North Carolina Newspapers

    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.
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"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
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N. C. Dairy
Farmers Need
Better Pastures
A shortage of good pasture is
considered the weakest spot in
North Carolina’s dairy cattle feed
ing program.
Because of this shortage, milk
production is more costly than in
States where pasturage is more ab
undant, said John A. Arey, exten
sion dairyman at State College.
Under a good feeding schedule,
nearly one-third of a cow’s feed
comes from the pasture, but the
pasturage accounts for only one
seventh of the total feed cost.
In other words, Arey pointed out,
the nutrients gained from a pas
ture are much cheaper than those
from other sources.
Tender, succulent pasturage is
nature’s most perfect milk produc
ing food, Arey stated. At this
stage of growth the feed nutrients
in pasturage are easily digested and
the mineral and protein content of
the grass is high.
uniurtunateiy, rey remarKeu,
many farmers think that pastures
should be only on land too poor to
raise other crops profitably. Such
is not the case, he declared.
A good pasture can be grown
only on good soil. On most farms,
he added, are sizeable cut-over areas
of fertile land suitable for pastures,
but now covered with brush.
Where the slope of this land is
steep enough to make erosion a
serious problem, row crops should
not be cultivate!. But a good sod
of pasture grass will hold the soil
in place.
It is better to seed pastures in
February than in March, Arey
said. Seed mixtures adapted to dif
ferent sections of the State, and
other details of pasture growing
are covered in extension circular
No. 202, "Pastures of North Caro
lina,” which may be obtained free
by writing the agricultural editor
at State College, Raleigh, N. C.
BEAUTIFUL PHOTOGRAPHS
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| HeiressChargesPlot ~~j
SAN PRANCISCoT!'"' Missel
Cooper Hewitt (above), has brought
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Jier without her knowledge, being
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