SHINING
PALACE
By
ghhisiim:
WHITING
PARMEXTEK
Copjl f iqht l)i
Christine Cjirnn oit f
HXI SCItVM t:
THE STORE) ujlUi/
£ (J —,*■■*■■*
CHAPTER I—James Lambert tries Ir
vain to dissuade his beautiful foster
daughter. Leonora, from marrying Don
Mason, young "rolling stone.” whom he
likes but of whom he disapproves ac
cording to his conventional business-man
standards. He tells her, "Unless a 1. use
la founded upon a rock. It will not sur
vive." Leonora suspects the influence of
her half-brother. Ned. always Jealous of
the girl since the day his father brought
her home from the deathbed of ner
mother, abandoned by her Italian bari
tone lover. Don arrives In the midst of
the argument, and Lambert realizes the
frank understanding between the two.
CHAPTER n— Sitting up late Into the
night. Lambert reviews the whole story,
of Nora as a child, at boarding school,
studying music abroad, meeting Don od
the return trip. In the morning he de
livers his ultimatum, to give Don a Job
with Ned for a year’s showdown. When
Nora suggests the possibility of running
away with Don, Lambert threatens dis
inheritance. Don agrees to the Job. but
before a month is over, his nerves are
lumpy, he cannot sleep at night, he is
too tired to go out much with Nora, and
admits to her that he feels stifled. Nora
soothes him with her music. He falls
asleep and his face la more peaceful than
It has been In many weeks.
CHAPTER lll—Nora grows quieter,
and broods over Don, complains to her
father of Ned's spying on him. and de
cides that rather than see Don's spirit
broken, she will run away. She urges
her father to put an end to the futile ex
periment. James Lambert Is obdurate
and angry. Lambert tells her that if
Don quits she will quit with him; that he
will be through wttn her. He adds that
if she Urea of her bargain It will be use
leas to come to him for h»i»
CHAPTER IV
It seemed to Nora that things did
go better for a time. Don appeared
less tired. He even accompanied
her to one or two informal parties
with some show of enthusiasm; and
was, according to their hostess. “a
perfect life-saver” at a dinner given
in honor of a renowned explorer,
recently returned from the Arctic.
“The affair would have been a
complete washout if your young
man hadn’t been here, Nora,” she
said with gratitude. “No one else
present could talk intelligently with
our lion on the subjects nearest his
heart, you know.”
That evening was something of a
triumph to the girl. As she watched
her lover conversing so easily and
naturally with the guest of honor,
comparing experiences, putting
questions, answering others which
the great man put to him, her eyes
shone with happy pride. Even Ned,
sitting across the table, was obvi
ously impressed though he essayed
to hide the fact And Corinne, ob
serving that others appeared to be
listening with interest to “that queer
boy Nora has taken up with,” lis
tened herself, and wondered if her
ears deceived her when she heard
the distinguished guest invite Don
to dine with him next night
“And can you tell me,” she asked
Ned petulantly as they rode toward
home, “what a man like that can
have in common with Don Mason?”
Indeed, she had to repeat the ques
tion before her husband, who was
deep in thought, roused himself to
reply:
“Possibly he wants to book him
for his next expedition.”
Corinne brightened.
"1 wish to goodness be would 1
Don could never resist such an op
portunity; and an absence of that
sort would settle Noraf Did you see
that Kemp Corless acted extremely
struck with her tonight? They say
he’s worth ten million.”
Ned shrugged.
*1 can’t see our fastidious sister
falling for a bald head and fifty
years, my dear.”
“She’d be a fool not to, with all
that money Into the bargain,” Cor
inne retorted.
“Nora is a fool more ways than
mat," observed Ned with brotherly
eandor, “but she's perfectly aware
that Dad'll never let her suffer from
want of cash. And there’s more
te Don Mason than I supposed. Cor-
Inna. He’s got uncommonly good
qaanftars, too. Did you notice—"
0w b
THE ZEBULON RECORD, ZEBULON, NORTH CAROLINA, FRIDAY, FEB. 4,1938
“Oh, yes, I noticed,” broke in
Corinne impatiently. “He simply
monopolized the guest of honor, if
you call that manners.”
“It appeared to me,” maintained
her husband with honesty which
would have astonished Leonora,
“that the guest of honor was mo
nopolizing Don!”
For a while there was silence, a
thoughtful silence on the part of
Corinne before she ventured: “I
wonder if the man would dine with
us if he understood that Don would
be there.”
Being not Utterly blind to his
wife's social ambitions, Ned threw
her an ironic glance.
“Better not try, my dear," was
his advice, “and save yourself a
disappointment. I’ve heard he turns
down almost everyone.”
So things went better for a time.
What Nora did not suspect was the
heroic effort Don was making to
conceal his unhappy state of mind.
He was bitterly ashamed to have
her know how let-down he really
was—how intolerable the situation
had become to him. Often he felt
that could he talk freely—get the
sense of rebellion at this way of
living out of his system, it would
ease the strain; but Nora was wor
ried enough as it was, he argued.
Why add to her troubles? Let her
m£\ * a—f
\ . .. : CBSLiJ
He was chained to a ledger.
think, if she could, that he was at
last becoming inured to this hectic
existence which his fellow men re
garded as the natural thing. Don
felt that the fault was all his own.
And to make things harder, spring
was in the air and on the tree-tops—
spring, which always played the
devil with him!
Just the scent of a blossoming
lilac stirred something in the very
depths of his being—an almost ir
resistible desire to be away—it
didn’t matter where—just away . ; .
And he was chained to a ledger, as
securely chained as were those
slaves in the old galleons . . .
To Don, tilicu w.wi spring wander
lust, the lnr>c days seemed inter
minable. and the office little bat*
ter than a prison cell. There came
an evening when he could not go to
Nora for fear she would suspect the
terrible unrest that had possession
of him. Instead he tramped for
miles into the country, trying to
find peace from the stars—the cool
of evening—the wild, sweet scent of
growing things.
It was late when he turned his
steps toward town. Peace had elud
ed him. He could not find it. Reach
ing a bridge he paused to rest a
moment, gazing down into the in
finite blackness of moving water.
Peace must be there, he mused.
Peace and coolness; release from
this ghastly treadmill that men
called Life. After all. did the cow
ards have the best of it? Or in that
somewhere beyond did they look
back regretfully, sorrowfully, wish
ing they'd played the game—wish
ing . . .
“Thinkin' about ending it aDT”
came a voice close at his side.
Don started guiltily, having been
tod lost In thought to hear approach
ing footsteps. Now the bright star
light showed him that a girl had
spoken, her small, thin, pointed face
looking up at him without fear, yet
without boldness.
“Not seriously,” he answered, as
M there were nothing unusual in bat
question. “Is that what yen ware
considering. ***** Hma of
The girl shrugged, the cynical
shrug of a bored flapper: an imi
tation, possibly, of some cheap ac
tress of the screen.
“I tried it once.” she confessed
quite simply. “Honest I did; but a
cop got in the way.”
Don turned to look at her more
closely, his interest rising.
"So you find life as desperate as
that?” he questioned.
“Sometimes I do. Some days I
don’t care nothin’ about livin’.
Say!” she broke off suddenly, “have
you got a girl—l mean a steady?”
He nodded, thinking how Nora
would appreciate the appellation.
“But you ain’t married. Anyone
with half an eye could see it. You
don’t look tied.”
“Don’t I?” Don smiled at this
description. “The truth is, I’m tied
to a ledger—an immense and horri
ble black book chock full of figures
that persist in dancing before my
eyes when I want to sleep, and
getting into the wrong columns day
times, just to be spiteful.”
“You better be thankful they don’t
smell bad,” the girl retorted. “I
work in a dye house. Some days I
can’t hardly eat my lunch. How
long you been goin’ with your sweet
ie, anyhow?"
Don was beginning to enjoy him
self. To be revealing his life his
tory to an utter stranger, with no
thought of the conventions, brought
back the days of easy vagabondage
that had once been his. Besides,
this encounter would be something
to tell Nora—something amusing.
He answered, dropping with ease
into the vernacular of his compan
ion. a habit which endeared him to
chance acquaintances: “We’ve been
going together more’n a year now,
sister.”
“And you ain’t tired of her?”
“Not so’s you’d notice it!” grinned
Don.
The girl drew in a breath which
seemed, somehow, laden with dis
couragement. 1
“1 bet she’s got a lot o’ swell
clothes then, boy.”
Not moving his head. Don turned
his eyes a little. The moon had
come from behind a bank of clouds,
and he saw distinctly the much
washed. sleazy frock the girl was
wearing. Even a patch under one
arm was visible as she raised her
elbows to the parapet, and, looking
down into the dark water, repeated
the statement she had just made:
“I bet she’s got a lot o’ clothes.”
Don said, a vision of Nora’s silver
slippers and gay chiffons rising be
fore him: “I’ll say she has! But
believe me, girl, I’d think as much
of her without ’em.”
“A lot you would!”
She laughed, a dreary, yet some
how brave attempt at mirth that
hurt Don strangely.
Where, he pondered, had he heard
a laugh like that—a laugh that hurt
him? The sound recalled something
—wakened a memory ... He had
it now! That lovely little dark-eyed
Eurasian at Shanghai. A cad named
Norton had played around with her
—till he found out Quite by chance
Don had been present when the man
repulsed her, openly, brutally, be
fore people . . . And the girl had
laughed. Laughed to keep herself
from weeping. That laughter had
haunted Don for weeks. And
now . . .
With an effort he dragged himself
back from the Orient to hear this
other girl affirm, her young voice
bitter:
“Maybe you think you would.
Maybe you never seen her till she
was all dolled up. I bet she don’t
work in no dye house anyway.
What’s her job?”
“She—” Don paused, then finished
with sudden inspiration, “She plays
—plays the piano, and—”
“The piano! Say, are you try in’
to kid me? The piano went out
when the talkies eome in, boy.
Didn’t you know that? I had a chum
that could pound the ivories to beat
the band. Played in a movie thea
ter and dressed like she was Gloria
Swanson. Why that girl had her
nails fined up in a beauty parlor ev
ery Saturday. Honest, 1 ain't kid
din*." (Don saw with pity the dye
stained fingers clutching the rail.)
“And than the talkies come In and
she lost her Job. Tough luck, wasn’t
it? Bhe worked In a bakery far a
while after, but I guess she hated
it most as much as I hate the dye
bouse. I never see no osw se eraar
about playin' the piano. Used to
play to herself nights after she
come from work. But she lost her
Job again and had to sell the piano
to pay room rent; and after that
I guess she thought there was no
use trv*w’ mmA . . J*
The girl’s voice trailed off, her
eyes seeking, the water, and Don
said: “What happened? What hap
pened to her after that?”
“What would ha’ happened to a
girl like her?” Hopelessness deep
as the water below them was in
the answer. "She ain’t respectable
any more, that’s all. My mother
says she’ll turn me out if ever she
catches me talkin’ to her again; but
I ask you, honest, what could the
girl do? Sometimes I donno as it
pays to be respectable anyhow. I
met Cora (she’s the one I’m tellin’
about) ' a day last winter when I
was freezin’, and b’lieve it or not,
she was wearin’ a fur coat!”
Don advised soberly: “I’d stay re
spectable just the same, sister, if
I were you.”
“And see my boy friend goin’ with
another girl because I ain’t got a
decent rag to wear when he takes
me out?” she retorted furiously. “It
ain’t as if I could spend what I
make on clothes, like some girls
can. My old man don’t work steady
and I have to help my mother.
Once last winter I saved ten dollars
for a new dress. Thought It was
safe under the newspaper in my bu
reau drawer; but —but my old man
smelt it out and took it. Ain’t that
a dirty trick to play on yer own
kid?”
“I’ll say it was!”
Don felt a consuming desire to
lay violent hands on the “old man.”
“We was goin’ to a dance that
Saturday, me’n Joe.” The girl spoke
hurriedly, as if it were a relief to
tell her story. “He thinks I look
swell in pink. That’s why I wanted
the new dress. I didn’t find out
about the money till —till Friday,
the day I was goin’ to buy it. There
was a big sale down to Raney’s and
I seen the one I wanted in the win
dow, only eight ninety-five, kid, and
worth fifteen if ’twas worth a dollar.
It had gold lace on it
' “Well, I never got it o’course.
Seems like I never get anything I
want. Joe took the Ryerson kid to
the party instead o’ me. Old man
Ryerson’s a grocer and they got
money. Joe likes me better’n he
does her; only—only—” (Don heard
with constemtftion the trembling
voice) “only a feller likes his girl
to look swell when he takes her
places, don’t he?”
Don thought, compassionately:
“You’re right, poor kid. A fellow
does.”
Stirred by a sudden, compelling
impulse, he moved nearer, and
grasping the girl’s thin shoulders
turned her about so that the moon
light fell on her bitter, upturned
face.
“Look at me, girl,” he said. “Are
you on the level? Not kidding me?
No, don’t get mad” (as she shook
his hands off roughly). “I’m going
to help. Honest-to-goodness, I’m go
ing to help you, kid.”
(Continued Next Week)
Each hundred feet of elevation
in any given latitude makes a dif
ference of from one to two days
in the time for blooming plants.
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MBmßmmhm
Th < Cing of Fruit
On St. Valentine’s Da >
By BETTY BARCLAY
The romantic tales which .ve
been associated with t,: *Pi»ie
during its long and popul. -sen
as the king of fruits nn -« **• tne
ideal dessert choice so: . * ton
tine’s Day. The following «
recipes have been especially seat
ed for the February fourteenth
r f v.
Steamed-Giazed Apples
Wash and core well-shaped bak
ing apples Rome Beauties are
excellent for this recipe. Place
apples in a saucepan, fill cavities
with granulated sugar, and add hot
water to a depth of one inch.
Cover and steam apples until
tender. Remove apples carefully to
a shallow pan. Skin apples. Pour
enough maraschino cherry juice
over each apple to tint it pink.
Drizzle with granulated sugar and
glaze under the broiler. A little
of the water in which the apples
were steamed added to the bottom
of the pan will keep the apples
from sticking. Serve apples very
cold with a dash of whipped cream.
Apple Meringue Glac6
Pare enough firm ripe apples to
provide one for each serving. Core
and fill the core with shredded
pineapple. Bake In a pan with
pineapple juice until apples are
tender. Cool and cover with
meringue. Stick with slivered
almonds, then return to oven at
about 2SS* F. and bake until the
meringue is lightly browned and
Public Notice
On account of the growing def
icit due to increased operating ex
penses and steadily declining pas
senger travel, the operation of our
Rail Motor Bus trains 5 and 6 be
tween Washington and Raleigh
will be discontinued on February
first, 1938.
The Rail Motor Bus was pur
chased at a cost of $25,000.00 and
placed in operation between Wash
ington and Raleigh on January
6th, 1935, as an experment, in an
efort to provide more suitable pas
senger service to the public. We
hoped to attract sufficient addi
tional patronage to at least pay
operating expenses, but after giv
ing the added service a fair trial,
extending over a period of about
three years, it has been concluded
that owing to the almost universal
use of private automobiles and bus
es operating upon the highways,
with more frequent schedules,
there is not substantial public need
or the continued operation of (bin
service.
For the three year period end
ed December 31st, 1937, operating
expenses were $61,940.51, while
the total income amounted to only
$45,208.34, a loss of $16,732.17.
For the first three weeks of the
current month operating expenses
were $1,211.49, with total revenue
amounting to only $533.82, a loss
of $677.67.
We sincerely thank the public
for the patronage received; for
their friendship and good will, and
for the many expressions of com
mendation for our efforts. This
has caused us to feel that the ex
periment was probably justified,
and has in a measure served to
offset the heavy loss sustained.
NORFOLK SOUTHERN RAIL
ROAD COMPANY
(Signed) M. S. Hawkins and
L. H. Windholz, Receivers.
This January 27th, 1938.
BABY CHICKS
latch each Wednesday. Barred
locks, Rhode Island Rode, English
Writ# Leghorns.
(ZEBULON HATCHERY
Zebnlea. N. C.