man, for he read the newspapers. He knew, for instance, that she was single had wavy brown hair, loved animals wore Feinberg’s short-vamp shoes and had lost her mother and her tonsils, But he had no desire to part the veij that shrouded her private life. That life, he assumed, was similar to the life led by other famous stage beay- ties, and he knew it would give him no lasting pleasure to see her claimed by some top-hatted gallant and borne away to a fashionable night club or some similar rendezvous. She probably wore an eight-thousand-dollar ermine wrap and an armful of orchids. Some bank- er’s son with pleats in his pants would help her into his limousine—— The big sap! And she’d gaze up at him with that famous look of eager, wistful in- security in her dark eyes. Gee! It was a crime the way these sex-appealers put the bee on young mij- lionaires. And how those collar ads fell for that stuff ...A fine racket, leading nice girls astray! What those Junior he-Leaguers needed was a good belt on the button ... All the breaks. Just because they had money. With a scowl on his face Mr. Drake strolled down the street. As he stood on the corner waiting for the light to change a girl passed him. She was walking swiftly, and profiting by a momentary break in the line of ve- hicles, she sped out into the street. What happened thereafter came s0 suddenly, so unexpectedly, that memory of the precise sequence of events re- mained blurred. There was a shout, a blare of horns and a car swerved crazily, tossing the girl aside with a glancing blow from a polished fender. A phalanx of Juggernauts with glaring, lidless eyes bore down upon her; brakes squealed; there was a crash as taxis collided. Drake leaped forward; he _ snatched the girl to her feet and held her in the crook of his arm. He flung out his free hand and stiif-armed himsélf from contact with a skidding limousine, then he arched his back inward to avoid a blow from a fender behind him. The cataract of vehicles slowed. There were shouts, oaths, queries. Through the confusion he won his way back. An excited chauffeur whose cab stood with its front wheels on the sidewalk was gesticulating and bawling curses at him. “Back in your crate!” Ollie barked at him. “Whadda you mean, running peo- ple down? I think I’ll just take a sock at you, for luck.” “Please! It was my fault!” the gitl exclaimed faintly. “D-don’t fight.” “Are you hurt?” “No. I’m all right. Don’t call the police. I didn’t look.” “Lucky for you,” Drake told the chauf- feur. “Shove off now before I wrap you around a fire plug. And I hope you run off a bridge.” To the girl he said with equal heat, “What a swell chance you've got to grow up. Can’t you tell red from green?” “It was so sudden. I thought I—" — Her voice caught; she turned away, stumbled and uttered a faint cry. © “Hey! I thought you said you w hurt. Wait a minute, driver. I'll take your number.” “Let him go. It serves me right Anyhow, it’s nothing much.” Drake stooped and felt the girl’s ankle. His head was still whirling; he was

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ch, I930 Was some- lung to the Miss New- apers. He was single, d animals, Shoes and 1er tonsils, rt the veil Similar to stage beau- ive him no claimed by borne away > or some bably wore mine wrap ome bank- ants would —- ae t him with wistful in- way these young mil- ar ads fell et, leading ose Junior od belt on aks. Just Mr. Drake vaiting for assed him. 1 profiting line of ve- reet. came s0 it memory events re- a shout, a ed crazily, . glancing A phalanx idless eyes squealed; ded. snatched rer in the x out his self from sine, then 9 avoid a L. red. There Through back. An tood with walk was 2s at him. barked at ning peo- ke a sock the girl ht.” call the he chauf- wrap you > you run said with ice you've red from ht I—" way, then — Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 129 Naving ovely INands at all times on less than 5 minutes a day fey Donia Lee Chley Beauty Editor of Cretonial Review 4 Advantages Lucy momen hawe diacovered im the meur Liquid Polish ODAY there is no alibi left for ill-kept hands, for we are con- stantly getting new and better mani- cure preparations and they do their job so quickly and efficiently that any woman very satisfactorily can be her own manicurist. The new liquid polish has contrib- uted four wonderful advantages to busy women. It takes only a few moments to apply. Its delightful lustre keeps the finger tips gleaming for days and days. It does not peel or discolor, but serves as a splendid protection for the nails, keeping them smooth and gleam- ing under all conditions. And there is no fear of its making the nails brittle. Now, with an application of this new liquid polish at the weekly manicure, the nails are exquisitely groomed throughout the entire week—with only a few minutes’ care each day, just Below—At the Beauty Saton in the St. Recis Horet, New York, they say: “Our clientele like the lustre Cutex Liquid Polish gives their nails and the fact that their hands keep the well- groomed look for days! And Cutex Cuticle Remover keeps their cuticle so trim.” Erne Barrymore, the best-loved actress on the American stage, says: ““To get the full effect of personality, everything must flatter us to our very finger tips. “The hands particularly must be spark- ling. I find the new Cutex Liquid Polish keeps my finger tips radiantly fresh and crisp—gives them just the necessary touch of flattering sparkle. I take along a Cutex Manicure Set on all my tours to keep my shining nails ready for their cue!” enough time to mould the cuticle and cleanse under the nail tip. It is fun to keep doing things in this interesting world we live in—but unless you are wise. your hands will suffer. Are you ashamed of yours? The Manicure Method Women with famous hands are using 1. Cutex Cuticle Remover and Nail Cleanser —to mould the cuticle and cleanse the nail tips. Scrub the nails with warm soapy water. Apply Cutex Cuticle Remover to remove dead cuticle and bring out the pale half- moons. Pass orange stick, wrapped with cotton and saturated with Cutex Cuticle Remover, under nail tip. Dry and cleanse with dry cotton. Rinse fingers. 2. The new Cutex Liquid Polish that pro- tects and flatters the nails. Remove old polish with Cutex Liquid Pol- ish Remover. Apply Cutex Liquid Polish from the half-moon toward the finger tip. As a finishing touch, a tiny bit of Cutex Cuticle Cream or Oil to keep the cuticle soft, and a touch of Nail White under the nail tip. Nortuam Warren—New York, Lonpon, Paris Cutex Liquid Polish or Remover 35¢. Polish and Remover together so¢. Perfumed Polish and Remover together 60¢. Cutex Cuticle Remover and Nail Cleanser 35¢. The other Cutex preparations 35¢. SPECIAL INTRODUCTORY OFFER—12¢ I enclose 12¢ for the Cutex Manicure Set contain- ing sufficient preparations for six complete manicures. (In Canada, address Post Office Box 2054, Montreal.) NortHam WarREN Dept. OC-3, 191 Hudson Street, New York, N. Y.

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ARC A good look at your COM p/ | XAMINE it critically—closely. Which of the two illustrations below does it look | more like? An inferior comb will usually show rough edges along the teeth and sharp v-shaped spaces between, because it has been merely stamped out of flat sheet material. ACE Combs are moulded from perfectly vul- canized hard rubber and given the exception- ally high polish that effectually removes all rough edges. Therefore, they glide easily and smoothly through the hair, arranging it just | exactly as you want it, with no danger of cut- ting, breaking, or pulling it out. Ask for ACE Combs at your drug or depart- ment store—in any style or in any size, formen | and women. Yours for the asking—an illus- trated booklet, “Lovely Hair,” will be sent on request—no charge. Merely fill in your name | and address in the margin and mail to us. In ACE Combs the teeth are polished, rounded, and have smooth, u-shaped, parallel spaces between. Inferior combs have_ teeth with rough edges and sharp v-shaped spaces between which catch and cut the hair. ACE COMBS ACE Combs for men and women a are sold in a wide assortment —j &— of styles and sizes at most drug and department stores. Select your ACE Combs from this dis- play cabinet. AMERICAN HARD RUBBER COMPANY 11 Mercer Street, New York, N.Y. angry, but something about the appear- ance of that leg or the foot in its high- heeled, short-vamp shoe caused him to raise his eyes. For the first time he got a good look at the owner’s face. He rose, his dizziness increased. “If you'll call a taxi and help me into it——_?” the girl was saying. “Of course. But don’t you think I’d better get a doctor, Miss Newman?” “It does hurt. I think there’s a doc- tor in my apartment building. I’m sure nothing is broken.” She moved her ankle, then gingerly put some weight upon her foot, holding Drake’s arm meanwhile. A taxi drew in to the curb and he helped her into it. Then he in- troduced himself. “My name is Oliver Drake. I was in the eighth row tonight. Won’t. you let me see you safely home?” “Why, if you don’t mind.” A mo- ment later she said, “Thanks ever so much for saving me. I thought I was a goner. Isn’t it a dancer’s luck to sprain an ankle?” “it’s the best luck J ever had,” the man said awkwardly. She looked at him, to find that he had a pleasant, friendly face. “I’ve seen your show ten times, Miss Newman. I—didn’t recognize you t , “That’s because of the wig.” “IT must be dumb not to know you— anywhere.” Evidently this was intended |as a compliment. Odette smiled. He | was a nice, comfortable young man and | there was no affectation about him. She managed to enter the apartment | building, leaning upon him, but when | the elevator stopped at her floor and |she undertook to step out, her lids flut- tered; she bit her lip. “Pardon me,” he said and, stooping, | he gathered her into his arms. He won- | dered if he could be dreaming, and if |she could feel the violent pounding of |his heart. Odette Newman, the darling |Of Broadway, in his arms, her cheek |brushing his! What sort of delirium | could this be? Odette managed to unlock her door | while he still held her. He carried her | inside, then stood staring about him. “Well!” The girl was smiling. “This |is the end of the line.” | “Oh!” He came to himself abruptly. “Where shall I put you?” “On that sofa. Thanks!” She lifted |her eyes to his; each held the other’s |gaze. He was the first to speak. | “Where is your maid?” “I just remember that I let her go. She’s my dresser and——” “What’s the name of your doctor?” Odette shrugged. “I only know one and he takes out tonsils.” | “Didn’t you say there was one in the | building?” “Yes. The phone is in my bedroom. If you don’t mind——” Drake disappeared. Odette heard him call the office and make the situation known. When he returned she had her shoe and stocking off and was frown- ing at a swollen ankle. “I’m pretty handy at first aid,” he announced in a matter-of-fact tone. “I know just what that doctor will do when he gets here, so why wait for him? Let’s put that foot into some hot water. Have you got a foot tub?” “They’re not in the period.” Odette | waved a gesture at her Italian setting. | “Dish pan?” | “I think so. In the kitchen.” “Fine.” He passed through the dining oom, pausing to run his eye over its urnishings. Real silver! Just so much ready money, he told himself. | When he returned with the dish pan {and asked for a can of bicarbonate of Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 soda Odette directed him to her bath. room. While he waited for the water to run hot he noticed on the washstang three diamond rings in platinum set. tings and these he examined with the appraising eye of an expert. He tuckeg them into his vest pocket. “This will burn at first,” he announceg as he set the steaming pan on the floor. He wet his hands and rubbed the in. jured foot, then gradually immersed jt. Next he arranged some cushions 3 Odette’s back. “I don’t know what to say,” she began, “T can’t let you wait on me.” “Why not?” “You're a total stranger. Those people in the office can get somebody.” “The doctor will be here soon.” Drake knelt, wrung out a towel and wrapped it around Odette’s leg. “Isn’t this—funny?” she inquired. “Peculiar, but scarcely humorous.” “I mean about you—us. Fifteen min- utes ago I’d never seen you ... We might have been killed in that traffic.” “Yeah? Well, what ailed you to take chance like that?” he demanded. “Oh, I didn’t much care.” “Hot enough?” “It’s scalding. My foot is done.” For a while they talked, then he added more hot water to the pan. When per- haps fifteen minutes had passed he again called the office and Odette smiled at the way he laid out the clerk. “That pill roller is out on a call but I’ve got ’em on the hop for another.” Again Drake massaged the ankle. “So you didn’t care whether you were run over or not.” Odette nodded. “That’s funny.” “Peculiar or—humorous?” “I just don’t understand it...Im afraid you’re going to be laid up fora while. Have you got an understudy?” “Of course. Why have you seen our show ten times, Mr. Drake?” “Oh, nothing to do! Business is slack.” “What business are you in?” “Steel.” After a moment he said, “You’d better let me phone one of your friends and get her to spend the night with you.” “I wish there was somebody I could call on.” “Meaning what?” “Meaning that I don’t know a soul. I was born in New York and I’ve lived here most of my life but I’m not ac- quainted with anybody outside of the theater. Honest. Nobody comes to see me. This is the longest I was ever alone with a man. It’s quite an adventure.” “Well, I’ll be——” Mr. Drake stared queerly at her. “Now tell me the one about the great big bear and the middle- sized bear and the little bitty bear.” “It’s true! There are lots of girls in the profession like me. Mother put me in training when I was a child. Dancers must work, you know.” When her lis- tener gazed about him, frankly bewil- dered, Odette answered his unvoiced question. “Oh, I know this looks like Du Barry’s flat and you think all actresses are raging vamps but—listen. Mother was a slave, first to the stage, and then to’ her school; she never gave a th to anything else and all her interests lay in the theater. “She made me follow in her tracks. She saved every dollar I earned and it away for me. Not a nickel for het- self; all for me. Why, we lived like two vaudevillians. Cheap rooms; poor food; scarcely a decent thing to wear. I never went out—there wasn’t time—and nat urally I never met anybody. “When I lost her I burst into bloom. I rented this place and hired people # $s)

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ch, 1930 her bath. he water to washstand tinum set. d with the He tucked announced n the floor, ed the in. nmersed it, ushions at she began, hose people y. ” on.” Drake wrapped it quired. norous.” ifteen min- I... lat traffic.” you to take nded. lone.” n he added When per- ed he again / smiled at a call but r another.” ankle. “So 1 were run it...Tm d up fora erstudy?” u seen our ss is slack.” t he said, ne of your | the night dy I could y a soul. I I’ve lived m not ac- ide of the mes to see ever alone enture.” ake stared 1e the one he middle- bear.” of girls in ler put me 1. Dancers on her lis- kly bewil- - unvoiced ks like Du 1 actresses 1. Mother , and then a thought iterests lay ner tracks. 2d and put 21 for her- 2d like two poor food; r. I never —and nat- nto bloom. | people to Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 By 131 TO EVERY BUSY WOMAN WHO WANTS A MORE BEAUTIFUL SKIN rere THIS ORIGINAL ZV5¢ BOTTLE OF AMBROSIA OU wouldn't believe it: you wouldn't believe that simply cleansing with a liquid—even a liquid that is sunlit, refreshing, zest- fully clean as the Springtime—could so quickly refine skin-texture, could keep it firm, radiant, young! You wouldn't believe it, so we want to send you Ambrosia. This is an unusual offer—a daring test of a wholly new method of cleansing. We make it because we have faith in our product—because we have seen the enthusiasm of fastidious women, customers of Saks-Fifth Ave- nue and other smart stores, when the same offer was made to them. This is the way to use Ambrosia: _ Wipe thoroughly over the face with cotton, repeating until a fresh pad does not show any soil. Now you know the face is perfectly clean. You see the dirt right on the cotton —black dirt from the pores and crevices of the skin. Then stroke the face up with the fingertips until dry. Cleansed, toned, ready for powder .. . your face hasn't felt so glowingly young and alive since you were sixteen. AMBROSIA THE PORE-DEEP CLEANSER Ed Liquid Ambrosia normalizes and refines skin- texture. It prepares a dry skin to absorb a softening tissue cream; thus it combats any tendency toward wrinkles. Created by a French chemist, named by the Empress Eugenie, Ambrosia was first made in America only to private order. The richest women in New York had Ambrosia prepared especially for them. Famous actresses recom- mended it to their personal friends. And now a 75¢ bottle is offered to you, without cost, for your approval. Medical authorities agree: Doc- tors always use liquid solvents to cleanse the skin thoroughly. Only a liquid penetrates instantly into the pores, dissolves out the deepest dirt, leaves no clogging particles of sediment to collect dust and germs. Ambrosia is safe—no caus- tic alkali, no wax. Swift—a one minute facial. Convenient—nothing to wipe away. On sale at better drug and de- partment stores everywhere, $1.00, $1.75, $3.00. Mail the coupon at once. We will send you FREE the original 75¢ flacon of Ambrosia. Hinze Ambrosia, Inc. Dept. 3-F, 114 Fifth Avenue, N. Y.C. Canada, Dept. 3-F, 69 York St., Toronto, Ont. Good until July Ist only Please send FREE the 75¢ bottle of Ambrosia Name Street. City State

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132 fix it up so I could really live and make friends. But I couldn’t get started. I— I didn’t know how or where to begin. I’ve been here three months and you’re the first—no, the second—man to see the inside of the place, and I had to cripple myself to get this far. “The other fellow did the decorating; he comes back to look at it. He thinks I keep the place full of guests and hold high jinks every night, and I pretend I do. Lonesome! Oh, golly!” Odette’s voice trailed off into a fluttering sigh. “I guess I’m about the lonesomest girl in the world. That’s why I didn’t look where I went. I was hurrying to a midnight pic- ture and my eyes were all blurry. Any- thing rather than come back here.” “Gee, kid—I mean, Miss Newman— that’s tough!” “I don’t know what made me tell you this unless it’s because you’re so—com- fortable. Maybe I’m just desperate.” The doorbell rang and Drake admitted the doctor. Briefly he explained the nature of the accident and the doctor examined Odette’s foot. “It’s merely a sprain,” he told her. “I can bandage it or put it in a cast but I assume you want to get back to work as soon as possible. That means heroic treatment. Keep up the hot fomenta- tions every hour. I'll be back in the morning.” “Can you send me a nurse?” “Nonsense! Anybody can bathe your foot.” He addressed himself to Drake. “You did well to start promptly. If she’ll keep it up tonight she'll gain a week’s time. See that she’s put to bed at once. These capsules will insure her a night’s rest. She can take one now.” He scrib- bled some directions upon a pill box. “Okay!” Mr. Drake nodded. “What a comfort he was,” Odette com- plained after the medical man had gone. “How am I going to get anybody at this hour?” “Maybe the clerk can dig up a cham- bermaid. The first thing is to get you into bed. Think you can make it if I carry you to your room?” “Certainly. But——” “Tl keep the hot towels coming until help arrives.” For a second time Drake gathered the girl into his arms. He deposited her upon her bed, then telephoned the office once more. As he turned to leave the room he fished the three rings from his pocket and dropped them upon a table, saying casually: “Here’s some stuff I found on your washstand. Watch out you don’t lose it.” RS. MCCABE let her- self into the kitchen and started break- fast as quietly as possible, but before she had gone far with it she paused, bread knife in hand, and cocked her head at- tentively. Then she tiptoed into the dining room and listened again. Her eyes widened; incredulity, dismay smote her. From the living room came the unmis- takable sound of a man’s snore. The good woman stiffened; she strode through the door. A young man in shirt sleeves was sprawled in an easy chair. Lucille prodded him with the blunted point of the bread knife and spoke harshly: “Hey!” He opened his eyes, yawned and said: “I must have dropped off. You're Lucille.” “Iam. And who are you?” “Sh-h!” “Don’t shush me, you—you—devil!” Mrs. McCabe’s strident voice broke. She gripped the bread knife tighter, prepara- tory to plunging it into the villain’s body, but it was one of those limber-bladed, Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 crinkly-edged knives more suitable for sawing off a human head. He was addressing her but she made nothing of his words, for her world had crashed. Odette! The pride of her heart! That’s what came of leav- ing her alone. Sophie Newman’s ghost would haunt her forever. And the composure, the insolence of this das- tardly despoiler. “Say!” The perfidious viper was smil- ing at her with abominable self-posses- sion. “You stay out longer than the laundry, don’t you? How about a copy of some ham and eggs?” A moment later Lucille stalked into Odette’s bedroom and demanded loudly: “What’s going on here? Wake up! I’m talking to you, young lady!” There was a stir among the pillows; a pair of black pansy eyes fluttered open; a sleepy voice answered languidly: “Oh, hello, dear! ... Where’s Ollie?” “That limb of Satan? ... The nerve of you, lying there as bold as brass! Am I dreaming?” “Lucille! Look! Look!” From under the covers came a foot, a leg bare to the knee. The ankle was swollen and discolored but Odette eyed it fondly. There was a note of pride, of triumph in her voice as she explained: “The most wonderful thing happened. I sprained it, see? I almost got killed but Mr.—but Ollie saved me. He brought me home and got a doctor and—and everything. He tried to get a nurse or a maid but it was too late, so he stayed and bathed it in hot water every hour, waiting for you.” “He what? All night! Alone with a stranger!” “Oh, he isn’t like—like that! He’s the nicest person, and he has a sister who sprains her ankles and he thinks it’s awful that I’m lonesome and he doesn’t like girls who run around and act wild. He’s a perfect gentleman, really. Lucille! I’ve got a boy friend. I’m so glad!” In the days that followed Mr. Drake proved himself to be a comfortable per- son indeed to have around, and the scandalized Lucille finally admitted as much. They became fast friends and took turns waiting upon the invalid. Odette was spoiled; she had never learned to amuse herself so she mo- nopolized Ollie and made him entertain her. Thanks largely to him, she genu- inely enjoyed this, her first vacation. During the fortnight following her acci- dent, she saw him daily. Lucille liked him because he was rough, direct, and because there was no foolish- ness about him. He was as hard as granite and he nursed a_ perpetual grouch. He was an amusing skeptic, a genial sorehead. Before long he had constituted himself a brother, a watch- dog, a balance wheel which kept the erratic household running smoothly. Drake did not fancy Mr. Warburton, that being the real name of the mag- nificent gentleman from Clifton’s. The latter had formed the habit of dropping in unexpectedly with news of exciting opportunities in antiques. He came at all hours and he made himself as much at home in her bedroom as elsewhere. Drake felt compelled to tell her darkly, “Lay off Bertie the Beautiful Cloak Model. I don’t like male heroines.” “He’s an artist in his line, really, and they have such lovely things at Clifton’s. I can’t resist them.” “He’s got this place looking like an auction room already.” Lucille nodded her agreement. “That’s what I say. And the prices he gets for those dust-catchers!” “He’s slipping you all the worm-eaten plunder he can’t peddle on Park Ave- nue, just because you don’t know better. And another thing I don’t like: he’s g boudoir salesman. He can’t talk b outside of a bedroom. If I catch him ip there again I'll lay a knuckle on him” Odette dimpled. “You're a fine one to talk; a man who sits up all night rup. bing a girl’s bare leg! And the very first night you meet her.” Drake frowned. ‘“‘That’s not smart ang it isn’t funny. I hate to hear a nice kiq like you make wise-cracks.” “Thank heaven it was you did it ang not him!” Mrs. McCabe exclaimed. When Odette went back to work she naturally saw considerably less of Drake, but usually he took her home after the performance and they had supper to- gether either in the apartment or at some quiet place. It was an odd friend. ship. He never became sentimental; he never talked about himself; nor did he beau her around. He was a diffident person and as impassive as a frog. a were times when Odette surprised a look in his eyes or heard a note in his voice that bespoke more than a brotherly interest but she ignored it, for she was well content with him as he was and with their relations as they stood. Drake was harsh but gentle; he was gusty and forceful, never- theless he was as considerate as a girl where she was concerned. She felt safe with him. One afternoon Warburton called while Lucille was doing her marketing. To avoid meeting him, Drake stepped out on the roof. He could overhear a word or two and his face fell into unpleasant lines. If Odette didn’t give this fellow the gate he’d have to speak to her. He heard a movement, a sound that suddenly galvanized him. “Let go of me! Don’t—do that!” It was Odette’s voice. Above her choking protest came Warburton’s hoarsened bass. He held the writhing girl in his arms and was kissing her, a sacrilege which roused murder in Ollie’s breast. He entered the living room silently but purposefully. There was a feline swiftness to his movements. Before Warburton sensed the presence of a third person he felt himself wrenched back- wards and turned to meet a slashing blow. It was not the blow of a fist but the crashing impact of a hand weighted with metal. A heavy automatic crashed upon his skull and he fell, lay motionless; blood flowed from him. Odette screamed. It was a moment before Ollie could quiet her. Then he dragged the limber Warburton off her expensive rug. “You’ve killed him!” horror. “I’m afraid not.” Drake was as neat as a cat, so he went to the bathroom and got a towel for the decorator’s head. Thus engaged, he heard Odette fran- tically phoning the office. He was still trying to assure her that . no serious damage had been done that the romantic Mr. Warburton would undoubtedly live to pursue other and more profitable adventures in love when the bell buzzed violently. He went to the door and admitted the day clerk and the head bellman; casually explained the accident that had befallen the represent- ative of the Clifton Shops. : A moment or two later the starter puffed into the room with a policeman and again Drake spoke his piece. “We got to talking politics and I bumped him harder than I meant to. He shot a warning glance at Odette. “Ig he dead?” she asked the limb of the law. she cried in

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rch, 1930 like: he’s a talk bus; catch him ip kle on him” a fine one to 1 night rub. nd the Very >t smart and ir a nice kiq u did it ang laimed. to work she SS Of Drake, ne after the Supper to- ment or at odd friend- ‘imental; he nor did he a diffident _ frog. were times : in his eyes shat bespoke ‘est but she ontent with eir relations harsh but -eful, never- te as a girl he felt safe called while keting. To stepped out lear a word unpleasant this fellow to her. sound that » that!” It 1er choking rsened bass. is arms and hich roused om silently as a feline ts. Before e of a third ched back- a slashing f a fist but id weighted d upon his less; blood a moment Then he on off her » cried in as as neat » bathroom ator’s head. lette fran- ‘e her that . done and rton would other and love when vent to the clerk and plained the represent- he starter policeman ece. ics and I meant to.” Odette. ne limb of Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 SONS eat 133 An Entirely New Type..... S A fine, powerful, fast Eight FEATURES Great power in proportion to weight. Low set motor—straight line drive. Low center of gravity. Low roof line—Greater head room. Wide seats. Ample leg room. Ten body types on two chassis lengths. Modernistic body lines and detail inside and out. Four 2-way shock absorbers. Engine starter on dash. Electrolock — electric gauge for fuel and oil. Radiator shutters. Tires carried on side in fender wells. Tire lock. Luggage carrier. Rich upholstery — harmonious hard- ware and fittings. Your own choice of many colors. The motoring world thoroughly understands that no ordinary car nor merely conventional Eight would be entrusted to take up the onward stride of Hudson leadership. It is acknowledged as Hudson’s greatest achievement. It is a complete new car throughout. New ideas, new beauties, new com- forts, with Hudson’s same price ad- vantage. It has unusual alertness in get-away and in speed. It has attractive operation economy. Here is performance more flexible and smooth in all ranges than any in Hudson’s famous past. Here are quicker ee ” f 2 4 - re ==: : =e CC — SS \ 1 GERRI GREET TTER IEEE eo SS ————— = x — nese mare gn mN in ¥\ “5 ; get-away and greater hill-climbing abil- ity. Here is a motor so smooth and powerful that it imparts a new riding sensation, active, free, effortless. Every detail is newly designed. The car conforms to no standardization, either in chassis or in appearance. It is wholly Hudson and wholly individual. Only a car possessing these qualities in pre-eminent degree could earn the right to carry on Hudson’s leadership. It sells in Hudson’s well-known price range. It must continue Hudson’s reputation for producing the world’s greatest value. Beauty and spaciousness are combined in Hudson’s Great 8 Touring Sedan here shown. It is especially attractive as a family car. The new modernistic treatment of radiator, fendersand body line is richly developed in the interior upholstery and fittings.

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134 “No; but he needs help. I’ll phone for an ambulance.” When the officer re- turned to the room he said to Drake, “Now then, who is this fella?” “Name’s Warburton. He’s a salesman for Clifton’s. My name’s Drake; I’m in the steel business.” “And so you socked him with a crow- bar ... Drake! Haven’t we met before?” “Not that I remember.” “Let’s have the rod you bent.on him.” Drake handed the policeman his revolver. “Got a permit?” the latter inquired. “A—permit?” “Oh! You’re from Montana, where they don’t need permits. Just so! After we hear Mr. Warburton’s story you and I will step over to the station house.” “You—you can’t arrest him!” Odette protested. “He’s a friend of mine. That man grabbed me and tried——” “Odette!” “He tried to kiss me. what you’d do, officer.” Ollie did just 5 DRAKE!” The patrolman looked incredulous. “A friend of yours? Well, well! Have you ever missed anything, Miss Newman?” “Listen, you——” Drake exploded. “He’s in the steel business, all right. He steals plenty.” “So you say.” “So the book says.” “Ollie!” Odette turned a tragic, star- tled face upon him. “What is this?” “Just a bad break,” he told her evenly. “Seven thousand cops in this town and in creaks a harness bull who knows me!” There came a movement from the prostrate Warburton; sounds issued from him, but they were unintelligible. When he was finally removed and the police- man beckoned to Drake, Odette roused herself from her daze. “Ollie!” she wailed. love——” “Shut up!” he snapped at her. “Close your mouth, stupid!” There was such venom in his tone, his face was so for- bidding, that she shrank as if he had slapped her; tears filmed her eyes. “IT d-don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. Take me with you.” “Great!” Mr. Drake wet his lips and grinned mirthlessly at the attentive witnesses of the scene. His face was bloodless as he went on: “Who says this kid can’t act? They think she’s just a dancing doll but she’s got the best of ’em licked. All she needs is an audience. See you later, Miss Newman.” At the door, in answer to her strangled cry, he muttered to the policeman, “Just a minute, fella.” He turned his back to his captor, crushed Odette’s hand in his. Under his breath he said: “Gee, kid, I’m wild about you!” Then he was gone. “I don’t care. I The newspapers made a lot of the Drake arrest; it was grist for the tab- loids. Famous Dancer and Romantic Gunman. Gorilla Wins Heart of Broad- way Beauty. Headline writers rang a dozen changes on that idea. Mr. Warburton told his story to the press and put himself in a creditable light. He had been the victim of an un- provoked attack. Miss Newman had lured him to her apartment. It was the old badger game: blackmail. There is no pleasanter task than tear- ing down a reputation. It was discov- ered that Drake had practically lived in Miss Newman’s apartment, and that of course could have but one significance. Reporters questioned her and read their own meaning into her refusal to speak, and into the fact that she had hired the most expensive legal talent for her lover. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 As for that young man, he violated every precept of the underworld by tell- ing his story in advance of his hearing, regardless of the possible prejudice to his case. He vehemently denied Mr. Warburton’s statements and branded them as con- temptible lies. Assault with a deadly weapon? Sure. He had put the slug on Warburton because that was his job. He was hired as Miss Newman’s bouncer, as a bodyguard to protect her from just such annoying johns as this one and it took a gun to do it. She was the most sought-after girl on the stage and her life was one battle to avoid the atten- tions of her numerous admirers. Love? Odette Newman in love with him? That won first prize in the Laugh- of-the-Month Club. The truth was that a hundred rats like Warburton—bankers, brokers, society men—were wild over her and it took a muscle man to handle them. Miss Newman herself. was a lovely, brilliant, ambitious girl, and not only the greatest dancer in the world but a talented artist in other lines, as New York would discover. Her voice, for in- stance, was like Tetrazzini’s. She had hired him just because he was hard- boiled and so that she could get her sleep. That was the truth and you couldn’t arrest a guy for earning an honest living, even if he had a record. This notoriety bore immediate fruit. Business at the theater jumped; it be- came necessary to detail a special officer to handle the crowds at the stage door. Letters poured in upon Odette; she re- ceived mash notes, invitations, offers of marriage. Society matrons, eager to make her acquaintance, wrote her and called her up, as did Junior League girls, impul- sive debs and gushing sub-debs. To her bewilderment and her dismay, she found that one touch of scandal had made her human. Her telephone rang with annoy- ing frequency; feature writers begged for interviews; booking agents importuned her. She had offers for vaudeville, and a prominent producer urged her to star in the singing réle of his new operetta. Odette cried a great deal; she grew thin and haggard, but she continued to dance divinely, for she was too good a trouper to let her work suffer from a mere heartbreak. Grease paint hides pallor, and the bigger a girl’s eyes be- come, the lovelier she is. The case of The People vs. Drake turned out to be a great disappointment to the curiosity seekers who thronged to the Criminal Courts Building on the day of the trial. Many of them could not gain admission to the courtroom and those who were fortunate enough to ob- tain seats were denied the salacious en- joyment of any amatory details what- ever. They did not even hear Drake’s expensive counsel essay a defense. There was no oratory, no plea for mercy. Everything seemed cut and dried. According to the police record Drake had been twice convicted as a felon, and in addition thereto he had not long since been found guilty of carrying a gun. This second breach of the Sullivan Law,’ for which he was now called to answer, changed what had been a misdemeanor into a felony and in consequence he came to the bar as a fourth offender. With some reluctance, the Court sentenced him to life imprisonment under the Baumes Law, explaining that the sentence was mandatory and that the Court had no choice in the matter. Drake took his medicine without flinching. Miss Newman sat like a rock. To the audience it was a disappointing anticlimax to a promising entertainment. One day several weeks after triumphant opening in the principg) rdle of that new operetta she sat a letter in her hand. It was neg written but since its receipt it had he. come spotted: the lines were blurred: the ink had run. For the fiftieth tim, she read: Dear little fellow: I hate to say no to you but it wouldn’t do for you to come to gee me—a fellow can’t stand _ every. thing. After all, the first hundreg years is the hardest. Honest, kid, you don’t know what a break you got when they put me away. It’s better for both of us for me to be where I am than where I'd like to be. Why, I aimed to rob you that night you hurt your foot— remember those rings? And I had your silver all melted up. I even lied about that sister of mine. J] never had any sister. I’ve been catching up on some thinking about heaven and hell, and such things, since I’ve been up here, People don’t have to die to go to heaven: I had mine before I died and it was cheap at any price. Do you know something? That was the first time I was ever tempted and didn’t fall. When you said, “Ollie, I love you,’ I understood what the preachers talk about. Gee! Nobody can take that away from me, I can do solitary for the whole stretch and still be on velvet. Don’t worry about me. I’m doing great. You're all that matters. Work hard, run straight and don’t weaken. The right guy will come along some day, and when he does you tell him about me and ask if he minds you writing me, say once a month. Nothing gushy, understand, just a hello from one pal to another. I won’t care if it’s only a word. It will keep me going, and I’ll give you all the news from here. A fellow likes to feel that he hasn’t really croaked. Get me? Up on your toes, little fellow, and smile. Remember, we’re a couple of game guys. As ever, Ollie M RS. MCCABE entered the room, and seeing the letter in Odette's hand, she spoke sharply: “There you go again. Don’t you know better than to get your eyes all swelled up, with a newspaperman and a photog- rapher coming in half an hour? You can’t afford to cry. Here, give me that letter.” She snatched the sheet from Odette’s fingers and tore it up. “I suppose you're right,” the girl agreed listlessly. “Isn’t it queer that I can af- ford jewels and orchids and everything —except tears? And they’re all I want. I can’t even afford to keep Ollie’s let- ters.” “They do you no good, darling.” “Lucille! Did you ever stop to that the loveliest pearl in the world is born from an injury? From a hurt # an oyster? It’s true. And the finest per- fumes are made out of ambergris, W. comes from an ulcer in a whale’s stom- ach. Yes, and silk is spun by worms and orchids are parasites that bloom only in dark swamps.” “Now what has a red nose got to do with oysters and whales’ stomachs? busy this minute and put on some make up. What would your mother say?” Odette rose wearily. ‘“She’d pro tell me that the show must go on.”

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arch, 1930 after Odette the —principg) she sat with t was neatly pt it had be. were blurred: “fiftieth tims you but it ome to see ind every. st hundred know what 1ey put me h of us for than where med to rob your foot— And I had p. I even f mine, J ) On some id hell, and ng? That rer tempted you said, understood bout. Gee! y from me, the whole lvet. I’m doing ters. Work n’t weaken. along some ju tell him minds you onth. and, just a nother, I word. It ll give you A fellow sn’t really fellow, and . couple of Ollie ‘ABE entered r in Odette’s ’t you know s all swelled id a photog- hour? You tive me that sheet from up. e girl agreed at I can af- i everything » all I want. . Ollie’s let- ling.” ‘op to he world is n a hurt to e finest per- regris, which hale’s stom- > worms and oom only in e got to do nachs? Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 137 O’Bannion Rules the Roost by Peter B. Kyne ccontinuea trom page 85) c Coast Marine Engineers’ Asso- ‘ciation he kept a large sea bag packed with his seagoing clothes, in case he had to put to sea within half an hour. For two months Malachi O’Bannion assaulted the seats of the mighty; then one day a man entered the lounging room at the Marine Engineers’ Associ- ation and called out to the secretary: “Pm Captain Nordberg, master of the Oceanic packet Maori Chief. My chief engineer’s just been hit by a taxicab and none of his assistants has a chief’s ticket. The owners have ordered me to find a man. I’m sailing in half an hour.” “Here!” howled Malachi O’Bannion. “Ym yer huckleberry, sor!” “What’s your name, chief?” “Michael Daly,” Mr. O’Bannion lied. “y’yve been a chief ingineer since Washin’- ton crossed the Delaware. I was fifteen year in the Maverick, two year a loot’nint commandher in the navy an’ wan year wit? the Transpacific Line.” Wi your former em- ployer recommend you, Mr. Daly?” “We'll grab a taxicab an’ run up to his office an’ ye can ax him yerself, sor. If he recomminds me, do I get the job?” “You shall—provided you can go to sea in half an hour.” “Tll trim five minutes off’n that, cap- tain, so I will. Wan momint till I telly- fome the office av Kendrick an’ Son an’ see is the young man in.” He popped into a booth and called up Johnny Kendrick. “Malachi O’Bannion speakin’, Johneen,” he almost purred, “but for the purpose av landin’ a job I’ve changed me name to Michael Daly. I have Daly’s ticket. He died a week ago an’ I shtole his ticket to bolsther up me idintity. I’m comin’ up wit’ Captain Nordberg av the Maori Chief for a rec- ommindation. Do ye land me this job, Johnny dear?” “Come up and we'll put it over, Ma- lachi.” It took Johnny Kendrick just one min- ute to land that job for Mr. O’Bannion. “The finest, most honest, loyal, capable and dependable chief engineer in the world, captain,” he stated. From Kendrick’s office Malachi tele- phoned a farewell to his wife and half an hour later put to sea. There wasn’t a soul aboard the Maori Chief that knew him, so Mr. O’Bannion hung up the ticket of Michael Daly, deceased, resolved to sign that name to the pay roll and thus hide his identity from the wretches in the office who would remem- ber he was blacklisted. Also, albeit he had never seen a marine engineer who wore a beard and mus- tache, nevertheless Mr. O’Bannion con- sidered it the part of wisdom to attempt the experiment. Even Johnny Kendrick would not have recognized Malachi behind the black Niagara Falls mustache and trim Van- dyke beard he sported upon his return to San Francisco from Sydney, Australia. He was fearful that his voice—his inim- itable brogue—would betray him to the port engineer when that individual came down to look the ship over, so he merely answered “Yes” or “No” to the port engineer’s few questions, in a high, hiss- ing voice not unreminiscent of a gander’s. Inasmuch as he had not been hired by the port engineer, it was now in the latter’s mind to look the new chief over carefully before permitting him to go out On the next voyage. ‘I’ve heard of you, Daly,” he said to Mr. O’Bannion, “but I can’t remember meeting you before. Seems to me some- body told me you’d died about three months ago.” “I was awful sick,” Mr. O’Bannion keened. “The wife was sure she’d be collictin’ me insurance, but I fooled her.” “Well, you seem to be getting away with the job in good shape, Daly. I’ve never seen a neater engine room and the skipper says you attend strictly to business and make your subordinates at- tend to theirs. The old chief will be laid up a year from that taxicab accident, so you can stay on until he gets back.” “T’ank ye kindly, sor,” piped Mr. O’Bannion—and ached to hit the port engineer over the head with a spanner. Naturally brave and aboveboard, he loathed subterfuge. So he went out again in the Maori Chief and they laid over one day in Honolulu. And there Fate ordained that Mr. O’Bannion should go ashore. The Maori Chief was to sail at six o’clock that night and accordingly Mr. O’Bannion came strolling down to the dock about five-thirty. He was almost embarrassed to encounter the chief en- gineer and the first and second assistants of his ancient love, the S. S. Maverick, strolling up the dock, but fortunately his whiskers hid his identity from them. “They knocked off at five o’clock an’ are on their way uptown for a bit av a shindig,” O’Bannion reflected. He passed on down the dock and paused to gaze up at the towering bulk of the Maverick. The stevedores were loading her with sacks of raw sugar and the mate was out on the dock driving them with his bitter tongue. Mr. O’Bannion sighed. The Maverick —his old lost love! He edged over to the mate. “Who’s the thirrd assistint in the Maverick now, sor?” he queried civilly. “Ole Swenson,” the mate replied. Mr. O’Bannion nodded and started for the Maverick’s gangplank. He did not know any marine engineer by the name of Ole Swenson; hence he jumped to the conclusion that Ole Swenson did not know him, and decided he might risk a visit to the Maverick’s engine room and satisfy himself as to the extent to which it had gone to the devil since last he had hung up his ticket there. He had slid down the first ladder to the fiddley when a roaring, crashing, rending sound came up to him, followed by cries and a puff of black smoke. “The dirrty, incompetint divils!” Mr. O’Bannion decided. “They’ve let the tops av the ile tanks get foul wit’ the slop av bilge wather an’ run-over ile whin the tanks was filled—an’ now some gossoon will wondher what’s happened. A handful av ile-soaked waste or an ily wipin’ rag has got down underneath an’ flamed into spontanyus combustion— begorry, we’ve had a bit av an explosion.” He slid down into the engine room and found it murky with the smoke of burning fuel oil. “What’s happened here?” he demanded. Out of the murk the voice of a man —Ole Swenson, Mr. O’Bannion de- cided—answered: “Explosion in the bilge just under the boiler room.” “Ye’ve got a fire ragin’ in her bilge, thin, me laddybuck. D’ye t’ink the fuel tank’s ruptured? If ’tis—begob, I know *tis ruptured! The fire’s runnin’ aft undher the floor av yer ingine room, man. Begorry, ‘tis hot undher foot already—here, here, what in the divil are ye doin’, ye vagabones?” This latter to the engine-room crew, who were swarming up the ladder. But the crew—they were all Filipinos —paid no attention to him, so Mr. O’Bannion turned to the third assistant. “T knew it!” he howled. “Divil a bit av discipline have ye in this ingine room. Now, thin, ye’ll have to act fast, Swenson. How long since ye claned the fuel tanks an’ pumped out the bilges?” “Maybe a year,” Swenson replied. “May hivin forgive yer chief ingineer! We're in for it now. Do ye not know that there’s two foot av slush in her bilges for the length av the ship—ile leakage from the overflow when fuelin’ her, plus a bit av salt wather? Wit’ the roll av the ship that slop goes over the tops av the tanks in the bilge, pro- vidin’ fuel for a fire when some jackass dhrops a greasy rag where he shouldn’t. The fire’ll run from wan ind av her bilge to the other. There’s gas in the bilge— from the fuel-ile slop—an’ ye’ll have another explosion if I know annythin’ about it.” They had it! Mr. O’Bannion rocked on his feet and Swenson fied up to the deck, shrieking, “Fire! Fire!” “Bad luck to that squarehead!” Mr. O’Bannion cried furiously. He looked at the oil-burners under the furnaces, cast a critical eye on the steam gauge and nodded his entire satisfaction. Then he prowled around until he found a valve and turned it, nor did it occur to him now that what he was about to do was, decidedly, none of his confounded business. All he knew was that it was necessary that someone should do a cer- tain thing, and since there was nobody in the Maverick’s engine room save him- self, naturally he had to do it. He knew that a maze of steam pipe with open valves led throughout the bilg- es of the ship and on each side of the fuel tanks. The system had been built in for the express purpose of flooding the bilges with live steam in the event of an emergency such as at present ex- isted, live steam being the sole practical thing to use in order to quench an oil fire raging in a confined space. However, Mr. O’Bannion was not turn- ing the steam into the bilges as yet, for the engine room was fast getting so hot that in a minute or two longer it would be untenable. Consequently, he was first shooting the steam up forward into the donkey boiler on the main deck; from the donkey boiler he planned to flood the forward two-thirds of the ship’s bilges, hoping that if the fire had not as yet crept forward the steam would hold it where it was. He knew the steam would seep aft, choking the demon in the vitals of the Maverick. E TURNED water into four of the boilers which were partially shut down, and turned up the oil-burners under the furnaces. Suddenly from out of an open fire box a flareback licked out and burned to a crisp his eyelashes and eyebrows, his magnificent mustache and Vandyke beard and most of his foretop. In pain and horror he danced and cursed; then the soles of his feet began to burn, so he fled up the ladder, closed the ventilators and the doors leading into the engine room and raced along the deck up to the donkey boiler. The gauge was rising rapidly in it as he arrived. He brushed the ashes from his singed eyelids and peered at it. When the boiler threatened to burst he let the steam into the bilges and, half fainting, collapsed beside the donkey. A terrific hullabaloo presently aroused him and he sat up and sent his watery

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138 glance down on the dock whence came all the racket. He discovered that the Honolulu fire department had arrived, and at that he laughed, bitterly and scornfully, got to his scorched feet and rolled down the deck to the gangway, just as the battalion chief of the fire department—a Hawaiian—came up. “Where’s the fire?” he yelled. “Get out av here!” O’Bannion yelled back. “Have ye no sinse at all, at all? The idjea av thinkin’ ye can put out an ile fire in the bilges wit’ wather! G/’lang out o’ this!” “Who are you to give orders here?” the Hawaiian demanded truculently. “Have ye got the chimical wagon wit’ ye, ye gossoon?” Mr. O’Bannion roared. “If ye have, more power to ye. I'll show ye where to put the nozzle down. Chim- icals’ll do the thrick.” “The chemical wagons are at another fire. Out of my way!” And the bat- talion chief motioned to his crew, who came running up the gangplank drag- ging a hose. Some wisps of black smoke were coming out of the chinks in the closed door that led down to the engine room, and toward this door the battalion chief directed his men. “Don’t open that door or the vinti- lathors,” Mr. O’Bannion commanded. “Ye'll only let a draft av oxygen down to feed the fire.” “I’m going to flood the engine room and bilges—you. Get out of my way and don’t interfere or I’ll have you arrested.” The big Hawaiian—or half-Hawaiian, as he really was—grabbed Mr. O’Ban- nion by the shoulders and shook him. “Don’t you know that at a fire the fire chief is in supreme command? You can’t give me orders.” “Begorra, thin, ye ought to take a coorse in fire-fightin’ firrst, ye jackass!” Mr. O’Bannion howled. “Take yer hands off’n me an’ get off’n this ship wit’ yer hose or I’ll make a mummy out av ye. Sure, if I wanted to fight that fire wit’ wather, haven’t I got all the hose an’ wather in the wide worrld to do it wit’?” And he pointed to the ship’s fire hose. The fire chief threw Mr. O’Bannion at least six feet from him. He was a powerful man. “You’ll make no mummy of me,” he announced. Although the man was a native, O’Ban- nion’s respect for him mounted. “That’s wan man I'll not pick a fight wit’,” he decided. “Howiver, I'll thry the effect av sane argymint.” To the chief he yelled: “Man, dear, have ye iver fought a fuel-ile fire be- foore?” “IT have—twice. Don’t talk to me!” “Have ye iver fought wan in a ship?” “No.” “Thin get out av here, ye big brown ba-boon. Ye’re not needed. I have the situation well in hand an’ need no hilp from the fire departmint.” H. MIGHT as well have talked to the wind. The fireman was excited. In the absence of his superior, he was in supreme command; even the owner of a burning property could not tell him how or when to do his job. He was far from having any coherent plan for fighting the fire in the Mav- erick, but he had a feeling that if he and his men could but get down into her, victory would quickly crown their efforts. So he tossed Mr. O’Bannion aside again, opened the door leading into the engine room and slid down the lad- der, followed by two of his gallant fel- lows dragging the hose after them. Recovering from the shock of being catapulted twenty feet along the deck, Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Mr. O’Bannion seized the hose and stopped its downward progress. But only momentarily. A fireman came up behind him and dragged him away from the hose, so Mr. O’Bannion ran forward, found a nice red ax in an emergency case, broke the glass and, brandishing his ax, descended again upon the fire department. There was water in that hose by the time he got back. “Out o’ me way or I'll slay ye!” he howled, and charged the fire department, which fled from the menace of his ax. And then the sharp blade came down on the distended hose where it rested on the ship’s rail. Instantly a geyser of water deluged Mr. O’Bannion; he found it pleasantly cooling to his scorched person. Then the battalion chief and his two men swarmed up out of the engine room, having found it untenable, and from the rear they closed in on Malachi. They took his ax away from him; then they swatted him with their fists. There were four of them—just the odds the tribe of O’Bannion had always craved. Mr. O’Bannion fought with boot and fist as he had never fought before. He put his mark on all four, but in the end he went down, and the next thing he knew two Honolulu policemen were carrying him down to the dock and the firemen were unreeling another hose. By the time they had it up on deck with the nozzle drooping over the engine room, Mr. O’Bannion had _ recovered. Suddenly he swung a right to the jaw of Number One policeman; whirling furiously he sunk a left and a right on the jaw of Number Two policeman. Both collapsed and O’Bannion dashed to the nearest fire truck, grabbed an ax from it, fled down the dock to the hy- drant to which the hose had been fastened and cut the hose. Then the police closed in on him, mas- saged him with very hard billies, threw him into the wagon, which had just arrived with a detail of police to keep the dock clear, and carried him off to the hospital. And when they had patched him‘up at the hospital they removed him, none too gently, to the city jail and tucked him away in solitary. He was charged with malicious mis- chief; with destroying city property; with interfering with firemen in the dis- charge of their duty; with assault with a deadly weapon; with assault with in- tent to do great bodily harm; with bat- tery and with resisting arrest. Meanwhile, the Maori Chief’s skipper, never doubting that his chief engineer was aboard, cast off his line and steamed south. The following morning, through eyes each of which sported a “mouse,” Mr. O’Bannion read in the press a lurid ac- count of a maniac, identity unknown, who had run amuck at a fire aboard the S. S. Maverick the previous evening. Whereat Mr. O’Bannion chuckled. “They'll niver know who I am an’ I'll not till thim,” he decided. “I can’t afford to. I’m a jackass. What business was it av mine if the Maverick burrned? Ochone, if I could only bring meself to mind me own business! “T’ll plead guilty an’ t’row meself on the merrcy av the coort. I'll get six mont’s if I get a day—an’ divil a worrd must I say in me own behalf. ’Twould niver do to have the worrld know that Malachi O’Bannion, alias Michael Daly, not only sailed undher a dead man’s ticket, but rooned a promisin’ career be indin’ up in jail. Oh, dear; oh, dear!” From the depths of his despair he was aroused by someone’s entering his cell. Then a friendly voice said: “My good fellow, may I ask who you are?” “Ye may not!” howled Mr. O’Bannion. “Now don’t say that,” the other pleaq- ed. “I’m here to help you. I’m Mr. Pierce, the president of the Transpacific Line, and the Transpacific Line owns the Maverick, which you saved from de- struction yesterday evening. It’s forty- nate I happened to be in Honolulu; 1 have some influence; the Transpacific Line will pay for the two hoses yoy ruined and get you off with a nominal fine. The company will pay that, too.” “T’ank ye, sor. She’s a fine ship. I was passin’ down the dock, sor, whin the explosion occurred. I knew her chief, wit’ the firrst an’ second assistints, had gone uptown, lavin’ the engine room in charrge av the thirrd assistint—an’ Il trust no thirrd assistint in an emer- gincy. So I wint aboord to inveshtigate— an’ thin the whole thing happened. “I did for yer ship, sor, what I’d like somewan to do for a ship av mine. I’a the shteam goin’ into her bilges nicely, whin that jackass av a fire chief at- timpted to put wather into thim. There was no argyin’ wit’ him.” “Yes, yes, my friend, I understand. The fire department lacks experience with marine fires. What position do you occupy aboard the Maverick?” L« NOT on the crew list, sor. If I till ye who I am will ye kape it a secret, sor? .. . T’ank ye, sor. Well, thin, I’m Michael Daly, chief ingi- neer av the Maori Chief that was lyin’ acrost the dock from the Maverick.” “And for volunteering to save the Maverick you’re out of a job, burned, bruised and beaten. The Maori Chief sailed on schedule last evening. But don’t worry. The Transpacific Line will take care of you, Mr. Daly. From the moment you cut that. first fire hose you were on our pay roll.” “T’ank ye, sor. But I didn’t damage the fire hose much. I cut twinty feet off the firrst hose, but they can key the nozzle to it ag’in; an’ I only cut a foot off the second hose, so they can key the couplin’ to that ag’in, an’ bad cess to thim for a grrand lot av deranged apes.” “I should like to shake your hand, Mr. Daly, and I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate your heroic action.” So Mr. O’Bannion removed his hands from his dreadful features. He had for- gotten that his hirsute camouflage had been burned away. He extended a dirty, badly cut and swollen paw. “Good Lord!” the president of the Transpacific Line almost yelled. “You're that villain O’Bannion, who used to be chief of the Maverick and whom I fired . out of the Makaweli.” Mr. O’Bannion stood up. “If ye min- tion that name ag’in I’ll choke ye to death,” he growled. “T’ll not,” Pierce hastened to assure him. “So youre still incapable of mind- ing your own business, eh?” “Hivin forgive me, I am,” Mr. O’Ban- nion replied sadly. “But in this case I had extinuatin’ cirrcumstances. I was chief av the ould Maverick fifteen year, so for why should I shtand by an’ see me ould home burrned an’ rooned?” “I believe,” said Pierce, “that I begin to understand your singularly complex nature. When you were angry with me you refused to tell me the Maverick had a crack in her tail-shaft coupling, and that cost us thirty thousand in salvage alone. But you can’t cherish a grudge, it. seems, so last night .you saved us @ hundred thousand. Mr. O’Bannion, you’re forgiven—on one condition. You've got to forgive me!” O’Bannion was embarrassed. “Arrah, don’t be puttin’ dogs in winders,” he

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» 1930 Bannion, r plead- I'm Mr, nspacific 1€ Owns rom de- s fortu- Olulu; J spacific ses you nominal at, too.” Ship. I hin the r chief, its, had oom in -an’ I'll . emer- tigate— 1ed. I'd like ne. I'd nicely, lief at- There rstand. erience do you the Modern TOOTH BRUSH Get a Tek set today. Twice a day brush your teeth. Once a day floss them. Handles in pastel shades of Lucite. Tek with flat handle 50c; with floss handle 75¢. Tek Jr. 35c. Hello Sleepy Mouth Get up and do your Tek-rercese Tek-sercise is not a dumb-bell exercise. It’s the smart way to wake up Sleepy Mouth. How do you do it? Like this. Take Tek by the handle. Comfortable grip, hasn’t it? Start brushing. Feel the active spring of the bristles? Tek is small and nimble, reaches all the teeth. Your gums begin to glow with health. That’s the automatic part of Tek-sercise. While you clean your teeth, the extra width of Tek’s brush-head stimulates your gums. No special effort on your part. For the tight spaces between your teeth use dental floss. There’s a ready supply in the handle of one Tek model. Refills available. Tek brushes and Tek-Lister floss are products of Johnson & Johnson, world’s largest makers of dental and surgical dressings. 139

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140 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 WIN $1000.00 WITH YOUR PEN Enter this $2850.00 prize letter-writing contest... 355 awards; cash prizes range from $1000.00 to $10.00 Wuew a friend removes to a nearby city . . . or starts on a trip around the world '... or leaves for her vacation, your hearty wishes for new happiness go with her. Write her a letter about it. The Eaton, Crane & Pike Company will award $700 in prizes for the eighteen best farewell letters submitted in their big letter-writing contest, and 100 additional prizes of Eaton stationery. These letters are not re- quested for advertising purposes. Rules of the Contest For the best letter of each of the three types listed below, Eaton, Crane & Pike Co. will pay $250; second best, $150; third best, $100; for the next five, $20 each; $10 apiece for the ten following; with additional prizes of Eaton’s Highland Vel- lum to the next 100 winners. At the end of the contest a special prize of $750 will be awarded to the letter judged the best of all three classes, making a possible total of $1000 which this letter may win. © Types or LETTERS: 1. Love letter. 2.‘‘Bread-and-butter’’ letter (a letter of appre- ciation to your hostess after a visit). 3. Farewell letter (a letter to a friend who is going away). i“ Cxiosinc pate: All entries must be in the mails by midnight of May 31, 1930. Letters must be addressed to the Contest Editor, Eaton, Crane & Pike Co., Pitts- field, Mass. You may submit as many letters as you wish, and you may enter all three contests or any one. ; IpentiFicaTIon: Your full name and address must appear on the reverse side of the sheet or at the bottom of the last page. Wuyners: The winners will be announced through the columns of this magazine. In case of a tie for any award, the full amount of the award will be given to each of the tying contestants. No manuscripts can be returned. The decision of the jury is final. The letters will be judged solely on what you say. Finat yupces: Ray Long, editor of Cosmopolitan Magazine; Fannie Hurst, famous short story writer; Emily Post, authority on social usage. 4% So In Eaton's Highland Vellum, Eaton, Crane & Pike have introduced an unusually fine writing paper. It may be had in six exquisite colors: blue, grey, silver-grey, green, buff, ivory and white. Though supremely smart and modern, it is quite reasonable in price. 50 cents to $3.50, wherever good stationery is sold. Eaton, Crane & Pike Company, Pittsfield, Massachusetts. FALTON'S HIGHLAND VELLUM ’ pleaded. “I'll forgive ye—on wan con. dition. Ye must get me out av this jail.” “Tll bail you out, of course. And just to make it a day worth remembering you’re the port engineer of the Trans. pacific Line.” “Did the shteam shtrangle the fire on the Maverick, sor?” “Of course it did. Took four hours to do it, but the damage was slight.” “Thin,” murmured Mr. O’Bannion, “that’s all the reward I'll ask. T’ank ye kindly for the job. I'll take it, but I warrn ye I'll not be wit’ ye long. Whin Johnny Kendrick gets back into the shteamship business ag’in I'll be off, like Paddy Ford’s goat.” “O’Bannion, you’re a fool!” “Ye’re another,” Mr. O’Bannion de- clared belligerently—and by his silence the president of the Transpacific Line apparently admitted it! It Pays to Advertise (Continued from page 71) would not be noticed. What Mother would think if she did find out, Jinny refused to consider in the present emer- gency. When Jinny appeared for breakfast the second morning, attired in street clothes, Mrs. Carton regarded her with a delighted but carefully concealed sus- picion. “Will you stay downtown for luncheon?” she asked. “Why, no.” Jinny buttered her muf- fin with deep interest. “I don’t think so.” On entering the post office a quarter of an hour later, Jinny had a dazed impression that the government must have put on a bargain sale of stamps. It was swarming with people, standing in small expectant crowds. What was it all about? She started for the left-hand tier of boxes. Every eye focused on her instantly. For the first time she noticed that most of the people were congregated in that general vicinity. Help us to get right and stay right! They were all waiting to see who came to get the mail out of her boz. She had a sudden dismayed impulse to turn and run. No. That would never do. It would brand her unquestionably. She had to do something quickly. A scant half-dozen steps of respectability remained for her. Inspiration! She moved quietly on to Box 137 in the next row, peered into it, then walked to the stamp window. An audible sigh of disappointment went up from the crowd and again the babble of voices broke out. “I want two cents’ worth of ten-cent stamps—er—I mean ten cents’ worth of two-cent stamps,” she stammered. “That crowd’s got you rattled too,” remarked the woman at the stamp win- dow. “Well, they’ve got me pretty nearly nutty. Some of ’em waiting here as early as five-thirty, they say.” “What is it all about?” inquired Jinny. “Oh, some fool woman put an ad in the paper to catch a man. I never saw anything like it!” was the disgusted reply. “Well, she’ll catch a-plenty when she does come in, for the young fellow with the scratch pad, sitting on the floor under her box, is a reporter from the Post, and the photographer from the Herald is waiting outside.” Jinny made the open air, weak-kneed and dizzy. She went into a drug store and called her mother. “T’ye changed my mind about lunch- eon,” she explained hurriedly. “I am going to stay downtown.” HIGHLAND LINEN Mrs. Carton hung up the receiver with

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‘h, 1930 wan con- "this jail.” And just 1embe he Trove he fire on our hours slight.” | Mother ut, Jinny nt emer- breakfast in street her with aled sus- town for ner muf- hink so.” 1 quarter a dazed nt must - Stamps. standing That was and tier on her > noticed gregated is to get were all the mail impulse ld never tionably. ckly. A ctability ietly on red into idow. intment ain the fen-cent ' worth nered. dd too,” np win- y nearly here as 1 Jinny. 1 ad in ver saw isgusted y when fellow on the ar from r from :-kneed g store lunch- “T am er with Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Ii. a smile. Ducks will be ducks, if they are to water long enough. Two hours later Jinny returned to the office. The mob had thinned some but there were still many familiar faces. The young man with the scratch pad was leaning against the wall by the box. She stepped to the money-order window and bought a money order for a magazine subscription. She could see that the box was stuffed with letters. After luncheon she bought some post cards and again turned her steps toward the post office. Surely it would be empty now. Still the crowd lingered on. The man with the scratch pad was munching a sandwich. She didn’t dare make a third trip. It would begin to look suspicious. She passed by on the opposite side of the street. The persistent young man was taking the air on the stone steps. It was maddening to pass by knowing the box was full of answers. It would be so exciting to read them over, to sort out the impossibles from the possibles. She would get a good laugh out of the impossibles—and what a thrill out of considering the possibles! Dinner. A long dragging evening. At ten o’clock Jinny announced carelessly, “Mother, I’m not a bit sleepy. I am going to call Madge and see if she'll go to a picture show with me.” A whir. The snarl of shifting gears and the little blue roadster was off down the street. At the first drug store Jinny called and canceled her date with Madge. “Mother thinks it’s too late,” she explained, knowing that Madge would forget the whole business by morning. Jinny was sorely tempted to return to the post office at once, but the education of the morning had been thorough. She couldn’t very well hedge with stamps and money orders at ten o’clock at night. She had to play safe this time. She would go to the show first. It would be over about midnight. Then she would drive slowly down the county road to Ysleta and back. At one o’clock she would try again, on the theory that there is a limit to the waiting endurance of even hard-headed reporters. The streets were deserted as the blue car pulled up to the curb before the post office, three hours later. Jinny closed the door softly. She walked to the corner and reconnoitered. Not a soul in sight. She ran lightly up the steps to the door. The big rotunda was empty under the shadowy night lights. She tiptoed to the box, shoved in the key and began to pull out the letters. | here was an | “Please | What a bunch! Wait: Official notice at the bottom: call at box window for the rest of mail.” Not she! hand she walked over to the nearest wastebasket under the long table before the money-order window. She stopped, rooted in horrified fascination. There, seated on the floor under the table, with his arms locked about his knees, his eyes twinkling at her in amusement, was the annoying stranger of the dance! She didn’t drop the let- ters. She simply couldn’t hold onto them with those paralyzed fingers. They semered about. her in shameless aban- on. “Well! Well!” he observed sociably, as he crawled from under the table. “If it isn’t my little friend, the iceman’s daugh- . Cold, cruel world! But then, I just had a hunch it would be you.” “And of course, it’s you!” Jinny’s voice had a vicious edge. “Of course,” he agreed serenely. “I’m SO glad you feel that way about it too. 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142 yours and we'll drop them in the waste- basket. They don’t count, for I’m ap- plying for the job also. I always apply in person and I’ve brought along my credentials. I’ve got a book here in my pocket. You said he must like books. Wait a minute.” He rummaged a second, then extended @ small black volume toward her. In- furiated, Jinny stared at it. It was a pocket edition of Webster’s Dictionary. “It’s a fine book,” he declared en- thusiastically, “but it changes its sub- jects a little often.” He scooped up the letters from the floor and calmly threw them away before Jinny could find her voice. “I don’t know who you are or what you are,” she said icily, “but if you think I am going to be annoyed by you, you’re mistaken. I'll call the police.” “Call the police!” He gazed at her in shocked surprise. “For what? You have advertised for a man to fill a po- sition. I’m applying for the job. They couldn’t find anything unlawful in that. Don’t do it, little snowball. Policemen have such a rude sense of humor.” 4 ERE: face paled. “You are certainly too much of a gen- tleman to do a thing like that,” she pro- tested. “You are certainly too much of a lady to make it necessary,” he suggested. For the first time Jinny noted that behind the surface merriment of the blue eyes there was a purposeful air, a queer mixture, half tender, half daring, but wholly determined. “Well, why not?” she thought recklessly. She didn’t like him, of course. She really hated him, with his self-assurance and easy poise. But after all, weren’t self-assurance and easy poise the things she was after? “Now I suggest,” he continued blandly, “that we get into your car and hunt some place less public for the rest of this argument. At any moment one of your applicants may return and com- plicate the situation. What do you say?” Jinny nodded. He took her arm and they walked briskly out to the car. As she crawled in her feet struck some- thing beside the brakes. Something large, hairy. It was alive. Startled, she leaped back as a _ one-eyed bulldog bobbed up and regarded her with a look of villainous friendliness. “Oh, that’s Spunk,” her companion explained cheerfully. “Your ad said the man must like dogs! I told you I brought along my credentials. He’s a nice boy, and I thought just the ideal pet for us. Almost anybody likes a handsome dog but it takes a real dog lover to care for him, don’t you think?” Jinny climbed back into the seat. She was shaking. She couldn’t tell for the life of her whether it was with mur- derous anger or with hysterical mirth. It wasn’t true, she assured herself. It just couldn’t be happening. The man _ seated himself. Spunk squeezed himself on the seat between them with outrageous confidence as the car turned the corner. Jinny glared at them both belligerently and just missed a lamp-post by an eyelash. “Don’t do that again, Jeems,” he re- proved gently. “Our destination is the nearest all-night restaurant, not the headlines of tomorrow morning’s papers.” Jinny gritted her small teeth with rage as she righted the car. Oh, she was having a perfectly wonderful time. “It is too late for you to have coffee,” he observed, studying the menu. “Of course, you won’t sleep for thinking about me anyway, but we won’t start sowing your wild oats until tomorrow Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 night. Two bowls of rice and cream,” he told the wooden-faced waiter, “and a chicken sandwich. “The chicken sandwich is for Spunk,” he explained to Jinny. “He doesn’t like the bread but he has to eat it to get the chicken, so jt is fine training for his character. Life is full of: little things like that. Now I suppose introductions are in order. Under what name did you rent the post-office box?” “Olga Chandler,” admitted Jinny. “Olga Chandler!” he repeated admir- ingly. “Why, with a name like that you already have a past, so why worry about the future? Now, Olga Chandler alias what?” “Jinny Carton,” confessed Jinny. “Jinny Carton. Jinny,” he murmured slowly. Then, pulling up the edge of the table cover, he bent over. “Did you hear that, Spunk? Jinny! more like it. “I’m applying for this job,” he began, briskly addressing himself to Jinny again, “under the nom de plume of Pancho Villa Coolidge. I think that matches your Olga Chandler nicely. I’d use my right name, John Smith, but the Smiths are proud people. You’ve heard of them, I’m sure. Just call me Pancho and I'll call you Jinny. Now, you have advertised for a man——” Jinny’s cheeks burned. Why didn’t she get up and leave the impertinent creature? The impertinent creature went on calmly, as he fished out of his vest pocket the clipped advertisement. “between the ages of thirty and forty. I’m just thirty-two. If that seems young, remember I'll improve it every year. I have already demonstrated my fondness for books and dogs. As to lik- ing the ‘occasional society of a small brown-eyed woman’—I’m ready to show my weakness in that direction at any time. In other words I am an enter- prising, hard-working young man with a wife and six children to support. Do I get this job?” Z Jinny sighed with relief. Now was the time to end the ridiculous farce. A “No” hovered on her lips; hovered and died unspoken. For the first time she looked full into the blue eyes, ardent and compelling. Something like heady wine mounted in a blurring, tingling recklessness as she answered, “Yes.” At two am. Jinny the impeccable, Jinny the neighborhood pattern of pro- priety, unlocked her front door. Her mother was placidly nodding in the old leather rocker. If she felt any surprise at her daughter’s eccentricities it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. You would have thought it was Jinny’s custom to arrive just ahead of the milkman, ac- companied by a pocket edition of Web- ster’s Dictionary and a one-eyed dog. Mrs. Carton yawned, hunted up an old sweater, which she spread on the floor at the foot of Jinny’s bed for Spunk to sleep on. If it had not been for Spunk’s occasional sniff-snuffing trips around the room in the night, Jinny would have known it was all a dream. Pancho was right. She couldn’t sleep for thinking about him and the more she thought the angrier she got. Allow- ing herself to be bullied in this ridiculous fashion! Promising to meet him tomor- row night, no, tonight—tomorrow was already here. She’d punish him. She’d call him and cancel that dinner en- gagement, with no ardent blue eyes to upset her equilibrium. : She sat up in bed suddenly. How could she call him? She didn’t know where he was. She didn’t even know his name, for of course it wasn’t either Pancho or John Smith. Well, so much Now, that’s’ the better. She just wouldn’t show up at the appointed time and place. At six o’clock that afternoon she slipped through the kitchen on her way to the garage. Her mother was explain. ing the intricacies of a new salad to Juaquina. Jinny tried to cover up with a bread. and-butter manner the fact that she was unmistakably wearing her cake-and- ice-cream clothes. She sidled out the door with a careless, “Just going out for dinner, Mother, but I won’t be late.” Half an hour later she was g into a pair of disturbing blue eyes across a table in the Central Café at Juarez, Yes, Juarez! Even Madge had not made a practice of going to Juarez. is “A sweet Martini for the lady, a Martini for me, two portions of—— Jinny heard his order to the waiter. She looked about her in blissful sin, Soft lights, intimately gay parties scat- tered about, waiters hurrying by with trays of sophisticated little glasses and the orchestra playing “Cielito Lindo” in time to the lilting beat of her heart. What was it all about—this new, giddy, something-about-to-happen sensation? When he glided out on the dance floor with his arms about her, she knew! Knew with a quick, suffocating sweet- ness. For a second the gates of vision swung open, then slammed shut with a clang. Could he care for her? Could any man consider seriously a girl he had met in such an unconventional way? There was just one thing left to hang her pride upon. He must never know. She laughed and sparkled. She answered the running fire of his nonsense with a wit she didn’t know she had. She flirted and did her gallant best to hide the shy little Jinny who didn’t have sense enough to stay at home. Three nights of gay parties and Jinny reached the point of abandon where she didn’t care how much it was going to hurt afterwards, so long as she could make it continue in the present. Spar- kling hours. His leaning over the table and calling her ridiculous names that somehow carried a faint caress. Any- thing to cling to the heaven-hell sense of joy so near. She kept trying to tell herself it was just an interlude, but persistent little mushrooms of hope were springing up. He must care a trifle or why should he continue? Indeed, there were moments —those poignant silences that made her look up to find his gaze bent upon her in quizzical tenderness—when she could have shut her eyes in sudden blissful consciousness of how much he cared. yom fourth night was gayest of all. Desperately gay. A sort of eat-drink-and-be-merry -for-tomor- row-you-know hilarity. They were just seating themselves after a dance when Page Bassett and Clytie charged down upon them. “Hello there, mouse,” kidded Page. “How did you ever annex the lion who has stuck so stubbornly to his lair ever since he hit El Paso?” “Oh, Mr. King!” bubbled Clytie. “What are you doing?. Getting some ae color and material for your next Barry King, the writer! ‘That ex- plained it all. That made clear his interest in her escapade. Jinny hoped that her face looked perfectly normal, for in that second of revelation she had simply ceased to be. This creature, laughing lightly, pretending that she had known all along, was not Jinny. Oh, the hideousness of it! Studying SC _ J

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“You was ? “Cant hardly’ What Are YOU Mistakes in English ? much as these offend you F some one you met for the first time made the mistakes in English shown above, what would you think of her? Would she inspire your re- spect? Would you be inclined to make a friend of her? Would you care to introduce her to others as a close friend of yours? These errors are easy for you to see. Perhaps, how- ever, you make other mistakes which offend other persons as much as these would offend you. How do you know that you do not mispronounce certain words; are you always sure that the things you say and write are grammatically correct? To you they may seem correct, but others may know they are wrong. Unfortunately, people will not correct you when you make mistakes; all they do is to make a mental reservation about you. “She is ignorant and un- cultured,” they think. So you really have no way of telling when your English offends others. 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Merely mail the coupon, a letter or a postal card NOW. Suerwin Copy Scuoot or ENGuisH, 143 Searle Building, Rochester, N. Y. SHERWIN CODY SCHOOL OF ENGLISH 143 Searle Building, Rochester, N. Y. Please send me your free book, ‘‘How You Can Master Good English—in 15 Minutes a Day.”’ her, she supposed, just as you would dis- sect a frog to see what made his wheels go around. And when it was over he would put her through her paces for the public to snort over, at so much per volume. And she loved him. No, had loved him. She hated him now. Page and Clytie moved on. “Mr. King”—Jinny’s voice clipped the words crisply—‘it’s time for us to stop this little game. I think all the cards are on the table now. It’s rather silly to go on. I should like to leave.” He looked up swiftly, stung by the edge in her tone. Her lips were still smiling but her eyes were bitter, remote. Poise and sophistication, did you say? Jinny had gone far in four days. “Why, Jinny!” He gazed at her blank- ly. “Just what do you mean?” “What do you suppose?” she laughed easily. “I just wanted to attach a writer’s scalp to my belt. I found out who you were after the dance the other night, so I chose a rather unusual means of at- tracting your attention. ‘Suit your bait to the fish’ is my motto.” Silence . . . Then: “As you wish, Miss Carton. Excuse me a moment.” He edged his way through the tables to the side entrance of the bar. Jinny stared after him with unseeing eyes. Well, she’d given him something to think about. He might be clever but that last lie divided the honors between them. He was back at the table again with her cloak on his arm. In a few minutes the little car swung the corner at Commercial Street headed for the International Bridge. It would be over in a little while, Jinny told her- self patiently; she could stand it just a little while longer. But again she reckoned without her man. When the bridge was two blocks be- hind them he yanked the emergency brake and the car stopped with a jerk. “What are you going to do?” demanded Jinny. “Drive,” he answered shortly. over on this side.” “I won’t,” announced Jinny. “You will, if I have to pick you up and set you there!” Stupefied, Jinny obeyed. The car sped past the five-mile bridge before Jinny found her voice. “Where are we going?” she whispered. No answer, while she studied the set profile above the wheel. At last he swung off the roadside under a shelter- ing clump of trees and addressed her. “Miss Carton”—his voice was deadly level—“I answered your advertisement and took this position with the under- standing that I was to do certain things which I haven’t done. I believe your ad mentioned ‘smoke, drink and pet.’ Now, I am a man of my word and I expect to fill my end of this agreement.” He produced cigarets, handed her one, took one himself and struck a match. “We'll smoke first, if you will kindly put that cigaret in your mouth.” So that was it. A last clever stroke to humiliate her. Dumb with fury, she put the cigaret to her lips. There was a savage gust or two on his part, a burning puff punctuated by a cough for her; then he took the two cigarets and threw them away. “Now we will drink,” he stated coldly, as he felt in his pocket and brought out a small flask. “Personally, I don’t care a great deal about this. part, but business is business. Far be it from me to de- prive you of any kick in this game. Ladies first, I believe, is correct form on this single-cylinder drinking.” He extended the flask toward Jinny. She stared at it in fascination. The old Jinny was crying, “Throw it out the “Move Hearst's International—-Cosmopolitan for March, 19 30 window!” The new Jinny was shriek. ing, “Drink it and show him you don care!” F Quickly, that he might not see how her hands were shaking, she snatched it and put it to her lips. One, : three scalding swallows. How nice j was—as long as her flesh was tortur by that ache in her throat she couldn't think about the ache in her heart, — She handed it back to him. He held. it to his mouth for a gurgling instant, then tossed it out after the cigarets, — “Now, Miss Carton,” his voice contin- ued calmly, “petting is the last act in this little farce. We always save the for the last. It was with difficulty that I restrained myself from the pleasure of kissing you right at the start, but I have been sustained by the thought of peculiar thrill I will derive from you at the finish. There is just thing more I have to say to you—hea) knows why!” he ejaculated bitterly. “You have told me what your motive were in playing this game. I haven mentioned mine. When I first saw you I thought you were too good to be true. It was just like finding an old-fashion flower in a hothouse full of orchids. answered that ad on a crazy hope. It sounded like you. If it were you I made up my mind that no one else should spoil the little flower by rough handling, . I wanted it for myself—just as it was.’ You have my permission to laugh.” There was a pause. Jinny was frozen in an inexorable sense of destiny. How could she meet those lips mutely? It seemed an eternity before his voice con- tinued steadily: “We'll get back to the business in hand now, Miss Carton. We will pet.” He gathered her up in a swift, savage embrace, but there is a limit to human endurance. Jinny had passed hers some time back. She thrust aside his arms in an automatic effort to leave the car. She bruised her fingers on the clasp of the door—then dropped her head on the window beside her and sobbed. There was a blinding flash of illumina- tion when he heard those pathetic breath-catching sobs. Women with poise and sophistication to bait their traps for masculine pelts don’t cry like babies when they are cornered at their own game. They laugh it off. Glory be! She was real! Somewhere his blundering had thrown her on the defensive. He put his arms about her, gently this time, but she jerked her . head up with hunted defiance. “Don’t touch me!” she _ whispered sharply. “I think you have punished me enough. If you want any more sat- isfaction I’ll give it to you now. I didn't know who you were until half an hour ago and——” She gulped. “And,” he continued for her, his voice husky with remorseful understanding, “you thought I had been doing it all just to make a sort of Exhibit A out of you. God love your little heart! I ought to be taken out and shot. Jinny, I didn’t mean a word of all this—no! I did mean all this—I didn’t mean a word of all that. Oh, you know what I mean! Will you forgive me?” A delicious five-minute parley of the tender, well-what-made-you-say-t and dear-why-did-you-do-this variety, when he suddenly snorted with glee. “Jinny!” He slipped his arm about her shoulders. “There is a small piece of business still hanging fire here. I fifteen seconds I am going to kiss you— peaceably if I can and forcibly if I must. I advise you not to struggle, for I am going to do it anyway—and you're going to like it.” And Jinny did! en ts. oe Ile. aa ae

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S shriek. you don’t see how —hea terly, r motives ‘ashioned chids. I hope. It u I made e should handling. . s it was.’ igh.” as frozen ny. How tely? It oice con- ; in hand ” t, savage o human ers some his arms the car. clasp of d on the ilumina- pathetic on ait their cry like at their mewhere r on the out her, ‘ked her . rhispered punished nore sat- I didn't an hour his voice standing, ig it all A out of I ought , I didn’t lid mean all that. Will you y of the say - that variety, glee. m about all piece ere. In iss you— f I must. or I am re going Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 — * that is found by dental research to discolor teeth and foster seri- ous tooth and gum disorders Under Germ-Laden Film Decay Begins FREE... a supply of Pepsodent to remove it You must remove film to be better protected. Please accept a free supply of the special film-removing dentifrice EING asked to accept a free supply of Pepsodent tooth paste will be of greatest interest to you if your teeth decay —if teeth are stained, discolored—or tf. you are threatened with pyorrhea. You will be interested, because Pepso- dent tooth paste is made to combat these three conditions more effectively than any other method known. Pepsodent removes germs from teeth Germs cause tooth decay. Germs and tar- tarunder favorable conditions cause pyor- thea, Virtually every common disease of teeth and gums results from germs. There is but one way known to fight germs and better safeguard teeth and gums. You must remove a slippery, stub- born film that glues bacteria to the tooth’s enamel. This film covers and pro- tects germs from antiseptics you may use. Itimprisons germs in crevices and clings 80 tenaciously that the most vigorous brushing fails to dislodge it successfully. nd your dentist knows too vigorous Shing brings harmful results, The SAFE scientific way. Acts differently Today dentists are urging patients by the millions to turn from other ways to the special film-removing dentifrice called Pepsodent. It acts in an utterly different way. You will note that difference the instant it touches your teeth. First Pepsodent curdles film and then REMOVES IT SAFELY. No pumice, no harmful grit or crude abrasive, but a scientific action that recommends it for the most sensitive teeth and gums. Do not delay There is only one Pepsodent. It is the finest tooth paste dental science of today knows how to make. You will want to try it for the sake of lovelier, healthier teeth. Please write today to the nearest address. Use Pepsodent twice a day. See your dentist at least twice a year. Pepsaodent atm Ota America’s Premier Radio Feature AMOS ’n’ ANDY You will find your- self awaiting ea- gerly these incom- parable blackface , artists. On the air * every night except Sunday at: 7 p. m. on stations operating on Eastern time 10:30 p.m. on stations operating on Central time 9:30 p.m., Mountain time—8:30 p. m., Pacific time FREE 10-DAY TUBE Mail coupon to The Pepsodent Co., Dept. 173, 919 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, IIl., U. S.A. Name Address City Other Offices: The Pepsodent Co., 191 George St., Toronto 2, Ont., Can.; 8 India St., London, E. C. 3, Eng.; (Australia), Ltd., 72 Wentworth Ave., Sydney, N.S. W. Only one tube to a family 3387 baw nmuiiwivemdicin wae

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Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 19 30 The Blank Shot : (Continued from page 31) stage in which Peter Blood could see no alternative to that of parting from thege men whom a common misfortune hag endeared to him. It was in this pass that Fate intervened in the shape of Captain Easterling. One morning three days after his in. terview with Mr. Blood at the govetnor’s house, the captain came alongside - the Cinco Liagas in the cockboat from his sloop. As he heaved his massive bulk into the waist of the ship, his small nar. row eyes were everywhere at once. The Cinco Llagas was not only well- decks were scoured; her cordage was stowed, and everything was in place. The muskets in the rack about the mainmast and the brass-work on the scuttle butts shone like gold in the sunshine. Not such lubberly fellows, after all, these escaped convict rebels who composed Mr. Blood’s crew. And there was Mr. Blood himself in black and silver, looking like a grandee of Spain, doffing a black hat with a sweep of claret ostrich plume about it, and bowing until the wings of his periwig met across his face like the pendulous ears of a spaniel. With him stood Nathaniel Hagthorpe, a pleasant gentleman of Mr. Blood’s own age, whose steady eye and clear-cut face announced the man of breeding; Jeremy Pitt, the flaxen-haired young Somerset ship- master; the short sturdy Nicholas Dyke, who had been a petty officer and had served under King James when he was Duke of York. There was nothing of the ragamuffin about these men, as Easterling had so readily imagined. Having presented them, Mr. Blood in- vited the captain of the Bonaventure to the cabin in the stern, which for spa- ciousness and richness of furniture sur- passed any cabin Captain Easterling had ever entered. A negro servant in a white jacket—a lad hired in Tortuga—brought, besides the usual rum and sugar and fresh limes, a bottle of golden canary which had been in the ship’s original equip- ment and which Mr. Blood recom- mended to his unbidden guest. Remembering Monsieur d’Ogeron’s warning that Captain Easterling was dangerous, Mr. Blood deemed it wise to use him with all civility. They occupied the elegantly cushioned seats about the table of black oak, and Captain Easterling praised the canary. Thereafter he came to business by asking if Mr. Blood had not perhaps changed his mind about selling the ship. “In that case,” he added, with a glance at Blood’s companions, “considering among how many the purchase money will be divided, ye will find me generous. If by this he had hoped to make an impression upon those three, their stolid countenances disappointed him. Mr. Blood shook his head. “It’s wast- ing your time ye are, captain. What- ever else we decide, we keep the Cinco Llagas.” “Whatever ye decide?” The black “Ye’re none so decided then as ye was; about this voyage to Europe? Why, then, I’ll come at once to the business I'ld propose if ye wouldn’t sell. It is that with this ship ye join the Bona- venture in a venture—a bonaventure. And he laughed noisily at his own jest. “Ye honor us. But we haven’t a mind to piracy.”

Easterling gave no sign of offense.

found, but irreproachably kept. Her : brows went up on that shallow brow.

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ch, 1939 hot : 32) : Ould see no from these ortune had n this pass e shape of fter his in.’ > governor's ngside - the t from his assive bulk Small nar. once. only well- kept. Her rdage was in | place, about the rk on the | the bright ly fellows, vict rebels ow. himself in a grandee at with a 2 about it, zs of his > like the With him 2 pleasant age, whose . announced ’ Pitt, the set ship- olas Dyke, * and had en he was 1othing of men, as rined. Blood in- naventure h for spa- \iture sur- erling had jacket—a it, besides und fresh ary which al equip- 1 recom- t. 1’Ogeron’s rling was it wise to cushioned oak, and e canary. by asking ; changed 1 a glance msidering se money renerous.” make an 1eir stolid \. It’s wast- . What- he Cinco he black ow brow. $ ye was; ? Why, business ll. It is 1e Bona- venture. own t a mind offense. He waved a ham of a hand as if to dis- miss the notion. “It ain’t piracy I’m proposing.” sy “what then? “t can trust you?” Easterling asked, and his eyes included the four of them. “ye’'re not obliged to. And it’s odds yell waste your time in any case.” It was not encouraging. Nevertheless Easterling proceeded. It might be known to them that he had sailed with Morgan. He had been with Morgan in the march across the Isthmus of Panama. Now it was well known that when the il came to be divided after the sack of that Spanish city, it was found to be far below the expectations of the buc- caneers. There were murmurs that Mor- gan had not dealt fairly with his men; that he had abstracted before division a portion of the treasure taken. Those murmurs, Easterling could tell them, were well founded. There were pearls and jewels from San Felipe of fabulous value, which Morgan had secretly appropriated for himself. But as the rumors reached his ears, he be- came afraid of a search that would con- vict him. And so, midway on the jour- ney across the isthmus, he one night buried the treasure he had filched. “Only one man knew this,” said Cap- tain Easterling to his attentive listeners. “The man who helped him in a labor he couldn’t ha’ done alone. I am that man.” The business he proposed was that the fugitives on the Cinco Llagas should join him in an expedition to Darien to re- cover the treasure, sharing equally in it with his own men and on the scale usual among the Brethren of the Coast. “If I put the value of what Morgan buried at five hundred thousand pieces of eight, I am being modest.” It was a sum to set his audience star- ing. Even Blood stared, but not quite with the expression of the others. “Sure now, it’s very odd,” said he. “What is odd, Mr. Blood?” Mr. Blood’s answer took the form of another question. “How many do ye humber aboard the Bonaventure?” “Some two hundred men.” “And the twenty men who are with me make such a difference that ye deem it worth while to bring us this proposal!” Easterling laughed outright, a deep guttural laugh. “I see that ye don’t un- derstand at all.” His voice bore a fa- miliar echo of Mr. Blood’s Irish intona- tion. “It’s not the men I lack so much as a stout ship in which to guard the treasure when we have it. In a bottom such as this we’ld be as snug as in a fort, and I’ld defy any Spanish galleon to molest me.” “Faith, now I understand,” said Hag- thorpe, and Pitt and Dyke nodded with him. But the blue eye of Peter Blood continued to stare at the pirate. “As Hagthorpe says, it’s understand- able. But a tenth of the prize which, by heads, is all that would come to the Cinco Llagas is far from adequate in the circumstances.” “What share would ye propose?” “That’s to be considered. But it would be not less than one-fifth.” The buccaneer’s face remained im- Passive. He bowed his gaudily swathed head. “Bring these friends of yours to dine tomorrow aboard the Bonaven- » and we'll draw up the articles.” For a moment Blood seemed to hesi- tate. Then he accepted the invitation. But when the buccaneer had de- Parted, he checked the satisfaction of his three followers. I was warned that Captain Easterling is a dangerous man. That’s to flatter - For to be dangerous a man must Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 What is a Mouthwash, , anyway! i E hold to a notion, now more than 25 years old, that the real value of a mouth- wash is in what it is, and what it accomplishes, rather than what advertising can be made to say for it. 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148 be clever, and Captain Easterling is not clever.” “What maggot’s burrowing under your periwig, Peter?” wondered Hagthorpe. “I’m thinking of the reason he gave for desiring our association. It was the best he could do when bluntly asked the question.” “It could not have been more reason- able,” said Hagthorpe. : “Reasonable!” Blood laughed. “Spe- cious, if ye will. Specious until ye come to examine it. Faith now, it glitters, to be sure. But it isn’t gold. A ship as strong as a fort in which to stow a half- million pieces of eight, and this fortress ship in our hands! A trusting fellow, this Easterling, for a scoundrel.” They thought it out, and their eyes grew round. _ Pitt, however, was not yet persuaded. “In his need he’ll trust our honor.” Blood looked at him with scorn. “I never knew a man with eyes like Easter- ling’s to trust to anything but posses- sion. If he means to stow that treasure aboard this ship, and I could well believe that part of it, it is because he means to be in possession of this ship by the time he does so. Honor! Bah! Could such a man believe that honor would prevent us from giving him the slip one night, once we had the treasure aboard, or even from bringing our weight of metal to bear upon his sloop and sink- ing her? It’s fatuous ye are, Jeremy, with your talk of honor.” Still the thing was not quite clear to Hagthorpe. “What, then, is his reason for inviting us to join him?” “The reason that he gave. He wants our ship, be it for the conveyance of his treasure, if it exists, be it for other reasons. Didn’t he first seek to buy the Cinco Llagas? Oh, he wants her, but he wants not us; nor would he keep us long, be sure of that.” And yet, perhaps because the prospect of a share in Morgan’s treasure was a glittering one, they were reluctant to abandon it. Hagthorpe, Pitt and Dyke opined that Blood was leaping to con- clusions from a prejudice sown in him by Monsieur d’Ogeron, who may have had reasons of his own to serve. Let them at least dine with Easterling and hear what articles he proposed. “Can ye be sure that we shall not be poisoned?” wondered Blood. Bur this was pushing prejudice too far.. They mocked him freely. How could they be poisoned by meat and drink that Easterling must share with them? And what end would thus be served? How would that give Easterling possession of the Cinco Llagas? “By swarming aboard her with a couple of score of his ruffians and taking the men here unawares at a time when there would be none to lead them.” “What?” cried Hagthorpe. “Here in Tortuga? In this haven of the buc- caneers? Come, Peter! I must suppose there is some honor among thieves.” “Ye may suppose it. I prefer to sup- pose otherwise. I hope no man will call me timid; and yet I’ld as soon be called that as rash.” The weight of opinion, however, was against him. Every man of the crew of the Cinco Llagas was as eager for the enterprise when it came to be disclosed as were the three leaders. And so, despite himself, at eight bells on the morrow, Captain Blood went over with Hagthorpe, Pitt and Dyke, to dine aboard the Bonaventure. Easterling welcomed them boisterously, supported by his entire crew of ruffians. Some eight score of them swarmed in the Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 193 waist, on the forecastle and even on the poop, and all were armed. It was not necessary that Mr. Blood should point out to his companions how odd it was that all these fellows should have been summoned for the occasion from the taverns ashore. Their presence and the leering mockery of their villainous coun- tenances made Blood’s three followers ask themselves at last if Blood had not been justified in his misgivings, and made them suspect with him that they had walked into a trap. It was too late to retreat. By the break of the poop, at the entrance of the gangway leading to the cabin, stood Captain Easterling. Blood paused there a moment to look up into the pellucid sky above the rig- ging about which the gulls were circling. He glanced round and up at the gray fort perched on its rocky eminence, all bathed in ardent sunshine. He looked toward the mole, and across the spar- kling waters toward the Cinco Llagas, where she rode in majesty and strength. To his uneasy companions, it -seemed as if he was wondering from what quar- ter help might come if it were needed. Then, responding to Easterling’s invit- ing gesture, he passed into the gloom of the gangway, followed by the others. Like the rest of the ship, which at the first glance had appeared disheveled and unclean, the cabin was in no way comparable with that of the stately Cinco Llagas. It was so low that there was barely headroom for tall men like Blood and Hagthorpe. It was ill fur- nished, containing little more than the cushioned lockers set about a deal table that was stained and hacked. Also, the atmosphere of the place was heavy with a blend of vile smells. The dinner proved to be much as the surroundings promised. In forcing him- self to eat, the fastidious stomach of Mr. Blood was almost turned. The company provided by Easterling matched the rest. A half-dozen of his fellows served him as a guard of honor. They had been elected, he announced, by the men, so that they might agree the articles on behalf of all. To these had been added a young Frenchman named Joinville, who was secretary to Monsieur d’Ogeron and stood there to represent the governor and to lend, as it were, a legal sanction to what was to be done. If the presence of this rather vacuous, pale-eyed gentle- man served to reassure Mr. Blood a lit- tle, it served to intrigue him more. They crowded the narrow confines of the cabin, and Easterling’s fellows were so placed along the two sides of the table that no two of the men from the Cinco Llagas sat together, and so that Blood and the captain of the Bonaven- ture faced each other across the board. Business was left until dinner was over and the negro who waited on them had withdrawn. Until then the men of the Bonaventure kept things gay with heavily salted talk. At last, the table cleared of all save bottles, and pens and ink being fur- nished, together with a sheet of paper each to Easterling and Blood, the cap- tain of the Bonaventure opened the mat- ter of the terms, and Peter Blood heard himself for the first time addressed as captain. Easterling shortly informed him that the one-fifth share he had de- manded was accounted excessive by the men of the Bonaventure. Momentarily Captain Blood’s hopes rose. “Do ye mean that they'll not consent to them, captain?” “What else should I mean?” “In that case, captain, it only remains for us to take our leave, in your debt for this entertainment and the richer fg the improvement in our acquaintance» The elaborate courtesy of those grossly inaccurate terms did not seem to tough the ponderous Easterling. His close-ge eyes stared blankly from his red He mopped his brow before replying “Ye'll take your leave?” There was q sneering undertone to his guttural voice, “T’ll trouble you in turn to be plain with me. I like plain men, and plain words, D’ye mean that ye’ll quit the business? Two or three of his followers made a challenging echo to his question. Captain Blood—to give him now the title Easterling had bestowed upon him —had the air of being intimidated. He hesitated, looking as if for guidance to his companions, who returned him only uneasy glances. “Tf,” he said at length, “ye find our terms unreasonable, I must assume ye'] not be wishing to go further, and it only remains for us to withdraw.” H. SPOKE with a diffi- dence which amazed his own followers, who had never known him other than bold in the face of any odds. It pro- voked a sneer from Easterling, who found no more than he expected from a medi- cus turned adventurer by circumstances, “Faith, doctor,” said he, “ye had best return to cupping and bleeding, and leave ships to men who can handle them.” There was a lightning flash from those blue eyes, as vivid as it was transient. The swarthy countenance never lost its air of difiidence. Meanwhile Easterling had swung to the governor’s representa- tive, who sat on his right. “What d’ye think of that, Mossoo Join- ville?” : The fair, flabby young Frenchman smiled amiably upon Blood. “Would it not be wise and proper, sir, to hear what terms Captain Easterling now proposes?” “Tll hear them. But——” “Leave the buts till afterwards, doc- tor,” Easterling cut in. “The terms we'll grant are the terms I told you. Your men share equally with mine.” “But that means no more than a tenth for the Cinco Lilagas.” And Blood, too, now appealed to Monsieur Joinville. “Do ye, sir, account that fair? I have explained to Captain Easterling that what we lack in men we more than make up in weight of metal, and our guns are handled by a gunner such as I dare swear has no compeer in the Caribbean. A remarkable gunner is Ned Ogle. The very devil of a gunner, as ye'ld believe if ye’d seen him pick those Spanish boats off the water in Bridgetown harbor.” Easterling interrupted him. “What's a gunner more or less?” “Oh, an ordinary gunner, maybe. But this is no ordinary gunner. Gunners like Ogle are like poets; they are born, so they are. He’ll put you a shot between wind and water, will Ogle, as neatly as ye can pick your teeth.” Easterling banged the table. “What's all this to the point?” “It may be something. And mean- while it shows you the valuable ally yee acquiring.” And he was off again o the subject of his gunner. “He was trained in the King’s navy, was Ned Ogle, and a bad day for the Kings navy it was when Ogle took to politics and followed the Protestant champion to Sedgemoor.” : “Leave that,” growled one of the offi- cers of the Bonaventure, a ruffian who answered to the name of Chard. “Leave it, I say, or we'll waste the day in Easterling confirmed this with a coarse oath. Captain Blood observed that they did not mean to spare offensiveness,

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‘ch, 1930 1€ richer for juaintance” hose 2m to lis cl is red. face replying, Phere was g ttural voice, > plain alain words, > business?” ers made a tion. m now the i upon him ‘idated. He guidance to d him only ye find our assume and it only vith a diffi. n followers, other than is. It pro- , who found 2m a medi- cumstances, e had best 3, and leave > them.” from those ; transient. ver lost its Easterling representa- ossoo Join- Frenchman “Would it hear what proposes?” yards, doc- terms we'll you. Your ian a tenth nd _ Blood, r Joinville. r? I have rling that than make ir guns are as I dare Caribbean. Ogle. The "ld believe unish boats 1arbor.” “What's aybe. But Gunners are born, ot between neatly as “What's nd mean- 2 ally ye're again on “He was was Ned he King’s Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 _the cream that washes away First —in 30 seconds—your complete scientific “facial’’ — For in this one silken Cream, Pinaud has compounded elements that set to work like a whole corps of deft experts the instant you smooth it on. Melting deep, deep into the millions of tiny pores ..gently freeing the close-packed dirt and “floating” it to the surface...then feeding into starved tissues these delicate, swiftly _th e invisi b | e p ow d er absorbed oils which so exactly resemble the precious oils of the skin itself! And then—still more amazing '—as you WASH in di iVi id u al | is, b | en d ed fo r Y OU: / Pinaud’ s Cream away...with all its load of aging accumulations from deep in your skin... it combines with the clear water to form one of the most wonderful astringents known! 2mie Now—without additional powder-base—that almost- incredible new Powder by Pinaud—either Type 1 or Type 2, depending on whether your skin inclines to be oily or dry. You will find to your astonishment that it becomes literally a part of you... not just an obvious powder- coating, but an exquisite invisible film! A film so clinging, % so enchantingly smooth, you will almost doubt the story | I) a U your mirror tells! And—because for the first time you are using a powder adjusted with scientific accuracy to the Presents two of the ig’ , y greatest achievements in the history of beauty needs of your particular type of skin—this radiant new loveliness will last and last—indoors, outdoors, incredibly, in- definitely. Each Type 1s made insix flattering shades, enchant- ingly perfumed. You should find both Pinaud’s Cream and Pinaud’s Powder at your favorite drug or department store. © Pinaud, 1930 (Underline your type of skin and the color of Powder you wish — NORMAL: OILY: DRY t& WHITE: FLESH: FREE— Check either offer below, and you will receive in addition a spectal free packet of Pinaud’s New Powder: [1] Send me FREE enough Pinaud’s Cream for 3 treatments (] For 25¢ enclosed FLESH-RACHEL: RACHEL: INDIAN TAN: MOORISH TAN —and mail this entire coupon to PINAUD, Dept. C--3, 220 East 21 Street, New York—in Canada to 560 King Street W., Toronto.) : j Your Address PINAUD, PARIS, NEW YORK: MAKERS OF FRENCH TOILET PRODUCTS FOR MORE THAN 150 YEARS; INCLUDING PINAUD ’s CREAM PINAUD’ S LILAC VEGETAL - PINAUD ’s EAU DE COLOGNE .- PINAUD ‘s EAU DE QUININE - PINAUD ’s SHAMPOO - PINAUD ’s POWDERS send 2 weeks supply of Pinaud’s Cream. Your Name

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his speculations on their aims starting from that took a fresh turn. Joinville intervened. “Could you not compromise with Captain Blood? After all, there is some reason on his side. He might put a hundred men aboard his ship, and in that case he would naturally take a heavier share.” “In that case he might be worth it,” was the truculent answer. , “I am worth it as it is,” Blood insisted. “Ah, bah!” he was answered, with a flick of finger and thumb under his nose. He began to suspect that Easterling sought to entice him into an act of rash- ness, in reply to which he and his fol- lowers’ would probably be butchered where they sat, and Monsieur Joinville would afterwards be constrained to bear witness to the governor that the provo- cation had proceeded from the guests. He perceived at last the probable rea- son for the Frenchman’s presence. But at the moment Joinville was re- monstrating. “Come, come, Captain Easterling! Thus you will never reach agreement. Captain Blood’s ship is of advantage to you, and we have to pay for -what is advantageous. Could you not offer him an eighth or even a seventh share?” Easterling became almost suave. “What would Captain Blood say to that?” Captain Blood shrugged. “I say what ye know I must say: that I can say nothing until I have taken the wishes of my followers. We'll resume the dis- cussion when I have done so—another “Oh, s’death!” roared Easterling. “Do ye play with us? Haven’t ye brought your officers with you, and ain’t they em- powered to speak for your men same as mine? Whatever we settles here, my men abides by. That’s the custom of the Brethren of the Coast. And I ex- pect the same from you. And I’ve the right to expect it, as ye can tell him, Mossoo Joinville.” The Frenchman nodded gloomily, and Easterling roared on: “We are not children; by heaven! And we’re not here to play, but to agree terms. And, by heaven, we’ll agree them before ye leave.” “Or not, as the case may be,” said Blood quietly. It was to be remarked that he had lost his diffidence now. “Or not? What the devil do ye mean with your ‘or not’?” Easterling came to his feet. “I mean or not, quite simply.” Blood accounted that the time had come to compel the buccaneers to show their hand. “If we fail to agree terms, why, that’s the end of the matter.” “Oho! The end of the matter, eh? ~~ me, but it may prove the beginning of it.” Blood smiled up into his face, and cool as ice he commented: “That’s what I was supposing. But the beginning of what, if ye please, Captain Easterling?” “Indeed, indeed, captain!” cried Join- ville. “What can you mean?” “Mean?” Captain Easterling glared at the Frenchman. “Mean?” he repeated. “Look ye, Mossoo, this fellow here, this Blood, this doctor, this escaped convict, made believe that he would enter into articles with us so as to get from me the secret of Morgan’s treasure. Now that he’s got it, he makes difficulties about the articles. He no longer wants to join us. He proposes to withdraw. It'll be plain to you why he proposes to withdraw, Mossoo Joinville; just as it’ll be plain to you why I can’t permit it.” “Why, here’s paltry invention!” sneered Blood. “What do I know of his secret beyond his tale of a treasure buried

somewhere?” Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1939 “Not somewhere. Ye know where, For I've been fool enough to tell yoy” Blood actually laughed, and by his laughter scared his companions, to whom their danger was now clear enough, “Somewhere on the Isthmus of Darien: There’s precision, on my soul! With that information, I can go straight to the spot and set my hand on it. As for the rest, Monsieur Joinville, I invite yoy to observe it’s not myself is difficulties about the articles. On the one-fifth share which I asked from the outset, I was prepared to join Captain Easterling. But now that I’m confirmed in all that I suspected of him, and more, why, I wouldn’t join him for a half share in this treasure, supposing it to exist at all, which I do not.” That brought every man of the Bona- venture to his feet as if it had been signal, and they were clamorous too, un- til Easterling waved them into silence. Upon that silence cut the tenor voice of Monsieur Joinville. “You are a rash man, Captain Blood” “Maybe, maybe,” says Blood, light and airily. “Time will show. The last word’s not yet been said.” “Then here’s to say it,” quoth Easter- ling, quietly sinister on a sudden. “I was about to warn you that ye’ll not be allowed to leave this ship with the infor- mation ye possess until the articles is signed. But since ye so clearly show your intentions, why, things have gone beyond warnings.” Captain Blood looked up at the sinister bulk of the captain of the Bonaventure and with mingled amazement and dismay the three men from the Cinco Liagas observed that he was smiling. At first so unusually diffident and timid; now so deliberately and recklessly provoking. He was beyond understanding. It was Hagthorpe who spoke for them. “What do you mean, captain? Wh do you intend by us?” <a “Why, to clap you into irons and st

you under hatches, where ye can do mg, harm.” 4 “Lord, sir——” Hagthorpe began, Captain Blood’s crisp pleasant voice cu : across his speech. “And ye, Monsieur Joinville, will mit this without protest?” : Joinville shrugged. “You have brougl it on yourself, Captain Blood.” “So that is what ye’re here to to Monsieur d’Ogeron! laughed with a touch of bitterness. — And then, abruptly, on the noontk stillness outside came the thunder of # gun. Followed the screaming oi sté gulls, and then, a shade uneasily, the question from Easterling, addressed” to no one in particular: “What the devil’s that?” It was Blood who answered him p antly. “Now, don’t let it alarm you, ¢ tain darling. It’s just a salute fired it your honor by Ogle, the gunner— highly skillful gunner—of the Llagas. Have I told you about him yet “A salute?” quoth Easterling. heaven, what d’ye mean? A sal “Why, just a courtesy, as a remin to us and a. warning to you. It’s a minder to us that we’ve taken up hour of your time, and that we must no further strain upon your hospital He got to his feet and stood, easy elegant in his Spanish suit of black and silver. “It’s a very good day we'll be wishing you, captain.” Easterling plucked a pistol from his belt. “Ye play-acting buffoon! Ye don't leave this ship.” But Captain Blood continued to smile. “Faith, that will be very bad for the ship, and for all aboard her, including this ingenuous Monsieur Joinville

- Well, well!” He”

H

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‘ch, 1930 now wh to tell you” and by his ns, to whom enough. is of soul! § With Straight to 1 it. As for I a= you Ss. On the dl from the in Captain n confirmed , and more, for a half osing it to ' the Bona- had been a us t0O, un- nto silence, 10r voice of ain Blood,” 1, light and The last oth Easter- sudden. “J ye’ll not be 1 the infor- articles is early show have gone the sinister onaventure and dismay nco Liagas At first id; now so provoking. g. It was 2m, ae in? ; and Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 >... —— Why | want a CORONA typewriter 151 ORE than one million users have M learned that Corona is a marvelous- ly efficient typewriter—smooth and re- sponsive in action, sturdily built for a lifetime of service and an amazing aid to living for every member of the family. One unique mechanical superiority of Corona is its one-piece, solid aluminum die-cast frame of tremendous strength and rigidity. With this powerful frame Corona does not have to be kept screwed to a wooden base— it stands on its own feet, takes up less room on a This contest is open te all. Write a letter of not more than 200 words, explaining why you want a Corona typewriter. The best letter will win a prize of $1,000. Second prize is $250. Ten prizes of $25 each, Letters will be judged accord- ing to the value and soundness of reasons presented for wanting Corona, rather than according to literary merit. Letters may be typed or hand-written. Contest closes May 1st. Winners will be announced as quickly as possible. \* NV Gust vrrze $1,000, 11500 CONTEST desk and is more attractive. Another advantage—the sheet as typed is held at exactly the right angle for easy reading. Anyone who has used other machines will appreciate this feature. Corona is the product of twenty years’ effort of skilled typewriter engineers to create a perfect small typewriter for per- sonal use. It has everything and does everything. It is small in the sense that a fine watch is small. Working parts are manufactured * LC SMITH & CORONA TYPEWRITERS INC’ 1821 New York Life Building, 51 Madison Avenue, New York City with exact precision—in some cases to one thousandth of an inch. Coronas are finished in Scarlet, Green, Blue, and Maroon, with attractive panel- ling of modern design. Also black and gold, and black with art panels. Seven color combinations to select from. There is only one way to know Corona. Try it in your home. It is easy to Corona- type. In a remarkably short time you can Coronatype faster than you can write. Insist on a Corona demonstration. Any Corona dealer will be glad to deliver Corona on trial. Time-Payment Plan. Fit our conven- ient time-payment plan into your family budget. You can own Corona without even feeling the cost. A few dollars down brings it to you. Then you pay a little every month. Corona with standard keyboard costs $60. Corona Special with three-row keyboard costs $39.50. An attractive carrying case is furnished with either model. An allowance will be made on your old typewriter. Don’t forget the “Why I Want Corona” contest. Sit down now and catalog all the ways in which Corona will be useful to you, the help it can be in school work, club and committee work, business, writing, home management, correspondence. Ask your local Corona dealer for further informa- tion. Remember, the best reasons for want- ing Corona win $1,000. Note to dealers: Write for our agency proposition.

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152 really believes ye’ll pay him the promised share of your phantom treasure for bear- ing false witness against me, so as to justify you in the eyes of the governor for seizing the Cinco Llagas. Ye see, I am under no delusions concerning you, my dear captain. For a rogue, ye’re a thought too transparent.” Easterling loosed a volley of minatory obscenity, waving his pistol. He was re- strained from using it only by an inde- finable uneasiness aroused by his guest’s bantering manner. “We are wasting time,” Blood inter- rupted him, “and the moments, believe me, are growing singularly precious. Ye’d best know where ye stand. My orders to Ogle were that if within ten minutes of his firing that salute I and my friends here were not over the side of the Bonaventure, he was to put a round shot into your forecastle along the water line, and as many more after that as may be necessary to sink you by the head. I do not think that many will be necessary. Ogle is a singularly skillful marksman. He served with dis- tinction as a gunner in the King’s navy. I think I’ve told you about him.” It was Joinville who broke the silence that followed. “Let me out of this!” he bleated, bounding to his feet. “Oh, stow your squealing, ye French Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 rat,” snarled the infuriated Easterling. Then he turned his fury upon Blood, balancing the pistol ominously. “Ye sneaking leech, ye college offal! Ye'ld ha’ done better to ha’ stuck to your cupping and bleedings, as I told you.” His murderous intention was plain. But Blood was too swift for him. He snatched up by its neck the flagon of canary that stood before him, and crashed it across Captain Easterling’s left temple. As the captain of the Bonaventure reeled back against the cabin bulkhead, Peter Blood bowed slightly to him. “I regret,” said he, “that I have no cup; but, as ye see, I can practice phle- botomy with a bottle.” Easterling sagged down in a limp un- conscious mass at the foot of the bulk- head. The spectacle stirred his officers. There was a movement toward Captain Blood, and a din of raucous voices, and someone laid hands upon him. But above the uproar rang his vibrant voice. “Be warned! The moments are speed- ing. The ten minutes have all but fled, and either I and my friends depart or we all sink together in this bottom.” “In heaven’s name, bethink you of it!” cried Joinville, and started for the door. A buccaneer seized him and flung him back. “You and your men go first!” he shouted to Captain Blood. “And best yourselves! We've no mind to drow like rats.” They went as they were bidden, curse, following them and threats of a reckop. ing to follow with Captain Easte The ruffians a-swarm on the deg above did not hinder the departure g Captain Blood and his companions, In the cockboat, midway between the two vessels, Hagthorpe found his yoica at last. “On my soul’s salvation, Peter, there was a moment when I thought oy sands were run.” “Ay, ay,” said Pitt with fervor. “Ang even as it was they might have been” He swung to Peter Blood, where he gg in the stern sheets. “Suppose that for one reason or another we had not got out in those ten minutes, and Ogle had opened fire in earnest? What then?” “Ah!” said Blood. “Our real lay in that he wasn’t like to do it.” “But if you so ordered him?” “Nay, that’s just what I forgot to do, All I told him was to loose a blank shot when we had been gone an hour, ] thought that however things went it might prove useful. And on my soul, I believe it did. Lor’!” He took off his hat and mopped his brow. “I wonder now if it’s the heat that’s making me sweat like this.” Captain Blood encounters Easterling on the high seas—and meets the fate that made him a pirate—in Next Month’s exploit of the gallant sea-rover Shattered Glass by Louis Bromfteld he (Hector) might be cold and dead be- fore the year was out. And he fell mor- bidly to wondering what Nancy was like now and how she had changed, for she must have grown old as he had grown old, and all the while Patrick Dantry’s body, encased in ice, had stayed young and beautiful. In Hector the sense of things possessed was strongly rooted. He loved passion- ately his silver, his jades, his pictures and his tapestries, and now he had be- gun to be troubled about what was to become of them when he died. There was nobody but Philip to whom he could leave them and Philip would not value them since he was, as his father had been, too much concerned with what possessed life to take any interest in what was inanimate. The best, then, that he might do would be to leave the finest things to the Met- ropolitan Museum. The smaller things would have to be sold unless Philip chose to keep certain of them—Philip who was the last of the Champion family and who didn’t even bear the name of Cham- pion but the name of a handsome Irish- man who was a nobody, unscrupulous and a good deal of a scamp. The great goblets of crystal for the Burgundy were amung Hector’s treas- ured possessions. They had come from Beaune—twenty-four of them—sixteen years ago and by some miracle not one of them had ever been broken. In his pride he often told his guests that the secret of making such glass had been lost long ago. The crystal was thin as paper and yet so fine that one could press the rims of the round glasses until their rims were no longer circular but elongated ovals. It was a trick which Old Hector allowed none but himself to perform, for only his soft, pink, sensitive fingers knew the point to which the delicate glass might be pressed without being shattered. And slowly through the years, as none of the glasses had ever been broken, there had grown up in his twisted mind a super- Stition that if one were broken it would be an omen of calamity. Tonight, while he kept trying to an- nihilate the terror of death and to stifle the past that kept returning to him against his will, the soft pink fingers kept idly caressing the great Burgundy glass that stood before him, and the ceaseless alternating pressure and re- laxation of the fingers against the deli- cate flexible glass seemed to bring a kind of relief to his tormented brain. There was much of the voyeur in Hec- tor and the trait found its expression in a morbid desire to pry into the lives of other people. Of late the desire had centered in a passionate interest in the faces of people, becoming at times so strong that he would find himself in the street or at the theater or in a res- taurant staring as if hypnotized into the face of some stranger, with his whole being concentrated in an effort to pene- trate beyond the shell into the secrets of the life which lay concealed there. Twice lately people had resented what appeared to be the lewd staring of a fat old man. Once he had been shock- ingly near interference by a policeman. But here, in his own house, he could indulge this curious passion. The sound of Melbourn’s voice led him to stare at the reflection of Melbourn’s face in the mirror. It was a strange face, at once ascetic and sensual. The forehead, high and in- tellectual, was square and shaped like a box above a faintly aquiline nose. Beneath the short dark mustache the contradicting mouth was full and sen- sual. The line of the jaw detached it- self just beneath the ear in an angle almost brutal and ended in a square firm chin. The ears, large and well shaped, were set too low upon the head, so that they gave the whole face a look of some- thing fierce and primitive, and the eyes, dark blue, glowed with unquenchable in- telligence and animal vitality. ? About the eyes and the corners of the (Continued from page 23) mouth were the tiny lines which betrayed his age. The body was tall and_ finely proportioned, with a power quite unlike the strength of young Philip. It was the body of one who had carried burdens and worked with his hands. Hector watched the face in the mirror with a complete absorption, wondering what tragedies, what passions, what force of will had molded it. Faces grew out of people’s lives; and this face was — product surely of a hard and fiery e. There was something in it that was a little tired. It was, he thought, the face of a powerful man, perhaps at once cold and sensual, whose power lay in his detachment and shrewdness and the power of an incredible and ruthless will. And he understood suddenly why Fanny Towner had made such a fool of herself at dinner. He understood that this was a@ man who could be very dangerous to women, and especially to a woman Fanny, brought up so carefully to marty a dull lovable man like Jim Towner. Melbourn was a willful and ruthless brute capable, perhaps, of the genile- ness that can devastate women. Fanny was desperate tonight because she feared she was losing him. She was his mistress and she was frightened of Mrs. Wintringham and she had reasol to be, for Mrs. Wintringham was younger than Fanny, and more beautiful and above all else more calm. She had 4 sense of dignity and reserve which was a@ weapon of steel against Fanny’s ul- balanced and shameless hysteria. It was odd, too, considering that Fanny had been brought up as a lady and the other woman was a nobody, and like Melbourn, a kind of adventurer. would be hard on Fanny. A woman like Fanny aroused and deserted by such 4 man as Melbourn might go completely to the devil afterward. He found a vicarious excitement @ turning the intrigue over and over @ his mind. He began to imagine bourn making love to Fanny and his fat

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arch, 193 ind on bidden, = a = | Easte on the ae departure gf mnpanions, ' between the ind his voice vation, I thought ou fervor. “And ; have been,” where he sat Dose that for not got ind Ogle hat thee real to do it.” im?” forgot to do, a blank shot an hour. | ngs went it n my soul, I took off his “uy wonder making me Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 grew restless and pressed the il goblet so violently that it gave out a faint singing sound of warning and the pink fingers relaxed sharply. He wondered if Jim Towner had a suspicion that his wife was unfaithful to him with this man. He had known Jim since Jim was a little boy. He had watched him grow older and presently become handsome, and now he saw him g to grow shapeless and gross in dissipation and decay. He wondered whether it was Jim’s drinking which had driven Fanny toward Melbourn or whether it was Jim’s knowledge of her conduct which had driven him to drink- 57 was amusing to compare Jim’s face with Melbourn’s. The one man had been born with everything in the world, wealth and position and good looks. He ‘fad been the best-loved man in his clubs and in his college and when Fanny married him he was the greatest catch to be had, and now after fifteen years he had turned into this overheavy middle-aged man with a face that was growing shapeless and sodden and weak. ‘Ts other man, born perhaps with nothing, had gone quite the other way. His face was as sharply modeled as if it had been of bronze cast in fire. It was not, he thought, aston- ishing that Fanny had been drawn from the one to the other. Of all of them there about the jewel- like table only Philip’s face was still young and unmarked by time. Every- thing still lay before him. And sud- denly there swept over Old Hector a perverse and passionate desire to enter into Philip’s body without losing his own identity, to become Philip and still remain himself, so that he might live in Philip and experience all of life through him. It was a desire which returned more and more frequently of late. He was aware that there was always @ wall shutting him off from Philip. The boy was shy and reticent, so that no matter how Old Hector tried he never knew what Philip’s life really was, what woman he loved. He knew only that there was a girl, an actress he thought, whom Philip saw constantly, but he did not even know her name and he dared not ask for fear of making more impenetrable the bar- rier which shut him away from the boy. He thought suddenly that despite the fact that he was the only father Philip had ever known, the boy did not belong to him. He might belong even now to that actress whom Old Hector had never seen, whose name he did not even know. And he kept saying, “She mustn’t have him. He is mine. I must keep him until I die. It will be only a little while.” Then suddenly he flushed as he saw Philip regarding him with a look which seemed to understand what was passing in his uncle’s mind, but almost at once he saw that Philip was trying to tell him that they had better join the ladies. Old Hector nodded and prepared to rise but at the same moment his valet, es, approached him, bearing a Silver platter, and on it lay the red-and- white envelope of a radiogram. Old Hector was overcome sharply by &@ Sudden sense of calamity which con- centrated itself in the red-and-white en- Velope. The pink fingers contracted Sharply and there was the sudden mu- sound of fine glass being shattered. The big goblet was broken and from a little heap of shivered glass its stem erect, crowned by a flower with jagged petals of crystal. Trembling a little, he took the en- velope and slit it open with a silver fruit knife. The opening of the envelope seemed an endless affair. He opened it and read: ARRIVING TOMORROW MAURETANIA MAY I COME TO TEA ANSWER RITZ HOTEL NANCY Twice he read it through before he could be certain that he had not lost his reason. It wasn’t possible that Nancy should telegraph him like that, as if she’d only been away a day or two and nothing had ever happened. But in the next second he saw that it was more than possible. It was ex- actly what Nancy would do. Nothing ever made any impression upon her. She would act exactly as if nothing had ever happened, and as though they had last seen each other only yesterday in- stead of so many years ago. Then he remembered that the others were watching him, and he turned to Soames and said, “No answer,” and rolled the paper into a little ball and threw it into the Louis Quinze fireplace. Rising, he felt suddenly dizzy and was forced to lean on the chair. “I think we’d better join the ladies,” he heard himself saying. “Savina will be wanting to play bridge.” The past seemed to be rising in a mist to envelop him. He insisted that the others pass through the door before him—all but Philip, who looked at him anxiously and said, “You’ve cut yourself, Uncle Hector.” Looking down he saw that there was a drop of blood on one of the pink fingers. He carefully wrapped his handkerchief about it and then saw with annoyance that Philip was still watching him. He turned and walked through the door. He could not tell Philip what the radiogram contained. In twenty-five years he had never spoken to Philip of his Aunt Nancy and now he simply could not utter the words. Tomorrow he would manage it somehow. But he resolved to tell Savina because he would need someone to help him cope with Nancy, and Savina he could count upon. She was the salt of the earth. For a second another regret assailed him. He wished now that he had married Savina years ago when she wanted to marry him. But the regret passed quickly, lost in his terror of the broken goblet. After all these years the precious set of twenty-four had been broken, and by his own hand! He remembered too that it was Sa- vina who had helped Nancy and Patrick to run off. It was in her drawing-room that they had met and planned the elopement. And again he felt old and dizzy and confused, for he suddenly hated Savina, who was his oldest friend, because she had helped to rob him for- ever of Patrick Dantry. Suddenly he thought, “I must be going mad.” In the drawing-room Savina Jerrold sat majestic and upright on the sofa, clad in a kind of black satin bag with a gold cord round the middle and adorned with all the Jerrold diamonds which had been famous in the ’nine- ties but now seemed dusty and old- fashioned in their heavy gold settings. Savina was sixty-seven, an old maid, and weighed two hundred and fifty- eight pounds. Her hair, which was thin and gray; she wore in a little knot on the top of her intelligent head and much frizzed out at the sides to give an effect of luxuriance. And she was intensely proud of rer feet, which were so small as to be out of all proportion to her grotesque body. She bought the 155 most costly and frivolous slippers, and she always sat so that the tiny feet were displayed to the greatest possible advantage. It was if she understood that her middle was hopeless and so concentrated upon both ends. Tonight she was angry because she considered herself vulgarly overdressed with all her diamonds and because Hec- tor had had the bad taste to invite Jim and Fanny Towner to the same dinner with Melbourn, not to mention Mrs. Wintringham. She wanted coldly to strangle Fanny Towner for being delib- erately rude to Mrs. Wintringham and for being common and cheap. She told herself that Fanny was “being terrible” and that she ought to be ashamed of herself and that certainly her aunt, Alida Parsons (who lived with Savina), must speak to her about her behavior. Savina had forgotten that once, more than thirty years ago, when she was in love, she had made a fool of herself. She kept talking, saying the most banal things, to which Fanny kept mak- ing the most banal answers. And all the while she kept watching Fanny’s pretty, tired face and wondering why a woman who had everything—looks, for- tune and an attractive husband—should have made such a mess of her life. Tonight Fanny looked older than her age, thought Savina. She was a blonde with blue eyes, a small pretty nose and curly short yellow hair. Why, Savina asked herself, had Fanny worn pink as if she were a débutante? Why did pretty women never understand that they did not remain all their lives at the age of eighteen? They talked about the opera and Sa- vina fell idly to examining Mrs. Win- tringham with minute attention, won- dering who she really was and whence she had really come. She was dressed in black chiffon which floated about her slender figure, now concealing, now re- vealing it, and heightening the paleness of her face and the reddish tinge in her dark golden hair. From her throat hung a single string of enormous artifi- cial pearls. She had a pleasant voice and she did not talk too much, but just enough, never trying to pretend that she knew people she didn’t know and taking no part in the conversation when Fanny kept turning it again and again delib- erately to relatives and friends who were outside her circle. “Fanny,” thought Savina, “is being a——” But Mrs. Win- tringham had every advantage over her. She was younger. She was not the sort who faded quickly. She was quiet and gentle and superbly calm and she had the air of being able to wait. a thought, “Mel- bourn will be hers in the end if she wants him.” She was the lady that Fanny should have been and wasn’t. Her clothes, her self-possession, her beauty, her poise were her weapons. Trying to keep her mind on the conversation, Savina said aloud, “The trouble is that we all have too many friends and acquaintances. We can get from place to place too easily. Anyone can telephone or telegraph you. I find that life has just become a muddle. Life in New York isn’t worth a nickel any longer. It’s just running from one person or one place to another. “You may call me an old fogy, if you like; but I think people aren’t even the same any more. They’re all superfi- cial and distracted, the women hopping about from one party to another, and the men so tired that all they think about is drink or sleep.”

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156 1T’S SMART TO HEAT WITH GAS your WIFE from CARES Out of the house at 8:15! That is when most men close their doors on household cares. That is when the real drudgery of house work begins for the wife. There is one way to lift the burden of furnace tending off the shoulders of your wife—one way to end for- ever the nuisance of having to order fuel—one way to pay for your fuel after you have used it, and that one way is to install an Ideal Gas Boiler. IDEAL GAS BOILERS combine with other luxurious features, all the efficiency that the American Radiator Company builds into every boiler. They are absolutely automatic, controlled entirely mechanically. When the temperature in the system gets too high it turns down the gas to just the right point. When it gets too low it automatically turns the gas on. It eliminates all responsibility on the part of the owner and furnishes healthful, clean warmth from the be- ginning of the season to the end— automatically. Write for complete information on the comfort, convenience and clean- liness of Ideal Gas Boilers. GAS UTILIZATION DEPARTMENT AMERICAN RADIATOR & STANDARD SANITARY CORPORATION 40 West 40th Street, New York City GAS HEATING IS NO LONGER A LUXURY Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 “Melbourn’s not like that,” said Fanny defiantly. “Well. He's different. He’s got enough vitality for ten men. I’ve been reading a book which says that vitality is all a question of sexual endowment. I’d never thought about it before but I suppose there’s a good deal in it.” “A great deal,” observed Mrs. Win- tringham with a quiet intensity. Savina decided that she hated and |despised all women with their catty, jealous ways, and that poor Fanny was the apotheosis of all feminine nonsense. |She was so spoiled and hysterical and | exaggerated that it was no wonder Jim Towner took to drink. “T’d like,” thought Savina, “to take a hairbrush to her.” And then all at ;once she caught in Fanny’s tired, pretty |face the shadow of a look so desperate |}and miserable that she was ashamed of | herself and felt sorry for the girl. Al- |though Fanny was thirty-eight, Savina | thought of her always as a “girl.” | She kept on making banal talk, until the boredom became so intense that she scarcely knew what she was saying. Mrs. Wintringham rose suddenly and walked over to look out of the window. “What’s the matter with Old Hec- tor?” asked Fanny suddenly. “He looks gray and ill.” “T haven’t the faintest idea.” “I thought you’d be the one to know if anyone did.” “Well, I suppose I would, but he hasn’t ;mentioned it to me and you can’t speak |of that kind of thing to him.” | Mrs. Wintringham suddenly spoke. |“It’s begun to snew,” she said. “It’s snowing so hard you can’t see the other side of the river.” | Savina decided to fetch the men by | force, for she detested conversation even | when it was good and loved only bridge. |She held that she was sixty-seven years old and had long ago used up all her dinner conversation and that for years she had only been repeating |herself. She started painfully to hoist her great weight to the tiny, pretty feet, and at the same moment the door opened and the gentlemen came in, headed by Melbourn, looking cold, hard and irri- tated; then Jim, looking fishy-eyed and | a little unsteady; and then Hector, look- ing, she thought, even whiter than he had looked during dinner, and with a | finger wrapped in a white silk handker- ' chief, and last of all young Philip. As the gentlemen entered the room Hector saw that Fanny, restless and un- happy, looked quickly at Melbourn, who chose not to see her. It was Mrs. Win- | tringham whom Old Hector noticed. She had turned a little from the win- dow in an unconscious pose which com- pletely captured his eye. There was | something in the poise of the beauti- ful figure against the blue-black of the night between the crimson curtains which touched his extreme sensibility to all that was exquisite and perfect. She, too, was looking toward Melbourn but more quietly than Fanny. And Mel- bourn was looking back at her. Savina rose and seated herself at the bridge table, angry now that Hector had invited seven people te dinner, so that it was impossible to make either one or two tables of bridge without disturb- /amce. She drew a card and said, “Come ‘along and cut. We've wasted enough | time making chitchat.” But Old Hector said that he felt tired and didn’t want to play, and Mrs. Win- tringham said quietly that she didn’t | play well enough and preferred to talk. |As she said this .e looked at Savina |and between them there passed a sud- 'den understanding glance of sympathy, which for an instant made them allies It was a glance which said to Savina “I am aware that this is a hopeless din. ner party and that if I sit at the tabie with Fanny Towner, there will be a scene because she is determined to haye one. It is all childish. I play wey enough and I love playing, but not under these circumstances.” Savina said sharply, “Come along Fanny. You and I will take on any two of the men.” She knew that Fanny must not have either her husband or her lover for a partner. So the three men cut and the cards ironically cast as partners Melbourn, the lover, and Jim, the husband, with young Philip watching. Savina shuffled with q great snapping of the cards and thrust the pack aggressively at him to cut. Old Hector said to Mrs. Wintring- ham, “Let’s sit in the library, where we may talk without disturbing the others.” As he followed her through the door he was struck by the beauty of her figure and of the back so generously exposed by the cut of the dress. Mrs. Wintringham went over to the small fire beneath the Ingres portrait which was like a jewel set in a casket made by the beauty of the small dark room. She looked at him and said, “It’s @ beautiful room. You are lucky to have both taste and the money to satisfy it.” In a world which took beauty and wealth so much for granted, the re- mark pleased the fat, white old man and made him for a moment pleasant and amiable. He complimented her upon her clothes and thought again how ex- quisite and complete she was from the crimson-and-gold slippers to the black chiffon handkerchief with crimson ini- tial tied to her wrist and the tiny ciga- ret box of enamel studded with sapphires from which she was taking a cigaret. He guessed that so precious an object must have been a gift from Melbourn. It was the kind of tiny gimcrack which must have cost a small fortune. He said, “How is the shop going?” “Very well.” She looked out of the window as if her mind were elsewhere. “Antiques are an amusing business.” “Yes.” She smiled at him suddenly and in her smile there was a faint shadow of mockery and bitterness. It struck him suddenly that there was something hard in her which he had not noticed before. He was used to soft people and: the intimation disturbed him, because he felt somehow that, like Melbourn, she was quietly contemptuous of him and Jim Towner and Fanny and people like them, all the people who had been born to soft lives. Quite suddenly she said, “I’m going to ask you something impertinent. Why did you invite me here tonight?” He wasn’t used to directness and the question startled him so that for a mo- ment he wasn’t able to answer. Then he said, blandly and insincerely, “Be- cause you are beautiful and cha and an ornament to any party.” Obviously she didn’t believe his an- swer, for she asked at once, “It wasn't simply to humiliate me?” Again he found himself at a loss and only managed to mutter, “Humiliate you? How?” “Because I am virtually a stranger.” Slowly he began to see what was in her mind—that she thought the din- ner a plot to make her seem gauche an outsider before Melbourn. She had a wild fancy that she had been tricked. There was something about her that de- manded honesty and honesty, he found, was a difficult réle. He had been dis- honest and suave for so long that thesé things had become a habit.

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enerously S. r to the portrait a@ casket nall dark said, “Tt’s y to have atisfy it.” uuty and the re- man and sant and ler upon how ex- from the he black ason. ini- iny ciga- sapphires igaret. an Object Aelbourn. ck which 1g?” t of the lsewhere. siness.” suddenly a faint ness. It ere was he had d to soft listurbed hat, like mptuous nny and ple who going to t. co" and the r a mo- r. Then ly, “Be- harming his an- t wasn’t loss and umiliate nger.” was he din- che and She had tricked. that de- e found, Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 mrs laurance armour the bedrooms of her new chicago home are equipped with luxurious beautyrest mattresses e e « e ee @ Walls covered with the same gay chintz that makes the dra- peries, deep soft chairs also chintz- covered, a cozy fire- place, and gloriously restful-looking beds to sink into! mrs laurance armour entertains extensively and is an exceptionally gracious hostess Copyright 1930, The Simmons Company @ Everything in Mrs. Armour’s beautiful Lake Forest home speaks of a gracious hospitality and a distinguished taste. Here are lovely gardens, large sunshiny rooms whose cool colorings and spacious arrangement breathe restfulness and charm—and ever more charm. @ Significant of Mrs. Armour’s thoughtfulness for personal comfort throughout her household, are the “really comfortable” Beautyrest Mattresses and Ace Box Springs with which the room above is equipped. @ Mrs. Armour says, “I first slept on a Beautyrest Mattress on a ranch in Arizona, and I was delighted with it. Now I have them in my own home. I understand that the Simmons Com- pany have brought out a second mattress of a similar type for a still more reasonable price. It seems to me quite extraor- dinary—most progressive.” @ Beautyrest Mattress, $39.50; Ace Box Spring covered to match, $42.50; Ace Open Coil Spring, $19.75. The new Deepsleep Mattress at a popular price, $19.95; Deepsleep Box Spring with covering to match, $27.50; Slumber King Spring, $12.00; Beds, $10.00 to $60.00. Sim- mons Company, New York, Chicago, Atlanta, San Francisco. Simmons beds - springs - mattresses and BERKEY & GAY furniture

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‘ INSTANT IMPROVEMENT in your skin after this marvelous beauty bath! VERY woman who desires a soft, smooth skin should try the marvelous Linit Beauty Bath. Results are immediate — no discomfort — no waiting — and the cost is trifling! Merely dissolve half a package of Linit in your bath—bathe in the usual way, using your favorite soap—and then feel your skin! In texture it will be soft and smooth as velvet. Linit neither takes away too much of the necessary oil in the skin, which often makes it chafed and inflamed, nor does it dry up the skin by clogging the natural oil in the pores. This is the test that proves it! After dissolving a handful or so of Linit in a basin of warm water, wash your hands. The instant your hands come in con- tact with the water, you are aware of a smoothness like rich cream—and after you dry your hands, your skin has a delight- ful softness. You'll be convinced! LINIT is sold by your GROCER the bathway toa soft, smooth skin Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 He said, “I shall be quite truthfy, I was filled with curiosity about you, } wanted to know you better.” Again she smiled, and said, “That's very flattering. There isn’t much to know.” She seated herself in the big bergére and added, “I suppose I must seem a kind of adventuress.” Then she laughed suddenly and said, “I’d never thought of that. I suppose even adven- turesses don’t think of themselves that way because it all seems quite natural,” He suddenly fancied himself aware of depths in this woman, the kind of depths which were not to be found in people like Fanny, who was all surface, or even the downright Savina, who was as transparent as crystal. There was about Mrs. Wintringham something mysterious which he supposed was born of her past, whatever it was. No one really knew anything about her save that she dressed beautifully and had been married at least twice and had a shop called Quince and Wintring- ham, where she sold antiques, and that she had friends among the more ad- venturous black sheep of Hector’s con- servative and fashionable world. Watch- ing her as she sat with the firelight shining on her red-gold hair, he fell into the most romantic speculations. He found himself peering morbidly into her face, trying to get behind it to discover the real Mrs. Wintringham behind all the self-possession, the cau- tion and the guarded intelligence. A woman who made her way in the world had to be cautious, he told himself. She couldn’t live like Fanny. It was clear that she didn’t mean to go on talking of herself, for she turned suddenly and concealed herself in a cloud of banalities about his pictures, his rugs, his bibelots, and while he talked to her another part of his brain was watching her and thinking how per- fectly she was a symbol of the changed world. In his youth a woman like this would have been a courtesan, but now- adays a woman could make her career respectable by marriage and divorce, wringing from a husband by law far more than she might wring from a lover by her devotion and his indulgence. She had been married twice, it was said, and so she must have been divorced twice and so come by the money that bought these expensive and beautiful clothes. And she could not be more than thirty, with all life before her. Outside the snow was falling faster and faster until through the millions of tiny flakes the lights of the rivers had turned into wavering globes of rose and yellow, and inside the fire burned softly. This quiet, beautiful woman was good for his nerves. Slowly he came to feel almost at peace. He had had no idea that women could be like this. He heard her saying, “You’ve cut your finger,” and that made him frown, for it brought suddenly to mind Nancy (confound her!) and her telegram and the memory that the doctors might tell him tomorrow that he had only a few weeks to live. If only he had not broken the goblet... She had risen and crossed quietly over to look out of the window down at the river once more. She stood for some time in silence while he watched her, thinking again how perfect she was. She said, “It’s a beautiful view. You are lucky. It is one of the most excit- ing views in the world.” “It is magnificent if you like this ter- rible city.” Her eyes seemed to darken suddenly and she said in a low voice, “It is the most wonderful city in the world—the most wild and beautiful!”

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ch, 1930 e tru out you, J] id, “That's much to in 7 Se must Then she “T'd never 7en. adven- selves that > natural,” f aware of | of depths in people €, OF even ) was as was about mysterious f her past, ing about ‘ifully and twice and Wintring- and that more ad- tor’s con- 1. Watch- > firelight e fell into S. morbidly behind it itringham the cau- zence. A the world self. She mean to ne turned elf in a pictures, while he his brain how per- - changed like this but now- er career divorce, law far m a lover nce, >», it was divorced ney that beautiful be more e her. ig faster millions 1e rivers S of rose > burned man was came to had no this. cut your own, for | Nancy ram and ight tell y a few t broken atly over 1 at the or some 1ed her, was. w. You st. excit- this ter- She was, he thought, certain to love it. It was a city made for adventurers like herself and Melbourn; a city in which you could have whatever you chose if you desired it enough. “Have you traveled much?” he asked, hoping that the question might lead him to some faint revelation regarding her past, but she only answered, “I lived in Europe and once for a time in China.” Quietly she crossed over and took up her bag and the little enamel box stud- ded with sapphires. “I must go,” she said. “It’s late and I’ve had a trouble- some day at the shop.” “will I find you there if I come in to- morrow?” “Ym always there between four and “Perhaps I’ll find something to buy.” And then he was aware that the giant figure of Savina was filling the doorway. She was saying, “Come and say good- by to us, Hector; we’re leaving.” He had no idea that so much time had passed while they sat, now talking, now silent, before the comfortable fire. In the drawing-room, Jim Towner had disappeared. A strange depression seemed to have settled upon them all, even upon the stalwart Savina. In the center of the table was a little heap of bank notes. Melbourn was writ- ing a check. Philip was seated in apa- thetic silence smoking, with his thoughts obviously miles away. Fanny looked tired and pitiful, with circles under her eyes and harsh lines about her mouth. It was Philip who brolze the silence. He said nervously, “The ladies have won everything. Savina never loses.” In Old Hector, nursing his cut finger, there arose a sudden bitter desire to hurt someone. It was poor distraught Fanny upon whom his malice fell. He said, “The gentlemen seem to have been wildly fortunate in love.” Fanny bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears. Savina, standing close to Hector, whis- pered savagely, “You are a swine, Hec- tor.” She hated him sometimes, per- haps, he thought, because she had never forgotten the humiliation of the day in the orchard at Staatsburgh. Melbourn had tossed the check into ' the middle of the table and was writ- ing something on a bit of paper he had torn from the bridge score. Fanny’s glance was following the tip of his pen- cil and when he noticed that she was watching him he quickly folded the pa- per and thrust it into his pocket, saying, “It’s a note to remind me of something,” and then stood up. In the hallway, while they were put- ting on their coats, Hector semembered suddenly that he had not told Savina about Nancy’s return and that he would need Savina’s help. No matter how aw- ful Nancy turned out to be, he could count upon Savina’s loyalty. He said in-a low voice to her, “Nancy is coming home.” “Nancy,” she repeated in her boom- ing voice. “Nancy who?” “My sister Nancy.” Savina said in astonishment, “You mean Nancy Carstairs?” She’s Lady Elsmore now.” He hadn’t meant the others to hear the news but Savina’s deep booming voice had be- trayed him. They were all listening now and he had to explain. “My sister is coming home. She’s been away for years. That’s why Savina is astonished.” Of course, Melbourn and Mrs. Win- tringham had never heard of her. ‘ Suddenly he noticed young Philip’s ace. All the color had gone out of it. P Was staring at him. yen mean Aunt Nancy?” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 159 LIPSTICKS RED DOT PLAIN END dark... for day light... for evening Have you ever had your most effective color in a lipstick? In the three Guerlain shades there is one to suit every type. Color is of first importance in a lipstick. Guerlain offers the utmost in color, without coating the lips with a layer of wax. A Guerlain lipstick colors the lips evenly and smoothly without calling in your little finger. It not only colors the lips but actually smooths them. And the coloring is indelible without drying. The result is one of natural loveliness. At especially appointed drug and department stores only All indelible, $1.50. Other Guerlain Lipsticks from $1.50 to $5.00 PARIS, 68 Champs Elysees + NEW YORK, 578 Madison Ave. - MONTREAL, 60 Craig St.W SSSSSSSSqqeqeqe_xaaQaaqSqQqqqQqqJqyEN

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“OS TRY _ Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 SH KS Don’t buy an Oshkosh “Chief” just because it’s the thing to do T is quite true that the Oshkosh “Chief *’ stands high in the social scale. Dukes and duchesses, magnates and millionaires are numbered in the growing list of its owners. And its colorful red-and-yellow stripes are frequently seen on the station plat- forms at Southampton and Newport HOW TO RECOGNIZE Superficially, you can tell a ‘‘Chief”’ by these red-and-yellowstripes woven into the duck which covers it. But more certainly by the long years of never-failing service it renders. This is its most distinguishing character- istic—and the most difficult to imi- tate. Oshkosh Trunks can also be and the famous continental resorts. But don’t let the fact that buying a ‘‘Chief’’ is ‘the thing to do’’ be the reason for your buying. Buy one, yes, but buy it for the same reason that the magnates and millionaires bought it—because it is the best trunk made, and it pays to have the best. AN OSHKOSH “CHIEF” had in the less expensive fibre cover- ing. The Oshkosh trade-mark iden- tifies them. Adescriptivebooklet, “Your Home Away From Home,”’ will be sent on request. Address the Oshkosh Trunk Company, 442 High Street, Oshkosh, Wisconsin. It was very awkward, considering Nancy had run off with Philip’s father but even that couldn’t explain the sug. den change in the boy. He couldn’t pos. sibly have remembered Nancy. He hadn't seen her since he was two. Then Melbourn said, “But I Lady Elsmore. I’ve dined with her ip London. Sir Henry’s coming to New York to close a deal in mines with me. I never knew she was your sister. We shall all have to dine at my place one night.” And then Savina said gently, “Bring her to tea with me tomorrow, Hector.” They all said good night over again, and Savina offered to give Mrs. Win- tringham a lift. It was Fanny who had won after all, for Melbourn was taking her home. And then Hector saw him pass the bit of paper torn from the bridge score to Mrs, Wintringham, and a curiosity so violent attacked the old man that he felt sud. denly dizzy again. The elevator door suddenly slid open and all of them save Philip were swal- lowed up and dropped twenty floors into the snowstorm that was covering all the city in a thick blanket of white. Philip put on his hat and coat. He turned to his uncle and said: “Are you feeling ill, Uncle Hector? Is there anything I can do?” The old man wanted passionately to cry out, “Don’t go away! Stay here with me. I’m dying and I can’t bear to be left alone. I know where you're going— to see that girl who possesses you in a way I never can.” But he only frowned and said, “No, I’m tired. Don’t fuss about me.” “You're sure?” asked Philip. “I’m quite sure.” “Tell me—about Aunt Nancy. Is she coming here?” “No. She'll be at the Ritz. She's lived at Ritzes for so long. I think she'll feel more at home in a place like that.” Philip blushed suddenly. “I’d like to see her.” “Of course you'll see her.” The boy lighted a cigaret and said, “Well, if you don’t need me, I'll run along.” And Hector thought, “‘He’s done his duty. He’s dying to get away. He wants to be with that girl.” The elevator appeared again and Philip said, “I’ll be late, but I have my key. You'd better go to bed right off.” The door closed and he was gone. The old man wanted to cry out, “Don't go! Don’t leave me!” But he was si- lent and he felt so dizzy that he was forced to sit on the great carved chest. It was there that Soames found him when he pussy-footed through the hall. The valet fetched a glass of whisky and stared at him with a look so intent that Old Hector cried out in annoyance, “I’m not dead yet! I’m all right. Don't bother me.” And then more quietly, “Tell the servants to go to bed and don't wait up for Mr. Philip.” And Soames went out, asking himself for the hundredth time if he shouldn't speak to Mr. Philip about the old man. He seemed queer in the head lately. When Soames had gone, Hector rosé from the chest, thinking _ bitterly, “Those others, all but Savina, who is old like myself, are going down into the city to live. Philip’s going to his gitl, and Melbourn has those two women fighting over him, and the talk is that Jim Towner’s keeping a_ night-club singer.” He wanted passionately to fol- ‘low each of them to see what happened | to them. To reach his own room he had to pass the door of the elevator and on his way he noticed a bit of paper lying on the

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ch, 1930 dering that lip’s father, in the sud. Juldn’t pos. He hadn't it I know vith her in ig to New *S with me, Sister. We ’ place one tly, “B W, ‘Hector’ y so violent ie felt sud- y slid open were swal- 2 turned to Hector? Is ionately to y here with bear to be re going— S you ina ily frowned Don’t fuss D. cy. Is she itz. She's think she'll like that.” ‘I’d like to and said, e, Ill run “He’s done away. He wgain and I have my right off.” pone. out, “Don't he was Si- at he was rved chest. found him h the hall. vhisky and intent that ance, “I’m ht. Dont re quietly, | and don’t ng himself » shouldn't > old man. | lately. fector rose bitterly, a, who is Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 polished floor. He would have passed it save that he recognized the bit of r torn from the bridge score. Mrs. Wintringham must have dropped it in the elevator and it had blown out when it came up again for Philip. Holding to the handle of the door to steady himself, he stooped to pick it up. it, he read, “Wait for me at home. I'll come, no matter how late. I must talk to you.” ; So after all, he thought, it was poor distracted Fanny who had lost to that strange, fey woman who was a nobody. And then the past reclaimed him once more—Nancy and Patrick and the sud- den terrible telegram of his death in the crevasse near Grindelwald, and Sa- vina in old Juliana Sloane’s orchard at Staatsburgh and the parties at New- port and the winters in Rome. Newport was filled with new and vul- gar people and nobody spent winters in Rome any longer. He was an old man. He might as well be dead. It was after eleven when Jim Towner left Old Hector’s party and descended in the gilt-and-crystal elevator. In the hall below he was greeted by the door- man, whose name was Pat Healy. Noticing Jim Towner’s bloodshot eyes and his unsteady gait, he smiled and said, “Your car, Mr. Towner?” But Jim Towner shook his head and replied, “I’m not using my car.” “A taxi?” “No, thanks. I'll walk. The air will do me good.” He started off uncertainly, and then turning as if he had forgot- ten something, he asked, “How’s the asthma, Pat?” “Better, sir. It’s always better in cold weather.” He continued to regard Jim Towner with a discreet anxiety and again, tactfully, he said, “It’s a bad night. Hadn’t I better call a taxi?” “No, I’m all right. I was feeling ill. I've had indigestion lately. The air will do me good. Look after that asthma, Pat. Asthma’s a bad thing.” Pat grinned at him. “Thank you, Mr. Towner. I will.” With the proper degree of discretion Pat Healy waited in the shadow of one of the great columns by the door until he saw that Jim Towner had crossed the street safely. A fellow as tipsy as that oughtn’t to be wandering off alone in such a storm. When Jim Towner had disappeared, Pat went inside once more. “We're gonna be well snowed up in the mornin’,” he said to the elevator “Yeah, like as not you'll never get back to Corona.” He said this deliberately to torment Pat, because Pat had a new wife wait- for him in Corona and the wife might be having a baby at any moment. Looking about to see that there was no one in sight, Pat took out a cigaret and offered one to the elevator man. In silence they lighted the cigarets and then Pat said, “He’s a nice fella, Mr. r. It’s a pity he gets like that so much lately.” “Ye know what J think, Pat? J think Most of ’em don’t have enough to do and it gets on their nerves.” By “them” the elevator man meant all that stream of men and women, young and old, eager and handsome, red and weary, who passed in and out of the door of Berkshire House. “Yeah, if they had to spend eight of the day workin’ they’d be spendin’ the rest o’ their time at some- thin’ besides drinkin’ and playin’ New York ain’t no place for a Man without a steady job.” When a woman looks at a man WHAT a way these women have of taking one in at a glance! . . . She hed thrown you only one fleeting look, a trifle haughty, but very obvi- ‘ously interested . . . and her smart, little, erect figure had swept quickly past. But somehow you had a feeling that those sparkling eyes had seen directly through you . . . had appraised every article you were wear- ing. Your shoes were shined. Your cravat was straight. You were wearing your newest Stetson. So... why worry! e It’s comforting to wear a Stetson hat. Its smart lines, the slightly jaunty flare to it, its comfortable feeling of “belonging” ... all are so characteristically Stetson that no other reminders are necessary of the well-known Stetson traditions. You know, and so does everyone else, that Stetsons have style. Their quality is in a class by itself. With a Stetson you feel confident of passing the inspection of even the most critical eyes... male OR female! John B. Stetson Company, Philadelphia. Makers of finest quality fur felt hats, straws, leghorns, panamas, silk top hats, opera hats, caps. Stetson Hats

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162 “It’s a shame—a nice fella like Mr. Towner—always got a nice word for everybody.” “Yeah, that’s what I say—a guy that’s got everythin’ a fella could want.” They fell into a silence, brooding over the goings-on in the world that pa- raded past them, and presently Pat Healy began to think about the little house in Corona and Esther waiting for him. It was a good thing, this be- ing married and settled down. It was all well enough to be wild when you were young, finding girls all over the place, but there came an age when it didn’t go so big any more. A fella had to begin thinking of his health and regular hours and building a solid life for his old age and having kids that could look out for him when he was too old to work. What would the old ‘man do now if it hadn’t been for his children? At this thought Pat felt a little ashamed because he hadn’t done any- thing to help his old man. And his brothers Tim and Jerry only made trouble for him. It was Pat’s sister Rosie who did everything. She was the one who’d kept the old man out of the poorhouse on Ward’s Island. It was Rosie who looked after all of them and kept them out of trouble. And nowadays Rosie was famous and didn’t call herself Rosie Healy any more but Rosa Dugan and had a night club named after her—‘“Rosa’s Place.” He used to worry about Rosie and her way of living until that night when she said to him, “Look here, Pat. I’m sick of you and all the rest of my family pickin’ on me for the way I live. I’ve got just as good a right to be wild as you have or Tim or Jerry.” Even if she was a woman, she had a right to be wild. He’d been wild, hadn’t he? Chasing after any woman that tickled his fancy? Well, she’d never run after a man. It was the men that did all the running, and they had to pay for it. In the end she’d straighten out all right and she’d be a rich and prosper- ous woman. Heaven knew, somebody in the family would have to make some money, to keep the old man off Ward’s Island and Tim out of jail. She sounded so sensible that he thought maybe she was right. Maybe it was better to be comfortable and have money and an automobile than to be standing all day on swollen feet in a department-store basement the way Esther had done, always feeling too tired to have any fun. It was funny about life and pretty hard to decide what was right and what was wrong. After all, Rosie never had much of a chance, getting started off on the wrong foot by having a baby when she was seventeen, and then she was so good- looking and looked so well all dressed up. You couldn’t blame her for liking clothes and jewelry. Maver it was all the fault of Tony Bruzzi, who got her into trouble and then was sent off to Sing Sing. It was funny how crazy she was about him, being willing to go to jail herself if she could help him. She must be crazy about him still, be- cause when he asked her once if she’d ever heard of him again she lost her temper and said, “Let him alone, see? I don’t wanna talk about him. That’s my business. You forget it.” And a woman who looked the way she looked when she said that must have been crazy about the fella even though she hadn’t seen him in years. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 No, maybe Rosie was right. Maybe she was meant for that kind of a life. She had a lot of money now and nad a night club named after her and she was generous with the old man and was al- ways keeping Tim out of jail and she’d bought himself and Esther a little house out in Corona. Maybe Rosie had gone wrong, but she was happy and she’d made a lot of other people happy. The next night he had off, he decided he’d rent a dress suit and go to Rosa’s Place and hear Rosie sing. She must 2 awfully good to make such a hit. Funny, when nobody ever knew she could sing at all. Aloud he said, “Life’s a funny thing, Bert.” “Yeah, it’s a funny thing. I was thinkin’ so myself. The old man’s get- tin’ crankier every day.” “Your old man?” “Naw, my old man’s been dead for ten years. Naw. I mean Old Champion up on the twentieth. He’s been gettin’ worse and worse lately.” “Oh, him!” said Pat and a rich scorn colored his voice. “Yeah. Tonight he bawled me out because the elevator was a minute late.” “He’s always been an old grouch. I never heard anybody have a good word for him. My uncle used to be his coach- man when the old man lived in Thirty- sixth Street. That was a long time ago. In the days of carriages.” Pat fell to thinking again of the house in Corona and Esther, who would hear him come in and get up and make some- thing hot for him to eat when he got home at two. It was funny to think that any day now there’d be two people waiting for him instead of one and that the other one would be half Esther and half himself. He began to feel warm and have a sensation of swelling up inside. He won- dered whether it would be a boy or a girl. If it was a boy they’d call it Patrick and if it was a girl they’d call it Rosie. It gave him a warm excited feeling. “What are you grinnin’ about?” the elevator man said. “Nothin’,” said Pat. “I was just thinkin’.” How could he tell Bert, who wasn’t even married, what he was thinking about? It was something you couldn’t understand if it hadn’t hap- pened to you. It made you feel big and important. It might happen any min- ute now. It might happen tonight. With a good deal of care and concen- tration Jim Towner kept going doggedly west through Fifty-seventh Street, lean- ing against the wild blizzard and filling his big chest with long drafts of the cold snow-damped air. It was almost as good as an icy bath, especially after all the boredom and feminine nonsense of Hector’s dinner party. He had pulled his soft gray hat far over his eyes and turned the collar of his coat high to keep out the wind and the falling snow. He felt all blurry in his mind and his thoughts kept churn- ing about in a ridiculous fashion. Just beyond Lexington Avenue he halted suddenly, aware that he had al- most knocked down a woman. She was old and thin and bent, with a tiny wiz- ened face almost entirely hidden by a ragged shawl. Her feet were wrapped in sacking. She was bending over a heap of rubbish, searching for something. With unsteady fingers he unbuttoned his coat and found a ten-dollar bill in his pocket. He thrust the money at her, but she didn’t take it at first, only stared at him, and when she did take it, she took his gloved hand with it, pinching it with a force unbelievable in so old ang battered a creature. She kept mumbling to herself, “God bless you, mister!” Then suddenly she freed him and he said with a grand manner, “It’s not . my good woman.” And turning syq-. denly, he went on his way, feeling awk. ward and ashamed of himself. As he walked he began telling that it was awful that such poverty existed in a city so rich and magnifi- cent. Something ought to be done about it. He’d speak to Savina. You could count on old Savina. She’d do some. thing about it. He ought to have taken the old woman’s name and address. He turned back to speak to her but by the time he had reached the gar- bage heap, she had disappeared. He could discover no sign of her. He set out again going straight west toward Rosa’s Place and suddenly he felt better. The cold air was clearing his head. At Fifth Avenue he turned south, feel- ing vaguely that there was some strange and lonely in the spectacle of a great avenue lighted from end to end, empty and filled with blowing snow, The midnight emptiness of a thorough- fare which existed in his mind as a place filled with shops and brought back the sense of depression and drove him into thinking of things which usually he was able to forget. As HE walked he be- gan to see what he already knew and would not admit—that his life had he- come a colossal muddle and that every- thing of solidity in it was falling to pieces about him. He knew that some- thing ought to be done about it but he couldn’t think what it could be. The wreck, he told himself, had happened so slowly, like a ship breaking up in quick- sands, that he’d been unaware of it un- til it was too late. In a sudden flash of clarity he tried to tell himself that it was really all his fault, but the same clarity of mind wouldn’t allow him to believe this. The gentlemanly thing to do was to take the blame, but he couldn’t quite do it. He told himself that he’d neglected Fanny for a good many years, but what could you expect of a man when his wife liked parties made up of queer people— writers who wore clothes spotted with food, cheap actors, and bad painters and a lot of people who were just hangers- on and talked about art and philosophy and other nonsense. They didn’t like him and he couldn’t blame them for that. What could he say to them? The trouble was that they didn’t like Fanny, either. They probably called her a lion-hunter behind her back, but they came to the house because they a@ good meal and because they were in- fernal snobs and second-rate snobs at that. They liked knowing Mrs. Towner and going to her house in Park Avenue. Anybody but Fanny could see that. It was a half-baked, second-rate world and Fanny thought it brilliant and clever. Well, maybe one in fifty amounted to something, but the other forty-nine were a ratty lot, or maybe he himself wasn’t bright enough to see how clever they were. What could you expect when your wife liked that sort of life and you liked horses and—well, pretty women maybe more than you ought to? Stumbling along, he kept asking him- self what had happened to Fanny. She wasn’t like that when he had married her. It was only lately that she’d be- gun to talk about the emptiness of her life, as if two children and a husband and all the friends she had among

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h, 1930 sO old and mumb ister!” im and he ’S nothing, ning sud- ‘ie: awk- ng himself h poverty 1 magnifi- lone about You could do some- lave taken dress. her d the gar- ared. He aight west nly he felt paring his outh, feel- something tacle. of a id to end, ing snow. thorough- lind as a id people ession and ngs which ed he be- knew and e had he- nat every- falling to hat some- it but he be. The ppened so in quick- of it un- he tried lly all his of mind this. The ) take the > it. neglected but what n his wife * people— tted with nters and hangers- called her but they hey liked were in- snobs at ;. Towner < Avenue. that. It vorld and clever. punted to nine were lf wasn’t aver they then your you liked n maybe

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164 decent, civilized people weren’t enough to make her life pretty full. Into the midst of his thoughts out of nowhere somebody cried, “Hello, Jim!” He turned but he could see no one, and then on the opposite side of the street he made out the figure of a man walk- ing rapidly in the opposite direction. He tried dully to discover who it was and, failing, turned slowly on his way again. He and Fanny would have to get to- gether again, no matter what happened, or it would be the end of them both. And it would be a shame to see a nice girl like Fanny going to the devil. Al- ready she didn’t seem to care what peo- ple said or thought of her. The man who had spoken to him, whoever he was, would probably go about tomorrow saying, “It’s too bad about Jim Towner. Isaw him again last night, reel- ing drunk.” He told himself he wasn’t really drunk. It was funny how gossip got around a city as big as New York. Still, nobody had heard about Rosie. He had that to be thankful for. Rosie was a good girl. She knew how to make a@ man happy. Walking more slowly, he began to peer at the fronts of the brownstone houses, each exactly and monotonously alike, until he came to one which had in the window a sign which read “Madame El- line, Modes.” He turned into the area. Another drink was what he needed. H:. RANG the bell and waited but there was no answer, and as he stood there leaning against the iron grille that covered the window, he saw by the dim light that there were stains in the snow just beside the door. He rang again, and examining the stains with an idle interest, he discovered that they were blood. Someone had fallen or been bleeding from the nose. Then the door behind the iron grille opened and a face peered out. “It’s me, Towner,” said Jim. A voice which he recognized answered, “We was just closin’, Mr. Towner. I’m sorry. We was just closin’.” Jim Towner’s thick voice grew angry. “All I want is a freshener. I’m not going to stay.” “Wait a minute; I’ll see,” said the voice, and in a moment the door creaked open and he went in, through the base- ment hall into a room which had once been the servants’ hall of this respectable brownstone house. It was a sad room with walls covered by faded brown paper. There were three tables and some chairs and a bat- tered upright piano. The man who had opened the door had an egg-shaped white head covered with red fuzz and pale, cold, fishlike eyes. He had nar- row shoulders and grotesquely fat hips, and wore ° white apron over his suit. Jim Towner looked at him with drunk- en distaste. “Kind of dead tonight, Frank.” “Yes. Kinda dead tonight. It ain’t much of a night for trade. What’ll you have?” “Whisky soda.” Frank disappeared and Jim Towner began again to worry about Fanny. He tried to think of her as she had been when he married her. That was a great wedding. Everybody had a good time. All the boys from the club singing and drinking. He felt a sudden nostalgia for the good old days when he had been the most popular man of his class. He wanted to feel the boys slapping his back and saying, “Good old Jim!” All that had slipped away somehow, imperceptibly, without his noticing it until it was gone, Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 leaving him lonely and unimportant. He couldn’t even play good polo any more. Fanny was all right in those days and thought him the only man in the world, but now, when he came to think of it, he couldn’t think why he had married her, except that she seemed suitable and was pretty and everyone thought it was a good marriage. He’d never had for her the feeling he had for Rosie, which was a good solid feeling of passion. He’d never wanted to be with Fanny the way he wanted to be with Rosie, day in and day out. Well, maybe some of the mess was his fault. Maybe he’d let her find out that he wasn’t the most wonderful fellow in the world. Funny that she should like a bounder like Melbourn, who was a nobody and had no friends and no clubs, and wasn’t even a gentleman. He began to grow impatient because Frank was so long bringing the whisky. Through his irritation he heard a voice in the back room saying, “It ain’t no use. Anybody can see there ain’t nothin’ to be done.” “Finishéd?” asked another voice. “Finished.” “Poor Sam. An’ he was only talkin’ tonight about givin’ up the racket.” One of the voices was lowered. “Who done it?” “You know who done it.” “Dago Tony?” “Sure. They got Dusty Moran the same way—out of a taxi window. They musta been waitin’ down the street.” “The dirty devils!” “Well, he ain’t Lucky Sam any more!” There was a sound of ice being cracked and then the first voice again. “He bled like a stuck pig.” “Yeah. One bullet musta got him through the big artery.” “It was terrible.” Then there was the sound of a glass being set on a tray. “You’d better get out there with a bucket an’ some water. We don’t want no traces left.” “What are you gonna do with him?” “Well, he ain’t quite dead yet.” “No, but after?” “We can put him in Harry’s taxi an’ drop him some place in the Bronx or over by the river, mebbe. You could drop him any place on a night like this.” “They'll just think somebody took him for a ride.” Frank appeared suddenly in the door- way, crossed over and put the whisky down in front of Jim Towner. “What’s the matter?” Jim asked. “Nothin’s the matter. A guy that was tight fell downstairs an’ bumped his head.” Jim put two dollars on the table and said, “Keep it.” He didn’t ask any more questions because he was muddled and wasn’t sure what he heard. A man passed along the hallway car- rying a broom, some rags and a pail of water. Frank asked, “D’you want anything else, Mr. Towner?” Frank left the room and from out- side the window there came a sound of scrubbing. Jim lighted a cigaret and took another drink, forgetting the half-muddled con- versation in the anxiety which the thought of Melbourn always aroused. He tried not to think of Melbourn and, like a child, kept trying to push away the idea of him, as if by doing so he could annihilate Melbourn. He tried over and over again to make himself be- lieve that there was really nothing seri- ous between Fanny and Melbourn, but something deep inside him wouldn't allow him to believe it, and so the anx- iety would not be stifled. He disliked the truth more because its existence made him seem ridiculous and ungentlemanly than because of any jeal- ousy. He really did not care what Fanny did so long as she did not make a spec- tacle of them both. He’d never spoken of it to Fanny but then, he told himself, it was the sort of thing you couldn’t mention casually as you did the weather, and for years now he and Fanny had never spoken of any- thing intimate. He saw for the first time how far apart they were and that they had become really like strangers, They didn’t even care enough to have violent quarrels. It was all just dead, inert, a mockery. You couldn’t count Fanny’s liking for melodramatic scenes under the head of quarreling. Fanny liked working her- self into a temper. All women, he sup- posed, were like that—all but Rosie. He wondered with a sudden shocking detachment whether Fanny made scenes with Melbourn as she had with him all his life. It struck him that Melbourn wasn’t the sort who would put up with nonsense and he wouldn’t run away from scenes, either, the way he himself had always done. And it occurred to him suddenly that if he had cared enough to knock the nonsense out of Fanny in- stead of merely running away from it, things might be better now. The whisky warmed him and at first it made his head seem much clearer. He was aware that a figure bearing a broom, a@ bucket and some rags had passed through the hall once more to the back of the house. He couldn’t see the water in the bucket but he knew with a disagreeable certainty that it was red. And again he heard the voice in the next room. “It’s all over.” Then there was a mumble of low voices and one of them said, “Aw, he’s too tight to hear anything.” All at once he felt sick and dizzy, and rising, he went out quickly through the corridor into the street. The floor of the area way was all clear of snow now, freshly washed and scrubbed. The stains had disappeared. He hurried up the steps and started west once more. As he walked everything seemed to be- come clear again. He decided that the manly thing to do was to take the mat- ter in hand and act firmly now—to- morrow—before something dreadful hap- pened which would smash both their lives and those of the children as well. He’d go to Fanny tomorrow at tea time and say to her, “I’ve been in the wrong, but both of us have got to pull ourselves together and try to make a go of it for our own sakes as well as for the children. We’ve got to think of them. We're getting so old it doesn’t matter what happens to us but they’re just be- ginning to live. I'll do whatever you say.” : Aw then he knew at once that everything he planned to say was wrong. He knew what she’d do. She’d turn and twist everything he said so that it meant something else and manage to make him appear a brute and herself a martyr. He saw that this tea-time con- ference would come to nothing. Perhaps the only thing to do was to give up Rosie, and he told himself that giving her up would be worth all it cost him if by doing it he could have a happy, peaceful home. He kept telling himself insistently that for all Fanny’s foolish notions there was something fine about

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1930 he anx- ause its oUS and ny jeal- | Fanny @ spec- W voices 90 tight zy, and igh the loor of yw now, : ried up more. 1 to be- hat the le mat- ow—to- ul hap- hn their aS well. at tea in the to pull ke a go for the f them. matter ust be- rer you . knew ined to ’d turn that it age to arself @ ne con- was to lf that it cost happy, himself foolish > about Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 165 Authorized to save a life ...-but not to send a bill BAUER & BLACK Sterile Ab- sorbent Cotton in te handy pack- age. Soft, fluffy, highly absorbent. BAUER & BLACK Zinc Oxide Adhesive Plaster, Buy the five yard spool for greatest wate BAUER & BLACK Blue-jay Corn Plasters. For over thirty years the standard corn remover Ric AES 4 2 a *) — CRASH at the corner. A gathering crowd. Some- body hurt. “Take her in there!” ... “In there” is the drug store. The Druggist is not a phy- sician. But because he has been carefully educated in many of the p Phe the phy- sician must know, he is au- thorized by law to administer first aid when immediate med- ical attention cannot be had. He is not allowed to take pay for this. Nor does he want to. It is not his business—the a interest forbids any ivision of the physician’s burden of Lecpaiaonditie. The Druggist is merely perform- ing one more phase of the endless service that we have come to expect of him. How constantly we use this serv- ice! How seldom we pay for it even in thanks! Every community breathes more easily because there is a Druggist at the corner. And there is an added assurance, full ofcomfort, in the fact that on his shelves are the trusted products of Bauer & Black, America’s foremost producer of sterile surgical dressings — an institution identified these thirty-five years with a high and unbending standard of quality. Sterile gauze and cotton, adhesive plaster, mercuro- chrome swabs and bandages —these are only a few of the many invaluable Bauer & Black articles that your phy- sician appeecee and your Druggist keeps ever ready for your call. BAUER&BLACKSterileGauze Bandages in sealed cartons. Frayless edge prevents raveling BAUER & BLACK Pal Athletic Supporters give protection and de luxe comfort at work or play x BAUER& BLACK Handy Tape antiseptic gauze, ready to use Dressing. Adhesive plaster 3 \ MEN.) wee DIVISION OF THE KENDALL COMPANY Chicago . . New York : . Toronto

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Alluring . .. convincingly natural... boy-teasing . . . the one smart shade today in Paris, New York and Holly- wood in a lipstick of creamy-smoothness and fadeless color. Ultra red-and-black enamel case, $1.00; Junior, 50c. Same in Canada. See special offer. * Send this adv. and 10c for Vanity SEND size PHANTOM RED Lipstick and Make-Up Guide. (Another 10¢ 0c brings dainty model PHAN- TOM RED Rouge Compact.) Dept. 205, CARLYLE LABORATORIES, Inc., 67 Fifth Ave., N. Y. her. It would be all right if only he could break down all the things that separated them before it was too late. If he gave up Rosie he’d try going back to live with Fanny again; he’d try to love her the way a man ought to love his wife and not the way a man loved a woman like Rosie, because the two things were different, of course. After love with Rosie he couldn’t quite picture any satisfaction in the love of Fanny. That was the trouble. In this love business there wasn’t any turning back. That was the worst of it. You just went on and on until you ended heaven knew where. Respectable love would be hard after knowing Rosie. But maybe he wouldn’t have to go back to Fanny and maybe he wouldn’t have to give up Rosie. And suddenly he found himself all muddled again, with no way out of the puzzle. He kept seeing Rosie standing on a table in a circle of yellow light singing to a night club filled with peo- ple or in the flat in Thirty-ninth Street just behind Savina’s house (only Sa- vina never guessed what was going on there). It was Rosie who made him feel wild and young again. Fanny was like something made up, but Rosie was flesh and blood,- warm flesh and blood. As he drew nearer and nearer to Rosie the last drink of whisky began to have its effect. The awful dinner at Hector Champion’s faded into the distant past and the little table in the corner behind the screen with Rosie and a bottle of whisky became more and more real. That was a world in which there wasn’t any nonsense. Everything was clear-cut and simple and everybody meant what they said and everybody was out for a good time and Rosie, in the midst of it all, was the life of the party. He began to feel hungry for Rosie. She’d make him feel better. In the falling snow just before him there appeared a blaze of light all soft- ened and diffused which took form as he drew near and spelled out the words, Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 ROSA’S PLACE. The big doorman said, “Good evening, Mr. Wilson.” For a moment he feit a drunken im- pulse to quarrel, saying that his name was not Wilson but Towner, and then he remembered dully that in Rosie’s world he was “Mr. Wilson.” Inside, the cloakroom girl smiled at him and said, “Good evening, Mr. Wil- son. Not much of an evening.” Beyond the famliar red velour curtains someone was playing a piano, softly, with a kind of intoxicating carelessness, Then someone began to sing in a low, warm, throaty voice that was a little husky. It was an odd voice that sent shivers up and down the spine of Jim Towner and of a good many other men. It sang: “I can’t give you anything but love, Baby.” A new kind of excitement much stronger than the excitement of the raw whisky warmed him. He felt as if he'd found what he had always been seeking. He fumbled with the curtains and then, pulling them open, he saw her. She was sitting on the edge of a table in the middle of the floor drenched in a shower of warm yellow light. She sat with her head tilted back a little, and her eyes partly closed, singing effortlessly in a voice that was no voice at all. She wore a rather soiled gown of white satin and a great many diamonds on the right arm and seemed indifferent to all the people who sat watching her. It was as if she were quite alone, singing. In the smelly, garish room packed with people there was not a sound. The strangely moving voice sang: cae ee like to see you looking swell, aby, Diamond bracelets Woolworth doesn’t sell, Baby.” No, he couldn’t give up Rosie. It would be like asking him to die. Behind her in the shadows were the gray, distorted faces of people sitting at tables. The men in the jazz band sat listening. As the hours tick slowly away in Louis Bromfield’s April Installment they bring Philip Dantry to the girl he loves in the moment of her triumph on the stage T hese Folks Know How to Play (Cont. from page 87) carry a pair of handcuffs for cases such as this one.” The Englishman smiled. “Well, you see,” he explained, “there’s a law against putting irons on a person who has not yet been convicted of a crime. Irons are regarded as ignominious. So when an officer arrests a customer who might turn unruly or try to escape, he just gets around the formality by using a bit of rope. It’s quite a common sight.” I spoke, a few paragraphs back, of contrasts. I think of one striking con- trast that we noticed in Sao Paulo, Motoring through a smart residential suburb, we turned a corner into a hand- some avenue and met a double funeral procession that was so ornate, so elabo- rate, so tricked out with colorful details and with such a brilliantly attired brass band in attendance, that you’d have said that they must be reinterring Barnum and Bailey. It couldn’t have been any- one else—not with that street parade. As we watched the cavalcade rolling along, I happened to glance sideways. The raggedest black man I ever saw— bareheaded, barefooted, bared to his waist—was alongside us, carrying on his back a coffin. It was of flimsy, unplaned, unpainted wood, that coffin. On the lid of it was tacked a narrow strip of luridly purple cheesecloth, flimsy and frayed. With my eye I followed him as he quitted the broad sidewalk and went down a small declivity and cross a weedy common to a tumble-down shack before the door of which a cluster of tattered children—his own children presumably— awaited his arrival with his pathetic burden. In New York, in London, in any great city, one who seeks may find riches strutting side by side with direst poverty, but somehow this particular spectacle seemed to me tremendously typical of conditions in this particular land where there is so much natural wealth and s0 uneven a distribution of it. Still, who would say the wealth of any country is fairly distributed? No visit to Sao Paulo is regarded as complete unless one has seen the state- endowed snake farm a few kilometers distant from the city proper. Accord- ingly we paid it a call. It’s a great place to go if you are fond of snakes. Every venomous reptile which the hinterlands of Brazil can offer is present, either as 4 sample or as living material for the man- ufacture of antitoxic serum. To me, however, the open-air pits and dens were not so thrillsome as the build- ing where you behold the work of skilled

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doorman 1 v ” iken im- lis name ind then | Rosie’s miled at Mr. Wil- curtains , softly, 2lessness, n a low, a little hat sent > of Jim her men. anything t much the raw S if he’d seeking. nd then, f a table hed ina She sat ttle, and fortlessly all. She ite satin the right all the It was sing. ked with d. The ’ swell, loesn’t sie. It vere the . sitting zz band page 87) frayed. 1 as he id went a weedy k before tattered mably— pathetic ny great | riches poverty, pectacle pical of d where and so ill, who untry is rded as e state- lometers Accord- at place Every terlands her as @ 1e Man- nits and e build- f skilled modelers who, in wax most realistically ' colored, have reproduced step by step the effects of serpent poisons upon human tissue. But it is not a place to go just pefore a meal. Or just afterward. We descended upon Rio, three of us, in the middle of the week before Lent began, when the Carnival was getting under way. So we saw Carnival from beginning to end and now I would say that while everybody with an eye for loveliness should see Rio at the earliest opportunity, the best time to see it is during Carnival when the true temper of the gayest, the most natural, the most entirely unself-conscious and spontane- ous race of the New World is revealed under circumstances not, I’m sure, dup- licated anywhere else, and not with such joyous irresponsibility displayed here ex- cepting at this particular season. To the girls of good families Carnival means such freedom as they enjoy in no other part of the year. For in Brazil generally and even in Rio with its more advanced social conventions, the ancient Portuguese rule that before their mar- young women must lead rather cloistered lives still prevails among the conservative groups. The barred win- dow through which the immured maiden hearkens to the sweetheart on the side walk below may be seen in the districts where the old-school aristocrats live. With their faculty for making fun of everything, including their most cher- ished institutions, the witty Brazilians call the devoted youth a “lamp-post lover” in the first stages of the court- ship, when he is supposed to station him- self at a short distance from the home of his lady love, casting languishing but respectful glances in her general direc- tion. Later on, after he has dared ven- ture nearer and, with upturned eyes and craned neck is pleading his suit beneath her casement, the popular name for him is a Portuguese term meaning “He who gargles his throat.” But from Wednesday of the week be- fore Lent until midnight of Saturday the unwed damosel of whatsoever estate may by right go forth and romp to her heart’s content. It is a sanctioned right of hers and, take this witness’ word for it, she exercises it. For three days and three nights, al- most without cessation, an entire popu- lace on terms of perfect democracy gives itself over unreservedly to merrymaking. Practically all who are under the age of thirty—and a great many who have passed that age—turn out in fancy dress. For the overlapping succession of elabo- rately staged parties which the high- born and the wealthy classes patronize, magnificent costumes are worn. In the unorganized frolics which constantly go on in every side street in every hiving quarter of the poorer people, a scrap of parti-colored rag tied about the head or a tattered and faded suit of pajamas Serves the wearer as well as satin and fine plumage and makes of him or her a part of the picture. - I saw one strapping big negro man who wore a single smocklike garment of jute bagging to which he had fastened fronds of green leaves, with an ancient frayed feather duster for a headdress, and he was having a perfectly gorgeous time. Well, for that matter, everybody else was. Until I had seen it with my own eyes, I did not believe it possible for the deople of a big city to enter so whole- heartedly into holidaying without in- dulging in hoodlumish excesses. We wit- hessed no exhibitions of vandalism or Viciousness. Everywhere there was un- bridled liberty but nowhere, so far as ; We could see, was there unbridled license. Two cleaners for about the price of one Spic-Span only $1 4,;°° Branches in all leading cities. Made and sold in Canada by the Premier Vacuum Cleaner Com- pany, Ltd., Toronto --- Foreign distributors, International General Electric Company, Inc. (Premier Electric Cleaning Unit Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 167 cA Cleaner Home for less Money” is the title of a free, informative booklet written by Harriet Cavell—write with- out fail, for your copy today. ee OW I'm POSITIVE my house is clean |, own before has a housecleaning method re- ceived such enthusiastic praise. 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Write or phone your Premier dealer today for a free demonstration. THE PREMIER VACUUM CLEANER COMPANY (Division of Electric Vacuum Cleaner Co., Inc.) Dept. 1603, Cleveland, Ohio

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168 We saw nobody who was in a bad temper. We saw no citizen who refused to enter into the tempo of the thing. We saw little or no intoxication. The Brazilian may be a coffee drunkard and an addict to sticky, sweetish fruit-juice concoctions, but he is no alcoholic. There wasn’t much music of bands or orchestras. These naive folk made their own music—with laughter, with singing, and, in the neighborhoods inhabited by those of African antecedents, with im- provised instruments such as cigar-box drums and homemade fifes and flutes. And, to be in the spirit of true en- thusiasm, you must throw confetti and you must fling festoons of those gayly colored paper strips called serpentinas at everybody and everything, and you must carry with you a supply of lancas, meaning by that long metal siphons con- taining water mildly flavored with ether and a sickish perfumery—they look rather like overgrown tubes of tooth paste, these weapons—and from them you must squirt pungent, spraying streams in the faces or over the heads of all and sundry. To us, the culminating features on Saturday night, which were the parades of four big politico-social organizations, proved the least fascinating of the spectacles. Those huge, cumbersome, over-gilded floats, lumbering creakingly through the street, were plainly the crowning achievements of a prolonged preparation, whereas what went before had the charm of an impromptu jollity. I liked best the spirited sights to be seen every afternoon and evening, re- gardless of weather, on the great wide Central Avenue, known also as the Avenida Rio Branco. Endless proces- sions of privately owned or chartered automobiles moved up and down the bowery driveway, hour after hour; and every car had its top thrown back and every car contained twice or thrice as many passengers as the builders thereof had originally intended that car should carry. They perched on the flattened- down hoods, they straddled the radiators, they clung precariously to the running boards—young men, young girls, chil- dren, adults—and every one of them was in gala finery and every one singing or shrieking or shouting. Here would be a tossing, vociferating, living bouquet of girls all dressed to match, as violets or orchids or peonies; there a palpitant and vocal bevy made up as sailorettes or as harem ladies or as pirates; then others dressed to repre- sent savages with towering headdresses; or fairies with tinsel crowns and spangled gauzy wings; or ballet dancers with flar- ing skirts; or galley slaves in crimson jerkins and with ornamental chains jingling from their wrists and ankles. A. young men past counting who were got up as girls, and girls past counting who had borrowed their brothers’ clothing. And wherever the eye strayed, serpentinas were whirl- ing through the air to festoon over tree limbs and to trail behind automobiles; and confetti was flying in pink and blue and yellow snow-squalls; and your own garments carried a persuasive odor of perfumed ether. From this unceasing, always shifting and altering pageantry you had only to turn aside into the nearest byway or alleyway to come upon a breath of bar- barism, a vision lifted bodily out of the untamed and untamable soul of the tropics, as here typified in the persons of half-nude, coal-black men and women, tricked out in crude trappings of grass skirts and glass beads and tin armlets and anklets, making tom-tom music and Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 shaking gourds with pebbles in them to rattle, the while they deliriously chanted, strutted and shuffled to a nightmarish meter which surely came out of the Congo forests with their slave forbears. That sense of an imminent wild life prevails even when Carnival is not in progress. You may be anywhere you please in Brazil, with evidences of civili- zation all about you, and still and not- withstanding, there comes to you the feeling that near at hand the jungle is hiding from, you its mysteries and its tragedies and all its store of treasures and wonders as yet untapped and un- plumbed. Even in Rio you get it, full- measured and heaping over. In Rio you get so many esthetic sen- sations that afterwards it is hard to sort them out in your mind. The sheer beauty of the place is overpowering. There is first of all a harbor that is studded thick with islands big and little. Some of these islands rise out of the salt water as rounded symmetrical domes; some are steep, tall spires—the barren tips of sunken foothills; one is a tremendous, perfectly shaped granite sugar loaf; and nearly all of them are clothed with a blossomy, impenetrable tropical growth. Your steamer comes treading a tortu- ous path through this verdant archi- pelago. She rounds a flank of the sugar loaf and there before you, spread along the shores of a scalloped inner bay, lies Rio. Before her are beautiful beaches, miles on miles of them. Behind these beaches are low sea walls; behind these in turn is a continuous system of mag- nificent parkways and driveways, and then on beyond begins the city proper, which in part covers a flattened plateau and in parts lifts itself, tier on tier, upon terraces that are edged and outlined with rows of enormous royal palms. Right out of the heart of the town jut up various sheer peaks which rise to considerable heights, so that a man’s front yard may be practically at ocean level and his back yard may extend up to an altitude of upwards of a thousand feet. For a background in the distance are the real mountains of the coast range. Off to the right, across dancing blue waters, is Nictheroy, the capital of the state of Rio. To the left, hidden be- hind a rocky outjut which breaks the shore line into twin miniature gulfs, is Copacabana, a resort for bathers. And here, brethren, is the most won- derful part of all: Approaching, you see not a single man-made blemish in the entire scope of the scene—no gas tanks, no coal tipples, no freight docks, no grain elevators, ne factory chimneys, no switch yards. These are tucked away out of your sight in landlocked basins or along the banks of concealed artificial canals. The exquisite beauty of the vista is unmarred and unmutilated. It was made perfect and perfect it remains—or any- how, almost perfect. I am trying to for- get that one minor blotch on the pano- rama is an electric sign advertising a Yankee brand of automobile tires. The criminal guilty of perpetrating that atrocity should be condemned to confinement for life in a corral of North American billboards and for a cell-mate he should have the misguided French- man who, despite protests from the lo- cal beauty-lovers and at the instigation of the mayor, was lately engaged in cut- ting away century-old trees to make room for dinky reflection pools and stupid gravel walks and foolish replicas of formal Parisian gardens, all inter- spersed here and there along the ocean parkway. But these be small and in- consequential exhibitions of bad taste. When I remember how, in most great cities, the water fronts have been ravished and despoued and disfi with ugly utilitarian things, and how natural loveliness has needlessly been sacrificed for mistaken economic advan- tage, I shall turn my admiring thoughts to Rio. I shall think of the gorgeous sweep of seascape and landscape she of- fers by day and I shall think of the en- circling half-moon diadem of jeweled spangling lights which she wears by night. They call her the “Queen of the Tropics.” She is all of that. and more than that. Compared with any other metropolis I have visited, she is, to my way of thinking, the queenliest city that ever was created anywhere. I main- tain that it is in keeping with the eterna fitness of things that in Rio the royal palm attains its supreme glory. It is regal plumage for a most regal head. As I said before, the jungle comes right up to the back door. Indeed, it crosses the threshold and creeps inside, We found that out when we rode to the top of Tijuca, which is one of the loftiest of those freakish wooded pinnacles that spiral up out of the municipal plain, There’s a trip for you! W. THOUGHT that, su- perficially at least, we had seen the cream of what Rio had to offer—the Central Avenue with its wide sidewalks done in curious swirling patterns of varicolored tiles and mosaics; Ouvidor, that narrow teeming street of the orig- inal old city, from which vehicular traf- fic is barred; avenues of lordly palms; gardens and palaces and estates and beaches; fruit markets and fish mar- kets; rows of houses showing the ancient Portuguese influence, some being finished off as to their fronts with designs of bright, slick tiling, and some painted in designs reminiscent of the band wagons of Gentry’s Dog and Pony Show; bar- racks and hospitals; theaters and churches and a country club pitched in a setting of indescribable beauty; the American Naval Mission, for Brazil’s .Sailors are being schooled by a picked group of our men; the strands by the Atlantic and the luxurious mountain re- treats to which the smart set flees at the height of the summer. We had looked upon all these and much besides, and then we climbed Tijuca,. and after that anything else would have been anticlimactic. Dizzily revolving around abrupt turns, we went up and up a fine road cut into the steep faces of the cliffy hillock like threads in a screw. Behind us were the last of the hillside villas and now, ex- cept for the paved road twisting on ahead of us, we might have been in the midst of a subequatorial jungle. The interlaced verdure had closed in. on us, thick and dark and formidable. A lovely little waterfall was smashing down over rocks into a pool buried in dancing greenery at the head of a brawling small river. Enormous blue butterflies with jeweled and enameled wings were all about us. We heard wild monkeys chattering and we caught 4 glimpse of a flock of wild parrots flash- ing past like green-and-yellow darts. It was raining hard when we got to the end of the driveway and, peering over the parapets on the side toward the city, there was nothing to be seen except cloud rack rising from beneath to meet other clouds rolling down from above. So, on the advice of our chauf- feur, we waited a little while. Presently the shower stopped 4s quickly as it had begun, and on that, suddenly, the curtains of mist below us ‘were rent asunder and the torn edges

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blue neled Hearst's 1nternational-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 The Modern Atalanta Goes Feminine She must have the lovely, womanly curves of the athletic Atalanta of antiquity. The smart belted sports frock crisply out- lines the natural feminine figure, while the dainty Gossard combination of satin tricot (with detachable shoulder straps and garters) snugs the figure to perfection... Model 4877 THE H. W. GOSSARD CO.—Chicago, New York, San Francisco, Dallas, Atlanta, London, Toronto, Sydney, Buenos Aires Division of Associated Apparel Industries, Inc.

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170 rolled back to right and left, and there beneath us, eight hundred feet down, lay Rio bathed and glittering in bril- liant sunshine, with her beaches show- ing like curling strips of silver ribbon, and on past these the island-studded ocean, all so calm and deep blue. As for the inhabitants of Rio, they seem to have taken their spiritual color- ing, their social overtones, their mental complexes from their surroundings. I am sure they are the friendliest people, the most joyous people, the most un- affected people, and innately and instinc- tively the politest people that live. And what, selfishly speaking, is more to the point, they like us here in North America. Already there is an abundance of bonds between these twain, one the most pow- erful and the largest republic of North America; the other the largest and, Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 potentially if not already actually, the most powerful republic of South America. Rio buys our automobiles and our movie films and various other wares al- most to the exclusion of purchases from other countries. We absorb, up to ninety percent in some years, the bulk of her coffee crop, which is her main crop for export. She doesn’t fear our designs or suspect us of imperialistic intentions. She shares with us a unique distinc- tion among New World nations—a cer- tain facile sense of humor which leads her to endure with good nature well- meant criticism of almost any racial shortcoming or tribal folly. As I come to the close of this series of articles, I am mighty glad, looking back on it, that we saved up Brazil for the last, and that our farewell picture was the picture of Rio softly fading into nothingness behind us as our steamer bore us out to sea on the homeward lap, Concluding, I’d like, for the sake of emphasis, to repeat what I said at the outset of these writings, namely: 1 Europe is finished, if yesterday belongs to Europe, and if today still is North America’s day, then surely the oppor- tunity and the promise of tomorrow are the heritages of South America; and ig-. we as a manufacturing nation and gq bartering nation are to find new markets on this side of the ocean, as our older markets on the other side of it contract, it behooves us as it never behooved us before to cultivate the friendship of South America, not only for the sake - of the dollars rolling in, but for the infinitely greater cause of a hemispheric solidarity against all the rest of creation. THE END The Fable of What Ivy Might Have Spilled (Continued from page 17) Girls named Dorothy Parker and Fannie Hurst began to write Skits and Yarns in which the Folks were permitted to think out loud, and what they thought was Plenty and darn readable to anyone except a Prude. Ivy was a Modern Marvel who kept on the Go every Second and yet seemed to find time to be up on Tall-Brow Topics and all the late Wrinkles in plain and hemstitched Literature. She was in- trigued by the new Style of Writing, if you know what it is to be Intrigued. Anyway, it and Complex were both Good Words before they wore them out. After the Little Girl got the new Brand of Pizen into her System she had to keep her Fingers crossed to keep from erupt- ing and letting all the Pests, Parasites and Palookas know just what she thought of them. The Strain was terrible when she was around with Claudine because the Latter bit the lower Lip when affecting Surprise and talked with a Whine and was all tired out. When she sat down she set- tled and spread like a hot Welsh Rabbit. She must have seen Greta Garbo on the Screen. Everyone who looked at her wanted to bring her a Cup of Strong Coffee. - Time and again Ivy wanted to say to her: “For the Heck’s Sake, straighten up and put your Weight on the Usual Place! What is the large Idea in trying to imi- tate a dying Fishworm? You read some- where thet, to be in the Mode, you would have to be Anemic, but why Perniciously Anemic? What you need is a big Brute of a Husband who would wake you up every Morning by choking you to Death. Twenty-four last Spring and still talking Baby Talk! Where are the Police? I’ve seen many a dreamy Drooper that needed a Rest Cure, but Gal, you need two or three of them!” What she really said was: “Oh, Clau- dine, how I envy you that easy, languid Air, which you can e¢arry off so beau- tifully! It seems to me that the Art of Relaxation is simply priceless. Have you acquired it? I hope to tell you.” Then there was a Human Behemoth named Jim, whose Mother must have looked out of the Window and seen a lot of Truck Horses. His only claim to Distinction lay in the Fact that several Years ago, before he began to wear so much Suet, he had been put on the All- American Team as a Guard. That made him a Great man for nearly Two Days. He worshiped Ivy in a dumb, Newfound- land sort of way. When she least ex- pected it, she would look up and discover something large and bulky blocking her Pathway, and it would be Jim. When he sat in front of her, obscuring the View, she had the Impulse to say to him: “Goon, Goliath, and propose to me! I’ve always wanted to love in a Big Way but I never had a Yearn for anything that looked, from behind, like a Transconti- nental Bus. Why don’t you take a Week off and learn some Words of Two Sylla- bles? How did you ever get the Notion into that Melon that I would like to room with a Baby Elephant? If you think I am going to be thrown for a Loss every Time I try to carry the Ball, you are a bigger Goof than you look to be, and that means the Ne Plus Ultra of Goofiness.” What she really said to James was: “Oh, Boy, I envy the full-size, athletic Sweetie who draws you! You are the Type that appeals to any Girl who carries a little Gray Matter under the Toque. You are Strong and Silent. You are so Big and Impressive, Jim, that you would overshadow any teeny-weeny Mite, such as Me. Imagine Ivy trying to be your Side-Kick! Ha, ha! It would be like a Sardine swimming along behind a great, magnificent Whale.” So Jim would have the Skids put under him and take the Air, without realizing that the wise Minx had canned him. One of the Tribulations was Adolphus Glatch, who had welcomed the Sunrise after a Thousand and One Arabian Nights, but now the old Airedales were beginning to fret him and he had to drink a good deal of Milk instead of what he craved, so he felt disposed to settle down and lead a Quiet Life with some- one a little younger than himself—say twenty-five years or so. He groaned when he collapsed into an Armchair, and if he moved around, some of the Joints made funny Cracks but, at that, he was fairly well preserved, having a slight Edge -n all of his Contemporaries who had moved into the Cemetery. He tried to win Ivy by feeding her all the indigestible items which had been given the Blue Pencil on his Diet List. Ivy would lean across the Table and gaze at him with the fascinated Air of a Canary Bird being charmed by a Ser- pent, but she was aching to say: “I’ve heard of the Poor Fish and I’ve heard of the Poor Egg, but you are a Combination of the two. You are a Fish-Egg, mean- ing Roe. Roe, brothers, roe! “Oh, Mr. Glatch, why didn’t you go to a Dealer in Used Cars instead of wishing yourself on a poor Kid who has only one Stomach, instead of two or three, like a Cow? Somebody must have told you I was a Trained Nurse. Wouldn’t it be great? ‘Come, Mr. Glatch, be a good Boy and take your Medicine!’ Then a Stein -ner? of Bichloride of Mercury and put on the Chart that the Patient went to Sleep, “Now he’s ordering Something Else. He’s going to stuff me until I am help- less and then Kidnap me. They say he orders Beautiful Dinners but the only Things on the Menu I can recall, after they deliver my Body back home, are Balloon Juice, Tripe and Apple Sauce.” What she really chirped to Adolphus - was somewhat on the line of the ensu- ing: “The Guinea Hen is delicious and the Cauliflower, the Potatoes au Gratin and the String Beans seem to give it just the proper Setting. Only one Arti- choke, Mr. Glatch, please! You are so generous! Why is it that only one Man in a Million knows how to order a Din- I mean really has the Gift of selecting Dishes which seem to harmo- nize One with Another, if you know what I mean. Oh, you are too! You are that! You’re wonderful!” Now we come to a different Kind of Specimen, meaning Solemn Albert, the Lad who cannot listen without keeping his Mouth open—one of the Main Rea- sons why the Insane Asylums are full of Women. We find him at the Home of Ivy, sim- ply wrecking one of her Evenings. He is beside her on the Sofa and she has to exercise all her Girlish Strength to re- frain from panning him thusly: “You would have to wear a gaudy Stick Pin, wouldn’t you? I'll bet Everything I can’t see has a Monogram on it. Wouldn’t that be a Swell Finish for a Girl who never did anyone any Harm— a Girl with a Heart of Gold? Entirely surrounded by Monograms! Monograms to right of her; monograms to left of her; bellowed and thundered—— That doesn’t mean anything. How can Any- thing mean Something when One has to sit here looking at Nothing? “That’s right! Open your Mouth again, Goldfish, while I waste some per- fectly good Language on you. How I hate Blue Jowls! You have the bluest Jowls that ever came under my Obser- vation. Even if you Shave twice a Day you look more Ultramarine. will have to lean against that Sandpaper for Years and Years. Not Ivy! Of all the Jowls I’ve ever met, these are the bluest I’ve seen yet; the more you Shave the worse they get—— Poetry! I’ve gone Balmy! Bird would get me, sooner or later.” What she really said to nim was: “Albert, you don’t mean to sit there and tell me you bought that Suit in Country? I was sure it came from Lon- don. I didn’t suppose American Tailors could get that Subtle Suggestion of the Some Girl

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Ll, 1930 steamer ward lap, | Sake of id at the mely: If 7 belongs is North € oOppor- TOW are b; and ifs... n anda ’ markets Sur older contract, ooved us dship of the sake - for the nispheric creation. Distangay, if you know what I mean. Of course, the way a Man wears his Clothes has something to do with it.” Let us not overlook dignified Edgar, with the Front of Jove. He was trying to be a Replica of the Supreme Court. The kind who regards each Grown Woman as a Little Girl and talks down to her, on the Theory that Everything above the Necklace is hollow, ornamen- tal Shellwork. As popular as Pleurisy. Whenever Ivy was hooked, and had to listen to the grave and welFpondered Deliverances of the Oracle, she would have given a Lot for the Privilege of har- pooning him in the following Manner: “Trying to look like Sir Edgar, the British Nobleman, and all of us know that you are a Prune. That’s why you are wrinkled on the Brow. “J never know whether you are pro- g to me or rehearsing a Lecture for the Harvard Law School. If I ever went to Housekeeping with you, I know that before Next Summer persecuted Mama would get out the little blue Gat and begin to pop at Papa. Why do they Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 arrest Women for killing Husbands? Is there no Justice in the World? “You are sitting there, Edgar, made up like a first-class Corpse, but here is one half-witted little Dumb-Bell you are not fooling. You cannot put over that Aristocratic Air on anyone who knows that all your Ancestors, up to eight Years ago, were Sword-Swallowers in the Dining Room and Tooth-Pickers in the Front Room. You think you are Paté de Foie Gras but you are just plain Ham and Cabbage.” Now let us find out what the two- faced Damsel really did say to Old Phi Beta Kappa: “Do you know, Edgar, that when I am with you I feel like a little Cricket snuggled down in the Grass and looking up at the Washington Monu- ment? You try to explain Things to me, and it’s awfully sweet of you, but you can’t expect a Butterfly to savvy that Einstein Theory or the Kellogg Peace Pact, can you, Edgar? No!” And so on, ad Nauseam, if you know what I mean. There came into her Life a Bud of $c SE 173 Manhood with lilac-colored Spats and the preliminary Blue Prints of a Mus- tache. He didn’t have Anything in his Favor except that he never lost his Aplomb. You might expect any Reg- ular as slick as Ivy to give him one Look and say “Scat!” What she found trembling on the Tongue was this: “You poor homeless little Coot! What’ll become of you if I turn you out into the Cold? Just a Lamb, that is what you are! And I don’t mean Lam. Why do I want to fix your Cravat and smooth your Hair? Is it Maternal Instinct or Softening of the Brain? Listen, Wallie, I think you win because I have always dreaded the Pos- sibility of sitting in a Lap but I have longed to own Something that I could hold in my Lap.” After which, the Substance of her Re- marks to him may be summed up as follows: “Don’t ask any Questions, you heartbreaking Rascal! Just Kiss me.” MORAL: Marriages may be arranged in Heaven but the Interested Parties are seldom notified of the Plans. Ladies’ Man by Rupert Hughes (Continued from page 79) gripe, he whipped out a blade so keen and flashing that its very swish through the air stopped Anthony and Weldon short. Their hands fell on their own sword hilts and before they realized-what they did, they responded to a man’s instinct for seizing any weapon he finds at hand. Their swords came forth whistling and they advanced against him. Darricott laughed aloud at this bur- lesque. He had studied fencing and broadsword play and the other men had plainly no experience. He chuckled: “You want a little costume melodrama, eh? All right. Come get it.” He set the point of his sword spinning toward Weldon with the effect of spiral flame, bewildering him so that he re- treated, hacking awkwardly at the blade as if he would chop it off. When Anthony rushed at Darricott with his sword raised like an ax, Darri- cott stepped aside, sweeping his blade upward. Anthony’s sword, being only a costume thing, snapped in two, and the point stuck upright in the floor, leaving him with a blunt fragment. Weldon ran at Darricott, who whirled and with a gimleting parry twisted the sword from his hand and sent it looping into a corner. Then he drove Weldon to Anthony’s side. The two huddled together, snatch- ing at his sword with bare hands. Rachel had lingered to stare at Sibyl and to ask her if Jamie had really fooled her. She got as far as, “Jamie couldn’t really have made you think he was gung to marry you, could he, Miss Page?” Sibyl was still so stunned that she fal- tered: “He asked me to marry him. On his knees he asked me to.” At that Rachel clenched her fists and turned into the next room, so blind with fury and so deafened by the drums of her blood in her ears that she stood be- Mused at what she saw. “What in the name of——” “These two lads were trying to kill me,” Darricott explained. “What’ll I do with ’em?” Knowing how she had berated Wel- and her brother, too, he was not Prepared for her reply. t ’em go or I’ll kill you myself.” She did not draw; but Darricott real- that he could never fight with her, however good or bad a swordswoman she might be. He laughed. “Nothing would please me more than to get rid of them.” He picked up their swords and handed them over, while Rachel was asking: “Why did you attack him, Anthony —Peyton? On my account? Because I said he was going to marry me?” “Yes ” “Well, he isn’t. I’ll give you my oath on that. So go find poor Mother and take care of her. I'll be with you in a minute. I just want to break my en- gagement.” They put their disgraced and cracked swords in the sheaths and stepped out- side. Rachel stared at Darricott and saw him with eyes from which the scales of illusion were shaken. She found him shaken, too, but not with laughter. The battle with her mother had not been soothing. The bout with Anthony and Weldon had been for his life and the hatred in the air poisoned it so that he went to the window and lifted it, leaned on the sill breathing deep, but exulting in his command of the situation. It seemed that his ambition was the same as Potiemkin’s, of whom it was said that “his fixed aim was to humiliate every man and make love to every woman.” Hitherto he had let the women court him, but tonight all his arts were needed to carry his leopardesses through their acts. Rachel was a problem that might have alarmed a less audacious manager of women. In her colonel’s uniform she looked the soldier, standing with booted legs apart, the lace ruffles falling over her wrists, her right hand on its hip, her left on the sword hilt. The cocked hat on her head seemed to toss her head back. Darricott tried a weapon he had never attacked her with, flattery. “Rachel, you’re simply magnif! You ought never to wear anything else. Too beautiful for a man; too grand for a woman. All you need is a white Arabian stallion to ride.” “If I had one,” she answered with a stable voice, “I’d ride you down and make him dance on you, Darricott. You dirty dog! You double-crossing dog! You——” She ran out of words she had overheard among the grooms, but her anger could not exhaust itself. She had enough to spare for herself. “The best of it is that I fell for you so hard that I asked you to marry me. But you were just a teeny little bit too clever, Jamie. The first shabby snooper from an Evening Bladder tied you up, and showed you up. And I used to kiss you! You were kind and condescending enough to let me. Ugh! Pagh!” She rubbed her sleeve across her mouth and spat. “I’m trying to get it across that our wedding bells have gone flooey. Do I make myself plain?” “You couldn’t do that if you tried, since God made you so beautiful.” He was actually trying to chloroform her with a compliment. She stared at him, stupefied, as he pleaded less with his words than with those kindling eyes and that flame-fanning voice of his. “Rachel, old thing, that reporter caught me unawares. I admit I was stunned by the question. I’ll announce our engagement tonight from the side of your mother’s throne if you want. I love you. I'll be true to you, too. You'll see. I'll make you happy, too. We'll be——” She laughed at him, that raw, peasant guffaw of hers. It went well with her uniform. “T love to see you strut your stuff. But kindly omit the ‘we’ business. It’s just you, Jamie, from now on. One last ques- tion! Are you going through with this pageant as rehearsed?” “Of course!” “Fine! There spoke the true actor. Well, I’ll do my bit as well as I can re- member it. But after tonight, when any- body asks you if you know any of the Fendleys, say ‘The who?’ Say ‘I never heard of them.’ For I don’t want you ever even to have heard our name.” “All right, darlink,” he chuckled. “As long as you do your bit tonight, Ill promise to forget your name. But don’t ask me to forget how gorgeous you are, colonel.” He clicked his heels and saluted her. She cursed him with a laugh of despair for his impudence and went into the hall, where Anthony and Weldon were waiting with the door a little ajar. They both kissed her—and none of the mob passing along minded that. It was car- nival time. Costume was ruling everybody tonight, and even the dauntless lion-hunting Sibyl Page was the captive of hers, subdued to the strait-jacket of her tall, tight cor- sets. She could breathe only in little

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TO CLEAN TEETH ECONOMICALLY... ia on a moistened brush, as you would any tooth powder, Baking Soda removes film and stains from teeth, leaving them clean, white. A teaspoonful dis- solved in a glass of cool water makes a refreshing, antacid mouth wash that neutralizes mouth acids. You can buy Baking Soda for a few cents a package from any grocer. Insist on either Arm & Hammer or Cow Brand. The two are identical and have been made by the same company for over 80 years. Both are pure Bicarbonate of Soda. m= SEND FOR FREE BOOKLETS == CHURCH & DWIGHT CO., Inc. 80 MAIDEN LANE, NEW YORK, N.Y. Please send me free one set of colored bird cards and booklets. a | Please print name and address | Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1939 shallow sips. Her constricted heart flut- tered like a sick bird. Gradually, however, her anger boiled until it threatened to burst her stays. She turned to advance against Darri- cott, but she could only float. In the first door her skirts caught and held her fast. Hubbard, who had been man- aging with a butler’s craft to stare at her without looking at her at all, moved to her aid, but she wrenched her petti- coats free, scraping off many a white rosebud, ripping many a frail loop. She closed the door after her so that Hub- bard should not hear what she had to say. Darricott, seeing her, ran to her and led her to his room, murmuring: “You didn’t believe what Rachel said, did you? It’s you I intend to marry. She begged me to marry her, and offered me all her millions, went into spasms. To quiet the wildcat and get her through tonight, I didn’t absolutely refuse her. I should have, but it wasn’t so easy. But you are the only one. You know that, don’t you?” His tender duplicity was blasphemy to her honest soul. She was almost swoon- ing, too, with lack of air for her starved lungs. One needs strength even to suf- fer. When he put his arm about her she was so weak that she leaned against it, while her struggle for breath kept her high bosom panting until it caught his eyes; and they found it so enchanting that he leaned down and kissed her there. In a paroxysm of outrage her hand came up clenching into a fist and struck him on the cheek. The blow stung but it was astonishment that staggered him. He fell back from the demure figure with the scarlet face beneath the plumed ringlets of the high wig, and wondered at her, then caught both her wrists and kissed her again and again, while she wrenched and whirled, trying to break free and strike at him. But her skirts ballooned about her, and she could not breathe. Her sleeves were torn and one arm was bruised and gashed on the sharp points of the diamond star that blinked on his doublet. He held her fast, misunderstanding, loving her madly, rain- ing kisses upon her lips, her eyes, her throat, her shoulders, stammering: “Everybody else hates me, and I hate everybody else but you. I’m rid of all of them after tonight. From now on I work for you. I'll slave for you. I'll not look at anybody else. I don’t want to. look at anybody else. If I don’t have you, I’ll die of a broken heart.” “A broken what?” she panted. “Well, whatever you die of, you’ll never have me, and nobody else hates you as I do.” “Sibyl!” he sighed, falling back from her, aghast. Seeing that she was free, she would have returned to the room she came from, but he stood between her and the door, gaping at her. She could not thrust him aside. She could not do any vigorous thing. So she ran to the hall door and spun through it like a great white top. He tried to stop her, but she slammed the door in his face after swirl- ing her last far flounce outside. Through the open door the blare of the trumpeters parading the halls rang out in Darricott’s ears and was muffled as it closed. He stood a moment, gazing at the door through tears that slowly welled and globed. He shook them off with a snarl, and forgot everything except that he had: his supreme drama to enact and was delaying the curtain. He went to the mirror to straighten his curls and his disordered ruffies and to pass his dia- mond cloak idly through his hands. Its purling transplendency entranced him. Overjoyed by Rachel’s break with Dar. ricott, Weldon had left Anthony, whe watched him find and greet that curious little man in woman’s clothes and tel] him-her something that sent the crea. ture flying down the corridor. Rachel and Anthony found their mother where she drooped in the chair, ignored by the streaming throng. If any noticed her they assumed that she had probably drunk too much too soon, Which did not render her conspicuous in that bacchanal. “Your cloak!” ermine cloak!” “I left it in the room,” said Helena, They turned back with her, not seeing Sibyl pass. Helena hurried ahead and knocked at her door. Hubbard opened it cautiously and saw how distraught she was. When she asked for her robe, he turned and lifted it, stepped into the hall and laid it over her shoulders, held the weight of it while she fastened the clasps and followed her down the cor- ridor until Anthony thought to take the bulk of it from his arms and carry it, Then Hubbard returned to guard the deserted rooms alone, for Yvonne and all the rest had slipped out to find erannies whence they could watch the pageant. Suddenly Rachel stopped short, thought hard and said: “You help Mother to _ ballroom. I have an errand I for- go 9 She turned back and lost herself in the crowd. Neither Hubbard nor Mrs. Fendley had noticed the somber figure of an Oriental potentate who stood by the door, shape- less in a waste of fabric, a vast jacket with enormous sleeves caught in at the wrist, and enormous trousers caught in at the ankles. Even from his ornate turban swung a veil that descended half- way down his beard. Behind his veil deep eyes burned un- seen, but one who watched him might have wondered why he shook his head so sadly as Helena staggered away. Sud- denly he slipped in through the door Hubbard had left open. Glancing about the dining room, he went to the closed door, and pushing it ajar a little, saw through to the farther chamber where Darricott made ready to descend to his apotheosis. The Oriental closed the door behind him stealthily, set his palm on the handle of a dagger, then let go of it, clenching and unclenching his greedy fingers as he watched Darri- cott slip his head through the ribbons that held his diamond cape about his shoulders, reveling in its trashy glitter, the laughter of its spurious pomp. Then he lifted the hat, ponderous with dissimulated gems and a forest of droop- © ing plumes that overswept the brim and trailed along his shoulders. He set it carefully on his head, and turned to shift the diamond cape a little and true its folds. He felt two hands creeping about his throat. They tightened and throttled as he twisted to see who dared to take the joking liberty. He saw an unhuman visage half hidden by a scarf from the turban, the rest lost in a beard. Smiling, he clutched at the mask to tear it off, but his hands were checked by the elbows of the man, who hurled all his weight upon Darricott and crushed him to the floor. Darricott tried to wriggle away and elude an enemy whose hatred was more fearsome because of his namelessness. He was hate personified, murder itself. The fingers around Darricott’s throat were intervening between his brain his heart, between his lungs and his gap- ing mouth. His wits went frantic. His said Rachel. “Your

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» 1930 rith Dar. ny, wha t curious and tell he creas d= their he chair, . If any she had 90 soon, ispicuous “Your carry it, 1ard the nne and to find atch the , thought other to id I for- erself in diey had Oriental r, Shape- st. jacket n at the aught in Ss ornate ied half- med un- m might ; head so y. Sud- the door ng about 1e closed a little, ; chamber descend Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 frenzied eyes saw a gold sword knot dangling across the edge of his bed al- most within his grasp. If he could once reach that sword! With his last spark of strength Darri- cott heaved upward and tried to whirl free. In the wind of his violence the veil of the Oriental flew aside a moment and he knew those eyes. His own glared recognition, though he could not utter a sound. But his adversary could speak. “You know me? Well, look at me! Remember me in hell when you-——” Knowledge seemed to hearten Darri- cott, and in a final supreme convulsion he ripped free, rose and struck his old foeman down once more to his knees in a sworl of black cloth. But the recoil of his desperate wrench carried Darri- cott to the open window, where his elbows struck the casement just in time to save him from pitching out backward —yet not in time to save him from his enemy, who scrambled toward him on all fours like a black bear, then rose and clutched, shoved and buffeted, till he had thrust Darricott to the ledge. Howling in grisly fright, Darricott snatched out wildly and laid hold on the man’s sleeves, his hands, his fingers. No one in the hotel heard his shrieks, but the crowd below stood gazing upward in awe. Frantically he sought new holds as one after another was torn loose. His feet kicked and caught across the ledge, while his staring eyes ached at the flashes of the distant street, the upstar- ing crowds, the waiting, distant pave- ment, the electric signs inanely blinking and flaring. He felt the ineluctable suction of space. His very flesh and bones seemed to cry out against the mangling anguish awaiting their impact on the distant stone. All the nightmares of falling that had haunted his sleep for weeks crowded on him, and he shrieked for mercy. “No, no! Oh, God, no!” It was man’s futile negative against the pitiless dissolution of death, against the decree of exile from the beautiful, beautiful, heartless world. He was see- ing the last of everything, of everything bright and joyous and precious. He had done nothing to earn such a quick and hideous death. He had harmed nobody. He had given love freely. Why should hatred hurl him into so deep an abyss? annul his glorious body? mash him in- to—— He could not die so! He would not die so! He refused this death. He was on his way. His last finger nail slipped from the last—the next-to- the-last—conscious touch. Down through the night he swooped. Down toward the faces of the thousands who stared and pitied and feared. What they found upon the pavement when they lifted away the flag of the foreign ambassador was not Jamie Darri- cott. Where was he? What was he? * In the window whence he had fiown, the dim light was gone as the sash was pulled down and the curtains after it. There were so many thousands mus- tered for the pageant that even the upper halls were still congested with the multi- colored crowd. The stairways were slow cataracts of costume. Rachel had to descend slowly to Doc- tor Emery’s floor and trudge half-step by half-step to his office. The moment her knuckles touched his door he opened Be sared at her and would not admit “I want to see Dad.” “You can’t.” “Why not?” “Because he’s not—not——” “Not in? He must be in!” You can’t see him. I—I gave him Little P. A. B. Widener, III, and his sister Ella are the children of Mr. and Mrs. P. A. B. \ Widener of Elkins Park, Pennsylvania, of New- port and Santa Barbara—famous for their in- terest in sport and the breeding of race horses Health y and merry in their story hook world — the children of Mr. and Mrs.PA.B.WipdeNerR I Protected by a modern care all mothers can give A five year old boy—with brown hair and melting brown eyes— dressed in a rose linen tunic blouse, and diminutive rose ‘‘pants.’’ That's Peter A. B. Widener, III. A baby, as exquisite and lovely as a French doll, living in a delec- table peach and blue nursery. That's Peter's little two year old sister Ella. Charmed lives they lead—this little pair. Their parents’ estate is a dream place. Palatial Italian house ... far stretching lawns with clipped hedges and lovely vistas . . . jetting series of fountains . . . greenhouses. With the children, health laws are scrupulously observed. A spe- cial point was emphasized early in their lives by famed child special- ists. That was the habit of eating a hot, cooked cereal. And the cereal specified by the Wideners’ physician and approved by the children’s trained nurses was that universal favorite—Cream of Wheat. *‘We follow the pediatrician’s ad- vice in giving both children Cream of Wheat,”’ says Mrs. Widener. ‘‘Ella eats it twice a day, and Peter always has his hot cereal breakfast. Cream of Wheat has certainly played its CREAM OF WHEAT part in the children’s good health.”’ Thousands of other mothers be- lieve this. Their judgment is rein- forced by 221 members of leading medical societies in four great cities —Chicago, New York, San Fran- cisco and Toronto. In a recent in- vestigation a/l these noted special- ists approved Cream of Wheat. They value its rich energy con- tent—its amazingly quick digest- ibility. To give your children the very best possible start give them regu- larly, a good hot bow! of Cream of Wheat. The Cream of Wheat Corporation, Minneapolis, Minnesota. InCanada, made by The Cream of Wheat Cor- eng Winnipeg. English ad- ress, Fassett & om Ltd., 86 Clerkenwell Road, London, E. C. 1. FRE E—this plan that makes children enthu- siastic about their hot, cooked cereal at breakfast. The H. C. B. Club, with badges, pictures, gold stars, etc. A children’s Hot Cereal Breakfast Club, with 796,000 participants. All material sent free, direct to your children, with sample box of Cream of Wheat. Just mail coupon to: Tue Cream or WHeat CorporaTION Dzpt.CS-3 MINNEAPOLIS MINNESOTA Child’s name Street City State To get sample of Cream of Wheat, check here------- oa © 1930, The C. of W. Corp.

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His nerves.” She suffered like a child at the neces- sity for delay. She sighed: “Then you tell him as soon as he wakes. You know how worried he was because I was going to marry Darricott.” “Yes. Yes! We both——” “Well, it’s all off. I hate him. I’ve broken with him. Tell Dad that.” The news seemed to have dealt Emery almost a knockdown blow. She gasped: “Aren’t you pleased?” “Yes! It’s splendid, splendid.” And on the word he closed the door as if it were a coffin lid. Rachel stood a moment, regretting that she could not have delivered her glad tidings in per- son, wondering why Doctor Emery took them with so little relief. If she had waited a little longer at the doctor’s door she might have seen it open at the knock. of a veiled and bearded man shrouded in a welter of cloth that trembled everywhere with his agitation. The door closed upon him and, once in- side, he began to rip off his turban, his beard, his heavily padded costume. Doc- tor Emery helped him strip himself to a pajama coat and bare legs, as they shot back questions and answers: “Did you?” Emery asked. “I think so. I don’t—I don’t know.” “You don’t know? He’s not dead, then? Thank God!” “I don’t know. I think he is.” “You think!” “I saw Helena. sad.” “Did anyone see you?” “Dozens, but I don’t think anybody noticed me. I saw him. He didn’t see me. I couldn’t stick a knife in him. I had to lay hands on him. I—we had a fight. Once more he—he knocked me down, but I—I—my God! It was too much.” “What did you do?” “I shoved him through the window. I nearly didn’t. It was so far—so terri- ble—he begged so hard. I was sorry for him. I think I was trying to pull him back in when—when he tore my hands loose and—it was the eighth story. He howled as he fell—like a shot dog. I closed the window. I remembered to pull my sleeve over my fingers not to leave prints. I slipped out into the hall. Lots of people. Nobody noticed me. I don’t know if he’s dead or not.” “Of course he is.” “I suppose he is. He must be. But he may have lived for a while. He may have talked. I don’t care. I’m sorry— sorry for him—for me—for everything.” He pitched forward in a faint. Doc- tor Emery caught him and half carried him into the bedroom, hunched him to the bed, lifted his feet to it, set them a little higher than his head. On the floor lay the gaping empty shells of the two leg cases and the wrist case. He slipped these “bivalve splints” back into their positions and with all the deft velocity of a surgeon sealed them in place with wet plaster. Then he ran into the other room and fetched the costume—put it in a vat of acid to destroy it. Before he had finished the task, his patient had wakened, moaning from the baa dream he had gone through and would go through again and again as long as he lived. Emery had boasted that death meant little to him, especially the death of vermin like Darricott. But all his self- justification had been swept away by Rachel’s message, just a moment too late, that the deed was not needed for her salvation. And now all the labored thought, the ingenious devices, the schemes, the traps She was very—very for Darricott, were mockeries. Emery had been proud of that masterly strat. agem of his: the pretense that Fendley had broken both legs and one arm on the hotel steps. He had prepared Fend- ley for it by practice in falling just so, lying twisted just so, groaning just so. He had been proud of the elaborately improvised splints, the pretense of tak- ing the X rays with the aid of ignorant porters instead of his trained nurse, who had been sent home. He had been espe- cially tickled by his inspiration to select from his collection of old réntgenographs just the three that represented the al- leged fractures he allotted to Fendley. He had figured everything out. Every night when the secretary-nurse was gone and he was working on his own genuine investigations, he had cut. the plaster splints away from Fendley and made him exercise his members so that there should be no weakening atrophy of mus- cles to prevent him from moving to whatever attack on Darricott luck might make possible. Then he had sealed him up again every night. Nobody had sus- pected or asked an embarrassing ques- tion. Darricott had escaped all of Emery’s traps and he had released Fend- ley in complete disguise to find him in the crowd, quietly stab him and steal away in the multitude. Luck had de- livered the victim in solitude and helped Fendley to vanish. And now that his complex conspiracy had worked like perfect machinery, only one thing had gone wrong: the motive, the necessity for the machine had been subtly removed, leaving only a wanton murder. Even without this bitter knowledge Fendley would be difficult enough to manage, for remorse had already seized on his gentle heart and throttled it as his hands had throttled Darricott. He grew maudlin and babbled and wept un- til Emery gave him a sedative, first imposing upon him as an imperative reminder this command: “If Darricott lived long enough to tell your name, it’s all up with both of us. The police will come here at once. We'll soon know. If he didn’t live, then they may come here later—tomorrow, maybe. When they do, remember, remember! that the news of his death comes to you as a surprise. If they look you up it will be because you have spoken of hating Darricott, and because everybody seems to have known what he had done to your family—so be surprised by his death but glad of it, glad of it! Remember.” “Glad of it!” Fendley sobbed as the drug seeped through his soul. Emery began to feel with increas- ing acuteness his own responsibility, his own danger. Flaws in his finely welded scheme began to transpire as if broad daylight flowed through wide cracks. Suddenly the dumb and trusting public became a multitude of searching eyes and doubts and suspicions. Most of all he feared one thing: what if some shrewd detective moving like a blood- hound stubbornly from trace to trace, questioning each one before he advanced to the next, should wander in and drawl: “Doctor, you say that Fendley broke his bones; and I believe you. But how do I know he did? You show me X ray photographs and you say they are pic- tures of his bones. I believe you, of course. But how do I know they are? Bear in mind, I don’t imagine for a mo- ment that an eminent surgeon like you would deceive anybody, but I’d just like to prove your innocence. Would you mind if I took some pictures of my own with my own machine? I have a port- able X-ray camera outside.” What could he say to that? He could em ata at wet Oe a ee oe ee ch st eft Ee tet meer ws Oe ee mmo. es em Oe ee ore rt Mm «7 ~eaernwme ow ow Fre na @® ert oO Oo w@ rm = ses «4 © actOm @ —- my onrm eS af ocr Pa = | mt ey

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nspiracy ry, only motive, ad been wanton owledge Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 refuse and offer his own offended integrity as his sole reason. The police would take the pictures in spite of him. And the pictures would show that Fend- ley’s bones were intact. This in itself would be the most damning evidence of + that could be conceived, and Doc- tor Emery would be convicted as acces- before and in and after the fact. Wanderers through uncharted wilder- nesses are warned to look back at every turn and see how strangely different each prospect looks in retrospect. But als cannot do that, and when they do look back, they must take the land- seape as they find it, leaving their foot- steps where they lie. The first patrolmen and plain-clothes | men to reach Darricott’s body had forced the crowd back and made an open space about him. One ran to tele- phone for an ambulance; another tele- phoned police headquarters, where the lieutenant on the desk took the breath- less message and, realizing its impor- tance, transmitted it to the inspector at the head of the detective bureau, who notified the captain of the homicide squad and the chief medical examiner’s assistant. Later, since the police commissioner | was ill in bed, one of his deputies was | informed; also the chief inspector of police; also the inspector of the district where the murder occurred, and the cap- tain of that precinct. The patrolman who first knelt by Darricott’s motionless form heard no an- swer to his questions, saw no stir any- where in his gaudy costume. He was not surprised when at last a bell-banging ambulance cleaved through the crowd and an ambulance surgeon leaped off the back step, ran, dropped to his knees, made a few gestures, looked up and said nothing more than: *D.O. A.” According to the strictest etiquette as soon as anybody is pronounced “Dead on Arrival,” that body is removed at once to the morgue. But there seemed to be reasons for keeping these broken relics near at hand until many riddles could be answered. Police cars came shooting to the curb and men in uniform, in evening dress and in more informal clothes stepped out and attacked their specific tasks. Photographs were taken by flashlight of Darricott where he lay, and fingerprint experts searched for those autographs and for other minutie of evidence. All this time there had been activity above. Two or three alert detectives had slugged their way through the lobby to the elevators to find the room whose window was guilty. McGarry and Prager were the first to reach the right door. They pounded on it with policemanly delicacy and it was Opened by Hubbard, who had gone in to straighten up. The officers shoved him aside, darted 2 the window, raised it, and looked own, holding in their waistcoats and avoiding the least contact with the ledge. paertiy below them they saw Darricott’s y and realized that they had reached the scene of the crime. . oe turned and smote Hubbard with our-barreled glare. Both of them i all butlers and Hubbard did not © Persons in rough clothes who burst . ugh private doors. Come clean!” McGarry growled. Wan prubbard always came clean, he pd urther angered. But he was also ely distraught by all the chaos e evening. en he gleaned that Mr. Darricott Was actually dead on the pavement DON'T NEGLECT THE FREQUENT CAUSE OF HEADACHES, SICK FATIGUE AND BAD BREATH... INTESTINAL TOXICITY USUALLY, headaches, bad breath and sick fatigue are caused by toxins in the intes- tinal system. And it is neglect of such things that often causes so many of us to fall ill without apparent warning. 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A proper thing to have done with such rubbish as Darri- cott, but not a thing for him to help expose. Now he added the best lies he could think of to the unsatisfactory statements that had previously been jolted out of him, The detectives were ready to take him away as the murderer and claim the glory due such swift procedure, when other and higher officers began to arrive. The deputy commissioner happened to be in evening clothes and Hubbard threw himself on his mercy at once with such indignation that the commissioner, who knew and liked butlers, gave him his protection. A glance at Hubbard and his correct- ness in spite of the mauling he had had, persuaded the commissioner that this old masterpiece, who had shown so many boors out of doors, would never have thrown anybody out of an upper win- dow. While the fingerprint experts sprinkled powder on the ledge and hunted for spoor with flash lamps and magnifying glasses, other detectives took photographs and made notes of everything in the disordered room: the sword lying un- stained on the bed; a paste diamond here and there broken from the cape. The newspapers had told so much about the pageant for weeks that many things were known and more misunder- stood. Darricott was the leading man of the moment in town. The police did not relish the business of dragging wealthy and powerful people through the mire. They knew what powerful resist- ance and influence would oppose them. |; On the other hand, failure to uncover the guilty one would mean unlimited and conspicuous disgrace. They particularly wanted to know who | had been last in the room with Darri- cott. Hubbard not only did not know but he was ready to suffer martyrdom rather than involve his own people. The result of his inquisition was that the whole family was branded suspect. It was decided to send the best-bred officers down to request the merrymaking mur- derers to come up as soon as they could conveniently leave the pageant. The news of Darricott’s fall had by this time buzzed through the gaudy populace in the ballrooms and had thrown everyone into such a state of hysteria that it was hard to proceed with the ceremonials Jamie had planned and rehearsed so carefully. When officers stepped to the elbows of the three Fendleys, they were already almost inert with excitement, regret, re- morse. They obeyed the summons, of course, each of them feeling the same profound reversal of opinion toward Darricott: now that he was dead and terribly slain, his wounds pleaded for him, atoned for him, glorified him. Though Weldon had not been sent for, he went along to comfort Rachel while Anthony supported his mother. Each remembered with terror that each had left the group for one errand or an- other. Zealous to protect one another, they went forward to their ordeals with a fear of telling all the truth—not thg anybody really could if anybody eye really would. They were examined separately ang though the questions were offered some show of courtesy, these grew leg courteous as the questioners encountereg a reluctance to say too much. The ip. quisitors could see that the Fendleyy were contradicting themselves and one another and hiding many truths. The witnesses would have given much for the privilege of one brief conference ang agreement on a story, but perhaps it was well that they had no concerted plan, for the best proof of their innocence wag the quality of their improvisations—anq their unconscious agreement in mention. ing Sibyl as the last one to have seen Darricott. The policeman who found Sibyl ing on a chair in the ballroom had noted her torn sleeves and her moroge mood. When he spoke to her he gripped her by the arm and brought a gasp of unexpected pain, for his hand fell on the wound she had had from one of Darricott’s jewels. Sibyl did not mind the stares of the throngs of Russian subjects that fell back before her as if she were a criminal on her way to Siberia. What crushed her was remembering that her last words to Darricott had been words of hatred, She had repaid with a blow the kisses of his cold lips. His prayers to her to believe that he truly loved her rang in her ears with the awful verity of a dying man’s last phrases. When she was led at last to the room where the high police in uniform and mufti sat in senate about the dining. room table, her heart began to run wild A bright light dazzled her. Her judges were in the dark. Somebody’s voice asked her name, her address, then came to the point: “You knew James Darricott?” “Yes—yes, sir.” “You were with him when he was killed.” “Oh, no! No—no, sir.” “How long before his death were you with him?” “I don’t know. I learned of it in the ballroom.” “Several witnesses say that you were the last one with him. Your arm is cut; your sleeves are torn. What were your motives for attacking him and precipi- tating him from the window?” She beat her breast, gasped, slipped off her chair to the floor in a faint. None of the usual methods restored her. Finally an elderly officer remem ancient days and ordered her corset cut. That brought her back. The flood of air in liberated lungs, the emancipation of jailed loin muscles, freedom for her heart to swing—it was paradise. She said in a new voice: “I beg your pardon for fainting. Its the first time I ever did. You see, I've never worn corsets before. TheytTé frightful. Now if you wouldn’t mind asking me everything again.” “You are a powerful woman,” some- one said. “Not in this dress,” she answered. “Had you any reason to want Mr. Darricott killed?” “T don’t want anybody killed. I’m no a killer.” “You shoot lions, they say.” “T have shot lions. I’m not very proud of it. But I never harmed a humal being.” “Give us your version of what hap- pened.” She told them of her first meeting with Darricott, but not of the pursuit Rachel or the night in his rooms.

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rch, 19 30 th—not nybody ent arately offered = sé grew ference and rhaps it was certed plan, hocence wag ations—and in mention. » have seen Sibyl Jlroom. had her morose t he gripped t a gasp of and fell on om one of ares of the iat fell back criminal on rushed her last words ; Of hatred, r the kisses s to her to ler rang in r of a dying o the room niform and he dining- Oo run wild, Her judges ody’s voice then came $e” *n he was 1 were you f it in the ; you were arm is cut; were your id precipi- 2d, slipped n a faint. stored her. 2membered corset, cut. lood of air ‘ipation of . for her dise. She iting. Its told of their growing love affair; of Darricott’s proposal of marriage. She didn’t know whether she would ever quite have dared to marry him, but time was to decide. When Rachel claimed him, she realized that—it was cruel to of the poor dead man harshly; he was very attractive; he couldn’t help it if the women pursued him; the women couldn’t help pursuing him either —but she had hated him for a moment for deceiving her—and still trying to keep her. “T struck him in the face. I'll never forgive myself, but he was smothering me with kisses. I nearly fainted then. If I hadn’t had these silly clothes on, I could have protected myself. I’m not afraid of any man. I don’t have to kill a man to put him in his place.” “REven in that gown you could have tched him out of the window.” “Perhaps I could have. But I didn’t. And so, of course, there’s no use trying to prove that I did.” “Who do you think did?” “T haven’t the faintest idea. If I knew I’d tell you. It was cruel, hateful, unforgivable to inflict so frightful a death on so beautiful a soul. I think I could have loved him in time. I think he really loved me. If so many hadn’t loved him, and tempted him, he might have been—he might have been——” She fought tears as a man fights them and in absolving Jamie’s soul of damna- tion she ended the last suspicion of her- self. Every man there knew that she was guiltless; but there was no one else so close to the crime, and she was a vitally important witness. The deputy commissioner asked her to tell just what she saw when she left Darricott alive. “Crowds of people in the hall hurry- ing to the pageant.” “Did you notice anybody going the other way—toward Darricott’s room?” She remembered Mrs. Fendley, An- thony, Rachel all turning back, so she answered: “No.” She was excused from further ques- tioning, but held in custody, while An- thony Fendley and Hubbard were ad- mitted in turn on their own request to revise their testimony. The first examination of Anthony had been severe. He had been asked about his sword, and it had been drawn from the sheath, disclosing the fact that it was broken in two. He had to confess his duel with Darri- cott and his regret that he had lost it. The only thing that helped him was the weight of testimony showing that Rachel had removed his motive for kill- ing Darricott, and Sibyl had been with Darricott after Anthony left him alive. On realizing that he had unwittingly left Sibyl to bear the brunt of suspicion, Anthony insisted on being heard again to swear that he had seen Sibyl going down the hall when he returned with his mother for her cloak. All he accom- plished was to show that he and his mother had returned to the dining room. He broke out in so fierce a plea for Sibyl that he was forcibly ejected. When Hubbard was brought back, he refused to sit down. He thought better on his feet. He was not at his best, and abysmally shamed by the reversion to ancient well-corrected habit of muffing &n occasional H. Now and then one of them dropped out and he caught at it with the humiliation of a hiccup: “If the deputy commissioner will par- don me, I have been thinking things Over, so to speak, and I remembered that when Mrs. Fendley returned for ‘er hermine cloak, I carried it down the cor- tidor for some little distance. It was Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Now in Colors—Kleenex comes in dainty tints of pink, green and yellow... and white, of course, if you prefer. The box is a marvel of ingenuity which hands out 2 sheets at a time. try the Kleenex way fo remove cold cream OU know with what infinite care great beauty specialists preserve the delicate texture of the skin. No hard massage... but gentle patting... when creams are applied. No stretching or rubbing of the py skin when creams are removed. Instead, a gentle blotting up of surplus cream ... with super-absor- bent Kleenex. 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Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 How easy, nowadays, lo be protected irs so simple to protect that beauty which is—they say—but skin deep. Merely “save the surface and you save all!” Against the wiles of tricky weather —against the bluster and bite of cutting winds—FROSTILLA stands guard like a trusted friend and pre- serves a fair and lovely skin. Before you go out—before you powder—gently smooth in a small quantity . . . on face, neck, arms, hands, shoulders. Quickly absorbed and no trace of stickiness. Just a re- freshing, fragrant, invisible film behind which your skin remains contentedly healthy—soft, white, young— protected against roughness, redness, chapping and ex- cessive drying. This winter, a single bottle of FROSTILLA will insure a beautiful complexion. The precious ingredients of this famous lotion will save the surface. And if, by chance, you've been unduly careless, will relieve all weather- irritated conditions. A Beautiful Boudoir Bottle Costs 50c There’s a convenient 35c size, too—but many choose the economical $1. bottle, for family use. Sold at all drug and department stores in the U.S. and Canada. A handy 10c package is available at better class 5-and-10c stores. Mail orders filled on receipt of price. Dept. 23, Frostilla Company, Elmira, New York and Toronto, Canada. (Sales Representative: Harold F, Ritchie & Company, Inc., Madison Avenue at 34th St., New York City ) FROSTILLA SAVES YOUR SKIN like a train, sir, and quite ’eavy, very Heavy. At length Mr. Anthony took it from me and I ’urr—Hurried back. This was after I had seen Miss Page with Mr. Darricott and she might have left him by then. “Previously I ’ad testified, sir, that 7 Had not left the rooms at all. NowTr distinctly recall doing so. Almost any. body might have slipped in and gone straight to Mr. Darricott’s room while | was absent. There were several sys. picious persons trying to get in all eve. ning. In fact, sir, as I went out I remem- ber a peculiar person——” “Describe him.” “That’s what I can’t do, sir. I’ve been trying to think, but my poor ’ead—Head is all of a swirl with every known color and costume. And it hasn’t been ’elped; if you'll excuse the liberty, by being knocked about by the—— Of course, sir, the peculiar person standing by the door might have been a detective. There was considerable wine and liquor in plain view.” McGarry and Prager snorted. - In view of Hubbard’s testimony there was reason for suspecting any number of persons who had been known to have grudges against Darricott, as well as a number of well-known criminals who had been caught in the net. Two of the most vigorously grilled were Mrs. Clara Poore and her Charlie Boy Palmer, both of whom had dined on the eighth floor and dined too well; and both of whom had loudly denounced Darricott and said he ought to be killed, though their reasons for hating him were opposite: Clara was in a maudlin rage because Jamie had neglected her, Palmer because he had not. Neither Clara nor Charlie Boy shone on cross-examination and their confu- sion did not clear up the problem. “Where is old man Fendley all this while?” said someone. Hubbard re- minded the board of Mr. Fendley’s un- fortunate accident. “He might give us an idea,” said an inspector and detailed McGarry and Prager to call on Fendley in Doctor Emery’s rooms. When they knocked at Doctor Emery’s door, the surgeon opened it himself and the papers on his table glowing in the little sun of the desk lamp explained how he happened to be awake. When they asked if they could see “one Horace Fendley,” he answered: “Certainly, gentlemen, you can see him; but I don’t know that he can see you. The hotel has been such a bed- lam that I gave him veronal. He is suf- fering, you know, from comminuted frac- tures of the tibia, fibula, femur——” “As bad as that!” gasped McGarry. “The creature!” Doctor Emery said, “Perhaps you'd like to see the X rays.” He held them up for inspection and both men were awestruck. They followed Emery into the bed- room and exchanged looks of woman- ish pity as they studied the figure lying there with his left forearm and both legs encased. McGarry grunted: “He’s simply covered with alibis. With all that baggage on ’um, he’d hardly climb two flights of stairs and chuck 4 young athalete out of a windy.” “Do what?” said Doctor Emery. “Some guy pitched Jamie Darricott out ofa eight’-floor windy and——’” “Darricott —Jamie Darricott! You can’t mean it. Why, this is his great night!” “It’s his big night, all right,” said McGarry. “He’s apologizin’ now to Pether belike for bustin’ in on him after closin’ hours. But that’s not all that

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ch, I930 "eavy, v back. This Page with » have left sir, that 7 il. Now I most any- and gone 2m while | veral sus. in all eve. t I remem. ony there y number m to have well as g inals who ly grilled er Charlie ag in the 1ined how i see “one can see e can see h a bed- Je is suf- ited frac- Jad will have to explain before he gets in, for he was the devil’s own broth, the saints rest his soul” Emery shook his head. “Did he leave any last messages?” Prager was a scholar in the comic strips and he said: “His last words was ‘Bam! Blop! Pow!’” “So he’s dead, then?” “Dead—he’s damn near disintegrated,” said McGarry. “whom do they suspect?” “RByabody in the Unineted States it looks like—male and female. Can we emunicate with Mr. Fen’ley?” “T]] try to pu: you through,” said Doctor Emery. He went to Fendley and shook him, talked to him, sprinkled water on his brow and with his lips close to his ears called him on long distance. “Wake up a minute, Horace.” Finally there was a blurred return. Fendley would have sat up and swept his legs from the bed, but Emery, seiz- ing his head and holding it in front of his own so that it was hidden from the police, stabbed his words home: “Darricott—Jamie Darricott—remem- ber?” “Yes—yes. Darri—Darricott. member.” “Somebody killed him.” “He’s dead? he’s d——” “You're not altogether sorry, are you?” He drove his own eyes like nails into Fendley’s eyes and his hands shook Fendley’s head in a negative that his be- fuddled brain confirmed: “No—not sor-ry. No.” Emery dictated to him: “You almost regret that your own broken bones kept we from killing him yourself, don’t you ” Drunkenly Fendley agreed: “Only re- gret. broken bones prevented honor of kill’n’ ’m m’self.” “Any more questions, gentlemen?” “Might as well cross-examine th’ Egyp- tian sphinnix,” said McGarry. “Among the suspects, by any chance, is anybody especially suspected?” “Well, we got Mrs. Fendley, and her son and Rakehell and the butler, and Miss Page.” “They’re not suspected, surely?” “Well, it don’t look like a lady’s job, though it might be at that. I wouldn’t put anything a-past some o’ these wild women. But the Fendleys and their butler are tellin’ so many conterdictery stories, they’re gettin’ in mighty bad with the dep’ty c’mishner. Well, good night, doc. Sorry t’ have ’sturbed ya.” When they were gone, Emery pon- dered. Rachel and her mother and An- thony in the toils! Fendley would be sure to learn of it. He would rise at once from his bed, shout his confession and give himself up—incidentally giving up Doctor Emery, by explaining that his broken bones were a mere dodge. Emery loved Fendley, loved Rachel and Helena and Anthony. They were inno- cent and it was not to be believed that they could be found guilty. It would do them no good to have the head of the family convicted of assassination. Emery had been willing to take on himself the blame for Darricott’s re- moval, if necessary. Now he had a right, a duty to himself, and a duty even to the Fendleys to save himself and Horace. There was just one way to make the rsa seem true and that was to make it Sage He thought a while, then decided. € peta his life deciding among ern Seth. atives involving pain and He usually had assistants for the sort of work he had before him, but he was I re- Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 are susceptible In the yellow pack- age everywhere—J¢ © 1929 women particularly Probably you've noticed that your throat is easily irritated—a ciga- rette; auto fumes; dust on a windy day; damp, disagreeable weather —simple things like that start you coughing— But you're not alone in this for health authorities have found that 7 out of every 10 women have tender throats—it’s a heritage of the ages— Soifatroubled throat bothers you—if coughing makesyoureyes water and your nose red—just do as so many others do—take aLuden’satthe first sign of throatirritation—for quick relief. There’s nothing quite like Luden’s Menthol Action, al Nothing else that so quickly and pleasantly sweetens @° your breath, refreshes your mouth, cools and soothes Can * troubled throats. For only Luden’s gives you the ben- AT efit of the exclusive and time-tested Luden formula —it’s a carefully guarded secret. You need not hesitate to take Luden’s Menthol Cough Drops freely—for they contain nothing harmful—noth- ing to upset the stomach. In fact, Luden’s Men- thol Action is beneficial, for “Menthol” is a derivative of peppermint—one of the oldest known aids to good digestion. LUDENS pL,

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Then he carried the man to his operat- ing table and pried apart the splints on the arm and the legs and laid the shells on the floor. He set the cone over Fend- ley’s mouth and nostrils and let the ether drip, pausing to test Fendley’s pulse until the anesthesia was perfect. Then he took Fendley’s left elbow in his right hand, his wrist in his left, bent and lifted his own knee, raised Fend- ley’s forearm and brought it down with all his might. The crackling sound he heard and the after-palpation satisfied _ him that the break was as recorded. Under Fendley’s left thigh he im- provised a wedge from a box, and took from the sterilizing boiler a chisel called an osteotome, made a little incision in the flesh to the bone, then struck the chisel with a mallet, and made the exact break he wanted. He did the same with the right shin. He felt a little faint, but his nerves were superhuman, and his ex- amination convinced him that he had made good his first bulletin on Fend- ley’s accident. He moved the table under the X-ray lamp, took his photographs, developed them, and smiled triumphantly at their shadowy corroboration. He marked on them the date of Fendley’s alleged acci- dent, knowing that in the case of a man of Fendley’s age the photographs would not show change enough to seem un- real. He put the old plates in other en- velopes and slipped the new into the envelopes originally dated and inscribed with Fendley’s name. And now in all honesty he applied his skill to bandaging Fendley’s poor limbs in the old bivalve splints, happy in the fact that the quick immobilization of the shattered bones would reduce the pain to a minimum. With his ultimate remainder of strength he lugged Fendley back to his bed, put out the light in his office and flung up the windows to let the ether odor out. He paused to look down at the crowds still in the street, staring up and pointing at the window that was to be a sort of shrine to Darricott’s fame. He sank into a chair for a bit of sleep, but was soon dragged out of it by Fend- ley’s moans, The pain in his wrist and legs was mysterious and Emery let him have the whole truth, even to the bitter fact that Rachel’s infatuation for Dar- ricott had ended before his death. This, as Emery feared, thrust new remorse on Fendley, but Emery gave him what small comfort he could and what conviction of the necessity for silence: “In the first place, if Darricott had lived he would have gone right after Rachel tomorrow and he would have got her back. Women couldn’t resist him. He drugged them, somehow. Rachel would have married him as sure as fate. You saved her from all that risk. Now if you confess that you killed him, she will hate you and love his memory. You will cover Anthony with disgrace and blot your name forever—and theirs with it. They’re in no danger from the law because they didn’t do it, and you can’t even convict the guilty in this country, to say nothing of the innocent. “If you confess, I’ll either go to the chair or be driven from my profession and from all the good I can do in the world. There’s no end of good you can still do on earth, and not one bit of good that you can do by telling what happened. You have removed from the world a source of unlimited evil. If yoy talk, you will bring down an avalanche of worse evils.” He repeated and repeated this sermon until it was inscribed like a phono- graphic record on Fendley’s brain, and became his first thought whenever doubts recurred. Throughout the night the enormous machinery of the New York Police De- partment revolved about the Darricott case. The keenest minds devoted their experienced cynicisms to the stories ex- tracted from the members of the long parade brought in for cross-examination, The police turned up unending scan- dal, inspired and recognized incessant lying and evasion, but the sole result of their probings was a belief that the pris- oners were guilty of nearly everything on earth except Darricott’s death. The conviction was gradually estab- lished that the murderer had slipped into the room during Hubbard’s brief absence from it. While this did not completely acquit the Fendley group or Sibvl Page, it opened the list to any and all of the throng surging along the corridor. Such fingerprints as were found meant noth- ing, since so many persons freely ad- mitted that they had been in the room with Darricott and in violent conflict with him. These confessions of rancor had the profound effect of alibis. Throughout the night the deputy com- missioner and his aides were almost as terrified as their captives. Ahead of them were ferocious criticism and peril, no matter what they did. If they threw any of the Fendleys or Miss Page into a cell without conclusive evidence, there would be heavy abuse for bungling and heavy damage suits for false arrest. If the suspects were set free and escaped to Europe, there would be investigations, accusations of bribery, and disastrous comments. The police have their gantlets of criti- cism to run as well as the playwrights, the bookwrights, the actors and artists and politicians. And their prosperity is as closely dependent on their press notices. Furthermore, the prisoners were soon reinforced by eminent lawyers who had no fear of the authorities and terrorized them with legal phrases and threats of action. It was long after his usual breakfast hour when the deputy commissioner, jaded with perplexities and baffiements, released the Fendleys, Sibyl, Weldon, Hubbard, Clara and Charlie, and others, to their homes, accepting in lieu of bail their solemn promises to be on call. Then he issued orders that their tele- phone wires should be tapped and kept on tap, and all their movements shad- owed—what is technically known as “putting a tail on ’em.” The police were accustomed to defeat. Had not a high official of the depart- ment made a public confession that dur- ing the previous year there had been no fewer than two hundred and eighty-eight murders in New York with no more than two arrests by the homicide bureau? The theory of probabilities combined with the record of past performances te give the murderer of Darricott a prac- tical guaranty of protection from dis- covery. But the very profusion of clues and the unusually large number of persons on whom the guilt could be almost fixed kept the case alive long after it was added to the bead-roll of famous crimes for which no one was ever punish The hunt for what the newspapermen

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h, 1930 ne bit of ‘ing what from the 1. If you avalanche is sermon 1 phono- rain, and er doubts enormous Olice De- Darricott ted their , ex- e ninaticnt ng scan- incessant result of the pris- reryt! th. bee y estab- ped into absence mpletely vl Page, ll of the r. Such nt noth- pely ad- he room conflict f rancor is ity com- imost as head of nd peril, sy threw e into a e, there ing and rest. If escaped igations, sastrous of criti- shts, the ists and y is as notices. re soon tho had rrorized reats of reakfast issioner, ements, Weldon, others, of bail yn call. ir tele- ad kept ; shad- wn as defeat. depart- at dur- een no y-eight re than yureau? mbined nces te 1 prac- m dis- ind the ons on t fixed it was crimes nished. yermen called “the lady-killer-killer” went on and on. Numberless theories elected Horace Fendley as “the logical candidate” for the honors of deleting Darricott. What they called his “motivation” was com- plete: hardly anybody in the United States was left in ignorance of the fact that Darricott had robbed Fendley of his wife and was planning to carry off his daughter. Any jury would have ac- quitted him with applause, but this op- portunity was never offered to any twelve, for all the students of crime were turned aside by the detailed accounts of his broken bones and the plaster gyves about them—all but one newspaper sleuth who was not quite satisfied by the testimony. After prolonged brooding he called upon Doctor Emery and brought along a portable X-ray machine. Doctor Emery had been waiting impatiently for just this sort of man and he was inspired to be as difficult as possible, as insulting and insulted as only an eminent surgeon can be. He refused to let his patient be annoyed. The reporter gave this matter sensa- tional publication, and brought official pressure to bear on Doctor Emery, forcing him at last to permit the pictures to be taken. The genius was blown up by his own publicity, for his camera told ex- actly the story that Doctor Emery had given out long before Darricott’s death. The reporter was laughed into oblivion and the absolute innocence of Fendley and his physician so irrefragably estab- lished that nobody dreamed of question- ing it thereafter. The other suspects were left to the mercy of the professional and nonpro- fessional detectives and the lay police, and dragged through all the infernal ex- cesses of slander that the loosely woven libel laws encourage. Death in the elec- tric chair would have seemed a respite and a prison term a refuge to almost any of them. The police and the reporters had not delayed, of course, to ransack Darricott’s apartment. There they found countless letters from infatuated women who had loved him at least long enough to write themselves down in phrases that reached the press and fed fat the greasy lust for other people’s secrets. Lives were wrecked, homes broken and loves de- stroyed, because of these frail monuments of foolish moments that publication turned into enormities of wickedness. Good women who had merely been tempted; devoted wives who had perhaps slipped, but recovered their souls; wan- tons who had tried with varying success to win Jamie; lonely and neglected women who had been tantalized by his wizardries—all were plastered with shame. Yet women did not revile Darricott. And this was strange to the men, though history should have taught them to expect nothing else. Malekind called Darricott a disgrace to their sex and said that his death had been too long delayed, and that his executioner deserved the thanks of the community. The execu- tioner also deserved execution, of course, because he had broken the law against private slaughter; and the sanctity of the law must be maintained at all costs. But the women, perhaps because. they had been for ages the victims of the laws that pretended their protection, would not pay even lip-reverence to the codes. They sorrowed for Jamie Darricott, for his obliterated beauty, for his unfinished youth, even for his—especially for his— frustrated powers of evil. A few grim heavy-browed females, who looked and acted more like obese Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Sec how it fits the dental arch, cleans- ing inside, outside, and between. Note how it sweeps crevices clean. Topays uickest Aid to sparkling cleanness of TeeTu PROVIDED BY THE CORRECT DESIGN AND SMALL SIZE OF THIS FAMOUS TOOTHBRUSH Ls These three facts are valuable, if you know the impor- tance of clean, white teeth. ONE: Always brush teeth away from the gums toward the cutting edges, sweeping the crevices. Dentists advise this. Dr. West’s Toothbrush makes it easy. TWO: Be sure you havea small brush, properly shaped. On these points, Dr. West’s Toothbrush is selected by millions—including dentists. THREE: Get a new brush each 90 days. After that much use the polishing and cleansing qualities begin to decrease. The important things about Dr. West’s Toothbrush are: its small sizeand correct shape. It is15% to 50% smaller than awkward old-style brushes. Itcleans inside, outside, and between the teeth. These snowy, premium-quality bris- tles really rong your teeth. No other tooth brush has them. Dr. West’s Toothbrushes for every | member of your family are at your favor- ‘ ite store. Six beautiful colors. Each brush sterilized, sealed and guaranteed. Your dealer will replace any DR. West's brush that proves defective. Adult’s size, 50c; youth’s size, 35c; child’s, 25c; “Professional,” 50c. Get some today. See how Have you tried the delight- quickly they better your teeth. ful Dr. West’s Toot DrWests Toothbrush © 1930, W. B. M. Co,

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Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 ~ WBTIQUETTE DEMANDS thic GESTURE ... VW" EREVER hospitality is accorded you, make your ‘thank you’’ the Mi Choice gift package. In this smart package are luscious creams . . . cherries, creme de menthe, and others. Crispy nut fillings . . . jellies and nougats and chewy pieces. 27 different chocolate coated delights. At your dealers in one, three and five pound packages... $1.50 the pound. If not, send the coupon with $1.50 and we will send the one pound package postpaid. BUN TE BORO T BPRS Est. 1876 - 3369 Franklin Blvd., Chicago BUNTE BROTHERS 3369 Franklin Blvd., Chicago, Illinois 0 I enclose $1.50 for aone pound Mi Choice package (0 I enclose 25c for the miniature Mi Choice sample package jurists than women, denounced him; but most of the women, the old and burly no less than the young and lithe, regretted his loss as an irremediable disaster. They mourned for him in their clubs and homes and in the streets as in the ancient groves the women bewailed Or- pheus, Osiris, Tammuz, Adonis, Endym- ion, making a festival of grief, regret- ting in him all the young and ardent men who have lived for love and died for love, love the ancient theme of wom- anhood. This amazed and disgusted the men, not one of whom recognized how much of his high scorn was common primeval jealousy. The more the men railed, the more the women lavished on Darricott pity and praise. To hear them talk, it seemed as if all women believed that when a@ man wronged a woman the woman was the guilty one, and the man the deluded innocent. Canny men wasted no time in deplor- ing womanly folly. They traded in it and profited by it. Bits of film were remem- bered and added to the news reels, show- ing Jamie issuing from wedding cere- monies, strolling Park Avenue, watching a horse race or a polo match. Throngs gathered to see these resurrections of Jamie in motion, and the mobs of women shivered with—with what?—as they saw him smile from the screen at them, at each of them. They imagined what it must have meant to be caressed by those moody eyes, rebuked by those petulant lips, touched by those fastidious hands. The newspapers, with the practiced cunning of journalism, filled their pages with pictures of him, with stories of him. All the industries that prosper above the grave of the slain began to build him into a cult, a kind of perverse religion. Women cherished the portraits of him as if they were icons of a forbidden and therefore resistless divinity. He was a martyr slain for love, and he, too, accom- plished miracles of a kind. When somber women sat alone in theif rooms and mused on Jamie Darricott, it was as if moonlight fell suddenly on their windowpanes; as if a window were stealthily raised, and an elbow, a hand, a knee rested on the sill. Then into the room came a June midnight spirit that whispered what breezes breathe, fingered locks of hair with deli- cate audacity, kissed cheeks with im- pudence too pretty for rebuke, fondling, flattering. He fetched romance to innumerable women who had no other lovers, and no less to women who had one, or many, but had room also for this ghost. Jamie in- vaded homes and defied all guards in death even more than in life. Women yielded to him the same helpless admira- tion that men yield to great pirates, world conquerors, fighters, however crim- inal. Jamie was the ruthless lover and many bemoaned the impoverishment that came from his death; they regretted their greater security from temptation, now that he was no longer to be en- countered. They would not have yielded © to him, of course; they would have gazed at him with eyes of horror and driven him away with harsh names, of course —but—now they could never have the chance to fight with him. The world is a wide place of many peo- ple, many interests, many conflicting passions, and too many words true and false. But there is another world with- in it and beyond it: the world of people’s thoughts and dreams, desires and silent meditations, sins and temptations and ecstasies of imagination, speechless be- cause ineffable. —~ Srarperaperasm paaeges BB. omreact beer wmasraet st cee rer eats at om A fhe Os" OO DD Rh ot Bee Te Pe 2. ta «tt ee ot beet bee PS

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1930 m; but urly no pretted er. t clubs in the ed Or- ndym- regret- ardent d died wom- > men, much imeval d, the rricott alk, it | that n the d the eplor- it and mem- show- cere- ‘ching irongs ns of bs of /2—as en at gined ressed those idious cticed pages him, the peo- rith- ple’s lent and be-

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 In that world Jamie Darricott held a ous and incalculable sway. Even in the jail of his bedroom Horace Fendley could realize the feeling in the gir that Jamie Darricott was justified and cleansed by the complete penance of his last brief hell on earth—and that women were all but united in homage to Fendley had needed any other pun- ishment than his own remorse he found it in the contemplation of the aureole ne had cast about Darricott. The reve- lation of Darricott’s occult power over womankind awakened Fendley to the sudden understanding of what Helena and Rachel had contended against and why they had failed—of what Darricott himself had perhaps contended against before he failed. Fendley came to look upon his wife now as the guiltless victim of an over- whelming storm and his love went back to her with a greater power than it had ever known. From his bed he issued statements denying all the _ charges her and threatening the press and all individual slanderers with such suits for libel to be drawn by such famous lawyers that he frightened off the most open assailants. Nobody believed him but everybody thought him brave and knightly, and the public demand for a happy ending to the tragedy would have driven Helena back to him if she had needed that im- petus. As soon as she learned of his defense of her, she hastened to his bed- side and on her knees besought the reconciliation that it enraptured him to bend down and grant. Rachel and An- thony by no means opposed the rebuild- ing of their home—or rather, the trans- planting of it to Europe. Peyton Weldon was as happy as everybody else to see respectability resuming its empire and hustling out of sight the unseemly dé- bris of old sins and mistakes. As soon as Sibyl Page’s father and the counsel he engaged could free her from the clutches of the police, she sailed away to Africa, seeking no longer adventures, of which she had had enough, but solitude. On the next ship, however, Anthony Fendley set out for Africa. All sorts of things may happen in a jungle among the wild animals. Yet what else is a city? What else are the people in it? The departure of the Fendleys and of Sibyl Page from New York was hardly noticed by that turbulent village. But it was not big enough to ignore the exit of Jamie Darricott. One of his secret extravagances had been a large insurance policy taken out for his mother’s benefit and kept up, to his sardonic amusement, by the unwit- ting contributions of other women. His death lifted her from poverty to the op- ulence he had dreamed of for himself. She did not know what to do with it. Jamie would have known. _A8 soon as she learned that the po- lice had finished with her boy she went horth to retrieve what remained of him. The newspapers casually mentioned the fact that his body was waiting for her at certain funeral parlors and that she would come for it at a certain hour. Nobody foresaw what followed. No- body concerted anything. But the thought stole into the hearts ‘of a strangely great number of women that Hegre Darricott was leaving town; that beauty and his fire lay intolerably eed at an undertaker’s with no one i give him a thought of tenderness; to yY @ flower near him; to kneel and 29g up a prayer above him, or to clench € eyelids on fierce tears at the pity of lonely lovelessness. this woman and that stole forth to

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save him and herself from the shame of such neglect. Mrs. Fendley and Rachel and Sibyl, without the knowledge of one another, sent masses of flowers anony- mously, but feared to be seen; yet Sibyl could not stay away at last, and went in a car with curtains drawn to steal into the room and tell Jamie good-by. Her car was stopped far off by a huge multitude of women that packed the street and would not disperse for traffic or police or all the satires of the men gathered by the sight of the crowd. Wealthy women who had known Jamie more or less intimately and had admitted him to their homes felt it cowardly to snub him now. Women not so rich who had tried to ensnare him forgave him his ambition and thought that he must be poor enough now to welcome their visits. Girls who had checked his hat and stick and held his overcoat for him and taken with his coin the priceless smiles he had given for the real tips and the mischievous compliments he had never forgotten to murmur—those girls were many and each of them brought him her little bundle of flowers. Chambermaids who had made up the many beds in which he had lain had not forgotten the gallantries he squan- dered on the poor, however he with- held them from the rich. Shopgirls who had sold him things for himself, and now and then for women, remembered the drama it had made in their dull days when he paused at their counters. Laun- dresses and waitresses and housemaids and flower girls, cashiers and scrub- women, elevator girls, women young and old in all the trades that Jamie had somehow brightened as he passed by— they were there in amazing number. Women who had never known him, but had hoped to, came to grieve over the opportunity forever lost. Women who had hated the poltroon women who had lured him on and deserted him in his disgrace came to save him from going away alone; and with them women who had learned to love him because of his pictures, because of the pathos of his death, especially because of the horrible things men said of him, and, mystically, because of the love he had set aglow in their hearts as they brooded over him. He had the magic power of belonging to each woman alone; each was the only one who understood him. One by one they came with their sun- dry motives and one by one they made a vast throng, straggling slowly through the undertaker’s doors and pausing at the coffinside till they were thrust away and out of doors again. There was much weeping over his casket, and the flowers were piled about it in great drifts of color and fragrance, and tears rained on them. There was much prayer and women on their knees were shoved aside by other women eager to mutter their petitions for him. Outside, the women lingered and wept and prayed, packed into one great body, one flesh with one mood: unbearable re- gret for the lover who could no more ac fGaro—-——_——_— eo oo Pe Sark er ak ee a

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arch, 19 30 at the waste ‘ity into n. what Nn were dri From suff, 1ad loved his proached esting S 1 little cow. The captain nted_police- through the authority in Make » ck and they ng, “That's as an awe. er of Jamie all that he fered. And by that but ' child had Love had e had made was he? a reverence ore for her learned of m windows 3 in scorn. to write of e shameful 20d and to 1en, though rsed them, them, but satire and » reach of fed by the Like many m oblivion to heights y his own ennobled ugh scorn 7 weakling cott! uff for @ low, take pout that

Well, I don’t blame her. I’d jump off to escape you. rang Eason u think there’s a story in tha por tne says I. Crazy, says he. That just proves you’d better stick to ped- dling cheer. You’d starve to death if you tried to write. You know my dream, says he. I want to get a little studio in Paris near Mont- ee, and just sip wine, nibble cheese, observe life and write about it. Well, Al, the joke is he does save up put as soon as he gets fifty or a hun- dred bucks he goes on a beautiful toot, and when he wakes up he isn’t nibbling cheese in Montparnassee at all. He’s sitting in his Lonely Hearts Corner writ- ing stuff like “Do not worry about that wart on your nose, Bright Eyes. Every- thing comes to her who waits. Your loving Carolyn Comfort.” Ten years of that sort of thing, Al, and once a year the paper gives a ball for all these Lonely Hearts, and every year he attends and gets them paired off and makes himself generally obnoxious. How do you explain that Carolyn Comfort gag to them? says I Oh, the same explanation is good every year, says he. There’s always a new crop and I just tell ’em Carolyn is a sweet invalid lady in lavender and old lace who hasn’t been out of bed for twenty years and the paper has sent me to take her place. By the way, why don’t you come to the next one, a week from Saturday? says he. And I says, Don’t be a mug! And that goes for you, too. Denny PS.I am returning that Doris Miller check. I can’t find her. Give it to the Auditing Department and tell them to go lay an egg and stop cackling. DEAR CAROLYN, You say “try not to think of him any more,” but how can I do that? All day long I see him the way he sat and looked at me while he recited a beautiful poem to me on the excursion boat going from Lincoln Park to Jackson Park, and every night I dream about him. We’re listen- ing to the band playing in the park or we're dancing together at White City or we're riding on the roller coaster and he has his arms around me, and then when he kisses me I wake up and I am all alone again and lonely. What shall I do? How can I get him out of my mind? LONELY HEART LONELY HEART: Why don’t you come to the Lonely Hearts ball a week from Saturday night at the Auditorium Hotel? As you know, this newspaper lets me give an annual party for all my children. Surely you will meet someone there who is as lonely as you and who may help you put this unworthy person out of your mind. Any- way, you are brooding too much. You Should try to get interested in other things. Have you read “All Quiet on the Western Front”? CAROLYN COMFORT Chicago, Illinois. Dear Mr. Gleason: Thanks for your. wire. Of course, I will keep you posted and do everything I can for Denny. He seems to be get- ting along all right now. He is cut up around the eyes and scalp from flying glass and has some body bruises, but it won’t be necessary for you to send anyone down here as he is under good care and I can spend considerable time With him. By the way, you'll recall when I met you here on your way through from Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930

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188 New York Denny and you were talking about locating a Doris Miller and giving her a check for $1000. Well, there must have been two or three hundred boys and girls at the Lonely Hearts Ball dnd who should be among them but this same Doris Miller. She spoke to me several times during the evening—seemed to have something on her mind, and little by little she told me how she had nearly died in the hos- pital when she tried to commit suicide and then she told me it was all because of a poem and she recited, “I could sail the waters of all the world.” Imme- diately I recognized. Denny’s stuff and went right on with it—“Bitter and wild and blue, And never I’d find a friend to love”’—and she finished it: “Like the friend I’ve found in you.” _ And then I said, You’re Doris Miller, aren’t you? and her eyes got as big as saucers. But I signed all my letters “Lonely Heart,” she said, and I said, never mind what you signed them— you’re Doris Miller and you know Denny Kerrigan, don’t you? Oh, yes, she said, do you know him, too? And I said, he’s one of my best friends. How would you like to have me get him over here tonight? Could you? she said, and you never saw anyone grow so beautiful in such a short time. Then I told her she would be glad to see him for more than one reason, that he had been carrying around a check for $1000 for her. And then she was sure I was crazy. I won’t refuse it, says she, but I’d rather see Denny. So I went to the phone and got him at his hotel and told him to come on over to the Auditorium to the Lonely Hearts Ball, that I had found his dumb cluck for him—that’s what he always called Doris. Go on, you’re crocked, he says. No, I says, honest, come on over. Well, finally I persuaded him and then I went back to Doris. Well, we waited and waited and he never showed up. When midnight came I dismissed the orchestra and shooed everybody out and I felt so sorry for her I said, Come on and I'll take you over to Denny’s place. So we took a taxi there and found he had been hurt in an accident and had been taken to St. Luke’s Hospital, so of course we piled right over but they wouldn’t let us see him so I took Doris to the telephone exchange where she works nights and then shot the wire on to you. Please let me know if there is anything further I can do and I will keep you advised about Denny. Sincerely, Pop Higgins Dear Al, I can’t see to write—I’m all covered with bandages but the day nurse here is writing this for me. She says I won’t be disfigured and I can see all right when they take the bandages off, but I don’t believe a word of it. I’m worried, Al. It was a pretty good face. I bet I’m go- ing to look like Scarface Al Capone. Well, that’s just my luck. If I hadn’t wanted to do a good turn I’d been all right. It’s always that way, Al. The wages of virtue is a kick in the pants. Here I was sitting quietly at home and I’m called out to meet that dumb cluck. If it hadn’t been for her I’d ’a’ gone to bed and woke up in the morning happy as a lark. She must be a jinx. I'll be glad when she gets her thousand bucks and I’ve heard the end of her. By the way, I guess the Auditing De- partment has canceled that check. You better tell them to make out another and send it to me here. Pop knows where she works and can give it to her. She’s a night telephone operator in one Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 19 30 of these downtown exchanges. I bet she’s the one that gets you all the wrong numbers. - Well, she’ picked one*for me. It wouldn’t be so bad here, Al, if I could see. There’s a cute day nurse who spends most of the time in here with me. She’s nice and soft—the only thing around this place that doesn’t smell of arnica and ether. She is writing this letter now and I am holding her left hand. I can hardly wait until I get the bandages off so I can see her. Bet she’s cute as a little red wagon— aren’t you? She says she isn’t but I know better. Such a nice low voice, too—haven’t you? She says she hasn’t, but you can believe me. She says I have to rest now—I’m tiring myself. Denny P. S. She has round knees. Dear Denny, I was sorry to hear about the accident but very glad to learn later from both your friend Pop Higgins and Al that you are improving. Of course, this unfor- tunate occurrence has seriously handi- capped us in your territory, but I am sending one of the junior salesmen down to do the best he can until you get on your feet again, which I hope will be soon, as we need the sales from your territory to help us get that quota in- crease we are all fighting so hard for. As to your drawing account during the time you are laid up, I will take that up with the Auditing Department. Un- doubtedly a decision will be reached. Which brings up the question raised in your letter in re the check for $1000 made out some time ago to the order of Doris Miller. As you will recall, this check was finally returned by you to the auditor, who has canceled it. Now, you will understand, of course, at the time this check was authorized it was for a definite purpose and was not charged against the general advertising appropriation but against the prospective sales of the new Heart Throb line. Since that time, however, the sales of this line have not warranted the optimism with which it was greeted at first by the trade, nor has it shown sales in sufficient volume to warrant the disbursement of the sum above mentioned. Of course, if the check had been de- livered at the time it was intended and had cleared, we would say no more about it, but fortunately for us this was not the case. I hope you will explain the situation to Miss Miller and assure her that we are none the less grateful to her and will be glad at any time to show our appreciation in a manner more consistent with sound business practice. Very sincerely yours, GLEASON GREETING CARD COMPANY, By George Gleason, President Dear Al, I just got a letter from the Old Man and it’s a darned good thing I still have to dictate to a nurse because what I would tell him would be plenty. Can you imagine the nerve of that guy re- niging on the check for that poor little cluck? Pop tells me she works like a dog all night on a telephone exchange and hardly makes enough to live on. The thousand bucks doesn’t mean a thing to the Gleason Company. He’d spend that much himself on one trip to New York, and look what it would mean to that poor kid. I think it’s a crime and I have a good mind to tell him so too. If I had the money I’d give it to her myself. Of course, she was a goofy kid, trying to bump herself off like that over me, because I wouldn’t give her a tumble if she was bleeding pearls from every ‘pore. : But my little day nurse, ah! she’s something else again—aren’t you? She says she isn’t but I know different. Eyen if I can’t see her yet, I know just how she looks. Gurjus! I won’t have to wait long to see her either. Tomorrow is the big day. of comes the bandages and out comes the handsome smiling face of Denny Ker. rigan. With hardly a scratch on it, Or so they promised me, and then 11] see Little Old Faithful, who’s been sit- ting here holding my hand for days and days. If she thinks I’m such hot stuff now wait till she sees me in all my glory. eh, Al? But kidding aside, she’s been darling to me, haven’t you, Sweetums? She’s pulling away from me, Al. Tell her to stop it. I guess I’ll be out soon, Al, and back on the old job. Will you please stir up the Auditing Department and find out why they stopped my check this week— the so-and-so’s! Denny Dear Mr. Kerrigan, I guess you won’t need me any more, now that the bandages are coming off your eyes today. You needn’t bother about the check, either, as-I wouldn't touch the filthy thing with a ten-foot pole and you can tell your Mr. Gleason so, too. But it was sweet of you to offer to give it to me yourself if you had it and I guess you would, too, but I couldn't take anything from you. Since I’m not going to see you any more I can tell you that I loved doing things for you even if I did have to pretend I was the day nurse and get the other nurses to let me do it, but I didn’t like the things you made me write about me but I guess you were right, only I didn’t realize it before, so I will close and go home and get some sleep. Good-by, Denny. “THE DuMB CLUCK” DENNY KERRiGAN TOWER BUILDING CHICAGO ILL : THE OLD MAN IS FURIOUS O LETTER YOU WROTE HIM DEMAND- ING HE MAKE GOOD ON CHECK FOR THE DUMB CLUCK STOP WHY GET YOURSELF IN A JAM OVER SOMEONE YOU CARE NOTHING ABOUT STOP SNAP OUT OF IT STOP YOU ARENT MARRIED TO THIS JOB YOU KNOW COMMA YOU ARE ONLY LIVING WITH IT DASH AND IN SIN AT THAT ak AL EVANS GLEASON GREETING CARD CO MINNEAPOLIS MINN DUMB CLUCK MY EYE STOP SHES A DARNED SWEET KID AL STOP I FOUND THAT OUT SINCE I HAVE BEEN SEEING HER IN SPITE OF HER TRYING TO KEEP AWAY FROM ME STOP AND I AM GOING TO THE MAT WITH THE OLD MAN FOR HER TOO DENNY DENNY KERRIGAN TOWER BUILDING CHICAGO ILL OH YEAH AL AL EVANS GLEASON GREETING CARD CO MINNEAPOLIS MINN YEAH DENNY

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h, 1930 tumble if om every ah! she’s you? She ent. Even just how O see her, day. Of comes the nny Ker. ch on it, _ then Ty been sit- for days stuff now, my glory, he’s been weetums? _ Tell her and back se stir up find out ls week— Denny any more, oming off ’t bother wouldn’t _ ten-foot . Gleason u to offer ju had it I couldn't you any fed doing have to and get it, but I me write sre right, so I will me sleep. CLUCK” S OVER EMAND- CHECK )P WHY X OVER OTHING IT STOP HIS JOB -E ONLY ) IN SIN CO IP SHES STOP I I HAVE OF HER .OM ME HE MAT ER TOO JENNY co ENNY Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 . 19] War Nurse by Rebecca West ccontinuea trom page 43) it had been, and so it was not with Waldron Hilder and me. There were no agreeable social consequences to divert mind. Not a wedding in the world would have made a fuss that would have peen noticed against the supreme fuss of the war; and as for houses, I was think- in terms of hospitals, and I was called Nurse and not by a surname, and I wasn’t living with my parents, anyway. I had to face the facts that because I loved him I wanted to be as close to him as possible, and that this closeness drowned me in pleasure. And because I had that picture of a spinning airplane waiting for me whenever I came to, I wanted more and more of this pleasure. And Waldron Hilder was in the mind to give me all the pleasure I asked for. As much as I, he saw that spinning air- plane. At last he stood up. “Good-by. I ought to go.” I said, “Oh, don’t go yet; don’t go!” He answered,: “But it’s so late and you're tired. You look so tired, you lit- tle thing. You are so wonderful. You work like ten slaves; you are on your job like a man, and yet you are the softest, sweetest female thing. I hate to go! We've got to get married as soon as we can!” 3 was difficult to get married in France, as Waldron and I soon discovered when we began to make inquiries. It was curious how secretively we set about making these inquiries. Waldron went to an American lawyer who practiced in Paris, and he did not mention my name. Neither he nor I spoke of our intention of marrying to any living soul, even to Mary. It happened that a little while after this Gracie announced her engagement to her Californian—who seemed to be a remarkable young fellow—and she talked about it everywhere. And I used to watch her and think not only what a fool she was, but how little she really could be in love with her man. For if she were really in love she would want nobody to know; she would want to be alone with him in secret. It was early one evening when Wal- dron told me what the lawyer had said. For a fortnight after we knew that we wanted to get married, he hadn’t found time to make this appointment. He came straight up to my room. I was sit- ting in front of my mirror, doing my hair. We all had long hair then. He bent over me and kissed me, and kissed my hair too. Then he sat down and said, “This getting married is a funny business over here. We've got to get permission from our parents. Or guardians.” I exclaimed angrily: “Oh, what non- Sense! You can’t have got that right!” “Sure, I’ve got it right. ‘Till we're thirty we’ve got to ask our parents’ per- mission. After that, we’re allowed to know our own minds!” This was disconcerting. I hadn’t meant to ask my parents’ permission. I meant to tell them I was going to lo it. I felt sulky and resentful. But sud- denly I saw in Waldron’s face that the news meant something worse to him than it did to me. He said, “It’s my grandfather I’ve got to write to for permission.” “Well, won’t he give it to you?” I asked in amazement. He looked at me scornfully. “You don’t know the old man. I tell you he’s so angry with me for fighting in this war that he’d like to kill me.” “But he wouldn’t be mean enough to take advantage of an accident that puts this power into his hands!” “You don’t know the old man. That’s what he’d love to do. He’s mean, all right; he’s ugly.” We stared at each other in dismay. “Can’t you write to him as if it was only a formality—as if it didn’t really matter?” “No; he’d see through that. He’s smart enough. And anyway, he’s got to write a letter that’s duly witnessed and all that nonsense.” Again we stared at each other. Wal- dron held my eyes with a peculiar in- tensity, as if he were going to say some- thing. Then he changed his mind and looked away and said gently: “Well, got a pen? MI’ll write and see what I can do with him.” While he was closing the envelope I said, “I wonder when we'll get an an- swer.” “In ordinary times nearly a month. Say twelve days from Paris to San Fran- cisco. Now—oh, Lord knows! Six weeks! Two months! Anything!” “Oh, Waldron!” I cried. “This is hateful!” “It’s that, all right,” he agreed. I walked distractedly to the window and he followed me, standing behind me with his hands gripping my shoulders. I bent my head first to the left and then to the right, kissing his fingers, and murmured fretfully, “I don’t think I'll write to my people till you’ve heard from San Francisco.” I don’t know why I made that deci- sion. His hands tightened on my shoul- ders, and then let go. After that we talked of indifferent things. His work took him away from me for a great part of the next three weeks. There were days when I had nothing of him but his letters, which told me when he was going to be able to spend the evening with me. And those eve- nings were all I lived for. Waldron used to call for me about seven, then we would go to some inex- pensive restaurant. After dinner we sat at the table for a time, warmed with the food and the wine. We used to hold hands under the tablecloth and sleepily grin at each other for doing it. I would get things out of him then that he wouldn’t talk about at other times; the kind of things you want to know about people you are fond of—about when they were little and all that. He and Mary had an unpleasant child- hood. Their father had been a drunkard. He was good-looking, and women were crazy about him, so there was a lot of that about the house. And their mother was not much more use to them. She didn’t drink, but she was foolish and vain, and all the time she had to have men telling her how lovely she was. Every now and then there would be a financial crisis, and the grandfather would be appealed to, and always at first he wouldn’t help except by taking over the children, and then they’d go to him, and their father and mother would sell the house or ranch or whatever it was and go to live in some cheap hotel. The old man seems to have been as fit to look after children as the king of the gorillas. There were times when he’d load them with presents and show them off to all his old cronies. Then at other times they wouldn’t be able to do a thing right for him. He’d bully them in front of other people; he’d take away their horses and their hunting rifles; he’d punish them for nothing by lock- ing them in their rooms. But presently those children chose to stay with their grandfather all the time. For the mother divorced the father. It was a nasty case that smeared all the front pages for a day or two; and that hurt the youngsters’ pride. They were sent to a ranch while the case was going on and the newspapers were kept from them. But it happened one day that Waldron was playing with a dog, and they were scampering around the kitchen door, and the dog upset the ash can, and the boy looked down and saw the faces gf his father and his mother among the cinders. He pulled out the newspaper and took it to Mary. He said they tried to be hard-boiled about it, but in the end they both cried. Their mother hadn’t even sense enough to build anything worth while out of the wreckage. Instead of marrying somebody decent who would have given the children a good home, she married a@ younger man who was attracted to her mainly by the scandal. And to make matters worse, she had another baby. It’s queer to think of the despair that filled those children when that hap- pened. They went back to their grand- father for good and lived the absurd, unstable life he dictated—a life of alter- nate spoiling and neglect, indulgence and cruelty—which had culminated in this preposterous business of sending a boy and a girl to Europe unsupervised, with enough money to go to the devil, and then leaving them stranded, penni- less, because they settled down to use- ful war work, on the ground that he was Irish and wouldn’t have any of his blood helping England. Nearly every evening when we were together, we sauntered arm in arm through the warm spring evening back to my hotel, and went up to my room. We always ended there. Waldron did not have to go home till late. We would be there for hours in each other’s arms. Every visit committed us further to each other as lovers. I suppose the tie between us was made especially strong by various aspects of our situation. Fur one thing, women in the past must have been enormously protected by the social assumption that they did not have the same capacity for passion as men, and that if they should in rare cases develop it they became shameful and degraded. For then they drove it back to the hinterland of their minds, where in many cases it atrophied and died. But in my day that assumption no longer existed. Besides, I was doing something for Waldron which was so obviously a good thing to do that our love-making seemed to have a moral sanction behind it. For Waldron had never had the normal affection from women-folk that the rest of us get al- most too much of in our childhood. It was a complete novelty for him to be caressed out of tenderness. He was innocently amazed at that aspect of my love, and childishly delighted at it. His face looked softer, as if the curse of his neglected childhood was being lifted from him; he lost that heavy, cagy, de- fensive look. It seemed hardly less important that our love-making was sanctioned by the god that ruled our lives those days—the war itself. I’ve read in not-very-good

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hurt “It doesnt > now ~..«! Mummy !” Unguentine has taken the pain away Ir’s amazing the way Unguentine stops the pain from an ugly burn. For cooling, antiseptic Unguentine pen- etrates the surface skin, and quickly relieves the inflamed, smarting tissues underneath. Unguentine heals gently, safely, and helps Nature build up fresh new tissues. Hardly ever is a scar left. Antiseptic—guards against infection Unguentine is a powerful antiseptic, too. Unlike many other applications, Unguen- tine does not dry out and lose effective- ness. Unguentine continues to ease pain, continues to destroy invading germs, as long as it remains on the wound. Eight out of every ten hospitals use Unguentine. Keep a tube on hand. Use it for burns, and also for cuts, scratches, insect bites, bruises. Easy to use—just spread on gently and generously. Get Unguentine from your druggist today. Only soc for a tube that will re- lieve every household injury for months. Write for free booklet “What to Do,” by M. W. Stoter, M. D., Dept. UN-3. The Norwich Pharmacal Co., Norwich, N. Y. In Canada, 193 Spadina Ave., Toronto. Whenever you bathe burned or wounded skin, always use UNcuENTINE Soap. It is wonderfully soft and kind to tender skins. Unguentine Quick-healing and antiseptic for BURNS CUTS SCALDS BRUISES A product of The Norwich Pharmacal Co. - Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 novels of stern men—and in latter days of stern women, too—who turned their backs on sex for the sake of their work. The lives of great men have made me doubt the truth of this. And my own experience made me doubt it even more. When I was going to see Waldron 1 worked with a feverish speed and an intensification of all my faculties that kept me accurate. When I had seen him, I was full of a contentment that nothing could shake. The hole that had been made in my efficiency by fatigue and hopelessness was repaired by the strength which was engendered in me by loving Waldron. These things made us abandon our- selves to love-making with a special recklessness. These things, and the thought of that spinning plane. So it was not surprising that one night he said to me, “How long is it since I wrote to my grandfather?” I answered, “A month.” There was a silence while we both thought of the long time we would have to endure till we got an answer; perhaps as long again. Then he said, “Let’s not worry about my grandfather. Let’s not worry about mar- riage. Let’s just live together, without anybody knowing.” I had nothing better to answer than, “No, that would be wrong!” It was a poor answer, because I did not really know what I meant. The most genuine thing behind that answer was the resistance that all women feel to the first advance of sex. It was a holding- back only to become sure that I wanted to go on. I suppose I had some hazy notion of the sacramental nature of marriage, some vague idea that sex was a pleasure which ought not to be enjoyed until it had been blessed by the church. But that was an unreal and bloodless con- sideration, because the church meant practically nothing to me. Nor had I any vivid sense that what Waldron was asking me to do was wrong from the standpoint of the social good. If you want people to believe with any fervor that men and women who live together outside marriage are doing wrong, you must make sure that men and women who live inside marriage are doing right. What harm ‘could Waldron and I do, making love secretly in my room, com- parable with the harm Waldron’s mother and father had done to their children by their conduct in lawful marriage? And how much of a thing was their mar- riage, anyway, when it had been dis- solved as soon as the two parties to it got tired of it? I felt this point acutely, fanatically, because there was no hour I spent with Waldron when it was not brought home to me how his technically respectable mother had failed in her duty to him— when his happy surprise at my tender- ness did not betray how stony-hearted she had been. She had not given his soul the love or his body the care they needed when he was little. I could not believe that I would not be a better wom- an than she was if I gave him what his soul and body needed now. That is the thing to be remembered when you consider the change of moral standards during the war. It wasn’t altogether due to the war. In great part it was due to the coming-of-age of the children of the first generation that had taken divorce and remarriage lightly. Those grown children said, “Well, if our parents kept themselves different from sinners merely by being divorced and remarrying, then it seems to us it may not be so bad to be @

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h, 1930 atter days ned their heir work, made me l my own ‘ven more, Naldron J 1 and an ties that had seen nent that bg had y fatigue d by the in me by idon our- @ special and the e. that one ong is it rr?” we both Juld have ; Perhaps about my out mar- , Without ver than, ise I did The most swer was 2el to the holding- I wanted 1 meant iat what aS Wrong ial good. vith any who live e doing nat men marriage nd I do, m, com- ; mother Idren by e? And ‘ir mar- 2en dis- ies to it atically, ant with At home pectable o him— tender- -hearted iven his ire they uld not er WomM- m what >mbered f moral wasn’t n great '-of-age 1eration larriage n mselves y being tL seems o be & sinner. For, after all, this chopping and g about was pretty rough on us. And anyway, what is being a sinner in these matters? Someone who doesn't stick with the same person, who strays? Say, what is the difference, really?” As the religious and moral sanctions of marriage didn’t exist for me to any extent that counted, there was nothing left to deter me from living with Wal- dron except fear of what people would say. And that, the circumstances aris- ing out of the war diminished to the vanishing point. ; We were alone in a foreign city thou- sands of miles away from our families and friends. The people around us were far too busy to notice what we were doing. So I held out for no more than ten days. Most of that time we tried desper- ately to pretend that the issue never had been raised. Waldron used to call for me as before, and I would dress and come down to him as before. Only now the thing was wrong and strained from the first smile. I used to sit beside him in the little restaurant and feel a dreadful tightness in my throat. When the time came for us to leave the restaurant he would say, “Well, let’s go home. I'll be good, Corinne. I won't bother you; really I won't.” But up in my room, there was a kind of desperation about us both. There did not’ seem to be any light and jolly things left for us to say to each other. When I sat on the arm of his chair there did not follow, as there always had- followed before, a time of peace and relaxation. Everything irritated us. The sounds from the streets below rasped our nerves. Time itself, the mere succession of minute to minute, and second to sec- ond, seemed a painful process. Presently I would begin to cry—stupid, hot, difficult tears. Then Waldron would say: “Well, you know what we ought to do! Oh, Corinne, please, please.” I would break away from him and throw myself into another chair or on my bed, and sob and sob and sob. I would have that odd experience of being blind with confusion and frenzy, and at the same time seeing pictures sliding Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 calmly past my mind’s eye and quietly | arguing things out. I used to see the long wards with the ‘beds stretching away into the distance, the maimed men lying there so straight and still. I used to see that spinning plane. I used to say to myself, “But it can’t be that it’s being seriously sug- gested to me, to Corinne Andrews, that I should live with a man without being Married to him. Think of what I am; of the kind of world I belong to!” I would call up the recollection of my mother, with her delicate features and her carefully arranged white hair. I would try to get back into the skin of what I was when Edna and I used to go to decorous dances and luncheons at Park Avenue restaurants with proper young men or girls, and life was cool with a faint, sweet flavor to it, nothing pungent or difficult to get down, rather like a strawberry water ice. I would set my teeth and try to put myself back into that social system which took for granted that I could not do unconven- tional things. But it wasn’t true. I could do uncon- ventional things, and I was made of the kind of flesh and blood that can do them well and with enjoyment. That I learned not only from Waldron but from my hospital patients. At first I had been shocked by their candid assumption that I would under- stand their desire to spend their leave “Would you possess the Vital, magnetic charm of the Smart Parisienne >HER TIRELESS ENERGY ? Then you must do as she does~ ... use this new French Body Lotion which instantly drives awa fatique... stimulates. and revitalizes YOu... O YOU GO through the activities of your day, ever vital, radiant with energy and allure? Are you tireless, glowing with boundless vigor and youth, as is the alluring Parisienne? Or do you drag yourself through the hours, ex- hausted, fatigued, unable to enjoy the gaieties of life? Then you must use Cheramy’s Floral Eau de Cologne, the new Body Lotion from Paris— which instantly drives away fatigue—stimulates, revitalizes you. Pat it over your tired limbs, over your tired body. Immediately your blood awakes FLORAL EAU DE COLOGNE “A BODY LOTION’ by CHERAMY PARIS ODEURS JOLI SOIR JASMIN MIMOSA (Gloaming) LILAS ROSE FOUGERE APRIL SHOWERS VIOLETTE (Fern) POIS DE SENTEUR CHYPRE MUGUET (Sweet Pea) LAVANDE to active circulation, the flush of new life permeates your very being, skin glowing, muscles growing supple. Into each pore it seeps, freshening, deodor- izing, energizing. How soothing, how cooling, how utterly delightful! And an exotic fragrance, sensuous, alluring, lingers on for hours. If you would possess the vital, mag- netic charm of the smart Parisienne, mail the coupon below. It brings you a generous free flacon of Cheramy’s Floral Eau de Cologne—the new Lotion for the Body—and extremely popular in that Paris which is smart. CHERAMY, Inc., Dept. C5 539 West 45th Street, New York, N.Y. You may send me without charge, a trial flacon of Cheramy Floral Eau de Cologne— a new Lotion for the Body. Please designate perfume desited 0.000.000 ; Name Fe NERO LIRR NIA ee IOI

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194 Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 IT KEEPS TEETH WHITE Many a friendship has started with a smile. Captivating smiles come from gleaming white teeth. To keep teeth white, chew Dentyne regu- larly. It keeps teeth gleam- ing like pearls, and it’s so delicious that you'll want to chew it morning, noon and night. Chew ENTYNE and smile/ Eyelash Beautifier CORNS and tender toes — relieved in 1 minute by these thin, soothing, healing pads. Safe! Instantly darkens eyelashesand brows. Makes lashes appear longer and more luxuriant. Gives depth, brilliance, expression and charm to the eyes. Harmless. Easily applied. Approved by millions lovely women the world over. Solid or water-proof Liquid Maybelline, Black or Brown, 75c at all toilet goods counters, MAYBELLINE CO., CHICAGO LE At all drug, shoe and dept. stores. Dr Scholl's ‘Zino-pads Put one on— the pain is gone! _ ARN pLIFIED Big demand! PHOTO PAINTING «*HOME Easy, new a * oil coloring over photographs and prints. N ae et —— Fase: anyone. Earn while leorning- $35- agg, Oe oy ra. loyment service—Complete artists pots Ye iver. bea coe FREE book! Art » Chicago hool, Dept. 15-3, ope A work a 1 Embarrassed By Gace Complexion? Is it rough, pimply, coarse textured or cloudy? Use Resinol Soap and Ointment as directed every night for one week and note the improvement in your skin. Then adopt Resinol Soap for daily toi- let use to keep your complexion clear, fresh and lovely. Resinol Ointment also is soothing and healing for burns, cold sores, chafing, itching rashes etc. At ail druggists. FREE sample of each. Write Resinol, Dept. 1-C, Baltimore, Md. Resinol having a good time with a pretty girl, But soon I had to admit that I dig understand it perfectly. And when they used to tease me about having a sweet- heart myself, if I denied it, they'd say: “Quel dommage! Une belle femme doit étre aimée... “That’s a pity. A good-looking woman ought to be loved . They said it as something more than flattery. ‘There was in it the gravity of those who speak in the shadow of death. They should have ended the sen- tence, “before all the men are dead.” It used to arouse panic and revolt in me, a frantic desire to snatch at pieasure before it eluded me, that told me well enough how near my flesh and blood was to understanding what they wanted of sex. I could not pretend in this argument with Waldron that I did not know what it was all about. So I used to twist and turn in my hysteria, while he said over and over again: “You know what we ought to do, We love each other. Heaven knows when that letter from grandfather will come. You know what we ought to do!” And all the time the thought of death was working in me. I kept on saying to myself, “What’s the good of having scruples when tomorrow he may be dead?” That thought paralyzed my will at its root. One night it was pressing in on me as I lay and sobbed, and he came and stood over me. Then through the ringing in my ears I heard the alerte—the fire engine that rushed through the streets with all its whistles blowing to warn Paris that the Tauben and the Gothas were coming— and I sat up, crying out, “Oh, there's going to be an air raid! Oh, I’m too tired tonight! Waldron, I’m frightened!” He took me in his arms and soothed me as if I were a baby. “You're quite safe, darling.” It was all nonsense. He knew that I had nerve, and I knew that he knew it, and he knew that I knew that he knew it. But this play-acting relieved us for the moment of the task of settling our argument, and we were both glad of it. It happened that for four days after this he was unable to come to me. Those were four bad days. I had that thought of death with me all the time. I used to lie awake at night and see: that spinning plane and think of the ter- rible responsibility I was assuming by refusing Waldron what he wanted. There was another air raid, and at the sound of the alerte I really knew the terror I had pretended three nights before. It seemed that with death all about us Waldron must be killed already; that I, too, should be killed in another min- ute. I would not be there any more; I would have gone out, and I would have gone out without having known the most beautiful things in life. The thought of what I was missing was terrible to me, partly because in actual fact Waldron and I were born to be lovers, and partly because in those days we were looking on the world with the eyes of those who suspect that they may be looking on it for the last time, and all its bright colors seemed very bright indeed. Because of these things I cried nearly all night, and every hour came nearer to the point of yielding. There was another factor influencing me which was amusingly outside the romantic theory of life. I was enor- mously influenced toward giving up My resistance to Waldron because I saw it was spoiling my work—I was becoming inefficient in the hospital. My nerves were shot to pieces. This made my fin- gers clumsy and slow. I took longef

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rch, 19 30 pretty girl, | that 1 a i when they ing a sweet- they'd say: elle femme king woman ‘more than the gravity Shadow of ied the sen- re dead.” id revolt in at pleasure ld me well and _ blood hey wanted S argument know what urn in my * and over ught to do. ven knows father will ght to do!” nt of death 4S pressing od, and he in my ears ngine that vith all its is that the > coming— Yh, there’s h, I’m too ‘ightened!” id soothed u’re quite lew that I e knew it, t he knew ved us for ttling our glad of it. days after Oo me. [ had that the time. [| and see: of the ter- uming by ed. There the sound e terror I fore. all about ady; that ther min- y more; I ould have | the most s missing scause in ere born » in those orld with that they last time, ned very se things rery hour yielding. fluencing side the as enor- g up my I saw it becoming y nerves : my fin- k longer Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 preparing my dressing cart, and I used to forget lots of things. In my personal relationships I became jrritable and feverish. Other nurses would get on my nerves; patients would suddenly seem tiresome and exigent. I would find myself snapping at people. I was creating around me the hysterical atmosphere of a girls’ school near the end of the term. I am not sure that that was not what made me go over the edge; at any rate, at the time I did. It is at least true that if I had found that resistance to Waldron helped my work instead of hin- dered it, I should have tried far harder to stand by my guns. I don’t mean that I am one of those women to whom work means more than Jove, for in peace-time work doesn’t mean anything at all to me. I mean that we were in the war, and I felt that anything which prevented my serving the war was wrong, and anything which helped me to serve it was right. At any rate, whatever governed me, the next night he came for me I sat in my room for a long time before I went down to him. He was sprawling in a big chair in the hall, and I stood in front of him, twisting my fingers. He looked up at me, and at the sight of my face checked his movement to arise and sat quite still. I said shakily, “Waldron, whatever you wish—I’ll do.” There crossed his face a singular ex- pression that made my blood run cold. It was as if at first he did not under- stand what I had said to him; and then, when understanding came to him, did not quite like it. What was the matter with the man? Here he’d been pestering me for some- thing, and now I was giving it to him, and he was turning the thing back to me as if he’d never asked for it. I cried out, “Well, if you don’t want me——” He said, “Sure I want you!” Then we stood looking into each other’s eyes. It was all right; he wanted me; we loved each other. There was a silly gust of giggling from the elevator. It was my cousin Gracie, emerging coquettishly to the embraces of her California fiancé. They hadn’t seen us. But I turned to Waldron in a panic. “Let’s go away from here.” He nodded. “I know a place where we can dine. And be alone.” We found a taxi outside and drove out through the Bois in the direction of the Longchamp race course. It was a beautiful summer evening. A_ sunset was painting all the tree trunks and the white cafés a lovely rosy glow. As we drove the sunset grew brighter and brighter, so that we seemed to be traveling farther and farther into an at- mosphere of beauty and excitement. We kept on telling each other how much we loved each other. Yet at the back of my mind I was wishing we had never met, and I think Waldron was too. We were | not readily yield to Absorbine Jr., consult going straight to the supremest pleasure either of us could imagine, yet we felt it | was all too difficult. I was finding it hard to breathe, as if I were climbing in high altitudes. His face was strained, contorted. Our traditions had a hold on us, all right. The place Waldron knew about over- looked the river. A gravel path ran be- Side a long lawn up to an old-fashioned inn, with flimsy iron balconies. The grass on the lawn was quite high, and a girl With her sleeves rolled up and her skirts kilted high was scything it. sunlight was making the grass very green, and the long shadows ot the HIS HANDS ARE INSURED FOR TEN THOUSAND ... yet he has “Athlete's Foot”! E has given his life to his art! He lives in a glass case, so to speak—surrounded by every care and every safeguard. Yet he has a well developed case of the ring- worm infection commonly called ‘‘Athlete’s Foot’’! And he doesn’t know what it is! The tiny skin-cracks between the smaller toes* are beginning to get on his sensitive, high-strung nerves to a serious extent—as they do, indeed, harry the nerves of millions of less emotional but equally puzzled people. Now this common infection can be curbed Now that it is universally agreed among specialists that tinea trichophyton, a ringworm fungus, is the cause of the various forms* of “Athlete’s Foot”—and now that exhaustive laboratory research has revealed that Absorbine Jr. kills the *‘Athlete’s Foot’’ germ and curbs its spread — knowledge of this most persistent parasite and how to fight it will soon be country-wide! This is fortunate, for “Athlete’s Foot” is * WATCH FOR THESE DISTRESS SIGNALS THAT WARN OF “ATHLETE’S FOOT” Though “Athlete’s Foot” is caused by the germ —tinea trichophyton— its early stages mani- fest themselves in several different ways, usu- ally between the two smallest toes: redness, skin-cracks, tiny itching blisters, a white, thick, moist condition or dryness with little | scales. Amy one of these calls for immediate treat- ment! If the case appears aggravated and does your physician without delay. FOR Absorbine Jf r@); 0 eS One MUSCULAR HES such a stealthy infection ... so easily over- looked at first... that it has stolen up on the Nation until it is found simply everywhere! The United States Public Health Service even asserts in one of its Bulletins that ‘it is prob- able that at least one-half of all adults suffer from it at some time’’. . , suffer from it without knowing what it is. Again, tests conducted in such widely sepa- rated universities as those of California and Pennsylvania reveal that probably 50% of the students enrolled are infected. There can be no doubt that tiny tinea trich- ophyton has made itself at home in America! It lurks where you would least expect it One of the worst features of “Athlete’s Foot” is that it is most apt to be contracted in the very places where people go for health and cleanliness and recreation! In spite of the most rigid sanitary precautions, the germ abounds on locker- and dressing-room floors —on the edges of swimming pools and showers — in gymnasiums — even on hotel bath-mats. And from such places itis carried in- to millions of homes to infect whole families! It has been found that Absorbine Jr. kills Tinea Trichophyton A series of laboratory tests with the antiseptic Absorbine Jr. has proved, through bacteria counts and photomicrographs, that Absorbine Jr. penetrates deeply into flesh-like tissues and that wherever it penetrates itéi//s the“ Athlete’s Foot” infection. This will be good news indeed to many thousands of people who have worried over a threatening foot condition without know- ing what it was that was troubling them, nor how to rid themselves of it. At the first sign of infection begin the free use of Absorbine Jr. on the affected areas— douse it on morning and night and after every exposure. Absorbine Jr. is so widely known and used that you can get it at all drug stores. Price $1.25. For free sample write W. F. YOUNG, INC., SPRINGFIELD, MASS.

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196 . Perfect sanitation without effort TSE) AN UNCLEAN toilet bowl is dangerous! But spotless cleanliness is the simplest thing in the world to obtain—without unpleasant scrubbing. Just sprinkle a little Sani-Flush in the bowl, follow the directions on the can, flush, and the job is done. The bow! will become snow-white before your eyes. All incrustations will be swept away. All germs will be killed; all odors will vanish. Even the hidden trap, which no brush can reach, will be purified and cleansed. Try acan of Sani-Flush tomorrow. Sold by grocery, drug and hardware stores everywhere in convenient punch-top cans, 25c; in Canada, 35c. The Hygienic Prod- ucts Co., Canton, Ohio. (Also makers of MeLo—a fine water softener.) Sani-Flush Ms CLEANS CLOSET. BOWLS \ITH-~ OUT SCOURING. Hish School Course in 2 Years This simplified, complete School Course—specially prepared for home study by sending een a py ll require- ments for entrance to college, business, and Courses Drepare tho apecial tnrtruction which you need forsuccess. No matter what your linations may be, you can’thope te succeed without special training, Let us give you the practical training you need. American School Drexel Ave. and 58th Street Dept. H-310, Chicago ; AMERICAN SCHOOL, Dept. H-310 Drexel Avenue and 58th St., Chicago Send me full Information on the subject checked and how you will help me win success in that line, ....Architect Electrical Engi ----Building Contractor --.-General Education t ile Engineer ----Lawyer ----Civil Engineer “Mach. Shop Practice ---- Structural Engineer ----Mechanical Engineer ----Business po --..-Steam Engineer ----C. P. A. & Auditor ----Draftsman & Designer «---Bookkeeper --..High Schoo! Graduate Name Se eet St. and No. ‘Town. State. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 bushes that stretched across the lawn were a lovely shade of blue. It painted the girl’s grave, intent face bright like an angel’s, and all the movements. of her heavy body were slow and patient. At the end of the lawn, in front of the house, people were sitting at tables enjoying one of the first evenings of the summer when it had been warm enough for eating out of doors. I remember two old people, husband and wife, who were sitting half asleep, it seemed, blink- ing their tired old -eyes, all hunched up in deep mourning. They didn’t look so unhappy. It was as if such of their griefs as hadn’t faded out of sight in the twilight of their old age were being soothed and healed by the calm beauty of this hour. We stood and looked at this scene as if it were a lake into which we had t wade. We went up the gravel path. I walked with my head down, listening to the regular swishing sound of the girl’s scythe. We went inside the house, and a waiter met us in the lobby. He took us upstairs to a room with a balcony, and we had dinner there, and we were lovers. I don’t remember the event as being in the least an abandonment to pas- sion, as I suppose most people would have judged it to be. In fact, I don’t remember that for me, at any rate, it had any emotional coloring at all. simply seemed an adjustment we had to make because of our circumstances; above all, because of the fear of death that pervaded our days. But I felt gloriously proud of myself the next day. I went around the wards treading on air; I beamed with benevolence on all the patients and the nurses and the doc- tors, even those I had found unbearably irritating a day or two before. This exaltation was partly a physical reaction. I never felt for one moment the repugnance to sex that women in the past were universally supposed to feel, and that some women claim to suffer from today. I don’t see how I could have, considering how much Wal- dron and I were in love. Also, I felt contented in my mind. I had had the joy of giving the person I loved the thing he wanted. I think I can honestly say that if the giving of it had meant not pleasure but pain to me, I still would have found it joy, for that is the way one is when one is in love. All the same, that part of my exalta- tion was crazy. I mean, I would have felt it just the same if I had known that what I was doing was leading to my own destruction. But there was a sane element in’ my exaltation, too, which was quietly registering satisfac- tion that I had done a useful and con- structive thing for my life. To begin with, I had Waldron now. It had been the right moment for our relationship to take that particular turn. I remember standing in a little dispen- sary in the ground floor of the hospital, and seeing out in the garden a lovely grove of trees that hadn’t been cut down when the place was built. They were beautiful in themselves, and on the hot- test day there was cool green shade under them. Beauty and shelter, they were. I said to myself, “That is what my.relationship with Waldron is going to be.” : Because of my confidence that it was so, I became steady, and maturer. My forces, no longer dissipated in conflict and jealousy, combined to make me a completed human being. I was not only It | STOMACHS that Bulge... quickly reduced Bulging waistlines are physical and social hand- icaps. Why have a con- spicuous stomach when it’ssoeasynowtocontrol Egy your girth with this mar- /. ies velous belt of new pat- \ ented weave. § Inches Off i | Instantly fh Men of all sizes, in all walks of life, wear and praise the InchesOFF Abdominal Belt for its extraordinary reduc- ing power. Willquick- ly cut your girth 4to6 inches. Wears down fat and fights accu- mulation by gentle massaging action. No other belt like it in body-shaped de- sign, nor made of this marvelous-woven elas- tic of patented weave ex- clusively ours. Worn over shirt. Cool, comfortable, healthful. Approved by phy- sicians. Always in place— can’t creep up or down. At- taches to suspender buttons on inside of trousers if desired. Holds shirt and trousers perfectly in place, aranteed not to shrink or overstretch from washing, Will wear three times longer than any belt of other material. Ideal for golf, sports, business and full dress, Many influential business men wear an InchesOFF Belt continuously—never without one. Will make you look and feel ten years younger. Try one on app! tesults will amaze you. Satisfaction guaranteed, Wear One 10 Days On Trial If your waist is bulging or getting bigger, this belt will work wonders at needed reduction. ir guaranteeand responsibility backed by resources of over $10,000, Write for all the facts and our 10-day approval offer, Address THE SANDFELDER CO. 100 E. Ohio Street Dept. 119 Chicago Crooked He hed casteltly "fe oubll Why do your shoes lose their shape and the heels always wear down on one side? Because you walk with the weight of your body off balance. Besides spoil- ing a good appearance, it thickens the ankles by constant strain of the liga- ments. Dr. Scholl’s Waik-Strate Heel Pads overcome this fault. They equalize the body’s weight, take off strain on the wars te keep your shoes smart and trim. Easily attached inside any shoe. Sizes for men and women. At Shoe, Dept. and Drug stores —35c pair. Dt Scholl's Walk-Strate Heel Pads

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-H$ e of trousers fectly in place, from washing, belt of other and full dress, achesOFF Belt nake you look on approval= ranteed, Trial , this belt will guaranteeand er $10,000,000, pproval offer, 20. les ir shape 1 on one e weight 2s spoil- cens the he liga- -el Pads ilize the on the nd trim. s for men ug stores ['s ads happier with Waldron, I was more use- | ful to him; the whole thing between us had had its foundations strengthened. And I was working better than ever. Because I was fully realizing my woman- hood in my relationship with Waldron, T could cut it out of the rest of my life. I worked like a man, as they say, with my mind on the job. I could handle myself through the difficult moments that came sometimes when I hated my job. You know there is a kind of rhythm in a nurse’s attitude to the unpleasant aspects of her work. All the girls were the same as I was over this. First we minded them ter- ribly, and then we did not mind them at all; and then we minded them again. For a short space we minded them more than we had at first. That is a phase through which I had fought by myself. But even when that is mastered and over, the revulsion comes back every now and then. Now I could tide myself over such times by saying, “I am going out tonight with Waldron,” or, “In two days Waldron will come to me again,” and the thought was so full of satisfac- tion it pulled me through everything. I suppose the truth was that I had felt before that life was slipping past me without giving me any of its sweetness, but wishing on me all of its seriousness. Now I was making the best of both worlds, so to speak. I was getting the sweetness and bearing up under the seriousness. I could tackle responsibility better | now, too. I felt grown-up. I felt right with myself, and I didn’t mind admitting what I could do and what I couldn't. I developed a healthy sense of humor. Also I began to make some deep and steady friendships. I was, of course, much nearer to Mary Hilder than I had been before. It was obvious that to her I was now one of the Hilders, and within the circle of | their fierce, unreasoning tribal loyalty. But that was a family affair. There were other friendships I made on a plane entirely devoid of sentimental at- taciiments: one with a girl from Cleve- land named Adelaide Mackinzie; another with a New Yorker named Helen Bran- der. I liked these girls; I took special pleasure in making things run smoothly if their work touched mine. The fact was that all these attributes I developed after I was happy with Wal- dron were those that women as workers are commonly charged with lacking— steady nerves, a sense of humor, willing- ness to take responsibility, easy friendli- ness toward fellow workers. And this made me wonder if women have scored 80 poorly as compared with men in their careers, for the reason that in the past, at any rate, it has usually been the un- attached woman who has worked, while the man who worked beside her has had the advantage of possessing a wife and family if he felt he wanted them. It must make a difference. So everything was wonderful for Wal- dron and me. We saw each other enough never to make the intervals between our meetings torturing and disquieting, and hot often enough to get tired of each other. The aviators had more time off than the men in the other services. Theirs was individual stuff. The officers didn’t have to stay around looking after their men so much. We felt bewildered with our good fortune. Everything was so perfect as it was that when Waldron’s grandfather wrote giving us unqualified permission to get married we never for a moment thought of acting on it. We were enormously touched by that letter. The evening Waldron brought it to me Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 ws Rebs ie gs OW Bas eS eee = der Cleans Teeth as Nothing Else Can For Cleaner, Whiter Teeth . . . do as your dentist does, when he cleans your teeth—use POWDER There is nothing known that will clean and polish teeth so quickly and leave them so gleaming white—as POWDER. Science has found nothing to take its place. That is why your dentist, when cleaning your teeth, as you know—always uses powder. As it is only the powder part of any den- tifrice that cleans, a dentifrice that is ALL POWDER just naturally cleans best. Dr. Lyon’s Tooth Powder IS ALL POW- DER— 100% cleansing properties. This is more than twice the cleansing properties of tooth pastes. Dull Teeth Become White For over SIXTY YEARS, dentists every- where, have prescribed Dr. Lyon’s Tooth Powder, because—teeth . . . simply cannot . Temain dull and film coated when it is used. It cleans off all stains and tartar, and In use over 60 years polishes the teeth in a harmless and practi- cal way that leaves them sparkling—many shades whiter. No Glycerine—No Grit Being an ALL POWDER dentifrice, Dr. Lyon’s contains no glycerine, therefore does not soften the gums. It is free from all grit or pumice and cannot possibly scratch, or injure, the softest enamel, as years of con- stant use have shown. Dr. Lyon’s is the only dentifrice old a to prove it can be safely used for ife. Neutralizes Acids In addition to cleansing, it is probably the greatest neutralizer known for ACID MOUTH, being many times more effective than Milk of Magnesia. Dr. Lyon’s Tooth Powder keeps your teeth REALLY CLEAN and clean teeth mean—firm, healthy gums, freedom from pyorrhea and the least possible tooth decay. Brush your teeth with Dr. Lyon’s regu- larly—consult your dentist periodically— and you will be doing ALL that you can possibly do, to protect your teeth. Lasts Longer—Costs Less Once you use Dr. Lyon’s Tooth Powder, you will never be satisfied to use anything else. It leaves your teeth feeling so much cleaner, your mouth so refreshed, and your breath so sweet and pure. Dr. Lyon’s is not only doubly efficient, but it costs... only half as much... to use. Even a small package lasts twice as long as a tube of tooth paste.

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CIONE/ no more Foot Aches and Sains or Sove Hot Feet Rub your feet with Dr. Scholl's Foot Balm. Instantly you feel its cooling, soothing, healing action. Every trace of pain and discomfort vanishes. Your feet are quickl revived, refreshed, rested, strengthene The pores immediately absorb this few grant cream. It penetrates deeply into the tissues, relieving congestion and inflam- mation, and soothing the irritated nerves. Relieves corns, callestes and bunions; reduces swelling in feet and ankles; dis- pels foot odors. This remarkable formula grew out of Dr. Scholl’s 25 years’ experi- ence treating the feet. All drug, shoe and dept. stores sell Dr. Scholl's Foot Balm 35c—75c jars. The Scholl Mfg. Co. Chicago Dr Scholt’ s Foot Balm Mercolized Wax Keeps Skin Young Remove all blemishes and discolorations by regularly using pure Mercolized Wax. Get an ounce, and use as directed. Fine, almost invisible particles of aged skin peel off, until all defects, such as pimples, liver spots, tan, freckles and large pores have disappeared. Skin is beautifully clear, soft and velvety, and face looks years younger. Mercolized Wax brings Fie the hidden beauty. Te quickly remove wrink- les and other age lines, use this face lotion: 1 ounce pow- dered saxolite an and | 1) half ‘pint witch hazel. At Drug Stores: Jor APRIL BRIDES Wedding Announcements and Invitations by Cathedral of Engraving are Correct. It will pay you to see my beautiful set of samples showing correct wedding invitations and announce- ments. Samples and booklet on Wedding Etiquette sent by return mail free without obligation. Write Anne Kieran, Suite B, 414 No. 12th, St. Louis, Mo. BO Prominent Families Since 19/3 , BUNIONS Now Dissolved Pain stops almost instantly! Then last- ‘ ing relief. Amazing Fairyfoot gradually “ dissolves painful bunions. uick- : 8 ly enables you to wear smaller shoes. , >,"% No messy salves. No cumbersome ap- a. This marvelous discovery ~y Be 0 eet. Vrite for tria FREE TEST! ! treatment absolute tely free. Nothing to pay. No C.0O.D. No obligation, FAIRYFOOT PRODUCTS CO 1223 S. Wabash Avenue Dept. 462 Chicago, Illinols I could see at once that something had happened which had moved him deeply. He didn’t give it to me till we were at dinner. When I handed it back to him we couldn’t speak. He began by owning he had been a brute to Waldron and Mary—“Well he might!” I said when I read that bit— and he ended by saying that he would give his consent to our marriage and anything and everything else that Wal- dron might ask of him. And in between were all sorts of footling excuses for his conduct, and pathetic, stiffly written ap- peals for his grandchildren’s affection. And somehow I could see he must be a lot like Waldron. Anyway, I cried. Waldron said: “I think it would please the old man if we were to wait till the war’s over and get married in San Fran- cisco.” I agreed. “Right. That'll be grand.” It wasn’t much of a sacrifice. We were well pleased as we were. We were get- ting everything we would get out of marriage, and my primitive instincts were gratified by the secrecy of our pres- ent arrangement. I am writing about my love affair with Waldron Hilder as if I were writing a testimonial to a correspondence course. It took me out of the rut of hard work and poor pay. “I was doing work I was not fitted to do and which I thoroughly disliked. I was living in a gloomy boarding house getting mighty few of the good things of life. But in less than two years after I took your course I was making one thousand dol- lars a month.” That’s the way it sounds. That isn’t how it was, of course. We were in a state of hysteria. Abnormal events were perpetually forcing us to run away from reality into abnormal states of excitement. I remember one utterly mad evening we spent together. We were dining in some restaurant on the Champs Elysées (we ate at better places than we used to, now that Waldron had made it up with his grandfather) when the alerte for the air raids went by. We were both tired, and I was depressed by the fact that Waldron was expecting to be sent to the front in a week or two. So we weren’t too pleased by the thought of a night of alarms and bangs. I suppose I said I was fed up. Any- way, Waldron said, “Here, let’s have some champagne! We need something to carry us through this evening.” I don’t suppose we had so much to drink, really, but we got silly and light- hearted and giggled a lot. “Come along; you’re too pretty to sit around with all those Frenchies looking at you. Let’s go home,” he said. And I laughed at that, though I remember it struck me at the same moment how wonderful it was that he always talked of my hotel room as home, and how sad it was that it probably was as near a real home as any he had ever had. When we got outside the air was lovely, and the stars were ever so bright, and the boom of the guns a long way off didn’t worry us. We were walking along with linked arms, as happy as could be. There was suddenly a bang-bang-bang- bang, as if somebody had become angry with a Hun plane. That made us laugh. “This is going to be a good strafe,” Waldron said. “Wish we could get up somewhere where we could see it.” Just then we were passing a lovely house on the upper Champs Elysées, and when we got to the side street that turns off there Waldron stopped. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked. I couldn’t see a thing except an open Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 oom Gray Hair Cheated Her Out of the Job Now Comb Aves G Gray This Easy Way HY endure the handicap of Gray Hair? Just comb Kolor-Bak through your hair and watch the gray dis. appear. Kolor-Bak is a clean, colorless, scientific liquid that leaves the hair lus. trous and full of life. The one bottle does for blonde, auburn, brown, black. Already hundreds of thousands of women and men have used it. Make This Test Test Kolor-Bak on our guarantee that if it doesn't make you look ten years younger your money will be refunded any time you ask. Get it from any drug or department store today. Kolor-Bak Imparts Color to Gray Hair WRITE beimazss PROFIT FICTION FOR Our specialized training opens the way to three way mar- ket—publication, stage and screen. Test — ability free. Send for Paiva. Chart and ful Fiction ars. HOLLYWOOD PHOT! CTION INSTITUTE 113 Western & Senta Go Bids Hollywood, Calif. Bebe 4**My Favorites” and 1 exquisite Lavende free for of nak orders. 21 in all—$5.25 worth, post-paid onl 50. All labeled, full instructions, descriptive list free. cael in early Spring should bloom in May. A million plants are ready now. OFwEs IRIS FIELDS ? LEARN Electricity This NEW Practical Way Patented new Unit-Board System ment right into your home. by doing at home under euperviees engineers of this t_school. Write for Free a lention age. Extension Dis sion, School of Engineering Department 230 Milwaukee, Wisconsin 15 bay teil varieties—also 1 50¢ Carlinville, Illinois Setting-Up Exercises for Your Face— LIFT SAGGING MUSCLES REMOVE DOUBLE CHIN Facial Exer- rooping mur double ~ Kathryn Murray's 5 - Minute-a-Da: cises, by pirenethontes mer cles, quekiy banis feet e 1 KATHRYN N MURRAY ==3 Suite 348,5 So.Wabash Ave., Chienge STUDY NURSING © On page 9 you will find listed Schools of Nursing of National reputation. For information regarding schools in other locations write Cosmopolitan Education Department 57th St. at Eighth Ave. New York City

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rch, 1930 — air Out y Gray ay ip of Gray ak through e gray dis- , Colorless, e hair lus. bottle does k. Already on and men t if it doesn’t ur money will : it from any ik lair three way mar- ur ability free. irs. INSTITUTE tollywood, Calif. o 1 50c Red, uisite Lavender _ in all—$5.25 ill instructions, zy should bloom ville, Illinois , r supervision D schoel, aantion age. of Engineering aukee, Wisconsin ———el cercises ace— USCLES E CHIN Day Facial pot et. “double shit n Ave., Chicago f Nursing of rding schools tment j York City automobile parked alongside the curb. He marched me over to it. “Now, look at it hard,” he commanded. “It’s an Official automobile. I shouldn’t won- der if it was a British army automobile. And a British officer is so sure that the earth belongs to him that he wouldn’t take the trouble to lock his automobile when he pays a call. Will you believe that?” “T will.” “Then get in and trust your Jesse James,” said Waldron. The engine started running as sweetly as you could wish, and I don’t suppose the automobile was missed for hours. We were up the Champs Elysées like a streak of lightning and in the heart of the Bois de Boulogne when the air raid broke. The sky itself seemed to turn into a dragon, writhing into fire and screaming and roaring over us. We packed the automobile off the road among the trees and sat and watched it and listened to it. It was a gorgeous show. And all the time the guns were going at it like a symphony orchestra working up to the Finale. And overhead, where the search- lights were curling around to find the Hun airplane, would come the tack- tack-tack of the machine guns talking back to one another from plane to plane. We yelled and shouted as if we were crazy, and every now and then Wal- dron’s arms would tighten round me and we would kiss each other wildly. And all the time I was seeing that spin- ning airplane. Not any of those that were circling above us, but the one he would be flying over the German lines in a fortnight or so. I remember seeing it lying in a tangled heap on the ground with men running to it from all directions and a puff of dirty smoke starting among its twisted girders...I had to bury my face against his coat and beg him to kiss me, so that I should not go on seeing that. When at last it all stopped and the Huns went home, we felt disappointed. So we drove back to the Champs Ely- sées and left our borrowed car about two hundred yards from where we found it. Then we went home. You can’t say that is a normal expe- rience. Particularly when you consider that we were in our early twenties. Of course we were hysterical. And of course lots of people in our situation were carried away by the same sort of hysteria. ; I first realized how far from being alone Waldron and I were in what was happening to us when I noticed that now and again people suspected the truth about us and weren’t in the least shocked. We weren’t going to stand forth as unique rebels against society for the sake of our love. We were simply one of a number whom the tides of society had swung out of the usual course in a certain direction. Naturally, as we lived such free lives outside the hospital, it was not by any means certain who was living as Wal- dron and I were living and who was loyal to the old codes. Curiously enough, hearly all the concrete information I got on the Subject was from my pure little cousin Gracie. The girl was beside her- Self because of the brilliant marriage she was going to make. It had certainly gone to Gracie’s head. She pictured herself as head of one of those perfect American families, secure in this world and the next, that you See in advertisements, bursting with Smugness because they have taken out the right insurance or eaten the right cereal. It seemed to her nothing short of sacrnege that anything should come Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 You can’t help but notice how much softer and lighter Kotex is Travel Apparel from Jay-Thorbe Here is a sanitary pad that really fits ... really protects. And women have the added assurance of knowing that 85% of America’s leading hospitals choose this very same absorbent. Ki peaneersh with smartness a guide to every costume detail, women appre- ciate Kotex more than ever. For this sani- tary pad is designed to fit securely, de- signed to protect adequately, without being in the least bulky. And it is soft ... even after hours of wear! Used in great hospitals If you were to think of the one source of authority on sanitary protection, what would it be? The medical world, certainly. Then you'll be glad to know that 85% of the country’s leading hospitals notonly approve of, but actually use Cellucotton (not cotton) absorbent wadding today! Please remember that Cellucotton is not cotton—it is a cellulose product which, for sanitary purposes, putin the same function as the softest cotton, but with 5 times the absorbency. It replaces thousands of pounds of surgical cotton in dressings. Lastyear hos- pitals bought 2/2 million pounds, the equivalent of 80,000,000 sanitary pads! Kotex is so soft and comfortable be- cause it is made up of layer upon layer of thisunusual enden- telecon. Each SAFE, SECURE... 1 Keeps your mind at ease. | 2 Kotex is soft... Not a de- ceptive softness, that soon packs into chafing hardness. Buta delicate, lasting softness. | 3 TheKotex/fillerisfarlighter | and cooler than cotton, yet absorbs 5 times as much. 4 In hospitals .. . The Kotex absorbent is the identical ma- terial used in 85% of the country’s leading hospitals. 5 Deodorizes, safely, thorough- ly, by a special process. Regular Kotex—45c for 12 Kotex Super-Size—65c for 12 At any drug, dry goods or department store; | or singly in vending cabinets, through West | | Disinfecting Co. | layer is a quick, complete absorbent in itself. ‘And you can easily separate these layers, using only what needs demand. The way the corners are rounded and tapered makes for further comfort. It explains too, why Kotex leaves no revealing outline under the most close- fitting of frocks. Kotex deodorizes . .. gives that final measure of daintiness no smart woman dares overlook. Buy a box. Try it. After all, how else can you tell? Kotex Co., Chicago, Illinois. KO Le x The New Sanitary Pad which deodorizes

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Mothers— infected area once every hour for five hours. That’s the safe, sure treatment that millions of mothers and leading doctors and nurses recog- nize and endorse. Working like the don’t neglect your child’s COUGH or COLD OOD old Musterole now made mild- er for babies and small children. : D So pleasant to use and so reliable— menthol and other helpful ingredients apply Children’s Musterole freely to the trained hands of a masseur, this famous blend of oil of mustard, camphor, brings relief naturally. It penetrates and stimulates blood cir- culation, helps to draw out infection and pain. Keep full strength Musterole on hand for adults and Children’s Musterole for the little tots. All druggists. TEMPT THEM FOR HEALTH’S SAKE! DON’T you sometimes wish for something healthful and different for the children’s supper? Many dietitians recommend accrisp, ready- to-eat cereal as a relief from the heavy foods of winter. Get your children to drink more milk— tempt their appetites—by serving Kellogg’s Rice Krispies. Rice Krispies are so crisp they pop and snap in milk or cream. They are extra easy to digest. Serve with stewed fruit or honey. Order a red-and-green package from your grocer. Made by Kellogg in Battle Creek. Corn Flakes, Rice Krispies, ALL- BRAN, Pep Bran Flakes, Kellogg’s Shredded Whole Wheat Biscuit, Whole Wheat Krumbles, Kaffee Hag Coffee—the caffeine-free coffee. oe NO MORE DISTRESS AFTER EATING Indigestion, heartburn, sour stomach, gas pains ended by doctor’s prescription Wanr quick, sure relief from after-eating dis- tress? Follow the advice of doctors — take Pepto-Bismol and get relief within 10 minutes. Pepto-Bismol neutralizes trouble-causing ez- cess acids. Soothes irritated membranes. Pro- motes good digestion. Aromatic. Pleasant to take. Ideal for youngsters. Prescribed by phy- sicians for 25 years. Only 50c in the triangle bottle. If it fails to help you, money refunded. p Norwich) OF ynove™ Pepto - Bismol THE DOCTOR’S PRESCRIPTION Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 near her that wasn’t certified a hun. dred percent pure. So she was always coming to me “Corinne, I’ve just heard .. .” The luck that girl had in hearing things! It was phenomenal. “Corinne, do you think it’s true?” I used to wail, “Oh, go away and let our people mind their own business!” But she went on talking. It was she who told about Rosie Mitchell. Rosie was in love with an ambulance driver and they went to live in a tiny apart- ment over on the Left Bank, thi no one would know about it if they both kept their mouths shut. But they reckoned without Gracie. Her William J. Burns spirit led her right there. The consequence was that the head of the hospital, Mrs. Frazier, heard -al] about it. Of course she wasn’t going to have her hospital talked about, so when poor Rosie went on her vacation she was notified that they’d been obliged to fill her post in her absence. I felt a personal difficulty over that, I wondered if I should go to Mrs. Frazier and say I was just as bad as Rosie. But I wanted to go on working. And also I wasn’t sure that the issue was as clear-cut as all that when I saw what happened with regard to Eleanor Ray. Gracie got busy about her too, and claimed to have found out that Eleanor was every bit as bad as Rosie. But not a thing happened there, except that Mrs, Frazier seemed to be out of patience with Gracie for a day or two. I couldn't help thinking that the different treat- ment given the two cases had something to do with the fact that Rosie’s work had been only so-so, while Eleanor was a skilled X-ray operator. However, I didn’t take that as a vic- tory for what I was doing, for the forces of love and so on, because something happened just then that disgusted me. There was a girl of about twenty-eight working with us whom I had always loathed. Well, she took up with one of the patients, an ordinary poilu but not nearly so nice as most poilus, a horrid boy who had been a bartender in Nice before the war. He was invalided out of the army be- cause of his lungs, and after that he hung around her all the time till he had found out everything about her and how much money and jewelry she had and where she kept it and so on. Then one night he bound and gagged her in bed and cut off with everything she had. Of course that meant the whole story got out and though it was kept out of the papers there was a dreadful scandal. That made me feel sick. I don’t think I’ve ever been so shocked by anything in my life. I was in a terrible state of mind about it. I said to myself, “You've been kidding yourself that there isn’t such a thing as right and wrong. But there is. Here’s wrong, and a filthy, nasty thing it is. And you’ve been doing something that’s mighty like it.” The sense of guilt that all of us have regarding sex was right there like a policeman, putting its hand on my shoulder. It had a specially good chance with me just then, because I was sick- ening of—of all things in the world to catch right in the middle of a great war!—measles, and that can make you feel twice as low as a really serious illness. They took me away to an in- fectious disease hospital that wasn’t far away and put me in a private room, ani there I lay and wept for three days. I used to bury my head in the pillow and cry and vow that I was going to write Waldron and tell him that though I loved him very much I wasn’t going to live with him any more, I wanted

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1, 1930 | a hun- ; to me, _ hearing ue?” y and let iness!” , Was she ll. Rosie ce driver ‘thinking i they both 3ut they ' William here. the head heard -all going to so when ition she 1 obliged ver that. Ss. Frazier LOsie. ng. And ssue was saw what nor Ray. too, and | Eleanor But not that Mrs. patience [ couldn't nt treat- omething ie’s work anor was aS a vic- he forces omething isted me. nty-eight d always sh one of | but not a horrid r in Nice army be- that he e till he ; her and she had m. Then d her in she had. ole story ot out of | scandal. n’t think anything . state of , “You've ere isn’t mg. But a filthy, 2en doing ’ us have e like a on my yd chance was sick- world to a great nake you y serious o an in- rasn’t far oom, and days. he pillow going to it. though n’t going I wanted Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Mother and Father and Edna around me, so that I could go back and be just as I used to be. But on the fourth day I was much, much better. And it happened that the next morning I got a letter from Wal- dron, who had just heard that I was sick, and he said some sweet things about me, and what had been between us. And it happened also that when they discharged me ten days later he got his first leave, and he came to meet me. I was glad to see him, for I was weak and terribly lonesome. So it all started again. That’s how it was in those days. We swung high; we swung low. It’s a funny thing, but I believe the sinking of the Lusitania helped to make people hysterical. It worked this way. We all wanted America to come into the war on the side of the Allies. I sup- pose that was largely a matter of herd emotion. We were caught up by the war and we were worshiping it as if it were a god, and we felt that every living creature ought to worship it too. And then we had the unreasonable sentiment that was engendered by our work. We were dealing all day with maimed and disfigured, bodies, and it was the Germans who had done the maiming and the disfiguring. I despised America for not coming into the war. It came between me and my people. I felt angry with Father and Mother and Edna because they weren’t doing any- thing about it. I looked on them as pampered children sitting in their nur- sery while real life was being fought out in the streets below. There was a queer edge on my feelings because when Father wrote to me about it he used to show his anti-European bias as he had when he was opposing my engagement to Oswald Fanshawe. And I hated to think of Oswald now; it made me feel restless and remorseful and un- happy. I suppose I felt I had been dis- loyal to his memory; though of course staying faithful to his memory wouldn’t have done anybody any good. That was my personal angle on it. But almost everybody out there felt as I did on the main principle of the thing. They hungered and thirsted for America to come into the war. Then came the sinking of the Lusi- tania I didn’t get the news from the papers. I had gone to bed early and had had a bad night with dreams of Waldron, who was soon to go to the front, and had got up early with a splitting headache and gone for a walk before going on duty. Then when I went to the hospital I found the place alive with it. It was a staggering thing. It was a filthy murdering business. And we were all glad that it had hap- pened. Certainly we were glad. We were horror-stricken, but we rejoiced. Wasn’t it certain to bring America into the war? When people are in such a situation that they can console themselves for the foul murder of their own folks because it might lead to more murders on the other side, they are having to live against nature. They crumple up; they go wild. And it is to that, it seems to me, we owe the tide of hysteria that mounted from then on to the end of the war— and swept me along with it... Will Corinne Andrews’ war-time romance with Waldron Hilder t longer than the war itself? Rebecca West’s April Installment of er story brings you to the world’s tladdest day—Armistice Day, 1918 ill you to guide O “AFTER helping literally millions of women the world over, | have created the simplest of thirty day beauty treatments . . . wonderfully beneficial not only for a selected few but for EVERY WOMAN who will conscientiously adhere to it! Take this scientific care of yourself for just one month. You will be truly aston- ished at the results! For every daywill show its own marked improvement ... every treatment will make your skin smoother, younger, definitely finer in texture.’ A NEW CREAM FOR NEW BEAUTY Helena Rubinstein’s new Pasteurized Face Cream Special, created in re- sponse to thousands of requests, is especially suited to the dry skin. Use it freely for the face and neck, arms, elbows and hands. It revitalizes the tissues and wakens the skin to new beauty. For parched chapped skin, for cracked lips—there is not another cream like it! Truly, a miniature beauty treatment in itself—and a value seldom equalled! (1.00). Of course, Helena Rubinstein’s Pasteur- ized Cream for the normal or oily skin needs no introduction. (1.00). Below—Helena Rubinstein’s 30 day guidance which will open up new worlds of loveliness for you! FOR THE NORMAL SKIN 1. Cleanse and replenish with Valaze Pasteurized Cream (1.00). 2 Clear and animate with Valaze Beautifying Skinfood. Gives your skin a soft, trans- lucent glow (1.00). 3. Toneand brace Rubiniltin 8 EAST 57th STREET, NEW YORK 201 permit me you for days? i» MADAME HELENA RUBINSTEIN with Valaze Skin Toning Lotion. Mod- erates fine lines, closes pores (1.25). FOR THE DRY SKIN 1. Cleanse deeply with Valaze Pas- teurized Cream SPECIAL (1.00). 2. Film the face with Valaze Beautifying Skinfood — the skin-clearing cream no woman can afford to be without. (1.00.) 3. Tone and brace with Valaze Skin Toning Lotion Special (1.25). FOR THE OILY SKIN 1. In the morning, wash with Beauty Grains to banish oiliness and re- move impurities (1.00). 2. Follow with Valaze Pasteurized Cream before going out (1.00). 3. Make your skin radiantly clear with Valaze Beauti- fying Skinfood (1.00). 4. Tone and brace with Skin Toning Lotion (1.25). ACCENT YOUR BEAUTY ... with her smart powders and rouges; her indelible Cubist lipsticks at 1.00...and Valaze Eyelash Grower and Darkener as well as Persian Eyeblack (the Mascara which stays on as long as you want it to... 1.00). 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At All Drug Stores: 10c or 60c sizes CALCIUM WAFERS hl Subscribe to Cosmopolitan by the safe and convenient Two-payment Method of the International Sales Co., 185 No. Wabash Ave., Chicago, Ill. After you have made part payment to their bonded representative and mailed the balance to this responsible agency, you may be sure of prompt, accurate service on your subscription. Cosmopolitan New York THOUSANDS of ambitious men Howto are earning more money today learn because they know Accounting. Accounting Send for our 80-page book, “How v to Learn Accounting,” and the first lesson. Both will be sent free. International Accountants Society, Inc. A Division of the XANDER Hamitton INstTiTUTE Dept. 1i7, "all So. Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill New Views of the Specialist (Continued from page 25) if she gits tired listenin’ on it she can always do a little broadcastin’ herself without stoppin’ t’ tell her listeners t’ be sure an’ ask fer eggs laid by her con- tented hens. They’s one thing about th’ radio—she don’t have t’ hold th’ receiver till her arm gits tired. On th’ other hand, nine times out o’ ten she’s so blamed busy bakin’ a batch o’ sour-milk biscuits an’ fryin’ chicken fer th’ hired men that she don’t git a chance t’ listen t’ th’ house- hold-hour lady tell how t’ serve eight people with one can o’ sardines. An’ jest when that there luncheon- hour music is comin’ in, why, danged if th’ men-folks ain’t so dad-burned busy eatin’ th’ chicken an’ soppin’ up th’ gravy with them sour-milk biscuits that they never think o’ askin’ her t’ dance. Now you take th’ advertisin’. Maybe they’s some folks that gits some good out o’ it but you take th’ folks on a farm, why, they ain’t once in a life- time that they’s any candy or cigarets fer them t’ reach fer. An’ th’ chawin’- tobaccer folks don’t have no hour. Well, sir, that’s th’ way she goes. By th’ time they’ve fed th’ horses, milked th’ cows, slopped th’ hogs, gathered th’ eggs, carried in th’ wood an’ et their supper, they don’t git a chance t’ hear more’n four or five o’ them Vo-de-do-do —hay! hay! songs before it’s time t’ go t’ bed. They’s jest one thing that comes in on | th’ radio at th’ right time fer th’ farmer an’ that’s th’ bedtime story. It’s th’ one thing he ought t’ be able t’ git a lot o’ good out o’, only th’ lady that tells it talks about Uncle Rabbit an’ Peter Mouse an’ th’ farmer can’t git t’ sleep fer wonderin’ if he set them traps down in th’ cabbage patch an’ th’ smokehouse. They don’t seem t’ be nothin’ th’ farmer can do about it neither. Course he could take it up with th’ gover’- ment, but th’ chances are Congress would jest talk about it for th’ next three or four years like they did with this other relief th’ farmers wuz askin’ fer. Th’ radio would be all cluttered up with speeches about farm relief ag’in—an’ th’ farmer won’t have no time t’ listen t’ ’em. On th’ other hand, th’ farmer gits some good out o’ th’ radio. You take weather fer instance. They ain’t nothin’ more important t’ a farm than weather. When a farmer’s corn is burnin’ up it’s a great relief t’ be able t’ have th’ gover’- ment tell him that it ain’t goin’ t’ rain fer another week or two. He knows th’ gover’ment is always right an’ th’ chances are if he had t’ depend on Uncle Zeke, th’ local weather prophet—why, he’d say th’ same thing an’ like as not it’d rain before night. Well, sir, folks, they ain’t no use talkin’—th’ machine age is here; but sometimes when I’m settin’ lookin’ at all them newfangled machines in th’ mail-order catalogue, I jest can’t help admittin’ they’re doin’ a lot 0’ good an’ some o’ it they git no credit fer. You take th’ one item—mail-order catalogues. Course they’re runnin’ a lot more t’ them colored pictures on th’ stiff pages but danged if all th’ catalogues ain’t twice as big as they used t’ be. An’ th’ farmer is th’ feller that gits th’ most use out o’ ’em. But you take them radio machines, they’re m-i-g-h-t-y, m-i-g-h-t-y handy things t’ have around an’ they ought t’ be one in every home, but th’ way I got her figgered out—it’s th’ city fellers that do all th’ talkin’ on ‘em an’ danged near all th’ listenin’. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 He Mailed a Coupon —— Lik 1129 Cool Shaves from One Single Blade! Another Triumph For KRISS KROSS. The Most mgr Liddle, of I}inoi: Been Using ne Shaving Invention Ever Patented! Mr, Wrote Recently, “‘I ve our jeg ae —— May, I Shave Every Morning And I Am STILL ON MY FIRST BLADE!” Read p ARS Kos De- tails, Then Act At Once For Real Shaving Joy. N° wonder KRISS KROSS marks such a radical ad- vance in pur cae S comfort and economy! For now at secret that has baffled scientists for years! diagonal tt master-barber’s stroke that gives razor blades the keenest cutting edge that steel can take. Pressure decreases automatically. And in just 11 sec- onds you are ready for the coolest, slickest shave you ever had! GET FREE OFFER And now—to introduce this sensational device that makes old blades keener than new—we are giving free an amazing new kind of razor. Instantly edjunte le to any angle. Comes with 5 new-process blades. Find out all about this astonishing offer. No obligation. Just fill out and mail the coupon today. Kriss Kross Corp. 1418 Pendleton Ave. Dept. C-934, St. Louis, Mo. KRISS KROSS repre- sentatives make $75— tom line of coupon and get full details. Keeps daughter’ “ hair golden .. with shampoo for blondes only! Tt HAVE been using Blondex for years,” writes Mrs. J. Gregar, Jamaica, N. Y., “both on my own hair, and my little daughter’s. It certainly is a wonderful shampoo, Why, my little girl’s hair sparkles with gold—and it’s so curly! As for my hair, ever since I first started using Blondex it has not darkened or faded a bit. Blondex is the best ever!” This experience is typical. Millions of blondes have discovered that shampooing with Blon- dex quickly brings back the original color and golden sheen to drab, discolored blonde hair. Prevents darkening. And it’s safe. Contains no harmful chemicals or dyes of any kind. Try it! On sale at all good drug and department stores,

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jince May, Am STILL ishing De- aving Joy. a radical ad- ! For now at ~ scientists | just 11 see- coupon and letails. »s only! 3,” writes th on my certainly ttle girl’s urly! As ed using ed a bit. f blondes ith Blon- color and nde hair. ntains no 1. Try it! it stores, Party Dress (Continued from page 59) proceeding with social and economic re- sponsibilities. This isn’t the time or place for passion.” “It’s always time for a kiss,” she in- sisted; “I hope you are not going to mind cows and farmers a mile off at least. If you are, I warn you I'll begin to be forward. I feel forward. Chalke, you can’t guess how forward I feel this minute. A man is always a great deal more proper than a woman,” she con- tinued. “It’s men who are conventional. They are afraid of appearances. That’s funny because if anything goes wrong they are not the ones who suffer. Kiss me, Chalke; I am willing to risk it.” He continued to smoke _ serenely. “Look here,” he said, after a little; “about New York. I will want te tele- phone you and hear your voice and know how you are. I'll want to know what you are doing. I’m not going to, Nina; I can’t. It might be uncom- fortable for you.” That, she assured him, could not possibly be true. “It would be as uncomfortable as the devil for me,” he replied; “you know what I think of our situation.” When Chalke Ewing had gone Nina was almost conscious of a sense of re- lief—it had put off for another day or two the most painful necessity of her life. When he came back he would, at once, insist on speaking to Wilson Henry. Chalke was both tender with her and bitterly determined. She liked that, Nina reminded herself; the exacting and inflexible quality of his mind was one of the things that made her certain of him; willing to put herself wholly in his hands. But, as she had tried to explain to Chalke, she must first know the imme- diate details of their plan. Her mind must be firm and composed and secure. As Nina thought about the actuality of explanation before her, it grew, not easier, but infinitely more difficult. It was easy for Chalke to say that Wilson could do nothing—where she was con- cerned he would be simply impossible. She couldn’t imagine what words Wilson would find to express even a small part of his hatred for what she had become. Nina-was seated on her porch; it was again late afternoon, and the day was waning in a dense haze like steam that obscured space. The humidity, she real- ized, was terrific. A heavy exhausted silence enveloped Eastlake. Until lately Nina had known Eastlake with a completeness that included most of the streets and practically all the people. She had been born there; her family moved away when she was twelve, but she had come back to be engaged and married. It had, however, suddenly changed. It seemed to Nina that the circle of her familiar knowledge, of both people and things, steadily diminished. Her mind evaded the seriousness of her thought and concerned itself with smaller facts. Everything cost so much More than it had when she was first married, only a little over twenty years ago; it cost twice as much and twice that and Wilson insisted’ that things weren’t as good now as they used to be; but Nina did not agree with that. The truth was that almost always they were better. Where they used to have green vege- tables only through short summer sea- Sons, Mr. Blades now sold them through- out the winter. He had artichokes and broccoli and alligator pears and fresh thubarb and strawberries, in February. He had Belgian grapes. Mr. Clough’s pain. easily be checked; to neuritis, neuralgia; to the pains peculiar to women; or any suffering for which Bayer Aspirin is such an effective antidote. the genuine. always the same. Never depresses the heart, so use it as often as needed; but the cause of any pain can be treated only by a doctor. Hearst’s Internatienal—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 203 Needless Suffering ia’ BayerTablels Aspirin [a next time a headache makes you stay at home— Or some other ache or pain pre- vents keeping an engagement— Remember Bayer Aspirin! For there is scarcely a pain it cannot relieve, and relieve promptly. These tablets give real relief, or millions would not continue to take them. They are quite harm- less, or the medical profession would not constantly prescribe them. Don’t be a martyr to unnecessary To colds that might so For your own protection, buy Bayer is safe. It is Bayer Aspirin is obtainable at all druggists. Proven directions are enclosed in every package. The name Bayer willidentify the genuine. Aspirin is the trade mark of Bayer manufacture of Monoaceticacidester of Salicylicacid. BAYER ASPIRIN

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Health-O-Meter Corporation, Chicago f Its one-piece shell, free Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 The New De luxe Health-o-Meter § Brcnariag i pleasant spare-time work, chatting with friends over the telephone, or paying friendly visits to the families of your neigh- borhood, you can put aside for your- self a splendid monthly fund to su plement your own or the family income. Make Your Dreams Come True! Upon request we will send you full details of the remarkable nk pa to capitalize leisure moments whic we are offering to men and women of all ages and in all parts of the What an Easy Way to Earn AN EXTRA INCOME! country, showing you how thousands have succeeded, and how you too may earn liberal commissions and bonus checks by becoming our local spare-time representative. No ex- perience or expense necessary. Simply mail the coupon NOW! a a iach a a i i re Dept. A-330 Cosmopo.iTan, 57th St. at 8th Ave., New York, N. Y. I want to know how I can earn money under your Plan. Please send me, FREE, full DED Sinise Sp co oe SE SEE CRS 1 i I 1 ' details, and supplies. I I I i] : I t counters were piled with luxuries of food that once had been confined to large cities. Mr. Scannel, the fish man, solq lobsters, very much. alive, soft-shelled crabs and shrimps. Eastlake had, naturally, lost a great deal of its simplicity; nobody really seemed to realize that, but it was true. It not only, now, had luxurious food; luxuries of living had become necessities, There was a great deal more pleasure than formerly—Wilson and she had at least four or five invitations every week. Eastlake had changed, and yet she found that her attachment to it was untouched. It was her proper place; the countryside around it closed her spirit within a tranquil and safe famil- iarity. : Now, when she was about to leave Eastlake forever, Nina discovered the power of its influence, its hold, on her. It was a county seat, the center of its particular green world, and it had a large opinion of its importance; it was rigid about the authority and correctness of its views. While it had changed enormously, Nina recognized, it had not lost that conception of itself. The diiference, she told herself, was almost entirely on the surface—li was different in Eastlake, but thinking had scarcely been touched. For ex- ample, when she left Wilson Henry and went away with Chalke, there would be an overwhelming volume of the most old- fashioned talk. Everyone, of course, would support Wilson and utterly condemn her. Mary Gow would be the first to go to him with her sympathy. Mary, it was prob- able, would never forgive her, because not only had Nina run away from all responsibility to her family; she had gone with Mary’s brother. Not one of all her friends would under- stand the necessity for her course. Di- vorce, the divorce she must secure, would seem to them no better than adultery. It was really, where they were con- cerned, worse than adultery since it publicly set at nothing the virtue their whole existence was founded on. A cloud of melancholy settled upon Nina. All she had been thinking about was so horribly final. She had the un- comfortable sensation that always ac- companied her at funerals. She was, then, relieved to see Cordelia come up over the lawn. Her daughter was hot and flushed, and sat temporarily on the edge of a chair. “We went to the quarry,” she an- nounced; “it did me no good, as you can see. I came back with Anna Louise, and a Lisher cousin staying there while her mother’s away, and their elderly car died a long way from home. It honestly did serve me right—I lnow every pain in its suffering joints—but I didn’t want to drive with James Angell.” Nina said: “I thought you liked James Angell.” She did, Cordelia replied. “I like him very much, but I’m not certain I want to admit that I know he likes me. It is awfully different. But probably you wouldn’t understand about that.” Nina Henry laughed. “You do make me tired, Cordelia,” she told her. “You seem to think I never had a beau, €x- cept your father, and that I know noth- ing about them. I understand perfectly what you meant, and I think it’s very bright of you to find out so much s0 soon.” Cordelia sweetly ignored all that. “You see,” she explained, “it is right for James to like me; it is splendid for him to say so; but if I let him see I believe it— without a word about myself—the next

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1, 1930 2S Of food to large man, sold ft-shelled , & great ly really was true. us food; ecessities, pleasure she had ms every yet she o it was er place; osed her fe famil- to leave ered the , On her. er of its t had a 2; it was rrectness changed had not self, was -e—living thinking For ex- enry and would be most old- support rT. Mary » to him 7aS prob- because from all had gone id under- rse. Di- re, would adultery. ere con- since it tue their ! ed upon ng about the un- vays ac- She was, come up was hot y on the she an- you can uise, and at. “You yr James m to say ieve it— the next Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 thing you know, Cupid will be playing the devil with the Henry household. We don’t want that, do we? Not at my age. Or does the thought of a child bride catch your fancy? Would you like to sacrifice me, in a mist of tears and wax orange blossoms, to the unbridled lust of James Angell?” Nina was genuinely shocked. “Cor- delia,” she exlaimed, “that is a dreadful word! I never want to hear you say it again. You must learn the difference between a right kind of freedom and coarseness.” She was, at the same time, privately engaged by the association of lust and James Angell, a scrupulously correct young man with carefully brushed hair the color of pale tea. “There is no doubt about it,” Cordelia announced, “I am the coarse variety. Anyhow, I didn’t want to come home with him and it ruined me. Anna Louise walked for miles through the dust and she was just as fresh at the end as be- fore she took a step. Dust will not stick to her. She is a praiseworthy girl. I have a cartload of everything down my back. Matrimony might have been bet- ter. Precocious, my darling mother, as it would appear.” “I don’t know when you are serious,” Nina complained. “I don’t know any- thing about any of you now.” Cordelia rose and patted her shoulder. “T keep it from you on purpose,” she said; “if you found out the truth, your mind would be unhinged. Well, I am undoubtedly fascinating, but dirty. But if you will wait you'll see that I can be white as a good commercial article of snow.” When she had gone Nina realized that, in the light and evasive manner peculiar to her own generation, Cordelia had made her a confidence. She had spoken of marriage and James Angell. Cordelia would not, Nina was certain, marry him; she was not yet ready for the actuality of that choice; but she had been stirred and admitted it. A sudden new light of comprehension illuminated Cordelia for her. Nina was amazed at her persistent stupidity— Cordelia was as clear as day. The prin- cipal quality of her mind, of all minds like Cordelia’s at her age, was doubt. Cordelia was born to a doubt of nearly everything that had supported and re- warded and threatened the generations that had gone before. She was skeptical of her parents, of love and of religion. She had no inclination and, it seemed, little need to accept them in the man- ner of the past—automatically and with- out question. Cordelia reflected the doubts and ques- tions of a doubtful time. Almost no one, now, believed in much, Nina told herself; but in most cases, with people older than Cordelia, there was a bitter rebellion against what could not be changed or helped. Roderick Wade was a perfect example of that. No such struggle, however, took Place in Cordelia. She began by expect- ing nothing, and that moderation of hope Saved her from a great deal of disap- pointment and trouble. At the same time, Nina Henry re- minded herself, the old incurable neces- Sities of emotion would continue in Cor- delia; in the end they would, they must, betray her superior intelligence. A sharp pity for all that her daughter must Suffer. took possession of her. How quickly Cordelia had been swept into Maturity ! Nina thought of her as still a child, but that was absolutely incorrect; Cor- delia was actually a woman. She had N a positive and amusing baby; Acton had always been serious, but Cordelia iminutes ago this floor was dull and worn She didn’t think Waxed HE thought her floors weren’t good enough to wax — that it would mean lots of work — and would cost too much. Then a friend told her about famous Old English Wax. (That was yesterday.) To- day she has the most lovely floors in her neighborhood—-with just one polishing too. It is no work at all Any housewife can have beautiful floors — as lustrous as those in famous English castles. It is no work at all — just put a little Old English Wax on a soft cloth and apply to any kind of floor — hardwood, softwood, varnished, shellaced, or painted floors. In a few minutes it will dry. 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206 at the very beginning was humorous. She had been, at first, quite ugly, broad, vividly red, explosive in temper, but all that had changed. Cordelia today was very good-looking. She was still, perhaps, a little too positive to be absolutely charming, but, then, her humor had, if anything, increased. Cor- delia, the truth was, hid behind it; her humor took the place of the older de- pendence on heaven. At twelve Cordelia had been violently maternal—a row of dolls was dealt with severely; she habitually took some to bed; she addressed long periods of advice and physical correction to them all. That was soon over; the dolls were put away, forgotten by Cordelia, and her character, her particular qualities, grew definite. Then, Nina recognized, a certain sep- aration had occurred between her daugh- ter and herself; her relationship with Cordelia lost a trace of its informality and intimacy; a faint coldness of reserve enveloped both of them. Not only Cor- delia but, at times, Nina was on the defensive. When this happened she covered it, contradicted it, with an extra and often arbitrary show of authority; she was, in other words, inexcusably cross at Cordelia; but that was powerless to hide the fact from Nina that sometimes her daughter found her slightly absurd. Ga was no resent- ment in her now; rather she was sorry for the loss of every opportunity she had had to be closer to Cordelia; her love for Cordelia was greatly increased with her increased understanding. It began to disturb Nina to realize that, when the ultimate James Angell did make his ap- pearance, she would have no part in Cor- delia’s preparation for the accomplish- ment of life; she would be only a spec- tator at her wedding. There was an instantaneous painful contraction in her heart at the mere thought of Cordelia’s marriage. That occurred, really, in a lesser degree, when she thought of any marriage. A wedding always mysteriously stirred her—it was both so sad and so gay, she was at once so engaged by the clothes and flowers, so satisfied by the whole worldly exhibi- tion, and filled with a sense of futility and vague sorrow. A gayety with tears. Nina, in imagination, saw Cordelia in white satin and lace, yards and yards of satin and priceless lace, with a bridal veil over her face; then she saw the veil drawn back, floating away from Cor- delia’s rapt look of radiant purity. She heard the distant golden thunder of a wedding march. The melancholy that was settling over her was interrupted by the arrival of Wilson Henry’s car from the station. He got out slowly and came up to her with an exhausted step. It was, he said, one of the worst days in town he could re- member. “This is pretty good,” he said, stop- ping in the entrance to the hall and gazing out at the pleasantly furnished porch, the summer foliage and lawns beyond. “I tell you we’re lucky. You don’t realize that, Nina. Life is a good deal harder, and more uncertain, than you have any idea of. Probably you think it is nothing to have a big house and flowers and automobiles. You think it just happens; women do; but it isn’t guaranteed. By heaven, no!” “I do realize all that, Wilson,” Nina replied. “Only I wonder if it’s as impor- tant as you seem to think. It’s not everything. I wouldn’t talk now if I were you; you’re simply slain with the heat; I’d go up and change.” Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 He stayed in the doorway. “Some- thing happened you might like to hear about,” he went on; “I have been made president of the Eastern White Pine As- sociation.” Nina said: splendid.” He thought it was. “White pine,” he explained, “is the most aristocratic wood there is. I don’t want to hear about hard woods. Don’t talk to me about walnut and oak. White pine is as soft as butter and more lasting than iron. You can do anything with it. Anything in the world. It’s getting scarce, too, and that makes it more aristocratic. Going up like the devil. You’ve got to have it for fine work. A good piece of white pine, Nina, is prettier than any statue or painting that was ever made. There is more to it, if you know how to find it, than in any book.” Wilson’s enthusiasm for white pine, she saw, had overcome and illuminated his profound weariness. “It is a picture in itself,” he declared with an increasing enthusiasm. “You can see the forest where it grew and the earlier days with bears and deer and Indians passing by. Then the land gets pretty well cleared up; railroads go into the country, and the bears and Indians go out. That is progress. It’s America. The lumbering operations begin and you can hear the axes and the trees felled. You can hear the ripsaws and the donkey engines. No book could tell you that half as good.” Acton had come up on the porch, and Cordelia appeared, cool and airy in pale lavender. “What can Father be saying?” she demanded. “It sounds like a hymn.” Wilson went into the house. “I think your father is very patient with you,” Nina observed. “He loves us,” Cordelia explained; “and love comprehends all. Doesn’t it, Ac- ton?” Acton, with a marked descent from his usual urbanity, invited her to mind her own business. Nina, dressing, was bothered by the memory of Wilson explaining about white pine to her. First she was made wretched by thinking about Cordelia’s wedding, and then a speech of Wilson’s, a sudden quality in his voice and mind, troubled her. At times Cordelia’s humor, her hardness, were disagreeable. Wilson, in his curiously constrained way, had been really romantic. There had been things in him, too, that she had neither properly recognized nor encouraged. His life and affairs had hidden and killed what poetic feeling he’d had. That was a new and disturbing atti- tude toward Wilson Henry. It had, in place of love, a brightness of pity. These recognitions, however, had come to her too late. Now she couldn’t even afford to encourage her realization of them. This, naturally, was a loss, but her gain in Chalke enormously repaid her. She could not be sentimental for a minute. After all, she was not so im- portant to Wilson as the White Pine Association and Cora Lisher. It was Cora’s place to encourage romance in him. Neither, Nina told herself, could she help Cordelia in the face of the pas- sionate and cruel reality of love. “Why, Wilson, that is Francis Ambler appeared before din- ner was over; he brought a chair up to th? table, and Harriet got him a large cup of coffee. Harriet and Rhoda, Fran- cis asserted, were among his best friends. They never neglected him or forgot his tastes. He looked rich, Nina observed. Whenever Francis was annoyed he con- trived to look rich. He was formally dressed for evening, too, with a pearl stud; and when, without reason, Francis wore dinner clothes in Eastlake, that, as well, was an expression of critical superj- ority. He was, of course, cross because had ignored him. She had left him with. out a word at the country club and made no effort to speak to him since. Strangely enough, when Francis, at least in man- ner, drew away from her, he seemed to her to be much more desirable than com. mon. Indifference increased his attrac. — and sharpened her interest in m. “You can’t help noticing the young generation coming along now,” he ob- served. “Either they are the best so far or I have reached the age when I like them young. I went to a dinner at the club with them last night. I thought it would be bad—it wasn’t! It was good, They all dance marvelously. No one better than Cordelia, but I must say Acton looked a shade bored.” He was, Cordelia replied. Acton Henry directed a long, slow stare at his sister, It was, Nina saw, effective. Nothing was said about Miss Pryne. “I had just come to the same con- clusion, Francis,” she told him. “I was thinking about them this afternoon, They are splendid, it seems to me, not because they are young, but because they’re not.” Francis liked the simplicity of their views and the candor of their acts, “They are like fresh sticks of peppermint candy,” he explained. He was, Nina recognized, being point- edly nasty. That annoyed her. Francis had a number of feminine qualities; an indirect verbal disagreeableness was one of them; and meeting him, as it were, on her own ground, she had always found pleasure in defeating his inten- tion of unpleasantness. “That was a very nice comparison, Francis,” she told him. “About the pep- permint candy.” Followed by Acton, Cordelia asked to be excused. “The conversation here never seems to be quite up to their standard,” Wilson asserted when they had gone. Nina continued to Francis Ambler: “Generally you are right. I think the girls are a little more interesting than the boys. Girls do seem to get old younger, but then boys stay young older. That is what I like. I adore gray hair in a man. Girls, Francis, are born with experience; boys are not. They have to find everything out, and usually it takes them forty years, or even more, to do it.” Francis Ambler gave her a swift pro- testing look when Wilson was engaged with his cigaret lighter. A pleasant sense of power filled Nina. Francis had stopped looking rich. Her feeling that he was invaluable to her returned. Francis, at last, had an opportunity to speak to her alone in the long, informal Henry drawing-room. “You are simply dreadful to me,” he said. “I can’t think why. Nina, what has happened to you? You are not yourself. Not the Nina I know. The Nina I love.” Sx wasn’t, she insisted, dreadful to him at all. “You were dread- ful talking about those young pepper- mint sticks. Did you want to make me feel a million?” He had to talk to someone, Francis replied, since he could neither see nor talk to her. “Nina, darling, darling Nina, I can’t get along without you. I dont have to try to, do I? Tell me I don't. Tell me I am necessary to you and 4 part of your life. You are all mine.” Nina was in a chair; Francis Ambler was standing above her, and he d her up into his arms. He kissed her. Jt

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rch, 1930 tical superi- because ft him we ib and made e. Strangely ast in man- € seemed to le than com- | his attrac. interest in the young yw,” he ob- > best so far when I like inner at the I thought It was good. y. No one Pg. Say Acton Henry this sister. e. Nothing same con- im. “I was afternoon, to me, not jut because ity of their their acts, peppermint veing point- er. Francis jualities; an esS was one as it were, had always his inten- comparison, ut the pep- ia asked to fer seems to rd,” Wilson e is Ambler: [ think the esting than to get old young older. e gray hair e born with ney have to ully it takes ‘e, to do it.” , swift pro- as engaged asant sense rancis had eeling that urned. ortunity to ig, informal are simply can’t think 1ed to you? the Nina I she insisted, were dread- ng pepper- o make me ne, Francis er see nor urling Nina, u. I dont me I don't. you and 4 1 mine.” cis Ambler he di sed her. It Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 did not stir the faintest emotion in Nina. ghe kissed Francis, but she knew her lips were cold. s : She sank back again in her chair. Nina was very tired. She wondered when she'd be with Chalke again. Tomorrow evening or the day after at worst. She wanted him, she needed him, terribly. Nina lost every thought but the desire to be close to him. The rest was un- important. Nothing else mattered. There was a stir at her side. Nina had forgot- ten Francis was in the room. “Tm going home,” he said, “I can see you aren’t right. Nina, Tll telephone you in the morning. Tomorrow’s Tues- day, isn’t it? Well—can I come to din- ner Thursday?” Nina nodded. When he had gone a feeling of disquiet weighed upon Nina. The air, she thought, was heavy with disaster. She must pull herself up and be ready for Chalke Ewing. That, for the moment, meant leaving her heart for her head. She wasn’t capable of it. Not tonight. To- morrow she would face reality. All she had been thinking about raced around at a dizzy and confusing speed in her mind—Cordelia tangled in a wed- ding veil, Acton imploring Catherine Pryne to fly with him to Paris, Wilson crying out that she had disgraced him with the Eastern White Pine Association. She saw Mr. Scannel in a storm of live lobsters; the air was full of expensive English biscuits from Mr. Clough’s coun- ters; Mr. Blades danced wildly with stalks of rhubarb and asparagus. All the people of Eastlake crowded about her saying that her love for Chalke was immoral. Wilson Henry, who had been writing in the little room across the hall, re- turned. Nina was glad to see him. Wil- son sat down, facing her, -and it was clear that he had come to a sudden decision. “Nina,” he said, in his voice of serious affairs, “I will have to go South to- morrow night. I’ll be back on Saturday at dinner. I’ve known this for a month, but put it off, and now it has to be met. This new business of the White Pine Association was the last straw. Or rather the last board.” “Where will you be, Wilson?” she asked. “In the Carolinas,” he answered gen- erally. Wilson was a shade too offhand. “It’s a nuisance because it is hotter than Hades there.” Nina said: “Wilson, if you are as far down as South Carolina wouldn’t it be nice for you to go just a little farther and see Cora? I’d love that if I were Cora. Someone from here. She is in Georgia; you can easily find out where.” W isox gazed at her with an air of speculation nicely mixed with surprise. “That might be possible,” he admitted; “but I am not sure it can be arranged. But if I have to go to Georgia I'll be in Bartow County, and that’s not far from Cedartown. If it’s Cedartown where Cora lived. As you Say, I could find out. Well, anyhow, I have to go.” He dismissed the question of seeing Cora from their consideration. At the same time his spirits rose sharply. “We're getting along now pretty well, Nina,” he proceeded. “I think you will agree I’m better than I was. I mean more reasonable. I guess everyone who gets married has a bad run of months. even years. Like the knotty part of a plank. We ought to be nearly through ours. We ought to understand each other how. It isn’t quite what it used to be, Nina, but this has its advantages. n’t want you ever to forget what I of you. No one will ever take the place you have with me, Nina. You're wonderful; you understand so much.” In other words, Nina told herself, she had made it possible for Wilson to see Cora Lisher in Georgia with a quiet mind. His childlike conscience had been preserved. The ringing of the telephone bell that preceded Chalke Ewing’s voice was so sharp, so unexpected in spite of the fact that she had been waiting for it for hours, that Nina was momentarily con- fused. Yes, she said, she was well. She was glad that he had returned. More than glad. His tone, at this admission, became guarded, and she hastened to tell him that Wilson was away. Wilson, she explained, had gone to Georgia to see someone. A woman. “It would be very nice if you could come to dinner tonight,” she went on. “Har- riet is out and I can’t have everyone. Mary would understand that. I want to hear everything you did in New York.” He could do that, Ewing told her. When? “Seven o’clock,” Nina replied. “Are you happy to have returned?” Chalke said: “Thank you, very.” That was all. It was not until she had left the tele- phone that Nina realized- she had agreea to something for this, Thursday, night. Of course, what a fool she was! Francis Ambler was coming to dinner too. At the prospect of being with Chalke again, her coldness where everyone else was concerned came back—she would get rid of Francis as early as possible. She’d explain to Chalke. Chalke Ewing, it turned out, arrived before Francis. Nina was in the draw- ing-room when he came. He was again all in white linen, with a black tie and the soft black band of silk at his waist. Chalke came quickly forward, he took her hands, she leaned impulsively toward him, and he kissed her. She kissed him with a sudden intensity. Nina felt sure that she couldn’t contain her happiness. There was a passage over the porch, and Francis came informally in. “Hello, Nina,” he said cheerfully; “you are unexpected—I ask myself to dinner with your family and Mr. Ewing turns up instead.” Nina spoke pleasantly: “Isn’t that nice? Wilson had to go South, where the white pine grows, and I let the chil- dren drive to Cape May. Francis, you always make the cocktails when Wilson is away. Will you go out to the pantry and see if everything you need is there?” When he had gone Nina turned swiftly to Chalke Ewing. “I forgot all about him. I'll have a headache before it gets late and send you both away. You will come back, Chalke?” He looked at her steadily and gravely. At first Nina expected him to say again how much he disliked their present sus- pense; however, he was silent; and the conviction seized Nina that he would not speak to her again about his immediate wishes. Chalke had made his feeling clear to her, and now he’d wait, secure in his dignity, for her agreement. Selfishly Nina welcomed that—it would give her a few more days of simple hap- piness. She needed them, for she was no better prepared to face her old world, to leave it, than before Chalke had gone to New York. She wasn’t less confident of her willingness to do that, but, as she drew nearer to the actuality of breaking away from all the past, the difficulties seemed to: grow insurmountable. Francis returned with a shaker full of cocktails, followed by Rhoda, who had a tray of appetizers, broiled olives rolled in bacon, and glasses. Nina could see that Francis was increasingly annoyed. 209 Chalke Ewing did nothing to make her position easier. He sipped at his cocktail and then regarded it doubtfully. Francis Ambler drank quickly. He as- sumed what, different from his rich air, Nina called his European manner. “The tropics,” he said, after his third cocktail, “have no art.” That was true, Ewing agreed. “It is one of the reasons I live in Cuba. No mature individual is interested in art. Thank you, no more,” he said to Nina with the cocktail-shaker. Francis scowled. “If you don’t mind my contradicting you,” he replied; “a great many mature people are interested in art. The finest minds alive practicaliy care for nothing else.” Nina realized that Chalke’s mouth bore its most mad- dening expression. “I don’t mind your contradicting me. Why should I?” he asked. “Women and picture dealers talk about art, but one is not mature and the other is dishonest.” “Tl put it like this,” Francis declared; “T talk a lot about art, I am intensely interested in it; now—which am I, a woman or a picture dealer?” Pitiiions you are neither,” Chalke replied calmly. “You are simply misinformed.” He returned to Nina. “You can’t imagine what non- sense this art is,” he proceeded. “Greek art, for example. It came, of course, at the end of Greece. I mean what they recognized as art happened when Greece was finished. In other words the heroic age, the important age, was ended, and a talent for making a record of heroes and legends was developed. “The point, my dear Nina, is that the talent was nothing in itself. No more than a memorandum, a voice in marble or in a brush, if that is possible. This has always been true—history and men reach elevations of beauty and sacrifice; smaller times follow, and the monks and artists and such hollow fellows tell. the stories of old better things to the hope- less mob.” “Do you mean,” Francis Ambler de- manded hotly, “that Andrea del Sarto was a hollow man?” “I hear rather better of him,” Ewing admitted. “He was supposed to be a mathematician. What has happened is simple,” he continued, facing Nina, ab- solutely ignoring Francis Ambler; “the artists put themselves forward in place of the men and things they were re- cording, they confused the public mind, and the public—always wrong, remem- ber—agreed the artists were the heroes. The statues of Hercules, and not Her- cules, became virtuous with power. The statues of Venus, and not a human de- sire for perfect beauty, became potent.” Nina said sharply: “Francis, you sim- ply must not drink any more.” “T have to,” Francis informed her; “if I am to listen to this all evening Ill need support. Did you ever hear any- thing like it? Did you? All the treasures of the civilized world in the junk heap together. The Louvre and San Lorenzo and the Alhambra. We’ve lost them, Nina, think of that. Think of it!” She didn’t, Nina answered shortly, want to think of it. Chalke Ewing hadn’t said anything like that. “I must say I don’t care much about galleries of old oil paintings and I think statues are frightful.” z Francis dramatized his surprise at this. The truth was, he overacted it. “Old oil paintings,” he repeated after her. sy | take it you mean hand-painted oil paint- ings. And statues are frightful!” Chalke Ewing interrupted him. “Talk to me,” he directed; “it wasn’t

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WRITE FOR FREE BOOKS “Deformities and Paralysis,” and “Ref- erences,” which showand tell of McLain Sanitarium’s facilities for treating Club Feet, Infantile Paralysis, Spinal & Diseases and Deformities, HipandKnee 5 $9 isease, Wry Neck, etc. Alsoillustrated *\ magazine, “Sanitarium News,” mailed free every 60 days. McLAIN ORTHOPEDIC J SANITARIUM 936 AubertAv., St.Louis, Missouri, U.S Mrs. Henry who upset your ideas. You are like all congenital amateurs—you repeat facts that mean nothing about things you know as little of. The Trojan War did happen, it now appears, and Helen lived; but you are entirely ignorant of the historical significance of that; your mind is satisfied, not to say confused, by a few lines of poetry. By a name, Homer. You believe your emotions are qualities of the mind, when, the truth is, they are no better than part of a general common sentimentality.” Francis rose unsteadily. “Homer,” he solemnly repeated. “The glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome.” “Not Homer,” Ewing corrected him; “Edgar Allan Poe.” Francis Ambler regarded Chalke with a smoldering animosity. Then he made a precarious bow to Nina. “You won’t mind if I leave,” he said to her. “I can see that you won’t. My mind is satisfied, not to say confused, by a few lines of poetry. And not about Troy. Oh, no! Right here in Eastlake. About us, really.” He couldn’t, Nina realized, be nastier. She was rigidly conventional. “I am sorry if you must go,” she told him. “But now you have drunk a whole shaker of cocktails, perhaps-it would be better. I’m ashamed of you, Francis.” He laboriously raised his eyebrows. “It’s a little late for shame,” he an- nounced. “There isn’t any need for you to bother about me again. It took me a long while to learn my lesson, to under- stand Helen, but the erudite Professor Ewing made me understand you. Her. Us!” Francis left the drawing-room with a slow rigid air of finality. Nina gasped. “Well,” she said. “We got rid of him. I didn’t have to say I had a headache. I have one, but it’s totally useless.” She sat down helplessly. “Most of that was my fault,’ Chalke admitted; “Francis Ambler was so sat- isfied with what he had in the bank, I had to expose what he had in his mind.” Nina went out to the pantry. “Rhoda,” she said, “we will have to take a place off. Mr. Ambler did not wait for dinner. He drank that full cocktail-shaker by himself.” “Miss Nina!” Rhoda exclaimed. “All those drinks! It’s too bad. Mr. Francis usually don’t do like that.” A smile appeared in Rhoda’s eyes; it spread to her wide mouth; she laughed with a penetrating humor. “It was the right one, anyhow, Miss Nina. Don’t you let Miss Mary’s brother leave that easy. You just captivate him so he won’t forget it. No family bothering you tonight.” Nina said: “You must get the salad dressing into every part of the salad.” At the head of the table Chalke was irresistible, Nina thought. “You are not to talk,” she commanded him; “I want you to be peaceful and not torn up with words. I don’t care anything about the past tonight; I don’t know whether I am in America or Africa, and I never want to hear about girls’ schools again. “There isn’t a thing you could possibly say, Chalke, that would interest me. Except one. Always that. You know what it is too, Chalke, and Rhoda isn’t in the room. You could say it with safety. You’d even have time to come around the table and kiss me. I’d ex- pect you to do it if we were married. “I want you to understand what a nuisance I'll be. If you think you are going to read you must be silly. I'll get between you and the book. Chalke, I'll get between you and your mind. I won’t let you think. 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ch, 1930 AL’§ LAMP -OVal Y DOWN ment? u learn how ibles causing ell Infra-Red of Infra-Red sues. As the: of the blood. ieve the con- ature herself | circulation, ain? ublesome ail- ised safely by euritis, Sinus rouble, Rheu- tis, Lumb; ra-Red Rage Rays 'ra-Red Rays reader upon es as well as ow to order, lerful results ite today for IMPANY +» Ohio There isn’t a person in the house but us and Rhoda. She wouldn’t appear unless 1 rang for something. You don’t know about Rhoda. All she thinks people ought to be is happy. I love Rhoda and I feel like her tonight. “Do you feel like Rhoda? I don’t want you to answer that, because it’s so sen- sible you'll think it is idiotic. I don't want to be careful, Chalke, and I do want to talk nonsense. I’ve had some dreadfully serious moments about Cor- delia and Wilson lately, and so I don’t want to be sensible just now. The truth is no one does; not in his heart. You don’t want to be sensible in your heart. You want me to come around the table and kiss you.” Chalke Ewing said: “What I do want is salad. Nina, what is in it?” She rang for Rhoda. “Cucumbers,” she replied. “It would take all night to tell you what is in the dressing. If I speak of kissing, do you have to think about cucumbers? Do you? Of course it may be an association of ideas—cool as a cucumber. If you are I’m ashamed of you. If you want to be I'll fool you. T'll fool you, Chalke.” He was bland, apparently unconcerned, under her storm of words. Chalke Ewing drank coffee, smoked, and gazed thought- fully at her. She rang. “Rhoda,” Nina told her cook, “clear the table when you are ready. Mr. Ewing and I are going to stay here a while longer. You must get a car home tonight, too; it’s terribly hot. Chalke, what was I saying when you so rudely interrupted me?” He spoke in a slow relaxed voice. “I didn’t interrupt you. No one could de- cide what you were saying. No one. Something, I think, about having a cucumber for a son.” She laughed at him in tender mockery. ‘Not a son; a lover,” Nina corrected him. T have a sliced cucumber for a lover. An iced cucumber. Isn’t the house divine and quiet, Chalke? I always know when Cordelia is away because then, only then, the radio is still. Shall we turn it on, Chalke? Do you know a song called ‘All by Yourself in the Moonlight’?” Nina sang: “ ‘There ain’t no fun sit- ting beneath the trees, giving yourself a hug, giving yourself a squeeze. It seems insane, swinging down the lane, all by yourself in the moonlight.’ Chalke, I can see you think you are going to ex- plain all about modern music to me. You're wrong. You're not.” She rose and went to him. “If you won’t say that you are simply mad about me you can’t say anything.” Nina leaned over and kissed him be- tween his eyes. Then she studied him. “I wondered about that,” she admitted. “How my rouge looked on you.” Still sitting, he drew her close to him. 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212 A struggle, Nina realized, had come into being between Chalke Ewing and herself, a very old struggle indeed—the conflict between a woman and a special man. She wanted Chalke and only Chalke, and she wanted him at once; he wanted her, but there were, for him, other and quite as important necessities. Perhaps they, the others, were more important. If she could make him for- get them, give them up for her, she was victor. If he made her wait until all his requirements were satisfied he would triumph. If that happened she would never, Nina told herself, entirely con- quer, wholly possess him. She was avid about that. She wanted to drown Chalke in her passionate love. Her body, she felt, must be his earth and his heaven. Men evaded women in countless small and great ways. A man who loved you was still absorbed in other things. Ri- diculous things. Men privately resented the power of the women they loved most; they escaped from it with a sense of re- lief, and Nina was determined that Chalke should never escape from her. For one thing, they weren’t really young. They had met each other, fallen in love, after forty. There was no time to lose. She would be perfectly willing to spend the rest of life in Chalke’s arms. Nina was willing to let love kill her;. yes, and kill Chalke. After all, what was there to live for? Nothing else worth keeping alive for. He would not quite, Nina was convinced, agree with that. Not altogether. Wier, it was impossible anyhow. She didn’t need to bring that about in order to be victorious, to make Chalke absolutely hers. She had, Nina discovered, accepted her part in the struggle within, between, them. She had, as soldiers said, accepted battle. If she failed now, it might be serious. She could, by merely being quiet, avoid any danger. Chalke, even mad about her, was not the safest of men. He had an enormous amount of character, great determination and a measureless pride. She’d have to be better than merely suc- cessful with him. In other words, it was almost more dangerous for her to be successful than to fail. She understood this, but it only made her reckless. With so much immediately facing her she sat quietly, apparently intent on the cigaret in her hand. The night really was breathless. Later—it must be very late now—there would be moonlight. Francis Ambler, stiffy leaving her draw- ing-room, came into her mind. He had gone this time forever, she told herself. That meant nothing to her now. It sim- ply meant that he had vanished a little while before the rest. A plan, a possi- bility, drifted idly into her mind. Nina examined it with an increasing care. “Chalke,” she said, “it must be hotter here than it ever gets in Cuba. I am not used to it as you are. Would you mind if we took a drive? You’ve been with me before and I brought you back safely.” Ewing rose. This time, Nina thought, safety was a small part of her necessity. There were clouds in the sky, at times, in places; the stars were bright, and then they were temporarily obscured. The windows of Nina’s closed car were opened and a hot pressure of air assailed her face. The moon—less than half was left—came up, and a shifting radiance fell across the fields and streams. Neither of them talked. Chalke’s arm, lying along the seat behind Nina, brushed her shoulders. She was at once happy and disturbed. Uneasy. The headache that had lightly touched her before Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1939 dinner returned. It lurked like a sug- gestion of evil at the back of her head. A dark shadow of rock rose before them. “I hadn’t the least idea where we were,” Chalke Ewing admitted. Nina guided the car slowly through the en- trance to the quarry. She gazed sharply ahead. No one else was there. She drove by the water to a farther bank, where there was room enough to turn her car. Nina’s hands fell from the wheel; she sat silently regarding the dark smooth water. She was, suddenly, overcome by weariness and doubt. Chalke opened the door on his side and stepped out. He walked to the edge of the water. Nina’s listlessness in- creased. Chalke came back and again sat beside her. He put his arm around her and drew her close to him. He took off her small close-fitting hat and kissed her hair. That was all. Nina stirred, bringing her body more completely into his arms. Then she moved away. “I’m dreadfully hot,” she said. Nina got out of the car. She gazed intently into the water; then, with a decided air, she turned. “I want to go in swimming,” she ceclared. Chalke Ewing came up beside her. “It would be helpful,” he agreed. “But we can’t. We haven’t any things—bathing suits or towels.” “Really,” Nina said, “really, Chalke, we don’t need any. It’s pitch-black and you wear almost no clothes in bathing now anyhow. It’s hot enough to dry us in a second. No one else will be here or know about it. Let’s, Chalke.” He was, it was plain, doubtful. “It would be easier for me than for you,” he told her. “I’m afraid you’d be un- comfortable afterwards. Going home.” Nina walked around to the farther side of the automobile. She sat on the run- ning board and took off her slippers. “Soon I’ll be ready,” she called. She de- cided that she would keep on her under- things. That, in effect, would be abso- lutely proper. Nina pulled her dress off over her head; her girdle took only a moment more; she made a small pile of her clothes within the car. Then she walked slowly, but without hesitation, to the edge of the water. She didn’t look around. The air felt mar- velous; a new remarkable sense of free- dom possessed her. She was conscious in an exhilarating way of her body. She had never, it seemed to Nina, been alive like this before. There was a faint sound behind her, and Chalke Ewing stood at her side. He was, for swimming, entirely conven- tional in his trunks. Chalke was at her side, but he was, she saw, careful not to touch her. Nina took his hand. where the steps are,” she said. “Around here. It’s nearer to the water.” She sat on a wooden platform with her legs in the quarry pool. That was delightful. There was a diving board beside her— Chalke took a measured step at its end and, with a smooth quick splash, he vanished into the water. In a moment she could hear him swimming. “It’s quite warm,” he called. “Don’t sit there. Get in. You will be cooler afterward.” Nina swam slowly, but suffi- ciently well, to where he was floating; she turned on her back and laid an arm across his. They began to sink at once. “You keep too much out of the water,” Chalke instructed her. “Specially your head.” He swam away from her and back. Nina put up her arms and went down into the pool; finally her feet touched the bottom; and, in a sudden fright at the strangeness of her situation and the weight of water pressing upon her ears, “Tll show you she beat her way back to the Surface, “Chalke,” she cried, “Chalke.” He came swiftly up to her. “What js it?” he demanded in an anxious “What is the matter?” She admitted that, with him close to her, nothing was the matter. However, she proceeded at once to the steps an! platform. “Sit beside me,” she begged him. put. her arm around his and brought him nearer. His body was against her body his skin was against hers, and q contentment filled her. “Isn’t it mirage. ulous,” she said; “isn’t it terrible the way most people have to live most of the time? Chalke, I’m—I’m forty, and I have never been entirely happy before Not like this. I’m entirely happy, Chalke and yet—this is the wonderful I know I am going to be happier. Prob. ably I won’t be able to bear it. Probably it will kill me. I’m prepared for that.” “My life has been bad, too,” he aq- mitted. “I didn’t know how bad it was till I knew you. I think that all my life] have been waiting for this. For I didn’t realize it, naturally. At times 1 was almost satisfied. Think of it!” Chalke Ewing exclaimed. “Without you,” Nina’s arm went impulsively around his neck; she drew his head down upon her wet breast. “You don’t have to think about it,” she whispered. “Never again, You'll never be without me again. Can you realize that? I tell myself it’s true, but I can hardly believe it.” He lay quietly in her embrace. gently, he released himself; he got up. “You must get dressed, Nina,” he re- minded her. “You can have my under- shirt for a towel. I won’t need it.” Nina rose, filled with an acute disappointment; her emotion had been defrauded. “You are always right, Chalke,” she admitted, walking back with him to ner car. “I hope you won’t mind if I get tired of that. Sometimes.” She slipped off her underthings with a sharp irre- pressible spirit of anger, and flung them on the ground. “Here is the shirt,” Chalke told her. He tried to hand it to her across the radiator, but she walked deliberately around the car and took it from him She sat on the running board, at his side, and carefully dried her legs. She could not see that he paid the slightest atten- tion to her. Nina left him and went back for her girdle and stockings, her slippers and dress. Well, the truth was, she had failed. She had not conquered Chalke Ewing. He had been, Nina thought, victorious. And with humiliating ease. Resentment and an intense admiration for him strug- gled in her. The resentment won. He had no right to be so indifferent to her. Nina drove with a careless speed out of the quarry enclosure. Chalke’s arm lay lightly around her shoulders. He made a remark in Spanish that, Nina recog- nized, meant it had all been splendid. “I’m hotter instead of cooler,” she re- plied. “If I could have driven back with- out any clothes on at all it would have been better. I did have enough sense not to put my stockings on. They are ruined already. I don’t know what my slippers will be like.” iis EWING laughed. It had begun to sound, he said, as though he had suggested the swimming. “I am sure you did,” Nina replied. “It would never have entered my head. I don’t know how it would occur to you! could be so forward. Hold the wheel while I get a match.” She tried to burn the end of his nose, in a passing, half-humorous spite; but he su in blowing out the flame first.

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uch, 1930 ) the surface ce ” oe ; is iNxious Voice, She admi , nothing Was proceeded at form. od him. WN | brought him nst her and @ n’t it eee terrible the € most of the forty, and |] lappy before. w bad it was t all my life] is. For you. . At times I link of it!” Nithout you.” ly around his wn upon her ave to think ‘Never again. again. Can Self it’s true, race. Then, , he got up. ina,” he re- e€ my under- ed it.” Nina ippointment; uded. Chalke,” she 1 him to her ind if I get She slipped sharp irre- 1 flung them ke told her. r across the deliberately t from him. 1, at his side, . She could thtest atten- n and went ockings, her had failed. alke Ewing. t, victorious. Resentment r him strug- arent to her. speed out of ce’s arm lay ;. He made Nina recog- en splendid. ler,” she re- 1 back with- would have gh sense not y are ruined my slippers ING laughed. d, as though ning. replied. “It ny head. I ‘ur to you I | the wheel ried to burn assing, only e suc st. Pain Stopped Instantly Then— see CORN lane of with her stocking Corn that had ached for years came off with her stocking. FREEZONE works fast. FIRST DROP STOPS PAIN INSTANTLY. Soon corn loosens and falls off—or lifts off with the fingers, easily, inlessly. To end hard and soft corns, calluses and bunions, get a_bot- tle of FREEZONE from your DANDRUFF A Sure Way to End It There is one sure way that never fails to re- move dandruff completely, and thatis to dissolve it. Then you destroy it entirely. To do this, just apply a little Liquid Arvon at night before retiring; use enough to moisten the scalp and Tub it in gently with the finger tips. _By morning, most, if not all, of your dandruff will be gone, and two or three more applications will completely dissolve and entirely destroy every single sign and trace of it, no matter how much dandruff you may have. You will find, too, that all itching of the scalp will stop instantly and your hair will be lustrous, lossy, silky and soft, and look and feel a hun- times better. You can get Liquid Arvon at any drug store, a four ounce bottle is all you will need. a simple remedy has never been known to Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 “Be careful,” he told her; “I’m inflam- | mable.” That was too much for her to put up |with. She laughed openly at him, but jher laughter choked in her throat— |his fingers suddenly dug without pity into her shoulder. The shock was so sud- den, the pain so overwhelming, that she lost control of the car; it turned and only stopped halfway up a bank. Luckily it came down the hill again without trouble. Chalke Ewing said noth- ing; his arm, across the back of the seat, lightly touched her. Five separate sharp agonies lingered in Nina’s left shoulder. The bruises from his fingers. A vague fright took the place of her resentful aggressiveness. Her certainty turned into uncertainty. She forced herself, after a struggle, to glance at Chalke. He was looking out the window. Her feeling changed about the hurt to her shoulder—the pain became a price- less and acute pleasure. It was the sharpest delight she could remember. Her whole being, her entire attitude toward Chalke, was different—a flood of tenderness rose over her; where Chalke was concerned she was seized by a pro- tective instinct, a desire to shield him from all the calamities and disappoint- ments of existence. Calmness had taken the place of her restlessness. Suddenly the universe seemed to have fallen in a perfection of order—the stars and the flowers, day and night, life and love, each interpreted and completed the other. She drove the car with a partic- ular care. They were still silent. The part of the moon that had risen long be- fore appeared to Nina to be fixed in the sky. Who was it—someone in the Bible —had conimanded the sun to stand still until a battle was won? Now, she told herself, the moon was waiting for her love. “Don’t you even smoke cigarets?” she asked Chalke Ewing. “They are so con- venient. They don’t commit you the way a cigar does. For example, now. If you wanted to smoke. cigars, would take you too far. Why, take you practically to China. Across the Pacific. I’d lose you right away.” Nina talked with a warm and appar- ently casual cheerfulness. Her words occupied the space of their return. She didn’t want Chalke to think. They had, for the moment, Nina honed, lost every reality but their immediate selves. That took the form of an unexpressed desire. A carefully concealed, invincible intention. All Nina’s deliberate planning was lost, sunk in an emotion without shadows. There was no consciousness of doubt, no need of unhappy cunning, in her. She wondered briefly about that, and then gave up her wonder. Reasons had no importance to her. If, she discovered, you put things like emotions into words, even inside your own mind, you changed and misrepre- sented them. Words took away the freshness and variety of feelings. Words, the truth was, gave beautiful feelings the appearance of being hideous and wrong. The car came into Eastlake, at the far end of town from North Street: there were no other cars or people to be seen. The passage of Nina’s automobile ieft a faint, quickly dying sound between the closed and dark stores. She crossed Kingsmill Street and swept into her own drive. Nina drove into the dark stable. “You had better go to the door,” she explained to Chalke “You will hurt yourself in the dark.” She cut off the power; the white bars of light vanished, and Nina shut the car behind her. You see, we are} nearly home and a cigar, one of your| ¢ : | soda bicarbonate. Chalke, darling, one of your cigars would | 215 GASTROGEN Stops Indigestion T the very first sign of after-eating heaviness or discomfort, take 2 or 3 Gastrogen Tablets. Heart-burn, acidity and indigestion are quickly relieved! And you'll never notice a trace of the uncomfortable after-effects of soda bicarbonate. Unlike “bicarb”, Gastrogen contains only insoluble antacids. It can’t alkalize the stomach, hence it doesn’t retard normal digestion. And it does bring welcome relief from the embar- rassing gas and hiccups that soda-users know so well. Gastrogen is harmless, spicy, aromatic, de- lightful to the taste. It comes in tins of 15 tablets for 20¢ or bottles of 60 tablets for 60¢. At your druggist’s. * Prove it yourself — make this simple test 1. Pour a little vinegar into each of two tumblers. (The vinegar corresponds to the acid in your stomach.) 2. Into one tumbler drop 3 or 4 Gastrogen Tablets. 3. Into the other drop a teaspoonful of Note the fizzing, the foaming and the seeth- ing in the tumbler with the soda. Note how little gas is released with Gastrogen—actually less than half as much, while neutralizing the same amount of acid. You see why soda disturbs and bloats the stomach—and why Gastrogen brings relief quietly, comfortably and without retarding normal digestion. 7 cf ry BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept. C30 73 West Street, New York City Please send me your FREE introductory packet of 6 Gastrogen Tablets. INOS canckasecaveees fcseceecegtenne EDs i caiagd pindaacnsanabiatncdaa COS ae ci ccevecteoecsasies ONG i ciccees

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IMPORTED flavours from ENGLAND— SWEDEN and FRANCE | These European Y flavours are identical with 4} «those flavours served abroad because they . are made in the same distilleries. HOLLOWAY’S LONDON DRY Especially Distilled for the American Market. Direct from London. GRENADINE NUYENS’ Made in France Since 1802. A Delicious Flavouring Syrup for Manifold Uses. CALORIC PUNCH Bacardi Flavour From Stockholm A Luscious Flavour Similar to Bacardi. A Good Mixer ... If your grocer cannot supply you, write us. ““Mod- ern and Old-fashion Cocktail Reci- pes’, a new recipe booklet sent free on request. Address Dept. M.C. for free Voice Book tell Seng eae’ saa New SILENT Method o your tone guar today for free book! booklets on voice let—one of the greatest ever Are you using MAPLEINE in desserts? Mapleine gives delicate, delightful maple flavor to all desserts—puddings, cake icings, sauces, icecream, etc. Try it! Folder with every bottle. ‘““Mapleine Cookery” by Alice Bradley, food editor of Woman’s Home Companion, on request. Remember that with Mapleine, only half the usual amount of flavoring is required. Its quality and price are the same as before the war. Only 35c for 2 oz. bottle. Nearly every grocer has Mapleine. Or, 1 oz. trial size for 20c. Crescent Mfg. Co., Dept. 26, Seattle, Washington. LILNIBS 7 Havoring é Sed Sor; ans “Is there a lock here?” Chalke de- manded. “I can’t find it if there is.” The door locked itself, she told him. Nina walked slowly around the house to the front porch. Chalke was at her side. He walked deliberately up the porch steps with her and went into the hall beyond. Nina turned on a light in the drawing-room. It was a small light, with a green glazed paper shade, and it made only a dim illumination. “I must have a glass of water,” she announced. Chalke Ewing started to- ward the door, but she stopped him. “You don’t know where anything is. Sit down and wait for me.” He obeyed her with a strange physical inertia. In the pantry Nina got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and poured out a glassful. She drank it slowly. She put off returning to the drawing- room. She wanted to delay every proc- ess, every consummation, of the night. When, at last, she did go back Chalke Ewing had not changed his position— his hands were on the arms of his chair, where she had last seen them; his knees kept the same informal cramped appear- ance; his gaze was on the floor. Nina stood beside him reflecting. A number of things occurred to her to say, but she repressed them all. Words gave your emotions, your hopes, a_ threatening shape. Nina turned and, swiftly silent, like a retreating thought, left Ewing. In her bedroom, still with a veiled gaze, she un- dressed. At once inspecting her left shoulder, she found, to her. intensest satisfaction, five sharply marked blue- black bruises in her skin. It seemed to Nina that the quarry had left an im- palpable but actual film on her body, scentless and displeasing; she would, she recognized, have to take a bath. Nina filled the tub with the hottest water she could bear; she perfumed and softened it, and then slipped luxuriously into its relaxing pleasure. She stayed motionless, lost in little fleet sensations without names; she was slow with her sponge and soap; Nina dried herself with deliberation. Then she put her toes into black satin mules and wrapped around her a thin black silk dressing gown. She hung, more especially perfumed, over the drawer that held her night- gowns, uncertain between a sheer affair printed with minute pink rosebuds in green wreaths and piped with green, and coffee-colored China crépe, deep with black lace. Finally she chose the first— it was more unsophisticated. It dropped with hardly more substance than a sigh over her shoulders, and she sat by a window, gazing at the night and what was left of the moon. She had, Nina thought, seen Grove Avenue with its maples in every existing season and state of weather—in a steam- ing and humid haze, glittering with ice like candied fruits and glazed choco- lates, with the bright red buds in the faint green veil of spring, golden in autumn, and white, hushed, with snow. A wide and peaceful and leafy street. Wilson and she had been speechless with excitement when they bought their house on it. One of the nicest houses in the nicest part of Eastlake. On Grove Ave- nue beside the country club. They had been filled with a sense of social con- sequence. Nina knew when Chalke Ewing came into the room before she actually heard him. There was a swift compression at her heart and she preathed sharply. He was, moving about in her bedroom, at once real and unreal. He was unreal without being disturbing. 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RINE, YES For Your Money Needs—Join Our Rainbow Club Unusual opportunities are offered you at this season of the year. {Come join us and add to your income every day. {Business girl, school girl, ‘‘shut-in,’”” busy home- keeper—all are welcome if you want to make some extra money for ex- penses, pretty -frocks—perhaps for the Hope Chest or to put inthe bank. {The greatest rewards of the year are offered to Members of our Club during these months. Write at once. Helen Willard, Director The Rainbow Club International Magazine Building $7th St. at 8th Ave., New York, N. Y. Please let me know how I may earn Membership and start at once to win the special rewards offered by The Rainbow Club. eee eee eee ee ee eee eee eee eee eee ee of mind than a promise of bodies. Her hands, she discovered, were quite cold, but she wasn’t nervous. There wasn’t a trace of uncertainty in her. What went on around her, within her own con- sciousness, seemed inevitable. Chalke came up to her and she rose; Nina made him sit in her chair; leaning against him she sat on the chair arm. She was totally devoid of any sense of hurry, of fever. She had, then, no acute- ness of feeling whatever. Chalke’s face, she saw, bore in addition to the darkness of the room a shadow of weariness. But he always more or less had that. Nina assured herself that it meant noth- ing. She found herself speaking. “You can’t arrange life. Never. It arranges itself. In spite of you. You can help things a little. Would it make you happy at all to know that I helped this? I wanted it so terribly. Not just this. either; I mean you. I didn’t want to wait for you any longer than neces- sary. Really, I was afraid to wait. So much could happen. Still I couldn’t make you love me. I didn’t even make myself love you. “At first you made me angry. But I knew that something else was happening to me. I couldn’t recognize it the first minute, Chalke. When I left the country club, when I left all my old life, that Saturday to come to Mary’s, to come to you, I knew it then. I nearly died, after you kissed me, waiting to have you kiss me. Then it was all over. Forever. Love stronger than either of us. “I only care about one thing now—I want to make you happy. Nothing else will ever be important again except your happiness. You. I had to give myself to you as soon as possible. So you would understand better. So, since you do want me, there wouldn’t be any doubt left. You would never really know until I did that. The rest isn’t anything, Chalke. Chalke, the rest——” Nina collapsed into his arms. A mule fell off. Her eyes were shut. She felt very young, as though nothing that mat- tered had ever happened to her. Young with a fresh and pure heart. It seemed to Nina that she was ob- scurely conscious of Chalke, entirely dressed, leaning over the bed. Instinc- tively she put her weary bare arms around his neck and drew him down until she could kiss him. One thing was strange—his face was gray. Usually Chalke’s face was brown. She thought about that until she saw that the room was gray around her. It had begun to grow light. But it wasn’t light yet. There was just a promise of light. An immense peacefulness enveloped her. When she woke again, the room was bright; sunlight lay across the floor; a robin was whistling. Nina could see the clothes she had taken off the night before crumpled on a chair. The whole procession of the past night went again through her mind. It was all clear and natural. Nina brought her thoughts back to herself—she was tranquil and undis- turbed. She should, she supposed, feel very differently. Now she had been guilty of adultery. That, she discovered at once, meant nothing to her. She dismissed it with a faint smile. She had no feeling that she had committed a sin. She couldn’t even discover any sense of an extraordinary happening. It was, however, extraordi- nary. It had to be. For one thing she had slept with another man than Wilson Henry. The second in her whole life, and she was forty-two years old. That in itself was something. It proved, for one thing, that she was not ‘I Never Expected ARaise ScSoon' “I’ve Increased Your Salary Because You’re Worth It” “s OU have been with us about a month and you are by far the most compe- tent secretary I ever had. Six weeks ago you were only a telephone girl—I can’t understand how you gained your present speed and accuracy in only 6 weeks. Why, a great many of our stenographers have studied shorthand for ten months and still make many errors. “That isn’t their fault, Mr. Chapman. Old-fashioned shorthand requires months of hard study and practice and even when it is mastered it is difficult to read. But Speedwriting i is very easy. I—” “Speedwriting? What's that?” For answer the girl handed the big busi- ness man her notebook. “Why, this is remarkable, Miss Baker. It’s in simple A B C’s!”” “Yes, surely. That’s how I learned it so quickly. Anyone can learn Speedwrit- ing. There are only a few easy rules. There are no hooks or curves; every ‘character’ you use is a letter you already know—one that your hand needs no special training to make.” ‘Well, that’s the most remarkable thing I ever heard of. I could use that myself at board meetings and a dozen other places. You can write it rapidly, too!” “One boy I know, who studied Speed- writing in his own home, took court tes- timony at the rate of 106 words a minute after only 15 hours of study.” ‘‘Miss Baker, where can I get some lit- erature on Speedwriting? I really believe I'll take it up myself?” Two months later Mr. Chapman and all his stenographers were Speedwriters! 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So white... so fair —only a bleach cream can glorify your skin Your skin is part of your attire. Face, neck, back, j arms, hands—all must be | flawless if the ensemble ! is to be perfect. How make them ivory white and fair? Ordinary creams are helpless to aid. You must use a cream designed solely for whitening—Golden Pea- cock—to absorb the tan, the: freckles, every tiny discoloration, and leave the skin in glowing, girl- like purity. So quick—and so safel A thin film of Golden Peacock at night. A new ‘you smiling inthe morning. For thousands of women, Golden Peacock Bleach Creme is working this happy, wholesome magic —every dayl...At toiletry counters, in $1 jars. Gotpen Peacock BLEACH CREME a ts, Ken-L-Ration. Some have even at- tempted to profit by imitating its name. But only the genuine is spelled inthis peculiar way. Look for the name, KEN-L-RATION, on the label. Your dog deserves the best, the original food of its kind, scientifically prepared, cook- ed by steam, ready to feed when can is opened. It is a balanced food; containin the exact proportions of fresh meat, clean cereals an im orted cod liver oil to keep your dog bright-eyed happy. Rin-Tin-Tin and ochoe amous paren are fed KEN-L-RATION exclusively. Other famous Chappel bles foods are Ken-L-Biskit, L-Biskit and Pup-E- At all Dealers CHAPPEL BROS., Inc. 85 Peoples Avenue Rockford, Ill a | te 9] 0] ie ol O10) OMY Of al od = 99 ATION Many have attempted to imitate wild. She had never been a bad woman. In the sense that Eastlake meant when it said a bad woman. She had, instead, been a very good wife indeed. It wasn’t her fault when that, with Wilson, came to an end. Her love for him had died, Nina reminded herself, before she had fallen in love with Chalke. She repeated that phrase, fallen in love with Chalke. Nina had never, in the same manner, loved Wilson Henry. Never! Never! Never! In all the years she had lived with him and borne him children, she had never had the feeling that Chalke brought her. She had simply known nothing about it. That, she considered, ‘was very interesting. It meant that you ought to be married to one special man, that no other man would, in the same complete sense, do. Provided, of course, that there was only one Chalke Ewing in the world. There were, she was certain, no more like him. Not another man in all creation for her. Her thoughts were submerged in a wave of emotion. She shut her eyes, re- membering. It wasn’t wrong, then, for her to go to Chalke Ewing; it was wrong for her to stay with Wilson. That, she told herself, was adultery. Yet she had had no way of knowing that Wilson was not perfect for her; she’d had no way of knowing what perfection was. With no possibility of comparison Wilson had sat- isfied her. Naturally she had thought that love was no better than her experi- ence of it. But now! If she had not seen Chalke she would have continued to live with Wilson, but without love. The rest of her life would have been empty. How- ever, she had seen Chalke and he had saved her. He had brought her, when the actual lives of most women were coming toward an end, the most mirac- ulous existence it was possible to imagine. She looked at the clock on the small table beside her bed. It was only twenty rninutes past seven.. Rhoda and Harriet | would not arrive until eight o’clock. They were always a few minutes late, really. There was no reason for Nina to move for hours; she had no one to consider—Wilson was in Georgia with Cora Lisher, and the children were at Cape May with the big car. She was glad to be alone; nothing need distract her thoughts; she could lose herself, sink herself, in Chalke Ewing. She was still, awake, more peaceful than anything else. It was exactly like the quiet that followed the elemental stir of a high wind. Nina was surprised to find that she was so calm. She was calm, she decided, for the reason that what had happened to her was entirely natural. It was nature. Her sense of new freedom from old moral and spiritual weights and meas- ures increased. Once a lot of judges, innumerable judgments, had surrounded her and hampered her, but now she had one judge—herself. The superior magic of heaven and the threat of hell had vanished. The opinion of her neighbors, Eastlake, was more immediate; but, Nina found, her dread of that had largely flown. Soon, now, Chalke and she would have to go to Wilson; soon Eastlake would learn that she was leaving, ignor- ing, all it thought necessary. Chalke had been right, insisting upon the quickest and completest honesty pos- sible under the circumstances; but, Nina felt, she had been right too. Men always were in a hurry. They did not see things as they actually existed. She had to get a little used to the idea of leaving her familiar existence before her actual de- parture. She again went over her num- berless reasons for delaying the acknowl- edgment of her love for Chalke Ewing. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 my HEADACH HERE SINUS HEADACHES? Does your nose ‘‘flare-up’’ easily? Do you have fre- quent head-colds during the winter which leave behind a trail of annoying symptoms that you just can’t shake? Do you have an early morning accumulation of phlegm in the throat—a stuffed feeling in the head—and head- aches? Perhaps you've been calling it Catarrh every ¢% It’s Not Catarrh! It’s Sinus Trouble! If you suffer with chronic catarrh, you should be ex- amined regularly by a physician to determine the extent of the real source—Sinus Trouble. 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1EADACH HERE rou have fre- Satarrh every ble! jhould be ex- ne the extent can also give cleansing the y the drain- cavity of ac- ill positively guarantee by es used! ont Yet? aSiptec prod- intment? It’s mucous mem- minutes— d ventilation. ample of the quest. Write TION St. Louis of Nursing ion regard- tment York City IOUS At least, she hoped, Chalke now under- stood them. She remembered his face when he was leaving her, just before dawn. It looked gray, strange and re- mote and almost terrifying, but it could not have been gray. That was an il- jusion of her sleepiness. Chalke had a finely clear and brown face. Colored, she thought, from inside and out by the tropics. ; She would rather go to Cuba with him than New York, Nina decided. For the t, anyhow. It would be splendid to get away from everything that even looked like her old life. She would like the heat and the fields of sugar cane and the sound of the drums in the evening. She would, there, be more isolated with Chalke than in the United States. She wanted, above everything, to be alone with him. Without any other in- terest whatever. She had warned him about that, told him how she would come between him and his books; between him and his thoughts. It was absolutely necessary for her to be, not a part, but the whole of his life. Nothing less would satisfy her. é Her thoughts became blurred, she slept again, and when she woke up she was . It was almost nine o’clock; she heard Harriet cleaning the lower hall. She cleaned energetically—for a little while. Then she stopped. Nina couldn’t think what Harriet did. Per- haps she went back to the kitchen for a cigaret. Soon the cleaning violently recommenced. Nina rang and almost at once Harriet appeared. “Harriet,” she said, “I am very hungry this morning. Tell Rhoda that I want boiled eggs. She knows exactly how I like them. Boiled eggs and a piece or two of bacon. Oh, yes, Harriet, and toast. butter it.” Harriet exclaimed: “Miss Nina, you must be hungry! We like you to eat, Miss Nina. You don’t take enough for @ sparrow.” Rhoda brought Nina Henry’s break- fast up. She arranged it by the cus- tomary window, then she stopped by Nina’s bed. “You get up now and have your bath,” Rhoda said in a persuasive voice. “Your eggs will be all cold and the toast hard.” With strong dark hands she raised Nina up from her pillows. “You do what I tell you,” she insisted. Rhoda spoke without once looking at Nina. She had a strange feeling that Rhoda knew everything. After her bath Nina ate like a starved woman. Boiled eggs and four pieces of buttered toast, a great deal of bacon and two cups of coffee with sugar! It was not civilized. She must have added three pounds to her weight. Grove Avenue already looked hot; the leaves of the maple trees were heavy with dust. She remembered them dripping and heavy with moisture. It was past ten o’clock and she had done nothing; there was nothing to do. It was Friday; the children would not be back until late afternoon; Wilson was arriving for dinner tomorrow. When, Nina wondered, would she see Chalke again? Some time that day, naturally. In the evening probably. In the evening she would go over to the Gows’ and they would sit in the garden. With a rum swizzle. With cigars. With Chalke’s marvelous voice. This time he would walk home with her. But, this time, he would go back at once. Nina was content to wait now. Sudden foreboding clutches Nina’s heart when she learns from Mary Gow that Chalke Ewing has left Eastlake—in Joseph Hergesheimer’s April Installment Rhoda had better |. Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 A lonic to put you your FEET Back on I; your cold or any winter illness hangs on, doctors warn you of the danger of a dragging convales- cence. They know how apt the sys- tem is to contract other ills when the natural powers of resistance are low and gaining too slowly. For its efficient strengthening and reconstructing benefits, doctors in 58 countries prescribethisfineold tonic. For more than half-a-century they have paid hightribute to FELLOWS’ Syrup for putting patients back on their feet, /iterally After ill- ness or in run down condition, it replenishes the body’s vital mineral elements. The entire system responds toits additional dynamic ingredients. Appetite is revived, digestion is righted, nerves are eased. The nor- mal balance of physical energy re- turns, bringing a new-found zest for work and play. FELLOWS’ Syrup is uniform in potency because it is compounded with exceeding careandskill directed by years of clinical experience, with each laboratory process rigidly con- trolled. Take FELLOWS’, confident that it will markedly contribute to your health and well-being. Ask any physician. 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Let us show 4 you how. 5 4 For full information ~ address No. 1 Broad- way, New York; 180 No. Michigan Avg, Chicago; 460 Market St., San Francisco; our offices or agents elsewhere. i white star line red star line atlantic transport line international mercantile WTwost Oca seINCE spsteg tteeeas Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 So Much Dependson the Approach rom page 55 habit. He wanted to use the principal of the trust fund to pay off the debts at once; the law, though, forbade that. So he got himself a job in a bank, budgeted his living expenses, and settled down to paying off his father’s obligations out of his income and his salary. Very creditable, you will say. Of course. And all the success stories agree that it is by just such acts of self- denial that men lay the foundations of future greatness. Probably. But it de- pends upon the man. Sacrifice is a tricky thing. Sometimes it turns people into martyrs. Some men make sacrifices, as Steve did, as a matter of duty, and then they nurse their pride and begin to enjoy a rankling sense of the injustice of life. Steve’s bad times had been over for a year and more. The debts were all paid. He had come into his inheritance; the bonds a trust company had held were in his own safe-deposit box, and .he had some thousands of dollars in the bank. All this had happened the sooner be- cause of John Wilder. Wilder, a de- positor in the bank in which Steve had got his first job, had been attracted by Steve. Wilder was an operator in the market. He offered Steve a job, and Steve, who had a natural talent for getting at the facts that lay behind statistics, soon had become his right-hand man. The only thing Steve really didn’t like about the job was that after a while Wilder had transferred him from the office to his home; he wanted Steve within reach at odd hours. Most young men in Steve’s case would have been well pleased, and so was he, in a way. But the habit of thinking of himself as a martyr persisted. And—there was Joan. He could be stiff and distant with her, but it wasn’t always easy. He wasn’t blind to her loveliness; sometimes she tempted him almost beyond endurance. Yet he dis- trusted her deeply; feared her power to hurt him. He didn’t want to be hurt. He had no chance with her, he knew; he was a fool to let himself even so much as think of loving her. But he needn’t be so great a fool as ever to lay himself open to what she could do to him if she knew the truth. An hour or so after breakfast Wilder came into the room where Steve worked. A small dried-up man, this Wilder; only his eyes were like Joan’s: blue, with smoldering fires and with cold mockery in them, too. Her beauty, her slender grace, must have come from her mother. “Good morning, sir,” said Steve. “Here’s that report.” He handed over a sheaf of pages, bristling with figures. Wilder went through them silently. “Good!” he said, when he had fin- ished. “Very good. You might get after the stuff about that Kastner-Brent motors merger now. And”—the blue eyes were cold as ice now—“I happened 'to look out of my window early this |morning. You're not here for the sort | of thing I saw. That clear?” The rank injustice of it made Steve flush hotly. As if he——! The girl had pursued him, thrown herself at him, as she herself had said jestingly. But: “Quite clear, sir,” was all he said. “Good. Don’t want to have to speak | of it again. In fact, I won’t. That clear, | too?” “Perfectly.” John Wilder went off about his own affairs. Steve, seething, rose from his desk twice to find his employer and throw up his job. But habit is strong. Steve was still at work, calmer ang even inclined to be amused, when the door opened and Joan came in. She wore one of those sleeveless, short dresses pon girls wear nowadays for golf and “Hello, grouch!” she said. “Come on, I want to shoot some golf.” “Go ahead. The telephone’s in order, and you’ve got plenty of boy friends.” “I’m asking you.” “Can’t. I’m too busy.” She came over and pulled herself up on the desk. Calmly she picked up the sheet of paper that lay before him. She saw a picture—not very good—of a dog, and some designs for a monogram. “You're the rottenest liar!” she said pleasantly. “What are you afraid of?” “You, if you must know,” he said. “Then you'd better come. A nettle never stings if you grab it hard enough.” “Or if you don’t touch it at all!” “Steve, please.” “Oh, Joan, don’t! I tell you I can’t!” He got up, and she slid down from the desk and stood facing him. “Why won't you let me alone?” She laughed at him. She was very close. And suddenly something in him snapped, and he caught her to him and kissed her. Then, with a groan, he’ let her go. She was still laughing. “Yes?” she said. “And then?” “You got what you were asking for!” he said harshly. “I hope youre satis- fied!” “What do you mean?” blazing. “You know!” he said. He shrugged his shoulders. “You wanted to find out if you could—oh, you know! Well, you could—and you did. That’s all, isn’t it?” “You—oh, you beast!” she said. “You cad!” Probably neither of them knew that she’d left the door open. Neither of them had heard John Wilder come in. “Thought I’d made myself clear, this morning,” he said to Steve. “Berry knows about trains. He’ll bring you a check. That’s all.” Steve paid no attention to him. His eyes were on Joan. But she only shrugged and moved away. He sighed. There was nothing, after all, for him to say if she chose to be silent. “Very well,” he said, and left the room. A few minutes later, Berry, Wilder's confidential secretary, found him in his room packing up. “Sorry, Cruger,” he said. “Don’t know what’s up—don’t want to. I’ve a check for a thousand for you. I ordered a car to take you to the four-fifty-five. That all right?” Steve took the check. ‘ “Thanks,” he said. Slowly, dispassion- ately, he tore it into fragments. Then he laughed. “That’s the first luxury I’ve indulged in for six years,” he said. “The funny thing is that I can afford to blow in a thousand. I shan’t want the car, thanks. I can afford a cab, too.” You can dam a stream and create @ placid pool, or, if you prefer, with your dam you can so divert its course that instead of tumbling turbulently down among rocks it will cut a new, smooth course for itself through soft, level mead- ow ground. But always, if a break comes in the dam, the stream will g0 back to its old channel. Steve’s cab didn’t take him to the sta- tion, but to the club. By good luck he found a vacant room, shot a seventy-one before dinner, and was welcomed in the grill that night like a prodigal come home. He did go to town in the morn- ing in the club car, as the guest of a Her eyes were

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ch, 1930 nm page 55) almer and S in order, Tiends.” herself up ced up the him. She —of a dog, gram. * she said fraid of?” e said. A nettle d enough.” all!” 1 I can’t!” _ from the Why won't was very ag in him > him and an, he’ let g. n?” king for!” u’re satis- eyes were shrugged 9 find out Well, you , isn’t it?” aid. “You cnew that or of them n. clear, this “Berry ng you a him. His she only ie sighed. or him to the room. Wilder’s im in his- uger,” he up—don’t thousand ke you to ight?” ispassion- is. Then . the sta- | luck he renty-one od in the ral come 1e morn- lest of @

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Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Ut MMET inthe California that’s centered by San Francisco! Where thousands came once to visit and returned again to live as they had only dreamed of playing—there surely, you’ ll enjoy this summer.... California:where one day’s lure is high-hilled San Francisco— the next your choice of half a hundred other fascinating places, down beside the sea or thrust by mountains into philosophic skies! California calls you to a free- dom for the body and the mind -..calls you from Yosemite and Lake Tahoe, from mountain lakes and streams,and Redwood forest; debonair Del Monte and CARMEL MISSION—AT CARMEL-BY-THE-SEA the like, where golf is played above a yacht-flecked ocean;and from San Francisco, with its secret... of buoyant, joyous living. San Francisco, America’s coolest sum- mer city, is right in the center of this great vacationland and part of it...a worldly, cultured, cosmopolitan part. Here is headquarters city for the busi- ness of the whole Pacific Coast. And here a future that perhaps you’ll want to make your own. The coupon below will bring an illustrated book that is sure to quicken your imagination. SAN FRANCISCO IN CALIFORNIA : CALIFORNIA Beginning May 15, low roundtrip ex- _ cursion rates will be in effect to San Francisco and the Pacific Coast onall ‘¥ railroads. The Vic- tory and Lincoln Highways will be , in good condition. , Or come by air, or by steamship + via PanamaCanal, -“WHERE LIFE §S BETTER” CALIFORNIANS INC., DEPT. 103 703 MARKET STREET : SAN FRANCISCO Please send the free book “California Vacations” Name. Address. man who had been his father’s friend, John Wilder, sitting behind his paper, scowled at him, but gave no other sign of recognition. It wasn’t in search of a new job that Steve went to town. The dam had gone out with a vengeance. In a sense those six years were as if they had never been, He went to his bank first and opened his safe-deposit box, and taking certain bonds, went upstairs and gave them to the proper man, after which they ceased to be his, and his checking account was increased by a deposit of something more than twenty-two thousand dollars. Then he went downtown to see Jerry Tracy, of Tracy and Wardman. This time the last six years, and especially the last two, counted a good deal. It wasn’t in Steve’s mind to turn to his own account any knowledge he had gained in time paid for by John Wilder; any specific knowledge, that is. “But so far as he could see, there was no good reason why he should not profit by the general things he had learned. Jerry, listening to what Steve told him he wanted done, whistled. “A hair of the dog that bit you isn’t a good prescription downtown, Steve,” he said. “We'll execute your order—sure. We make our living out of commissions, But if you want something really good— and safe——” “I don’t,” said Steve. “I want five hundred shares of Minchim A. You ought to get them for around thirty- one. Ten thousand enough margin?” “Oh, plenty—sure!” said Jerry. “H’mm, You’re with John Wilder, aren’t you?” “Not any more. This is a little show of my own.” Steve’s day in town was nearly over then. Not quite, though. Steve had a wish to drive out to Renclair; he'd always hated trains, anyway. Now the market, for weeks, had been a falling one—which means, among other things, that a number of costly foreign cars, bought during boom days, might be had for a song, if you knew where to do your singing. Steve did. He spent an amusing hour bargaining, and drove away finally in a low-hung, close-coup- led Rivorsi. It was a little shabby as to paint but its motor purred sweetly. Now, for the first time in six years, Steve Cruger began to live. He played golf to his heart’s content. Under the warm summer skies at night he roamed half-forgotten roads in the Rivorsi. Often some slim girl sat beside him, but quite as often he was alone. He picked up old friendships; dined in homes he had missed more than he had ever let himself quite realize; joined gay, impromptu parties that went rushing into town to dinner and a theater and to dance afterward until it was time to drive home through the morning mist. All the time Minchim A_ climbed | steadily. Not sensationally at all, at first, but steadily. At thirty-eight Steve bought five hundred shares more, with his profit on the first five hundred shares for margin; picked up another thousand at forty-three. Still, point by point, Minchim climbed; Steve bought twenty- five hundred shares more the day the tape showed a sale at fifty. Then the fireworks began; ten days later Minchim A was quoted at seventy, and Steve’s paper profits were more than a hundred thousand. Jerry urged cau- tion; Steve only grinned and bought fif- teen hundred shares. But now he did give a selling order. “Start letting go at ninety,” he said. “That'll be about all, this trip.” “IT hope you know what you're doing! said Jerry. 3 “So do I,” said Steve. “We'll soon know. A dozen times, perhaps, during

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largin?” . “HA’mm, n’t you?” ittle show sarly over steve had lair; he'd had been iong other ly foreign ys, might where to He spent ind drove lose-coup- jhabby as 1 sweetly. six years, fe played Inder the e roamed Rivorsi. him, but dined in n he had ined gay, | rushing ater and s time to -Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 interlude, Steve had seen Joan Wilder. Cn the links once or twice; at a dance at the club; in town. She nodded to him always, cool and remote; her eyes were quietly scornful. John Wilder, though, he hadn’t seen since that morning on the train. On the day he drove out from town after bringing his holdings of Minchim A up to six thousand shares he found a message waiting for him at the club; he was to call up Mr. Wilder. Berry talked to him; would he come around after din- ner? “Why not?” said Steve, amused. Though he saw nothing of Joan she seemed, somehow, to pervade the house. The faint sweet scent of her perfume hovered in the air. “Came, did you?” Wilder grunted. “Think you’re raising Cain with Min- chim, eh?” “Oh, in a small way, of course!” said Steve. “Got some pickings here before you left, did you?” “No!” “Don’t waste time lying. You knew I was planning an operation in that stock.” “You’re wrong. You never turned me loose on it.” “No matter. You could have found out —letters, papers about. You had access to them.” “Suppose you go to the devil!” said Steve quietly, getting up. “This is the first I’ve known of your being interested. I figured out what was due to happen to Minchim by myself. As it happens I don’t lie, and I don’t read other people’s letters. I supposed you wanted to see me on business. Good night.” “Wait. I’m giving you a chance. Close out your line by noon tomorrow. I’ve certain plans for that stock—but I can change them. Unless you get out I'll start selling. You can figure out what that would mean. That’s all.” “All right,” said Steve. “Going to close out?” Wilder asked. “That’s my business. I dare say you can find out.” “Yes. I can. All right. your warning.” “Thanks. Good night.” Steve went out. On the terrace in the moonlight he came face to face with Joan—Joan lovelier than: he had ever seen her in a shining silver dress. “Joan,” he said. “Yes?” she said, after a moment. “There’s a tournament day after to- morrow—mixed foursomes. Will you play with me?” She looked at him. “Yes,” she said. “Thanks. Shall I drive over for you?” “If you like,” she said indifferently. “All right. I'll be here at half past nine. Thirty-six holes—morning and afternoon. I’ll make the entry.” That was all. As he drove home he wondered why he had asked her, why She had said yes. Then he laughed. He might well have gone back to scowling that night, but he didn’t. He could heed John Wilder’s warning, sell in the morning and bank something like a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars —a fair profit, in all conscience, on an original stake of ten thousand. If he didn’t sell John Wilder might be able to smash him, wipe him out; he would, if he could. But Steve didn’t think he could. He had told Jerry to sell at ninety; he liked this gambling chance of adding another eighty thousand dollars to his capital. Two hundred thousand wouldn’t make him rich, as people like the Wilders reckoned riches, but it meant, for Steve, the sort of life he wanted to live. He You’ve had If you ask for Colorado fruits, vegetables and dairy prod- ucts, you bring some of Col- orado's high-altitude air and sunshine to your home. THE KEY STATE OF THE NEW WEST LEFT: La Plata Peak (Elevation 14,332 feet), Independence Pass Highway in Autumn. BELOW: Field Silage Cutter at Work in an Arkansas Valley Cornfield. There’s Always Room at the Top! Up here on top of the United States, you will get a Western welcome and learn what “high living” really is, at any time of year. Everything you want, for pleasure or comfort, is something Colorado HAS. Scenery? None grander, any- where. Recreation? No end to it. Living conditions? Positively ideal. There is one best way to find out what Colorado's climate and scenery and opportunities mean to you: come out and see for yourself. Over- night from half the nation, two nights from almost anywhere, Colorado is near for your next vacation. The longer you stay the happier you'll be, the better you'll "feel. Let us send the new Colorado book right away. FRE COPORALO ASS O@CLATELO N

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Monte Carlo, newly smart, the magnet of the world that plays for dizzy stakes. ~¥- Return through the Chateau Country...and find history come alive in silken gardens, rooms that echo dancing feet of long ago... enchanted miles roofed with a dazzling sky, threaded with roads where common sense is the only speed limit. ..yours to love and linger in till Paris calls...center of elegance, of wit, of cookery and charm, endlessly changing... the perfect mistress for the wandering heart! Information and literature on request RAILWAYS OF FRANCE General Representatives INTERNATIONAL WAGON-LITS, 701 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, OR ANY TOURIST AGENCY went to sleep only about half an hour after his usual time. He played golf in the morning; loafed around, though, after luncheon. Tracy called him at a quarter to two: “I don’t like the look of the market, Steve,” he said. “Someone’s_ selling short—heavily. There’s a rumor that it’s Wilder. Minchim’s off five points.” “O.K.,” said Steve. “Don’t worry yet, Jerry. What’s my danger line?” “About fifty, I should say—with this last fifteen hundred to carry.” “All right. Let’s see what happens.” Minchim A closed at sixty-three. But at that time Steve was deeply concerned with more pressing troubles, being at the bottom of a yawning sand pit. That was a Thursday in August. On Friday morning after breakfast Steve drove over for Joan. She was on the terrace waiting for him. John Wilder sat smoking a cigar. He nodded to Steve, but had nothing to say. Jpan climbed into the Rivorsi, and they went off. “Nice car,” she said. the breed.” “Only about five of them over here. Want to drive it?” “No, thanks. I might smash us up. And I could care for this cup we’re go- ing to win.” “All right. Know how it works out? Aggregate handicaps—aggregate scores, too—-not best ball.” “Meaning I’ll have to pull my weight. I’ll try not to disgrace you, Steve.” “You won’t. Medal play this morning; two leading couples go on at match play this afternoon. What’s your handicap?” “Six.” “That’s what we get, then; I’m at scratch. We’ll have to beat the Croziers, I should say. They’ll have two strokes on us to start with.” Tracy caught him on the telephone just before they started. He was wor- ried. Minchim A had opened at sixty; had sold off three points more in the first half-hour’s trading. “It looks like Wilder, all right,” Tracy said gloomily. “Oh, it is!” said Steve, and laughed. “Carry on, Jerry.” Steve blew himself to a dazzling 70 for the morning round; Joan’s sound 85 gave them a medal score of 149, allow- ing for her handicap. Tom Crozier turned in a workmanlike 75; his wife had an 86; their joint handicap was 8, so that they were second to Steve and Joan with an aggregate net score of 153. “They'll keep us busy,” said Steve. “They’re both good at match play.” . He and Joan were standing by the score board. with a sheaf of telephone message slips; he glanced at them and smiled as he stuffed them in his pocket. “What’s Minchim A _ now?” Joan, a glint in her blue eyes. “Fifty-four—or it was fifteen minutes ago,” said Steve. He grinned at her. “So you know, do you?” | She nodded. “I always said you were |}dumb. Steve, why did you try to buck | Father? It can’t be done. Not on a shoe string, anyway.” “Tm not bucking him,” said Steve. “He thinks you found out something before you left him: He’s furious.” “He thinks so? Do you, Joan?” “No,” she said. “I don’t.” “You told me I was a cad.” “So you were. But-you’re not a sneak.” “T see,” said Steve. “Well, how about a spot of lunch?” They walked over to the porch. John Wilder was sitting at a table. “Ho!” said Steve, and looked at Joan. “Does the plot thicken?” “I never saw him so furious as he was “I don’t know asked A boy came up to Steve} Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 Britain Stretching from Londonaway tothe Northeast is a country rich in Bri- tain’s early history. To know her she must be seen in the quaint old villages that date back centuries be- fore the Norman conquest; along roads that once resounded to the passing of Roman chariots; by the wall of Hadrian; or in some little sea-besieged: coast town that wit- nessed the coming of the Danes. She must be studied in the sdvdraed light of old c: thedrals and abheys. The Lon: & & Noreh xastern Railway travesses this enchanting land. It takes you in speed and com- fort to the many centres of historic interest and scenic beauty. It is, too, the track of the World’s Most Fa- mous Train—The ‘Flying Scots- man,”’ the swiftest train over the shortest route between London and Edinburgh, accomplished in 84% hours without a stop. And when you have completed your tour of Britain the daily and nightly steamshipservices via Har- wich provide the most comfortable routes to Continental Europe. Call or write for the new Guide No. 22 which tells you where to go and what to see. COMMUNICATE WITH KETCHAM General Agent,11 W. 42nd St., NewYork London & North Eastern Railway of England & Scotland

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ay tothe in Bri- iow her uint old ries be- ; along to the ; by the 1¢ litcle at wit- Danes. sdodrued abheys, “astern lanting id com- historic is, too, ost Fa- Scots- ver the lon and in 84 leted y and Har- table rope. No. 22 at to see. CHAM ew York ern land

when I told him I was going to play with you,” said Joan. “Going to have lunch with me—or with him?” “with you. Laugh that off!” “Oh, I’m holding out enough to pay my house account—if it comes to that!” said Steve. “Go as far as you like.” They lunched under John Wilder’s paleful blue eyes. Just before it was time to start Tracy called again. “Hell’s popping,” he said. “She slid down to fifty-one. Then some real buy- ing started, and she went back to fifty- five—slipped back to fifty-three again— moving back and forth now so fast you can’t keep track.” “Ah!” said Steve. “Wish I could buy another thousand or so. Get aboard if you've got any spare change, Jerry.” “you're nuts!” said Jerry. “Listen, stay near the wire till the close. I'll have to be able to get hold of you.” “Not a chance! I’m playing a match. Listen yourself. Either she’ll crack wide open and you’ll have to sell me out, or she'll climb fast. Either way, there’s nothing I can do. Except—if she hits seventy, buy another thousand. Get that?” He hung up and turned to see Wilder’s small dried-up figure before him. “Afternoon, sir,” he said. “Still get- ting information any way you can? You’re welcome.” “‘l’'m waiting to use the telephone,” said Wilder impassively. ‘You can listen, if you like. I’m going to tell my brokers to sell another ten thousand shares of Minchim A at the market.” “Ye-es?” said Steve. “I'll take your word for it, sir. Joan and I have to get started. Better follow us around; she plays a nice game. And—it’s imperti- nent for me to offer you advice, sir, but I'd be careful about going short.” Wilder went into the booth, saying nothing. Steve went back to join Joan; found the Croziers at their table. The four of them went out to the first tee. It was not quite half past one. Betty Crozier took «he honor and drove first. A nice b:.’\; Joan sliced . badly. She and Steve *.- the map of Europe has been » superimposed. The black © how close it would be to all * American centers... and Berlin. Just a few hours away.

SWITZERLAND

ace Wherever you goin Europe, [ : - consulting this map of the ‘ey > United States upon which § 4% mass is Switzerland. See : a

* how much closer it is to London, Paris, Rome and |

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Here is Edwin McTeer ne on request) and le some of his work. The crude pen drawing was made before he had any training and the striking story illustration (worth $100) was made after he took the Federal Home Study Course. He did, it~ wn Edwin McTeer is only one of the hundreds of young men (and young women, too) who are succeed- ing in commercial art with the help of the practical training offered by the Federal Home Study Course. Well trained! artists earn $50, $75, $100, $150 a week and more. Success In Commercial Art begins with a liking for drawing and the ambition to follow through with the right training. Mr. McTeer was thirty years old when he clipped a coupon like the one at the bottom of this ad, and took up the Federal Course. He progressed rapidly, increasing his earnings each year until, at the end of five years, he was making around $10,000 a year. Read what he wrote us: “I was not very talented when I entered this training with you people as you certainly know, and I had not even had high school training and I know any one with a love for the work can ac- complish even more than I if they will just let you people, the Federal Schools, help them. “I sup you r ber I opened my own in- dependent commercial art studio and to make a long story short, my earnings are now at the rate of over $10,000.00 a year. Send for ‘‘ Your Future’’ If you like to draw—send for book “Your Future” and find out what amazing progress you E can make with the right art training. Use the coupon now, giving age and occupation. gs az . sem - ag g 3 M245 Federal Schools Bldg., Minneapolis, Mi a 4 Please send me “Your Future.” ee MND...» oc awbesnice sew cops vom ae aiee a ca Pres + : a RR ee ~ NS Ney s 55% G Sie skew hc es ry gabe, —B5 — 85 — Os Re a ee ua u 1 Short Story Writing A practical forty-lesson course in the writing and marketing of the ShortStory, taught by Dr. J. Berg Esen- wein, famous critic and teacher; Editor of The Writer’s Monthly. Gas pep ithas earned in over $5,000 wri in his sN.undrede are selling Convantly to the leading publishers. what you can do with your brassie.” Steve was the last to play his second shot. The Croziers each had a safe five. Joan, though, had messed up her second. Rather grimly, Steve considered lie and distance. . Ordinarily he would have played safe with an iron; his drive had been superb. Now, however, he took a spoon, and with a stroke that was beyond ordinary praise, reached the green, hole high, leaving himself a ten-foot putt for an eagle three. Applause broke out behind and around him; Wilder smiled sourly. Steve sank his putt; it served to halve the hole, for Joan went utterly to pieces and needed seven. “I’m terribly ashamed,” she said. “It’s Father, I think, and—oh, Steve, how could you be so dumb—always—always?” The ninth was halved, too; Joan and Steve turned for home still two down and lost the tenth, on which the Cro- ziers received the second of their handi- cap strokes. Nor were their prospects bright, for the long half of the course was before them and Joan’s long game was the weakest part of her golf. Again and again, now, messages came to John Wilder. He read them, his eyes inscrutable, tore up the slips and let the wind carry them away. Steve was hu- man; never think he wasn’t. He would have given much to know what news those scraps of paper bore. Joan rallied, did better. But the burden lay on Steve. He was playing like a champion now; fighting like one. At the thirteenth, the dog leg, he saw a chance and seized it. He drove last and snatched a stroke by shooting deliberately over the trees that masked the fairway as it turned. His eagle thi e won the hole; he and Joan were two down, with five to play. On the next hole a bad bound sent his ball into the rough; he rejected the iron his caddie held out, risked a spoon and reached the green from a tangle of long grass. His four was good; but Joan’s sinking of a twenty-foot putt won the hole. One down—four to play! The fifteenth and sixteenth were halved. Joan still had the honor on the seventeenth; tears were in her eyes as her sliced drive was carried out of bounds. Her second was good, but she lay three; bad business, on that short hole. Steve, when he drove, pressed deliberately. There was half a gasp, half a cheer, as his ball rolled on and on, after its tremendous carry, until it trickled halfway across the green—three hundred and thirty yards away. “Hey!” said Crozier. “Have a heart!” Steve sank his putt; another eagle. Joan got her five; the Croziers each had a four. The match was squared, going to the home hole. “Three o’clock!” said Joan, and caught her breath. She looked at her father, but there was no reading his face. So the four of them stood on the eighteenth tee, with the green six hun- dred yards away, and the white club- house with its gay awnings behind it. Four good drives; the two girls’ close together; Steve’s thirty yards, perhaps, beyond Tom’s. Betty Crozier outdid her- self with her brassie, but would need wood again. Joan was short. Tom sent off a screamer; Steve’s brassie left him ninety yards short of the green. As they walked along another mes- senger came hurrying to John Wilder. He took the slip; stared at it; tore it, as he had all the others. Then he looked at Steve, and laughed aloud. “Oh!” said Joan sharply. “I——” Juhn Wilder glanced at her; then walked on to the clubhouse. “Steve,” said Joan, “that must mean—— Oh, Steve, I’m sorry!” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 “It’s all right,” he said. “Come on; we want to win this match! He can’t take that away from us, anyway.” But it looked as if he had done just that. Joan’s third was a wasted stroke; . her fourth found a shallow trap short of the green. Crozier was on the edge of the green with his third; Betty, lying four, was hole high. Steve, playing three, hesitated. The back of the eighteenth at Renclair is a vast pit, to catch an overenthusiastic approach; from Steve’s lie safety called for a short approach. But safety wasn’t in the play of this hole—as Joan lay. Deliberately, then, he risked every- thing. He pitched high and far. The ball struck, bounced high. But the back spin held it; there was another cheer as it came to rest six feet from the cup. Even so Joan, in her trap, lay four, fifty yards short. Only a miracle could give her even a seven—eleven for them both, if Steve sank his putt. Crozier, a fine putter, had a chance for a four. Betty should get a six. “Forget the ball,” Steve said to Joan. “Eye on the sand just behind it. Put all you’ve got into it—darling!” “Steve!” she said. “Darling!” he said, again. “Oh, I know—I know! You said I was a cad— and I was. And I’ve probably lost every nickel I’ve got in the world—but I’m mad about you! I have been ever since the first time I saw you! Put that ball on the green—and wrap your putter around my bean after we’ve won, if you like!” “You—oh—you—you dumb-bell!” she said, and walked into the trap. The gallery had straggled on, to gather around the green. No one was bothering about poor Joan, lost in her trap. Steve waited, watching her. His was the first voice that cheered as the ball rose and flew, straight and true, to drop on the green and come to rest a scant foot away from the hole. “That’s torn it!” said Tom Crozier. “Golly, what a shot!” Seven for Betty; five for Tom; six for Joan; four for Steve. And Steve and Joan had won, one up. She turned to him, putter in hand. “I—I ought to soak you with it!” she said. “But I can’t, and—and—I can’t kiss you—not here!” “Joan!” he said. “You thought—oh, I don’t know what you thought! Even when you kissed me —anyone but a moron would have known then! And now, I suppose, we’ll starve to death!” Only, as it turned out, there was no danger of that. In his own odd fashion John Wilder had been laughing at him- self, not at Steve. For in the last hour the forces Steve had always known must be behind Minchim had poured in such a volume of buying orders that even John Wilder hadn’t been able to pound the stock down. It had closed at sixty- two; would open, Jerry Tracy said, at sixty-five, anyway. John Wilder was sitting on the ter- race when Steve drove Joan home— taking an unconscionably long time to cover six miles. “Father!” said Joan, her eyes shining. “D’you win?” “Yes, but Father!” “Oh, I know! Have to propose to him, did you?” “No!” Steve came to life with @ laugh. “I managed to wake up, sir.” “Afraid you would. Reason I fired you. Still—something to you, the way you stood the gaff out there. She might do worse, I guess. Make a quarter of a million before you’re done. Come in with me next time. Staying to dinner?” “Of course he is!” said Joan.

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“Oh, I /& cad— ost every I’m mad since the ; ball on r around ou like!” ll!” she oO gather othering ». Steve the first rose and ») on the ant foot Crozier. ; six for eve and irned to it!” she -I can’t »w what issed me e known il starve was no fashion at him- ist hour vn must in such at even > pound it. sixty- said, at she ter- home— time to shining. pose to with @ sir.” I fired he way e might irter of ome in inner?” I Can’t Sleep! (Continued from page 61) a surplus mental energy; it was really rather a creditable thing to have, he said. And there was the old judge who told you he had suffered from in- somnia all his life, and then he went to see Coué, and Coué had instructed him not to worry because he couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the sleeplessness that mattered; it was the worrying. “And so now do you sleep better?” “No, I don’t sleep better, but I try to believe it isn’t of much consequence whether I do or not, and that’s some comfort.” Poor comfort when your mind is whir- ring around like a machine, and your knees are aching with weariness. The aspirin has made you perspire. You throw off another blanket. You feel cold. You put it on again. It is a quarter past three. You will -have to take that sleeping draft, after all. The sleeping draft is rather bitter, so you eat a few sweets afterwards to take away the taste. Now you wait for the sleeping draft to annihilate conscious- ness. You wait. It generally does. Sev- eral of these things you have done to- night help you sometimes. You decide, while you are waiting, to think of a cricket match in slow motion. That is supposed to be very good. The bowler floats slowly through the air. The bats- man floats forward to meet his ball. They go on floating. You go on waiting. What can the time be now? Past four! Surely it can’t be past four? How dread- ful! How sad to be alive! And your constitution is so robust! Could you otherwise bear these orgies of insomnia? Nevertheless, even your fingers now feel tired. And your face, too, feels tired and stiff. You think a cold shower might be, at least, refreshing. The water falls furiously on the bath. You hope you are not waking the house- hold. But confound the household! Why shouldn’t it wake? It has had seven hours of sleep, and you have had none. Let the household wake. Let the world go to the devil. You have your shower. It does freshen you. You think ten- derly of a blind, poor, sick woman of eighty-one who was thankful for her Sleeplessness because it gave her more time to thank God for his goodness to her. Even if you could have two hours’ sleep, you tell yourself optimistically, that would be something. You might still have two hours’ sleep if you fell asleep within fifteen minutes. You don’t. You hear the gate opening and the paper thrown on the veranda. You go to fetch it. The little weary morning hours match your own wan- ness. The pale, sad light enters the hall that has the curtains drawn and half- dead flowers and ashes of cigarets on the trays. You go back to bed and read the paper. It Is six o’clock. There are sounds in the kitchen. Birds in the eaves are mak- ing a noise like the creaking of rusty axles. It is past six... Suddenly there is a thundering at the door. A cheerful person brings in a cup of tea. i “Have a good night?” “Not very.” “How many hours?” ‘I Suppose half an hour.” il ee eet yon wore fast asleep ame. ou a the knocking.” n’t even answer yabicend protest. What’s the use? onse is always that people slee more than they think they Po : : Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 For the Convenience OF INDIVIDUAL AND CORPORATE INVESTORS PRINCIPAL CORRESPONDENT OFFICES IN THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA Albany, N. Y. Atlanta, Ga. Atlantic City, N. J. Baltimore, Md. Birmingham, Ala. Boston, Mass. Buffalo, N. Y. Chicago, IIl. Cincinnati, Ohio Cleveland, Ohio Dallas, Texas Davenport, Iowa Denver, Colo. Detroit, Mich. Hartford, Conn. Houston, Texas London, England Manchester, England Indianapolis, Ind. Kansas City, Mo. Los Angeles, Cal. Louisville, Ky. Memphis, Tenn. Miami, Fla. Milwaukee, Wis. Minneapolis, Minn. Newark, N. J. New Orleans, La. Oakland, Cal. Omaha, Neb. Pasadena, Cal. Philadelphia, Pa. Pittsburgh, Pa. Portland, Me. FOREIGN OFFICES Geneva, Switzerland Tokio, Japan Amsterdam, The Netherlands Portland, Ore. Providence, R. I. Rochester, N. Y. St. Louis, Mo. St. Paul, Minn. San Diego, Cal. San Francisco, Cal. Scranton, Pa. Seattle, Wash. Spokane, Wash. Tacoma, Wash. Toledo, Ohio Washington, D. C. Wilkes-Barre, Pa. Montreal, Canada Toronto, Canada Shanghai, China The National City Company National City Bank Building, New York INVESTMENT SECURITIES Women over 30 ! Many beautiful complexions { become pimply, coarse and ¢ = marred, simply because of de- ¥j fective elimination. Butdon’t worry! Beauty experts rec- ommend the use of this mild, safe, pure, vegetable laxative NW— j Nature’s Remedy—to clean your (@ system of poisons thatcausethese troubles. Try it. 25catalldruggists. = Write for sample of NR and popes of Nature Flower H. LEWIS MEDICINE co. NR FRE arden is Watch Your Complexion . LOUIS, MO, 4 TO-NIGHT |ifienie TOMORROW ALRIGHT [EA ogg AGENTS |] Men and women | | make $6 to $12 in an hour, full or | | spare time. missions on every sale. Exclusive Territories. nd EE New Kind Of Can Works Like Magic! At last! An automatic, simple little ean opening machine for the home. This revolutionary invention in only a few short months has banished old can openers from over 100,000 kitch- Big,] ens. And no wonder! worthwhile com-] amazing, lifetime device that holds the can and cuts out the top leav- ing can rim slick, smooth and clean. Just turn a crank, that’s all. proved by Good Housekeeping Inst., and] Modern Priscilla, ete. special, introductory advertising offer. NTRAL STATES MFG. CO. Dept. C-1263, 4500 Mary Ave., St. Louis, Me.

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BE an ARTIST Earn @ Fat income HAT would you give to be thoroughly trained in Mod- ern Art on which magazines, news- papers and publishers are spending millions every year? Many Federal | Students who already have this training are earning from $2500 to $6000 a year—some even more. More than fifty famous artists making big incomes themselves have contributed exclusive lessons and drawings to the Federal Course in Illustrating. Through these lessons you may get the benefit of their long experience in Illustrat- ing, Cartooning, Lettering, Poster Designing, and Window Card Illus- trating. Careful training through the Federal Course teaches you to turn simple lines into dollars. You learn at home in spare time. Earn while you learn if you wish. Through their professional success hundreds of Federal Students have already proved the value of this home study art instruction. TEST YOUR 'TALENT—FREE Fill out the coupon below and get the Free Book “A Road to Bigger Things.’? You will also re- ceive our Free Vocational Art Test to measure your ability. When you fill this out and return to us our instructors will go over it and give you a frank opinion as to your ability. Mail the Coupon NOW Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 As Others See You We have always been curious to know just what sort of people you are who read Cosmopolitan month after month to a total of 1,600,000 copies. So we found out. A town of twenty thousand was selected, the readers of Cosmopolitan were located, and we called upon three hundred of their number along with three hundred families right next door who do not read Cosmopolitan. In that way we determined the following: You entertain and like to be entertained ... You are frequently mentioned in the society columns of your paper ... You are rated asa liberal buyer by the merchants... The women folks frequently patronize the beauty shops ... You buy cut flowers for the table more often than your neighbors... You take more cream from the dairy than the average family in your circumstances... Your grocery bill actually averages three dollars a week more than neighboring families of the same size... Your car is better than average, and a later model than that of a family which does not read Cosmopolitan. Finally, we learned that you buy because of style, beauty or comfort—not because of a price appeal. In a word, you are the progressive type of American family which takes advantage of the newest and most improved products - which add to the enjoyment of life. And because of this, your approval is being sought by the manufacturers whose names appear opposite. They realize you are the most desirable customers in the United States.

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Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1930 229 COSMOPOLITAN’S MARCH ADVERTISERS

—— ADVERTISER PRODUCT PAGE NO. ADVERTISER : PRODUCT PAGE NO. A I American Chicle Co.......-..+seeeee+- Beeman’s Pepsin Gum............ 150 International Correspondence Schools. .Correspondence Courses American Chicle Co............++++--+ BROMO PRO GUM. ow. ww ccc ccc ccicns 194 International Mercantile Marine Lines. .Ocean Travel..................... 22 American Drug Corporation........... Sinaseptic..... 218 International Wagon-Lits........... . Railways of France................ 23 American Hard Rubber Co............ Ace Combs d American Radiator & Standard Sanitary aia ae PM cy cn dc atevvbstecesseiecves to A Sa ere ere ere 5 cinta Redan @ Woodbury’s Facial Soa 97 MMM sn ay erent High School Course.............-. 196 MBG WO... wo eee ee een ee edt ani IL, prc omansc C0:; ; “Lueky Strike Cigarettes............158 Johnson & Johnson...................Tek Tooth Brush................. 139 Art Craft Guild Travel Bureau. ine Wn ete io ee 221 K Associated Apparel Industries.......... Gossard Combinatious............. 169 eS idan cs cae mecewae PN Sigs 9 5 o0c4b eden casttn 216 B John T. Kennedy Sales Co........ ....Clear Tone. . sdanein'ck baa ee Bailey, Banks & Biddle Co............ Jewelers, Silversmiths, Stationers 182 aoe ERAS sir ecdigiv oole tones veteees an seers secerccccecercce — Bauer & Black Co...........-.+.5-0: Bauer & Black Products........... 165 1 ec 5 a oad atid i at eee Bile ik eet e rae oe 2 FST ears Ss Bayer Aspirin Co..........-.+2+eeeee- Bayer Aspirin Tablets............. 203 L Beech-Nut Packing Company.......... Beech-Nut Black Cough Drops... ..124 Bell & Howell Co....... cc ccsccceveeee Personal Movie Cameras and Pro- Lambert Pharmacal Co........... RIN os 5 a5 ance Cais coun adeaaae 103 pO Ree eee 123 Lambert Pharmacal Co................Listerine Toothpaste Sc nal uae aad 109 Bellin's Wonderstoen Co. .....Bellin’s Wonderstoen.............. 205 pe Sree ne Blue Moon Hosiery... . .143 Book-of-the-Month Club., ‘Inc... rae: ae ar Ey AAR a eee 1 LaSalle Extension U oe ersity Pakica cece Combination C orrespondenceC ourses 3 The Borden Company..............-. Eagle Brand Milk.................112 Lavoris Chemical € a nara < se aa eae ate a oS ads 4 on bees 147 A te: SION COs ens o sigiciclc css cause Old English Wax. nes kc oa ES IN gs 6 a3 0's o'o'6-0-0 oe wracewanes Lentheric Parfums. ‘ cle a: og Brief English Systems, Inc.............Correspondence School. . pyre: MU ES obs soc oo vic sin dia a sees wa edale EMR I Sc accccanes scecena 185 Bristol-Myers Co. COMTOBOE. oo oss os. conte ce cect en's 215 A. H. Lewis Medicine Co. -...-NWature’s Remedy.................227 Bristol-Myers Co. Ipanme Toogh Paste... ..........:.. 121 PS Se a eee eR I a ie oon vo Sv aces oe -lll Bristol-Myers Co I Shs sleet weu cna esas 102 Liggett & Myers, Ine. .....Chesterfield € ‘igarettes ....126 and 127 Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corp.. ... Raleigh Cigarettes................ 172 London & Northeastern | Railway. sues 6 5 Ea ate 6 ..-224 MME INOGINOED, . ooo ss crsserccstecsce Mi Choice Chocolates............. 184 Luden’s, Inc.. Gu gieseriecekacawe Luden's Menthol Cc ‘ough Drops Paces ‘181 Cc M OR EMO Sy ccceccvesicvessewes California Vacations.............. 222 DRGs 3 obo les be eee se Ma weks Maybelline Eyelash Beautifier......194 Camepbell Soup Co.. 00.0 ce cccccecenss Campbell Soups. . BA Mello-Glo Company ree ne Mello-Glo Face Powder............128 i, MIO Cabs 5 o's oc cicweuiesic e's Campbell's Infra-Red Ray Lamp. .210 Wiominemtts Co., MEd... 2. 5 ccc cen Money Making at Home..........219 Carlyle Laboratories, Inc.............. Phantom Red Lipstick. . . 166 NE aa odie wie hs eae huaes Murine...... wdacaia a sah aetaae ag 217 Pk ys Wg ” Serr cere RN RS ra cask clea sk eticewe 211 L. C. McLain ‘Orthopedic Sanitarium ..MecLain Orthopedic Sanitarium | Cathedral of Engraving Lis oy arb aca ble oa Engraving. Spiker ache Kathyrn Murray............ .5-Minute-a-Day-Exercises. . . . . .- 198 Century Music Publishing Co.. Century Sheet “Music. Bae Sts cis a te/e 182 Central States Mfg. Co......... Agents for Kitchen Ware........... 227 N MENT NOE BIE. oincik icciccie ceo ces Re erie 218 . 2 . ; - Chase & I, WN oie sce se eee Chase & Sanborn’s Coffee..........113 — ans Rendios. SCR cepa eg RE AM <0 «2 oe rv 0 rec escousans 308 } al City Company............ | ee See RI ag AG. . anie 9:40 Cae 6 oe oh’ Floral Eau de Cologne. . Raine aietg ee Northern Pacific Railway Travel 221 Church & Dwight Co., Inc.............Arm & Hammer Baking ‘Soda. Recess 174 Norwich Pharmacsl Co Bates ee Pe rks De eRe a ee ee - . a By g ee ee oer re pto Bismol RVeaCG ad asic new wanna 200 BUN Cy CAMs 2.5 5-b,5 weiner cee veces European-Mediterranean Tours... .. 221 Norwich Pharmacal Co Unguentine 192 Sherwin Cody School of English........ Correspondence School........ ere i ih mea RR RN 5 dj aa i tales Seth cha Colgate-Palmolive-Peet Co.............Palmolive Soap............... .. 105 Oo Colgate-Palmolive-Peet Co.............Colgate’s Ribbon Dental Cream... .107 The Colorado Association............. Se ep AES ra 223 Oakland Motor Company............. SPE ECCT PPO 189 Continental Scale Co.................. Health-O-Meter...................204 Olson Rug Co...... 2.2.06... eeee eens Cass feta sk cngsckincanse 218 Corn Products Refining Co............ WME aa cats Calcd o.caaa dnantec 158 Oshkosh Trunk Co.............. ARE ROIS occ cuuscedcwenee 160 UMNO OMENS. on cc ceccccescaces Crane Fixtures.......... Second Cover Otwell Iris Fields............-..eeeees Tris. . C ecekadwcabedoes 198 Cream of Wheat Company............ SI ON WPI 6.5 oc keane divieceueas 175 Crescent Mfg. CO...........cceecceees pens ore rrr eres P The Cummer Products Co............. Energine Rial g clack ecaikrata: vbia'd o.6 sua ee, 178 Paris Medicine Co...........cccecceee Grove’s Laxative Bromo Quinine C-Y Chocolate Yeast Co.............. C-Y¥ Chocolate Yeast.............. 186 FREE. 8 og cy Atak 216 ye ty a errr re Pepsodent Tooth Paste SES aes er ee 145 D Perfect Voice Institute. . ; .... Voice Culture. ...... Sa SOR 216 Davey Tree Expert Co................ Davey Tree Surgery............... 154 Phoenix Mutual Life Insurance Co... . gang OTT 125 Te WAN DAVIS. cei Soc c ens see Se ae 219 Pinaud, Inc.. vente eee ee eeeeee Pinaud’s Face Cream & Powder... .149 Dearborn Supply Co...............+++ Mercolized Wax................+- 198 Pond’s Extract Co....................Pond’s Beauty Preparations. ... 99 yo ere ee 1 ES Ea a enone a 219 The Procter & Gamble Co...... ......Camay Soap.............Third Cover Oy Ue REE cee ced ecvewccesnds ere eee 230 RPMS. k'n 'ui0:t abu tia newness Non-Alcoholic Beverages...........216 R John Duncan's Sons...........-...++- Lea & Perrins Sauce............... 176 Reserve Remedy Co............. a eee 200 Reserve Remedy Co... ... ccc csccecess ME INS Sov 5 80s 6 ped cae cbne 210 E Resinol Chemical Co.. cc Se. 5 oc dae. 194 Eaton, Crane & Pike Co...............Eaton’s Writing Papers............ 140 R. J. Reynolds Tobacco Co... ---.+-,Camei Cigarettes.......... Back Cover Electric Vacuum Cleaner Co...........Premier Duplex................... 167 Rhodes Mfg. Co.............-.+2-005: Blade Sharpener.................. 202 So ATS RIE een Eno’s Effervescent Salts........... 177 Royal Baking Powder Co..............Royal Baking Powder............. 207 Ethyl Gasoline Corporation............ Wns CMM <a ceo ek co eek 208 Royal Baking Powder Co..............Royal Gelatin Dessert............. 92 Tuan TIO: os cece cece Beauty Preparations...............201 F S po ap hg pe Oc eer snow arenas ata - The Sanfelder Co.....................Abdominal Belts for Men.......... 196 es mG ag) or eye Correspondence School............. 226 Scholl Mfg. Co.. Pads uvendes widen wae Foot NE 8s loka’ Six oo con eae 198 Federal School of Illustrating. ......... Correspondence School............ .228 Scholl Mfg. Co.........------+++20+-- Walk-Straate...................44 196 Fellows Medical Mfg. Co..............Fellow’s Syrup...............0..05 219 Scholl Mfg. Co.........-..-- 00. - 020s Zino Pads................--2eeeee 194 ESE OR ee eres. a Fels Naptha Soap................. 95 School of E 9d ee ses ee be Extension Division Maeda ln aca @ bee ocala 198 The Fleischmann Company............ Fleischmann’s Yeast...............101 The Simmons Co............. ....... Simmons Beds.................... 157 Ford Motor Company................ WDM ce Se 115 L. C. Smith & Corona Ty Dewriters, Inc. ee Deeetdesesienatcuds aeoe 151 IER se occ ee Forhan for the Gums.............. 191 E. R. Squibb & Sons.............. -Home Necessities. ................ 118 Franco Belgique Tours Co.............Europe by Motor................. 221 John B. Stetson Co...............---- Stetson Hats..................... 161 Franklin Institute.................00+ Correspondence School. . .182 PF. A. Stuart....--..- 0-0. esse eee es Stuart's Calelum Wafers.......... 202 The Frigidaire Corporation............ Die... cas ck “116 and 117 The Studebaker c ‘orporation of America Studebaker Motors................ 213 ORME OO. soon occ ess ack Ts ea eae as . 180 Student Travel Club..................European Travel.................. 221 SY NI o's van. 5s'ee an ck Ore ein ess un alhes nedwecue ade ot 225 G T Gen i ete teent, De Oe ae Three-In-One OHCo....- 2.2.2. -+- +, Three-tt-One Ol ...eeo eee eeeeee. 166 Mary T. Goldman...................-Hair Color Restorer............... 178 U PORNO CAR 5, Secs cele bev eres Deauville Sandals................. 211 mae Cordon, ESd.. 55. eee ess BEBO ines. oie eu anlnaves 219 United Remedies...... + 6a 5k EC RS iow Sake awn odin’ waltealat 198 Great Western & Southern Rwys. of Universal Aviation Corporation... .C orrespondence School. . aie 04 aaae's aa Re ee naa I Pee Ps A eee 221 Caranbend Products C02: «<<. s « IONE. oon ick csc ccteccccececdes 202 yw te FRE Ae NING a 6 wigtd ate oa oro Gee aa 6 Saleen 159 Dr. Jeanne Walter. . _........Rubber Reducing Garments...... . .205 The Wander Company............. » Ss cakes tcc aen esas . -187 ~ H Pe IN os 5 on 5's OMI ala ono te oc wkwecudeveseneces 129 Alexander Hamilton Institute.......... soiempesines Accountants Society, Northam Warren vo geiaaage a 163 Ta le GIRS Me seas 202 L. E. Waterman, Inc.. Bieh: 52.52 RS eo oo ee H. J. Heinz Company................ eo... pea Baked Beans.......... 136 R. L. Watkins & Co................ Be a Pree ee 215 Hinze Ambrosia, Inc.. SRM 60 oct vied ech Miacinlee el 131 R. L. Watkins & Co.. Dr. Lyon's Tooth Powder......... 197 Hollywood Photoplay & Fiction In- Janome Weller & Bons... 56... 5 cs sc ERMIOOER, . . evn ccc esvenscccccsces 17' RSI are hr IA iio eal Correspondence School.............198 The Western Company. ...Dr. West’s Tooth Brushes..........183 Holmes & Edwards Silver a Holmes & Edwards Inlaid.......... 141 Stephen F. Whitman & Sons, Ine...... . Whitman's Chocolates............. 14 Home Correspondence School. . “Short Story Writing............... 226 Wyeth Chemical Co.................. WIE ys ones Soe cocadcvwosaes 215 POOP IOMIBRA ee Short Story Writing............... 205 Hudson Motor Car Co..............-. Hudson Motor Car................ 133 bs Hygienic Products Co................. MS eect as Wittence kee es 96 WR eS 6 5 5 ei os bs os I Pe a os i acc entes

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‘Four Raises in Two Years” “Anp it hasn’t been hard to get them, either. Why, it seems only yesterday that I was wondering if I would ever make as much as $45 a week. And now I’m. making $75. “Tom Dawson was speaking about it today. We worked side by side two years ago, And he’s still plugging away at the same old job. . “I told him it wasn’t too late if he would only make the start and he said he was going to send in one of those I. C. S. coupons right away. “T hope he does, because an I. S. course is the very thing he needs to get out of the rut. I wouldn’t be making anywhere near $75 a, week if I hadn’t started to study just when I did.” Every day, in office, shop and factory, you will find men who are being given better positions and larger salaries because they are studying at home in spare time with the International Correspondence Schools. An I. C. S. course helped Jesse G. Vincent to rise from tool-maker to Vice-president of the Packard Motor Car Company. It helped George Grieble to rise from a stone-mason to the owner of a business paying $12,000 It helped Bert S. Remaley to increase his salary ten times. And it will help you too, if you will only make the start. Mail the Ceupon for Free Booklet “INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS “The Universal University” Box 2533-C, Scranton, Penna. Without cost or obligation on my part, please send me a copy of your 48-page booklet, “‘Who Wins and Why,” and tell me how I can qualify for the position, or in the subject, before which I have marked an TECHNICAL AND INDUSTRIAL COURSES 1 Architect C) Automobile W ont Architectural Draftsman [) psetien Engine: Building Foreman Plumber ant Steam Fitter Concrete Builder Plumbing Inspector Contractor and Builder (J Foreman Plumber Structural Draftsman Heating and Ventilation Structural Engineer Sheet-Metal Worker Electrical Engineer Electrical Contractor Electric Wiring Electric Lighting Electric Car Running Telegraph Engineer Telephone Work Mechanical Engineer Mechanical Draftsman Machine Shop Practice Toolmaker Patternmaker JO Steam Engineer Marine Engineer Refrigeration Engineer . R. Positions Highway Engineer Chemistry Pharmacy Coal Mining Engineer Navigation ( Assayer Iron and Steel Worker (J Textile Overseer or Supt. Cotton Manufacturing Civil Engineer V Surveying and Mapping 0 -* ruit Growing Bridge Engineer Gas Engine Operating Mathematics [J Radio BUSINESS TRAINING COURSES Business Management (] Business Correspondence Industrial Management (J gy 7 oe — Sign WUOUOOOOOOOOODI bee CJ Personnel Management .__ Letter! Traffic Management Lstenorranhy and Typing Accounting and C. P. A, (J English Coaching L) Civil Service Cost Accounting () Railway Mail Clerk Bookkeeping (0 Mail Carrier Secretarial Work fy Grade School Subjects Spanish ( French 0 High School Subjects Salesmanship Li Miustrating O Ca Advertising (J Lumber Dealer Name. Street Address. ooo0o0oo. DoOo00g City. Occupation If you reside in Canada, send this coupon to the International Correspondence Schools Canadian, Limited, Montreal, Canada TOOTHACHE! Use Dent’s Toothache Gum. Nota chewing gum. Applied in cavity it— 1) Stops toothache instantly 2) Cleanses and protects cavity 3) Retards further decay 4) Destroys all odor. Does not spill or dry up like liquids. All druggists or by mail, 25c. Made for 40 years by C. S . Dent & Co., Detroit. DENT’S TOOTHACHE GUM Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 193 The Ogre of Europe (Continued from wa 73) textbooks, written also in blood in the history of powerful nations, is the Com- munist’s faith and purpose. To be fore- warned should be to be forearmed! It is probable that Trotsky never com- prehended the Marxian creed; but of its drill book he was the incomparable master. He possessed in his nature all the qualities requisite for the art of civic destruction. No trace of compassion, no sense of human kinship, no apprehension of the spiritual, weakened his tireless capacity for action. Like the cancer bacillus he grew, he fed, he tortured, he slew in ful- fillment of his nature. He found a wife who shared the Com- munist faith. She worked and plotted by his side. She shared his first exile to Siberia. She bore him children. She aided his escape. He deserted her. He found another kindred mind in a girl of good family who had been ex- pelled from a school at Kharkov for persuading the pupils to refuse to attend prayers and to read Chernyshevski in- stead of the Bible. By her he had an- other family. Of his mother he writes in cold and chilling terms. His father, old Bron- stein, died of typhus in 1920 at the age of eighty-three. The triumphs of his son brought no comfort to this honest, hard-working Jew. Persecuted by the Reds because he was a bourgeois; by the Whites because he was Trotsky’s father, and deserted by his son, he was left to sink or swim in the Russian deluge. Yet in Trotsky, in thus being so re- moved from the ordinary affections and sentiments of human nature, so superbly fitted to his task, there was an element of weakness especially serious from the Communist point of view. Trotsky was ambitious, and ambitious in quite a common worldly way. All the collectivism in the world could not rid him of'an egoism which amounted to a disease, and to a fatal disease. He must not only ruin the state; he must rule the ruins thereafter. Every system of government of which he was not the head or almost the head was odious to him. The Dictatorship of the Prole- tariat to him meant that he was to be obeyed without question. This led to trouble. Comrades be- came jealous. They became suspicious. At the head of the Russian army which he reconstructed amid indescribable dif- ficulties and perils, Trotsky stood very near the vacant throne of the Ro- manovs. The Communist formulas he had used with devastating effect upon others were now no impediment to him. He discarded them as readily as he had discarded his wife, or his father, or his name. The army must be remade; vic- tory must be won and Trotsky must do it and Trotsky profit from it. He used his exceptional prowess to the full. The officers and soldiers of the new model army were fed, clothed and treated better than anyone else in Rus- sia. Officers of the old Czarist régime were wheedled back in thousands. “To the devil with politics—let us save Rus- sia.” The salute was reintroduced. The badges of rank and privilege were re- stored. The authority of commanders was reestablished. The higher com- mand found themselves treated with deference by this Communist upstart. The abandonment by the Allies of the Russian loyalist cause crowned these measures with a victory easy but com- plete. In 1922, so great was the appre- ciation among the military for Trot- sky’s personal attitude and system that he might weil have been made Czar @ Russia, but for one fatal obstacle. 4 He was a Jew. He was still a Je Nothing could get over that. Hard fore tune when you have deserted your fam: ily, repudiated your race, spat upon thé religion of your fathers, and lappe Jew and Gentile in a common malignit to be balked of so great a prize for narrow-minded a reason! In the y of this disappointment loomed ea trophe. For meanwhile the comrades had 4 been idle. They too had heard the talj of the officers. They too saw the pg sibilities of a Russian army reconsti tuted with its old elements. While Lenin lived the danger seem remote. But in 1924 Lenin died: Trotsky, still busy with his army, sti enjoying the day-to-day work of admin- istering his department, still hailed with acclamations, turned to find a tough wrought opposition organized against h Stalin the Georgian was a kind of g eral secretary to the governing instru. ment. He managed the caucus manipulated the innumerable commit- tees. He pulled wires in accordance a clearly perceived design. When Tro sky advanced hopefully, confidently ij deed, to accept the succession to the party machine was found to be wo! ing in a different direction. In the purely political arena of C munist activities Trotsky ’was speedi outmaneuvered. He was accused on th strength of some of his voluminous w ings of “anti-Leninism.” . He admitted his heresy and eagerly explained to the soldiers and worker the very cogent reasons which had | him to it. His declarations were ceived with blank dismay. The Og was set in motion. Officers known to under an obligation to Trotsky were moved from their appointments. a period of silent tension he was : vised to take a holiday. This holiday, after some interruptions, still contin What will be his place in stor For all the horrors of the French Revo- lution, a glittering light plays over its scenes and actors. The careers and per= sonalities of Robespierre, of Danton, evé of Marat, gleam redly across a. cent But the dull, squalid figures of the R sian Bolsheviki are not redeemed in terest even by the magnitude of crimes. Even the slaughter of mi and the misery of scores of millions not attract future generations to their uncouth lineaments. ai While the civilized nations of thé] world move forward on their busines behind a careful quarantine, Russia sin back into a prolonged spell of barbarism ~ from which some day the structure of @ great nation will once again arise. 4 Trotsky will have ample leisure to con=" template his handiwork. We could wish’ him no better punishment than that his” life should be prolonged, and that his keen intelligence and restless sp should corrode each other in impote! and stultification. Indeed, we may foresee a day when his” theories, exploded by their application, will have ceased even to be irritating the active, hopeful world outside, an@ when the wide tolerance which foll from a sense of security will allow him to creep back -to the European am American haunts where so many of i early years were spent. Ee It may be that in these future years he will find as little comfort in the worse: which he has done as his father foune in the son he had begotten. ~

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ailed with® a toughly ™ ainst him d of gen= ig instrus cus and > commit. | ance with | en Trot= 7 lently in-=” to Lenin, 7 » be work- © of Com-~ 3 speedily | ed on the | ous Writ- © d eagerly = 1 workers” had led™ were re- 3 e Ogpu > own to be were req" ts. After was ad- = 5 holiday, = ontinues. = history? © ich Revoe | ; over its] and per=3 ton, even = . century, = the Rus-" ed in in-7 plication, = itating to side, ana@ | h follows = allow him yean and ny of his 7 ure years the work | er found ©