THE
Published Weekly
NADY OATES, JR.
Editor. YOUNG AMERICAN
High Point, N. C.
WALTER E. CRISSMAN
Bssiness Manager.
Vol. I 5c the copy
Sept. 4,1920 $1.50 a year in advance
No. 1
Her Chance to Vamp.
By Harry Bangs
Being too young to attend any af
fairs but those given at the church
and afternoon parties given by her
sisters in affliction—the girls of the
second year in high school—Theresa
decided that she was one of the most
misunderstood beings extant. She
was sixteen years old—in years per
haps—but! Why, hadn’t she been an
inveterate reader of the snappiest
stories on the market? Didn’t she
know how to “vamp” even though the
material was never very worth while?
No chaps except high school boys
ever paid any attention to her unless
it was some suitor of her sister
Alicia’s and then it was only to tease
her. This was the rankling element
in Theresa’s life. How she longed to
have a college man for a beau!
Curled upon her own particular
divan, with a copy of Robert W.
Chambers’ latest novel on her lap,
she turned her eyes to the window
and gazed mournfully at the gray
sky—the leafless, dripping trees that
lined the quiet, sedate street upon
which Theresa’s home stood. How
like her life the outlook was—always
the same gray monotony. Oh, for
color and life—oh! oh! Her heart
gave a jump and lost at least two
beats, for a bright red roadster was
stopping before their house and in it
was a single male occupant.
With one bound Theresa had leaped
to her dressing table—and was apply
ing powder to her dimunitive nose.
In another breath-taking instant she
had coiled her hair, which usually
hung tied with a ribbon to her waist,
and was viciously digging hair pins
into her scalp while her coiffuj-e as
sumed resplendent proportions, indi
genous to Gainsborough and Anna
Held.
"Probably some one to see Alicia,”
raced her thoughts, “but thank good
ness she’s away. I have a real
chance at last.”
Down the stairs she tore, almost
knocking over ■ Emily, the maid, who
was making the ascent to announce
the visitor.
Who is it?” Thersa painted.
Emily regarded the flushed eager
face with amusement. “Here’s his
card, Theresa, darlin’,” she answered.
Mr. Richard Bolton,” she read.
111 see Mr. Bolton, Emily,” she an
nounced, “and please in the future,
try to remember that I am Miss
Theresa.”
The maid acknowledged this repri
mand with stifled sounds which
sounded like ill-suppressed mirth.
Theresa, hearing the choking
sounds threw her head high and de
scended in a stately way, her cheeks
flaming with indignation. Would she
ever be treated as a grown-up? ^
In the drawing room she found the
stranger. His back was turned and
she silently surveyed his head, his
shoulders, his bearing. Here was a
man of the world. That much was
evident at a glance.
“This must seem like an intrusion,”
he said, as he turned and made a step
toward her.
Theresa extended her hand and dis
played an irresistible dimple. “No in
deed, Mr. Bolton. It is a great pleas
ure. I’m only sorry that Alicia is not
home. She is out of town.”
“Then you are her little sister,
Theresa?” he, asked.
Woe of woes—must she always be
known as Alicia’s “little sister.” An
inspiration born of her suifering came
to her.
“No indeed,” glibly, “I’m their cous
in Molly Pearson. I’m just down from
college for a few days’ visit.”
A slight semblance of a smile ap
peared at the corners of Mr. Bolton’s
mouth but he gravely acknowledged
her introduction.
“I’m very delighted to know you.
Miss Pearson.”
“Won’t you sit down,” said Theresa
in her most worldly tone. “Are you
in town for long?”
“No, you see the fact is-l’m here
only to deliver an invitation. I drove
over from the university for this
reason.”
Oh indeed,” said Theresa still with
her worldly tone. “Was the invita
tion for Alicia?”
“No, it was for her sister Theresa.”
Oh-h-h!” this was a very expres
sive monosyllable. A world of mean
ing was imparted. It might have
been interpreted literally, as “why
didn’t you tell me this in the first
place?”
“Well, what a shame,” Theresa said
recovering her composure again.
Theresa isn’t home either, but”
■with anxious assurance, “you can
leave the message with me.”
‘T wish I could, but you see it’s of
a very confidential nature and I” a
malicious twinkle was now becoming
evident in Dick Bolton’s eyes. “I
really don’t see how I can leave it
with you.”
“But but you really must. I’ll
see that Theresa gets it. She’s—she
is not expected home for dinner.
Really don’t you think you had better
leave the message with me?” Blue
eyes were raised to his, and an air
of tragic concern was slowly envelop
ing her.
But Bolton was to prove himeslf
heartless.
“Then I’m afraid it wiil be
too late to deliver the message at
all,” this took on the nature of a wail
and with it, Theresa’s last remnant of
social poise disappeared. “Oh, please
tell me,” she begged. “You don’t un
derstand, I mean.—you see—” her
breath was beginning to come in little
gasps and the tears were gathering
for a torrent.
“Well, you see I wanted to ask her
Continued cn rape 8