^WILL BE FAIR
V^osQmondVuJardin
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Sherry had braced herself to
[ace this last weekend at the farm,
for many reasons it wouldn't be
0asy. P meant saying goodby to
Steve and Aunt Pen. seeing' for
(be last time. perhaps, the old
bouse she loved so much. Even in
ber thoughts she shied away from
,jie knowledge that she wouldn’t
be seeing Lex again for. months
^DIGESTIVE TRACT
And Stop Dosing Your Stomach
With Soda and Alkalizers
Don’t expect to get real relief from headache,
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' in this case, your real trouble is not in the
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What you want or real relief is some
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Something to clean it r-it effectively—help
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Get Carter’s Pills right now. Take as di
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I°- years at least, maybe forever
(And forever is a long and lonely
l;me, so Sherry tried to shot her
I eyes against it. In the end she
made it easier for herself by pul
t-'ng aside the disturbing thought
of the future, by living each hour
of the day and a half she and
Leda stayed at Ridge Farm as
though there ■ were no time be
yond it. And so the hours passed
almost painlessly. Almost.
On Saturday night Lex went in
to Chicago as usual to see Kay
and the period o? his absence was
easier somehow. Leda was merry
and charming, as she was so adept
at bemg. She was full of talk of
New York and of her new job and
its possibilities. She had managed
to reconcile herself to her separa
tion from Sherry better than had
seemed possible at first. This was
clue in large measure to the fact
that she had convinced herself
Sherry would grow tired of her
dull little job in a i range little
town in very short order. She had
eonfided as much to Steve and,
while he didn’t agree with her, he
had been glad that her self-decep
bon made her feel happier about
the situation. Once she was in the
east, busy with her new job, she
wouldn’t have much time for miss
ing Sherry, anyway. She would
^adjust herself — Leda was very
NOTICE
Beer And Wine Dealers
City and County License Expire April 30th, 1947
Before new license can be issued it is necessary to file
»n application to sell beer or wine with the undersigned.
Any person, firm or corporation selling without a license
is liable to indictment for violating said ordinance.
C. R. Morse,
City and County Tax Collector
Mm'S Contest doses May 4th!
Because this amazing
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If you do, just complete
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ter this great Contest today.
Entry $/ank-Clip it now!
I YES! I'D LIKE A SPECIAL NAME TO CALL 1
THIS FINER SHORTENING BY 4
SWIFT'S BLAND LARO OUTPERFORMS THEM ALL
(Fill in this line, to rhyme with "by." For example:
"No praise can be too high.")
SWIFT « COMPANY, P. O. Box 1200-L, Chicago 90, 111.
Here is my Entry—and the top from a package of
Swift’s Bland Lard.
NAME.
ADDRESS.
CITY.STATE.
DEALER'S NAME.
DEALER’S ADDRESS.
V' V rf yf ▼ ’ * v ’ * ’ '
HERE ARE THE EASY RULES
1. Print or write plainly your “last
line” for the Swift’s Bland Lard
jingle, using sufficient words to
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rhyme with “by”.
5. Use Entry Blank, or any sheet of
paper. Print plainly your name
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and address. Mail your entry -to
owift& Company, P.O. Box 1200-L,
Chicago 99, 111. Send as many en
1 nes as yc u wish, but each must be
on a separate piece of paper and
accompanied by the top from a 1-lb.
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3. Entries will be judged on orig
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Any woman sixteen or over, living
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5 Contest opened March 31; closes
May 4, 1947. All entries must be
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tions of these rules when you enter.
6. Winners of major prizes will be
announced over Don McNeillis
Breakfast Club radio program (9:15
A.M. New York Timek as soon as
possible after contest closes. Com
plete list of winners sent on request
to anyone sending in a self-ad
dressed, stamped envelope.
adaptable, particularly since the
new life she was embarking upo:.
would be entirely to her liking.
Her work, Steve supposed, must
always come first with he;. And
if. a« she grew o'der. she ever
realized that she had lost more
than she had gained by the
bright material success which had
always been her goal, it would be
loo late then to do anything about
it. But it was too late even now,
so Leda would have to cope with
the loneliness that lay ahead of
her as best she could.
Sherry sat rather silently on the
rug before the fireplace, her bright
head leaning now and then against
Aunt Pen’s knee. There was a
small grate fire, since the evening
was chill, and its radiance flick
ered across the room, picking out
the gleam of bronze horses in the
cabinets, the luster of old bric-a
brac.
It was Leda who told Steve and
Pen the news about Val.
“Next January, the doctor says.
And Wade is simply beside him
self he’s so pleased. I’m glad, too.
I think a child will be good for
Val—even if it will make me
grandmother.”
“A very young and lovely one,
though,” Steve said gallantly.
And Aunt Pen smiled with pleas
ure. “Good for her. I didn’t think
Val was that sensible. I’ll knit it
a whole outfit, sweater, leggings,
little cap—”
Sherry sat there, her eyes on
the blazing logs, thinking. Won
dering about Val. Was she sensi
ble, as Aunt Pen said? Or had she
merely decided, since Wade had
been generous and understanding
about her affair with Kevin Biake
and “the near-tragedy that cli
maxed it, that she could be gen
erous, too, and give him the child
he wanted so badly? Even if that
was it, the gesture might beat
rich rewards for Val. She had
seemed different the last few times
Sherry had seen her. She
had come home from her trip
with Wade a little more mature,
less youthfully self-centered. And
already, months before their child
would be born, their marriage
seemed to have acquired a new
depth and stability.
Maybe Val had been wiser than
they knew when she married
Wade Carrington. Maybe they
could find happiness together. Had
her affair with Kevin been a final
looking back, a striving to find
once more something lovely And
young—but dead now and better
forgotten? Sherry hoped it was
like that. Thinking of the warm
glow in Val’s eyes when she spoke
of the baby, the generous curve
of her mouth as she thanked Wade
for one of his innumerable small
attentions, Sherry felt almost con
vinced.
And thinking of Val, Sherry felt
more hopeful for her own future.
Val had loved and lost and had
fought and blundered her way
through to a measure of happiness
and contentment. Maybe you had
to compromise with life, to turn
your back on the love that might
not be, to take a second choice.
But her heart cried out. I’ll
never love anyone but Lex.
Still, she had the sense to go
away and try to make some sort
of life for herself. That was cer
tainly better than brooding.
Friends and work — they were
supposed to help, weren’t they?
Well, she would work hard. And
she would try to make new
friends. And some day, when she
had grown older and wiser, the
pain of forgetting might lessen
somewhat.
On Sunday Sherry rode horse
back with Lex over the fami
liar winding roads they had taken
so many times before. She urged
her horse on, her hair whipping in
the wind, the ends of her scarlet
kerchief flapping. She tried to shut
the door of her mind against the
words that pushed upon it. Last
time. Last time.
After a , while they left their
horses grazing, tied to a maple
sapling, and walked through a
small wood to the bank of a
stream. Not far beyond the spot
where they dropped down onto
the springy green sod, a crude
weathered little bridge spanned
the water.
Sherry said, pointing toward it.
‘My father built that bridge long
ago, before I was born.”
Lex looked toward it for a mo
ment in silence. Then he said,
“There’s a sort of immortality in a
thing like that. It’s like a monu
ment to the man who built it. Only
it’s even better than the usual
monument, because it serves a
purpose and that gives it meaning
and importance.”
Sherry nodded. “I never thought
of it like that, but it’s true.”
“Or take a house,” Lex carried
the idea further, “like Steve’s
house, that his grandfather built.
Don’t you believe some part of old
Fabian Jeffrey survives in those
very walls and in the trees he
planted and the fields he tilled, all
the works of his hands
and brain?”
Sherry had felt that, although
she had never tried before to put
it into words. “It’s — a sort of
linking of the past and the future,
like a chain. Ridge Farm should
be handed on to children
of Steve’s. It seems such a pity it
won’t be.”
They sat there, side by side,
their eyes dreaming on space, the
little stream flowing gently before
them. Idly Lex picked up a stone
and tossed it into the water. The
ripples widened and were gone.
Sherry’s glance rested on his
hands as he clasped them again
around his knee. His hands were
different now than when she had
firs' met him. Harder, calloused,
more weathered looking. Like
Steve’s hands, Sherry thought, or
perhaps just like all farmers’
hands. It was a good look of
strength and capability, tempered
with gentleness.
Her eyes lifted and met Lex’s
glance. She asked “It’s still ex
actly what you want, isn’t it,
Lex? All this—the woods rad the
fields and the quietness and
peace?”
He said, “It’s what I’ll always
want. I’m more sure every day.
And when they’re your own fields
you plow and seed, as I’ve al
ready begun to do—that’s a good
thing; Sherry. A fine thing. It fills
some eieed that’s so old and so
deeply implanted it's gone down
into man’s blood and become a
part of him. At least, that’s how
it is with me.”
Sherry smoothed the young
green grass with sensitive finger
tips. “It’s a good thing, too, to
know what you want and to go
after it, as you did. Lex. That's
partly what gave me the courage
to break free. You told me once—
remember?—not to drift too long,
that drifting could get to be a
habit.”
Lex nodded. He had said that
the night they stood on the bridge,
the night he had kissed her. Did
Sherry remernbereo that, too? A
thickness came up in Lex's throat
a' the thought. It was shame, of
course, because he had had no
right to kiss her and she had been
so swell about it. He brought his
thoughts back to what Sherry was
saying with an effort.
(To Be Continued)
Thomas C. Platt was nicknam
ed ‘‘Easy. Boss’ when he was
United States senator from New
York and Republican leader of
the state.
FLOWER CULTURE
SPEAKER’S SUBJECT
Word Picture Of Industry
Is Given Kiwanians
By Nnckton
Wilmington Kiwanians yester
day got a concise word picture of
the commercial flower industry
and some inkling as to the part
the Wilmington area is playing
in the cultivation and marketing
of cut flowers during the course
of an address delivered by John
Nuckton, well known horticulturist
and president elect of the Rotary
club.
Guest speaker for the day, Nuck
ton wound up a series of fotiT
programs centered around the gen
eral subject of.agriculture at ar
ranged by R. W. Galphin. program
chairman for April.
Prefacing his address on ‘he
subject of ‘‘Flowers” the speak
er told Kiwanians that the com
mercial horticultural industry is
now run on an industrial factory
basis.
He listed the principal commer
cial flo\vers as roses, carnations,
and bulbuous flowers.
He said that tulip bulb 'culti
vation is one of Holland’s major
industries.
The tulip family, he said, is
made up of many groups repre
.-.enting several hundred varieties;
daffodils comprise seven groups
and many hundreds of varieties.
Regarding the American culti
vation and sale of daffodils com
mercially. the speakes said that
the Wilmington area is the largest
daffodil center in the east, some
300 acres being devoted to the
growing of the bloom and sold for
the cut flower market.
Iris, too. is largyle cultivated
here and grows better on local
soil than anywhere else in the
United States. Gladiolus, also cul
tivated here, can be grown any
where.
Regarding the expense involved
in setting out daffodils on a com
mercial scale. Nuckton told the
club that bulb purchase and
gro g preparations run into ap
proximately $2,000 per acre. Ex»
pensive as it is, he said, the com
mercial cut flower business heft
has its advantages due to the"
fact that we enjoy_ an eight-month
growing season.
During the business session, a
resolution memoriaizing the late
Sheriff C. David Jones was paaa
ed and a moment pi silent praytr
offered. __
Visitors for the day were Kiwam
ian Gautlier Jackson of Jackson
ville and W. Elliott O'Neal.
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out most of the wrinkles and the
slacks will need litde pressing.
raw
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