FIFTH INSTALMENT Stealthily Joan started toward Dick’s statroom then stopped to survey the situation. The rotunda was rather wavery tonight. She dawdled among the plants, dipping her fingers in the water. She must remember sometime to catch a gold fish and take it to her room. Mr. Stein had told her that he had put one in his pocket, and it had wig gled so much that he had flung it overboard into the sea. Joan laughed out loud. She liked peo ple who did things like that. Joan moved slowly away from the foun tain and knocked at Dick’s door. It was opened at once, but not in a friendly way. "Joan, you here? What do you want?” "I want to talk to you. Let me in.” Dick looked down the corridor; he was annoyed. "All right, then, come in, but you’ve no business to come here. I’ve told you so repeatedly.” Joan straightened up. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dick,” she told him, solemnly. "I can’t think why you’re so severe. You’re not cut out to be a reformer.” She walked in, ignoring his frowning brows, and seated herself on the sofa. Taking her time about it, she crossed her legs and lit a cigarette. "Got any brandy?” she asked. "Yes,” said Dick, shortly. "Want some?” He poured out two liqueurs and drank his own in sips. "Why aren’t you crossing India?" he asked her. "Because I didn’t want to.” What did she mean by that He watched her thoughtfully. "Tell me about yourself, Joan,” he said, abruptly. "Tell you what?” "Oh, everything—who you are, what you are, why you are? Don’t think me rude, I’m interested.” "Do you care, really?” "I’d like to know. It might help me to understand you.” "Old Southern family, boarding schools, beaux, plenty of money one day, and not a sou the next,” said Joan, flippantly. "And live in ab undance, if that’s what you choose to call it. It’s been hectic enough, but not very satisfying.” Dick watched the pulse that throbbed in her throat, the ripe ness of her lips, her disordered red hair, the shadowy hollow of her bosom. Honeybees are not natives to the New World. Wild honeybees in America sprang from domesticat ed races imported from abroad. Do You Ever Wonder Whether the“Pain” Remedy You Use is SAFE? Ask Your Doctor and Find Out Don’t Entrust Your Own or Your Family’s He will tell you that before the aiscooerp of Bayer Aspirin most pain remedies were advised against by physicians as bad for the stomach and, often, for the heart which is food for thought if vou seek quick, safe relief. Scientkts rate Bayer Aspirin among the fastest methods yet dis covered for the relief of headaches and the pains of rheumatism, neu ritis and neuralgia. And the experi ence of millions of users has proved it safe for the average person to use regularly. In your own interest re member this. You can get Genuine Bayer Aspirin at any drug store — simply gy asking for it by its full name, BAYER ASPIRIN. Make it a point to do this — and see that you yet what you want. Bayer Aspirin "I’ve never done anything with my life,” Joan went on, "just mess ed about, staying up late every night and sleeping every morning— killing time in between. Restau rants, speakeasies, the theatre and places to dance—forgetfulness for a little while. I was caught in a tangle of excitement before I knew what I was doing, Dick, and here I am, gay at night, and ready to kill myself when I waken up in the morning.” Joan held up her glass, watching it through the light with fingers that trembled. She walked over and sat on the arm of Dick’s chair, more sober now than when she had come into the room. How hard it , , . . i w db lu maite mm understand tne muddle of her life! Always mean ing to make things better, always sinking a little lower. She curved her arm around Vs neck and leaned her cheek against his temples. Gently she stroked his hair, and let her lips stray over his face in caressing butterfly kisses. Dick sat without moving, until her mouth reached his. Then he seiz ed her firmly and swung her into the circle of his arms. "Cherub,’ he murmured, "you get your way, don’t you? I ought to slap you but instead you’ve forc ed me to make love to you.” He caught her roughly in his arms. * * * Next morning he regarded her coldly across the breakfast table in the dining-room, regretting his im pulse of the night before. Joan looked appealingly at him across the table, dimly aware of his thoughts. What did love mean to her, anyway? Nothing, except tne excitement ot the chase. It was j really only when she was tipsy that she abandoned herself to the more advanced stages of love. What a long procession of men had loved her once, and slipped out of her life, while she waited at home for their telephone calls! It sickened Joan to think of it. She had been jilted so often that fear was a fixa tion with her now. Yes, she was a mess. Now Dick! Joan helped herself to marmalade and thought that he was the most attractive man she had ever known—just as she had suspected. He did not need her at all; that was painfully obvious. She envied people who knew how to run their lives and control their own destinies. Dick was looking at her search ingly. iviiseraDie, sne turnea away irom his sagacious scrutiny. Suddenly Dick felt touched. It gave him no pleasure to see anyone unhappy or disappointed. He knew, from his experience with women, that the worst hurt of all was frustration, for it touched them in their pride. Besides, she couldn’t help it. "Joan,” he said, catching her arm as she left the dining-room, "I want you to take the pledge for a little while and behave yourself.” "Don’t be funny,” she said. Dick shook her impatiently. "Don’t wise-crack, Joan. It doesn’t become you. I’m in earnest. You’ve got to stop drinking, and I’m going to make you.” She flashed him a wistful glance. "It’s no use, Dick; I’m sunk. It’s the only relief I have. I’d do anything for you, but not that.” "Promise me away from tne dining-room he was teaching one woman to drink arid another to swear off. Undoubted ly it was the right prescription in both cases. He couldn’t imagine that Miss Mudge was ever going to touch a drop when she returned to the States. Meanwhile, it would be a pity if she went home to Ohonto without a few memories of the downright wickedness. It was a great relief to have all these people off the boat. Three weeks of comparative freedom! His face was puckered with the sun as he moved away from the rail and passed a row of empty deck chairs. Hello! here was Miss Mudge, still on the boat for some mysterious reason, and under one’s feet as usual. Today she was dressed in some sort of gingham thing—her tropical costume—with a hat like a coal scuttle upside down. God! how he hated white cotton stockings. He stop ped at her side and greeted her. "Hello! You here?” Miss Mudge was blushing violent ly. She sat up straight, and the stockings disappeared from view over the sides of her chair.Was he dreaming, or had she paint on her cheeks at broad noonday, and shockingly misapplied, GcxkI for Miss Mudge? She was getting on. Lipstick and sheer stockings next. "I’m surprised to see you still on the boat,” he said. "I thought you’d be on your way across India by this time.” Miss Mudge’s responsive face was suddenly lost in a cloud. She rustled her papers, then lifted her head with a perky air and answered him: "No, I’m not going across India. I’m staying right here on the boat.” He checked an exclamanation of surprise. "That’s topping,” he said. We’re going to have fun together. I always stay with the boat, so I shall show you Bombay. Shall we start tonight?” Miss Mudge brightened, like a lamp that has just been lit. "That’sl very kind of you, Mr. Charlton. I’m sure India couldn’t be any better than the Holy Land.” “Were you so impressed by that?” "More than words can tell.” Her voice sank to an awed whis per. “Jerusalem was just like the coloured Bible scrolls we used to have i nour Sunday school. It seemed so strange, after all these centuries, to see men walking the cobbled streets with their crooks I "You’ve no business to come here,” he said. and their beards, and looking the same as they did in our Lord’s day. And I’ll never forget the night we drove up from the Dead Sea and thought we saw the Star of Bethle hem. Agatha always wanted to see Gethsemane and the River Jor dan, so I’ve brought her a bottle of water from the river. Agatha’s never even been to New York.” Miss Mudge’s voice trailed off in a diminuendo of feeling. Yes, the Holy Land had glamour. The train whirled through the Indian night and dust poured in the windows like desert sand. An-1 gela lay shadows on fy Patty "Patty,” whispered you asleep, dear? I heard you tossing.” "No, I’m wide awake ing with dust.” "Isn’t it frightful? It’s down to my lungs. Why you sleeping?” "Oh, I have a little demon at . work. I can’t close my eye?. Aunt Neil is sleeping like the dead. She always does. It’s an easy conscience. Toss me a cig arette. Angela, please.” "Perhaps if we were to put out this beastly corridor light things would be better. It’s just like a green eye winking in on us.” "Here’s my scarf. Hang it over the transom.” "That’s a bright idea. I don’t suppose it will stick.” The Camera’s Three Year Story 1 NEW YORK . . 1 “ Have the cares of the President’s office, during the last three eventful years, produced any marked change in the appearance of Mr. Roosevelt?” was the assignment handed a Washington news camera man. Above are the Wo pictures he submitted, that of 1933 from the files, taken shortly before inauguration and that of 1936, taken last week as the President nears his 64th birthday, January 30. Patty’s strong young arms I manoeuvered a temporary screen as she lay quiet, in darkness that was now complete. "Angela,” she said at last, "I’m going straight out to the Tai the minute we ar rive at Agra, for moonlight is per fect tonight and we mighn’t catch it again. Tomorrow night it might rain.” None of them felt like luncheon when they returned to their hotel from seeing the taz and the Ganges at Agra, India. They found Macduff at work on a new kind of cocktail. He was getting on with his list. He had crossed off the Blue Blazer in Jeru salem, the Sidecar at Shepheard's, the Jabberwock at the Mena House, the Bombay Special at Bombay, the Thunderclap at Agra, and was now due to try the Union Jack at Benares. He had deceided not to go out on the Ganges, for he had been there before and knew the worst. In any event, he had a poor opin ion of a race that did not drink. He was enjoying himself consider ably and had no desire to look at the spindly lefs of so many miser able men. It pleased him to sit on a wide and shady veranda with a glass in front of him, and a fakir trying to screw a penny out of his aocket. Macduff chuckled to omself at the mere idea of anyone getting a farthing for nothing from him. He was really enjoying the voyage more than he would admit. The roisters were settling down, and nobody bothered him now. Miss Mudge was a bore— too skitterish. He had avoided her ever since Monte Carlo. Mrs. Wynant seemed like a sensible per son, but he thought it dangerous to pass the time of day to any woman on a boat; she might turn out to be another Mrs. Langford. His place in the bar was sacred now. He had glared every intru der out of his corner seat, and it was just as mcuh boycotted as if n placard were up: "Reservled for Macduff. The dog will bite.” For some one who never spoke to a soul, Macduff had extensive knowledge of his fellow passengers. He spotted many things they did not know about one another—that was one of the advantages of sit ting back and holding one’s tongue. Life would be simple for a great many people if only there were less talk. Macduff downed his fourth and rose in a mellow mood to eat his luncheon. As chance would have it, there wasn’t a vacant chair in the place, except across from Mrs. Wynant. Well, he could stand looking at her. He sat down and for the menu. Mr. Macduff, you been on the river?” enquired .turning her dark on his face. Macduff had trouble in being cut more cordial ?d this, but the four Uni behind him, the sun he liked the way Patty made They that liness.” Macduff Angela. Was making fun face was kind “I’ts a pity couldn’t make the "Heavens!” thought Angela, "the man’s a boor!” A shadow darkened her face. "Yes, Im very sorry,” she said. "He couldn’t get away for so long. Of course, when one is a writer it doesn’t mat ter where one is—work can go on. Are you writing, Mr. Macduff?” "No,” said Macduff, shortly. "I never combine my business with pleasure.” (CONTINUED NEXT ISSUE) Miss Paris Smiles PAJII3 ■ . Mile. Madeline Balestre (above), flashes the smile which won for her the title, of ‘ ‘ Miss Paris of 1930” in a national beauty ■ont’st, just featured here. SIB ____ _ OFFER No. 3 \ RtLFIVE ™ Procn’sssiv© Farmer, 1 ye®f / vrw omt v __ ;- Good Stories, 1 year ( FOR ONLY “ I Country Home, 1 year I it* ^ _ _ The Farm Journal, 1 ye at \ si B«StJ H AND THIS NEWSPAPER 1 JL- § For One Year / j ! 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