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‘~“bu Margaret £. Samgster
"And so,” said Ellen, "little
Goldilocks come to the big city.
Or perhaps I should say Little Red
Riding Hood. As I remember it, I
did wear a red beret! With just
exactly twenty dollars in the!
pocket of the old tweed coat—butj
with all of my bills paid, and the
homestead still unmortgaged. You
didn’t know, did you, that I am a
landowner? That I, whose knees
shall be known to posterity, am the
possessor of an estate!”
The man with the Vandyke
beard reached, through the cloud
of his pipe smoke, for her hand—
which Ellen carefully removed
from his vicinity. He shrugged,
and reached instead for the glass
that stood at his elbow.
"For such a red hot, red capped
little person,” he said "you’re start
lingly chill! Know that, Ellen? A,”
he laughed, quite alone, at his pun,
"a Church—and why should a
church need fortifications?—with
battlements and moats and a draw
One of the two other girls was
"Shut up, Sandy,” she said.
"You’re just about as funny as a
wake! Say, Ellen,” her voice was
shrill, "why don’t you throw a
party up at your place, some week
end? The crowd of us could make,
perfectly swell whoopee.”
If a shadow crept across the care
fully rouged little face of Ellen
Church, she veiled that shadow
with a slim, raised hand. Her ans
wer came with almost too much
"I haven’t been near the place,”
she said, "since I turned the key in
the lock and went out into the
storm, with neither a wedding ring
nor a baby. I’d have to have con
siderable of a weekend—and I mean
my head!—to take you all up there.
Why,” even at twenty Ellen could
not quite control the sudden tremor
in her voice, "Why, the place is
full of ghosts. . .
The man with the Vandyke
beard puffed away in silence for a
"You were telling your life
story,” he reminded Ellen, at last.
"Not that it’s such a whale of a
story, at that. There hasn’t been a
starvation, or a temptation, or a
"And,” the tremor had quite
gone from Ellen’s voice, "there
won’t be, either. Not while the old
brain sits firmly just above the well
known shoulders. Well, to make a
short story long, I got in touch
with the only soul I knew, believe
it or not, in New York. A person
who had sold my mother’s work.
Sort of an art agent, you under
stand. Mother—she did all of her
selling second hand, she wouldn t
see art editors herself. You have to
be pretty swell,” there was a note
of pride, a defensive sort of pride,
in Ellen’s voice, "to sell your stuff
that way! But anyhow,” the pride
was gone from her voice, now,
"anyhow, I went to this agent and
asked her advice. And she tried to
help. 'Perhaps you’d better be an
artist,’ she said. 'It’s in your blood.’
But it’s left out of my fingers,’ I
told her. 'Well, what can you do?’
she asked me. And I said, 'I’m a
regular wow at posing.’ ”
A man without a beard and for
that reason some years older than
the Vandyke one, spoke.
"And so you are!” he told Ellen.
"I never knew anyone who could
catch an idea the way you do. I
wish to heaven I could keep you
busy all the time. Not that I
wouldn’t be afraid to have you in
the studio all the time—”
"I don’t eat artists,” she said,
"not even raw ones like Sandy,
here; not even good ones like you!”
One of the girls laughed. It was
a sharp laugh, rather.
_ ^ _ _ . C . 1 . a 1
X ill HV/1 3UU. LllctL, Jilt
told Ellen. "I’d say, for all your
wide-eyes and your raised eyebrows,
that you were a regular man-eater.
You have a come-on game—”
"That,” interrupted the man
called Sandy, "that doesn’t come
anywhere! Ellen’s come-on game
somehow always fails to arrive!”
Ellen laughed ever so slightly,
and surveyed her guests through
the low hanging haze of their to
bacco smoke. The two girls? They
—she admitted it, in her mind—
weren’t important. Just models
like herself. With stagey names be
hind which they hid their own
commonplace labels. Gay Vardon
—the shorter one, with the angelic
face framed in red hair. She was in
demand for magazine covers, Gay.
Her innocent eyes were a guarantee
• 1 — --- I
Even at twenty Ellen couldn t
quite control the sudden tremor
in her voice.
on any periodical of its faith with
the public. Claire Tremaine—the
tall, willowy one, who posed for
fashion work. Who with her bone
less, curveless figure was just a
little passe iri this new age of fash
They weren’t of much import
ance, these two. Just white of egg,
beaten to a stiff froth. Not a great
deal of substance, or norishment,
Sandy Mackintosh? Somehow, al
though his work sold readily, al- 1
though he had a real flair for ex
pression, he belonged with the two
girls, Ellen told herself. His essays
at love-making always bordered on
the comic, for her. He was always
ready to put her into one of his
careless, charming illustrations,
however, always ready to buy her
a dinner at some place where the
food was good, and the lights were
low, and there was wine for the
The older man, Dick Alven, He
wasn’t a lightweight! He didn’t de
pend upon charm to put his draw
ings over. He didn’t even care, al
ways, that his paintings would in
terest dealers—rather than sell
them! Ellen, her gaze creeping
about the room, felt a thrill of
[affection as her eyes rested upon
his face. For it was to Dick that
she had first gone, quite by chance,
in her quest for work. A slim,
frightened child, in a scarlet cap
and an unfashionable topcoat, she
had come knocking at his studio
door. And he with curiqsity writ
ten in every line of his face, had let
her into the square, somber room
in which he painted.
50 you want to poser ne naa
questioned. "I fancy, from your
looks, that you’ve just run away
from school, with an old copy of
'The Common Law’ tucked into
your pocket. Well, I do need a
model. But you’ll find it hard, un
Ellen had answered haughily, to
cover the shiver in her heart, the
quake in her soul.
"I’ve posed all my life,” she told
him. "I know it’s not easy. But
I’m used to it!”
Dick Alven’s practiced, oddly
personal yet oddly impersonal gaze
had run the length of her slender
body. He sighed.
"You’re such a kid,” he told
her. "Do you pose for the figure?”
Ellen felt the blood mounting
into her cheeks, pounding into her
temples. But she answered with a
"I have, of course, posed that
way,” she said. "I can, if there’s
no other work to be had. But I’d
Dick Alven had laughed. "I
thought that would scare you out,’
he said. "I’d know you for an
amateur any day. Who’ve you pos
ed for you little bluffer?”
Ellen’s head was high. The blood
had receded from her cheeks.
"I posed for Mrs. Church,” she
said. '^You must have seen he^
work. She specialized in drawings
of children. Of young girls. She,”
Ellen’s lips all at once were quiver
ing; all at once the tears stood,
roundly, in her eyes, "she was—my
Dick Alven, with a certain mute
astonishment, had watched the tears
spill over on to the pale cheeks. He
had given himself a little shake,
and had closed the studio door.
"Make yourself at home,” he
told Ellen "I’ve an order for a
sort of Kate Greenway mural, to
dress up a halfbaked, junior league;
inspired children’s theatre. I can!
use you plenty.”
And so Ellen entered the studio,
and buttoned herself into a high
• i__i_i _r
| VV aiJtVU) L/l UC UIUJ11U U1 VJJ)
and started out upon her career as
a professional model. It was as easy
as that! Under Dick’s tutelage,
i which almost amounted to chaper
|onage, she met other artists, se
cured other work.
It was getting late. The cigarette
smoke was rising toward the ceiling
of the room. As soon as the bunch
left, Ellen thought, she would fling
up the window—and make the
room sweet again.
"I think,” she called now to the
corner in which Gay and Sandy
were sitting, very close, "that you’d
better clear out. I’m working to
morrow, and I’m starting early.”
Sandy eyed her reproachfully.
"Women,” he said, "they’re all
alike. Just puppies in mangers. El-1
len won’t let me touch her hand.
But the moment I seek any consola
tion in Gay, she throws me out.
Jealous cat, I call her!”
Claire rose lithely from her place
on the cushioned day bed. She
stretched as a slim, lazy panther
stretches. Nobody had been mak
ing love to Claire.
"I’m readv to blow,” she said.
"This party hasn’t been what you’d
call a wow for excitement. The
story of Ellen’s past is too blame
less to make what might be known
as a hectic evening. See me home,
Dick?” there was a slightly eager
note in her drawling voice. "You
go my way!”
But Dick, slowly, was shaking
"I’m staying on here, for a bit,
after the rest of you leave,” he
told her. "I want to talk with El
len. I’m the guy she’s working for
tomorrow. We’re starting on that
Indian thing—and I want to talk
to her about costumes.”
Sandy, rising, had dragged the
liminutive Gay to her feet.
"We’ll drop you at your shanty,
Dlaire,” he said. "That is, if you’re
•eally afraid to venture out alone
)n the sidewalks of New York!”
"Fd suspect you, Ellen,” she said,
is she pulled the season’s smartest
iiat over her beautifully arranged
hair, "only it’s hard to suspect any
ane with milk—frozen-milk—in
"Make yourself at home,” he
her veins! I don’t doubt,” there
was a queer note of almost envy
in her voice, " that you and Dick
will really talk about costumes.”
Ellen tried, very hard, to copy]
the spirit of Claire’s shrug.
"Be that,” she said, "as it may!”
Then they were gone, the three
of them. Clattering down the un
carpeted stairs. Sandy laughing—
Gay’s shirll giggle echoing his
"They’re laughing about me,”
Ellen told Dick, and her tone was
tranquil. "They think I’m some
thing from another planet. That
I have six toes on each foot, and
they’re webbed . You tell ’em dif
ferent, Dick. You’ve seen my feet
But Dick was staring at her
strangely, through the drifting
smoke, most of which he was now
"Sandy may laugh at you,” he
said, "but he’s in love with you,
Ellen, again, attempted the shrug.
It was more of a success this time.
"Oh—love!’ she said. Just that.
Dick went on.
"So,” he said evenly, "am I, fori
that matter! I love you, Ellen, you
know. Foolish, isn’t it?”
"Yes, it is, rather,’ she said. "Be
cause I have reason to suppose, Dick
that love would stand for marri
age, with you. You’re that sort
Sandy? Possibly he isn’t. But—well,
what would marriage with you
mean, Dick? Figure it out, from
my point of view. Only a new
name, and a wedding ring. I’d
work just as hard as I’m working
now. I’d have the deuce of a lot
more to worry about—babies, for
instance. And I wouldn’t have lots
of things that I have now, either.”
Dick’s voice rasped just a little.
It was a very nice voice when it
didn’t have that grating note.
"What, for instance?” he quest
"Privacy, for'instance!” Ellen
answered, trying to make her tone
Dick was rising from his chair.
His tall figure, despite his breadth
of shoulder, gave the effect of i
gauntness. He came swiftly across!
the room and laid his hands, not
too lightly, on Ellen’s shoulders.
CONTINUED NEXT WEEK
Cotton farmers have learned that
excessive supplies reduce the price
of the staple and that elimination
of the surplus tends to raise the
"For that reason, the cotton ad
justment program was designed to
eliminate the cotton surplus so that
a bale of cotton could have as
large a purchasing power as it had
in the base period of 1910-14,”
says Charles A. Sheffield, assistant
director and in charge of the Cot
ton Adjustment program in North
"Studies made by government
economists show that for five years
prior to 1929, the annual gross in
come from cotton and cotton-seed
averaged slightly over $1,500,00,
000. In 1930, it was $750, 000,
000. In 1931, cotton farmers sold
their 17-million bale crop for
$528,000,000 including the seed.
The crop of 1932 brought $431,
000,000. This shows how the value
of the crop was first cut in half and
the half further cut in half again.
We know what this did in the cot
ton South in standards of living,
ability to buy and power to pay
It is known that a part of this
decrease in the value of the cotton
crop came with the falling prices
of the period but it is also a fact
that the prices were further de
pressed due to the mounting sur
plus. Mr. Sheffield points out that
consumption fell below production
in 1929-30 and 1,800,000 bales
were added to the surplus that year.
In 1930-31 consumption fell still
more and 2,600,000 additional bales
were added to the surplus at the
close of the year. The next year,
the carry-over was further in
creased by 4,100,000 bales. This
brought the world carry-over Unit
ed States cotton on August 1, 1932
up to 13 million bales. The crop of
1932 amounted to 13 million bales
which gave a supply of 26 million
bales for the season.
With this large supply serving
to depress the price, farmers could
not hope to have their normal pur
chasing power. Mr. Sheffield says
at the low points in 1932, it took
three bales of cotton to buy what
one bale had bought in the base
period of 1910-14. The adjustment
program was set up, therefore, to
remedy such a situation.
Say, "I Saw It in
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I LOST MY BEST CUSTOMERS THRU RATS
WRITES J. ADAMS OF 427 MAIT ST.
TRENTON, N. J.
Used to have the busiest Restaurant in town until news spread
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Fisher Street, Salisbury, N. C.
FISH SPECTATORS AT UNDERWATERj
WRESTLING MATCH — Several sports
minded tish seem to have “crashed” this
1 wrestling match between Dolly Dalton (left)
the Women's Champion of Canada, and Dix
ie Taylor, Southern Women's Champion. The
1 wrestling match was held at the bottom of
Silver Springs, Fla.
FIGHTS FOR DAUGHTER'S
CUSTODY: Mrs. Gloria Morgan
Vanderbilt, at right with her twin
sister, Mrs. Benjamin Thaw, pho
tographed leaving court.
| “ANTI - SPITTING"
i CAMPAIGN — This
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( inspects the "guar
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standing in its work
in preventing radia
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on floors and walls.
IS THIS A NEW
Perhaps the only
ball player in the
country is Kioshi
kicking the pig
skin. with the
man team at
VERSATILE WRITER — Courtney
Ryley Cooper, after a long and suc
cessful career as a newspaper man and
author of circus and animal stories
radio continuities and moving picture
scenarios, is now writing true crime
stories for the American Magazine.
His latest book, "Boss Elephant," is
regarded as the finest contribu+'m of
the year to its special field.
PALATIAL YACHT “BLDE DART” and the principals
on cruise to strange waters in “Treasure Adventures of
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