WA^//Vc
VW" n „. Harry Putfh Smith Tp
CHAPTER VII
Synopsis
life grows complicated for
the children of plucky Anne
Phillips who, by working in a
department store, has support
ed them since her husband's
death. Her married daughter,
Berenice, quarrels with her
husband, Bill. Jim, the son, is
infatuated with the rich Helen
Sanders, although Anne sus
pects that Cathy, the widowed
little dancer in the apartment
across the hall, is in love with
him. And Janet, Anne's young
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er daughter, is unhappy be
cause her well-to-do friends
neglect her, and insists on be
lieving that she is annoyed over
Gordon Key's interest in Pris
ciila Leigh. Janet is studying
interior decorating at normal
school summer classes and is
commissioned by Tony Ryan to
help him restore the old Phil
lips estate which he has
bought..
"His name is Tony Ryan, and
he was born in Shanty Town.
He's employed me to help restore
the old place. Incidentally he's
going to marry Priscilla if he can,
and I think he can."
"He's in love with her?"
"Love!" exclaimed Janet with a
cynical laugh. "Now where have
I heard that word before?"
Her mother flinched. "I don't
like to hear you jeer at the eter
nal verities, Janet. If it's Gordon
who has disillusioned you, he isn't
worth it."
"It isn't only Gordon," said
Janet, blinking her eyes to drive
back the tears. "It's a combina
tion of everything." She smiled
uncertainly. "Perhaps it's good
for me to have my head pulled
down out of the clouds."
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"No!" her mother protested.
"It's a lovely head, and it was
made to brush the stars."
That was before Berenice and
Bill came in just as the others
were sitting down to the table.
"Darlings," exclaimed Anne, "how
did you know I was wishing for
you? You haven't eaten, I hope."
"I'm not hungry," said Bill
with a dull flush.
Anne noticed that Berenice ig
nored his remark quite as if he
had not spoken. "Are you sure
you have enoug{i to go around?"
she asked her mother.
Anne laughed. She and Janet
were scurrying about setting
extra places.
"Bill's had another salary cut,"
said Berenice. "We thought we'd
have to give up the apartment
and I was sick, simply sick, and
all my friends said it was a
shame. So May Shelton called up
Guy and he said he could use me
as a file clerk or something in his
office. The salary isn't large, but
it's more than Bill's cut and after
all, I had nearly finished my bus
iness course when I stopped to get
married."
A dark flush crept to the roots
of Bill's black hair. "I think a
wife ought to be willing to make
the best of her husband's earn
ings. I suppose that's what it
meant when we went through all
that for better, for worse, for
richer, for poorer stuff."
Berenice glared at him. "You've
always thought Mother perfect,
and she works."
Anne winced. "I've been com
pelled to," she said.
The telephone rang and Janet
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jumped up to answer. "It's for
you, Jim," she said.
Jim went into the hall and
picked up the receiver. "That
you, Phillips?" inquired Howard
Leigh. "I-have a message for you
from Miss Sanders."
Jim's hand tightened on the
edge of the telephone stand. "All
right," he said. "Fire."
"She has decided to join her
father for a cruise on his yacht."
Jim's heart felt like an exposed
nerve. "So what?"
"We're leaving at midnight for
New Orleans. I'm invited to go
along."
"Think of that!" said Jim with
a bleak laugh.
"It seems she owes you for a
golf lesson. You can send the
bill to me."
"And you can step to hell," said
Jim banging up the receiver.
He was scowling when he re
turned to the table. Something
in the set of his lips forbade
questions as he jerked out his
chair and sat down again.
July that year ran true to form.
Torrid days with pavements
sticky under the glaring sun were
followed by sultry nights when
the leaves on the trees hung mo
tionless.
Jock McCall returned to his
duties at the golf cjub and Jim
went back to his regular routine
in Judge Hetchcote's office. Ap
parently Jim was the same as he
had ever been conscientious,
steady, level-headed. He worked
nearly every night, studying or
going over briefs. After dinner
each evening he romped with
Danny. Later Jim drove Cathy
over to the night club. Sometimes
he stayed at the office late
enough to bring her home. If he
had suffered a wound, he said
nothing. Only his mother's eyes
could have detected the faint
lines that tightened about Jim's
mouth and even she could not be
certain of his unhappiness.
In the same fashion Anne had
no adequate excuse for her anx
iety in regard to Berenice. She
seemed more contented after she
began working in Guy Shelton's
office. Her mother thought it a
good thing for Berenice to have
less time to play around with her
idle and sophisticated women
friends and Anne was positive
that was why Bill had yielded the
point.
To Janet also those four weeks
had a sinister quality, like the
dead calm preceding a hurricane.
Nevertheless, t the work on Tony
Ryan's house was progressing
apace.
Mr. Busby was a short, stocky,
middle-aged man and a fine
workman. She was self-conscious
the first afternoon she reported
to Mr. Busby at the Radcliffe
house.
"As near as I can make out,
you're the court of last resort," he
said. "If there's any doubt in my
mind about how to go ahead I'm
to trust your memory."
He took it for granted that she
would be on hand every after
noon from two to five.
Janet was eager to know if
their employer was pleased so far
as they had gone, but Mr. Busby
volunteered no information and,
in view of Tony Ryan's attitude
toward herself, Janet was de
termined to betray no interest in
the man. He never came near
the Radcliffe place while she was
there. Janet thought she under
stood the pointed way in which
she was being ignored. Priscilla
was a jealous goddess. She de
manded undivided attention, and
although during July Janet
avoided her old crowd, she did
from time to time run into one of
them on the street. The absorb
ing topic of their conversation
was Priscilla Leigh's crush on
Tony Ryan.
She was startled one afternoon
on staring out the great bay win
dow of the master bedroom, to
discover a young colored man
busily engaged in removing the
barbed wire which for years had
replaced the wide gate between
the big house and the cotton
fields behind it.
Janet ran down the back stairs
and out the rear entrance.
"Aren't you making a mistake?"
she inquired.
The man paused to wipe the
sweat off his brow with his sleeve
and shifting his feet.
"No'm, Mr. Tony ordered me to
get this wire out of the way. He
say he done sick and tired snag
ging himself ever' time he want
to go over to his farm. He done
bought all de land dis way and
dat."
He gestured vaguely in a circle
which took in both cotton fields
and woods to the east and south.
"Mr. Tony 'low. he going to
have the finest stock farm in dis
here state," anounced the small
darky with a broad smile, "and I
ain't never knowed him to make
a mess of nothing he started. I'm
Deke, Miss. Maybe Mr. Tony
done told you about me."
. She shook her head. "I'm
merely an employee here."
"I was a jockey, Miss, before I
got jammed at the quarter and
cracked my ankle. I growed up
in Kentucky and I don't know
nothing 'cept horses, but you
can't ride no races with a bum
foot. I guess I'd have starved
right on the sidewalks of New
Yawk if I hadn't run across Mr.
Tony."
He glanced over his shoulder to
the rambling farmhouse which
stood on the slope of the hill
where the fields met the woods.
Janet frowned. A couple of men
were sitting on a scaffolding at
the side, lavishly applying white
wash.
"Dat's Rufe and the Earl of
Jersey," volunteered Deke.
One afternoon Janet discovered
more activity near the rear wall
of the estate, and when she
strolled down to investigate she
found a large, muscular man en
gaged in painting the new plank
gates while a small elderly man
in worn tweeds directed proceed
ings.
"How do you do, Miss Phil
lips?" he murmured. He had an
impeccable British accent and a
monocle and one of the tiredest
and most civilized faces she had
ever seen.
"Evening, Miss," mumbled the
man astride the gate.
"Don't mind Rufe," said the
little Englishman quietly. "I re
member when he was a superb
physical specimen. Now he's a
little blah as to mental aware
ness, but quite harmless. I recall
when Rufe could scarcely force
his way through his admirers.
Tony Ryan came across Rufe
four years ago in the breadline.
Since then Rufe has fared very
well.
was unreasonably exasp
erated to discover that a man in
whom she was determined to see
no good had, it would appear, at
least one saving grace.
"Am I supposed to deduce that
Tony Ryan is an incognito Santa
Claus, or what?" she demanded.
The Englishman shrugged his
narrow shoulders. "In spite of
Tony's modest efforts to elude
the allegation, wouldn't you say
it takes a somewhat altruistic na
ture to invest in a farm and a
farmhouse in order to provide a
home and a decent livelihood for
several fellow beings who are to
a degree human wreckage?"
"Modest is one word I never
connected with Mr. Ryan," was
Janet's acrid comment.
The Englishman removed his
monocle and then absently re
placed it. "Tony has been spoof
ing you, eh, what?"
Janet laughed. "It was you
undoubtedly to whom Deke re
ferred as the Earl of Jersey."
"Righto! Ino longer recollect
who first called me the Earl of
Jersey, but it was an attempt at
wit I've never lived down. I've
become so accustomed to the
name, in fact, I answer to no
other. I am, don't you know, a
cook."
"A cook!"
"Rather," murmured the Earl
of Jersey in his distinguished and
imperturbable manner. "I came
to this country sixteen years ago
by invitation to play polo on Long
Island. Unfortunately I have a
regrettable habit every so often
of going completely blotto. I am
what is commonly called a pe
riodical drunkard."
"Oh!"
"At intervals I am distinctly
not myself. More than one of
those intervals occurred when as
a polo player I was expected to
do the bright and shining for my
side. After I had tumbled off
several horses in a quite disgrace
ful fashion, no more American
millionaires turned up who cared
to ask me on house parties with
free access to mounts, et cetera.
At the same time and for the
same reason my family decided to
wash their hands of me. Finding
myself cut off from the where
withal it became imperative for
me to unearth some means of
earning my daily bread.
"Economically my only hope
was that I might be worth a sal
ary as tutor to the children of
the very rich. However, although
even in my cups I can be relied
upon to act the perfect English
gentleman, I am not precisely an
edifying model for tender youth.
Consequently as a tutor I soon
disappeared from the scene. I
was, as it happened, quietly
starving to death when I realized
that a cook can always eat. For
years I've been working in one or
another greasy spoon restaurant,
mostly in Hoboken or other New
Jersey ports."
"You mean me to infer that he
is running the farm as a home
for human derelicts, yourself in
cluded?" asked Janet slowly.
"Righto." said the Earl of Jer
sey.
(Continued Next Week)
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