Newspapers / The Elkin Tribune (Elkin, … / Oct. 19, 1939, edition 1 / Page 5
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Thursday. October 19. 1939 CHAPTER 111 Synopsis N>netoen-year-old Anne Ord way realizes suddenly that something: Is wrong between her father and mother. She hears servants whispering and senses tension when her inoth er asks her father for money I before her bridge game with the Dorsays—and David. Anne adores her beautiful mother, Elinor, and her father, Francis; and she had always liked and trusted their old friend David. Yet it is David about whom the servants are whispering. Vicky, Anne's companion, is aware of the situation, too. Anne steals away to meet Garry Brooks in the moonlight and they meet a strange man at a campfire. Wakened at two by the sound of her mother's singing, Anne, frpm the stair landing, sees David with his arms around Elinor. She tells Vicky, her companion. Vicky pretends to smell smoke and goes to the drawing-room. David leaves before Francis comes home. Vicky remonstrates with Elinor. Elinor threw herself into a chair, and the rose and silver of ■ier gown and the deeper rose of *he chair's back seemed to mock rthe whiteness of her face. "How much is she my child? You've been with her since she was five. You've taken my place. And Francis did that, not I." "He did it because you said jou hated being tied down." But there was more to it than that. Vicky had not told the whole story. Of how Francis Ordway had come home late one night from Baltimore to find Anne with a raging fever and in the care of an ignorant nurse maid. while Elinor was off to a hunt ball at the country club. When he telephoned her, she had refused to come until the dancing was over. So Francis had sent for Vicky and Vicky had stayed. "I lost a lot tonight and I didn't ask David to help me out. Do you think it is true, Vicky, ' what Francis said? That David is in debt to him?" "He wouldn't have said it if it weren't true," Vicky stated posi tively. Elinor's losses of late had been so great that she had used des perate means to get money to pay them. Now she was at her wits' end, and in spite of her resent ment of Vicky's interference in her affairs, it seemed as if Vicky after all was the only stable thing in her world. Suddenly they heard the big outside. I In another moment Francis en tered. He stopped on the thres hold and looked his surprise. "Not fin bed yet?" he asked. "I have been," Vicky said, "but I smelled smoke and came down." Elinor said, "It was the fire place." "I'll go upstairs now," said Vicky. "I'm tired." Francis stopped her with a mo tion of his hand. "No. Sit down, Vicky. I'm glad I found you here. X want to talk about Anne." This impressive, guaranteed Studebaker is yours for _ same money as an ordinary lowest price car En/ay dftk and cto&zfc 4eu/utaf NEW 1940 _ VtiidebakebA Champion IB TH IS time wheii you go looking nragra around for the best buy in a PSLj&il MpMB fewest price car, make it easy for MBIW yourself and see and drive this Champion first. MB 4t£ft3Kf9tok Thousands of thrilled Cham- Ef| 2KI pion owners have conclusively Vp liant-performing, 6j-cylinder " : —————— est price cars. sealed-beam headlamps, steer pendent suspension, non-slam /»£■ rotary door latches, front-com partment hood lock. Low down payment; easy C.I.T. terms. R.& H. MOTOR SALES Downtown Garage East Main Street Elkin, N. C. "Yes?" But Vicky did not sit down. "I've been wondering if you and fhe might not like a winter in the south of France?" Elinor's face darkened. "Why?" "I want to get her away." "From me?" "From both of us—if you will have it—and the life we lead." "What's the matter with the life we lead?" "You know as well as I. It's pood enough for you and me, per haps. We've made our beds and we've got to lie on them. But it isn't good enough for Anne. And besides, there's Garry." "What's the matter with Gar ry?" "Nothing—as Garry. But a lot as Anne's husband." Vicky spoke. "You can trust Anne. And may I say something about your plan for sending her away?" | "Of course." "I think if Anne goes at all, -she should go with her mother." They stared at her. "W it h me?" Elinor asked, | amazed. "Do you mean," Francis de j fnanded, "that you are separating yourself from Anne? You can't (do that!" "Only for a time." i "But why. Vicky?" , "Anne must learn to lean on I her own strength. Not on mine." i Elinor interposed, "But I don't | want to go away. "I've planned |my winter—and Anne's. And what does it matter if she mar ries Garry? He has money and good looks, and worships the ground she walks on." "He worships himself, Elinor. Anne would be just an addition to his other possessions." "Aren't most wives just that?" Elinor's hands went out in a lit tle gesture of impatience. "And il it isn't Garry, it will be some body else. Oh, I'm too tired to argue, Francis. I'm going to bed." She stood up, slender and shining in her pink and silver. Her husband, his eyes on her ! shining slimness, said abruptly, j"I thought you were wearing I black when I left." "I was, but I hate black." She i threw the words over her shoul i der as she left him, but when ! she reached the threshold she | turned. "We had a rotten game, j I suppose it's useless to ask you j for any more money?" I "I gave you all I could spare." She shrugged her shoulders and j went slowly up the stairs. Left alone in the library with Vicky, Francis said, "She put on that dress for —David?" Vicky had no reply for that. But after an interval in which she stared into the fire she said, "Sometimes things are not so serious as they seem. And if you will only send her away—" "Elinor?" "Yes." "But why with Anne?" "Anne loves her. And it will give her time to think." "Elinor?" "Yes." "But where will you go, Vicky?" THE ELKIN TRIBUNE. ELKIN. NORTH CAROLINA "To my home on the Eastern Shore." "What will Anne say? She won't let you go, Vicky?" "She will when I tell her." "What will you tell her?" "That her mother needs her." "You think." Francis asked tensely, "that it isn't too late?" She spoke with a certain serene confidence. "Sometimes life works out our problems for us." "What a fatalist you are!" She smiled wistfully. "Perhaps it isn't fatalism. Perhaps it is faith. And don't worry about Anne. She's a strong little thing, with all her softness." She £aw his face quivering with deep emotion. "I worship her," he said. "She's the one lovely thing in this rotten world." She had no words for that, and she left him standing by the fire, his eyes on the dying flames. Meanwhile the man in the meadow had not found sleep un der the stars. It had been an enchanting ad venture with that child in the moonlight: A rare moment to tuck away in one's memory. And that was all. Yet if things had been different he would have tried to see her again—to savor once more her exquisiteness. He had not thought there was such a girl in this modern world. She had recalled to his mind the painting of Bouguereau that he had seen in a Baltimore gallery ol a young maiden with a lamb in her arms. "Innocence" was the name in the catalogue. Well, she was like that—virginal, with a curious touch of vividness. The chances were that she would marry the young man. A woman was like that—propin quity and a man madly in love with her! She would mistake her need of love for loving. It was no business of his, of course. That was why he had sent her away. That he might never see her again, and that she might never guess his identity. Why should he impose his past cn her? Why speak the name that she would see black in the headlines if she opened the morning paper. That was the worst of it the papers and the things they said. This very pilgrimage of his was an escape from it all. If he could only tell her the truth! She would, he thought, understand. In a few hours he would be on his way and Anne would forget him. But he didn't want to be forgotten. He looked at his watch. Two-thirty. No more sleep to night! He put another stick on the fire and by the light of the leaping flames wrote a letter, tearing leaves from his notebook until he had a sheaf of them. He addressed an envelope, sealed it and made his . way across the meadow, coming at last to the garden and the tall hedge. He found the curtains drawn at the windows of the big house, so he could see nothing. Follow ing a flagged path he reached the driveway, and a tall iron gate i with a mail box hung on the : brick wall beside it where he I posted his letter. Retracing his steps he stood again on the little hill where earlier In the evening Anne had met Garry, and looked down over the sleeping garden. Prom the height where he stood, Charles could see straight through the window of a dark ened room on the second floor of the house and beyond that to the lighted hall. And as he looked a woman came within his line of vision. She was ascending the stairs. He saw her—first her head, then the whiteness of her neck and arms, then rosy and shining as the dawn, her pink and silver gown. She was very beautiful, with an almost startling beauty like the splendid ladies in Rom r.ey's paintings or Sir Joshua's. But her beauty left Charles cold. Such goddesses belonged in por trait galleries to be hung on walls! He had a feeling that the woman was Anne's mother. Yet there was nothing in common be tween the golden-lighted loveli ness of the daughter and the dark brilliance of the other. She stood now in the open door of the darkened room. She seem ed to hesitate, then entered and was lost in the gloom. A shaft of moonlight striking through the shadows shone on a shimmering heap of whiteness that seemed to catch and hold the light in a pool of radiance. And it was toward this pool of radiance that a hand came presently out of the dark ness—a white hand and a bare and slender arm. Then all at once the hand was withdrawn, and where there had been that shimmering heap was empty space! And in the long and lighted hall a flash of pink and silver as a tall figure went flying toward a room at the far Charles wondered a bit as he made his way down the hill. There had been an air of mys tery about the woman's move ments. But one's imagination plays tricks at times. And there was undoubtedly a perfectly com monplace solution to the scene. When he returned to his camp THE LYRIC ALWAYS COMFORTABLE Natural. True to Life SOUND TODAY AND FRIDAY- NI'XT WFf K' . A MOVIE TO THRILL T0... MONDAY-TUESDAY— ter-Cjl A MEMORY TO CHERISH! i "Goodbye Mr. Chips" is so packed mw K*»* .«* J&lJFmm with power, tenderness and emo- PV/ WV. Jg|3|MP tional thrill that it will linger in vitCQ \S your memory forever! Robert , *ll Donat surpasses even his triumph ** u in "The Citadel"! And Greer EV/lVll H KtIKW, / The lamed Garson, new star sensation, will .1 1 * / rfflW/lwll last oa the heart-stabbing performance! BaA|U|r * * y • You don » know \WMm\ screen! J djCMWjrfo c . X* * about that : 111 &**» by *' b/Victoij^^, MELYYt ' B^wf^ W / DODfiIAS *— CONNOLLY. CURTIS • !»ERRY News Admission 10c-25c £j * SSSS, ILehman 1 Lehman 7®®*^ _, —mmmmm^——^^^ _ Directed by ALEXANDER HAU ' A COLUMBIA PICTURE % SATURDAY— News - Cartoon Admision 10c-30c *• MARI Uk SIAR REIT WEDNESDAY—FAMILY SHOW— "THE CHAMP" jjliX If You Didn ' t See 14 the First Time ' WALLACE BEERY-JACKIE COOPER Cartoon - Serial - Comedy Adm. 10c-30c Cartoon - Serial Admission 10c to All Coming Oct. 30-31 Coming Nov. 6-7 "ON BORROWED TIME" "LADY OF THE TROPICS" LADIES! DON'T FORGET FREE TABLEWARE THURSDAY AND FRIDAY! — MLYRIC THEATRE —— his fire was dying, little spirals of wood smoke scenting acridly the air about him. How Margot had loved that acrid scent! "I shall never forget this, Carl," she had said on their hon eymoon. "I shall never forget." And now she had forgotten. It was he who would remember those other nights under the moon when he and she had built their little fires—"Altars to our gods. Carl"—and had watched the flames die and the coals glow and the smoke curling. Wonder ful nights, wonderful days, yet before the honeymoon was over he had known that there were altars in his own soul where Mar got would never worship with him. Still he had loved her. doggedly refusing to believe her anything less than he had thought her until the day had come when she had flung him his love away. And now—woodsmoke and the thought of Anne! Would a man dare love more than once? And if he did, would there not come memories of that first and splendid passion that had swept over him as a boy? SAY - rm^- 1 *. HOLSUM Charles cast the thought from him and jumping to his feet be gan to gather up his belongings. When he came to the cup from which Anne had drunk he stood with it in his hand for a mo ment, then dropped It on a rock where it splintered into a thou sand pieces. Thus in the old days men had splintered their glasses when they had drunk to the queen! He smiled a little as he went on with his packing. He recognized in himself the incurable romantic. But romantic or not. no one should drink again from the cup which that charming child had lifted to her lips. He quenched his fire with wa ter from the nearby stream, and a little later his car slid from under the shadowy pines and into the open. (Continued Next Week) Some Grate Borleigh: "Some men you know are born great, some achieve greatness—" Miss Keen "Exactly! And some just grate upon you." MORE GRAZING Where he applied triple super phosphate to a 16-acre pasture at the rate of 100 pounds to the acre, Jason Spencer, of Ashe county, has secured one-fourth to one-half more grazing than for merly. Beware Coughs from common colds That Hang On Creomulsion relieves promptly be cause it goes right to the seat of the trouble to loosen germ laden phlegm. Increase secretion and aid nature to soothe and heal raw, tender, inflam ed bronchial mucous membranes. No matter how many medicines you have tried, tell your druggist to sell you a bottle of Creomulsion with the understanding that you are to like the way it quickly allays the cough or you are to have your money back. CREOMULSION for Coughs, Chest Colds, Bronchitis SEE A GOOD SHOW AT THE LYRIC
The Elkin Tribune (Elkin, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Oct. 19, 1939, edition 1
5
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