North Carolina Newspapers

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1935 INHERES 7mmwnjk ALWAYS '|Mt AN OTH E W.N. U. SERVICE ' SYNOPSIS The little town of Heron River Is eagerly awaiting the arrival of An na. ("Silver") Grenoble, daughter of "Gentleman Jim," formerly of the community, but known as a gam bler, nfews of whose recent murder In Chicago has reached the town. Sophronla Willard, Jim Grenoble's sister, with whom the girl la to live, is at the railroad depot to meet her. Sophronla's household consists of her husband, and stepsons, Roderick and Jason. The Wlllarda own only half of the farm on which they live, the other half being Anna Gren oble's. On Silver's arrival Duke Mel bank, a shiftless youth, makes him self obnoxious. Sophronia slaps him. Roderick Is on the ev# of marriage to Corlnne Meader, daughter of a failed banker. CHAPTER 111 —3 SOPHRONIA WILLARD had driv en a half mile from the limits of Heron River before she spoke to the girl, who sat beside her straight and white as an icicle. Then Phronle said, between her long white teeth, "D—n them! The Ignoramuses. Don't you mind 'em, child! You've done nothln' wrong. Don't you let 'em scare you!" The girl laughed softly. So phronia glanced at her In surprise, and thonght suddenly that she looked In some way much more than nineteen. "I'm not a child, Aunt Sophronla," she said. Her voice was low and oddly measured, as though she her self were listening to It "They didn't frighten me. I am only sor ry they upset you on my account." Phronie was discomfited and a bit Irritated. "They get away with too much, those galoots!" she said loudly. "A stranger can't come here that they don't act up like a pack o' hoodlums!" Silver did not reply. Her aunt ventured a glance at her as she Jerked the old car around a corner. The girl's face, with its rather small features, was like marble, no life In anything but her eyes, and they stared straight ahead of her as though she saw something name less beyond the dark of the wind shield. Qualms were unusual with Phronle, but she experienced them now. "We've got to buck up, Silver," Sophronla said violently. "I know how you feel. Jim was my only brother. If he'd been my father I couldn't of felt worse. We've got to keep a stiff upper lip, my dear." "I know," the girl said In that same level voice. "It must have been a great shock to you, Aunt Sophronla." "It was." For a little time there was no conversation between them. So phronla almost wished that the girl had thrown a fit of hysterics—any thing, rather than this frozen si lence. It was unnatural In such a young thing. "But we won't do any talking tonight. Silver," she said presently. "You must get a good rest I am sorry Roddy—he's my oldest step son—l'm sorry he's away In the 'good car. This Is an awful rattle trap for you to be comln' home In I" Silver seemed to have been think ing her own thoughts. "Your step son—Roddy," she ventured, "will he mind very much—my coming?" "He won't mind anything, unless you sell your land to a cash buyer," Sophronla said grimly, and then could have bitten her tongue out. She had just Bald that tonight they wouldn't do any talking] "Oh 1" "1 didn't exactly mean that," So phronla shouted. "It's Just that he's tilled your section with his dad's un til be feels that It's his own. Don't pay attention to me tonight. I'm a little scattered, I guess." "I don't think I shall want to sell the land, Aunt Sophronla," Sil ver said monotonously. "If you will Just let me stay with you, I'll be ever so grateful." Sophronla's heart leaped. Well, if It was going to be as simple as that! "Stay!" she exclaimed. "Isn't this your rightful home? And ain't I . your closest kin? I'd be a fine one, I would, if I didn't Insist on -our living with me!" "Thank you. Aunt Sophronla," Silver said. "I can't say any more." "You don't need to," Sophronla remarked tersely. "And don't call m« 'Sophronla'! It's too much like me. I get 'Phronle' from them that likes me. You can cut out the 'aunt' too. It makes me feel old." "Phronle," Silver repeated thought fully. "Dad called you that, but I wasn't sure—" "If li was moonlight," the older Woman interrupted, "you could see a stand of white birch against that rise there. The old house—your great-grandfather's homestead—sits back a ways. It's part furnished still, just like It was when he built —lt, seventy-five years ago. We use the place for the crew now during thrashin'. Well, we're gettln' home." The girl stirred slightly and glanced back down the slope. "I re member this hill," she said. "Yes, you was born in that old house," Sophronia declared prompt ly. "And your mother died In It." Out of the sultry darkness, old Roderick came toward them from the big house, where one light was burning in the living room. So phronla saw his arms outstretched toward Jim's daughter, and heard the booming greeting of his voice, and was suddenly afraid. But Jim's daughter did not break down. There was something uncanny about the girl, Sophronla thought in confu sion. In the house, Phronle relieved Sil ver Grenoble of her wraps and the men took her luggage upstairs. With the firm belief In the efficacy of food to dull the sharp edge of grief, Phronle then busied herself pre paring a plate of sandwiches. Ja son went to the cooler in the vege table cellar outside, and brought in a stone jug of ginger beer, while old Roderick kept Silver company in the living room. When Sophronla returned with the sandwiches, she saw a bit of color on Silver's cheeks, and al though her eyes' were darting about the room like dark flames, they were no longer the eyes of some stricken animal. Sophronla placed the sandwiches and glasses on the table with Its crocheted dolly, and Jason poured ginger beer Into the glasses. "Now, Silver," she said stoutly, "you must have a bite. That darned old car must have played you out —lt sure did me." The men helped themselves, reach ing out to the decked table In paln •ful fastidiousness with their large brown bands. Sophronia took In Silver's ap pearance In detail. The girl was slender, but not as frail as Phronle had at first supposed. Her eyes were dark blue, although by the light of the acetylene lamp they seemed almost black. Her hair was what would be called ash-blond, she decided, and It waved slightly and was dressed in a plain fashion low upon her neck. Then Sophronla looked about the room and saw It, In a twinkling, as she had not seen It in years. She saw It now because she was won dering what Jim's daughter was thinking about It She saw the unobtrusive, faded tan of the wall paper, with the silver stripe In It That was not In bad taste, she thought stoutly. The curtains were of ecru net, with side strips and valance of plain blue rep; that had been Roddy's Idea. She saw the upright piano of black walnut, the keys yellowing, and recalled that until Roddy had removed It there had been a hand some green velvet scarf on Its top, hand-painted In pink roses. Sophro nla looked at the walls and thought how much cosier they had been with the pictures and mottoes on them, and the burnt leather panel with the head of Pocahontas and the lit tle calendar below. Now, on the wall opposite her, were three small ish etchings, placed step-ladder fashion. Black and white—no col or or life to them! One was only land and sky, the second the same with a windmill stuck In It, and the third was an old horse plodding across a frozen pond dragging a two-wheeled cart. "And is this lawyer—this Benja min Hubbard you speak of —" old Roderick was saying—"la he look ing after all the—the arrange ments?" "Yes," Silver replied softly but very clearly. "Ben Is looking after everything. It was Dad's wish that his body should be cremated and his ashes sent here —to be near Mother's grave." "And did he live long enough to tell you that?" Phronle asked, clear ing her throat. "Oh —he spoke of that some months ago," Silver said, "right aft er he had his first heart attack. But he mentioned it again—before he died." "I see." Phronle winked rapidly several times. The men shifted their feet In awkward silence. Sophronla kept her eyes on Sil ver as the girl continued speaking In the same subdued tone. Almost as though she had been there, Sophronia experienced in Silver's telling, the events of the summer. THE ROCKY MOUNT HERALD, ROCKY MOUNT, NORTH CAROLINA She saw the scorching day In June when Jim Grenoble had crumpled forward on the street and the doc tor had warned him. She saw Jim's eyes as he had looked then—lev elly Into the face of doom. She heard the doctor's voice telling Jim that one of these days his heart would snap like a rubber band that had been stretched too far. She heard Jim asking his daughter Sil ver to see to It —If anything hap pened—that his ashes should rest In the country cemetery at Hvron River. Sophronla could hear Silver promising—and pleading desperately with him then to go away with her to some quiet place, away from the tension and fever of. the life they were living. And she could see him patting his daughter's hand gently and telling her that they would go soon—just as soon as they had enough money put by. Phronle said, "Did Jim never men tion wantin' to come back —I mean —before he knew he was dyln'?" Silver raised her eyes, and for a moment Sophronia thought she saw in them something secret and fear ful in their expression, something startling. The girl parted her lips and then looked fixedly at the wall opposite her. Phronie had the feel ing that Silver had been about to Impart some difficult Information, and then had changed her mind. "Yes —he was coming back," she said slowly. "He and I were all ready to come. We had planned to take this morning's train —the one I took alone." , Sophronla started. Her handker chief dropped limply into her lap. Then, without warning, two l»i*e tears rolled from her lids and down her long brown cheeks. "Please don't," Silver breathed. "I'm sorry—l shouldn't have—" "Never mind me!" Sophronia ex claimed in a tremendous voice. "I'm an old fool. I thought we wouldn't "Yes," Silver Replied Softly but Very Clearly. talk about it tonight But—well, It's time we were all turnin' In." She got to her feet. "Looks as If Roddy won't be comin' home tonight Jase, light the upstairs lamps!" More than darkness, more than starlight and an Indolent wind flowed Into Silver's room through the dormer windows. Silver had been gazing at them for over an hour, and the company that en tered there was palpable as her heart-beat, undeniable as a truth Individualized in loneliness. The company was composed of Jim Grenoble's love for her mother, Anna; of his tragic loss; his sub sequent folly. But It had other members as well; the murmur of trees Jim had planted In his boy hood, the ripe fragrance of fields he had tilled, the faint, gliding chuckle of the creek under the willows, in the ravine below. She reached for the flashlight she had left on the small table beside the bed. She sat for a moment holding it and listening to the dense silence of the house, separating that silence from the winged pres ences of her own room. The others would be asleep now. Barefooted, her high-heeled mules In her hand, and a quilted robe about her. Sliver stole downstairs, using the flashlight to guide her through the dark. Once outside the house, It was a simple matter to follow the gentle slope down to the old stone building. Presently she knew she had come to the dooryard of the old house, for the air about her had subtly changed, as though time itself had gathered there. Ygdrasil—her father had not per mitted her memory of It to die. Anna Grenoble had named it so. Silver had told Sister Anastasla, In one of the numerous convents of her girlhood, about Ygdrasil, and the nun nad said, "Your mother must have been a poet, Silver." Sliver felt her way In her Inse cure slippers across the ground to the left, the direction from which came the sound of the creek. She seated herself and presently, over come with weariness, sank down with her head on her arms. It was only twenty-four hours now since Jim Grenoble had died. Just twen ty-four hours since this spell of un reality had come upon her. She had not been able to cry, because cry ing was something real. It was Inevitable that he should die as he had died. There was a relentless Tightness in his going tne way he had gone. At a hacienda near Mexico City, a peon In the em ploy of Carlos Salamanca had dart ed out from behind a pomegranate tree one moonlight night after Jim had taken four thousand dollars from his master, but Jim had bro ken the wrist of the hand that held the knife and had kept the knife as a souvenir of a close call. She sat up and clasped her arms about her knees and gazed with burning, dry eyes down at the dark flow of the creek. What would that strange aunt of hers. Dad Jim's sis ter, have thought if she had told her that there had been another reason, besides his failing heart, for Jim Grenoble's sudden decision to return? Perhaps some day she would tell Sophronla about Gerald Lucas. Some day, when his cool power over her and her capitulation to him was only an evil dream, she might tell Sophronla that it was really from Gerald Lucas that she had fled; that Jim, knowing Gerald for what he was, had been over come by the knowledge that Silver was in love with him, and had blamed himself for exposing her to the corruption of his own life. Silver Grenoble, as she lay under the willow tree, was conscious of a great weariness, she knew deep ly that a change was coming, per vasive and calm, into her being. • •••••• Roddy Willard brought his car to the curb in front, of Torson's place, turned off the lights and stepped down. At the end of the lunch counter, Duke Melbank lounged, roiling a cigarette in his pale, freckled hands. His red hair flamed. "A cup of coffee, Lena," Roddy said to the elder Torson girl as she greeted him with a smile. Then he turned to speak to Duke. "Time you were in bed, Duke," he remarked pleasantly. This tall, soft hulk of a fellow was beneath contempt, beneath anger, even for Sophronia's sake, although he had been spreading gossip about Phro nle's niece ever since his famous visit to Chicago earlier in the sum mer. "You been away," Duke said as he slumped down upon a stool. "Duke checks up on us, Lena," Roddy smiled. "We've got to watch our step." "No," Duke objected. "I was Just thinkin' you ain't heard, maybe, about old Jim Grenoble." "Gentleman Jim?" "Sure. Him I seen when I was to Chi last month. I could 'a' told them he wouldn't come to no good end." "Anything happened?" Roddy asked. There was a certain leer ing knowingness about Duke that filled him, as always, with distaste. "Plenty! He got himself shot last night" "My G—d!" Roddy exclaimed. "Who shot him?" "Fella named Rawson, It was. The police got him. Killed him when he was tryin' to make his getaway. Some o' them guys can shoot, no foolin' 1" "Poor old Jim!" Roddy said to himself. "Sophronla will take that pretty hard, I'm afraid." Duke laughed mirthlessly. "Not so's you'd notice it." "You've seen her?" "I seen her, all right, all right. And how! She was down to meet the train tonight." "You mean they sent the body—?" Duke's hands played together. "Not exactly. The one that came in tonight wasn't what you'd call a dead one, eh, Lena? I'll tell the world! It was Jim's daughter. Her I seen that night In Chi with a big shot by the name o' Lucas." "Is she here?" "She's out to the farm, If that's what you mean. But that oughtn't to worry you none. She won't be stayin' long in these parts, If I know anything. Her kind don't be long round here." He chuckled. "I've got her number, all right, all right!" But Roddy did not hear the in nuendo. Duke's disclosure had flashed like lightning across his mind. He tossed a coin on the coun ter, seized his hat and made for the door. Driving home, he realized that he was as near to panic as he had ever been in his life. What would this girl's coming mean? She would undoubtedly sell her land for cash. It was not likely that a couple of hundred a year rental would inter est her. Five years ago the land might have come Into the possession of the Wiliards, had It not been for Jim Grenoble's obstinacy. In stead, the money that might have bought It had gone into bad invest ments. How, if they lost the Gren oble section, were all the Wiliards going to live on the meager Income from their own land, which was, by some trick of nnture, not half so rich? And In a week he, Roddy, would have a wife to support as well. (TO BE CONTINUED) Hawaii's Cup of Gold Solandra guttata, or the cup of gold, the glorious flower of the Ha waiian islands. Is a naturalized southern California plant. It not only grows easily, but actually thrives on a certain amount of in attention. The cup of gold is a solanaceae, botanlcally, giving It a number of surprising relations such as the petunia, the salplglossis, the datura and cestrum parqul, the nightbloomlng Jasmins. ■. '' ll ® New York Post —WND Service. Life Is What You Make It, Even in Sport TT IS a rule of mine that letters A must be answered promptly and yet the one postmarked from a small West Virginia town has been here for almost a wek. That is because . . . But enough of such stalling. Dear Mr. : It was nice of you to pick me out from the midst of all those other sports writers whose stories you read while trying to find some one from whom to obtain support. Yet, at the start, I may as well tell you that I am going to fall you. Perhaps you are right in saying that your son lias had too good an education to waste himself upon professional baseball. That would depend largely upon whether he has the ability to reach the major leagues quickly and to stay there for at least five years. If he can make that grade then I think that you are wrong In believ ing that he will spend the rest of his life regretting lost business op portunities. Let us see. The oldest living former National league player resides In Boston. He Is past eighty and It has been more than 40 years since he ended his ac tive days as one of the greatest of all stars. Has George Wright spent all those seasons thinking of the past and regretting opportunities that were lost by playing baseball? Not a bit of it. Like A. G. Spald ing, another great player of another day, his real fortune was achieved away from the diamond and yet be cause of It What he might have become without baseball I do not know, but I do know that lessons learned In front of wildly excited crowds in those old wooden stands were Invaluable to both men later while they built up businesses that yielded them fortunes. You say that you would not care for him to travel around with a sporting crowd. Honestly, Mr. , I should not worry about that. There are all kinds of definitions of sporting and so let us look at an other side of it. Ball Players and the Church There was a day, which happily no longer exists, when baseball and the church were Wm was much feeling L; jfjH that young men who I participated in the were doomed to no I good end. That was fielder who became Sunday. a g rea (- er evangelist. His name is Billy Sunday. You think that if he became a star hi* later days would be unhap py because he would always be pin ing for that thrill which comes and goes with the limelight? Perhaps. Most of the old Orioles are gone now but memory lingers on so per sistently that they still must be re called as one of the greatest of all teams. So the man who had been their manager might well look back wistfully upon those glories that have gone. Let us see again. Years after the team had been scattered the citizens of Baltimore were planning some new parks. They called upon an elderly gen tleman who was busily engaged In building up a worthwhile business. Now far more residents of Baltimore think more often and more grate fully of the Edward Uanlon who did so ably as president of the park board than of the same younger Ned lianlon who led the Orioles. Let us try once more. To suc ceed upon the diamond you must recognize opportunity when it comes along. Disregard those bits of fic tion which dot the magazines. The real truth Is that few players have become stars through some combi nation of sheer strength and awk wardness. The game is one in which you must strive to think faster and more clearly than your opponent or combination of opponents. When you develop such qualities before an audience that is quick to applaud or to condemn haven't you built up something In you that is going to serve well whatever you may tackle later? Think it over, Mr. . Or bet ter still, let your son think it over. The opportunity is there and, after all, it is up to him what he makes of it. SO MANY things are being blamed upon the weather nowadays that it la a relief to consider Brooklyn's Dodgers. Since those athletes prob ably would continue to drop deci sions even if they were performing within the shadow of the south pole, today's collection of logic is dedi cated to those persistent customers who annually must be beset by chills while the heat is being turned on elsewhere. Plainly what Is wrong with the Dodgers as well as with such better favored clubs as the Bed Sox and the Indians Is that even worse team work Is displayed by the bosses than by the hired help. Until the front offices can be made to understand the necessity of co-operation ns well as of sustained and Intelligent plan ning, World Series must continue to be played at the Polo grounds, at Yankee stadium, In St Louis and Detroit. By this I mean that there are too many straw bosses floating around in the Cleveland, Boston and Brook ■ | yn offjces. o ffj ces . There is I such an overabund ance of managers, both of the business J and the field vari 'WMk"l, sty, that there is % i no rea ' central au \ xWjjfite' J | thority. Instead of ! being Bill Terrys, \[ f Branch Rickeys or Terr Connie Macks, too many of the gentle men have become Jack Homers. Too many of them are too eager to poke in their thumbs, pull out the plums, echo the what a great boy I am refrain and then duck out ths back door when some one discovers that a mess has been made of the pie. "Too Many Bosses" Is Baseball Nemesis Such confusion of purpose Is noth ing new In this combination of sport and business that Is baseball. For Instance, there are the White Sox. When Charles Comiskey was In his prime the team made money and won pennants. As he bcame older he slipped Into a mingling of un certainty and stubbornness that caused him to lean too heavily upon poorly equipped volunteer advisers. For years then, and after his death, the White Sox neither made money nor won pennants. Now a happy understanding between field and of fice Is bringing success again. There also are the Giants. For years McGraw was the supreme au thority and the club was one of baseball's grandest successes. Then some of the players discovered that It was perhaps not impossible to go over the "Old Man's" head. The next pennant was won when Bill Terry, who would not accept the Job until granted full and undivided con. trol, had become manager. In mentioning this I have no de sire to be unkind to the various gen tlemen who have devoted their years (albeit at salaries considerably more handsome than the results) to the executive end of the game. I merely am stating facts that are very well known to any one who ever has poked an Inquisitive nose Into a major league dugout. Probably no club has been in such a pitiful plight this season as the Braves. The principal ownership of this club is invested in two men and a bank. The season was started with a manager and with the game's most glamorous figure in the lineup as vice president and manager ap parent. The result was inevitable. There Is a manager who has been bitterly assailed by newspaper men. The business manager, who talks an excellent game and who takes bows whenever there Is the slight est excuse for them, is a pal of the press. This does not necessarily mean that Walter Johnson and Billy Evans do not function In perfect ac cord. The Yankees ruled by Ed Bar row and the Tigers directed by Mickey Cochrane are, though, some what out In front of the pre-season favorites. Bucky Harris, who was the man ager of two pennant-winning teams while under the overlordship of 8 Washington, was I not a success in Bos- I Manus, for many I reasons exceedingly M popular with the I M fans, was separated from the Red Sox managerial duties ahead of Harris. I i 7" • do not suggest that Harris. Eddie Collins, the business manager, sat In the stands and signaled to the outfielders where to shift for certain batters. I merely mention that, in the midst of such rumors of clashing authority, the $250,000 expended by Tom Yawkey for Joe Cronin may have been a bargain. I know of a majcr league ball club where a manager Is not per mitted to fine or otherwise disci pline any of the players and, Indeed, is not even given Information as to how much money the athletes re ceive. The club, because of poor deals or the lack of any deals, Is going nowhere this season or next. Still this piece started out with the Brooklyn club, it may as well end with it After ail, the weather is bad enough without getting into a sweat about so many other things. And it is true that somebody has tp lose ths pennants. ' i PAGE THREE Housewife's Idea Box Disinfect Your Drains You can easily disinfect your draln« and prevent odors In your bath room. At regular Intervals, as often as you think necessary, use the fol* lowing solution: Dissolve two ounces of chloride of lime In one gallon of water. Pour this down the drains, allow It to remain for a couple of minutes, and then flush. THE HOUSEWIFE. © Public Ledger, Inc. —WNU Service. Plant Improvement Held Tedious Task Years Ago Until the start of hybridizing by Knight in England, somewhat more than a century ago, all plant Im provement was by "selection," says Little's Industrial Bulletin. This meant that the seeds of the choicest grains and fruit were carefully pre served for the planting of the next crop and when grafting was used for Increase of woody plants the buds or branches were from the finest trees and bushes. This system un questionably kept up quality and ably advanced it. In the hands of certain "wizards," with keen appre ciation of what Is of value in plants and how to attain this, there have resulted notable discoveries, such as the Baldwin apple and the Bartlett pear. Selection was elTectlve, but it was exceedingly slow. For centuries most attention was focused on standard types and the taming and develop ment of wild forms was almost out of the question. Real progress began when the pollen of the plant was placed on the stigma of another to produce hybrids consciously Instead of wait ing for the same thing to occur by the chance efforts of bees, flies or :he wind. BOYS! GIRLS! 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