lw? keys to ? ?bi!l
BY LIDA LARRIMORE
f MACRAE SMITH CO WNV SXRV1CB
CHAPTER XII- Continued
?18? ,
"Bat since I took extra courses at
High this year Pr?e.t,ca"5'
Mother s dead body. I have to stic
at them." Debby walked reluctant
ly toward the door. "She wanted
me to go to college."
"Why didn't you want to go.
Gay asked. "If you dislike it
Debby rlarv-ed away, a flush stain
ing her olive cheeks. "I'm talk'ng
too much. I guess. She turned,
came back to Gay. threw her arms
?round her. "I think you re love
ly " she said in a rush of impulsive
words. "I don't know quite how
John managed it? you? but I m glad
he did. Don't you listen to anything
anybody says, not that they say
mucti but?" r,_vu??M
"What do you mean. Debby? |
p'U-? - i
But Debby did not explain. "I've
cot to go," she mumbled, not look
ing at Gay, and went running out of j
the room.
"You shouldn't have gone to extra
trouble for me. Mrs. Houghton,
Gay said, ns John's mother came
into the living-room with a tray.
"It's no extra trouble." Ann
Houghton arranged dishes on the
small table before the open fire
in the living-room. "It's warmer
here than in the dining-room.
John's mother smiled faintly. Her
skin was dark like John's and Deb
by's. Her dark eyes, deeply set
under straight dark brows, were as
somber as John's were when he
was troubled. She held her taller
than average figure erect but rath
er, Gay thought, because some in
domitable purpose, through a suc
cession of years, had stiffened her
spine, than because she realized or
gave a thought to the decorative
value of a fine carriage. Her hair
was lovely, dark with only a sprin
kling of gray. It waved back from
her forehead and temples, softening
the bony contours of her face. Prop
erly dressed and with the stiffness
relaxed she would have the distinc
tion Uncle John had had. Gay won
dered if she had ever had his warmth
and humor, if she ever laughed
aloud.
"The fire is pleasant." Gay poured
coffee into a thin porcelain cup with
a red sea-weed pattern. "I had no
idea It could be so cold here in
March."
"We're accustomed to the cold.
Ann Houghton, seated in a wing
chair at the opposite side of the
hearth, took a length of knitting
from a bag hanging on the arm of
the chair. She was never idle. Gay
had observed in the two days she
had spent in John's home. Her
housekeeping was a ritual meticu
lously performed. In those mo
ments, as now, when she was not en
gaged in some active task, her long
hands with prominent knuckles and
nails, nicely shaped but unmani
cured were busy with knitting or
sewing. "It's healthy but not very
comfortable, especially since you ve
lust come from Florida."
"I don't mind at all," Gay said
quickly. "Can't we go for a walk?"
"I'm afraid I can't spare the
time " -Tnhn'n 1W>?>?r ?sM ?*?. the
cool deliberate tone which held Gay
at an impassable distance. "But
you go, if you like. Only you must
wear Debby's moccasins." Her
glance fell to Gay's sturdy but dain
tily fashioned oxfords. "It's so easy
to get your toes frosted. I shouldn t
want you to suffer from chilblains
the rest of your life "
"You would probably enjoy a
walk," John's mother said after an
Interval of silence during which the
needles had clicked and Gay had de
terminedly finished her breakfast.
"It's dull for you while Sarah and
Debby are in school. If we had
known you were coming, we might
have arranged something entertain
ing, though everybody has been
?torm-bound during the past two
days."
"It was inconsiderate of me to
have brought a blizzard. Coming
almost directly from Florida, I
should have done better."
Ann Houghton's faint smile was
her only acknowledgment of the
pleasantry.
"I don't, ordinarily, encourage
gaiety during the week," she went
on. "This is Sarah s first year of
teaching in the high school. She is
naturally eager to make a favorable
impression and she isn t very
?trong." . _
Sarah looked strong enough. Gay
thought, though a little subdued and
unhappy. No, not actively unhappy,
resigned. A little gaiety, the thought
continued, would do Sarah more
good than her mother's persistent
coddling. Still that was Sarahs
concern ? and her mother's. n
"It's pleasant Just to be here.
Gay said. She pushed her chair
kack from the table, slipped her
hand into the pocket that contained
her cigarette case, reconsidered.
"I've enjoyed my breakfast."
Ann Houghton folded the knitting
into the bag, rose briskly from t:.e
wing-chair with. Gay thought, an
appearance of relief. She took a
tray from the window sill and began
to clear the small table from which
Gay had eaten her breakfast.
"Let me help you." Gay, too, rose,
stood watching Ann Houghton's
competent movements.
"No, thank you. I know just where
everything goes." Ann Houghton's
voice was gracious but chillingly re
served. "Amuse yourself if you can
with our limited resources. I sup
pose that John wilJ come tonight."
"He said he hoped to when he
called last night."
Ann Houghton glanced at the win
dow through which sunlight streamed
i- ? is? ? l? _ J, imMm
snow on the sill.
"I hope he won't attempt it un
less the roads are clear." She turned
to place the vsse containing the ivy
and geranium on the mantei above
the fireplace.
Was she going to tell her that
John wasn't strong? Gay wondered.
As though anything, other than an
emergency call would keep him
from coming now that the storm
was over.
"John is accustomed to icy roads,
1 suppose," she said, a faint note of
exasperation in her voice. "He
drives all winter."
Ann Houghton took up the tray.
"It's foolish of me to worry," she
said, "but when his work isn't in
volved, I don't like him to take un
necessary risks. Will you go for a
walk now or wait until the sun is
warmer? I do the upstairs work on
Friday while Huldah is cleaning
downstairs. It's tiresome for you to
be exposed to all the household ma
chinery but when there are only two
of us to keep the wheels turning we
must observe routine. I try to spare
Sarah, and Debby hasn't a natural
bent toward housework, I'm afraid."
' Let me help you," Gay urged,
smiling, ashamed of the exaspera
tion her voice had revealed. "I
haven't a natural bent for house
work, either, but I can learn."
Again Ann Houghton smiled faint
ly
"You're far too decorative, my
dear, to ? "
"To be useful?"
"?to be expected to be useful,"
Ann Houghton finished smoothly.
"Besides, it's cold upstairs. No, you
stay here by the fire until it's warm
enough for a walk. Have you an
interesting book? There are maga
zines on the table."
"I'll amuse myself." The warmth
and friendliness faded out of Gay's
voice. She walked to a table against
the wall and picked up a magazine.
John's mother went out of the
room. Gay returned to the hearth,
dropped into a chair, sat with the
magazine unopened on her lap. Ann
Houghton resented her, she thought.
It was obvious, though no reference
had been made to it, that she was
opposed to John's marrying her.
That was a little ironical. Mothers
of eligible sons had courted her
persistently since she was seven
teen, thai iuoiiiy dowager in Eng
land, the Swiss countess who was
a patroness of the school she had
attended, mothers in New York and
Palm Beach and Southampton. She
was relieved when her engagement
to Todd had put an end to that form
of pursuit.
It didn't matter, except just now,
when she was here? except that she
felt, or imagined she felt, a dif
ference in John. The afternoon he
had brought her here, at dinner,
later in the evening, she had felt
Ann Houghton's influence working
a change in John. It was nothing
she could define, a feeling that he
was seeing her through her moth
er's eyes, weighing her words, her
gestures, her reactions to the family
life familiar to him by some scale
of values which his mother supplied.
A feeling ? She had imagined it,
perhaps. But when he came tonight,
would she feel the same tension and
strain? There was no change in Ann
Houghton's manner toward her.
Would John ? ?
But tli is brooding was morbid.
She needed to get out of the house.
The sun was shining and the sky
was clear and blue. She wanted to
explore the town where John had
lived as a child, a boy, when he
had spent his summers during the
period that he had been in college
and medical school. She would ask
for Debby's moccasins, since that
seemed to be important. The maga
zine slid to the floor as she rose
from the chair.
Climbing the stairs, she heard no
sound on the upper floor, but as she
walked along the hall, she caught
a glimpse through the open door of
John's room of Ann Houghton's
brown skirt and dark red cardigan
sweater. She paused in the hall
outside the door, meanir.g to ask (or
Debby's moccasins and to tell Mrs.
Houghton that she was going to take
a walk.
The words, forming on her lips,
were checked there. The position
of Ann Houghton's figure held her
motionless, silent. She stood with
her back to the door, the palms of
her hands pressed flat against the
wall, looking at a long framed pan
el between the windows. Her shoul
ders sagged. Every line of her
body, usually erect, drooped in some
momentarily acknowledged defeat.
As Gay watched, her head bent
slowly forward until it touched the
panel against the wall.
Gay drew back out of sight and
called her name. The reply, when
it came, was controlled, free from
any hint of emotion. Ann Hough
?on'? chnuMoT-Q uorp prprt RhU
turned from adjusting a fold of the
crisp white curtain at the window
to glance with an inquiring expres
sion and a faint smile toward the
door.
"If you can tell me where Deb
by's moccasins are," she said, her
own voice controlled with effort, "I
think I'll go out now."
"They're in her wardrobe, I think.
I'll get them. Debby's wardrobe
John's mother smiled faintly.
always resembles the spot that the
cyclone hit. You'll need heavy
socks, too."
As John's mother passed her,
walking out into the hall, Gpy
glanced back into the room. The
panel, as she had remembered,
framed photographs of John taken
at various ages. She followed his
mother's straight back and briskly
tapping heels feeling a curious sense
of pity mingled with resentment, ex
asperation, fear.
CHAPTER Xlll
Th^ rlrwV m mantAl| flanV^I
by Chinese vases and branching
clumps of coral, struck the half
hour. John's grandmother, Abigail
Houghton, broke off an account of
some early misdemeanor of John's
and turned her bright quizzical
glance toward the sofa where Gay
and Debby sat beside the fire-place
in which a cannel-coal fire in a pol
ished grate burned with blue and
orange flames.
"You children will take your
death when you go out," she said,
"bundled into all that wool and
fur, hot as it is in here."
"Might as well come clean. Gran
ny," Debby laughed. "You've got a
date and you want us to go."
The spare little woman in black
silk with lace at her wrists and
throat, chuckled as though she found
her granddaughter's remark ex
tremely entertaining.
"The Reverend Henry Longfellow
Blake and his wife are coming for
supper," she said. "I must give
Hannah a hand. She'll leave the
sherry out of the pudding if I'm not
there to see that it goes in."
"But should you put sherry in
the minister's pudding?" Debby
asked.
"It makes for a more sociable
evening. I notice he always stops
berating me for not going to church
after he's had his dessert." She
grasped the arms of her chair and
rose to a standing position. A cane
with a crooked gold handle fell to
the floor. "You can't expect an old
woman who hobbles around on a
stick to go to chut-ch," she added
8S Debby put the cane in her hand.
"But you go to the movies. Gran
ny."
"Which has not escaped the Rev
erend Henry'? attention." Abigail
Houghton's sherry-colored eyes twin
kled in her russet face touched with
color on the cheek-bones. She turned
to Gay who came to her across the
priceless Chinese oriental rug which
covered the floor of the small par
lor from wall to wall. "I'm glad
you came to see me," she said. "Ga
briella. That's a pretty name. A
relief from our Deborahs and Abi
gails and Anns. French, isn't it?"
"French originally, I suppose. My
grandmother was Gabriella Lyons.
She arrived in New York by way ol
New Orleans. They call me Gay."
"And quite rightly so, too, I ex
pect." Gay took the small veined
hand John's grandmother extended,
looked down into her friendly eyes
beneath neat scallops of waved white
hair. "You must come to see me
when the minister isn't. I'll make a
u: , . ? .. #?
??? ?
"I'm afraid there won't be time
this trip. I'm going into Portland
with John tomorrow."
"Oh, Gayl Are you?" Debby
wailed.
"You're making us a very short
visit." Gay was conscious of the
quizzical expression that narrowed
the old lady's eyes.
"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry." She
was sorry here, in this small warm
house, cluttered with curios, but
bright and cheerful. Looking down
into Abigail Houghton's face, wrin
kled softly like a russet apple which
has lain too long in a basket, she
thought she knew how she had looked
as a girl. She'd had reddish hair,
she thought, with those eyes and ?
"What are you thinking, my
dear?"
"i was thinking how you must
have looked when you were a girl,"
Gay said, a little disconcerted, con
scious that she had been staring.
"Did you ? Do you mind if I ask?
Did you have freckles?"
The old lady laughed. "Hundred*
of them. And red hair. I was very
plain. It's been a cross all my
life."
"Applesauce, Granny! You know
you snatched Grandfather from one
of the most famous beauties in the
state of Maine."
"And a good tiling for him that
I did." Her eyes lifted across Gay's
shoulder to the painting, which hung
above the mantel, of a blue-eyed
gentleman with curling brown hair
and side-burns, wearing a brass-but
toned blue coat. "She had an un
pleasant disposition." Her eyes re
turned to meet Gay's gently smiling
glancc. "Joha must bring you to
see me often. When is the wedding
to be?"
The question was unexpected. It
had not been asked before. Nei
ther John s mother or his sisters had
referred to the subject of marriage.
Strange that she felt an odd reluc
tance to make a reply ?
"I don't know," she said evenly
but with quickened breathing. "John
? You know ? "
"Yes, I know." The old lady's
voice was impatient. "But there's a
way around anything if you're smart
enough to find it. I met my husband
at a Fourth of July picnic and we
were married the first of August.
Neither of ui pvpr rpgrptW! ? _??
least I know I didn't and if he did
he was too much of a gentleman to
tell me."
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Forest Service Workers
Get 'On-the-Job' Training
The United States Forest service
is training employees through "ex
perience clinics," "on-the-job" train
ing, and "planned experience."
Such training pYovides a short cut
to information and experience.
Workers on the service roll are
listed under more than 30 different
types of skilled labor and 17 pro
fessions. They are scattered over
about one-thirteenth of the United
States land area.
Skilled workers engaged in forestry
operations include fire guards, pack
ers, bull-dozer operators, powder
men, road locators, radio operators,
telephone linemen, and clerical
workers. The professional classifica
tions include such positions as ad
ministrators, foresters, engineers,
range examiners, silviculturists, ac
countants, economists, ecologists,
chemists, and airplane pilots.
Peter Keplinger, forest service
training chief, reports that officers
who spend some time in training
employees, such as that given in
fire-control schools, may expect the
workers to accomplish more during
the remainder of the year because
of the short cuts and improved meth
ods learned. He points out that
many employees in some of the low
er-pay positions take greater inter
est In their work when they under
stand Its value to the public and its
use in saving time for other sarvio*
workers
First Tin Hat
Just before goinir
#ith the French army <??
nephew of General Adr.l '
that hu .soup
packed. So he fitted ,i U lu
and jammed it on
??w ni|
cap ana jamnna it on his h?a<i
During the action he was hit m
the head, and later wuke up in th?
hospital. The damage to his cap
was such that the surgeon ceo.
gratulated him on the thickness of
his skull, and remarked that hij
it been normal he would certain
ly have died. Then young Adrian
explained why he was still alive.
This ine'dent made his uncle ex.
periment with the steel helmet,
which was first issued to French
troops under the name ot "U
casque Adrian," and was instru
mental in reducing head injuries
by 50 per cent.
Ask for NESCO
Kerosene Range
BUILT TO ijOUJl
SPECIFICATIONS
Appntranct
Economy
Of tret ion
P (r/omnct
Cl+ming
"I suggested a more
beautiful range, on* I
could be proud of, a
modern range for my
modern kitchcn."
*
"I demanded a range
which uses the cheap*
eat of all fuels . . . ker
osene ? . . and uses it
efficiently!"
9
"I wanted positive, ac
curate temperature
control so necessary in
the preparation of ev
ery meal."
9
"I desired convenience
features such as . . .
reliable oven heat in
dicator . ? ? ample stor?
age space . . . and ac
cessible fuel tanks and
burners."
9
"I suggested porcelain
and white finishes ? . .
burner trays . . . smooth
edges, rounded corners
. ? ? no bolts and
hinges to accumulate
dirt."
THIS* FEATURES ME YOURS IN A NESCO
NESCO
A compUt* mw llao of
porta bU koroaono rovnd
cobln^f hodvrt*
Man's Achievements
Five thousand years have addea
.10 improvement to the hive 01
the bee, nor to the house of the
beaver; but look at the habitat'01"
and the achievements of men.?
Colton.
100' IN THE SHADE
BUT COMFORT IN
SHOES WITH FAMOUS
MEXICAN HEAT POWDER
Always the Future
When all else is lost the future
still remains. ? Bovee.